The end and the beginning

I've stayed quiet(ish) about my marriage falling completely and totally apart because I have been completely and totally humiliated and not willing to risk judgment and ridicule.  But you know what?  I'm hurting, and I want to write it down and let it go.  So, judge me and ridicule me if you must.

When Anabel died, I was in the car on the way home from the hospital and Michael was driving.  I looked over at him and knew in my heart that he wasn't mine to keep, that he'd be taken from me one day.  My direct quote (to the devil) was: "you've taken my daughter, and I have survived.  You cannot, will not destroy me.  Do your worst."  And he's been trying ever since.

I don't pretend that I'm a perfect woman or a perfect Christian.  What I know is that I am a child of God and that He loves me - baggage, messes, flaws and all.  I know that He has a plan for me and that I have survived more in my 30 years than most people endure in a lifetime - ONLY because He holds my hand through it all.  He's going to keep holding my hand.  I know that because He promised He'd do it for us all.

The legal dissolution of my second marriage is in the works.  Michael finally admitted to me yesterday that he's in love with someone else.  He left when I was two months pregnant, and I've fought and scratched and clawed to keep Silas and me together since then.  

For six years, I have fought for my family.  I have fought hard - to the detriment of my own mental health - to make my family work.  But another woman has come back again and again and again to rip my family apart.  She was far more determined to have my husband, and he was determined to have her, and she won.  He's all hers now.

I know I will survive this and I will be stronger for it.  I've already grown by leaps and bounds in the last few months.  It honestly doesn't hurt 98% of the time.  I'm happier and more alive than I have been in years.  Maybe ever.  I'm finding that funny, vivacious, smart, fire-filled woman I once was.  I'm slipping back into her skin, and it feels incredible.

My friends and family have buoyed me and kept me laughing for the last four months - as they have every time he's walked out the door.

Randi - never was there ever a truer friend than you.  You know all my crazy, and you love me despite it (or because of it?).  Thank you for the girls nights and for the 900 million random text messages and the shoulder to cry on and the playmates for my son and the burnt steaks and the love and ALLLLLLLLLLLL the laughs.  Cheers to the next drink we take as parents of a collective five freaking children. We are going to rock this!

Casey - You have been a godsend.  You are a bright, laughing, shiny, happy spot in so, so many of my days.  Thanks for gaining the sympathy weight with me and for shoving me full of cupcakes every time you catch me in my office crying.  Thank you for sharing SOA and for helping me get my lawyer and for just being so, incredibly wonderful.

Mom & Kaylan - good lord.  How would I do it without you?  I don't even want to begin to imagine what my life would be like without your hugs and your help and sitting around your kitchen table laughing and crying and feeling safe.  Mom, I cannot wait to share the experience of Gavin's birth with you.  Thank you from the depths of my heart for agreeing to hold my hand in the delivery room.  THIRTEEN MORE WEEKS!!!

Marion - Can I finally admit it to the world?  Sure, why not?  I love you from the bottom of my heart.  You are the most incredible man I've ever known.  You are a role model to all men on how to be an amazing father and friend and person.  Thank you for being there for me every, single time I've come calling on you and needed you to pick me up and dust me off and encourage me to find myself again.  I'm finding myself this time, and I hope you continue to stick around for the journey.

There are too many people to mention everyone by name.  To all of you who make me laugh and listen to me cry, to those who pray for me and encourage me - thank you from the bottom of my heart.

This is the end of another chapter in my life.  I look forward to stepping into the next chapter and leaving behind all the pain and anger and bitterness.  I look forward to seeking out all the beautiful, wonderful things in life and sharing those with my children and my friends and family.

I love you guys.

Love,

Me

How about some more of me freaking out?

"You look like you don't want to be here today."

That is incorrect.  I want to be here very much.  Amongst the adults and the quiet and the brain-engaging activity.

Don't get me wrong, I love Silas, and I don't love to get up and drive an hour and fifteen minutes to work, but omgIwantedoutofthathouse.

You guys?  I'm officially terrified of maternity leave. 

My mom and aunt were out of town this weekend.  So, it was just Silas and me cooped up in the house together getting on each other's nerves for two days.  A tiny not-even-close-to-what-it's-going-to-be-like glimpse of maternity leave. Because he sleeps and can talk and can sometimes entertain himself for, like, a fifteen minute stretch.  But a new baby?

NEW BABIES DON'T SLEEP OR TALK OR DO ANYTHING FOR THEMSELVES.  THEY JUST YELL AT YOU AND WAKE YOU UP WHEN YOU WANT DESPERATELY TO SLEEP.

So, eight weeks of me and the baby and the pre-schooler trapped in a house together with only the occasional visit or convo with other adults?  Sounds like hell on earth.

It's only 14.5 weeks away.  That's not a long time.  Especially when you break it up by all the events coming up (as I do).

August - taking sweet Silas to Seaworld for one last pre-baby brother trip AND the 3D/4D sonogram

September - Silas 3rd birthday party (and we've reached the Chuck E. Cheese nightmare of a birthday party age).  Also, did I mention he's going to be three years old :/

October - my mom is throwing me a baby shower AND Halloween prep AND it's my last month as a mom of one.  Last month.  Like, I'm going to be having a perpetual panic attack for 31 days AND constantly worrying that I'm going to go into labor

November 1, 2012 - D-Day.  My sweet baby Gavin arrives - unless I do go into labor before then.

Holy crap!

Six Months - gah, it's just pathetic at this point

"God does not give you more than you can handle," but you guys are going to have so much fun watching my neurosis bloom to its full potential over the next year and a half, aren't ya?

I hate making up titles

My place is clean again.  I had to ignore all requests to play Candy Land and monster trucks on Saturday (there was so much Fresh Beat Band - OMG, it's horrible - worse than Gabba Gabba even), but our laundry is done and our floors are mopped/vacuumed and all the toys are in their rightful places.  (Yay for not tripping over race tracks and big wheels in the kitchen!)

It's a less depressing place to be when it's clean - mostly if I'm not at work, I'm there because I have no life.  So, when it's a mess, I get sadfaced.

(Insert smooth transition here)

As I previously mentioned, my doc wants me to deliver at 39 weeks.  I was told after I had Anabel that I should not deliver after 37 weeks because of the type of c-section I had with her and the chance for uterine rupture/possible death if I go into labor again.

Last night I started to freak out about living alone and going to 39 weeks.  Every neurotic, dramatic bone in my body feels like I'll go into labor before that c-section is scheduled.  I convinced myself that my only hope is going into labor at work - 15 minutes from my hospital surrounded by people who know how to drive.  Pray, people, pray.

Oh, and Gavin?  Not so lazy as I previously thought.  I think maybe he's just smaller than Silas or positioned differently?  I don't know, but he's busy as all get out these days.  Flipping and kicking and squirming and being generally obnoxious to my bladder - just like his brother before him.

And my Silas asks about his brother all the time now.  Like he's maybe decided it's okay if we keep the little brother.  So, there's that.

They are going to be quite the pair.  

Pair.  OMG.  Pair.  Like, two of them.  As in, I'm getting dangerously close to being seriously outnumbered.  

But aren't they going to be the freaking cutest pair of brothers ever to drive a momma crazy?

Everything is going to be alright

Our Independence Day started with Silas asserting his right to make a huge mess on the couch while I took a shower.

You guys?  I cried.  So. Much. 

If you zoomed out from that picture, you would see that my house is a disaster without the added powdered sugar on the couch.  There are toys everywhere.  

Michael left three months ago (I don't want to talk about it, which is why I haven't talked about it), and I am exhausted trying to work full time, take care of Silas, and be pregnant.  

So, ya know, the mega blocks tend to just stack up in the middle of the living room and there is a car track and a big wheel in my kitchen, and we are just not getting into what the hallway or the bedrooms look like.

Silas was so darn pleased with himself for "making clouds" and could not understand why mommy was soooooo mad that it looked like her head might explode.

As it turns out, the vacuum cleaner attachment hose makes short work of getting powdered sugar off the couch.  Thank God.  Amen.

The rest of the day was a typical July 4th.  We hung out with friends and grilled out and watched fireworks and were very grateful to live in the Land of the Free and the Home of the Brave - powdered sugar, toy strewn, constant train wreck mess of a life and all.  

Because we have our health and we have a good job and we have a nice car and a roof over our heads and we never go hungry and we are safe and free to live our lives and next year?  Next year our baby brother is going to be with us to watch fireworks and play in the water and make us smile.

We are all going to be okay.  In fact, we are going to thrive.

What my boys have been doing

Potty training is such an emotional roller coaster.

Last Thursday we bought a toy motorcycle when we went to the store because Silas had used the big boy potty for the entire week when he was awake.  He only had accidents when he was asleep.  HUGE DEAL!  SO MUCH HOPE!  HE'S FINALLY GOING TO DO IT!

This week?  His routine has been all jacked up, and I don't think he's used the potty once.  FRUSTRATION AT AN ALL TIME HIGH!  ALL HOPE IS LOST!  HE'S NEVER GOING TO DO IT!

It will happen, right?  I'm just being dramatic like when he was an infant and I was certain he'd never sleep through the night, right?!  Please?

Last night, I put Silas to bed at 8 (he was wearing pajamas) and was in bed myself by 8:05.  Round about 10ish, I had to go to the bathroom.  I hauled myself out of bed and walked into the hall, which is where I found a little boy on a big wheel wearing the shirt he'd worn earlier in the day and a pull up.  The pjs?  They were in the dirty clothes (points there, I suppose).  Since I'd been awake the entire two hours, I'm not sure how I hadn't heard him hanging out in the hall.  He'd decorated the wall with little foam stars and everything. 

I guess it at least sheds some light on why he's such a world class grouch every morning of his life.

His brother is growing away.  I received an email yesterday morning informing me that Gavin is approximately the length of a banana now.  The first email I got about him when it all started put him at the size of a poppy seed.  It is amazing to think about how fast they go from microscopic to newborn-sized (even if the nine months drags on and on and on for mommy).

Yesterday morning, my doctor asked if Gavin is moving and all I could think to say was, "he does, but he's lazy."  As in, he doesn't spend the entire day rolling around and kicking and jabbing and poking me like Silas did.  At least not yet.  Since Silas' constant squirming turned out to mean he never stops moving ever, ever, I'm hoping lazy translates to quiet and laid-back and mellow and happy when he arrives.  Again, please?

Mommy has gained a total of 10 pounds.  My boss and I figured out that I'm gaining weight at half the rate I did with Anabel and Silas (at this juncture with them, I'd already gained 21 pounds).  So, maybe I'll get out of this one gaining only 20 pounds. One more time, please?!

(something is wrong with Blogger, and it won't let me change the font or add a caption.  That's my five month baby belly).

Brotherly love

Somewhere in the middle of every pregnancy, a switch gets flipped for me.  I go from half-accepting that I'm pregnant to fully embracing the fact that a tiny baby is on the way and omgIwanttoholdthebabyrightnow! 

Thursday night I bought two onesies for, like, $4.  

They were newborn-sized.  Do you know how long it's been since I've bought anything but clothes with a number and then a "T" following said number?  Years, you guys, years.

So, when I pulled the teeny-tiny, baby doll-sized onesies from the dryer Friday morning, my switch flipped.

And now I'm constantly asking: "how can I possibly have to wait 19 more weeks to hold Gavin???"

And then I answer myself by curling up in my bed at 9:30ish and sleeping (with the exception of one bladder awakening) all. night. long.  I wake up refreshed and then say to myself: you can only do that for 19 more weeks.  Then you're a zombie for a year.  Stop rushing his arrival.

Silas is warming up to his little brother.  Yesterday, he jumped on my stomach, and then we had this conversation

Me: "please don't jump on mommy's stomach, Gavin's in there."  

Silas: "Gavin's in there cooking dinner (because someone mentioned to Silas that Gavin's in my belly "cooking").  He's my little brother.  I'm going to bebo him."  

Then he poked my belly button and said, "Bebo!"  

It cracked me up, so he kept doing it and then laughing and laughing. 

I get the impression that's a game we're going to be playing pretty frequently.  Can you imagine how much fun it will be when Gavin starts kicking Silas (i.e., me....probably in the rib cage) every time he gets "beboed"?

Did I say I was a grown up? I take it back

You know what I hate?  When I think I've become all grown up and adult and then I fall in love with The Vampire Diaries on Netflix, and when I wake up at 5:30 in the morning to pee, I watch another episode before I have to get ready for work instead of going back to sleep.

My entire defense for this is: have you seen Ian Somerhalder?

I know.  I'm twelve.  Whatever.