Enough Already: I'm Having a Pity Party for Myself. As Usual, Don't Read This Debi Pearl.

I had trouble writing this weekend because, as you know, Greg had surgery and was out of commission.  He was expected to return to work on Tuesday...and move on with his life...but things don't always go as expected.

He is apparently still having more pain than he "should."  So, the weekend of playing caring wife to the convalescing man-child has turned into almost a week.

Now, I struggle to be patient whenever there is man-child weakness...the audible moaning and sighing.  The continuous napping and requests for food-service, DVD inserting and removing, pill-delivery.  Sweet Jesus, I can't take it!

This week the man-child behavior has been out in full-effect.  In addition to the ever-present vocal displays of pain and misery, there have also been wincing and limping...graphic descriptions of the exact locale of the pain and misery...and my personal favorite, the under-the-breath comments about how, for example, getting up from the couch to let the dog out is "(mumble, mumble) exactly what I need right now...just walk around and hurt myself worse...(mumble, mumble) sure that's good for me..."

My eye begins to twitch, I get hot, and my heart rate spikes.  Code Red!  Mounting fury.

It has been taking every ounce of effort that I have left* not to attack him and really give him something to cry about!

*I don't have very much energy left to support this giant effort towards not doing physical harm to my pansy-*ass husband because this week has been hellish for many other reasons:
1.  I had killer PMS and now have a super-intense period.  Yay!  Excellent timing, as usual, Mother-frigging nature.
2.  Brooke decided to teeth...although she has only managed to sprout two fangs in the entire 11.5 months of her life thus far, this was the week she had to begin in earnest!
3.  It has been dreary and rainy, and I swear that I have seasonal dysphoric disorder.
4.  Alyssa has been extremely needy and jealous because her baby brother was born at her dad's house, and now the poor thing has two infantile siblings after being the only child for 6 years.  Talk about an adjustment!
5.  The entire house and yard and pool have to be perfectly clean because they are coming to take pictures for our sale brochures and online advertising.
6.  And, oh yeah, I am in intense pain from the reverse curvature of my neck, which I am futiley having treated twice weekly with chiropractic. 

Let's start with #1: The pain that I suffer during one menstrual cycle would surely kill my husband.  Dead. The cramping, the bloating, the headaches, body aches...  Then, I bleed profusely for an entire week!  And, let's face it--if you're not having a period, you are busy being pregnant, which is an even more intense physical test, at the end of which you push a child out of your vagina.  You tear from the inside out.  You get stitched up, and hours later you are up and caring for a newborn.  Mothers work through pain.

(HE FREAKING SERIOUSLY JUST TOOK A PERCOCET, LAID DOWN ON THE COUCH, TURNED ON SPORTS CENTER, AND IS ICING HIMSELF.  MEANWHILE I AM SITTING HERE TRYING TO TYPE WITH AN INFANT SCREAMING, TRYING TO CLIMB INTO MY LAP AND A VACUUM CLEANER PARKED BESIDE ME AND A STEAM MOP WARMING UP IN THE NEXT ROOM!!!!!!!)

Now #2:  Teething babies are miserable, angry little people.  (Understandably.)  Brooke just cries and cries.  She throws her head back and cries with her mouth wide open (so, at least I can check her teeth nubbins).  She lays down on the floor and cries.  And, my personal favorite, she stands up at my legs and cries.  I have been rubbing homeopathic teething gel on her gums, but it works in fits and spurts.  Mostly she just cries.  Sometimes it is very quietly.

Now #3:  Alyssa has been needing to cling and cuddle.  When she is not needing that, she seems to be needing to release massive quantities of pent up frustration in spurts of manic hyperactivity combined with high-pitched sounds that only dolphins can hear.  Unfortunately, she needs the cuddling time when Brooke is awake and clinging and crying at me/on me in one form or another.  She needs the hyperactive/super-loud time when Brooke is finally, blessedly asleep.  As you can imagine, it is impossible to excel in this parenting situation...  (And then there is the stupid, awful man-child who is more needy and exhausting than either of these actual children.)

Now #4:  Ah--add another number--I have these explanations switched up and out of numerical order.  This drives my order-loving self insane, but I have no time to edit, so... It has been raining for days now, and I seriously have the worst case of the dysphoric blahs.  This is not at all a good time for this paired with the PMS and various and sundry pressing responsibilities.  Not like any time is particularly appropriate for falling into a depressed funk.

Now #5:  The big stressor!  Not that I have any good reason to complain...again, the timing, it just stinks!...but, in addition to having lots of appointments to pick out the finishes for our new house, I am also responsible for getting the house and yard in perfect shape.  This week, the pool is being opened, and the house is being photographed for advertising purposes.  For all intents and purposes, this advertising is our "first impression" on buyers.  I have watched a lot of Sabrina Soto's "Designed to Sell" on TLC (before we got rid of our premium cable), so I am fully aware of how important cleanliness and staging are, and I have A LOT of projects...  Unfortunately for me--and the projects--I have no husband to help me complete them.  Also unfortunately for me--and the projects--it has been raining all week.

So, I (alone, just me) have been outside mulching, edging, sweeping, raking, weeding, trimming, pruning...in the rain.  Sometimes, even poor teething Brooke has had to come out there with me.  Thankfully, her jogging stroller has an intense weather-proofing hood and awning.  Unfortunately, the intense weather-proof jogging stroller is not sound proof.  So, I still have to hear the crying.  And, believe me, when she is strapped into a stationary jogging stroller while I weed along side her, there is a lot of crying to be heard.  Teething babies need movement...in addition to continuous attention and distraction.

Meanwhile, Greg is inside watching t.v. and laying on the couch with frozen vegetables defrosting on top of his underwear.  When he feels really motivated (and the rain lets up), he may venture outside, usually with a beverage in hand, probably what's left over after having washed down his meds.  I always hear him coming...due to the audible nature of his total lack of pain tolerance.  Then, I look up and see him limping towards me with one hand gingerly holding his man-parts and the other gripping his drink.  Generally, he critiques my work harshly.  Generally, I want to use whatever gardening instrument I have in my hand and bludgeon him with it.

Whenever I am not working in the yard, like in the darkness of night, I am cleaning the house.  It needs to be sparkling clean, not surface clean.  I have, therefore, been dusting the radiators and wiping down baseboards, cleaning the windows, and steaming the floors.  I have been washing the walls and scrubbing the grout.  I do this while holding Brooke in one hand, usually, since...as mentioned...she is totally, inconsolably miserable and Greg is unable/unwilling to hold her without risking the timeliness of his healing process.  When I have snapped into psycho-wife, I have insisted that he provide me with some child-care assistance...and he has done the muttery-under-the-breath-snide commenting, which makes me regret ever asking him for help in the first place.

And, #6:  Meanwhile, as I am doing the most intense physically demanding labor that I have done in all of the months of winter...I am still suffering from reverse curvature of the neck.  So, against all reason, I am attending twice weekly chiropractic sessions only to come home and immediately ruin any and every bit of progress that might be attained.  A total stupid waste of money.  But, someone has to be responsible for numbers 1-5, so #-freaking-6.

Just so you know, Greg is now napping.  Brooke is in her crib wailing.  The steam mop is ready for action.  Lovin' life.