Mother’s Log. January 24th, 2015. It has been 1 week. 1 week since the virus has taken hold. I have no clue what we have but the house is under quarantine. Let’s back it up a little bit shall we. This will be a long blog post.
So the month started out okay, but I quickly went downhill in spirit and self-security. With the finality of no job to return to, and our ever-decreasing time together as a family, I finally had a talk with Hubby. I’ve been starting to feel trapped. Sure, I can go to the grocery store, have coffee with friends, but for some reason I feel trapped, a bit lonely. I feel a slave to our adorable child, a constant cleaner and picker upper of Hubby’s socks, and I’m frequently yelling at our poor dogs as they follow me around the house restlessly. Perhaps it’s the dark winter days or the fact that Hubby and I don’t seem to agree on much lately (we recently had a fight about the dangers of bringing Junior outside for walks on nice winter days… let’s just say as a country girl, a little good fresh air goes a long way, meanwhile Hubby pictured me carting our child out in minus 30 degree weather), maybe it’s the financial crush, with car repairs, oil refills and dentists appointments that I can’t contribute to paying. I’m dying for alone time with hubby. I want to feel like a wife again, hell, even a girlfriend again. I want to feel like he enjoys time with me, looks forward to spending time with me and is attracted to me. But with our opposing shifts, and energy levels, we never seem to match up, and he sees me in yoga pants and a ponytail morning, noon and night.
After “the talk” Hubby agreed that we should try to spend some time together (although he admittedly thought going to get groceries together was “time together”. I try to explain it like this…. A wife wants to feel like no one else. She doesn’t want to feel like your mother, a guy friend or a roommate. She wants to feel like your wife. So if you would do it with your roomie, then it’s not called “quality time” to be spending with your wife. I’m talking about, walking hand in hand down the road, enjoying a glass of wine while playing games, maybe a cosy bonfire, heck a date night, just the two of us. So after getting Hubby on board, we looked forward to the following day, his day off. We agreed that we would do something together.
That morning came. It hit Hubby first, which of course infuriated me. I wasn’t mad at him. I mean, watching him retch his stomach contents out on his day off is proof he wasn’t faking it to get out of spending time with me, but heck, what great timing (and no, before you even think to say it, spending my day nursing a full blown man-cold is not the quality time I craved). Then Junior started with the diarrhea. And although Junior was always in good spirits, he clung to me and sadly decried being put down for a mere second. I was fuming at my luck, with a wailing baby on my hip and a full blown man cold to deal with. I dutifully ensured that Junior was taken quietly downstairs in the morning to allow Hubby to sleep in. I watched him while Hubby napped during the day. I cleaned the house and kept the peace.
Oddly, a few days later Hubby came home from work, free hockey tickets in hand, given to him from the boss. We planned a night out, finally a second chance. Junior would go to the grand parent’s house (virus be damned), and we would enjoy a dinner out and a hockey game, with very expensive seats! The day of the game came, and that was the day that the virus took me down. Oh, the bloating, the moaning in agony, the vomiting, the runs…so much laundry! So, you can see, I was also very infuriated, but damn it, we were going to the game.
We dropped Junior off, and headed for dinner. I ordered meat pie, but could only eat several bites before my stomach was in knots. As we later circled the stadium, I told Hubby that I didn’t think it a good idea, my stomach was having none of it, and every bump we hit had my bowels jumping. After a failed attempt to get a substitute in for me, we parked and went in, happy to at least find out that we had end seats, which allowed me to run to the ladies room whenever I needed, which of course coincided with 2 goals (my luck of course). I survived the night, but sadly, the event drained me, the long drive home sapped me, and I was done. I certainly enjoyed the night, but knew that that was the best we’d get for a while.
For some reason my virus seems to have latched on for 4 days straight and has not let me have a break. I’ve eaten hardly anything, and only water and Gatorade seem to stay put. Now, let’s go back to when Hubby was sick. Junior wakes up around 6am. I wake up, take him downstairs and we play quietly so as to not to wake Hubby. Now, when mom is sick, here is how it all goes down:
6am Junior starts to fuss, I wake up after hearing the first mewlings, since a fly fart could wake me up. But by waking up, my bowels threaten to blow up and I lurch from the bed. I finally return to bed, my stomach now rolling from the fast movement. Junior is fussing, but not loud, but darn it I can’t sleep.
6:30am Junior is now talking loudly, and is not quite crying, but will be soon. I have no energy to get up. I’m drained from hugging the toilet all night. I roll over to Hubby and nudge him. The snoring continues loudly. My stomach continues to protest, so I nudge again. “Honey, I can’t. Can you get him?” Hubby and I have an agreement that I rarely ask him to get Junior for overnight changes or early mornings unless I NEED it. I get a grunt of… acknowledgement?
6:45am Junior is now wailing, Hubby is back snoring. I nudge again. Now I get an angry grunt. How can he sleep through this?
6:48am Hubby flings back the covers, hitting me in the face with the duvet, and he stumbles across the room, thumping with every step, narrowly missing the doorway (I can almost hear his thoughts which would say “why doesn’t she just get up if she’s awake already?). I notice, my eyes half shut, that he has forgotten to bring a bottle with him, and he left our door open, so now I have a clear view of the nursery and an even louder earful of noise. No relaxing morning for me. I pretend to sleep/try to get back to sleep, knowing that Hubby will take care of Junior.
6:50am Hubby loudly describes how wet, how dirty, how noisy Junior is. The crying intensifies since poor Junior doesn’t care how wet he is, just that he wants his bottle which has not appeared. Hubby tries to change Junior during this protest, which then takes twice as long since arms and legs are flailing (Junior’s…not Hubby’s).
6:55am Junior is crying so hard it sounds like he will thro- yup, he just threw up on Hubby. Sigh.
6:58am Now I feel bad…I swing my legs over the bed, and before my toes can hit the carpet, Hubby yells for to feel Junior since he seems to be running a fever (yes… he probably is, but we know that already), this also tells me that Hubby has been watching me from the nursery as well. I mix up a bottle and we meet in the hall way since Hubby was intending to bring him into the bed with us, which he had done the previous 2 mornings while I was sick which I blatantly told him was not cool (trust me, all I want to do is sleep, not have my adorable baby bounce and scream in bed with me). I feel Junior’s normally warm head, and yup, warm, but nope, not on his death bed. Junior takes the bottle from my hand and pops it into his mouth. Instant contentness. Hubby turns back to the nursery and I return to bed.
7am Finally, back under the covers, Hubby has this under control.
7:02am Hubby stomps back into room, throws himself down onto the mattress, and since we don’t have one of those fancy bowling ball mattresses with the individual springs in it, I nearly go flying. He loudly huffs and puffs and fluffs his pillows. I can almost feel him looking at me. I keep my eyes closed. I just want to sleep.
7:05am Hubby is snoring. I am awake.
7:10am Junior is done is bottle and is starting to fuss. I get up, take him downstairs and we play quietly so Hubby can sleep in.
Now along with being mentally drained, romantically rejected, reduced in health and being financially tapped, I’ve also lost all recent pictures and videos from my phone (I hate technology), and these said pictures would have proven that I have indeed had a few birds come to my feeders. Which is, I suppose, a nice positive to the month. Another positive… perhaps, is the fact that I have an interview scheduled for this Monday, for a job here in town. I want it. I want it so I can get out of the house and contribute money. I don’t want it since it means Junior will need to be placed in daycare and I won’t see him. I also don’t want it since it means I will then only get to see Hubby for 1 day out of the week. No more mornings together or Mondays. I am so torn lately, so tired. There used to be a saying… “someone’s got a case of the mondays”, but I’ve got a serious case of the “momdays”.