Happy Anniversary.

 

Why is Mummy crying?

Each year we step on each other,

Racing to get further and further away from what we were.

Once we were laughing, warm and loving people.

Our wedding pictures prove it.

Once, I loved you.

You loved me.

We cared.

We really liked each other, didn’t we?

 

Now our words have become like bricks.

Building a wall between us.

Too hard. Too high. Too solid.

 

I stopped fighting a while ago, but you haven't noticed.

You are too angry.

You are too unhappy.

You are so lost and you stumble around - shoving me out of the way.

 

I curl inside myself

Waiting for the next misunderstanding,

The next fight,

The next bitter exchange.

Hunkered down, arms over my head.

My back to the wall in silence.

If it doesn't come out, it won't be a weapon.

 

This is not a marriage anymore.

And our child sits in the middle

Wondering what is going on.

She asks:

Why is Mummy crying?

Hey.

It's my wedding anniversary tomorrow, should I get him a card?

3 years married.

Congratulations!!!

To a dear friend of mine who has discovered she is pregnant. She has been longing for another baby for what seems like forever, and now she will have her wish. It couldn't happen to a funnier, wiser and kinder woman on the planet - believe me. I guess the BabyGods have gotten it right finally.

And for all of you wondering if I will go into a tailspin over this news - relax.

I am finally, blissfully at peace with the notion of one child forever and ever. There's a tiny little nugget of sadness tucked away in the corner of my heart - but its not the big rock of anguish that it has been in the past.

My kid is the coolest, the weirdest and the cleverest. I adore her and if having only one child means I can devote my attention to her quirks and her oddities and her silliness - then I am a happy woman.

She really is a neat kid. I am perfectly content with her.

 I am so tired of Bullies.

There are all kinds of bullies – not just the ones that beat up your kid in the schoolyard.

I am thinking of the grownup kind, the ones who berate and belittle, accuse and attack.

You would think that people who’ve been divorced would get over the fact that their lives didn’t work out together, and let go of the anger and the bitterness and move on. Instead they engineer ways of making the ex-partner doubt themselves – as if it wasn’t enough during the course of the marriage, it has to be throughout the course of her life as well.

Someone who needs absolute control, who brooks no variation from his own narrow band of parenting.

Who fancies himself the expert and the martyr of all custodial parents everywhere.

Who uses his ex-wife’s emotional state as a weapon, and takes every opportunity to remind her of what she is not. And how she falls short.

Who battles over parenting decisions that should rightly be the province of the parent who is caring for the child at the time.

Does he look at himself in the mirror and think he is perfect?

I don’t think so.

I think he knows all too well, just how imperfect he is. But to admit that would mean shattering the foundation upon which he stands – the bedrock of his existence.

Because he defines himself as not being his ex-wife. He can point to her and say “see how awful she parents, and in contrast – see how great I am”. The Great Oz.

I think such bullies need help. They need help to see that all they are doing is driving a wedge between themselves and their kid. Because sooner or later that child will grow up and see what is happening for herself. And there won’t be much explaining that will explain the hatred and viciousness away. She won't stay little and uncomprehending forever.

They need help because anyone who is that obsessed with making someone else miserable, must not be very happy themselves.

Such a man seems stuck in a rut, unable to move forward and get on with the business of being a individual, not someone who defines himself by being what his ex-wife is not.

It's sort of a limiting existence for a grown man, don't you think?

Tantrums.

How to get a new stove in one easy moment.

Yesterday was pelting down rain. And I was stuck inside with a cranky disagreeable toddler.

• 
  
  We sang ‘The Wheels on the Bus' approximately 30 times (give or take a few).
  
  
• 
  
  We put on Funkadelic and bumped and ground our booties for at least 40 minutes.
  
  
• 
  
  We smooshed play dough and then we poured rice in and out and in and out and in and out of tubs.
  
  
• 
  
  We discussed big trucks, what dat?, peety flowers and other riveting bits of conversational fodder for about an hour.
  
  
• 
  
  We learned that Sesame Street was brought to us by the letter X and the numbers 1, 4, and 7.

This got us to 10am.

Trust me, the rest of the day was as thrilling and intellectually satisfying as I interspersed such wild ass fun with vacuuming and unpicking ground in play dough from the carpet.

Dinnertime.

All I wanted to do was feed my kid some fish fingers. It was hardly the highlight of the day, okay? I wasn't looking forward to it, so it didn't need to be a full-blown production. I wanted to feed, to change, to bathe, to bed. Preferably as fast as possible, cos then Mummy could have a large large large Gin.

Turn ceramic stove hob onto to Med-Low. Put fish fingers into pan. Put pan on stove. Pick up Ernie and Bert who are wedged uncomfortably into the saran wrap/aluminum foil drawer.

Fish sticks burnt to buggery.

Turn ceramic stove hob onto to Low. Put fish fingers into pan. Put pan on stove. Vacuum up rice which is everywhere from the afternoon's volume and measuring experiments.

Fish sticks burnt to buggery.

Turn ceramic stove hob onto to Lower still. Put fish fingers into pan. Put pan on stove. Pick up little pieces of play dough off bare feet and scrape off kitchen floor with putty knife.

Fish sticks burnt to buggery.

Turn ceramic stove hob onto to Off and trust in residual heat. Put fish fingers into pan. Put pan on stove. Kiss boo-boo where miniscule grain of rice bruised sensitive toddler feet.

Fish sticks burnt to buggery.

Take the frying pan and bash the crap out of the offending hob. And then, since it looks like it is still alive and being offensive – bash it again and then kick in the oven door for good measure.

Call husband and arrange for shopping trip to buy new stove.

Get this one:

 The hub still doesn't know what happened.

Hey, PAYBACK.

Sad.

Somehow, just talking out loud about what's been going on, has confirmed my thoughts. I am going to have to leave him, aren't I?

Our relationship isn't normal or healthy, and as long as I keep forgiving him, it will stay diseased.

My self confidence is shot - I was actually wondering if he was right, if I was incompetent, if I was the only mother who needed a day off occasionally, if I was the only woman who expected her husband to pick up after himself.

If mentally, I was unfit to mother.

I've spent the morning with two friends who have very different marriages to mine. Both husbands help out with the housework and the childrearing, both husbands seem to view the marriage as a partnership, not as 'well I do this and you do that, and if you can't do it - that's because you are a bitch/a loser/a selfish cow'.

Mine does it for a while after he's blown his cool, then the resentment builds up and the cycle begins all over again. It makes me worry the whole time, that any time he's gonna go off and blow up.

What will set him off next time?

A pile of socks in the corner? 3 days worth of laundry not put away? The stack of mail on the living room table?

Is it really as bad as putting it down in black and white makes it look?

He is so contrite and apologetic after these outbursts. But some things you can't take back. And if he keeps saying the same things, doesn't that suggest that he really DOES mean those terrible things?

Doesn't every marriage have these kind of bad patches?

I dunno. I burst into tears talking about it. I dunno. I want what we had way back when, but it seems like such long way away.

I don't know if it's worth the journey back.

Maybe I should believe him when he says that he can't adjust to fatherhood.

Maybe I should.

When is it time to cut your losses and move on?

AND WHERE HAS MY SENSE OF HUMOUR GONE???!??!?

Zzzzz.

I am so tired. But lemme tell ya - the Wellbutrin works. Well I am pretty sure it does. I haven't had a smoking urge all day and WOO BOY am I perky! Zippedy doo dah I AM PERKY.

Awake.

Holy shit, I've had 4 hours sleep. It's 4am on a 'work day'. And I am up and online.

Monday mornings. Without fail, Mouse has a crap night's sleep before the work week starts, without fail I stumble through Monday craving a pillow and a good book. I simply cannot go back to sleep after she's wailed and settled, wailed and settled for the best part of an hour. The end of the day looms seductively by about 11am.

Oh yeah, the movie. It was okay. Lots of dwarves and elves and people with pointy ears and women with long hair and serene knowing expressions looking inscrutably at men with noble brows and a heap of leather armour. Not really my thing, but very well done. I got my money's worth.

And we were okay - tho I am still smarting and not giving much up. I am trying to 'get over it' - but really, why the hell should I?

Smoking. Still not smoking, though it is KILLING me. Well it's not anymore, but you get my drift. I ran into an acquaintance at the park yesterday morning, who said her hub had tried Zyban (Wellbutrin for you yanks) and given up completely - but then backslid and was looking to rid himself of the accusing box of pills. So I now have 100+ pills of Zyban which I am going to take. Cos lately, I need all the help I can get. Not even the nasty icky lung picture is stopping the 'I just want a drag' thoughts.

I am dreaming about cigs.

Actually I am dreaming about hobbits on a tropical island with cartons of cigs under their arms, offering me Makers Mark bourbon in short glasses with some ice and no cranky husbands allowed. Pass me a cabana boy.

Peace.

In the house. For a little while, I am sure. Don't really want to go on and on and on and on about the hub situation - it's boring, I know. He's creeping around, being superHub and *yawn*. I'd rather inspect my kid's ears for excess wax.

So tonight I am going to see Lord of the Rings with him. A 'date' so to speak. I don't know which I am less enthused about, spending a night out where we have to talk, or paying money to see a movie where there is a lot of prosethic ears and long flowing tresses. I liked the books, but I dunno about Hollywood's take on it. And yeah, I know it was filmed in New Zealand but that doesn't make it above hype and crass marketing. I've seen a little too much of Liv Tyler looking winsome and frankly the shots of Cate Blanchett looking like an albino Mr. Spock made me wince.

I suspect there are lots of teenage boy fan sites and a lot of fan-fiction ('and then Frodo kissed the lovely Lissa') being written about this movie. Which is not a bad thing, but I distrust any kind of overweening worship of anything. Yes, including the dude from Survivor: MCXVII ...

Man, I am feeling old and grumpy today.

I'll probably end up liking it.

Guilt.

He's feeling like an ass. He's managed to turn it all around so that he's sorry I can't be what he wants, but he loves me so very very much, that he'll try and put up with it. Even though he is unhappy.

He doesn't know what a 'good husband' is but he's trying, so very very hard and he knows he's failing.

He is hurt and upset because I am still very cool toward him today. After all, he apologised.

He can't understand why I am angry about his comments about my mental fitness.

So I had post-natal depression. So I got help. So that was a year ago and I am well over it.

He doesn't want me to do the 'wifey' thing since I can't be happy doing it. (subtext: might go loopy)

He'll cope. He'll struggle through. He'll soldier on.

WHAT THE FUCK?

Honestly. This kind of childish melodramatic passive aggressive shit just makes me boil.

I want to smack him with a clue by four and send him to his room. I refuse to be manipulated like this.

I told him, he doesn't get a 'do over'. He doesn't get to say he didn't mean it and he'll never do it again, because he says the same old shit every time he has a tantrum so he does SO mean it. And he WILL do it again.

This morning at 7am, he was moping around, trying to take his shirt away so I couldn't iron it, telling me I didn't need to make his fucking lunch. Looking all hound-doggy when I told him I'd do it, because I said I would.

Oh - the deal is, I'll do his wifey-wifey shit for 6 months. At the end of that time, if either of us are unhappy, we separate.

Why don't we break up now? Cos underneath all this stupidity is a good man who is having a terrible time growing up. That was fine when he was all I had to nurture and mother, but I have an ACTUAL kid now, you know, a REAL one - not a pretend one.

And I am sick of him throwing the same old 'you don't iron my shirts, you don't tidy the house, you don't make my lunch' shit he trots out every time he gets depressed.

I wanna take that away from him and see if that will force him to examine his life and get some fucking direction that isn't provided by me.

And his anger needs to be worked on.

Sure, take it out on me, instead of working it out yourself - it's easier.

Anyway, today is stage 2 of our argument pattern - the 'poor me, you don't love me anymore' stage.

He's right. Not the way he's been behaving since the baby was born. He's had 2 years almost to get with the program and he can't.

What an ass.

(And hey, I spit a nice recent ex-smoker loogy in his lunch, pretty mature of me, huh? That's for twirling your finger beside your temple and telling me I can't cope like normal people, you PLONKER.)