The Grind

So it's been awhile since I actually posted on this thing. Partially, this is because I'm a schoolteacher and well, that's a busy job, last I heard. Partially, this is because life has been somewhat-to-significantly uncomfortable.

Yes, I said that. Fellas reading this in advance, just accept it now - it's fairly likely, especially if you haven't been married for an extended period of time, that the first trimester of your first child will be the low point of your marriage up to that point. (The second one will be when she discovers your Asian pr0n collection you thought was properly hidden! HAR!)

I never understood the phrase "When Momma ain't happy, ain't nobody happy" until recently. While I still find it mildly offensive and overly glorifying, at least for situations when someone is just being cranky to exert power, there's some truth to it here. Amy's not happy. She doesn't want to do lots of the things that made us both smile. No Rock Band. No Diablo. No...uh...well, you get the gist. We still talk, but the talks aren't soul-sharing. They're damage-control. Keeping us from killing each other while we weather this storm, because I've had to bite my tongue REALLY hard a few times, and I imagine being married to a snarky, sarcastic, arrogant bastard like me means she's probably got a permanent dental impression on her tongue, too.  I don't blame her for that, and it's entirely expected, but it still means that most (scratch that, ALL) of the things we did that bonded us together aren't being done. All the things we did to dissolve stress between us aren't being done. And even in a frighteningly sweet and idyllic marriage - which is what I would term mine, prior to this point - after three months, a toll begins to take effect. (I sometimes wonder if the rumored...uh... "zest"... in the second trimester is nature's way of trying to balance out the damage it does to the mated pair, as it were.)

The point of the above info isn't to scare you off the whole pregnant thing; I'm still game. It's to pass on this advice: it's okay to take a break. Amy's mom was here and the two of them went gallavanting off to Hell (a.k.a. Fredricksburg, Texas, but that rant is for another day) for the weekend, and I didn't miss a beat - there were four dudes playing video games, telling dirty jokes, eating pizza, and watching people beat the crap out of each other on TV all day Saturday. I felt better on Sunday morning that I'd felt in ages. Truth be told, I could use another two or three weekends like that - now that things have returned to "normal" (just Amy and I and .25 extra Fletchers) the toll I mentioned above is still very much there and still very much growing... but there's nothing wrong with seeking solace in yourself and your own luxuries during the first trimester. (Just make sure the lady is doing the same, 'cause it's a safe bet that she's hypersensitive to her own crankiness and probably has noticed the distance building between the two of you, too.)

Now in theory, all this distance will close and repair itself after the first trimester passes. I hope so. At the very least, I hope it closes after the kiddo's born. (Saw the second sonogram two days ago, by the by... very cool stuff. Lil' booger's in there wiggling around, flailin', kickin' and otherwise being a teeny tiny kid. I dunno about personality, but you can definitely see a person doing very-young-person-stuff in there. I haven't quite sorted what that experience is doing to my views on abortion yet.) Anyhow - I'm hoping that Amy will want to make up for lost family time in some form once all the dust settles from this, and I'm a little worried it won't happen because of the new booger in our lives at that point. I try not to think that far ahead, and I try not to wonder if I'm being selfish in hoping that there will still be an "us, you-and-me" after it's all said and done. 

But anyhow. I'm hoping this will be my last "wow, this shit REALLY sucks" type post. They say the misery of the first trimester starts bleeding off around 12 weeks, and we just passed that mark. I'm sure there will still be plenty of insanity in store, but I'm kind of hoping that in some form, I'll get my wife back.

If not.... I may have to start renting old UFCs and paying for plane tickets for Amy, and that'll get expensive.

MT out.

"We're" Pregnant And Other Misstatements

I'm not, as a rule, afraid to take credit where it's due. (Yes, thank you captain obvious, I know.)

However, I have something of a pet peeve: the guys who say "We're pregnant" or allow others to tell them "So, you're pregnant, eh?"

No. No, I am NOT pregnant. In point of fact, it is physically impossible for me to BE pregnant, last I checked. I lack the proper equipment for that job.  "Oh, but you're married to your wife, the two of you are a team" I hear people say. Rubbish. When the quarterback fumbles the football, they don't say the TEAM fumbled. They make it quite clear WHO fumbled as soon as they know. Same thing with scoring goals in hockey, or anything else. Yes, I am on Team Fletcher, but if I want to extend the sports metaphor, I've already hiked the ball. My job here is done. All I do now is stand there and block stressors in her life from time to time. That's not nearly enough work for me to claim credit on something as awe-inspring as "I'm pregnant."

I wonder if other guys feel like that. Sure, I'm supportive, sure, I'm around - but I'm no life-support system, and I sure don't have the super power of growing people inside of me. In fact, for a guy like me, who likes to feel like he has some sway over events, some control over his life, and some general command of the direction things are going... I do damn little in what matters most at the moment.

Can't say that I like it much, honestly. Frustrates me to watch my wife yack - we're up to about 1.5 times a day in the last week, uberbad - and know there's nothing I can do to prevent it happening. Frustrates me to watch her exhausted and know I could do every chore in the house and it wouldn't matter. Frustrates me a LOT to get chewed out for minor or non-existent misunderstandings which are entirely pregnant-hormone-irritation-explosions (AKA, "The Pregnabeast") and know that were I Rico Suave, or the King of Diplomacy, it wouldn't make a bit of difference.

This whole dad thing. I'm looking forward to it, but for the first time in my life, I'm totally on the bench... and yeah. Not keen.

Other mis-statement worth brief note: Fairs. They aren't. There's nothing "Fair" about them. "Fair" means "acceptable" or at least "agreeable." Those mob-crush, fried-food-orgies are nothing of the sort. They're "Sucks" followed by "Mehs" with the occasional "Neat!" wrapped in. Texas State Fair should also have a "ripoff" written in it somewhere. I guess "Texas State Suckmehneatripoff" would have all kinds of misunderstandings and bizzare connotations to it, though... not to mention the possibly unpleasant side effect of someone's manhood getting mangled. Eek.

Closing now.

I'm not pregnant. My wife is. I want to help more. I can't. Fairs aren't. End of blog.