Unplanned Parenthood

Awestruck Part 2: Playing with The Boys

I haven't said a whole lot about Randall here for complicated reasons that are probably more complicated in my head than in real life.  My ex-husband's family reads this and, as such, I've kept a lot to myself in regards to my personal life.  The truth, however, is that I still have a very good relationship with them and I can't imagine that they want anything except for us all to be happy.  Also, this is my space to write and to keep a record of my life.  Because god knows I never filled out that goddamned baby book.  Look, Jack!  It's your online baby book filled with 4-letter words and your mama's anxiety-ridden post-partum depression!  You're welcome.

The thing is, I am officially divorced, I have a great relationship with my ex, and he's remarried to someone I really like.  AND HOLY SHIT, WHO KNEW I WOULD WRITE THAT SENTENCE TWO YEARS AGO.  Not me, that's for sure, but man-oh-man am I glad I can write it.

And now that I've given myself the liberty to write about him, I don't know where to start.  I just...I love him so much.  We have a partnership that is based on mutual respect, love and a lot of communication.  He is so good to me, so thoughtful and kind and funny and stubborn and hard-headed and smart and handsome.  He's really good at coming up with goofy, alliterative names for objects.  He's a good tickler and cuddler.  He sucks at cooking.  He likes cherry candy.  He's not perfect, I'm not perfect, but so far we seem to be pretty close to perfect together.

And, he is so good to Jack.  Jack ADORES him.  Randall has more patience than me, plays better than me, he does a lot of things better than me and it really balances out my own parenting skillz.  We discuss the best way to tackle an issue, we work together.  He set up the whole schedule for getting Jack to sleep in his own bed again and was more than an equal partner in making it work.  Like, he did most of the work.  Fine.  All of it.

I am so thankful for this love that I've found and this relationship that we're building.  It is good.  Deeply, truly, sincerely good.

And now we're moving in together.  The four of us.  There will be bumps in the road, there will be a feeling of being unsettled and figuring out where we all fit in and how the schedule works, but I'm confident that we can do it together and that feels best of all.

 

 

Awestruck: Part 1

The last time I checked, it was May.  And then I blinked and now it's, like, July.  Almost August.  I am a terrible blogger.

Jack and I are moving in with Randall.  We will all be living together, with the weiner dog, in a place we found this last weekend.  It is an adorable home and as much as moving sucks donkey balls, I'm excited to get settled in our new home.  All together.  Things are so, incredibly, deeply good.

Jack started his new daycare last week, after returning from his dad's house to find his new room all set up (we're briefly living with Randall in his place - a long boring story that doesn't affect a whole lot).  Oh god, I felt guilty.  Yes, I know we're doing the right thing and I feel good about his new daycare, our new house, and our new co-habitation situation.  I feel really, really good about it.  But I feel insanely guilty about the uprooting.  Jack has had so much change in his short 2 years.

The first two days of daycare he cried when we left.  Then it got better over the next few.  This morning he went right to his teacher, gave me a kiss goodbye and then waved at me as I drove away, his little nose pressed up against the window, his dimples deepening with his big grin.

This child, oh my god, this child.  He is a trooper.  He sleeps in his own bed in his new room, he asks for big hugs, he asks for Randall and the weiner dog and tells me loves me all the time.  He also tells yogurt, the couch and his tricycle that he loves them, but I can tell he probably loves me more.

Of course he is challenging and is testing boundaries like any healthy 2-year old, but I have never met a sweeter boy.  I am so thankful that he is mine, that he is growing up okay so far, even though I'm not always patient, sometimes I give him hot dogs for breakfast and try to coerce him into watching Elmo so I can doze on the couch for another half hour.  He is growing up to be more wonderful than I ever could have imagined, in spite of my flaws.  His resiliance, humor and goodness are astounding and inspiring.  I only hope I can be the mother he deserves.

Separation Anxiety

My friend Carmen asked if I knew why Jack was going through the Very Traumatic Separation Anxiety.  From everything I've read and everyone I've spoken with, it's a normal phase at this age.  Part of it, I'm sure, is that he's spending every other weekend with his dad and I'm sure that's screwing with his schedule, but separation anxiety (apparently) peaks between 1 and 3 years of age (2 next month! Right on schedule, kid!) and then they "grow out of it."  That phrase is one that, in my mind, is followed by, "good luck, sucker."

For the past several weeks, Jack has an absolute meltdown when I drop him off at daycare.  The minute we walk in, he hugs me tight and lays his head on my shoulder.  Bittersweet, to say the least.  He has ended up sleeping with me for the last week because, frankly, I'm tired of cleaning up barf when he cries so hard.  And if he's in his bed, he's crying.

I have a couple idea with how to combat this sleeping arrangement because, in all honesty, sleeping with him SUCKS.  It's like sleeping with a very energetic octopus, all hopped up on Red Bull and snorting lines of cocaine in the bathroom.  I woke up with him attached to my head, with his feet against my throat.  And by "woke up" I mean I tried to lay quietly while he suctioned himself to my face.  It was 4am.  At least one of us was asleep.  So!  The possible solutions which probably won't work but I'm trying anyway because I have nothing better to do with my time at 9pm on a Wednesday:

1.  Soft music and laying in his room until he falls asleep.  He has a little futon in his room, so I could, potentially lay in there and read until he (fingers crossed) passes out.  It's not so much that he insists on sleeping in my bed, it's that he insists on being able to see me when he goes to sleep.  Also, he likes to rub my back while I rub his.  It's pretty much the most adorable thing ever.

2.  Transition to a big boy bed.  *shrugs*  I actually have no idea what this would actually solve except that I could lay with him and he wouldn't feel confined or restricted like he does in his crib, a feeling which has been utterly rejected from birth.  Swaddle?  HA HA HA HA.

I don't know.  We have a great routine at night with bath and milk and books and laying and talking softly.  Same time, same routine, he's obviously tired, put him in the crib and he screams until he barfs.

He'll grow out of it, I'm sure.  What I'm not sure of is whether I will survive this particular phase.  I have only a couple hours to myself at night and this has summarily trounced those hours.  It was valuable time I used for playing poker, watching p0rn and biting the heads off kittens.  I'm kidding!  I don't even know how to play poker.

So, with that bunch of paragraphs that says absolutely nothing and comes to no conclusions other than, "Suck it up," let's look at some pictures from our recent trip to Gilroy Gardens and Pebble Beach!

He insisted on wearing his hat this way:

Only moments before he ripped off his sunglasses and threw them on the ground.  Where they were crushed irreparably by the basket of our hot air balloon ride.

Dog Tired

R and I (and another friend) went backpacking this weekend and did 23 miles in 3 days.  It was awesome and amazing and I've never been so physically exhausted.  I'll write more detail later, but here are some pictures in the meantime...

I don't even want to know how long it's been.

Uhhhhh.  Bullets?  That seems appropriate.

• I accepted a new position within the Very Large Corporation (VLC) and have spent the last couple weeks settling in, transitioning out of my old role and into the new.  It's kind of like shedding a skin.  I almost feel like I get a do-over, a clean slate.  Not that it was bad before, I'm just pretty excited about what I'm going to be involved in now.  VLC sponsors some very large events globally and I'm going to be helping with the planning and compliance within those large events.  Could I be more vague?  Aren't you excited for me?  Yet, don't really understand what the hell I'm talking about?  Me, too.  Either.  Whatever.

• The bummer of my new position is that it requires me to commute to a different location, a location that is not supported by the Bay Area ferry system, which means I have to driiiiive.  Arrrrrggg.  It's not terrible, per se, but I can see if getting old.  Quickly.  My lease is up at the end of July (has it really been almost a year?  REALLY?), so I'm considering living options.

• As you may have read on my little twitter blurbs over there --> Jack is going through Major Separation Anxiety (which I'm assured is totally normal for a 2 year old) (TWO?!) and has decided he is only going to be sleeping with me thankyouverymuch.  The alternative is that he cries until he throws up, will not calmed down.  I've tried so many things, and I'm starting to think that it might be time to move him into a big boy bed.  At least in that instance, I can lay down with him until he goes to sleep.  Mommy needs her space and the co-cleeping with a thrashing wildman just isn't very restful.  Just because his feet don't smell yet doesn't mean I particularly want them shoved up under my chin.

• Things with R are wonderful.  We are building such a good, solid, loving relationship and Jack just ADORES him.  When he's around, I am chopped liver.  Which means I am also able to do things like pee with the door closed.  WIN.

• R and I are going on an 18 mile backpacking trip this long weekend.  So far, I haven't let on that I'm terrified that I'm not strong enough to do it.  18 miles!  With a pack on!  I will probably die, so please know that I love you all.  If I do, by some miracle, make it back, I will throw some pictures your way.  I'll be the one on collapsed on the ground.

• Life, overall, is good.  There are tough things and hard days, but overall we're doing really well.

7:30 and still quiet...

I'm letting Jack sleep in this morning.  He's usually up between 6:30 and 6:45 every morning, like clockwork, but here it is almost 7:20 and I've heard nary a peep.

I am still fighting the plague swine flu Virus of Death, still coughing like a pack-a-day smoker and blowing my nose every 5 minutes, but I'm definitely on the upswing.  Miracle of miracles, it appears that Jack and R managed to escape unscathed.  I'm pretty excited to be feeling better just in time for my root canal on Friday!  Wheeee!

My mom was here this last weekend and we had a blast.  I wish SO MUCH that she lived closer.  I know that, at least for now, I'm here in the bay area and I love it here and this is where my life is, but selfishly I just wish there was some way she could live closer to us.  I love seeing how close she and Jack still are.  He sees her and his face just lights up.  He was crushed when he realized she wasn't getting back in the car last night when we dropped her off to go home.  Those 10 months of living in Washington bonded them.  Please send a million dollars so my mom can move closer to me.  The end.

Anyway, we went back to the Discovery Museum and had an absolute blast.  We are now card carrying members of both the zoo and the museum.  I am nothing if not bound and determined to not have an empty afternoon with beautiful weather and nothing to do.  Jack is climbing the walls after an hour and I consistently make the mistake of trying to get something done like dishes or sweeping and then we end up fighting over it.  We really just need to get the hell out of the house. 

Well, to wrap up this post about ABSOLUTELY NOTHING, here: I'll shove some pictures at you.

Easter. 2 Weeks Late. Shut Up.

I was not raised with religion.  We rarely, if ever, went to church.  So, for me, Easter is about egg dyeing, egg hunting, candy eating, and really just the celebration of spring in general.  I like the pagan origins of Easter - the celebration of fertility and new life.  Also: Cadbury Creme Eggs.

This was the first year I attempted to do the Easter thing.  Jack had no idea why we were doing these things, but I think he enjoyed himself.

Not a lot of delicate, purposeful dyeing going on.  More of a Chuck the Egg in the Pretty Colored Water approach.  The dye, it was everywhere.  You can see how intent he is about his art, though.

Did you know the Easter Bunny can actually come at any time of day?  Our Easter Bunny conveniently showed up in the late afternoon while Jack was conveniently otherwise occupied.

Jack had no idea why the hell we were finding brightly colored plastic eggs in the front yard.  When it was verified that yes, indeed, there was candy in those there eggs and he had permission to eat said candy, then lo, the eggs were hunted.

As if this day couldn't get any better, the Easter Bunny outdid him/herself with OMG BUBBLES.

It appears the Bunny redeemed himself after an ill-fated visit the previous day.

I really just feel bad for the Bunny.  Based on Jack's reaction and those of the kids who sat on his lap before Jack, I think he had a really long day.  Here, Bunny, have some bourbon.  You deserve it.

Kissing the Lipless

The problem with falling out of the habit of writing is that you get to a point where there is so much to say that it's tough to know where to start.  On the other hand, maybe writing here will help me compartmentalize all the happenings.  Or maybe it will come out as one big jumbled mess.  I'm pretty sure the latter is more likely.

I've been horrendously sick the last 5(!) days and I just can't seem to shake it.  According to the "doctor" with the "medical degree" and "years of experience" it's just a virus, but My Professional Opinion is that I'm dying of A Very Rare Disease they don't even know about.  I'm probably going to make medical history.  Not that it will matter because I will be dead.

With the illness and the massive quantities of codeine cough syrup, I haven't had a cup of coffee since Saturday.  I am now sipping my first cup and based on my current heart rate this post will be approximately 147 pages long.  Wheee!  I just couldn't take the debilitating headache anymore.  It's the only legal substance I could think of to help me out; at this point in my life I'm not even sure where the kids go to get the good stuff anymore.  Daycare?  Commuter Ferry?  Target?

Aside from feeling like hell, I'm also in a little bit of a work crisis.  My favorite boss up and left the company (for good reason - it's not an easy place to work) and now I feel like I'm kind of floating in no man's land.  The company I work for has this divide between the Old Company and the New Company and there's a whole hell of a lot of back biting and in-fighting and, well, there are a lot of people who are paranoid and there is a general territorial attitude which is, quite frankly, really hard to be around.  I have friends at work, but people are not really that friendly.

Example: I work on a floor with a lot of Human Resources folks.  There are probably 50 people total on my floor, so we see each other every day, several times a day.  The HR people won't even make EYE CONTACT with anyone on the elevator, much less smile or be friendly.  It's crazy.

So, when my boss left I sent my updated resume over to my recruiter just to see if what was out there (a Cover Your Ass move, in case the company decided there was no place for me with my boss gone).  Yesterday she called me with the news that I scored an interview with a serious, kick-ass firm.

Here's why I'm conflicted: my company now is pretty flexible, but they also treat people in my position with a general lack of respect.  But they are flexible.  But not very nice.  Also, I don't want my resume to read like I've jumped around a lot.  I want to find a home in a company.  But I don't want to settle somewhere where a lot of the people are miserable and paranoid.  I want respect.  I also need flexibility because of the whole parenting gig.

Anyways, we'll see.  In the meantime, Jack and I are having a blast together.  Everyone told me that this is the age when it starts to get really fun, and boy howdy were they right.  This kid is hilarious.  We went to the Bay Area Discovery Museum a couple weeks ago and had an absolute blast.  I would move next door to this place if I could.

Ah, pure, exuberant toddler joy.  I love it.

So.  Any career advice?

Devil's Hole

(I mean, honestly.  Can there be a a name with more possible inappropriate connotations?  I'm giggling and I DON'T EVEN KNOW WHY.)

R and I did an awesome eight (8) mile hike on Sunday in Las Trampas.  We hiked DEVIL'S HOLE.  (Really.  I don't even know why it's funny.  I am a 12-year old.)  The hike was much more challenging this time because we didn't have the munchkin with us (and were therefore able to travel more than 100 feet past the trail head), so we went up some burly hills while trying to hold a conversation and sound less out of breath than each other.  (I won.  Declared by: ME)

It's been raining in the bay area and the usually golden hills are a bright neon green.  It's a special time of year and doesn't last long, but the green is truly technicolor.

We hiked to the top of one ridge, where the wind whipped over the edge and directly through every piece of clothing we had on.  Aiiiieeeeee...

And then we made it to the very top.  Check me out, I am like Columbus.  (Except for the whole murder and displacement of an entire race.)

And then we hiked down the HOLE and had lunch and got a little shmoopy.

And then we did the robot.

Okay, R was the only one doing The Robot.  But he's definitely better at it than I am.

LOOK!  WEEN!

Introducing The Ween

Okay, fine.  You're all, "but if a 15 pound weiner dog can make the hike, doesn't that kind of make you a couple of pussies?"  Seriously, this dog was TUCKERED OUT at the end of this hike.

It was one of those absolutely perfect days for an outdoor excursion.  A little muddy, but 60 degrees, sunny, light breeze.  Doesn't get better than this.  Well, it might be better once Jack gets old enough to come with us.  For now: heaven.

Fitness. Because that's what's on my mind. Aren't you lucky?

Since going back to work full time in August, my exercise regime has become, well, essentially non-existent.  I hike and run sporadically, do the 30-Day Shred sporadically, and go for walks more often but at a rate that still qualifies as, you guessed it, SPORADIC.

I'm desperate to start working out regularly again for physical reasons, of course, but also and more importantly, for emotional health.  I feel better when I get good, demanding physical exercise.  I'm a better mother, friend, all that.

Given my schedule, I have two options: work out at lunch or work through my lunch and work out before jumping on the ferry.  Tomorrow will be my trial run for doing yoga at lunch.  I won't get too sweaty and gross, but still a good work out.  Next week, I think on Monday, I will attempt the escape work at 4:30, run to gym, jump on elliptical and then hurl my disgusting, sweat-drenched body onto the ferry before it departs.  Pick up Jack, drive home, dinner, quick shower, etc.  But that's a long time between "sweat drenched" and "shower" and I don't know.  Ew.

Something has got to give.  I'm making a commitment to figuring out how to do this.  Even if I smell.