Ventilation!

Why, yes, I am using projects to fill in the holes that my case of the sads has given me, why do you ask? Is it because I am about to talk about nothing but projects for like, three more posts? Deal with it, bitches, I’m depressed.

Anywho, here’s the toilet room

Before:

During:

After:

Hubs says it’s like a model home shitter, which is the best compliment I could ask for I s’pose. I think it’s resplendent, and I enjoy my bleary-eyed morning piss in it, even though it still smells strongly of paint a week later.

The Barf

Presenting the beanie/scarf, or Barf. Or Hat/scarf – Harf, if you’re more comfortable with that word.

This thing looks a lot redder than it is, I made it in a maroon and navy blue.

It’s extremely tight on my head because it’s made for someone whose head is a couple inches smaller than mine, but meh. The scarf is attached to the sides to be a combo ear warmer/scarf

If you would like, you can admire the spit-up stains on my left shoulder, there.

Here’s the back, so that the back of her neck doesn’t freeze.

And yes, while I’m proud of it, I am also certain that she’ll receive her package, take one look at it, and wonder how I could send her such a horrible abomination and she’ll burn it on the spot…because I have a lot of faith in my work, obviously.

Three things of interest

We had been hearing this strange scratchy sound all evening long. It was coming from the wall opposite the sink, the one that faces in to the living area. As we were sitting there watching TV, I saw something out of the corner of my eye. Something popped through the drywall….a little paw. A little fucking rat paw with claws out came popping through the wall! Hubs jumps up and whacks the hand, no doubt breaking the little arm of the thing, but the hole was big enough that it scurried out anyway. Hubs was fucking fast enough to catch the rat before it could run away. He frantically looks around for something to use to kill it, and the only thing around was a wire brush on the kitchen table. He grabs it and starts wire brushing the shit out of the rat. I say, “Wait, do we know what we’re doing here?! What’s going on, what are we doing!?” Hubs nods his head and puts the rat in the big cardboard box that the spot bot came in that we were too lazy to throw away yet. He closes the top, picks it up, and starts toward the door so that he can throw the thing in the dumpster. I can hear the rat scurrying around in the box, and it’s making these horrible dying sounds. Then. THEN, Hubs trips over the shoes we leave in the entryway, the box tips, the top opens, and the rat fucking jumps on me. Its claws were tangled in my hair and it was climbing onto my shoulder.

Then I woke up, poked Hubs, and made him hold me til the scary ebbed.

Note: Hubs would never, ever do what happened. He is the kind of guy who has unending guilt when he has to kill a spider, and would rather put it in a cup and take it outside and build it a condo so that it’s not so cold for it.

______

He was snoring, again. Usually I shove his arm a little, and like the good little nighttime zombie he is, he turns on his side and stops. But that night, he was snoring on his side. What the hell do I do when he’s snoring on his side? I was going on a couple hours of insomnia, laying there and listening to his BASTARD BREATHING while I cursed his asleep-in-a-minute soul. I decided to poke him awake.
“Hunna, will you put on a breathe right strip?”
“Huh? Oh, yeah.”
He stands up out of bed, goes to the ceiling fan/light above our bed, and pulls the chain for the light. 4 60 watt bulbs blast into my eyes. “SHIT” he says. He pulls the string again, twice, turning the light off and then on again. “Shit SHIT!!” he says. Then he pulls the other string for the fan, several times…so many that he loses count of what he was apparently doing, and the fan comes on high. He stops to think a moment.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“I’m turning off the light!” He says.
“Why don’t you just use the light switch?” I ask. He looks at me, pissed that I am so goddamn smart, and turns off the light at the switch.
“I asked you to put on a breathe right strip….”
“OOOOOoooooh. I thought you said turn off the light, which was strange, because the light was off.”

Jesus Christ.

______

MM’s pajamas today make me laugh. They have little horses on them that look like bloated goats, one showing from the side with the legs off in all directions, and one is apparently a “come hither” shot from the backside where the horse is looking over his shoulder, winking, and letting you know he’s ready for insertion. Then there’s horseshoes, which look disturbingly like the Univesity of Utah logo. The best part, though, is the fact that written all over it is, “Nay!” “Nay!” says the horse. Fuck, if the people who make children’s clothing can’t spell “Neigh!” we’re all screwed. Unless, as Hubs suggests, they are simply voting on something and no one is voting “Aye.”

This should have been funny, and then cute. But it’s not

I went to the therapist.

Realized that I have a paralyzing fear that Hubs is going to die on me and now that we’re fighting, a fear that he’s going to leave me, and many times nowadays I don’t follow my rule of saying “I love you” as the last thing I say on the phone or when he leaves and I will NEVER FORGIVE MYSELF when he dies and I didn’t say it that one time. Oh, and I’m turning 26 on the 15th, which is how old my brother was when he died. My best friend. Hm.

She also told me to exercise. Because what would therapy be if they didn’t tell you to get off the couch, you fatass.

Anywho, I have homework, and she talked to me like I was a fucking child when she explained synapses – which, I fucking know, dumbass.
“What does this look like?”
“(You want me to say) Bones”
“Right! but they’re synapses.”
Maybe next session I should say, “Can we fast track this a bit? I understand more than the average bear and don’t want to be coddled.” I think my “I self theripize because every therapist I have been to has been a douche” didn’t quite cut it.

She was nice enough, very empathetic and validatey, and I’ll go back. I did, however, find out that they cannot prescribe anything, and I found this out 5 minutes before the end of the session. As the head therapist lady was giving me the phone number for the psychiatrist that I need to see to get the meds, and telling me that every psychiatrist in the valley has a month-long wait (In a tone like I should have known this and was an idiot), she casually mentioned that their office is horribly run. “Oh, she’s great, but their office staff is horrible.” Hm. Still haven’t gotten a call back today, I’ll call after lunch and try again.

I went home, relieved Hubs from baby watching duty, and went for my prescribed walkies for my 4 times this week exercise. The bestrollered boy and I ended up at Ross where I could not find the same pair of sunglasses Hubs loved with his whole heart and undoubtedly left at a restaurant somewhere, and where I bought myself some happy in the form of some cute shoes I’ll be wearing to AVENUE Q this SATURDAY. (Eeeee) Anywho, Hubs called, worried that I had forgotten both my keys and my cell phone when I left for the walk – because I am the sort of person to do such a thing. He needed to go pick up a check up north for work and would I like to come with him? FUCK YEAH.

So we drove up north, past that section of freeway where everyone asks the other person in the car if they farted but no, it’s just that particular area. We had an address, and since Utah is built on the coordinate system, we figured we’d find the address no problem. Except…it didn’t exist. So, we thought, “Well, maybe it’s not in this city, maybe it’s in this city.” So we drove back past fart-land and the little ever-on-fire pillars of those factory places, and checked in that other city. It didn’t exist.

We had to stop at a taco bell to feed MM, and Hubs called people to find out where he was going. AH, the place was in the city between City A and City B, so we’ll have to go ahead and drive through fart-land again, but not so far, and also once you leave downtown Salt Lake City, IT’S A GODDAMN FREE-FOR-ALL CLUSTERFUCK and the coordinate system is thrown out the window. Seriously, fucking fuck North Salt Lake. After getting lost SEVEN THOUSAND MORE TIMES, we finally found the place.

I did my best to stay positive, because as we know I have RAGE issues that come into play at any moment. We left at about 2:30. We got the check at FIVE O’FUCKING CLOCK. Hubs’ boss had written down 900 SOUTH instead of 900 NORTH and that was the LAST GODDAMN STRAW. He didn’t fucking CHECK THE ADDRESS when he called people to find out (an hour into it at the taco bell) where the FUCK he was GOING.

On the way home I was so mad that I thought my fingernails would go through my hand if I made my fist any tighter. How do you not fucking check the address when you call the place you’re going? How do you not get COMPLETE directions, only directions to a vague area within MILES of where you’re going. How can you be so GODDAMNED STUBBORN?!?!

He got me my coffee treat, after I told him that that would be the appropriate thing to do, and I did my best to calm down. It took several hours.

Later, I was dying my hair so that it would go from “the color of my desk” which is a dusty reddish woodgrain color to “red without inch-long brown roots.” Hubs was snooping through my phone, reading all the messages from my depressed teenage nephew and my sister asking me to make more shit for her. Then he started looking through my pictures. God.

I have kept his Valentine’s Day presents so secret, and the one that I have obsessed over, the one that was so adorable and so perfect and I am so proud of it was one from MM. It was going to be the last of the gifts I give Hubs, the rest of which are meh. I took pictures to document it for the blog, that I was going to post after the holiday, and I hid them on picasa so that he wouldn’t accidentally see them. But he saw the one goddamn picture I took with my phone so I could show my sister how cute it was.

Rationally, I should not be so upset about this. Oh well, he found it, here’s your gift early. Emotionally, though, I am just broken about it. I’m even tearing up right now thinking about how it was ruined. My moment that I worked so hard to have is gone. There’s no more sitting there on Valentine’s and MM holds this big present and Mommy helps him give it to Daddy, and then Hubs opens it and he goes “Oh, this is perfect, this is wonderful.” No, he saw it on a crappy camera phone picture, and it wasn’t even done in the picture. I just cried. I sat down in the shower when I was rinsing out my hair and just cried. After the shower I sobbed on the bed. He kept trying to say that it was still special, he still loved it, it was great, we could put it UP on Valentine’s day. To me, that was just him saying, “You’re wrong to feel this way, I don’t sympathize, I’m going to fix it.” …and I got mad again because I don’t want him to fix it, I want him to fix me. I want him to sympathize, I want him to hold me even when I jerk away from his touch. I want him to know how to diffuse my anger without me telling him that that is what he should do. I want to blame him for ruining another present, another big present, another big moment. I can only blame myself, though. I wasn’t careful enough, I wasn’t secretive enough, I failed. I failed again. I have nothing substantial now. It’s a crappy present that I don’t even like anymore, and some other stuff that’s not nearly as special.

I should not put so much stock in the present, the moment, the holiday, but …fuck. Not that day, not the day we were fighting and I was angry and we were both frustrated from two and a half hours of driving around to find a place that I was starting to think didn’t exist. Not that day. It needed to be the day when we were happy, when we were loving, when the baby was awake so that I could see Hubs give him a little kiss on the forehead and thank him for “his” present. Not while I’m naked with a towel wrapped around me and hair dye in my hair. Not while I’m holding back tears because I know that every time I look at this thing that I worked so hard on, I’ll think of how I failed again.

So, there’s no use waiting until the holiday.

Substantial

I haven’t been posting much. Well, I haven’t been posting much and I haven’t been posting much substance. It’s hard to put into words the bullshit fuckfest I’m going through these days. I feel like I have two emotions these days:

Sad

Angry

That’s it. They lead to each other, they feed on each other, I start fights about nothing and cry for days, I get frustrated with the baby for being totally normal and doing what he has to do, and then I lay in bed and do the usual listing of failures at night’s end. I don’t sleep well. I take Tylenol PM on the nights where it’s Hubs’ shift, I take melatonin on my nights. Still, it takes a couple hours to fall asleep. I count. I count backwards from 399 and hope I’ll get lost in the numbers and fall asleep like that one time. I usually get through about 4 cycles of counting. I picture the numbers as I count them, I force everything else out, but it still creeps in. What will I do for money when he finally gets tired of my shit and leaves? How will I ever survive alone? Why won’t the baby eat? Why can’t I do 20 measly minutes of exercise every day? Why do I still hurt? How do I fix this? Why can’t I just call up a new doctor and make an appointment? Why can’t I call a moms club and just try it out? What am I so afraid of? Am I becoming agoraphobic? When did I last brush my teeth? My roots couldn’t be any more brown. I should make a list of things I need to do tomorrow. I should spoon Hubs so he doesn’t think I’m mad at him. How long should we wait to get that surgery on his nose? Should I be concerned about the new abdominal pains, or is it just my nerves regenerating from the c-section? I need more vitamin D. I need to get out of the house. I need to buy fat lady pants for that show because I don’t have any nice pants that fit. I hate the women’s section. I’m going to stay awake until the baby wakes up and needs to be fed again. Why can’t I sleep? What’s wrong with me?

Or, there’s the nights where Hubs will accidentally wake me up with a loud snore or – like last night – irrational fear about some FUCKING TICKING SOUND that magically went away the moment I woke up, and I end up seething with anger or silently crying because God, I was right there. I was right there.

Every weekend we fight. Every. Weekend. He was amazing this last week, and I still found a reason to be mad. I broke all of the pictures I made for our stairwell, I threw them on the floor, one of them scratched me. I told him to leave, and he did. I hyperventilated while holding the baby and wondered if he would ever come back. I wondered if he’d come back if I didn’t tell him to come back. I wondered if he’d fight for me. I wondered why I keep doing this.

The baby went through some hard shit last week, he took everything out of me and then some. I got to the point where I was physically unable to care for him through the night because I just couldn’t see him again. I just needed to be away. I needed to not hear the whining, the screaming. By the end of the week I felt dead inside. Then, of course, I choose to have a fight. Sad. Angry.

I told myself that all the depression was related to my thyroid, and I’m pretty sure that’s equalizing. I told myself that the anxiety was something I should just deal with, like I always have. But.

Well, I give in. I’ll be going to a therapist so I can talk at someone about how sad and mad I am, and hopefully they aren’t a douchebag that just says “This week pick your battles!” like that fucking bitch we saw as a couple. (She answered her phone, guys, in our session. She answered her PHONE. I could go on about her lack of professionalism and apparent lack of psychology knowledge or listening skills for quite a while.) I’m secretly hoping that there will be some sort of pill prescribed so that there can be a physical thing to prove that something is indeed wrong, because I don’t want that battle again. So, yeah, yet another privileged housewife in therapy. How original.

Which poo stain?

I’m ignoring the fact that the baby has taken me so far beyond the end of my rope this week that I cry, no, SOB every day because I am so frustrated and tired and sick of listening to the WHINING AND CRYING AND SCREAMING AND OH MY GOD GO TO SLEEP. I’m ignoring the screaming into pillows til I’m hoarse, and I’m ignoring the punching walls and locking the bedroom door for three hours. I’m ignoring the fact that I’ve said “I hate my life” “he’s an asshole” and “I hate him” and the fact that I’ve said these things just makes me…ugh. IGNORING.

So, instead, I’m painting and obsessively cleaning. Which brings us to:

I give you the cluttered master bathroom, in which I shoved many things just out of the view of the camera

I’m leaning toward adult poo on the right because of the cabinetry/carpet color, I feel it would be too similar with baby poo on the left. It is dark, but the bathroom is the brightest lit room in our house so I think it would work.

Now, then there’s the stupid toilet room off the master bath. Let’s pause for a moment and talk about the toilet room. I hate toilet rooms, I think they are the dumbest trend in homes these days. Since I lived with Hubs I have not once gone to the bathroom with the door closed (unless there’s company over, and sometimes I almost forget even then). I don’t care if he takes a piss while I’m doing my hair, and he knows not to take a shit while I’m in the tub. I think they are worthless rooms, and a couple should be comfortable having a conversation while one is evacuating something from their nethers. Now, wiping phase is another issue, but that’s a whole different post.

So here’s the room:

I’m leaning toward baby poo in this one since it’s so closed off from the world. It has the cheap-ass tile that is a different color, and I think it would look nice with the white toilet paper/stolen hospital maxi’s cabinet. The colors in both these areas (towels, toilet seat cover, and rug) are a sagey sort of green.

Now, opinions on the poo streaks?

Well, now that I’ve figured it out

This has to be the most patient kitty in the world. More evidence of MM’s undying love for all things kitty

Still funky

I’m so fucking uninspired. COP OUT POST WITH PICTURES ENSUES.

Doesn’t he look like he’s just a miniature 17 year old or something?

I’m working on those January funk projects, and got some ping-pong balls for the eyeballs of cookie monster. This one was the practice ball, made as fucked up as I could make it, and placed on Hubs’ desk in the hope that it would scare him. It did not. He just sat there trying to think of a nice way to say that cookie monster does not have such creepy eyes. MISSED THE JOKE.

Here is tutsie being the banker in our EPIC til-midnight Indiana Jones Monopoly tournament. (I kicked Hubs’ ass.)

I realized that I’ve never had a video of the boy on here. Then, I realized that I am too stupid to figure out how. Then I figured out how.

Here’s the plumps doin’ what she does best, plumpin’ around.

And, without warning, a fucking disgusting picture of Hubs’ toenail, which FELL OFF after he STUBBED his toe. GUH. Vomit. Go ahead and click on the picture if you want to see it in all its glory

Jackson thinks it’s fucking gross too, even though he bites off his toenails and leaves them in our sheets

Five months part 2

Because I can’t stop blathering on, that’s why.

Part 1

Four Weeks
Six Weeks
Eight weeks
Ten Weeks
Twelve Weeks
Fourteen Weeks
Four Months

Five months part 1

This post is so picture heavy, I feel like I barely blogged this month. I’m also going to break it up into two posts, because it is too hella long!

I really enjoy this kid’s company. I can tell that he trusts me to come to his side when he needs me – and because of that, the amount of endless crying has diminished quite a bit. There are more times where he’ll lay down and simply go to sleep instead of needing lots of coaxing and cuddling, and I can see him becoming more and more independent as the days go by. The independence has me zig-zag from bursting with pride to deep sadness, I’m so happy he’s growing up and becoming a boy, but when I look at him and see what he may look like as an adult my heart aches for him to stay a teeny baby forever. He amazes me with each new thing he discovers. There’s a whole world out there that he wants to put in his mouth and rattle around, and he’ll squeal with delight the whole time.

He’s become a bit dependent on me, though, sometimes only eating his bottle if it’s mommy feeding him…even though daddy does it exactly the same.  It’s flattering, and I’m going to take what I can get before he starts into the phase where he only wants daddy all day long while daddy is at work and my heart gets crushed. He lights up when I come in the room, whines when I’m out of sight, and has started raising his arms a bit when I walk up to him and he wants to be held. It’s sometimes tiring to be the only one who can put him to bed, but I do love how he melts into my neck as he drowses. Lately, though, I have started thinking he loves the cats more than his mom. He LOVES him some kitties.

Hubs and I continue to sort things out with each other. I have my good days and my bad days when it comes to depression, anxiety, or the deep seeded rage that jumps out of me at seemingly random times. I tend to blame and make him feel bad for… well, for just being alive sometimes. He is working on communication stuff and trying to get over his guilt and fear. Blah blah, marriage. We’re getting better though, annoyingly slowly, but we’re getting there. I’m starting to give a shit about it, which sounds horrible, “I give a shit about my marriage where before I really didn’t care at all whether he came home or not except for the relief from baby duties” but…there it is. I give a shit now, and hopefully my efforts will make a difference. I realized it’s unfair for me to ask him to make all the effort and forgive me my bad moments, when I am just waiting for him to fuck up again so I can scream at him and tell him not to come home. Common sense! Works both ways in a marriage! Dur.

My health is still…unhealthy. My joints ache like I’m 90, and I dread going up and down stairs. I barely eat and still gain weight, sometimes 2 or 3 pounds a WEEK. Even though I went in for another blood test after calling to complain about every joint in my body screaming at me, I have yet to get a phone call back. I plan on getting my latest blood test results and going to YET ANOTHER doctor. This will be doctor number five. Hopefully someone will give a shit or run the right tests or something, and hopefully it will be months instead of what I’m starting to think will be years until I get medicated correctly and feeling better. And maybe, just maybe, I can wear shirts made for a woman instead of just wearing all of Hubs’ t-shirts and the one pair of jeans I allowed myself to buy while at this ridiculous size.

In any case, Five Months! My god, we survived til now.

Nicknames:

• Bugs, bugga boy, buggy, bug, any derivation of bug
• Seal boy (because he refuses to use his arms during tummy times)
• Monkah boy
• The biggest/tallest boy in the land
• Baby guy
• Flying boy
• Raptor boy
• Squeeky door

Achievements:

• Sitting on the big boy side of the tub (sometimes)
• Balancing on his feets while being held up
• Balancing while sitting for …eh a couple seconds
• Barely any head wobble when sitting  up
• Much improved head lifting in tummy time



• Baby’s first Christmas and New Years (he was a champ with the millions of family around



• Laughing a LOT
• Fell in love with kitties, HARD
  
• Started learning how to pet kitties



• Great at grabbing in mid-air and when an object is laying in front of him
• Holding his own bottle (still only sometimes, usually it’s one hand on mom’s thumb and one hand on the bottle)



• Knows where sounds are coming from and looks toward them, anticipates sounds
• Got 4 month shots without fever or too much complaint
• Spent time in doorway bounce-a-bounce and loved it



• Learned to throw toys …repeatedly
• Has now eaten rice cereal, sweet potato, and banana with no problems



• Started sleeping during nap times with a blanket (blanks)



• Got his FIRST HAIRCUT! AH!

• Excersaucer came and he loves it



• Moved up to big boy car seat (sometimes)

Likes:

• All sorts of new toys
• Chewing on fingers, his or yours
• Pulling hair
• Sitting up
• Looooves standing on your lap
• Sticking his chest out
• Flopping around like a fish
• Starfishing it when sleeping
• His excersaucer
• His bumbo
• KITTIES!
• Sleeping with blanks
• Making noise
• Tickles
• Doggieballs

Dislikes:

• Still hates tummy times, once the distraction of toys and mirrors wears off
• Sleeping
• When mom is not around
• Being fed by dad
• When he’s forced to sit when he’d much rather stand

Five months part deux