Need to hit something lighthearted.
My cousin and my best friend handled my baby shower. It was lovely. We had trouble getting a venue together because my dad's aunt is on oxygen and Mark's grandmother can barely walk, and the first few venues required stairs or parking far off. They picked a not-glamorous but perfectly located burger joint with a "banquet room," and it was excellent. If anyone wanted a drink, the bar was steps away. The food was good. The room was great. Go figure!
Another "problem" was that so many friends had their babies or were days from having babies. Jessica was due a week and a half later, and she started serious Braxton-Hicks the day of my shower. I'd actually hoped for that to happen, because I picked that day in the pool at her shower haha. I ended up losing. So it ended up being mostly family, but that's okay.
The theme was baby monsters and Yanna found some super adorable baby versions of classic monsters. It was right before Halloween, so it was perfect. Gender-neutral. They had a table set up and labeled "Treat Yo Self," with my amazingly delicious cake and a candy selection.
Got some great gifts that were on the registry.
Most importantly, by having the two in charge who were in charge, no games were even attempted. It was a classy affair that was just my speed.
They tagged me in pictures on Facebook, but I didn't approve them to appear on my timeline and I also don't allow most people to see pictures tagged of me anyway.
However, a few high school friends saw pics because they are also friends with my mom and saw her get tagged. It was getting close to the end anyway, so it wasn't a huge deal. Plus, I was about to see some of them at my friend's wedding in a couple weeks, so the cat would be out of the bag with them anyway.
We brought everything home and it landed in my kitchen. A few weeks later, Mark's cousin brought over a bunch of her baby items. That all ended up in the kitchen, too. Mark couldn't keep up and I couldn't lift anything. It was a mess. It stayed that way until the weekend we came home. I mean, we got a lot of things out of the way when my parents came to help us one weekend. But it sucked having to take so much rest.
The girls made thank you cards for me that matched the invitations. They made a booklet to match to write down gifts and they included a print out of all of the addresses to make thank you card writing simple. It was genius. I highly recommend that when planning showers for people. Especially baby showers, when the new mom is going to be overwhelmed, exhausted, uncomfortable, and scatterbrained.
I actually didn't get around to finishing them until after he was here. I have no idea what I wrote, because I did them on pain meds hahaha. I'm sure they were lovely.
J
We had to vote in an election right after the shower. The ladies were all gushing over my belly. We went back for the primaries in March, and they really couldn't handle him. And every time we vote (every election), they gush over him and how they remember the day I came in so huge. I guess we're the only "young" regular voters. We rarely miss an election. Most people in our neighborhood are renters who don't stay long and old people who have been here forever, so I guess we stand out. I appreciate that, but damn. Go vote, people!!
Wednesday, January 17, 2018
Tuesday, January 16, 2018
The first Christmas
I don't know how I skipped this part.
His family is an hour and a half away from us, and with a due date of December 8, I started stressing over Christmas. What if he came late? What if I had to have a section? What about an episiotomy? How was I going to bring a brand new baby that far and how was I going to last through the car ride? What about nursing? And since that was such a disaster, it eventually turned into "what about pumping and all of the paraphernalia involved?"
My parents had the same thoughts. We were being told to come for his family's Christmas. No one gave thought to the exhausted new parents, and especially not to the new mother and her comfort levels. But my parents did. They offered to host his parents and his brother and his sister-in-law on Christmas. My parents are a 15-minute drive away in the same city we live in.
When he called to extend the invite, they originally thought he had asked to have them and they were very squirrelly about it. He kept inviting them and they kept blowing it off with a "we'll see."
At my shower, my mom asked his mom in front of their family and mine if they would please come eat. She was kind and generous. And his mother said "oh uh well we'll see." My relatives commented at various times about how strange that response was. My mother was flabbergasted.
My BiL and SIL were planning to do Christmas Eve in his hometown and in hers, 20 mins away from his. Then they were making an 8-hour drive to northeast Louisiana to visit her extended family. But the more his mom begged off about coming to my parents' house, the more they discussed the fact that his mother was really going to miss her only grandchild's first Christmas. So they planned to detour to New Orleans because there was no way she would miss BIL and the grandchild together.
After two or three months of us practically begging them, they came.
After Christmas, Mark called and thanked them for coming. Another gaslighting situation arose wherein she said that they were always planning to come, what was he talking about? Thankfully, my SIL and I had had extensive Facebook conversations via messenger, so I know for a fact that we weren't imagining their hesitation. He told them that he was glad they came because he was worried that they were being rude and that they had never once committed to coming and had blown my mom off at the shower. But they kept on gaslighting us.
To combat gaslighting, it is suggested that you keep listing things you know to be true. Every time I bring up what they're doing and he starts making excuses, I lost this as one major situation that we know to be true but they keep denying ever happened.
His family is an hour and a half away from us, and with a due date of December 8, I started stressing over Christmas. What if he came late? What if I had to have a section? What about an episiotomy? How was I going to bring a brand new baby that far and how was I going to last through the car ride? What about nursing? And since that was such a disaster, it eventually turned into "what about pumping and all of the paraphernalia involved?"
My parents had the same thoughts. We were being told to come for his family's Christmas. No one gave thought to the exhausted new parents, and especially not to the new mother and her comfort levels. But my parents did. They offered to host his parents and his brother and his sister-in-law on Christmas. My parents are a 15-minute drive away in the same city we live in.
When he called to extend the invite, they originally thought he had asked to have them and they were very squirrelly about it. He kept inviting them and they kept blowing it off with a "we'll see."
At my shower, my mom asked his mom in front of their family and mine if they would please come eat. She was kind and generous. And his mother said "oh uh well we'll see." My relatives commented at various times about how strange that response was. My mother was flabbergasted.
My BiL and SIL were planning to do Christmas Eve in his hometown and in hers, 20 mins away from his. Then they were making an 8-hour drive to northeast Louisiana to visit her extended family. But the more his mom begged off about coming to my parents' house, the more they discussed the fact that his mother was really going to miss her only grandchild's first Christmas. So they planned to detour to New Orleans because there was no way she would miss BIL and the grandchild together.
After two or three months of us practically begging them, they came.
After Christmas, Mark called and thanked them for coming. Another gaslighting situation arose wherein she said that they were always planning to come, what was he talking about? Thankfully, my SIL and I had had extensive Facebook conversations via messenger, so I know for a fact that we weren't imagining their hesitation. He told them that he was glad they came because he was worried that they were being rude and that they had never once committed to coming and had blown my mom off at the shower. But they kept on gaslighting us.
To combat gaslighting, it is suggested that you keep listing things you know to be true. Every time I bring up what they're doing and he starts making excuses, I lost this as one major situation that we know to be true but they keep denying ever happened.
Monday, January 15, 2018
That escalated quickly.
I loved my job. I loved what I did. I loved my students. I loved my coworkers. But to get close to a living wage, I had to have five stipends. Most of them required me to be at work late at night. With a child, I couldn't afford to work there any more. I'd always called it my happiness tax, but I had to take care of my family, first.
I tightened my social media pages and stuck my inlaws in that tighter security group. It was something I'd always wanted to do. I just wasn't sure when would be appropriate. I never wanted to accept their friendship on there because I felt like it was too much. Mark isn't friends with most of my family, but since he's more of a public figure due to work, he's a little less strict with who can see his stuff.
A few weeks went by and I was back at work. One day, we got a phony call demanding that I allow them access to my page. Um? What now? Mark informed them that I was job searching, hence the heightened social media security. That is 100 percent correct. I didn't block or unfriend them. I just locked them down. No more pats pr photos were visible to them. A little more time passed. And at Easter, Mark called to wish them a happy one. And instead of exchanging pleasantries, they chose to tear into him and rip him a new one. He, who never raises his voice, raised his voice to them. He tried setting boundaries and explaining that we feel like they do not respect us as adults. That they don't respect us as parents. Every time we ask them not to do something, they do it. If we ask them to do something, they don't. Like buying the base for the car seat, for instance. Spoiler: that base could only be used with the bucket seat. When we upgraded to the bigger seat, those were useless. They never once used it and were miffed.
Anyway, I refused to try to tweak my settings because I was job searching. I'd planned on eventually letting them back in, but I decided against it. Eventually, unnoticed his mom unfriended me, based on the fact that she popped up as a person I may know, haha. C'est la vie.
At this point, I said they needed a time out. They were not exhibiting sane behavior or wise actions. I banned them from the house until further notice. They were going to be allowed here for his birthday, but that's a more tragic story yet to come.
Basically, they are allowed supervised visits and they must be in public. If it's something in their hometown, I chaperone.
I'm sorry. This is too unstable.
After some time, they claimed that when Mark called them out on condemning us to hell and saying what they said about the miscarriage, they denied it. They began a gaslighting campaign that keeps rearing its very ugly head. Gaslighting is scary.
I tightened my social media pages and stuck my inlaws in that tighter security group. It was something I'd always wanted to do. I just wasn't sure when would be appropriate. I never wanted to accept their friendship on there because I felt like it was too much. Mark isn't friends with most of my family, but since he's more of a public figure due to work, he's a little less strict with who can see his stuff.
A few weeks went by and I was back at work. One day, we got a phony call demanding that I allow them access to my page. Um? What now? Mark informed them that I was job searching, hence the heightened social media security. That is 100 percent correct. I didn't block or unfriend them. I just locked them down. No more pats pr photos were visible to them. A little more time passed. And at Easter, Mark called to wish them a happy one. And instead of exchanging pleasantries, they chose to tear into him and rip him a new one. He, who never raises his voice, raised his voice to them. He tried setting boundaries and explaining that we feel like they do not respect us as adults. That they don't respect us as parents. Every time we ask them not to do something, they do it. If we ask them to do something, they don't. Like buying the base for the car seat, for instance. Spoiler: that base could only be used with the bucket seat. When we upgraded to the bigger seat, those were useless. They never once used it and were miffed.
Anyway, I refused to try to tweak my settings because I was job searching. I'd planned on eventually letting them back in, but I decided against it. Eventually, unnoticed his mom unfriended me, based on the fact that she popped up as a person I may know, haha. C'est la vie.
At this point, I said they needed a time out. They were not exhibiting sane behavior or wise actions. I banned them from the house until further notice. They were going to be allowed here for his birthday, but that's a more tragic story yet to come.
Basically, they are allowed supervised visits and they must be in public. If it's something in their hometown, I chaperone.
I'm sorry. This is too unstable.
After some time, they claimed that when Mark called them out on condemning us to hell and saying what they said about the miscarriage, they denied it. They began a gaslighting campaign that keeps rearing its very ugly head. Gaslighting is scary.
Wednesday, January 10, 2018
Listen to new parents
If it isn't your baby, you get no say.
If it isn't your baby, the parents get all of the say.
I don't care how many kids you had, how many kids you didn't have, how many kids you've taught, or whether your child is one second older or five decades older.
Not your kid, not your say.
Think the parent is neurotic? Crazy? Depressed? Ignorant? Don't care.
Is the child's life or safety in danger? Ok.
No matter what the parents say, that's what you do. And when you are in their home, you are the guest. You. Have. No. Say.
The next visit from my in-laws was a major turning point. I never did care much for them. I lost my respect for them when they blamed my third miscarriage on us not attending church.
As of this point, they were buying things we told them not to buy. They were trying to visit every weekend. We managed to hold our feelings and stay polite up until that day. She insisted on whispering. She constantly accused the baby of having a pain.
When they visited, they sat on my couch, leaving her perfume smell and his cologne smell for days afterwards. They held him and whispered and took pictures. They stayed for hours. They kept bringing things into our house that we asked them not to bring. And then it happened.
They brought us food from Zea's. I was trying to finish my meal and the baby was in his swing, a.k.a his favorite place in the world. She wolfed down her food and grabbed her camera and went to the baby. I asked her to please wash her hands.
He was maybe two months old? Just shy of it? He hadn't gotten those important vaccines yet. It was still cold and flu season.
My M-I-L only eats fried shrimp when she goes out to eat. I like to bring them places without fried shrimp in order to make her branch out. Then she orders whatever I'm eating, because I guess she figures if I eat it, it can't be bad. So that's when I get things with hummus on them haha.
Anyway, Zea is a rotisserie restaurant and she ordered, you guessed it, fried shrimp. You know, a high allergen food. And it's greasy. And! She hadn't washed her hands before eating. So, barf.
I asked her to wash her hands first. She ignored it. I repeated myself.
"Oh, I will."
Please. Please wash your hands first.
"I will."
Shoot a glance to Mark.
"Mom. Please wash your hands before you go near him."
"Oh, I did."
What. The. Actual. Fuck. No. She. Didn't.
I said "No you didn't. You came in. You handed out the food containers. You sat down. You ate. You went to the baby. Please wash your hands."
"Oh, I did it at the restaurant."
I almost exploded.
So you went to the restaurant. Used the restroom. Washed your hands. Touched your credit card. Signed the receipt using a pen at the register. Opened the door. Walked to the car. Used the handle. You yourself talked about how everything was covered in pollen. Touched your door and your seat belt. Touched then again to get out. Shut the door. Rang the doorbell. Came inside. Ate without washing your hands. Ate greasy shellfish. Didn't wash your greasy shellfish hands. Went straight to the newborn.
"I'll do it."
She sat there.
Mark: "Mom. Just please wash your hands."
She ignored him. I was boiling. I was trying to finish my food and couldn't get the last bite of corn grits to stay on my fork. On the fourth failed jab, I went "Oh, son of a bitch."
His dad was sitting across from me. He spoke:
"I heard that."
This is a man who will drop worse curse words at times. Not often, but he's not clean.
I looked up, confused. Was he joking?
Then I saw the hatred and anger on his face. He was practically shaking.
I said "I'm sorry. I didn't know I couldn't swear in my own home."
He continued glaring and shaking. "I. Heard. What. You. Said."
And then it hit me: He thought I was calling his wife a bitch.
I'd like to go on record as saying I wish that I had. Because if I had, I would have had something to apologize for. I also wish I had because, you know what? That was a bitchy thing to do.
I was a teenage girl. I made it through my teen years without EVER calling my mother a bitch. Do you know what an accomplishment that is for many people these days?
I said "Ohhhh. Oh. I was mad because my food wouldn't stay on my fork."
He glared.
"I was frustrated. I said son of a bitch. About the food."
He continued to glare.
"Didn't you see me repeatedly stab it? You're sitting right across from me."
Pause. Why was he so convinced I called her a bitch? Was it because that thought crossed his mind? That she was doing something extremely bitchy?
Mark didn't hear this happening. He came to see if he could grab my empty takeout container. I slammed my fork down and said yes. I got up, grabbed my pump, and went in the baby's room. I stayed for a while. I kicked them into a tighter privacy setting on FB. I was job hunting anyway. I needed my profile on lock.
When I finished pumping, I put the milk away and cleaned my parts. I said nothing to anyone and went into my bedroom and shut the door. I refused to go by them. Mark eventually came to see what was up. I said I was not going anywhere near them. He had no idea what had happened. They finally left, hours later. He told them I was napping because I was going out with friends that night and needed to rest. I hate that he lied. Lies are his family's language of love.
When they were gone, I filled him in the rest of the way.
I assumed it would blow over. I was very wrong.
If it isn't your baby, the parents get all of the say.
I don't care how many kids you had, how many kids you didn't have, how many kids you've taught, or whether your child is one second older or five decades older.
Not your kid, not your say.
Think the parent is neurotic? Crazy? Depressed? Ignorant? Don't care.
Is the child's life or safety in danger? Ok.
No matter what the parents say, that's what you do. And when you are in their home, you are the guest. You. Have. No. Say.
The next visit from my in-laws was a major turning point. I never did care much for them. I lost my respect for them when they blamed my third miscarriage on us not attending church.
As of this point, they were buying things we told them not to buy. They were trying to visit every weekend. We managed to hold our feelings and stay polite up until that day. She insisted on whispering. She constantly accused the baby of having a pain.
When they visited, they sat on my couch, leaving her perfume smell and his cologne smell for days afterwards. They held him and whispered and took pictures. They stayed for hours. They kept bringing things into our house that we asked them not to bring. And then it happened.
They brought us food from Zea's. I was trying to finish my meal and the baby was in his swing, a.k.a his favorite place in the world. She wolfed down her food and grabbed her camera and went to the baby. I asked her to please wash her hands.
He was maybe two months old? Just shy of it? He hadn't gotten those important vaccines yet. It was still cold and flu season.
My M-I-L only eats fried shrimp when she goes out to eat. I like to bring them places without fried shrimp in order to make her branch out. Then she orders whatever I'm eating, because I guess she figures if I eat it, it can't be bad. So that's when I get things with hummus on them haha.
Anyway, Zea is a rotisserie restaurant and she ordered, you guessed it, fried shrimp. You know, a high allergen food. And it's greasy. And! She hadn't washed her hands before eating. So, barf.
I asked her to wash her hands first. She ignored it. I repeated myself.
"Oh, I will."
Please. Please wash your hands first.
"I will."
Shoot a glance to Mark.
"Mom. Please wash your hands before you go near him."
"Oh, I did."
What. The. Actual. Fuck. No. She. Didn't.
I said "No you didn't. You came in. You handed out the food containers. You sat down. You ate. You went to the baby. Please wash your hands."
"Oh, I did it at the restaurant."
I almost exploded.
So you went to the restaurant. Used the restroom. Washed your hands. Touched your credit card. Signed the receipt using a pen at the register. Opened the door. Walked to the car. Used the handle. You yourself talked about how everything was covered in pollen. Touched your door and your seat belt. Touched then again to get out. Shut the door. Rang the doorbell. Came inside. Ate without washing your hands. Ate greasy shellfish. Didn't wash your greasy shellfish hands. Went straight to the newborn.
"I'll do it."
She sat there.
Mark: "Mom. Just please wash your hands."
She ignored him. I was boiling. I was trying to finish my food and couldn't get the last bite of corn grits to stay on my fork. On the fourth failed jab, I went "Oh, son of a bitch."
His dad was sitting across from me. He spoke:
"I heard that."
This is a man who will drop worse curse words at times. Not often, but he's not clean.
I looked up, confused. Was he joking?
Then I saw the hatred and anger on his face. He was practically shaking.
I said "I'm sorry. I didn't know I couldn't swear in my own home."
He continued glaring and shaking. "I. Heard. What. You. Said."
And then it hit me: He thought I was calling his wife a bitch.
I'd like to go on record as saying I wish that I had. Because if I had, I would have had something to apologize for. I also wish I had because, you know what? That was a bitchy thing to do.
I was a teenage girl. I made it through my teen years without EVER calling my mother a bitch. Do you know what an accomplishment that is for many people these days?
I said "Ohhhh. Oh. I was mad because my food wouldn't stay on my fork."
He glared.
"I was frustrated. I said son of a bitch. About the food."
He continued to glare.
"Didn't you see me repeatedly stab it? You're sitting right across from me."
Pause. Why was he so convinced I called her a bitch? Was it because that thought crossed his mind? That she was doing something extremely bitchy?
Mark didn't hear this happening. He came to see if he could grab my empty takeout container. I slammed my fork down and said yes. I got up, grabbed my pump, and went in the baby's room. I stayed for a while. I kicked them into a tighter privacy setting on FB. I was job hunting anyway. I needed my profile on lock.
When I finished pumping, I put the milk away and cleaned my parts. I said nothing to anyone and went into my bedroom and shut the door. I refused to go by them. Mark eventually came to see what was up. I said I was not going anywhere near them. He had no idea what had happened. They finally left, hours later. He told them I was napping because I was going out with friends that night and needed to rest. I hate that he lied. Lies are his family's language of love.
When they were gone, I filled him in the rest of the way.
I assumed it would blow over. I was very wrong.
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