A Common Anomaly

This morning there was a pee disaster. I smelled it before I even walked in the room to get my Booger out of bed and when I turned the corner I saw that he was curled up on top of his pillow with his arms wrapped tight around his “eddy” bear. I picked him up to assess the damage and uttered my favorite phrase “Why god, why?” when I saw that not only were his pajamas and sheets saturated in piss, but his pillow was wet as well. What the hell? Where did it all come from? I have no memory of him drinking two gallons of anything before he went to bed, so what gives?

Tristan doesn’t like to do anything before he’s had his breakfast so he wasn’t happy when I started peeling wet jammies off of him and wiping him down with a wet cloth. After breakfast, when he was feeling a little better about being awake, I gave him a bath and then I started on the laundry.

After everything was all cleaned up I realized that the smell of piss was still floating around in the air. I went nuts trying to figure out why until, to my horror, I realized the stink was coming from Tristan’s precious Eddy. I promptly confiscated poor Eddy and made a mad dash for the washer. I knew Tristan would be upset about losing Eddy for a while but I had no idea just how broken up he’d be. I gave him back-up bear, the same exact bear only it has panda coloring, but Tristan would not be consoled by this impostor. My eyes started to water as he followed me around crying for his lost friend.

“Eddy! Eeeeeeeeeh-deeeeeeeee! EDDY!”

I felt like such a jerk. The poor boy cried nonstop through the wash cycle, moaned and hiccuped his way through nap time, and finally ran, puffy eyed and sniffling, to be reunited with his Eddy the moment it came out of the dryer. It seems to me that he might be too attached to this stuffed bear.

What if we lost Eddy? How long would it take him to get over it?

How long will this attachment last? Until he loves the stuffing out of Eddy, transforming the once fluffy bear into a tattered brown rag? I don’t know. I guess I’ll find out.

Today, as on so many days, we walked to the grocery store. Tristan was especially well-behaved (considering his age) so when he picked up a little green truck at the checkout stand I went ahead and got it for him.

He’s always grabbing things near the register but I never buy any of that junk since I figure it’ll just get thrown in a corner along with a hundred other little toys. Today I couldn’t resist. He rolled it along the floor, up a display, and then proudly showed it to the lady behind us. He started to whine and cry when I took the truck so the cashier could scan it and for a moment I thought about putting it back, but I controlled this uptight adult impulse and got it anyway. It always amazes me when people seem to expect adult behavior from toddlers since you’re FAR more likely to get toddler behavior from adults, and I’d hate to be one of those.

As I carried him out the door I thought we’d give manners a try and told Tristan “Say thank you!” I urged him again and he looked from the truck to me and back again. I sighed and said “Can I at least get a kiss?” although I didn’t really expect much of a response since he’s stingy with his kisses.

Then, to my utter delight, he smiled and planted a big one on me, even making his charming “Mmm-mah!” sound.

Today was a very good day.

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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.

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Last night there was a storm. I saw the flashes of light through my closed eyelids but at the first hint of thunder my eyes sprang open.

It’s not lightning and thunder that scare me. Well, ok, lightning scares me if I’m outside, but when I’m snug in my bed these things are merely fascinating natural phenomena. It’s only when I live in a climate that is prone to tornado producing storms that I get really scared. Tornadoes… Don’t let my theatrical joking fool you (“It’s coming to get me!” or “OMG, we’re all gonna DIE!”) because it’s just a cover for my lilapsophobia. For years I used to have constant nightmares about tornadoes. Sometimes they were strange. Me, driving through a city, bombarded by random chaos while dodging twister after twister. Sometimes they were more realistic. Me, sitting at home, the twister getting closer and closer and finally ripping apart the house so that I felt myself get sucked into sky while being battered by debris, then I’d wake up shaking.

So yeah, I am intensely afraid of storms in places where tornadoes are known to occur.

At first the thunder was just thunder, but then suddenly it was the sound of the earth splitting apart all around me. It was massive, pulsating, rattling the walls and reverberating in my bones. I jumped up and ran to Tristan’s room to see how he was handling the smash banging of the ground cracking open (and hellfire spewing out, I’m sure) and at first I thought he was asleep. But how? Then I realized he was moving a little, peeking at the windows from under his teddy bear.

I picked him up, doing my best not to let him see my terror, and carried him to my bed. Tristan stopped sleeping in my bed when he was only a couple months old, so he didn’t know what to make of it. He talked softly to himself and put his little hand on my arm, then he grabbed my hand. At around 1:50am I couldn’t take the infernal noise anymore and I asked Tristan “Do you want to watch Sesame Street?” Tristan sprang up with a grin and we went to the living room so Tristan’s favorite show could drown out the storm-noise. Tristan seemed thrilled with his get out of bed free card and at around 3am, when the storm had calmed, we both went to bed feeling more relaxed.

I hate storms. I hate being so afraid of them. I don’t want Tristan seeing me scared. I’m Mama! I’m supposed to be fearless and brave and all that jazz. I’m freaking Superwoman! Right? In my way, I suppose I am.
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The warm glow of the TV during the storm

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In the morning I went to get Tristan and he had is feet under his pillow and his arm flung up over his head so of course I ran for the camera. Unfortunately the alarm beeps when I disable it so Tristan woke up before I could capture his comical pose, but I did manage to snap a few amusing pictures anyway:
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Still figuring out this bed/pillow stuff…

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He’s not much of a morning person.

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“YOU! How dare you wake me up!”

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“Breakfast, you say? Ok, I forgive you.”

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Now let’s see if I can catch up on some of the sleep I missed out on last night…

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On Tuesday night I burned my finger. I was cooking enchiladas in the oven and when I reached in to pull the tray out one finger slipped and landed right on the rack. I’ve never been burned before and I must say the pain was quite spectacular. It radiated down into my whole hand and it felt like the fingers around the burnt one were on fire. The next day I was surprised to see nothing but a raised patch of white skin but my father assures me it was a deep burn, so I don’t feel like such a wimp.

I hate cooking. I’m so tired of cooking. I miss the days when I ate microwaveable foods and other such junk and didn’t worry excessively over how much and how often. In fact, one of the things I remember most about being pregnant with Tristan was the constant need to plan and prepare healthy meals. Numerous meals.

I’m a little more relaxed this time around but still, sometimes the societal pressure to maintain an ideal body type gets to me. Which is silly because everyone has their own ideal. I’m referring of course to people who comment on how thin I am. If you ask me, my sister Carissa’s crazy hourglass figure is ideal. Maybe that’s why I’m so sensitive to critical remarks about my weight. I come from a family of strong, sturdy types and by comparison I’ve always felt so damned frail. It really does fascinate me, though, how many people are unable to allow for the vast spectrum of ideals that exists outside their own. Just sayin’.

Tristan’s bedding came a few days back and it’s so cute! As I suspected, Tristan is not at all interested in such material details, but I LOVE it. I bought him some cute Spongebob pajamas on Tuesday since most of his pj’s are boring. He’s such a smiley little devil!

Today I finally got out of the house without my Booger attached to me. Carissa picked me up and we drove to El Dorado to see a movie. It was good to get out. When I called my father this morning to confirm he was babysitting he made his usual fuss about being tired and achey and every other excuse he could think of but I kept my cool and finally asked “So, are you coming?” to which he grudgingly responded “Yeah, yeah…” He’s an infuriating person to deal with but for his troubles I’ll refrain from saying things to him like “Why are there chips in Tristan’s bed?” and “The bathroom door needs to stay closed at all times!” and “Now his schedule is messed up! Good god man! Think about the schedule!” once he gets back here with my boy. Control. I suppose it must be relinquished from time to time.

I should have went out to a restaurant before coming home. Carissa was hungry but I didn’t feel like spending more money and, of course, I had a strong urge to get back to Tristan. Now my dad is out with Tristan and I’m here writing this blog entry. I suppose I should do something. Or just kick back and enjoy the silence.

Good to get out. Good to get home.

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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.

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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.

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On the same day I had the ultrasound and bought my rifle I also got Tristan his “big boy bed”. The portable crib he’d been sleeping in had a little mechanical malfunction when I tried to collapse it and since I’d been toying with the idea of a toddler bed for a while I decided to just go for it!

The first couple of nights (and naps) ended with Tristan sleeping on the floor. He didn’t fall out of bed, every little thing wakes me up lately so I would have heard and felt the thump, but just decided that he wasn’t comfortable sleeping in this new contraption. I went in to check on him frequently and just hoisted his sleepy butt back into bed, and quickly enough he adjusted.

The first morning I found him snug in his bed after a quiet night I was ecstatic! He’s growing up! He’s turning into a big boy! And it’s a good thing, too, because soon enough my little boy is going to be a big brother. Holy crap, that thought gives me warm fuzzies!

My biggest worry about the toddler bed was that he’d be able to get up and might make mischief while I’m oblivious in the next room. That hasn’t been a problem. When I put him in bed for the night and turn off the light he stays in bed. Nap times are a little more tricky since the room is filled with sunshine and sometimes he finds it harder to stay put. Luckily I’ve become quite adept at recognizing the telltale thump of his little feet hitting the floor and I’m in the room in a flash to insist that he take his nap. I think it’ll help if I get some thick curtains to block out the light at nap time.

I’ve really noticed lately, and find it amusing, that I’ve become so good at interpreting the vibrations his movements make in this house. I can very accurately guess what he’s doing no matter what room I’m in. That bump meant he just plopped in his chair to watch TV. That vibrating patter was him running to the dining room. That thud? Definitely the sound of him flipping over his activity table, which he LOVES to do. And THAT silence? Oh, he’s up to something!

I ordered a cute bedding set and I can’t wait for it to get here, even though Tristan doesn’t really care what kind of sheets he sleeps on. I’ve also been looking for some kind of neat night light for his room. I have the Cloud B Twilight Turtle and I love the pretty stars it makes on his ceiling but I want something that doesn’t automatically turn off after a set time, and something that I can plug into the wall so I don’t have to keep buying batteries. I don’t want your little run of the mill plug it into the outlet type light either because he’ll just pull that out and I want to be able to put his light up on his bookshelf so he can’t get to it. I’ve got a couple of cool ideas but I’ve got to save up.

How am I doing, you so kindly ask? I’ve never been so tired in my life. I feel anemic. I’ll have to have my doctor check my iron at my next appointment because this freaking sucks. Remi (OMG, MY BOY!) has been kicking away, though not as much as before so of course I’m freaked out about that. Even though I’ve read that fetal activity is usually irregular at this point. Try to stop me from worrying, I dare you!

Happy. Tired as hell, but happy.

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