Lonely and whining

I miss my husband. I'm tired of being at my mom's. I back at work full time and I hate my job and being away from my baby. That's my post in a nutshell.

I knew he would have to leave, and I know why, but that does not make today any easier. I know he is coming home. I just miss him. I want him to be here with me and Sydney. I want to be hugged and held.

Vince went to a military training for 33 days. He left on the Forth of July. We accidentally slept in the day he left so I barely had any time to say goodbye. The week before had been a wonderful blur of Sydney coming home and adjusting to that, and now it is over and he is gone. I got a glimpse of what life as a family was like, and then it was gone. We had a wonderful week.

The training he is at is a difficult one. It is much more restrictive than any training he has been at. The reason is that for some reason, not everyone at this training has been through boot. So they are treating everyone like they have not been through boot, rather then sending the non-boot attenders to boot and letting the other experienced soldiers have a better training. They took away all their cell phones. I could go into a long diatribe about that, but won't. They also took away the power bars, beef jerky, and other snacks I sent with him. I was so busy with Sydney, that getting him the snacks was about all I did to help him get ready, and they took that away. We did not have a phone card for him to call, as we have always used the cell phones in the past. I could go into how we are on a cell phone plan mostly so that when he is away he can call me all he wants with no roaming or minute charges, but I won't. Anyway, not like it matters, because he won't get phone privileges until somewhere between day 8 and 14. I know this is what we signed up for, but I'm really peeved at the military right now. I'm just unhappy about this situation.

Because my family is worried about me pulling a Brooke Shields and going all postpartum, I've basically moved in with my mom. Seriously, I am taking my wellbutrin, so I should be fine. That is a WHOLE other difficult story. I have NO privacy. I feel for some dumb reason that I have to sneak writing to Vince, because I don't want to be harassed. I don't want them to see me cry. I sure as hell can't write a CTR* letter to Vince with my mom and sisters hanging around. My mom has super tight Internet filters, and since I don't want her to know about this blog, I can't update it at her house. I'm also sick of having to ask permission, IE: Can I use the computer? Can I eat this lunch meat? Can I take a shower or is someone else getting in? I am sick of not having the food I am used to in the house. I went and bought my expensive, totally worth it organic milk, and got a lecture about spending $3.50 on a half gallon.

It is a hard balancing act between remembering that I am the mom of someone in the house, and that I don't have to do what my mom wants all the time. I went on a bit of retail therapy this week, and when I brought it to her house, she wanted to know if I could afford all of this. Yes I can, because we sold our soul to the devil for a large bonus, which is why Vince is gone.

My mom keeps going on about Sydney needing to be on a schedule. She tells me how my dad would never agree to this, and she wanted one. Sydney's bed time is about 9. This won't work in the school year because Vince won't get home until 8:30pm. He will have her in the afternoon most days, but not all. I think he needs time with her as well. She also wants me to call the great-grandparents and let them know they can come see her between when I get home from work to her bed time. Maybe I'm feeling selfish, but I don't want to share my time. My mom and sisters are already really involved and I sometimes feel pushed out. I am getting better at asking them to help with the grunt work. My sis wanted to get Sydney dressed today, I asked her to throw our dirty clothes in the washer. She asked if she could help. I am there to get help with the grunt work of parenting, so I can be more available to do the bonding work of parenting. My mom is a neat freak, and I am not. I want to throw my dirty underwear on the floor and not make the bed. I leave my shoes all over the place, and I'm driving her nuts.

Thankfully, Sydney is breast feeding very well. I barely bottle feed her, except when she is away from me. My sisters are being rather immature about this, exaggerating covering their eyes and stuff like that. They also act miffed because they want to feed her, and I say I'm going to breast feed her, and they can't do that. I am tired of covering myself in what is supposed to be my home. I'm not talking about walking around naked or anything like that, but I've gotten over being modest about my breasts when it comes to breast feeding. If a nipple shows, a nipple shows, in my opinion. Thing is, my mom's house is not my home. It has not been my home for 7+ years. My home is in 30 miles from her home, where I live with my husband, baby, and 3 cats. Her home does not feel like home.

I'm trying to not be selfish, but I am. Sydney and I were separated for so long, and now I am back at work full time. She is separated from her father. I want as much time with her as I can have, and they can have what is left. Hopefully, this will lessen this week, as they are my day care providers. (See why I can't just tell them to bug off? I can't make them mad because I need them to watch Sydney. ) I am seeing growth in my sisters, and my mom is trying to back off.

I just want to go back to the week where Vince and I loved and cared for Sydney together. That's what I want.

Also, on a positive note, as I have really not felt this way for MONTHS, I am horny as hell, and my lover is far away.

*CTR in the LDS church stands for Chose the Right. It is on rings, etc in the realm of WWJD stuff. However, for Vince and I, it is a code for a hot and sexy letter. We thought of it so he knows not to open and read the letter until an appropriate time, like when he is not surrounded by guys who can read over his shoulder.