Saturday, January 22, 2011

Much Ado About... Everything... and Nothing

I am a cheater.  I have selfishly, horribly, terribly neglected this little blog... mostly out of laziness.  I have no idea where my camera cable is, and it's not that I'm not perfectly capable of going out and grabbing one, it's just that the thought really doesn't occur to me that often, or that when it does, I'm so enmeshed in the other junk in my life that I just really don't care.

We are still house-less (though I guess not homeless, because we're still living in my MIL's basement).  We have no idea what's going on with our house that we actually own, but I can tell you that between my renters ripping up all of our landscaping, sodding over beloved vegetable garden, and ripping out the raspberry and blueberry bushes that John planted to celebrate Carrick's (then) upcoming birth, I'm not madly in love with them.  Matter of fact, I have seriously considered setting the house on fire and laughing maniacally watching the last little piece of our lives go down in a glorious burst of flames.  I am not madly in love with the world in general right now, and my faith in the world, as well as my spiritual faith, are so badly tarnished that if I had the power, I think I honestly would just call up the Second Coming today.  None of the rentals that we have looked at have worked out.  Matter of fact, we actually showed up for a rental this week on a very promising looking house, only to have to call when no one showed up and then be told that they had forgotten that we had put in a request for a showing on the property and that the house was now rented.  Lovely. 

My MIL is handling all of this rather stoically however, as she only asks about twice every hour, on the hour, whether or not we are actually going to be leaving her house before another loud, obnoxious child comes into her home to bother her (yes, for those of you who don't know, I'm pregnant again, and expecting a baby girl in March).  I'm sure that my MIL (probably) really doesn't mean it this way, but you know, with us being the giant free-loaders that we obviously are for not having moved into a motel while we figure out our housing situation, who can tell what lowlifes such as ourselves might do? 

And yes, I am pregnant again.  Baby Brendolyn is expected approximately March 20th, and my nesting urge is so strong that I think I might actually start shredding sheets and building a nest in my MIL's backyard if we can't find a home in the next week.  So, yeah, no pressure there hubby (my poor hubs has been my personal beating bag lately).  The good news is that I have the same OB as last time, which is greatly reassuring to me.  I figure that no one else, aside from my husband, would understand my general level of anxiety and spastic-ness nearly as well as he would right now.  On the downside, it looks like I have to use the same hospital that I delivered at last time, which I still largely blame for Carrick getting RSV.  And I will be delivering right in the middle of RSV season in Northern Colorado yet again.  Yippee for me.  If I use the other hospital in my OB's "service area," they don't have a neo-natal unit there, and so I could very well be stuck at the nicer, non-stigmatized hospital, while my poor baby Bren would have to transfer to the yeucky, make-babies-sick-and-kill-them hospital. Again, lovely. 

And my empathy has flown right out the window.  I am so sick and tired of having to emotionally prepare myself to get beaten up, taken advantage of, and generally run over by other people who are "more important" than I am, every day, that I could just roll over and die.  I am especially sick and tired of people "doing us favors."  --Just like the woman who showed up to help me pack, and then asked for all of my baby clothes and cloth diapers because she wanted to get pregnant in a year or two, and really, wouldn't that just be such a great favor to me as I obviously didn't have a use for them anymore (don't worry, she actually broke into our house to steal food from the refrigerator with the help of the past RS President after I said no.  You know, because she's so needy and all).  And the ward members who stole electronic equipment from us on a different "ward service day" helping us pack.  Or the Elders Quorum president who flat-out yelled at my husband and stormed away because we didn't have enough stain to finish staining the fence, even though the store had assured us that it would be more than enough, and then my husband had to finish it completely by himself.  ... My list of hurts is about two miles long right now, and I am so ridiculously sick and tired of everyone coming to me, asking for things, and even flat-out *expecting* things from me, because my family's needs obviously aren't as worthy as theirs are, so I should just give them whatever they want.  --Just like our landlord in Washington who wouldn't fix the mold problem because it was "too much effort" on his part.  Obviously that wasn't important to us at all.  And let me tell you, the prospect of having to rent yet again, for another 18 months until my self-centered, entitled renters "feel like" leaving is not high up on my list at all.  If I have to deal with another rat-infested, leaky-roofed, petri dish of a house in order to make ends meet, I think I'll completely snap.  And heaven only knows what I'd do then. 

Which isn't to say that I'm not close to snapping now.  I am so highly strung, and wound so tight;y, that I honestly feel sorry for the next person who tries to walk all over me.  Which is of course assuming that my rampaging pregnancy hormones don't take over, and then I'll just be lying in a ditch sobbing and praying for a street sweeper to run over me and put me out of my misery (though I can't figure out how I'd simultaneously save the baby, so that plan still needs some work).  But aside from that, the huge level of stress that my children are carrying, and their inordinate concern about my emotional well-being (which I'm sure is just *so* wondrously healthy for them and their development), the lack of separate housing, the huge pressure coming from in-laws to *GET OUT*, and the simultaneous pressure coming from both sides of the family to *FORGET CARRICK* because he's obviously dead, and lost to us, and therefore why keep mentioning his name, or let the children ever talk about him, is about to drive me completely insane.  And that's not even to mention the tremendous stress, fear, and anxiety that we feel about having another newborn come into (our?) house.  And then hoping that it's a safe and clean house.  And, and, and, and, and, and, and....

Is it honestly any wonder at this point that I've put on tremendous weight during this pregnancy?  You know, because stress does a body good... or something.  And poor hubs keeps coming to me and telling me to just put everything out of my mind that I can't control, which is everything.  But what he's only starting to understand is that in my search to find some measure of control somewhere, I *can't* let go.  And so I sit, and stew, and worry, and fret, and plan, and brood, and all to no avail... as of yet.  I keep hoping that somehow, somewhere, I can find a way to make all of this okay.  And it just might be if I could just talk to hubs for a little bit on a regular basis, but forget that with our crazy living situation and my husband's new, and constantly demanding job.  No date nights for mama.  Ha.  We don't even get quiet time to talk.  I honestly think it's a miracle that I can text him on the phone enough times every afternoon to try and figure out what time he's going to be home *that* day, so that I can try and get dinner ready for him in time and not have it sit growing cold on the table for a couple of hours while I wait (not that it hasn't happened several times anyway). 

Tomorrow is my daughter's birthday.  She'll be four.  And I can't paint her room purple, hang up the decoration in her room that we got for her as a birthday present (we have *no* room for presents as it is; Christmas or birthday), plant flowers with her, make cookies with her, or do crafts with her.  I can't make her a cake, I can't put up decorations, I can't sew to make her a present (or the birthday crown that she so desperately wanted me to make --I hate Bernina sewing machines), and I can't get her out any of her "favorites" from the storage unit, all of which she is now convinced have gone away and are never coming back. 

The list of things I can't do, is about as long as my list of hurts, and is having no small impact on my emotional status.  I mentioned nesting... well, I can't clean the baby's clothes, make her blankets, put up the crib, wash and sterilize all of the baby equipment, sanitize the high chair, put in the new car seat (our old one is still with my SIL out in Washington, along with a box of Carrick's clothes), organize the nursery (not that I'd let her out of my sight for two seconds unnecessarily in any case), or do or make anything to make her space feel happy and welcoming (which is how I connect to my children before they're born). So, really, I'm just stuck.  In every conceivable manner, I'm powerless.  I have never felt so bottled up and impotent in my whole life.  And then to have everyone and their momma telling me or showing me just how incredibly unimportant I am (and all of my thoughts, wants, needs, and desires), I don't think I've ever felt so worthless in my whole little miserable life.  What on earth does someone do in a time like that?