Time off

One of the things I miss most about being in school is the unexpected surprise of a canceled class.  Having a scheduled day off is one thing, but learning day-of that your attendance is not required is a whole other level of freedom.  It's a feeling that's lacking in the working world.

Which is what made this morning wonderful.  I woke up to a text from the twins' dad, saying Lilly had a fever last night, and did I still want to come.  I told him that any other week I wouldn't have cared, but this week I needed to stay healthy.  We decided that I'd come when they were napping, so he could still go get work done: I'm now sitting at their kitchen table, listening to a silent monitor.  Still making money.

I had the morning off.  I don't remember the last time I had a weekday morning off.  I scared the cats with my happy dance, and I've been in such an ebullient mood all day.  It doesn't hurt that we're leaving in three days, either.  I even did the dishes at home, since I wasn't busy doing them at someone else's house!

Guilt

I took off the "Limited" list on my Facebook profile today.  I had one, named that, restricting certain people from seeing my relationship statuses - old church moms and extended family, mainly.  But I deleted it totally.

When I first told my dad that V and I were together, one of the things he said surprised me.  Instead of a sound condemnation, he said, "Well, if that's who you feel you are, be that person totally.  Don't hide behind things."  Given that V and I were attending a school where we would have been expelled, I obviously couldn't follow that advice perfectly; now that we've graduated, though, it keeps ringing in my ears.

I don't really want a ton of questions from people.  I don't really want people I haven't talked to in five years sending me accusatory messages.  But I also don't want to spend the next however many years double-checking what I say, in case the wrong person reads it.  I don't want to have to hide what's going on in my life.

I hate the guilt that I still have.  Anytime I mention something about V or the wedding, my internal voice tells me, "You're so mean.  Way to rub it in your family's faces, knowing they'll read it, and it will cause them pain.  Such a nice daughter/sister/cousin/niece."  And I fight it.  I think, there are plenty of hetero couples I'm friends with who advertise their upcoming happy days all over the social network universe, and here I can't even change my status yesterday to say that I'll be married in a week.

I want to get over it.  But there's still a little part of me saying I'm wrong, or that maybe I'm right but other people think I'm wrong, and if I have any consideration, I'll stop throwing my lifestyle out there.  Am I pushing the "gay agenda" by telling the world that I get to marry my love?  (On a side note, apparently the phrase "gay agenda" isn't known outside evangelical circles.)

Wedding pictures will be posted, though.  Relationship statuses will be changed.  And I fully expect some congratulatory comments.  And the world will just have to deal.  I'm just that mean.

Life support

Today would not have happened without V.  (In the back of my head, I hear Big Bird's voice saying, "Today was brought to you by the letter V...")  I'm delightfully starting my period (that's the sarcasm you hear dripping), and so I've spent the day being weak and in pain.  When Lilly threw up after breakfast, I almost started crying.  It got on her, on me, on the couch, on the floor, everywhere but the cat (though her dad said the cat got some last night).

I got everything cleaned up, but barely, and then I laid on the couch and called V.  Thankfully, the twins spent the next half hour playing very nicely by themselves and letting me rest, and then V arrived and switched the laundry, changed Patrick's diaper, and helped me start lunch.  I felt much better by then.  Not only physically, but emotionally - that little ten-minute window was all we saw each other from 10-10 today, and it made life so much better.

Here's to you, girl.  Eight days till the wedding.

Having "that kid"

At 21 months, Bug is so much fun.  She's adorable, she's opinionated (oh boy), and she's talking up a storm.  She generally seems to be at the just-over-two-years level; she's actually not that far behind the twins.  Generally, she's well-behaved.

Then there was yesterday at Gymboree.  As soon as I took off her coat and shoes and set her down on the floor, she ran over to a little girl (who I hadn't seen in that class before) and smacked her across the chest, knocking her down and bringing waves of tears.  I have no idea why.  Ten minutes later, she hit another kid.  At the third offense, we went out of the fun area and had a talk.

I don't know what on earth she was thinking, but let me tell you, I hated feeling like the mom of "that kid."  Bug usually behaves; she's usually friendly, if possessive.  But suddenly I was the "mom" of the terror, that kid who makes other moms shield their young from swinging fists and kicking feet.  Thankfully, the mom of the first little girl to bear Bug's random wrath was understanding, and the other two were just minor offenses.  That doesn't change the fact that I felt awful.

I know it's not Bug's mom's parenting.  Like I said, this was out of character for her - not helped, I'm sure, by the fact that she wasn't feeling 100%.  But that didn't make it any easier to be the one with the problem kid!  I'm not too keen on Gymboree next week now...

Our baby, and milk

My mind is a bit blown right now, after reading about how two lesbian mamas share breastfeeding duties.  That is one of the areas which V has admitted to jealousy when we talk about our eventual baby.  I very much want to nurse, hopefully to about a year (though we'll see), and she's mentioned before that my connection to the baby via boob in addition to biology might make her feel understandably left out.

I'll definitely have to do more research into this lactation-induction, but it might be a way to simplify some of the strains that a baby might bring.  Of course, I'm still worried about me:  Harlyn Aisley's essay collection, Confessions of the Other Mother, talks about her feelings of going through labor and then wanting to smack her partner, who picked up the newborn and said something along the lines of "I'm your mother!"

I worry I'll be that person, that partner, that mother.  I want a baby so badly that I worry I'll be possessive, that I would even if her other parent were male.  I want V to be happy - it will be her baby, too.  But will her breastfeeding, if it works, make that feeling even worse?  Not that that is a legitimate reason not to pursue it.

I'm thinking out loud, while she's reading tax info to me.  I know I'm not the most coherent; my brain isn't overly coherent about it, either.  But I'm still in the mind-blown stage that we could even conceive (pun intended) of both nursing our baby.  And hey, less middle of the night work for me!

Tweaks

As you can see, I did some housekeeping around here.  The pages at the top eliminate the messy sidebar lists, and I cleaned up the right sidebar.  Aren't you proud of me?  I picked up my room!

Anyway, if you have any suggestions, let me know.  I do so love feedback.  In the meantime, I'm taking the afternoon off, reading Barbara Kingsolver's Animal, Vegetable, Miracle, and watching V make pretty paper roses for a yet-unknown purpose at our wedding.

Are you kidding me

The past two days have been some combination of rainy, snowy, windy, and chilly. And the past two days, Lilly has pitched screaming, hanging-from-the-doorknob fits that we can't go outside to play. Tomorrow it's supposed to be sunny in the high forties, but I won't be here. Thursday and Friday are back to cold and dreary. Something tells me we'll go out anyway. In the meantime, I've tried every tactic, and she just wants to go outside. I can almost hear her adding an expletive to her demands, which she's picked up from daddy--though I think it's mostly been eradicated from her vocabulary.

So, when does the age hit when they realize, it looks pretty awful out there, I think I want to stay inside?