To my Mom

I’m in an interesting place in my life right now. With the baby on the way I’m suddenly faced with a horrifying fact; I need to grow up, just a little bit, and be an adult. So I’ve been going over our bills and spending, I just refinanced our mortgage, and I’m looking at our finances with more detail than ever before. I’ve always taken a rather lazy approach to such matters, always relying on luck that something would come up and save our collective asses at the last hour. Now, I’m faced with the daunting task of completely supporting another life; it’s time to get serious.

I’ve been thinking about my mother a lot the past couple months. Seeing what Nicole is going through has me wondering at what my mom went through with me. I wonder if I made her feel like dog poo for nine months; I asked, and she claims it was not that bad, but her memory is about as reliable as mine.

Then there is the whole childhood thing. I was a rotten little brat. I opened my presents at Christmas time with an exact-o knife, and then resealed them so that I could act surprised on Christmas morning. I tortured my sister. Every time I was asked to clean my room I acted liked she had asked for my kidney. I took off whenever possible before the chores could be handed out. Like any other bratty kid, I yelled at her far more than I’d like to admit. And yeah, I know; I can look forward to my kid getting payback for her.

When I was in my early teens, my parents split up. My sister and I lived with my mom. I don’t remember torturing her any less than when she at least had a little help from dad. She worked, full time, and somehow still had time to keep the house spotless with no real help from us. She made sure we were always fed, always had clothes on our backs. She was always there for me when I needed to talk. When I went through a bad bout with depression, she always gave me money to rent a movie on a Saturday night, which made me feel a little better. And she did all this on the salary of a receptionist.

This blows my mind. I’ve got a pretty decent paying job now, and a working wife to help share the burden; but the bills are still a struggle. Mom did this completely by herself. She had no real support system, no one she could talk to; kids don’t realize that grownups (I guess that’s me now!) need someone to talk to, too. No one to help with the chores, not really(Right now, I’m working till 5, and then doing any chores that need doing, because Nicole is not well enough – and I’m TIRED! And my house right now is nowhere near as clean as my mom’s was!). Every month she paid the bills on time, and supported us in every way we needed.

My mom is a damn super hero!

I’m hoping that as a parent, I can do half as much as she did for me. I want my children to have everything; my mom always made sure that we did, so that’s only fair. I once sat on my mom’s bed, late at night after returning from a party, and told her that I had had a drink or two for the first time. That’s how much trust I had in her. Because I always knew she would be there for me. And she still is.

Mom, thanks for being so great. I love you.

12 Weeks 4 Days

Ok, so I'm a big nasty slacker, and I have been terrible at slacking in my still relatively new blogging duties. So spank me. Seriously. I'd like that.

But guess what? I have pretty much one of the greatest, non-trumpable excuses ever. My wife is pregnant. Hey, she uses the excuse every time she asks me to get her a snack or has a "headache", so I might as well suckle a bit at the teat of that excuse (Wow -- I've been reading way too many baby books).

So how have the Dunkley's been? I'm pretty sorry to say, things have been miserable. We're both tired and cranky (her for obvious reasons, mine because, well, I'm such a wonderful husband that taking care of the zoo and house and her have me pretty beat; yes, that's a bit of self-pity, and I realise what's she's going through is waaay beyond comparisons, but damn, this is MY blog and I'll bitch if I want to). Nicole is still sick, and the heartburn has not lessened at all. She sleeps ok; when she's not up every hour peeing (yes, already), which is 50-60% of the time. Her appetite is making her hate her favourite foods (Pizza night?? Nooooo! Come back!) and crave items I've never seen her eat in the decade we've been together. It's a wild ride, and we are only now approaching the end of the first trimester.

An old English teacher of mine taught us to always close an article on a positive note, so I did keep the good news for last. We had our first prenatal appointment today (excluding the "I need to stop throwing up", "my tummy hurts", "my stomach burns" and the actual "I think we are pregnant" appointments). Which means, for the first time, I got to hear the sound of my SON'S heartbeat. Pretty neat. I guess the little bugger really is in there, and my wife isn't faking it to get me to do the dishes. Now if only he would stop beating up on his mom so we could enjoy it a little more. Next appointment; in one week we get the first ultrasound. I'm hoping we can once and for all settle the matter that he's a boy, but that's hardly guaranteed this early.