It is my turn to complain about my family. And we were having such a wonderful visit. Kiddo has been a dream. Everybody thinks he is an angel.

SIL and her partner arrive this afternoon. This means games all night. I've fortified myself. I'm in for as long as I can be. This is what we do together.

At 1:30am we are debating what to do next. No one can decide on a game. Half of us are talking about heading to bed, including me (I get up at 7 every morning, like it or not). And then I receive a phone call. This is from the same person who called the night before at 12:30, again at 12:40, and at least two times after I turned off the phone according to my voicemail. This pissed me off. Especially because at 12:30 the previous evening I was just drifting off into a hard fought sleep, both times the (incredibly loud) phone rang the baby was also asleep in the room (true to form, kiddo didn't even stir}, and I had already notified the caller in a light-hearted fashion that his late night phone calls were unwelcome.

So I complained a little. I told the story of the previous evening and a few minutes later made a remark about needing to calm down.

Cue lecture from SIL: I should expect this call because the caller knows that family is gathered and he is missing us; he doesn't know that this phone number now belongs only to me and is no longer shared with my partner; I should turn off my phone every night just in case he might call; and etcetera.

Bitch, did you not just hear me say I needed to calm down?

Stupid me. I engaged. I tried to counter with facts as they related to me, the caller, and a history of late night phone calls: caller has been banned from calling after a reasonable hour (say 10:30) for an excess of seven years; caller may not know that the phone number in question now belongs solely to me, but is well aware that the number has never belonged only to my partner; caller knows that we are parenting a two year old and should reasonably be able to assume that the accommodations at the parents' home would mean that the child would be sharing a bedroom with anyone he might hope to reach by telephone; and etcetera.

Each of my statements was countered by one declaring how the situation was my fault, why, and what I should have done differently.

Finally-

Me: "I do not want to talk about this."
She: "Well, are YOU done talking about it?"

This I was smart enough to let go.

Enter my partner who walks in wanting to know what we decided. I've decided that I'm going to bed (um. can you blame me?) and tell him so also suggesting a game that I think the remaining players might enjoy.

Her response (wait, was I talking to her?): "Oh come on [Grace], just because you are mad at [caller]. . . .
Me (totally fed up and not letting her continue): "I said I was done talking about it."
She: "But you are clearly upset. . . ."

No shit. Want to guess why?

I become incoherent. I'll own it. I'm trying to explain myself, but I'm really fucking angry. I attempt to convey that I had already decided to go to bed and I was actually upset, not about the caller but about SIL's insensitive, unasked for, and relentless advice. I fumbled this, of course given the circumstances, and she nitpicked the words I'd accidentally chosen. I tacked on an unwise "Do you really think I want to play games with you now?"

I gathered my shit and addressed my partner: "I'm going to bed because I'm really tired and for no other reason. I though that you all might like to play [game] because you are the three players left and I know that it is the game the three of you were most looking forward to playing together."

I then realized that my shit was not at all gathered but was, in fact, all over my shoes and added an even more unwise, "And you know what, [SIL], you're a bitch" as I left the room fuming.

I enter my room trying to control my heart rate and get ready for bed while kiddo is on the verge of waking (perhaps we made a little too much noise or a lot too much angry energy}. He mutters things in his sleep: "Eat"; "Water"; "Down". These are the major concerns of a two year old in the middle of the night.

I realize that calming down is not going to happen all by itself. I need some help decompressing. I need to vent on the internets or something.

I head out to the living room for my laptop just as the party is departing. I think I'm good, but Shit! I've been spotted. She couldn't possibly want more could she? She wouldn't call after me when kiddo and parents are sleeping would she?

She: "[Grace]!"
Me (quietly as I walk away - beginning to hurry): "I'm done."

She follows me! I have to shut the door to keep her from coming into the room! The room where kiddo is *barely* sleeping! She opens the door! She fucking opens the door and attempts to come in!!! I have to body block her and remind her that I have not only told her that I was done on three separate occasions, but that there is also a baby asleep in this room! I'm not sure what she heard. It mostly sounded to me like hissing. I was trying to be as quiet as possible when I wanted to scream directly into her face. Regardless of what she heard, she felt that it was important to stand outside the door and inform me that I was ruining the whole weekend.

She just makes it so easy.


Extra Credit if you can count the number of boundaries crossed.

Hint: Add one for the time I got up from the dinner table after putting kiddo down for the night and was still crying and she, who has claimed that she will never choose to reproduce and is not parenting any child let alone one who has been suddenly separated from two sets of parental figures in under two months, calls after me, "I hope you're not going to go pick him up or talk to him or anything" and proceeds to lecture the rest of the family about what Super Nanny would do.

Thank you internets. I feel much better now, but may still ruin the weekend by being unwilling or unable to speak civilly to SIL in the morning.

I am so incredibly thankful that I have such a big, lovable distraction from the "woe is me"s that usually strike so hard this time of year. I am so thankful to have finally become what I always wanted to be when I grew up and to find out that it finally is enough. I'm not looking for something else to do instead.

This really might even be enough to permanently distract me from the "woe is me"s. But let's not get ahead of ourselves. . . .

I am so thankful that kiddo is so comfortable with us that he is also comfortable staying with us at our family's home for the holiday. Kiddo walked in liked he owned the place and hasn't had any big issues with meeting new people or being in a new space.

I am so grateful to family for accepting kiddo as one of their own as soon as they met him (and the stockpile of clothes and toys they had waiting for him!)

And I am so thankful for my partner who is so willing to take care of the hard parts and take care of kiddo so I can cook with family or just take a break. I'm so very thankful that fostering is something that he wants to do with me and that he seems to find just as fulfilling as I do.

Rupture = relief. I almost feel like a normal person again!

I took my stupid antibiotic 4 hours late because I can't lay down for half an hour after taking it and I was laying down all afternoon pretending to sleep because this kid WILL nap in his crib.

It took 2 1/2 hours of pretending, but it worked! We have achieved the first of what I hope will be regular and increasingly easy naps! I'm ecstatic!

I haven't taken my temperature, but I definitely feel like I have a fever. I'm already packing myself with antibiotics and Tylenol (and, okay, the occasional V), so I'm not sure what good knowing for sure would do.

Kiddo showed up the first day I felt human after the worst cold in remembered history. Soon followed all that horrible menstrual stuff (thankfully, not so bad by my terms, but I'm not sure someone else could have handled it plus a toddler they didn't know. . . ). Now I have an anal cyst trying to become a fistula. Yes. That is at least as painful as it sounds. The antibiotics have to be taken every six hours and I'm supposed to sit up for at least a half an hour after each one. And I'm supposed to figure out when to take my thyroid medication somewhere in there too. When am I supposed to sleep? And they make me feel like shit.

I handle pain well, but I am at the very end of my rope and needed to do a little complaining.

My partner has been amazing. He's had kiddo duties all day. I can't help enjoying that he is getting a little taste of what my days have been like. . . . I appreciate him so much.

This kid is a dream. He is sinfully cute and really very sweet.

Of course it is hard. I'm used to my time being my own.

But he sleeps through the night and goes to bed with a minimum of fuss. He plays great by himself, although he'd really rather not. He eats lots of vegetables, but not much fruit. Weird little backward kiddo.

If only we could figure out naps. . . .

Tags: foster care

Holy crap! Kiddo spent the rest of the afternoon and evening totally high after his family visit. He's usually so easy. Cookies and soda pop turned him into a demon baby.

I really think that we could maybe solve the majority of childrens' behavior problems if we just eliminated it.

Thank goodness he isn't yet able to ask for what isn't there

Thank goodness we've established routines that continue to work when he running at thousands of rpm.

Wow.

Tags: foster care

Did I promise a post?

Sorry. This is fucking hard. Don't get me wrong, it is totally worth it. And it is also really fucking hard. It would help if I could stop crying all the time. I think I've cried every single day since kiddo has been here. I've laughed every day too. Thinking about it, I'm not sure I did before which really kind of sucks.

So I cry all the time. And I know I'm exhausted and have spent the week either pre- or menstrual (that takes care of that update. . .) but this is still a remarkable amount of crying.

I cried at Walmart. Not because I was so appalled with my presence there in the first place (which might have been enough) but because I felt like such an imposter. How dare I run around in public with this gorgeous baby that isn't mine? How dare I inflict on others the kind of pain that I feel when I see carts full of babies when all I want is to get my shopping done and go home?

I cry when he holds my face in his hands like he is trying to memorize it or wants to know if I'm going to fuck him over.

I cry because sometimes when he says "Momma", he means me.

I cry because sometimes I can't tell if he means me or if he means his mom.

I cry when he comforts himself by talking about his Daddy.

I cry when he gives me unsolicited kisses.

I cry when he runs under my legs because something was startling and *I'm* the the one he trusts to keep him safe.

I cry because I've fallen (HARD!) chasing him when he runs away because he doesn't want to come inside.

I cry because he might leave to go home or to another placement.

I cry because he might stay and be mine forever.

I cry because I'm crying in front of him and I don't want him to be alarmed or think that he is making me cry.

I cry because this is so fucking hard and I'm so fucking tired and because this is something that I never really thought I'd have.

Tags: foser care

The worst parts:

When he cries, he says "Momma gone. Daddy gone." Over and over again.

He wouldn't get out of the car seat. . . which was on the floor. . . in the living room. And cried and cried because he couldn't go where ever he thought it was going. I can't help thinking it was to his last home or to Momma and Daddy.


The best parts:

He gobbled up loads of homemade Broccoli Cheese soup after refusing most of what I offered him all day.

Calling "C'mere" along with hand gestures so I would come dance with him in the living room after dinner.


I'm a wreck

In other news:

It is looking more and more like this cycle is a bust. We have spotting. Right on schedule. Expect a full update in a few days

I'm exhausted.

After all that angst and internal struggle, we've just accepted a foster placement.

Tomorrow we will welcome what is apparently an incredibly active and verbal toddler.

What is wrong with me?!? I'm still crampy, but I keep trying to qualify it. And I'm still being good, though I have forgotten to take my vitamins the entire time I've been sick.