So yesterday wasn’t the best day. I really wanted it to be. Not that anything was happening. I was telecommuting and am not really able to get out and about much, anyway. Still, it was my last day at home for who knows how long just me and Stella. Therein was the problem.
I got emotional. Everything was a “last.” The last time I’d get to lie down and snuggle with her during her nap, just the two of us. The last full day. It’s so embarrassing and stupid but I spent off and on all day with my eyes leaking. Once again, I’ll blame it on hormones. I’d better do so while I can. I probably only have a few good weeks left to use that excuse. Despite the fact that I don’t think she saw her mother acting a fool, Stella was just really sweet to me all day. She spent a great deal of time cuddled up to me on the couch giving me “hug hugs.” Don’t know why but hugs come in pairs.
Then a Stupid Cat peed in the bathtub again. Only this time it was a tiny one. I’d laugh if I weren’t so angry and disgusted about it. It was the cute little wooden bathtub for Stella’s castle/dollhouse. I was cleaning up before bed last night and noticed the tub certainly looked dark. Sure enough. In lieu of water, my daughter’s doll’s tub was full of cat piss. Fortunately Yellow Dora or Master Chief was not taking a bath at the time. Somehow the furry bastard aimed almost perfectly, spilling very little on the floor. The accuracy was such that I could almost believe that it was NOT a feline at all, and that we have some kind of Urine Gremlin visiting my house, but that’s totally irrational. That and I was home all day and would have seen him. Even my hormones have to draw the line somewhere. Regardless, I cleaned it all up. The tub may be a lost cause as I don’t think you can get that funk out of wood. I just have to chalk this up to one more thing to worry about while I’m in the hospital: my kid, my husband, BY, my recovery, and a castle.
Then Will and I had a bit of a tiff. His leave for BY’s arrival is all screwed up. Somehow he has potentially ended up with way too much time off. Now that may sound like a good thing, but he works under a system where his vacation resets annually and he will earn no more until June 1. Furthermore, he’s down for more days off than he has vacation days to cover it. With the way things are now, his proverbial load will be shot and we will have no cushion at all for over 3 months (and will take a pay cut to boot once his vacation is all used). This isn’t a big deal until we get to mid-April and I go back to work. I’ll just have to tell our kids and Stella’s nanny’s kids not to get ill for 6 weeks without checking with me and my work calendar first. So I got angry. With less than a day and a half before putting my big ol’ butt on the OR table, this is not what I need to be worrying about. I’m just making a mental effort to not think about that anymore. I can resume getting angry about that later if need be.
Sorry. I’m ranting. Stress, nerves, whatever.
I know tomorrow will be like before. I was so fixated on myself that that was all I thought about. I hate to admit it, but it was mostly about my fear, and wanting it to be over. My excitement over meeting my daughter was maybe #3 on the list. This time, yes, there’s some fear for me but mainly it’s about Stella: leaving her, knowing that she’s going to feel at least a little abandoned even when I come home since she’s no longer the only child. I also know these are fears that every already-mommy feels when they have another baby. I know things will be OK, at least after a while once we all adjust. Once I see and hear BY, time and my heart will stop and he’ll be mine, just like it did with his sister. I just have to wait it out at this point. It’s a good thing I’m at the office vs. home stewing.
To all of you out there, I appreciate all of your sweet thoughts and words over the past several weeks/months. I don’t often have the opportunity to respond to all of your comments, but know that I do read them and they have a way of helping. This is probably my last post until after BY comes unless something just really goofy or significant happens in the next 8 hours. Over and out on this c-section eve day…