Today started out beyond wonderfully. In spite of only having approximately three hours of sleep, I got up this morning in a good mood; ready to take care of my dog and my child and go out to breakfast with my parents. And in fact, for the first few hours of the day, it was delightful. We went out to a dinner, the four of us, had a nice breakfast, went to Home Depot to find spindles for a broken banister in the house and came home.
And then everything went to shit.
My father is even more emotional and mercurial than I am and apparently there were issues with plane tickets for my parents' anniversary trip in the fall. So after two hours of phone calls he was, let's call it "annoyed."
Then he started working on the broken banister and the project went wrong. And he fucking lost it.
He couldn't find drill bits because he hates clutter and my step-mother might have moved them. He couldn't finish the project because he "can't fucking find anything in this fucking house and can't do anything fucking right!" And so on...
After a bit of this I heard him yelling at his dog Dexter, who only wanted to play and that's when I decided that the night was truly farked and to get Wildflower Child in a shower and to bed as soon as possible. She was crushed because she had wanted to celebrate Father's Day with ice cream and Pop-Pop and that wasn't happening. Also dinner didn't happen.
So I got her to bed, and started cleaning the kitchen and erasing any evidence that I had been there and putting all the food that we hadn't actually prepared away. By now my dear father is sitting on the deck just being a ball of angry. I'm being quiet as a mouse and fucking manic trying to get as much done as quickly as I can and knowing that I have to give my dog her meds early and get the fuck out of sight asap.
Which I did. Also just realized I forgot my meds. Nice.
So anyway...Happy Father's Day to all the dads, even the one's who take their frustration out on their families.
I Need What?
Fair warning: This post will deal with "woman's issues."
So I had my first physical in many many years this past Thursday. I've had exams and doctor's appointments over the years. Even had a baby. But no regular annual exams. And finally, I made myself an appointment with the Nurse Practioner (Patty) at my clinic. Because it was time, and I had reasons.
Background:
Since I first got my period back after having the Wildflower Child, it had progressively becoming more and more of a burden. In that my cycle, while rather regular, was becoming more and more regularly apparent. In that my cycle was becoming ultimately shorter and shorter. There were times when my cycle was 23 days long. Twenty-three days from bleed to bleed. Just over three weeks. With at least, at least, seven days of bleeding. And the cramps start at least a week before the blood. So I was spending about HALF my life suffering pain or blood or both.
Further background:
When I was 26-years-old I had exploratory surgery to determine why my periods were so painful and heavy. A 2" square piece of tissue was removed that had attached my left fallopian tube to my colon. Other than that, results were negative and all I was left with was a post-operative infection and nerve damage in my vagina and left leg.
Currently:
I've been on a type of birth control pill that has only one level of hormones since January. I'm supposed to take the active pills for three months, take the inactive pills for a week to have my period, and go back to active pills for three months, repeat. So I'm only supposed to have my period every three months.
This has not happened. The longest I've gone without my period (and this was only once) was 33 days. Other than that, every 29-30 days I bleed, active pills or not. My last bleed was 14 (FOURTEEN) days long.
So I had a physical and brought this up. My NP was very sweet and said she would confer with my primary physician and get back to me.
She got back to me Friday morning. I need an ultrasound.
Not just any ultrasound. A "Total Pelvic Ultrasound" which involves a transvaginal ultrasound. To look for fibroids. Before we can look at different birth control.
So I had a little freak out.
Then I had a bigger one after Googling what might be going on.
Then an even bigger one after Googling treatment options.
And then...
Then I found out for the first time in my life that both my biological mother, and her mother, have had fibroids. And that fibroids is why my Gram had a hysterectomy when my mother was 16-years-old. Not cancer, as I always believed. Fibroids.
I'm still crossing fingers that I'm fine and that I'm just not responding to the birth control the way I should be. But the evidence is piling up that I have evil little tumors filling up my insides.
And even if I don't. What the fuck is wrong with me?
And why, when I was 26 and having surgery that left me with a very serious infection and painful nerve damage, did no one tell me that this is my family history?
So I had my first physical in many many years this past Thursday. I've had exams and doctor's appointments over the years. Even had a baby. But no regular annual exams. And finally, I made myself an appointment with the Nurse Practioner (Patty) at my clinic. Because it was time, and I had reasons.
Background:
Since I first got my period back after having the Wildflower Child, it had progressively becoming more and more of a burden. In that my cycle, while rather regular, was becoming more and more regularly apparent. In that my cycle was becoming ultimately shorter and shorter. There were times when my cycle was 23 days long. Twenty-three days from bleed to bleed. Just over three weeks. With at least, at least, seven days of bleeding. And the cramps start at least a week before the blood. So I was spending about HALF my life suffering pain or blood or both.
Further background:
When I was 26-years-old I had exploratory surgery to determine why my periods were so painful and heavy. A 2" square piece of tissue was removed that had attached my left fallopian tube to my colon. Other than that, results were negative and all I was left with was a post-operative infection and nerve damage in my vagina and left leg.
Currently:
I've been on a type of birth control pill that has only one level of hormones since January. I'm supposed to take the active pills for three months, take the inactive pills for a week to have my period, and go back to active pills for three months, repeat. So I'm only supposed to have my period every three months.
This has not happened. The longest I've gone without my period (and this was only once) was 33 days. Other than that, every 29-30 days I bleed, active pills or not. My last bleed was 14 (FOURTEEN) days long.
So I had a physical and brought this up. My NP was very sweet and said she would confer with my primary physician and get back to me.
She got back to me Friday morning. I need an ultrasound.
Not just any ultrasound. A "Total Pelvic Ultrasound" which involves a transvaginal ultrasound. To look for fibroids. Before we can look at different birth control.
So I had a little freak out.
Then I had a bigger one after Googling what might be going on.
Then an even bigger one after Googling treatment options.
And then...
Then I found out for the first time in my life that both my biological mother, and her mother, have had fibroids. And that fibroids is why my Gram had a hysterectomy when my mother was 16-years-old. Not cancer, as I always believed. Fibroids.
I'm still crossing fingers that I'm fine and that I'm just not responding to the birth control the way I should be. But the evidence is piling up that I have evil little tumors filling up my insides.
And even if I don't. What the fuck is wrong with me?
And why, when I was 26 and having surgery that left me with a very serious infection and painful nerve damage, did no one tell me that this is my family history?
Financial Assistance
The Wildflower Child ends kindergarten towards the end of this month, and I have to get her in some sort of day camp for the summer. So I've applied for a state subsidy program that works with a local YMCA.
That application involved very personal documentation and proof my ex is a deadbeat.
Then I discovered I would still have fairly substantial out of pocket costs for Wildflower Child's YMCA program membership, camp deposit and transportation, so I have to apply through them for assistance.
Thirty pages of documentation later...
I'm serious.
To save on $180.00 of membership and deposit fees and $385.00 of bus costs, I had to provide thirty pages of financial and personal information.
I spent almost two hours crafting a very comprehensive PDF in order to email it before their financial meeting on Monday or Tuesday. Got a cool new application for my Chromebook in order to make the file. And managed to program the house printer to scan to my Google drive.
Next thing I apply for, their I going to ask for my blood type and if I'm an organ donor.
And people think the working poor have it so easy and are just sucking at the teat of society.
Fuck this hell.
Thoughts On Turning 40
So today is my 40th birthday.
As my somewhat boyfriend would say, I'm now
"Fourrrteay!"
He's a total asshole, but I kind of love him.
I started out the day by getting out of bed one minute before my alarm, getting ridiculously dolled up for work (if you haven't figured it out, I'm very femme) and forgetting 90% of what I needed to do to get the Wildflower Child ready for school. I'd blame the forgetfullness on old age, but I'm not really that old. I had a rather uneventful day at work although as people found out it was my birthday, the well wishes poured in and it was quite sweet actually. Facebook exploded with Happy Birthday's, as it tends to do. Even my pseudo-uncle tried to call the house to wish me happy birthday this evening. Most pathetically, my ex-husband wished me a good day on Facebook. I ignored it.
Notably missing in all this birthday love...
My mother.
I had contacted her last week to see if she had ever in fact received a card I had sent her with pictures of her grandaughter. She had, but hadn't thought to say anything. And she did comment on my impending "milestone" and that she'd be thinking of me on the actual day.
Apparently not.
One thing I've learned as I've grown older, is not to expect a tiger to change her stripes. My mother has matured and become more responsible, but she won't ever think of me primarily. And my sister (four years younger) goes up to see her all the time and is planning on moving into the house with her family soon. So she gets priority. As in, my sister was there with my mother for her birthday and got the Facebook acknowledgement and everything. I didn't even get a note. Even though I'm the one that took care of everyone for years.
I'm not really surprised.
As for the reality of being 40...
I'm living with my parents. Working part-time. Have a child in kindegarten. Am dating a man who obviously cares for me in his way, and is terrified of committing. Am open and able to fool around with others if I want to. And have abso-fucking-lutely NO IDEA what I'm doing with the next stage of my life. Other than I have a lot of tattooing to do.
However...
I'm not living with an abusive partner. I don't have crippling headaches every single day. I look pretty damn good. I'm going away in less than a month for a week in Wildwood NJ. And I have the world's best dog. Also my kid is awesome.
But it still hurts that my mother forgot my birthday.
As my somewhat boyfriend would say, I'm now
"Fourrrteay!"
He's a total asshole, but I kind of love him.
I started out the day by getting out of bed one minute before my alarm, getting ridiculously dolled up for work (if you haven't figured it out, I'm very femme) and forgetting 90% of what I needed to do to get the Wildflower Child ready for school. I'd blame the forgetfullness on old age, but I'm not really that old. I had a rather uneventful day at work although as people found out it was my birthday, the well wishes poured in and it was quite sweet actually. Facebook exploded with Happy Birthday's, as it tends to do. Even my pseudo-uncle tried to call the house to wish me happy birthday this evening. Most pathetically, my ex-husband wished me a good day on Facebook. I ignored it.
Notably missing in all this birthday love...
My mother.
I had contacted her last week to see if she had ever in fact received a card I had sent her with pictures of her grandaughter. She had, but hadn't thought to say anything. And she did comment on my impending "milestone" and that she'd be thinking of me on the actual day.
Apparently not.
One thing I've learned as I've grown older, is not to expect a tiger to change her stripes. My mother has matured and become more responsible, but she won't ever think of me primarily. And my sister (four years younger) goes up to see her all the time and is planning on moving into the house with her family soon. So she gets priority. As in, my sister was there with my mother for her birthday and got the Facebook acknowledgement and everything. I didn't even get a note. Even though I'm the one that took care of everyone for years.
I'm not really surprised.
As for the reality of being 40...
I'm living with my parents. Working part-time. Have a child in kindegarten. Am dating a man who obviously cares for me in his way, and is terrified of committing. Am open and able to fool around with others if I want to. And have abso-fucking-lutely NO IDEA what I'm doing with the next stage of my life. Other than I have a lot of tattooing to do.
However...
I'm not living with an abusive partner. I don't have crippling headaches every single day. I look pretty damn good. I'm going away in less than a month for a week in Wildwood NJ. And I have the world's best dog. Also my kid is awesome.
But it still hurts that my mother forgot my birthday.
Beautiful
I fight society's obsession with beauty on my daughter's behalf daily.
"Am I cute Mama?"
"Honey there are things way more important than cute. You're smart and funny and weird and healthy and kind."
"But am I pretty?"
Sigh. "Yes my love, you're beautiful. Mostly because you're a good person."
Truthfully... She's gorgeous. But I don't want her to define herself by her beauty. As I tend to do to myself.
We all want to be desired. As a divorced woman facing 40, willingly dating a man who won't commit, the struggle is constant. You would not believe the money I have spent in the last two months on makeup. Not including my monthly grab bag subscription (which is fucking awesome). And then there's the corsets, but that's another story... And I've been getting my hair done every six weeks or so all year. I've never been this attentive to my hair since college when I dyed it almost weekly to keep it some crazy colour or another.
Today my de facto boyfriend called me right before I was to leave work and left a rather urgent sounding voicemail. When I responded he almost grudgingly asked me to pick him up and bring him to a Harley Davidson dealership that is just a few exits passed where I live. And he admitted he hates asking for favors, although I've already done a few large ones for him. This really wasn't a problem and offered a chance to see him this week when I otherwise wouldn't have. So sure, I'll be there in a few minutes...
So I drove him passed my exit, trying to explain to him the various ways he could get to my house from the highway we were traversing (I'm such a Jersey girl) and enjoyed the few minutes I was getting with him. Hell, at one point he even put his arm on the headrest of my seat and played with my hair, which he never ever does. I should drive more often!
Anyway, got to the dealership and met the people involved in the several month process of customizing this bike for him. Found out one employee and I share a tattoo artist. Because that's the world I live in. Eventually, I got to see the bike. For a Harley, it is gorgeous. Unfortunately it is a Harley. (I want a Triumph Bonneville.) Then we found out there were two boxes of extra parts that couldn't be carried on the bike. So out to my car they go. Which is fine with me, really, because it means he has to see me again rather soon. As I was leaving with the boxes of extra parts in the back of my little car, I managed to get a few good kisses from the man who unfortunately makes my heart flutter and my legs go shaky. And since he likes what people think, I made sure to complement the bike that he is so excited to be taking possession of and has lusted after for ever.
"She's beautiful." I said.
"She's beautiful." I said.
"You're beautiful. She's just a bike." He responded.
And I melted.
I hope my daughter isn't so easily taken when she's my age.
But I still loved the complement.
And I melted.
I hope my daughter isn't so easily taken when she's my age.
But I still loved the complement.
The Surprising Emotional Impact of Dental Work
Today was the last of four appointments to fix my teeth. Almost all my teeth. Prior to the cleaning and exam that set up this epic adventure, I hadn't been to a dentist in over four years. The only reason I was able to go that last time so long ago was because I had a coupon. When that dentist recommended fillings, my husband made me cancel the appointment. He never let me go to the dentist if we had to pay for it. I think he resented that my teeth were better than his initially and then he had to have all his teeth replaced with dentures.
This dentist I've been going to us very nice, covered by my insurance, and explained to me that the damage to my teeth was caused primarily by clenching my jaw from stress. The stress of living in a progressively more and more abusive marriage broke most of my teeth.
I've been divorced for about 8 months. But this little thing, seemingly inconsequential, struck me as truly indicative of moving forward and being free of him.
And I already have my cleaning scheduled for May 26th.
Love
Came to a realization tonight. One that had been building quietly in the back of my mind for quite a while. Managed to express it to a friend and really wish I hadn't.
No one has ever truly been in love with me.
People have said they love me. Probably even cared deeply. But there has never been a single person who put me first in their life. Who's primary goal was to be my partner and help me be happier. No one.
I know there are those who would protest and express devotion and adoration or deep friendship... But they will never be a partner to me.
I'm am almost 40-years-old. And I've never been truly loved by a romantic partner. I have loved. Deeply. Passionately. Insanely. I have spent the majority of my day trying to think of ways to make my Love happy.
I'm a fairly decent person. But there must be something inherently wrong with me.
I'm pretty sure ultimately, I'm going to be alone. And that terrifies me.
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