Full disclosure

I have built this space for me online - a place where I can come and share my thoughts about any old thing that I experience or that pops into my head (scary, I know). I haven't told many people about this space because it is freeing to release what's inside of you to the unknown world. It's nice having a space for just me.

But then I told my husband about it. And although I held my breath until he read my posts, he didn't get mad for the way that I represented him here and we're still happily married.

Today, I told one of my sisters about my blog. Her response: "I don't know my sisters at all!"

Of course, this comes on the heels of discovering the Youtube channel my other sister currently posts videos to, some of which are full of anger towards the current status of things in our family.

After her initial shock, she perused some posts and decided it wasn't so bad after all.

I hope. She could have been lying...

Anyway, what's done is done. She knows now. Which means, probably, that more people will know in short order.

My little alone space going to get a bit more crowded. And that's okay with me, I think (ignore my hyperventilating...I'm sure it's completely normal and that it will pass).

So, to those who are joining my not-so-regular blog, welcome! Make yourself at home, help yourself to whatever you find here, and please, please don't hate me too much.

Unattractive

Parenthood is hard.

I know a collective "Duh!" just went up from people who have been parents for decades (KUDOS to you, by the way), but bear with me.

When I was pregnant, I read all the books, watched all the shows/movies, took all the classes, asked all the questions, and harangued my mother and mother-in-law for their opinions on everything from napping and showering with an infant to "to use a soother, or not to use a soother?". And do you know how much help it was??

A big fat NO HELP.

Oh wait, it did one thing - it let me think, for 9 blissful months, that I was prepared, that I was ready, that I could handle it.

Which is funny, because literally 1 second after the first contraction, I realized I was none of those things, and that I would probably never be any of those things ever again. Period. (Contractions lend a sort of intensity to thinking - never question a woman who is contracting...it would not bode well for your intent to remain living).

Parenthood is so hard, that I have become one of the most unattractive people on the face of the earth.

And no, I'm not talking about the obvious unattractiveness - the unwashed-hair-no-make-up-bags-under-the-eyes-lumpy-bits-galore-messed-up-fashion-sense unattractiveness.

I'm talking about the personality unattractiveness (the other kind is SO much easier to clean up!).

I have become a martyr. Plain and simple.

I work myself to the bone, trying to be superwomanhousewife...and in the end, I become a snivelling, crying, upset, over-worked, disgustingly self-righteous, nagging martyr.

This morning my husband and I had a pretty bad fight about pretty much nothing at all, and the reason for it? The martyrdom shooting out of every one of my orphices.

I don't know how to stop being a martyr (for example, my retaliation so far today for the fight is to clean up our bedroom, and wash, fold, and put away every stitch of laundry in our house...that will SHOW HIM).

I hate martyrs. I hate them with a passion. And I desperately hate myself right now.

I wish that I could stop for sixteen seconds and actually enjoy the fact that today is finally, FINALLY Friday...that my husband loves me enough not to bite my head off when it's all I seem to do to him...and that for 3 days we get to blissfully hang out together as a little family with few if any interruptions (everyone is busy this weekend, so little to no drop-ins from random people trying to see the baby).

That will be my goal for the rest of the day - focusing on the good that is coming my way...

...while washing, folding, and putting away every stitch of laundry.

Losing myself

There are days when I don't even recognize myself anymore. Instead of a cool, level-headed 20-something, I'm an old nagging wife and mother who can't muster even an ounce of patience and compassion for my husband.

That's right - since I've last written, I've become a mother. The mere thought of this is insane - aren't mothers older than me? More put together than me? Better at this than me?

All evidence points to no, simply because no one is the "right" age to be a mother (there is no right age), there is no perfectly put together mother (it does not exist), and no one is better than anyone else (we are all our best at every moment by using what we've got and trying our damnedest to not fail entirely).

That last paragraph is the hardest thing in the world to embrace - that no one is perfect and I will never be.

But there are days when I feel like if I get angry one more time at my husband...if I am frustrated with my 3-month old one more time...if I breakdown and complain about motherhood to women who want children but aren't able to have them one more time...that someone is going to punish me by taking it all away - my beautiful baby, my patient husband, my good life.

I keep waiting, but no one comes...no one takes anything away....

But maybe it will happen one day. This is my greatest fear. EVER.

Butterflies

I am so scared.

I just handed in my first huge project. Not just for this employer, but in my WHOLE LIFE. And I have never been more nervous than I am right now.

Because I'm on contract. And currently that contract only goes until July 31. And then it ends. Just. Like. That.

And then I'll be unemployed, which is no good.

Not just because it is unemployment, but because I don't know if I can handle the stress of being unemployed again.

At the beginning of our marriage (and the months leading up to our marriage), my husband and I were both unemployed, which made doing things like living very, very difficult. With the help of God and our family and friends, we survived the 8 months of marriage with no money, although at the end I think I can honestly say that I knew what drowning must feel like. But I think that drowning would actually be mercifully much quicker.

Of course, our unemployment was brightened for two months by the employment from HELL, where I went home in tears every day and was scared out of my mind for two months. Because everything I did was wrong, stupid, and not good enough. It didn't matter that I just did everything I was told to do, or that the managers weren't so, um, good at their job. It mattered though that I was dumb, dumb, dumb. And in the end, who can argue with logic like that?

I could!

After being with the company I am now, which we will call the Dream Company, for 6 months, I can honestly say I'm not dumb. And my work is respected. And my opinion is respected. And my degree is respected. And my brain is respected. And most importantly I am respected. Which does wonders for a girl's ego, let me tell you.

But this project is still the biggest I've ever done and is still the most involved that I have ever accomplished. And it has also taken FOREVER.

Ay, there's the rub.

The amount of time I was given for the project had to be extended. A lot. And now that it is finally in, I hope that is worth all of those extensions. And that my boss will see it that way.

Because if he doesn't, I'm in trouble. And on July 31, when my contract could go either way, I know which way it will go.

And then I'll be dumb again. And unemployed. And that is the most terrifying thought ever.

Have you ever?

Have you ever stumbled across a story or a moment that touched you so profoundly that you startled yourself with your emotional reaction? That happened to me today.

I was reading through blogs that I have come across in recent days, and I discovered Sarah and Derek's heart-wrenching story.

Now, I don't know Sarah or Derek, but I do know that it is heartbreaking and even now, a couple of hours later, I'm still stuck thinking of this poor young couple and their crappy situation. She is dying from cancer. He is holding her hand. They are in their early 30s. It's just not fair.

And who am I to mourn? I have never, not even once, met them or heard of their plight before today. But for today, I feel as if I know them. As if I can appreciate the pain they are in. And it is not in a self-centred, egocentric way, but in a caring, compassionate, humanity-filled type way.

I look at my marriage, at my age, at my dreams, at the future that I have planned in my head, and I think about what would happen if it were all ripped away. What would happen if it all ended suddenly? What would I do? What would my husband do? What then?

It takes a lot of energy for me not to worry. I'm a worrier by nature, which I fully blame my mother for, and every day as I let my husband slip out the door to go to work, I pray so hard for his safety, for him to come back to me. Even though I know that God will only give me that gift if it is meant to be, and that I can ask all I want, but in the end it is still up to Him.

And every moment that I feel the glow of love for my husband, for my family, for my friends...each moment filled with laughter, loving quiet, hope, dreams, plans, and goodness, I have to struggle to hang on to the moment now, not to think about the moment getting ripped away. Not to think about what the future may bring.

I struggle so hard, and yet here is a couple faced with my greatest fear, and her husband has the strength to say, "Safe travels, my love."

Will I have that strength? I don't want to think about it, because I'm not faced with that situation...and yet I can't help but worry...

Remembering

This weekend my husband and I celebrated our 1-year anniversary. To celebrate, we turned off the phones, cancelled all our normal weekend madness, and spent time together. It was lovely.

We also got the pleasure of watching our wedding video for the first time (our best man owns a videography company, and gave us our wedding video as a wedding present...because he's a friend, though, we were patient enough to wait for a whole year before getting to see it).

As we watched ourselves move up the aisle, promise to God and to each other that we would always love each other, saw our family and friends who gathered there to support us, and heard our speeches all over again, I realized something: we had the loveliest wedding ever.

No, we didn't spend $80/person on the reception, like a dear friend of ours is for his wedding this summer. No, we didn't have a wedding planner to feed the best man his speech. No, my dress didn't cost me thousands of dollars. No, we didn't go on a tropical and exotic honeymoon. And no, we didn't eat the finest foods that are hard to pronounce, and even harder to eat properly.

But we did love each other. And we loved and knew every guest that was invited. And we were able to firmly say, that the best part of our wedding was free - the vows, and God, and us, and our family. And the rest, like the lovely flower arrangements, done for free by women who love us, and the hall decorations, lovingly looked after by our wedding party and their significant others, and the food, which was so delicious and, as most claimed, the best "wedding" food ever eaten, and provided at an incredible price by dear, dear friends of ours...well, all of that was just icing on a perfectly constructed cake.

I wouldn't take any of my wedding back. I wouldn't change a single thing. And now as we start thinking about a house and about having children, I know that the rest of our lives will be just like that. All of the good things, all of the best things, all of the things we can not live without, will all be free. And all of the other things that come our way will be the icing on an already perfect cake.

Happy anniversary to my husband, to our marriage. And a toast, for many years to come and many more moments to enjoy and savour.

Cheers!

You know it's real when...

...your husband IMs you, saying:

"Pleasant thought of the day: you are currently sitting in the coffe shop where i asked your parents if i could marry you."

Swoon, all over again.

Heartbroken

My heart is so very heavy today and my head feels like sinking into a soft pillow and not waking up for a very long time. It is taking everything in me to keep working today, to stay alert, and not give in to the need for sleep and peace.

Yesterday was long, busy day and was filled with activity and chatter. It was also filled with news about a dear friend and the trouble she has been going through in her marriage.

As I look to my own marriage and I see what a blessing it is, I wish so desperately that she could feel the same way, could enjoy the same contentment, stability, and security.

I reread old love letters from my husband from before we were married, and I was reminded how sweetly we love each other, how blessed I am, and what a great thing love can be.

And then I think of her situation and am also reminded how awful love can be, ripping you apart and making you want two different things at exactly the same time.

How awful.

I don't know

Ever since I was small, I imagined myself being a mom. I've pictured what it would be like to carry a child, dreamt of what it would be like to have their heartbeat under mine, and worried over the labour part of the whole ordeal.

My husband has also dreamt of being a dad, and when we had the "Do you want children?" talk that is supposed to occur before you get married, it was a resounding "Yes!" from both of us. And then the dreaming changed, turning into "us" as parents, which, in all honesty, felt more secure than dreaming about it alone.

Now that we are married, the subject of children is all I can think about, because for the first time in my life I'm able to have children and I'm able to support them. I dream of my belly getting big, I dream of holding them, I dream of teaching them, and raising them to be good adults, and I dream about the kind of dad that my husband will be. Let me tell you - I picked a good one. He will be a fantastic dad.

Today we went for a hearing test for my husband. He has Waardenburg's Syndrome and is hearing impaired. He has absolutely no hearing in his right ear, and only partial hearing in his left. He wears a hearing aid in this left ear and this is the ear that we were testing today.

Waardenburg's Syndrome is genetic, which means he got it from his parents (we're assuming from his dad) and it means that our children have a 50% of having the same disability.

The audiologist who did the hearing test for us talked about the risks for our babies, and told us that we should look into genetic counselling before we have children.

She said that there are worse things than hearing loss as an impairment, but that any child with a disability takes an enormous amount of emotional, physical, and financial energy, and that we should make sure we know exactly what we are getting into before we embark on making our own babies.

As I sat there, questions and worries started swirling around in my heart, for that is where all my children thinking goes.

Will we be able to handle the strain, on ourselves and our bank account?

Will we be strong enough to keep our marriage alive with a disabled child?

Will we be okay enough to handle not only a child with a disability, but also a father with a disability?

Is it selfish, that despite all the risks, we still want to birth our own children?

Is it normal that my heart is already breaking for the challenges that my children will face?

Will I be a good enough mother? For any child, disabled or not?

I don't know.

Compact living

My husband and I have been married for almost a year now (11 months on April 21!). For that almost-year we have been living in a quintessential first apartment, complete with crappy neighbours, uncaring building owners, and all the weirdness that comes with living with a bunch of people that should never meet, yet do because they happen to live in the same building.

We are hermits in our apartment world, with some marked exceptions. We don't really associate with our neighbours, which I think stems from the fact that we don't have children and we're rarely hanging out in our apartment. We're a really busy, 20-something couple, and that is reflected in our non-relationships with our neighbours. Case in point - new people moved in directly across the hall from us, and yet we have not introduced ourselves. And since they (no clue how many) have moved in, we haven't seen or heard anything from them, which is actually a nice change, considering what we live above.

Our neighbour below us, although a complete stranger, is very well known in our apartment and in our circle of family and friends. This is because he has the distinct honour of being the worst part of our apartment life.

And that, my friends, is saying something. Because we deal with all kinds of crap living in a building that is owned by a big, impersonal, stupid company. Like water being turned off at least once a month. Like there being no hot water for days on end at least once a month. Like repairs never getting done in our apartment even though we asked for them to be completed LAST MAY. Like weird smells in the hallways that permeate into our living space, an unending tropical heat wave all winter, our names being deleted for NO reason from the list of tenants at the front buzzer, our mailbox getting broken into and vandalized, and the locks being changed on the doors without warning or the offer of new keys.

See how impressive it is that Downstairs Guy is the WORST problem and the BIGGEST thing we will NOT miss when we leave?

Because he is far more noisy than the bottle-smashing, screaming, car alarming, yappy dog yelling, big dog escaping through the balconey window cacophony that occurs outside our window EVERY night. His VERY bad taste in music (or anything that has a bass line of ANY kind) is pumped so loudly I now know the lyrics to multiple rap songs that I probably could have lived my whole life without ever acknowledging their existence.

Because his pot habit makes it impossible to ever open our windows in the summer. His enjoyment of using the outdoors as his personal ashtray gives my husband and I a whole new understanding of what "high" feels like, when not perpetuated by God, or a great song (that actually has lyrics, not just creative swearing), or a fantastic bout of you-know.

Because, with his help, we have achieved the requisite number of first apartment stories that will carry us into the rest of our adulthood.

Because when we buy our first house, we will leave him behind and NEVER look back. EVER.

Marriage

I'm not sure at what point I'm allowed to write about marriage. I've only been married for five months (loved ALL of them) and I'm not really an expert. More of an experimenter. I always say that we are still "new and shiny!" to people who talk about how little time we've been married.

My newness, though, I take as a blessing. We're still "in love" with each other. We still like spending time together. We still believe and exercise our right for PDAs. We say "I love you" dozens of times a day. We still get caught up talking to each other, at the detriment of other appointments. We are still new and shiny.

My best friend, though, has been married for a year. Her newness is a little bit further along than mine, and by all rights it should be starting to wane, but not completely disappeared. This, unfortunately, is not the case. Her newness recently got ripped away from her and her relationship is now in need of TLC, as is she.

I'm so scared that this kind of thing will happen to me. That we'll lose our newness. I'm told that eventually things happen that make you stop floating so much, and start dealing instead of enjoying. I understand that with kids and life the newness gets scratched, maybe even tarnished. But ripped away is the fear. The fear that we'll have such a big event that we'll be all banged up and will have to go get things fixed, instead of enjoying, floating, and loving out loud.

I keep my husband close to my heart, deep in my soul. I pray for him constantly. I worry over him and us and our relationship. I'm not smothering, but I'm certainly not turning my back.

We've earned our scratches in the past five months (unemployment and family trouble will do that to you), but we haven't been banged up yet. I just hope that with all my worrying and attention and care that the damage won't be irreparable, but actually manageable. Enough to get back to enjoying, floating, and loving out loud.

Hopelessness

Today I received an email telling me that I didn't get the position that I applied for at a local company. Although I know that God will take care of everything, and that I'll have a job, and my fiance will have a job, I can't help but feel hopeless.

In our faith, we are taught to believe that no matter what happens, God is there for us and with us, working things out, and creating bigger and better opportunities. I teach my Religious Instruction kids this, telling them stories of bible greats who fell to the mighty power of doubt and hopelessness. But in their defence, who can blame them for giving up? For not fighting harder? For not getting stronger in the face of greater and greater adversity?

Thinking about men like Moses, John the Baptist, and Apostle Peter, I am struck by the incredible things they did - and how much we think about their weaknesses, held up as examples for how we must not be.

Moses lead people through the desert for forty years, listening to them grumble and complain, trying to understand why they had to take the long way, and watching people around him die, be born, grow, and die again. Can you imagine how hopeless of a situation that would be? One can say that they had everything provided for them - they never knew want in regards to food and shelter, and God was always with them, even talking to Moses in the form of burning bushes and the like. But after forty years, how faithful and hopeful could one human being possibly be? I would smash a rock for water if I were Moses, regardless of God's providence. In his position, I would.

John the Baptist was a prophet, heralding the coming of Jesus and baptising people. In the end, he ended up in jail and beheaded, because he was doing what he was told. Sitting in jail with Jesus alive and working miracles outside, John lost his faith, saying that maybe another was supposed to come because Jesus didn't break him out of jail. And one could say, it doesn't work that way - you don't just get everything you want because you've done good. You get what you need and should have because God knows that you should. But, how faithful and hopeful could one human being be if they did everything they should and still ended up in jail? In his position I'd rethink things too. I would.

Apostle Peter was the foundation of the first church that Jesus established. Although Peter denied his involvement with Jesus, Jesus still kept faith in him, and Peter in Jesus. But in the end, one can relate to Peter's denial. How faithful can one man be in the midst of a mobbing crowd of people who want to kill Jesus and anyone related? In his position, I'd at the very least be thinking about denying Jesus. I'll admit it. I would.

But that's what growth is for and what services are for - to become stronger and more hopeful. Going to church is a renewal of hope and of strength, so that in the face of greater adversity, one can stand up and ask God for water, sit in jail and think of how great Jesus is, and in the crowd of angry, murderous people, say proudly: "I know this Man. He is the Son of God, and I love Him."

And after this Wednesday's service I'll be able to say, in my unemployed, engaged to an unemployed man, state: "I will have a job, my fiance will have a job and God is great because He is the great Provider."

After this Wednesday's service. For now, I'm going to have to hold back the tears and the feeling of dread, and work on being stronger and more hopeful.

To invite or not to invite

When I was four years old my uncle sexually assaulted me. It wasn't rape and it wasn't invasive, but it was hurtful and confusing - mostly on the basis of lost trust and relationship with my uncle, and a weakened trust in men (mostly because of my dad's response (or lack thereof) to the event, which involved his brother).

Now my wedding is coming, and the question is, do we invite him? The man that still makes my stomach squirm and my skin crawl. The man who hurt me.

The man who made a mistake.

Should I be considering the event as the above - merely a mistake? Something that after almost twenty years I should be able to forget about?

My grandparents (his parents) don't understand why I wouldn't want him at my wedding, and although his name wasn't on the invitation we sent them, they still included his name on the reply card. My father says that he probably won't come, or if he does, he won't stay, so what's all the fuss?

And my fiance...my gorgeous fiance, says it's up to me, but we had already discussed it and we had decided that he's not coming.

And my mom? She says she'll take on my grandmother at any point. Just tell her when.

So what do I do?

Do I invite him, deal with him minimally, and ignore the fact that he is there?

Or not invite him, forever wonder about the hurt I'm causing him, and have to deal with my grandmother's confused, hurt face for the whole day?

I wish someone would just tell me what to do. This whole being an adult thing really sucks somedays.

Regret

Wedding invitations are a study in quantifying your relationships. All of a sudden you need to either come up with or pare down to a specific number of loved ones that you want to share your day with. And this is no easy feat.

There are those that are in your life today. You talk to them, love them, go out with them, see them, live with them, share your life with them - current best friends, university friends, church members, family friends. And you plan on continuing these relationships for an interminable time to come - therefore, they are invited.

Then there are those who you know you should invite - relatives from afar, people you might have met once or never in your life time that your parents insist must come, people who helped you become who you are, your boss (maybe), your eighth cousin. You don't see these people regularly, but you know that if you don't invite them, you will never hear the end of it. EVER. So, these people are invited.

Then there are those from your past lives. For me, this was looking at elementary school and high school friends, searching my heart for teachers and church members that watched me grow, people I loved and cherished in my more youthful days (I know I'm only 23, but there are a lot of people in my past!). And these people are fondly invited.

Then there are the relateds. I know that's not a real word, but as an English major, I'm taking the liberty of meeting my quota for made up words. The relateds are a group of people that are related to the people above. People you are inviting because the aforementioned people are invited - present love interests/partners/live-ins/fiances/fiancees/husbands/randoms. You don't know these people, but they come with the people you want to invite, and therefore your guest list has just doubled. Terrific. Fine. They are also invited.

And then there is the least desireable list - the list of people you aren't speaking to right this moment, but have a feeling if you don't include them in your day, then you will regret it, painfully, in the future. And I don't mean that they will hunt you down, tie you up, and demand why they weren't invited. I mean, when you become reconciled in the future, and you realize that your petty fight (which it usually turns out to be) prevented them from sharing your day with you, and all you can think about is how awful their absence was. That's the regret I'm talking about.

We have one such person on our guest list, and interestingly enough it is not my undesireable or my fiance's undesireable. It's my mother's.

She has been feuding with one of my uncles, and has declared that he shall not be invited. That if I do invite him, he will ruin my day by getting drunk and being an awful guest.

But I have to think...

In the future, when everyone is more old and grey, and my mother is speaking to her brother again, and we are attending his children's weddings...what will the regret feel like?

That's why I have invitations filled out and ready to send to my uncle, and his children, my cousins, just in case.

Just in case my mother realizes that she will sorely miss him when albums are pulled out, and cooed over, and his absence, instead of his drunken prescence, is the focus.

Just in case.