Is it possible. . .

. . .to both love and hate someone at the same time?

A Good Week So Far. . .

All quiet on the MoJo front. It was a tumultuous weekend (although I still don't know why my blog posted all of my Friday-Sunday posts on Sunday -- have your blogs ever done that to you?), but things seem to be settling down. Mo has been home early! all week! I, for one, am finding my inner sunshine is glowing brighter, simply knowing that I will soon be on my way home. I've made a list of all the little projects that need doing before we list our house. I am counting weeks (just weeks!) until my mom and stepdad arrive to celebrate Thanksgiving, then a few more weeks until I get to see my sister and A. All in all, things are looking up.

The thing about me is, once I make a decision, that's it. It may take me a LONG time to get there, but when I'm determined, nothing can stand in my way. So saying those words, "I've decided," was like a huge weight being lifted off of me. I'm a planner by nature, so to feel as though I'm moving forward, instead of spinning my wheels, feels so much better.

I've got two scenarios in my head, which I'm sure doesn't really surprise any of you. Only time will tell which one comes to pass. Either way, a year from now I plan on being home, with the "real-life" support of my family and friends around me. It's so refreshing to KNOW something, as much as one can know anything. My mantra of "what if" has been replaced by "no matter what," and that simple change means everything.

"What if we can't have kids?" becomes "No matter what, I'm going to be around my family."

"What if my marriage falls apart?" becomes "No matter what, I'm going to be okay."

"What if my dreams never come to fruition?" becomes "No matter what, I'll find a way."

It's almost as if I've been paralyzed by indecision, and finally making one has unleashed an inner power that I forgot that I had.

And, damn if that doesn't feel good.

One Decision Down, A Million More To Make. . . .

I've decided.

We're moving.

We started talking about it a year ago, before A. was born. We talked about moving back to my hometown, about making a clean start with family nearby. We talked about it after the MIL moved out, and took Little Miss with her back to their hometown, 12 hours away. We put it on hold when MIL and Little Miss returned, with the former-ex-FIL and Mo's grandfather in tow.

Since summer, I've realized that my two-week-plus visit to small-town America is the only time I've been happy in a while. I am tired of going it alone. I am tired of missing my mom, and my sister, and my whole support system. I want to go home.

And so we're moving.

There are a million more things to be decided, a million more things still up in the air. But of one thing I am certain: we are listing the house in January, and I am going home this summer. For good.

It feels good to be moving forward, to be making plans again, even if I don't have the slightest clue how its all going to work out.

Where is God?

Last night, in the midst of an argument, I went to bed. Tired of fighting, of saying the same things over and over, I simply stopped talking and left the room. Not too long afterward, Mo came in. We lay in the dark, not speaking for a while. Finally I heard him, "I'm so sorry." he said, over and over. "I'm sorry. I don't want to lose you. There's a good man inside of me, somewhere, I promise."

I've heard it, too many times before. I said nothing, hoping he would think I had fallen asleep. He got up, left the room, came back. Got up again. After repeating this several times, he came back in, but didn't get into bed.

Curiosity getting the best of me, I broke the silence. "What in the hell are you DOING?" I asked.

Peeling off my sleep mask, I saw his form in the darkness, crouched down on the side of the bed. "I'm praying," came the mumbled response. "I'll do anything, anything not to lose you."

I don't remember what I actually said -- something about it being 4 in the morning and could we just go to sleep, please? -- but I remember thinking, quite angrily, something along the lines of "Let me know how that works out for you."

I've been praying for seven years, begging God to listen, to help, to fix things that were broken. To heal my spirit, to grant me peace.

My prayers have varied the gamut from "help us to have a child" to "heal my husband" to "heal my marriage." If seven years of consistent prayer have led to this, then what hope does Mo have? What hope do either of us have?

If God's listening, he's not in the mood to grant requests. That's all I'm saying.

Silence

I have a reason for it. Things are. . . .well, complicated. That seems to be the status quo these days, does it not? And yet, I'm not ready to talk about it. I know I've already gone private, and it's not that I don't trust you, my bloggy "inner circle", with the facts. It's just that I haven't decided -- well, much of anything. And until I do, I just don't feel comfortable putting it all out there. If I knew, for sure, that this was the end of the road, then perhaps then I could begin to unravel the last eight years. Perhaps then I could let the demons out without fear of judgment, of condemnation. To do so now, even under the cloak of anonymity, seems wrong. Maybe I fear what I would discover about myself as much as what you would think of me. Maybe I simply want to maintain some shred of dignity for my oft-maligned Mo. Maybe I still, somewhere buried deep within, have hopes that someday this will all be part of the distant past, and the happy visions I've carried for so long will become reality.

So much remains undecided, vague, uncertain. And, knowing nothing for sure, it just seems smarter easier to remain silent, until something solid emerges.

Another Conversation

I love this blog.

Not because I particularly enjoy the contents of this blog (especially as of late) or my quintessential reason for starting it. But, over time, I have realized that this blog is an extremely useful tool in helping me to sort my feelings out, to make sense of things, and to be able to explain the confusing and often contradictory thoughts that race through my mind in the middle of the night.

Of course, Mo, if he knew about it, would probably not be so in love with it. Who would, when the end result is your wife's ability to finally articulate her unhappiness?

We had a long, heartfelt talk when Mo got home on Thursday night. Or rather, I talked, and Mo listened.

I mean, he really listened.

I think he wasn't expecting me to voice some of the thoughts that I did. I know he didn't expect me to be so calm and matter-of-fact about them. Where was the crying, emotional woman of fights past? And did I really, REALLY, just tell him that maybe we shouldn't go ahead with the IVF? Me, the baby-lusting, wanna-be-mom? Indeed, I did.

Even more shocking, I meant it.

And I think he knew it, too. I spelled out all the unspoken undercurrents that have been traveling between us, the distancing, the anger, the thoughts of divorce. I told him that I wasn't trying to threaten him, but that I was telling him that the end was close. That unless he stepped up and really showed me that he wanted to make this marriage work, that it wasn't going to. I told him what I thought I knew -- and how I knew it. He seemed surprised that he's not nearly as good at hiding things from me as he thinks he is.

Some pivotal realizations came from that conversation. First, and most important, it made me feel a helluva lot better. Regardless of how this crazy road eventually turns out, it felt good to stop keeping my thoughts to myself and to lay my cards out on the table. Secondly, it let Mo know that he's not really "getting away" with anything. That I'm not as naive as I once was, and that I am well aware of his Issues and when they become, well, an issue.

He confirmed that he is depressed, and feels guilty about it. That he misses his dad more than he can stand -- but feels as though everyone expects him to be over it, to not show feelings, to not talk about it. I suggested a grief counselor -- someone who specializes in this and can help him work through it, without telling him that he is wrong for feeling the way he does.

He told me that he doesn't know how he became this person, this exact opposite of the man he wants to be. We both know that his father's illness and death played a large part in it -- but how much of his Issues can be blamed on situational circumstance? How much of it is simply intrinsic?

I told Mo that I know he's a good man. And he is. He's kind and generous and sweet. I know that he has good intentions. But I also do not like how he handles his depression, his stress, his grief. Everyone has those feelings at some point, and everyone deals with them in their own way. Some ways are healthier than others. I grew up in a household with a father who was much like my husband -- and I want better for my own children. I don't want to explain why Daddy spends his weekends in bed, why he is "sick" so often, why Mommy is doing this alone. I want an equal, a partner, a friend -- not someone I have to make excuses for.

I think that I made my position pretty clear. I also think that Mo, deep down, could see it coming. He's said some things (mostly during arguments) that let me believe he knows that I'm reaching my breaking point.

While he's heard many of those statements from me before, I've never once told him that we shouldn't keep pursuing our baby dream. I've never told him how I believed that I was not less important than a child, that I deserved the same amount of love and attention. I think he felt as though, being an adult, I was better able to cope with his absences than a child would. And, perhaps I am.

The thing is, I don't have to. And I'm not going to. He is either going to clean up his act and start acting like the father he claims he wants to be some day, or he's going to miss his chance.

Only time will tell.

Scraps

It's almost two o'clock in the morning (on a school night). . . .do you know where your spouse is? Because I don't. Oh, I know where he SAYS he is. I know that conveniently his friend, who is always getting into scrapes of some kind, called and needed his "help." That he locked his keys in his car and needs Mo to bring his girlfriend (and the spares) to him -- or was he taking the girlfriend home? I know that he SAYS he is just trying to be a "good friend." What I don't know is whether or not he is completely blowing smoke up my ass, or if he is just maddeningly unable to say "no" to anyone.

I don't know if it even really matters anymore. I don't know if I even care if he really IS doing exactly what he says he is or not. I am so damn sick and tired of waking up in the middle of the night to find him gone -- to the store, to a friend's, to the local watering hole. WHEREVER. It just doesn't make a bit of difference to me anymore. It seems that I am the only person on this planet that he is capable of saying "no" to. . .perhaps because he knows that I am going to stick around, no matter what? That used to make me happy -- to think that he knew that I loved him unconditionally, that I was the one person in his life that wasn't going to bail on him (and literally everyone, his parents included, have at some point or another). I took great pride in always being there, in being supportive, in forgiving his mistakes. Now, however, I simply feel taken for granted.

* * * * * * * * * *

Mo and I have been struggling lately as to what to do about Little Miss. Our three-year-old niece is currently living with my mother-in-law. It's a complicated situation, but we have begun to wonder if she might be better off here. Just tonight Mo asked me if I would be willing to take Little Miss in, if he could get his mother to agree. He's even willing to allow his mother to keep the paperwork the same (she has custody because LM's mother is not capable of caring for her), and to continue to get the WIC and food stamps and whatever else she is drawing for her -- he just wants LM to be in the best situation possible.

So, of course, as he is running around town in the wee hours of the morning, I reminded him of this. "Just what would you be doing if Little Miss was here?" I asked him. "If she woke up in the middle of the night and wanted to know where you were?"

He seemed genuinely shocked that I would ask this. "I wouldn't leave if we had a child in the house," he claims. I snorted -- I couldn't help myself. Does he really think that? Perhaps it is true. Even so, it doesn't make me any happier.

* * * * * * * * * *

A bloggy friend recently posted something that has stuck with me, resonating in my head whenever Mo and I reach such an impasse.

"I am not less important than a child." she wrote. "I don’t always have to have the leftovers. I don’t have to have the minimum amount of love. I don’t always have to have the scraps."






So, then, can anyone tell me why I'm always settling for them?

Stress Test

Just for fun (because we all know how much FUN I am these days), I took an online stress test today. You know the ones -- where those "major life events" that cause stress are assigned numbers, and you add them up to find out just how stressed you really are? Over 150 is considered high, and over 300 indicates you are 90% likely to suffer a stress-related illness.

My score?

394.

Yes, you saw that right. It's a wonder that I am able to cope at all, really. Even more astounding is that if you add in ALL the stressors of the past seven years, Mo's and my combined score is over 1000.

"Life Stressors" that we have faced or are currently facing (NOT INCLUDING INFERTILITY):

-- Change to different line of work
-- Death of a close friend
-- Marital separation (or separation from any major intimate relationship)
-- Jail term (extremely brief)
-- Death of a close family member
-- Personal injury or illness
-- Major change in health or behavior of a family member
-- Being fired from work
-- Sexual difficulties
--Marital reconciliation
-- Business readjustment
-- Major change in finances
-- Marriage
-- Increase in number of arguments with spouse
-- Trouble with boss/superior
-- Mortgage or loan for major purchase (i.e. home, etc.)
-- Foreclosure of mortgage or loan
-- Changes in responsibility at work
-- Trouble with in-laws
-- Going back to school
-- Change in residence
-- Change in work hours or responsibilities
-- Change in school
-- Revision/change of personal habits
-- Change in recreational habits
-- Change in church/spiritual activities
--Change in social activities
-- Purchase of major items (auto, computer, etc)
--Change in sleeping habits
-- Change in number of family get-togethers
--Change in eating habits
-- Vacation
-- Christmas
-- Minor violations of the law (e.g., traffic tickets, misdemeanors)

Is it any wonder that my life marriage is on the rocks?

Something's Amiss

I don't know exactly what it is. It could be a myriad of things, all directly linked to Mo's Issues, which have been strangely silent as of late. Or not-so-silent. . .in an unobvious way. Being me, with no tact and even less patience, I called him out on it last night. And got absolutely nowhere.

But I sense it. The other shoe is there, teetering on the precipice. I know if I wait long enough it will come crashing down on me. But instead of having sense, and getting out of harm's way, I sit here blogging in metaphors and wishing I didn't know what I think I know. Or maybe I wish that I DID know. . .because knowing, at least, is better than not knowing.

I wish, for once, that things could be black-and-white. That answers would become crystal-clear, and that regret and second-chances and unknowns could be wiped away. I want a clean slate, one that's uncomplicated by unmet desires and sinking suspicions and dreams deferred. I want to start over, with the husband I married, untarnished, seven years ago. I want a different path, with a different outcome, but I want it with the man I fell in love with, the man I thought I knew.

I want the impossible, in more ways than one.

To Be or Not To Be. . .That IS the Question

I spent the weekend playing house, pretending to be a mother. My 3-year old niece descended for two fun-filled days and nights as the apple of her aunt and uncle's eyes. Typical of her age, she didn't want to go home. . .and I, of course, didn't want to let her go (the situation is complicated by the fact that I returned her not to her own mother, who hasn't had shit to do with her since she was born, but to my 63-year-old, more-than-slightly crazy mother-in-law, but that's a whole 'nother blog post entirely).

Having Little Miss underfoot brought up the usual baby-longing in Mo, who told me repeatedly how much he wants a child of his own. How he would love to fill the house with as many as we could hold. How he wants nothing more than to be a hands-on, pancake-flipping, book-reading, diaper-changing dad.

I, however, am plagued with fears.

What if that vision never comes to pass, for either of us? What if I am not destined to be a mother, or Mo a father? What if treasured, stolen weekends are all we ever get? If borrowed time, bestowed from understanding parents and siblings, is all that we have to look forward to?

I've made Mo promise, over and over again, that he will not back out on me again. My heart, my patience, my spirit could not take it. We're on the calendar, counting days and weeks until December. So much is hanging on this procedure, on this hope that maybe, just maybe, we can put everything that's happened the past few years behind us. That we can stop feeling frustrated, and angry, and just plain sad. That our lives can begin to resemble the life we envisioned when we first started this journey seven years ago.

"Experts" will tell you that no one should ever have a baby in an attempt to save a marriage. What they don't tell you is how NOT having a baby can destroy it. How infertility can drive a couple apart, isolating them in their pain, and preventing them from ever being truly happy. I don't think I can survive a lifetime of childlessness -- I know for a fact that my marriage won't.

And so I wait, and pretend, and try to reassure myself that it isn't too late. That the dreams I've held for so long are still possible. And I try desperately to silence my fears.

And in the back of my mind, impossible to ignore, is the question: what if it doesn't work?

And equally frightening: what if it does?