The hopeful prompt BLOG is always on my google to-do list, it's just all these other things keep finagling themselves in above, things like FIND BABYSITTER, FIND SMART WATCH FOR DA, BRING CAR TO LESLIE RE LIGHT ON IN DASHBOARD. PICK UP BOOKS FROM PRINTER, GET RECHARGER FOR MA, BUY CAT FOOD, GET MOISTURISER, on and on it goes. So BLOG gets neglected for weeks and weeks and even months. And, it's not like the $8.99 a month is going to break the bank but it seems a bit wrong to just keep giving it away to typepad when surely MSF or someone could make better use of it, so I'm going to migrate over to my hosting space, I reckon, where I also park my professional (hollow laugh) website. I'm going to.. fffuh-llly away! Leave your.. loo-ove to yesterday! etc etc. Fond as I am of this blog, I plan to turn it into a book form over which I can muse in later years, a notion that sounds simple enough, but it, my 12 year long monster blog, has already broken two websites who claim to be able to handle this sort of thing. Time will tell.
I feel all kinds of personal shifting going on these days, so maybe it's a good time to make a change. I feel more grown-up, sort of more measured, and not as invested in everyone's good opinion of me. Just as well, since I am the grown-up in the parenting gig, (tee hee, imagine). This comes out in unexpected ways, for instance, a new interest in good furniture, and rooms. A feeling our car should now be reliable and fuel efficient and I should remember to wear a cycling helmet.
Jay is growing fast, in the meantime. He's been in his own room since he turned one. (I approve heartily of being able to read at night again and have a proper grown-up bedroom. The relief of that milestone was lovely - a little bit of free time to myself to lie there on the bed! Simple pleasures, eh.) He has all sorts of new skills, pulls himself up with huge grunts, plays hide-and-seek with his father, brushes his own teeth, feeds himself, passes the ball. (And chooses not to wave goodbye or point.) He's healthy and bonny; he has had two haircuts already. His teeth are causing him (us) all sort of disturbance at night, poor boy; not a word of a lie, he has been waking every 2-3 hours since he was 10 months, with only a few exceptions. I was complaining about this to my friend the other day, and she said (she has a similar non-sleeper and is therefore Permitted to Comment) what I needed was Perspective and a Sense of Humour, and I said, yeah, no, I don't have either of those, anything else? We laughed. Really though, I have reached a sort of precarious resignation to the Sleepless in Dublin situation. I mean, it's teething, it can't go on forever, actual molars are appearing, and surely we're over the worst? He will sleep eventually. He used to sleep, for goodness sake. He's 14 months old, it's normal. In the meantime, with all the walking up and down with him at night, I'm certainly earning my biscuits. He eats very well, like a fastidious supermodel, in fact. No, ma, I'd prefer not to sully the temple that is my body with your salmon goujons, thank you. Enough peas, cucumber and berries to sink a battle ship instead, please! And perhaps a little brown bread. All quite amazing.
Unbelievably, we're still waiting for our court date for the finalisation of the adoption, and are now in the ridiculous process of having to redo our documents (it's just too annoying to explain more fully). This will be finally done in a month or so, and then we'll be lined up for our court date, where we'll be linked by video to the court in the USA. It's a bureaucratic nightmare, but it's also only a formality; it's caused the JB and me unending stress. Our usual pattern is him getting anxious, irrational and depressed, me pulling him out of it like a middle-aged Irish cheerleader, him feeling better, me feeling drained. Or, in scenario two, him not feeling better, but me getting impatient, offended and hopeless when I can't "fix" him, goddammit, who does he think he is, having feelings! So I have been doing what I refer to in my own head as Therapising Myself. I've been getting some advice from an online therapist, which has been helpful. (I had to switch - the first dude kept saying impenetrable things like: It's not a fatalistic dynamic. And sweeping things like: All little girls marry their father. The second one was great though.) I have a lot more clarity about how far my responsibility to him goes, and how I have to let him have his feelings and not jump in all the time with the impossible self-appointed task of trying to make him happy. I've noticed this frees me up to be more compassionate toward him, funnily enough. Jay is an excellent reason and motivator in this, of course; I do want to be a good example. The JB is going to do some CBT to help him with his anxiety, in the meantime.
We are finding more time for ourselves, too. The afore-mentioned babysitter is so we can go out for dinner together. We flop on the sofa in the evening when Jay is off to sleep and watch nice, reassuring TV (How Things Are Made, touring programmes that make good use of drone cameras and house restoration shows are highly recommended, for instance).
Be the living hokey, I have blogged!
Press publish, quick before it vanishes.
I hope all is well with you.
I'm the baby.
[She's been a great pet, so patient and sweet with him. Ah, Kitty, everyone said I wouldn't love you like before, but I do.]