Sunday, January 16, 2011

I would like a re-do.

Tonight I was on call.

It was horrible.

Every page, basically the same symptoms.
Every parent, thinking that their child was the sickest child ever.
The other 1/2 of the calls not urgent enough to page a nurse over anyhow.
But I answered them all with patience, as if I wasn't drowning.

That noise that my beeper makes, screeching out-- over and over and over-- not stopping.

I managed to throw together some cheese enchiladas, toss a package of Lipton Spanish rice with some water and throw it in the microwave and open a can of beans in between pulling my hair out.


I picked up toys 5 or 550 times in between pages.
I loaded and unloaded the dishwasher.

But mostly I looked forward to 11:00.

When I go off call.

And when Lance gets home.

I was standing as Lance came in the door, eager to vent about my call and engage in adult conversation where I wasn't needed or a record on repeat.

Instead, I was handed his tea and his newspaper, not a word one spoken to me.
(Not our typical routine)

He picked up Maddox and snuggled him and talked to him about his day.
(yes, my kid goes to bed super-late)

Sweet, it's true...
but I just stood there.
Holding my husband's crap.

I told him that there was plenty of dinner left so he could take it tomorrow but he went into asking about a shirt that I accidentally turned pink a month ago.

"Would a magic eraser take it out?"
"How about this oxy clean?"
"Should I soak it in hot water or cold water?"

Maddox chimed in, as if Lance wasn't being annoying enough, to ask me for his Mickey Mouse chapstick 632 times.
I gave it to him.
(Mainly because if anyone else asked me a question, I was going to pull my own ear off.)

Lance and I somehow transitioned the red-shirt conversation into one about money.
Who knows.
But it wasn't a team-worked conversation-- more of a finger pointing, excuse-making type conversation.
Short lived, but annoying nonetheless.

I grabbed a book and climbed into bed.
I am tired.
(my glucose test came back good but I was anemic and was put on extra iron.  No big deal, but it explains why I feel like I am back in my first trimester again)

I was looking forward to 11:00 and my break.
Lance didn't bring it home.
I'm going to bed.

Lance didn't stop.
From the utility room he casually says, "I hate this house.  I can not wait to go back to Haslet."
[We just agreed to another 7 months here]

"...this house is just not organized, its old, and it is never going to feel like home."

I respond, "I'm not a good housewife when I am pregnant.  This house is old. What's your point?"

Which turned into a conversation about me taking everything too personal.

I realized somewhere in that moment that I didn't get the chapstick back from Maddox.
A quick trip to his room revealed a slippery boy reeking of vanilla.
The chapstick mess was actually the easier part.
The shrill- type cry and the screaming for his Mickey Mouse chapstick about sent me over the edge.
But it didn't.
I swabbed him with a towel, put him under his sheets and back to my bed I went.

Breathe Holly.

I hear sup-sups (that sound they make with the inhale after they have been crying) and pitter patter feet coming my way.
[please go to your daddy....]

but instead he climbed up next to me,
pulled my headband off of my head,
and snapped it in 2 trying to put it on his own head.

And the crying re-started.

[I would like to clock out now.]

Lance came in here a second ago to kiss me and ask me why I am so upset tonight....
He was trying to snuggle up to me and chat like we are friends.
We aren't friends tonight.

No sir, we are far from friends right now.

[I bet if we would have started with a conversation about my day, (like I do his as soon as I get the phone call telling me he is off work every night) I would have got to skip the part where I felt like a servant, as if my job-- was just a cup of coffee, like a bad housekeeper, a poor excuse for a mom, and a wife-- unable to organize and make her family feel content-- and would probably be sleeping now.]

Amazingly, he doesn't recall the night anything like I do.
He rarely does.

He thinks we are BFF.
.....And I'm thinking about pulling his hair just as he starts snoring. ;)

How blissful it must be to be a man.

How un-blissful these pregnant hormones are....

I would like a re-do.


  1. you poor thing! I hope today is better for you!

  2. Okay - I'm sorry you had such a bad night, but reading your blog makes me feel a little better about my situation, so thank you for sharing your bad night! I don't feel like I'm the only one feeling this way now! I'm not sure if its me being over sensitive, or James being under sensitive and grouchy! July can't come soon enough. I'm not liking this pregnancy as much as the last one!

  3. Oh, and FYI...
    The oxy-clean took the red out.
    It was a dry-fit polo and most of the red was under the armpits (I guess where deodorant collects)
    Problemo resivido.
    I caught Lance reading this post this am... and laughing.
    He thought it was funny that I had secret thoughts of pulling his hair.
    He's lucky I was too tired to carry through! ;)

  4. I'm so sorry about your night, I have totally had nights JUST like that. I know my husband and I both have had moments/days/etc, where we are like, ummmm who are you and why did I marry you?! :) Good thing it always gets better. Pregnancy hormones can be awful, but sometimes life in general can just be rough. It's nice to hear an honest viewpoint, because I know many people would not write this, but everyone can relate! I definitely can.

    ps. We've had those same issues with chapstick, or as Boyd calls it, his lipstick! I give it to him, he makes a mess, then has a fit when I take it away. sigh.