Third post of the day.

I’m not sure why I feel this need to clarify. But I do, so I’m going to.

The stuff I blog about is what goes on in my twisted head. Which means that it’s pretty skewed. You all are lucky enough to see the pale white underbelly, to share in my neuroses. All the stuff that goes on in my head, you’re privy to. Because I use this forum for working out my feelings and thoughts.

However. It would be an injustice for you to assume that JUST because in this head of mine I come up with a plan in the event that a bridge collapses when Baby O and I am in the car, I am a control freak. Trust me, my mother was the biggest control freak I know. I GREW UP WITH ONE. I will NOT do the same to my child.

Or my husband.

This morning’s post was a product of WEEKS of watching my husband miss things because of inattentiveness. Driving by daycare was merely an example.

And my husband is the first to admit he’s horrible at multitasking.

So my fears are not completely unfounded.

(However, I will give you that they are exaggerated.)

I balance my fear, my irrational fear of losing Baby O, with what I know he needs in order to learn. That means I do let him fall. I don’t hover, I don’t play the overprotective mother.

It only happens in my head.

I cannot stop the fear; it’s a product of our infertile days, and I manage it as best as I can.

But when I vent about the fear of something happening to Baby O because J has been “inattentive,” trust me when I say that it isn’t based on one episode.

That’s all.

Finding an answer…

I know. Two posts in one day – wow!

I think I’ve hit upon an answer. I think that there’s a distinct lack of communication between J and I right now.

And I think it’s because we haven’t really spent any focus on US in a long time. (Mostly because Baby O has some significant stranger anxiety right now. But partly because we haven’t really focused on us, either.)

So today?

I made reservations for us at our favorite sushi restaurant. And then made a reservation at a bed and breakfast across the street from it.

For next Thursday night, when my parents will be in town. In fact, by then they’ll have been staying with us for a number of days. And Baby O will be used to them.

And I am so damn excited.

Sure, whatever, I’m due to have AF then. But a night of unbroken sleep in a king size bed, after a fantastic sushi dinner? Where we don’t need to worry about dishes and bottles and cleaning?

That sounds like heaven right now.

I know it won’t solve everything. But maybe it’ll at remind us that we CAN relax.

Trust.

(Or: Me Working Through Issues In My Marriage)

J has been super busy at work lately. His coworker has been out on long term disability, so he’s picked up some extra work. And the other financial analyst was laid off. So it’s just J, doing the work of three people right now.

That has translated to some periods of inattentiveness at home; where J is so consumed with his thoughts that he a) doesn’t hear me when I say something, or b) doesn’t really pay attention to things.

A week ago, I happened to leave the house at the same time as J, who was doing dropoff that morning. As I drove past our daycare, I looked back in my rearview mirror to watch J pull into the center.

But he didn’t.

He didn’t turn into Dunkin Donuts either.

So I dug out my cell phone and called him to ask where he was going. You know, because he had the BABY IN THE CAR with him.

He told me that he had just “zoned out,” thinking about work and JUST realized that he had passed daycare.

I laughed about it in the moment. But then, as I continued my drive to work, the “what ifs” started seeping in.

What if he had driven the whole way to work?

Well, his lunch was in the backseat. He would have noticed Baby O when he went to go get his lunch.

Easy enough to explain away. Very VERY small chance that J would have forgotten Baby O in the car.

Yet when I went to pick him up a couple days later, I had a panic attack on my way in. And for a millisecond, I was convinced that I’d go to pick him up, and he wouldn’t be there.

He was, of course.

But. That incident, combined with a fight we had on Tuesday morning, prompted an email from me yesterday, where I told him as diplomatically as possible that I felt he was zoned out a lot of the time we were at home. And that it worried me.

And I spent a lot of time on it. I used the words “I feel like.” I was very careful not to attack him, criticize him, or say anything that, if it were ME, I’d take as criticism.

And the only thing he told me last night, when I asked if he wanted to talk about it?

“You’ve never trusted me with Baby O. Subconsciously, anyway. You’re just looking for reasons NOT to trust me.”

Of course I got mad, because really the point of my whole well crafted email was to tell him that I was worried his preoccupation with WORK was going to ruin our home life.

But this morning I’ve been thinking about trust.

Because there was a kernel of truth to what J is saying. Right now, I see him as inattentive. And because Baby O moves so quickly, inattentiveness COULD equal disaster. So right now, I probably DON’T trust him as much as I should.

The whole thing hinges on COULD. Often when I play things out in my head, I DO play out the worst case scenario. I am ALWAYS balancing keeping Baby O safe with letting him explore enough so he learns things on his own.

And that requires me to be in the here and now. I can’t drift.

And I’m the first to admit that my “COULD HAPPEN” scenarios are completely irrational. For G-d’s sake, I have a PLAN for if the bridge near our house collapses when Baby O and I are on it. I turn the pot handles IN when I’m cooking so that there’s NO chance Baby O can grab them, despite the fact that he’s YEARS AWAY from being tall enough to reach them.

So CLEARLY my scenarios are rooted in irrational fear if something happening to him. Because, you know, it took us a LONG TIME to bring him home. And at the end of the day, I would never forgive myself if something happened to him because I wasn’t paying attention.

Maybe I just expect too much from J. Maybe he’s right – I don’t trust him enough with Baby O. Certainly not right now, when Baby O is exploring his world and just doesn’t KNOW what can hurt him. I feel like we have to be extra vigilant right now.

We have to LET him fall, because that’s the only way he’ll learn how to land on his own.

But choosing to let him learn how to fall is different from him falling because we weren’t paying attention.

In my opinion, of course.

Maybe we just have different opinions on the whole parenting thing. Different styles.

Clearly that’s something he and I need to discuss.

*sigh*

Wordless Wednesday: Well, he WAS born on St. Patrick’s Day…

Argh.

I hate when my husband and I are not on the same page.

I’m sick of trying to open the lines of communication so that we CAN get onto the same page and feel like I’m talking to a brick wall.

I’m tired of feeling like I am the one who has to make all the decisions in our house.

I hate how, to “keep the peace,” my husband just goes along with a suggestion, even if that’s not what he’d do.

I’m tired of feeling like I have to pull teeth to get his REAL opinion on things.

I’m tired of feeling like I am the person who has to worry about the financial ramifications about decisions we make. (Because, you know, if something happens to one of us, Baby O will inherit our bad decisions.)

I’m tired of having to scream to be heard in my house.

I’m tired of worrying that because my husband is thinking about 17 other things in any given moment, he’ll do something like drive past daycare and forget that Baby O is even in the car.

I hate feeling WRONG all the time, like I worry too much, or I am trying to plan too much.

I’m just tired, right now.

I know that relationships have ebbs and flows. I do.

I’m just tired of the ebb right now. I could use some flow.

Mornings.

It’s morning.

I do dropoff today.

I always have to shower quickly, since I hear him babbling in his crib. He occupies himself fine, but there’s that guilt. I shouldn’t have him sit in that wet overnight diaper much longer. I hope he isn’t trying to climb out of his crib.

So I hurry.

And when I’m ready, I go into his room, and I get him into his clothes. And I sing my bad nursery songs to distract him from arching and fighting and trying to get down off the changing table. And I move quickly, because I know that I have about 5 minutes before he loses it and wants down.

And then we’re ready, and we go downstairs.

While I gather his belongings, and my lunch, and make my coffee, and eat a quick breakfast… he sits in his highchair, playing with his cheerios.

Then he yells. And does his patented “windshield wiper” on his tray, scattering cheerios and the water he’s dribbled from his sippy cup.

He is done with eating and wants down.

And so I leave my breakfast.

I take him into the living room. And I move the ottoman so it’s blocking the corner where we have our speakers, the basket of J’s magazines, and our dustbuster. And I set him up on the floor, with his toy drum. And his plastic rings. And I listen to the music from the drum, and his babbling, and his banging.

And I sneak into the study to read up on a couple of blogs, the ones I’m following closely right now. And I sip my coffee, and finish the rest of my breakfast, and rest for just a second.

All of a sudden, I hear slapping of hands on the dining room floor. And in a short second, I see a little face peeping around the corner at me.

And he smiles. Like he’s just discovered me.

And I smile.

When Nursery Rhymes Go Bad.

Or: Why I Need Remedial Baby Song 101. Do They Have Classes For This?

Example #1:

“Old MacDonald had a farm, EEYIEEYIYOOOO!

And on this farm he had a goat, EEYIEEYIYOOOO!

With a …”

(stops singing)

“Hrm. What DOES a goat say? Baa? No. That’s a sheep. Neigh? Nope. That’s a horse. Goats do eat a lot… maybe just CHOMP CHOMP?

You know what? I have NO IDEA what a goat says.”

(Looking at baby who is now confused as to why I’ve stopped singing.)

“Well, it’s not mommy’s fault. See, she grew up in northern New Jersey, where there weren’t many farms. The MacDonald she knew was a hairdresser.”

Example #2:

“Hush little baby, don’t say a word, mama’s going to buy you a mockingbird,

And if that mockingbird don’t sing,
mama’s going to buy you a diamond ring.

And if that diamond ring don’t shine,
mama’s going to buy you some turpentine.*

And if that turpentine don’t clean, mama’s going to buy you a laser beam.”

(stops singing)

“I mean, seriously. A laser beam? That will make you the COOLEST kid at school. We could zap things with it. Like the fat on mama’s belly. Though maybe that would hurt. Hrm. Ok, maybe we’d just zap bugs and stuff. Slugs too.”

________________

Is it no wonder that Baby O’s favorite song is the Beach Boys’ “Barbara Ann?”

(Which, as an aside, I just had to GOOGLE to get the name of the song. I had no idea it was about a woman. I thought Ba-ba-baran was just random.)

Clearly, I need help.

* I need to specifically make a (belated) call out to my good friend D, who, in fact, was the first person to put the turpentine bug into my ear, since she in fact used to sing the very same song to her daughter. For the life of me I CANNOT get it out of my head. Diamond rings that shine = turpentine to me. Really.

Wordless Wednesday: An uneasy truce?

Remembrance.

For Sylvia.
For Claire.
For Lucy.
For Devin.

Birthday month.

My sister in law used to celebrate her entire birthday month. Where I thought that was sort of tacky (and, well, I can be honest here. Annoying.) …

Last night I said to J, “It’s Baby O’s birthday month.”

Holy shit.

This weekend he learned how to pull himself up on the furniture. Oddly, it requires the use of his MOUTH on said piece of furniture, which is cute and endearing. We’ve had little O-shaped spit stains on our couch all weekend.

Which, as an aside – you know you’re watching too much crime TV when you think to yourself “hey, kid, you’re leaving your DNA all over the couch!” as you watch your son cruise.

We are also running low on formula, so this weekend we made the decision to buy a half gallon of whole milk instead of another tin, since really he’s only two weeks away from being at the age where cow’s milk is fine. We did a 1/4 – 3/4 mix for his morning bottle, which went over well.

And I’m convinced he learned how to say “more” this weekend too. He’s started to bark “MAH!” when he’s in his highchair. It’s very different from his “meh-meh” which he says when he wants me at night. Sometimes he’ll sign (his right finger to his palm), but this weekend he he just spoke it.

I just cannot believe that he’s almost one. An entire year.

This past year has changed me forever. I don’t remember what it was like before him.

And we have so much to look forward to.