breaking up is hard to do...

I have debated, as my brief break turned into one of my full-fledged sabbaticals,yet again trying to explain away a lack of posting.  My plan was to attribute it mostly to a crazy busy month of work, the exhaustion of chasing a very active toddler while taking on pounds faster than an English banker, and a long sojourn to the Outer Banks to rest my weary soul...  but really, it comes down to lazy.  which I am.  how else can you explain a 44 hour per week TV habit. alas, on to the stuff...

I have come to realize in my short, albeit active romantic lifetime, that there are really only two camps of people when it comes to break-up situations, everything else is simply a shade of grey.  When an individual begins to suspect that something is rotten in the state of Denmark, that the special someone with whom they have spent the past several hours is about to leave them, they either a) cling desperately to every last moment of togetherness in hopes that somehow, someway they can change their beloved's (or not so beloved, as the case may be) heart, or b) beat that someone to the punch, making sure that all the world knows that they, in fact, were the one's in full control of the walking out... and NOT the other way around.

Our dog, Nugget, is a perfect example of type a.  When she devined that we were having Bean, and now again with the upcoming arrival of the Banzo, she has been by my side every last minute of the day.  Following me from room to room, leaning into me, rubbing up against me, generally looking pathetic as she searches my face for any last sign of love and affection. I assure you that it is NOT that bad...  I would never dream of being neglectful to my precious pup, and you would think that she would understand this... but everything is melodrama with this dog.

Bean, as I have come to discover, is a case study in type b.  It is refreshing to know that I have surrounded myself with such diversity.

For the past several weeks, Bean has made it quite clear, to anyone who will listen that we -- me and he -- are no longer "peas in a pod" (if you will allow me to mix my legumes).  Not only are we no longer a matched set...  but it is also essential that everyone understand that HE did the unmatching.

I think that it has something to do with the ever-increasing bulge right here in front of me. Is it possible that he has sensed that I am, in fact, incubating a challenger to his inheritance, an individual with whom he will be forced to (GASP! horror of horrors) share the spoils of casa t'pon? I think so, and for this trangression, I am being brutally rebuffed.

It has been my messiest break-up, indeed.  What with the screaming, the pleading, the pulling of hair, the abject protestations... and that's just me.  This does not even begin to paint the picture of my small toddler howling as if his very being is being seared by acid and flames each and every time he comes into contact with his mother.  Or, the sheer panic that crosses his small face when N. leaves him alone with me, if only for the briefest of moments.  And let's not forget the abject disgust that Bean displays when asked to give his poor, suffering mama a kiss or a hug, you would think that we were asking him to lick the underside of the trash can lid...

None of this would be so bad if we were only ever in the company of people who know us...  but having just returned from a trip to the beach which involved travel... with strangers.  well, it was awkward to say the least.  Particularly given the aforementioned fact that Bean and I look nothing, at all, alike.  I am sure that on more than one occasion at the airport, on the beach, in the restaurants we frequented and the grocery store, someone wondered aloud if I was kidnapping Bean or at the very least why that young father kept leaving his small son in the care of a person who so clearly struck fear and loathing deep within the child's bosom.

I am slowly fighting back, through an organized program of shiney trinkets, mini-marshmallows and extended tickle battles. This kid will love me if it kills me and our bank account.

It's funny, but I never really thought of myself as a "type a" kind of person.

Comments

[Oh, The Joys]

Hooray! You're back! You've been missed.

[MoMo]

Glad you're back! But, I'm sorry you're going through such a difficult separation...I know just how you feel and it HURTS. I hope the mini-marshmallows help win back his heart in no time.

[julia]

At least you can blame the behavior on the arrival of a sibling...

And, whew! For a minute there I thought you were going to say you weren't blogging anymore!

[stefanierj]

I, too, had a heartstoping moment when I thought you wouldn't be blogging anymore.

I feel for you. Really. But being The Wanted Parent isn't all it's cracked up to be, either. Whenever one of us leaves the room for ANYTHING, D does this panicky "Mama?! Mama???" thing that I have probably heard enough of for now. The grass is always greener, huh?

[Karen]

Well. I have to say I was waiting for the day my daughter would go to my husband. And now it's here and I'm begging for her to let me put her to bed.

After 18 months of doing it all by myself.

Sick. I tell you.

And I'm here from CHBM. Glad I found you.

[Holly]

Where are you Prolly? I keep checking back, eager to know Banzo's gender, and the latest antics around Casa T'Pon, and you are on another sabbatical. We miss you!