>I’m living in a world of frustration right now. For 12 years, I have done everything by myself. I’ve moved myself to a number of different shitty apartments, I’ve found my own jobs, I’ve done my own cooking, I’ve done my own shopping. If I need to get somewhere, I figure out a way to do it. If I need to clean or arrange something, I clean or arrange the way I see fit. And even in my relationships, I’m the one who does these things. I clean, I cook, and I remember the ridiculous little things like garbage days, and birthdays and phone numbers and appointments and such.
And now, for the first time in 12 years, I am being forced to rely on others in every sense of the word. And let me tell you, it blows big time goats. I have no job, which means I have no income of my own to speak of. This has never, EVER, been the case. I have been working steadily since I was 13 and decided I was going to own a convertible by the time I was 16 (this did not happen…I did, however, own plenty of clothes…and books…and random knickknacks…and empty packs of cigarettes…and empty Ziploc baggies…). I can’t walk anywhere to do anything, so when sales happen at Clinique (eep!) for example, or when I suddenly realize we’re out of dish soap, or when I decide I might want to pick up some new vitamins or lip gloss, or when I need to fax something important, or when I want to make the trek out to that tiny bakery in the Glebe that sells the good bread, I can’t do these things. And I can’t really ask others to do these things because I’d be asking favours all day long. You know how it is: you wake up and you think, huh, I could really go for some good bread. And then when you’re walking way out of your way to get good bread you think, oh yeah! There’s a great little apothecary in this neighbourhood. And so on and so on. If you’re asking someone to get something for you, you have to think of these things all at once. Further, I hate to ask people to travel all over hells half acre to get the little things I like. I have no problem running around to different places to do the shopping, for instance, but I can’t ask Andrew to do that. He’d find it frustrating and unnecessary to buy apples in one place and bread in another. Argh.
And when it comes to stuff at home, I’m going really nutty. Frankly, I’m just ignoring the bed rest thing at times because there is just no way I’m asking Andrew to get me a glass of water and then oh yeah, could you cut me up some carrots, and maybe add a little cucumber with salt, oh and could you bring me my phone…and my notepad…oh and I need a pen….and another pillow etc etc etc. Because I’m terrible at remembering everything I need all at once. And I need to have things tidier than he does so I’ve been loading the dishwasher and cleaning the kitchen (lightly) and keeping on top of laundry and so on. I’m not convinced that others in my position don’t do the same. I can’t expect Andrew to suddenly morph into a cleaning god and I certainly can’t expect him to suddenly remember all the things that I do. And I flat out refuse to sound like a nagging wife-y. As if the guy isn’t under enough pressure with work and his bed ridden girlfriend and the fact that a baby could be arriving at any second. Yeesh.
So I’m frustrated. Because I want to be doing more and because I like to take care of my own things. Because it takes me two hours to do dishes what with all the sitting I have to do in between. Because we just moved into our new home and I want to feel settled but I can’t until the boxes are unpacked which I can’t do because I’m not supposed to be lifting things so I’m sitting in a messy living room that makes me want to scream. Because I’m tired and cranky and I know a good walk in the sun would make me feel better but then just when I think screw it, I’m going for a little walk, I am suddenly wrought with guilt…what if The Fetus comes out early because I couldn’t listen to bed rest instructions and blah diddy blah blah. Which is ridiculous because there is no way one walk is going to damage this kiddo. WIHGLAENKGKDLFKSDJAFLIEWJL. Sigh.
I’m aware that at the end I get this beautiful baby. Which is just great and I’m super excited. But forgive me if that isn’t enough to console me at present. I just don’t feel like myself and no amount of thinking about the cute little baby, who is happily dancing around in my uterus as we speak, can fix that right now. Maybe things will be better tomorrow.