Dear Jay-seus, someone help me through this day.

I am not disgusted by too many things, but wookies and vomit are my vices. I’d rather lick the side of my toilet bowl then deal with either of them. That might be an over exaggeration, but it’s not far from the truth. I didn’t think there was truly anything worse then seeing someone throw up. But there is. Oh, is there ever. A toddler that just doesn’t know what to do when they barf.

Carter has his first real stomach bug. Bastard stomach bug has finally reached our house. Thanks for nothing! Last night while visiting my parents Carter was running and playing, chasing their dog then stopped dead in his tracks. and. puked. Projectile vomit everywhere. I froze. I couldn’t react (or didn’t want to), I just turned and walked away; Mike ended up having to clean him while my dad cleaned the floor.
Poor kid was scared shitless since he had no idea what was happening to him, and all I could picture was that scene from Big Daddy when “Frankenstein” was doing the Kangaroo Dance and pukes everywhere. My initial reaction was the same as “Sonny’s” - cover the puke with newspaper and walk away. I so could have done that.

After three expulsions of fluids and dinner, I figured that we may have overstayed our welcome and headed home.

This morning has been more of the same. Except I have to take care of it all by myself. *gag* Thinking that he may be a little better I gave him a bottle when he woke. That lasted all of 45 minutes before it was all over me and the blanket we had to protect the couch as we cuddled. Fucking sick. Oh so fuckin’ gross. I started to gag as I rushed him to the kitchen ceramic floor. All I could think about was myself, how horrible of a mother am I? Just don’t get more on me, please, don’t. get. more. on. me.
Breakfast consisted of the norm - crackers and water because that’s all I ever give my child. But those came back up too. Then another time… after a bath he’s in bed. Hopefully for a LONG time; just sleep it off.

I can’t stomach anything now from the lurking aroma of vomit. I’ve laid down the newspaper to soak up it up until Mike comes home, and have candles going in ever corner of the house but they have yet to de-funk the odour. I wanna curl up in the fetal position and hide. I don’t want to do this anymore!

And to top it all off, I smell like something the neighbours cat (because mine’s a chicken shit) puked up since I can’t have a shower yet as they’re working on my crack(ed) pipe. FUCK! Make. this. day. end!

The tag; Haley-O got me again! I swear, she sends every tag my way because she knows I’ll do it. It’s a musical tag so I like it. I like it a lot.

This is the deal:

Instructions: “List seven songs you are into right now. No matter what they are. They must be songs you are presently enjoying. Post these instructions in your MySpace / Blogger / Wordpad / Squarespace (or whatever it is you use) along with your seven songs. Then tag seven other people to see what they’re listening to. Include your sender as a non-tag.”

1. Old Apartment - Barenaked Ladies (here) It’s old, I know, but I’ve been listening to it, yo!

2. Welcome to the Black Parade - My Chemical Romance (here)

3. This Ain’t a Scene - Fall Out Boy (here)

4. I Wanna Love You - Akon ft. Snoop Dogg (here)

5. Sweet Escape - Gwen Stefani (here)

6. Lips of an Angel - Hinder (here)

7. Chasing Cars - Snow Patrol (here)

I tag Mia (because I know she’d lauv it) and Slacker Mom (cuz she might actually do it.) I (sadly) don’t have seven people to tag because most of the people in my bloglines are stalked don’t know I exist.

:::

Now, my crisis.It’s been exactly 1 month and 3 days since Carter’s move to the toddler room. The transition for the infant room I assumed would have been easier then the initial Holy shit, mom’s leaving me alone at daycare all day stage when he first started.

But I was wrong.

He did wonderfully when the infant room teacher brought him over to the toddler room during the transition period; when it came to me physically dropping him off in that classroom he freaked. Everyday he cries. Wails actually. Bloody murder. Like I’ve unsuspectingly sold him to Brangelina’s ever growing brute of adopted children. He reaches for me and attempts to claw his way out of the arms of his wonderfully patient teacher.
I say good bye quickly and tell him I will be back.

Then turn away from him, and walk away.

I walk away from my screaming baby.

Every.

Single.

Morning.

For 1 month and 3 days and counting. *sigh*

Since the first day in this new room he’s become even more attached to his blanket and soother. I’ve decided that it’s not a battle I want to fight right now. If they make him feel more comfortable, then I will leave them with him. (He does relinquish them to the teachers soon after I’ve gone.) But I have begun to wonder where I may have failed along the way. What (if anything) did I do to encourage this behaviour? What can I do to encourage him to accept being dropped off in the morning?
He’s fine minutes after I’ve left, but it’s HARD to start every single day like this. Emotionally draining - to the extreme.

Any ideas? Encouragement? Anything?

When we moved here I found it difficult to cope. I was closer to family, but I had no friends within an hours drive. That can be really hard sometimes when you just need someone other then family and your spouse.
There are things you can’t necessarily talk about with family and husbands expecting that they’d find the humour in it like a girlfriend might - like how your boobs have magically transformed into tennis balls inside pantyhose since having a child. See.. I don’t think my dad and I could laugh about that over a beer together. Not cool.

So, a good friend, who I have now affectionately given the name MarthafreakinStewart, moved closer. She’s now situated herself as the halfway point between me and another good friend. Perfect for us. Not so much for the husbands.
We’ve been having GNO (girl’s night out) much more often since her move; the latest being this past Friday when the three of us were able to get together (for the second time in about 3 weeks). During this bitchfest wine night get together, she reminded me of a story she’d shared at a previous GNO; a late night telephone call to Telehealth.
You know, those calls, when you’ve just arrived home after giving birth, things just don’t seem right and you have a compulsion to ask questions about anything and everything that just may seem off? She had a legitimate reason to call.. her son hadn’t pooped in as many days as he was old.
So, she calls Telehealth. They go through the spell of questions which leads to the same conclusion every time. Go to the emergency room; cuz that’s not going to freak the shit out of a new mom.

At the end of the call the nurse very calmly says, “Now remember. Don’t shake the baby.”

This is a very real danger, shaking the baby; but for some reason we thought this comment was the funniest thing ever! To this day, when one of us pissed off about something we always remind each other; “Now, don’t shake the baby.”

Only drunk moms I tell ya.

I highly doubt that others could ever see the humour in a comment like that.

Or it’s just me?

No, not Irreverent Antisocial Intellectual’s husband. Me. I am kickin’ ass and taking names this evening.

I am in the most hateful, vengeful, bitchy mood tonight, I just have to get it out.

Manchild was so great today. My heart was exploding with love this morning as he called to tell me about his venture out with Carter.
Seeing as Manchild was home from work , he opted to keep Carter home from daycare. They went for a walk to a near by hill for some sledding. Even though all the snow that had arrived in a matter of minutes yesterday had melted just as fast as the rain poured down at dawn, Manchild thought they would at least get in a run or two down the hill. Once they arrived he realized that nothing but a slushy mess had accumulated at the base of the hill so they returned home, a little defeated but spirits high.
By the sounds of it, they had a great day together; went grocery shopping and all!

I had a great day at work. Nothing stressful, I was inside and had a chance to have lunch with some girlfriends. I left work feeling relaxed and content. The traffic was great, everything was just peachy.

I asked Mike to take a trip to IKEA with me so I could show him the big boy bedding that I wanted to get for Carter and buy some baskets. I really didn’t think it was such a burdensome request, but that’s where it all went downhill.

One thing you should know about my husband is, he can be the most selfish person I know. It infuriates me to no end when he won’t do something unless there’s a benefit for him. Sometimes it would be nice for him to stuck it up and do something because it makes ME happy. It can be anything little from a song on the radio to a trip to a store he hates. (That store, being IKEA.) He will be pushy, snide, inconsiderate and just plain difficult to deal with. It’s like he’s pouting because it’s not something HE wants to do.

As we’re driving there’s a song on the radio that I like, I turn it up a little and he changes the channel.
Me: “I like that song; I was listening to that.” I change it back.
Him: “I hate that song.” And he changes it to another station again.
I let it go even though I felt like smashing his head through the windshield.

He did agree to go to the store; no whining or begging on my part, even though he had NO interest in IKEA at all but he made bitchy comments the whole way through the store,
“That’s fuckin’ ugly.”
“Why the fuck would someone buy something like that?”
“I hate this fuckin’ place.”
“Are you done yet?”…

I wanted to rip his beady little eyes from his miss-shaped skull within minutes. We finally arrive at the children’s section. I show him the bedding that I was in love with and thought that it would be perfect because it was right up Manchild’s alley - dragons and knights.

What does he say?

“That’s it? It’s fucking ugly as hell Sam.”

Great. Thanks. Asshole.

I’m frustrated, he’s frustrated, Carter’s getting hot. Manchild freaks out and insists that we get the hell out of there.

On the way home we’re listening to some fucking teeny bopper horrible dance shit. I change the channel, not realizing that Manchild was actually enjoying it. He changes it back. Always whatever he wants.

I commented that he changed the station on the way to the store because there was a song that he didn’t like, and if I do the same it’s the end of the world.

He says “Are you done talking?”

Oh.

My.

God.

I can’t even stand to look at him right now.

Am I really out of line? Am I blowing this out of proportion?

One thing I do notice though. When I forget to take my medication (which I did the past two days) my ability to cope with my husband is more and more difficult. I think cruel and vengeful thoughts and can’t stand to be in the same room as him when he is like this.

I shouldn’t have to be medicated to enjoy spending time with my husband.

Wine should be enough.