One Foot and Fight Club

One Foot Moment Tuesday – went to the Mall in the stroller (yes, we managed to get it to work), I was in serious pain (stupid episiotomy and forgetting to take pain meds), but we got on the bus, off the bus, on the bus, and off the bus with little to no worry.  Yay!  Wed’s moment – we got the manual for the stroller in the mail from the buddy we bought it from, woot!

Weapon has become my Fight Club.  When I first got here (almost 1 year ago in about a week or so), I was struggling to find my way.  I left a steady job and a Master’s program.  I was thousands of miles and 5 time zones away from everything I knew.  I was no longer a tourist – I lived here.  But, I didn’t belong.  Oh, Monkey did a fantastic job trying to acclimate me, but I had to get over the hump.  Didn’t help that within 2 months, I was pregnant, and the great vomiting/hormones/yuckiness took over.  Days blended into one another – wake up, vomit, sleep, vomit, eat 2 bites of food, fight down the urge to vomit….you see where I am going with this.  I didn’t have any plans, didn’t need them really.  Couldn’t work until we got married and applied for 2 year visa, which wasn’t granted till September, by which time I was proper big (and still vomiting), and doubted anyone would hire me.  After September life became a mash of doctor appts (for bipolar and preggersness), which leads us into the here and now.

Now, it’s all different.  Weapon is my reason to get up (every hour, on the hour).    He is the reason to make sure I put decent food in my tummy, to take my meds (again, a big FU to the episiotomy), to try and pick up the place when I can (mostly just the calvacade of cords in the living room – surprise, surprise, multiple computers and phones and such all have leads), even to make sure my phone is plugged in and charged (nightlight and constant baby timer).  He is my reason to be a follow up on emails that need following, and going through paperwork, and such.  He is my reason to be a better person.  He makes me want to take real pride in myself (although to look at me right now, with 4 lb bags under my eyes, my hair in every direction, and essentially a long skirt pulled up to over my boobies like a weird monochromatic mumu, you might think otherwise).  He is my reason for being, right now.

Weapon has been up from 4 am to 10.30, inconsolable for most of the night.  Awful awful gas, blew out one diaper, and went through another 5 or so.  Major tooting and spitting up, followed by OMG I AM RAVENOUS FEED ME hunger, which we all knew was going to lead to more spitting up from all the gas.  He is just waking up, hungry as hell.  Time to fight.  🙂