Monday, November 29, 2010

Pregnancy with a Moron - Part 4

So my last trimester of pregnancy was my most action packed one, in more ways then one. I was on sick leave – as per the doctor’s orders – and was getting a little scared. My blood pressure was rising as well as my little Pixie’s inside of me. But considering what was going on outside of the womb, I guess it was to be expected.

The Moron was in full force the last couple of months of the pregnancy. I can only assume it was the encroaching responsibility of a little person, and the increase of $$ it would mean bringing one into this world. Yep, probably the money thing, sad really that the Moron’s nemesis was some printed paper.

As I was resting – as per doctor’s orders – and of course worrying about the health of my lil Pixie, the Moron was trying to get me to get a job under the table. I wasn’t paying my way, you see.

As I was trying to figure out how to make some money (with all of my muscles in my stomach and abdomen – and some I didn’t know I even had – were in agony) the Moron went into the studio and sold things for super cheap. All of my art and creative musings, “ Five bucks, everything for five bucks” he would tell customers.

As I was selling all my prized possessions, and all that gave me some joy (such as my dirt bike, which he threw in my hand painted helmet for free to the new owner) the Moron said we had to sell my car and go down to one vehicle.

Let me explain that we lived about 30 minutes from the nearest town (population 2500) and about 1 1/2 – 2 hours from the closest “real” town (ie working hospital). Being home alone – let alone with a newborn baby – without a vehicle would be absolutely crazy, not to mention unsafe.

The Moron earned a really good income, but it was considered “HIS” money. Up until this point, I didn’t care about that, being a non-materialistic person that I am. I think he just couldn’t overcome the struggle of being out o control of every situation. And let me tell you – babies will do that to you. You really have no control over them, they have their own way :)

I loved my SUV – and I HAD BOUGHT IT MYSELF, but, I had a small amount left owing on it, and no idea how I could pay that off as the Moron refused to help me, and my maternity would not cover that expense as well as pay for all of the new baby stuff. This is what angered the Moron. And the closer I came to my due date, the more outraged he became. With my savings blown from the bathroom, I had nowhere left to turn, and I started to spiral downwards.

I think as the Moron stepped up the Emotional and Financial Abuse, I felt more and more trapped, and realized that this was no way for a child to be raised. I started to see the light. I think the whole time that this little entity was growing inside of me, my innerself was also growing – growing stronger, growing wiser, growing more authentic. I think the Moron could sense me pulling away, could sense something happening on a level he could not understand. But he had to step it up, as losing was not an option for him. The Moron would joke about killing me in my final month, but salvaging the baby – and I would never get to meet her. He would joke about hiring OJ Simpson’s lawyer to get him off.

The Moron’s depression/anger reached its heightened state when he told me that if I ever left him, he would kill me and take the Pixie away from me forever…

This fear that was instilled in me – is still there. That is something that will never leave you, no matter what is said and done. Some things can never be undone. You can live through them, work through them, but it is always there...

Wednesday, November 17, 2010

Moron Free Live Chat Tomorrow Night

I think we are about due for another live chat, folks. I know you guys have been craving one :) So tomorrow, Thursday November 18 at 9:00pm EST. This will little get together will happen in my BlogFrog Community

Visit My BlogFrog Community!

So come on over, my community is full with some amazing ladies and gentlemen. Many whom are abuse survivors (though not a prerequisite to the chat).  If you want to catch up on what was discussed at the last chat, you can do so here and here.

If you have been on the fence about joining in, now is the time! Come over and introduce yourselves! We have a great group of women right now dealing with dating a moron, in the middle of divorcing a moron, surviving a moron, and getting ready to gear up for court with a moron (and everything in between). Or if you just feel like dropping by... there is a little something for everyone!

So hop on over to my community this Thursday and join us. We would love to see you there!

Sunday, November 14, 2010

The Bathroom that almost never was...

We lived in an older house. I thought it was cute, we had some land, and it was secluded - things I now know my Moron loved in his attempt to isolate me. It had two bathrooms; a main one, and an en suite. The main bathroom was a very interesting one, that I am told was quite popular in the 70's. I have never seen this type before, so I just thought it weird. It was set up so that it was two separate rooms, with an adjoining door between. I think the idea being that one could have a shower, without hogging the whole bathroom, and someone else could use the toilet while having their privacy. A total waste of space, if you ask me.

Anyways, the plans since we bought the house, were to knock out the middle wall (and door between them) and make one big bathroom, with a beautiful tub and separate shower. The Moron did not like spending money, but many people agreed with me, that it would increase the property value of the house - so he relented.

In about my first trimester of pregnancy, the Moron tore down the wall. I was getting pretty excited as not only was I ecstatic about being pregnant, but I was going to get the bathroom of my dreams too. Well, you know how they say you shouldn't count your chickens until they're hatched...

Well, you shouldn't be happy about a bathroom until the walls are up, mudded, and the bathroom fixtures are back in. Which was going to be a long time....

I had this gorgeous claw foot tub in which I had shipped from home (I bought it at an auction, for peanuts) that I had refinished, including the original oak rim. This refinished tub had cost me a pretty penny, but I had saved for a looooong time. ANd I was so looking forward to a long soak in this gorgeous 6 foot tub. Everything was ready, except construction had stopped on my dream bathroom.

Being on sick leave and about 7 months pregnant, there wasn't a whole lot that I could do to help. Not to mention that I could barely see my toes anymore. The Moron got wind of how much this bathroom really meant to me, and how much I wanted to soak in that tub... suddenly he refused to do any of the labour and all of a sudden said that we didn't have any money to pay for the renovations.

Staring at the main bathroom (which at the moment looked like Wolverine had clawed it all to hell) I did what any self respecting, pregnant wife of a Moron would do. I started to cry. And after I dried my eyes, I pulled out all of my RRSP's and found the money to finish the renovations. I was on a time line, I did not want the drywall dust to be flying in the middle of winter when the baby was born, and certainly didn't want all this construction to be happening adjacent to her room.

Luckily the Moron worked 12 hour shifts, and had gone on a vacation for a couple of days, and a friend of the family helped with the drywall.  At 8 months pregnant I mudded and primed and painted that whole damn bathroom by myself, and pulled every single muscle in my stomach and abdomen doing it. But it was done!! I knew I would hear it from the Moron when he got back - but at least it would be done! And just for clarification, he was mad because I had enlisted the help of his sister's boyfriend to put the drywall up - it portrayed him as being less than perfect and unable to handle things himself. This was FAILURE in his eyes - the ultimate death. Promoting him as less than perfect to the world - was unforgivable, and always came with a price.

But I also got my bathroom, and to this day, I still think it is the reason that the house sold...

Monday, November 8, 2010

Pregnancy With a Moron Part 3

If you just started reading, you can check out the first part of this story here, and the second part here.

SO the Moron wanted to take me out on a romantic date, he said.  He said that we hadn't spent any quality time together so he was going to take care of all the plans for this weekend.

Saturday morning he woke me up early. I was now in my eighth month of pregnancy, and on sick leave and ordered to take it easy. I wasn't sleeping that much as my big belly, as I am sure all of you Moms can attest to, was feeling very uncomfortable and my little Pixie was fluttering up a storm at night time. For some reason I always got my best sleep through the early to late morning. So - it was no surprise that the Moron had to take that away from me, all in his bastardized version of love.

So up I get. I ask him what we are doing.  He tells me to dress warmly.  I ask if we are going to be outside.  And this is where he reveals to me his glorious date plans.

He tells me we are going to get firewood.

Lucky Me, not only married to a Moron, but one that has the romance of a mushroom...

Yep, your reaction is pretty much my reaction. But I try to conceal my disgust surprise, and try to gently explain that I am not really in any condition to be cutting down or carrying firewood. To which, of course, I hear how he had spent so much time planning this, and do I not want to spend time with him, and what did I expect out of him a plane ticket to France?

Funny how a Moron can twist anything. Of course this leads to how he works hard all day, and I just lay on the couch all day long, and we need to get firewood for the wood stove to cut our heating costs.

Did I mention the Moron forced us to live in sub-zero temperatures in order to save money? Yep, even wore hat and gloves in the house at times. Though I raised the thermostat every time he left, eventhough he forbid me to move it past 15 degrees. Yes, he actually used those words, forbid. I got some really deep satisfaction as I watched him drive from the house as the furnace fired up...

Anyways, after grumbling and sulking for a bit, the Moron finally said if I expected to have it above 15 degrees when the baby came, I had to help with the wood.  So we loaded the dogs up int the truck, and off we went...

I think the Moron purposely cut the biggest trees he could find that day. And after an extra long guilt trip and underlying threats, I started to load the wood into the truck. As the day went on, the pieces got bigger - and when I refused to carry the larger pieces (not to mention I had a hard enough time tying my own shoes as a result of my pregnant belly, at this point) he lost it and I picked up a rather large piece of wood.

Pop, pop, pop went my belly. It felt like rubber bands snapping in my belly, and the pain wasn't too shabby either. I of course was being a 'baby' and this was when he pulled out the wieners and decided to have a campfire. There was nothing I could do but wait for him to be finished and decide that he was ready to go home. I knew all too well that the more I asked, and especially pleaded, the longer he would take. Morons love control. And we were miles from civilization. So I bested the cold and pain and didn't give him the satisfaction of knowing how much agony I truly was in.

Coming up next, the bathroom that never was...
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