DH and I DTD without any birth control about a week after CD 1 and although it was probably waaaay too early for me to ovulate, I freaked out. Who knows what my first cycle after baby would be like, there was actually a real possibility that I could get pregnant. And what I learned from this experience is the following:
I am not ready.
It kept me up some of the night - could I handle it? Would my joyous time with Dom turn into a crazy stressful situation? Would DH resent me? What if me and DH don't work out? I hadn't even gone back to work yet and have no idea how the new 'normal' would be.
I didn't have any fears about parenthood when I embarked on this journey. Why were they cropping up now? I think that in the last few years I've learned not to mess with a good thing. And what I have now is a really good thing.
And then there are the added fears of pregnancy and the baby's health - will I miscarry again, should I get diagnostic testing or risk another 9 months of agonizing worry? I've had to admit to myself lately that if I knew I had a child with chromosomal problems, and my pregnancy was still in the first tri, I would probably terminate. This raises a whole other slew of problems - does DH feel the same way? How could I live with myself if the CVS results came back bad. If I don't get diagnostic testing and my screening results aren't perfect, how will I (and my family) endure my inevitable pre-partum depression. I read some statistic on how babies who are conceived within a year of their older sibling have a higher risk of SIDS. So that would worry me too. That's how I am.
Point is, I'm scared.
So I even went as far as taking Plan B. I am that risk averse.
I hope I get over this - I'd really like to have two kids. Once I get back to work and things become routine I know I could figure out a way to handle it. It's worth it to me. But I don't know when and if I'll ever be able to cope with the uncertainties of it all again. And I don't want to wait too long. Because as time passes after Dom's first birthday the fears will increase - I'm no spring chicken.
Right now things are good. I don't have any major fears or uncertainties. I'm enjoying life. Enjoying my baby. Why do we always want what we don't have? Why can't we just be satisfied with what we do? I'm going to give it a try for the next 5-6 months and then revisit the second kid question.
Thursday, January 20, 2011
Monday, January 17, 2011
My feet shrunk
My maternity leave ends mid-week next week. I could not be more depressed about that, but that's a whole 'nother post. I was trying on pre-pregnancy clothes in anticipation of going back to work, and get this - my old stand-by pumps are falling off of my heels when I walk. I look like a little girl traipsing around in my mother's heels. What?! Is this possible?
I know what you're thinking, I must have stretched out my shoes while I was pregnant. But I'm dubious. I didn't swell much at all during pregnancy and I'm talking about heels that I didn't wear past the first trimester - some I didn't wear at all while I was pregnant. I have some flats that I wore in later trimesters and they did stretch a little, but that doesn't explain the heels. It also doesn't explain why, before pregnancy I was a size 5.5-6 and today I tried on 3 different pairs of shoes, different brands, and the only sizes that fit in each of these three shoes were size 5's! I don't have any size fives at home. Except for the pair I bought today.
This is really weird. I am a little under my pre-pregnancy weight...but only a few pounds. I've weighed less before and it hasn't affected my shoe size. My only other theory is that it's winter. My fingers get skinnier when it's cold - I can tell because my rings feel big. So maybe my feet are smaller too. But I've been through winter before too.
Has anyone else had this problem? I already have a "fat days" wardrobe and am finding it kind of annoying (and expensive) to have to maintain a "skinny days" shoe collection. Not to mention how much it sucks when I've got an outfit all figured out in my head and when I go to put it on with the five minutes I'll have to get dressed in the morning going forward - surprise! shoes don't fit.
I know what you're thinking, I must have stretched out my shoes while I was pregnant. But I'm dubious. I didn't swell much at all during pregnancy and I'm talking about heels that I didn't wear past the first trimester - some I didn't wear at all while I was pregnant. I have some flats that I wore in later trimesters and they did stretch a little, but that doesn't explain the heels. It also doesn't explain why, before pregnancy I was a size 5.5-6 and today I tried on 3 different pairs of shoes, different brands, and the only sizes that fit in each of these three shoes were size 5's! I don't have any size fives at home. Except for the pair I bought today.
This is really weird. I am a little under my pre-pregnancy weight...but only a few pounds. I've weighed less before and it hasn't affected my shoe size. My only other theory is that it's winter. My fingers get skinnier when it's cold - I can tell because my rings feel big. So maybe my feet are smaller too. But I've been through winter before too.
Has anyone else had this problem? I already have a "fat days" wardrobe and am finding it kind of annoying (and expensive) to have to maintain a "skinny days" shoe collection. Not to mention how much it sucks when I've got an outfit all figured out in my head and when I go to put it on with the five minutes I'll have to get dressed in the morning going forward - surprise! shoes don't fit.
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
CD 1, apparently
No joke. AF showed up out of nowhere. Weird. I don't feel like I've changed my breastfeeding routine much since the end of Dom's first month when he started sleeping through the night. He's sleeping about 12 hours now and I don't pump during that time so I could see how my body could downgrade its milk production and decide that it's time to start cycling again, but if that's the reason for this unexpected visitor...why did it take until month 5?
I can't really figure out why this is happening. Anyone have any intel on this? I haven't done much research. Dom has started eating baby food but I don't think I breastfeed any less. Another thing it could be is that I get dehydrated. I've taken to having a glass of wine (or two) after Dom goes to bed since I know I have a solid 10 hours before I have to feed him. And I'm not a big fan of water so I'm sure my milk production isn't at its full potential anyway. Does AF mean my production is going to decrease even more? I'm starting to wonder if it's even worth pumping when I go back to work in two weeks. It's SUCH a big production - all the extra time out during the day and spending evenings cleaning equipment, sterilizing, etc. But the benefits are also huge. I think I'll give it a try and see how it goes.
So by the looks of it, I'm probably cycling. And I'm also sleeping in the same bed as my husband lately. Which raises an interesting question: To go back on the pill...or to not go back on the pill. We've played Russian roulette a few times since Dimitri was born, thinking the chances of pregnancy were super low. But with AF here, that indicates that the chances have increased quite a bit. Like we really need to decide if we want a second baby. And if so, how soon.
I definitely want a second one. Dom is one of those babies that convinces parents that kids are easy peasy and nothing but joy. And then the second one is a holy terror. And then both kids eventually turn two and you have no idea what you were thinking. Ditto when they turn 14. But for some reason, my gut is saying - have two. I want to grow old with a larger family. I love being a mom. But I don't think we can afford a lot of kids - two is a good happy medium. DH is still undecided about the second one. Everyone in our lives is telling us have two. NO ONE has ever offered the opinion that one is the perfect number. I did learn a valuable lesson with that second furbaby though. Which was: Don't blindly forge ahead with plans designed to make your life more complicated. THINK THEM THROUGH. Going with your gut is not always the best idea. On the other hand trusting my gut worked like a charm for child #1. If I had waited until DH was ready instead of forging ahead and putting the pressure on and not taking "no" for an answer, we never would have ended up with our beautiful baby. Now, putting aside for a minute the inherent problems in a marriage where spouse #1 has to figuratively beat spouse #2 over the head in order to get a baby out of him, why should things be any different with the second child.
Obviously there are pros and cons to two kids versus one. And their are pros and cons to waiting to have number two. And maybe it makes sense to go back on the pill while we sort these issues out (not to mention that we can't just "put aside" the fact that DH and I may not be compatible long term). But on the other hand, if we are both more or less on board with having a second one...I'm not convinced there is much harm in throwing caution to the wind for a while. There's obviously no guarantee of anything happening. And if something does, well, we'll have to focus on the pros to having babies back-to-back.
...or we could just wait and enjoy the time with Dom and without the furbaby that we adopted out, and with the newfound peace and fun in our relationship. Things are pretty good right now. And that crazy dog is the one who taught me not to take times like this for granted. It's funny how sometimes your worst nightmare can, in time, become one of life's greatest blessings.
I can't really figure out why this is happening. Anyone have any intel on this? I haven't done much research. Dom has started eating baby food but I don't think I breastfeed any less. Another thing it could be is that I get dehydrated. I've taken to having a glass of wine (or two) after Dom goes to bed since I know I have a solid 10 hours before I have to feed him. And I'm not a big fan of water so I'm sure my milk production isn't at its full potential anyway. Does AF mean my production is going to decrease even more? I'm starting to wonder if it's even worth pumping when I go back to work in two weeks. It's SUCH a big production - all the extra time out during the day and spending evenings cleaning equipment, sterilizing, etc. But the benefits are also huge. I think I'll give it a try and see how it goes.
So by the looks of it, I'm probably cycling. And I'm also sleeping in the same bed as my husband lately. Which raises an interesting question: To go back on the pill...or to not go back on the pill. We've played Russian roulette a few times since Dimitri was born, thinking the chances of pregnancy were super low. But with AF here, that indicates that the chances have increased quite a bit. Like we really need to decide if we want a second baby. And if so, how soon.
I definitely want a second one. Dom is one of those babies that convinces parents that kids are easy peasy and nothing but joy. And then the second one is a holy terror. And then both kids eventually turn two and you have no idea what you were thinking. Ditto when they turn 14. But for some reason, my gut is saying - have two. I want to grow old with a larger family. I love being a mom. But I don't think we can afford a lot of kids - two is a good happy medium. DH is still undecided about the second one. Everyone in our lives is telling us have two. NO ONE has ever offered the opinion that one is the perfect number. I did learn a valuable lesson with that second furbaby though. Which was: Don't blindly forge ahead with plans designed to make your life more complicated. THINK THEM THROUGH. Going with your gut is not always the best idea. On the other hand trusting my gut worked like a charm for child #1. If I had waited until DH was ready instead of forging ahead and putting the pressure on and not taking "no" for an answer, we never would have ended up with our beautiful baby. Now, putting aside for a minute the inherent problems in a marriage where spouse #1 has to figuratively beat spouse #2 over the head in order to get a baby out of him, why should things be any different with the second child.
Obviously there are pros and cons to two kids versus one. And their are pros and cons to waiting to have number two. And maybe it makes sense to go back on the pill while we sort these issues out (not to mention that we can't just "put aside" the fact that DH and I may not be compatible long term). But on the other hand, if we are both more or less on board with having a second one...I'm not convinced there is much harm in throwing caution to the wind for a while. There's obviously no guarantee of anything happening. And if something does, well, we'll have to focus on the pros to having babies back-to-back.
...or we could just wait and enjoy the time with Dom and without the furbaby that we adopted out, and with the newfound peace and fun in our relationship. Things are pretty good right now. And that crazy dog is the one who taught me not to take times like this for granted. It's funny how sometimes your worst nightmare can, in time, become one of life's greatest blessings.
Monday, January 10, 2011
Happy New Year's indeed
The New Year is actually off to a good start. DH drove the dog to another friend's place on New Year's Eve. From the beginning this arrangement looked more promising. The family is large and really wanted a dog. They were committed to "making this work," their words. The wife stays home and there are four (older) kids in the family so there would be no shortage of attention for the dog, who would get to be out and about with the family all day instead of locked up in a single room for 10 hours like she was at our place. So far so good. The furbaby has not only proven to be her adaptable, loving, loyal self but she hasn't had any aggressive responses to her normal triggers (a giant cable guy came to the door and apparently her response was to bark and wag her tail). It's like the new environment, paired with being the only dog, has really improved her demeanor. I know dogs' behavior can get worse once they settle into a new home and have a chance to get territorial, but I'm optimistic. DH continued to mope around and not sleep in our bedroom when he got home on NYE. I was still thinking there was a 50/50 chance we would end up still married by the end of 2011. Probably less than that at this point.
But then there was a shift. I don't know if he had just gotten used to fhe drill of giving her up or if he was more comfortable with the new arrangement, but he let it go. Little by little, he started to warm back up to me and our life together and our future. New Year's day he was back in our bedroom for the first time in a couple months, he said "let's start the new year off right," he made a couple demands of me like "if we're going to stay together you need to come up with a budget." Mostly because I want things like another kid and a bigger house and the occasional vacation and for him everything comes down to money. He hates his job and wants to make sure I'm doing my part to achieve my goals.... I'm a little bitter that he's still blaming me for every turn our lives take and every proactive decision to do anything (like a 2d kid or a vacation) and holding me accountable for the $'s and the results, bad or good. Like he swears he could do without vacation. Really? Do I want to spend my life with someone like that? But I could stand to pay more attention to how much I'm spending. So we're taking it a step at a time.
He's been incredibly good to me lately, incredibly helpful around the house, great with Dom, although he will not stop talking about how much he misses the furbaby. I tell him I know, it's the worst thing I've ever done - making him go through this - but I also say that I don't regret it, that it was the right decision, that it's clearly better for the dog (not to mention for us and our other dog), and I leave it at that. He's the kind of person who takes a while to come around to things, but I have a feeling that one day he will understand how obviously right it was to do things my way. I just wish it hadn't taken 4 months of me being seriously clinically depressed for him to take that first step.
Dom is great, ever the love of my life. I have really grown to appreciate the CPC scare. Envisioning life with a T18 child really put things in perspective. No amount of dirty diapers or screaming in public could ever compare to having your child's life taken too soon and I feel I am a better parent for having gone through my bout of pre-partum depression.
As I near the end of my maternity leave (I have two weeks left) I am noticing that my days of taking him out and about are numbered anyway. I spent 6 hours at the mall with a friend this weekend - we did pedicures and lunch and shopping and coffee - it was a blast and Dom was SO good. But my parents were thinking about a trip to a museum in the city next weekend and that seems patently impossible. The mall is one thing - there are changing tables and places to feed him, etc. But there are some places that just won't work they way they might have when he was a newborn. And even these day trips I've been making will probably be close to impossible once he starts moving around on his own and once he needs more than a hanging stuffed animal to keep him entertained. This is one of the things I tell myself to try to make myself less miserable about going back to work. Oh how I wish I liked my job.
I'm going to try to not obsess over the differences between my husband and I and just live life more in the present for a while. And I've come up with some New Year's Resolutions to keep myself busy (ha ha).
1. Moisturize!
2. work on my posture
3. come out of every store with only the things I went in for.
4. No new bags for the rest of 2011. Seriously.
5. Ditto for shoes
6. For those of you who think I'm being too hard on myself, I got both a new bag and a new pair of shoes in January. And I have plenty of both, believe me.
7. When something new comes in, something else has gotta go
8. Organize!
9. Budget!
10. Related to #9, eat out less. Starbucks OR Rubio's. Not Starbucks AND Rubio's.
11. Write an article for work
12. Donate and return with abandon
13. Stay on top of my photo library
But then there was a shift. I don't know if he had just gotten used to fhe drill of giving her up or if he was more comfortable with the new arrangement, but he let it go. Little by little, he started to warm back up to me and our life together and our future. New Year's day he was back in our bedroom for the first time in a couple months, he said "let's start the new year off right," he made a couple demands of me like "if we're going to stay together you need to come up with a budget." Mostly because I want things like another kid and a bigger house and the occasional vacation and for him everything comes down to money. He hates his job and wants to make sure I'm doing my part to achieve my goals.... I'm a little bitter that he's still blaming me for every turn our lives take and every proactive decision to do anything (like a 2d kid or a vacation) and holding me accountable for the $'s and the results, bad or good. Like he swears he could do without vacation. Really? Do I want to spend my life with someone like that? But I could stand to pay more attention to how much I'm spending. So we're taking it a step at a time.
He's been incredibly good to me lately, incredibly helpful around the house, great with Dom, although he will not stop talking about how much he misses the furbaby. I tell him I know, it's the worst thing I've ever done - making him go through this - but I also say that I don't regret it, that it was the right decision, that it's clearly better for the dog (not to mention for us and our other dog), and I leave it at that. He's the kind of person who takes a while to come around to things, but I have a feeling that one day he will understand how obviously right it was to do things my way. I just wish it hadn't taken 4 months of me being seriously clinically depressed for him to take that first step.
Dom is great, ever the love of my life. I have really grown to appreciate the CPC scare. Envisioning life with a T18 child really put things in perspective. No amount of dirty diapers or screaming in public could ever compare to having your child's life taken too soon and I feel I am a better parent for having gone through my bout of pre-partum depression.
As I near the end of my maternity leave (I have two weeks left) I am noticing that my days of taking him out and about are numbered anyway. I spent 6 hours at the mall with a friend this weekend - we did pedicures and lunch and shopping and coffee - it was a blast and Dom was SO good. But my parents were thinking about a trip to a museum in the city next weekend and that seems patently impossible. The mall is one thing - there are changing tables and places to feed him, etc. But there are some places that just won't work they way they might have when he was a newborn. And even these day trips I've been making will probably be close to impossible once he starts moving around on his own and once he needs more than a hanging stuffed animal to keep him entertained. This is one of the things I tell myself to try to make myself less miserable about going back to work. Oh how I wish I liked my job.
I'm going to try to not obsess over the differences between my husband and I and just live life more in the present for a while. And I've come up with some New Year's Resolutions to keep myself busy (ha ha).
1. Moisturize!
2. work on my posture
3. come out of every store with only the things I went in for.
4. No new bags for the rest of 2011. Seriously.
5. Ditto for shoes
6. For those of you who think I'm being too hard on myself, I got both a new bag and a new pair of shoes in January. And I have plenty of both, believe me.
7. When something new comes in, something else has gotta go
8. Organize!
9. Budget!
10. Related to #9, eat out less. Starbucks OR Rubio's. Not Starbucks AND Rubio's.
11. Write an article for work
12. Donate and return with abandon
13. Stay on top of my photo library
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
Setback
So after a week and a half, the family that took the furbaby in decided they didn't want to keep her. Too much on their plate, not a well-fenced enough yard. I am so disappointed. DH called me from work to tell me and to ask if there was any chance I had changed my mind about keeping her, seeing what he had gone through giving her up the first time and seeing how friendly and loving everyone thinks she is. No. I have not changed my mind. I don't want to live with her. But I know DH is going to beg and cry and that by being stubborn I'm taking away his best friend, basically. I feel like if I make him give the dog away to someone else I'm being a bad wife. If I allow her to stay I'm being a bad mom.
I felt such relief when I thought it was going to work out with this last family. Like I was looking forward to life again, I could eat, get things done, better for everyone, including the dogs, besides DH's initial grief. Which I thought he'd get over. My guilt subsided pretty quickly when I started getting reports about how she was doing. But now it's back. There's another friend that might take her but this one lives 3 hours away. How can I ask him to do this?
I offered to leave yesterday, like leave the marriage so he can keep his dog, but he's against divorce because of Dom. He doesn't want to be away from his son. He feels like I haven't left him a choice and he hates me for it. The thing is, I don't know if he'll ever forgive me and I may decide I've had enough of the silent treatment and the sleeping in different beds thing in a year or so. And I'd hate to have him say goodbye to his best friend and then we still don't work out. And I told him that. And he said it's one of those things where we won't know until we get there.
I keep wondering why I feel like my life has been frought with catastrophe lately. First the miscarriage/molar thing, then the CPC, now the dog and potential divorce. Am I creating misery for myself? DH keeps saying that if it's not one thing it's another with me. And that's been true for the last couple years. But it hasn't always been true. And like I said, the last couple weeks with the dog in a good home I've finally felt at peace. So maybe I'm not creating the problems, maybe I'm just a lightening rod for crap. I was going to say "extremely unlucky" but I am lucky. I have become a mom and that really is the most important thing. It just sucks when you've been through so much and then when you think it can't get any worse, it does. I think a lot of my readers can relate - a lot of us have had some f-ed up years. I appreciate your guys' support so much.
I felt such relief when I thought it was going to work out with this last family. Like I was looking forward to life again, I could eat, get things done, better for everyone, including the dogs, besides DH's initial grief. Which I thought he'd get over. My guilt subsided pretty quickly when I started getting reports about how she was doing. But now it's back. There's another friend that might take her but this one lives 3 hours away. How can I ask him to do this?
I offered to leave yesterday, like leave the marriage so he can keep his dog, but he's against divorce because of Dom. He doesn't want to be away from his son. He feels like I haven't left him a choice and he hates me for it. The thing is, I don't know if he'll ever forgive me and I may decide I've had enough of the silent treatment and the sleeping in different beds thing in a year or so. And I'd hate to have him say goodbye to his best friend and then we still don't work out. And I told him that. And he said it's one of those things where we won't know until we get there.
I keep wondering why I feel like my life has been frought with catastrophe lately. First the miscarriage/molar thing, then the CPC, now the dog and potential divorce. Am I creating misery for myself? DH keeps saying that if it's not one thing it's another with me. And that's been true for the last couple years. But it hasn't always been true. And like I said, the last couple weeks with the dog in a good home I've finally felt at peace. So maybe I'm not creating the problems, maybe I'm just a lightening rod for crap. I was going to say "extremely unlucky" but I am lucky. I have become a mom and that really is the most important thing. It just sucks when you've been through so much and then when you think it can't get any worse, it does. I think a lot of my readers can relate - a lot of us have had some f-ed up years. I appreciate your guys' support so much.
Sunday, December 26, 2010
Pulling myself from the rubble
It's been a little over two months since my last post but it feels like FOREVER. I thought I'd never post again. I did go into a pretty serious depression but not over the baby or what he's meant for my life. Does it count as PPD if it has entirely to do with something completely unrelated to the baby? I never really got over the dog incident. For those of you who haven't read the previous posts, one of my rescue dogs bit a guest at our house as he approached, this was about 4 weeks after Dom was born. The dog thought the guest was an intruder and was out of control and the worst happened. This was the second time she had bitten a person in 6 months. The first time she instigated a scuffle with a huge dog at the dog park and the owner of the other dog stuck her hand in to get her dog out and got bitten. My DH and I hired a professional trainer which helped, but the dog and her management was taking over our lives and causing a lot of fights between DH and I. I am convinced she has some pit bull in her and have heard one too many stories about pit bulls mauling or killing kids to be comfortable having an aggressive one in our house. DH thought he could handle her and everything that would go into keeping her and I just knew that he couldn't and him trying would not be fair to me or Dom because he would always be preoccupied with managing her. Plus I could see the innumerable fights that would occur between he and I. I know dogs. He doesn't. And I know how consistent and strict you have to be with them, especially if they're aggressive and think they're dominant. And he doesn't. He thinks "killing them with kindness" is a good tactic. As any dog person knows, it's not. And I knew I'd constantly have to be on his case to keep the dog headed in the right direction. And I don't want all of this for my life. So I stubbornly held to my position which wasn't even that harsh. I maintained that we needed to give the dog away, we don't have time to manage this problem and I was not willing to risk letting Dom get caught in any crossfire and I was imploring DH for three months to please PLEASE at least ask people he knew if they could take her. I told him I would not give her back to the shelter or have her put to sleep but please meet me halfway. He let me cry myself to sleep most nights and watched as I lost weight and downed more zoloft than I really wanted to take while breastfeeding and went to therapy appointments when I was supposed to be calling contractors about remodeling our kitchen. He was utterly unyielding because he loves this dog and didn't see any risk to the baby. Granted, she is very loving to people she knows, including Dom. But she's bitten two people. Not only do I not want Dom to get hurt, I don't want him living in a household where we all get pits in our stomachs every time someone comes over for fear that the dog will get aggressive. I don't want him to be subject to the stress the dog was causing in our marriage or our social lives. God forbid we all get attached to her and the authorities determine someday that she needs to be put down. This was not what I wanted for my life and I figured there had to be another option. Like giving her to someone who doesn't have kids or other dogs and who needs a watch dog or would like a running partner. DH would hear none of it and screamed in my face that he was giving up on me.
We started talking divorce.
This didn't help my depression. It's kind of a tragic irony. I LOVE dogs. I am the kind of person who takes in the most pathetic and helpless of animals. I didn't know if DH would be open to dogs when we first got together, but it turns out, he has a bigger heart than I do. I admire this about him, and yet it is this which has cost probably upwards of 10 years off my life from the stress and anxiety he and his heart have caused over the last few months.
I won't recount the details of our heated conversations here, but I disclosed them to a friend of mine who is getting her second masters in psychology and she said DH's behavior is easily classified as verbal abuse. He gets violent too, slams things together in my face - one time our smaller furbaby scrambled under our couch while DH was screaming at me, smacking his hands together, telling me (who was in tears telling him that I loved him) that he didn't love me and didn't want to be with me anymore. Later I couldn't find the little dog and finally found him stuck under that couch. He had wedged himself in to escape the madness and couldn't get himself out. I had to lift up the couch to get him free. Another time DH was throwing his arms around in anger in the dark and hit my leg, accidentally. It was definitely an accident...but what if it had been Dom? He has a temper that's a little out of control. And all because he didn't even want to ask around about a dog that was making me physically and psychologically ill. He kept telling me to work on my anxiety. Like that would make my fear for my son and his upbringing disappear.
Finally, after a lot of drama and weeks of accepting that I might soon be single and in need of a good lawyer, he did find a family to take the dog. They are really close friends, they live a half hour away, they know all about the dog's history, and they're really smart. In four days they did more for the dog in terms of training than we did in a year and a half plus $600 in professional training. We spent a day dropping her off and acclimating her to her new surroundings and new family, and when we left, DH cried. I've known him for 11 years and have only seen him cry two other times. Once when his mom died and again when his dad died. He wasn't kidding when he said he loved this dog and I almost turned back around to get her back.
But days have passed and he hasn't brought it up and I feel like I'm slowly healing. I know I did the right thing. But as the days pass I can't help but notice that our marriage is not healing. I feel like he meant what he said - he's given up on me, he only did it for Dom, he's afraid of being away from his son. He doesn't love me. There has been a theme in our relationship of him not really wanting to be in it. Before we started dating he maintained that he didn't want some girl messing up his life. When we first started dating he insisted that we be "friends with benefits," not really dating. And then we were together for seven years before he'd marry me. He didn't want kids. What have I been doing? I picked the wrong guy. We don't want the same things. All those cliche revelations are raining down upon me. And surprisingly, I'm ok. I still feel better than I did when we had the dog living under our roof. Dom has made me stronger. The only thing that keeps me in this house is the fear of being away from him even for a day. I do not want to share custody. I know he needs his dad, his dad loves him, he loves his dad. I'm just saying, if I could be guaranteed sole custody I'd have left weeks ago. His dad can visit. That's it.
Our unruly furbaby is on a trial run with this new family and while most of me prays every day that it will work out, another part hopes she comes back so he can have his dog and I can leave and use the dog as a reason not to give him an inch in a custody battle.
DH is like a co house manager right now. He helps around the house, helped me create a christmas for my family, and I went to his on christmas eve. But he doesn't sleep in our bed anymore, he calls our room my room. And he's weird about the baby. He hasn't changed a diaper since the hospital, I'm constantly letting him give Dom a bottle, but he gives up at the first sign of fussiness and I end up doing it. He's never bathed dom, never taken him for a walk. He's good with him when they play but it's always short-lived. He blames it on work. He's really buried himself in work lately. He booked four hours on christmas day. W.T.F?
I'm torn these days, I go back and forth about leaving. I'm angry that what should have been the best six months of my life has turned into such a nightmare. But I have not forgotten to soak in every blissful moment that I've had with Dom. I've been pretty good about compartmentalizing the depression over my relationship and home life and distinguishing it from my experience as a mother. I have not taken a second with Dom for granted and he remains the most amazing and wonderful thing I have ever been blessed to experience. Even on days when I've felt weak from weight loss and sick from panic, my heart has been full because I've looked into his face and been able to smile, because I didn't want him to see the sadness in my eyes. I've kept smiling for him. Everything is for him now. But somehow that hasn't crystalized in my mind the decision of whether to stay or go. I want to make the right decision and I have resigned myself to the fact that it will take time to reach it.
We started talking divorce.
This didn't help my depression. It's kind of a tragic irony. I LOVE dogs. I am the kind of person who takes in the most pathetic and helpless of animals. I didn't know if DH would be open to dogs when we first got together, but it turns out, he has a bigger heart than I do. I admire this about him, and yet it is this which has cost probably upwards of 10 years off my life from the stress and anxiety he and his heart have caused over the last few months.
I won't recount the details of our heated conversations here, but I disclosed them to a friend of mine who is getting her second masters in psychology and she said DH's behavior is easily classified as verbal abuse. He gets violent too, slams things together in my face - one time our smaller furbaby scrambled under our couch while DH was screaming at me, smacking his hands together, telling me (who was in tears telling him that I loved him) that he didn't love me and didn't want to be with me anymore. Later I couldn't find the little dog and finally found him stuck under that couch. He had wedged himself in to escape the madness and couldn't get himself out. I had to lift up the couch to get him free. Another time DH was throwing his arms around in anger in the dark and hit my leg, accidentally. It was definitely an accident...but what if it had been Dom? He has a temper that's a little out of control. And all because he didn't even want to ask around about a dog that was making me physically and psychologically ill. He kept telling me to work on my anxiety. Like that would make my fear for my son and his upbringing disappear.
Finally, after a lot of drama and weeks of accepting that I might soon be single and in need of a good lawyer, he did find a family to take the dog. They are really close friends, they live a half hour away, they know all about the dog's history, and they're really smart. In four days they did more for the dog in terms of training than we did in a year and a half plus $600 in professional training. We spent a day dropping her off and acclimating her to her new surroundings and new family, and when we left, DH cried. I've known him for 11 years and have only seen him cry two other times. Once when his mom died and again when his dad died. He wasn't kidding when he said he loved this dog and I almost turned back around to get her back.
But days have passed and he hasn't brought it up and I feel like I'm slowly healing. I know I did the right thing. But as the days pass I can't help but notice that our marriage is not healing. I feel like he meant what he said - he's given up on me, he only did it for Dom, he's afraid of being away from his son. He doesn't love me. There has been a theme in our relationship of him not really wanting to be in it. Before we started dating he maintained that he didn't want some girl messing up his life. When we first started dating he insisted that we be "friends with benefits," not really dating. And then we were together for seven years before he'd marry me. He didn't want kids. What have I been doing? I picked the wrong guy. We don't want the same things. All those cliche revelations are raining down upon me. And surprisingly, I'm ok. I still feel better than I did when we had the dog living under our roof. Dom has made me stronger. The only thing that keeps me in this house is the fear of being away from him even for a day. I do not want to share custody. I know he needs his dad, his dad loves him, he loves his dad. I'm just saying, if I could be guaranteed sole custody I'd have left weeks ago. His dad can visit. That's it.
Our unruly furbaby is on a trial run with this new family and while most of me prays every day that it will work out, another part hopes she comes back so he can have his dog and I can leave and use the dog as a reason not to give him an inch in a custody battle.
DH is like a co house manager right now. He helps around the house, helped me create a christmas for my family, and I went to his on christmas eve. But he doesn't sleep in our bed anymore, he calls our room my room. And he's weird about the baby. He hasn't changed a diaper since the hospital, I'm constantly letting him give Dom a bottle, but he gives up at the first sign of fussiness and I end up doing it. He's never bathed dom, never taken him for a walk. He's good with him when they play but it's always short-lived. He blames it on work. He's really buried himself in work lately. He booked four hours on christmas day. W.T.F?
I'm torn these days, I go back and forth about leaving. I'm angry that what should have been the best six months of my life has turned into such a nightmare. But I have not forgotten to soak in every blissful moment that I've had with Dom. I've been pretty good about compartmentalizing the depression over my relationship and home life and distinguishing it from my experience as a mother. I have not taken a second with Dom for granted and he remains the most amazing and wonderful thing I have ever been blessed to experience. Even on days when I've felt weak from weight loss and sick from panic, my heart has been full because I've looked into his face and been able to smile, because I didn't want him to see the sadness in my eyes. I've kept smiling for him. Everything is for him now. But somehow that hasn't crystalized in my mind the decision of whether to stay or go. I want to make the right decision and I have resigned myself to the fact that it will take time to reach it.
Friday, October 15, 2010
Pedi appointment from hell
Unfortunately I am not referring to a pedi-cure...even the worst pedi would be welcome these days. It's been longer than I care to admit.
Our pediatrician, who I actually like (which says a lot for him)...or liked...made a challenging day worse by turning into an insensitive a-hole. Everything started out fine until he did a hip check. Since Dom was breech, a couple doctors checked his hips manually (no scan) at the hospital when he was born. They were checked again at subsequent appointments, and no one ever raised an eyebrow. But now here we were at his two month appointment and all of the sudden the Dr. thinks he hears a hip click and refers us to a pediatric orthopedic specialist. Bummer, but I took it pretty well. It's fairly common among breech babies, the click doesn't automatically mean he has hip dysplasia, and even if he does, it's likely only to need a brace for a couple/few months and should be fixed forever after that. In the grand scheme of things (which I have been remarkably good at seeing since the CPC) - no big deal. Dom screamed when the pedi did the hip manipulations - I had never heard anything like it coming from Dom's little self and it made me so sad. But still, I understand these tests can't all be fun and games and wasn't blaming the Dr. too much at this point.
Then a fire alarm went off. Perfect. The entire human contents of the three-story medical complex had to be emptied out and not just to the parking lot, but actually was forced cross a busy intersection. It was around 90 degrees and a horrible inconvenience. Poor Dom was all undressed and stressed out from his hip test and I had to stuff him into his stroller as-is and maneuver him through the crowds hoping no one near us in the cattle call was sick or infectious. Plus, I had a coffee date with some girls from work which I desperately needed and started to wonder if it was going to happen at all. I would have just taken the opportunity to leave but Dom hadn't gotten his shots yet. He managed to fall asleep while we were outside and when the drill was over we made our way back to the exam room. This is where the Dr. turned into a total moron. He was now in a huge rush because the alarm had set him behind (which I had no sympathy for. Please, as if they're not always running 15-20 minutes behind anyway - my pet peeve in doctors offices, or with anyone I'm paying for is when they treat me like I'm in their way or wasting their time) so he shoves the needles into Dom's legs without explaining or disclosing anything about the vaccines he's administering and without obtaining my signature on the consent form which he completely forgot about. And then the worst - one of the vaccines, I can't remember which - is in drop form that goes down the baby's throat. The Dr. held Dom at a 45 degree angle and squirted the entire contents down his gullet. With the first drop Dom started choking, and not just coughing, he couldn't breathe or even cough for a count of a good 6 seconds. And for those long seconds he emitted no sound because he couldn't. He just struggled mightily, his face and lips turned purple and he had the most pained, desperate expression as he instinctively struggled for air. Instead of taking a break or lifting Dom more upright to help him swallow the stuff properly, the doctor just continued the administration of the liquid, stopping for nothing. I could barely keep my hands from whisking my son away to comfort him and get him breathing again. I was practically on top of the doctor, on my toes, braced with stress, it was awful for me out to see Dom in such immense discomfort and to see his agony being completely ignored by this jerk. It's not that I was afraid he'd pass out or die or anything, I knew he'd be fine eventually and again, I know it's not all supposed to be pleasant at these appointments, but this was an extraordinary and unnecessary disregard for Dom's comfort and it disgusted me. No Dr. would ever treat an adult this way. Even veterinarians treat their patients better than this. It was really ridiculous.
After Dom regained his color the Dr. remembered the consent form and, still flustered and darting around the office, realized he didn't have a pen and asked if I had one. "I think I have one in my purse," I said, and he looked annoyed and let out a huff as if he didn't want to wait for me to travel the four feet to my purse to retrieve it. Like he expected me to just happen to have a pen in my hand at the ready. I wasn't impressed.
I really do give people the benefit of the doubt when I first meet them. Whoever they are. I'm not one of those people that others have to prove themselves to. I truly expect people to be good natured, smart, reliable, professional, trustworthy, etc. and I treat them this way until they prove to me otherwise. At least this is how I've been for most of my life. But lately I feel myself changing. Becoming more cynical. Treating people as guilty until proven innocent. And it's experiences like this that have started to turn me in that direction.
We have an appointment to get Dom's hips checked by a specialist on the 25th. He'll be 2.5 months which is much older than I'm comfortable with for starting treatment if he does have dysplasia, but I've been assured that this is plenty early. I guess I have to trust the doctor despite what I've read on google. It would be nice if we could complete the treatment while I'm still home and can make sure the brace is worn correctly, but it looks like that's not in the cards for us. Which reminds me, I need to go schedule some meetings with daycares.
The dog thing last month really bothered me - it was thee thorn in my side. The one imperfection in my life that I lobbied to get rid of so that my life might be cleansed of inconvenience and discomfort and stress. But with this layered on top I'm getting more comfortable with the idea that life is just messy and stressful. Rarely do we really have it all together. There is always that 1-3% unfortunate category that we're going to fall into at any given time. That's why the fun moments in between, amongst the mess, are so important to seize, enjoy, and commit to our memories. Because we can't live dwelling on the imperfections and the worst-case scenarios. Well, we can, but it's no way to spend a life.
Our pediatrician, who I actually like (which says a lot for him)...or liked...made a challenging day worse by turning into an insensitive a-hole. Everything started out fine until he did a hip check. Since Dom was breech, a couple doctors checked his hips manually (no scan) at the hospital when he was born. They were checked again at subsequent appointments, and no one ever raised an eyebrow. But now here we were at his two month appointment and all of the sudden the Dr. thinks he hears a hip click and refers us to a pediatric orthopedic specialist. Bummer, but I took it pretty well. It's fairly common among breech babies, the click doesn't automatically mean he has hip dysplasia, and even if he does, it's likely only to need a brace for a couple/few months and should be fixed forever after that. In the grand scheme of things (which I have been remarkably good at seeing since the CPC) - no big deal. Dom screamed when the pedi did the hip manipulations - I had never heard anything like it coming from Dom's little self and it made me so sad. But still, I understand these tests can't all be fun and games and wasn't blaming the Dr. too much at this point.
Then a fire alarm went off. Perfect. The entire human contents of the three-story medical complex had to be emptied out and not just to the parking lot, but actually was forced cross a busy intersection. It was around 90 degrees and a horrible inconvenience. Poor Dom was all undressed and stressed out from his hip test and I had to stuff him into his stroller as-is and maneuver him through the crowds hoping no one near us in the cattle call was sick or infectious. Plus, I had a coffee date with some girls from work which I desperately needed and started to wonder if it was going to happen at all. I would have just taken the opportunity to leave but Dom hadn't gotten his shots yet. He managed to fall asleep while we were outside and when the drill was over we made our way back to the exam room. This is where the Dr. turned into a total moron. He was now in a huge rush because the alarm had set him behind (which I had no sympathy for. Please, as if they're not always running 15-20 minutes behind anyway - my pet peeve in doctors offices, or with anyone I'm paying for is when they treat me like I'm in their way or wasting their time) so he shoves the needles into Dom's legs without explaining or disclosing anything about the vaccines he's administering and without obtaining my signature on the consent form which he completely forgot about. And then the worst - one of the vaccines, I can't remember which - is in drop form that goes down the baby's throat. The Dr. held Dom at a 45 degree angle and squirted the entire contents down his gullet. With the first drop Dom started choking, and not just coughing, he couldn't breathe or even cough for a count of a good 6 seconds. And for those long seconds he emitted no sound because he couldn't. He just struggled mightily, his face and lips turned purple and he had the most pained, desperate expression as he instinctively struggled for air. Instead of taking a break or lifting Dom more upright to help him swallow the stuff properly, the doctor just continued the administration of the liquid, stopping for nothing. I could barely keep my hands from whisking my son away to comfort him and get him breathing again. I was practically on top of the doctor, on my toes, braced with stress, it was awful for me out to see Dom in such immense discomfort and to see his agony being completely ignored by this jerk. It's not that I was afraid he'd pass out or die or anything, I knew he'd be fine eventually and again, I know it's not all supposed to be pleasant at these appointments, but this was an extraordinary and unnecessary disregard for Dom's comfort and it disgusted me. No Dr. would ever treat an adult this way. Even veterinarians treat their patients better than this. It was really ridiculous.
After Dom regained his color the Dr. remembered the consent form and, still flustered and darting around the office, realized he didn't have a pen and asked if I had one. "I think I have one in my purse," I said, and he looked annoyed and let out a huff as if he didn't want to wait for me to travel the four feet to my purse to retrieve it. Like he expected me to just happen to have a pen in my hand at the ready. I wasn't impressed.
I really do give people the benefit of the doubt when I first meet them. Whoever they are. I'm not one of those people that others have to prove themselves to. I truly expect people to be good natured, smart, reliable, professional, trustworthy, etc. and I treat them this way until they prove to me otherwise. At least this is how I've been for most of my life. But lately I feel myself changing. Becoming more cynical. Treating people as guilty until proven innocent. And it's experiences like this that have started to turn me in that direction.
We have an appointment to get Dom's hips checked by a specialist on the 25th. He'll be 2.5 months which is much older than I'm comfortable with for starting treatment if he does have dysplasia, but I've been assured that this is plenty early. I guess I have to trust the doctor despite what I've read on google. It would be nice if we could complete the treatment while I'm still home and can make sure the brace is worn correctly, but it looks like that's not in the cards for us. Which reminds me, I need to go schedule some meetings with daycares.
The dog thing last month really bothered me - it was thee thorn in my side. The one imperfection in my life that I lobbied to get rid of so that my life might be cleansed of inconvenience and discomfort and stress. But with this layered on top I'm getting more comfortable with the idea that life is just messy and stressful. Rarely do we really have it all together. There is always that 1-3% unfortunate category that we're going to fall into at any given time. That's why the fun moments in between, amongst the mess, are so important to seize, enjoy, and commit to our memories. Because we can't live dwelling on the imperfections and the worst-case scenarios. Well, we can, but it's no way to spend a life.
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