Thursday, January 18, 2007

in between the boy's wailing

I managed to churn this out.

One of the goals I set for today was to write some shit here because my lack of updating haunts me. Also, dig me and the way I say "goals", like I set a lot of them for myself each day.

Remember folks, I aim low, so it's not like I've got an actual To Do list and have finally, after working my way through the several arduous and world changing tasks that needed doing by moi and only moi by lunchtime today, have come to you, my ten loyal fans, because no. I did wake up with a determined gleam in my eye though, and my fingers were eager to tippity tap on the keyboard til something wonderful happened, but what with all this raising a child thing, it's taken til now to find any time. No shit, I feel like I've achieved nothing all day, and yet it's taken me til now to actually sit down for any longer than it takes to plug up Daniel's gaping maw with some food.

He's napping at present, because he totally fudged his morning nap and only slept for like, a millisecond, so when he wobbled over to me like a beligerant drunk several minutes ago, I swept him up and put his grumpy ass in bed for a few catch up zeds. I have no idea what his problem is because, like he did this morning, he went off like a top, then fought his way back from the land of nod and is now intermittently grizzling. It's been like this for a couple of weeks and I know it's because he's coming up to the 55 week milestone that some one wrote about in that book, The Wonder Weeks, but still, knowing it doesn't make it any less wearing. it, could it be? I think he's asleep.

Aaaaaaand, I spoke too soon.

No shit, I think he can read my mind because without fail, the minute I breathe a big sigh of relief and begin to wallow in the notion of some alone time, he wakes up squawling.

In other news and quick like a bunny before I go in and save him from his misery, oh my god!! Woot worthy? I THINK SO!

Though apparently the news bored Daniel to sleep. Note to self: must talk about geriatric reunions more often.

I was sitting here earlier doing some paperwork which, oh joy! should get me some money back from my insurance company which rocks my socks because people, I have sixty seven dollars in the bank. I do have, however, have a bitchen new fridge.

Which is a segue into the dilemma I'm having.

It also reminds me that I lost my driver's license. Not lost it lost it, thank god. I lost the plastic thingy with the gorgeous photo that says I'm licensed to drive and also, please take my organs if appropriate. I left it at the stupid store, the one that I didn't buy my fridge from, when I was doing all that finance bullshit, the same bullshit that I never went through with anyway because, jeezuz, have you ever worked out how much you end up paying?! It's like, a million dollars which, fuck that and, yes, that'd be why there is now sixty seven bucks in the kitty. Whoopee.

And now my mum is on the phone and I think she's psychic too because she always calls when I want to be doing something else. That makes it sound like she always call which she does not. And truth be told, I always want to be doing something else. It's just that when she does call, which is barely ever now that she's worked out I'm not buying into that we're best friends now, what twenty years hiatus? business. Now I feel guilty because I was all distracted, what with the live updating and all.

Anyhow, the dilemma.'s awake.

And is dribbling a LOT. And wailing. Teeth?

*waves crashing on beaches, sands running through the hourglass*

I'm back and the dilemma is.......

Stef dodged child support for the first six months of Daniel's life simply by - and I'm not sure how it was even possible considering the dizzying heights he's currently achieving - keeping his head even more firmly up his own arse than it is now and not signing any of the paperwork that was sent and sent and sent again . He's only paying them now because of a court bordered paternity test. I don't like getting child support, mind, because it feels like I'm reliant on the idiot, but if I didn't make a reasonable effort to seek it, any government assistance I qualify for would be reduced. I guess it's the government's way of making sure the taxpayer doesn't pay for the individual's night of whoopee, which is a fair call, in my opinion. All of that is an aside, point being that legislation being as it is, that six months of child support is missing, and it won't be paid retrospectively unless I take him to court. If I took him to court, I'd win, not just because I rule but also because of the paternity test results versus Daniels' date of birth . To date, I haven't pursued it because I thought it was more important to foster an amicable relationship between us, seeings as how we're going to be in each others' lives for a very long time, (also, am stupid) and because I know Stef and he would lose his shit in a that annoying passive/aggressive way of his. Thing is, he'd been futzing around like an old woman and generally being the same incourteous fuck he'd always been for the second six months of Daniel's life, and then homeboy decided he wanted to see Daniel. He was all "I'd like to", and I was all "How nice. No." because it shouldn't be that easy. You don't get to walk into someone's life after screwing them over for a whole year, after denying their existence, and suddenly be dad. Fuck that noise, jeezuz, but, Daniel's sister, (what shall I call her? Hell, I can't even think of something simple like a pseudonym, which reminds me, must go back and change Stef's name to a pseudonym too) came on her own to Daniel's birthday party, and as it was her birthday a couple of weeks later and because she wanted to see him again on the day, Stef met Daniel and it was that easy. Now I'm all pissy and thinking that if he's going to play daddy without having to earn it, at least he can pay for the privilege. Also, please refer to above in re sixty seven dollars. Desperate times call for desperate measures.

Now, lest you all think I'm an idiot and have spent my savings on frivolous things, have you seen the price of a pack of Huggies these days? They're uber-absorbent and shit, if you'll excuse the pun, all over the lesser brands. They're not particularly manly though, what with all those pretty butterflies and flowers all over them, and it's these pretty things that, along with their most magical pee absorbing filling, costs more than your plain white generic.

Getting that support would be a decent quick fix, one that would hopefully tide us over and keep us in the top shelf nappies for another six months while I get the long term fix in order. I'll soon be spending three entire days away from my beautiful boy while I go to work, which sucks oh so mightily. I miss him A LOT when he's in care, and he's only in for a couple of hours over three days of the week. Childcare though, has cost me as much as I've made these last few months, and the hours I've worked have been more an investment in our future than it has payed the bills, but now that Daniel is the big One Year Old, I'm getting it together and studying Pilates and other assorted assorted bullshit, with the plan of taking on more clients and soon enough, teaching classes.

The dilemma is, if I take him to court, what if he decides to really do the dad thing? What if he asks for regular visits and shit? I'd refuse, of course, but what if he got court orders and stuff? I doubt he will because he's only playing at thsi dad thing, like daniel is a new toy or something, so I can't imagine him going the hard yard and being all official about it, but what if? I ask you, gentle readers, what would you do?

It has, by the way, taken over two and a half hours to finish this. Also, the boy is quite possibly in the process of erupting teeth the size of my hand. Right now, he's pushing his walker thing around the house and dude can drive! He's totally steering it into and out of the bedroom, and into and out of the front room via the kitchen. In between all this independence though, he's been clawing at my leg and crying, leaving little puddles of gooz at my feet, and once he's safely installed on my lap, he's wanting to nurse. What is up with that? He's weaned himself down to one feed a day but today, he's at me every five minutes. Giddy-happy intervals of driving joy notwithstanding, dude is one miserable little camper. It's heartbreaking. I've given him aceptaminowhateveryoupeopleovertherecall it, and have loaded him up on the homeopathics and the anaesthetic teething gel, and he's still sad. He also has a very sweaty head which, what the fuck?

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