Cup O' Joe

Elly is back on the sucky sleeping schedule again.  I swear that kid goes through sleeping phases like people go through fad diets.  (I don't diet, I just eat cookies.  Lots and lots of cookies!)

What does that mean for me other than my own sleepless nights?  It means my new health insurance company thinks I'm an insomniac for one.   I took a health assessment test for a $35 gift card to be used for medical expenses.  (Why the hell wouldn't I answer 100 questions about me for $35 free? Duh!) It asked how many hours of sleep I get a night, how rested do I feel when I get up for the day, and so on. 

What it doesn't allow for during the questionnaire is a place for you to fill in any kind of explanation behind it.  Like if I was a meth-head and was tweaking every night then of course I wouldn't get any sleep.  (But at least I'd get all the laundry done!)

But what about parents of insomniac kids?  There's no box to check for that.  So instead, I'll now get spammed with a million emails about how not sleeping enough has a poor effect on my health.  No shit.  Now if only there was enough time for a mommy nap time in a day and this wouldn't be a problem.

But yesterday afternoon was the icing on the cake for just how sleepless I've been the last few nights.  At work, I have a Keurig in my "office."  (I say "office" and not office because it's only got three walls and no door, so people can still come in my space willy-nilly whenever they feel like it.  Plus, since I'm a natural loud talker, they can hear pretty much everything I say.)  I drink a lot of coffee and the Keurig gets quite the daily workout. 

It was time for my afternoon cup o' joe pick-me-up.  And as I plopped the little k-cup in and watched the coffee stream into my cup, I realized I needed to up the ante a bit.  So I pulled out the canister of mocha cappuccino mix from the drawer and added a few scoops of that to the coffee for the extra jolt I was going to need to re-read the same story five times for copy edit mistakes.  (I lead a glamorous life!)  

As my coffee finished brewing I started searching for the blue lid to the canister so I could clean up and get on with my afternoon.  But alas, I couldn't find the lid!  (Mind you, the entire coffee making process was done from the comfort of my desk chair.  I didn't move more than 12 inches during the entire process to make this cup of coffee.  How the hell I misplaced the lid I have no idea.)  And as I'm standing up, spinning in circles, cursing myself for being crazy and not able to find the blue lid (I even checked my pockets!) a lady I'd never met before but needed to introduce myself to (and make a good first impression for because I'd be working with her lots in the future) walked in and saw me turning in circles on my own little crazy train.  My entire conversation with her was distracted by the fact that I couldn't find the blue lid to this damn canister!!! 

Finally, as I tried to shoo her away so she wouldn't see how crazy I was, I just got down on the floor and started digging under a cabinet in my "office."  And alas!  I finally found the lid... a GOLD lid.  Why I swore it was blue, I have no idea.  

Clearly, I not only needed my afternoon cup o' joe, but I needed to add another scoop of cappuccino mix to it.  Because my little insomniac is making me crazy!!!!   

Independent Woman

Every time my daughter learns something new I start singing a Destiny's Child song from my high school days.  I sing mostly to myself because 1) I barely remember all the words 2) I can't really sing all that well and would prefer not to scar my child 3) I'm not actually all that happy about why I'm singing.

You see, Elly is only 10.5 months old and the writings on the wall.  (I'm really hitting the DC lyrics hard tonight!  It's about to get Jumpin' Jumpin' in here!) I can tell that I have an extremely rocky road ahead of me as I try to raise my incredibly stubborn, headstrong, independent woman in this world.
 

 

How do I already know this is going to be as fun as traveling over landmines?  Because she already throws fits when you try to help her do something.  She's been walking 2 months already.  When we were in the airport earlier this week and she was starting to walk into stores or other places she shouldn't I responded with a stern "No thank you, this way please" and tried to hold her hand and walk her in a different direction. 

Her response? A full-blown tantrum, complete with arm flailing and writhing out of my hand so she could walk by herself and go where she wanted to go.  She didn't need my help to turn around, she could do it herself.  And there was no way she was going to let mama walk hand-in-hand with her.  She's a big girl and can do it herself.  In fact, she's begun to walk like a model, one hand on her hip, the other extended in the air (Ok, so it looks more like she's about to bust out in song and dance about a little tea pot who's short and stout... but still.)  I'd like to blame the trip to New York City, but no, this is just her spirit.

Another example of her desire to do it her way and refuse help: she had her sippy cup this morning and it was pretty much empty.  Stoofy, myself AND Ms. B all tried to change her sippy cup and give her the other one (the exact same kind of cup, just a different color) with water in it that just happen to be sitting right next to her.  NOT GOING TO HAPPEN.  She at one point swatted at Stoofy when he tried to take the empty cup out of her hand and swap it with the other, full one.  Nope. 

And Ms. B reported today that Elly threw herself to the ground and had a mini-tantrum because she was not allowed to climb up the stairs by herself.  She's been learning how to go up them with Stoofy helping her, but clearly since she's not even a year old yet, climbing stairs on her own is a big no no.  Especially because half our steps in the house are the open back kind.  She could easily squeeze through and fall head first to her demise.  Not really my style of fun. 

But does she care about the scary death trap?  No.  She doesn't want your help going up the stairs because she's already freakin' learned how to do it and can do it herself damn it!!!!  If she could talk already she’d say, “Just stop holding my hand mom and let me do it on my own!”

And that right there is the problem.  Her not wanting to hold my hand in the airport while walking around nearly broke my heart.  I actually felt it break into tiny, little pieces.  (Don't worry, "I'm a Survivor" and I'm not going to give uh...), Yes, I know she's still a baby and she will need me for lots of things for many years (especially since she can't reach the food yet and will need me to at least feed her for awhile longer.  Although today she learned how to feed herself with a spoon.  I'm quickly becoming as obsolete as a payphone). But it kills me to watch her grow up so fast.  It's like I blinked and she's almost an adult! 

I don't know how it even happened.  And because she's so independent I worry she’ll stop needing  me so much sooner than other kids.  Or at least she'll THINK she won't need me so much sooner. 

It looks like I've got two options here: 1) learn to accept the fact that my baby is independent like her mother and doesn't need me in her life anymore or 2) change my parenting technique and hover over her and make her so damn co-dependent that she'll never leave my side. 

Option 2 is sounding less and less crazy every day she learns a new skill. 

Temporary Vegetarian

Every so often I end up in a discussion about pregnancy and how much it sucks.  I work in an office with almost all women.  A couple are a little younger than me and the rest are a bit older than me.  Those of us with kids (I'm the youngest with a kid, and Elly is SIGNIFICANTLY younger than the other people's kids) talk about what our experiences were when we were pregnant or in labor.

And these conversations remind me about the things I've pushed out of my mind a bit about being pregnant with Elly.  I haven't forgot these memories yet, hence one of the reasons I blog.  I don't want to forget all of the hell she put me through.

You see, I am a meat eater.  (Take that however you want you sick perv!) I enjoy a giant, medium-rare steak, I love sausage and bacon both for breakfast, and I love to eat turkey sandwiches.  A meal isn't complete without meat.  Without it, it's just a snack. 

That all changed when I became pregnant.  Aside from the fact that EVERYTHING made me blow chunks, meat especially did.  I couldn't walk past the meat counter in a grocery store unless I had my trusty "air sickness bag" with me.  (The grocery store as a whole was pretty dangerous grounds for me, but especially in the meat department.) 

I practically became a vegetarian.  I couldn't stand eating any kinds of beef, chicken, or pork.  And I couldn't eat too much fish (which I didn't want much of in the first place) because of whatever crazy science article I was reading that week and the effects of the fish on my baby.  (My policy was, why bother fucking the kid up in utero?  I needed to wait until the kid was fully baked and then I could start screwing it up... because, you know, it's always the mother's fault.)

It was so disappointing to not even be slightly interested in any of the things I loved to eat.  I actually lost weight before gaining weight while pregnant!  Who knew dividing cells into a new human being would be the best diet around?!?!?!

The only thing I could stand to eat was bacon bits on my pizza (which I ate nearly every other day).  No other meat could be found in my house. 

Fast forward 10 months and I'll wolf down a steak in 5 minutes flat.  I eat hamburger like it's going out of style.  And I pile on extra turkey on my sandwiches.  My herbivore days were just temporary.  THANK GOD!

But Elly, she's still a vegetarian.  No matter what we try to feed her by way of meat, she's not interested.  But that kid will horck down apples, lima beans, broccoli, and strawberries by the fistful.  If you don't speed it up while cutting up the kiwi she'll let you know she's not pleased.  But offer her a bit of pot roast and there's no touching it.  She instead works around the roast and eats the potatoes and carrots.  So for now she's a vegetarian.  (Don't worry, the dog's still a carnivore.  Elly share's the pot roast with the dog!)

I just hope she grows out of it.  I don't know if I could handle a meal without meat!

Christmas Shopping

Now that it's November, it's time to get down to serious business... Christmas shopping.  Don't get me wrong, I will be celebrating November in all its glory all month long and I do NOT do anything Christmasy until at LEAST the day after Thanksgiving.

I'm very particular about this for a few reasons.  The most important is that my birthday is at the end of November and I have no intention of getting into the Christmas spirit until AFTER the best day of the year.  This year it rocks even more because while you're all eating your Thanksgiving dinner, I'll be eating my BIRTHDAY FEAST!  (In case you can't figure out the most obvious hints here, my birthday falls on Thanksgiving day this year. I can message you my address for birthday cards if you'd like! :-D ) 

But the one Christmas thing I do take advantage of during the last month of fall (my favorite season, which is another reason I try to prolong my love of November) is the Christmas shopping deals.  I have no choice because the damn retailers force you to think about Christmas starting in August.  (I wish that was a lie, but I saw Christmas lights at home depot in August.  I'm just sayin'... fucking corporate America!) 

This year is even more exciting because we have Elly to shop for.  This means more toys!  I say more toys because last year Stoofy and I got each other legos.  What can I say, we're big kids. 

We already got her the first of a couple gifts.  I have no intention of going overboard since she'll barely be 10 months old at Christmas.  What does she even know about getting gifts yet?  Plus, I need to take advantage of the few years I have before she can talk and then demand what she wants from Santa.  Plus I buy something for her nearly every time I leave the house.  To her, every day is Christmas. 

But to be honest, I was SO EXCITIED when the Toys R Us Christmas catalog arrived at our front doorstep!!!  I flipped through all of those pages making a mental list of all the things I wanted.  I mean I wanted to get Elly, you know, so I could play with her. 

There were oodles of baby toys, but I didn't stop there.  I couldn't help but love the Kitchen Aide all-in-one kitchen and matching refrigerator and washer/dryer set, the craftsman work bench complete with toy chain saw and tool belt, and the ultimate Barbie dream house and really everything Barbie.  (It blows my mind that the family camper is $75 by the way.) Plus thousands and thousands of Lego pieces all waiting for me to assemble into the most elaborate of creations.

I just kept making a mental note of all the things I wanted... for Elly of course.  And that's when I realized how happy I was to have a little girl.  Because she can have the tea set and the tool belt and we can play together!  (That and I can pass off all the toys I want to play with as toys for her.)

Like I said, I was super excited about the mega toy catalog.  Elly was excited too.... she had a blast ripping the paper to shreds and eating it.  Let's hope one day she enjoys picking out toys as much as I do, but not too soon.  My budget might not be able to handle that!

Shoot Me Now

Yup, just go ahead and shoot me now.  I won't mind.  I'll even write you a permission slip to the cops saying it was totally ok and I actually asked for it.  Because honestly, I'm so sleep deprived right now, I'd sign off on just about anything! (Except Stoofy buying a boat.  I'd probably kill him if that happened.)

The problem is that Elly no longer sleeps.  And when I say no sleep, I mean screams for an hour at a time throughout the night a couple times a night, every night.

And she doesn't really nap.  And when I say she doesn't nap, I mean she takes three 20 minute naps a day, tops.  If I'm super lucky, every now and then, she'll sleep (in my arms because the moment I put her down she wakes up wailing) about 40 minutes.  But those days are rare.

I don't get it.  This has been going on for about a month and half.  She was like this before moving, so I don't feel like it's because of the move.  She has the same routine every day, I am a pretty routine girl myself.  She's been trying a few new foods here and there, but she's enjoying them and her system seems to be processing them just fine. (Output is working just as well as her input!)

She has the exact same bed time routine at the exact same time every night.  At 7:00 PM she gets a bath, rocks together with either mom or dad and gets a bottle.  She sometimes drifts off with no problems, sometimes it's torture. 

And then the hell begins.  She'll sleep for a couple hours, then wakes up with night-terrors.  (Or whatever the baby equivalent is to night terrors.)  She startles herself awake and just starts SCREAMING!!!!

It's flat out awful.  Because there's absolutely nothing that will stop the crying.  She's not hungry, she isn't sick.  She just doesn't want to sleep.  I give her teething tablets for any pain, if she's got a fever from teething, I give her baby Tylenol.  Nothing seems to work.

It kills me to no end that she doesn't sleep.  Not only do Stoofy and I not sleep, it kills me that she doesn't either.  But what kills me even more is that she wakes up early and is always chipper.  Like a cartoon chipmunk chipper. 

She's laughing and smiling and it's like nothing happened.  I kind of think a gremlin takes over her body after 6:00 PM every night, and then evades her body by 6:00 AM.  I really can't think of any other explanation because baby night-terrors sounds even more farfetched. 

I mean, what the hell could cause a nightmare for a baby?  Flashbacks to birth? What else could there be?  And at what point do you even start dreaming in life?  And if she's dreaming, what is she dreaming of?  It's not like she knows what the lottery is, so she can't dream about winning it the way that I do.  So I just don't get it. 

Just like I don't get any sleep.  It's time to start stocking up on coffee for mumma and baby Unisom for Elly.  (That's a joke, I'm not actually drugging my child... unless someone finds a legal loophole of course.  Like I said, I'd sign off on just about anything right now.)

Nightmares of the Working Mom

I feel like I'm living a nightmare right now.  It's weird, because so many things are positively falling into place as I get out of the Navy and transition into the real world.  Everything except one: daycare for Elly.  Now that we're all moved out of base housing and temporarily settled with Abby, the next hurdle in my life is finding full time daycare.

First of all, watching a marathon of Law and Order: SVU is really not helping my daily panic attacks when it comes to for Elly’s childcare.  (Kids getting murdered and neglected all the time.  Who the hell let me have the remote?)

And it obviously can't be just any daycare.  I have a laundry list of requirements, but when tasked with typing them all out in an ad on Sittercity. I drew a complete blank.  I think I'm actually paralyzed with fear just thinking about leaving her with a stranger.

I'm a psycho new mom.  Like I take crazy to a new level when it comes to Elly.  So I constantly picture wherever I drop her off, the lady will smile and wave, and then as soon as I'm down the street, Elly's left to crawl through glass and cigarette butts, eat the dog food, play with everything dangerous, left in her own filth and the lady that said she spoke English can't actually read any of the instructions I left.  I show up and my daughter is completely traumatized and I collapse in a heap of working-mom guilt.

Just typing this is making me cry. 

Because there isn't going to be anyone in this world that can do what I do.  Not even my own mom, but she's the next best thing! She at least keeps my daughter on a schedule.  I on the other hand have let it all go to shit.  Ok, so maybe there is at least one person in this world that can do what I do... probably because she's already raised my daughter once when she raised me.

But still....

I keep envisioning child neglect and abuse and just plain old craziness in every daycare.  And yet, I'm stuck.  We're a two income family.  It's what works for us.  (Especially in the most expensive place to live in America according to the latest census information.  I also live in the #1 wealthiest county in America.  The median income is around $89,000.  I won't be making that.)  So I have no choice but to find daycare.

I'm also a coupon clipper and deal shopper.  But this isn't exactly one of those things you become a full-on penny pincher.  Because who skimps on their child care?  If there's anything in this world that the saying "you get what you paid for" more closely describes, I'd be shocked.  Honestly.  If you're going to be paying pennies to some secret evil witch, you can't be surprised when you show up at the end of the day to pick up your kid and she's in the oven.  But on the other hand, we can't exactly afford an au pair!  Geez! We're not one of the Real Housewives of DC couples!   

Now, I know I'm making this so much worse in my head than it actually is.  I get that. 

I know I will eventually find the perfect place for Elly and it will become a second home for her.  And maybe that's what scares me just as much (if not more).  What if I find a place that's just so perfect, that she likes the babysitter more than me?  What happens if she loves her more than me because she spends all day with her and not with me?  And now I've come full circle in the working-mom guilt. 

This is why I'm living a nightmare right now.

A Queen Looking for a King

Sleeping is a time for stretching in my house. We (I mean the female we's in the house) like to sleep as starfish as possible.

My daughter still sleeps the same way she did when I was pregnant with her... Stretched out as far as she can go. However, now she's only restricted by the walls of her crib, not the walls of my uterus or my rib cage.

Even the dog who sleeps curled up in a ball for most of the night tries to gain a little more tail room by wiggling her boney ass in an attempt to wedge me from my designated sleeping area. (She usually gets kicked out for this infraction.)

This in turn means I start to encroach on Stoofy's space. Basically at the end of the night, he's literally on the edge of his seat and I've taken up most of the rest of the bed, minus the dog's spot at my feet.

And this violation of our bed's Monroe Doctrine is a violation of Stoofy's and my unspoken marriage vows.

I apparently vowed I wouldn't try to take over his whole life. So taking over his sleeping space kind of negates my promise.  Oops!

I can't help it.  When it's time to sleep, I need my space.  No cuddling allowed! I need room to myself to stretch out and get comfy.  I roam free, even in my sleep.  And I've passed that on to my daughter. 

It worries Stoofy to no end that he may never get to actually have space to sleep as she gets older.  Because there will inevitably be nights where the boogie man scares Elly and she finds her way into our bed for safe keeping.  And although I'd like to say I'd shoo her back to bed immediately, but I’d probably be lying.  When sleepy, I’ll give in to just about anything just to get back to my REM cycle.  So if that means letting a crying child climb in to my bed so I can get back to my dream I'll probably do it. 

In Stoofy's mind that means two starfish.  Two competing sets of arms and legs flailing around looking to occupy as much space as possible.  It concerns him to say the least.  His solution is to put his foot down and make me go back to my side. 

The really amazing thing is that when I have a smaller space to sleep in, I only occupy that much space.  But give me a bigger space, and I'll use it.  Kind of like the bigger the purse the more stuff you NEED to carry with you!

I mean, on deployment 'racks' (as we call them in the Navy) are TINY to say the least.  (I think the reason why there are weight restrictions in the Navy is because if you're too fat to get into your rack then what the hell are you going to do? You can't exactly knock out a wall to make more room!)  And I do just fine there.  I don’t' flail around.  There just isn't room for that.  You just climb in and sleep.  No moving except for the rocking of the ship. (If the ship's a rockin' don't come a knockin'! HAHAHA! That's what she said! I'm 12 this morning.)

So I feel like the only solution to this conundrum is to upgrade sleeping arrangements. 

TIME FOR A KING!

Being an Adult Rocks!

Yesterday afternoon I discovered that being an adult rocks.  While driving home from Best Buy, I got a text message from my BFF, Abby.  Turns out she's one car behind me on her way home too! YAY!

So we discuss the fact we're both in the High Occupancy Vehicle lane with only one passenger in each car and we cook up what our excuse will be when we get pulled over for breaking the law.  Let's just say her excuse was way better than mine and I'll be using that one now as well. 

Then she confesses this random gem to me: "So I just ate a quarter pound of deli meat straight out of the bag."

Mind you we're driving down the road while she declares this fact.  My response? Convulsing in laughter because I can honestly picture her reaching back into her grocery bag, pulling out the deli meat package, ripping it open like a ravenous beast and tearing into the tasty goodness that is smoked peppercorn turkey.

Our conversation goes a little something like this:
A: "I have so little will power!"

B: "Don't worry, I'm not judging you! I'm actually a little jealous I don't have deli meat to eat right now."

A: "I could pull up alongside of you and try and toss it in your window."

B: "Could you actually imagine us trying to pull that stunt? It would be hilarious! It's cool if it gets on the windshield, I'll still eat it and I think I could still get to it depending on where it lands."

A: "MMMM, windshield meat."

B: "And don't worry about the bugs, it's just extra protein!"

A: "I'm not going to be able to do this when I have kids.  I'll have to set an example!"

And that's when I remembered something my mom told me the night before.

My mom got a new iPhone and we were discussing games for her to download on it.  She was interested in getting Angry Birds and I told her she needed to be careful, because once she starts playing it, people will think she has turrets and it's incredibly addicting.  I asked her if she remembers when Tetris came out and how addicting it was.  And how you just had to keep playing because you know you can get to the next level.  That's what Angry Birds was like, but with more swearing.

My memory of Tetris and when Nintendo first came out was that she didn't want my sister and me playing too much.  Video games were junk and we didn't need to rot our brains on them. 

And then she spilled this dirty little secret.  She used to rush home on her lunch breaks when we were in school so she could play the Nintendo!  She would take her hour lunch, spend a half hour driving back and forth, and the other half hour playing Mario Brothers.  Then when she got back to work, she'd compare notes with her co-workers so they could get to the next level.

My mom is a closet GAMER! Are you kidding me? That's why she didn't want us playing, she was too busy secretly playing. 

And then it dawned on me.  Abby and I weren't going to have to stop our dirty little secret of eating deli meat straight out of the bag on the car ride home from the grocery store once our kids are in the car.  We just had to do it when they weren't looking!

So not only can you eat cookies for breakfast and ice cream for dinner, but you can also be a huge hypocrite to your kids and they don't even need to know about it until 20 years later!  That's why being an adult totally rocks!!!!

Hormones

I've had crazy hormones since I hit puberty back in 6th grade.  And really, who hasn't?  But I never thought I'd be this wacky, crazy with hormones during and after my pregnancy.  Now, I'm a pretty intense Betty.  I like things done a certain way and done promptly.  This has caused some strife over the years with Stoofy, but he's finally realized that I'm just crazy and he's got to deal. 

But being Pregnant Betty took the crazy to a whole new level!  I was even more intense during my pregnancy.  I nearly accosted a woman for a pumpkin pie at a grocery store, I completely unleashed the furry of a rabid momma bear on my stupid apartment complex manager, and I made my husband's life a living hell.  It was like I became a schizophrenic person because one minute I'm pleased, the next second I'm mildly unhappy, and the next second I'm in complete rage.  And usually after that happened I started crying.  I just couldn't deal with everything racing through my brain and body!  All I could think was I must be impregnated with a demon baby. 

But I thought, as misguided as it was that after I had the baby, everything would be back to normal.  I thought I could watch whatever T.V. shows I wanted.  Heck, I thought that I could DO whatever I wanted and I'd be just my normal Betty self.  Oh how wrong I was!!!

Two days after being home with my daughter, I looked at her, started crying and exclaimed to Stoofy, "She's getting so big!  We have to have another one!  Because she'll never be this small again!"  Sobfest 2011 had begun.  He reminded me that maybe we should wait more than TWO DAYS before deciding when to have another baby.  Thank God he's wise and normal. 

The hormones have taken over my body like discount bargain shoppers at Walmart on a Sunday.  There's no stopping them and they just keep flooding in! 

Example two of Sobfest 2011- Crying on the ride home because I saw a plane.  Yup, a plane.  It was a low-flying plane and since I'm in the D.C. area I couldn't help but think... wow, I wonder if that's what it looked like as the plane came flying in and crashed into the Pentagon.  And what it would have looked like if the plane that crashed in Pennsylvania made it to the White House.  And just how heroic those people were to try and stop the terrorists and died trying.  And the people making calls from their cell phones to loved ones saying good bye.  And if I was in that same position what would I do... of course I would call Stoofy!  And then it dawned on me... I would have to say goodbye to Baby.  And BAM!  I'm sobbing, driving down the parkway and I can't see because I'm crying so hard. 

And then I just start laughing.  Because it's just that ridiculous that I'm crying so hard over something so unlikely to happen to me.  But that's not to say something less unlikely COULD happen to me.  And then I would be here to watch my beautiful baby girl grow up.  More crying.  More laughing at how ridiculous I am. 

Example three of Sobfest 2011- I'm three blocks from work this morning and realized that Defense Secretary Gates is no longer my boss.  I absolutely love him.  I feel like he's been with me my whole life, well nearly my whole military life. Now he's gone, back to retirement.  The waterworks turn back on and I nearly miss stopping at the stop sign outside my office.  Good lord, get a grip Betty!!! I'm going to be out of the military in just a couple more months and it's not like he's going to be my boss when I'm a civilian!  Geez!

And this is when I realize that this could all just be the beginning of the new Betty. A softer, more sensitive Betty.  Someone grab me a tissue!

Until later
~Betty

Monster, er I mean, mother-in-law

I've been married to my wonderful husband, Stoofy, for more than 4 years.  We've been together for nearly 6.  And in that time, I really haven't spent a ton of time with his family.  I know them well enough, and enjoy them when we all visit.  But they're not my family.  My family is entirely nuts. We've got such a huge level of dysfunction; we can't even return basic phone calls.  But I like it and it's normal to me.  His family is different. 

His family's dysfunction is different.  I don't know how to describe it.  I get along really well with his dad and his brother.  But with his mom and sister, it's a slightly different story.  We don't fight or argue or anything.  We just aren't all BFF's.

He and his mom have a very special bond from the first moments of his life.  He's her first born.  He's her only biological son.  He's a big f'in' deal in her world.  And he's moving back to his home town after our many years of military service. (Don't worry; baby and I are moving there too!)  Let the party begin!!!

But now that he's going to be nearby again, she feels the need to be in his life every second of every day.  In fact, she was upset when he didn't move back to their home (in his old, childhood room) and instead got his own place for us.  The horror!  Being persistent, she then decided that she would move in with him on weekends and keep him company.  His response- Uh, HELL NO! (Thank God!)

I was horrified and freaked out!  Here's this woman who doesn't have a clue that her 27 year old son, who has lived on his own for 8 years and deployed around the world, is a GROWN MAN!  Not to mention, he has his own wife and child to take care of.  How dare she want to weasel her way into my life and try to disturb my marriage?  If she thinks she's going to get to be a decision maker in my family, she's got another thing coming!  And here starts my immediate panic-attack about protecting my family and marriage and keeping intruders out.  I started plotting my plan of attack like it was a scene from the Italian Job. 

Now, I realize I don't have the worst MIL in the history of MILs.  (My mom's was, and still is, pretty damn wacky.  Yes, I'm talking about my crazy grandma.) And I just read a story about a Monster-in-law from hell who had the audacity to send a hate email to her future daughter-in-law that just happened to back fire when the daughter made sure it went viral.  So no, I don't have the worst one in the world.  But, it's still a little annoying.

And then I realized if I ever have a son, I'll be a psycho MIL.  I know I'm going to be the only woman in my future son's life that can do everything.  I just know this to my core.  And now starts the second panic attack of the day... my future son will eventually get married and leave me in the dust and I'll just have to find a way to weasel my way back in to his life and if that means I have to move in with him on weekends and take care of him, then that's what I'll do!  BREATH BETTY!

I should point out that my daughter is only 4 months old and Stoofy and I are nowhere near being pregnant again with another child, let alone the odds of it being a boy.  So who knows if I'll actually ever have a son?  But I'm already worked up in a full blown tizzy.  And now I'm a lot more empathetic about my crazy MIL.  That is until the next time she tries to weasel her way into my home again!!!

Until later
~Betty