Men Are From Mars.

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I‘m making Husband read this book.

There have been times in our relationship where I have suggested that he should read it, but this time, he has no choice. This time it‘s going to happen, one way or another. And if he thinks THIS is bad, I shudder to think what he’ll do the day I drag him to a marriage conference.

We get along very well, Husband and I. And I have a strong network of people who I can go to for emotional support. I’ve never leaned heavily on him to fulfill my emotional needs, and I’m starting to wonder if this hasn’t been a detriment to our relationship. Sometimes things happen that deeply upset me and I really don’t want to talk to anyone else about it. I want to talk to him. Because he knows me.

I think we have a classic case of a woman who knows how to express her feelings, and a man who isn’t comfortable with that … unless he can fix it. He doesn’t know what to say, so he says nothing. He stares blankly at me, or worse — checks out completely, playing on his phone or watching the TV behind my head. And then I end up getting mad at him, at a time when I need him the most. Rather than feeling loved and supported, I feel like I want to punch him in the face. Then we have a conversation that goes like this:

***
Me: You are so not listening to me right now.

Husband: Yes I am.

Me: You are clearly NOT listening. You’re reading something on your phone.

Husband: I am a good multi-tasker.

Me: YOU’RE A HORRIBLE MULTI-TASKER!

Husband: WELL, WHAT DO YOU WANT ME TO SAY?!

Me: I don’t know. All I want to do right now is punch you in the face.    

*** 

And so. The book.

I told him, “I pick up your belly button lint, which is unpleasant but I do it because I love you. Therefore, you WILL learn how to be emotionally supportive, which apparently you find unpleasant but you will do it because you love me. This book will help you. I am not equipped to teach you, but John Gray, Ph.D. will do a FANTASTIC JOB.”

I’m not trying to be critical of Husband, because he loves me. I mean really, truly loves and accepts me. He just doesn’t know how to communicate with my Venus-y side. I think it scares him, to be quite honest. And now that we’re having a daughter, I think it would behoove him to proactively try to improve his skills. 

I had a flash-forward last night of him trapped in the car by himself with our 12-year-old daughter, who is having a total adolescent meltdown, and he blankly stares at her and she gets more and more upset so he then says the wrong thing (like “WELL WHAT DO YOU WANT ME TO SAY?!“), and then he has to fix that problem … and so on. 

Such. A. Train. Wreck.

I’m really doing us all a favor.

I’ll be chronicling his progress via my blog. Hopefully the added pressure of the masses will keep him on track. If nothing else, I’m sure most of you can relate to this problem and will learn something from my successes — and my mistakes. Mistake number one may have already happened (writing about how I am making Husband read a self-help book, but to be fair I need to brush up on the Martians as well), and if so, then … 

Forward march.
  
 

Sentences.

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This is more for my own record than for your entertainment, but TWO isn’t quite 17 months old and he’s putting two-word sentences together. Examples are: “Cold, Mommy,” (translation: he wants his milk, which he calls “cold” for reasons unknown to me) as he tugs on the refrigerator door and “No nap!” when I snuggle with him in his rocking chair. He also says “My yummy,” in reference to his food or snack, and a whole lot of new words:

Pee-pee
Poo-poo
Blankie
Paci
Ruff-ruff/doggie
Duck
Elmo
Sit down

And a whole bunch of other unintelligible things.
  

Posted in TWO

CUTENESS.

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I got a box of gently-used clothes today from a very thoughtful fellow mom named Misty who I know from high school, and OMG, I really can’t handle the cuteness.

I’ll be adding these to my arsenal of pizzazz-y baby clothes. I mean, really ... look at them. 

If this doesn’t say, “I know I’m just a newborn but I have more personality than you have in your whole adult body,” I don’t know what does. 

Also, I taught ONE that his little sister is in my “womb” and he has trouble pronouncing that word so I told him to just say “baby bag” and be done with it. 

Zebra Print.

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I went to T.J. Maxx the other day with a gift card given to me by my Aunt Nancy, with the intention of buying some new yoga pants. I have never been 20 weeks pregnant in the dead of winter, and I have no yoga pants that fit properly. I cannot live without yoga pants. 

After discovering that a pregnant person can’t just go up a few sizes in exercise wear and make it work (I looked ridiculous, and therefore will be shopping only at maternity stores from now until June), I wandered around the store, picked up a few dress shirts for Husband, and perused the home decor and boy’s clothing sections. And finally … dun dun dun … I looked through the baby girl clothes. 

Wow. There was so much pink.

Here is my first official clothing purchase for THREE. She’s probably going to get an awful lot of pink and lavender gifted to her from family members, so it’s my mission to fill her closet with as much loud/animal print/neon as possible. I can’t have my daughter looking too frilly. She’s MY daughter after all.

  
I love that it says “Daddy Makes Me Smile.”

We’re working on names and it’s a struggle to find one we both really like. I guess some people have their children’s names picked out years ahead of time … we aren’t those people. We just go with whatever the vibe seems to be at the time. And since we already have a Maverick Grayson and an Asher Rhys, we would like to avoid M names and A names.

It’s exhausting.

I don’t want to make this blog all about having a baby, but I just have to say …  

I AM SO EXCITED ABOUT THIS BABY.  

I am also excited about the idea of being done with childbearing. My mother keeps telling me not to put a cap on it permanently, encouraging us to keep our options open. And yes, maybe when I’m 36 and my children are all three years and up I will suddenly find myself wishing for another … but I don’t want to give birth to it. 

I would like to close my womb after this. It has served me well, but … no more growing life. No more gestation. I want to focus on the lives I’ve got rummaging through the clean laundry basket, finding my underwear and doing things like this:

 
Handling three children is questionable, and four is … well, just out of the question.

Loose Change.

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Last night I was minding my own business when I realized that ONE had a mouthful of …

… wait for it …

LOOSE CHANGE.

When I said “WHAT IS IN YOUR MOUTH?!” He ran away. So then I had a child with a mouth chock full of pennies, dimes, and nickles running in the house. Perfect.

Husband jumped up off the couch yelling at him to spit them out right now, and so he did. Right into the bathroom sink. Then he turned on the water. 

I propped my feet up and listened to Husband frantically try to stop money from rolling down the pipe. Never. A. Dull. Moment.

Open Letter.

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I have a group of girlfriends I “talk” to daily via Facebook’s email system. If someone (a.k.a. “the man”) is monitoring what we say, I don’t know if he thinks we’re funny or psychotic or both. Honestly, our discussions are probably too much for “the man” to handle, if he is indeed a man. 

The reason why we chatter virtually is because the real men in our lives don’t really get our problems or care to hear the minutiae of our day, and I do not care to have a phone conversation with screaming or crying in the background. No thank you. I’ll pass. 

Anyway, here is an open letter to the monitor of Facebook’s emails, otherwise known as “the man” … whoever he may be.

Dear The Man,

Hi! I’m the more talkative pregnant one who uses a lot of bad words, capital letters and exclamation points, not to be confused with the less talkative pregnant one or the postpartum one or the one from Chicago who is going through major life changes or the two childless ones who are the most sane of the bunch.

When I said I wanted to kick my husband and show him what true pain feels like, I didn’t mean it. There is no real need for concern. Have you ever gone through hormonal upheaval? It’s a bitch.  

We cheer for each other through life’s victories – big and small. New jobs, new babies, new haircuts, new outfits, new breakthroughs. Conversely, we suffer through each other’s sorrows. No problem is too small or suffering too great. We band together and we carry it like it’s weightless.  

It is the way we were made.

This is a judgement-free zone, so keep your snit to yourself. And next time someone has a wardrobe crisis, feel free to chime in. A man’s opinion is always appreciated.

Thank You,
Harmony  

 

Girly World.

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A whole girly world of girly things was opened up to me yesterday when we learned THREE’s gender. I literally cannot stop grinning. I will calm down … eventually. But you see, I am a girly girl, and I have been living with three penises and smelling farts and dealing with things like ONE tasting his own pee to see what would happen.

All three of them (Husband, ONE, and TWO) tune me out the way only menfolk can. It seems to begin in infancy, the ability to tune out a woman’s voice at will. All three of them become engrossed in some activity or another, and seem not to hear when I say things like “Lunch is ready!” or, “Wash your hands!” or, “Put your penis back in your pants!” or, “DO NOT PUT YOUR FINGER IN YOUR BROTHER’S BEHIND.”

I’m having a girl! I can paint her nails! Put her in tutus! Way overdress her for every occasion!

And yes, I am completely aware that our little girl will bring us new and very different challenges. I hope she isn’t bipolar. Or mean. Or unable to grow hair, because I am so excited about fixing a little girl’s hair.

What if I screw her up? What if I model unhealthy behaviors that she picks up on and it makes her crazy or slutty or both?! Being a mother is scary. The idea of mothering a girl scares the absolute shit out of me. I console myself by perusing the internet and finding things like this:

Swan Tutu One-Piece Swimsuit
www.gymboree.com