Baby's First Thanksgiving

The cats are thrown out while I'm in the hospital, then one gets run over. The other one is brought back in and Christmas decorating is cancelled because of the cat.

Oh yeah, and the baby's sick, too.

The Oreck Challenge

Life sucks, then it gets marginally better, then something happens and it sucks again. Maybe in a few weeks it'll get better. Maybe my intelligence and some semblance of normal emotional behavior will return when my milk comes in....

Then again, maybe the sky really is falling and there's a giant oreck out there to clean up the mess. Wouldn't that be nice? Just suck up all the little shards of abnormality in the world? Of course, the next logical question would be: would there be anything left after the clean-up, and who determines what qualifies as normal and abnormal? There's a question for the Hitchhiker's Guide. Where is that little don't panic book, anyway? I seem to have lost mine somewhere in the transom of chaos known as my life.

I miss intelligent conversation...I miss any conversation that doesn't center around pregnancy or kids. And I think I forgot what logic is, since it's an abstract and foreign concept to my kids...see how any topic can become a kidversation? I'm sure I could attempt a conversation with someone tomorrow about the mathematics of space or Imperialist Russia or the Ming Dynasty and it would somehow turn into a kidversation. Is a pregnant belly a billboard to the world that reads "I can only understand dialog about humans under the age of 18 and the bodily functions thereof"? I miss my brain. I wonder if I could solve a crossword anymore? I don't even know where my crossword books are - but I can pinpoint no less than 5 books on pregnancy, childbirth, breastfeeding, or children at this exact moment. Where is the law that says reproduction and intelligence are mutually exclusive? And who wrote it? Can I lodge a complaint? Oh wait, nevermind, I'd have to read the forms and everybody knows pregnant women can't read.

To borrow a sentiment from a young, intelligent, childless friend:

barf.

Fear and Loathing

I feel abandoned and I can't tell anybody. I feel like a fool for having yet another kid to just get yelled and cussed at and to take to church alone. I hate sitting there husbandless with my two kids and big belly. I hate the pitying looks and questions, and I hate telling my daughter that Daddy's not coming to church for the umpteenth time.

I hate the eye-rolling and disgusted sighs I get when I mention it. I hate the pregnant comments that inevitably come with every tear. I hate feeling....ugh!!! I just hate it.

I hate being taken repeatedly. I hate calling over and over and over and being told the same thing time and again, then nothing being fixed. I hate being blown off because I'm a woman, or I'm pregnant, or I'm poor.

I hate being disobeyed. I hate not having more control of my kids. I hate being depressed. I hate being on medication. I hate not being able to get off of it. I hate not being able to afford it.

I hate listening to other moms talk about the things they do and trying to come up with some noble, higher reason for not doing it other than the fact that I can't afford food, let alone anything else. I hate worrying if the toilet paper will last 'till payday, and who I can put off to get it when payday comes.

I hate that I want to get away from my daughter on some days and I just can't stand her. I hate that I feel like sixty dollars a month has to be spent on me taking her to kids day out once a week just so I can get a break from her. I hate that I still end up calling Misty and scrounging money from somewhere, anywhere just to get her out of my hair.

I hate that I lost her at school. I hate that she's not potty trained. I hate that he's not completely trained, either. I hate that he rarely gets green dots at school. I hate that he throws fits. I hate that he gets so crazy and rambunctious. I hate that they terrorize the cats.

I hate that I'm not normal, or at least a little closer to the normal that everyone else is. I hate depression. I hate my family life. I hate that I don't really have a family life to hate. We all just happen to live in the same house. I hate all the yelling. I hate all the swearing. I hate all the bickering and arguing and aggravating. I hate, hate, hate the absolute disobedience and disrespect and daily spankings. I hate not knowing what to do and that what I am doing isn't working. I hate feeling like a failure as a wife, mother, person, human being. I hate being incompetent. I hate being impatient. I hate being emotional. I hate crying. I hate screaming.

I hate pretending. I hate pretending that I'm okay, that I'm happy, that I'm positive, that I'm optimistic, smart, talented. I hate trying to be worthwhile to anyone for anything, but knowing that I'm not and never will be. I hate ... I just hate.

You know, sometimes life just sucks.