Son watches mom undress

I am expecting my first child in a few weeks and will be delivering via scheduled c-section. I have had abdominal surgery once before (hence the need for the c-section) and found the recovery to be rough (and that was without a newborn to take care of). My husband and I are trying to do everything we can to make our first few weeks postpartum go as smoothly as possible. I have talked to lots of other moms who recently delivered via c-section and have been reading through reddit threads about c-section recovery, what to expect the first few days of baby's life, etc. Our goal is to take things slowly and minimize chaos wherever possible.
My parents, who are retired and live 12 hours away, have been planning to come help out when the baby is born. I was grateful for their offer of support - we have room in our house to accommodate them, and they are still young and agile enough to be helpful. My mom is a complicated person and we have a close but complicated relationship I have spent much of my adult life learning to more effectively navigate. That said, I find her presence comforting when I am not well - she took care of me after my first surgery, and despite the pain I was in, I think back on that time really fondly. Moreoever, I loved the idea of my parents both being present to meet and spend time with my child (their first grandchild) at the beginning of his life. My mom offered that she and my dad would be available to help with laundry, cooking, and taking care of our two high-energy dogs. They proposed staying a few weeks.
As the delivery date nears, my conversations with my mom about the post-birth plan have become more and more tense.
Our first blow up was about my husband's and my decision to hire a night nurse to come five nights a week during the first two weeks postpartum. Hiring a night nurse was a significant expense for us, and it was a decision we made very carefully after talking to friends and co-workers who have recently had babies. We spent a ton of time researching and interviewing candidates before selecting someone we felt comfortable with. Our thinking was that the night nurse would be available to help during the nights she is here so my parents are rested enough to help during the day. I specifically hired the night nurse to start her shifts at 10pm, when my parents typically start getting ready for bed, and to leave at 8am, which is when my parents are usually having their morning coffee.
My mom seemed to take this decision very personally and didn't like that I would be taking advice, and seeking support from, anyone other than her. She accused me of "packing the house with people" and being overly concerned with planning for the worst-case-scenario. She also seemed to think that the night nurse made her obsolete. I explained that I am counting on her help and support during the day and want her to have time to rest. She said it was presumptuous of me to assume that she can't go a few weeks without sleep. She seemed to interpret our decision to hire a night nurse as a sign of ingratitude. "Why am I turning my life upside down if you are paying someone else to help?"
Her reaction really hurt and surprised me, but I tried to stay calm. I pointed out that my husband and I had already made a decision and that this was not a negotiation. I also pointed out that she seemed to be prioritizing her own feelings and was not listening to what I was saying WE need as we navigate this post-op recovery and transition to parenthood. She replied that she is allowed to have feelings. Still, the conversation ended with me in tears. My mom and I never revisited the conversation (my mom is not very good at repair and is loathe to apologize - plus, I don't think she thinks she has anything to apologize for).
Today, we got in another fight because my mom is insisting on bringing their dog with them when they come. This is the second time my mom has brought this up. My husband feels strongly that he does not want a third dog in the house because it will add unnecessary chaos. For context, one of our dogs gets overstimulated very easily and can sometimes be reactive to other dogs. When my parents visited with their dog for Thanksgiving, we had to watch our dog closely for signs of reactivity, give her breaks, etc. My parents' dog also barks more than either of our dogs, and my husband is concerned about the noise. However, we would like OUR dogs to be home with us so they can begin to acclimate to the new baby.
I communicated all of these concerns to my mom and offered a number of solutions, including 1. that we can find a local Rover or petsitter to watch her dog for the first week they are here, 2. that we can find a local Rover or petsitter to watch our dogs, or 3. that she and my dad can stay with their dog in a nearby Airbnb. My mom rejected all of these ideas and replied that we should medicate our dog if she is the one who is the problem. My mom refuses to consider a petsitter for her dog because the dog is a rescue with a history of abandonment, and she doesn't want the dog to feel like she has been abandoned again (note: our dogs are rescues, too, and we board them all the time). My mom once again accused me of micromanaging and clearly thinks my husband and I are being unreasonable. She said, "surely you can understand why I don't want to be without my dog."
I fully recognize that these are very trivial problems in the grand scheme of things, and that we are fortunate to have parents willing and ready to support us. That said, I am not sure how to proceed. My mom is, and always has been, emotionally immature in a lot of ways, but I never imagined she would be so difficult at such an important time. What worries me is not so much the substance of these disagreements, but her inability to put my needs above her own in the tender weeks after I give birth. I am not sure whether to cave and let her bring her dog (maybe she's right, and it will be fine!), or to hold firm, even if it means she and my dad don't come. I worry that asking them not to come will draw a line in the sand that will be difficult to come back from. At the same time, it feels like they are choosing their dog over their daughter and grandchild, which I find extremely hurtful. Part of me senses that this actually has nothing to do with the dog, or the night nurse, and is more about her own control issues.
What should I do?

Hey all! I’m a first time mom, my son is just over 2 years old and within the last couple weeks he suddenly entered his terrible two’s. He says no to everything, he no longer listens and he’s been throwing himself on the ground and/or hitting when he doesn’t get his way. Yesterday in a store I told him it’s time to go and he laid on the ground saying no. I got down to his level, kept my patience & told him we can come back another time, offered him an option to hop or skip out, and still no. I sat there and waited a minute and he still wasn’t moving at all, I stood him up and he sinked down and started fussing, at that point picked him up and walked out while he started crying kicking and hitting. This is the 3rd time this week this incident has happened. Please help me with your tips/tricks, advice, psychology behind it.

I am a FTM to a perfect 7 month old (she’ll be 8 months in 8 days which is impossible to wrap my head around). I love her so much I could cry, but at the same time, I feel tired, rundown and not myself. My postpartum journey so far is not what I imagined so many months ago while I stroked my bump and waxed poetically about how magical motherhood would be. And it is magical- but it’s so much more, and some of that more is hard.
My labour was very hard, I had a failed epidural, 3rd degree tears and pushed for over four hours. I know none of that is out of the ordinary, but nothing could have prepared me for how traumatized I felt post birth. I felt shaken, scared and defeated. Although I knew I should have been proud of myself I felt myself detach. I felt I wasn’t cared for during labour. No one believed me I was dilated and refused to check my cervix for 3 hours. They were shocked when I was 10cm dilated- as if I didn’t know a head was engaging my cervix. The nurses after were very dismissive. No one helped me latch her, and when I asked for help, they just shoved her at my breast aggressively until she latched. But we had issues with it right away. Everytime I asked for help I was treated as a nuisance.
I was released 36 hours after giving birth, which I know is standard. I was told she had lost too much weight, but I needed to source a lactation consultant myself, I needed to supplement with formula, and to watch her jaundice.
Once home I couldn’t get her to latch more than 1-2 times a day. I knew I wasn’t making much, so she would get frustrated. I worked with the lactation consultant - I never made enough milk. I had tests done, I latched her, I had her mouth assessed, I took domperidone - I would sob endlessly feeling like a failure that I couldn’t feed my baby. When I pumped, which I did every 2-3 hours around the clock I never produced more than an ounce.
No one warned me domperidone could cause mental health issues - as soon as I started it I felt awful. My stomach was a mess, I couldn’t breathe I was so anxious. I became depressed I imagined driving into the lake, and thought how nice it would be to just not wake up. How much better my daughter would be with anyone else but me. I ended up going to the hospital and was categorized as having a severe mental health crisis and with the help of an amazing team and good ol’ Zoloft I found my way out of the sludge that was swallowing me whole and whispering horrific ideas to my brain. I felt the air return to my lungs. I felt joy again.
Not once have I ever not loved my daughter, she is the light of my life, and the love I feel for her is more profound that I could explain. But sometimes I miss the old me, while i gently embrace the new me.
I have a triple prolapse that appeared 8 weeks postpartum. It’s been painful, has caused a couple infections, and killed my confidence. I will need a surgery, but I need to decide if I want more kids and when , as it can impact many factors.
The prolapse, and not being able to breastfeed has made me feel like less of a woman, I’ll be honest. I feel ashamed of my body.
Sometimes I am so proud of myself. I know I am a good mom, and I wouldn’t change being a mom for the world- but these health complications, and these mental health issues are tiring. It’s hard to embrace being a mom when I’m living in what feels like a broken body. I feel guilty that I enjoy the reprieve of nap time and putting up my feet and reading. Count consumed me when she falls asleep at night and I feel giddy for a few hours of me time.
I exist between two worlds now : loving being a mom and figuring out who I am now , because I know mom is not all I am, but it certainly finds its way into all I do.
I know no journey to motherhood is easy- I wanted to write this because it’s hard to talk about. But it’s ok to not love every aspect of being new mom.
I still feel guilt sometimes I can’t breastfeed and she’s been formula fed since 6 weeks exclusively.
I feel guilt when I feel a little overwhelmed.
I feel guilt when I get a few hours out of the house alone and love it.
I feel guilt for missing my old body even though this one made a whole life and I should be nothing but kind to it.
I feel guilt for being in the trenches during the newborn stage and not fully diving into it.
I feel guilt for looking forward to nap and bedtime some days.
But then, when she is sleeping, I always miss her and look at the monitor and feel love, and I remember that I’m doing ok at this mothering thing.
And so are you!

hi! my boyfriends mom has dementia and i have been looking after her for a couple of months now. lately it’s been a challenge for me and frustrating.. i want to get along better and watch shows and movies to make her happier. she likes a lot of nature documentaries like the octopus teacher and funny shows like the old addams family.

Hello,
First time Reddit poster. Started watching in 1998 and wound down in 2011.
I read/hear a lot about how Shawn Michaels/HHH pulled a last minute swerve for Shawn to win the European Championship over The British Bulldog at the 1997 One Night Only PPV. The detractors say that although Shawn's excuse was that he was doing it for "heat" and to make the title mean something, he didn't really do much with it and treated it as an afterthought joke. The D-X vs Hart Foundation feud happened a little bit before I started tuning in, but over the last 10-15 years, especially with more "shoot" interviews available, books/articles published, etc. it's possible the narrative of what happened at One Night Only is a mischaracterization of Shawn Michaels.
What We Know: In 1997, The British Bulldog aka Davey Boy Smith -- a member of the heel stable, The Hart Foundation -- is the European Champion and is always expected to "go over" whenever the WWE travels to Europe. 9/20/97 is the One Night Only PPV, in Birmingham, England.
What has been said by a few sources: Up till the day of the show, Davey was under the assumption that he was not going to lose the title to Shawn Michaels, since England is obviously within Europe. What made this event extra special is that there had been a plan for him to be escorted to the ring by his sister who was sadly stricken with a terminal illness. There would've then been cheers all around for this valiant hero and the 11,000 fans would then be sent home happy with a feel-good story.
Here is where things get murky: The same sources state that Shawn and HHH decided to pull a fast one on Vince McMahon an hour or so before it was show time. The two demanded that Shawn beat Davey for the European Championship. Has Shawn or HHH ever independantly admitted that it was in that short of a turnaround and that the two went behind Davey's back? Even Jim Ross says that Davey was with Shawn and HHH when the idea to change the finish was pitched and blames Davey for not "protecting himself." That means Davey agreed and was not forced. As mentioned earlier, the excuse that has been used is that Shawn felt that it would be a great way to draw "heat" since there was very much a pro-Davey crowd watching and so the return match in the Spring of 1998 (when they headed back to not just the UK, but this time in Manchester which was The Bulldog's billed hometown) would have a massive redemption arc which would be that much greater for the fans. In the meantime, Shawn would have good matches and elevate the European Championship, something, quite frankly, he was better at than Davey. It ties into the reasoning that has been given in that Shawn (arguably being at the peak of his ability), would be able to make that title mean something (like what he did for the Intercontinental Championship).
However, because of the backstage Kliq stories which continue to come out, the manner in which Shawn later dropped the European Championship, and the fact that there really was no return match for Shawn vs. Davey since both were out of the WWE by then, many fans have pointed to this PPV as an "obvious" example of the weight Shawn and HHH carried backstage. In recent shoot interviews, Bret Hart (who would leave the WWF six weeks later in spectacular fashion) has said this match was simply a way to make Davey and the rest of the Harts look foolish.
What you can't deny is the heat in the arena, after the match, was white-hot.
Okay with that background established, let's look to see why I feel that what happened at the One Night Only PPV is a mischaracterization of Shawn Michaels:

• The Hart narrative.
  • It's hard to put a lot of stock into "he said, she said," but in case you want to take it as gospel...in Page 256 of Shawn's book (yeah, yeah, I know) Heartbreak & Triumph, he details that Davey was on board with the plans -- with no mentions of if it was pitched an hour before or days earlier. If fans are ready to believe Bret, why can't they leave wiggle room for Shawn?
    • While Shawn certainly has excuses (and apologized) for his sophomoric hijinx and makes himself sound like a creative genius, Bret has consistently come off as two things: 1) Making himself look heroic 2) Making himself look like he's had a perpetual gloomy cloud over him at every stage of life. His book, My Real Life in the Cartoon World of Wrestling, briefly mentions this match and some nonsense of how he "saw the light die in Davey's eyes that day, darkness seeping into a heart that was giving out."
  • Bret points to how Davey told everyone he expected to win, promised everyone that he was going to win the match for his English fans and especially his sister...as proof that Shawn swerved plans at the last minute just to needle the Harts ("It was designed to make us all look stupid." -- Inside The Ropes ).
    • What? There's literally thousands of instances where wrestlers lose in their hometown and use real life to push stories. And finishes change all the time. The new storyline made long term sense and Vince/Creative agreed. It could have been great, but no one expected Bulldog to quit six weeks later because of the Screwjob. No one expected Shawn's back injury to happen a couple months after that.
  • Diana Hart Smith (Davey's wife and Bret/Owen's sister) in 2012 said, regarding the changed finish, you "have to do what you're told." However, she is not credible, by Bret's own words, stemming from his reaction to a largely fictional biography on the Hart Family, written by Diana (Under the Mat).
• Davey was still booked to look strong, despite losing.
  • The RAW before the event, Davey had his knee "injured" from chair shots by HBK/HHH. And yet Davey still didn't "quit" when locked into the Figure Four at the PPV (even with HBK getting help from all the members of D-X). The match was stopped, akin to Stone Cold vs Bret Hart at WrestleMania 13. Diana Hart Smith even got involved in the post match antics with Chyna.
  • I don't believe, for a moment, the Hart family -- especially Bret -- didn't fully agree to how it all precisely happened especially when you're getting non-wrestlers involved inside the ring. If they wanted to change it, they could've.
    • There's been no mention from Bret about going to bat for Davey and them getting rejected.
• Bret Hart and the Hart Foundation still had a lot of backstage influence.
  • This wasn't Savio Vega or Dean Douglas eating an unnecessary pin. There is an established history of the Harts wanting to do things their way. Bret was World Champion and by far the highest paid wrestler on the roster so although Shawn had stroke, Bret certainly did too. And Davey had been with the company and had success far longer than Shawn (though in interrupted stages). DQ/Countout results are a common occurrence for situations where two powerful wrestlers/factions don't want to "job" to one another. In fact, the 10/6/97 RAW had Bret changing a finish where he was supposed to eat a pin from HHH (via HBK interference) into a Countout.
  • Yes, certainly, maturity was something Shawn and HHH lacked but you have to remember that unlike the Harts, they were not nepo-babies raised in the industry. And they were much younger (Shawn is 8 years younger than Bret whereas HHH is 12 years younger). Even Davey could be considered a nepo-baby since Dynamite Kid was his first cousin and he debuted in the WWF largely because Stu Hart cut a deal to include his son-in-law.
• Bret's possible thought process
  • My opinion (yes, speculation) is that Bret knew he was out the door and so he didn't care too much about what happened to Davey's European Championship since he had his own issues he was dealing with, regarding WCW contracts, Wrestling with Shadows, and dropping the World Championship. He mentioned how stressful all that was. What is fact though is that Davey wasn't someone Bret held in high regard. From talking about him not being able to construct matches, to being under the influence, to personal life issues, to even forcing Davey to cut his long braided hair because according to Davey's family, Bret said it was starting to look too much like his (even though it wasn't the same type nor color).
  • I also feel that with everything that happened between that period, and to Brian Pillman, Owen, and Davey dying very young, it understandably left an awful taste in their mouths. It all gets magnified a bit. Then add that Bret's time with WCW wasn't really anything extraordinary (for his standard), and his constant reminding us of how Goldberg ended his career makes me believe that there still is a grudge with HBK/HHH which will never truly go away. And unlike Shawn who seemingly has moved on, Bret hasn't. Which is why he keeps establishing the narrative that the Hart Foundation was always in the right and the D-X was always in the wrong.
• Finances
  • 1997, the WWF was in peril. House shows and merchandise were selling, but PPVs were not. Having a swerve on a PPV makes the next one "must see TV" (again, this was a world before streaming). In this instance, the next time they came to England. Nitro was still beating RAW.
• Storyline
  • Shawn had only recently turned heel (after SummerSlam, a month earlier). The plan was established from back then to have a heel Shawn face Austin at WrestleMania XIV. This was an era where there really was only one major show per week (and some on tape delay) and most fans did not have internet access at home, so establishing quick, obvious heat was important. What better way than to "screw" Davey in front of his fans and family? Beating Davey in the USA wasn't going to do it because, remember, Davey was a heel in the USA. 9/29/97 (two days later) Davey faced Vader in New York. Vader was about to beat him clean and then the Harts stormed in and used weapons on Vader, resulting in a DQ.
    • If not beat Davey, a former Intercontinental Champion, then who? The talent roster was quite thin and a memorable Undertaker program was upcoming. Also, Shawn had not had a singles belt since Feb 1997. Nevertheless, the ratings jumped towards the end of 1997.
• Defending the European Championship
  • How many of you remember Davey ever defending the European Championship on RAW or a PPV? From the moment he won it on 2/26/97, over the next seven months, he defended it only four times on non-house shows. Even if you include house shows, the vast majority of the defenses were in the USA so it was hardly a Europe-only belt. All the four RAW or PPV matches ended in DQ/Countout type finishes. I'll be honest, I haven't watched every single one of those matches but I do see that he beat HHH via pinfall, as one of his first defenses on 2/28/97. Davey regained the belt on 10/26/99 after he came back, but lost it six weeks later on 12/12/99 as he started spiraling, defending it only a handful of times on TV.
  • Shawn, unlike Davey, really could make that belt mean something so I do believe the Manchester return match in the Spring of 1998, after he dropped the World title to Austin, would've been big (not unlike Hart vs Bulldog at SummerSlam 1992). Even his most ardent haters will admit to HBK's talent. Yes, he dropped it to HHH in a comedic fashion on 12/11/97 but what was the alternative? With Bret leaving/gone and Shawn in a program with The Undertaker (who didn't need the European Championship since he was about to face Kane), as a World Champion (earlier than he thought he was going to be -- Screwjob plans were hatched later than Sept) him randomly losing the European title would've made him look bad even if it was lost in an underhanded fashion. Losing it to Owen could've been a possibility but Owen would win the Intercontinental Championship on 10/5/97 so that wouldn't really make sense neither. That said, the two of them faced one another on 10/20/97 in a title for title clash (No Contest). Owen later beat HHH for the European title on 2/26/98 (and then lost it back) and the two later had a WrestleMania XIV match for it. So dropping it to HHH made sense. Look at the roster back then and tell me who an alternative could have been?
  • Shawn gets a lot of heat for not defending the European title as often as some feel he should have. But as of 9/20/97, the WWE didn't know what Bret was going to do. Shawn infamously won the World Championship on 11/9/97. I'm not going to rehash the backstage Montreal play-by-play but I firmly believe that if Bret stayed with the WWE for a bit longer, Shawn would have had more time to have matches for the European title. The problem is everything happened so quickly. Unlike Davey, it's not like Shawn spent seven months as European Champion and defended it only four times on TV. Shawn did defend it three times on TV but in 2 1/2 months including an epic with Shamrock on RAW on 11/3/97, before he won the World title from Bret. Between a program with The Undertaker, leading D-X, and becoming World Champion sooner than he expected, there was no time (or really justification) to defend the European title even more often, when he had a program with Austin coming (in arguably the biggest title change in history).

TL:DR Even if (big, if) the finish was changed an hour before showtime, Davey agreed to the finish (with what I believe is with the Hart family on board -- but seeing how it all played out over the next few months and years left a bad taste and narrative change). Shawn winning the European Championship was what was best for business. Therefore Shawn flexing his backstage power "just because" or "only to hate on the Harts" makes zero sense.

I'm a 29 year old male and i will try to summarize the horrendous situation I find myself without leaving to many crucial details out. I was with my ex girlfriend for nearly 6 years. The red flags were present fromn the beggining but looking back I had no way to understand what they were at the time partly due to my young nievete and partly due to the fact that coming from a emotijallyabusive household I had normalized many of the more subtle behaviors and therefore they fell within a blindspot of my cognitive distortions at the time. From the very start she would begin punching herself in her own head if i ever became upset with her in any way or during any attempt to verbally work a problem out. I thought she was just a bit flippant and intense. Dare I say I almost found it attractive in a strange sense. She was and still to this day, stunningly beautiful and menacingly seductive and knows how she can have a significant effect on males especially without doing very much in the way of actions. Fast forward she unknown to me at the time discontinued her birth contorll pills while still assuring me she was taking them and ultimetly lied by telling me she had just to fund out she had become pregnant herself after missing a period. We were both in our mid to early 20s still more or less financially dependant on our parents and were living on public city streets in our tow behind rv with our 2 dogs. She was idealizing me and to be frank I remebr this period of time as the happiest iv been eever before and up untill now. This memory of "happiness" I think was the biggest reason it took me so long to finally start trying to advocate for my self respect instead of hanging my head and just ignoring the abuse so that I would get the sweet reward of psedo- intimacy with her a few times a week. Despite my fond memories looking back I see now what could only be described as patterns if coercive control that seriously escalated over the 5 years we were in a relationship with each other and included her beggining to cheat early on and the resulting systemic lies and relational damage from needing to formulate and bend the nature of reality around those lies. Her hot and cold treatment of me with any postive(hot) behavior usually at least in the last few years being exclusively sexual in nature and cold behavior usually manifesting as her stonewalling me and or simply disappearing for multiple days at a time sometimes. The day my son was born i accompanied her to the hospital and sat with her the entire time helped her push ans enouraged her with love. She treated me with indifference and disdain. Once our wonderful little boy came along this a became even worse. The sense that she was making it about him and her vs everyone else including me was strong. She became quite introverted secretive and "cliquey" with my newborn and at the same time seemed to loose all desire to be physically or emotionally intimate with me. (Of course i gave her plenty of time and space right after she gave birth amd was understanding that it might be a while before things were back to normal).it was almost like she had a new partner-our child. she refused to fully move in to the apartment my grandparents had spent a huge amint of money on to give us a chance at raising our soon in a healthy environment. She would start random and seemingly pointless arguments often escalating into her screaming mean things at me innfront of our 3 month old son like she ****ed me and then raging followed by quickly slamming the door and taking our infant son backto her mother's house where she would stonewall me for a few days then send me. A message that emotionally blackmailed me into taking full blame for the rupture and apologizing profusely. In addition she did not trust me with our son but had no reason not too and as a result gatekept him in an extremely overcintrolling and damaging(for him and for me) manner. to this day (he is 3.5] I have never spent the night alone with him and have had him 1 on 1 dad and son time signifigantly less than I should have and not for lack of trying on my part. Despite her overcontrolling coercive sabatoging and alienating actions my son and I formed a loving and beautiful bond that up untill I saw him last a few months ago has amazingly endured through the storm. The tradegy goes on and on but to wrap up ultimitely she purposefully betrayed me by starting a relationship with my good friend and had him suggest to me that he should move in so he became my roommate all the while lying to my roommate that I ht her and simultaneously having him report back to her on my whereabouts at any Givin time and the things I said about her when venting after a prticulringly humiliating attempt to see my son or similar interaction and also give her info about what I was doing during the day. He became quite controlling himself and severed to further isolate me from people that weren't trying to ruin my life. They started to play mindgames with me that ibsee now attempts to gage how much I knew or suspected about what was going on. Mind you my son who was around 2 at this point was privy to the whole thing it was only kept a secret from me and due to this my son was coached to not tell me about it although what was actually said I will never know. Eventually a mutual friend of my roommate and I reached out and told me he had seen my roommate "playing dad" with my girl and son at dollar tree that day. I remebrr that day I sat at a local park in my car sullen and confused having been led on via sms from her only to randomly stop responding and never managing to get any time with my son. This sort of thing had become a regular occurance She then began withholding my son all togethar simply not answering at all or lying about him being asleep ridiculously early in the afternoon etc etc. My own parents failed to suppprt me and are still failing to show any sort of care other than somehwat monitarily. In fact my mom and her were two peas in a pod and my mom activly participated in the emotional abuse partly becauee of being manipulated by her partly because my mother is emotionally abusive. If I had better support or access to court resources at the time I'm confident things would have gone much differently but I was so isolated and lonely and in a deep state of despair at this point and the only thing I still was enduring for was the brief and inconsistent times i got with my boy whom I love more than life itself. I managed to get a hold of her via phone at this point and said i was going to go to court and pursue custody since she seemed unwilling to value my valid role as father. Her mom and her immediately became overly nice and invited me over where they sat me down and offered to make a visitation schedule and kindly suggested I dident go to court. It wasent much but it was signifgantly more respect than I had been shown any instance prior so I gobbled up the manipulations and left feeling invigorated and hopeful. The schedule was never adhered too and within a few days it was back to me not even be able to get a hold of her let alone see my son. The final day I saw him before things blew up I went over to her house in the evening. My son wanted to play hot wheels so we began to line them up on the floor but my ex was hovering over us with a hostile air. I asked if we could have some space or if at least she could sit down and play with us and she just kept standing there glaring at me. This made me uncomfortable and my son noticed this by sayig daddy play with me! Upon hearing this she in a angry tone said "play with your effin kid isent that what you wanted to do soooooo badly" right in front of him. I asked not to be spoken to in front of him like that and she went and got her mom and started whispering abut me to her mom in the hallway while they watched my son and I. I got up and said I'm leaving this is innappropriate and she said "wow that checks out you harrass me to see your son and then you don't even wanna see him. how pathetic and typical" " you just want to stress me out dont you" you don't actually give 2 you know what's about him" right in front of my son again. I speechlessly went to leave and my son comes running after me begging me to wait. I'm on the verge of tears and i picked him up cherishing how warm he was and how lovingly he was clinging to me. I tentatively requested I be allowed to go for a walk with him around the block and her mom this time dismissively says ya go and shoos us out the door. I get down the driveway and my ex comes sprinting out of the house tears streaming down her face and a look of rage and starts hitting me while I'm holding our son. Amazingly he start4d pushing her away saying mommy stop mommy stop. She says you have 5 minutes or I'm calling the cops and goes back in. I walk him around the block and say "mommy's feeling sad right now but it doesn't mean that either one of us loves you any more or any less than we used to and it's absolutely not your fault." I go back inside and without saying anything I walk up to her and give her a hug wich my son joins in too. All the sudden she is happy again and trying to speak to me in a casual tone but I basically just leave without saying much else. After this a week of no contact with my son occurs which at the time was the longest we had gone apart I felt like I had no choice but to confront her and assert my rights AGAIN although looking back I feel terribley silly for thinking she was going to repsect me at that point. Keep in mind i ALWAYS was extrmely respectful of her space and never would just show up at her moms house even though our relationahip by many accounts was more than informal ennough to make an occasionaI drop in to say hi. In addition she on Many occasions had told me that I could just come by if she didn't Answer her phone or simular situation arose. I texted her I was coming by to say goodnight to my son and phrased it as a statement not a question or request. I was already on the way when I sent the message and so I arrived (unintentionally)before her being able to fully respond to it to see my romate come running out of the front door (this is when I first had proof ab about all the stuff I mentioned earlier about their secret relationship) and go hide in the bushes, her poke her head out the door and then shut and lock it and turn all the lights in the house out and close the blinds. I walk up to the door and knock to no avail and so I confront her about what i know and saw via sms. She directly denies all my proof and accusations and then after calling me crazy and a stalker blocks me on all channels of communication. I go back to my car and collapse in tears and ultimtly fall asleep. I wake up to see her quickly shoving a duffel bag and my son into her moms car and her and my roommate get in and she pulls quickly away. Upon passing me on her way to the main road she becomes aware that im still there in my car and she burns rubber and begins driving extremely fast and erratically. In a moment of panic I knew she was probably trying to go into hiding with my son to prevent me from evrr seeing him again and I fearing for the safety of my son and our relationship I regrettably felt compelled to follow. We got on the freeway where she initiatied speeds of 100 plus miles perhour weaving in between semi's and this sort of thing continued d for an hour in the interim I had called 911 and also she had pulled up too a gas station casually got out and pumped gas upon her getting back in the car I witnessed my roommate making derogatory and taunting sexual gestures referring to my ex and also what i can only describe as cuddling with my son in the back seat and became enraged and made some threatening motions with a large wooden shovel handle while standing next to her car that were directed at my betraying friend and I feel terrible for doing in front of my child but in the moment I was so desperate and upset by the psychological torture i had been through it clouded my normally good judgment. In the end the police couldn't locate us due to my 911 call continually being transfered fron highway patrol dispatch back to whatever city we were in at the times dispatch. Also ultimetly no physical harm or even any other attempts happend or anything to anyone of the people involved and eventually I gave up and drove back to my hometown. She immediately filed for a domestic violence restraining order and used a recording she took of me looking aggressive and threatening outside her car as proof im abusive and violent even though i have never been either of those things. Especially not violent. I may not have been the most mature or experienced or attentive partner for some of our relationship but anything I did was truly a far cry from the serious emotional anguish I have ben subjected to here and not abusive. I did not lie, cheat,manipulate, gaslight, trick, triangulate, turn family againts or ever feel superior or entitled to harm or use her in any way. I loved her and she did all those to me and now is trying to steal the most precious thing I have left in the world from me so she can emotionally scar him with her idea of what good parenting is which in truth is emotional abuse.. She moved my old roommate in to her moms house full time the very next day and from what I hear they both are abusing meth and who knows what else currently plus this guy is not somone that is safe around my son to that degree. He is not a healthy safe adult for such a young boy and in addition he is vindictive and dislikes me mostly because my ex told him I hit her and abused her which are absolutely complete lies. I'm facing a situation now where I have to sit by and watch my son turned agsints me and withheld from me and abused and eveyone treats me like im the abuser. I have tried to contact every dv organization in my local area and as soon as they hear what happend it's almost like I can Feel the switch flip and in the moment it's evident that all the abuse that I had recounted surviving through doesn't matter because I'm some "unhinged abusive guy that chases people down the freeway" eveyone I have reached out to locally has invalidated me and berrated me for "what I did" and successfully pathologized what I consider to be a huge mistake that I feel very regretful for loosing my composure but also a rather understandable emotional reaction to severe mistreatment and fear for my son. I'm beggining to feel so isolated riding the emotional Rollercoaster of self doubt and powerlessness that this abuse at the hands of my ex but dare I say worse yet the abuse by way of victim blame and invalidation from these people and organizations that exist to help dv survivors has caused me. which because I reacted I'm not worthy of being included as a survivor. Cn you offer any advice or support or suggestions? I'm terrified for my sons wellbeing currently and haven't been able to see him in going on 2.5 months now clear and to be clear the domestic violence restraining order is still temporary. I have the final hearing in August.i

So, I finally got around to watching a production of The Tempest (The Globe's 2013 version starring Roger Allam, FYI), and I made some reflections on it that I wanted to write down.
Feel free to respond to any points and get a discussion going!

1. Are we expected to root for Prospero from the beginning? Or, given historical context and the Romance genre's tragedy-comedy fusion, does Shakespeare expect our first impression to be that he's some tragic antihero? After all, the premise of the play is essentially that of a revenge tragedy, and early 17th century Britbongs weren't keen on magicians, as I understand it. Shakespeare also shows us Prospero's darkness with the opening tempest scene and the later comment on the storm, "Hell is empty, And all the devils are here" (1.2.252-3), plus his tormenting Alonso's party with the harpy vision in Act 3 Scene 3. Moreover, it's hard to root for Prospero in getting his dukedom back, since he freely admits to having been negligent and irresponsible, devoting his time to his magical studies.
2. Relatedly, are we meant to take Prospero's framing of how he lost Milan in Act 1 Scene 2 at face value, or should we be critical of Prospero's authority to shape our perception of the play? After all, Prospero repeatedly lies and messes with other people's understanding of reality - his accusations against Ferdinand (1.2.541 onwards), his evasion of Ariel bringing up the promise he made to free him (1.2.290-354), getting Ariel to lie to Alonso and say his son is dead (3.3.93-4), etc. Moreover, Prospero's magic is fundamentally a power to conjure illusions and the play's story is him using misdirection and manipulation to get what he wants. Elsewhere in his work, Shakespeare seems ambivalent about usurpation - Claudius and Duke Frederick are evil, while Henry IV and Henry VII are the good guys - so I feel that, in principle, he could be leaning either way.
3. Is the play just.... not very good and a really boring story? I've seen it argued pretty widely that the problem with The Tempest is there's no real conflict or struggle, in a narrative sense. Prospero has a goal of retrieving his dukedom and he just... does it, apparently without facing any real threats or hindrances. People usually identify the fundamental problem as being his magic - when Prospero wants something done, it's just "Come with a thought. I thank thee, Ariel. Come" and then Ariel does it "to the syllable". In the place of narrative conflict, there's spectacle. I feel particularly conflicted here because I loved reading The Tempest, but it just left me cold seeing it performed. Did I watch a dud production, or does it just not work on stage?
4. Relatedly, Prospero's conversion to the path of forgiveness just felt unconvincing. It doesn't happen until literally the start of the final scene of the entire play, and the only reason he changes tune is because Ariel tells him how sad Alonso and his men look...? But Prospero literally watched the prior harpy episode first-hand, and seeing his magic distress Alonso's men didn't put pity in him or temper his wrath then. I guess since then he's had the entire "We are such stuff" monologue in Act 4, and thinking about mortality and impermanence has him questioning if revenge and strife are worth it...? But he immediately follows that monologue by using another vision to torment Caliban and co and declares "At this hour Lies at my mercy all mine enemies", so I have no idea what Prospero's thought process is.
5. Likewise, the big confrontation at the end felt really anticlimactic. Especially since there's literally no confrontation between Prospero and Antonio, the person he most had it in for. Antonio literally gets a single line in Act 5 and it's just him making fun of Caliban, so what gives?
6. For a final (potentially) weak plot point, the Caliban/Stephano/Trinculo rebellion is... frustrating. For one thing, why does Caliban want Stephano in power to replace Prospero - "I prithee, be my god" (2.2.155) - given that he's so adamant earlier that "This island’s mine by Sycorax, my mother" (1.2.396)? As I see it, there are three possible explanations, none of which feel convincing. First, you could explain it by Caliban being genuinely convinced Stephano's a god for his "celestial liquor"? But that's just not believable, since Caliban has met a literal wizard with magical powers he claims could control a god (1.2.448-9) yet whom he recognises to be a mortal human, so why is he suddenly so oafish as to be persuaded by Stephano's alcohol? That leads to the second sub-idea: Caliban got drunk, so he's not thinking straight. But the humour of this entire subplot is Caliban being sharper and more rational than the motley crew he's assembled to lead the rebellion, hence the eloquent, artful "The isle is full of noises" monologue and the pitiable scene of him trying to get Stephano and Trinculo to stay focused in Prospero's cell in Act 4 Scene 1. So, third and final explanation, maybe Caliban is pretending to worship Stephano as part of his own Prospero-esque manipulative scheme to get his homeland back? But, for one thing, he seems sincere when he laments "What a thrice-double ass Was I to take this drunkard for a god" (5.1.352-3). (Unless he's pretending in order to get mercy from Prospero?) For another thing, it doesn't feel like Shakespeare wanted me to think this hard and read between the lines with this subplot. It just feels like a silly bit of comic relief and that makes it frustrating.
7. Finally, what's the deal with Caliban? I'm aware I'm opening a conversation here that many Shakespeare Redditors loathe, but is Caliban meant to be a human victim of colonisation, and are the references to him being a "monster" just abuse? Or is he a literal monster? My main gripe with the latter, more traditional reading, is that it seems to deprive The Tempest of one of the principal virtue's of Shakespeare's work, namely his penchant for complex, realistic, morally ambiguous characters. If Caliban is just an innately depraved beast who gets no humanisation beyond a brief, pretty soliloquy, then it makes him feel very flat. Going back to point 6, maybe this just the shallower comedy side of the play shining through? It also ties back to point 1 and whether or not Prospero is truly a "hero" in any conventional sense. Are there just good guys and bad guys in The Tempest? Or is it more mature than that?

First of all sorry for the bad image quality. Just saw this post in a Facebook group apparently a mom posted that her son somehow got these cards in his possession and she wondering if they’re worth something. I don’t know enough about it that I can see if they’re worth something but the white border and no series symbol stood out. Just wanted to see if I should give her a heads up.

TL;DR : (M18) turning 19 in August and (F20) This is our 3rd time breaking up along with our 2nd cancelled engagement with plenty of separations and rekindling throughout our entire 4+ years knowing eachother. We’ve done a lot of growing up together as well as apart and over the years we’ve both done eachother wrong but we’ve also done so so so much for eachother as well. However, it was always me who was less mature and messing up more. I recently messed up once again and in a state of high emotion on both sides, she was fed up and said We were never getting back together. Will I ever get one last chance with her?
Please, I miss her so much and I’m willing to do anything just for one final chance. I love her and I’m IN love with her with all my heart and soul bro. I am extremely attached, connected, and emotionally invested in this girl and we have been through so much together. I desire(more than anything else in the world) a future with her.
For more context:
Our first time breaking up, I had just turned 15 and she was 16. Her and I barely even dated for a couple months before I had indirectly and immaturely broken up with her by leaving it “upto her” because of me wanting to talk to other girls, but her and I still ended up talking and being flirtatious anyway. But then we had separated because of me getting my phone taken away for months. She had started talking to someone else who was MUCH MUCH older than her and was grooming hevery toxic to her but out of strange obligation, she stayed with him anyway although she really just wanted to be with me. Her and I still remained as close as ever although she had to turn me down twice when I wanted to rekindle things. Later on, I had got my phone back and as we entered into the next school year( she turned 17 and I turned 16) we grew closer and closer and feelings developed stronger and stronger meanwhile her relationship with him was getting worse and worse and they were having multiple breakups as well. She even at one point expressed to me that she was on the verge of breaking up with him and very bluntly hinted at as well as indirectly told me she wanted to leave him for me. But ultimately after she knew that my hopes were all up and everything she ended up just choosing him over me anyway and leaving me hanging. a couple months afterwards she posting vulgar things on social media with the caption “I’ll suck my man d#%k fr” or something along those lines. That’s when I fully moved on and went on to get in multiple relationships/“situationships” over the course of that year. Until fast forward to November 2023, she comes back and we very very quickly rekindle/get back together. over the course of that year, because of my porn and masturbation addiction we’ve separated as well as had many issues interfering with my attraction of her because of my skewed image of women and interfering with us having proper sex or intimacy without my fetishes being involved. Fast forward to August, I ended up falling into watching porn for almost my entire birthday week behind her back while she was working so hard to eventually bring me gifts on that day which I later confessed to the following month. We separated for 3 days and this is when I finally started taking my walk with the lord seriously.(she began months ahead of me and she was the one that even introduced me to Christianity in the first place)(her entirely family is Christian) 2 months pass and a couple days after I propose to her for the first time and posting about it? a girl I used to talk to had replied to my iG story congratulating me and as we talked and catched up, I fell to temptation once again and ended up saying more than I should have/inappropriate things but by the time I realized what I was doing and ended it. It was too late and I confessed to her immediately. after a couple of days, she took me home from work and broke up with me. We talked about it over text an hour or so later and agreed we would be going no contact for a month, but over that period we constantly broke it(I even indirectly tried killing myself with alcohol and drunk texted her to which she was very sympathetic to and when I ended up blacking out she was terrified and prayed all night over me and even reached out to friends of mine to make sure I was okay.) fast forward, she ends it early and we rekindle. Fast forward to either late March or April 2024, I fall into looking at iG couples art and ecchi aesthetic art aka softcore porn and I confess to her afterwards. She’s initially upset but she stays with me.
Later on down the line I begin to question my faith entirely and my foundation crumbles after following the teachings of fallible men/cult leaders and mainly doing it for her and because I loved hewanted to bond with her and not actually seeking the truth for myself(although I had my moments of genuinely being curious and wanting to discover it for myself.) However, she was still just as firmly rooted in her faith as ever and maturing even more. On the contrary, I grow weak and undisciplined in my flesh, I fall back into bad habits, I stop reading the word, praying, fasting, I isolate myself from fellowship. And as it gets harder and harder to resist my sexual urges and with her unwavering on her boundaries of no sex before marriage and etc. I fell back into masturbation but eventually back into porn as well(softcore stuff again mainly but I slipped into some fetish stuff too) and it was over the course of a couple days again with me feeling very guilty and being afraid to tell heI just wanted to repent of it and be done but she ended up getting dream a about it and asked me about it the very next day to which I was honest with her and confessed. Then after however many minutes go by and her breaking up with me a third time with her saying “We are done.” and “We will see” “Love you, Bye” instead of taking the advice everyone was giving me and giving her time and space from jump. I pressed her, begged/pleaded, and blew up her messages making it worse and aggravating her until she followed up with the next day with telling me “Sure I’ll let you know where we stand”We are never getting back together.”
I panicked and went into a high emotional state myself and went to her house late at night(1 or 2 am), and pressed her even more begging and pleading. But this made it worse as well and she had said “what us? there is no us” “go home” “you did what you did”and etc while pushing me out and slamming the door in my face. She originally only talked to her mother about it but because of my stupid decisions while being emotional I unintentionally involved everyone else in it. Her older sister’s husband went through a very similar situation with the older sister and had offered to talk to me about it along with everyone else. But when I followed up later on that day it created a misunderstanding and I ended up getting blocked by him and her older sister after she texts me on her older sister’s phone saying the same exact hurtful and cold/seemingly detached things and after begging and pleading to call, we did but it only made it that much worse. I tried to explain my side of things the best I could while being highly emotional but she didn’t want to hear any of it and proceeded to say even more hurtful, cold, seemingly, detached things, cussed me out, then hung up in my face and blocked me. This whole breakup was very messy and happened over the course of barely 3 days.
I’m still in contact with her mom and I recently contacted her dad as well(parents are divorced) and he had told me she never even mentioned anything to him about it which goes to show I made things worse/unnecessarily involved other people in it that otherwise might not have been involved.
Now I’m giving her proper time and space but I’m still extremely anxious/uncertain about where things will go from here.
(I ask that you be honest but also open minded/considerate in responses please, this all happened over the span of a couple of days and I’m still very fresh in the grieving process)
What do you all think about this situation? (I especially want to hear from a female perspective)

She’s 8 and I’m 21. She has no friends at school, it’s been two years now, every night before school, she cries cause she doesn’t want to be alone in the playground. I asked her why she was alone, and she told me her old group of friend decided to not talk to her anymore, and they go away when she tries to approach them, she plays with a jumping rope alone everyday. She also suffers from our parents divorce, my dad is an a**hole and talk to her every 6 months.
I told my mom she should seek a therapist for her but it’s been a year, and she always tells me she doesn’t have time because of work, I forced her to talk about it yesterday, and she said she was going to look for one in June.
The only friends she has is my cousin’s son, she plays with him once or twice every month, and some online friends on fortnite, I don’t like it, but at the same time, I don’t want to prohibit her from playing with other kids on her game console, cause she’s already alone.
I struggle with depression and anxiety myself and I was literally bedrotting for the last year, I didn’t find the energy to play with her. I’m moving out soon and I feel terrible. I don’t want her to be alone with my depressed mom and no friends at school, I feel like it’s my responsibility even tho it’s not, my mom isn’t doing anything and it pisses me off. Please what should I do ? It breaks my heart to see her like that, she’s only 8.

We are at an in home daycare for my 3.5 yo and 1.5yo. My provider just posted on fb a thank you to the parents of some of the other kids for her mother's day gift? Was I supposed to get her something? She is a mother with a 13yo son, but I never thought my kids would need to get her a gift.
It looks like it was from 3 other parents, but there is only 8 of us. She has been watching my kids since oldest we 5mo, did I make a mistake not getting her a mother's day gift? She does help the kids with crafts making us mothers a gift, but I took those as from my kid, not her. She did loose her mom a year or 2 before we met her. Just trying to figure out if I need to put it in my calendar for next.

My mom refuses to watch anything that is not dubbed in french (not even if they are subbed), and we have amazon prime, hbo max and disney +, but there are very few shows that she can watch in actual dubbed French, so I was wondering if there are any streaming sites like flixer, 123series etc etc, but with stuff dubbed in french?
Also disclaimer, we aren't actually french (nor english for that matter), but french is her second language and she likes to watch stuff in it.

Hi All,
This is a very long story, so thanks in advance for reading and letting me vent about the last week.
I had my baby boy on 5/7 at 38+2 via c section for breech presentation after being diagnosed with cholestasis. I ended up developing postpartum preeclampsia and required magnesium drip x 24 hours which prolonged my hospital stay to 6 days.
My SIL is a labor and delivery nurse at the hospital I was at. The night before the section, she asked if she could be present in the OR. She is making us a baby book and wanted to take pictures. She also said she could offer support during the spinal until my husband was allowed in. She offered to be “stork” which is where the nurse takes the babies weight, VS, etc. I said no to everything except that it would be okay for her to present for pictures only. Well, she ended up doing everything. She held him first, she did the weight, VS, and was taking pictures with him in the OR. Meanwhile, I was not tolerating things well and didn’t get to hold my baby until I got to the PACU. I realize this is common for a c section, but it gives me a weird feeling that she was the first one to hold him.
My SIL then went on to be my RN overnight 3 times during my stay. She fought with other nurses to be able to do that. Multiple nurses said to me I could say no, but I know that would cause drama with her and probably my MIL. She took my son overnight while my husband and I slept. She continued to take pictures with him and of him and held him all night long except when she was tending to another patient. She pushed me to give him formula when my preference was to do donor milk until my milk came in. Then, she came into work while not on shift and slept in an empty patient room and took him all night and again was taking more pictures with him and him. I know this because there is a shared album. There is one picture of her laying in bed with him almost looking like his mother about to breastfeed….
I was so out of because of the stress of developing preeclampsia after having no issues during my pregnancy and of course because of the magnesium drip. If you’ve ever had to do that, then you know what I’m talking about. I feel like I wasn’t in a good place to consent to my SILs heavy involvement in my medical care. My husband is not very confrontational and I believe he was so desperate for sleep after needing to be primary care taker since I could barely pick my son up.
Now that I am home, I am reflecting on the last week and becoming uncomfortable. My SIL keeps offering to sleep at our house and my MIL says “you should take her up on the offer”. My SIL and MIL come over and they stay for 8 hours and hold him the entire time. They completely take over the care of my son and continue to push me to go lay down or tell my husband and I to go out to eat. They want to FaceTime and my SIL is constantly asking for updates about how baby is doing and how is doctors appointments are. The night we got home from the hospital, SIL offered to stay over and said my son “needed her”. This was really upsetting for me and insulting. This morning, she texted my husband and asked to sleep over so she can hang out with baby….
I am not very confrontational, but I am at the point of telling her off. My husband respectfully said she can visit, but no sleepovers. My MIL is constantly offering to come over and watch him. Then she stays for 8 hours and just holds him the entire time. We took her up on the offer yesterday while I went to the OB and she gave him formula instead of my pumped breast milk after we showed her how to use the warmer…
I just feel so uncomfortable and not respected. Are my feelings valid or are my hormones making me crazy?? A lot of times my SIL is really great and helpful, but I feel like it’s getting weird.
Thanks for reading.

TW: past medical abuse, mentions of miscarriage, preemie baby and Nicu stay.
This is my second baby, and my last! He was due in early May. Two years previously, I had his older sister at 36 weeks, so I knew that there was a possibility of going into labor early. So I scheduled my maternity leave at school to start at around 36 weeks, thinking if I relax I could keep him in for another week or so and have a full-term baby. Nope!
I had had a lot of previous issues with this pregnancy, like a hemorrhaging incident at 10 weeks in which we thought I had a miscarriage, some continue to bleeding and cramping at different points in my pregnancy, and a premature loss of my mucus plug. I was told each time that everything's fine and there's no sign of anything wrong and he should be a healthy full term baby. I felt like everyone around me thought I was being dramatic or looking for attention, but I really just wanted my baby to be okay and had this constant feeling that something wasn't right. Well, something wasn't right.
I, just like with my daughter, spontaneously went into labor at 34 weeks. PPROM, with my water breaking impressively around midnight at home. We of course we're not expecting this, so my husband ran to a neighbor to get them to come house sit until his mother could arrive to watch our sleeping toddler upstairs, and we drove to the hospital. I originally had wanted to drive myself because I just didn't want to leave our daughter without a parent at home, but I was gushing so much water that I couldn't hardly string two words together, let alone walk.
We got to the hospital, went into the emergency room entrance because it was after hours, and went to labor and delivery triage. Won't behold, I'm a couple centimeters dilated and in labor. The nurse I had was pretty rough giving me a cervical check, and it was the only one I've ever had between the two children have given birth to that hurt. The same nurse also failed to get my IV port in and left in half, and thankfully another nurse who wasn't in a bad mood came in and got it on the 4th attempt. My poor arms were covered in massive bruises for a couple weeks afterwards. Amazingly we were put in the same in sweet Nicki room as we were for my daughter 2 years ago, good old room 350!
Labor progressed well I'm without need for any intervention, like pictocin. I handled the contractions better than I did with my first, but wanted to make sure I got my epidural before I progressed to pass the point of no return-- I in no way wanted to experience the feeling of possibly ripping my vagina 🫠
It was really tough mentally, getting my epidural. With my first baby, the anesthesiologist was horrible. You can look at my previous birth story if you want the full rundown, but he assaulted me, so I was really nervous this time around. The nurse caught on that I was feeling apprehensive, and with talking to her I came to found out that the previous anesthesiologist had been fired for assaulting multiple women the same way he did me! Really hope he never works again. They brought in the new anesthesiologist, and he was the most gentle and kind person! It went very smoothly, and it was nice to have a relief from the contractions and pressure.
I was hoping I could maybe rest or even nap once I got my epidural in like I did was my first. But nope, 10 minutes later I was being told he is right there and ready to come out, about half a day after labor started. I don't know why, probably because he was so little, but he was incredibly easy to push out. I was told to stop pushing, and not push so hard, and got him out in about three gentle but steady pushes. Thankfully I had no damage at all, no tearing or even bruising or swelling. After my epidural wore off it literally just felt like I had written a bike for the first time in a while. As immensely grateful, because I was going to be run through the ringer taking care of my family and a Nicu baby.
When he first came out, my son was very small, yes, but incredibly pink, very lively and noisy, and he peed all over me immediately lol. They let him have extra time with his cord before they clamped it due to him being early, and I got to do my wonderful hour with him before they wished him over to the NICU attachment of the room. He had respiratory distress for the first 24 hours of his life, which was gut-wrenching to watch. He could not regulate his body temperature at all, so unless he was snuggled under many blankets on me, He stayed on the warmer. He couldn't eat by himself so his NG tube was placed and used for the majority of his stay. His blood sugar was monitored very religiously, and it was so tough watching his little feet be pricked over and over and over.
I was released after 2 days from the hospital, and I probably could have been released earlier but I wanted to stay officially as a patient for a little longer. It was hard, being away from my toddler daughter was a special kind of hell. But then when I was with her, my heart was torn to pieces that I wasn't with my baby. No matter where I was, I felt horrible guilt. I triple fed, pumping every 3 hours, and if I was a NICU nursing him before they topped him up with his special increased calorie premium formula. Any milk I produced was fortified to give to him as well. He steadily lost weight despite them constantly increasing the size of a speeds, the point of him constantly spitting up from having way too much in his tummy. But I was told that this is just what they do until they start gaining weight. I was told with preemies that they just won't put on weight for the longest time, and then suddenly start putting it on, and suddenly eating on their own.
I was starting to lose hope of that, when on about the 10th day he put on weight overnight. They took out his tube and we worked on feedings with him, which he seemed to struggle so hard with. But then just like with the weight, he suddenly started eating well. On day 12 we could take him home! In a way it was even harder at home to keep up with the pumping, fortifying the milk I pumped myself, mixing the special recipe of extra calories preemie formula, and nursing. He gained weight so well that I was given the okay after a few days at home to stop pumping if I didn't want to. I very gratefully stopped pumping
. He eventually started showing signs of a milk protein intolerance, just like my daughter had, and just like I had as a baby. It was no surprise to me when he was put on hypoallergenic formula. We're still dealing with all of that right now, with me trying to keep dairy out of my diet and struggling with the decision of whether I want to keep combo feeding or just switch over completely formula. He will be 2 months old in about a week and he is put on 4 lb so far, almost doubling his birth weight!
Right now we are also struggling with his head shape. This was new to me, because my first born head no issues with any flat spots or head shape at all. But being in NICU, they always faced him in the same direction, facing the nursing station when I was not there. He developed a tendency to put his head to the right, and developed a bit of flat spot. We've been working with him on tummy time, gently repositioning his head the other way, and just doing everything in our power to help correct this... All to know avail. His spot has gotten worse, and we are fairly certain that he will be getting a helmet soon. I know it's no big deal, but apart me feels like I failed somehow 😭 his poor, cute little lopsided noggin 🥺 otherwise, besides his head shape and figuring out his dairy intolerance, he's doing well!
I've tried multiple times to figure out why my babies were born so early, why my body couldn't keep them in to be full term. The OB had no answers for me and just sort of shrugged her shoulders at it, saying that since I showed no signs of having an incompetence cervix or anything else, it was just something that we'd never know why. She was relieved though to hear that we did not plan to have any more children, as that would have made things a bit more complicated given my history of early birth.
It's hard of me is sad that I'm not having any more children, but the possibility of having another preemie baby, especially one even younger than my first two, is sobering. I will just enjoy my two very healthy and happy babies I have 💕

So long story on Tuesday my gf stayed home to watch our child who was sick. She is not feeling well also but made the effort to go to work. The past weekend she was on a cruise during Mother’s Day weekend and I took over the house duties as expected. Our son and I were also sick during the weekend some kind of chest cold while she was on her cruise she would FaceTime us. Right away she would assume I had an attitude when she called. Which I didn’t have an attitude. I explained that we both were feeling good and she would say not to make it about me. So during the mother day my son and I stayed in bed pretty much the whole day. Fast forward to Tuesday she stayed home because our some was still coughing and didn’t want to send him to school. I had to go to work while she worked from home. She was bothered by that I had to work and didn’t stay home while she worked. On Wednesday I stayed home and took over the child duties while she went into the office. Yesterday I attempted to do as much as I could to ease the chores around the house. I even made dinner even after not feeling too well myself. I didn’t complain just did what I had to do. When she got home from work I had dinner made and our wok at his dinner and even offered to make her a tea to ease her throat. I cleaned the kitchen and even gave our son a bath and got him ready to bed. So our son got super hyper and wasn’t going to bed easily. My gf was super cranky and kept saying things like I can’t drink my tea. And you guys are not allowing me to rest after she had been at work all day. So during that course our son threw up a little. No big deal. We got him changed and kept the task of putting him to bed. He again coughed a little bit and again a little vomit was there. So as I started to take his shirt off some vomit was in his hair and then she started to complain to me. I went off and said how else do you expect me to take his shirt off. I’ll clean him up relax. She got upset and started yelling at me on how I could go off on her when all she was doing was helping. I responded with you think by you saying your cranky and that we are not allowing you to rest is helping. Her response was I can be cranky and you just have to deal with it. I was line have been. But it got to a point of it being annoying now. We know you’re cranky and we are trying to asses the issue the best way we could. She then stated saying I don’t appreciate her and that I was wrong for going off.
I then walked over to the living room and slept on the couch because it’s obvious that she was feeling a certain type of way. And I didn’t want to continue to add more fuel to the fire. I also wasn’t feeling good and I just had enough. I tried to make her feel special and appreciated. And she said those are the minimum you could have done wife you stayed home. Mind you staying home with a sick child was not easy also. But I didn’t complain about it. The house was not a mess and everything she had to do was come home and have dinner.
How could I handled the situation better ?
TL;DR! Girlfriend is cranky and kept saying she is cranky. How else could I handle the issue even after trying to mar effort to ease her crankiness.

The pain was the worst thing`Dominick Mason had ever known…and he knew what it felt like to die. It felt like his brain was in a blender, being chopped to liquid for a Jeffery Dahmer smoothie and though it seemed melodramatic, he imagined he could feel himself losing brain cells by the minute. The sun, Merrick told him, would not burn him, but it would decay him faster, so sleep or rest during the day. With the sick, throbbing agony in the center of his brain, however, that was impossible. He spent most of the day curled up on his side, hugging his knees, and moaning. He had flashbacks to dying in his apartment, and that made things even worse. The room became too small, too close, the air too stale. His heart, filled with the blood of last night’s meal, pounded in his chest, and he went from slightly chilly to hot and feverish as blood was forced through his circulatory system. It mixed with the embalming fluid and left him feeling full and constipated. He didn’t want to get up, but he also didn’t want to go on lying there. He was the definition of miserable.
Before long, the pain became too great and he got up to pace, pressing his hands to the sides of his head and gritting his teeth. Merrick, who slept very little if at all, sat in his chair and watched, trying his best to talk him through it. “It’ll be over soon,” Merrick said. “The pain receptors in your brain are the first to go. When they burn out, you won’t feel anything.”
“When?” Dom asked, his voice raising with the tide of pain.
“A couple days?”
“A couple days???”
“The pain will lessen gradually,” Merrick said, “this is the worst of it.”
Dom believed that this was, indeed, the worst of it, but he doubted it would lessen gradually. For the rest of the day, the pain got worse and worse until every light blinded him, every sound turned his stomach, and the smell of anything made his gorge rise. The cloying smell of the embalming fluid, the light but unmistakable odor of dead flesh, and the scent of stale blood sitting in decomposing stomachs made him want to vomit, but he was afraid to. He didn’t think he could handle the sight of blood rushing from his mouth and splattering the floor. He still possessed enough of his facilities, he believed, to go insane.
Pain has a way of darkening one’s mood, and by the time the sun began to set, Dom was in the most sour mood possible. Even Merrick’s calm, fatherly voice was beginning to get on his nerves. When he took the oath to him the day before (or was it the day before that?), he turned his faith and trust over to Merrick entirely. He was finally accepted, included, finally had the love and fellowship that, in the pit of his soul, he had always wanted. Merrick understood him, Merrick was kind to him.
But deep down, Dom realized that he didn’t fully trust him. He said that his brain didn’t rot because he was “lucky.” That sounded like some bullshit to Dom. Why wasn’t Joe a blithering idiot too? Was he lucky as well? Did lightning strike in the same place twice? In life, people had done nothing but hurt and lie to Dom. Why would death be any different? He thought back to the strange liquid that always seemed to leak from Merrick’s nose, and Joe’s. He thought it was embalming fluid, but it never leaked from his own nose, or from anyone else’s. He tried to tell himself that it was far too soon to judge, but once he began to doubt something, his mind raced away. He felt a twinge of guilt, as Merrick had done absolutely nothing to deserve his doubt, but goddamn it, his head was on fire and he wanted it to stop. Anything to make it stop.
Just after sundown, the music began as Club Vlad opened for the night. It throbbed in the center of Dom’s head and made him want to claw his eyes out. When it became too much for him, he slipped away and stumbled into the sultry summer night. He came out in the alley running behind the club, clutching his head and breathing through bared teeth. He staggered, bumped into a metal trash can, and roared at the top of his lungs, as if he could purge himself of the pain by screaming.. His voice echoed and came back to him, making the pain worse.
Merrick was lying. He knew it. People always lied to him. His brain was rotting and PEOPLE WERE LYING! Flashing with anger, he slammed his fist into the brick wall of a Chinese restaurant. He barely felt anything so he did it again and again until his hand was lumpy and shaking. He sat heavily on the ground and pressed his hands to his head. It felt like maggots were burrowing into his brain, and he was suddenly terrified that they really were. He needed to stop this awful pain, but how?
An idea came to him.
The funeral home.
Maybe there was something there.
He was on his feet and lumbering there before the thought had even finished reverberating through his mind. It was a long shot, but he was desperate. On the way there, he stuck to the shadows, staying out of the light cast by the streetlamps and avoiding people. When he passed them, he kept his head down. When he reached the funeral home, he went to the back door where he and Jessie had gone the other day. He tried it, and it opened.
Inside, he bounced off the walls like a pinball, knocking over an end table and tearing at the flesh of his head, pulling it away in long, gray strips. He panted like a wild animal, his body a raging tempest of emotions. It was reaching a crescendo, he thought, his brain was about to go supernova. The world dimmed, things got really echoy. The young man he’d picked the embalming fluid up from was there, looking scared.
Flashing, Dom grabbed him by his shirt and slammed him against the wall, knocking a painting of a flowery field to the carpet. Everything seemed to go in slow mo. “How does Merrick keep his brain from rotting?” Dom heard himself demanding from far away. “How does he keep the pain away?”
The man trembled. “I-I-”
Dom slammed him again. “Tell me or I’ll make you like me.”
“No!” the man wailed. He shook his head from side to side, his eyes wet with fear.
“How?”
“He-He uses a solution,” the man stammered. “Some kind of special thing. It preserves his brain. That’s all I know.”
An idea occurred to Dom.
Holding the man by the back of his neck, Dom dragged him into the embalming room and pushed him against the table. His head felt like it was swelling. Hot, screaming, getting ready to explode. He looked around, found the embalming machine, and grabbed the hose. There was a sharp tip on it so that you could jam it into a body. He held it in his hand, hesitating for just a moment before pressing it to his temple. The man watched in horror as Dom slowly shoved the tip into his head. It tore his flesh, broke through his skull, and sank into his brain. He felt no pain, only pressure, but cried out anyway. His eyes rolled up into his head and a shudder went through his body.
“Turn it on!” he yelled.
“That’s not what he -”
“TURN IT ON!”
Starting, the man turned the machine on. Cold embalming fluid squirted directly into Dom’s brain. Almost at once, the pain began to ebb away, replaced only by a fuzzy sense of numbness. His knees buckled and he sank to the floor, looking for all the world like an addict taking a hit of his favorite substance after a long and trying day. Fluid leaked from his nose, ears, and eyes and dripped down the back of his throat.
The man waited for a long time, then turned the machine off.
The pain was gone.
At least for now.
“Tell me again,” Dom said.
The man did. Merrick used a special preserving agent to keep his brain intact. Joe, the man suspected, got it as well. So Merrick had lied to him.
Dom felt betrayed.
And angry.
Leaving the man (Dom realized that he didn’t even know his name), he walked back to Club Vlad, his hands fisted in his pockets. All his life, he had been hurt, lied to, and ignored. All his life, people had done wrong to him. And all those years, he just took it.
He resolved not to be so accepting in death.
At last, he was going to stop being a sniveling little bitch and stand up for himself.
When he reached Club Vlad, he slammed through the back door and took the stairs two at a time. At the top, he called out Merrick’s name. The old man was sitting in his chair, being attended to by Jessie and Matt. He looked startled when Dom came in. “You lied to me,” Dom said, stalking over to his benefactor.
“What are you talking about?” Merrick asked, doing his best to sound innocent.
“You lied to me!” Dom screamed. He bent over and got so close to Merrick’s face that he could have kissed him. “You told me there was no way to save my brain, but that’s not true. You’re pumping your head full of shit and letting the rest of us rot.”
A dark shadow flickered across Merrick’s face. “Watch your tone when you talk to me,” he said. His voice was low, menacing.
“Fuck you,” Dom said. “I should k -”
Suddenly, Dom was being grabbed from behind and yanked back, an arm around his neck. He cried out in alarm as Joe swung him around and slammed him face first into the wall. He heard his nose crunch, felt his teeth shatter. Next, Joe wrestled him to the glitter-sprinkled floor and wedged his knee between his shoulder blades.
Merrick watched with a sneer of disgust, his hands gripping the arms of his chair. He wheeled himself over, Jessie holding his IV stand steady and following behind. “Listen, you son of a bitch,” Merrick said, “you’re lucky to be a part of this family.”
Cold fear filled the pit of Dom’s stomach, yet he wouldn’t back down, couldn’t back down. He had lived his entire life like a mouse in a burrow, he wasn’t about to live his entire death the same way.
“Fuck your family,” he said defiantly. “And fuck you.”
Merrick’s face darkened and he sat back in his chair. He looked at Jessie and nodded. She went away and came back a moment later holding something in her hand. Dom’s eyes widened when he saw what it was.
A wooden stake, one end honed to a razor point.
Why they had one of those lying around, Dom didn’t know; it’d be like Superman keeping a piece of kryptonite on the mantle over the fireplace. Merrick directed Max and Matt to hold Dom’s arms down/ Joe pivoted, kneeling on his head now so that Dom’s back was exposed. Dom’s heart slammed with terror and tremors raced through his body.
“Is this what you want, Dominick?” Merrick asked. “To die? To truly die?”
Dom swallowed hard. No, it wasn’t what he wanted. He wanted to live, to love, to have a family one day. He wanted a happy, normal life, the life TV and social media had been promising him since he was a little boy.
But all of that went out the window the night he died in his little apartment. There was no life anymore, just a grotesque parody of life. What was there for him other than death? Clinging desperately onto life for decades like Merrick? Stuffing himself full of embalming fluid and moth balls? Grinding for one more minute just so he could sit hooked up to a machine?
Dom spoke.
“What?” Merrick asked, not having heard.
Dom licked his lips. “Just fucking do it.”
For a moment, nothing happened. Expectation hung in the air. Finally, breaking the tension, Merrick nodded to Jessie. Kneeling down, she brought the stake up, and Dom closed his eyes.
This was it.
He braced himself for death.
Jessie brought the stake down just as a shot rang out, deafening in the small space. Her head whipped back, embalming fluid, skull fragments, and gray, sickly pieces of brain showering from the back of her head. She flopped back and landed on the floor with a sickening thud.
A woman cop, her black uniform in stark contrast to the burning white light, stood in the doorway to the hall, her gun drawn. Everyone did, indeed, freeze, more out of surprise than respect for authority. They all looked at her, their dead mouths agape, resembling children who’d been caught doing something wrong.
“Everyone on the ground!” she barked.
No one knew what to do. They hadn’t expected to be raided by the police so had not prepared. She jerked her gun and everyone instinctively flinched. “On the ground!” she repeated. To Max: “You too, bone boy.”
The first one to react was Joe. He sprang at her like a big, undead frog. She brought the gun around and fired, but he was already crashing into her. The shot went wild and struck the IV bag next to Merrick; he ducked and let out a sound of fear. The others rushed her, and Dom got quickly to his feet. Jessie lay on the floor, her mouth open in a silent scream and her bony fingers frantically examining the ragged hole in the center of her forehead. For a moment, he was frozen; everything was happening too fast. Then, when Merrick saw him and cried, “Stop him!, he came alive. Jessie tried to grab at his leg, but he kicked her hand away and stomped on it like it was a giant spider. On the other side of the room, Matt, Joe, and Max had forced the cop to the ground. Perhaps excited by all the action, perhaps just hungry, they began to tear her apart. She howled in pain, and the last thing Dom saw before he fled was her open, blood-filled mouth. Her eyes were filled with pain…with terror.
After that, Dom ran.
***
When the interloper was dead, Merrick directed Joe and Matt to dispose of the body. “Get rid of it,” he said wearily and rubbed his temples, “make sure it isn’t found.”
They rolled her into a carpet from the office, and the way her feet stuck out may have been comical under other circumstances.
Goddamn it, this was bad. Merrick’s entire philosophy rested on avoiding detection. He had done well in that regard. Whereas other vampires had attacked their villages and gotten themselves dug from the ground and staked, he had made it four decades. He never shat where he ate, and there is no bigger turd than killing a cop. They might dawdle on all the boys who’d gone missing - taken because their blood was stronger and more robust than the blood of girls - but they would not take a cop dying lightly at all.
Merrick owned various businesses around the country. He and the others would simply move on. Tomorrow night, they would disappear into the night. They had done it before and they would likely do it again. Once things were settled at their new base of operations, he would have Joe killed for all the trouble he’d caused.
And Dom?
Let him go.
The little rat wouldn’t last a month on his own.
“Jessie?”
Jessie sat against the wall, gazing into space.
“Jessi…start packing. We’re leaving tomorrow.”
She didn’t move, didn’t seem to hear. The shot had all but lobotomized her.
Damn it.
Joe backed the van up to the back door of Club Vlad, and then helped Matt carry the carpet-rolled body down the stairs. They loaded it in and closed the back doors. Together, they drove around looking for a place to dump it. Merrick wanted it to go unfound, but Joe doubted there was anywhere isolated enough in the city. On a whim, he drove to Washington Park, a vast expanse of green trees and shadows. There was a large pond there. It seemed the best option. They were leaving tomorrow anyway, so did it really matter?
Joe backed the van to a railing overlooking the dark water and put it in park. He and Matt got out, fetched the body, and carried it to the railing. They lifted and heaved it over. It splashed. Thus, they rid themselves of Vanessa Rodregiez.
***
Bruce sat anxiously up in his easy chair and waited for his cell to ring.
Parked in front of the TV by warm lamplight, a beer wedged between his legs, he’d been watching the 11’o’clock news when the phone rang. He picked it up and it was Vanessa. “Hey,” she said, “I think I found our body?”
“Which one?” Bruce asked and took a drink. “We have a lot of those these days.”
“Dominick Mason.”
Bruce sat forward in his chair. “Dead Dom? Where?”
“He just came out of a funeral home, ironically enough.”
“That sounds about right,” Bruce said. “Where are you now?”
“I’m following him east on Central.”
“Are you sure it’s him?” Bruce asked.
“I think so, but I’m not sure. I’ll call you back when I’m done.”
Bruce sat the phone aside and waited.
And waited.
And waited.
At some point, he fell asleep sitting up, his head lulled to one side and his mouth open. He snorted himself awake, rubbed his eyes, and sat up. He checked his phone and was perturbed to see that it was past 2am.
Vanessa hadn’t called.
He dialed her number and let the phone ring until it went to voicemail. Sighing, he ended the call, then waited a few minutes and called again.
Still no answer.
It was possible she had forgotten. Maybe the guy turned out to not be Dead Dom after all. She followed some random guy around, realized it, and that was that. Hell, she was probably too embarrassed to call and tell him about it.
Something told him that wasn’t right, however.
There was something else going on here.
Something…darker.
Just before 3am, his phone rang. He snatched it off the end table next to the chair and answered it. It was Burt, the night sargent. “Rodriguez is missing,” he said simply.
Bruce’s heart sank. “Missing?”
“Yeah, she hasn’t checked in for hours and she isn’t answering calls.”
“I’m on my way,”
Bruce tore through the house, pulling on his uniform, socks, and shoes in less time than it took a Daytona 500 pit crew to service a car. In ten minutes he was speeding down 787, the Albany skyline rising in the distance. As he hurried to the station, he thought back to his last conversation with Vanessa. She’d found Dom the Dead Man, the “corpse” who’d scared Ed Harris out of a 20 year career. Despite all their talk about vampires and the living dead, Bruce didn’t believe it, not really. Even so, he was sure that Dominick Mason had done something to Vanessa.
He checked in at the station before doing anything else. They had triangulated Vanessa’s last known location via cell towers. Cops were already out searching the streets for her. Bruce went out as well, intending to start from her last known position and work his way east on Central. The closest funeral home was Tebbutt and Frederick on Central. There was also Lasak & Gigliotti on North Allen Street. Bruce didn’t know which one Vanessa had seen Dom come out of, so he checked both.
Both were deserted at this hour.
Undeterred, Bruce drove up and down Central Ave. At one point, he noticed a shape in an alleyway that looked human. He hit the brakes, jumped out, and pointed his gun at it. “Freeze!”
An old wino stepped out of the darkness. “Alright, you got me,” he said, hands up. “I started COVID. It was an accident, I swear.”
Bruce sighed and put his gun away.
For two more hours, Bruce searched the streets of Albany for Vanessa. At 4am, he spotted a squad car abandoned in the rear parking lot of an abandoned gas station on lower Lark Street. He called it in and the desk sergeant confirmed that it was the one Vanessa had signed out that night.
Still there was no sign of Vanessa herself.
Just after dawn, as the city came alive and CDTA buses began lumbering up and down the streets, Bruce got a call on his cell. “A jogger found a body in Washington Park.”
Bruce was in his personal car. He had no bubble light, no siren. Even so, he sped through the streets like he did, blowing through red lights and stop signs with little care to himself or anyone else. When he got to Washington Park, he found an army cops by the pond, the scene cordoned off with yellow crime scene tape. He slammed on the brakes, threw open the door, and jumped out without even turning off the engine.
The body was rolled up in a carpet and lying on the bank. Two beat cops unrolled it at Bruce’s direction. “We should wait for -” one of them started, but Bruce cut him off.
“Do it.”
They compiled, and at the carpet’s center, like a rotten cream filling, was the body of Vanessa Rodregiuez. Her head was tilted to one side, her eyes wide and staring. Her throat had been mangled and ripped away, her head nearly severed. Even in the black and red mess, Bruce could make out the teeth marks and puncture wounds. They may have looked like something else to anyone else who saw them, but he knew, in that moment, what they were dealing with.
A sharp pang of horror sliced through him, and his knees went weak.
“Jesus Christ,” one of the beat cops drew.
Bruce fell to, rather than knelt on, one knee. He bent over the body, a mixture of horror and grief welling his throat. He wanted to reach out, to comfort her in death, but he stayed his hand. Instead, he visually examined the body. She had bruises on her face, defensive wounds on her hands, and her gun was gone. Whoever had attacked her, she put up a fight.
Something glinted on her pants.
“What’s that?” one of the cops asked.
“I dunno,” the other replied, “but it’s all over the carpet.”
Indeed, there were glinty little specks all over it, winking like mocking eyes. Nice work, eh? We really fucked her up, didn’t we? Wink wink.
“It looks like…”
The other cop cut him off. “Glitter.”
Bruce flashed back to his visit to Club Vlad the other day.
There had been glitter everywhere.
Bruce stood up.
He had work to do.
***
Instead of going back to the station to start his shift, Bruce went to Lowes. There, he bought a mallet, a gas can, and a dozen sticks of wood. An employee in a blue vest used a machine to sharpen them to a wicked point and he took his purchases to the car. Next, he drove over to the Mobil station and filled the gas can. He was so hellbent on revenge that he sprang for premium, the good stuff. No expense shall be spared.
His final stop was at a Catholic church. He filled a canteen with holy water from the marble font by the door, then swiped a crucifix from the wall. He stopped by the station, went inside, and grabbed a black duffle bag with POLICE written across the front in yellow. He opened the gun cabinet in his office, took out a shotgun, and loaded it with shells. He grabbed a handful from the box and stuffed them into his pocket.
He was just finishing up when Bertha came in. “There you are,” she spat, “I’ve waited long enough for you to do something. I demand -”
Bruce shoved the duffle bag into her arms. “Make yourself useful.”
“What?” she demanded.
“We’re going to get your granddaughter,” Bruice lied. Kind of.
Bertha’s demeanor changed. “Good. It’s about time. I was starting to think you were a complete incompetent.”
Bruce didn’t answer. Outside, he plucked the bag out of Bertha’s hands and tossed it into the backseat. He slipped behind the wheel and Bertha sat in the passenger seat. “Where are we going?” she asked.
“Club Vlad,” Bruce said and started the engine.
“I want all of them arrested.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Bruce said.
She barked orders the entire way there. Bruce was so deep in his thoughts that he barely heard her. The image of Vanessa’s ruined throat and terror-twisted face haunted him, and he felt a lump forming in his throat. Hot tears filled his eyes but he blinked them back and forced himself to calm down.
I’ll cry when I’m done killing, he thought.
A few minutes later, he pulled to the curb in front of Club Vlad. It was a hot and sunny day and the place seemed even more ominous because of it. The windows were black, the front cast in perpetual shadows by the old marquee from when it used to be a theater. The place was surely closed, but Bruce could hear music still playing from inside, some techno dance bullshit. “Alright,” he said, “let’s go.”
Getting out, he slung the dufflebag over his shoulder and carried the shotgun, the canteen full of holy water clasped to his belt. Bertha carried the gas can, looking confused. “Why do we need this?” she asked.
“We’re burning the place down.”
Bertha blinked in surprise…then an evil grin carved across her face. “That’ll show the bastards.”
Unlike last time, the door was locked. Bruce used the butt of the shotgun to break the glass, then reached inside and unlocked the door, being careful not to cut himself. This was the point of no return. What he had in mind would probably get him kicked off the force or even thrown in jail - and we all know how tough jail can be for a former barnaclehead. The memory of Vanessa’s contorted face pushed him on, however.
He’d suffer any consequences he needed to just so long as he got the sons of bitches who did this to her.
Inside, the club was cool and cave-like. Strobe lights flashed, on and off, black and white, dazzling Bruce’s eyes. The bartender was at his station, cleaning up from the night before. When he saw Bruce and Bertha come in, he started. Bruce pointed the shotgun at him. “Don’t fucking move,” he commanded.
The bartender hesitated, then reached for something under the bar.
The shotgun kicked in Bruce’s hands, and the bartender flew back, turning as he crashed into the barback. Bottles, glasses, and mugs crashed to the floor along with the bartender. Bruce racked the gun, and the shell flew out. He moved low and fast now, expecting to be swarmed by vampires, living thugs who worked for vampires, or vampire thugs who worked for themselves.
Though the shot had been like thunder, no one came.
Bruce had no idea where to go, but he imagined that vampires were naturally gravitate to the lowest part of the building. Was there a basement? Shit, he should have looked up the building plans at city hall. Damn, this is what happens when you go off half-cocked. He searched around a bit, opening doors and sweeping the rooms beyond with the shotgun. He found no basement, only stairs leading up. “Stay close,” he said to Bertha.
In the lead, Bruce crept up the stairs, the flashlight on the shotgun providing a cone of clean, white light. At the top of the stairs, he went right, and came to an office and a store room. Backtracking, and bumping into a bungling Bertha, he went into the next room. It was large and open with a vaulted ceiling, almost like a ballroom. Here the same strobe lights throbbed on and off, making him dizzy. Was this to dazzle prospective vampire hunters?
Either way, this was the place. Bodies lay strewn across the floor, some curled up on their sides and others in the classic vampire pose: Flat on their backs with their hands laced over their chests. In the center, like the sun to the planets, Merrick Garvis lay slumped back in his wheelchair, his neck exposed for any potential assassin to come and cut. Not that it would kill him. At least Bruce didn’t think it would.
“They’re all dead,” Bertha whispered. She looked around and gasped. “There’s Jessie.”
Jessie lay on her back, her hands folded on her chest. She had a ragged bullet hole in the center of her forehead. “Oh, God,” Bertha wavered, “someone shot her.”
He hoped it was Vanessa. And he hoped it fucking hurt.
Looking around, Bruce couldn’t find Dominick Mason. Was he the one who killed Vanessa? Was it a group effort? He wanted the little son of a bitch bad, but it looked like he’d have to go on without him. They didn’t have much time.
Unshouldering the duffle bag, he knelt down and rummaged around. “Start splashing that gas on the bodies,” he said.
“But -”
“Just do it,” he snapped.
There must have been a harder edge in his voice than normal, because Bertha jumped and did as she was told. She upended the can and began to splash gasoline onto the sleeping forms, the smell of it acrid and strong.
Taking out a stake and the mallet, Bruce went over to Merrick and knelt down. He gripped the stake in one hand and placed it firmly against Merrick’s chest. He brought the mallet up and hesitated, the gravity of what he was doing finally reaching him. What if he was wrong? What if -
Merrick’s head whipped up and their eyes locked.
Too late.
Bruce brought the mallet down as hard as he could. The stake drove deep into Merrick’s heart, and the vampire let out a howling screech that rang through the chamber like the cry of a banshee. His bony fingers clawed at the stake and his head whipped from side to side, his back arching and his robe coming open. In the quick strobe pattern, Bruce was shocked to see that his body was little more than a wood frame, chicken wire, and cotton balls. His blacked heart was hidden behind a screen of mesh that the stake had easily torn through. It throbbed, seemingly in time with the strobe lights, and Merrick let out another wail.
Bertha screamed, and Bruce jumped to his feet.
The vampires, drawn by their master’s cries of distress, were rising to their feet. Two, four, six of them, pale and ethereal like ghosts in a gothic mansion. They came toward Merrick, and Bruice fell back a step. The old man had gone still and lay slumped to one side, his eyes open and his mouth slack, embalming fluid leaking from the corner of his lips. Jessie bent over him and touched his face. Though she moved like a zombie, with no human emotion, Bruce was crazily sure that it was a touch of tenderness and love. Merrick didn’t stir.
He was dead.
Jessie looked at him. Yellow liquid leaked from her eyes like tears. Instead of attacking him, she turned on her grandmother and slammed her against the wall. Bertha screamed and dropped the can. It landed on its side, its contents sloshing out onto the floor. A man that resembled the pictures Bruce had seen of Joe Rossi only deader rushed him, slamming into him and knocking the shotgun aside. It hit the floor and skidded away. Joe grabbed Bruce around the throat and squeezed. Still the lights flashed, off and on, off and on. The walls thrummed with the mechanized beat of dance music, pierced only by Bertha’s screams as Jessie ripped out her throat.
Joe leaned in, his fangs wicked and glowing in the light. Bruce clawed at the monster’s face, tearing away strips of dead flesh. Joe turned his head to the side, and Bruce kneed him in the groin. Even dead, getting kicked in the balls hurt like hell, apparently. Joe’s grip loosened and Bruce was able to shove him off. Bruce unclasped the canteen and frantically screwed the cap off as Joe recovered. Joe sprang at him again, and Bruce splashed him in the face.
A sound like sizzling meat filled the air, and Joe screamed at the top of his lungs. He pressed his hands to his face and danced around the room, his skin liquifying and oozing between his fingers. The others were coming now, led by a terrible skeletal thing. Bruce scooped the shotgun off the floor, brought it around, and fired. The blast hit the thing dead center, tearing it literally in half. The top half flew back, an all too human look of surprise on its face, and the bottom half fell over with a wet thud. Another vampire came at, and Bruce slammed it across the face with the butt of the gun. He heard its jaw crack, saw teeth flying.
Bertha lay dead on the floor, Jessie bent over her. The smell of Bertha’s blood attracted the others, who seemed to forget about Bruce, Merrick, and everything else. Joe was on his knees, wailing in pain, and the skeletal thing was pulling itself toward Bertha. A feeding frenzy broke out as vampires fought to get a piece of her the way piglets might fight over their mother’s teat. Bruce watched in a mixture of horror and fascination, but recovered himself. He grabbed the gas can from the floor and dumped the rest of its contents on Merrick’s body, the feeding vampires’ backs, and the floor, using the last of it to make a little trail to the door. He tossed the can aside, bent down, and stuck a match.
A huge, fiery whump filled the room, and fire streaked along the trail. The vampires all went up in a huge ball of flames, and fire shot up Merrick’s body, catching his robe, his hair, and the wooden frame that had kept him semi upright for God knows how long. Letting out inhuman screams, the vampires broke from Bertha’s corpse. One stumbled around, bounced off the wall, and fell; another toddled toward Bruce before falling to its knees. The half skeleton kept drinking from Bertha’s neck even as it burned.
The heat was enormous, baking. Bruce backed away, and the last thing he saw before smoke obscured his vision was Merrick Garvis.
He was literally melting.
***
Dominick Mason tried to go home, but he no longer had a home. All of his worldly possessions sat on the sidewalk in front of his building, discarded coldly as easily. His key didn’t work in his door and there was a FOR RENT sign on it. Why would it be any other way? He was dead. Sooner or later, everyone forgets you when you’re dead, and all the things you held so dear wind up in the trash. It was a hard pill to swallow, but most people aren’t around to see it after they die.
He was.
From his building, he walked east toward Washington Park. In the distance, thick, black smoke billowed into the air, and sirens rose. He barely noticed and wouldn’t have cared even if he did. No more rubbernecking for him. That was for the living.
The pain that had plagued him so the previous day came back, only less this time. Maybe he was imagining it, but it was getting harder to think. Not that he cared, really. What was there to think about anyway? How he had no one to mourn or miss him? How he died and not one single person, except for maybe his mother, cared, or even noticed? How he had done nothing with his life? Even to the women he’d slept with, what was he? Just another dating app hookup. They probably didn’t even remember his name.
Merrick had been right about one thing. Death was easy. It was life that was hard…life that hurt.
With that in mind, Dominick made his way to Washington Park. It was a vast and deep place with many small caves and thickets. Kids played on the playground, their cries of laughter scenting the still air. It had grown cloudy and began to rain. Still, smoke poured into the sky in the direction of Club Vlad. Dom didn’t wish ill on Merrick and the others, didn’t hope it was them burning. He didn’t care anymore. Not about them, not about anyone. For better or worse (and he would argue it was worse), his life was over. His time came days ago, he just missed the boat.
Picking out an isolated little area, Dom sat against a tree with his legs splayed out in front of him. He titled his head back and closed his eyes. Yes, thinking was hard now. His mind felt sluggish, cold. He was thirsty…so, so thirsty, but he ignored it.
Slowly, the bugs found him. Flies buzzed around him and laid their eggs in his skin. Beetles scuttled over him, followed by worms.
Next, it was the birds. They ate out his eyes and nibbled at his blue, bloated skin.
The animals came last.
Their appetites were bigger.
And they left little remaining of poor, outcast Dominick Mason.
***
That night, Bruce sat alone in his little trailer, a bottle of whiskey wedged between his legs and unshed tears in his eyes. He stared at his reflection in the darkened TV set and took long swallows from the bottle. He planned to drink until he forgot or passed out, whichever came first. He tried to not think about Vanessa, but in his addled state, he couldn’t control himself, and began to cry. When that storm passed, like the others before it, he chugged from the bottle.
As distant church bells clanged the hour - midnight - a feeble knock came at the door. Bruce took another drink and it came again. Getting up, he stumbled, nearly fell, and gripped the bottle tightly. He didn’t want to lose one precious drop.
Again, the knock.
“I’m coming,” Bruce slurred. He staggered to the door and fought with the lock. He was dizzy and seeing double.
When he got it, he opened the door.
The bottle dropped from his hand and clanked onto the floor.
Vanessa, clad in a puke green hospital gown, stood on the step, her hands pressed to her chest and a look of anguish on her milk white face. Her head tilted to one side, the wounds on her neck cleaned but open, gaping. Her dark eyes shone with tears. “I’m dead,” she said.
Breaking down in tears, she collapsed against him and they sank to the floor. She was cold and smelled. Bruce wrapped his arms around her and held her to his chest anyway. “Shhh, it’s alright,” he said drunkenly. “Hey, it’s alright.
“I’m dead,” she repeated, and her voice broke. “I don’t want to die.”
Bruce held her close, trying to warm her icy skin. He didn’t know what to say, so he cried with her.
“You’re safe now,” he said, “it’s going to be okay.”
“I want blood,” she said and sobbed harder, “I want to hurt people.”
“Shhh,” Bruce said again. “It’s okay.”
Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a utility knife. He flicked the blade across his wrist and searing pain shot up his arm. “Here,” he said and offered her his blood, “drink this.”
He did this without care and without thought. She needed him, and one barnaclehead always backs up another.
Vanessa hesitated, looking from his face to the oozing blood, unsure.
“Go ahead,” he told her.
Vanessa brought his wrist to her mouth.
And began to drink.

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TL;DR : (M18) turning 19 in August and (F20) This is our 3rd time breaking up along with our 2nd cancelled engagement with plenty of separations and rekindling throughout our entire 4+ years knowing eachother. We’ve done a lot of growing up together as well as apart and over the years we’ve both done eachother wrong but we’ve also done so so so much for eachother as well. However, it was always me who was less mature and messing up more. I recently messed up once again and in a state of high emotion on both sides, she was fed up and said We were never getting back together. Will I ever get one last chance with her?
Please, I miss her so much and I’m willing to do anything just for one final chance. I love her and I’m IN love with her with all my heart and soul bro. I am extremely attached, connected, and emotionally invested in this girl and we have been through so much together. I desire(more than anything else in the world) a future with her.
For more context:
Our first time breaking up, I had just turned 15 and she was 16. Her and I barely even dated for a couple months before I had indirectly and immaturely broken up with her by leaving it “upto her” because of me wanting to talk to other girls, but her and I still ended up talking and being flirtatious anyway. But then we had separated because of me getting my phone taken away for months. She had started talking to someone else who was MUCH MUCH older than her and was grooming hevery toxic to her but out of strange obligation, she stayed with him anyway although she really just wanted to be with me. Her and I still remained as close as ever although she had to turn me down twice when I wanted to rekindle things. Later on, I had got my phone back and as we entered into the next school year( she turned 17 and I turned 16) we grew closer and closer and feelings developed stronger and stronger meanwhile her relationship with him was getting worse and worse and they were having multiple breakups as well. She even at one point expressed to me that she was on the verge of breaking up with him and very bluntly hinted at as well as indirectly told me she wanted to leave him for me. But ultimately after she knew that my hopes were all up and everything she ended up just choosing him over me anyway and leaving me hanging. a couple months afterwards she posting vulgar things on social media with the caption “I’ll suck my man d#%k fr” or something along those lines. That’s when I fully moved on and went on to get in multiple relationships/“situationships” over the course of that year. Until fast forward to November 2023, she comes back and we very very quickly rekindle/get back together. over the course of that year, because of my porn and masturbation addiction we’ve separated as well as had many issues interfering with my attraction of her because of my skewed image of women and interfering with us having proper sex or intimacy without my fetishes being involved. Fast forward to August, I ended up falling into watching porn for almost my entire birthday week behind her back while she was working so hard to eventually bring me gifts on that day which I later confessed to the following month. We separated for 3 days and this is when I finally started taking my walk with the lord seriously.(she began months ahead of me and she was the one that even introduced me to Christianity in the first place)(her entirely family is Christian) 2 months pass and a couple days after I propose to her for the first time and posting about it? a girl I used to talk to had replied to my iG story congratulating me and as we talked and catched up, I fell to temptation once again and ended up saying more than I should have/inappropriate things but by the time I realized what I was doing and ended it. It was too late and I confessed to her immediately. after a couple of days, she took me home from work and broke up with me. We talked about it over text an hour or so later and agreed we would be going no contact for a month, but over that period we constantly broke it(I even indirectly tried killing myself with alcohol and drunk texted her to which she was very sympathetic to and when I ended up blacking out she was terrified and prayed all night over me and even reached out to friends of mine to make sure I was okay.) fast forward, she ends it early and we rekindle. Fast forward to either late March or April 2024, I fall into looking at iG couples art and ecchi aesthetic art aka softcore porn and I confess to her afterwards. She’s initially upset but she stays with me.
Later on down the line I begin to question my faith entirely and my foundation crumbles after following the teachings of fallible men/cult leaders and mainly doing it for her and because I loved hewanted to bond with her and not actually seeking the truth for myself(although I had my moments of genuinely being curious and wanting to discover it for myself.) However, she was still just as firmly rooted in her faith as ever and maturing even more. On the contrary, I grow weak and undisciplined in my flesh, I fall back into bad habits, I stop reading the word, praying, fasting, I isolate myself from fellowship. And as it gets harder and harder to resist my sexual urges and with her unwavering on her boundaries of no sex before marriage and etc. I fell back into masturbation but eventually back into porn as well(softcore stuff again mainly but I slipped into some fetish stuff too) and it was over the course of a couple days again with me feeling very guilty and being afraid to tell heI just wanted to repent of it and be done but she ended up getting dream a about it and asked me about it the very next day to which I was honest with her and confessed. Then after however many minutes go by and her breaking up with me a third time with her saying “We are done.” and “We will see” “Love you, Bye” instead of taking the advice everyone was giving me and giving her time and space from jump. I pressed her, begged/pleaded, and blew up her messages making it worse and aggravating her until she followed up with the next day with telling me “Sure I’ll let you know where we stand”We are never getting back together.”
I panicked and went into a high emotional state myself and went to her house late at night(1 or 2 am), and pressed her even more begging and pleading. But this made it worse as well and she had said “what us? there is no us” “go home” “you did what you did”and etc while pushing me out and slamming the door in my face. She originally only talked to her mother about it but because of my stupid decisions while being emotional I unintentionally involved everyone else in it. Her older sister’s husband went through a very similar situation with the older sister and had offered to talk to me about it along with everyone else. But when I followed up later on that day it created a misunderstanding and I ended up getting blocked by him and her older sister after she texts me on her older sister’s phone saying the same exact hurtful and cold/seemingly detached things and after begging and pleading to call, we did but it only made it that much worse. I tried to explain my side of things the best I could while being highly emotional but she didn’t want to hear any of it and proceeded to say even more hurtful, cold, seemingly, detached things, cussed me out, then hung up in my face and blocked me. This whole breakup was very messy and happened over the course of barely 3 days.
I’m still in contact with her mom and I recently contacted her dad as well(parents are divorced) and he had told me she never even mentioned anything to him about it which goes to show I made things worse/unnecessarily involved other people in it that otherwise might not have been involved.
Now I’m giving her proper time and space but I’m still extremely anxious/uncertain about where things will go from here.
(I ask that you be honest but also open minded/considerate in responses please, this all happened over the span of a couple of days and I’m still very fresh in the grieving process)
What do you all think about this situation? (I especially want to hear from a female perspective)

I want to start out and say my MIL means well however she has a control issue and maybe I’m blowing this out of proportion so I figured I would come here.
I’ve(32F) been with DH(31M) for a little under 10 years married for 1. MIL has 3 other sons ranging from 27-39. From what my husband has told me throughout their upbringing she has treated him specifically like a 2nd parent. Anytime they have stolen from him, picked the lock to his bedroom or just treated him like a punching bag and he’s gone to her, this was in high school, she would wave him off and tell him that “since you have no proof I can’t do anything” however if any of them would come to her and accuse DH of anything she would treat him like he was a suspect in a murder. Which I have witnessed when we were in high school.
I say all that because fast forward to now DH really doesn’t speak to any of his brothers especially his he youngest(27) because he still to this day never takes responsibility for anything he does and will go to MIL anytime DH doesn’t do something he demands. Which has now strained DH and Is relationship with MIL because no matter what we say she will ALWAYS take his side. She claims we are “abandoning him in is time of need” when in reality we are just not letting him treat my DH like a punching bag anymore.
There have been times where she has lied and told us he won’t be at things so we will show up and he’s there or when we say we will plan something with her a different day she throws a fit because she feels that we all should suffer if it means she gets what she wants.
As of now DH sees his mother alone because I can’t be around someone and keep my mouth shut who I have watched for years disregard DH until she needs him but now that he placed some boundaries she’s upset that she can’t force him to “make peace”.
Came her for some other opinions because I’ve been on this ride for 10 years and I’m exhausted.

People are always suggesting to include kids in decluttering, and I have no idea how. My son wants to keep grocery store mailers, how am I supposed to convince him to give away toys? His whole life he's watched us give away things, so we're already modeling the behavior we're hoping for. He's 4, so maybe he's just too young? He's too old and observant to do anything without his input, though!