A Common Anomaly

I’ve recently come to understand some things about myself that really explain a lot of the difficulties I’ve had in my life. Public journals in general are pretty self-indulgent but going on about one’s own oddities seems especially narcissistic. As if to say, I’m different, I’m unusual. Which is silly and not necessarily true.

Anyway, I’m giving myself license to ramble on, in just one post, about something I’ve been struggling with my whole life.

I’ve always said that I’m a sensitive person and have often described my body as being hypersensitive. It seemed to me that all my senses were “hyperactive”.

Visually I’m very sensitive. I notice every little movement around me and a shadow flickering on the wall is enough to startle me sometimes. A few nights ago, without even looking for it, I spotted a brown spider crawling across my brown carpet. I can’t tell you how many times people have said “How the hell did you see that?” when I noticed something like that. I find clutter to be very distracting. I’m constantly scanning my environment and most of the time I’m hardly even aware of it.

For a long time I just assumed that I was more vigilant because I was making up for my partial deafness. I’m sure that’s partly true. As for hearing, the auditory stimuli I do receive can easily overwhelm me. Perceiving too many noises at once or hearing an unpleasant noise (which might not be unpleasant to others) is really disturbing for me. I’m sensitive to smells, even if they are faint. Many perfumes make me very ill. My sense of taste isn’t so intense but I am sensitive to the texture of foods.

I think the worst is how touch-sensitive I am. Tactile stimulation is the most difficult for me to handle. Skin to skin contact with people makes me extremely uncomfortable. When I’m in love with someone I find it more bearable, even desirable, but as soon as any relationship issues arise, or even if I’m just overstimulated in general, I retreat. If someone’s skin is touching mine I experience an unpleasant stinging sensation, so I try to maintain some distance from people to discourage touching (which I’m sure makes me seem unfriendly or stand-offish). I still give most people, even the ones I really care about, awkward one-armed hugs because I don’t know how to handle that kind of close contact. Don’t get me wrong, if a friend gives me a hug I really enjoy the affection that is being expressed, I just don’t know how to deal with the physical contact very well.

Anything touching me can make me edgy or even frantic. The band at the top of my underwear seems to eat into me, the seams in the toes of my socks bite into my toes, and clothes that shift around drive me bonkers. I’m constantly adjusting my bra straps or straightening my shirt or arranging my necklace. Rings are horrible. When I wear a ring I often feel pain in that finger, even if the ring fits well, because I’m so hyper-aware of it.

Any of these things alone isn’t a huge deal but when you put them all together I’m headed for sensory overload. Just imagine, I’m hanging out with you and some of our other friends and we’re having drinks. I may be sitting quietly, nodding along to the conversation, but there’s actually quite a bit going on. I’m probably uncomfortable in my chair, aware of the condensation from my glass wetting my fingers, the music in the background keeps demanding my attention, my bra feels tight, there’s something, a hair maybe, tickling my arm, the person next to me seems prone to sudden movements and I wonder when he’ll knock over the glass that’s next to him and if any of the liquid will splash onto me, there’s a red ant crawling on the wall behind you, I wonder what that smell is, my sock is sliding down and bunching slightly in my shoe, someone just said something to so-and-so and she’s displaying body language that is not consistent with her words, I wonder if you noticed it, I’d like to eat something, OH CRAP someone’s asking me a question, FOCUS, was that an acceptable response or did I seem nervous or stupid… And so on and so forth.

All of this is probably why I’m so comfortable living alone. And probably why I have this muscle condition. It’s no wonder that my body responds so dramatically to the tension in my muscles, causing me pain, tingling, and numbness. It’s just another one of my body’s overreactions. And OF COURSE I can’t sleep. How can I sleep with so much going on around me and inside me? The world can be a tremendously uncomfortable place.

It’s not always so bad. I’m mostly worried about how other people will perceive me. I worry about how I interact with people I care about. I don’t want to get irritable with my son because the TV is too loud and my head hurts and he has sticky fingers. I don’t want friends to interpret my behavior as unfriendly. So, I guess I just need to deal with this. Find ways to cope so that I can be the way I want to be and give off the impression I want to give.

I try to focus on the positive as much as possible. Being overly sensitive isn’t always a bad thing. When I eat good food I sigh and my eyes water and the pleasure is just incredible. When I listen to good music I often experience an intense emotional and bodily response. My body feels as if it’s electrically charged and when the music reaches any kind of climax I sometimes feel light as a feather and and my skin seems to catch on fire, but in a strangely pleasurable way. I get so happy over small things and being in nature, especially near water, can make me feel so peaceful and relaxed that my senses all seem to quiet down.

It seems pretentious to say I’m a Highly Sensitive Person since I’m sure most people experience this to some degree. I prefer to call it Sensory Defensiveness. In the end all of it means nothing to anyone except me but it feels good to have talked about it.

Poop and puke ahead. Stop reading now if you are at all squeamish. You have been warned.

Last night Tristan started to get cranky and when he ran over to me and laid his head on my leg I could feel that he was a bit warm. He was just sick a couple of weeks ago so at first I couldn’t believe he was really sick again. He convinced me of the reality of his illness when he started to cry and then puked EVERYWHERE. He made sure to get a good puddle on the couch, splatter it on the floor, and, OF COURSE, give his teddy bear a good coating.

What ensued was madness.

I had just finished cooking a pot of cheesy jambalaya with kielbasa but I put a lid on it and rushed to get Tristan cleaned up. I tried to give him the nausea medication the doctor prescribed the last time I saw him but I could even smell how bad the stuff tasted and it only made Tristan throw up again. What the hell? What is the point of nausea medication that tastes so bad that you can’t even get it down? I got some Advil in him at least and once I got him in the bath he calmed down and even started to play with his bath toys and splash around in the water.

I was almost ready to get him out and turned around to get a towel and when I turned back he had done something that he’s only done once before, and then when he was only a couple of months old. He pooped in the tub. So many little pieces. I wont even describe to you the process of getting that mess cleaned up.

After I got Tristan out of the tub I found myself rushing around, cleaning up the carpet, pulling the covers off the couch cushions and gathering up pukey clothes and towels for the laundry, doing battle with the latest multi-colored mutant grasshopper, and trying to keep Tristan comfortable and relaxed until bedtime. It was nonstop. The one thing I didn’t get a chance to do was eat. It was only after I got Tristan settled in his bed with his freshly washed Teddy and cleaned up the kitchen a little that I finally got to sit my tired ass down and eat my dinner.

It got me thinking about how things will be when Remi is here. What if they both get sick at the same time? It’ll be the same madness of last night TIMES TWO. Even more frightening, what if all three of us are sick at the same time? I can just see it: I’m in migraine hell and scrambling around on shaky legs, trembling and gagging while attempting to soothe and care for two sick children, all the while cleaning up lots of puke and poop. We’ll get through it, of course, but it’ll still be hell. I imagine at some point I’ll break down and call someone for help.

I called Vanessa last night and told her my fear and asked her what I will do in that situation. She told me I’ll probably be doing some crying.

“But… But… But… WHAT WILL I DO?”

I guess it’s pointless to freak out over something that hasn’t happened yet. I’ll deal with Crazyland when I get there.

This morning was more calm than last night. I took Tristan’s temperature and then he took the thermometer and took his own temperature, and it wasn’t too high. Right now He’s snuggled on the couch with Eddy and some pillows, watching Sesame Street.

The mail came and I was delighted to find I had a package from Pediped.

Their shoes are “officially recognized by the American Podiatric Medical Association as contributing to better foot health”, and I’m fussy about things like that. Plus, they’re just really freakin’ cute. Unfortunately they run about fifty dollars a pair, which is way too much money for me to be spending on a pair of shoes right now even if they are incredibly stylish and well-made.

Then I checked the SALE page online. I found two adorable pairs of shoes that Tristan can wear this winter for $15 each! Seriously, this makes me all kinds of happy. I like being able to buy nice things for Tristan, so to find something I couldn’t otherwise buy at such a great price… HAPPY.

I should go take a nap. I don’t have a fever, but my stomach is starting to feel icky so I’m sure I’ve got whatever bug Tristan has. Pleh.

Ok, ok, so he’s not exactly a strange case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, but my boy is certainly flip flopping between rotten little rascal and precious sweetheart. I’ve been saying it to my family for many weeks now: The terrible twos come early.

It’s been more noticeable since Kostya has been here. His inconsistent parenting and total ignorance about methods of discipline and age-appropriate behaviors has only confused poor Tristan. Kostya still wants to treat Tristan like a baby, scooping him up and and carrying him around rather than respecting his space and giving him options. It’s not going over too well with this precocious little toddler.

The up side is that it has illustrated to me more clearly what is likely to work and what isn’t. It’s so much easier to stand on the outside and figure out what someone else could be doing better.

So far I’ve found the best way for dealing with his tantrums is Time Out, though probably not the time out most people are familiar with. It’s not about “You sit here and think about what you’ve done”, it’s more of a “Why don’t you just hang out in this nice quiet place with Eddy until you’re feeling more calm.”

And usually within a minute he calms down. Once he’s calmed down he comes around the corner, often with a big grin on his face, and goes about his business as if nothing happened. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not patting myself on the back just yet. You see, our Time Out system is great because it gives us both time to cool off, but it doesn’t prevent his tantrums. The boy is stubborn and seems to delight in pushing the limits. Testing them. In the recent past a simple “No.” could stop him in his tracks but now he just responds with a mischievous smirk that seems to say “Or what?”

Sometimes I find myself at my wits end but, to be honest, I don’t find this phase of childhood any more difficult than the ones that came before. It’s just difficult in a different way. In many ways it’s actually easier.

When I got up this morning my little angel, who had obviously been waiting for me, jumped off the couch where he had been sitting next to his father and ran to me, tackling me and kissing my legs. Pure bliss. Let’s see an infant do that! And once he gets a good handle on the english language I’m sure he’ll use his verbal skills to defy and infuriate me, but then he’ll also say things like “I love you Mommy!” and I’ll get to hear all the interesting thoughts that are running through his splendid little head. Seems like a fair trade to me. As always, I am stressed out, worried, and losing my patience, but I’m also enthralled, growing as a person, and absolutely ecstatic about being a mother.

Tristan’s got a lot to learn about the world, and I’ve still got a lot to learn about being a parent (there’s always room for improvement), so I guess we’ll have to try to be patient with each other.

Today my clever boy made up his own song. He was watching Sesame Street and since the letter of the day was ‘A’ they played a little song that included the bit: “Ah-ah-ah-ah Apple!”

Tristan started walking around saying “Ah ah ah abble!” until I thought I would pass out from cute overload. Then, about two hours later and quite out of the blue he started singing “Eh eh eh Eddy!”

The boy made a little song about his Eddy bear. I’m bursting with pride!

I wrote, or started to write, two different posts this past week but before I could finish either one my mind suddenly went blank and I realized that it all sounded forced. I have nothing to say.

Well, actually, I have too much to say but most of the things that are happening right now and my very strong feelings about those things will only be discussed with my closest and most trusted friends. It’s very unlike me to keep mum on a topic that is affecting me so strongly. I’m usually so open. Maybe it’s all just too fresh, too raw. Even for me.

Yesterday the power went out for a few hours. Within minutes, it seemed, my house was an oven. I realized I have no candles and one little flashlight and hoped the power would come back on before it got dark. Tristan was not bothered by any of it for even a moment. I made him a cup of juice with ice and we sat on the front porch listening to the approaching thunderstorm and enjoying the storm-breeze. I started to read a book but found myself stopping every minute or so to swat mosquitoes off of me and my oblivious son. It didn’t take long for the heat to drive everyone out of their houses and soon all my neighbors were hanging out in little clusters, dewy skinned and fanning themselves, the neighborhood children darting noisily around them.

Tristan watched the big boys run and tumble and he yelled toddler-speak at them from the porch, but showed no inclination to join them. He sipped his juice and munched on his crackers until the deep, slow headache that had been building in my brain finally burst into a full blown migraine and we had to go back inside so I could lie down. I stripped Tristan down to his diaper and occasionally rubbed us both down with cool water until the power finally came back on, just as it was starting to get dark.

Kostyantyn has been bugging me to let him come stay for a while so he can visit with Tristan. Or, as he wisely put it, so he can cook and clean for me and take care of baby (Tristan is still a baby in his ever-absent eyes).

Being big and pregnant and thoroughly exhausted it’s very tempting to say yes. Then there’s the money he’ll bring with him. God knows I could use some help if I’m ever going to save enough to get my shit out of storage in NYC (the biggest bill hanging over my head). But then, his presence here will be very inconvenient considering I’ve decided that I don’t want to deal with his stupidities anymore. Hell, I know exactly how it’ll go. He’ll behave himself and I’ll watch my temper as much as I’m able until I find myself having the same conversation for the gazillionth time:

“Rach, you think maybe we could try again to be together?”
“Are you on crack?”
“No, I just wanna be with you. I change!”
“My ass, you change.”
“But Rach!”
“Not a chance in hell, Russkie.”

My verbal spitballs roll off of him like water off a duck’s back. He’s thick-headed and living entirely in his own little world, so there’s no need to candy coat things with this one. He’ll just shrug off my rejection and keep quiet on the subject until I’ve calmed down and almost relaxed back into routine and then he’ll drop it on me again. I can handle that, though.

How can I deny a man the right to see his child? And how, OH HOW, can I deny him the privilege of cleaning my dirty dishes? My glorious, crusty dishes? Men everywhere are dying for the chance to take over my domestic duties, practically ripping each other to shreds to get to my kitchen sink. Surely I should let that coveted boon go to the father of my children.

Oy.

In all seriousness, I do feel lucky sometimes that my ex lives over a thousand miles away, but if he genuinely wants to spend time with Tristan… Well, that little boy deserves all the love and attention he can get.

I’ve been talking about how I need a break from my booger and I think I’ve almost got things arranged so that I can go see a movie with Carissa on Thursday. Woo! I don’t even care what movie. Maybe we’ll even stop at a restaurant and I”ll actually have a meal completely devoid of fussing, crying, and squealing. Whoa…

I can’t even.. I just… You know?

Yesterday I went to visit with my mother for a few hours since she really needs support with what she’s going through. Carissa picked up Tristan and off I went. It’s such a funny combination of relief and intense worry I feel when I’m away from him. I’m always so eager for a break from him but when I finally get it I’m missing him horribly within 10 minutes. When I got home I texted Carissa to let her know she could bring him back but apparently he had knocked out. I spent the hour after that doing absolutely nothing. Just waiting for him. And when he got home I felt an intense rush of happiness that stayed with me for the rest of the day.

It was nice having the chance to miss him a little, to appreciate all the beautiful mess and fuss he makes when he’s home. And it was absolute JOY to get him back. I could gush on and on, but I’ll stop now.

I talked to my father today and we started arguing, debating really but I get worked up sometimes, about some family drama. I just melted down and cried. I don’t allow myself to do that very often and I was a little surprised by all the frantic emotion that came pouring out of me. I’ve been keeping it together so well. I’m certainly stressed out, worried as hell about what I’m going to do, but I didn’t realize I was holding so much in while I was strutting about in my armor. Then I decided, what the hell, I damn well earned those tears.

OH! I am currently without TV.  Seriously. I have Dish Network and on Saturday I got an error message on my TV telling me the signal had been lost so I called customer support. They were useless and unable to fix the problem so they said they’d send a technician to my house (the soonest day being Tuesday, and keep in mind this was Saturday). Oh, and that’ll be 15 dollars, Miss.

???

It’s not like 15 bucks is a load of cash or anything, but I’m already paying monthly for their services and it boggles my customer-service-centered brain that I should have to pay 15 dollars more because their shit isn’t working. So now I’m torn between my principles and my love of TV. When I complained about the absurdity of it to the helpful lady on the other line she pointed out that Dish Network would generously replace whatever faulty equipment is causing the problem free of charge. Well, slap my ass and call me Judy! We’re SAVED!

The book I ordered on cultural anthropology came in the mail today. I guess I’ll be reading that instead of watching TV. Probably a more enriching way to spend my limited free time. But how will I distract Tristan while I’m trying to get chores done??? Perhaps he might find the topic of human diversity and responses to challenging globalization issues very interesting. Possibly.

Crap. I’ve only got 3 or 4 kid friendly DVD’s… I’ll have to borrow some from my sister.

I’m averaging about 4 to 5 hours of sleep a night. I’m just really uncomfortable! Already! I think six hours is more ideal for me, but I guess this restlessness will help prepare me for the sleepless nights to come.

Today something odd happened. I walked into the bathroom and as I turned to face the mirror a bottle of body spray on the sink was rocking as if it had just nearly tipped over. I looked at Mina, who was curled up in the bath tub, and upon realizing she wasn’t responsible for the movement I tried my best to recreate the rocking motion of the bottle by bumping the sink, jumping up and down, and finally just poking it with my finger. No luck.

The bottle is nearly full, as you can see above, and not at all unstable so I was very perplexed. I wish it would happen again. Then maybe I could view it as an extraordinary occurrence but for now it’s just one of those odd things that happens in this terribly odd house. This house is fussy and old.

Tristan is driving me bonkers. He has suddenly decided that he doesn’t want to eat. I know, I know, toddlers go through these phases and it’s a normal control-driven issue that will resolve itself, but it kills me worrying that he might not be getting the nutrients he needs. It’s my food issues again. Every source I’ve scoured has assured me that he’ll eat when he’s hungry but I don’t necessarily agree. Tristan almost never expresses to me that he wants food. He’ll bring his cup to me quite often and ask for juice, but food? Not interested.

It reminds me of me. I adore good food, but if I’m just hanging out and doing my thing it’s not unusual for me to forget to eat altogether. Unless, like now, I’m pregnant and then all I’m thinking all day is “Did I eat enough? I need more! MORE! Baby needs nutrients!”

Anyway… Phase. It’ll pass. Eventually. I’ll just have bald patches from pulling out my hair. That’s cool. I can live with that.

And here’s why I wont be completely bald:

Pictures don’t do him justice. He’s so freakin’ beautiful it just blows me away. And it’s moments like that, when he’s peaceful and sleeping like an angel, or when his glowing smile is lighting up the whole room, that keep me strong when things get rough. Like tonight when I began to panic because I felt like the room was closing in on me and I just wanted to curl up somewhere alone. ALONE.

Oh Tristan. Deep breath, deep breath, it’s totally ok that I don’t want you crawling all over me right at this moment, it’s normal that I just want a few minutes to myself, it’s perfectly acceptable that I’m choking on a scream because I can’t have these things since it’s just you and me, kid! I have to keep reminding myself that my feelings are absolutely reasonable so that the guilt doesn’t set in. I refuse to wallow in guilt because, piss and shit, I do my best! Meh, I think lack of sleep is making me edgy. I need more goofy Tristan moments. And, hell, a night on the town without the most amazing little guy I know.

Eventually.

Always eventually.

I’m not sure when the first noise woke me up, but I was dragged from a dream and thrust into the dark of my room rather quickly. I’ve been locking Mina in the bathroom because she’s active at night, and also because I don’t want her running around the house until I get the flea situation under control.

She knocks things over sometimes and the noise of it wakes me up. I thought this was another such occasion and I went into the bathroom and hissed “Mina! Stop!” Then I looked around to see what was on the floor. The shampoo was knocked over in the bathtub but nothing else was out of place. I couldn’t quite fit the damage with the noise and my eyes went to the bathroom window. Everything seemed fine there so I gave Mina a suspicious look and then left, leaving the bathroom light on. I went in Tristan’s room and scanned it once my eyes adjusted to the dark, then I went back to bed feeling uneasy.

The whole front came off

A few minutes later I heard noise again, a banging and cracking kind of sound. I jumped up and ran to the bathroom but I didn’t go in. I froze because I realized the noise was coming from the air conditioning unit in Tristan’s window. The big old thing was wiggling and moving and making that damned banging, cracking sound.

About two seconds later I fully understood that someone was outside the window trying to get in. Someone was trying to get into my house, into my sons room. I didn’t decide to yell, it just kind of burst out of me from somewhere deep down, my voice deepening and reverberating through the room. I didn’t get to choose what I said, and an outraged, wall shaking “HEY!” is what came out. My voice sounded so big and ferocious but there I stood, suddenly very aware of how small and pregnant I am.

I ran through the house turning on every light and called 911. It only took the cops a few minutes to get to my house but in the state I was in it seemed like an eternity. I was full of adrenaline, anger, and, though I always hate admitting to it, fear. In fight or flight situations I tend to go with FIGHT, and I hate finding fear in myself.

Of course, with Tristan I feel fear like I’ve never felt before. He didn’t wake up when the air conditioner almost got yanked out of the window (thank god it was good and screwed in) and he didn’t wake up when I let out my bloodcurdling yell and ran around turning  on lights. When he heard me talking to the 911 operator he opened his eyes and smiled at me in surprise. Smiled. His big, goofy, innocent smile. That’s when I was really afraid. You’re so much more aware of the evil in the world when you’re trying to protect something so soft and precious.

My sister, Carissa

I  think I’m going to get a gun. I’ve always hated guns. Quite passionately, actually. I’ve made jokes about all the gun toting rednecks. Rifle racks and empty beer cans, ha ha.

I think it’s safe to say that this kind of changes things. I thought about getting some kind of protection when I first moved out of my sisters place but I didn’t like the idea of having a gun in the same house with Tristan. Now…? I’ll do whatever I need to do to feel that my son and I are safe. I need to know I’ll be able to protect myself and my children. Precautions will certainly have to be taken. I’ll have to have my sister teach me to shoot. No, I’m not going deer hunting any time soon, but if some motherfucker tries to come through my sons bedroom window he’s going to be one sorry son of a bitch. My wakeful ass will be ready.

My wakeful ass has been running back and forth between my house and the doctors office since 8am. They’ve been drawing my blood every hour since I drank that horrendous sugar drink to check my blood sugar. This bites.

Stuff, things… I’ve got a lot on my mind right now…

I think I might have to get rid of Mina. I’ve had her for years and she’s traveled with me all over the country. I never thought I’d leave her behind, but then again I never thought I’d be a mother either.

Starting when I moved to Arkansas she began to develop behavior issues. She was skittish and weird and stopped using her litter box. When I moved into my own place the issues stopped and everything was like the old days. Until recently. I doubt she understands I’m pregnant but I’m sure she knows something is up. She’s been acting weird again and then, a couple days ago, I found cat crap by my computer desk. I was infuriated. It’s unacceptable.

It would only be a matter of time before Tristan came to me clutching a cat turd in his hand. And the urine smell? Fuck no. I wont live like this. I love this cat, but my son rolls around on these floors.

I wont miss the fleas (my skin reacts terribly to the bites), or the cat hair on my kitchen counters, but I know that when she’s gone there’s a hundred little things that I will miss. I feel guilty as hell. My stomach is burning. If I thought there was any way for her to be happy as a part of this family… She’s just not adjusting to the new reality. She’s set in her ways. The reality is I’m not going to have time for her like before and the health and happiness of my children will always come first.

I don’t know… I’m so disappointed. Heartbroken. When I give her away it will have to be to someone who I’m sure will spoil her, so it may take a while to find someone. There’s not exactly an abundance of responsible and loving pet owners in this town, but hopefully I’ll find someone.

Fire with Fire

I can’t stop
scratching at this
little flea bite of a man

I draw blood
my own of course
before finally going for the antiseptic

but he persistently hovers and
vomits up my own words
covered in nonsensical slime

sometimes
I think I might outrun him
and I sprint madly forward

but after 10 miles
I look down and see that he is
tethered to my foot

then
absently even
I kick

I was walking to the store today with my pooper when the lady across the street, sitting on her porch and enjoying what looked like a bowl of cereal, saw us and offered to give us a ride. I assured her that we like the walk and she insisted that I tell her if I ever need anything. Now that’s the South I can respect. I mentioned that I’m pregnant and the usual questions were asked and answered, and then I blurted out “I hope it’s another boy!”

It just flew out of my mouth. Another boy… We’ll see.

My Booger fell down on the way home and scraped his knee. I cleaned it when we got home and put a bandaid on it. I wonder if the bandaid will still be there when I get him up from his nap…

Oh, and as for the Bug Situation, I have yet another picture to really drive home my point:

My sister sent me this picture today. My response was something like “That isn’t a bug, it’s a freaking cartoon character!”  A couple nights ago I had some crazy hard-shelled flying nightmare pelting my ceiling with this awful thock thock sound. I put dents in the ceiling going after it with the broom. *shudder* In the end, after a long hard battle full of girly squealing, I was victorious.

I WILL TRIUMPH! Meh…

Holy crap, divorces are a messy business… When I heard my parents were divorcing I actually breathed a sigh of relief. I think they both deserve better and I want them to be happy. But the actual process of splitting up? Yuck. And YIKES.

Now I’m in danger of getting sucked into a sad family drama. I’ve always tried to be kind to my stepmother, even when she was anything but to me. After all, she’s very sick, and I always got the feeling from her that despite her wacky ways she really just wanted a normal life. A family. I can appreciate that. I’ve always wanted a family…

There was a huge amount of drama surrounding their decision to get divorced and Shannon called and asked me if I would let her stay with me until she got back on her feet. Of course I said yes. “Absolutely”. My dad didn’t like that. He went on and on about her, how horrible she is, and I defended her. I’ve always defended her. On the day she was supposed to show up at my house I cleaned like mad and tried to organize things so she’d have a place to put her stuff, and then I waited. And waited.

She never showed up. Then later I got a voicemail from her that blew me away. She had asked me not to tell my father she would be staying with me but of course my dad knew there was only a couple of places she would go, the most likely place being my house. So she leaves me a message saying she didn’t show up because I must have told my father she was staying with me and she didn’t want him to know were she would be living.

?

Then she hinted that the reason she didn’t want him to know was because she didn’t want there to be a scene in from of me and my son. A scene? She basically hinted that my father might come to the house and become violent. That shit pissed me off. Does she think I’m fucking stupid? I know my father. I know their history (I WAS THERE) and I know what they are both capable of now. And as a victim of domestic violence I take issue with a woman faking it to gain sympathy. Oh, not to mention, my father is the one that wanted to separate. He doesn’t want to see her, talk to her, or deal with her in any way, let alone get into some kind of brawl with her.

Not wanting to argue with her, and thereby get sucked onto the psychological battlefield, I never called her back. Then today my dad came over and started in on his usual rant about my stepmother and, as usual, I defended her (though perhaps not as earnestly as before). Then my dad had Angel call Shannon and put her on speaker phone.

I almost choked when I heard what Shannon had to say about me. I’m a liar, I betrayed her, I wouldn’t give her a place to stay… My first instinct was to snatch the phone out of Angel’s hand and give her a piece of my mind, but I didn’t. I wonder if she even realizes what she has done, if she knows she just stabbed her most staunch defender in the back. I’m sure she’ll realize it one day, but there’s no repairing this damage. I’ll be civil with her, but I will not champion her good traits or pep talk her anymore. I won’t defend her.

I’m a little sad. I feel sorry for her. But I am NOT going out in this mess. I’ll stay inside where it’s cozy and dry, thanks.

And what’s going on inside, you ask? Kostya sent some extra money this month and insisted I use it to buy Tristan this cute chair:

It’s so freaking adorable seeing him sit in his little man chair! He has completely ditched the little ottoman, though. He hoisted it up and tried to heave it into the kitchen trash, in fact. The boy sure knows how to make his point! He sits in the chair on occasion, but he seems to get more enjoyment out of seating his stuffed animals in it and mostly prefers to sprawl on the ground:

I am feeling SO much better lately. Still fighting off the occasional migraine, but I’m having more and more good days. Ah… The second trimester…

I have control issues. Growing up things were pretty chaotic and I always felt like I had no control over my life. Like being adrift in a tempestuous ocean. Then one day I realized that though there are some things that I can’t avoid or that may drop on my head from out of nowhere, there are some things that I can control.

It’s almost obsessive compulsive, and yet not. For example, I often let the living room get really cluttered and messy before I get around to cleaning it but if food or drink spills on my clothes (or Tristan’s) I feel frantic.

He LOVES Earth's Best strawberry snack bars

Then there’s Tristan’s diet. I don’t know how many people have said “Aw, he looks too little to be walking!” Then I’ll see him next to another baby his age, or younger, and I’ll realize, WOW, he’s a little shorty! I’m a wee little thing, and his father is around average height, so I don’t expect him to be huge, but I worry. The doctor assured me that he’s growing OK, even if he is in a lower percentile, but I still torture myself with thoughts like: what if he isn’t growing well because he’s not eating well?

A couple of weeks ago I went so far as to write down everything Tristan ate into a daily journal. I wanted to see it all on paper and make sure he was getting the proper number of servings from each food group. I read labels and calculated total amounts of protein, calcium, and so forth, that he consumed. By the end of a week I realized that he’s eating very well and I was able to stop hovering over the journal and relax a little.

I was the same way when I was pregnant with him. Absolutely obsessed with food, what kind, how much, blah blah worry worry. And then I gave birth to a nine pounder. I guess I didn’t have to worry so much. But I did. And I do.

And in the process of writing this blog entry I have realized that most of my OCD-like hang ups have to do with food. Some of my worst childhood memories are of being very hungry. Huh. My mother always kept well-stocked cupboards, but there was a period when I was living with my father and… Yeah, let’s not drag that up out of sludge.

It’s amazing how life events can shape you and fill you with vaguely understood anxieties years after the fact. Now that I understand where this particular anxiety came from, can I overcome it? Well, I’ll definitely have to get over the spilling food thing, especially with another little mess-maker on the way!