girl. wife. mother.

Submission.
Date: Sep 12th, 2007 5:40:23 am - Subscribe
Mood: tranquil
Random thought:: I love watching Jacob's eyes flutter in his sleep followed by a smile. I know he's having sweet dreams.

I had sex for the first time since I had my son a couple of nights ago. Without my Dr's go-ahead.
Oops.

Not exactly planned but not exactly spontaneous. Mike and I were/are a very sexual couple and since we were so on and off during pregnancy it's had a strain on both of us. We'd go through dry spells during term where I was less than desirable and also others that I'd experience hormonal bursts where I'd chase after him for 4 times a day. Then directly following, a month where I did not want to be touched either from nausea or discomfort. Or resentment.

Cues screams and flashbacks: "You're never touching me again. I'll break a finger for every day I'm overdue. You did this to me. If there is a hell, it's run by a pregnant woman. etc etc etc."

I had a less than ideal labour, I'd say. (Yes, I'm Canadian, so I'll throw in a 'u' any damn where I please) 30 hours and a baby who stopped breathing 3 seconds after he was born. The Dr's were stitching me up for a half hour. Half without anesthesia, I couldn't see my baby. All I saw was more and more Dr's running into the room. Suction tubes stealing the amniotic mud from my little boys lungs. He came out so abruptly that there was no time to suction the head.. So he breathed it all in at once. And stopped.
Scariest moment. Likely to never be surpassed.

I'll always be thankful that I heard him cry. I knew then that he was alright. To think that we did everything, tried so hard, just to lose him then was he had barely arrived.
What ifs.
Never helped anyone.

.....Back to the point. The moment had built up between Mike and I for weeks. That tension that we had missed so much. The fact that we knew we couldn't be with one another.
Then we started fooling around. A substitute for the main event. Not as satisfying but still a good alternative.
Sounds like I'm reconfiguring a diet. Not talking about our intimate life.

Well things started progressing and we had found out that my stitches had dissolved. We knew we were in the wrong. We just couldn't fight it. Mike nipped out to the gas station to grab condoms.
and I prayed that I wouldn't become pregnant again.
The lovemaking was amazing. Woke up the neighbours. On purpose.
It wasn't that we don't care what the Dr says. It's just that we weren't strong willed enough to go another 10 days.


But I lived through it.. and my body seems just fine two days later.



My son is rocking off to sleep in his electric swing. It's soooo almost out of batteries. I give it a little nudge with my foot every now and again to make sure it doesn't stop moving. The kiddo will rise.. and then I'll never sleep tonight.

It's 5:09am. We got cable finally. Moved in two months ago. This will make some of those borrriiiinggg hours the kiddo is down a little more bearable. A slave to tv. Me. Oh well. I miss all those wedding and baby shows I used to watch.

Nanny 911 is keeping me awake now until Jake is deep enough in a rest for me to pick him up and move him to the bedroom again. We'll see if that's possible.
I used to watch these shows while I was pregnant to teach me what works best in a trial. Not typical results, I'm sure. Now that I'm seeing this, I know I was preparing myself for the worst.

I had a British Nanny growing up. She wasn't a live-in but she came everyday while my parents worked (when they both were working at the same job, they both lost their jobs when I was 9 and had a year of reconfiguring before getting back on the horse but separately). Born in England, worked in South Africa for a long time before coming to Canada.
Let's just say I was the only five year old on the block who could have a formal high tea.
I learned things like: the beverage is saved for after the meal except for a tiny sip when absolutely necessary, watercress and cucumber, tilt the soup bowl away from you and dip your spoon in correspondingly to get the little bits at the bottom.
My father always ate like a pig around her, out of spite. To prove that she was still his employee and that he would remain the same after she was long gone. Doreen, her name was. Smelled of the typical old person scent.
A little like buttercream icing and musk.
She had wax fruit on her countertop in her apartment. My brother always forgot each time we stopped in there. Nothing funnier than watching him pry part of a gnashed up juiceless grape from his teeth.

I wonder if I'll ever be able to give my child that kind of wholesome experience if he needs care. It's not Michael and I's decision for me to go back to work until he's in preschool at the earliest. After Doreen moved back to South Africa my family and I had bad babysitter after bad babysitter. Scenarios from the typical boyfriend in the house with open liquor to prepositioning my father for a blowjob for a few extra dollars. The worst thing the Nanny ever did was shoo us off to nap time early so that she could watch General Hospital without screaming in the background. How that hour used to feel like forever. Blinding daylight creeping into our rooms. Wrenching my eyes forever open.
I used to resent such a strict Nanny. Who wouldn't at that age? What 5 year old knows what the fuck watercress is? But I realize my young upbringing was very cultured. Classical musicians for parents didn't hurt either.
I'm thankful for that. I think I have a lot more to offer someone than most people. I have a different perspective on things. That's what makes me such a constructive conversationalist.
Ha.
*pukes*


I had a great girls night with a couple ladies that I've known from highschool. We all worked together later doing photoshoots and we've started getting back into a more regular contact pattern as well as getting closer again. We all used to be a tight group back in the day. We've got new lives now (as growing up often does permit) but I find that my most recent one, I've had several, really benefits from having these two girls inside it.
I hope the next time we get together will be as refreshing as this episode was.
Laughter. Gossip. Snuggling, cheesecake. Sorry, no pillow fights, nighties, comparing breasts or practicing kissing. *sigh*
Oh well, maybe next time.

I'm off to sleep. Jake's beaten me there while I was focusing on this entry.
Comments: (5)

rburton76 - September 12th, 2007 Classical musicians as parents? Wow. I would have felt pressure to follow in their footsteps. I can at least imagine them trying to force you to find an instrument when you were younger. Did you ever see the movie "Malice"? Alec Baldwin did this one scene where he's talking about his credentials as a doctor and ends with "And I am never, ever sick at sea" just before saying "You ask if I have a God complex. Gentlemen, I am God." Anyway, you probably get the allusion to the Gilbert & Sullivan opera, Tales of the HMS Pinafore or whatever it's called, but I remember thinking I was the only one in the theater who did.

makeupmom - September 12th, 2007 Heh. Yes my father is a violinist and my mother plays the oboe. I tried both when I was younger... didn't follow the trends. I'm the only one my family who didn't pursue music. My father's the one who's had the major career. Vegas shows with Tom Jones, Phantom of the Opera in Toronto with Paul Stanley, Ashley McIssak in Regina, Tony Bennett in New York City, the MET, cruising around the world on the Queen Elizabeth II for 3 years playing with the talent that came on board. Music festivals in over 12 different countries including Canada, USA, Lithuania, England, France, Italy, and China. I have seen that movie, Malice. That's a great line from the movie. However, I hate when production companies put the best lines of a movie in the preview. I remember that from this specific movie. I was never big on Pinafore. Dad did the soundtracks to Phantom of the Opera (Canadian edition Toronto), Ragtime, and a couple others. I love that one.. Soulful. Anything and everything. He's done. Kind of makes me wish I had done more with my youth. I sing Gershwin to my son.. Most people don't know what I'm singing. Kind of makes me sad. They're so sweet..

rburton76 - September 15th, 2007 I wouldn't know what you were singing eitherr. I couldn't name a single Gershwin tune if my life depended on it. I vaguely remember that his first name is George, but the only thing that comes to mind when I think about that name is the song, "I like New York in June. How about you? . . ." As for the arranged marriage thing, I don't think it's going to happen. Thanks to the productivity today, I've had a hallucination free evening. Staying busy and having something to focus on for five or six hours a day seems to be good for my brain. I'm starting to think I really will be better by Christmas. Let's face it, we all want to live up to our marketability when finding a mate and mine should dramatically improve when I'm sane again.

makeupmom - September 15th, 2007 True that. I think you will too. You still have a fair chunk of sand in the hour glass. And Gershwin was named George.. and then Ira was the other one. I can never remember if that was a guy or a girl. Either way.. lame name.

rburton76 - September 17th, 2007 I appreciated the "cup of coffee" comment. My self-esteem's pretty low these days, what with being 31 and not having a paying job or place of my own and (yes I know you're married) but that's the most interest a woman's shown in me in about eight months. No, I take that back. I got flashed by a 50-year-old woman in the out-patient treatment program at the looney bin about a month ago. I was there for agoraphobia (fear of public places). The idea was to jump start me back into getting out in public, and it did work, but then I lowered the pills and hate leaving the house again. I'd say we could email each other but I'm a compulsive emailer. Of the five people I email, I maintain about a 3:1 or worse email ratio with three of them. One of them's a friend I met 13 years ago who doesn't know how to type and who answers about once every two months. I've stopped writing him before but after about two weeks he'll write and ask what I'm up to and swears he reads all of them. By the way, was "These are a few of my favorite things" a Gershwin song?

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