Confessions on a low self-worth.

Today, I'm having one of those "man, I'm not worth much to anyone and everything is my fault" sort of days.

I just realized that I place a lot of my self-worth on whether or not my husband is home spending time with me.

Jake works hard. He works 14 or more hours a day, four or five days a week. He is very geared toward a strong financial future. I am more focused on relationships. Always have been. I grew up without much for money, but I had a really close-knit family, including aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents, and of course, my immediate family. I lived that way for 27 years now, and so trying to switch my focus to making the most money we can right now just doesn't work.

Jake and I don't fight often, really, and we usually agree on most things. But when it comes to this work v. time at home thing, well, we've always disagreed. Not that he doesn't want to be home, because that's not it, he just has a higher standard for making money. Like, he has to make "enough" per day to justify taking his day off off every week. And if he doesn't, he works on his day off instead of being home with Spencer and I.

I appreciate his willingness to work, but I find that when he prefers to make a bigger paycheck every week than spend that extra day home with us, that I feel pretty worthless.

Today, he is working to make up for lack of sales or missing customers on Monday and Tuesday. I was looking forward to a little time for myself this morning, which didn't happen, before he left, and before he left, I started feeling really bad about wishing he'd be home, and wanting time away from he or Spencer in the first place.

I mean, come on, we fought for this baby, and he's what we wanted to so badly, and yet I want to be away from him every week? More than one or two hours once a week even? Man, I felt like a bad mom.

Anyway, back to this dissension. When we have the discussion that always starts out with me wanting Jake home more, and ending with if I want that to happen I have to make more money, but yet, we both feel like I should raise our child, so I am doing that instead, which means Jake will be gone all the time and I just have to deal with it... I always end up feeling like crud.

I know I shouldn't place any value of myself as to whether or not my husband is home, but yet, I do. I try to stop, and I can't. I don't know how. No matter how much I pray or give it to God, when this conversation happens, I fall right back into being not worth his time away from making money.

I don't know that we'll ever find a balance, and that scares me.

No one is at fault, but I tell you what, I always blame myself, which makes it feel even worse. I'm not mad at Jake, and I don't blame him for doing what he feels is best. I just don't always agree. I feel like even if we were to end up debt free in five years or less, we've still missed out on 4 years of time together since we were married, plus the time that he's away now. But what do I do? Do I give up on raising our child for a higher paying job, seeing as how that would be the one thing it seems that would bring my husband home before 10pm every night?

I don't get hardly any sleep. Neither does Jake. And it's not totally because of having a baby, though that's part of it. During the day, I don't/can't find time to nap, and then I stay up until he gets home because Spencer is awake a lot of the time waiting for Jake to get home, and also, if I'm not awake when he gets home, there's a good chance I wont' see him.

And then I feel really horrible, because I want him to spend time away from us in his free time, but I don't. I love that he's doing lights at church, but at the same time, I'm selfish and wish he was here for that extra two hours. But will I ask him not to? No. Will I blame him for doing it? No. It just boils down to the fact that I wish we had more time together as a family during the week.

So, here I am, home while he's working on his "day off," and my baby is crying in his bouncy seat, and instead, I'm sitting here writing this blog. I guess I should get my priorities straight.

I miss our computer.

Advanced apologies for lack of paragraph breaks. My phone won't allow me to make them... 2 weeks ago or so, our computer bit the dust. I was devastated at the thought that we were going to lose all of our pregnancy photos and all the photos we had of SJ, but luckily, a friend's husband looked at the computer and said they were salvagable. The motherboard is toast though so until we can afford it, we are without a 'puter. I miss it. When home all day and chores are done and naps are taken but SJ is sleeping, I miss being on facebook or email, message boards and blogs, playing games and editing photos, and so much more. I feel kind of pathetic admitting it but it is true. I'm lucky my phone has limited internet but it doesn't allow much. Yes, I'm whining, but I'm done for now. Time for popcorn and a movie.

Moving, I despise thee.

Tonight, I'm feeling exceptionally overwhelmed.

I spent the majority of the weekend painting the duplex that we are going to be moving into the middle of this week. It was a long task, and more physically exhausting than I thought it would be (I presume Spencer can be to blame for that, at least partially). The other chunk of the weekend, I spent going through things at our current residence, packing them up, sorting them into piles, trying to savor some energy, as well as spend time with Jake and Wendell.

Tonight, I came home from work, and took a look around, and just burst into tears.

I hate moving.

I don't hate the aspect in which you take up residence in a new place. that part, I actually find to be a somewhat thrilling adventure. The aspects I hate are... packing, transporting, and unpacking. I'm not what you would call "skilled" at packing, and I find it to be tedious and boring under normal circumstances.

But, I've been alone for the majority of it... and I haven't really accomplished much. I'm not blaming anyone, and I'm not trying to complain and whine about it either. I'm just stating.

It's hard to be 33 weeks pregnant, emotional, tired, sore, and then unfocused... and try to pack up a household of things. And then I find myself trying to debate what I can pack up, what I should pack up, and what I should wait to do until right before we move. I mean, come on, let's be practical, I shouldn't pack up and move all of the food and the bathroom supplies... and then not eat or shower for three days. And then there's the focus thing... I get side tracked, or I'd rather have some human contact (because Jake is working to provide for our family, which I appreciate more than I express to him sometimes (I am sorry, babe, for that)) so I check my facebook, or text my friends. I can't stand trying to accomplish this task in utter desolation. (Yes, that's somewhat dramatic, I realize, but like I said, I'm an emotional roller coaster lately, ask Jake.)

And it's really hard to not be able to be carrying and lifting boxes on my own... and furniture, too. I understand it's not really safe for me, nor Spencer to be doing so, but then I just feel so... helpless.

And I feel horrible for my husband. I dread the packing and the small stuff I can do on my own, and then... I think about all that he has to do without my help, and how he has to try to find help to do it. As strong and amazing as he is (which he is, I tell you), he can't exactly carry a piano 10 blocks by himself, as well as up and down stairs.

It's just... a dreadful scenario all around.

But, instead of continuing this ramble... I'm going to work on washing the rest of the laundry and getting ready to move it over there myself (because hey, I can do that!) so that the washer and dryer will be ready to be moved come Wednesday as well. And I will most likely go through the desks as I do the laundry, and de-clutter and pack those up as well.

Celebratory Episode of Epic Fail.

Last week Wednesday (June 23), I found out the sex of our baby! Jake didn't want to know, so I promised I wouldn't tell him, or at least try as hard as I could to keep him from knowing.

Earlier this week, I was the wonderful instigator of an early-morning episode of "Epic Fail."

Jake (my husband), and I were lying in bed on Wednesday morning, cuddling, taking in some early morning light, and mostly, on my part, avoiding being fully awake and trying my best to squeeze a few extra moments of sleep out of my morning. I've never really been a morning person, and much less of one lately, it seems.

For a few weeks now, Jake has been fortunate enough to be able to feel the baby lightly kicking from inside if he rests his hands on my stomach. Many places or people would say it's too early (22 weeks this week), but I know that it's true, because I have placed my hand there and felt it as well. So, he's not crazy for wanting to try to feel any chance he can get, in my opinion. (Sidenote: we noticed tonight you can see movement in there too sometimes, which is really awkward and totally awesome.)

Back to Wednesday morning, I was lying on my side, as I usually do nowadays, and his hand was draped over me and resting on my mid-section.

He said, after a short while, "I can't feel it kicking."

I responded, slowly, groggily, not paying a lot of attention to my words, "That's because [gender specific pronoun] isn't kicking right now." (Bet you thought I was going to tell here too, huh? Sorry, no such luck, still a secret!)

Immediately, or almost so, I started sobbing uncontrollably and buried my head into my pillow so he couldn't see my face. I cried and cried and apologized, and Jake just smiled and laughed a little.

I felt HORRID. Like a failure. Like I let him down and ruined the best surprise ever. He kept asking, "is it true? is it?" I finally mustered "would I be this upset if it wasn't?!" (Meaning, of course what I said was right and I'm ridiculously sorry for saying it...)

He said, "I think you're more upset about telling me than I am knowing!"

I eventually calmed down and apologized without sobbing, and he forgave me. Sure, he was bummed that I let it slip of course, but he said he wasn't mad at me for it. I'm pretty lucky to have him as my husband, I must admit.

So, the surprise, for him, was off, and now he too knows the sex of our baby.

While I'm still really disappointed in myself for letting it slip, knowing how badly he wanted to be surprised on the day of the birth, I am kind of happy about it now, too.

I was having a really hard time keeping myself from using the proper pronoun around him, for one. It was really hard to think of our baby as an "it" once I knew if it was a boy or a girl.

But more than anything, I'm really excited that I can now let Jake know the details of my dreams and visions. From the moment I found out, I could see our child as a toddler, chasing our dear beagle, Wendell, around the house. I could see our child playing with us at a park, going to family gatherings, cuddling with us on the couch. I was having SO much fun thinking and envisioning and dreaming about the future with our child, but I was really sad that I couldn't share these details with my husband, the one I wanted to most of all.

And now I can. For that, I'm grateful, though still sorry. It's quite the paradox.

Truthfully, I think now, Jake is kind of excited too. He can start piecing together his own visions and dreams of our future.

I can't wait to see what really comes true.


And Jake, if you're reading this, I'm still sorry. But thank you for being so understanding, compassionate, and wonderful to me. You're my hero.