Bebe is sleeping, Mom and Dad have gone into town, and R is next door eating. Commence ranting. (Warning: Long, rambly post. Sorry about this.)
Bebe aside, they’re starting to drive me crazy. While I’m grateful for all my parents have done for us (financially and emotionally), it’s really hard to move back in with your parents – even temporarily – at 37.
Seems like I do everything wrong. Granted, they both have more than a touch of OCD (Dad more than Mom), but I’m getting criticized at every turn. I still haven’t figured out what I’m supposed to be doing with the toilet paper. Dad has his and I have mine (for reasons I can’t fathom, we can’t share a roll), and every time I go into the bathroom, there’s a different roll on the dispenser. I’m not sure what the switching is all about, but I’m sure I’m somehow provoking it. (Bathroom breaks are few and far between, and rushed when I get them…when I’m in there, I grab whatever is on the dispenser. So you’d think mine would stay on the dispenser. Not so.)
I don’t eat/drink the food in the fridge fast enough…or else I eat/drink something he was saving for Mom. Generally, though, I don’t eat as much as fast as I should. Yet when I do start eating something, he throws it away. Even if it’s still good.
I forget to write down feedings, so he assumes the baby hasn’t eaten in hours. I (gasp) doze off sometimes when the baby’s asleep; someone must always be awake and watching over her. (He’s been sitting up with her every night since the first week, because a couple of times I didn’t wake up when she cried.)
Basically any time the baby cries, unless they’ve tried to soothe her and have failed, there’s this unspoken assumption that I’m letting her cry because I don’t love her enough to stop what I’m doing and soothe her. Even if what I’m doing is stealing a much-needed bathroom break.
Add to this the interpersonal tensions between my parents, between my parents and R, and between R and myself, and you have a powder keg looking for a match.
There’s more, but you get the idea. My shoulders are probably permanently anchored about my ears now, and my jaw is cramping in the clenched position. R says it’s a wonder I’m not more crazy, considering.
I need to move out. NEED. For my own sanity if nothing else. But every time we go next door, Anya gets really jumpy and fussy…this is the only home she’s known. So I keep putting it off. Hopefully this week will be the week. But going back to my last rant, if R doesn’t get a job soon, I won’t be able to afford that house. Which means Anya and I will have to move back in here…semi-permanently.
Let’s not go there.
And I’m still hurting from the c-section. Any sort of activity sets off a couple of days of pain. Minor activity, like cooking dinner, causes me to hurt so bad it wakes me up at night. The doctor says I’m healing beautifully. So I don’t know what the deal is. My best guess is that my body’s just struggling in general. My skin is horribly dry, my fingernails are growing oddly, my hair’s barely growing at all. I barely make any milk, so I’m only nursing to comfort Anya, not to feed her. Yet I haven’t started having periods again. (Granted, I bled so much after childbirth that they had to give me medication to stop me…it’s possible that I just haven’t built up any blood yet.) When I saw the doctor, he did some bloodwork on me and everything came back normal; I’m not anemic, my white cell count isn’t high, and everything else is as it should be. I don’t know what the deal is. But I am worried about the toll the impending commute will take on me in light of all this.
Did I mention that most of the time I complain about incision pain, I’m treated as if I’m milking it for sympathy and to get out of doing things? Yeah.
Mostly, though, I think my biggest problem right now is I have no time for myself. I went from living alone to living with someone who worked nights (so basically living alone) to living with a houseful of people who are up in shifts 24 hours a day. I have no time to think…no time to relax, process, bitch, and get over things. And no one really to talk to about it all, because everyone in my daily life is the cause of some of my tension. If I had even 20 minutes a day alone with the laptop, I could let it out. But most days I don’t even get 5.
I know it’ll all work out eventually. It’s just hard to muddle through it at the moment. If you made it this far, thank you for listening. :)