Squishface

I thought perhaps I should post something happy and lighthearted to balance out all the negative sounding posts lately. Life is not all bad, really. I'm just having a sort of bad time lately thanks to boredom, poorness, and a lack of more than 4 or 5 consecutive hours of sleep (and that's on a good night). But there are a few good things going on. There's Chase, of course (the kid's going to grow up thinking his name is Buffin. I call him Chase maybe once or twice a day and Buffin about 4732913746984623967 times a day), and I've been working on the carriers when I get the chance (although 3 of the 4 of the sewing machines in the house have suddenly decided to go on strike-- without any forewarning by the way-- and none are working correctly except the serger), and my dear friend Zin has asked me to help her with her fantastic political blog, Locke's Closet. So some things are going well.

And now for the fun stuff- baby pictures, anyone?







--Dragon

BTW, for some unfathomable reason, I can't get the jump to work anymore. I have to go in and see if the HTML got screwed up somehow, which I don't look forward to at all.
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Love Shouldn't Hurt

I had a post in mind today about being poor and how tired I was of never having enough money. Then I read Granny's newest post and found this:


My father is friendly, charismatic, funny, helpful, and entertaining. He is also an abuser. People who have met him often can't believe that he could be capable of some of the things he has done. So often people believe that they would know an abusive person if they saw one. The sad truth is that no, you can't. People like that are very good at hiding that part of themselves from the outside world.

As he was a trucker, we didn't see him often until he hurt his back when I was about 10, so I think there was much less of it before then. I'm not sure whether it had to do with it being pre-accident, or just that we didn't live with him on a daily basis. I suspect it was a little of both. I think that I saved my brothers from a lot of it growing up. I was always trying to protect them. I was the oldest, I felt it was my responsibility to keep them safe. My mom had it much worse than we did, though. I probably don't know the half of it, but the things I do know make me sick.

He was both emotionally and physically abusive. Especially after he hurt his back. He was on medication that made him hallucinate and paranoid. He believed my mother was cheating on him with a multitude of other guys while she was at work. He saw phantom numbers written everywhere- on the walls, under the mattress, on his power tools, in chalk on the sidewalk. He would show my brothers and me the numbers he thought he saw, and threatened to punish us if we "lied" and said we didn't see them.

I was constantly telling him no, daddy, there were no numbers. He was imagining things. He didn't believe me and I would get in trouble. I tried so hard to protect my brothers from that, but I couldn't be there all the time. They weren't as strong as I was, and so he would get them alone, they would agree with whatever he said. They were too afraid not to.

Once, when I was about 11, I did something bad (I can't for the life of me remember what), and he instructed me to go out to one of the trees in the back yard and cut off a switch. Then he had me stand on a chair in front of the dinner table where my brothers were eating dinner, had me pull down my pants, and beat me with it until all the leaves came off. It's funny, even now I cringe at using the word "beat". I know I didn't deserve it, and I never felt as if the abuse was my fault, but I still feel some bizarre need to protect him, to make light of it.

There are other incidents that I can think of, but this is the one that always stands out in my mind. Not even so much for the pain, but the sheer humiliation. I couldn't look my brothers in the eye for days afterward. There was name calling, being belittled for mistakes, being told I was fat.

I so wanted to be perfect. I wanted to make my dad proud. I did the best I could in school because I knew I could and because it was one area where I excelled. I was daddy's little helper, I was always there to help him out. I wanted to be useful. It hurts, to think of the stark contrast between the man who beat me with the switch and the man who taught me to use power tools and let me design and help build an easel for my birthday present. How could they be the same person? How could that kind, funny, charming man that was my father turn into the raving, angry asshole who would hit his wife and his kids?

I hate that I have experienced this. The worst part of it all is that I know I am capable of it. I have a violent temper and when I'm angry my words are like daggers. I try so hard to avoid getting angry, because I hate the person I become. The meds have helped, but I still see the tendency and it comes out far too often for my liking. I have such a hard time talking about it, admitting that I could do something like this. I don't want my son to grow up ever knowing that kind of pain. Love shouldn't hurt. Mommy and daddy should be the embodiment of safety and happiness for a child. It's so hard to say something like that about yourself, though. When I am in public, talking to a stranger, even a counselor or psychiatrist, I change. I am suddenly happy, charming, friendly, wouldn't-hurt-a-fly. It's effortless. It's also why my bipolar went undiagnosed for so long. And digging beneath that, showing someone the black marks on my soul is just about the hardest thing I can imagine doing.

I have been a victim of domestic abuse. I don't really talk about it often, but occasionally something happens to remind me. Yesterday my brother and I were talking and he casually mentioned a time my dad beat him. It occurred to me that normal families don't have those kinds of conversations. It made me so sad to hear him say that. We need to find a way to stop this-- to protect those weaker than ourselves from those that would hurt them. Sometimes we even need to protect them from ourselves. We need to stop the cycle. Every victim is a potential future abuser-- how's that for irony?

--Dragon Read more!

Just Who Do You Think You Are?

Yay! I've officially been tagged for a meme (Is it meem? Or me-me? Or perhaps mem?) by Cherylann. I'm so excited :)

The Rules: You must list one fact that is somehow relevant to your life for each letter of your middle name. If you don’t have a middle name, use the middle name you would have liked to have had. When you are tagged you need to write your own blog-post containing your own middle name and the rules of the game. At the end of your blog-post, you need to choose one person for each letter of your middle name to tag. Don’t forget to leave them a comment telling them they’re tagged, and to read your blog.

My middle name is Corrine (pronounce Ca-reen, as in careen out of control, not Cor-rin)


Creative: I like to think that I am a rather creative individual-- I can draw, sew, write, sing, and act (yay! I'm like a one-man band!) and I'm great at coming up with creative solutions for problems that no one else thinks of. McGuyver has nothing on me :)

Obstinate: I am very stubborn. Once I make up my mind about something, it pretty much takes an act of God for me to change it. I am very argumentative when it comes to someone trying to change my opinion or disagree with me on how to do something (my way really IS better! I swear!), which can be pretty irritating to people around me, but it's also a good thing, because once I make up my mind to do something, I do it, no matter how long it takes.

Reader: I love to read. I probably spend at least 3 hours a day reading, either on the internet or actual books. If it has words on it, chances are I'll read it. I even read the shampoo bottles in the shower and the ingredients on whatever box or container is sitting on the table.

Razzle-dazzle: (isn't that a great word?) I'm very theatrical, I love being different, standing out, having people recognize me in public. I have a rather unique sense of style and I love to wear clothes that have personality. For example, in high school I made this wonderful light blue cloak lined with black leopard print material, and I routinely wore to school. (I know, I'm such a dork)

Independent: I could care less what people think of me, beyond whether or not it will adversely affect me (as in, will it keep me from getting a job?). I don't like being told what to do (unless you're paying me, or have a really good reason to). I never really enjoyed being in large groups of people and prefer to be by myself or with one or two other people. I guess you could say I'm kind of a loner.

Nerdy: I stole this one, too, because I can't think of a better thing that starts with N. I read like crazy, I play World of Warcraft often, and have been known to wear cloaks and corsets and other random period attire. So yeah, I'm a nerd.

Energetic: I'm very energetic, and quite often hyper. If I'm not bouncing off the walls, there's probably a problem.

Well, that's me! I don't think enough people read this to tag one person for each letter of my middle name, so I'll just tag the ones I know do read it. I'll tag Granny, Thordora, and Sam, though I'm not sure if Sam reads it very often. So have fun!

--Dragon
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In Memorium

My darling little Kenny died last night. We don't know what happened. My brother was giving him a bath (a common occurrence) and he started squeaking and had a seizure and died. We all cried, even Sam, who never cries. It was the saddest thing I've ever seen. Today after school we're going to the fields outside of town to bury him. I'll miss him and his funny little nose and happy noises.

--Dragon

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Hands Down

I've been remembering. Little things bring up whispered words and late night phone calls. Things I haven't allowed myself to feel for more than a year are seeping through the cracks and bombarding me at unexpected moments. And it makes me feel so alone. Unworthy and so terribly alone.

And it's that much harder because it comes in layers. I am alone, with no one to sing me silly songs and play stupid computer games with, no one to whisper "I miss you" in the early morning hours. But also alone with no one to talk to about it, missing the words that used to break loose like a dam every time we saw each other, The loneliness brought on by harsh words, one year and 1900 miles. I am alone at 3am when all I want is sleep but instead I have to make a bottle and change a diaper.

I just feel so incredibly alone. Running through Darnassas I am reminded of Aaron, who was the first and last person I implicitly trusted. Who I made the mistake of giving a chance, who could have saved me from all the heartache if he had just said, "I love someone else." The rain falls and I am missing my best friend, whose voice I hear everyday but never speaks to me. I talk to his girlfriend every single day, and I've only spoken to him twice in the last 3 months. And I am angry that I am the only one missing sleep at night, the only one willing and capable of taking care of the baby.

I just want someone to hold my hand and say it's going to be ok. I want someone to miss, someone to sing songs to, someone who will help. But there's just me, and there will only be me for a very long time.

--Dragon


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In Words and Pictures

Sometimes there are pictures in my head, aching to be set free. There are words begging to be written, spoken, slashed in red sharpie on bathroom stalls. There are times when the words flow free and I feel like something, someone, like I'm alive. But there times, like now, when it would take all I have to force even a mediocre line. There is a steel door in my head, and right now it's a bulkhead locked up tight. But there's no reason. This ship will not sink. Right now I feel as if i am anchored, or dragging along too heavy a load. I do my best, I write prose, badly at that, and hope it is enough to unlock the door. I hope that the words come soon, that the images sharpen enough to be seen.

--Dragon Read more!

Chucks

Few things are so good for the soul as a good pair of chucks.


--Dragon Read more!

Beginnings

September has always been a month of beginnings for me. Perhaps it is because I spent so much of my life in school. Not only that, but September is when the summer begins to fade and the light shifts from the hazy gold of August to the crisp blue of October. The time changes, the nights grow longer, and the wind begins to blow. I've never had the feeling in January that I do in September, the feeling of wanting to start again and make myself anew.

This September, especially, I want to be renewed. I feel as if I have been on hold for the past year, doing, being nothing. Last fall and winter I was far too messed up to even want to think of changing. I only wanted things to be the way they had been before. I spent most of my time locked in my room wishing I had the courage to slit my wrists. I stopped going to work, and spent the majority of my waking moments trying to lose myself in a game or sitting on the floor of the shower so no one could hear me cry. The rest of the time I tried to sleep, laying on my bed dreaming the surreal dreams of one half-awake.

After a few months of this, reality hit me and I had to pay rent and a slew of other bills I had accumulated. I got a job but lost it within a few weeks because I hated going to work in the morning. I got another one and the same thing happened. Since I was fired, however, I was able to apply for unemployment. I started looking for a new job but it was pretty half-assed. By this time I had gotten my license, so I was free to go wherever I wanted. Instead of locking myself in my room I tried to outrun what I was feeling. I would speed down the highway blasting music as loud as I dared as if it would drown out the demons.

The other benefit of finally having a license was that I started to get out and be sociable. I figured that perhaps I would forget to be miserable if I was around other people. I began going to Open Mic at a local coffee shop, which is where I saw Erik again. We had worked together before when I was the assistant manager at Taco Bell. I knew he had a crush on me then, but I was never interested. He was nice, but not at all "my type". This time was different, however. I thought that perhaps my problem was in going after guys of a certain type, and if I found someone completely opposite of that, I would avoid most of the problems that came with it, so we began talking on the phone and spending time together, and I started to feel a lot better.

Shortly thereafter I started dating, and I felt like a regular person again instead of the mess I had become. I started school and was doing quite well. Shortly after that, I got pregnant. I was so upset. I never wanted to get pregnant, and while I liked Erik, I didn't necessarily want to go passing on his genes to future generations. Call me a snob if you will, but I just didn't think he was necessarily a prime candidate for furthering the species.

Again I fell into that dark spiral. I tried to be happy about it, but all I could see was how this was going to completely screw up my life. I left school because I had started working again, and on top of that had to drive Erik everywhere because his car was broken. It was all too much. I don't see myself as a very strong person, contrary to what many of my friends and family believe, and I didn't think I was capable of taking care of someone else and having a job or going to
school.

At this point, Erik and I decided to get married. I don't know why I said yes. I never really felt like Erik was "forever" material. There were certain things about him that I knew I would not be able to live with for an extended period of time. Perhaps I just didn't want to be alone. The world was looking so big and I felt so incredibly small.

So we began planning a wedding. And more and more I felt like I was trapping myself. Living with Erik, I didn't feel like it was me standing together against the world. It felt as if I was all alone and he just happened to be there. I had to protect him and do all the thinking and planning and making sure everything got taken care of. This was not how I wanted to live my life.

Finally, after months of this, I decided enough was enough and I told him that I was tired of being the only adult, of making all the decisions and taking care of everything. I told him to either step up or get out. He didn't believe me. Of course, I was serious and I ended up asking him to leave.

Then my mom moved in and things got a little better. Still, it feels like one thing after another is going wrong. And I just need something to go right for once.

I started this year in a black hell that I managed to escape, if only part of the way. Things started to get a lot better and then I slid back. I couldn't take the responsibility of taking care of myself and taking care of Erik. Finally someone realized I was serious and said, "Gee, I think you're bipolar. Let me see if I can help you with that." Even though I had been looking for help for months, this only came after Erik called the cops on me because I was sitting in my car having a panic attack and threatening to kill him or myself. Gotta love the system.

(On a side note, one mental health worker told me that no psychiatrist would touch me because I was pregnant and there were no medications you could safely take while pregnant. She even suggested that if it was really that bad that I should just have myself committed until the baby was born. She tried to make me feel guilty for seeking help while pregnant and as if I had no right to life or sanity now that I was an incubator for another human being. If I ever see that woman on the street, I will beat her to a bloody pulp. She has no right to work in mental health and ought to be strung up by her heels and let bleed to death slowly. But I digress.)

Every time that I felt as if things were going ok, I felt prohibited from doing anything that would make me feel remotely useful, because I would just have to stop when the baby was born. I was too tired and overwhelmed to even try.

But now, September is here again and I no longer have to worry about giving something up or having to quit because I'll have to take care of the baby. Now, he's here and I can try and have a life. I plan on starting school in January to get an AA in Computer Information Systems, and I have a combination of 8 weeks maternity leave and 12 weeks CFRA (California Family Rights Act) Leave, so I won't have to go back to work before then. Which on the one hand is a good thing, but on the other, I don't know how I'm going to last almost 4 months without working. My mom and I are going to make a bunch of mei tai carriers and swaddle blankets (yep, I can sew. Pretty damn well, too.) and sell them at local street fairs and the farmer's market, etc., so at least I will be doing something productive.

Hopefully things will be different now. The September breeze brings change, I can only hope it brings it for me.

--Dragon Read more!

The Emergence of the Wee Dragon

Not only do I have a baby, but wonder of wonders, I actually like him. I was so afraid that I'd just look at him and think, "What am I supposed to do with THAT?" Luckily that didn't happen. I am so glad.

Anyway. On to the gory details...

I went into the hospital Friday the 7th at 5:45am. I woke up that morning feeling very serene. I was completely unafraid. The fact that I knew I was having a c-section and I knew what to expect made it all seem completely bearable. As long as I feel I have control over a situation, I can take pretty much anything.

Sara was waiting for us when Erik and I got there. We went to the Maternity department and checked in, and they weighed me and checked my blood pressure and all the usual procedures to ensure that I was in fact alive and not in any eminent danger. They made me put on one of those horrendous hospital gowns and put in an IV. Unfortunately I do not have very sticky-outy veins (that's the technical term for it, of course) and they couldn't seem to find one on my right arm (I'm left handed) so they had to put it on my left arm. Still, it wasn't too bad.

Then we ended up waiting around for about an hour and a half because the doctor was performing another c-section. I think I had to get up to pee about 8 times. It was terribly irritating. Just before it was time to go into surgery, the anesthesiologist, Dr. Anand came in and introduced himself and let me know what he was going to be doing. Then the nurse came in and took me to the surgery room.

We went in and the first thing they had to do was the spinal block. This was probably the most awful experience I've ever had. They couldn't find a space to get it in and it hurt like hell. Dr. Anand eventually had to call in another anesthesiologist to help. In all they had to try 4 or 5 times. I had to hold completely still and arch my back into a weird position while leaning against the nurse, Kirsten (she was fantastic. She was also the checkout nurse and was absolutely the most awesome person ever. Also, she looked a lot like Jennifer Love Hewitt.) By the last time I was trying incredibly hard not to cry because I knew it would make me shake. I kept thinking that if it didn't work then I'd have to go through labor-- without any anesthesia. This was the first time that I really got scared. Just as I thought they were going to give up, they got it in. Suddenly I felt all tingly and heavy. It was the strangest thing in the world.

They got me up on the table and started to get everything ready. At this point they brought Sara in (I didn't want Erik in the room because I was afraid that he would freak out or faint, and I felt the role of the support person was to actually give support)However, I was pretty much out of it so I barely noticed. The spinal went too high because they put it higher than usual since they couldn't find a space. My arms started tingling and I asked if it was supposed to do that. It wasn't, but the doctors assured me that everything was ok as long as I could still move my arms. They kept asking me to squeeze their hands. I felt like I was having trouble breathing and I had to consciously make an effort to breathe. They kept giving me oxygen and I could barely talk because when I did I felt like I had to choose between talking and breathing. Obviously, I chose breathing. I felt like I just wanted to go to sleep, but a little voice in my head kept telling me that if I fell asleep I would stop breathing. At one point the tingling crept into the back of my skull and I got really scared. From the sound of his voice, Dr. Anand got a little worried, too.

While this was going on, Dr. Mazon was busy doing the surgery. They had warned me that while I wouldn't feel any pain, I likely would feel some tugging and pushing, and that when they actually pulled the baby out I would feel like I couldn't breathe because they would be pushing down hard on my stomach to help get him out. The one good thing about my spinal was that it was so strong I didn't feel anything at all. I didn't even realize they had started the surgery until I heard Chase cry. I asked if that was the baby, knowing that it was but it seemed so far away that I wasn't sure if it was real. I remember distinctly thinking that it was weird that he was actually saying "wah wah."

They handed him to Sara after they cleaned him up and made sure everything was fine. She brought him over to see me but I didn't even have the energy to turn my head and look, so I could only see him out of the corner of my eye. Shortly after that they took him out to the recovery room to be with Erik and wait for for me to be stitched up. When they finished they lifted me on to a gurney to take me to the recovery room, and as soon as my head was elevated I could instantly breathe better. I was so relieved, because they had told me the spinal would take a few hours to completely wear off, and I was afraid that I would spend the entire time just trying to breathe.

I didn't hold Chase for the first three hours because I was shaking so bad I was afraid that I would drop him, and I didn't want them to put him on my chest for fear that it would put pressure on my lungs and I wouldn't be able to breathe. As you can see, I really enjoy breathing :). They brought me ice chips because I was so thirsty and I thought that they were better than ice cream. It was funny because I was still shaking and so I was dropping ice chips all over the place.

Finally they decided things were well enough for me to go to the mother-baby room. Once we got there I was able to hold him. I love the way new babies move. I remember when I was with a friend when her baby was born how adorable it was to hold her and feel her little arms and legs moving under the blanket. I felt the same way about Chase. I was afraid that since I hadn't held him for the first three hours of his life that it would cause some kind of permanent damage. There is all this mostly pro-breastfeeding propaganda that makes you feel like if you don't have skin to skin contact with your baby right away, then your baby will be scarred for life and you will never have a healthy bond with them. Although he's only a week old, I'm pretty sure there is no permanent damage. And if there is, it's not likely caused by that.

The first pain medication they had me on was morphine. It made me feel pretty good, but it also made my face rather itchy and had the rather unpleasant effect of causing me to have to throw up randomly and without any notice. They were kind enough to put me on tylenol with codeine and ibuprofen pretty quickly, and after that everything was fantastic.

For the rest of my stay, everything was wonderful. All of the nurses and the rest of the staff were incredibly nice and treated me like a queen. Apparently they took up a poll and all the nurses agreed that Chase was the cutest baby on the ward :). Erik was great and I was completely amazed at him for not protesting or complaining when it came to changing diapers or anything else. (Once we left the hospital it was a completely different story, but I'll explain that later) We only had to call a nurse to help with Chase once. The food was surprisingly good, and even the bathrooms were really nice. All the doctors and nurses were completely shocked at how well I did. I was doing so well that they even let me go home a day early.

Everyone who came to visit was absolutely in love with Chase. Erik's family was so excited. It was cute watching them vie for the chance to hold him first, or feed him, or even change his diaper. My brother's birthday was the 9th, and when I asked him what he wanted for his birthday he said he wanted to come to the hospital and see the baby. How sweet is that?

The day I left I was actually able to go to Walmart. My mom said she was trying to keep up with me, instead of the other way around. I was able to walk up the stairs to my apartment with no problem, which surprised me because everyone said it would be the hardest thing I'd have to do for a while. When I got home the house was beautiful. My mom had spent the whole weekend cleaning it from top to bottom and making everything look wonderful.

At my appointment the following day to have the staples from my incision removed, Dr. Mazon told me not to even bother making a two week follow up appointment, which they usually have c-section patients do, because he felt that it would be pointless as I was doing so well. And today, I was feeling so well that Erik and I took Chase to Open Mic to show him off, and I didn't even have to take any pain medication at all the entire day.

Overall, I think that everything was fantastic. The only bad part was the spinal block, and that part lasted a little over an hour. Would I do it again? Absolutely not, but only because I truly do not plan on having any more kids. If for some crazy reason I did, however, I would definitely want to do a c-section, even if I knew the spinal would go the same way. I feel as if I am doing better than some women who had regular deliveries. I am so glad that (almost) everything went the way I wanted. People talk about having a "positive birth experience" and I feel as if I had the best one possible.

So that's what happened. Now I can stop feeling guilty for not writing it down and actually get to posting random mumblings again.

--Dragon






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Superior Leak Protection, My Ass

Dear Pampers Swaddlers:

You suck. You so totally suck. I'm not even going to finish off the two bags of you sitting on the shelf. You're so bad that I am going to forego my normal suck-it-up and use it until it's gone mentality. That's right. You just suck that much. I don't care if the 8-14lb diapers go halfway up Chase's back, because at least they don't leak all over every single item of clothing he owns. So goodbye, you shoddily manufactured, overpriced asscovers. You're supposed to hold pieces of crap, not be them.

--dragon

Yes I know this is a total copout of a post, but it's hard to type with only one hand. Read more!

Houston, We Have a Buffin

I'm home! (a whole day early. Yay!)There's a lot to write, but I want to wait a bit to do it. In the meantime, statistics!

Chase Jonathan Christopher L.
Born 9.7.07 at 10:14am
8 lbs. 4 oz., 21.5 in.

The first though that I had when I heard him crying: "he's saying 'wah'... I never thought babies really said 'wah'..."

Yeah... too much medication will do that to you :)

--Dragon
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Zero Hour

So this is it. The zero hour. I have to be there tomorrow at 5:45am... in other words, too frickin' early. I'll be in the hospital for 4 days. After tomorrow I'll no longer be just me. I'll suddenly be me + 1... what a strange thought. How do people deal with the sudden transition between only having themselves to take care of, themselves to think of, to having a whole other person who depends entirely on you for everything? I wonder what the person I will become would have to say to the person I am now. I hope that I like the new me.

--Dragon Read more!

If It's Not One Thing...

Let me first say that I feel so much better. Thank you so much to everyone who commented regarding my fear of labor. Of the few people I've told so far about it, some have been very supportive while others have made it seem as if I was being selfish and unreasonable, and I was just very afraid that more people would feel that way. I have a tendency to be a shameless people pleaser, sometimes to the extreme. You have helped me see that it's ok, whether they think so or not, because what matters is what I am comfortable with. Again, thank you. :)

That said, right now Erik is driving me nuts. Remember how about 3 months ago, in June, I kicked him out mainly because he refused to step up to the plate and get a decent job? Well guess what: still no good job.

I have done everything in my power to help him find a job. I have done far more than I should have to, more than anyone else in their right mind would do, I'm sure. I created a resume', found ads for jobs that sounded suitable, I signed him up for a class to learn how to write his own resume' and another class to help him work on his interview skills. I even told him what to wear to an interview. It turns out I'm not the only one-- his aunt and sister bought him a bunch of new clothes that were more professional than his old clothes, everyone in his family, even his sister's boyfriend keep an eye out for jobs he might like and let him know about them.

Regardless of all the help he's getting, he still won't do anything. I've told him in every way I know of that he needs to get a new job, that not only are his expenses going to go up once the baby is born, but he can't even keep up with his current bills. He goes from agreeing with me to giving me all kinds of rediculous reasons as to why he can't search for jobs now. For example, his band is playing in an upcoming festival about 2 weeks from now. Now, I'm pretty good at getting a job easily, but even for me 2 weeks is pretty fast. Not to mention if you let them know that you have prior engagements, most employers understand.

I'm not the only one who is getting fed up with him. Everyone in his family has been after him and feel as if he should be taking responsibility. We are all so frustrated with him. Babies cost money. Now, I have plenty of help if I need it. I have my mom, Sara, my dad, everyone in Erik's family including his mom and stepdad, both his aunts, his uncle, his grandma, and his sister and her boyfriend. So if I ever really need something, there is no shortage of people who will gladly help me out. However, it's still Erik's responsibility.

I'm hoping that he will surprise us all when faced with reality in all its screaming, pooping, chubby-cheeked glory, and do his share. But to be quite honest, I really don't believe he will. And it frustrates and angers me to no end. I don't want to be a bitch. I don't want to have to tell him that either he gets a job and starts helping out financially or I'll have to go to Child Support Services and let them go after him. Because they will attach his wages and he'll have no choice but to get a better job, as he'll have barely anything left. They don't care whether he can pay his bills or not. I'm not that cruel. But if he doesn't hurry up and be a man, then I'll have no choice.

I'm so sick of being put in positions like this. I'd much, much rather be nice. If people would only listen to me, everything would work out so much better. It's not like I say these things because I like the sound of my own voice (and really, I don't. It's too high pitched.). I just don't feel like I have any other choice.

--Dragon Read more!

Roses

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Weak and Powerless

I haven't written much lately because I've been afraid to write about the one thing predominantly on my mind.

I am a control freak. I admit this. Perhaps because there has been so much in my life outside of my realm of control, I have become someone who craves order and organization. I need things to be logical and timely. I need to be able plan and anticipate. I hate surprises (except complete surprises, those are nice. But when I know it's coming, it drives me nuts) and I loathe being caught off guard. Because of this, I'm terrified of labor. I can't think of an adjective that seems to really convey just how scared I am.

There is very little I can plan or even really expect regarding labor. No two people experience the same thing. I could be in labor for 6 hours. I could be there for 36. And there's no way to tell. I could tear or have an episiotomy. Then again, I might not. There is so many variables, and no real way to predict them. This frightens me to death.



Throughout my pregnancy, my midwives and anyone else I talked to about it kept assuring me that I would be ready for it when the time came, that I was not physically ready for it, and so I wasn't emotionally or mentally ready for it. I wanted to believe them. I tried to ignore the fear for a while, to no avail. Then I thought perhaps if I knew more about it, I would feel more prepared. Not so-- it only made it worse, because everything I read made it more and more clear that there was no way for me to know what would happen.

As such, I have not been a nice person lately. I've been anxious and stressed out and worried beyond belief. This has led me to be a total bitch to pretty much everyone around me. I was so afraid that I couldn't seem to think of anything else, and the fact that everyone seemed oblivious to the kind of torment I was feeling. I kept fighting with my brother (but really, he is a great big effing asshole anyway), fighting with Erik, even fighting with my mom. My mom got so angry at me that she said some incredibly horrible things that she had no right to say, but it convinced me to stop dwelling on it and do something about it.

So finally I discussed it with one of the midwives. I made a list of everything I was afraid of, and believe me, it was not a short list. But the main thing came down to the fact that I feared the loss of control. We talked about the kind of options I had, and I told her I wanted a c-section.

I told her that I had been researching it for weeks, and I felt confident that I understood the risks. I also know what to expect. I know what happens when, I know about how long it will last, and I know what to expect while recovering. I understand that it will take longer to recover from, but in the long run I feel like it is worth it.

I was afraid she would tell me that I couldn't do it, that since there was no medical reason for it. She talked to me about the risks and the fact that she wasn't even sure if one of the OB/GYN's they work under would even consider it, but she said she would talk to the doctor and see if he would even consider it. We talked to the doctor and he agreed to do it.

I was so incredibly relieved. I know it's major abdominal surgery, and considering that I have never been in the hospital and the only surgery I've ever had was to remove my wisdom teeth, it's a rather scary thought. But I am so much less worried and afraid about it than I was about the thought of going through labor. Now, the only thing I have to worry about is not going into labor before I'm scheduled for the c-section on the 7th. That likely won't happen, but it's still a possibility.

I know some people may think that I am being selfish for wanting to do this, and that i just need to suck it up and deal with it, but it's my choice. I don't care if you think I'm a terrible person because I feel the need to control everything and the desire to avoid injury to my private parts. It's my decision and I have to live with it. If I'm comfortable with it, then that's all that matters.

--Dragon Read more!