…alternate title: F*** THIS!! ALL OF THIS!!
We’re going to cover the last 24 hours in my world. Buckle up.
About this time last night, we all arrived home from picking up my dear husband from work. He’s been extra grumpy and work exacerbates that, but at the core of it is the anti-anxiety meds that he’s been taking. I really like our doctor, but she put him on these meds with instructions to up the dosage in a week if he felt like he needed to. Okay, 30-day supply at dose #1 is sent to the pharmacy. A week in, he increases the dose as she told him to…but that means that the pills ran out before 30 days. She won’t call in an increase until she seems him again – on the 2nd of March. The next earliest time that they could get him in would be the first; a whole day early! So, he’s been cold turkey off the medication for…a week or so at this point. I’m not totally sure, but I am sure that we have hit withdrawal. If you haven’t seen or experienced withdrawal from a mood stabilizer, let me tell you, it isn’t pretty. Years ago, I walked into my bedroom to find my now-ex sitting on the floor, holding his toes, crying. He’d gone off his depression meds and become convinced that he was going to lose his toes to Diabetes and that was what lead to him sitting on the floor, crying in his underwear. At 2pm this afternoon, after about 12 hours of sleep, hubby didn’t want to leave bed. He wanted to “crawl into a dark hole,” and was convinced that he wouldn’t be missed if he did so. He’d also bottomed out into the frustration that he can’t find a solution to the acid reflux and I’m always in pain with no answers either. Riiiiighty-O, so…you’re taking that “half day” (he was scheduled ten hours today and one of his managers said that he could come in four hours later than scheduled/only work 6 hours…some f***ing half day, if you ask me, but…even though Sage’s stomach has seemed to stop its rebellion…four hours less at work seemed like a good idea).
We needed some things from the store. “Do you want me to go? Do you want to go?” “We can all go? I don’t want to go alone.” Yuuuup. Pod people took my husband. 99 times out of 100, he will opt to either go alone or send me alone to the store. Alright. Off to the store we went and he seemed to come out of it a bit, in spite of the 18-month-old acting a fool. (She doesn’t want to sit in the cart. She doesn’t want to be carried. She doesn’t want to hold our hands. She wants to go blindly running across the store and in front of shopping carts being pushed by people that seem to think they’re in the Daytona 500. It probably has a lot to do with why Hubs doesn’t like going to the store with “everyone.”) The worst was falling down the rabbit hole of the car seat aisle and even that wasn’t so bad…we left without one, but I’m ordering it on Amazon in the background right now because it’s $30 cheaper that way. We picked up dinner out and came home. Spent some nice time watching TV together before he had to leave for work. Cool. One fire put out and I’m fairly certain that he’s figured out at least a short-term way to handle things. Yay.
I feel like an elephant kicked me in the lower back and I’m not one to exaggerate. Sitting hurts. Standing hurts. Walking hurts. Laying hurts. Bending makes me want to kill myself. My right ear has been flaring up pretty badly. I’ve stepped up the nasal steroids that are supposed help with it from once a day to twice a day. The trade off being that my sinuses aren’t happy; they’re dry and my snot is red. (You’re welcome.) Oh, yeah…and my ear still hurts! Not sure exactly what I traded off there…dammit. The “post” partum depression has also started to work its way back in these last two weeks or so too. So, I’m not exactly sunshine and roses right now either. I’m holding it together…for the most part…but barely right now. If I complained loudly enough, I could probably be put back on some form of mood stabilizer myself, but…I know that’s not ideal for my pregnancy at this point so, unless something gets seriously worse…I’m crying when I need to and walking away from situations when I need to and riding it out. Twelve…maybe eleven…more weeks to go and then at least Sylis will be here and at least my pain should improve a little and I can start trying to figure out what medications might be helpful from there, even if nursing turns out to not be the right choice for us this time around. But I mention all of this because…
The 18-month-old is driving me insane. She wants NOTHING to do with her toys. All she wants to do is get into stuff. If she’s got a toy, it’s because she’s using it to stand to try to reach something that she isn’t supposed to have. There aren’t enough cabinet locks and places out of her reach. I’m about to take down my desktop computer – it won’t connect to the internet right now anyway – and store it in the basement because she keeps turning it on, messing with it, and trashing my desk area at large. And that’s not even the half of it…paper, water bottles, cups, drying dishes, ANYTHING…if you forget and set it down on a counter (including the taller kitchen counter now too), table, or desk? She’s got it and she’s destroying it, dumping it, whatever. If you try to take something away from her, she runs. Did I mention that moving, period, hurts? Chasing down a toddler, bending over to pry whatever thing she’s stolen out of her hands, and then listening to her scream and cry about it is making me crazy.
If that weren’t enough, she likes to climb up into my husband’s desk chair with me. She especially loves to dig her feet into my lower back behind and grab fistfuls of my breasts to use as hand holds. Telling her, “No!”, putting her down, and showing her her toys are all met with her repeatedly returning and doing the exact same thing at least a dozen times in a row before she MIGHT wander off and find something else that isn’t her toys to get into.
Changing her has also turned into a new fresh hell. We want to get her in the habit of sleeping in her own bed/room before we start potty training, but still hoping that we can start potty training at least a few weeks before the baby is born. Anyway, the thing right now is to kick, scream, arch her back, and basically try to crawl away while being changed. Again…my whole body hurts. My stomach is huge. Shy of literally sitting on her…I’m not sure WTF to do with this. (And, of course, as I type my bitch fest here, she’s being adorable playing with two Little People princesses in a little taxi… We’ll see how long that lasts…)
Not to be left out, let’s discuss the 8-year-old… Also known today as “the straw that made the camel light the f***ing barn on fire.” (Sorry…is that not the way that saying goes…?)
My husband snapped at her this afternoon because she literally walked in the door and flung all of her things around the living room like a tornado before prancing off to help herself to a snack. I almost felt bad; he’s been so short tempered because of everything else… But at the same time…I fight this fight with her each and every day. She treats her things terribly; she’s gone through two backpacks already this year and is now on my old (but still like new after 4 years in college because I take care of my things…) one. I douse her shoes in Fabreeze every time I can find them; they’re supposed to be put up on the shelf in the mud room, but usually, if they even make it to the mud room in the first place, she’s tossed them willy nilly out there and often next to the cat boxes…WTF?! Her coats are always on the floor. Sweaters, socks…everywhere. She’s a pig. She has not been raised that way, but she…is a pig. She’ll literally fight me on cleaning her room because she “likes it this way!” with trash and papers everywhere. For that reason, I tend to try to avoid her room. She’s supposed to pick it up every weekend but…half the time (or more)…it’s not worth the blood pressure spike to double check it behind her.
Earlier today, she asked about watching a movie. Okay, whatever. I’d basically cashed out on this day anyway. Your homework is done and your room is clean enough? Go for it. Tonight I walk out into the kitchen and there are DVDs and DVD cases all over the kitchen counter, which, frankly, needs NO help being cluttered and this isn’t the first time; last night was the same thing, but I just picked it up and hoped it was a one-off. Nooooope. So, there’s no more TV for a while…I go off to try to find the remotes. One of the two is put up where it should be, but the little plastic clip that holds the battery cover on the Roku remote is busted and we haven’t even had it for a whole three months… Promising. Where’s the other? I reach into the couch cushions and come up with…a dirty sock. I move the cushion all together and I find the remote…as well as the scene pictured above. That’s socks, crackers, cracker wrappers, and batteries…which aren’t from either of the remotes…just, you know, floating around where the toddler could get them and put them in her mouth…choke…swallow one…whatever.
She’s not watching TV for a LONG time. She’s coming home tomorrow, doing her homework, cleaning ALL of the living room, and then writing me a letter of apology AND explanation for this s***. And then she’s not to be in the living room until further notice. This is so far from the first time she’s pulled this that it isn’t even funny. She’s done the same s*** for the last 3+ years. When she was 5? Whatever, maybe it was normal 5-year-old BS. But she’s still doing it, 3+ years later. If anything, she gets worse. I just threw out a tub of frosting the other day – AGAIN – because I took the lid off of it and there were clearly finger-swipe marks through it. Ya know…I wouldn’t even care – and I’ve said this TO HER MULTIPLE TIMES BEFORE – I wouldn’t even so much care if she did it with a butter knife or spoon. But your f***ing fingers?! In the middle of cold and flu season?! I saw the cracker box for the crackers that are down in the couch in the trash yesterday and I knew she had to have pretty much eaten the entire box in one sitting. I wasn’t running out to buy a replacement, but I didn’t say anything about it to her or when she didn’t want to eat her dinner that night. If she’d have thrown the wrappers and cast off crackers away, I wouldn’t have cared. I’m only LIVID now because THEY’RE IN MY F***ING COUCH!!
Moreover, the MINUTE that she sees a bug from it, she’ll lose her damned mind, expect me to drop whatever I’m doing and kill it for her, AND tell anyone who will listen that our house is crawling with them! No. Just…no. F*** that. F*** her attitude and stunts she keeps pulling. I’m f***ing DONE. The Rubicon has been crossed with me when it comes to her. I hope things work out come August and that my ex is happy to keep her on…otherwise…it is, no joke, time to discuss boarding school. I cannot do this with her, day after day, for years on end with her anymore. I just can’t.
So, when nobody hears from me for a week or more? I’ve probably checked myself into Casa de Psychward because I needed a f***ing break. Which I told my husband I needed last Thursday. He followed up with me on Friday, letting me know that he was scheduled for two 10-hour shifts and a 12-hour shift this week on top of working through this weekend. I know he doesn’t write the schedule, but just the same…f***ing thanks, honey!
RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!! *flips a table and walks out of the room*