Corpus Christi

John & I went down to Corpus Christi this past Monday. JJ took the car ride pretty well. LOL

We got two hotel rooms, one for us and JJ and one for my parents and Nicholas. We got in pretty late, around 1 a.m. Tuesday, we went to Whataburger for lunch with my brother, Paul and his lovely new wife, Aurora. Then we went to Shoreline & hung out on the beach for a while. Nicky and I went swimming. No one else did. But John did bring JJ to the sand and sat him where the waves could reach his feet.

That night we went to Big Sam's for drinks, dinner, & pool with my brother & his wife. After about 3 hours we left and went to my brother's apartment, where we continued to drink, listen to Bob Seger, and talk about, well, everything.

Of course, we had to hit up some thrift stores and pawn shops while we were there, too, which we did Wednesday before heading back to San Antonio, with a pit stop in Beeville to see my sister and so my Tia Esther could meet John and JJ.

It was an awesome trip.

Hot Feet

John took me to Chili's for lunch today. I had a chicken and bacon quesadilla....
Mmm mmm good. I also eyed their molten lava cake, and as good as I remember it, I'm not paying $6 for a piece of cake, even though we're doing okay right now. I will settle for my $0.80 powdered donuts from the vending machine at work. I also brought half of that lunch with me to work for dinner.

It must have had an ocean of sodium in it, though, because my feet as swollen so badly they burn and I can't even prop them up on the trashcan because it cuts off my circulation.


Today the princess is wearing a shirt that says "Bimbo" on it. Of course I know it's a Mexican brand of pastries...but still. It's funny.

Is it Possible....

that I still have three weeks left? I feel like I am due tomorrow. All I can do is sleep, eat, pee. Sleep, eat, pee.

Sleepeatpee.

I am utterly uncomfortable at all times. Whether I am sitting and bloated and wanting to lay down with my feet up, or I am half-laying on the couch, probably aggravating John (who is dear enough not to say anything) with my contact adjusting, or laying in bed moving myself, my body pillow, my regular pillow, and John around nearly every moment trying to get in a painless position.

John's dad asked me the other day if I was big enough to lay on my tummy and be a merry-go-round for the kids. I laughed hysterically at the time. Then I went to the store to buy a bassinet, and the guy at the counter asked me if I was having twins.




Not so funny anymore.

My butt hurts from sitting all day at work.

Identity Crisis

I used to have dreams.



I have, variably, aspired to be a novelist, poet, chef, jeweler, marine biologist, storm chaser, meteorologist, Coast Guard, and on and on. I have failed, miserably, at them all. My day consists of trying to make it through the day at work, trying to understand my relationship, and trying to be a good mother. That is one thing I desire more than anything not to fail at.



Don't get me wrong about my job. I love my job. I think that, with the exception of maybe secretary or transcriptionist, it is the job I was born to do. I consists of a lot of research, a lot of knowledge, and a lot of typing, so... It's right up my alley.



The thing is, I am 8 months pregnant, and it is getting harder and harder to sit in that chair for a few minutes, much less 10 hours. I try, though, because I love the work, and, well, honestly, I am getting to that point where I go to work to escape my problems.



When I gave birth to Nicholas, I was young. I was young, recently married to his father, and broke. I stayed home for two months after having a c-section, but then went back to work with a vengeance. I worked my regular 40 hour work week at my regular store, then also 40 extra hours at another location that needed help at the time. (This was a different job than the one I have now.) I started moving through ranks, too. I moved from cashier to assistant manager to manager, always willing to work overtime or go to other stores to help out.



By the time Nicholas was five years old, I was a manager of my own store, working anywhere from 60-70 hour weeks, always working 6-7 days a week. I would go in early, around 5am or earlier, and get out in the afternoon, sometimes as late as five pm. It was an abusive job in every way you can think of. I was losing my sanity, my health, my family. After five and a half years I put in my two weeks' notice, went home early the day I did, and prayed like hell for another job.



In fact, the very day I did, I was on my way home crying and praying that I had not condemned my family to the loss of everything because I did not have any applications or interviews. No jobs lined up. But, the Lord works in mysterious ways. Not ten seconds after I stopped praying I got a call from a place I had never heard of working as a telephone banker. I had no experience. The last time I worked for a call center it had been hell. But they were offering me a job when I needed one, and I had not even applied. So I took it.



This job has turned out to be a blessing in so many ways. From the people who helped me through emotionally after my separation from my husband of seven years, to the company standing behind me as I took six months to recouperate from a horrendous accident, to moving me to another location closer to home when we acquired it, I could not have asked for more in a job.







So why the discontent?







After the accident, I lost myself. Everything I had not been I became. Everything I had been, I lost. And the guilt and regret of how I had lived my life up until that point became nearly unbearable.



Where I had once been independent and nearly insensitive, I became clingy, needy, and scared.



I realized my son was seven years old, and all I had were patchwork memories of highlights. He didn't really know me. I didn't really know him. I had spent his life working, trying to make sure that we had what he needed...shelter, food, water....and then some. He had so many toys it was unnatural. But that's been my life. His father worked when he could, but after he hurt his back, he stopped living. He was still bringing money in through short term disability, but not as much. And it was difficult to see his lapse into depression because I had not been there. Not yet.



I can't say much has changed. I still go to work. I try to get overtime when my health allows. But I don't know what I am doing when it comes to parenthood. Now with my second child only a month from being born, I am terrified. All I can think is, how am I going to love this child like he needs to be loved while somehow showing Nicholas that he is still my baby? I don't want him to feel like I am giving this child the love that I never afforded him, because I love Nicholas dearly.



I cry sometimes thinking about all the things I missed, all the things I am still missing, and how distant of a parent I have been to a wonderful kid who has already gone through the anguish of divorcing parents.



God help me.







Then I look at my relationship with John and wonder who I have become.



I used to get angry when Nick's father would cry. He used to tell me I was insensitive and cold because when we fought I would shut down and become distant, aloof. I remember getting into arguments with him because he would get upset that I would not cry when we were arguing.


While I don't go quite that far - I would not like to see John cry - I can understand where Nick's dad was coming from, because sometimes it feels like my emotions hit a brick wall with John. Like it offends him to see me cry or if I tell him something he said or did hurt my feelings.



Of course, I am 8 months pregnant.









So that brings me to my identity crisis.





How do I bring this child into the world and guide him and care for him and love him and nurture him, when I can do none of those things for myself? I am still needy and clingy and scared. Whether it is post-traumatic stress crap from the accident or the divorce or my own self-realization or my past relationships or a combination of the four, I constantly feel at a loss. Like I am losing John, like I can't trust him, like he's going to disappear one day.



I am still coping with and recovering from all the health issues that ensued after the accident. I can walk without a cane sometimes, but not for very long, and not without fear of my knee or leg or ankle giving out from under me. And being pregnant, I cannot afford the risk.



And last but not least and probably most importantly, how do I fix my relationship with the son I already have and at the same time be the mother I could not be to him, to my new son?





And where do I go from there?

The Princess and the iPad

People are funny to watch and listen to. I am sure I am no different.

She acts like a ditz and it is amusing to see her put on the airs of a princess and parade herself around the males. She even calls herself Princess and has a tiara on her desk. I used to be annoyed by her, then aggravated. Now she's become dull if not amusing white noise.

He bought an iPad. He showed it to me from across the cubicles. In less than a second I went from mildly jealous to wildly amused at how much he paid for it ($800) to a cross between the two. It came with a keyboard. If I were going to pay $800 for a piece of electronics, it would be (if not a dslr) a very good laptop with all the trimmings. $800. Cheez. Maybe if I played with it, I would think differently. I must get to a store and find out what would prompt someone to pay that much for anything.

She talks like a pure bred country girl, acts like (she thinks she is) the Queen of England, and is one of the few people on the planet than continually annoy me without bias. Generally, even if someone annoys me on a regular basis, sympathy or empathy regulates my agitation with their existence so as not to be a flat line of aggravation. Not with her. Everything about her screams fake, even the fact that she accuses other people of being fake.

I don't understand how the people around her get any work done because all she wants to do is talk.



I suppose I am in a foul mood because I am 8 months pregnant, my back hurts, I am tired, and I have severe heartburn.

But still.

Got to love watching the masses.



One of them commented on me the other day, saying I never say anything.
I do. I have a lot to say. I have worlds to say. I just don't say it out loud.

When Conflicting Feelings Don't Compute

They are not compatible.

I love him so much, but he is mean sometimes and makes me feel worthless and like he does not love me back. But he can be so nice, too. It's like....I'm only worth his time when things are sunny and cheerful. The moment there's conflict, he turns to ice stone cold and unfeeling and downright cruel.

I love my son and the son on the way and I love him, too, but....I'm being driven to the point where I hate myself.

How does this compute? The conflicting feelings are incompatible and I feel like I am going to go mad.

Almost There

I am due March 21, 2011. It's going to be a boy. His name will be John Michael Burchett, Jr.

This pregnancy is so unlike my first it's almost scary. I don't remember having THIS much heartburn, aches, pains, morning sickness, sleeplessness or even moodiness with my first pregnancy.

But that's okay. I made it past the five week mark, I made it past the 3 month mark, I am in my final trimester a little over a month from having him, so I am good.
I like my baby bump. :)

I also bought a body pillow this pregnancy. It has helped a lot. The huge difference is that my first (full term) pregnany was when I was 21 and before the car accident. This is almost 8 years later....after all the broken bones.