Anyway, week 25

I’ve been forced to start wearing my nursing bras because my boobs won’t stop growing, and I’m not going to buy more even though they are 2-4 inches too big around. I’ve only gained about 16 lbs this pregnancy as opposed to the holy smokes seventy-five last time. I feel like my belly is about the size it was at the end of my last pregnancy, but that could just be me feeling whaleish.

The other day I had to go into labor and delivery to be monitored for a few hours. I had been having pains in my vagingo that I can only compare to being bayoneted, and then carried around on said bayonet. (Did you know that an old-timey slang term for vagina was “bayonete wound?” oh yes.) I didn’t know if my cervix decided to be incompetent or if I was just being preg-paranoid, or maybe round ligament pain as was suggested when I asked Dr. Twitter, but I decided to call the nurse line. She took all my info at around 8 in the morning, told me she’d talk to the doctor and get back to me.

Hours later I figured it wasn’t that big of a deal if she wasn’t getting back to me quickly, but then 15 minutes after nap-time started she called and told me to go to L&D right then. I had to wake up the poor little toddler after only 15 minutes of sleep, and damn he was asleep. I got his socks and shoes on him while he was still out, and I had to try twice to wake him up. He was very confused, immediately wanted the shit off his feet, and as I was walking downstairs with him telling him that we needed to go to the hospital, he burst into tears and just kept repeating, “back to bed, back to beeeeed!” Finally I calmed him down, told him I was sick and we had to go see a doctor right away to make sure that mommy and little brother are okay. I told him he could bring his blanket friends in the car and sleep in his car seat, but I needed him to be brave and strong. The little trouper accepted it, we picked up Hubs on the way, and went out to the hospital.

It was nothing, of course. Just a weekday hand-up-the-junk. I wish the nurse had said “if you have contractions go now” instead of “OMG GO GO GO” and scaring the everloving shit out of me. I was terrified the whole drive that we were going to lose this baby in the second trimester and I just would not be able to live through that. Our hospital is also 45 minutes away because we chose a doctor further away thinking we’d be moving down there. We didn’t move down there, but the medical care out there is better and I just didn’t want to switch. Whatever.

So, after the monitoring, no contractions, the hand up the junk to make sure everything was competent, we went back home. The boy never did take a nap that day, only went to bed about a half an hour early, and wasn’t a total douche. It was one of those times where you figure your kid can tell that they need to be really good because Mom and Dad can’t take ANY MORE. I was essentially told that I’d have to deal with the awful terrible horrible pain, because yippity-doo that’s pregnancy! So some days I can’t walk very well, some days it’s just a dull ache. Some days it partners with perma-hemorrhoid and it’s just an amusement park of pain in my nethers. Yippity-doo.

But, it’s not like this pregnancy is worse, it’s just different. I didn’t have morning sickness last time, but I’m not having migraines with the same debilitating intensity this time. I didn’t feel like I was skewered with an acid covered rusty nail last time, but…I’m sure something else sucked dick and my hormones won’t allow me to remember it.

It’s fun to talk to MM about “littul brudder.” He finally caught on a couple months ago that we were serious about a baby in mommy’s belly, he likes to jiggle and kiss my belly…but that may be just for fun. He asked me about my changed boobs and nipples the other day when I was in the bath, and I explained how they’ll fill with milk and that is what little brother will eat when he’s a very small baby. He looked at me with a little awe, like I was magical, and a little disbelief, like I was full of shit. He likes to give pretend ultrasounds to everyone, and listen to the baby’s heartbeat in all our tummies. He still hasn’t felt the baby kick, and I doubt he’d hold his hand still enough to catch one, or even understand what it is. He enjoys picking stuff out and putting stuff together for little brudder, and we’ve been introducing a lot of big boy things for him to make him feel special instead of old news. We converted the crib to the toddler bed (also because I was becoming unable to put him in it with my belly) and he’s done great. He fell out once but now he puts a hand on the edge to gauge how much room he has. He’s using “mommydaddy” toothpaste, and getting more opportunity to brush his own teeth, spit, and oooh la la gargle. I force him to do a lot of stuff that’s helping him be more independent, partly because I sometimes just can’t get up, and partly because he needs a little push away from us doing everything. The worrywart still won’t walk up and down the stairs, he crawls them, but I’m not pushing it.

So. That’s where the pregtastic adventures of the Parkingathome family are at.

Frosty

So, we’re all fine with the fact that the kids stole this guy’s top hat, right? Jimmy Durante says that the hat obviously belongs to the children, but I sat there thinking, “Uh, no… those kids are being bully assholes with their mute rabbit felon accomplice.” I mean, yeah the guy wanted to throw the thing out because he sucked ass at magic and blamed his ugly hat, but how many times do we curse our belongings and throw them across the room only to go pick them up later after the rage has abated?

Why doesn’t the rabbit talk? Are we supposed to believe that snow comes to life, but believing that a rabbit could talk would be just too much?

Frosty can’t count to ten, but he understands the concept of thermometers. Huh.

THEN later Santa tells the guy who is just trying to get his belongings back that he’ll never get another present ever again if he tries to even touch his own hat and he has to go write down “I am really sorry for what I did to Frosty” a hundred ZILLION times so MAYBE then he’ll get SOMETHING in his stocking. Santa’s a fucking dick. Zillion is not a number, jerk, you’re setting up this guy for failure. He also says he’s an “evil” magician, but he just seems like a dumbass who is bad with kids, not evil.

Where are the police looking for Karen? Why isn’t she DEAD from hypothermia, since she’s not even wearing PANTS?

Santa Claus is Comin’ to Town

Bear with me here. So this little red-headed baby is left at the doorstep of this crochety old German tyrant in Sombertown with a note saying that the baby will be amazing if only you love it a lot, crochety old man. And surprise Heir Burgermeister Meisterburger (the best name ever) sends the baby off to the orphanage. Nay, the Orphan Asylum. Where is the story of the lady who abandoned this baby? I want to watch the claymation story of  Santa Claus’ Birth Mother is Comin’ to Town Filled With Regret.

Then little baby Kris is left at the Kringle’s doorstep, to be raised by these elves. Given the religious turn this little movie takes later on, I think it’s worth mentioning that Santa was raised not only by 2 dads, but by FIVE dads and their hag. Or maybe they were brothers? And an elf queen? Nah, 5 way gay and a hag.

Now, years and years later, Kris comes BACK to Sombertown, where all the people are so sad that the children all have grey hair. Everyone has black and grey hair except for Miss Jessica, who has the same bright red hair that Kris has. They fall in love and get married in what becomes an awkward and randomly Jesus-y part of the little movie. But, I mean…she’s the ONLY one with red hair in the town where this OTHER guy with the same red hair was abandoned…

WHAT IF MRS. CLAUS IS SANTA CLAUS’ SISTER? Is that the explanation for why they don’t have children? She keeps popping out eight-legged monsters that speak in tongues, or has to take special medication so that the fetus won’t eat her from the inside out?

I put blue wrapping paper on the walls in a couple places and put those little bulletin board boarder things around it, then Hubs made fish out of construction paper. I hung crinkled streamers as seaweed, and they were a big hit with the boy the next morning, because they made a swishing sound every time you walked down the hallway.

The first gift he got was an actual fish, from the tanks at the store that he ALWAYS asks to go see. The fish did not live very long, as we expected, but Hubs did save its little fishy life a couple times, once when a cat knocked it off the counter Lady-and-the-Tramp style and it was suffocating on the carpet, and once when the water got super murky, but then we put water conditioning tablets in the water and it died. Go figure. By that point though, it had been three days so MM had forgotten the thing existed.

When he opened his other gifts he did the completely natural thing of immediately saying, “more?” the moment he opened them without even giving them a second look but it. Was. Pissing. Me. Off. Ungrateful little beast! But he did get into the markers we got him and spent some time drawing.

Then we sat at the table and made fish magnets, which I don’t have a picture of even though they were on our fridge for months. We used foam paper and glitter glue and googly eyes and little pompoms and he had a blast getting messy and a further blast washing his hands.

After nap, I put him in his birthday shirt for a quick, uncooperative picture.

Here’s a comparison from last year:

And we went out to this children’s farmstead that we’ve frequented. We go there because living out here means goats, and lots of goats, apparently.

It was about 18,000 degrees out, but we lasted about an hour before we all melted into puddles of goo.

We walked through the butterfly garden, mostly because there was some shade, but all the butterflies were elsewhere, not letting their wings light on fire from the air around us.

The best part of the trip was when we sat next to the 7′x7′ fan in the shade and ate grapes. THAT was nice.

When we were done, we went home and had fishcake

And sang happy birthday to the boy. He put his finger right in the hot wax the moment I blew out the candle, but didn’t seem fazed by it in the slightest.

And why would he, for his attitude about cake changed in the last year from “EW” to this:

The last gift we gave him was a water/sand table that will stay simply a water table as long as I’m breathing. He went crazy on it as Hubs and I were counting the minutes until bedtime so we could rest.

All in all a great birthday: quiet, fun, full of 2-year-old joy.

Sometimes? I would even NOT WEAR A BRAR

It was hot as a sonofabitch, but MM and I were out doing activities with our new mom group, and when we weren’t doing that, we were doing fun stuff at home.

Like Pudding Finger Painting:

Which I love because I loved messes when I was a kid. Hubs has a really hard time letting MM get messy, but I usually let him go nuts and just toss him in the bath and call it good. Then again, while I was playing with home-made salt dough as a kid, Hubs was getting yelled at for spilling water.

And this mini train, which was hella awesome and we should have gone on it every chance we could:

See that thing he’s doing with his fingers? He did that ALL THE TIME for a few months. I found it very amusing and adorable, especially when he couldn’t get his fingers to match up.

Still very clingy:

And starting to become demanding:

This started happening, and got a lot worse until even on the occasions when I wanted to wear my wedding ring I could not because I had weeping blisters on my finger. I’ve become allergic to it and haven’t worn it since.

In August, MM got to be closer friends with all the kitties:

Hubs had a birthday, and if I remember right we didn’t do much because we were in the bile-filled anger fest cycle of fighting, but I got him a custom puzzle and a professional photography shoot:

And made a cake based on an iphone game he did the art for:

MM experienced his first midwest thunderstorm and loved every moment:

The baby dude’s personality started just busting out everywhere, with many hilarious pictures:

That’s a stick of cheese, my sunglasses, and a diaper. Isn’t he SKINNY?

Trying to describe in toddlerese why he should not have to clean up the marbles he had strewn about, while wearing two different socks from daddy’s sock drawer:

And then he turned 2, which I’ll post on next after I turn on Sesame Street.

Hi everyone, hope you’re all well! It’s been a while since I sent off a cute picture of MM, so here’s one from today!

Get it? Get it? Neither did they. I got three replies from sister-in-laws with various ways of saying “How cute!”

Disappointed! I thought for sure that people would be like, “Golly what does that shirt mean….oh my! OH MY!!”

And they’d all think that was just so fucking creative, not the same announcements and same shirts you can buy in the store. But, no. A doctor, a computer programmer, a galldamned librarian didn’t get it. Well, actually they didn’t even reply, their wives did. Lazy stinking brothers.

Too bad no one loves dystopian fiction as I do.

I finally had to pretty much spoon feed it to people on facebook, after the best quote ever:

“Did you Google it?”
“Yeah, I googled ‘Is watching you shirt,’ and it’s either ceiling cat or Jesus”

And people on twitter were all worried about east-cost-pocolypse, so.

I’m so awesome that when I read the instructions on the iron-on sheets, I figured that I could just type the words backwards. Mmmhmm, that doesn’t make them a mirror image. Fucking dumbass. I really liked this shirt, too:

So I’m five weeks pregnant, with a pregnancy brain to prove it. Doo doo doo dooooo!

I’ve been very tired. I’ve felt…sick? Not vomity sick so much as just a general “guuuuuuh what’s wrong in meee” feeling. More like dizzy? Seasick? Hungry but disgusted by food but only my body because my brain is okay with eating? I can’t really describe it.

The maintenance man made me cry, and then I couldn’t stop for about 45 minutes. Classy.

My boobs hurt so much I can barely move. MM learned, “No Boobies” yesterday when he was sitting on my lap and using them as he always does, smushy handlebars/great place for an elbow/padding for nosedives. I talked to him about what part of Mommy is boobies, and that they hurt, and that we shouldn’t poke them or push on them. “No boobies!” he exclaims happily in stores. A year ago I’d have been so embarrassed, but now I just excitedly reply, “That’s right! No boobies!”

I’ve also had waves of anxiety so strong it is almost incapacitating. I was up last night, bolt upright at 4:00 am, stomach churning with terror and brain boiling with self-hate. Most of the time my abs hurt from, what am I doing, sucking in protectively? As soon as I have my first appointment I’ll talk to our painstakingly chosen OB about it. For now I Tylenol PM it and breathe and tell myself it’s not real, and hope for the best…and that’ll probably be how it continues, I wouldn’t hope that there would be any sort of good medication available to safely take while pregnant.

But! Baby! Whee!

Okay!

It started as a really funny way to get what he wanted. This is how the scene would go.

“mumble mumble eat mumble”
“You want to eat?”
“Okay!”

Like it was all MY idea. Great idea Mom!

“Mumble cookie”
“You want a cookie?”
“Okay!”

Sneaky. Sneaky indeed.

Now, along with the sneak-manipulation, he says, “Okay” instead of “Yes.” It’s the most adorable little thing coming from his tiny mouth, always melting strangers when they hear it, and still melts me. He still hasn’t ever said “Yes.”

“Would you like a snack?”
“Okay”

“Do you want to go to the store?”
“Okay”

“Would you like waffles or pancakes?”
“Okay!”

It doesn’t always work…we’re still trying to figure out the whole choice between two things deal. It’s extremely cute.

He looks to me for confirmation that everything is okay, but he automatically tells himself that it is. He falls and says, “It’s okay, it’s okay. Aaaaalright.” Or, Aaawight. He says things in the same tone I do, same inflection. It’s O-kay, It’s ALright, in the same sing-song I use. He’s also starting to ask about the welfare of others, he’ll come up to me and pat me on the shoulder softly, put on his concerned face, and say “Yaaokay?” When he hurts me and is told to apologize, sometimes he’ll come up with his concerned face, patting me and just going, “oooh, oohh. Okay?” That face. I should see if I have it recorded somewhere. I drop something and he’ll chime in with, “Oops! Is okaaay!” I stub my toe and say, “OW!” and he does the, “oooh, oohh, y’okay?” routine. So sweet. So concerned for the well being of others. “Hort? Is okaaaaay.”

His oops has become “oopsies” which makes me giggle every time.

Careful

I put some pictures up on the wall above my bed. He was up on the bed walking along and pointing at each one, saying, “Pictchor!” Suddenly, he was on the floor between the bed and the table. Since then, everything is “Cairfow!” Careful! “Cairfow!” He tells the cats to be careful when they’re out on the deck. He tells

Singing

He’s gotten really into singing, even though he just sings the same words over and over. Sometimes I’ll sing the intro to a song and he’ll start singing it.

Dancing

The dancing, it is awesome

Mama-sa

Everything has a superfluous S in it, or an SA. Mama-sa, Amanda-sa. Mamas? Haurs (hanger), poopie-sa. I can’t think of more right now, obviously, because I’m trying to think of examples. It seems like everything is in the plural form with the boy though.

Bandaids

I was being an impatient, angry mom one day about his refusal to go up and down the eight billion stairs we have to climb to get out of our apartment and to the car.  MM scraped a couple fingers somehow during the clenched-jaw anger of “get yourself up and down the stairs I’m carrying a thousand things just DO IT” that happened. The scratches were pretty deep, and he had to have those tiny band-aids on his fingers for about a week.

After that he started saying “Baow?” a lot. “Baow?” he’d say, looking up at me expectantly. I hate having to tell him that I don’t know what he’s saying, he gets so frustrated. Finally, after I told him sorry I don’t know what Baow is, he pointed his fingers together in ASL for “hurt” and did his “Oooh, ooow, hoirt” routine. Thus, the word for bandaid became Baow. He asks for one almost every day, so most pictures show a bandaid in some random place on his arms or legs. It’s not because he’s hoirt, of course, because he’s Cairfow!

AH-gain?

Oh man. The way he says again just kills me. AH-gain?

Amanda and Banks

Man, he loves these things more than he loves his parents. The greatest punishment in our arsenal is taking away Amanda for only a moment, or a nap, and immediately he’s all “Sorry!” and hugs and kisses.

Pretend

He loves to pretend to do anything Mommy and Daddy do, even if it makes absolutely no sense. He pushes on the touch screen of the phone, he types at the computer, he loves hugs, he loves kisses. He pretends he is hurt a lot, or someone else is hurt. He pretends he can put US in timeout. He’s got a budding imagination that is a joy to watch.

Happy Two, Baby

I had long blonde hair that I burned the everloving shit out of my scalp for but it was just lovely (to me):

And then:

I went a year without cutting it….okay I cut it ONCE. I had to rid myself of the nappyness.

But here we are today (also 40 lbs lighter, which means the camera is much less angled):

It grew about 8 inches, plus a little for the ends I cut off, so just over a half an inch a month. It’s aaaaalmost able to get into a ponytail, and I think I’ll leave it alone until it can do so easily, then I’ll have a professional cut it in a way so that it doesn’t look like a mushroom cloud when I wake up. So! Now we know how very much your hair can grow if you don’t fucking touch it for an entire year.

When I met Hubs, he was desperate for touch as much as I, more so even, from living in his rigid Korean home. I got all I wanted and more. Kisses and hugs and hand holding and always somewhere we were touching.

As our relationship turned to marriage, we had nicknames for the way we’d cuddle in bed, named after the numbers our bodies would look like, the 4, the 14, the 15, tangled into each other, breathing each other’s carbon dioxide and mutual luuuuurve. Mutual reciprocation for the touch we needed for so long.

After MM came, I went through the standard new mother, “A small person is hanging on me all day, don’t you come and hang on me too” phase, and Hubs backed away. We both still needed touch, but I couldn’t, he couldn’t.

We turned to bad times, we got back on track. The touch took a long time to recover, maybe never got there all the way. I got really lonely, so lonely I thought I’d have to move across the country for someone to talk to me. I stopped hugging people because every time someone hugged me, I would start crying. That’s embarrassing enough when it’s your father-figure older brother who has already made you start crying because he said, “I’m proud of you.” It’s even more embarrassing when it’s a tender new friendship with a woman you don’t know very well. Then those friendships end…badly. Now I’m afraid to hug.

With the badness between Hubs and I as of late, the fights that were so urgent and angry that they couldn’t be kept to naps and after MM goes to bed – his little body running between ours as we scream at each other, trying to be extra cute to diffuse us. When the extra cuteness didn’t work, he picked up a favorite phrase, a scream-growled “fucking no!” said over and over, which shut the fight up quick with the shame and guilt of us physically hearing and seeing what we had rubbed off onto him. The fights that weren’t fights but steely, furious, silent glares at the other person made MM adopt his own furious glare. Funny at first, then heartbreaking when I realized it was my own face mirrored back at me in my 22 month old child. Whining catapults to screaming in a heartbeat, which takes my stress where it’s accustomed to going – screaming back. Hitting and kicking have become his communication, the only way I presume he knows how to get out his frustration. Mom and Dad scream, and then it’s quiet after a while. I scream, Mom gets mad. I’ll hit. It works.

Timeouts, holding his arms down and telling him hitting is not acceptable, walking away, making a joke, talking endlessly and showing gentle touching haven’t made a mark on him. Why would they? Those things don’t get him what he wants, screaming at me and hitting until I cry and give up work.

I’d say “little asshole” but it’s all me, isn’t it. Big asshole.

It’s been four days since he’s hugged me. It’s been three days since he let me kiss him goodnight, the other night he chose to slam his head into my nose as hard as he could instead of his customary back-arch away from me. He allows me to kiss his red panda good night, but not him. It’s been Three Days since he’s allowed me to touch him at all without hitting me.

I’ve told myself, “Terrible two’s,” I’ve told myself, “Phase,” I’ve told myself, “He’s just a baby,” I’ve told myself, “He is upset that he can’t voice what he needs.” It’s not true though, it’s me. It’s me making up for the badness with giving in, allowing the manipulation to escalate. It’s me needing comfort for my smashed heart and asking for it from a child, and him being so extremely smart that he knows he can withhold that comfort, that touch, and get what he wants through his new dickhead means. It’s me falling into the classic Wanting To Be Friend instead of parenting, treating him like a baby and giving him all he wants.

I’m trying this now. I’m matra-ing the shit out of myself that I’m not his friend, I am his parent. I’m working on my attitude, my reaction, my voice, my yelling. The method summed up is to tell the child what is not acceptable and the consequence, turn your back, walk away. It’s letting reality teach, something I’ve shielded MM from. Reality is that if you hit, I’m not playing with you. It’s not timeout and back to play and hitting, it’s I’m. Done.

So yesterday was essentially one big day of me walking away, one big timeout. The apex of the day was when I told MM that he must eat at the table, and eat what I give him. I ended up walking away. I came back later and he was up on the chair and had taken a few bites, but he was fucking around and seeing how big of a mess he could get away with. It had been such a hard day of so much taken away, I tried to be lighthearted, let him know he was loved, but he smacked me and smacked the food and I said, “We do not hit, I am taking the food away.” WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH

The poor freaking kid had been so hard headed he’d barely eaten all day. I brought over some grapes and told him he may have grapes. He smacked them out of my hand. “We do not hit, I am taking this food away.” I turned around, put the food away, and walked out of the room.

That kid sat in that chair for 20 minutes and did every cry I have ever heard come out of him. Every “Save Me!” cry, every “I’m hurt!” cry, every “I’m Dyyyyying!” cry. He even tried silence to see if I would come back, see if that was the manipulation that would work. I stood my ground, told myself I am his parent not his friend, and I sat on the floor of my bedroom waiting for him to realize that the consequence was real, a rushed “sorry” or (grr) quiet “socks” hoping I’ll think he said sorry, was not going to get what he wanted. It wasn’t a quick time out, it was real life. He did what he wasn’t allowed to do, and there was a real and permanent consequence. Oh lord did he hate that.

Finally. Finally, finally he walked into the room. There was not a tear in his eye, a sure sign that the cries were all 100% incredibly real sounding FAKE. I looked at him and said, “It looks like you could use a hug, would you like a hug?” He slowly walked toward me with his arms opened a little, came to my side, and hit me in the face as hard as he could.

What have I made.

I told him I do not sit with people who hit me, I turned my back, I walked away again. I sat and silently cried while not looking at him trying a new move of “super cute, we’re playing a game now where if you look at me I run away ha ha” to get me to diffuse what was going on, take away the confusion of this new reality bullshit.

He lost his bath because of hitting. He lost Moo Moo book because of kicking. He did not let me kiss him goodnight. He kicked and hit and flailed as hard as he could from the moment I picked him up from the changing table and put him in bed 5 steps away.

Things are better sometimes with Hubs, things are sometimes the same. He speaks of realizations and work he’ll do, but he also breaks promises and messes up. He says a lot of “I’m trying” which says “Half credit?” to me. I’m doing my best to let go of what I can, give chances where I can, give thanks to what I see, but I am impatient. With the last few weeks I ended up booking a hotel for two nights because after asking and pleading and crying for Hubs to give me a break from my workaholic mommying, a break I cannot cannot bring myself to simply take, I lost it and left. I needed to think a lot. I’ve thought a lot about the kind of environment MM is living in, emotionally. I realized a lot of the changes I’ve seen from “happy happy happiness kid” to” fucking no! kid” were because of Hubs and I. I thought a lot about how hard it is to do 5 days alone, and weighed my hope for change in our marriage against the poison of what it currently is.

I came back, of course. I always do. I can’t help but hope because otherwise I’d fucking kill myself, right?

We are still trying to have another baby, and the hole in our family and the hope in our hearts is telling us that even though things are hard, this baby needs to get here. But, to be quite honest, it’s a real big emphasis on “trying” in the trying to have a baby thing for me. The touch has been so absent, the trust has been long gone. Not consciously, but somewhere in me I’m saying, “I can’t let this touch bring me pleasure, that would be letting him in too much. Let him in past this point and it will hurt too much if (usually “when”) he hurts you again.” So it’s What Will Work Physiologically To Get Me There. Barely there. Not even there on my own, alone.

We had a fight over “X” which always brings up “A-Z,” and one of those issues was touch. I asked why he never kisses me unless we’re having sex, or maybe a peck when he leaves for work. We used to sleep holding hands after the numbered cuddling gave way to sleep numbers. I never get to be the little spoon. He doesn’t touch my back to lead me somewhere, he doesn’t put his hand on my knee as I talk to him. He doesn’t hug me, except as he arrives home – one hug each day if it’s been a very very bad day. It’s not that I necessarily blame him, it’s become customary to not touch, it was simply my sadness talking, and also feeling a little like…radio dials and a tube sock.

So, last night, after the touch discussion of the other day and the MM thing and the epic first day of the new method, he put his arm around me in bed. I just lost it. I sobbed and sobbed and sobbed. The only touch I got from anyone at all was from my son, and he hates me. The only people in my life won’t touch me. I hugged myself as he held me, probably very confused about why I was crying so hard, and it’s like I was trying to hold myself together. I was so lonely and so desperate for touch and so hurt that the touch is absent or violent, I just…felt like I was going to physically fall apart.

After a while of crying, of being in his arms, I started crying harder. I wasn’t crying about the mean toddler any more, or that I was finally getting held, it was that the fact that he was holding me hurt. I sat trying to remember the last time he held me while I cried, and I could not remember. The holding became too much, allowing too much in. I couldn’t let him keep touching me because then what if? When? How can I protect myself from the hurt of another broken promise if I let him in past point A? I had to stop, I had to tell him to stop touching me. I couldn’t be held, I couldn’t be touched. I’m afraid of touch. I crave and miss and want it so hard, but I am afraid. 

I know it will take time, like everything frustratingly does. Today, already, MM has shifted his behavior. He’s understanding that Mom won’t play with him if he hits. He’s understanding that screaming will make her walk away, not give him what he wants. He sat and ate breakfast and wasn’t a giant asshat. He (oh my god) told me his diaper was dirty, and then said “nose” to let me know it was smelly. He (holy fuck) said “Mama, sleep” and (Jesus H. Kracken) asked and then went to sleep for his nap.

I know…or I guess I hope that someday I’ll be able to be comforted in Hubs’ arms instead of cautious and sad. I’ll be able to casually touch the shoulder of another person without feeling extremely awkward and like everything I’ve ever done, ever is wrong. I’ll be able to hug without crying.

Mr. AiL,

I want to remind you of the letter that you sent Hubs and I, typed November 9th, 2010. Your words are copied word for word from your letter, and I would like to respond to them. My responses are in bold

Hubs, PaH

When visited you on August 20th on MM’s birthday, you told us you were coming for V’s wedding, since we came back home we so anxious and excited to see you and your family specially our precious grandson. When you arrived here on October 27th I knew that you staying on the Long Beach Marriott Hotel, although we thought you were coming to visit us during the next 2 days, even though you went to visit your friend, I think PaH could off taken the time to visit us and brought MM. MM is your son, but we are his GRANDPARENTS.

When you visited, we told you that we were coming to California for V’S WEDDING. We told you we would try to see you, but that our priority was to Hubs’s best friend, V. Hubs was the best man at V’s wedding, and this means that V, his bachelor party, his rehearsal and rehearsal dinner, and his wedding were the priority of the trip. It was very financially difficult for us to make this trip. The reason that we stayed at the Long Beach and then Temecula Marriott’s is that Hubs got a discounted rate good only for two nights at each hotel. At this point in time, MM was going to sleep for the night at 4:00pm, 3:00pm California time. As his mother, I know that his sleep is very important to his bodily health, and helps him be happy, aware, and better at learning. I make his sleep a priority. When we arrived in California, MM immediately went to bed. The following day, Hubs left with the car to go to San Diego to fulfill his Best Man duties as the great friend that he is. MM and I had no car, yet you expect us to get from Long Beach to Fullerton? It’s 30 minutes in a car, FIVE HOURS walked. Did you expect me to WALK to fullerton? You blame me for not taking MM to see you when I had no means of doing so, but you never once offered to come and visit US. You have many cars and could have very easily come to Long Beach and maybe played at the beach with your precious granson, instead you chose to be angry at me for something I knew nothing of, and had no means of doing. MM was asleep by 3:00pm that night any way.

The following day, Hubs’s Mother asked him to go to take a blood test to see how his cholesterol levels were. She lied to him and it ended up being an entire day scheduled of tests, full blood panel, x-ray, breath test, EKG, endoscopy, and probably more if the clinic were capable. This morning would have been the PERFECT opportunity to spend time with you two, but Hubs was stuck at the clinic taking tests. Meanwhile I had to pack up all of our bags, all of the belongings, pack MM in the car, make sure he napped well, and get ready to drive to Temecula all alone. We would have had time to see all your friends and thank them for their generous gifts, we’d have had time to have lunch with Mr. Kim and Mr. Park, but Hubs’s Mother took all of that time with pointless tests for a man in great health with no reason for concern. Even the doctor admitted to Hubs that he did not need any of these tests, but Hubs wanted to please his mother as best as he could. Eventually, he had to walk out as a quick blood test had turned into many hours, and he had to FULFILL HIS DUTY as best man, he had to TAKE CARE OF HIS FAMILY.

If you and PaH had a bit of respect for us she could off driven to our house or you can dropped them us to spend a couple of hours with us or we could off being more than happy to visited you at the Hotel but you refused either or.

Hubs has a great deal of respect for his friendship and obligation to his friend, the reason we were in California. He also has a great deal of respect for MM’s sleep schedule. He also has a great deal of respect for me and knows that even though I would be happy to let you spend time with MM, it is EXTREMELY DISRESPECTFUL to speak another language in front of someone. If you had any respect for ME you would have asked ME, in ENGLISH, if you could spend some time with MM and I. You never did. You made demands on your already stressed son, and he made the choice that he felt was best for his family. I support that. Since you do not speak in English around me or on the phone with Hubs, I am left out of any requests or discussions. If you had any respect for your daughter-in-law of almost 4 years, you would be respectful enough to speak English when I am involved. Out of respect for YOU, I have never complained, even when you talk negatively about me in Korean while I stand right there.

Your mother worked so hard to adjust your mortgage payment (with Chase Bank), but it doesn’t seem that you two appreciated a bit.

Hubs’s mother lied to us and told us there would be no fees associated with the lowering of our interest payment. The payment would be lowered only by $100 a month, but the $7,000 fee associated with it would throw us into more debt, and since we want to sell the house within the year, it would have INCREASED the monthly amount by almost $600 dollars. We did not ask her to do this. We did not ask her to lie to us. She said she would pay the fee, but that is wasted money for YOU, and we’d have never had her look into it if she had been honest about the fee.

Another reason I feel really disapointed is that my friend Mr. Kim, Mr. Park, and our neighbour Mrs. Collins whom gave the gold ring, toys, and baby spoon to MM on his birthday, Mr. Kim and Mr. Park they were willing to take your family as well as us for a dinner but this wasn’t possible because you didn’t give us opportunity.

The day Mrs. CiL took Hubs for the endless medical testing would have been perfect. Had there been a plan, had there been honesty instead of lies, there would have been plenty of time to see MM. It is not our fault that Hubs was lied to. He did his best to respect and please his Mother.

I understand you were here on California only a few days and even the fact that you couldn’t spend one single night at our house, but something that really broke our hearts was the occassion when you came by the house on Saturday (10/30/10 2:20pm), I can not conceive the fact that you did not come in my house for at least one minute (good excuse, no time), you deprived me from carrying MM in my arms, I was so anxious to see MM walk or even crawl all around the living room. Even though you dragged me to your car all I was able to touch MM’s little finger less than ten second. I couldn’t avoid tears coming of my eyes as well as your Mother as soon as you drove away.

I am a great mother, and I know my son. He was tired, he was hot. If we took him out of the car he would cry and be uncomfortable. He had been at the beach and needed a bath because he had sand on him. We were late to the rehearsal that we CAME TO CALIFORNIA FOR because Mrs. CiL kept Hubs at the clinic doing medical testing. I wanted to spend the small amount of time I had with my husband and child, but we gave that up for as long of a visit as we could for YOU. FOR YOU. You acted like a child, sulking at the steps, REFUSING TO SEE the child you had wanted to see. We had told the both of you over and over that we were there for the wedding, that we had many many obligations, and MM is a BABY and has limits. I was doing the best for my child by keeping him in his seat, and he fell asleep into the nap I knew he would take as soon as we got on the road. He would have cried had we taken him inside, you’d have told us we were bad parents. I did what was best for my child, while still letting you see him. I knew that we would have HOURS AND HOURS at the wedding to see you, to talk to you, for you to see MM in his adorable tuxedo, but we HAD to go. Hubs stood NEXT to the groom, Hubs was IN the wedding, he HAD to go. Had you not acted like a child and forced your own child to CARRY you to even SEE MM, you’d be sulking on those steps and had never seen him at all. We did the BEST we could.

I used to think that I had given you a really good education but I realized I was wrong.

An education isn’t throwing someone to tutors and throwing books at them always telling them what to do. An education is telling them WHY, an education is preparation for life, an education is understanding. He did the best he could.

furthermore I also think PaH could have hold Mom’s hand and thanked her for adjusting your mortgage payment but neither did you nor her did.

I. AM. FURIOUS about the lies. I didn’t ask for a mortgage adjustment, I didn’t want it. She never listened, she did what she wanted and lied. We would like both of your names off of the title to the house, and I will send the paperwork for you to do so.

PaH, I want to ask you one favor, put yourself in our position, and pretend your parents were one living in California, you think you would have disrespect us? In Korean’s culture someone that is younger than me can not call first name (specially Mother in law/Father in law Big Mistake because for us that’s a big sign disrespect.

1) I am not Korean, I would never know that
2) You never told me what to call you
3) My parents have asked Hubs to call them by their first names as a sign of love and inclusiveness, because we are in America and we are American citizens. Whether you like it or not, you raised your son in the American culture. Expecting me to know something about your culture that you pick and choose to be angry about is unfair and ridiculous.

Put yourself in MY place. I married a man who is not white. His parents yell with him in another language ALL THE TIME. The first time my father in law met me, he said I was fat, I was too short, and the bridge of my nose meant I would make a bad wife. Yes, I know you said this about me. I have been constantly disrespected and left out of conversations because it’s easier for you to speak Korean to each other. I have sat for hours not knowing what is going on, what people are yelling about, wondering if I have somehow disrespected some part of your culture that I have not known about. I have been timid, I have been kind, I have welcomed you into my home. I have not spoken up against you until now. I have been submissive and have watched you say awful horrible hurtful things to my husband for your own selfish reasons. I have done ALL OF THIS for you. I called you by your first name as a gesture, an American gesture, of kindness, closeness, and to show that I care for you as family. The fact that you spit back in my face that I’ve disrespected you for this one thing after 6 years of doing my best to be what you want me to be is infuriating. You do not even know the real me, you barely speak to me, you don’t ask me questions, you don’t listen to me, you don’t care. You can’t respect me enough to even speak English part of the time to me. You have both been in the country for 40 years, if you cannot speak English well enough to talk to a white girl, please have the respect to learn it. I am younger than you, yes, but I am an adult, I am your son’s wife, and I am your grandson’s MOTHER, so you show ME some respect.

We really expect for all this to be a misunderstanding and looking forward to see our grandson but unless you two really apologize from the bottom of your hearts I do not want to know or hear from you. I will pretend I have lost a son and you might as well forget you once had parents.

WE ARE NOT SORRY. We were honest. We did the best we could. You have not seen a picture of your grandson in 8 months because of this childish temper tantrum, blaming us for things that were out of our control, blaming us because you could not treat Hubs’s wife like a human being instead of just a grandson-making-machine that isn’t worth speaking to in her own language. It was so nice to not hear you hounding Hubs to do this or do that or get a CPA or get an MBA, and see him deal with you NEVER BEING SATISFIED. You never call to see how things are going, you only make orders. You don’t ask about MM, you only tell us how to parent. MM is an amazing child, he can say hundreds of words and puts together sentences, he can run, he knows Sign Language. He is 26 pounds and so tall. He smiles wide and happily with a mouth full of teeth. He has perfect beautiful eyes. He loves to read, he loves bubbles, he loves cats and dogs and hugs. MM has a wonderful father who tells him that he is proud of him all the time, gives him hugs, teaches him lessons and consequences, never demeans him or tells him that he’ll never be good enough.

As you knew we canceled to go V’s wedding with gift and money, as well as each of you $500.

You speak of disrespect. This is the MOST disrespectful thing you’ve done. V and K’s parents PAID for your meals, there were only two empty seats. How DARE you disrespect someone who isn’t even involved in this? How DARE you disrespect someone who has been respectful to you for YEARS? You could have spent SO MUCH TIME with us, with MM. This is ALL YOUR FAULT, yet you ask for an apology. WE ARE NOT SORRY. YOU should be sorry for what you’ve said and done.

It must be hard for you to know that it was so easy for us to go 8 months without talking to you, but it was. It was nice, it was freeing. If you want to TALK to us, we are gracious enough to allow that. If you want to TELL either Hubs or I WHAT TO DO, we’ll go ahead and forget that you exist, just like you asked.

So, it was very unfortunate that Mother’s Day was during that time, and that the make-up Mother’s Day was so speechlessly awful. But, we’re trying to move forward, even if I still think about that DO NOT OPEN envelope quite often.

Father’s Day was going to be fucking special. Since we are in a better place, it was a treat for me to have a day to spoil Hubs with family love.

Picture Post! It’s been a while.

MM and I started preparations about a week beforehand by painting a BIG card for his daddy.

It was an enormous mess, of course, but he had a lot of fun and it turned out great.

After Hubs got his present we sat around for a while and his children gave him loves

Then MM and I got to making the requested breakfast, biscuits and gravy with sausage and cheesy eggs:

MM has been very excited about his stepladder privileges, particularly the washing his hands part:

And the brushing his teeth part (while I make a dumb face)

We enjoyed some breakfast

And then finished with a news van driving around under an arm

We went to this place in Kansas called Wonderscope for our activity. It was such a blast. I want to live there. It has rooms and rooms of learning games. MM learned about motion:

And sound waves:

Played a lot of instruments:

(Hey look at the 15 lb weight loss poverty has given me!)

It was a lot of fun for Hubs and I also:

MM learned about bones, or rather he learned about turning on and off the light to the x-ray looker-atter:

And he had this giddy look on his face the entire time:

There was a room there designed specifically for the under-two age, so we spent a lot of time exploring in there:

We had lunch in the little indoor picnic area, and thought maybe we could stop there and go home before an over-tired meltdown, but kept playing instead:

And this was about the moment where I realized we should have just gone.

MM was a really good boy the whole time though, and the place was practically empty so he got to play all he wanted. We had such a good time, MM went down to bed without fuss that night, and Hubs and I spent some time together doing whatever he wanted to do, which was put together a puzzle. It was a day completely for him, and he did revert a little to spoiled kid mode, but it was his day so it was fine.

At the end of the night, though, as I was exhausted, I realized I now had a week of full time energy filled baby ahead of me, and wanted to shrivel up and die a little bit. After my Mother’s Day, which most likely will end up being “The Mother’s Day We Do Not Talk About Henceforth And Forever” I had a few realizations.

1) Mother’s Day should be after Father’s Day. They need to know what they need to beat, with the competitive nature. If you just throw a day of caring at them, they toss you a do not open envelope. I’m sure if Mother’s Day was the month after his day, it would have been a very different day.

2) The Monday after Father’s Day should be a mom day off. Period. I was so damn tired.

But it was worth it, it was great. MM had so much fun, and we made memories forever. We discovered a new place that we love, and had a great time together.