These last few weeks have been a healthy dose of misery of remind us of what buttery bliss we’re used to tasting. I should explain that we live in an old house, with the small inconveniences that accompany that, but since we are pretty chill and have no aspirations to interior design or meticulous cleanliness, we were more than happy to deal with double-paned windows that are never clean, no washer or dryer, and an abundance of bugs, for the super cheap rent. However, the night of Labor Day our house suddenly erupted into the epicenter of horror.
We came home from a fun weekend in Ogden to a kitchen full of boutilous gas. We’d been having some mysterious leaks in the basement and when we tried to drain the filthy mold water out of the sink we discovered that the pipes had wrenched completely apart exposing the fetid contents of the interior and the poison water flooded our floor. It was pretty gross, but Jonathan was more grossed out than I was, so I remained cheerful (at this point). We wore face masks while we cleaned up because he said the gas could be dangerous. We had to clean everything that had been under our sink and at that point it was completely unusable, and so was the dishwasher. I remember putting on a bright face and saying I could use the bathroom sink or the hose out in the yard to do dishes, and then I went in to check on baby Chai and (this part makes me want to scream even now) I found him asleep on our bed with BED BUGS crawling all over his body. It was horrible, so horrible! I'd never actually seen a bed bug before and they are awful flat, nasty brown bugs and they were biting my sweet baby! I can't explain the helpless rage that I felt; I lost it and cried and I wanted to kill someone/something, it just felt so vile and intrusive and dirty. We slept out in the living room that night and made plans to deal with the infestation. How did we not know we had an infestation? Bites only show up on 40% of people, which means you can get bitten and not know it..I thought I was crazy the few weeks before this since I would wake up with itchy bites but couldn't see any on Jonathan or Chai. I'll spare you the rest of the details, but basically the problem is more complicated than we thought. I have no idea how we got them...we must have brought a stowaway home during some of our travels. They can live up to 18 months without ever eating and hide in really sneaky places like inside your light sockets. I found one in a pair of shoes I had on the top shelf of our closet.
At first sleeping on the couch/floor was kind of exciting, like we were camping out, but the excitement started to wear off when I found a black widow a few feet away from us one morning (I have a very healthy respect for the formidable arachnid) and freaked out again (see? no longer cheerful). We finally left our house and started staying with friends and family until we could get the plumbing fixed and do something about the bedbugs. Around that time Chai and I had thrush and it was re-e-ally painful, plus I also had my annual eye infection from my contacts and was walking around blind most of the time. Also trying to get used to working and getting the rhythm down with pumping and exchanging the car...we are now back in our house with a functional sink again but haven't slept in our bedroom since before Labor Day. Honestly, it’s been rough.
The low point was probably the day I ruined my mother in law’s microwave by (this makes me want to die to even write it) setting a bra on fire inside it. I was reading about cures for thrush with a frantic desperation since nursing my wee one had suddenly become agonizing and someone suggested that heating up your underwear kills yeast. The article offered the sage reminder to make sure your bra was not underwire, so I stupidly thought I was safe. It was maybe the most humiliating moment of my life, including everything that happened on my mission and puking in line at the airport and my father in law finding some gifts from my bachelorette party in the glovebox of his truck some months later. Jonathan was delighted because now he could with veracity call me a “bra-burning feminist.” Heh. So it's been a tough month, emotionally. I've been spitting negativity more than I want to. There is something demoralizing about not having a functional "home" when you have a baby. I've certainly been "homeless," (probably disrespectful to use that term, but you know what I mean hopefully) many times before; transient and sleeping on people's couches, when I only belonged to myself and didn't have a little one clinging to me in the night. I have felt surprised with how protective I feel of Chai. There are so many things that I don't think would be a big deal for myself but when I think of them happening to Chai is just crushes me. We'll be okay, though. And I still know we haven't really been through anything. Sorrow is floating thick around people I know and I'm so sorry...What’s going to happen? I cuddle up to my little boy, he’s everything, his gracefully folded hands while he nurses, his dear powerful smiles. He sleeps early enough so that we have a lot of time together. Jonathan is handsome and funny and good. I still want to make him like me, hope he has a crush on me. I could stand forever holding him. He has tender hands and glances for me always. I love him and I know we'll be okay as long as we're together...I have so much more I wanted to share but this is a pretty good update for now. Hasta ver!