I didn’t get into a swimsuit one single time this summer, and I’m kind of counting that as a “win” because my postpartum body is droopy from pregnancy and also fluffy from taking domperidone to breastfeed. I’m sore and tired and I do not feel like my usual sporty/athletic self. The weather in the northeastern United States is another reason I never donned a swimsuit–the water wasn’t warm enough to swim until mid-June and even then it was frigid. It rained all through July. And now it’s the end of August and temperatures have dropped considerably to low-70’s during the day and mid-50’s at night. I like the weather, but this is new to me. I’ve lived in the midwest, the deep south, the the southwest–all way warmer during the summer.
We just took a “vacation” to my hometown in the midwest. It was mainly for my sister’s wedding–which I was apprehensive about because of all the drama between us–but it was lovely! The girls were both flower girls and they wore matching dresses (thanks etsy) and looked absolutely precious! BG walked down the aisle tossing rose petals alongside the ring bearer, while Mr. MLACS walked behind them carrying LS. It was funny because BG and LS had matching flower crowns but LS was not having it–so Mr. MLACS wore her flower crown! Lol. We totally asked my sister (the bride) if she wanted him to wear the crown and she laughed and agreed it was a cute/funny idea. I walked her down the aisle, since both our parents are deceased. I didn’t think much about it…about our parents not being there. I assume that is because it’s too overwhelming and sad to think of how things used to be and how they might have been, if only they were still alive. Everyone else cried though.
BG LOVED being a flower girl and had a ball dancing the night away with the other little girls who attended as guests–she loved every minute of it and didn’t even sit down to eat cake! BG also adores my sister and followed her around like a lost puppy, crying when my sister had to ditch her to go take pictures and smoke cigarettes outside. I hate that she smokes like a chimney and that her smoking keeps her from bonding with my girls. And because I know I’m going to lose my only sister–my only sibling–to cancer or lung disease. She has been chain smoking since she was 12 and she is turning 38 years old today. I try not to think about her dying because it breaks my heart. I was happy to celebrate her wedding…and to know that she has someone to love and care for her if/when she becomes terminally ill…of course I will be by her side but I have kids and my own problems so it’s best that she has someone devoted only to her. I WISH she would quit smoking! She could quit and turn her life around! But I don’t think she will. It is so hard for me to accept, but I try. And I love her no matter what.
The rest of vacation was spent visiting friends and dealing with my inherited rental properties/property manager (this was a business trip, dontchaknow). I have spent, hell, probably $50k on these freaking POS houses this year. Finally they are all rented and with better quality tenants than the ones who defected, but they still need work! I’m so OVER it and have considered selling them, but apparently low income rental properties are THE thing right now so I suppose I’ll hold onto them unless/until I figure out a better way to invest my money.
BG will be off to pre-K next week! It’s starting to hit me how fast she is growing up and how few “magical” years I have left with her. LS is nearly 6 months old! It’s been a tough year with all the moving–it was this time last year that things went sideways with Mr. MLACS’s job in the deep south and we were working on striking a deal with his current employer. I was freaking out wondering if all this stress was going to kill him. This time last year I was just barely out of the first trimester, during which I was super sick. I did NOT want to move away from our gorgeous house and good friends.
A year ago I couldn’t even imagine how much things would change–moving twice–selling a house in one state, buying a house in another, and in-between houses I gave birth and brought my baby home to a rental house!
I’m still sad and conflicted about laying Kitty to rest–a year ago I did not imagine he would be gone *pause for tears of grief*. BG talks about him all the time now and I feel horribly guilty and sad every time I think of him.
A year ago I was still living in the deep south and taking BG to the pool and splash pads, not knowing if or when we were moving. I had a gut feeling that everything was about to change, and I was panicked.
I wish I could go back in time and tell myself to take it all in stride, that things were going to be ok and that I should stay present in the moment instead of worrying about the future. I feel like I have lost precious time with BG because of all the stressing and worrying I’ve done this past year. But bless her, she is still a happy, healthy, precious little kid despite my neurosis. And LS seems no worse for the wear, either.
Now summer is over. We are moved. My baby is laying next to me nursing. My BG is watching cartoons and playing quietly downstairs. Maybe I can just relax and live in the moment for awhile…? Not reliving Mr. MLACS’s cardiac arrest. Not planning my sister’s funeral. Just, breathe and soak in the goodness of all the little things, most especially, my babies.
Kitty had been my constant companion for 10 years. And yesterday he died, cradled in my arms as I told him I loved him, that he was important, and that I’m so very, very sorry.
He died with my consent. And I hate myself for it. Because I didn’t do it because it was best for him. I did it because I am overwhelmed and felt incapable of dealing with his inappropriate urination. I did it because I am “touched out” by having constant human contact with my young children and when I have 5 minutes to myself I didn’t want to be touched, but he would insist, and instead of feeling loved I felt used. I did it because we had grown apart–I have a family now–but he wanted things to stay the way they were when there was no husband, no dog, no preschooler and no baby. He was stressed and unhappy, so he pee’d on my family’s belongings. I was physically and mentally incapable of giving him the love and attention he received when it was *just us* and I grew to resent him.
It was me, not him. My fault. Not his. My inadequacy. My postpartum mood disorder. My heart that was not big enough.
The inappropriate urination started over a year ago. He was pee’ing on the dog bed. We thought it was the dog and crated our poor innocent labrador. Until one evening Kitty did it in front of Mr. MLACS–he was furious. I was angry but stuck up for Kitty. Took him to be examined by the vet and he did have a UTI, which we treated. He was still pee’ing on the dog bed, but less. I took him to be re-examined, and the infection was gone. It was then that the vet informed me that stress can cause UTI’s in cats. She gave me “kitty prozac” (Amitriptyline), which we tried but it made him seem drugged so I stopped using it. I didn’t know what had stressed him out as no particular event had happened. I also wasn’t sure why he was targeting the dog bed, but it seemed mean and unfair to our dog.
Then I became pregnant with LS, and I was very sick and he was very on-top of me, which felt suffocating to me. I was stressed because Mr. MLACS’s job was toxic and we needed to find a better situation. Then when Mr. MLACS found a new job and it required us to move, I had the stress of orchestrating the move while pregnant, while my husband was working several states away, while his crazy toxic boss lived across the street, while trying to stay calm for my preschooler, while trying to make a magical Christmas for her amidst the chaos. Then there was this cat, clawing up my front door when I needed to sell this house, eating my flowers so I had to keep them in a place I couldn’t see them, pee’ing on the dog bed (creating tension with my spouse) and meowing waking my kid up when he wanted to eat. I was so sick of his sh*t. Couldn’t he see how hard I was trying? He didn’t care.
Kitty wasn’t really interested in anyone else but me. He and Mr. MLACS got along ok until he started pee’ing, but Mr. MLACS was angry and Kitty took to avoiding him. Kitty never really bonded with BG and that is my fault, because I had very bad PPA/PPD and kept Kitty (and everyone) at arms length for the first year. So it was just me that he wanted. Only me.
Things hit the fan when we moved from the deep south to the far north this past winter. I was in my third trimester and struggling to settle the new place–a rental that did not feel like home–while also trying to settle my preschooler and find her school/activities/friends so she didn’t feel so lost (and she was highly emotional). I was sick All. Winter. Long. And on top of all that, Kitty was pee’ing inappropriately and hiding. I felt such contempt for him. We started giving him prozac every day, and he calmed down. But things were never the same. Mr. MLACS hated him and blamed me as well. I was tired of the tension in my household. I was just so f*cking tired. Exhausted mentally, physically and emotionally. My toddler insisted on sleeping with me, my 9 month pregnant body hurt and I was getting up to pee and/or vomit several times per night. Kitty tried to sleep next to me and when I would try to move him away he would fight me. That made me SO angry–I needed just a shred of personal space, and he didn’t care.
Then I had my baby, and closed the bedroom door. I was bed sharing and didn’t trust Kitty not to lay on her and smother her because she was in “his spot” next to me. I hated keeping the door closed because it made me feel closed off from the rest of my family. BG was used to bed sharing with me and she was very upset that things changed when the baby came, and I wanted to keep my door open for her, but couldn’t. Kitty was obnoxious. He would howl outside the door and wake us up. The moment I opened the door he would run under the bed and hide there all day until Mr. MLACS chased him out at bedtime. I had to keep bedroom doors, closet doors, all doors shut for fear of Kitty pee’ing. Kitty was skiddish and would only make himself known to yowl at me if his breakfast was late. It was not a good situation for any of us. But I kept hoping things would get better somehow.
We bought a new house and we moved, and Kitty escalated.
So I talked to our new vet here. She said Kitty was not happy and would probably be better off not living with us. I started writing to pet rescues and shelters. He’s a beautiful cat! Very loving! Playful! Just has his teeth deep cleaned to the tune of several hundred dollars! He just…pee’s inappropriately because he needs an owner to be mutually obsessed with him and I’m not that person anymore…
I didn’t hear back from anyone. I didn’t have time or energy to follow up because *moving* for the 2nd time in 6 months with a small child and infant was more than I could handle. Plus my milk supply tanked from the stress so I had to worry about feeding my baby. And BG has had summer camp daily and speech therapy 2x per week. I have been feeling like I am drowning. Not showering, not taking care of myself. Kitty was so far down on my list.
For his part, Mr. MLACS had been banging around and yelling about throwing the cat outside or even shooting him, but when I told him I was looking into shelters he backpedaled and said “But he’s family, we couldn’t do that”. Which felt very unfair to me–so we should keep him on principal and you’ll continue being a dick to me and the cat when things go wrong?? But then Mr. MLACS also stepped up and has been feeding kitty 2x per day and crushing up the prozac and mixing it into his dinner food and scooping the litterbox.
However, with the last incident Mr. MLACS locked him up in the basement bathroom. And I just said “Ok”. I didn’t fight. Normally my stomach is in knots when Mr. MLACS informs me of Kitty’s bad behavior and consequences. But this time I just felt…nothing. He stayed there for a week and I never visited him (Mr. MLACS continued to care for him). I don’t know what was wrong with me but my emotion for him was just shut down. I know it is at least partially postpartum mood disorder on top of moving and struggling to parent 2 small kids 24/7. My nerves were just shot. Mr. MLACS was shocked and I believe disturbed that I didn’t take up for Kitty the way I always had. Completely out of character for me. I am fiercely loyal. But apparently, I have limits and Kitty had reached them. I spoke to the vet pleading for a solution and she offered humane euthanasia.
I broached the topic of humane euthanasia with Mr. MLACS and he said absolutely not! He went out and bought Kitty a new cat tree, came home and let him out of the bathroom. And Kitty ran to me. Meowing. Rubbing all over me. I just wanted nothing to do with him. I petted him out of obligation.
That was Friday. The next day I saw Kitty basking in the warmth of the sun, looking content, and I felt happy for him. I saw a glimmer of hope.
On Sunday I woke up and Mr. MLACS said “He did it again”. He had pee’d on BG’s teepee again.
And that’s when I knew he had to go. I couldn’t live with him anymore.
I thought “This must be what it feels like to fall out of love and want a divorce”. I never understood how a person could betray someone who loved them and was loyal to them. But here I was, feeling trapped in a life with this cat. I wanted to see him happy with someone else. Not me.
I tried to re-home him with people I know. Shelters didn’t answer their phones. But then I had an epiphany…he would never be happy at a shelter anyway. Would I want him to live like that? No. Could I put him outside? No. We live next to a busy street. I would never want him to die alone and in pain by being hit by a car.
I didn’t want to euthanize him, but I felt I had no other option.
I thought “I feel trapped and powerless in this situation, even though I have a choice. This must be how abused women feel in their relationships”. I had always judged and never understood.
It appeared that I had a choice–to love and accept him as he was, or to euthanize him. But it was not that simple–I have a family. My family deserves to live in a peaceful house. The tension of waiting for Kitty’s next episode and the inevitable fallout was hurting us all–especially Kitty.
I had the vet over and she assured me euthanasia was the right thing to do to spare Kitty undue stress and a potentially cruel end to his life. She also validated that I had put forth a sufficient amount of effort and suffered enough myself on Kitty’s behalf. She could see how much I’m struggling in this season of life–with my decision– and she had compassion for me.
I did not want to be make this decision. I felt guilty and ashamed. Yet, I knew that things couldn’t go on this way, with my entire household suffering.
I had to put an end to to it. And it seemed my only choice was to end Kitty’s life, in the most gentle and dignified way.
I scheduled Kitty’s euthanasia for the next day. I spent the rest of the day feeling like I was in the twilight zone…How had it come to this? Was I really doing this? How could I?
Each night after the kids are asleep I sneak downstairs to pump milk for LS and do chores such as washing bottles/pump parts, dishes, and laundry. I thought I should go be with Kitty, but couldn’t bring myself to do it–to stir up both our emotions. Instead, I clung to my routine. I was alone with my thoughts for the first time that day, and suddenly I was overwhelmed with grief. Sobbing over my sink.
I didn’t sleep much that night.
I begrudgingly awoke and stumbled through the day feeling anxious and tense. I needed mental and physical space but got none, because I was laboring to calm and soothe a cranky teething baby and to service a demanding preschooler. I was also sleep-deprived and in pain, hobbling around on a sprained ankle while struggling to run my household.
The vet couldn’t come while BG was at summer camp in the morning, so I had asked Mr. MLACS to leave work early and take both girls out of the house. Late in the afternoon it suddenly occurred to me that I might want to prepare…what would I wear? I would probably never want to look at those clothes again afterwards. I was going to wear some old sweats, but then I saw my pink fuzzy bathrobe and I knew that was it–I would cuddle myself and also cuddle Kitty in my fluffy robe. I wasn’t hungry but I made myself eat an early dinner of leftover thai food (my go-to comfort food) because I’m breastfeeding and mourning cannot include skipping meals. I had sort of hoped Mr. MLACS would come home early enough that I could go spend time with Kitty before the vet arrived, but he came home just in time to load the girls and leave. We didn’t tell BG what was going on. I didn’t see any good coming from that.
The vet arrived and I cried as I handed her my debit card to cover the expense of Kitty’s euthanasia and cremation. I find dealing with money for services when someone dies feels unnatural, especially in this case–I was paying her to end my cat’s life.
I decided there needed to be music, and fumbled with our tv until I found a soft jazz station. Then when there was no more time to waste, I shoved a bunch of Kleenex in the pockets of my fuzzy pink bathrobe and led the vet downstairs to the bathroom. I opened the door and he meowed from under the sink. He loves women so he immediately started rubbing on the vet’s leg. She petted him, and I kept hoping she’d say she would keep him and that we didn’t have to do this.
Instead, she gave Kitty a shot of sedative. When he seemed woozy I scooped him into my arms and cradled him like a baby, stroking him and kissing him like old times. My tears fell like rain onto his fur. We moved into the playroom. I had to sign a waiver and then I nodded that the doc could begin. She quickly shaved a spot of the fur on his paw, inserted and IV, and gave him the injection.
I sat on the couch, rocking him. Through sobs I said to him that I loved him, that he was a good cat, that he was important, that I would never forget him, that I was sorry I had not loved him better–the way he deserved. I said to the vet “If only I could just hold him like this all the time, maybe he wouldn’t act the way he does”, and she gently said “But you can’t”.
She asked me if I wanted to keep a tuft of his fur, and my genuine reply was “I’ve lost so many people–both my parents and all of my grandparents–and physical things don’t matter. All we really have are our memories.” She nodded.
She placed Kitty in a blanket, offered her condolences and left.
I collapsed on the couch and aching sobs arose from my soul.
I hadn’t cried this hard about either of my parents. But this was different…
Kitty loved only me. He was my first baby–my son. He came at a time when I needed him most, just after my Mom died. He was a gift from God.
And then it dawned on me…
Jesus was a gift from God–his only son. He gave only love, and yet he was treated poorly and killed. Now I know my cat is not Jesus, but when I drew this parallel I felt closer to God.
I realize how flawed I am as a human being–that I couldn’t make room in my heart and my household to love Kitty better and that I ended his life. That when tested, I have limits.
I realize how many times I’ve judged people, but this experience has humbled me.
I know I had to do this. It was part of God’s plan for me to bear this burden, learn and grow from it. Kitty’s life and death was not in vain.
But when Mr. MLACS says “It was the right thing to do”, I beg to differ. It wasn’t “right”.
I have to ask God and Kitty for forgiveness and seek redemption.
That’s what the coffee cup says that Mr. MLACS bought for me in the hospital gift shop when…
My baby LS was admitted to the hospital for “failure to thrive”.
It’s been a tough couple of months. But I’ve survived to tell the tale.
To begin, LS was diagnosed with a tongue-tie straight away, and we saw a pediatric ENT when she was 4 days old to have her frenulotomy. I was a *basket case* because they were going to have to hurt my baby and it sent my anxiety and emotions into hyperdrive. But I know we have no choice but to fix it for her sake as well as mine–my poor nipples were already severely injured from her inability to latch properly. I had an undiagnosed tongue tie and my mother had to quit breastfeeding me after a severe case of mastitis and I was in speech therapy for 6 f*ing years for a lateral lisp. My tongue tie was only discovered at age 18 when I went to have my tonsils removed. I knew I had to fix it for LS now and spare her what I went through. BG had her frenulotomy at 10 weeks old (hers went undiagnosed even under the weekly care of a lactation consultant) after my nipples were in ruins and my supply was dwindling so I knew it was only going to get worse. But every fiber of my being felt dread and guilt at the thought of my poor tiny baby being mutilated.
And it was truly awful.
I stayed in the exam room with BG and sent Mr. MLACS to be with LS during the procedure because I couldn’t stomach it. Then afterwards they were to bring her straight to me to breastfeed her. They brought her in…
Blood was streaming out of her mouth
I was shocked and petrified. I started to have a panic attack but snapped out of it. I yelled at Mr. MLACS to remove BG from the exam room because I did not want her to see LS or myself like this. I had the nurse wipe away the blood and stuck my boob in her mouth. And I just sat there shaking and nursing her until I was sure she was ok.
This really messed me up.
But it was the right decision because my nipples quickly healed and my suplly was WAY better than it was with BG–I would put a towel in my bra at night and soak it by morning! I was so pleased.
And then we went to LS’s one month appointment and she was still 5oz below her birth weight.
Mind you, since we just moved I dont really know this pediatrician, and she doesnt know what I went through with BG. But BG was *the exact same*. Failed to gain weight between weeks 3-4 and docs freaked out. Both are loooong skinny babies and hardgainers. So the pediatrician flipped out and sent us to the hospital. On the 1% chance there was some underlying health issue. I had to scramble for childcare for BG–we have no family here and I hardly know anyone so I paid our “sibling doula” $25/hr for 11 hours which is $275 while Mr. MLACS took me and LS to the childrens hospital *45min away*. I had to take my tiny infant through the ER (GERMS). She was poked and prodded, and too exhausted to eat. My milk supply tanked from exhaustion and stress. Completely counter-productive for weight gain and downright dangerous to expose her to hospital germs and all for NOTHING because she was FINE she just needed more calories. Which is bizarre since I had so much milk and she was constantly on my boobs.
I’m still breastfeeding but I started pumping and giving her my milk plus 2-4oz of formula per day and now she’s gaining the “normal” anount of weight. I could have just fed her formula at home and skipped the hospital and *believe me* I let the other pediatrician know my thoughts about her colleague’s poor decision to send us to the hospital.
Luckily LS is not picky and is happy to nurse, drink my milk from a bottle and also drink formula from a bottle.
I started taking my Domperidone to boost my supply/help my let down reflex and I am very sure I make plenty of milk but LS likes “free milk” (that’s what I call bottles because she doesn’t have to “work” for that milk) and I’m not trying to stress myself out to pump all 8oz per day that she gets so I supplement with 2-4oz of formula and so far, so good.
But then I got ANOTHER double ear infection. My right eardrum burst at home alone with both kids and it was awful. I lost hearing in both ears for over a week–couldn’t hear LS crying/BG talking/the bathroom fan/the tv/radio/etc. I just finished 10 days of Amoxicillin and my left ear still f*ing hurts and I have to see the ENT *again* tomorrow. I think I need more antibiotics which sucks b/c they’re upsetting LS’s tummy and she has a yeast diaper rash and I have a vaginal yeast infection.
So during these first 8 weeks of LS’s life I’ve fought 2 double ear infections, mastitis, anxiety, exhaustion…I’ve really struggled physically and mentally since LS was born.
I’ve also had my good days and I’m moving and shaking despite it all.
We’re buying a house! Closing in a couple weeks!
I’ve planned a fantastic 40th birthday party for Mr. MLACS this week and I’m extremely proud of my efforts.
I just joined a new gym today that has excellent childcare with the goal that I’ll get the mental break I need and the exercise to help me feel my best, Mr. MLACS can continue his health/wellness quest, BG can play with other kids, and LS will have a safe place to (hopefully) nap while I take a class.
I’m trying my best here.
Motherhood is difficult for me right now, but I’m so grateful for my girls. I’m so grateful to spend Mother’s day with my babies in my arms ❤
…When we left off I was getting ready to get my epidural…
My contractions had gotten stronger and sitting upright on my pink exercise ball was causing more pressure and thusly, more pain–during contractions I’d say it was a strong 4 or 4.5 (on a scale of 1-10 with 5 being “I want drugs” and 10 being “I’m bloodcurdling screams and blacking out”). But I was enjoying bobbing lightly on my ball in between contractions. And my nurse, Jennifer, had wrapped me in warm blankets so I felt comfy and cared for. I actually don’t mind this part of labor, where the pain is intense but manageable, contractions are far enough apart that you can relax a bit in between them, and I naturally get into “the zone” and ride the contractions like waves. It’s actually really cool.
However, Jennifer suggested the epidural would allow her to push the pitocin and kick my labor into gear, or I could just sit there in pain bobbing on my ball for hours with mediocre results. So I took her up on the epidural. My sibling doula had cautioned me to request that the attending do my epidural (not a resident)–I didn’t ask her why. So when this perky young blonde came to see me about the epidural, I told her I’d like the attending to do it and she looked frustrated and asked if I’d had a bad experience. To which I replied with a smile, “No, I’ve had good experiences–and I want to keep it that way.” The attending came in (a mature woman) and asked me the same question–she looked amused and clearly didn’t GAF that the resident was butt-hurt. A couple pokes later and I was comfortably numb, but still able to move my lower limbs.
LS kept falling off the monitor and Jennifer plus a whole team of nurses had a helluva time finding her–she was faced toward my spine (they even brought in the ultrasound machine to find her). Every time they’d get her on the monitor and go to leave the room, she’d get lost again. If I was them I’d have lost my mind. But they patiently macgyvered my monitor over and over again until my belly was a ball of slime from all the gel. Finally LS stayed put and I tried to sleep–which totally was not happening–but I rested. I watched Mr. MLACS sleep and was slightly jealous, but glad because I worry about him so I wanted him to get some rest. I also had vintage black and white movies/musicals on tv–I never watch tv anymore (like it will be on but I tune it out) so that was kind of cool. And my L&D room was huge and had a wall of windows facing city lights, so I kept the shades open and enjoyed looking out at the cityscape.
I had to pee and empty my ostomy bag a couple times, which was difficult as I had an IV in my right arm and a pole holding my bags of saline and pitocin. But I got it done without any help. I had forewarned Jennifer that I puked exorcist-style during labor with BG, but naturally after I made a big deal about it I didn’t puke at all.
So I was in a daze during the twilight hours and didn’t realize how much time was passing as I drifted in-and-out of consciousness, but eventually it was time for shift change and I had to say goodbye to my buddy Nurse Jennifer and welcome her relief, Nurse Christy. Also the OBGYN from my practice who ordered my induction, Dr. H, had been with me overnight. But I had to say goodbye to her and welcome Dr. S–luckily I had met and liked Dr. S so I was fine with it.
I was close to 10cm dilated at this point, and I was having breakthrough pain–nothing terrible–but I took full advantage of *the button* I could push every 10min or so that gave me more epidural. Which may be why I was in a dream-like state and also why I began to feel very nauseous…
Before I knew it, Dr. S and two residents strode through the door, checked me, and decided the time was NOW. It felt surreal as I watched everyone scurry around the room, pulling lights down from the ceiling, putting on scrubsvand face masks, wheeling in trays of instruments and a “baby warmer”, and finally, placing my feet in the stirrups.
I had asked Nurse Christy to apply gentle countrr-pressure to my ostomy, in hopes of preventing a peristomal hernia. On my right was Christy. On my left was Mr. MLACS.
The docs told me to get ready to push…I told them to wait a minute because…
I was going to puke.
Mr. MLACS held a large beaker cup and I turned my head and vomited a cup of stomach bile into the beaker.
And without warning, this purple ball of screaming flesh was placed on my chest, as I was still heaving and wiping my mouth. I was in shock and disbelief, trying to process.
Mr. MLACS looked about as stunned as I was, but after what was probably 20 seconds that felt like 20 minutes, I placed my hands on our baby, looked at Mr. MLACS, and said “Well, we did it!”
Baby LS was 7lb 8oz, and 21 inches long. She was not as pristine as BG was when she was born, but it is now clear that she was bloated and now that a couple weeks have passed her features are sharper and resemble BG’s. She’s absolutely beautiful ❤
And of course, BG is very proud to be a big sister! She wants to help with everything–bringing me diapers/wipes/hand sanitizer, etc.
It has not been easy though.
BG is having a hard time adjusting. So are we. There have been bumps in the road, and I’ll write about those later.
For now, I want to say how grateful I am that LS is here and healthy. She is a dream come true! I am bedsharing with both my girls and it is pure bliss to wake up in between them ❤
So LS is here! Everybody loves a good birth story, right?!
It’s been a humbling month or so, starting with BG getting conjunctivitis and sharing it with myself and Mr. MLACS, then I had Flu A, then some other flu-like virus BG brought home, which culminated in a double ear infection for me and I lost most of my hearing in both ears.
I was practically deaf.
I went into urgent care a couple Saturdays ago because my right ear was causing agonizing pain, and walked out with Augmentin and ear drops, which helped me to feel better but did not help my hearing loss.
Mr. MLACS took me to see my OB on my due date, thinking maybe they could help me by giving me a referral to see an ENT (our insurance is PPO but a referral would expedite my appointment). They put me on the monitor and LS was good, but chillin’. So I drank some apple juice to wake her up. And she started hopping, but I noticed some decells–her baseline heartrate was about 150bpm, and she would hop up to 180bpm, but then fall to 110-120 bpm. I wondered if that was just her falling off the monitor, but I didn’t think so.
Sure enough, my OBGYN came in and said baby was not in distress but she didn’t like the decells and would rather play it safe and induce me, since I was officially 40 weeks. I wholeheartedly agreed.
It felt surreal, because I had resigned myself that I would probably carry to 41 weeks and that LS would be born on BG’s 4th birthday.
We called the sibling doula and the back-up sibling doula that we had hired to come stay with BG and the pets while Mr. MLACS and I went to the hospital to deliver LS. Our primary doula was available and set to be on her way. I had already written several emails with detailed instructions for the doulas. We nervously drove from the clinic to our house. My hospital bag still wasn’t fully packed, the house was a mess and I had cleaners coming the next day, and I needed a shower. I could hardly focus on the tasks at hand and BG was following me around asking 20 questions. I was relieved when the doula showed up and realized I needed some privacy to complete my tasks and process the overwhelming fact that I was going to have a baby–MY baby–in a matter of hours. BG adored her and they ran off to play.
Noteworthy items I packed in my hospital bag were:
1. SOMA intimates pajamas–the softest jersey material, like butter on your skin. Button down is a must for breastfeeding and they make you feel comfy and elegant in the hospital. Not cheap, but worth it.
2. An exercise ball for labor–I bought a pink one from amazon. A lot of hospitals say they have them but you never know if one will be available when you need it and also it’s a safe bet that A LOT of other peoples’ bodily fluids have christened the ones at the hospital.
3. Baby gowns instead of footie pajamas, because they have to wear an ankle bracelet and also for easy access to change diapers.
4. Swaddles–I prefer velcro swaddles in soft fabrics rather than wrapping baby up in hospital blankets.
5. I brought my own diapers. I use honest diapers and unscented wipes. The nurses were annoyed because my diapers dont have the pee strip, but oh well not their call. The diapers in the hospital are scented, and I want to smell my baby, not aromantic pampers.
6. A phone charger with a long cord (like solid 6ft) so you can plug it in the wall and still have it next to you in bed.
7. Obviously for me–ostomy supplies. I packed plenty of supplies–more than what I thought I might need, just to be safe.
8. My medications. Hospital is supposed to have a list of current meds and provide them for you, but just bring them anyway.
So I tidied the house (i.e. stuffed sh*t in closets), showered/did my hair, finished packing and off Mr. MLACS and I went. It was hard saying goodbye to BG, knowing everything was about to change.
It was a solid 40min drive to our hospital–a perk of being induced is that I didn’t have to do this drive while in active labor. We arrived and they had a L&D room waiting for me–another perk of being induced is I didn’t have to go through triage (while in active labor) before being admitted.
It was about 6:30pm–we got there right as they were changing shifts and there was a flurry of activity. Even still, I was quickly attended to.
Everybody in L&D speaks in hushed and soothing tones, like Bob Ross.
The moment they walked in the room and opened their mouths I had to stop them and say “I have a double ear infection and I can’t hear you unless you SPEAK UP.” This was not ideal, but everyone obliged so it could have been worse. My ear pain in my right ear rivaled the pain of my contractions, so that was fun. They gave me Tylenol and offered me Nubain, but I was not trying to be high on Nubain since I’d had Staydol during my (incredibly painful) labor with BG and it made me psychotic.
My induction started with the foley bulb (sp?) which involves the nurse threading a balloon attached to a catheter through my 1cm dilated cervix and then inflating the balloon with water so that it causes my cervix to dilate to 3-4cm, then the balloon falls out.
I also had an IV and pitocin drip started as well. My nurse Jennifer (whom I liked) started the pitocin “low and slow”, at like a 2 or 3. By the time the foley bulb fell out my pitocin was up to a 7. Jennifer offered me the epidural (which I knew I wanted) but at first I refused, with the idea in mind that it could slow my progression and cause me to need a c-section. But Jennifer said that actually the epidural would allow her to push my pitocin and that would help my labor progress more than anything. She asked if there was any other reason to delay the epidural and I said emphatically *No* because I had ALL the pain during my 37hr labor with BG and then also with my Crohn’s disease so I have nothing left to prove–bring on the epidural!
Do I have your attention? Ok cool. Lets talk about…
1. Still pregnant–38 weeks! Saw the OBGYN yesterday and I’m dilated a whole half a centimeter (how they can even measure that small when they can’t even see anything is beyond me). The consensus is: no signs of delivering early but it *could* happen and just holler whenever.
2. But my last OBGYN appointment was this past Thursday. I had been feeling poorly and suspected I might have an infection. I don’t have a PCP in our new town yet and didn’t want to go to an urgent care so I waited to see the OBGYN, hoping he’d take a look at me. I was feeling very poorly–horrible body aches, winded walking 10 feet, just really run down. I also wanted the doc to check me for anemia. First thing I did was urinate in a cup, and noticed my pee was so dark it looked brown–no bueno. Then baby LS presented with tachycardia, which is a sign of distress. I talked to the doc and we agreed part of my issue is dehydration, and he sent me to go be looked over by maternity triage at the hospital. I had BG with me and had to call Mr. MLACS to come home from work to care for her–I intended to drive myself the 40min to the hospital. But as I was leaving the OBGYN I started to feel worse and worse. I got the chills so bad I could hardly drive. I slammed a cold gatorade and that made my chills worse. Got home and I could hardly get BG out of her carseat. I was in agony, shivering and every fiber of my body hurt–my groin felt like I pulled it and I could hardly walk. I started to feel panicked. I wrapped myself in 3 layers of blankets and a hat to try to warm up and laid down until Mr. MLACS got home. He wanted to go straight to the hospital but I made him feed BG lunch first and pack her snacks for the trip. I started to cry, feeling awful and overwhelmed–I woke up clueless that my day was going to go to sh*t. So Mr. MLACS drives us to the hospital and I have to go through the ER then up to maternity triage–I actually needed a wheelchair. Unfortunately kids aren’t allowed in triage (probly a good idea) and Mr. MLACS had to entertain BG while I was assessed. I begged for warm blankets and socks. They hooked me up to monotor LS and see if I had contractions (I didn’t), took pee, took blood, swabbed me for the flu and hooked me up to an IV to receive fluids. The nurses were nice. And lo and behold, they returned wearing hazmat gear…I knew immediately and exclaimed “No f*cking way!” And they were like, “Yeah, you have Flu A”. I was flabberghasted because I NEVER GET THE FLU, at least not the “super bad bugs”. I rarely get the flu shot and ironically I HAD one this past October! I’ve been on all sorts of immunosuppressants–I was on 3–Humira, 6MP, and high-dose Prednisone AND I took a plane to California and I *still* didn’t get sick (my docs were way scared for me). So WTAF? Why NOW?! It just never occurred to me I could have a “super bug”. Luckily, the fluids helped, baby LS’s heartbeat slowed down and her strip looked great, and they sent me home with a script for tamiflu for me and one for Mr. MLACS and BG.
3. I came home from the hospital Thur. night and spent all of Friday in bed–I didn’t even go downstairs. I was repeating a cycle of having the chills, warming up, then sweating it out–repeat. I still hurt all over but it was better than Thursday. Mr. MLACS had to stay home from work to care for me and BG–which BG and our labrador LOVED having him home and made him play all day ❤ Saturday I got out of bed–my body aches had dulled considerably and my chills/sweating were abating. Then Sunday I woke up feeling somewhat “human” again. We actually went and looked at a house (we are planning to buy) and took a trip to Costco, mostly to order BG’s birthday cake for her party this coming weekend–fyi costco cakes are cheap and delicious–I just wish they were gluten-free so I could eat them! So yeah, I had “the plague” and I was freaked out and in a lot of pain but it was short-lived because the Tamiflu worked for me.
4. I had been mulling over getting waxed prior to giving birth, but was nervous. I’ve had brazillian waxes before, but not while pregnant, and according to the internet all the bloodflow to the pelvic area causes waxing to be more tender and waxing to be painful. I also worry about ingrown hairs, etc. And it feels like a frivolous thing to spend money on. Buuuut…then I think back to the quote “Do one thing a day that scares you” and decided “F*ck it, I’m doing this”. TMI, my pubic hair was so long I had to shave it with clippers prior to waxing–I made Mr. MLACS do this for me. While he’s doing it we’re giggling and he says “Things I never saw myself doing…” Lol. I actually felt much better after he trimmed me and considered skipping the waxing…but no–I was not chickening out. So last night I went and the girl was very nice–I was unsure about showing her my ostomy bag because I didn’t want an awkward moment, but she waved me off because she is actually a home health nurse. That really helped me relax. It wasn’t so bad! I’m very happy with the results and I feel like a champ for doing it–like I should get my name on a wall somewhere or a t-shirt or something.
5. BG’s birthday party at the bounce place is this Saturday. I have about everything I need, including a custom birthday shirt that’s arriving from etsy tomorrow. I need to put together goodie bags, wrap her presents, order her balloons and pick up her cake, but beyond that we are ready to rock ‘n roll! I’m expecting about 10 kids–could’ve invited more but we have been sick and I honestly didn’t feel like we needed to invite kids just for the sake of appearances. I’m excited for BG!
6. Other things I deal with are my rental properties–I’ve had several properties to turn over and repairs and renovations are adding up to $15k+. The ones that are occupied have basically financed the turnovers on the unoccupied units, but it’s still hard to watch money “flying out the window”. I have a good relationship with my property managers though, so luckily they deal with the headaches and I just write the checks. I have one last property that is co-owned with my sister/our trust. We are currently turning it over to sell it, pay some bills the trust owes and walk away with some cash. We also have a lawsuit pending against the VA for our father’s wrongful death–they really f*cked up. The one year anniversary of his death is approaching… I can’t say I’m particularly upset because I am living in the moment, looking forward to the birth of our new baby and not dwelling on the past. Plus he and I had a strained relationship–I fully appreciate all the ways Mr. MLACS is a better father and husband than my dad was. But no matter what, he was my dad. I knew I could always go to him if I needed help, even when we were on bad terms. And his death marked the day I lost the last of my parents, and my kids’ grandparents. When I mourn, I mourn what might have been if both of them were alive, because when my Mom was alive everything was ok.
Guys, I went to the OBGYN on Monday and my cervix was completely closed (not dilated) and LS was effaced 2-3. So, no action there.
The night before I projectile vomited so much and so hard that it washed like a tidal wave across the freaking *carpet* and splashed the wall. I can’t make this sh*t up. I had eaten brunch circa 2pm and it did not digest and I hurled it up about 9:30pm. I didn’t think much of it because that happened plenty of times with BG, but did mention it to the OB. I actually said “I don’t think it’s a blockage”.
But I was wrong–it was an intestinal blockage.
I figured this out because I hardly ate anything Monday (like 1/2 a GF cupcake) but I drank plenty. I took a nap with BG circa 1:30pm and woke up at 3pm, and realized *I had not emptied my ostomy bag since 5am that morning*. That’s bad, as I usually need to empty at least 2-3x by that point. I didn’t feel good, but I had no pain and other people say blockages are horribly painful (and I believe I’ve had partial blockages and they hurt) so I was perplexed. But the protocol is to go to the ER if you are having little-to-no output. I called my GI and my OBGYN, and both said I could skip the ER (because ER’s are dirty and dangerous) and go to maternity triage. I told them I would try to get things moving at home but if it didn’t work then I’d go in. I DID NOT want to go to the hospital–it’s 40+ minutes drive into the city and it was near rush hour, then it would be dark, and I’d have to drag Mr. MLACS and BG with me. F*ck that. And luckily, I started having some liquid output, but I knew it wasn’t over. I only managed a bowl of creamy tomato soup for dinner, and I was hungry. Tuesday I spent the day drinking carbonated drinks (sprite), hot liquids (mostly green tea with honey), putting heating pads on my belly, and walking (waddling) around the house while caring for BG. I felt awful mentally and physically–I was *hangry*.
Wednesday was a bit better, in that I found I could eat some solid low-residue food, like toast, and some creamy soup.
I helped with BG’s valentines day party at her preschool in the morning on Wednesday, but then left her there for lunch and “enrichment” while I went to go run errands. I had to go to the jewelers because I had ordered a white-gold band with LS’s name engraved inside, because my wedding rings are too tight now. I had ordered the same ring and had BG’s initials engraved inside at this same point in my pregnancy with her. Moreover, I took the opportunity to have my wedding rings re-dipped in platinum, and they came out *gorgeous*! Soooooo sparkly ❤ I wish I could wear them now! I highly recommend having your rings inspected, dipped, and cleaned periodically at the jewelers.
Then I treated myself to soup and a hazlenut coffee at Panera Bread. It was yummy! It took all my willpower not to eat the sourdough bread–it was so tempting–but good sense (not to eat gluten) prevailed. After I picked BG up from preschool, we came home to find two beautiful bouquets of flowers had been delivered, one for each of us, from Mr. MLACS ❤
Valentines day was a pretty chill day for me and BG, as it was not a preschool day. She also wasn’t feeling well. So we played, went to the grocery store, and came home and had a quiet afternoon. She was being very whiny and clingy, she felt a bit warm, and I could tell she was feeling poorly. She was awake at 5:00am and crying, so I gave her tylenol and figured I might need to keep her home from school.
She slept until almost 9:30am! I was awake by 8am and informed her teachers she’d be absent. I looked at her eyes and suspected pinkeye, and took her to the pediatrician. Indeed, BG has pinkeye and an ear infection in her left ear, poor kid! This is her first ear infection/first pinkeye and thusly her first time taking antibiotics. As a person with IBD who credits my disease in part due to frequent antibiotics as a kid, I’ve been very pleased she hasn’t had to take any for nearly 4 years. And I worry how it will affect her gut and what my best course of action is to re-balance her gut bacteria once she’s finished her course of antibiotics. And then of course she we also have to administer eye drops for her pinkeye, but her doc said it’s ok if she closes her eyes so that makes life much simpler.
The kicker though is that I felt a lot of wetness when I woke up and when I went to use the bathroom I discovered I had lost my mucus plug! Never would have expected that so soon, as it didn’t happen with BG until just before birth at 41w2d. I’m only 36w4d now. I’m not having contractions yet, so that’s good. But LS also noticeably dropped yesterday so…it appears I’ll give birth sooner than expected–I figured I’d be induced at 40 weeks. So naturally…
I planned BG’s 4th birthday party for March 2nd even though that is a couple weeks earlier than her actual bday. I should be 38w4d, so it seemed like a safe bet. I even found customizable invites on etsy and had them printed with the anticipated date. I started passing them out on Valentines day. I’ve ordered BG a themed shirt, decorations, balloons, gifts–the whole nine yards. And it’s sort of a “coming out” party for me with the moms of the kids we’re inviting. Mother nature is a b*tch for pulling this fast one, after all the time and money I’ve invested! And thusly I’ve decided the show must go on–even if me and LS cannot attend. But really I’m prepared to bring LS to the venue with me if we’re at all up for it, and just keep her away from people–is that a horrible idea? Bringing a less than 2 week old infant to a bounce place full of noisy kids and germs while I’m bleeding and trying to breastfeed? But I want to be there for BG! And I know plenty of other moms who would do it.
Today, my plan is to work on decluttering the house *and* a much anticipated trip to IKEA! There are no freaking Ikea’s in The South so I haven’t been to one in a couple years! I want to get BG a new table and chairs, and a storage unit for her art supplies in the playroom (currently in piles in boxes). And some throw pillows for her teepee. Can you tell I’m excited?!
So Christmas was lovely but it seems like forever ago because SO much has happened between Christmas and New Years.
To rewind, Mr. MLACS flew into the nearby city and we enjoyed a weekend of holiday fun there, including seeing The Nutcracker ballet (an annual tradition) and riding on The Polar Express train.
BG is at a *magical age* and she had started ballet/tap class in the fall. She LOVED The Nutcracker this year! I loved watching her watch the performance–she was riveted. We had balcony seats close to the stage and she loved being able to see the performance and the people in the audience below us. Mr. MLACS bought her a Clara dolly and a Rat King dolly and watching the two of them pretend to fight during intermission, hearing BG squeal and giggle, and feeling LS kicking in my belly is a moment I’ll never forget. BG looked so precious in her red and navy blue plaid dress, with her little pearl necklace–she looked like a real little lady. For the record, BG looooooves to dress up! Lives for dresses, bows, jewelry and “make ups” (which are lip balms). I wore a dress and make-up to The Nutcracker but I am generally a person who loves sweat pants, or for more formal occassions, jeans. I definitely did not spark her “extra-ness” because I am super low maintinence. But I do love to watch her shine ❤
The Polar Express train was really the best. BG was excited and bouncy! She was enthralled by the performances and the characters/actors invited her to participate several times. First, she got to help turn pages as a portion of The Polar Express book was read. Then, she got to be a reindeer–they placed an antler headband on her–and march down the aisle as we sang Rudolph the red nosed reindeer. But the most precious part, was when Santa stopped to say hello to her abd give her “the first bell of Christmas”. BG thought she was supposed to tell him her Christmas list, and she was so excited to see him she could barely get the words out, so I interpreted. She asked for “Toys for baby sister, toys for me, toys for Koa and Kitty, and toys for Mommy and Daddy”. She’s so sweet and thoughtful. And taking in her good intentions and her wide-eyed innocence, Santa turned to me and said “You’re very lucky”. And I know I don’t count my blessings on this blog very often because I mostly talk about the heavy stuff, but please know that I feel profoundly blessed/fortunate/lucky and that Santa didn’t have to remind me–but I was touched.
We returned home from our adventure on Christmas Eve and I was super sick with what seemed like the flu. I felt miserable. Luckily Mr. MLACS was feeling great and he got everything put together for Christmas morning–Santa brought BG a teepee playhouse and he got her a big-girl monogrammed chair and had a matching little-girl monogrammed chair for LS (since BG was adamant that baby sister needed gifts). Mr. MLACS and I each got each other one gift from ourselves + BG. It was sweet and funny because BG had watched a cartoon (Arthur?) and the kid was REALLY excited to buy his Mom a glass bird. So BG had decided I needed a glass bird, and Mr. MLACS went to great lengths to find and purchase a glass bird. I love it because it really shows how much we all love each other. BG and I gave Mr. MLACS cologne, which is what we always gave my Dad for Christmas when I was little, and it’s weird to be “the parent” now.
BG had some unwrapped presents and a stocking from Santa, and then 9 wrapped gifts under the tree, 4 of which were from my sister and the rest from us. I know she had a wonderful Christmas and that she got plenty of great gifts. But I cannot seem to shake feeling guilty that she isn’t showered by presents and attention from our extended family. I want Christmas to be special because we spend time together and make great memories, and not because of how many presents are under the tree. I genuinely feel that we–that our precious children–are better off without toxic family members in our lives (and that includes keeping my sister at arms length, although she does have a relationship with BG). But the holidays stir up my feelings and make me wish things were different–and I second guess myself. I miss my good old friends and wish we lived closer–it would be easier to accept the severed ties with our relatives if we had “framily” to spend holidays with. But all our friends are spread out and we move too much to really create a “village”.
I had a village though, in the town we just moved from. I didn’t fully realize how much some of my girlfriends cared for me until I had to say goodbye. And I felt sad to lose them, and bad for “abandoning” them since they were clearly more invested in our friendships than I thought.
The movers came to pack on Dec. 27th, they loaded on Dec. 28th, and on Dec. 29th we bid farewell to our dream home, and all the craziness of the past 2 years. Mr. MLACS and I shed some tears for what was and for what might have been. And then we journeyed for 3 days, and celebrated NYE in our new town.
Let me close by saying 2018 was a legit roller coaster of a year, with huge ups-and-downs. I worked hard to regain my health and fitness, while navigating life as a fledgling ostomate–I did it! I even put myself out there and became the leader of a fit moms club, got my friends involved, and met new people. I dealt with my Father’s death, my Maternal Grandmother’s death, and the absolutely maddening struggle with my sister over managing our trust. I started my own LLC and did grown-up stuff like creating my own will & trust and purchasing burial plots for myself and Mr. MLACS. I paid a lot of bills. We took a beautiful trip to Hawaii. I dealt with the constant fear of losing Mr. MLACS and dealing with his health scares. I did lots of stuff with BG and she started preschool and dance classes in the fall. We sold our house, and we moved a 17+hr drive North of where we lived. I’d say the most amazing and insane plot-twist of 2018 was we got pregnant quickly and without fertility treatments–now I’m 30 weeks pregnant with a healthy baby girl.
2018 was very trying, but I really feel like every bit of it was filled with purpose.
I’ve wanted to blog but just haven’t been able to self-actualize because I’ve been anxious and overwhelmed with all that’s going on.
Putting a house on the market and showing it *while you live there with a messy husband, a toddler, and 2 pets* SUCKS. We had to make it look staged, like nobody lives here. There is a loooong list of things we did to achieve this, such as removing everything from the kitchen counters (including my beloved keurig and the kitchenaid mixer), making the beds perfectly, putting away handsoap and toothbrushes (and anything on the bathroom counters, like my beauty products), and I was placing the cat’s litter box in the garage for showings and trying to make the laundry room look and smell good (this involved hiding the piles of laundry that usually pile up in the laundry room). I managed to make the house look like a dream–with cooperation from Mr. MLACS (recall, he was not cooperative to begin with). I have actually really enjoyed living in an immaculately clean, clutter-free house! Albeit, it’s a PIA to keep it up. And the master closet and the garage are *horrible* as this is where we stash and stuff all the crap we need to hide, but can’t seem to part with (I would part with it but I need time and energy to deal with it).
We put our house on the market and the first people who saw it made us an offer that we accepted, but it was *contingent* upon them selling their house. The market is slooooow here and according to our agent their house was WAY overpriced, so I wasn’t holding my breath that this deal would work out. We waited for more offers to roll in…
But the people who initially fell in love with the house eventually agreed to drop the contingency this week, since their house isn’t selling. We were supposed to close Jan. 2nd, but they pushed it back to Feb. 2nd, which is fine. The house is sold! And I can keep my keurig on the counter again because I don’t have to worry about showings. I can leave dirty dishes in the sink and toys strewn all over the playroom. I am so grateful that we got the price we wanted and that we no longer have to pretend like we don’t live here, especially during the holidays.
Mr. MLACS had to depart for the new job up north on November 28th, so he has been gone for 18 days already.
It has been HARD at times, without him. I have felt very alone at times, because most of my “friends” here are people I have to keep up with and since I haven’t reached out much and they know I’m moving, I’m off their radar. Which I don’t begrudge them, because that’s just how it goes. But I haven’tt had much adult interaction with Mr. MLACS gone and thusly I feel like an island, adrift.
And thusly, my perinatal anxiety and depression hit FULL FORCE about a week after he left. I felt paranoid and anxious and angry–SO angry.
And besides “holding down the fort” while Mr. MLACS is gone, I’ve had to do all the research to find new doctors up north, which is VERY stressful because we need specialists and I am always on a mission to find the best of the best. Then I had to make phone calls to new doctors, phone calls to old doctors, medical records, etc. etc. While dealing with a needy toddler who misses her dad, and managing my own business.
Oh Good grief, and finding a place to live was also my task and it was made incredibly complicated by the facts that:
1. Mr. MLACS recently (and unbeknownst to me) defaulted on his federal student loans. I was SO angry because I am always on him to stay in good standing. He dropped the ball. So *after* I did a lot of work finding a realtor and working with a lender, I learned Mr. MLACS cannot qualify for any sort of loandue to his loan default and crap credit. I paid a bunch of collection accounts for him with my own money. I was (and still sort of am) PISSED that he was so irresponsible and he wasted my time and made me look like a fool to the real estate agent and lender.
2. So we decided we’ll take equity from the house when we sell it and just pay off his student loans. And we’ll rent for 6 months and then buy in the spring. Yes, I am *salty* that I have to move TWICE, once 7 months pregnant and then again with a newborn. But ok, I found a house. We applied. The guy comes back and says “Can you explain this eviction in 2016?” And I’m like “Pardon? You must have us confused with someone else because we have never been evicted.” But lo and behold, Mr. MLACS co-signed a lease in 2008 for his (now estranged since 2015) mother. And for no apparent reason, she was evicted in 2016 and Mr. MLACS has a judgement on his record, even though he declined to sign a renewal lease in 2009. We both think this was foul play on his mother’s part and the rental company, and we have our lawyer working on it. But meanwhile, it was humiliating for me to have to explain how my husband makes great money but apparently sucks at adulting so his credit is poor and he has an eviction on his record due to trying to help his sh*tty mother out (she took full advantage of him his entire life before I met him and I hate her for using her son–like how can you do that to your kid? I couldn’t). I finally found a place that would overlook all that, provided we did a double deposit.
And *guess who* has had to bankroll this move? ME. I shelled out $800 for Mr. MLACS to get new tires. $6500 for deposit/1st months rent. And I’ve had to buy all the groceries/gas/etc. since he left. While alone, 6+ months pregnant, caring for a toddler, and handling every detail of this move.
I don’t know if I’m allowed to feel resentful (because marriage is not always 50/50) but I do. Mr. MLACS has begrudgingly thanked me but has generally glossed over my contributions. Particularly the parts where I had to hustle because of his mistakes. He’s pretty much like “Sorry. What else do you wantbfrom me? I said sorry” But he doesn’t really mean it. If roles were reversed, he would be (and has been) totally degrading to me. But he clearly doesn’t hold himself to the same standards. And part of the reason why I haven’t picked a fight about it is because I worry about stressing him out because of his heart condition. And I resent having to worry about that too.
Oh and Christmas–I’ve done all of the Christmas shopping *and* paid for it all. I’ve bought things for the new baby. See, I have never minded doing all the work to create our life and our home because he has always been contributing the money. But now I’m doing all the work and paying for everything and he seems very comfortable with that but I AM NOT.
After this move I’m done using my inheritance to subsidize everything. I’m taking a break to evaluate my financial situation and figure out how to be smart with my money and what I can reasonably spend on our family. Mr. MLACS doesn’t want to give me any time or space, but it’s ultimately not his decision. I’ve been through A LOT these past couple of years, with his health crisis, my health crisis, deaths in my family, his sh*tty job here and now we are moving and I’m expecting a new baby. If he doesn’t show me the compassion and support me the way that I have showed him compassion and supported him, then I’m OUT.
Despite all this drama and bullsh*t, I am trying to enjoy the holidays with my kid. I adore the glow of the Christmas tree at night. I hosted a gingerbread house party for my favorite neighbor moms and kids. I planned (and *paid for*) a weekend of Christmas events when Mr. MLACS gets home for the holidays–we’ll see The Nutcracker ballet, ride the Polar Express train in our jammies, and see spectacular Christmas lights.
It’s my 39th birthday this weekend. And I bought myself a gluten-free cake from the frozen section at Whole Foods yesterday, so I can celebrate with BG. Mr. MLACS is really horrible about my birthday, in that he never surprises me or plans anything–not even a cake–without my input and effort. He just pays for things. For his part, Mr. MLACS did send me flowers yesterday and that helped soothe some of my resentment. He also bought me some La Mer beauty products but that was pretty lackluster because he ordered it because I told him about cyber Monday specials and was like “It’ll be here on Thursday”. Again, when he was our sole source of income I cut him a lot of slack and never minded too much when he didn’t make a big effort for my gifts. But at this point I would really appreciate it if he made more effort–I need more TLC, particularly since I’m pregnant. Just to show him how it feels, he had sent me a link to a pair of shoes he wants/needs that I had offered to buy for him as a gift, and I said exactly what he always says to me “There’s money in the account”.
Guys, it’s been a roller coaster. So, bullet points:
Mr. MLACS saw the Cardiologist after his “episode” and Cardiologist surprised him by saying he is now a good candidate for the ablasion surgery!
Mr. MLACS has lost over 100lbs this year, but still needs to lose 57lbs to get under 40% BMI for his height, so we thought he was disqualified from any procedures until he lost more weight. *side note: the BMI chart is stupid*
Mr. MLACS accepted a job up North, so we are moving. He HATES his job here and his old company made him a good offer, and we decided to go for it.
After Cardiologist said ablasion surgery was a “go” pending his discussion with his colleague, Mr. MLACS decided he wanted to do it before we move up North. He was SO excited at the prospect!
Mr. MLACS became panicked from stress at his current job and the stress of waiting for the *official* job offer. He was having heart palpitations and said it was similar to what was happening prior to his last “episode” (defibrillation). So I packed up my kid in her jammies and my pregnant self and took him to the ER at 8pm on a Wednesday in monsoon rains. They said he’s fine. I asked him to work from home for the next 2 days so he could calm down.
Friday we saw Cardiologist again, anticipating scheduling the ablasion…
Cardiologist says his colleague reviewed his case and said he’s not a candidate for ablasion surgery. Ever. Due to what happened during his initial cardiac arrest.
So the Cardiologist has been pushing Mr. MLACS to lose weight for this ablasion for *a year*, never bothered to consult about it, and then CRUSHES Mr. MLACS by telling him it’s not even an option.
Oh and instead, Cardiologist puts him on a new med (Amitriptyline) with serious potential side effects to help his arrythmias.
And *then* Cardiologist says “You really must lose that 57lbs because the way you are going you are going to need something (like an LVAT) before you’re 50. Even though none of your tests show no abnormalities, the fact that you’re being defibrillated every 6 months indicates there is something wrong.”
Mr. MLACS starts crying while I sit there numb, in disbelief. And Cardiologist backpedals trying to make it seem not so bad.
I try to comfort Mr. MLACS after we leave. But it’s hard because it does not feel like things are going to be ok. Ever.
I bottle it up and morbid anxiety-induced visions of the future plague me for the next several days. Visions of my little girls grieving because he dies, because they find him dead or he dies right in front of them, or of him becoming disabled/incapacitated.
I throw myself into trying to figure out this move. It’s overwhelming.
After I found a house I like, it is revealed that we cannot buy a house because Mr. MLACS’s federal student loans are in default–he didn’t even know and I found out from a mortage broker. I’m livid because I’ve been checking with him periodically and emphasizing that he MUST keep them in good standing or they can and will garnish his wages and it will ruin his credit. He blew me off and also never bothered to check his credit report. I hate being right sometimes.
So then he tells me his choices are to pay $1100/mo for 9 months to get the loans out of default/collections (and I assume keep paying $1100/mo) *or* pay $50k in a lump sum.
I don’t want to bring my baby home to a rental house in March. I don’t want to move again. I’m f*cking exhausted at the thought of it. I don’t want to “waste” money on rent.
I have the money from my inheritance, but my own federal student loans are in default. Why should I pledge my/our nest egg for his mistake? True, he gave me $333/mo for 5 years to pay off $21k private student loans while I was a SAHM…and he was a total dick about it. He yelled at me “Well I paid your loans!” But what he’s asking is not fair or equal. And the fact that he is demanding it when he made me grovel is the definition of irony.
I am really sick of him. Sick of worrying about his heart because he ignored my pleas for him to quit smoking and lose weight and now the damage is done. Sick of him acting like I should use my finite inheritance money as income. Sick that he thinks he’s entitled to it for his student loan f*ck up–this hypocrite lectures me any time I spend too much at Target. Sick that I have to move out of my dream house and drive my 7 months pregnant ass and my kids north for 3-4 days *through the snow in January* to live in a rental home, so Mr. MLACS can have a job he likes–but there’s only a 2-3 year contract so if he stays with the company we have to move again. And again. And again. Or settle somewhere without him. I’m sick that even though he’ll be making $2k more per month he tried to tell me I had to pay $1100/mo for his student loans. And this is in addition to A LOT of other stuff I’ve been paying for, like preschool and dance classes and clothes and lawncare and date nights and all my bills–this is from my inheritance money, I don’t work outside the home. I’ve vowed not to use any of the rental income as personal income for awhile (it stays in the business account) because it’s not consistent and I need to invest in repairs b/c some of the houses are in shambles. But all of a sudden he treats me like a bank. My Dad died. My Grandma died. And even though he’s been supporting us for years he is acting broke.
I wish I didn’t have this money (well actually I *do* appreciate being financially secure) because Mr. MLACS is greedy about money–it has always been a thing with him. And me getting this inheritance makes him act like Ebineezer Scrooge, whereas we were in a good place before that.. after years of him being a dick about it, berating and degrading me when finances got tight even though it was NEVER because *I* was financially irresponsible.
And now he has f*cked up financially BIG time several times this year alone, and he expects me to dismiss it, without him taking full accountabilty, offering sincere apologies, or giving an explanation of how he intends to do better. Nope, he just wants to sweep it under the rug.
Oh and then use my inheritance to fix it because I’m over here “freeloading” as a wife and mother.
I found a house to rent up North, since we can’t buy, and I had us fill out credit and background checks last night. This morning I get a call from prospective landlord asking to explain *the 2016 eviction*. I’m like “You must be mistaken”. But no, apparently Mr. MLACS cosigned a lease for his mother before he met me…we have been estranged from her since BG was born nearly 4 years ago. She’s a horrible person and Mr. MLACS was the family scapegoat. Well, now we have to get a lawyer to fight *her* eviction on his record. I explained everything to potential landlord and gave proof that we were not living in that state and in fact have an excellent reference ftom the property management company we were *actually* renting from. But it’s a mess.
I own several rental properties and I have money, but I can’t buy a f*cking house. Now I can’t even rent one. This is ridiculous.
Did I mention BG has been sick for the last several days and I haven’t gotten any sleep and she is needy and whiney and wants to be on me like velcro 24/7? I have no space to think or breathe. I am low on energy. And then today I’m having back spasms and my uterus felt tight.
I called Mr. MLACS crying and I found it insulting when he asked what’s wrong…EVERYTHING is wrong and he KNOWS it. He told me to take it easy.
I asked Mr. MLACS to help me get the house ready because the listing agent is coming over tomorrow. He yelled and berated me for every little thing, like that I hadn’t unloaded the dishwasher. He was insufferable. I finally turned around and said “FINE! I’m not selling this house, I’m staying! I don’t even want to move at this point! So do the dishes, don’t do the dishes, I don’t f*cking CARE! YOU go work up north. I’ve dealt with a metric ton of your bullsh*t this week and I’m DONE!” He says “Well you’ll have to explain that to her (BG)”…and I’m thinking…you probably won’t live to see her graduate highschool so she may as well get used to not having you around…but I didn’t say that.
Mr. MLACS is a great dad. And he loves me. But he needs so much f*cking therapy. When he gets stressed or feels threatened (or when there’s money involved) he turns into a monumental dickhead. He’s *my* dickhead. But I f*cking hate him when he’s like that. And I hate it when I have to sink to his level to deal with him–there is no progress with taking “the high road”.
After declaring that I was done trying to tidy the house because IDGAF if goes on the market, I went and laid down on a heating pad and left him to do (or not do) the chores.
He did them.
Why’s it always gotta be like this? With all the drama. We are a magnet for drama.