A Common Anomaly

I’ve been going back and forth in my head about what I would prefer the sex of the baby to be. I kept finding myself saying that I hope it’s a boy. But then I’d see cute pink baby shoes and frilly flower dresses and I’d hope for a girl. Mostly I thought about how cool it would be if Tristan had a little brother. But then again, it would be nice if I had a girl because then I’d have one of each.

I went for the ultrasound yesterday, and my father and sister Angel came with me. My father was loud and made inappropriate comments, and even talked on his cell a little, but I expect that kind of thing from him. The ultrasound technician, to my pleasure, mostly just ignored him. She did her thing, checking the heart, taking measurements, and then after a little chasing she told me what I already knew.

Family, friends, meet Remiel Sebastian Adams!

I KNEW IT!  I knew it. I’ve been calling the baby “he” in conversations. Usually you say you think you’re having a girl when you really want a boy, and vice versa, so as not to jinx yourself, but I knew. My dad, who has 4 grandsons already, really wanted it to be a girl. I think a lot of the family feels the same. They’ll just have to wait until Carissa gets knocked up because I’VE GOT MY BOYS!

I’m over the moon! Yeah, I’m sure I’ll still sigh whenever I see frilly pink baby clothes but I’m so deeply happy right now. I can’t wait to meet my little Remi. I wonder if he’ll have blue eyes like his father or dark eyes like Tristan. I can’t even begin to picture what he’ll look like. Tristan is simply gorgeous and I’m sure Remi will be a handsome little devil too.

Holy crap I’m excited!

I haven’t forgotten about the near break-in. After the ultrasound I went out and bought a rifle, which I will now have to learn to shoot. I’ll be taking other security measures, too. I have to say, I’m not sorry this happened. It has pushed me to consider safety by reminding me that shit happens, and now I’ll be far more prepared for any future incidents.

No one wants to think about these things, but they should. I’ve got my family to protect and there’s no knight in shining armor to do it for me.

I’d like to end on a cheerful note, though. I’M HAVING A BOY!

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…

My Baby

My baby isn’t a baby anymore. I’ve known that for a while now. He’s getting big, amassing information, developing preferences, and surprising me daily.

I’m thrilled. I’m not one of those mothers who laments that her baby is growing up. People have tried to tell me that one day I’ll look back and miss the little baby that he was. What a bunch of boloney.

Maybe I feel the way I do because Tristan was a particularly difficult baby. Maybe it’s that babies, as miraculous and precious as they are, intimidate me with their unknowable natures and their bewildering means of communication. Or maybe it’s that I’m constantly suffering from an acute awareness of the whole point of parenthood; raising children into good, stable adults.

I am no longer a slave to my emotions, as I was in my youth. I find that with each year that passes I become more logical, more systematic in my thinking. Instead of getting stuck in the moment I find myself, more often than not, following a thread of actions and circumstances and intentions to the most logical conclusion.

It doesn’t mean that I’ve been untouched by his journey through babyhood, though. I’ve been fascinated by Tristan’s development and I cherish every moment with him. He’ll always be my baby. My first, at that!

That’s just the way my mind works. Bah, you’d think by now I’d have given up trying to figure out what is “normal”…

I find myself turning inward a lot these days, focusing my attention on the Herculean antics occurring in my burgeoning belly. I saw the doctor yesterday. Guess what? Friday is the big day. The ultrasound. The doctor was originally going to wait until 20 weeks for the ultrasound but the size of my uterus and my concern that there might be more than one baby in there (Oh, the kicking!) inspired him to schedule it for Friday. Will it be a boy or a girl? Or a boy and a girl? Will they even be able to tell? I hate anticipation…

Is it Friday yet? Yeah yeah, I know. Patience.

How about now?

I cooked today. Pan seared salmon with mango salsa and a side of broccoli, washed down by a tall glass of my newest addiction, orange juice. The cravings are nuts this time around! With Tristan I didn’t really get any cravings but I couldn’t stand to eat any junk food. No sugary stuff, no salty stuff. Nowadays I want chips and cupcakes and even, on occasion, soda. Yech, right? It’s not all bad stuff I’m craving though. More than anything I want red meat and orange juice.

And this child! I’ve been feeling him move for a while, but now I can feel him kicking from the outside. He’s so strong and active! I’m actually enjoying this. Ok, pregnancy still sucks but I’m so excited! And I’m assuming it’s a boy.

Look at that brow...

There’s been some baby daddy drama, but I’m done. DONE. I’m not going to let poor Tristan get tangled up in Kostya’s yo-yo of emotions. I’m filing for child support and I’m even thinking about changing Tristan’s name. Yeah, it’s that bad. I’m really not sure what I was thinking when I named him. I guess I hoped that fatherhood would change Kostya and that he would always be involved in Tristan’s life. It’s just not going to happen, and it’s probably better that way. What a fucking weighty decision, though. I’m just glad Tristan is too young to understand this crap.

I hate cowardice. I hate excuses. I hate when people feel sorry for themselves. I hate when people refuse to take responsibility. We’ve all got our battle scars. I think a lot about everything that has happened to me. I often talk about it on this blog since a lot of it has helped to shape me into who I am, but I don’t feel sorry for myself.

And you know what? I won’t play the bad guy just because you like to play the victim. Sorry.

I’ve been vacuuming every day. Fleas have arrived on the scene. Those suckers are a bitch to get rid of! I still haven’t found a home for Mina, but I’ve got to get on that. I’m so frantic about cleanliness lately. It’s almost like I’m nesting early. I think it has to do with the bugs. There’s just no way I can prevent them from getting in and to make up for the sense of uncleanness they give me I’m keeping things extra tidy. I need to have my dad come over and inspect the house to see if he can determine where they’re getting in. Maybe he can seal things up a bit.

Or I’ll huff and I’ll puff and I’ll blow the damn house down. Hey, that ol’ wolf wasn’t “bad”, he was just really freaking hungry.

Today is a special day. One year ago today I got on a plane with my son and left the fuss and chaos of New York City for the slow nothings of Crapstink, Arkansas. You can read about my decision to move here, and my thoughts right after the move here.

My sister Vanessa had flown out to NYC early so that she could spend a day in the city and then travel back with me. I had insisted on someone flying with me, since I was a nervous wreck and I knew I couldn’t handle Tristan alone on an airplane. As it turned out we spent more than an hour just sitting on a runway and Vanessa, with patience that awed me, managed my cranky little son.

Kostya had been in charge of calling for a car, so of course when the driver showed up I spotted immediately that he was Russian. The whole drive to the airport he kept turning around to ramble at Kostya in Russian. He talked about Tristan a little, and talked to him, his voice going all high pitched. Vanessa kept giving me that look of hers, raised eyebrows and all, the one that says “Uh HUH.”

At the airport Kostya clung to Tristan and I stood nearby, chomping at the bit. The nerve it took for me to do what I was doing was propelling me forward and I admit that I didn’t have the patience for drawn out goodbyes.

Yeah, it took nerve. The moment I graduated from high school I hightailed it out of Arkansas and swore I’d never go back, so I felt defeated moving back here. And I was scared out of my mind. I had talked to my father and Vanessa and made them swear they’d help me out with Tristan if I moved back because I just didn’t know how I’d do it alone.

Then and Now

I lived out of a suitcase for a while. I slowly acquired the little conveniences I needed for Tristan. I say conveniences because after losing or leaving behind nearly all my earthly possessions more than once I’ve learned that one actually needs very little to survive. As long as Tristan had what he needed (and wanted, which was very little) I felt secure.

I stayed with Vanessa and then moved in with my sister Carissa and her boyfriend since they had a spare room. A teeny tiny one, but I could finally have my own space. For a while I struggled just to get through each day. Tristan was incredibly cranky and I was really sick from the gallbladder problems so I spent every moment I could curled up with a pillow on the couch, drowsy as hell from the nausea medication. I was used to having Kostya around to help with Tristan when I was too sick to get up. My weight dropped down to a sickening 88 pounds. More than once I thought about going back to New York, which would mean moving back in with Kostya. I needed help.

The gallbladder surgery was a nightmare. No one seemed to care (in fact Carissa referred to it as my “stupid surgery” whenever she got stuck with Tristan duty) and I was absolutely terrified. I know it’s not a major surgery or anything but being put under, feeling yourself slip away like that, is just plain scary. I needed someone. Family, a friend, anyone. Doesn’t matter, I guess. I survived!

Everything changed after the surgery. The very day I got home from the hospital was when Tristan started walking. The control and independence he gained when he started walking made him a much happier little guy, and with the help of the surgery I was feeling much better myself. I still struggled a little with the complete loss of freedom that came with being his sole caretaker, but I began to really enjoy each day with my son. I wasn’t just trying to get through the daily routine anymore.

When I moved out of Carissa’s house and into my own I really settled comfortably into my life as a single mother, but being Tristan’s sole caretaker is still difficult for me at times since I really don’t have any time at all for myself. I’d love to just go to a movie or out to eat sometime but it’s hard getting one person to watch Tristan and another to go out with me. I quickly realized that I can’t and don’t want to ask my family for help very often. I usually reserve those calls for help for when I’m feeling really ill, but most of the time I just try to deal on my own. As for an actual vacation? I’m thinking it’ll be many long years before I get a chance for one of those.

Sometimes I wish Tristan could spend some time with my sisters or my dad so that I could spend time with myself, but I totally get that they’re all busy and wrapped up in their own lives. Sometimes I wonder if it would be worth having Kostya around to help out, to carry some of the weight, but then I come to my senses.

Things definitely aren’t ideal right now, but if I’ve learned anything it’s that things are always changing. Tristan has infused my life with this light, this magic, and things will keep getting better.

One year ago today I swept my son up in my arms and we went out on our own. It’s hard. It’s so fucking hard to do this alone. I tense up and my heart throbs as I write those words. I’m weeping. I can’t possibly express enough how difficult it is. Or how absolutely amazing it is.

Motherhood has saved my life.

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…

It’s been a long time since I wrote poetry. Not since I went on the New York trip and was all stupid and mushy and missing Tristan, but I’m never letting that sappy crap see the light of day. And before that… I can’t even remember.

Anyway, here goes nothing:

It startled me to find
that that my voice had caught in my throat,
snagged on a thorny
creeping vine of doubt
(the very same which cruelly thrust it’s tendrils
up into my soggy brain
and sent me reeling through dark).
My attempts to dislodge it
from the tangle of sentiment and confusion
only seemed to nudge it
deeper into my swollen gut
(where a tiny, new-formed bud of possibilities
swam with strong strokes
within and yet outside of me).
And in the course
of digging and pulling I wrapped my fingers
tight around the ghost
and came up with nothing
realizing finally that I cannot reclaim the voice
that I sent out of me
in beautiful little pieces

I’d like to start writing again…

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…