What Hurts the Most

I’m in the midst of my second divorce.  Divorce sucks, even when you’re the one who wants it.  There’s the bickering.  Who’s entitled to what.  The lawyers.  Damn the lawyers.  There’s the heartache.  The heartbreak.  The hurt feelings.  The anger.  The blame.  Who hurt who more.  There’s just nothing good about goodbye.

There is one thing, however, that hurts more than anything and that’s to see what the children go through.  Seven years ago the undeniable devastation on the twins’ faces one night singlehandedly convinced me to try to make my first marriage work.  Of course it didn’t.  She was abusive.  It took no time at all before she was hacking into my emails and literally cussing and yelling at the top of her lungs at me for not talking to her about our problems.  Problems which our counselor had told us both he didn’t want us discussing until he’d had a chance to work with her on her inability to react violently to things she didn’t want or like to hear.  When I mentioned that…well, that was just an excuse, of course.  I just didn’t want to talk to her.  I digress, however.

Echo

My wife and I waited impatiently to be called back for her ultrasound.  Our nerves were frazzled and we had been waiting seven long days for the upcoming moment…

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My wife lay sprawled on the table while the nurse liberally splattered cold blue gel atop her exposed belly.  The nurse then stuck the microphone into the innocuous pile of ooze, gently agitating it so that the gel covered the entire device.

Indistinct sounds emerged from the attached speaker, with intermittent glimpses of a heartbeat escaping.  Mostly, all we heard was static.  The nurse moved the microphone over the entirety of my wife’s abdomen several times, never settling the contraption in a particular spot.

What is Normal?

Normality is subjective.  Almost everybody considers the things they like and do to be normal.  And anyone who likes or does something else is different.  Most of us tolerate these differences with grace and understanding.  Others of us, not so much.  I know that not every person is the same, so the term normal really shouldn’t apply to people.  After all, I’m unique.  Just like everyone else.

Innocence Lost

I mentioned in a post the other day that my boys were going to become uncles soon.  Fate has decided that day is today.  Today the twins’ older sister, at the tender age of 18 years (and 3 months), the little girl I raised from the age of 2 to 11, gave birth to a healthy baby boy.

I’m still trying to come to grips with the fact that a child I helped raise is now a parent.  I changed her diapers.  I helped potty-train her.  I helped her learn to talk.  I cooked her dinners.  I fed her.  I cared for her when she was sick.  I gave her a hug and a kiss before bed every night.  I helped her with her homework.  I played with her.  And now she has her own child.

Everyone is excited about this.  But me.  The twins are excited.  They can’t wait to get up to the hospital to see their nephew.  My former step-daughter has been excited for months, oblivious to the mountain life has just placed before her on her life’s journey.  Her mom, my first wife, has been excited, too.  Even when she first found out her 17-year old daughter was pregnant.

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It’s Way Too Fast

I had a doctor appointment today, so I took the day off. I felt like I should post something on my unexpected day off, but nothing was coming to me. I tried to think of a post that wasn’t one of the stories that I’m working on. I got nothing. Then, I felt something on my leg. Looking down, I saw that Baby E was pulling herself up on it. She sees me looking down at her and a huge grin pops onto her face, revealing her first two teeth that have finally poked through. Now I have my post.

Baby E is 10 months old. While she hasn’t had all of her firsts yet, she’s getting close. She hasn’t walked yet, but she can do it when she’s holding onto something, such as furniture and people’s hands. She doesn’t say words yet, but she “talks” quite a bit. She doesn’t read yet, but she certainly likes trying to tear her books apart.

Weigh Your Shirts Carefully

At the bottom of each of my posts is a short list of some of the things that I’ve been called over the years. There are actually a lot more, but for the sake of time and space, I only put four of them down. I guess I don’t have to explain any of them, but I will talk a little bit about the last one: a bad influence.

I’ve been told by a few people that I’ve had some kind of influence on their lives. My wife, for instance, will come home from work and tell me about a smartass or sarcastic comment that she had made that day (which she wouldn’t normally make), and have to explain it off as, “I’ve been around my husband too long.” I tend to find these stories highly amusing because the responses are usually something I would say. She doesn’t consider this to be a “bad” influence, although maybe other people would. Overall, I may not be the best person in the world, but I don’t think I make the people around me worse.

Late to bed, early to rise

Today the Daily Prompt probes deep within the recesses of my person to unearth some obscure information about my Unshitty™ self for Maphia™ consumption.  Seriously, what would you guys know about me if not for these prompts?  Not much, I’d wager.

Today DP inquires about sleeping habits.  No, actual sleep.  Get your mind out of the gutter!  Ha!  Just kidding.  Leave it there!  I like the way you think!  But, seriously, it’s about actual sleep.  So, it is now that time so…PROMPT ME!

Early bird, or night owl?

All in all you’re just another pic on the wall

Oh, Daily Prompt.  I have missed thee.  I have had so many other things to write that I’ve ignored thee.  Well, that and some of the prompts lately have been  uninspiring.  To me, anyhow.  For shame, DP.  For shame.

But here we are.  Together again.  It’s like we’ve never been apart.  We’ve fallen back into each other like milk into a bowl of cereal.  Like syrup on a fluffy pancake.  Like A1 on a juicy steak.  Yes, we go together, DP.  You complete me.  And my blog. And stuph™.

Today you want to know about my walls.  What I put on them, specifically.  You’re always so nosy, curious, and pushy.  I LIKE IT!  So, without further ado (ado wa ditty ditty dum ditty ado [bonus points if you know what song that is])…PROMPT ME!

What do you display on the walls of your home — photos, posters, artwork, nothing? How do you choose what to display? What mood are you trying to create?

Nipple Boo Boo

It’s been 12 days since Baby C’s accident.  Since that time his burns have healed up quite nicely and all he has left are three red marks (two on his chest and one on his arm) from his burns.

Baby C Trooper. healing like a boss!

So tonight when I was undressing him for his bath he pointed at one of the red marks and said, “Boo boo?”

“Yes, that’s a boo boo,” I concurred (like a doctor).