Maybe I am just drunk (quite the disclaimer) but i am really Fucking sick of always coming last. I’m sick of being the side piece, the one that doesn’t matter. I’ve honestly had it. Everything is dependant on someone else’s schedule and FUCK what I might want. Is this really worth it, just bc I love him? FUCK.
My Dad: Hey Eliza, are you going for a walk?
My Dad: Where you walking to?
Eliza: We’re walking back to summertime.
If only we could…
Today is our 6th wedding anniversary. We had planned a trip to Massachusetts, which we ended up cancelling last minute because of Hurricane Sandy, aka Frankenstorm(!!!) so now we’re home with the kids, waiting for the wild weather. Also because of the storm, my parents didn’t want to take the kids overnight, so we didn’t even get to do dinner or anything. Just as well, I suppose.
Last year, there was a freak snow storm on our anniversary. This year, there is what they are calling an ‘epic’ hurricane. Is the universe trying to tell us something?
Truth is, things haven’t been great lately. I’ve spent a lot of time being annoyed and frustrated, wondering if we will stay married or will end up divorced at some point. I barely sleep. He sleeps on the couch. I’m not even sure why that started, but it’s been like that for a long time. He seems to be oblivious to my worries.
Maybe I’m just bored. I’m not sure what I’m expecting. Even if we did split up, I’d most likely meet someone else and feel exactly the same way about him in a few years, so it seems a little pointless to go anywhere if this will just happen again. But I miss newness. And I hate myself for my feelings.
He got me a card, and I got him nothing. I stood in the card aisle at Target for 20 minutes, trying to find one that adequately expressed how I feel, but I couldn’t so I left with nothing. I wish they made funny anniversary cards but I guess humor is not the emotion most couples use to express their love for each other. His words to me were so sweet though. I almost cried because I felt so guilty and ashamed. He even got us a card from the kids. I am awful. I should be the one doing that, not him.
I need to try harder. I need to figure something out.
I will try today. I will be a good wife, a fun wife. I will be the wife I intended to be when we got married. I will make an effort all day not to be snappish and mean. I will be present. We will have a good day, despite the wicked hurricane tearing through our world.
Happy Anniversary to us.
I finally had a talk with the hubs last night about a request I’ve had in my had for a while now. I have come to the decision that I don’t want any more kids, so I”ve asked him to consider getting a vasectomy. He asked if I was sure I didn’t want another baby and I said yes. So he agreed, a bit reluctantly. I’m not sure if it’s the procedure itself or if it’s the fact that we won’t be having another baby that upset him.
As far as having more kids, it’s not a decision I came upon lightly. I did want a third, sort of. For a while, I thought of baby #3 as a definite. The idea of never seeing two pink lines again made me sad. I wanted to feel another baby moving around inside of me. I wanted to know what labor feels like and to hopefully try for a VBAC. I thought it would be great to bring a baby home and actually know how to take care of it, instead of how it was with the twins where I was so completely unsure of myself. I thought, this time around, I’d be an expert!
But as time passes, and the space between my last pregnancy and now gets bigger, the more I realize that none of those are good enough reasons to bring another person into our family. Nowhere on that list was I want another child. Plain and simple. I don’t think I want another child because our family feels complete.
That brings me to my husband. He does want another child. The problem with that is, he is not the one to go through a pregnancy and he is not the one who is home full time, taking care of a baby. The twins are going on three years old, which means they start pre-K next fall. I will finally be able to start working more and helping with our finances, so maybe we won’t have to live paycheck to paycheck anymore. If we add another baby, that gets put off for another three or four years and the expenses only increase.
Then there is my selfish reason. My body. The twin pregnancy ruined my stomach. It is stretched and wrinkled and it hangs.* I’ve lost weight and it’s still bad. No amount of diet and exercise with do a damn thing to help it. I hate mirrors. I have anxiety attacks over the idea of anyone seeing it. I often wonder what people expect I look like under my clothes. I put so much effort into hiding my deformed belly, that I think no one has a clue. Which kind of makes the idea of anyone seeing it even worse, because it would be such a shock. I wonder about other women’s bodies and what they look like, whether anyone looks as bad as me. Or is this as bad as it gets? And I wonder how men feel about things like this and how bad this is on a scale of repulsiveness. Yes, I realize shouldn’t matter what other men think (and that this is no place for confessions) but still, I wonder. I wonder and I panic.
I want to have surgery and the only way to have it is to know I definitely won’t get pregnant again. So I asked and he said okay. I guess my next step is to contact the urologist for him and get a consult with a plastic surgeon for me.
*In all honesty, I’ve looked up pictures of ‘twin skin’ online and mine falls somewhere in the middle of severity. There are definitely cases that look worse, but also many, many that look not as bad as I think mine does. I’m sure the doctor would readily agree that I am a good candidate for surgery.
I have been married for almost six years. That sounds like a long time to me, but it’s probably the same way kids feel about the time between the start of school and winter break. For the rest of us, it’s just three and a half months. It’s a few mortgage payment. But for those kids, it’s never-ending. I remember that feeling well. So yeah, six years.
I don’t know if I’ve mentioned this, but I work part-time as a bartender in a restaurant where people go to celebrate special occasions, like birthdays and engagements and anniversaries. I often meet couples who tell me they’re celebrating 4o+ years of marriage and then I feel silly talking about my six years (well, nine really, if you count the dating time) of faithfulness like it’s some kind of great feat. But to me, it is a great feat because it’s the first time I’ve ever been totally faithful to anyone. I used to cheat on boyfriends all the time. I was definitely not a good girlfriend before I met my husband. After we met, I really thought I had changed. Honestly, I have a flawless track record. I practically have a halo bobbing above my head.
But at the same time, when I think about celebrating our 40th anniversary someday, I feel a little nauseous and panicky. I wonder how I’m going to do it. And also be happy. And not feel like I’m missing out. I wonder if I’ll be able to stay faithful for all those years, especially if I’m already doubting my ability to do it after only six.
As luck would have it, I’m not often tempted by anyone. For the most part, I recognize attractiveness but am not actively attracted to anyone. As in, I will look but feel absolutely no desire to touch. But in very rare instances, I develop a crush. And then I feel like I have no control so I stay far away. But what happens when I can’t stay away? What happens when that crush is somewhere I can’t avoid, like my job or something? I know how these things work. I’ll start picking up extra hours because getting to look at him once a week is not enough. And I’ll start staying late and having drinks with everyone after work, because it’s just so easy to do that with the kind of work I do. What happens when that guy looks at me like I’m more than just a mom and I”m hopelessly attracted to him…hypothetically, I mean.
I was talking to a friend last night and she was telling me about another mutual friend of ours. She cheated on her husband with a man who is married with four kids. She slept with this man after spending the night laughing and drinking with the man’s wife. His wife went to bed and she pounced. I was shocked by it. And disgusted and disappointed. But how is that any different than what I’ve been talking about?
I don’t think I’d be able to handle the guilt if I ever did anything like that. I think it would crush me. But my fear is that if it came down to it, and it was something that I really, really wanted to do I might not be able to not do it. If it was someone I’d been thinking about and flirting with and obsessing over. What if I couldn’t say no? And then I know I’d be screwed (har-de-har) because I’d be freaking out and endlessly worrying that someone would find out about. Plus, the guilt…
I think I’m just saying all this to get it out of me. You know, like how you’re supposed to talk about the nightmare you just had because that takes away its power to frighten you. And if I get it out of me now, maybe I won’t feel the way I’ve been feeling and act on it later.
The last thing I remember was running through an airport with a group of friends trying to catch a flight to Paris. We were late. There was thunder and lightning and a shit ton of rain. The airport was HUGE and one of my friends kept stopping to take pictures of herself to upload to Facebook, which was seriously annoying because we were going to miss our flight. Then she sprawled out on the dirty airport floor and asked me to snap a couple shots of her because she neeeeeded a new profile pic, like, right that second. She wouldn’t let it go and get up off the floor. UGH! Fine.
That’s when I heard the clicking sound. It was happening every few seconds. Click-click. Pause. Click-click. I thought it was the shutter sound from the camera but then I slowly opened my eyes and registered the whole Paris-airport thing had been a dream. But the clicking was still there. I thought it was coming from outside my bedroom window. Then I heard it again, followed by the unmistakable sound of my son’s quick yet heavy footsteps. Oh no. I realized the clicking had been him fiddling with his doorknob, trying to open the door. I looked at the alarm clock and it was 5:15 am. It was still dark out. And he was headed for his sister’s room to wake her up. I shot up out of bed to stop him because I couldn’t fathom starting my day at 5:15 am.
I got to him in time and led him back into his own room. I cut off all his protests about wanting to get up and go downstairs and put him back in bed, saying that it was still dark out and everyone was sleeping and he had to go back to sleep for a little while. I turned on his music box, put his blanket over him and left the room. And (thank God) he stayed put and went back to sleep.
At 7:30 on the dot, he was back up and in my room. I knew there was no way he could be talked back into his bed so I dragged myself out of mine and followed him down the hall. He woke his sister up and bounded down the stairs. I went down, got them some juice and made myself a cup of coffee, listening to him run back and forth through the downstairs and wondering how he could possibly have the energy to go from sleeping to hyper that fast. I gave them their juice and had a few sips of coffee. My daughter was requesting a cheese stick, which I told her was not what she was having for breakfast and please, please, stop talking until Mommy has had her coffee. But she kept going on about the cheese stick, so I just ignored it. Then I looked over into the tv room at my son and he was curled up on the couch with his juice, eyes half shut, falling asleep.
Well that must be nice. Hmph.
Eliza: I wanna go outside, Mama. I wanna go outside and play on the playground.
Me: No Eliza, it’s too hot outside today.
Eliza: Too hot?
Me: Yes, it’s too hot to play outside.
Eliza: It’s too hot to play outside. It’s too spicy!
Watching someone learn a language from scratch is amazing.