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Sexy Rendevous & Really Weird Dream

28 Mar

D was called in for reserve, and even though we sometimes do not see each other for a full week, this time, since he was physically far away, it felt like forever. When he was unexpectedly released for a night in his own bed, we mutually decided on a night in my own bed, even though it was against our new rule of no sleepovers when my Boy is home. I needed to see him, so I made weak rationalizations in my head. He hadn’t had bad dreams in over a week now. And he’d had a long day, he would be too tired to get up in the middle of the night and come into my room.

A knock on the door and then a bone crushing embrace that lasted a full minute, and then his lips on my neck, and in my hair and on my mouth, soft, slippery and comforting. It was the best I had felt in a while. I missed you, he said, I had missed him too. Missed his mouth, and his neck, and his shoulders, and his biceps. Missed pulling his shirt off and feeling his warm skin against mine. Within minutes, we were making out on my sofa like a coupe of teenagers, fingers caressing and groping, tongues tasting, hips dancing. And then we moved into my bedroom, where we allowed ourselves more freedom, to explore each other’s bodies with our own, to turn off lights and thoughts and just be, easing in from a jumble of arms and legs and breasts, and hips, into rythmic movement, growing steadily deeper and faster, until that magnificent moment of complete oblivion, in which nothing has place, except the intense sensation of his final thrust and my legs wrapped around him, and my head tilted back as I muffle a groan.

But that night, back in our clothes, sleeping deeply, facing different directions, our legs still tangled like the roots of an ancient tree, I awoke abruptly to see his little face in the dark, “I can’t sleep”. Thank god for his little body, his head barely peering over the edge of the mattress. The darkness. D tucked away under the comforter. I got up immediately and took my Boy back to bed, patting his back for a full twenty minutes, which felt like forever, until he was breathing heavily again.

“Do you want me to leave?”

“No. It’s OK.”

D held me as a made an honest effort to go back to sleep. Finally, there he was, my son. It was morning, the sun beamed through the open shades and he was asking me, “who’s this, mom?” With surprise and sleepiness I woke D up. I said, “This is D. He’s a friend.” And I put my boy with a bowl of cereal in front of the TV. My sister was suddenly there. And she was playing with him, as the doorbell rang. Shit. Must be BD and his new girlfriend here to pick up my boy. Quick, D, out the back door.

They came in, smug, and went straight to the Boy’s room to pack an overnight bag for him. A couple of minutes later, it was too quiet in his room, as it often is with young children, and I felt worried, that something was wrong. I opened the door and found them: D, BD and new girlfriend, and they were getting dressed. When I confronted them, they admitted to having had a threesome, right there in my child’s bedroom. What the fuck?? I was out of my mind with rage, but all they did was shrug it off. D even said I was making a big deal out of nothing. I remember thinking miserably, how gullible I was, how I allowed someone, once again, to become close to me, and hurt me so terribly.

At 5 am the alarm rang, a few minutes after I had woken up. D’s arms were around me again, consoling me after I’d nudged him and whispered “bad dream”. When I told him about it he laughed and quoted the Lonely Island singing It’s not gay if it’s in a threeway. Then he did an Eddie Murphy impression and said, “You know what? Yeah. I fucked her. OK? I fucked her. But I made love to you.” We laughed it off, and he went back to his reserve, and I woke my son up with oatmeal and smiles, awaiting the weekend, when we’d have the house to ourselves, making new promises to avoid sleepovers on weeknights, at least until D’s called in for reserve again.

Happy International Woman’s Day to a Me Still Craving Male Affirmation

8 Mar

I’m having such a blah day. The landlord to that house I want isn’t sending me the contract and I’m beginning to worry there might be something fishy going on there. I’m dying to move, but I need to let the daycare know what’s up in two days, and I’m not sure things will be final by then, or ever…

To make things worse my Boy is sick again, for the fourth time this month. High fever, not planning on going to daycare tomorrow. So mommy has to miss work, AGAIN.

And then there’s the other thing. It’s no secret that one of our most basic needs as human beings is to be touched, and it’s been really long. This sex deprivation is making me agitated in an already agitating situation. Bad for my health. And there’s not much I can do about it. I have no life, it’s all work and motherhood, and by the time I get a night off, I’m usually too tired to do anything. Then I finally get a break and my boy is healthy for an entire week, and he goes to his dad, and I go out drinking and meet a creepy weirdo who doesn’t get a hint.

My ego has really taking a blow lately. I feel unattractive, unsuccessful. Even if rationally I know I’m doing well, I feel like a failure nonetheless. And in this pool of self-pity that I’ve sort of let myself sink into today, there seems to be only one thing that can drag me out: male attention. Affirmation that does not come from within. I just really need someone to think that I’m cool right now, and that someone has to have a penis and a nice smile.

I’ve come a long way this year, but here’s something that hasn’t changed a bit: I still don’t think I’m worth a dime if I’m not constantly told I am by others.

The Cockroach that Made Me Cry

7 Sep

Oh my God, I said into the phone. Shit. Shit. Shit. I can’t deal with this right now. Fuck. I gotta go. I gotta go. I gotta go.

It was a huge, ugly thing, standing on the windowsill in my kitchen (!) looking directly at me, with its horrible antennas twitching at me, like it was trying to pick a fight. And it would win. After having spent the morning consoling a feverish baby, then marking papers for hours, finishing a work meeting at nine P.M and sitting down to check yet more papers, this was going to be my 30 minute break, where I would have dinner and stare into nothing or talk about nothing on the phone with a friend who was also in desperate need of a break.

And there he was in all his horrid disgustingness, staring me down and I would have to deal with him.

I prayed. Please. Please! Go back outside. Then I cried. Nothing ever works out the way I want it to. It’s not fair.

It had been a rough week. First week of school, and in a new place, adjusting to a new system. Loads of work. Add to that BD going abroad and less help than I’m used to with our Boy. Add to that the fact that I’d been sick for a couple of days, and caring for a baby while taking endless painkillers. Add to that my best friend at the hospital, recovering from surgery, while I’m too sick to visit, and now my son spreading his germs everywhere, making it certain that I won’t be able to visit my friend even now that I’m finally well. Add to that a 37 page paper, boring as fuck, written by an aspiring English teacher who needs to be corrected on Present Simple that took me two hours to check.

And now this.

So I cried like a little girl. I said that the universe was against me, that it wasn’t fair.

And that’s when it happened. He took a step back. Then he crept back and now he was standing there, between the shutters and the windowpane, and I knew I had to act quickly.

I walked hesitantly toward the window, mumbling every curse word I could think of. Then twice reached over to the window but backed out. On the third try I managed to quickly shut the window, and I was saved.

It’s been a difficult year. And a difficult few months. And a difficult week. And a difficult day. And it would be a difficult night too.

But at least I didn’t have a cockroach in my kitchen anymore.

Back to My Future

31 May

Back to the Future

Baby has been sick this week, and I was home with him, cleaning his vomit, coaxing him to drink water and consoling all 11 kilos of him in my arms for hours… This morning, when he finally went down for his nap, I collapsed in bed and fell asleep at once.

Suddenly, I was on the set of Back to the Future, and it was being filmed. I wasn’t really taking part in the movie, but I was more than an observer, it’s like I was an extra, just there. I remember thinking to myself, hey, I’ve seen this, it’s a great movie. Yes, I know that’s weird since it was just being filmed, but you know, it’s a dream. Then Baby woke up and nap time was over.

This past month has been a trip back to the past for me, and it hasn’t been easy. I know I’m having a hard time when I have a need to blog every single day, and I’ve had times like that. But I also know I’m having a horrible time when I don’t blog at all, and I haven’t been. I was doing much better, getting used to my new life as a single mom, thinking about the future, making plans, living as I wanted to live. This couple’s therapy thing with BD is really getting to me. It’s making me feel like I’m regressing. I’m sad again, I feel less in control of my life, I get to the end of every day feeling like I need a drink, or make that three. Last night I stared at the TV for an hour. I know most people do that on a regular basis, but I don’t. It wasn’t even a show I enjoyed, it was just some stupid reality show that I hate and find degrading towards women.

I’ve made a decision to keep this up for two months (one down, one to go), and I hope I get what I’m looking for at the end of this process: closure, certainty, confidence that I’m doing the right thing. But in the meantime, I’m craving that future that just a short while ago seemed so close and now seems farther than ever.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S1i5coU-0_Q

 

OVERWHELMED

5 Mar

I know from experience to discredit any thought or emotion that comes to surface when I am sick and sleep deprived. But that’s easier said than done. To be honest, I don’t remember feeling this lost, confused or overwhelmed since highschool.

I’ll begin with the disclaimer. Baby has been feverish and pukey for the past 48 hours, refusing to eat, sleep and generally difficult to manage. His mama, has a bad cold and hasn’t been getting much sleep. The emotional messiness I am about to describe here is without a doubt linked to all of this, and yet it feels very valid nonetheless.

BD wants to get back togehter, I’ve mentioned this in one of my previous posts. I said no, but he’s been persistent. I had spent a week trying to stir up those emotions I used to feel towards him, a feeling of closeness, affection, attraction, but the harder I tried, the more I got nothing. I’d become numb to him. Even kissing him didn’t stir any emotion in me. I was trying him on like an old pair of jeans, trying to see if they still fit, and they didn’t. Although sometimes I’m not so sure if I was really trying. Maybe I was just looking at this pair of jeans and saying, naaaah, too tight.

Then, there’s SG, who’s entered my life without warning, through the back door, and without paying attention or intending to do so, I found myself in a relationship with another man, when all I wanted was a date, a light make out session, something to help me get over the breakup. I was looking for a transition guy, and I fell in, well, I don’t know. I’m definitely NOT ready for what it means to be seriously involved with someone else, especially now, that BD seems to be hanging onto me with all his might. He’s really not letting me go. But I already feel what I feel and I can’t just pretend that I don’t. What a mess.

We’ve had The Talk about five times by now, BD and I. The one where I tell him that I don’t want to get back together and he tells me I’m making a mistake and that he loves me and that we should give it a chance. The harder he pushes me, the more I want to let go of him. But it also makes me feel that what I’m doing with SG is terribly wrong. Rationally, I tell myself that he left me, no, he left us, which is so much worse, that I’m entitled to get love from someone else if he doesn’t want to give it to me. This rationalization has worked fine as long as he stayed away, but now that he wants to get back together, it doesn’t seem convincing anymore.

SG and I went to an art exhibition the other day, and it was the first time I’d ever been out with him in public in broad daylight. We didn’t hold hands or anything, we really just went to see the show, but it felt like I was doing something bad and somebody would find out, and I got comepletely panicky and freaked out.

There are other things on my mind too, that have nothing to do with this boy drama that are stressing me out, and it just felt at that moment that there was no more room in my heart for anything. There’s too much stuff in there already. All I wanted to do was empty myself from all these emotions and just stick to the basics for a minute. Baby and I. Both of us well, eating, sleeping, taking a walk.

After the freak out, we sat on my sofa and SG got me  a glass of water and put his arms around me and said it was OK and to tell him what I needed. And I wanted to tell him two things: 1. I need some space. 2. Don’t stop holding me. But they were too contradictory so
I said nothing. Then I got a call from Baby’s daycare to come pick him up because he had a fever, and I left SG abruptly and rushed to get Baby and felt guilty, as if he’d gotten sick becuase I was having an affair. Is that what this is, by the way?

BD came over that night to see Baby and I was a mess, and when I saw him with Baby I started to cry, and I let him hold me, and that’s when I felt  it, that thing I had been searching for. That emotion towards him. And when I felt it, it made me cry harder and it confused me even more than I had been. Because here he was, father of my child, the man I had loved for 13 years, the man I married, the man I knew better than anyone else. And he was tired, and sad, but he was there. He said something like: you can’t carry all the world’s sorrow on your shoulders, and even though that’s not what I was doing, it touched me, because it showed that he knew me, because that’s something that I tend to do. And I can get it back now if I choose to. I can decide to forgive his abandonment. I can decide to give him another chance. It’s up to me now, and it was somehow easier when it wasn’t.

And here I am now, a few days later and not much better. Baby’s in his baby carrier which is almost the only thing that seems to soothe him and I found the perfect spot for my laptop, on top of our mineral water dispenser, it’s high up enough that I can type while standing up with baby in his carrier, swaying from side to side to console him. And that’s where things stand.

This post is going to end with no insights, no motivational words, no conclusions. In fact, I think I’m going to try to get through the next few days without making any decisions at all. That seems like it might be a good idea. And I guess after that we’ll see.

Sicko and the Jeans

19 Jan

jeansSicko is the name and fitting into my pre-pregnancy jeans is the game.

I’ve been sick this week, really violently ill the way only bad food poisoning or a stomach flu can get you. I’m talking puking all over the place and crawling to the bathroom on all fours because you’re too weak to walk.

It started Wednesday night with some nausea, followed by me puking my guts out on Thursday morning, but clever girl that I am, I still went to work, because it’s just a bit of food poisoning right? All along, I was seriously wondering if I could be pregnant again? Hmm, not likely, but it has happened once in history before. Well, Maria and the holy ghost aside, this was not pregnancy nausea, unless I was hosting a vampire baby in my uterus like Bella Swan in Twilight. Shit. Did I just reveal that I’ve seen the movies? I hated them for the record. But had to keep watching. One of those things.

Anyway, I left early, somehow managed to drive home, which was probably not the best idea I’ve ever had. All along I was counting the minutes. Without traffic it takes me exactly 15 minutes to get home and I knew there would be parking in the middle of the day. So I was speaking to myself out loud, which lately I’ve found to have a powerful effect on me: Keep it together. 10 more minutes. Check your rearview mirrors. Good. Red light. Stop. Go. Turn left. Slowly. Now out of the car. Turn the key. Up the stairs.

The sitter opened the door and I thanked god that the sitter was my sister. I gave Baby a pat on the head and the biggest smile I could manage and said: Mommy’s very tired. She has to go to sleep now. Stripped and got into bed and my sister brought a glass of water and some pain killers. That was at noon. The next time I could get out of bed was the following morning. My mother came in to take Baby for the night, and I lay in bed crying that he must be mad at me for sending him away (to his loving grandparents, I know it’s stupid).

That night was one of the worst nights in my life, seriously. And I used the speaking out loud technique again, which actually helped. This time I said to myself: After all you’ve been through these seven months, childbirth, recovery, caring for an infant, being left by your husband, changing jobs, dealing with your past, seriously. This is just a stomach bug. It’s not going to kill you.
The next day was Friday and BD took Baby for the night, and I ate for the first time since Wednesday. Slowly, I gained some strength back and here I am, finally functioning and Baby will be home soon. I just can’t wait to see him! I miss him so very much.

Let me just say, that this was the first time in my life that I’ve been sick and alone, with no one to make me tea or just ask if I need anything. It sucked big time. I realize that I’ve been very spoiled this way, always having someone to care for me. I went straight from my parents home, to “our” home, and now, husbandless, Baby gone for the night, here I was alone with my thoughts, and many hours in bed to contemplate and cry. I’m really glad that’s over.

And this brings me to the Jeans with a capital J. Yes, those Jeans that I had figured would fit about a month back but could barely get the top button closed. Well, there is apparently one very small upside to being so sick. The Jeans fit.

So now that I’m done being sick (hopefully) I think next weekend, Sicko and the Jeans are going dancing.