the clockwork suki

random rambings from a (believe it or no) completely sober suki.

in fact, believe it or no, I'm sober pretty much all the time. I have a drink or half maybe twice a month??? or so. yet, I'm pretty certain I come across as soaked to the gills most of the time. I laughed my way through the punchline of a second grade joke to the principal yesterday...

all the while, aware that I looked drunk off my ass. amidst my joke ruining giggling fit, I think I even managed to choke out an "oh, no. now I look drunk" snort. I should lay off the chocolate.

the joke:

two sausages are sizzling in a frying pan.
one sausage looks over to the other and says, "whew. its getting hot in here!"
the second sausage looks back and says, "OH NO!!!! It's a talking sausage!!!"

^ had me cracking up for hours.

the kids didn't laugh...at least not at the joke. we stumbled upon it while I was reading them a book and I lost it. they eventually laughed...at me. the principal decided that just then was the perfect time to come in and check on me...

and was rewarded for his efforts by me slobbering all over myself.

^ the kids most certainly laughed at that, though.


then a bunch of other things happened. I wound up at home and eventually fed (even though the chinese food delivery man was high off his ass and showed up 72 minutes after I called) and plopped my sad sorry (and fat) ass into a hot bath.

then the suki began to think.

ruh roh.

I had some realizations and came to some conclusions. most of which I forget now that I've cried them out and slept on it, but I'll give you the skeletal picture.

WARNING: THINGS ARE ABOUT TO GET RIDICULOUSLY PERSONAL IN HERE. NOT MY USUAL FLIPPANT, CAVALIER AND COMEDICALLY DRAMATIZED VERSION OF PERSONAL...I'M TOO TIRED FOR THAT.

THE REAL DEAL.

please sign here acknowledging that the suki will not be held liable for any and all reactions (emotional, physical, vomitous or otherwise) to the following blog entry.

x________________________


congratulations, welcome to my inner workings.

Chapter 1
I'm not pregnant.

He thought I was. He thought he knew the day. He'd sleep with his hand on my belly and wake with a smile...

but I'm not pregnant.

I let myself fantasize about it, because I thought "what the hell...he might be right," but I knew all along that I felt nothing. If I'd sneeze, he'd smile and rush over to comfort me. If I mentioned casually that I didn't feel well or was tired, he bent over backwards to accomodate. If I so much as sighed...he was at the ready with a massaging hand and a knowing look.

nope. not pregnant.

a few days after I was expecting auntie to breeze into town and ruin the party I decided to take a test...not knowing exactly how I felt about the whole thing. you know you're excited, but not so much that you're not ever-so-subtly crushed by disappointment...but you really don't KNOW how you actually feel...

that is until you both cry about it. it was negative. I could've bet a G on it. yet, here I am...6 days late...

and not pregnant.

torture. sheer unadulterated torture.

I've spent almost 12 years wanting on some level to feel the kick of a baby inside me, again. I even spent several of those years trying.

no dice.

now, that its definitely in our plan (we keep making jokes about our 18 month plan suddenly being a 9 or 10 month one)...I realize I'm shit scared.

what if I suddenly suck at being a mother? I've got a 12 year old that I have to willingly and excruciatingly extricate myself from...or her growing process over the next four years will kill me. as I see it...she has two options:

1. do absolutely nothing wrong and be the biggest ill-prepared, sheltered dork on the planet

or

2. fuck something up.

I can only hope that her character stays as strong as its been and she manages to LEARN from the fuck-ups and emerge (relatively) unscathed on the other side. she's a good kid.

a VERY good kid. she's made healthy, positive choices thus far...

always during the times when I didn't WANT to let her go (to the dance, pool, creek, friend's house, et cetera)...

but knew I had to.

her job, as I see it, for the next few years is to need me less and less. to become independant and leave me behind to go to college, find a career, begin a relationship, and visit me once a month if I'm lucky.

can I do that all, again? I'm older. different. perhaps less competant.

more importantly (and here's where I tend to turn on the tears)...what's my job when I stop being a mommy?

I posed this one to the Oq last night. I'm over-stimulated. very much so. my job is hard, but the rewards are stellar. I'm tired, stressed and pinging off the walls when I get home...

but I learn something every. single. day. usually a dozen or so things are added to my repertoire by the time I leave the classroom. I haven't felt that envigorated since I was 8 years old. but it tires me. I find myself wrapped in the comforter and in my pajamas before 4pm most days...

and I stay there.

I can't hack the kid's noises (she's entered her 'music is my life' phase), I can't stand the computer. all of the tv's in this house have since died quick and painless deaths when I cut the cable...and then pulled their cords. even the dogs tip-toe or get the hairy eyeball.

quiet. I require sooooo much quiet. can I chase a toddler around wearing earmuffs???

I actually thought last night, "ok. this is serious. I'm going to talk to him about birth control" because I don't trust myself to be able to handle it all, again. the one thing on the planet I've always felt like I was rocking at...being a mom...scared the bajeezus out of me last night.

He smiled knowingly at me as I cried. He told me I'd be amazing at it. he told me that my ease of parenting is one of the things he loves so much about me. he kissed my forehead and told me not to worry. he told me that things ARE difficult now. we're working our asses off. working towards a goal so that we can relax then.

it was all I needed to hear. I trust this man.

if he says we can do it. if he says he can do it.

if he says I can do it...



I can do it.