Wednesday, April 18, 2018

I'm Lost, And I Have No Idea Where I'm Actually Supposed To Be




*************

"Uh... you won't let me in?" I asked, the confusion written all over my face.

"Sorry" she said flatly, giving no other indication that she actually cared.

"Um... but... this is a support group... and... I need support. I called yesterday and they said that everyone is welcome. I even got a babysitter and drove 30 minutes here" I said, adding in that last bit for the sympathy factor.

"Well yes, all are welcome, at the beginning of the 12 week session" she stated. "The divorce support group is more of a class than a group, and we require that everyone start at the beginning. We aren't currently at the beginning, we are 3 weeks in, so you will have to come back in 9 weeks and then you will be welcome."

No one had relayed that vital bit of information to me over the phone.

She then closed the door to the not-very-supportive divorce support group that was actually a very strict class, and left me standing in the hallway of a church.

It had been a year and a half since my husband had left and I was having a difficult time. Initially I had jumped right into a relationship with someone else, and if anything, it had only served to deflect a lot of the issues that I really needed to be dealing with. When that relationship had gone down like an atomic bomb, I was left standing for the first time, truly alone, and in the destruction of what was left of my life.


I had absolutely no idea where to turn.

So I didn't turn anywhere, instead, sinking inside of myself and shutting everyone out.

I remember one night in particular where I was lying on my bed, face down in my pillow, and bawling my eyes out. In the midst of my tears, the doorbell rang. I crawled over to my window so that no one outside would see me, and I peeked out to see two of my best friends standing on my front porch.

I could hear them out there talking to each other "she has to be home, her car is outside. Do you think she is OK?" but I couldn't bring myself to get out of bed and answer the door. After what seemed like an eternity, they left and sent me a text that read "We left a case of diapers for The Boy Child and a carton of ice cream for you on your front porch. We hope you are OK. It's alright if you don't want to talk, but just at least let us know you are OK."

I texted them back, apologized, thanked them for their kindness, and I felt awful.

Friday, March 23, 2018

Welcome To The World Little One (Also Known As The Day I Screamed At Everyone)

Wow. These last few weeks have been quite the frenzy of activity, but what is life with a newborn if not a little bit hectic?

In the event that you missed my Facebook announcement, The Littlest joined our family on March 2nd. Tipping the scales at 7lbs 6oz, he was my biggest baby yet, but not at all the ginormous baby that the doctor had said I might expect.


Thank you Jesus.

Especially, because the labor and delivery was hard enough as it was.

P.S. I would like to speak to whomever conjured up the theory that so many have tossed my way in the last several months, when they said “being your third, this labor should be easy!” because that person lied.

LIES.

Seriously, lies.

With The Girl Child, I went from 1cm to having her in my arms, in nine minutes. Yes, truth. With The Boy Child, labor was six hours long, going from 6cm to in my arms, in less than 30 minutes.

With The Littlest?

FOURTEEN FREAKING HOURS.

Friday, March 2, 2018

By The Time You Read This...


Yesterday, my friend and I went out to celebrate my last day of freedom, before I have a baby to tend to again, because by the time many of you read this tomorrow (Friday), I will already be in the hospital, preparing to have The Littlest.

Yay!!

I really cannot believe that baby boy held out this long, but the day is here! I have so many feelings coming at me right now, and thanks to hormones, they all feel very overwhelming.

I’m excited.

I’m nervous.

I’m scared.

Because of my genetic disorder, I’m a high-risk delivery, with a known hemorrhage risk (remember that terrifying rhino-septoplasty I had?) and that's been weighing on my mind a lot, so please pray for me. My biggest fear is not one of dying, but one of leaving my children motherless.

But anyway, I’m getting morbid here and this is supposed to be a happy post!

THE BABY IS COMING!!!

Tuesday, February 20, 2018

Sex, Diagrams, And A Cheesecake

* If the pictures appear blurry, select the desktop version on your mobile device*

In case you didn't pick up on this from my last post, I am very, very, extremely ready to have this baby. Even more now, since I dislocated my hip (stupid genetic disorder) not long after hitting "publish" on the last post, and it's really difficult to heal a hip with all this extra baby weight pressing on it.

Awesomeness.

And my poor husband, well let's just say that the man should get some kind of medal, or nomination for sainthood, because I think that the wife he married and loves, has recently been replaced by a ball of weeping, eating, complaining, hormones.

I'm the green, and my saint of a husband is the gray, texting from his place of work.


Thursday, February 15, 2018

Baby Update




**If the photos appear fuzzy, select the desktop view on your mobile device**

Is it just me, or have I been pregnant forever?

Because seriously, it feels like it’s been forever…

I’m 37 weeks pregnant, and I really can’t believe I made it this far. With my first two, I had preterm labor that landed me on bedrest a few months before my due date. So this time, when I ended up in the hospital at 21 weeks, contracting regularly, and scared out of my mind, I was sure that he was going to be born very, very, early.

But nope!

Now he doesn’t want to get out.

Friday, February 9, 2018

Six Years Later, Perjury Caught Up With Him (Part Three)


I was driving home when Mr. Attorney Man called to say that he thought it had gone well. I agreed, and then caught him off guard by saying that I wanted to concede to my ex’s motion, and moving forward have a cap placed on what he would owe me.

Repeatedly explaining that there was no legal basis for that, and that it would mean I would end up paying a majority of the bills in the end, I stood firm that it was what I wanted.

I do want justice, but I also need to move on.

“Please ask the judge to cap it, and in turn raise his monthly payments for support and arrears. I’d rather he be obligated to pay a higher amount each month, if it means that I don’t have to talk to him ever again. I know that means I will end up paying more towards medical bills than he will, but I can’t keep doing this. I want to move on.”

I need to.

I got home that night to a bouquet of flowers, a bottle of alcohol removed champagne, and a husband waiting to either comfort me, or celebrate, and had to explain that the case wasn't yet over. 

I tossed and turned all night, and the next morning when closing arguments began, Mr. Attorney Man expressed to the court how weary the process has made me, and that although I was there for justice, I was desperate to move on. He pointed out that it was clear my ex’s testimony was not credible and asked that the courts make things right for me and my children.

Then, my ex’s attorney said “your honor, we have a lot of deadbeat dads that come through this courtroom, and it’s obvious that Mr. Ex is not one of them.”

Thursday, February 8, 2018

Six Years Later, Perjury Caught Up With Him (Part Two)



It was absolutely freezing on the walk to the courthouse.

Held in the afternoon and the only case on the docket, the courtroom was empty for our hearing, with the exception of Mr. Attorney Man, myself, a friend, my ex, his attorney, the judge, and the bailiff.

Intimate in a strange kind of way, it was both comforting, and unnerving.

Mr. Attorney Man had prepared a binder of documents that was no less than five inches thick and marked with exhibits.

I myself had brought a four inch file folder of well gone through evidence; copies of everything from bills that I had incurred, to photographs of my ex, his wife, and their children, provided to me by someone they believe is their friend, and proving that his lifestyle isn't quite as homeless as he has claimed.

I was ready, and utterly sick to my stomach. But, in a twist of fortune, the judge that had spent years letting my ex bluff his way through court, had retired, and a new judge now reigned over our case; giving me a glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, this time would be different.

My ex was called first, and as he sat there on the witness stand, I was taken aback at his appearance. A gaunt face with dark circles under his eyes, his hair has gone almost completely gray. Repeatedly clenching his jaw in anxiety, just as he had done throughout our marriage, only a couple teeth were now left on his bottom jaw, and a damaged partial denture that was supposed to be a temporary fix from work started nearly a decade ago, clung to the top and cause him to appear even older than he is.

Mr. Attorney Man wasted no time in getting down to business, and in an effort to condense what ended up being almost four hours of testimony, I’ll tell you that my ex’s answers were filled almost completely with perjury, and fake tears that dripped of manipulation, and desperation.

“Mr. Ex, were you not ordered to log into the website Talking Parents once a week (our only mode of communication), to converse regularly with Ms. Strong about the children and finances?” Mr. Attorney Man asked.