Tuesday 13 November 2012

Aftermath

With hindsight, it was probably a mistake to let the children eat cake for dinner. When I finally compile my definitive list of 'Things That Annoy Me About Small Children', right there at the top will be they don't really know how to have fun. Don't get me wrong, I know that they do have a lot of fun, but only by accident - they don't know how to determinedly have fun when they might not be in the mood but the situation demands it. I forgot this entirely, last week - after a long, long day of waiting by the phone for news - which turned out to be extraordinarily good news, as I've already told you - I wanted to celebrate. I didn't really feel like celebrating -I was too shocked, and more on that below, but it seemed important to celebrate so I wanted to do it anyway. I got a text from my husband saying I'm going to be late home again and so I thought I know it's dinner time but I don't want to just sit here all evening on my own; I'm taking these children out for a babyccino, dagnabbit. (See, I know how to have fun, even when I don't want to).

Do y'all have babyccinos where you live? They are little espresso cups full of milk froth, often with a sprinkling of cappuccino chocolate on top, sometimes - if you go somewhere upscale - with a marshmallow on the side. My children love them - love them - and I thought this will be the ideal way to mark the occasion of me being not-particularly-likely-to-get-cancer. Special treat, kids, special treat! ("Special treat" is our code word for anything more exciting than a plateful of pasta and a handful of frozen peas). I said  Let's go out and have babyccinos and you can skip your pasta and just have cake for dinner! It seemed like a really good plan. They love cake, they love babyccinos. They said YAAAAAAAY! because they are highly suggestible and we will remember this day forever! I thought.
My children loving some babyccinos. Not the day in question. 
But of course when we got there, they were looking around thinking why are we in a cafe when it is dark outside? and they were thinking where is my pasta and Now it's in front of me I don't really WANT cake for dinner and then Pink threw her plate at Blue and his cake fell on the floor and he spilled his babyccino and then he howled and by that time all the sugar was starting to course through their veins and once I finally managed to bundle them up and out of the cafe to go to the supermarket to buy myself some no-longer-feeling-quite-so-celebratory-champagne, they were screeching their heads off. They were bad. I mean, they were bad. I turned my back on them for a second while we were there - I guess it wasn't obvious we were together at that point - and I heard two women next to me saying Oh my goodness, what awful children in the tone that people only usually use when it comes out that someone's teenager has hacked the Pentagon.I was devastated. I always carry around this hope that my children aren't really as bad as they seem to me - that I am super-sensitive to their behaviour because I am responsible for it. But no, on this day, a day when I wanted to have nothing but hugs and bubbles, they were so bad that total strangers were talking about them. I paid for my champagne and went home, face burning with shame. I think I will always remember that outing, but not for the reasons I hoped. I put them to bed and cried.
*****

With hindsight, it was probably also a mistake to start new asthma medication while waiting for important news. I'm one of those people who gets extremely shaky on asthma medication and this new stuff was a whole grade up from my last prescription. While I was taking it, I could feel my heart beating in a sinister ker-thump-ker-thump way at all hours, and I constantly felt like I was on the verge of a major panic attack. Suddenly, in desperation, I took myself off it in the middle of last week and now I feel like I can function again. That's all to the good, but I wish I had thought of doing it earlier. I don't think the extremely high heart rate and chemically-induced anxiety did much for my coping skills.

***** 

With hindsight, I think it was probably also a mistake to assume that my husband would know what to say and how to act once we finally got my results. I had been warned that I would probably feel pretty churned-up either way - good news or bad- and this turned out to be absolutely true. I cried like a baby, actually, after I got the news - I know how stupid that sounds but it was so unexpected and it's strangely hard to reconfigure what you think your life is going to look like, even when what you thought was something that really stunk. Anyway. I was hoping that a meaningful evening of connection with my beloved spouse would help, which was probably pretty dumb.

Like I said, he was really late home, which wasn't a great start. And as for our conversation:
What I was hoping he would say: I have been so worried. Let me embrace you and show you how much I care by showering you with tears of joy, my angel. 
What he actually said: Wow, I'm so glad we never bothered to pay up for private health insurance! 
Cue me weeping. Cue him getting cranky at me for weeping. Cue me getting cranky at him for getting cranky at me for weeping. Cue a totally out-of-character-for-both-of-us huge argument that got ugly and personal.
Nearly a week later, I realise that he was pretty disappointed too. I think that it went like this for him:
What he was hoping to hear Now that's out of the way, honey, I have used up my quota of emotional crises for the year. Thanks for the support. Why don't you sit on the sofa while I fetch you some beer?
What he actually heard: I don't understand you / how can you say that at a time like this / why don't you love me? / Well why can't you show it? / Why did I have to buy my own champagne? / You don't care about me at all, do you? At ALL? 
I don't think either of us came out of that one particularly well. It was like finally getting the news was not so much like an ending to a story, but more like (apologies, particularly gross simile coming up) lancing a boil. Things were better afterwards, of course, but all the toxic stuff that we had been keeping inside had to come out somehow and that was never going to be pretty.

*****

Once we were friends again, I decided that my act of penance would be to do a deep clean and tidy on our bedroom, which was full of electrical cords and a computer and a gigantic box of blankets from our loft (which he is renovating - and all the junk seemed to have ended up in my our bedroom). With hindsight, I think it was a mistake to make decorating decisions while under the influence of stress, arguing, an adrenaline let-down from the test results and (rather inconveniently) lady-hormones. Usually, my taste tends somewhere between 1850s London Club and Hipster Modern (I'M SORRY! I CAN'T HELP WHAT I LIKE!) This means that the bedrooms I usually lust after have things like a brown leather chair, a dark-painted gallery wall and an unread book about Italian typography displayed prominently, spine-outwards. The bedspread would have of silhouettes of some kind of non-cuddly animal, like a stoat or a weasel, in a non-girly colour like charcoal.
About half-way there. Needs some paper mache antlers. 
On the other extreme - I also love Minimalist Hotel. Either way - sharp edges, dark colours. However, over the last few weeks I suddenly found myself crazed for something totally different - florals. Long story short, I started hanging around Cath Kidston and last week I actually bought this duvet cover for our newly tidy room:
Where do I think I live, 1942?
I put it on the bed and it felt so wrong but SO RIGHT. In the end Jay had to stage an intervention, where he bundled it back into the bag before I had a chance  to sleep under it and then ordered me to return it to the shop. (Maybe he does know what I need after all). About a day later, I came off the asthma medication, saw sense and swapped it for a subtle, tasteful white-on-white beauty that I will no doubt love for years. A part of me does miss those pretty roses, though.

*****

With hindsight, I think it was probably a mistake to start this blog post without any idea of where I was going. I think I just wanted a place to record that the aftermath of this whole experience was pretty weird, even though everything turned out okay, even though I'm sick of thinking about everything and have no need to think about it any more, even though I know that everybody around me is sick of hearing about it. I'm sitting up in my minimalist bed now, in my newly tidy room, listening to my happy cat purr beside me and writing this when I should be looking for a light for our hallway on the internet. And mistake or not, I think it would be a mistake to apologise for writing it, so I won't- every blogger (at least, those of us who have been doing it for years for no money at all) knows that you have to write from your obsessions, and sometimes your obsessions aren't what you wish they were, or what you had scheduled. However, I think I'm over this detour into medical stuff for the time being. Thanks for sticking around. Coming up next: Why Feeling Teary In Baby Gap Is Not A Good Reason To Start A New Adoption. 

31 comments:

  1. Two things (though I could write about six or ten, but then it would be a blog post in your comments section):

    1. I always think I like Cath Kidston stuff, and I do, but it turns out I only like small Cath Kidston stuff. The florals are lovely, but best on an iPhone case or something similar. Props to Jay for staging a necessary intervention.

    2. Teary in Baby Gap is a way of life for me. I cannot wait for that post. (And I'm so glad you wrote this one, all of it.)

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    1. Oh, that is such a good point. I really like the small stuff too! I can't get enough of their little zippy pouches. I carry one around in my handbag even though it's totally empty. But that does NOT make a duvet cover okay in my greeny-grey painted room.

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  2. Thank you for this post! For some bizarre reason, it was very helpful to hear other people talk about how clueless their significant others can be! I'm actually able to laugh and stick my tongue out at my boyfriend today instead of thinking to myself "What is WRONG with you!". So thanks for being honest.

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  3. Thank you. You have no idea how relieved I am when I hear of other people's small child related misery in the grocery store. But now I want cake. This very second. Sigh.

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    1. Fortunately for me, I can't even smell cake right now without thinking of screaming and flying plates. And what IS it with supermarkets and children? I think they can smell our fear.

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  4. Oh Cath Kitson. Did I tell you that I almost bought a giant floral diaper bag right after I saw you in Sept?? And I despise florals. And Cath K. completely. It was in a shop, so many kid things, teary over baby...wow, the perfect storm. But I would not have been able to return it back in the US. Good for J for staging that intervention!! (I know you said other things in this post but that floral bed photo just grabbed all of my commenting attention!!)

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    1. Ha, I did NOT know that! And even if it had been perfect, YOU DID NOT NEED ANY MORE LUGGAGE! I think your intervention would have been staged by your airline.

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  5. Oooooh if that dark den with the green velvet sofa and black leather wingback chair is 1850's London Club look, then I love it!

    And life's biggest moments never play out the way we imagine them to, do they? Every milestone I've hit so far in my adoption, I thought: cue the sobbing! And, of course, not a teardrop came. Meanwhile, I find myself breaking down over tv commercials. Celebrations be damned, you'll remember the day for sure and anyway, the important thing is YOU'RE NOT PARTICULARLY LIKELY TO GET CANCER! (that's the sound of a cork popping).

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    1. No, they do NOT play out like we expect. Sometimes they are better but... not always.

      (And yeah, I just want to dive into my computer and live in that room).

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  6. I understand what you mean about bedrooms, but I'm so glad he returned that floral bed set!

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    1. me too! I'm glad one of us was thinking straight.

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  7. I could so put myself in that exchange with your husband, sounds like me to a T. And I'm off to Google Cath Kitson. . . .

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    1. if you're into floral type stuff, you will NOT regret it.

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  8. The aftermath. Yeah. That sounds about right. If you collectively sit under the sword of Damocles for long enough, weird stuff is bound to happen when you come out from under it. The important part is that you ARE out from under it and you came out together in one piece as a family, all of you, in tact. Damage control can take place over time. ;-)
    xoxoxoxoxox
    BTW, what in the world are babyccinos and who thought them up?

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    1. sword of damocles... that is a MUCH classier description than my thing about the boil.

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  9. Quick story.... on my daughters "Adoption Day" I thought we would celebrate by having brownies for dinner. I mean, woo hoo, right? I thought I was being the super coolest mom ever! Right away one starts shrieking that this is NOT dinner, the other inhaled her brownie and joined the shrieking that she was ready for dinner as well. No explanation satisfied them that they had indeed already had dinner. SIGH. I don't remember what I made but I believe I threw together some noodles.
    Then the little ingrates wanted brownies for dessert. Cue fits and freak outs.

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    1. That is absolutely hilarious. In a really terrible way.

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  10. Oh, Claudia. I sympathize with stress-induced fights with the husband. And yet again, I appreciate your raw honesty. And I love your children and wish I could run into them in grocery stores!

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    1. UGH. The stress-induced fights are the WORST, right? (And I wish that we could run into YOU in the grocery store, too!)

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  11. Babyccinos! How cute is that? I have not seen one of those in these parts. Sorry your celebration went awry. Where are those groups of amazing and close girlfriends who all live near you and are ready to celebrate with you when you need it? They are everywhere in the movies and I have yet to find them outside of college, graduate school or the internet. Boo! Children and husbands are just not enough sometimes! I do hope to read the Baby Gap post sometime. Glad you published this!

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    1. Yes, exactly! Isn't someone wise and funny (with no commitments of her own or a job to go to, of cousre) supposed to come over to my house and sort all of this out for me? I think those women are fictional. I hope so, anyway.

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  12. Ohhhhh, the stress tears. Hate 'em. Of course, it beats having my entire head explode (probably) but it can be awfully inconvenient. I think I can feel a reservoir building up for me the last couple of days - it's *good* stress, but stress nonetheless, and I'm really hoping that the dam doesn't break somewhere wildly inappropriate like the checkout at the grocery store or the changing room at the Neiman's outlet or something.

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    1. Yeah, it's weird, isn't it - even the happiest of changes is still really stressful. Your new job is going to be FANTASTIC but it's still going to be an adjustment and adjustments are hard!!!

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  13. I love this whole entire post. Babyccinos - here they're called steamers and since it's the land of over the top portions, they come in at least an 8 oz cup. Bigger than any child's tummy. They can be flavored too.

    What the lady said at the market? Not ok and not correct. Where's empathy when you need it? Well, you got it now.

    A few years ago I gave the kids a rich chocolate cake to celebrate MLK's birthday. They were all up all night on a school night. So now I run away from chocolate after noon. Mine are just now at the age where they can go off schedule and appreciate special times without losing their collective poop.

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    1. Oh, so THAT is what a steamer is! I had always wondered.

      And I can't say how glad I am that I am not the onoy person who has made this dumb cake mistake. Ony going to do THAT one once, right?

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  14. Even our lovely and laid back baby has only been to the supermarket about 5 times, and most of those were in his first 5 weeks.

    We also have steamers, but babyccinos are different - smaller and more frothy.

    I'm waiting for the Baby Gap post. Tapping toes here.

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    1. Ahhhhh... MY babies were laid back too. But then they learned to walk. And thats' all I'm going to say about that.

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  15. we do "special treat" around here too. And "special date with mommy" equals going to the post office where he may or may not earn the free candy that the postmaster begs me to give to him.

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    1. and on that note, I just had to ask Michael to bring me flowers when I'm in the hospital. And I cried about it...because, jeepers, I had to ask him to bring me flowers. How lame is that? But I learned that since he worked in an ICU where people died on a daily basis---to him, flowers mean sadness and death, whereas to me they mean support and congratulations.

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    2. Oh, I TOTALLY get that. I'm very impressed that you actually got proactive and told him NOW rather than just feeling sad when he didn't think of it on his own. (Although, seriously, MICHAEL! Buy your wife some flowers when she has a baby for goodness' sake!)

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Over to you!