my tragic right hip

Busting out bad joints all over the place

January 11th, 2013

Throw Your Arms in the Air!

What’s hard for me these days, is that feeling of being in-between. I spent a solid almost-two weeks as a SAHM, cooking, and cuddling, and being ridiculously frustrated with my toddler, and loving every minute of it. Despite the hectic nature of the holidays. Despite the insanity of my next-door neighbours (the next time we see you, please ask my husband about the exorcism we think we heard on Christmas Eve; scariest thing IN THE WORLD). Despite the fact that I’ve been riddled with a cold, a sinus infection, a terrifically potent stomach flu (twice). I loved being home. It’s not harder to come to work. It’s not easier to be at home. It’s just I think everyone would rather be with their families, even when you’ve got a terrific job, a rewarding career, there’s just something about the togetherness, the unit that we’ve created, that makes all the other stuff sort of fall away.

That’s not to say that I’m a joy to live with, or that raising a toddler who has epic tantrums and can honestly take an hour to get dressed is easy. But there are moments when he’s throwing himself through the air (see photo) and dancing, shouting at his father to, “turn it up slowly!” (translation get the music to the fast part and crank it loud), that joy bubbles up to the surface in such a primal way. You laugh. A lot. Those are the good parts. The family bits. The evening dance party when I arrive home and everyone’s happy to see me, and we have hugs, and run around for a time until the battle for bath/shower, pajamas and bed begins.

Then, there are the hard parts, the tit-for-tat, and the long list of grievances over who is doing what and who isn’t doing what, and who should be doing what, and when, and where, and how. I read an article in a magazine, I think it might have been one of the free ones that I pick up from daycare, about how a couple actually keeps a list of who does what and then has a reckoning every now and again. Is that healthy? I don’t know. But all of the nagging frustrations on both of our parts isn’t necessarily healthy either. So, our solution? A vacation. I think it’s necessary. While we can’t afford a full-on, bounce out of town on an airplane, stay-somewhere-warm kind of vacation, we have booked a couple nights at the Great Wolf Lodge, and I’m looking forward to it. We might cross the border into Buffalo and do a bit of shopping. And then I have another day booked off for us all to go and see the Frida Kahlo exhibit at the AGO. I have a crazy amount of holiday time this year from work, and I might need to be a bit more pro-active in terms of taking it. Because, it’s true, I never seem to take days off for us just to do family stuff. I’ll take days off if I need to cover for RRHB, if he has a quick job to do, an appointment, if he’s sick, and I think we’re both just bogged down in the day-to-day, the general ache of the days, the snotty, crabby, cold, endlessly early bits of the day where everything needs attention, care and then more attention.

There was a moment on New Year’s Eve when my RRHB had taken the RRBB to daycare, and I spent two hours writing. It was the first time I had been alone in my house, by myself, completely without anyone else there, since May. It was so quiet. Eerily so. And sure, I sit in my cubicle at work but I’m never truly alone. People are interrupting and there are meetings and calls and fires to put out and you’re never just with your thoughts. Those two hours were all I needed. My spirits were buoyed (although I did fall asleep in the movie; we went to see The Hobbit) for the rest of the day. And when we picked up the boy from daycare, it was a fun ride home (there may have been smarties; I’m just saying.).

So, I don’t know. I’m rambling during my lunch hour. The day-to-day is a bit defeating, but it’s that way for everyone in the working world. I have projects, they have word counts, and I’m adding to them weekly. We’re a bit in a funk, but that’s natural when you have a two-year-old, and not much of a life. Really, I think it’s a lot of waiting for the other shoe to drop from me at the moment. In the times when the disease is quiet, I have a feeling like “OMG! DISEASE!” Like it’s going to fall into my lap and explode at a second’s notice. So. Perhaps I’ll stop. Take some deep breaths. Get some fresh air. Take some enjoyment out of a good start to New Year’s Revolutions. Throw my arms in the air. Wave them like I just don’t care.

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Girl with titanium hip will rock. Girl with titanium hip will write. Girl with titanium hip will read. Girl with titanium hip will battle crazy-ass disease called Wegener's Granulomatosis. Now stuff that in your spelling bee!

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