Big Fight Over Little Woman

So my mother-in-law is here. Has been for over a week. I have no idea when she will be leaving and I’m about to lose my fucking mind.

First barrier…she speaks zero English and makes no attempt. At all.  I know enough Spanish and at least make an effort to communicate with her even if I have to bust out Google translate. Or play charades and look like a total fucking idiot. She doesn’t have to try apparently because she’s ’embarrassed’ she doesn’t understand or know English. Somehow that exempts her.

Second barrier…she is the one my husband caters to. Which I get to some degree, but for a marriage already struggling, this is not good.  I’m so fucking sick of being last and not having my feelings accounted for. It’s my house and my husband doesn’t seem to give two shits that I don’t feel like I have space in my own home.

Two examples: this Sunday I was looking for a cheese tray. An $8 cheese tray. It’s seemingly disappeared from our house. MIL saw it but after rearranging our fridge it’s no longer anywhere to be found. I can’t find a thing in my own kitchen because she puts everything away where she thinks it goes. She doesn’t bother to ask where it should go.  Why should it matter, just because it’s our house?!?  And then when I went to make breakfast she immediately started making something too. It was like Food Channel, but way more passive aggressive.  What in the actual fuck.

Third barrier…we don’t have any time for ourselves as a couple because she stays up and sits in the living room.  Wherever we are, there she is.  No fucking alone time whatsoever.

What the hubs doesn’t understand that I am not keen on having a virtual stranger in my home. We saw her a year ago and only because we traveled to her. Before that it was a year ago. This is only her second time even seeing V and she is almost 2. We’ve been married 8-1/2 years and this woman has made no attempt to get to know me. Her other daughter-in-laws?  She has them as contacts in her phone and speaks to them regularly. But not me. That part has been hurtful to me, and I feel as though I’m beyond attempting to be the one to make the effort or try.  I am done trying.  The kicker out of all this?  She typically has nothing to do with the hubs either except when he can do something for her, like fly her to see a different sibling.  Isn’t that nice?

Even now, I am sitting at our dining room table, while she is sitting by my husband, talking to him.  There’s no attempt to engage me in the conversation.  She can fuck off as far as I’m concerned.  I’d be counting the days until she leaves…but I don’t have any clue when she is fucking leaving.

I sincerely apologize for the amount of fucks in this post.  It’s either that, or lose my shit.  Although I may have already lost my shit.

Do You Even See Me?

I’m sitting here, it’s barely 8AM, and I’ve been awake for over 4 hours already.  Our kiddo has been having frequent wake ups, which I attribute to our turn and burn Seattle trip.  And I am fucking exhausted.  Her last wakeup at 3:45AM the husband got up to soothe her, but after about 30 minutes of her crying for momma and boo boo, he relented and she came running into our bedroom.  And yet, in a middle of the night parenting conversation, tells me he doesn’t want her to be nursing all the time.  Um, OK.  You let her come nurse because you couldn’t get her back to sleep…so do you not want her to nurse at all, or only when it’s convenient for you?  Do you even see my exhaustion?  Do you even see that I’m completely out of gas?

I’m the kind of exhausted where you feel drunk without the alcohol induced euphoria.  Everything feels woozy.  I feel sick to my stomach.  I tried to get her back to sleep around 5:30, when the hubs left for the gym, but she only slept for about 45 minutes.  Momma did not sleep.  Laid in bed with that tired wired feeling where you are too amped up to get any shut eye.

The day trudges on and gives zero fucks about my tiredness.  I discovered yesterday that our dog has blood in his piss, so I have a vet appointment at 9AM.  At 1PM, I have a 2 hour appointment for paperwork and other stuff related to my new job.  Dinner needs to get made because the toddler probably wants to eat.  The house really needs to be cleaned but that ain’t happening anytime soon.  I’m trying to find backup childcare for V because my husband told me 2 days ago that he plans to head to the Netherlands next week for work.  Monday night.  Thanks for leaving me alone for my first week on a new job.  I want to find someone in case she is sick or needs to come home from daycare, because I do not want to have to leave early during the day from my new job.  I want to scream at him, “Do you even realize all that I’ll have to do on my own while you are halfway around the fucking world?!?”  The answer, of course, is no.

He doesn’t see that I’ve quit asking for a date night, because I’m tired of telling him that it’s important that we have 1-1 time together for our relationship.  He doesn’t see that I’ve quit asking to go to couples therapy because it obviously isn’t a priority for him.  He doesn’t even see that I’ve stopped asking to have weekly discussions on finances and parenting because I’m the only one to initiate and I’m sick of bringing it up.  He doesn’t see that I have no energy or desire to fuck him at all.  He doesn’t see how tired I am of asking and asking for him to help me with things around the house that I’ve decided it’s a waste of my breath and precious energy.  He doesn’t see the imposition he puts upon me when he decides last minute to travel for business.  He doesn’t see all that I do.  Nor does he appreciate it either.  He doesn’t see that not only am I running on fumes, that our relationship is running on fumes too.

He doesn’t even see.  He doesn’t even see me.  At all.

I’ll Take The Shits for $350, please.

When you read that headline, isn’t that exactly what you envision for your anniversary?  No?  Well it wasn’t what I envisioned either…but that’s what happened.  And still happening.

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Dessert!

Let me set the scene for you.  We decided to take a trip to Napa for our anniversary with the kiddo in tow.  I had even found a local nanny service with terrific reviews so that the hubs and I could have some alone time.  He found a restaurant with great reviews, and booked us a reservation on our anniversary.  He even went so far as to let the restaurant know it was our anniversary too!  (Bonus points for him on this….I believe I owe him a quality BJ at some point for this good work.)

We got to the restaurant early and enjoyed this scenic view.

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View from our table

We sampled different Napa wines from their extensive list.  We had a delicious three course meal, with the chef even sending out two additional small plates for us, free of charge.  Seriously, the food was divine!  At one point, I had even said to the hubs, “I think I may have just come a little…” because the food was THAT good.

 

Our dinner was so good for a number of reasons.  We got the opportunity to talk about plans for the future, about things in our marriage we should keep doing, things we should start doing, things we should stop doing.  We had the rare opportunity to spend time with each other, without one of us being distracted with one eye trying to pay attention to our spouse and one eye watching our kiddo.

On our ride home, my stomach began to rumble very deeply.  I remember commenting that I didn’t feel so hot.  We get back to our hotel, pay the nanny, got the report on how V was, and then I exited to the bathroom where I shit the entire contents of my dinner out.  I was also feeling sick to my stomach, and I was praying to the porcelain god and any other god that would listen, that puking wouldn’t follow the diarrhea.  To be sick from one end is bad enough, but to have it coming out of both ends is truly awful.

We racked our brains trying to figure out what the offending dish may have been, as we both were pretty sure I had a case of food poisoning.  I think it was my 3rd course, which was squab.

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The offending dish (I’m sorry little squab)

It was supposed to be medium rare, but I think it was mostly rare.  I didn’t ask for them to cook it more, and in hindsight, I really should have.  Because I looked at it and thought “That’s too pink to eat” but ate it anyway.  And am now paying the consequences for my dumbass move.

 

And for those of you that may want to judge me for eating squab.  Please don’t as I’ve already beaten myself up enough over this.  You see, when I ordered, I thought squab was a type of pheasant.  Because we were in a fancy schmancy restaurant, I wasn’t going to be the unsophisticated type to ask “What is squab?” Growing up in the Midwest, I came from a hunting and fishing family, so we regularly ate wild game, including rabbit, squirrel, pheasant, deer, fish we caught, etc.  It was only later on that I googled and discovered that squab was pigeon.  Young pigeon. And I felt morally conflicted for having eaten a young pigeon.  The hubs didn’t help when he was jutting his neck in and out like pigeons do when they walk.

I’m writing this post 5 days after the dinner in question, and I’m still shitting my life away.  I’ve felt truly awful since Monday evening.  In addition to the diarrhea, I’ve felt bloated, gassy, nauseated, and just icky in general.  I dropped off the kiddo at daycare this morning, and as I walked to my car, I started crying, muttering to myself, “I just want to stop feeling like shit!”

Sigh.  At least was a memorable anniversary.  How about that for a positive spin?

P.S.  Had to post this real life pic from our trip.

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This is vacation with a toddler.  

Hubs was trying to get some nice pics of me and the kiddo together, because it’s almost always her and him in photos, with me behind the camera.  He managed to snap a pic of her pitching a fit, and me trying to protect her melon from making contact with the pavement.  I love the contrast of this beautiful scenery behind me, with a flailing child in front of me.  Ah, the joys of parenthood.

Wrapping this up so I can go shit my life away.  Again.

 

At An Impasse…

Last Sunday, the hubs had asked me if I was feeling left out because he’s doing things on Saturday with the kiddo when I’m in class.  His question led to a great conversation how I am feeling left out, how I feel that he makes times for the things that he wants to do, but doesn’t make time for us as a couple.  It was hard for me to say to him, but it’s how I’ve been feeling lately.  He was really supportive and gentle with me on Sunday.  That’s why I was so confused about tonight’s exchange.

He comes back from picking up dinner for us, and is telling me about a conversation with a supplier.  He’s going on and on, and I’m frustrated.  He was gone for an event, which was in town but required him to stay at a hotel, so I was managing the household.  And the kiddo was up for over an hour in the middle of the night.  Every.  Fucking.  Night. pretty much for weeks.  I’m exhausted, anxious, worried, and in general, not in very good spirits these days.  So as he continues to tell me about this convo, I get pissed.  And he asks me what is wrong…and I tell him, that I feel like everyone else gets billing with him but me.  And that I get what is typically left over, which is not much, if anything.

His reply to me?  I’m blaming him for everything since I’m not happy right now.  I told him that I didn’t think I was blaming him, as this has been a consistent issue for me.  He tells me, through pursed lips, that he doesn’t know what to say.  And then followed with ice cold silence for the rest of dinner.  I’m so hurt, and I’m mad, and I’m at my wits end at being ignored or iced out.

I didn’t feel like I was attacking him, I really didn’t.  I didn’t name call him – I didn’t say “YOU are not doing this…” or “YOU are not doing that…”  I used “I” language to try to express myself like an adult.  And for what?  A deflection that somehow having needs is “blame” and then feeling this ever growing sense of loneliness enveloping me.  I’m going through this HUGE life change, where I’m trying to figure out a new career/job, while not trying to take things personally about being laid off, and I don’t even feel as though my husband has my back.  I don’t feel like he understands (or cares to understand) what a big emotional deal this is for me.  It’s the first time in my life I’ve NOT worked (besides maternity leave….but that had a definitive start and end).

He checked out for the rest of the evening.  He didn’t speak to me.  In fact, he went to bed at the same time our 15 month old daughter did.  It just makes my heart hurt, because the distance between us grows each time he chooses silence over discussion.  Another wall goes up every time he chooses to not talk about the very real issues that are happening in our marriage.

I’m left here, alone, on the couch wondering, what can I really do?  What options do I have if someone doesn’t want to engage?  What can I do if someone would rather check out than recognize their partner is going through a very difficult time and they don’t even bother to try to comfort them?

We are totally at an impasse.  And I have no fucking clue what to do.  I’m heartbroken, and so tired of crying.  And tired of being alone.

I might need an alibi

U.G.L.Y. You ain’t got no alibi you ugly, eh, hey you ugly

Sorry, anytime I hear the word alibi I think of that damn song.

Here’s the thing. I am now completely convinced that my husband either has a death wish or wants me to fail miserably at this fucking 1/2 deal. I  am set to run three days a week, Tuesday and Thursday for 20-45 minutes and Saturday for mileage. For the most part, I’ve kept up that schedule with PiYo on M/W/F and weights on Sunday…then I got sick and I would go like one day of massive workouts, 2 PiYo’s, four miles, and weights… and then get sick again…

He’s been okay about Saturdays, he’d take our little guy out to the library, the zoo, lunch whatever, to get out of the house and wear the little guy down so he would nap when he got home right after eating lunch. Then it got cold and my husband turned into a little twat, “it’s too cold out to go anywhere”. Really dude, too cold for you to get into the car that is in our heated garage and go drive with the heater on as you head into a place that 9/10 will have heated underground parking. You will never actually BE outside… REALLY? Because then it is just SOOO much work to entertain our child while I’m in the other room for 1-3 hours… let’s be real. I never get more than 1.5 hours. *sigh*

This week, this week makes me question the motives, either he wants to die or he wants me to fail and I’m not totally convinced either way. I finally got my (oh TMI warning before I go too far) period (59 days late) along with a round of food poisoning.

Monday I was off work, he went to work, little guy went to day care, Mommy stayed home and got in a decent workout with a run. Progress report I’m currently at an “almost dying but still surviving” pace of 15:48, if I can keep this up and improve then I should be able to finish this damn run without the Disney Police picking my ass up at one of the mile markers. All was well and right in the world. I even got some school stuff done. yay me

Tuesday I go to work, eat my “this will help me lose some weight and be healthy” soup for lunch… I got about half way through it when I started rifling through the trash can to check the date. It didn’t taste bad, but was making my tummy upset… nope good til aug 2016.. we’re good… oh wait I feel… sick… to the bathroom. Hey check it out. PERIOD showed up… maybe that’s why I’m not feeling so hot. Doctors did say it was going to be a period from hell… yes, that’s why. back to desk. 10 minutes before I leave for the afternoon I proceed to puke at my desk. Haven’t done that since I was pregnant, THAT’s how urgent that shit was for me. go home obviously not going to run so I get child from daycare, hold it together while calling my dear sweet loving husband telling him he needs to get his ass home asap… he couldn’t hear me “text me babe”… my text “get your ass home asap, I’m dying to sit on the toilet to shit my brains out while puking into the trashcan that is lined with diapers you forgot to empty. I cooked nothing please get food for kid and you because the smell of food is only making it worse” response “ok, will do”… he worked LATER than normal. no text, no call. Get’s home, I hand him the remote for Paw Patrol dvd and head to the bathroom as I hear “What am I supposed to feed him?” from down the hall… I text… chicken nuggets, follow directions on bag, turn on fan… then I started clocking it. He would walk down the hall, open the door to our bedroom, peak into the bathroom and either say nothing, sigh heavily and walk out or ask “are you done yet?”, sigh heavily and walk out… want to guess… take a guess how many times he did that

 

I can wait

 

 

well, you’re reading this so no one is really waiting

 

18 times in ONE FUCKING HOUR. I got up, grabbed the pepto I asked him to bring me at entry #8, head downstairs with that and my Epsom salt. I took a hour long bath downstairs, why you ask, why go downstairs. Well my loves, because my husband is a grade A lazy ass… he’ll walk back and forth down the hall all goddamn day… but go downstairs, well, that’d mean he would have to go back UP the stairs. And if our kid saw him go downstairs WITHOUT going with, he’d lose his shit. (The jumper is downstairs, along with the other toys that he loves that drive me up the wall so we keep them out of sight out of mind). I was left alone to feel like an evil genius. Epsom salt and a drop or two of lavender is GREAT for cramps and nausea by the way. I start to feel better, make my little man a bottle for bed and head to my room. Husband had to put the baby to bed, so sorry dear… whatever. He comes to bed bitching and moaning that “he was really in a mood tonight”. I faked being asleep.

Wednesday – I feel BETTER. like MUCH better. cramps are no joke, but I feel good. Due to one car household he has to go home get baby and then come get me from work. I offer to call in for a pizza from a lovely artisan place in town. He agrees only after asking, “will you be joining us for dinner or hiding in the bathroom all night again?”. I KNOW RIGHT? How is he not dead or verbally assaulted lol I kid I kid, but seriously, I was boiling… if anyone is “hiding” in the bathroom it’s him and his bejewled game during a 45 minute shit after I’ve asked him to do something. Y’all know that “oh yea I’ll do that, right after I poop, I have to go to the bathroom right now” line…  gah… I say, “maybe I can get a run in tonight since I feel better” response “well if you need a reason to hide again I guess”. so of course I don’t because at that point he’s handing me my child….

get home and he’s going on and on about how “difficult” it was dealing with our son alone… oh you mean like I do when you’re out in the field five days a week? *sigh* so yea. I go to bed at 9, play on my phone and pass out at 10. He didn’t finish whatever movie or game he was playing til about 1130… Baby wakes up WIDE AWAKE wakes up at 3am… he whines, not the baby MY HUSBAND, “I need sleep, can’t you deal with him” … oh because I don’t need sleep… SURE… fucker. Background, once I’m up, I’m UP, there is no go back to sleep for me. Him, get up, piss, drink water, snack, whatever, plop back down and snoring away in less than 5 minutes… we know this about each other. And yet. I’m the one that got up with our child at 3 fucking am… tried to get him back to bed, he wasn’t having it.

Now technically Thursday – We ended up watching Elmo in Grouch-land while coloring until the husband woke up, all ten minutes before the alarm was set to go off and comes out to say “do you want to go back to sleep I can stay with him now?” … insult to injury dood…

So after all that loveliness, I might need an alibi… as I can only imagine what this weekend is going to be like with him. Anyone else have a husband that travels for work and while they are gone you want them home to help, but when they are home for more than a couple of days you want them gone because they are zero help?

Pray for me

Ella

My Brain is Broken

So I’ve read a lot about the power of positive thinking. I’m sure you’ve heard such catch phrases as “change your thinking, change your life!” and “your thoughts determine your destiny”.  But for the life of me my default is worst case scenario.  I’m trying to change that, I really am….but it ain’t easy.

For example, I was impacted at my job, so I’m looking for work right now.  Even though I was given 3 months of severance, this is the thought process that went through my head. Keep in mind that I did the calculations on this, and with my husband working full-time, that money should be able to last/stretch us for at least 6 months….without tapping into our savings.  What if I don’t find a job right away?  What if no one wants to hire me?  What if I can’t find work?  What if we run out of money?  What if we can’t pay the mortgage?  What if we have to move?   What if we lose our cars, our house?  OMG WE’RE GONNA BE BANKRUPT, HOMELESS, AND IN FINANCIAL RUIN BECAUSE OF ME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Another recent example.  I’m sure you’ve all heard or read something about the Zika virus by now.  Since the hubs works for an airline, we have travel benefits, and he’s mentioned wanting to go to South America (particularly Brazil, Chile, Peru areas), Latin America (Mexico, Costa Rica, etc.)…and I believe all of the countries I’ve mentioned have had Zika outbreaks.  I get that this impacts pregnant women only.  Am I pregnant?  No.  Are we actively trying to get pregnant?  Fuck no!  But where did my brain go?  WHAT AM I GOING TO DO WHEN I GET PREGNANT WITH A ZIKA BABY?

In both instances I was legit terrified for a bit.  (or awhile.)  My brain spins out of control, thinking about all of the “what if” situations until I am a nervous, anxious frenzied hot mess.  My husband doesn’t understand it at all, and it’s completely frustrating to him.  Well guess what buddy?  It’s completely frustrating to me too!  It’s no fun to feel completely paralyzed by something that will probably never happen but in your mind, you’ve envisioned it happening so clearly, how can it not come to pass?  This is a daily struggle for me.  I’m trying to reign it in.

I’ve been exercising regularly, as an outlet.  I’m also getting back to writing/blogging/journaling.  I’ve also started doing meditation.  Ok, I’ve half-assed the meditation bit. I have a guided medication app on my phone called “Breathe” and it’s been at least two weeks since I’ve used it.  And the meditations are short, between like 3-5 minutes, so I have zero excuse not to do it daily.  And from what I’ve read, daily meditation might be my miracle cure.

For those of you anxious worriers out there like me, how do you turn off the stream of “what ifs” in your life?  How do you quiet the noise?   What techniques have worked for you?  This worrier needs your advice.  BRB – going to meditate so I can change my thinking and change my life (because I need a job goddamnit!).

Feeling Overwhelmed and a Shitty Wife, Mom, Employee, Person

Warning:  This post contains quite a few swear words.  I’ve fucking warned you!

In an effort to be ‘positive’ about my impending work layoff, I’ve created a countdown of work days that are left.  I need to stay 94 work days in order to receive a severance package.  94 days!!!  That seems like an eternity from now, given how I feel about everything.  Even though this work reorg had been in the works and I’d been expecting to be impacted, I’ve had very mixed emotions this week about everything.  I’m feeling totally overwhelmed, grumpy, downright bitchy and a terrible wife, mom, employee and person.  I’ve vacillated between “It’s gonna be OK!” to “What are we going to do?!” and I’ve spent a lot of time feeling completely and utterly numb.

Found out yesterday that instead of reporting to my current boss through the rest of the calendar year, the “new” manager wants to meet with us so they can get started ASAP!  Way to be a go-getter.  Funny part?  We are US based, and the new regime is in Singapore or Hong Kong or some other place in Asia….so how’s that gonna work?  It’s a 12 hour time difference.  My current boss hears this news, pitches a fit and leaves work at noon (after coming in at 10AM).  And I wanted to say to her, “Wait, why are you upset?  This doesn’t even affect you…you won’t report to them!”

And on top of that, based on the information we’re getting, the new regime thinks my coworker and I are going to automatically re-apply for our jobs.  What a huge assumption to make, considering this is the second time in less than a year, that I’ve been basically “fired” and told I could re-apply for my job…if I wanted to.  No thank you.  No fucking thank you.  Our meeting with them on Monday should be interesting, as I plan on leading that discussion with…”I have no intention of re-applying….”  I know that I’m a good worker.  I’m productive, hard working, but man this shit has been demoralizing…the message that I’m getting is that the work I’ve done isn’t valued or appreciated.  And that’s a bitter pill to swallow, considering I always try to put forth my very best effort.

I had been bitching to my husband Wednesday night at dinner that our general manager hasn’t said a word to me about being impacted.  Not a “Hey I’m sorry this happened to you” or something like that…even if it is fake!!!!  Let’s at least try to fake some compassion.  I’m sorry that I bitched about it, because yesterday he said to me, “Hey, well at least I could let you work from Hawaii in between firings…”  [Sidenote:  My husband had a work assignment in Hawaii for 3 months…and I was ‘allowed’ to work remotely for a total of weeks so I wouldn’t be caring for our 3 month old child ALL BY MYSELF.]  So fucking compassionate of him to say that right?  Asshole.

Last thing I will mention about work, before I move on to my other complaints bitches, is how fucking dumb are people if they really expect us to produce when we’ve just been told we won’t have jobs?!?  I mean, what kind of fucking fantasy land do they live in?

Husband will be traveling next week for work.  He told me he wasn’t going to travel during the month of October, but realistically, with what is going on his job, I knew that wasn’t going to be possible.  So next week he’ll be gone from Tuesday – Friday.  Let’s hope I don’t lose my shit again when he’s gone.

Husband wants to invite mother-in-law to come here to ‘help’ me when he’s gone next week, and also for next month, when he will be traveling for most of the month.  Ah Dios Mio!   My mother-in-law is a little 4 foot Hispanic woman who doesn’t speak a lick of English.  I know enough Spanish to be dangerous, but clearly there is a communication gap between us.  So let’s leave us alone together for a week with a baby!  Yes!  Because that sounds like one more thing I need to fucking deal with right now, doesn’t it?

Vivi must be going through some kind of developmental leap these days, because she’s just whiny whenever you set her down for onesinglesecond.  And honestly, it’s been so fucking annoying for me.  It’s been so bad that I’ve been telling the husband that I will walk the dog so he can get her ready because I need the break.

I was walking the dog yesterday, and had Vivi in the jogging stroller and I sprained my ankle so badly.  It was like “Bam!  Bitch goes down!” because I completely fell forward, my ankle completely twisting.

And ordinarily our cute little dog never bothers me, but he just put his paws on my leg and was talking to me like “Hey mom how are you?” And in response I yelled, “SHUT UP!  LEAVE ME ALONE!”

I even went to therapy this week, although I don’t think you can tell based on this post.  Therapy is one of my coping skills.  I believe everyone needs therapy.  I’ve been working out and eating copious amounts of peanut butter fudge too.  I’ve got mad coping skillz.

I don’t know where I’m really going with this, but I want to shout out:  “UNIVERSE CAN YOU GIVE ME A FUCKING BREAK FROM ALL THIS STRESS?  AND I’M NOT TALKING ABOUT A BROKEN BONE…LIKE A REPRIEVE FROM THIS BEFORE I END UP IN THE LOONY BIN!!!!!”

Note:  If you see no more posts from me after this, I’m probably in a room with padded walls.

Having My Best Week Ever (not true!)

You remember that VH1 show, Best Week Ever?!?  By referencing that show, does it show my age?  Ah, well, hell….let me tell you the week I’ve just had.

Last Thursday – Sunday:  We have had a trip planned to LA for several months so of course I get sick right before we fly out.  Thanks for sharing your germs from daycare kiddo!

Monday:  Work from home because I’m feeling like absolute crap and guessing my coworkers will be happy that I’m not going in to the office to “share” this with them.  Went to doctor and confirmed that I have upper respiratory infection and because I’m still nursing, there’s not really anything I can take unless I want to dry up my supply.  Bonus/plus side?  My doctor was pretty hawt.

Monday Night:  Husband tells me that his work trip, which was supposed to be a day trip on Tuesday will now last until Friday.  Wake up in the middle of the night and I feel a lump in my boob.  Don’t give it much thought as I roll over and go back to bed.

Tuesday Morning:  Work from home again because I’m still not feeling great/hacking all the time AND am pretty sure now that I’ve got my second case of mastitis.  My right boob is throbbing anytime I move around.  I’ve been trying to hand express to get the milk out, and also put moist heat on it, but not really helping much.  FML.

Tuesday at 11AM:  Jump on a “catch up call” with my coworker, boss, and director to find out that the latest reorg puts me, my coworker, my director, and about 10 other people of our 25 person team out of jobs.  I was expecting this, but there’s something to be said for hearing someone tell you “Congratulations – you’re getting laid off/let go/bye Felicia!”  We were told our last day would be 2/29/2016…a day that occurs once every four years.  What a special occasion!

Tuesday at noon:  Mastitis is confirmed with slight fever and boob that is all red and inflamed.  Call dr. to get prescription for antibiotic since I’ve been here before…thanks to my friend Angela for that suggestion because I’d have probably waited until I felt like complete and total shit, requiring a middle-of-the-night ER visit.  Add finding new daycare to the to-do list because of massive issues.

Tuesday evening:  Talk to husband and have total meltdown on the phone, complete with ugly crying, repeating “I can’t adult any more today”.

Wednesday morning:  Still at home, took a sick day because I need to rest AND because I no longer give two shits about my (soon-to-be-eliminated) job.  My idea of “relaxing”?  Cleaning up my shit sty of a house.  Relaxing fail.

Thursday:  Finally go in to work and virtually no one in our department is there.  I get it, with the happenings of this week, but we have 5 months until our last day…it’s a little early to start checking out everyone, isn’t it?  Leave work early myself to enroll daughter in new daycare.  Go to pick her up from daycare that we are about to fire and the ladies ask me, “Did you not bring any food for Viv?”  Um, what?!?  You didn’t feed her all day then and I see hardly any milk has been drank.  Oh even better – they fed her food that we didn’t authorize, and they sound unsure of what they fed her.  Let’s just hope she doesn’t have allergies to anything because I don’t know WTF she ate.   Please, please, PLEASE dear God do not let me lose my shit.  If I end up in jail, it will be a solid 24 hours before the husband can bail me out.

Friday:  Inform daycare that we are pulling our daughter from them.  Best part?  When I pick her up a few hours later after working a short day, they even fuck up packing up her supplies.  I was missing two bottles full of milk THAT THEY DIDN’T FEED HER.  Husband had to stop on his way home after his flight landed.

Friday Night:  Drank a beer and listened to my husband tell me all about his wild night during his business trip.  I got to hear how they were out until 3AM, their dinner bill for 9 people came to $1,400, they went for drinks later (that was $500 alone), and lastly, but surely not least, they ended up at a strip club.  I honestly don’t care about the strip club part, but way to regale me about your adventures when I’m stuck here, sick, and managing to (barely) hold down the fort.  I love my husband deeply but sometimes I want to slap his fucking face off.

Saturday Morning:  As I write this blog post, I’ve been awake since around 3:30AM.  I’ve fed and clothed the baby, changed 2 diapers, walked the dog, got showered, and am currently writing out my grocery list.  I went upstairs around 7AM with the baby, and the husband was still half asleep.  He’d been sleeping for about 11 hours, and when I mentioned that to him, he replies, “So?!?”  And then commented about how he was making up for my lack of sleep.  How thoughtful, huh?!?

Conclusion:  I need to buy a lottery ticket because my luck has got swing back up at some point, right?!?  It HAS to…that’s what I keep telling myself.