Two More Annoyances
Since I do nothing but grouch these days. Although there was a brief moment of wonder and astonishment this weekend when I placed some baby keepsakes on the new changing table/dresser, and realized that we really are expecting a new family member.
The office/nursery purging and transformation resulted in a five-foot tall stack of personal papers that need to be shredded. Plus several more bags of non-recylable receipts and carbons, etc. Estimate for shredding from a service: $200. FUCK THAT. Anyone want to come help host a bonfire in my driveway this weekend? I need those boxes gone.
My mom has been in a snit since Sunday. She has a particular take on her sulks that I usually find simply aggravating, but this time she's driving me fucking insane. And it's not even that she's wrong, as she isn't. She merely has never, after 35 years, figured out that attacking me when I've done something she doesn't like and then sulking for several days while everyone else in the family wonders why I am being so horrible to her that they all CALL ME and ask me what the hell happened, makes me completely incapable of any conciliatory measures.
Here's what happened. This weekend, I, crazy nesting pregnant lady, had a chance to get the futon and excess office furniture out, and the changing table and crib into, the house. Iz's Godmother Stacy and her partner offered to do it out of the goodness of their hearts, and even assembled the crib. I of course said "yes yes yes" to everything. Our home is strangely configured, so, even though the move only took care of four pieces of furniture, it took about two hours. Two rather rough hours, especially with the unwieldy futon frame.
I had been up most of the preceding 24 hours dealing with the office transformation. Any other current or previous crazy nesting ladies know that, although it would have been easier to merely toss all the papers and crap in boxes and shove them in the garage, that wasn't going to happen. Everything had to be done right. I purged all non-essential records from the last seven years and created a labeled filing system for the remainder so that now even Seymour will know where to find critical documents.
I did try to get some sleep during those 24 hours, but Leelo decided to wake up moving morning at 4:00 A.M. and woke me up completely as well. Darling Seymour agreed to watch him as I dove back into the office.
By 5:00 that afternoon, all the papers were purged and all the furniture moved, and we were all exhausted. At that very moment, my mother called to check in and ask how things were going. "Really well!" I crowed, "we finally got all the office furniture out and all the baby furniture in!"
"But you said you weren't going to move the futon until after I left!"
Uh, well, now. I had mentioned that as a possibility. But I also completely forgot about it when faced with the opportunity to move all the furniture at once. Plus she never mentioned that she didn't want to sleep in the living room. Let's also recall that I made many, many attempts to find her alternative lodgings up here whereas she completely dropped the ball on investigating housing exchange services.
Regardless, my reaction to anyone else would have been to say, "Wow, I'm sorry. I spaced. No big deal--we'll move the crib, and get you an air bed."
However, she didn't leave me space for that. Instead, she launched into me and told me that I was an ungrateful, horrible daughter and how could I possibly do such a thing to her when she was coming up there to help us out and take care of us and what the hell was wrong with me? Hadn't I already said that we'd be keeping the baby in our room, in a bassinet?
Being exhausted and crazy, you can imagine my reaction: "We spent two hours getting that futon out of there, and are NOT about to put it back. We'll figure out something else." FYI, I do not curse at my mother, much as I'd like to in such situations.
Her reaction: hanging up. And bitching to everyone else in the family. To the point where I've now received a call from my Dad and my pilot brother JD, and am certain to hear an earful from her sister this morning as she's visiting JP (her daughter-in-law) and will most likely be coming to coffee.
Apparently I'm to fling myself on my back and expose my soft underbelly to her some time before Monday, when she flies up. Fuck that. I wrote her and told her that we'd be happy to move the crib and get an air bed, but that that room is now the nursery and that wouldn't guarantee her absolute privacy, as we'd still need to come in to change diapers and clothes from time to time.
I don't have time for this shit. I don't have time for whining and manipulation, even when she is largely in the right. I don't know why she can't figure out that the reason we kids explode in her face all the time is because her reaction to any perceived wrong is a howling guilt attack followed by sulking and then more guilt. It makes us fucking insane and attack right back, instantly.
GAAAAAAAAAH. Seymour has half a mind to call her himself and tell her that of course we will accommodate her however she needs but that I am severely stressed at the moment and she needs to back the hell down, but I suspect that would just help feed her self-righteous fires.
In the meantime I am waiting for her to reply to my email. It's been almost 24 hours.
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