Sprinkles and Hospitals and In Laws

Our little baby sprinkle was this past weekend, and it was just perfectly appropriate. Not too many people, simple and useful gifts, funny games, and casual delicious food. Our friends hosted at their place, planned on having everyone out by 5. Mia was (unexpectedly) the only kid there, but she caused plenty of drama. Towards the end of the party, she was twirling around some balloons, with a cookie and too-small sandals on, tripped, perfectly slamming her face onto the corner of a non-baby friendly coffee table.

We have not a single decent picture of the three of us from the Sprinkle, so this will have to do!

She bled profusely, and we were scurried off to our first visit to the ER. Of course my first born would take the celebration of a second child to remind us all of her presence by causing such a ruckus. But honestly, she was so brave and answered all the doctors' and nurses' questions with such specificity, it really surprised me. Thankfully, she only needed a bit of skin glue and today has a bit of a bruised and swollen cheek.

At the ER

The next day

We also had a house guest over the weekend, my father in law, whom I haven't quite forgiven stayed with us from Thursday to Saturday. I knew that being 8+ months pregnant (34 weeks as of Wednesday!), my patience wasn't going to be great, so I kept out of the way. I went to work as usual on Friday, I did a craft fair all day Saturday, and B planned to take his dad out to watch the football games elsewhere on Sunday morning before our Sprinkle. We planned it well, and B's patience was worn a bit thinner than mine by Monday night. 

Mia is not a huge fan of his, and while I'm not sure the visit turned everything around for her, things did go better than I expected. He tends to yell and speak loudly in general, so she interprets it as meanness. There wasn't much of that this time around, thankfully, but I did notice that he has the tendency to correct her at every opportunity, rather than letting one of her parents do it (or choose not to do it, in certain cases), so she doesn't have the most positive association with him. 

Visitor Season

This week begins the Frenchie family's season of visitors. On Friday, we welcome B's younger sister, her husband and our nephew. In two weeks, we welcome B's older sister. Two weeks after that, my parents arrive in all their long-staying visitor glory. A week later, my uncle from the Philippines also visits (where we will put a third visitor is still up in the air), and my Mom stays through with us until the beginning of July.

We had planned a peaceful weekend before the storm, but of course, these things never work out as planned. Our dearest Juliet and her family a bit of an unfortunate turn of events and were basically ousted from their apartment this weekend, so we spent Saturday morning helping them out (B providing the muscle and yours truly providing the throw-things-in-a-box expertise), Saturday afternoon baking and getting ready for a pot-luck Filipino party, Saturday night taming an overtired from lack of nap and late bedtime tantrum. How dare you put "ocean" (lotion) on my legs, Mama? And Sunday, well, as planned, Sunday was a clean the very dirty parts of your house (stove, kitchen, carseats) and fix the guest room day.. Buy curtains for guest room? Not done. Buy towel rack for guest bath? Not done. At least I've got clean sheets in the dryer waiting to be put on the bed. At least.

But, since everything ended with the 3rd episode of Game of Thrones, everything was right with the world and here we are on Monday morning, with a lengthy to-do-list remaining in preparation of our visitor season.

I Should Be Bald

I swear that with all the stress lately, I should be completely, 100% bald.  So much, there's just so much.  Sorry for my much extended absence.  This is obviously Frenchie's blog now and I'm a guest writer occasionally.  But, lucky you, lucky lucky you, my goal for lent is to write twice a week here at least.  May be long, may be short.  But it should be good, at least for me, because I have things to get off my shoulders.  NOT that I want every entry to be heavy, you wonderful women don't deserve that.  (Though on the absolute worst days some might be more serious than joking.)  But part of this is writing as an escape.  Writing about random happenings and off-the-top of my head thoughts so that I can dull the volume of the rest of the world around me if only for 30-60 minutes.

Just a [not so] brief listing to give you an idea of that loud world around me:

• Tybalt is 2.5 and not talking yet.  We have started seeing a speech therapist and developmental specialists.  All say he is very smart, quick, and either on par or advanced in ever other aspect.  But speech is a problem that needs to be dealt with.  1) I worry about my little boy.  2) I feel like the worst mom in the world.  Only Frenchie and B, and our fellow best friends J&D (see "host" and "host's wife" in entries such as when Terror almost sets the house on fire) who are Tybalt's Godparents are aware of this.  A friend posted something on Facebook the other day that made me think:  She basically said, "Why is it when you child can't/won't do the one thing they should and every other kid around them their age and developmental level can, the biggest dose of mother guilt sets in and you feel like the worst mother ever?"  I know I love my son and give him practically every opportunity we can.  I know he's very smart in general.  So why the frick is he not speaking?  And why can't I shake the feeling that it is somehow my fault?

• My lawsuit against the medical facility we are claiming was allegedly negligent in my care, resulting in a Stage IV bedsore and permanent damage, is coming along.  (I don't actually know how much I can say.)  I don't know how much progress, that's like OZ behind the curtain, but I did my deposition last July and am waiting to probably be called in again, and Romeo and his mom were deposed this week.  I know that this blog is a member of a MILP line-up.  You are all probably thinking that depositions and trials (if no settlement is reached first, my tentative first day of court is in November) should be the least of my worries.  Well, what can I say?  I don't deal with any of this regularly on a daily basis.  And while I knew in deciding to pursue this case it would get difficult, as the plaintiff I had NO real, actual, serious idea of the nerves, the jump my heart makes from chest to stomach every time my lawyer's phone number appears on my caller ID with a new update or question.

• We are buying a house.  Fantastic!  Great!  It's about time!  And we got pre-approved for like $50 grand more than we want to spend because we know how we prefer to budget our money.  So that put us in a particular bracket of housing, that in Las Vegas, is low on inventory because cash investors are buying them all up.  Doesn't matter if a good, hard working family like ours will ever get to live in one.  The investors just want them for business.  So shopping and finding something we wanted was more rough than we thought it would be.  But we couldn't wait any longer.  Home prices in Las Vegas have gone up something like 20% since January 2012, and continue to rise.  That, plus the reduced inventory means you have to view houses in the morning and make bids by the afternoon.  We finally got a bid accepted.  We are OVERJOYED!  I should correct that--Romeo is.  I am oh, let's just say "cautiously optimistic "  For once, I sincerely want to be overjoyed!  I want to be throwing items in boxes willy nilly and doing my own silly version of some victory end-zone touchdown dance.  Finally, I will be living in a place that doesn't have an apartment, suite, or dorm number!  For me, a 28 year-old coming straight off of that, it is huge and a dream come true.  Even if it sounds odd or petty to anyone else.  Guess I should throw out an apology just in case.  We are currently in escrow.  I know very few close friends who have bought a house, so I don't know if it's urban legend or what, but I've heard of multiple cases where people enter escrow and then never close escrow and get the house.  If any of you readers know why, can you help?  My only gut feelings would be that these stories are before the big economical crash, so people were being pre-approved quickly for mortgages and entering escrow just to find out that the lender didn't approve them properly or at all and thus the money is not there.  Or, that the families never bothered going through the pre-approval process, started to shop for houses, found one they fell in love with, tried to secure approval on a mortgage then, and didn't qualify.  Am I right on any of these situations?  What are some other reasons escrows fail and never close?  Anybody know?  At least in our situation, none of that should be the case.  We have hit at least one major road block (keep reading) but we are completely pre-approved for our mortgage loan by a woman who has such a positive reputation in town that both realtors we have worked with have individually told us that in this day and age they don't take on "just any old clients. But if Mrs. _____ _______ has pre-approved you, you're good to go.  In my 20+ years (or 30+ years for realtor #1) she has never given me a couple/family pre-approved who wasn't good for it.  If she pre-approves you, you're gold to work with.  You are basically approved already."  This should all comfort me, right?  Yeah, hello Ms. Pessimistic  My Name is Juliet.  Welcome back, I hear you'll be checking in and staying for a while.

• On the house front--close of escrow was predicted by February 28th.  We are purchasing a foreclosed home which means Fannie Mae (Government) is the owner.  And they contract with a local Title Company to do their "bidding" here in town.  Well, after over a week with no updates from our realtor or our lender, we found out the title company was dragging their feet because they were hoping no one would find out a clerical mistake had occurred and the title was TECHNICALLY not in Fannie Mae's name yet.  Please cover the eyes and ears of any children nearby--WHAT THE FFFFFFFFFFFFF? You're selling us a home (you've been sending your own hired maintenance crew for raking and mowing, etc that I already met out there one day, so you think you own it as much as we do) but anyway  you're selling us a home, that TECHNICALLY you don't own yet?  Knock me unconscious people, just do it, I can't take the stress.  But at least that was supposed to be done by Monday the 11th.  Putting us only about 2 weeks behind and making a February 28 closing date (or at least real close to it) still completely possible.  Tuesday the 12th comes and our realtor (lovely man, seriously, but by now his Irish blood is boiling and I think he's resisting the urge to tip some cows, lol) still hasn't heard back and now must call and ream someone out to get an answer.  The answer?  They never could have had it resolved by the 11th, they were blowing smoke up his angry butt to get him off their backs.  Apparently there is a trash lien on the house.  Yes, either the former owner, or Fannie Mae as they have been tending it, hasn't paid so many trash fees that the City WILL NOT release the title to Fannie Mae until it is paid in full.  More government interference, which means more time.  Which means forget getting out of here and moving by Feb/March.

• Two Huge Fears on top of all these others: First) if this trash lien has been out there for so long and the Title Company dropped the ball in paying it to clear the title and get it fair and square in Fannie Mae's name in order to sell this house (which has been on market since mid 2012--quite long for this Las Vegas Market)  and has just been sitting back playing computer games all day and hoping no one got the wiser, what else have they screwed up on, overlooked, etc., and are just waiting to see that they can't cover their own asses over anymore?  How many more things will arise? Secondly) What was their ultimate plan?  They couldn't keep quiet regarding a trash lien (or anything else that might come up, AND PLEASE I BEG YOU ALL TO PRAY NOTHING ELSE DOES) forever.  Like I said, the house is a foreclosure   It is the Title Company's job to be Fannie Mae's local eyes and ears.  And if it wasn't us showing interest, putting down earnest money, getting our offer accepted, and signing a contract, it would have been some other family a week or two later.  Did they really think things such as this would never get discovered?  Come on now, it just doesn't even make sense.

• Oh, and on top of that, seeing we have to be in our apartment longer, the management is charging us $400 extra for March and then prorated based on that exorbitant rate for April 1-14.  But we signed a 60 day notice, so as far as getting through escrow without anymore bumps, bruises, and scrapes, and for hopefully convincing the apartment management to stop trying to milk an already dry cow (the extra money is just not there) prayers, chants, meditations and crossed fingers--WOULD ALL BE GREATLY HELPFUL LADIES!  Thanks.

• And my relocating parents, Lady C and Lord C?  They spent 4 days here in sunny, chilly, but definitely not frigid (70 here compared to 10 degrees when boarding in Chi-town) to look at apartments two weeks ago.  After Las Vegas they were on to Salt Lake City, which is 45 minutes from my sister and brother-in-law.  My gut had been saying they were going to choose UT.  I was actually fine with it.  A little sting feeling like it meant choosing her over me, but I forced past that juvenile thinking.  And focused on how UT means more family time, more bonding time for them and Tybalt, yet no doorbell rings and *poof!* there they are on my front stoop, no "The car broke down, can you come jump me 45 minutes away?" no "What do you MEAN you're spending this Sunday with Romeo's mom.  We want you here!"  Well, guess what, they are now apparently 99.9% sure they have chosen Las Vegas.  That unreliable gut of mine.

Sigh, its 3:41, and you know me, re-reading and editing my own work will take me until 4am. *Note, yep, it's 5:19am now, oh how off I was on that one, lol.*

Oh, one thing I forgot is an answer to my anniversary conundrum back in October.  Our solution is in the final comment I left.  Not bad, but still room for improvement, which I feel should be the soundtrack to my life right now.  Hmm, I wonder who I'd get to sing it--I do like Kelly Clarkson. ;)

• Oh, and Harold, F-I-L, returns for three months either February 27 or March 6.  "Insert haunting "Law and Order Theme Hear."  And I'm done.

Chicago Vacation, Part Deux: Early Birthday

Since my in-laws have been absent for a good percentage of Mia's milestones, we thought that once the wedding festivities were over (literally -- we went from the wedding brunch directly into the Mia-centric portion of the vacation), we should tack on a couple of days to our trip so that we could celebrate Mia's 1st Birthday, despite it being a bit early. While we were attending all the wedding functions, Mia stayed with her Grandpa, and hung out with my two sisters in law, so that by the time Sunday (and the little party) rolled around, they were all old friends and Mia didn't play shy around anyone.

The birthday party was exactly as expected. A big group of Italian-Americans in B's grandparents basement, eating Italian-American food and chatting. Mia had a lovely time watching her older cousin run around, while being terrified of the balloons that he was pulling after him. Unfortunately, Mia was too excited to sit down and eat anything, and her dinner was basically just a bit of her birthday smash cake. Just as the party was winding down, Mia vomitted like nobody's business, and I was afraid that she had caught another stomach bug, but it turned out to be an isolated incident.

Anyhooo... Chicago weather continued to be basically crappy, so we spent our Monday down at the aquarium. We were joined by SIL the younger. Mia clapped at the belugas and dolphins, and pointed at a great many fish tanks.

Our flight home was scheduled at 6am, so we set our alarm for 3:30am, for a 4am airport departure. Just as I was getting ready to switch Mia from her crib to her carseat, I got a text message that our flight was cancelled. After being on the phone with Southwest for a painless amount of time, we were rebooked for the 5:40pm flight, and I tucked myself back into bed. Other than the dogs having to spend one more night at the vet, we got to spend one extra day in our lovely city. We drove to nearby Oak Park (of Hemingway and Frank Lloyd Wright fame) which is the closest to a city-type neighborhood to B's grandparent's house. We also got to enjoy the only nice day the Chicago weather had to offer.

Thank You

I'm here. I exist. I haven't fallen off the face of the earth. I'm just struggling with my situation still and honestly haven't felt up to writing. But I wanted to say thank you for the comments and support. They are all very much appreciated. I am trying to take advice and remember my worth in the face of adversity.

I am also thankful for a place I can be [sometimes brutally] honest and for other moms, women, readers, followers, and friends who allow me to be so and accept me even when I'm feeling so low--just as I am and for who I am.

Tick Tick Tick

Tick Tick Tick Tick.

I feel like a prisoner on death row. It's happening. There's no avoiding it.

It's 2:31 in the morning. I can't sleep. And it makes me wonder how death row inmates have any appetite for that last meal, because I feel like I'm going to puke.

And I'm not dying! I *only* have to deal with my FIL. (P.S. Which adds to my stress and guilt, because really in all sanity I have no right comparing my situation to losing your life, yet here I am doing it. Sigh...)

He's BAAAAAAAAAACK!

Please excuse me for not doing a Whatnot Wednesday today.  I just don't have it in me.  Mainly because my mind is circling 'round the drain and only about one thing:

FATHER-IN-LAW RETURNS IN TWO DAYS.
THIS IS NOT A DRILL.  I REPEAT, THIS IS NOT A DRILL.  FIL RETURNS IN TWO DAYS.

Yes, my FIL that hates me, belittles me, has even told me that he *knows* I'm going to die at any moment and he *may* choose to grace everyone with his presence at my funeral simply because I'm his grandson's mother.  Of course all of that is only when he's not choosing to just give me the silent treatment like a high school girl.

And why?  Because I'm fat.  He's given other excuses for it, some family members have guesses for ADDITIONAL reasons as well (!), and so we don't really know exactly how many reasons he harbors such disdain for me, but the main reason is because I'm morbidly obese.  (Ugh, I hate that term, but if we want to get realistic about it, that's the medical term.)  And the more I struggle with my weight, the worse he treats me.  And the comment made to me about dying because I'm so fat was unfortunately when I was at least 50 pounds lighter than I am today.  Yes, I don't love myself for having gained that much weight back since I lost 100 in the hospital, but his hatred has also correspondingly skyrocketed!

He splits his time between Las Vegas and his other son's hometown in the Pacific Northwest, and he's returning on Friday for one his three month stints here.  For those of you that are either new to our blog, or could use a refresher on our "relationship" and his horrendous nature, please click the following link to see last September's post, "The Silent Treatment."

Anyway, I'm nauseated, depressed, frustrated, angry, and having a hard time concentrating and focusing.  If it wasn't for being a Mommy I don't know if I'd be getting out of bed.  As it is, I have hard time doing so.  And I get this way every three months for about two weeks right before he returns.  And that intensity (aka crisis mode) will last anywhere from a week to a month once he's here, depending on how bad and nasty he is upon his return.  Then at least a less complex but general anxiety will stick around for the remainder of his three month visit, until he finally leaves again.  But I'll only get to breathe normally again then.  By my calendar that means sometime in May.

Gender Roles

As you know I have a son. Tybalt is almost 15 months old. My mother and I were talking on the phone a couple of days ago about what he might like for Christmas. Of course at this age, the question is really what he could use, or what Romeo and I would like him to receive for Christmas, as he's still too young to have a wish list.

I was suggesting bath toys, but beyond that I was at a loss for more ideas. His birthday was just in August, so I feel like he has enough toys right now. (Plus, Romeo and I have already bought a handful and put them aside for Christmas.)

My mother wanted to know if Ty would like a new stuffed animal. When my sister and I were young, she had Gladys, a stuffed pig, and I had Bruno, a stuffed bear, that we did EVERYTHING with. I told her he has lots of stuffed animals already and has never really taken to any of them. He plays with one or two occasionally but isn't like so attached that he has to drag a particular one around, or sleep with it, or anything like that.

That's when my mother suggested a baby doll. I paused. She said, "You know your father had one." I know that, but my father was also raised by his mother and three older sisters, so to me it's no surprise that he probably wanted one. I had to make a split-second decision, was it okay for my son to play with a baby doll? My mom could hear the hesitation and stated, "Well maybe he would be more interested in it than another stuffed toy because it's a human, with a face, instead of a funny looking plush animal."

And in the next second that passed I honestly decided that yes, a baby doll would be a good gift for Tybalt for Christmas. But I asked for her to find one that isn't just stuffed, but rather one that coos and make noises, and is supposed to suck a pacifier, and go to sleep on command, etc.

My thoughts are thus: It may be "unusual" for a little boy to play with a baby doll, but does that mean he can't? Just because something is not the norm does that mean it has be impossible? Why can't my son model what Mommy does to his own "baby." Don't I want my son to learn from an early age that boys can be caretakers and love children too? He has a wonderful father who takes such good care of him--don't I want him to learn those traits? What's wrong with him feeding the baby it's bottle? Or rocking it to sleep? (Side note, it might also help him go to sleep when he sees "his" baby is going to sleep too, because Tybalt has been occasionally fighting me on nap time lately.)

I've brought the idea up to my husband and he seems reluctant, somewhat surprised, but not vehemently opposed. I'll take that. After all, I was reluctant and somewhat surprised at the suggestion at first myself. And I think if it works the way I believe in my head that it will, it will be another thing that he later admits I was right about, like so many wife/husband decisions! (LOL.)

My main problem comes right now with my MIL. Every Christmas my parents, who still live in Chicago, send the presents straight to her house and we spend Christmas there and open them then. I am TERRIFIED that when she sees a baby doll, all sorts of judgmental comments will bubble out of her mouth. She raised two boys in the 70's and 80's. No way would they have played with a baby doll and is she going to even begin to grasp the concept.

I'm starting to think I should ask my parents to ship the gifts to our place this year and try to find the baby doll before we take the rest of the gifts over to MIL's. Then Tybalt can open it and play with it only here, and she'll never see it. What she doesn't know won't hurt her.

Excuses

You've no doubt read about my in-laws. Ugh. I have a pretty good relationship with my mother-in-law and a "horrible, no-good, very bad" relationship with my father-in-law.

Well, FIL is still in town for another week. So for the last three months, MIL and I have not visited much. And for her to see Tybalt, my husband has had to bring him over to her house, where FIL stays (even though they are divorced) while he is in town.

In general, MIL has still gotten to see Tybalt quite a bit. At least once a week. And that's not like "a couple hours long visit" once a week--that's a full overnight, even often two nights in a row, visit every week.

**(I believe that's actually MORE than "quite a bit" but that's perhaps another upcoming blog post. How often do "local" grandparents normally see their grandchildren? I had one "local" grandmother and I saw her maybe once a month--as in go to Grandma's for the afternoon once a month. Sleepover? That was more like twice a year. Which one is the odd frequency? I can see a weekly visit, but Grandma wanting a weekly sleepover? Um, yeah this has started to be an issue bouncing around in my head. But...anyway...)**

But we got a call last week that FIL had gotten a shingles shot, and because of such could not be around any child for two weeks.

So, I guess MIL is going through Tybalt withdrawl.

How do I know this? Her text last night: "Are you going to be home tomorrow? I bought the baby some Christmas socks, but they look small, so I want to come over and try them on him."

I don't even know how to finish this post. I believe it finishes itself--was that not a bit of a stretch of an excuse to come over and cuddle with her grandson? Why does she think she has to make excuses? Can't she just say she misses him (and me, I would hope) and ask if she can come visit?

The Silent Treatment

To say my father-in-law and I do not get along would be putting it mildly. In fact, to say he turns my stomach might still be putting it mildly. When I first met him he seemed ornery and crotchety. An old man set in his ways and prone to saying exactly what he felt when he felt it. Tact is not a virtue he was born with. But I chalked it up to the fact that he is honestly older. (One fact of life is that with Romeo being 15 years my "senior," his parents are a decade or two older than mine.) In fact, he is only about 10 years younger than my equally ornery and crotchety late grandmother. You know the type of senior citizen, I'm sure, who grew up using terms like "colored," and other non-politically correct things, and still says them, and way too loud. Yes? Anyway, like I said, I gave him the benefit of the doubt when while I was dating Romeo, his father would say somewhat rude things about not needing more when I would take seconds at family dinner.

Then Romeo and I announced our engagement. And the $#!% hit the fan. No sooner were the words out of Romeo's mouth than his father opened the back patio door and walked out into the night without a word. He ceased speaking to me for Romeo and my 8 month engagement. We didn't even know until "crunch time" whether he would attend the wedding. Rumors flew as to what his problem might be. What was the one that stuck? My weight. Suddenly his hairy eyeball and upending comments at dinner didn't seem so innocent.

Now, it should be said that he finally spoke to me to apologize for his behavior the following Thanksgiving. A month after my wedding. His reasoning was the age difference between his son and I. And suddenly I felt silly. Felt bad about believing for so long what family members had muttered. "Of course!" I exclaimed to myself, "No one could be so mean about weight! Of course! He just thought I was too young. Not that I think that's much of a reason to dislike me anyway, but at least it isn't my weight! Phew!"

Well, the "niceties" lasted approximately a whopping 2 months, until Romeo and I announced that we were pregnant. Slowly, the avoidance tactics and snide remarks on his part crept back in. And I couldn't put my finger on it, but...yeah, age was definitely not the issue. Nor did I believe it ever really had been. You guessed it, as I got pregnant, I got even larger...

Zoom ahead about a year, for the sake of length of this blog post. I have had Tybalt. Been hospitalized 3 months with heart trouble, and actually LOST  100 pounds from being tube fed. What does he say to me? He is "concerned" about my weight and believes I will die shortly. And he wants me to know that he will consider attending my funeral, because I am the mother of his grandson.

EXCUSE ME, BUT 1)WHO THE HELL DOES HE THINK HE IS? 2) WHO THE HELL SAYS SOMETHING LIKE THAT TO A PERSON WHO HAS JUST STARED DEATH IN THE FACE AND SURVIVED?

Needless to say, that was the last straw. I was the one who now resorted to avoidance tactics. I was shocked and I had had it. I discussed it with my husband (he had not witnessed the situation), and we decided that we would try to retain minimal contact with him for the sake of the grandfather/grandson relationship, but that I got a "pass" and if I never wanted to see him again I didn't have to.

*I should mention that avoiding him is not exactly easy, but not terribly difficult either. He only lives in the same town as us half of the year. He travels between Las Vegas, and his other son's home in the Pacific Northwest. He lives 3 months here, 3 months there, 3 months, 3 months, etc. So while I do have to "survive" 3 months near him at a time, I also get 3 months "off" immediately following it.*

Well the FUNERAL COMMENT to me occurred at the beginning of his last 3 month stay. So I avoided family dinners and functions for 3 months after that hurtful day. And when he left was able to have a happy 3 more months of family time with Romeo, Tybalt, and my sincerely loving mother-in-law.

But the time has come and my father-in-law returned about 2 weeks ago. What hurts even beyond his vengeful comments and lack of tact, is as I just mentioned I adore my mother-in-law, and when he comes to town if I avoid him I don't get to see her. I also don't appreciate spending evenings alone at home while my husband takes Tybalt to his parents' home. Remember, I may be pissed, but we agreed to foster Tybalt's relationship with his Grandfather. After all, the baby has done nothing wrong.

Okay, so after that long background story, we come to today: I gave in. We were invited by my mother-in-law to bbq for Labor Day. At first, Romeo and I decided he would just take Tybalt. So he headed over. But my stomach gnawed and gnawed. I just couldn't rationalize hiding in fear and pain. I wanted to spend time with family on the holiday, not home alone. And damn it, I missed my mother-in-law as well. So, I loaded myself into my car. I must say my stomach flip-flopped the entire drive over. My husband turned white as a sheet when I arrived. Nervous about how this would go, the two cats in one bag.

How did it go? I wish I could say well. I wish I could say the clouds parted, sun shone, and a double rainbow appeared. Instead, I report from the front that apparently my father-in-law still has a problem with me and my weight (or whatever issue he wants to claim he has...bottom line, he still has a problem with me). He left the house and stayed out in the garage for approximately 2 hours once I arrived. After that he came in the house, asked for Romeo, and they proceeded to work on a complicated toy Tybalt had received for his birthday that had yet to be constructed. This meant another 1.5-2 hours in the garage. After they were done, Romeo and he grilled up dinner and he proceeded to stand in the kitchen cleaning rather than sit at the same dining room table as me.

What does all this mean? Where does this put us? Honestly, I have no stinkin' idea. I do know that all that angst and guilt I felt about ignoring him, not speaking to him, and not being able to find the strength to be the bigger person? Apparently that was all unnecessary. Because even when I bowed my head and went over to the house today, he was the one that apparently still has a problem, and apparently finds the silent treatment and ignoring another human being as a perfectly acceptable option, as he displayed to me today.

Sigh........................................................................................................................................