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Buckle Up

Life has been happening to me for a long time now. What I mean by that is for years now I've just been sitting on the sidelines passively watching it all go down like some funky parade lumbering down my street. Sometimes it's exciting, other times I'm bored but there I am, slumped down in my chair as it all passes me by.

I don't want to let it all happen to me anymore. I do not accept where I've suddenly found myself. I want to happen to life.

For so long I've allowed myself to be this dysfunctional individual who struggles within a dysfunctional marriage, even going so far as to convince myself that couples who fight are normal, that Serge and I are charmingly dysfunctional, even, that it's kind of our thing: two fiery, passionate people who love each other and really get each other and also argue a lot and, oh yeah, say really mean things to each other sometimes.

Serge and I do get each other. You don't grow up with a single mom, no dad around, no money and not develop a kind of kinship with others who experienced similarly traumatic childhoods and exhibit the resulting behavior well into adulthood. But dysfunction conducted between two people who have a wicked sense of humor about it is still dysfunction. Simply put: it's not funny, it's painful, no matter how epic the initial love story seems, regardless of how I've attempted to portray it here in the past.

Several months ago, after another argument about who the hell knows what, it all just kind of bubbled up inside me. I stepped back and assessed our union with an objective eye and what I saw bitch-slapped me onto my ass.

Our marriage sucks. And it has for a while now. I've been unhappy for a long time but have become so used to living this way I assumed this was it in life. Grow up, get married, have kids then break out the lawn chairs, crack open a couple cold ones and watch the fucking parade go by.

The parade is over. Or else I'm finally putting down the beer, getting up out of my chair, kicking it to the curb, storming the parade and commandeering the grand marshal's float. This is my parade now.

What does all this talk of parade even mean? I don't know. In fact, I don't know much these days. I do know that I love Serge desperately and I always will. Meeting him was the best thing that ever happened to me. But we're also facing the hard truth that maybe some time apart would be beneficial - the first of many hard truths we're both facing right now. Call it separation, call it a 'conscious uncoupling' call it whatever you want but for me to continue writing here I need that information on the table. I can't write around it, can't write around the biggest thing going on in my life.

For the past several years Serge and I have spent almost 24 hours a day together. Not only do we work together for the same company but we physically work together every day. I don't think you'll find a therapist worth their sky high prices that wouldn't tell you that space, for us, for now, is a good thing. And because we're having a hard time defining what separation or space means for us I can't exactly define it here for you either.

And kids. The existence of children changes everything. Every thought you have, every decision you attempt to make - it all has to be filtered through what will be best for them. Can you make it work because if you can, you should. Should you make it work if you don't feel like it? Are unhappy parents that live together better than content parents who live apart? Are we unhappy? Is our marriage negatively affecting our children or is us being together still a positive thing?

I don't know. These are all questions that have yet to be answered.

I turned 37 yesterday. I am determined to make it a milestone in my life. I finally feel comfortable in my own skin. I'm an excellent mom, my kids are the most important thing in my life, I no longer care what anyone thinks about me, I want to be content, I want to be happy, I want to allow myself to be vulnerable and not be afraid of what might happen as a result, I want to live a very deliberate, mindful life and not ever slip back into the comfortable numbness of autopilot.

I have kicked off the autopilot switch, grabbed the wheel and intend to steer this life into the storm, even though I'm heartbroken and scared as shit. So buckle your seat belts.

(Serge's story is his own to share... Or not share.)

Falling In Love

I keep meaning to write here but I'm mostly focused on accomplishing the bare minimum of writing required to keep Babble depositing money into my account every month. Here's an update on Charlie if you're curious... And yes, just like the other two, he looks exactly like his dad.

Charlie Is Here

So a couple hours after I wrote that last post I went into labor. It all went by very fast. Birth story is coming up, I promise. In the meantime, here are a few photos from the birth of our sweet, mellow baby boy.

Is He Out Yet? You're Still Pregnant? You're Ready To Pop!

March. Oh, March. Get at me! And bring your friend April too! February took as long to get through as listening to a voicemail from your grandma, didn't it? The winter of the "Polar Vortex." The winter of my discontent. You know shit is jacked up when you walk outside in 25 degree temperatures and you're like, "It's warm today!"

Add third trimester pregnancy and a head cold that has more staying power than a Viagra boner to the frigid mix and you're dealing with a very dangerous woman. It's probably best for both of us that I haven't spent much time around here or I'd have scared you off long ago. But if you're still here, I'm impressed. And I have much to share with you eventually! First we need to get through the birth of this here third kid I'm due to have on Monday.

That's right. Monday is the official due date. But we all know due dates are fairly meaningless. Like meeting up with that friend you have that's late to everything, you just kind of go into a dinner date expecting they'll be twenty minutes late so you may as well order your first drink and check Facebook on your phone because twenty minutes late is on time for them. I'm not saying I'll lovingly endure being pregnant once the official due date comes and goes because rest assured life will be miserable for anyone forced to deal with me during that time period, I'm just saying that I'm psyching myself up for the long haul.

Since this whole midwife/home birth thing is going to be a new experience for us we've decided to share it with you. Whoa. Whoa. Ho. Hold on there... Relax. I feel an obligation to assure you that there will be no talk of mucus plugs, bodily fluids, no vagina monologues, nothing that you can’t read while enjoying a sandwich, in fact. There will be photos but so help me god there will be no photos of my naked, bloated body, no baby covered in all manner of bodily substances – just a loose, hopefully humorous, sharing of events as they occur. The birth plan is there is no birth plan. We have no expectations other than bringing the little guy here as safely, happily and calmly as possible. We’re confident in our midwife but are prepared to transfer to a nearby hospital should any unforeseen complications occur.

It's mostly going to be Serge doing the updating as I'm trying to protect you from experiencing my current mood. Because unless you enter my room with an offering of a vegetarian burrito bowl from Chipotle you may as well just keep your distance.

You can keep checking in over at Babble for the latest happenings chez Bielanko starting today...

If You Want To Disable Me Just Push Me On My Back And Watch Me Flail Like An Overturned Turtle

Oh hey. Hi. I'm still here! I won't go away again, I don't think. Obviously I'm dealing with some personal stuff that isn't too difficult to figure out if you've been reading here for any period of time. However, I don't feel like writing about it just yet. So I took the blog down for a week to avoid splattering my guts all over here in some highly hormonal pregnant state. Look at that! I'm making grown up lady choices about what to share here on my blaaawg.

More coming very soon. Speaking of pregnancy, stick a fork in me, I'm done.

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