I couldn’t hold out any longer. It took longer to pack the freaking car than the three hour drive to get there. I was worried, as I’d never driven that long alone with the baby before.
I timed it so that it was his nap time, but he hardly slept at all. Woke up just as I was going through McDonalds drive-thru for a large latte and frozen coke, which I ended up drinking both together because I am disgusting like that. I have a “cast-iron” stomach, as do both my boys. I was always so proud of the fact that I could drink such a lot of booze until I threw up. Of course, towards the end of drinking, I threw up a lot. But that is the story of another day as this is the story of the baby and the journeys we have been on.
By the time we hit the bottom of the mountain, he was getting restless, and I was getting scared. Suddenly I had a Go-Go-Gadget arm that could feed him his bottle as I was driving. He sits behind the passenger seat, I still don’t know how I did it. I was thinking a lot about him, how cute he was and how we had bonded the last few days. I read your comments on my last post, and as always, felt buoyed and better and comforted. Then I had the biggest realisation of all …. what if this whole thing we have been through, makes mine and the baby’s relationship stronger than it ever would have been? Instead of weak and lacking, as I always thought it would be.
He was looking at me in the rear view mirror almost the whole journey. Sussing me out. Smiling. Making demands. At one point, he was reaching a crescendo that was about to turn into wailing. So in desperation, I turned the CD player on. The Doors settled him right down – but only if I blared it so loud. He fucking loved it, and fully chilled out. “Into this house we’re born/Into this world we’re thrown.”
This baby was thrown into the world. It was not my fault. I was worried I would not love him enough. I do. I DO. This baby is as tough as nails and strong as an ox. He wants to know how to do things. On the verge of crawling. Sleeps through every night. Had his first swim in the surf today, didn't bat a freakin' eye.
By the time we got to the F3 turn-off to the Central Coast, I realised that by driving off the other day, Dave had triggered my abandonment issues. They run so deep that I doubt there is even a bottom. Just endless sea of despair. I was still so cranky, and still am. I also have PMS and am eating WAY too much chocolate which is giving me sugar rage. I try to jog it off as quick as I'm eating it, alas, my bikini is WAY too tight and I'm WAY to fucking flabby for a bikini anyway. Tomorrow I shall have to but a one-piece. Just until, you know, I get some abs of steel. We are staying at a beautiful house near the beach, and I’m trying so hard to enjoy it. Your comments still ringing true for me …. so nice to know that I am not alone! That you joined my “I’m fucked up; You’re fucked up!” club.
Dave has a lump on his arm. I’m taking him straight to the doctor when we get home. I refuse to dwell on it.
We are eating way too much. The guys keep mooning each other in public, trying to out-gross each other. It never works – none of us, especially me, are gross-out-able. I hold Rocco and kiss his golden head and tell him that will be him soon, running around being naughty. He knows.
If Dave bosses me around one more time I may punch him. All of us argue about what to have for lunch. Will we go to the beach or the shops. What will we have for dinner. I feel like a Simpson most of the time. But I love it, and am trying to live in a Spirit of Contentment instead of Resentment.
There’s a woman on facebook, whose page I look at a lot. We were best friends at a school in Sydney when I was seven. She’s a dancer, and literally dances her way across the world. Paris, India, America …. right now she is in Thailand. Always dancing. I think I look at her with some envy. No worries, no cancer, no babies, no fucked-up past, no messy family dynamics. Just her and her feet, and her exotic friends. I wonder what it would be like, to be her.
Last night, I wondered if she wondered what it would be like to have a messy family, and kids, and a hubby, and a home … all the things she doesn’t. If she wondered, what it would be like … to be me.