Catholic Guilt Only Works If You Are Catholic

Every time I'm about to post something that I think will be offensive to a lot of people, I like to preface it with a warning. It would seem, though, that those are always the posts my readers like best. Also, I suppose "a lot of people" is relative. Even if 50% of my readers were incredibly offended and started some shit in the comments, that would only be like 6 people, and that's closer to a bar brawl than the sort of viral, internet,  hate-filled shitstorm I keep imagining. Anyway. This is one such occasion. Consider yourself warned.

In my last post, I told you guys that I'm moving. Without my husband. The thing of it is, we have actually been separated for almost 3 months now, but as I also mentioned, he had refused to move out, so I went out and found a place on my own.

You would think after being separated for months, with him asking for a reconciliation more than once and me refusing each time during that period, that Rodolfo would not have been shocked when I told him I'd found a new place to live. But of course, he was shocked. It was a little over a week ago that I told him I'd be moving at the end of the month, which gave him a solid 2 and a half weeks until I left. It isn't a ton of time, I realize, but again, I'd like to reiterate how he should have not only been expecting this, but also preparing for it.

Rodolfo's immediate reaction was to tell me how much I'd screwed him over, and to heap on serving after serving of guilt about the financial and logistical ruin our break-up would cause him. He decided in less than 5 minutes that he would also need to move, because, despite making more money than I do, somehow he simply can't afford a 1 bedroom apartment. He informed our landlord the very next day that we would be leaving on August 1st.

Yesterday afternoon, Rodolfo called me to let me know that he had spoken to our landlord, who informed him that we would be losing 1 month of our 1 and a half months security deposit, because we did not give "enough" notice before our move. Now, I could absolutely go off on a tangent here about the fact that we signed a one year lease that did not have an automatic renewal clause 3 years ago and were never asked to sign a new one after it expired, which would make our current situation month-to-month. I could point out that even if we were basing it off the old lease, there is not a single word in that lease that specifies what our landlord considers "enough" notice. I could rant about the fact that he just arbitrarily decided to keep our security for reasons he made up right there on the spot. But you know, that isn't what this post is even about. I simply brought it up because I think I know the real reason he decided to keep our security, and it's definitely not about notice:

So. Last night comes and I'm making dinner. Actually, I had just finished making dinner. The dog was in his cage and our food was on our plates (our = mine and Caitlyn's. Rodolfo was at work), sitting on my kitchen counter. I had just set out to wrangle Caitlyn into her high chair so we could eat, when I heard a knock at my door. I ignored it. A minute later there was a second knock and I knew she wouldn't go away until I talked to her.

It was our downstairs neighbor. I should mention that our landlord is her son. She and her husband live in the apartment downstairs and their son owns the house. I opened the door and she asked if she could come in. I told her that I had been packing and my house was a ridiculous mess. "Don't worry", she told me. "I'm not here to look at your apartment, I want to talk to you". Ugh. Backed into a corner, I let her in. I should also point out that while I was distracted talking to her at the door, Caitlyn had let the dog out of his cage and so I spent the entirety of the ensuing conversation swatting him away from our dinner. I think it's important for you to have that as a part of this visual as a whole. This woman saw that our dinner was sitting on the kitchen counter, uneaten, and did not even offer to come back at another time. Nope. Saving a person is something you need to do right away, I guess.

Apparently, Rodolfo had mentioned to her that the reason we were moving is because I had decided to leave him. And when I say she was there trying to "save" me, let me assure you that I do not mean she came there with the intent of helping me get out of my marriage. There were no questions about my safety or finances or emotional well being. No. She had a different agenda. She was there to intervene on behalf of Jesus.

Her first words after she walked through my door, were to tell me how upset she was. "Feel my heart- it's racing", she insisted. At first, I thought she was upset because we had been friendly tenants, on good terms with them, and they always took the time to play with Caitlyn and Joey when they saw them. I thought, when she told me she was upset, that she was expressing some sort of sadness because we would be leaving.

Her next words, though, cleared that misunderstanding right up. "You know, 2 of my sons are divorced and it really hurts me. What religion are you- Catholic or Protestant?". Oh. None of the above, thank you very much, but I did make the unfortunate distinction that "well, my father is Catholic, but I'm not religious". "Well," she said, "if your father is Catholic, he's really going to suffer if you get divorced".

She then proceeded to ask me if Rodolfo and I had sought out the counsel of a priest to help deal with our marital issues, and when I made it clear that that would never happen, she suggested a non-religious counselor. I thanked her for her suggestions and even gave her a little hope so that maybe she would leave me the fuck alone "well, we aren't technically getting divorced yet. We are simply spending some time apart to see what our next step is". That was a mistake. She latched on to her mission to get me to stay with my husband, despite never having asked a single question about WHY I left (maybe he was beating me, lady. What if that were the case? Oh, that's right, Jesus still wouldn't approve of a divorce).

Once she thought there was a chance, she spent the next 5 minutes or so telling me how bad it will be for Caitlyn when Rodolfo and I split up. "Children who live with both parents are much better off- it's bad for them when the parents aren't together. Those children aren't as well-adjusted". That right there? The fact that I responded with a polite "well, my mother was a single mother, so I don't agree with that"- that might have actually proven to me the existence of a god. Because maintaining my decorum in that moment and NOT telling her to go fuck herself? That was patently miraculous.

After that she spent a few more minutes Catholic-guilting me. She explained to me how much easier it would be to fix this problem if I were religious, because "then you could just pray and God would help you". She told me that, when her son split with his wife, he wanted to go to counseling but she said no. Then, when she decided she wanted to go, he had already found another woman. Another woman who interacts with his children, even! Tragic, really. I mean, what kind of family values are those?

After each argument she made, she would stop talking for a moment and look at me expectantly, as if she was waiting for the moment when I would realize she was right and thank her for saving my soul from eternal damnation. About 10 minutes in, after repeatedly making it clear that she did not approve of my choice, no matter the reason or my own personal belief structure, she realized that, alas, she would not be able to get me into heaven, and finally left, obviously dejected.

I'm going to try to not turn these last few paragraphs into religion-specific hate. That being said, this is why I hate organized religion (Yup. Contradictory like a motherfucker). I managed to maintain my composure because she's a nice woman and I know she meant well, but in my head, I spend the entire time screaming "who the FUCK do you think you are?" at her.

Okay. And really, WHO THE FUCK DOES SHE THINK SHE IS???? She's not my fucking grandmother or my best friend or a trusted confidante. She didn't give a flying fuck about my reasons for leaving or my well-being. All she cared about was her own personal belief system, and cramming it down my throat as hard and guilt-riddled as possible.

And then it occurred to me. Is this why I'm getting screwed out of my security deposit? If my husband and I had found a house like we had originally planned, would it have been all sunshine and puppies and rainbows and prompt return of my fucking money then? I sort of think maybe it would have been.

I really wish I hadn't taken the high road during that conversation and instead shown her the exact same level of respect she showed me. You know, none. Nadine seems to think I should have told her I was a bisexual Muslim and I was leaving Rodolfo for another woman that I had been cheating on him with for the entirety of our marriage. God, that would have been so fantastic.

In a completely unrelated note, why did I spend half my train ride today thinking about "The Human Centipede", a movie which I have never seen and never ever ever want to see? I'm going to put it right out there and say I blame Jesus.

Time to Go

It's been a stressful couple of weeks. As you may remember, a couple of months ago, I decided to leave my husband. Since that point, we've had at least 4 or 5 conversations on the matter, most of which revolve around the fact that he would like to make it clear to me that I do not have the right to make this decision. He's called me selfish. He's begged forgiveness. He told me that he had no intentions of leaving the apartment we shared.

I gave it some time. I made it clear that I was not going to change my mind. When he insisted that he wanted to work it out, I pointed out to him that this was happening on my terms and if he really wanted to prove to me that he has changed, that he would need to stop fighting the inevitable. Still, he resisted. What he never seemed to grasp is the fact that the more he resisted, the more convinced he became that he could simply impose his will on me, the more he pushed me to get my ass in gear and leave.

Last week, I found a new apartment. On August 1, I will move on, really, truly and finally. I will be on my own for the first time in my life. And it feels great.

I'm really looking forward to not having to compromise on absolutely everything. I get it. Marriage is about compromise. Anyone who doesn't understand that should never get married. Generally, I'm pretty easy to get along with in that way. I have no problem compromising. With Rodolfo though, every decision down to the tiniest detail, was a power struggle. I could never simply decide anything, whether it was what time I should come home from a friend's house or the color I wanted to paint a wall. Everything was measured for my response. It seemed the more trivial it was, the more he insisted that I consider his "feelings" on the subject. And I mean, really, why does a grown man need to have "feelings" about his 30 year old wife coming home from a party past 11pm?

I spent the weekend bouncing around garage sales with Nadine, making simple decor decisions about my new home without having to consider the fact that Rodolfo doesn't like... let's go with anything. Or at least anything I might like. We found some really cool stuff. And can I say, on that note, why haven't I been doing this garage sale thing forever? I got a brand new box of glasses for $1. My budget will be better for garage sales.

The next 2 weeks are going to be jam-packed. I wasn't necessarily expecting to find a new apartment until September 1, but when you find the right place, you jump on it. I'll be sorting and packing and dealing with the sad reality that I'll need to get rid of most of Caitlyn's baby stuff, because I probably won't actually get around to giving her a sibling, as much as I would like to.

If you don't hear from me for a while, just know I'm super busy being awesome. It's not you guys, it's me!

Back From the Brink

Did you miss me? Oh wait, what's that? You didn't even notice I was gone? (I'm discounting you, Ninja, since you are the best stalker ever). Well, I WAS gone. Very gone. Very, very gone, in fact.

I was in the mountains at a bad ass cabin with an indoor pool and hot tub. You know, because I'm fucking fancy. But you know what they take away when they give you a hot tub? CELL PHONE RECEPTION. And Wifi. I think we all had a mini panic attack when we realized we wouldn't be able to check Facebook for 5 whole days. You know what I realized though? I needed to not check Facebook for 5 days. I needed it so hard.

 As for the actual vacation, I had the best time ever. I relaxed. I napped. I hot-tubbed. I got drunk every single night (though, I'm kind of ashamed to admit that my tolerance for alcohol is practically non-existent at this point. When I say I got drunk, I mean I had 2-3 drinks every night). One of the most enjoyable things for me was not to be overscheduled. I'm usually that asshole on vacation who has every minute of every day planned down to the potty breaks. I could blame Caitlyn, because having a toddler does make it kind of necessary to plan poop breaks, but we've only really been on one vacation with her. I guess I'm just a planner when it comes to relaxation. Because everyone knows that (despite my usual tendency to be late for EVERYTHING) being a militant asshole if anyone (RODOLFO) throws off my plans, is the one true path to relaxation and enjoyment.

Anyway. There were a few activities. We went horseback riding. We visited some local caverns and took pictures of particularly phallic stalagmites. We swept up dead bugs (and really. That was an activity. There were so many dead bugs. And live bugs, for that matter. All the bugs. All of them). Mostly though, we hung out and drank and read books and ate barbecue.

I think I mentioned it in another post, but for the record, this was a vacation I took with a group of my friends. My husband and child stayed home. I bring it up now because I had a pretty shitty revelation on my way home. As I mentioned before, there was no cell phone reception at all. None. There was, however, a house phone. I could not even get a text out to Rodolfo because I have pauper phone company, T-Mobile. Nadine, however, has Verizon so I could at least send him a text with the house number to have him call me.

He did not call me. Well, that's not exactly true. He called me the first night. Then I received daily calls from our babysitter (who I later found out he questioned every day to be sure I didn't call her, because he was convinced I was lying about not having reception). On our way back home, I figured I'd call him when we stopped for lunch, but he called me before I had a chance and was pissed that I was within cell phone range and didn't immediately call him, despite his ignoring me for 4 days.

 So that's when I realized it. The thing I needed a vacation from the most. It wasn't Caitlyn or MS or house hunting or even work. It's him. He is the number one stress factor in my life. So I don't know (I also don't know how this post went from "fun vacation stuff" to "maybe my marriage sucks"). That's it I guess. Not really sure where to go from here.

All I Want For Christmas is Poo

Update: If you are Marlene, maybe don't read this. No wait. Definitely don't read this. Your son seems to think I will scar you for life. <3

Every year Rodolfo and I go through this. Every year I ask what he wants for Christmas and he says I shouldn't get him anything. What this usually means is "we can't afford what I want". The thing about Rodolfo is, when he wants something small, he just goes out and buys it for himself, but when he wants anything priced over $50 or so, he covets it for years before he actually makes a purchase. He's very financially responsible like that. He is the kind of guy who will always put responsibility before pleasure and he can never seem to justify spending a lot of money on something just because he wants it.

For this reason, I always try to get him something nice for Christmas. He works hard and he hardly ever buys himself anything he really wants. The last couple of years have worked out well. Two years ago, he wanted a new TV. I got a rather large bonus that year and lied to him about it so I could get his TV in secret. He was like a little kid when he opened that shit. Then last year, my mom paid for half of his PS3 because he had wanted it for years and she knew I couldn't afford it on my own. Also, because she is awesome.

This year I'm at a loss. All of my money went to Caitlyn. I didn't think ahead. I can't afford to get him anything that isn't shitty.

It gets worse. He is notoriously grinchy at Christmas. Not in that he doesn't always get me a present. He doesn't really mind that part at all. He's just never quite what I'd call "in the spirit". Last year, we didn't get our Christmas tree until less than a week before Christmas. Because he thinks its stupid. And a waste of money. He gets annoyed when I decorate. He hates the time I spend baking cookies and resents all the money we spend on people we "only see once a year".

This year is different. This year he is practically Santa Claus. Our tree went up on December 1st. He merrily spent $50 on it without complaining once. When I started shopping for Caitlyn in October, he never questioned how much I was spending. He asked me what kind of cookies I was making this year and even tried a few (Rodolfo doesn't like cookies. Yeah. WTF). On a particularly warm night last week, we walked around our neighborhood with Caitlyn, checking out the lights and decorations and general merriment. He's even had on Christmas music every time I've gotten into his car in the past few weeks.

It's been strange. But in a pleasant way. I'm all about Christmas, so it's nice to not have him Scrooging up my game.

I know Caitlyn is to thank for it all. Last year he felt she wasn't old enough to know the difference. This year he sees the joy in her face when we pass by a lighted house and the mischief in her smile as she snatches cookies off the table. Caitlyn really made the Grinch's heart grow three sizes and shit.

Anyway. Back to my point:

I'm going to have to take it in the ass for Christmas. I just know it. This is the only thing Rodolfo consistently asks of me for Christmas (and his birthday and our anniversary). And every time I tell him no. Because I fucking hate it. I can count on one hand the number of times I've actually let him do it. Even if I lost two of the fingers on that hand in some sort of horrific industrial accident. Yes. Now you know exactly how many times my ass has been violated. You're welcome.

But I'm not ready to give way to the Grinch again next year, and I feel like I need some sort of Pavlovian reward for his excellent behavior. But I have no money and no ideas.

Please. Someone save me from this. WHAT CAN I GIVE MY HUSBAND FOR CHRISTMAS BESIDES ANAL SEX?

I Bet Mud Huts are REALLY Hard to Clean

I'm a bit notorious for being a slob. In fact, when Nadine and I were roommates, I'm pretty sure she was plotting my death because she's a neat freak and my tendency to leave my hair on the shower walls was slowing whittling away her will to live.

My husband is Hispanic and he grew up in a proper Hispanic household in South America, where his mother did all the cooking and cleaning with the buckets of water she carried on her head back from the river. Okay. Not really. About the buckets I mean. But she did do all the cooking and cleaning. And so, before I married brown, I was not made immediately aware of the fact that this is what my new husband would expect from me.

When we first got together, Rodolfo seemed pretty laid back. It never really occurred to me that marriage would change the dynamic between us so drastically (yes, apparently I AM stupid). So when he liked it enough to put a ring on it (and, coincidentally, I liked it enough to put a green card on it), his expectations of my role became ... more defined? Let's say more defined. Sounds better than "he expected me to be his mom" or "he started acting like a dick".

My point is that Rodolfo expected me to clean and shit and I fucking HATE cleaning. It isn't that my standards for cleanliness are THAT low (shut up, Nadine), it's just that I have better things to be doing with my time. And when I clean, I tend to get all compulsive about it so it takes me an entire day by the time things are organized the way I want them to be. So mostly I wait till it's on the brink of shameful before I bother to clean up. And just to be clear, I don't mean "Hoarders" shameful. I'm talking like once a week cleaning. Unless it's changing cat litter. I put that shit off as long as humanly possible.

This has been a source of strain in my marriage but I can admit that I'm at fault on this one. While Rodolfo thinks I should be cleaning more, he's also come to realize that if he wants to maintain a certain standard of living, he's going to have to do it himself a lot of the time. Because even though that bitch grew up with chickens running through his mud hut, he really has pretty high standards for his living conditions.

Obviously I'm less slovenly now, mostly because I'm sick of picking dog hairs out of my kid's mouth, but Rodolfo still takes it upon himself to do the cleaning a lot of the time.

The thing of it is, he THINKS he is doing a super great job. He is not. That's the funny part. Let me break down a few of the problems for you:

Mops: Rodolfo does not believe in mops. I can't understand this. I'm all for making cleaning as easy as humanly possible, so I don't understand why he will not just let me buy a mop. You are probably wondering what he cleans the floor with (and subsequently expects that I clean the floor with). Does he get on his hands and knees and scrub? ABSOLUTELY NOT. He will take an old t-shirt, wrap it around the end of the broom, douse the floor in water and cleaner and push the dirt around with his not-absorbent-or-able-to-pick-up-dirt-pretty-much-at-all t-shirt. And then he will stand around proudly and admire the shit job he just did. I tried buying a Swiffer once, but he refused to let me buy the pads and simply wrapped his t-shirts around the Swiffer for a while.

Bathrooms: Rodolfo is a little weird about germs. Except he is weird about germs in a way that makes it clear that he doesn't understand anything about how germs work. A good example of this is how he is convinced that Caitlyn will get "diseases" (yes, plural) from petting the cat. Because cats have a multitude of cross-species diseases that we should worry about Caitlyn contracting through hand-to-fur contact. Same goes for the dog. So what I don't understand is how he insists on cleaning the bathroom with a sponge. Yes, the germiest thing on the planet. And he will use it to wipe down the sink and toilet then stow it all wet and disgusting under the sink for the next time. Are you wondering if he wipes down the bathtub with it too? Of course not... bathtubs don't get dirty and therefore never require cleaning. Obviously. It isn't like his WIFE is cleaning the bathtub!

Organization: When Rodolfo organizes, he puts things into two categories: "My Shit" and "Shit that Probably Needs to Go into the Garbage Already but My Wife is a Fucking Pack Rat for Keeping the Baby's Swing so Let Me Throw it in the Closet". This happens with everything. All the time. It's "I'm going to throw this away" and then "FINE. I'm putting it in the closet then". And by "putting it in the closet" he absolutely always means throwing it onto the floor of the closet never to be seen again. And then he gets mad when it takes me a day to clean out the closets. Because it only takes him 20 minutes to clean the whole house!

Rodolfo has so many weird habits when it comes to cleaning, but these are the most annoying because it means when I clean I have to do twice as much as he does because he doesn't know he sucks at it then he wonders why it takes me twice as long. But since we are talking about his weird habits ... let's get in to one more:

Rodolfo's mother once told him his head smells bad. This is not true. I know this not just because I sleep next to him every night, but also because she once said the same thing about Caitlyn when she was a baby. That's BABYSMELL lady. And it could be the best smell in the fucking WORLD. Weirdo. Anyway. So he has this paranoia about his head smelling bad, so he obsessively washes his entire head. Like multiple times a day. He will not leave the house, EVER, unless he has washed his entire head with soap, even if he took a shower an hour before. Note that I did not say shampoo. And he wonders why he has dry skin.

Anyway. That is all. Just making fun of my husband today.

Swings and Tears

I wish I had something funny to say today. But I guess 3 straight days of vivid dreams and tossing and turning through the night haven't left me feeling particularly entertaining.

Last night's dream is easy enough to reconcile. I went to see "The Change-Up" last night (really funny, by the way) and for some reason, all the previews were for horror movies. And for anyone who doesn't know, I'm a total bitch baby about scary movies. And scary movie previews, apparently.

There was this one preview for some bullshit vampire movie with Colin Farrell and McLovin'. And so last night my dream was that I was being stalked by some 15 year old boy vampire. I had something he wanted, though I didn't know what it was, and he was planning to kill me. At some point I realized that I was also a vampire, but only in the capacity that I could run fast enough to mostly get away from him. But I knew he was stronger and that he could easily kill me. I had stopped at a Walgreens and was picking up money from their Western Union for my rent and he showed up and was giving me the stink-eye like "as soon as we get out of here, I'm murdering the shit out of you". I ran away as fast as I could but I knew he was gaining on me and eventually I ended up boxing myself in on some secluded patch of woods where I would meet my untimely demise. That's when I woke up.

I don't remember the particulars of the dream I had Saturday night. Just that it was vivid and not exactly a nightmare. It's also probably in pieces because Caitlyn woke up a couple of times crying and refused to go back to sleep and we had to bring her into bed with us. So I hardly slept at all really.

The dream that I'm having trouble with was the one I had Friday night and it nagged at me all weekend, turning me into a blubbering mess or a hostile crazy person at regular intervals.

My dream was that I was 5 or 6 months pregnant with a baby boy. It wasn't Nicholas, of that I am sure. Because Caitlyn was there. She was maybe 3 years old and she was very excited about her baby brother. She kept rubbing my belly and feeling his kicks. Oh, the kicks. My subconcious must remember what baby kicks feel like very distinctly because everything about that dream felt exactly real and exactly right. I remember being vaguely anxious in my dream because I was very close to gestation where I lost Nicholas. But then I remember reassuring myself how strong this baby was- how I could feel his kicks and rolls so clearly and how I knew he would be ok. Then I woke up and cried for a while.

There's just so much I'm unsure of right now. I've been unsure of my marriage for the last several months, though that has been getting better. But with that come all the other questions I inevitably will have to answer no matter how my marriage plays out.

If my marriage ends I don't know where I stand when it comes to having more children. I don't want to be that girl with the Baby-Daddy drama. Rodolfo has too much pride to cause problems for me, but then... do I want to be that girl with multiple baby daddies? Not really. And then there is my age... I'll be 30 next year. Which isn't exceptionally old or anything, unless you are on the brink of a divorce and have to start all over again. Because something else I don't want to be is that desperate woman looking for a husband, her biological clock loudly ticking in the background of every interaction she has with every dude she meets. If I've learned anything, it's that you shouldn't rush into something like marrying a dude and having his baby.

Maybe that whole argument is moot, because at this point we are closer to reconcilation than divorce, but I guess I just had to talk about the fears associated with that possible outcome.

Next: Staying with my husband. This is the more likely path at this moment in time. I want another baby. Not right away, but I definitely want one. It's a point I was pretty fuzzy on till that dream made it crystal clear to me. The problem is that he regularly tells me that he doesn't see it happening. Not that he doesn't want another kid, exactly, but that it would be financially devastating to us at this point in time. He can't see past the cost of IVF, especially when it doesn't guarantee us anything. And if we've learned ANYTHING, it's that there certainly are no guarantees with fertility treatments. Even when they fucking WORK.

With my sudden, crystalized revelation that I definitely want another child and his constant reminders that I probably won't get one, I nearly imploded this weekend.

I've been reorganizing my house. Rodolfo attachs sentiment to very few things and just sees most of our stuff as space-wasters that we should get rid of. I, of course, attach sentiment to absolutely everything. My crazy sobbing fit (the first one, anyway) started because of Caitlyn's swing. He wanted to get rid of it. Besides the obvious implication that he never intends for us to have another baby, I have another attachment to that swing. Nicholas.

When I was pregnant with Nicholas, I spent a lot of time trolling Babies R Us. A LOT of time. I didn't know the sex of my baby at first (obviously) but I had chosen a few gender neutral things that I knew I was putting on my registry. There was a certain stroller I fell in love with and there was the swing I wanted. It was so pretty... yellow and green with bumblebees. Super adorable and appropriate for a boy or a girl. I was in LOVE with that swing actually.

When I think about it, it always seems like a cruel joke the universe was playing on me. I had my Level 2 ultrasound on February 19, 2009. I remember the date because my next appointment was exactly one month later: March 19, 2009-the day we found out we lost Nicholas. It seems absurd to think of all the things that happened in that one short month. It seems ridiculous to think about the fact that I spent almost the entire month picking out cute little outfits for my baby boy. Maybe it wasn't a joke. Maybe it was the only time I was truly able to embrace who he was supposed to be (I had been sure- SURE!- to that point that I was having a girl).

In that month I made my registry. I was so excited. I had been looking forward to it for 5 months. I knew what major items I was registering for, but after that I pretty much walked around and scanned half the store. I remember resting in a glider, going over Babies R Us's provided checklist with my mom. I remember asking her how many crib sheets she thought I would need. I remember going to Wendy's afterward, eating a salad and then promptly barfing that salad up into the rest of the salad. Mostly I remember being horrified to find out that my swing had been discontinued. HOW COULD THIS BE HAPPENING TO ME?

I spent the next 2 weeks calling every store in my area- even going to one and finding that the swing they had put aside after my phone call was, in fact, the WRONG swing. I called my mother, defeated, and she promised to find my swing. And less than a week later, she did. She said she would hold on to it. It would be part of my baby shower gift. And then we got the news that Nicholas had died. It was like a week after my mom bought his swing. I remember blubbering into the phone that she should return it.

Except she didn't. She knew how much I loved it and she knew that, maybe, when I was less emotional, I might want to keep it for my next child. And so when my baby shower for Caitlyn grew near, she asked me about it. She asked if I wanted to pick a different swing. And of course I didn't. It was sort of the one thing that seemed to connect my two babies, something they would always share. And Caitlyn loved that swing. I think she slept in it every night till she was like 3 months old. And it's resided in a corner of my closet ever since. Presumably till my next baby needs it.

And then Rodolfo told me how annoyed he was with it. How it was taking up so much space and he thought we should throw it away. "We can always buy a new one if we have another baby", he said when I yelled at him for dashing my dreams of ever having another child. Then I cried. Because I guess he just doesn't get it. And shouldn't he? He lost a son too. If anyone should get it, shouldn't it be him? Apparently not. It seems Angie is really the only one who understands me.

The weekend went a lot like that, with me cleaning out closets and him declaring that I should get rid of the things Caitlyn no longer uses. And then I would cry and he wouldn't understand why. Or I'd have a disproportionate amount of rage and anger toward him for no real reason or fault of his own. It sucked.

So I don't know. I don't know if another baby is in our future or my future or what. I don't know how to reconcile this feeling of longing. I know we aren't ready for it right now. I know I want more time with just Caitlyn before I throw another baby in the mix. And I absolutely realize that we just can't afford it right now. But it's there. And I have no idea what to do with it.

This is All Bad

I don't know what it is exactly, maybe stress. Work has been crazy, Rodolfo and I have been fighting all the time. So maybe that's why I've been feeling...weird. I lost my Nicholas over a year and a half ago, so most of the time it's not so fresh in my mind. I have moments regularly that I think of him, and I say goodnight to him before bed every day. But the pain has been less intense since Caitlyn has been born.

So I can't quite put my finger on why I keep reliving what happened on the day I found out we lost him and the following day when he was born. I don't think about it constantly or anything, and I can't say I feel depressed exactly, but then something will happen. I'll hear a song that reminds me of that time or I'll look at Caitlyn and think of him and it just hits me with an intensity that I haven't felt in a year.

I still find it shocking. I still can't even fathom that it really happened to me. I think about sitting in the ultrasound room in my old OB's office and hearing her tell me that my son died. I remember the details, I remember how I felt. I remember being so hysterical that I could barely breathe. I remember my doctor telling me that I needed to try to calm down for a few minutes so she could talk to me about what came next. I remember leaving the office that day and realizing that absolutely everyone who was there knew I lost my baby. It occurred to me then that I wasn't sobbing in privacy while my husband and I grieved the loss of our child. I was so loud and so inconsolable that every patient, nurse and receptionist knew that my baby had died.

I remember those days and I feel out of control. I feel like I'm falling apart and my family is falling apart. I feel like everything I love is going to be taken from me and I can't do anything to stop it. When I think of it like that, I really do think this has to do with my marriage. It seems we are at some sort of crossroads. We spent the last 3 years fighting so hard to make it to this point- the supposed "happily ever after" with our beautiful daughter. And now it seems that all we do is fight. We have no common goal to work towards anymore. I hate to think that infertility was the glue holding us together, but now that we are past it we seem to be falling apart.

We both knew long ago that we didn't have much in common. We have opposite personalities- I'm easygoing and fun and he's driven and intense. But I thought we were happy. I've always felt we balanced each other out, but now I'm not so sure. I don't know where we go from here. I just feel lost.