What are the odds?

Apparently the Kraken likes the Dead Kennedys. I feel so proud.

The night stretches before me like a record I know by heart

It's 8:30 PM. The Minotaur has gone to a party (The Kraken's recent sleeptime insanity has made it difficult for us to have a sitter). The Kraken is in bed, quiet as a high school computer nerd in the locker room before gym class. And I have the house to myself.

Some of you may have been readers of this blog or its previous incarnation long enough to remember when the Minotaur worked until midnight two nights a week and 9 PM another two, plus all day on Sunday. Those were dark days in our lives, and in our marriage. The schedule was unavoidable at the time, but it meant that 4 days a week I worked all day, picked up the Kraken and took care of her all night by myself. The weekends came, not with a sense of anticipation, but the knowledge that with our one day off together as a family, we would have to try to get everything done that was difficult for me to do without the Minotaur (like, say, take a bath in those early months when the Kraken refused to sleep).

I was resentful about the time I spent managing on my own. The Minotaur was resentful that a work environment he wasn't particularly happy in was causing him to miss the majority of his daughter's life, not to mention pissing off his wife and making her less than pleasant to come home to. And we were both completely exhausted, because in combination with our fabulous schedules came the arrival of the Kraken's monthly ear infections, complete with shrill, sobbing awakenings every two hours until we could get to the doctor, get a diagnosis, and get some antibiotics. When we were both home and awake, all we could do was retreat into our own brains to get a little desperately needed quiet time. Not much time left for actually interacting with each other.

There were times when I wasn't sure I was cut out for parenthood. There were times I was almost sure I wasn't going to stay married. But we talked. And talked, and talked, and talked. And made changes where we could to make our situation more manageable. The Minotaur shifted his schedule so that there were only 3 days he was home so late. And eventually he got another job, one that paid well enough for him to quit the two he had been juggling before. As an added bonus, he actually liked his new job, and is still there to this day.

When he switched to a roughly 9-5 schedule for the first time in our life together, everything changed. He was home every evening. He was home all weekend. We had more time together than we ever had. That too, required a little bit of adjustment. Before, we had to concentrate every bit of togetherness we could into the moments we were together. Now, suddenly, we had more togetherness than we probably needed. Slowly, we learned to be together sometimes, and other times to read books, play video games, watch TV. In other words, have a normal life.

I am immeasurably happier to have the Minotaur at home on a regular basis. But I won't deny that at times, I miss the complete silence that reigns in the house when the Kraken is out for the count, and I am here alone. What shall I do? Another night of Star Trek viewing? Tempting, having just discovered that there are indeed episodes in the first season that I have never seen. Or, a leisurely bath with a book and a glass of wine? Possibly a ridiculously long telephone conversation?

The opportunities are endless. As long as I don't have to leave the house, that is.

The Kraken fell asleep tonight without any after hours summonings of the momma. It's a miracle.

Random oddness

I just found out that one of my close friends from college, currently living in France (with whom I sadly am not in touch) ended up working (in France) with the Italian exchange student who lived with my parents the year or so after I left for college. How bizarre is that?

You might wonder how I discovered this randomness. And well might you wonder. I googled myself, duh.

Does anyone else think it shows extremely poor taste to place the Infertility Clinic at the hospital directly next to OB?

Apparently there is a battery of tests that can be conducted to determine if there is a physical reason my body doesn't want to hold onto these babies. I can't wait for the one where they stick a balloon into my uterus using a catheter and blow it up. Sounds fabulous.

Worn. Out.

So. Last night, after the Kraken spent an hour yapping to her dolls in her bed, the summoning began.

"Momma"
"MomMA"
"MOMMA!"

Followed by....

"GorGON" (uh, that's Momma to you, you little weasel)

This has been going on for several months, mind, so being paged from above is nothing new. I don't honestly know what to do about it. The child has a bladder of iron, so she pees right before bed, and then saves another one up for about 1/2 hour later, then another 1/2 hour after that it's time to drop an adult sized dump from her petite behind. I can't very well not let her go to the bathroom, but the game is getting a little old.

You see, the Kraken is 3 1/2. And she is "almost" ready to give up her nap. Meaning she really needs about an hour mid-day, but not the 2 hour nap she takes at school because hey, it's dark and there's nothing else to do. So, that two hour nap is enough to kick her into overdrive in the evenings, and combined with her own determination to not miss any of the completely hypothetical action around here after she goes to her room, she simply refuses to go to sleep. Until around 10 PM. Even if she is so. tired. she can barely keep her eyes open.

This week, we have an exciting new twist. Instead of just happily yammering away up there until she finally keels over with exhaustion, she has decided to take the bull by the horns and simply refuse to go to bed in the first place. Her technique? Screaming AT THE TOP OF HER LUNGS. This has happened 4 out of the last 5 nights. I wish I could say we had been handling it well, but we haven't. We alternate between stomping out of her room and desperately trying to cajole her into better behavior. The last two nights we have tried the "walking away and letting her make an ass of herself" technique, which involves a lot of going back up the stairs and physically hauling her screaming, kicking, biting form back into the bedroom and closing the door while she screams so loudly that she chokes on her own saliva. Good times.

Wish I could say the duration had improved using this new exciting technique, or our stress level, but alas, not so much. Last night this went on for over an hour. Tonight, about the same. At least last night I managed to get her to use the bathroom and brush her teeth before this started - tonight we had no such luck. The child's will is as strong as her bladder. In fact, tonight's meltdown was preceded by a 40 minute screaming fit caused because I refused to give her something she wanted until she asked her father for it, and said please, because she was an ass to him the first time she asked. "Please, Daddy, can I have some yogurt?" was all she had to say, and rather than say it she screamed, sobbed, beat the floor, told me Ursula the Sea Witch had stolen her voice, asked me to ask her father for her, and in general acted like the Fonz trying to say he was sorry. She simply could not swallow her pride, even to obtain something she desperately wanted. It took 40 minutes, a bucket of tears, and even when she finally did it she refused to make eye contact.

So, it's 12:34 AM. I've got a kid up there out cold with a bladder full of delicious strawberry drinkable yogurt, who hasn't peed since about 5:45 PM. What are the odds I'm getting a full night's sleep?

This and That

It's Friday. The Minotaur has gone to the movies with a friend. The Kraken is upstairs talking to her dolls when she's supposed to be sleeping. And the Gorgon is in her pajamas at 8 PM, having a date with a tasty beverage and Season One of Star Trek, TNG.

In other news - went to my follow up appointment with my OB this week. Who very gently and respectfully told me to completely ignore everything I had been told by the other doc about waiting three months to try again, or assuming there was nothing I could do to prevent another miscarriage. I have an appointment next week with a reproductive endocrinologist to start investigating whether or not there is a physical problem. My impression is that she wouldn't send me this early if it weren't for my (ahem) advanced age. Ugh. At least then we'll know what the score is, and that will be something.

What in sam hell is that kid doing up there, building a hydrogen bomb?

Tonic for the soul

Last night the Gorgon family packed up and went to a party. I wasn't necessarily looking forward to it, although it was hosted by a man I dearly love and his wife (who I like but do not yet know well). The Kraken was overtired, the Minotaur had been off in his own world all day, and I am still not loving the large crowds of people, some of whom would almost certainly not know about the loss of the twins. The host's wife is hipster royalty of a sort in the town where I went to school, so I feared I would be surrounded by the cool, the childless, the 'still playing in a band and tending bar'. But, the host, an old friend from college who we will call Cochise Man of War here, for reasons that will mean nothing to you but are endlessly hilarious to me, had told me in no uncertain terms that I was dead meat if I did not go. So off we went.

We were the first to arrive - always awkward, but hey, when you've got kids you tend to show up at events a little early. There was the usual awkward standing around, in the way while they tried to get ready for the party. Then the cat walked through the room, and I was reminded that the Kraken had never met this cat, who is the 16 year old mother of my own girlcat. Pretty spry old girl, that cat. She was born on Steel Magnolia's legs in the wee hours of the morning in our rattrap college house, despite the lovely basket made up for her mother in the next room. And for the Kraken, the arrival of the cat made the night a success. The simple things.

Within 20 minutes, 10 other couples had arrived, 8 of them with children ranging 1-7 years old. And I suddenly realized.....I'm not the old married lady with the kid. We ALL ARE. The bartender who served me margaritas every weekend of my life for nigh unto ten years was there, with her husband and son. A man who was once my tenant when I worked in real estate ("Dear Mr. Tenant, We must once again ask you not to play ultimate frisbee in the parking lot. Also, please do not put up tiki torches around the neighborhood and leave them lit all night") was there with his wife, and their 2 year old daughter, who had also talked her parents into letting her wear dress up clothes to the party. The Kraken and this little girl played the night away together.

And, arriving on a giant black Harley, was one third of the Cochise/Freakboy/Baldie triumvirate of idiots who were my best. male. friends in college, or, well, ever. Baldie is off in South Carolina now taking care of the family business, after a long stint being fetish boy in California. But the other two were there, and we huddled up under the trees with the Kraken and the Minotaur and ignored the rest of the party. We talked trash about old enemies, and a little about old friends, and laughed until my rib cage hurt.

And I was among friends. Who knew me as well as it is possible for human beings to know you, from stupid teenager and on. And I felt suddenly grounded in myself and at home in my own skin for the first time in a while. And for a little while, I forgot. What a gift.

Back from outer space

And we had a lovely time. And I was truly doing better, feeling almost normal.
And then.

The grocery store. A couple with their newborn son. A woman, swollen with pregnancy. And the clincher.....a man pushing in a cart his year old daughter. Who screeched like an air raid siren, just like the Kraken used to.

I barely made it to the car.

Off to Mount Olympus

To visit my parents for a few days. A welcome distraction, that. About half the people in town know about the loss of the twins, and every kind word makes me cry right now. The other half don't know yet, which means the first words out of their mouths are about the twins. Guess what that makes me do?

I'll be back in the blogosphere late next week - everyone stay safe and well.

It's over

All I have left of them is a blurry black and white image, labeled "A" and "B".

2 hours

Until we have to be at the hospital for the D&C. What kind of cruel and unusual punishment is it to schedule surgery at 2 PM and tell a girl she can't have anything to eat AT ALL THE WHOLE DAY? I am mean as a striped ass spider at this point.

I will be glad to have this part over. And it is at least scheduled so we can get the whole thing done while the Kraken is still blissfully playing at school with no idea what is happening.