GPOY “fresh haircut from the internet’s own @the_dza ” edition (Taken with picplz.)
The boyfriend gives good hair cuts. Also, this is my good friend, Andy. Say hi everybody.
There were a rash of car burglaries in our neighborhood about 18 months ago. My step-dad’s work van was raided for tools, and Daniel’s car window was smashed twice. In the driveway. The guy responsible was caught thanks to my next door barefoot neighbor who chased him down the street and tackled him while his son called the police.
Fast forward nearly two years, I forgot to lock my car last night because I was going to go back out and get something. When I went out there this morning, stuff from my glove box was strewn all over the front seats. Everything had been rifled through. I searched in vain for my son’s iPod with the Dude’s voice running through my head, “You fucking know it’s been stolen.” And Walter responding, “Well, certainly that’s a possibility.”
Aside from a phone holder Daniel had given me, nothing else appears to be missing because I never keep anything of value in my car. Except for the fucking iPod that I kept forgetting to stick back in my purse to take inside. It’s my fault it’s gone, and I’m just sick about it. I have no idea how to tell my son.
Since the incidents started I have been hyper vigilant about my neighborhood. I heard something outside last night, but I didn’t get up to look for a few minutes giving the thief ample time to get away. Filed a police report this morning and the sheriff’s deputy told me that his partner had seen a burglarized vehicle down the street but had been unsuccessful at contacting the owners so far.
And so it begins again. If you need me past midnight, I’ll be sitting in the dark peering out the window with a baseball bat in my lap.
Know what’s worse than morning sickness in the first trimester? A stomach virus at nine months. I wish I didn’t know this.
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Harper, Tony Kushner’s Angels in America, Part 2: Perestroika (Act V, Scene 2) (Source: phyllis-stein) |
I am pregnant. Big shock, right? I’ve only posted about it for the last six months. It’s pretty well-known. But the fact is I have to remind myself every day. Even hourly. I forget about it minute to minute sometimes. I could say it’s because I feel so good this time around eating fairly decently, watching my weight gain, remaining active, and still going to the gym. In reality, I am having some sort of late-stage denial. If I don’t think about it, then it’s not happening.
I washed most of the clothes, got part way through the diapers, and then stopped making headway on any preparation for the thing to even exist here. Maybe things would be different if there was a separate room for the baby, or at least for all of the things that come along with taking care of a tiny person — clothes, diapers, rocking chair, co-sleeper, changing table, etc.
Maybe things would be different if I didn’t live with my parents. At nearly 65, they never dreamed they would be sharing the same space as a thirtysomething daughter and young grandson let alone a squalling infant with all its baby doo-dads and appliances. Everyone comments how lucky I am to have family around me, supporting me, but I am afraid to ask for help beyond a winter coat and vitamins because I feel like I am bringing home a puppy that nobody wants.
I don’t know how I will get my son to school if I can’t drive for a week or more when the thing gets here. I can’t ask my family to do it because he goes to school in a town that is half an hour away from our house. I am not whining about this as it’s partly my choice that he goes to his school there. It’s just hard.
And then there is the working out how will Daniel see the baby, when will Daniel see the baby? Will I take the baby to his house on nights that he has his son? Will he come here the other nights? We have fought about many things during this pregnancy. Where will the baby’s stuff be, who pays for what, what will the baby’s name be? So for the past few months we have been trying to take everything one day at a time, which has worked, and our relationship is better. But I am only 28 days from the due date and in the interest of not rocking the boat, we have not talked about ANYTHING.
I have been calling all the shots because the thing is in my body, and I will be spending the most time with it, providing care during the day and most nights. I don’t want to split up my time between a house I don’t feel comfortable at and a house filled with people who resent me and what I’ve done. I want to be in some magical place where the baby and I can exist with minimal stress at least for a little while, but there is no place like that.
(Here is where I admit the depth of my indifference:)
I chose a name early on but have since stopped referring to the baby as anything more than “it.” I don’t want to think of a name or a Hebrew name, decide where the it will be born, plan a bris. I am told this is depression. I know that it is, but I am so alone in all of this, and I don’t want to do any of it.
Memories… All alone in the moonlight…
Daniel spends the holiday contemplating the past.
Haha. Not really. His dad made him put that head lamp on to look through a storage closet. We found this gem: an old senior photo and some records that he thought were thrown out a bunch of years ago. He also went through a “box of awesome.”
Happy holidays!
