Mother’s-in-law

I’ve now had 2. And for some reason I have gotten 2 bum ones. The first was openly mean. I was clearly not her son’s intellectual equal. I was not smart enough to finish law school. I was evidentially too good of a cook because I was making her baby fat. She didn’t know what he saw in me. Why on earth would she want to go to a spa all day with me?

Needless to say I am not sad to be done with that woman. She was angry, hateful, sad, and resentful. Her first husband cheated on her and her second husband died quickly and very unexpectedly. So she had some issues.

The second is more interesting. I have not met her. We have exchanged some emails, but that is about it. R is not close with her based on some choices she’s made and nasty things she’s said to him. Part of me feels an obligation to get to know her. She is my new mother-in-law after all. But given the way she treats not just R but his children, I’m not sure the work would be worth it. Add to that, that since their divorce she seems to love R’s ex-wife, I’m feeling conflicted.

I understand that she is superficial and focused on appearances. This is an issue for me. I am 5’ 6.5” and weigh @#$%^% right now. My husband loves me for what and who I am, and claims he loves how I look too. (hmm…I’ll never believe that one.)  But now it seems we are going to see her in June. So I have 6 months to lose a bunch of weight so I can feel as though I am not a complete embarrassment. I could do 10 pounds a month for 6 months, right? I’d still be “heavy” but not as heavy as now. But do I want to let her have that kind of power over me? Does it matter whether or not she thinks I’m pretty? Do I want to leave the event knowing that she’s calling her daughter to discuss how “fat” I am and how they can’t believe he left the ex (who is quite thin) for this chunk-a-lunk?

I hate this anxiety about meeting someone. Someone who knows the details and has judged me accordingly. Who will judge me because of what a small minded person has told her. Not by what I am, who I am, how I live my life, how I treat people. But because of one choice I made that she does not agree with.

Blah to Yeah!

I have the cold rainy blahs.

I really don’t have anything to do at work. I am here and am pretending to work. There is simply nothing worse than screwing around all day trying to “look busy” when you have zip to do. My files are caught up. But I am here. We have a relaxed work environment so I could leave. But I don’t because my boss doesn’t believe in it. She will come by late, knowing I already left, and then send me a snarky email about how sorry she is that she missed me. I want to respond “You know I work until 4 or 4:30 on Tuesdays and Thursdays so I can get home early for the kiddos! Seriously! Come by late on Monday or Wednesday and we can talk.

Add to that that I have no holiday spirit whatsoever. I am tired of money flowing out of the bank. I am tired of having to wrap everything. I am tired of pandering to my step kids who have now decided that they are setting up a “wrapping station” in their rooms. (Seriously?!? You’re not the only ones who need to wrap shit!) I am tired of having to come up with ideas for him, my parents, his kids, my sister, her boyfriend, all the pets, my work employees, his clients, and me. And I need to put up all the holiday “stuff” around the house because he “just isn’t into that.” But I get nagged about it. If it matters that much to you, do it your damned self.

And I’m doing ALL OF THIS knowing that I am going to screwed over again for Christmas on all but the gifts I bought for myself. All  I want is for someone to put some frickin thought into a gift. You know me pretty well…better than anyone actually…get me something that makes you think “WOW, she’ll love this!” And it DOESN’T come from a thrift store. I don’t want a cheap ass pair of plastic kiddie binoculars because my sister got some real ones for her birthday and you think it would be “funny.” I don’t want a popcorn bowl with Joe Buck’s signature on it because I HATE HIM.

So rather than continue to crab about a crappy holiday or the crappy gifts I’ll get in said holiday I should stop and count my blessings.

1.       I have a wonderful husband with a great sense of humor who I love more deeply than I ever thought possible.

2.       I have 3 step kids who are each uniquely wonderful.

3.       I have a good job, that pays very well that gives me flexibility that all jobs should have.

4.       I have wonderful friends who make my days richer, funnier, and just plain lovelier because they are in my life.

5.       I have parents who stay out of my business for the most part, but are there if I need them

6.       My sister is a star of happiness in my world.

7.       We have enough money, food, shelter, and comforts that show me daily (when I’m looking) that I shouldn’t complain about anything.

8.       I have my health. I might be overweight and slightly depressed, but I am healthier than most.

9.       We have 5 cars, 2 motorcycles, 5 bicycles, 2 power wheelchairs, and 2 scooters…more transportation than any family really needs and more than most have.

10.   I am not living a lie or living in the shadows any longer. My life is out there and I am proud of how I am living it.

11.   It is not snowy.

12.   I live in a wonderful country where I have the right to express myself anyway I want, can worship who and if I want, and can go where I want with little to no interference from the government.

That’s just 12. A dozen things off the top of my head that I am thankful for. A dozen blessings big and small. A dozen reasons to look out the window (even though it is gray and yucky) and perk up.

Baby Talk

Baby its cold outside

Baby baby baby

Be my baby tonight

Baby got back

Everything is baby. We’re back on the baby bandwagon at my house. My darling husband was baby nuts for months before we were married. Then it all stopped. Not only were we not going to have one now, we were not going to have one ever. End of story. Thank you and goodnight.

Now it’s back again. Baby talk. Isabella Violet if it’s a girl. Pierce Randall if it’s a boy. Bella and Pierce. Part of me thinks maybe twins so we can meet both of them!!

Another part of me is terrified.

Not just “wow what a change that would be to our lives” but horrifically, knee dropping, bone chilling, nauseatingly, numbingly terrified. Terrified.

Yes, I have all the typical nervousness that anyone looking at being a parent has. Will I be any good at it? What if the baby is ugly? What if the child turns into Charles Manson? What if I’m just not a good mom? What if I freak out and run away? What if R freaks out and runs away? What if we get a kid like N and his attitude? What if the child is handicapped? R already has one with special needs. I’m getting old, Downs is a possibility.  And now-a-days it seems every other kid born is autistic.

What if the child is like me and is fat and gets made fun of in school like I did? Is it right to have a child knowing that this is nearly an absolute certainty? I’m not sure I can handle that. I can’t handle the idea that a child of our blood might not be “normal.”

I’ve never wanted kids. Never. I’m more of a “kids are great, but I’m good without.”  I’ve never thought of myself on my deathbed regretting not having children. R is a kid guy though. After dropping the girls off at their mom’s he said “we need some full time kids in this house.” He wants them. He’s also almost 46 years old. I pointed out that he would have one at 18 and one at 8 weeks. Would he be ok with that? His response…”absolutely!” I’ve never seen myself in the “Mom” role. Auntie, yes. Mom, no way in hell.

But now I am faced with the decision again. The decision with a large contingent of people yelling “YES!!!” and my own inner voice whispering “Please dear God, no.”

My Secret

My Secret. It’s not really a secret, but it is. The people who need to know, do. The people who don’t need to know, don’t. It’s that easy. I can count on one hand the number of people I’ve told. 3. My sister, my best friend, and another close friend.  My husband knows…he’s part of it. His ex knows, his children know (she told them). Her friends, family, co-workers and everyone else she ever comes into contact with all know…she “had” to tell them.

My Secret. I keep it from everyone. There is no reason to talk about it, to bring it up, to discuss. I look bad. My husband looks bad. My family doesn’t know. Holiday’s create so much anxiety in me because I am fearful that the kids will tell My Secret.

I hate holiday’s because of My Secret.