I still love this place
Things are going on in my head lately, not necessarily bad ones, but things that lead me back here. My safe place. My padded room, papered with all of the worst of me for all the world to see (but private enough for me to keep from those better off not knowing).
I miss coming here to spill my guts. I miss coming here and knowing that I could say whatever was on my mind and find support. I'm not likely to share like that in the real world, not with 99.9 percent of people I know and only with that .1 after a few hundred trips around the mulberry bush.
My life is so different than when I was here before. I'm still married to my usually amazing husband, I still marvel over my sweet, weird, funny, whip-smart son. And now I have my Katty. (Her name is Katherine; Katty is just my secret nickname for her because it seems to fit.)
I work for me now. Quit the job that never appreciated me or considered me capable enough to make my own changes in electronic documents even though I'd been doing so for almost a decade. It was demeaning. It made me not care. You want me to read your article and tell you it's perfect? Tell you that every one of those red marks and notes you see in the margins are the copy editor's equivalent of pissing on a fire hydrant? Fine. Eventually, fine. But I knew it wouldn't last.
And I'm glad it didn't. These days I get up to make Mini's breakfast and get him sent off to school, I grab a cup of coffee, prop my feet up on the coffee table, and decide what to work on. There's a steady flow of work that, God willing, won't peter out at some inopportune time (which would be ANY time). And then when Katherine wakes up I feed her and cuddle her and she plays happily on the floor while I do the newest in my new regimen: I. WORK. OUT.
It sounds crazy, I know. It's crazier. I still smoke and eat and drink to my heart's content, and I realize that's not going to cut it in the long run, but this working out thing is something I've never really tried, and I kind of ... like it. I like the way I feel afterward. My calves are killing me right now and all I can think is YES!!!
I'm following the personal trainer program on the Xbox 360 Kinect system, and not to sound like a commercial, the shit works. It's perfect for me, who wouldn't set foot in a gym and doesn't feel comfortable working out around people, especially since my last darling baby distorted my body in all kinds of unpleasant and noticeable ways. This I do in the comfort of my living room, back door open to let in breeze, Katty in her Exersaucer and Mini jumping around and telling me ways to improve my form.
I'm less dependent on certain people, and sometimes that makes me sad. Sometimes that downright breaks my heart. Because back when our respective therapists were trying to get us to un-enmesh, the thought terrified me, and now I see that it happened organically, when we weren't even looking. And me being me, now I worry that I'm not as important as I once was in the equation. I don't talk to her about it, and if you're reading this, know that you're not doing anything wrong. I'm just sitting on it. The jealousy, the inappropriate overreactions, the misunderstandings. That's what StT tells me to do.
Having Katherine has allowed me a glimpse of my husband that I've never seen before. I LOVE IT. He sings silly songs and puts her name into them all, even if it doesn't fit in the slightest. He cuddles her and kisses her head and tells her she can't date anyone who hasn't been thoroughly vetted by him and Mini. After being together for more than 10 years, seeing this new side of him, this Daddy of a Girl side, is surprising in the most wonderful way.
Working from home gives me freedom to play with Mini when he gets home from school while Katty naps. More often than not he wants to play some Xbox game, and I relent because why not burn a few more calories while making my son happy?
And he is. He is happy and he is sweet and he is sensitive, and I could not be prouder of him. But then, every day, I am.
Katherine is a purely edible baby, if you know what I mean, with sweet rolls of baby fat and puffy cheeks and thighs with deep, deep crevices. Sometimes I just watch her sleep and am hit again and again, even after six months during which you'd think I'd be used to it, with the wonder that I have a daughter.
So things are OK. I struggle with my baggage like everyone struggles with theirs. My boundaries are for crap and I know it, I still try to lean on my mom when I know what I'll find there, and the smallest misstep will make me sure that things will be bad forevermore.
I'm learning, but it's a slow process.
And in the meantime, I feel like I am putting aside my own shit and throwing myself wholly on the care and nurturing and loving and molding of my incredible children.
I miss coming here to spill my guts. I miss coming here and knowing that I could say whatever was on my mind and find support. I'm not likely to share like that in the real world, not with 99.9 percent of people I know and only with that .1 after a few hundred trips around the mulberry bush.
My life is so different than when I was here before. I'm still married to my usually amazing husband, I still marvel over my sweet, weird, funny, whip-smart son. And now I have my Katty. (Her name is Katherine; Katty is just my secret nickname for her because it seems to fit.)
I work for me now. Quit the job that never appreciated me or considered me capable enough to make my own changes in electronic documents even though I'd been doing so for almost a decade. It was demeaning. It made me not care. You want me to read your article and tell you it's perfect? Tell you that every one of those red marks and notes you see in the margins are the copy editor's equivalent of pissing on a fire hydrant? Fine. Eventually, fine. But I knew it wouldn't last.
And I'm glad it didn't. These days I get up to make Mini's breakfast and get him sent off to school, I grab a cup of coffee, prop my feet up on the coffee table, and decide what to work on. There's a steady flow of work that, God willing, won't peter out at some inopportune time (which would be ANY time). And then when Katherine wakes up I feed her and cuddle her and she plays happily on the floor while I do the newest in my new regimen: I. WORK. OUT.
It sounds crazy, I know. It's crazier. I still smoke and eat and drink to my heart's content, and I realize that's not going to cut it in the long run, but this working out thing is something I've never really tried, and I kind of ... like it. I like the way I feel afterward. My calves are killing me right now and all I can think is YES!!!
I'm following the personal trainer program on the Xbox 360 Kinect system, and not to sound like a commercial, the shit works. It's perfect for me, who wouldn't set foot in a gym and doesn't feel comfortable working out around people, especially since my last darling baby distorted my body in all kinds of unpleasant and noticeable ways. This I do in the comfort of my living room, back door open to let in breeze, Katty in her Exersaucer and Mini jumping around and telling me ways to improve my form.
I'm less dependent on certain people, and sometimes that makes me sad. Sometimes that downright breaks my heart. Because back when our respective therapists were trying to get us to un-enmesh, the thought terrified me, and now I see that it happened organically, when we weren't even looking. And me being me, now I worry that I'm not as important as I once was in the equation. I don't talk to her about it, and if you're reading this, know that you're not doing anything wrong. I'm just sitting on it. The jealousy, the inappropriate overreactions, the misunderstandings. That's what StT tells me to do.
Having Katherine has allowed me a glimpse of my husband that I've never seen before. I LOVE IT. He sings silly songs and puts her name into them all, even if it doesn't fit in the slightest. He cuddles her and kisses her head and tells her she can't date anyone who hasn't been thoroughly vetted by him and Mini. After being together for more than 10 years, seeing this new side of him, this Daddy of a Girl side, is surprising in the most wonderful way.
Working from home gives me freedom to play with Mini when he gets home from school while Katty naps. More often than not he wants to play some Xbox game, and I relent because why not burn a few more calories while making my son happy?
And he is. He is happy and he is sweet and he is sensitive, and I could not be prouder of him. But then, every day, I am.
Katherine is a purely edible baby, if you know what I mean, with sweet rolls of baby fat and puffy cheeks and thighs with deep, deep crevices. Sometimes I just watch her sleep and am hit again and again, even after six months during which you'd think I'd be used to it, with the wonder that I have a daughter.
So things are OK. I struggle with my baggage like everyone struggles with theirs. My boundaries are for crap and I know it, I still try to lean on my mom when I know what I'll find there, and the smallest misstep will make me sure that things will be bad forevermore.
I'm learning, but it's a slow process.
And in the meantime, I feel like I am putting aside my own shit and throwing myself wholly on the care and nurturing and loving and molding of my incredible children.