I’ve cried every day for the last three, sometimes multiple times. I don’t know if I’m emotional, or if I’m finally realizing how big of a change is coming to my life, or what the deal is… but I just feel wrung out and useless.
Chris has never been big on “snuggling”; he gets too hot. Especially with my body temperature being like a million degrees all the time. So the other night we’re sitting together on the couch, my legs over his lap, and I started crying because OH MY GOD YOU DON’T WANT TO SNUGGLE WITH ME WHAT’S WRONG WITH ME IT’S CAUSE I’M FAT ISN’T IT?! Good grief, I’m tearing up just thinking about it. He looked like I had just kicked him across the face — a mix of what the fuck? and is my wife possessed? and how do I answer that? So he said, gently, “You can come here if you want honey, I’ll be fine. And you’re not fat, you’re pregnant and adorable.”
WELL WHY DON’T YOU COME TO ME THEN AND WHY AREN’T YOU SITTING HERE FEELING YOUR BABY MOVE? (I talk in caps when I’m upset) Of course by this time, I need a tissue because my nose is all snotty and disgusting. I don’t know how he puts up with me.
Our immigration shit is at a standstill. Detroit can’t approve me until Ontario tells them I paid a fee — that we paid back on October 27th, but apparently there just hasn’t been enough time for Ontario to phone/fax/email Detroit and be like “yo, bitch paid her fees”. There are ninety-seven days until Maia’s due date, and it takes ninety for OHIP to take effect. I feel like we are going to get fucked by the government. So I’ve been crying over that too.
Oh, and now Chris is talking about how we are digging ourselves into a lot of debt, so he doesn’t want to paint the nursery walls at all because it’ll be “a waste” since we’re only here for another two years at most. Okay. Let me try to figure out where to start with this one. First off, I never wanted white furniture in the nursery; I wanted everything to be in dark wood. When we bought a white dresser cause it was cute and on special, I figured we could paint it based on the theme of the room. Before we decided on the nursery colour palette, I even asked him, “How much longer are we going to be in this apartment? Is it really worth the time to paint the walls?” and he said it was all good, that we could definitely decorate. So when we had the colours picked out, I realized that some nice white furniture would go with it all very nicely, since they’d contrast with the walls. My mother-in-law ordered us a pretty white crib from Sears, and it’ll be here on the 20th. I’ve been browsing the Ikea catalog for white shelving & whatnot, figuring I could grab a tube of colour to use for accenting on the furniture, etc. Now he wants me to bring our daughter into a white walled nursery with white furniture? Okay, you know, maybe in the GRAND SCHEME of things this isn’t a big deal, but I’ve still been crying over it. She’ll be happy and loved no matter what the nursery looks like, but you know… I just feel like I am getting fucked over and over.
This all comes down to money. Money that we don’t have, because I can’t make it. Because immigration is fucked and I can’t legally work. I feel completely powerless, like I have no say in what’s going on in this house. Of course, we talked about that this morning (at which point he was saying “You should just be more assertive… I don’t want to be in control of you, this is a partnership”) and I got to crying all over again. But it’s hard on me that I can’t just take my cash and go to a maternity store or a baby store; I’m so excited about us having a baby and it would be nice to have some physical way to manifest that excitement. I’m pissed that I can’t get a haircut, so I get angry anytime I look at myself; I’m pissed that I have one decent pair of shoes; I’m pissed that I don’t have a bookshelf full of baby books waiting for Maia.
It’s just been a very bad few days. I’m hoping I stop feeling like this soon, but I don’t know how to solve things. I don’t know whether I should bend on the nursery thing or insist on us spending money that we really shouldn’t be. I’m tired of compromising.
Oh, and my father-in-law sent me pictures of our wedding that I’d lost, and I look like shit in every single one of them. Yeah, I cried over that too.
I’m going to make some chili.