Bad Artwork as a Result of Self-Pity

Last night I apparently decided to do a very commendable job of feeling sorry for myself. I moped around the house, oh-woe’d me up the wazoo, blinked back unnecessary tears, cursed every little perceived slight...all to the sympathetic but bewildered audience of one sensitive Border Collie and a cat. I had PMS and was wallowing in it, all by myself.

Mr. Right had gone to his son’s very first soccer event, where ex-nonwife was also in attendance along with mutual friends. By gawd I had a right to feel sorry for myself! I pictured him sitting on the bleachers next to the quite ample girth of ex-nonwife (who, of course, didn’t look nearly half as good as I did waiting for him at home in my bright yellow sponge-bob PJ pants, size Medium thank you very much!), who batted her stubby eyelashes at him while she flirted and sweetly pumped him for more money. I’d mentally freeze frame and draw red horns and a mustache on the image of her, then insert myself in a kick-ass pantsuit, hooker boots with spike heels and perfect hair. She would cringe back, hissing like the devil’s minion as I sashayed towards Mr. Right, my hips swaying to a tune of cha-cha-cha-cha-MEOooooW! Look at what he traded up to, my body would sing, and eat your heart out chicky! I wouldn’t even have to slay her – my awesomeness was so epic that violence wasn’t required. I would shame her with a look and Mr. Right and I would float away, hand in hand, to a tune of Happily Ever After.

DIE, EVIL ex-nonwife, DIE!!!

 

Then I’d blink the image away and find myself back in reality, standing in my kitchen, alone. I have no problem being alone – I enjoy periods of solitude and occasionally require them to recharge. But last night I felt left out. Logically I know that’s not the case; I’m not ready to meet the ex-nonwife or be involved in the ‘firsts’, and I’ve told Mr. Right that. But in the midst of last night’s pity party, I felt slighted. He’s off with his little family and I’m not a part of that, was the thought that ran repeatedly through my head.

Sunday night I had my family over for dinner, after which my sister – who is pregnant again! – went to the emergency room and left my 2.5 year old twin nieces to hang out with Auntie and Mr. Right. I got a little glimpse into how perfect my life could be when I bathed those babies and tucked them into the bed in my guest room; a little piece of me, sleeping safe and sound in the next room while I cuddled in bed with Mr. Right. Everything I want, so close and so possible and yet still so impossible. I’m ready for a baby, I’ve been emotionally ready for years and financially prepared since TMP; I’ve even been having dreams lately about it. Mr. Right and I have had many serious discussions on the topic; when we first started dating, I told him up front that I absolutely must have children. We’ve contemplated what our genes would look like combined into a little boy or girl. But I know he’s not ready to take that step yet, and the biggest things holding me back are: 1) the still relative newness of our relationship, we’ve been together for less than a year; 2) Though he’s at my house 90% of the time, we do not live together in any official sense; and 3) His financial ties with the ex-nonwife. There’s no question of love and respect and caring; but all that alone won’t sustain a relationship, and if I’m to have a child with the involvement of the father then I want to know that we’ll be together for the rest of our lives, as does Mr. Right. But yesterday I found myself wondering why I’m waiting. I could be actively trying for mommyhood right now, I could have a child before my 33^rd birthday and finally see my biggest dream realized. But instead I’m waiting on a man, putting my number one desire aside Again for something else. Waiting to see if we’ll have what it takes to last. What if, a year from now, something happens between Mr. Right and I and I’m forced to start all over again? Why should I continue to deny myself and not have My Own little family instead of just taking charge and actively going out and getting what I want? It goes against my very nature; I’m not a wait-and-see’er, I’m 100% a go-getter. But I want Mr. Right and I want children, and I’m relatively certain that Mr. Right would not be ok with me getting knocked up by a turkey baster. Hell, I’m not even sure I’d be OK with being artificially inseminated right now, when the possibility of having a child with the man I love exists. And yet this feeling of having everything I want within my grasp but not having it, not being totally certain I’ll ever have it, scares me. Makes me sad. Helps me feel sorry for myself when my hormones are out of control and inspiring tears for no reason. Mr. Right, upon arriving home, noticed that I was out of sorts and questioned me on it. “I have PMS”, I told him, and he comforted me while I held the tears in.

For now, I keep this all to myself. I don’t tell Mr. Right how it feels to know he’s with ex-nonwife instead of me, that he’s sharing these family moments with her and I’m alone. I know that will eventually change, and I also know that when it changes it will most likely come with a separate set of issues. When it comes to the baby thing…well, it’s more difficult to be resolved about that. Part of me is tempted to ask him how he’d feel if I went the sperm donor route, just so I would know. My logical brain whispers at me to just stuff it down, and give it 6 months. Just 6 months. He’s worth it.

Here’s to dreams of beautiful, curly-haired blue eyed babies.

~~PS: I can't decide on a blog template, and I don't have time to make one myself. So be prepared for a new look every day!~~

I Ain't No {Step}Mother Theresa

Mr. Right and I had a brief discussion last night about how we’ll fit his stuff into my house when he moves in, a conversation inspired by the new bed that was just last night installed in my guest room. I voted that he sell everything he owns…he gave me The Look and stated that his toolbox will be going in the front hall closet. Which may have you thinking, well, the toolbox can’t be that big if it will fit in the front hall closet, right?

Wrong. This thing is massive. About ten years ago, Mr. Right left the military for a few years to start his apprenticeship as a Heavy Duty Mechanic and he has all the tools to show for it. Tens of thousands of dollars worth of tools that he never uses. In an enormous toolbox that cost a few thousand dollars. OK, that’s cool. I have a room in my house that has floor to ceiling stacks of boxes full of books that I still haven’t unpacked because I can barely walk through the doorway to figure out how I’m going to fit my office desk in with a ton of bookshelves. But man, I had plans for that closet, which is actually more of a small room. I wanted to put a half-bath in there eventually; my townhouse is not huge, it’s a three bedroom with a little over 1000 sq feet and no basement, and has only one full bathroom on the second floor. At one point I had Mr. Right, his son, my sister and brother-in-law and my twin nieces all scrambling to be the first one in the john. But come May, that nice big front hall closet will be the home of a shiny red dust collector.

Which is OK. My books, his toolbox. Fair. In the end he’ll be losing more of his stuff then I will – he’s already said that his furniture won’t be coming with him (I have a beautiful leather couch and rattan rocking chair, and a nice dining table) and he’s going to have to get rid of his big screen TV (since mine is the fancy new model that does everything except cook breakfast). His bed may replace mine; it’s a wonderfully masculine four-post bed frame in dark wood that will look great in the master bedroom. His washer/dryer go, mine stay (they’re also newer and better lol). Kitchen items will be assessed during packing, as will linens and the like. Shouldn’t be a big deal.

Except for one thing that I’m a little ashamed to admit bothers me. Mr. Right and I have been in serious discussion about living together for the past 2 months or so, and one of his requirements (I almost wrote ‘demands’ at first) is that his son has his own room.

Yes, I get it. Hell, during the few years that I sporadically saw my father after my parents divorced, I had to sleep on his couch. Or he’d fall asleep on his couch with a beer in hand, empties littered around him, and I’d crawl into his bed for the night. Was I forever scarred from it? Nope. But I can remember being 16 and asking my Dad why I didn’t have my own bed at his house, listening to the promises of my own space that he never came through on, feeling like he just didn’t give a shit about me. So yes, I think that his son is entitled to a room wherever Mr. Right lives.

*Insert a mini-me in this picture*

But here’s the thing: I have a five-year mortgage on my house. I have three bedrooms, one of which I’ve dedicated as an office/library that will, hopefully in the near future, be home to a company that a friend and I are looking to partner in. When I bought the house, one of the main drawbacks was the lack of a basement; that was offset by the fact that it had been fully renovated and I’d have to put zero money into upgrades. I had, in my mind, a plan for how I would use the space: master bedroom for the obvious. Second bedroom for my office/library, and the third bedroom would start as the guest room and become a nursery within the next 2 years. Mr. Right or no Mr. Right, that was my plan for the third bedroom. And yes, eventually I hoped that the office/library would be converted into a second nursery, that the children that Mr. Right and I create will sleep cozy in their bedrooms on either side of me. 

Instead, bedroom #3 will become a room that is only used 2 nights of the week. And for the most part I’m OK with that…what bothers me is that I won’t have that room if (when?) Mr. Right and I have a child together. Like I’d planned. And I will have to sacrifice this for a child who isn’t mine. It would be different if his son lived with us full time…but he doesn’t. Our children will. Where is the fairness in that??

I realize that those thoughts are selfish and unkind of me, and I’m probably also jumping the gun here. I’m not perfect – I’m not a paragon of virtuous thoughts or Mother Theresa who can give the world everything she is. I’m an occasionally bitchy, picky, anal, sometimes-selfish woman who wants to have a home with rooms for my own children. 7 days of the week. And yes, the prospect of having Mr. Right and his son living with me is cause for the occasional twinge of nervousness. So I forgive myself if, every once in a while, these thoughts cross my mind and I have to suppress them and paste a smile on my face and say ‘Yes babe, I agree he should have his own room wherever you live’. Because if it’s OK for his toolbox to sit in the front closet, then how on earth can it not be OK for his son to have a room in his Dad’s house? Because I’m the adult, and I wouldn’t want any child to feel like I did those weekends I spent with my father.

We’ve got 6 months to figure it all out, and I’ve got 6 months to let go of these silly plans and get over myself. 6 months to get used to the idea of Mr. Right officially moving in with me, and of his son living in the house I own 8 days of the month. 

Whew. Thank gawd I never joined a nunnery!

Change (Possibly the Longest Blog Post I've Ever Written)

Change. It’s a funny thing; often intimidating, often heralding wonderful things…and leaving my fingers wandering aimlessly over the keyboard as I try to figure out how to begin detailing all the ways my life has changed.

A month ago I bought a house. My very first. A three bedroom townhouse in a nice area, completely renovated, that I got for a steal. I spent 4 months jumping through hoops and hunting through realtor ads and changing banks and almost giving up when the Gov’t of Canada took away the 30-year mortgage. I jumped through more hoops, changed my budget, downgraded my expectations just a little and became a new home owner at the beginning of September. It’s been a significant adjustment, mostly due to the fact that I moved out of the small town that I’ve lived in since I was 14 and in to the big city. I’ve always been a country girl, and though I spent a decade or so working in the big city it’s quite a change to live here. It’s noisy. The sky isn’t black at night and I can’t hear the coyotes singing through my window. Going grocery shopping is an event that takes twice as long as it did in my old town and costs more. I can’t step outside my front door and walk to the river with my dog…in fact, I’m hesitant to step outside my front door for a dog walk after dark now. There are a lot of bums. Everywhere. But driving to work takes all of five minutes and I’m within spitting distance of my Mom and my friends. And I’m no longer giving my money away toward someone else’s equity. It’s a wonderful change and I’m sure that I’ll adapt to city life…though I’ll probably never walk my dog late at night by myself.

The next change is probably the most significant. I suppose it began with an ex, my need to move past the pain, and an online dating site that likened me to a guppy. Or maybe it started before that, with my 30^th birthday and the physical ache that’s played resident in my womb since puberty. I had been single for a long (LONG) time, somehow having become That Woman who puts her career first. I’ve never lived with a man, having always been too fiercely independent (and maybe too young!) to take that step. A good friend had been urging me for years to try internet dating, and I finally caved after realizing that the mythical lovers-meeting-over-produce fairy tale was not going to happen to me. So I picked Plenty of Fish. Because it was free. Hey, what can I say, I’m cheap like that!

Up went the witty profile and the standard pictures and my line was cast. I was propositioned in every possible sense – one guy even asked me if I liked BBQ’d cat, another harassed me endlessly about the colour of my panties. And then I met my ex. He seemed normal; he treated me well, made me laugh and wasn’t looking for a booty call. But he had two kids, a co-dependent ex, and an inappropriate distance from that prior relationship. We broke up because his ex lost her job and he was planning to move in with her to support the family (well, that was the primary reason anyway!). I swore I’d never get involved with a single parent ever again.

Ever. Again. Baha. Bahahaha. Yeah, ok then.

Four months later I was back online, this time with a whole new set of criteria for Mr. Right. No kids. No kids. NO. KIDS. !!!!! This time I went on dates with several very nice men…one of which I thought had potential, until I found out that he was unemployed. And living with his mother. We remain friendly and I’m sure that there’s somebody out there for him, it’s just not me. Back to the drawing board. Back to 39 year old men sending me naked pictures of themselves…inquiries about my favourite positions…propositions from boys almost young enough to be my offspring...propositions from girls young enough to be my daughter.

And then He messaged me. Physically he was everything that I loved in a man: blue eyes, 6’3” tall, in the military, a few years older than me. What can I say, I’m a sucker for a man in uniform! (Really, what lady isn’t?!?) He made me laugh and we found that we had the important things in common, and enough differences to make things interesting. But...Ah yes, there’s the catch – But: he was the father of a 4-year old. A child who lived with him about 75% of the time. I tried to walk away, I’ll admit it. I told myself that it didn’t matter how well we clicked, or that the chemistry that we had was unlike any I’d ever experienced before. That just meant that I could potentially be hurt in ways I’d never been hurt before. But gawd he was witty, insightful, considerate. I told him that I wanted to take things REALLY SLOW (as in, expect blue-balls and my still putting you off after two months of light petting if you really want to get into it with me) and still he persisted. When they say the military makes men out of boys, they aren’t lying, and I had a hard time resisting this man who is one of the best in character that I’ve ever met. He beat the hell out of me in Scrabble. I was outraged…and tantalizingly turned on. His stupid three letter words three deep somehow meant more than all of my multi-lettered, hoity-toity words. Nobody EVER beat me at Scrabble, and certainly not with ‘blah’ for crying out loud. My dog, who is friendly but cautious with strangers, adored him from the moment they met. He made me laugh. He made me forget my cautious nature and just trust in what little I knew about him, and I jumped in wholeheartedly.

And now here I am, almost a year later, in a loving and committed relationship with Mr. Right. I’m no longer single. Though we aren’t officially living together, he is at my house 25/31 days of the month and we’ve discussed his moving in with me after his lease is up (May 2013). My life has changed in an epic, dramatic, Huge way. It’s wonderful, and at the same time it’s often not easy. Mr. Right’s baggage is tangible, and will Always be there. His young son and I hit it off from the first time we met; Mr. Right often likes to joke about his son being my little leech since he stays attached to my hip during our visits. I don’t love the little guy (yet) but I definitely enjoy having him around. And Mr. Right balances it all wonderfully; our relationship is a priority, he doesn’t have BBQ dinners with his ex or run to her every phone call. He loves me, adores me, and wants to spend the rest of his life with me. We’ve even talked about marriage…once I got used to hearing the M word and not wanting to run screaming like a shrew. Marriage and children and taking each others teeth out before bedtime when we’re both old and senile.

And amidst all that wonder, amidst my learning what it actually means to truly love someone and adjust to living with someone, is the part that’s not easy. Loving him is simple, natural. Living with him requires compromise but isn’t as tough as I thought it would be. The challenge of being the potential stepmother, of having my very own ex-nonwife to contend with, is another issue completely. Of caring about this little person who belongs to another woman, and who will always exist as a very good reason for Mr. Right to be friends with his ex. Though they’ve been separated for almost 2 years, there are still some significant financial ties that remain (a shared bank account, vehicle ownerships/registrations/insurances that still haven’t been sorted out…not to mention that they don’t have any written custody/child support agreement!), and I’ve drawn my line in the sand and told Mr. Right that until their only financial tie is child support he will not be moving in with me. He has been actively making progress with this but unfortunately hasn’t been able to move very quickly, thanks to the ex-nonwife herself.

I have never in my life been judgmental. I’ve never met her, never even talked to her, and yet she is almost a physical presence in my life and I just can’t seem to stop myself from forming an opinion that isn’t very flattering of her. {A little back story here: my two sisters and I were raised by a single mother who didn’t receive any child support. She worked two jobs and did whatever was necessary to give us at least the necessities of life, including putting us completely before herself in every possible way. So I have little sympathy for single mothers who live under a sense of entitlement and don’t put their children above their own wants. I don’t care if that sounds harsh.} She was recently unemployed for almost 3 months. Not because she had to be, but because she’d decided it was time to make a career change and didn’t want to continue working in a daycare. She wanted to be a receptionist instead, and I guess she figured that depending on her ex to support her financially during the 3 months that she loafed around and took trips to the mountain was a better option than just working somewhere until she’d found her dream job. I’m sorry, did that come across a little sarcastic?? Apparently she pulled something similar while she and Mr. Right were together and it was a part of the reason they separated. Anyway. Then the phone calls…I appreciate that they are friendly and civil to each other, but get frustrated when she calls him at supper time under the guise of his son wanting to talk to him, and keeps him on the phone for 30 minutes while she discusses problems she’s having with her car. Don’t get me wrong – he’s also a party to those conversations and could dissuade such talk but doesn’t. She also calls him when their son misbehaves during the day or while he’s in her care, and expects him to rectify the issue. Over the phone. Really?!? There’s also been a few times where her actions could be perceived as her playing games – she drove 3 hours to another city on one of the days my BF was to pick his son up, didn’t let him know that she had gone anywhere until the scheduled pick-up time, and then didn’t bother to come back until almost midnight. And the newest thing: she’s been living with a friend for the past several months (since she lost her job), where her and the little guy share a room, and a bed. {Because she didn’t want to tough it out at a daycare until something better came along.} Now that she’s got her $14/hr receptionist job, she’s told Mr. Right that she’s moving into an apartment at the end of the month that’s going to cost $900 rent/month…and in December or January she plans on trading her car (which is actually in Mr. Right’s name and one of the financial ties that he’s trying to sever) for a new vehicle. I pointed out that nobody is going to approve her for a car loan with that income/expense ratio; he said that her parents will foot the bill. She’s over 30 and her parents support her financially…really?!? Then she had the nerve to ask him if she can have the bed that Mr. Right has at his place for their son.

When he told me all this, when he tells me everything (which isn’t often, he’s pretty good at keeping the situation out of our relationship), I try my damndest to put myself in her shoes and at least sympathize with her situation; he’s the one who ended things, which it seems she didn’t want as she asked him to try again several months later. That’s hard on ANY woman, and I’d imagine it must be worse when it’s the father of your child. And along comes another woman…yeah, gotta be tough. I also do my best to just nod and smile on the rare occasion when Mr. Right’s frustration gets the best of him and he shares her latest drama, but gawd, it’s hard. I’m not a wilting flower at the best of times; I’m outspoken and opinionated and strong-willed. So biting my tongue when I just want to tell him that she’s taking advantage of him…well, that’s hard. He tells me that he does it because if she’s OK then their little guy is OK, and I definitely admire and love him for that. But sometimes I’d like to grab the phone from his hand and tell her to go buy a fucking backbone. I have no illusions; I knew going into this that it will be more difficult, because I'll be a Stepmom. And Mr. Right - and the little guy - is worth the ex-nonwife drama. So, having said (all) that, TMP has obviously been placed on hold. Hopefully for better things!

Oh, and we mustn't forget about my job. The job I absolutely loved...until about 3 months ago, when my boss, who was mentoring my career, quit and was replaced with someone who is only a few years older than myself and has a quarter of the experience I've got. Who, during our first departmental meeting, told us that she wanted the office to be 'prettier' and proceeded to bring in bug-infested plants. Who works banker's hours and takes two hour lunches. A change is coming for me very soon...perhaps in the form of a friend and I opening our own accounting business. More to come on that later!

For the most part this past year's change has been for the good, and I find myself living in a happy little space where I'm optimistic about good things to come. One of which may include a new name for this blog...  

Any ideas?

*Censored for Content*

TMP Countdown: 229 Days.

I’ve been something of an eco-conscious and natural health person since I became an adult and was able to step out from under the influence of my litter-bug mother who will argue against global warming until she’s blue in the face. I recycle bottles and cans, I blue-bag cardboard, I recycle and reuse and prefer non-toxic cleaning (vinegar!) and laundry products (currently Arm & Hammer Essentials Free is my favourite). I do my best to avoid using plastic bags at the grocery store and I wash and reuse all of my Ziploc bags until they are falling apart. I plan to Cloth Diaper my kid(s), my dog and cat eat a combination of raw and holistic dry food (Orijen) and I prefer to reach for natural remedies over traditional medications. Heck, even the prenatal vitamin I’m taking is made by Jamieson.

Oh, I don’t claim to be 100% green – I fill my ’05 Ford Focus with gas and I drive it every day. I use paper towel and coffee filters (k-Cups actually!) and I don’t have a compost bin in my kitchen…yet. I love plastic straws and I don’t line-dry all of my laundry (only about 25%). But I try to be environmentally friendly where I can and I do my best to ensure that the products that I’m using in my home and on my person are natural and non-toxic.

****Warning: if you’re a guy (doubtful but hey, anything’s possible!) who is reading this blog, hi! Thanks for stopping by! You’re going to want to shut this screen down now and go have a beer because things are about to go all Estrogen-laden and bloody. But thanks for stopping by! Can I have your number? [Close. Window. Now.]****

Which brings us to a little something called disposable menstrual pads.

For years I’ve avoided thoughts of where those disposable pads go after they leave my garbage pail. The imaginary scene of stranger’s soiled pads being heaped on top of mine under a layer of dirt…ugggggg. I think I might just faint, and I have no problems at all with blood. It’s just, ew. Not only do I cringe at the thought of all of the waste that these babies cause, but the remnants of someone’s – of my! – shedding v-jayjay is, as I type this, lying in a landfill somewhere and possibly being pecked by seagulls. *Gulp*

[And before you tell me that there’s worse in landfills…I know. This is my own personal demon which means you are not required to feel the same way or even understand my squee-ishness]

I’ve also, until recently, avoided thoughts of re-usable menstrual pads. Wash my own bloody pads?? Gross. Except, well, maybe not. How’s that any worse than washing an explosive diarrhea episode off of a cloth diaper? But what about during the day, I’m not really inclined towards toting around a blood-stained and possibly odorous pad in my purse while I’m at work. Ew. So I did some research, and found that there are all sort of wet/dry bag options that work well for dirty pads, and that cloth pads are statistically odor-free and much more sanitary! And there’s a company who makes re-usable pads that require only a change of liner!

Beyond that, there is an extremely compelling reason to switch to a cloth pad: saving money. BIG TIME. I spend about $6 on a package of 18 Kotex pads with wings. I go through about 4 pads a day during my menses, which lasts about 5 days. That’s a pack of pads a month, totaling $72/year. Really, not that much money, until I add in the 19 years that I’ve been purchasing disposable pads…that’s $1,368.00 that I’ve spent on something that is uncomfortable, and which I’ve long suspected causes me actual physical pain due to an allergic reaction. The adhesive stays stuck to my underwear, and sometimes when I’m changing it the entire pad splits in half!

So I’ve decided to take the plunge and at least give cloth menstrual pads a chance. I’m going to order a Starter Kit from LunaPads, as well as a Planet Wise Mini Wet/Dry bag from Parenting by Nature (I just prefer this bag to the Moon Pad bag that LunaPads sells – the Planet Wise bag has a locking zipper and is sized better!).  If nothing else, having to launder the cloth pads will be good practice for dealing with cloth diapers!

Oh, I received my Bummis NB cloth diapering package! Gratuitous pictures to follow; I got 2 NB Bummis Super Brite covers (pictured) and a dozen Pre-Folds:

238 Days (Or, While I Bore You With Cloth Diapering Talk)

238 days and counting. I have another appointment with my OB/Gyn on the 20th, should find out about the sperm bank and possibly start checking the donors out. My best friend and I went out for dinner this past Friday and had an exciting discussion about what I would look for in a donor (intelligence, no allergies, and colouring similar to mine are my top 3!) while sitting in a booth at Boston Pizza. I whipped out the old trusty iPhone (gawd I hate mac anything but gawd I love that phone!!) and we started checking out the profiles for donors on one of the main Canadian banks. No, I'm not giving you the name. We had a ridiculous amount of fun going through the profiles. I have asked her if she will be my second when the time comes to start...her response made me think I'd given her the BFF-equivalent of the best orgasm ever. It was pretty awesome.

I've officially ordered my first run of Cloth Diapers. I got a Bummis Newborn package with 12 NB size organic cotton Pre-Folds (PF's) and 2 NB sized Super Brite Bummis covers (these rated HIGH in all of my considerable research!)...on sale! I also bought this nifty introductory package from Mother Ease for just under $20 (including shipping/taxes) that consists of one NB fitted, one NB MEAF cover and a liner, all of which would cost over $25 separately. And OMG the cover is seriously the cutest thing EVAH:

Seriously, isn't that ADORABLE??? I'm planning to eventually have at least 4 of these covers, which can be used with both the fitteds and the PF's, and the myriad of patterns practically has me jumping up and down with excitement. I'm not sure that any other covers are as cute as the MEAF's! 

On an unrelated note, my niece is at the Stollery and is a very sick little girl. The specialists are leaning towards a Dx of Celiac disease and my sister is sick with a Mother's guilt (unwarranted, but if it were me I'd probably be feeling the same!). We will find out the results tomorrow. On a happy note, I've spent the last 2 days taking care of my other niece (they are twins) and having some really great bonding time.

Well, that's about all the time I have - it's almost 11 and I am back to work tomorrow (ugg). More on that later....

Another Baby Blog From the Edge of Indecision

413 days.

Maybe. I am finding that I'm questioning my motives for waiting...as are others.  Besides the part time grooming course, which will take less than a year and is self-paced, I have no real reason for having a goal date that is over a year from now. It's a number that I picked almost 4 years ago, when I decided that I needed an age that wasn't too old to hinder conception, and distant enough in the future that I'd have time, at 27, to meet the Man of My Dreams. Hindsight being what it is, I know now that it boils down to one very simple criteria: being ready. And I am finally ready, right now. The only thing holding me back is that randomly chosen age...and my anal need to be as prepared as possible. Except, as many of my friends and my Mom has pointed out, I'm ready in ways that most hopeful parents don't even conceive of.

So the question becomes this: am I subconsciously procrastinating? Ahhh yes, I am able to procrastinate in such subtle ways that I don't even realize it until 10 years has passed and I find myself alone and childless, a professional woman instead of a Mother. Am I using the need for 'preparation' as a smoke-screen, a way to excuse myself from actually giving up on the dream of having a child, this child, with a man that I love? That's a very hard dream to walk away from. And being a single Mother...that's a scary concept no matter how it comes about.  Am I avoiding jumping into this with both feet because I'm still hoping that Mr. Right will show up (or in this case, Mr. There and Available!) and save me from being inseminated without sex, consigned to single mother-dom, and possibly single for the rest of my life?

My answer to that question is yes. But that's right now - tomorrow I may find some logical rationalization that perfectly supports my desire to wait until July 15, 2012 to get knocked up by a turkey baster. So I'm trying to find a compromise - I've decided to tentatively change my TTC date to January 31, 2012. That gives me enough time to finish my grooming course (can't use that as an excuse!), and plenty of time to be as anal as possible about being prepared.

So, the countdown to Mommy-hood continues: 247 days to go!

I'm being surprised by who is supporting me in all of this...and who isn't. I expected my Mom to be against my choice and was ready to argue my position; instead, she is my number 1 fan!! She is already planning which nursery crib/change table set to buy for the baby and has promised to take two weeks off after the baby is born in order to help me. On top of all that, she spoke to my Grandparents about it. My Grandparents are extremely set in their ways and have been married for over 60 years, and their viewpoints often land on the traditional side. I was terrified of telling them, and was going to keep quiet about it until I was preggers and somehow soft-pedal it...turns out I don't have to! My Grandma is ecstatic! My Grandpa is supportive though not interested in the girly stuff lol. My friends continue to amaze me with their generosity - my oldest friend, B, cried when I told her that I'd finally made a firm decision to go with artificial insemination. She can't wait to be Aunt B and is already putting things aside for me that she had when her kids were babies.

I've talked to my older sister about it and was surprised and disappointed by her reaction. She was disparaging and critical, and made a point of emphasizing how much better it is to have a child with a partner as opposed to being a single mother. She said that she is happy for me, but kept repeating that I need to find a man, I need to not give up on marriage/love/blah blah blah. And I told her that I'm not - I'll continue to meet people, but unless I should fall in love in the next six months or so (which is highly unlikely given the fact that my uterus likes to think that every guy is The One) this plan is going forward no matter what. She was unable to understand; apparently it's OK for her to use medical intervention in order to have children, because she knows where her sperm is coming from! But it's not OK for me. Needless to say, I've resolved not to discuss it with her any further.

My Mom and I visited Babies R Us this weekend, where I checked out the car seat I've decided on (the First Year's True Fit) and we basically spent 3 hours in the store looking at everything from jogging strollers (want!) to bassinets (want!) to baby baths (need!). We checked out nursery furniture sets at Walmart and I purchased a package of cloth diaper liners (kooshies, I think - super good price) and a super cute set of 3 bibs. And on that note, I leave you with pictures of the super cute - and so very ME! - bibs:

Why Aren't I In Bed By Now??

It's 11:24 pm, I'm exhausted from a long and busy day, and here I am, unable to sleep.

Because of this:

1 Year, 1 Month, 3 Weeks and 1 Day to go!

I am finding it strangely hard now to play this waiting game. I'm not sure why it's so much more difficult now - maybe because I'm actually planning. I've got concrete, measurable goals, I've purchased a few baby things (I couldn't help myself, it just made it all so much more real), I even have an App on my iPhone that counts down the days for me. I can feel my resolve waffling...I might like to start trying to conceive in January. Have a fall baby...that would be nice!!

I've started taking a prenatal vitamin (though not Materna - I cringe at the unnecessary expense of that stuff when a less expensive brand is just as good, according to my GP! Not to mention all the chemical fillers in Materna! I am taking Jamieson prenatal vitamins). Might as well start getting the body ready for baby now! I'm also going to start running again - I plan to start with some interval running on Friday (I'm booked with appointments/work for the next few nights!) and my Mom has indicated that she'd love to try running with me. I used to be hard core but this past winter found me dreading the cold, slick runs and I fell off the wagon. 

Speaking of wagons, my laptop is crying to be plugged in, I think that means it's time for bed.

Goodnight!

Boy, It's a Good Thing I Don't Have Any Readers

4 months. Yep, it's been almost that long since I've even whispered to my inner Spanxster, let alone log into blogger and bother spewing my consciousness all over the www.

I've started a new job, lost 5 pounds, had a gastrostomy done, lost my only male cousin to suicide, jumped up and down in excitement when my sister found out that she was having a miracle baby - - only to cry with her a week later when she miscarried...re-read Pride and Prejudice for the eleventy millionth time, bought an iPhone 4 (yes, it has changed my life though I still maintain a solid hatred for Apple products!), learned that my soul-dog has chronic bursitis in her shoulder, got a nasty flu virus...

And this morning I had a dream that I was finally. Finally. Having a Baby.
My eyes opened, I rolled on to my side in bed and I cried. Huge, gasping tears that seemed to come deep down from my empty uterus. Without my even knowing it, my arms wrapped around my abdomen and hugged tightly around the barren space that had, moments ago, been filled with life. It was one of those 3-D, virtual dreams - the type that cannot possibly be lost in a moment of wakefulness because it's sensory and vibrant.

This morning I was pregnant. But now...now I am empty again, filled only by the most intense desire for something that has haunted me for 20 years. I've played an avoidance game for the last several years: up until recently, I've distanced myself from any hint of babies and children, anything that might increase the yearnings that are already so strong. I would avoid the baby section in Walmart, I'd hold myself back from speaking to a cute toddler, flip quickly past the photos of babies and make excuses not to see my friends who had children. When my sister had my twin nieces she called me on it - she wanted me to be their guardian but was worried about the emotional distance that I seemed to put between myself and those precious babies. And just like that it all spilled out of me - the envy that I felt, how difficult it was to face something that I wanted so badly but oh, god, I despaired that I might never have it! The ice cracked that day and I started opening up to other people's children again...but I still held myself back from actually planning having my own child.

The irony is that several years ago I decided that if I was still single and there was no chance of a relationship with a man by the time I was 32 (the number has often changed from 32 to 33 and back) then I would take the necessary steps to have a child by myself. I investigated single motherhood and IUI and ICI and various forms of man-less conception and talked to numerous people who were facing or had faced the same choice. I talked to my Doctor. I focused on my finances (which, granted, is smart) and the ethical and moral dilemmas involved in becoming what is commonly referred to as a Choice Mom. I did everything I could to inform myself of my choices while continuing to avoid any and all emotional implications. Because becoming emotionally invested in this process, in the creation of this possible child, means acknowledging that I might never fall in love again. It means that in exactly one year, one month and 24 days I will give up the dream of having this child with a man that I love.

It's terrifying. Not only in giving up on love, but just being the only parent. I go into this with eyes wide open; I was raised by a single mother who didn't receive any child support and made less than half of my salary. And it's still terrifying. I have a wonderful support system, a good job, great health benefits, a good head on my shoulders, I know how to budget like a pro and find the best deals. But Maternity leave is only 55% of my salary for a year...and I want that entire year with my child. And then there's childcare costs to think about, sports and clubs and clothing and toys and fun.

So I've created a massive spreadsheet that outlines the financial costs for year 1 after the baby is born - including a monthly budget - and how I plan  to supplement the meager maternity income. It's personal and real and helps to calm some of the anxiety of being a single parent. A few of the key items that I've calculated into my budget are:

~ Cloth Diapers

I've always preferred cloth to disposable diapers, even back when they were flat sheets folded and pinned with Diaper Pins that leaked horribly with heavy wetters and couldn't contain massive poo explosions. I don't like the chemicals in disposable diapers - did you know that most disposables are bleached with chlorine, and one of the by-products of that process is a carcinogenic chemical called Dioxin?? Wait, it gets better. There is no safe exposure level for Dioxin. That means that any exposure, no matter how minimal, is harmful. Then there's that crystal gel stuff that is in so many brands nowadays...Sodium Polyacrylate. That stuff was banned from tampons after some pretty solid suspicions that it causes toxic shock syndrome. Nope, I don't want any of that pressing up against my baby's tender privates!

Cloth diapers have less impact on the environment and are healthier and cheaper. And now, they are incredible. There are Pre-Folds, Wool Diaper Covers, Pocket Diapers, All In One systems (not my preference)...I've decided to start with a combination of Pre-Folds (PF's) and Fitted cloth diapers with Bummi Super Brites diaper covers (PUL's), as well as about half a dozen FuzziBunz One Size Pocket diapers. The former should last me approximately 6 months (depending on the baby's size) while the One Size Pocket diapers are incredibly adjustable and will grow with the baby until potty training!

The cost of purchasing the PF's, Fitted's and PUL's for 0 - 6 months is about $348 (including accessories). The FuzziBunz are $25 each at 6 = $150, and last one child about 3 years. That's a cost of about $25 every 6 months. Let's compare that against a lower-priced brand of organic disposables, which cost about $15/box at 30 diapers. That's $0.50 a diaper!! Over the course of 6 months, assuming 8 bum changes a day (less or more for newborns and toddlers), that's about $675.00!! Not to mention the gas cost of going to the store to buy disposables, the inconvenience of having to take baby out - remember, single mom!, the amount of space those boxes take up and the number of times that one has to take the trash out! (I don't do Diaper Genies. The thought of poopy diapers sitting in my house breeding bacteria for days makes me shudder!) And then, of course, there's the disposable wipes, chock full of more chemicals with a side of preservatives and fragrances etcetera etcetera, and ridiculously expensive. I'll be making my own wipe solution and using washable, cheap cloths from Walmart.

6 months of Disposable organic diapers: $675.00 + wipes (@ 0.06 / wipe = $230) + gas + inconvenience = $905.00
6 months of Cloth Diapers: $348.00 + $25.00 + laundering costs (every 2nd day about $15/month) + homemade bum wipes (25 pkg cotton cloths @ $19) + accessories (liners/Snappi's, about $20) = $427.00

That's a total savings of $478.00 over 6 months!! And the beauty of cloth diapers is that they can be used again for future kids (I'd like 2) or sold - their resale value is unbelievable!

~ Breast Feeding and Homemade Baby Food

I plan to breast feed. I probably don't need to tell you why. I've also always expected to make my own baby food, utilizing a food processor and a blender. So much healthier. So much cheaper! In an effort to keep this ridiculously long diatribe from becoming an essay, I won't detail the cost savings. Suffice it to say, I've got another spreadsheet. I'll save about 40 cents per ounce by taking an hour a week to make my own baby food. Doesn't seem like much? A 6 month old eats about 8 ounces of commercial baby food a day (yes, YMMV). I'll use Baby Gourmet, which is about 4 oz per package, and sold at Walmart for $1.47/pkg. It would cost about $2.94 (+tax) a day to feed Baby Gourmet (Stage 1) to a 6 month old baby. Not bad, right? That's $100 a month. I don't know about you, but I spend about a hundred dollars a month on groceries for myself, and I'm significantly larger than a 6 month old baby!! By making homemade baby food I can save almost half that, if not more, especially when fruits and vegetables are in season! And I can control the ingredients and ensure that there are no additives or preservatives and that my baby is eating the freshest, most nutritional food possible. And think of the variety!

I've already been told not to buy a crib/high chair/stroller/etc. I'm very lucky - my family and friends support me fully in this decision and can't wait to start spoiling the future baby. My Mom keeps asking me why I'm waiting another year to start trying; she constantly urges me to get it done tomorrow or next week. And a part of me knows that I could...but the responsible, parent-to-be side of me wants to ensure that I am as prepared as one can possibly be when bringing a new life into the world.

So I'll wait, and I'll work towards being the best Mom I can possibly be. And I'll wake up in the morning, sure that I was pregnant, and worry that I might have problems getting pregnant (I have endometriosis, le sigh), and continue to look for true love until July 15, 2012. Mommyhood, here I come!