I noticed a girl that I went to high school with was looking to babysit. She's a nice person, and acquaintances told me she was a good sitter.
I noticed a bruise on my 10-month old's leg the other day, the day after she babysat. It continues to spread and darken like ink staining his chubby thigh. I believe she held him down too roughly while changing his diaper. He wrestles and crawls away during diaper changes, but this bruise is too big for me to accept. I'm angry that she didn't mention it that night.
I don't believe she meant to hurt him, but it's just so hard to know. I wonder if her face was stern, if she was too tired to deal with his crying or too out of shape to chase a quick baby. Blaming myself doesn't help but I feel too helpless to do anything else at this moment. Tomorrow I will notify her that we no longer need a sitter.
I don't know where to start.
Do I mention how strong the baby has become? How its movements cause me to groan and roll at home, how the movements cause me to pet my watermelon stomach at work? How I spoke to the baby in the soup aisle, saying, "I know you're hungry. I'll go home and make dinner."
Do I mention my kitten, growing ever so spry, plotting on us all in the mid morning hours, immobile as it stalks a mouse in the kitchen?
Do I mention my husband, how he's stuck between loves, struggling with an eternally heart broken father and a mother in ill health, how he stymies his worries until they gush like lava cake, a sad dessert at the end of the day?
How about my brother? Living so hip in Chicago, so self absorbed and wound tightly with his only date, a girl who can't stop talking about TV shows that I've never seen.
Work. It no longer controls me. I go, I care, I come home and care more about my social world. My own struggle with the rights and wrongs of goings-on as I wash dishes.
Yet, I don't wonder about mothering. I consider how I might handle a child's tantrum, but I haven't worried about myself as a mother. I figure some of it's natural. The other parts, I'll discover as days unfold.
I do wonder how the hell I'm supposed to study for a social work test. The new prototype will appear next week and no one has given us clues about how to prepare. I wonder if I should push back my test date. I suspect the baby will appear early despite shrugs from the doctor. I'm still talking about this, but I haven't decided on a plan.
Today I'm going to receive the big ultra sound. The one where the baby actually looks like a baby.
I'm not really nervous. I don't have nightmares about giving birth to a dinosaur. I don't have nightmares about the baby at all. I worry a bit that it might have a congenital defect, but I blame work. I've learned about all sorts of genetic disorders courtesy of my social work job.
I requested the day off today. Dalton, our 17 or 18 week old kitten, has a follow-up with a veterinarian. I daydream about this vet taking my wallet and waving goodbye. For some reason, the vet in Wayne is ultra cheap compared to those around Monroe.
I have a difficult time relaxing on vacation and on days off as well. The last couple of days I've strongly considered becoming a stay at home mom for a bit. The prospect of a radical change has me pumped and edgy.
Anyone I talk to, my age, wishes they could stay at home but says it's too expensive. Anyone I talk to, older than me, suggests I keep working, because finding a job is too difficult right now. Things have got to change a few years later... Plus, I wouldn't mind a contingent job in a hospital.
We'll see. Matthew says we can afford it, and I trust him.
I need to take a bit better care of my silence. Headaches might be from missing glasses, but head pain is inspired from thoughts that won't quit, too.
I saw the embryo's heart beat today. Six weeks, declared. A small pool of something in there... a bit odd. Not too odd, I guess, considering my hymen was the great wall of China. It was sliced at age 19 in order to permit entry.
Another ultrasound in four weeks. Estimated due date is February 15.
Just as a reminder, doc stated he couldn't do anything to prevent miscarriage. We'll wait and see. I'm not high risk or anything. It's a faultless medical world when they tape cautions on every conversation.
I found out a little after 8 p.m. Some weird stomah feelings today. Ruled out a UTI. Pregnancy test read positive. Matthew gave me long hugs then took me to urgent care. Why are you here today? I think I'm pregnant. Kind Armenian doctor walked in. Why do you think you're pregnant? Well, I keep gaining weight, so, I was planning on going to Weight Watchers tomorrow. Don't go, he said. You're pregnant.
Drove around town trying to find my parents. My mom made me swear to tell her immediately. (If she could've, she would've had me sign a binding contract, stating I would tell her moments after conception.)
Turns out I'm not infertile.
Found them closing down Three Hermano's with friends. My dad was drunk and slurred, "Who's the father? Are you serious.... Congratulations."
My brother was at home watching baseball with the dog. He said, "Wwwwooowwww... That's big news."
Grandma said, "I thought you were pregnant when you came to play bingo. You just got so tired."
I hope, pray, hope the baby is safe. Please no miscarriages, or autism, or cerebral palsy... or any other disaster.
Please please please.
What's wrong with people?
Especially the people who get into these "helping professions." I like talking to people. Some of my colleagues just like bossing people.
I would never intentionally try to make someone feel bad. What's with these bitches?
I'm getting thicker skinned, and I'm proud of that. But when people boss around metaphorical kids on my case load, I get pissed.
A "guardian" walked into a kid's apartment and promptly berated her for "the mess." What the hell? Is that your house? No. Shut up, mom. It's not your stuff.
Then she asked staff what their role was, anyway. Then, she told staff how pointless they were.
If I could, I'd punch you straight in your crusty ovaries, you bitch.
I've already written you a scathing letter, but I just might call your wrinkly ass and chew on it a bit tomorrow. You called yourself an advocate. Really? I called you unprofessional to the kid's face, but really you're just a stupid bitch. You took a job to help people, aren't prepared for it, can't handle it, then take it out on people who can't defend themselves.
What's wrong with people? What's wrong with you, you arrogant bitch?
I guess we'll find out tomorrow.
Don't tell anyone, but we're ready for kids.
I'll let you know when I'm pregnant.
F-you automatic thoughts.
Silly comments made by bitches... the evil sisters of Plymouth... case load BS. Talking to me like an idiot often. Takes me a few months, but I'll boil over and state that's enough. I wonder how to speed up the process instead of internalizing it, instead of mulling over it. How to actually put up my fists & do it without blinking.
Oh, angry flower. So pretty. How do you encourage the thorns to grow and knot around the petals when others threaten to pick them?
(Other than becoming bitter.)
Sometimes, I rather just bake than social work others. :) I hope I don't whine about careers after age 40.
Otherwise, I'm doing fine. Cooking, baking, cleaning, chatting with others, lovin' my Matthew, feeding fish. Not bad at all.
I hope my brother and his girlfriend break up. They bought a dog. They both have allergies. Not enough room in their apartment and they struggle with money.
I'm not sleeping because I bitched to you, internet.
I typically get a bit edgy during time off. I feel like I should be working. Perhaps the feeling is just Puritanical rhetoric, perhaps it's the result of an overactive amygdala (much like emo kids, I feel too much). I wonder if Jesus had anxiety. Or Vishnu. Our psychiatrist, whom I love, is from India. She's non-practicing Hindu. We had a religious discussion in honor of Easter. Her daughter will participate in several Easter egg hunts. They feel welcome to worship wherever they choose, doc said.
Sometimes I care too much. I ignored boss's orders and hired someone for respite who shouldn't work. I hired because the family requested. Soon, I will need to grovel to my boss... Oh wise, Jean.. as her vision of it not working out manifested. Perhaps I will bring my "excuse" book (titled, Every Excuse in the Book). I wish zombie apocalypse could be to blame.
I finished Catch 22 last night. It's a brilliant metaphor for bureaucracy. I felt a little dumb at the end, however. I didn't understand why Nately's whore kept trying to kill Yossarian. Was she the much discussed metaphor I learned in freshman English class? Or just a character? Maybe a little of both.
This year, Easter has become the signal of Spring. Although 83 degrees makes me feel like Mike's Hard Lemonade, which is a symbol of summer. Confusion.