Uh oh

I've had too much caffeine. In fact, I've had so much that it just took me like 30 seconds to type that first sentence. For the life of me I couldn't get caffeine typed out right. The backspace is being abused today, folks.

Now I know some of you are anti-caffeine during pregnancy. Obviously, I am not one of those people. I partake daily in a caffeinated drink, usually a Diet Coke or a glass of iced tea. But, today I went all out and "purchased" myself a buttload of sugar and caffeine from the local Starbucks. It was free because they just opened the store, which is located about 1/2 mile from the other Starbucks, and that one is within view of the Starbucks located in the Safeway. They're taking over the world people. Anyway, where was this rambling going? Oh yes. I'm a bad pregnant person.

Not only do I drink caffeine, I eat deli meat and exotic cheeses too. I eat shrimp (can't remember if that's bad or not. My husband thinks so, I say whatever). I even took advil (that was an accident). I did this all last pregnancy (except for the accidental taking of advil) and as far as I can tell, my daughter isn't suffering due to my neglect.

I hate how certain groups, usually of women, bombard pregnant women with a huge list of DO NOT DO THESE THINGS. They make pregnancy seem like a scary, I don't know how anyone could survive, kind of epidemic. I know there are women out there where pregnancy is dangerous and a delicate matter, but not all of us are like that. I think I can puch/pull a couch 15 feet without killing myself or my child. I know my body and I know how to listen to it. So back off.

I have this friend that I am now afraid to talk to. Everything I tell her I've done on a certain day or occasion calls for her to gasp and/or sigh loudly, then proceed to lecture me on how much harm I may or may not be causing Monkey. It always ends with my rudely asking her how many kids she has had (none), how many times has she been pregnant (none) and then hanging up on her. Bitch. Blah. Yet, I call her everyday. Because I'm a glutton for punishment and secretly I enjoy pissing her off and hanging up on her. So, maybe I'm the bitch. Yay! Being pregnant really brings out the charm.

And I'm still alive

The lines have been drawn firmly in the sand. The future of our family get-together's looks bleak. I should have stayed true to my word and killed her when I had the chance.

Christmas dinner went well. I brought a delicious salad, just as I was asked too, and managed to avoid any contact with MIL until well after dinner. That's when the gifts came out. My baby received two Baby Einstein DVD's. Very cool. Baby Dominic (her daughter's son, who is 2 weeks old) also received 3 Baby Einstein Videos and about $300 more in clothes and toys. I wasn't minding too much (I was expecting some sort of favoritism to get played out), but when her husband, my father-in-law and father to my husband exclaimed, loudly "What the hell is all this? He's only 2 weeks old. And why didn't you buy more for Christina's baby?"

A hush fell upon the room as we held our breath waiting for her answer. And she didn't fail to live up to her Bitch title. "Well, this is my first grandchild first Christmas. I had to spoil him."

I honestly think she doesn't get it. At all. I mean, does she not realize that my baby is her husband's blood grandchild, but her daughter's son is not? Oh well, I knew it was coming, but I have to be honest about the hurt still being there. Bitch!

Otherwise, the holidays went well. My step-mom and dad had already given us our present (Hawaii...Only 15 day!), yet they still bought us some cool flip-flops to wear on the beach and a kick-ass photo album to store the soon-to-be taken pics of the Island. My family rocks.

Pictures of her first Christmas coming soon. Also, pictures of the toy we got her to torture her with. I know, we should be ashamed of making her cry, but it's so funny!

Merry F*cking Christmas

Oh yeah, I'm in a great mood. Holiday's tend to make me cranky. Especially now that I have Satan's spawn for a mother-in-law. You all know that story.

So, her daughter had her baby 2 weeks ago. He's a cutie, though I haven't been to see him yet. MIL is pissed because of that, thinking I don't care about her daughter, etc... Actually, it's because I had a nasty head cold which I'm finally over, husband is over and same with baby. You don't go see a newborn when germs are visiting your home, everyone knows that except bitch, er I mean MIL.

I got a call from her at 7:30(!!!) this morning to tell me I need to bring a salad to her house for dinner tonight. WTF?!?!? I asked her two freakin' days ago if she needed us to bring anything. She of course said no, and now she's calling me at that god-awful hour to tell me to bring a salad. I told my husband that I can't promise not to kill her. I can blame it on hormones (evil laughter inserted here).

Other than that, this should be a great Christmas. I mean, it's my angel's first! We, of course, spent too much on presents that she'll pay no attention to. But, they all come in cool boxes that I know she'll adore. Pictures promised.

I'm 15 weeks along now. Wow, time is flying this pregnancy. I actually forget that I'm knocked up sometimes. Until, late at night, when I google everything that could go wrong. Then I'm up half the night crying about something(s) which probably will never happen. Good grief!

So, to all of my readers (or is it reader, heh) Merry Christmas. May you kill no one and may you not piss anyone off.

For the love of all that is holy

I really hate computers. Really. Hate. Them. Especially when the only one you've got is infected with a nasty virus that causes your husband to turn all sorts of red and mutter under his breath words you didn't think he actually knew.

It's been a fun couple of days. I didn't realize how addicted I was to the internet until it was taken away from me. By day two, you would have thought my best buddy had died. In a sense, he had. Mr. Internet has kept me sane and in touch with several sane people for several years now (I'm going out on a limb here thinking you all are sane, right?). The pain I felt when I passed by the dark screen of the monitor was real and heartwrenching. Even Golden Girl's reruns couldn't bring me out of my funk. I was forced to clean the house, oh the horror.

But, last night, after many hours of cursing and many shades of red later, my hero, that man I love, fixed it. He tracked that virus down and sent it to virus heaven...er, hell. I knew I was doing right when I said "I do." Now, things will finally get back to normal around here. You know, clothes piled up everywhere, dishes posing as Petri dishes in the kitchen and baby toys covering every space of the carpet, which will need vacuuming. Home, sweet home.

All is good

Had my second OB appointment today. I didn't have to get naked, or half-naked, so that was good. Couldn't hear Monkey with the doppler, but got to see her/him/it? on the u/s machine.

I also got a prescription for the headaches I've been suffering from every night for about a month. I really hope they work. Headaches have got to be the worst thing ever. I used to suffer from frequent migraines in high school and wouldn't wish that on anyone. Well, maybe my evil mother-in-law, but that's a different story.

Christmas is coming along here. We bought our fake tree, I decorated it all by myself (puffs chest out proudly), now we just need the husband to hang from the gutters and put up the lights. I don't see this happening any time soon, and you know I'm not going to do it.

So, that's how thing are here in Casa De Loca. More later...

Wistful Thinking

wishing she was big enough to play outside (please ignore how dirty the window is).

Random Brain Droppings

Do babies have some sort of homing device for danger intalled in their wee little brains? I swear, my daughter can find the lone leaf missed by the vaccum or the one outlet I forgot to plug up in a room filled with toys, dolls, and other baby-friendly gear.

Watching a rerun right now of America's Funniest Videos (I know, I know I have to get a life), who told Daisy Fuentes she had talent? Seriously.

Has anyone really ever figured out how many licks it is to the center of a Tootsie Roll Pop? I have tried, but am far to impatient and after 3 licks I chomp into that sucker, only wanting the chewy center anyway.

Did anyone really think Twila would win Survivor? I mean, she pretty much burned every jury member. I'm glad Chris won. And again, this is further proof of how sad my life is. Can you say couch potato?

How come East Coaster's say "standing on line" and West Coaster's (like myself) say "standing in line?"

Fa La La La La La La La La

Well, another cold bites the dust. I swear I'm a magnet for the suckers.

Things are progressing nicely here. Baby girl is growing like a weed and I can assume Baby Monkey is too. I'm sorry for the delay in posting the u/s pics...I have no life outside this house, so that makes contact with a scanner next to impossible. Will work on remedying that.

Tonight is hubbies work holiday party. This year they have chosen an Italian restaurant located in the ghetto. I shit you not. It's in a city called Pittsberg, near a suburb called Bay Point. Everyone calls it Gun Point. If you need more explanation than that, I am jealous of your small view of the world and how it works. The party should be fun. He works for a mom and pop company owned by a loud Irish-Catholic family. Heavy on the Irish. As in, gulp gulp. The liquor will be flowing tonight. And for the second year in a row, I get none. Being pregnant is so much fun.

The holidays are almost here. Meaning it's back to Top Ramen and Mac 'n' Cheese for us. We recently found out that my father is taking the whole fan damily to Hawaii next month. So, it's Mac 'n' Cheese for a while. A long while. Yum.

Sick

Once again I have been blessed with a cold. A real humdinger. I can't hear or breathe. It's a real treat. On top of feeling like shit, my baby girl has this wonderful gift as well. Her face is covered in slime. Snot sucks people.

I will write more when I am feeling better. In the meantime, curse my doctor's office for telling me I can't take any of the "good" stuff. Damn them.

A post with some pictures

The usual way for me to post pictures isn't working today, so I'll just link to them.

I'm feeling recovered from the mondo trip. Idaho was by far my favorite stop, but I learned some interesting things on the way there. For instance, in Montana they really take their beer seriously, and Grandpa Stan takes his dog's home seriously (yes, it is a two-story doghouse). My angel loves car trips and slept most of the way. And in Southern Idaho, they really want you to buy soda (or as they annoyingly call it: pop).

All in all, it was a great trip. Thanksgiving was a blast, mostly due to this...How could anyone resist cuteness like that?

Well, if they're tapered, they must be pleated too.

Hayden, Idaho is a small suburb of Cour d'alene, just a small blip on any map, yet comfy in it's own way. It is also the final resting place for all of those hideous tapered and pleated women's slacks the late eighties and early nineties brought us. If I'm lyin', I'm dyin'.

Wednesday evening I attended a worship service for the holiday at my mother's quaint little church. There was singing, worship, and an actually interesting service on the history of Thanksgiving in the church. It was during the singing that I noticed the epidemic. Up on risers, in front of everyone, was the church choir. And I kid you not, every woman over thirty was wearing pleated slacks. That were tapered. Good grief. So, I looked around and noticed that almost every woman in the congregation was wearing them too. There were blue, green, red, black, and one pair of some gross shade of brown. Then I noticed that a lot of these women were also wearing the old favorite, turtleneck/vest combo. Hideous.

I tried pointing it out to my mother, but she just gave me that glazed over look I know all to well. The look that means she hasn't the foggiest. And that's when I looked down. I looked down to see that my mother, my own flesh and blood, was wearing...Pleated pants. Tapered.

I don't encourage crazy

Well, we're back and alive and all that good stuff. Trip was fantastic.

Montana is a cold barren wasteland of a state. But, now with a casino on every corner. Fantastic. We were there to visit husband's paternal grandparents. His grandpa is a sweetie, who insisted on calling me Chrissy, which hasn't happened since I was six and oh-so-cute. His grandma is a hoot. She suffered a stroke a couple of years ago. It was a light one (is there really such a thing?), and the only after-effects seems to be her ability to be incredibly rude. She gave us the third degree for traveling, by car, this time of year. Nevermind that there wasn't a flake of snow to be seen...

Her: I just don't see how you lucked out. This time of year is horrible for travel.
Me: Well, I guess we're just lucky.
Her: Well, you have to understand when your husband called us, I just couldn't encourage him about the trip. I don't encourage crazy.

And that line became our motto for the trip.

I will post again on the many other stops on our two-week Western state tour later. Right now, there is a mountain of laundry staring me down.

*sidenote: first OB appointment was the day before we left. Baby is where it's supposed to be and looking fine. As soon as I get near a scanner I will share with you the first of many photos of, what has now been dubbed, Monkey (when you see the u/s picture, you'll see why).

Turkey and stuffing

Well, I'm about to take off for my fabulous road trip. I will miss you all so much. I promise to update more when I get back.

Thanksgiving is going to be very special for me this year. Not only is it my child's first, but we'll be celebrating with my mother, step-dad, and all three of my sisters. This hasn't taken place in 10 years. Long story behind that, I'll tell it later.

So, to all my readers...Or is it my reader? Happy Turkey Day.

Grrrr

Dearest Blogger,

Why must you persecute me so? Have I done something to offend thee? Is is because I haven't been on in almost a week? Trust me, it's not my fault.

Why do you feel the need to take so long in considering publishing my posts, that time runs out and I am forced to start all over again. I keep trying to explain to you why I have been absent (bone-tired, sick hubby, fast-crawling baby), yet you seem uninterested. It's like you don't even care anymore.

And why is it I can't comment on any of the other blogs? I think you want them to hate me, as you do, and make them think I don't care anymore, that I'm not reading. But, I am! I am! Believe me, my life still consists only of reading blogs and watching reruns of Golden Girls. Nothing has changed here. Please, let my sign on, or at least post anonymously.

I'm done pleading. I'm done begging. I just pray you let these words get through. And, I will be back in 3 weeks time after a looong road trip (as long as I don't kill myself of my hubby during said trip). Don't abandon me now!

Sincerely,
Your loyal poster.

Like a chicken with no head

I've been running around this past week, trying to get everything squared away for the big road trip.

That's right. My morning sick ass, husband recently diagnosed with depression, and whinny 8 month old baby are venturing on a road trip. Starting in Northern California, stopping in Montana, Idaho, Washington and finally Oregon. I'm nuts. We're nuts. God be with us.

It all started with me wanting to go to my mom's for Thanksgiving. She's the stop in Idaho. My husband figured since Montana is kinda on the way, we should stop and see his grandparents, he hasn't seen them since he was 16. So how could I say no? Then we decided to cut over to Western Washington to see my best friend from high school and just follow I-5 down, stopping at whoever's houses we know on the way. All of this in 11 days. Whoohoo.

Normally, I love traveling, especially by car. But, when I'm pregnant, I become very motion sick if I don't drive. And my husband is newly on anti-depressants and they dosage is still up the air. Which means, he's as moody as a PMS'ing me. If you know me at all, you know this is bad. I'm not worried about the little one so much, since she did so well during the road trip to Hell. I'm just worried about her whining getting on me and hubbies last nerve. I can't promise not to drive over a cliff, Thelma and Louise style. I guess we can be happy that Montana is mostly flat land. Mostly.

So, I won't be updating much, kinda like how I haven't been these last weeks. Bear with me, I'll get back to finding humor in puke and poop soon.

Sick husbands suck

Husbands suck sometimes. Especially sick ones. I've never heard so much moaning and groaning in my life. You'd think he was dying, for heaven's sakes (with sayings like that, I morph into my grandmother a little more each day...frightening thought).

With all this commotion, you'd think he'd at least go to the doctors. I mean 4 missed days of work equal a visit to a trained professional in my book. But, no! He doesn't need a "stupid" doctor telling him what's wrong with his body. Okay then, just don't bitch to me when you die.

What I hate most about him being sick is him being home with me. All the damn day. I can't get anything done because he's lying on the couch, sighing loud enough to be heard three towns over. I ask him, "what do you want?" His answer is always long and drawn out and usually ends with a request for me to go to the store. Because we can never have what he wants here at the house, no that would be too easy.

So, if you're the praying type, pray he gets better before I kill him.

Word of the day: NO

I feel like a broken record. All day, what you hear from me most is: NO.

She is into everything. The girl has more toys than a Toys R Us store, and yet all she wants to play with is the remote control, the telephone, and the electrical outlets. I'm thinking of letting her stick her tongue in the latter, just to see if it teaches her a lesson.

This is the best excerise plan I can think of. Who knew a 20 lb, 7 month old could move so fast. The poor dog lives in terror of her. But, I do see the draw to that wagging tail. I've had to restrain myself from grabbing it and shoving it into my mouth too.

How do babies know what to go after to cause your heart to leap into your mouth?

Better

Thanks for the kind words and offers to babysit. If only you all lived closer. I'm feeling much better today, partly because I got a great night's (only woke up twice to pee!) sleep and my honey stayed home from work (playing hookey). So, I get to go grocery shopping. All. By. Myself.

It may not sound like much, but I heart grocery shopping. It relaxes me. I love budgeting and picking the best deals. I'm a little apprehensive of the meat aisle though. Chicken in any form makes me want to puke. Agh, just typing that sentence got me queazy. Must get chicken thoughts out of head. La la la la. Okay, better. So, I must be a nerd to live the grocery store so damn much. God bless me, it's true.

The one where I lose my shit

I'm having a bad day. A very bad day.

I want my baby back. Please. You can take this clingy, teary, whiney thing that looks like my sweet angel. I can't handle much more of this.

She has been crying all morning. She won't nap, won't eat much and just wants to cry. I, being the emotional pregnant woman that I am, am crying right along with her. I actually had to walk away from her to fling myself atop the bed and wail. Very dramatic. But, then again, very me.

I know this will pass and is probably some sign of teething or growing or something, but I feel like my life is over a little bit right now. I feel like shit and like a shitty mother because I can't fix what is wrong. I don't even know what is wrong and that makes me mad.

I find myself really resenting (hating) my husband right now. Like a child, I want to scream how unfair it is that I have to stay home every day and how I have to take care of this screaming mini-me every day. And, those days when he comes home and has the nerve to say "boy, what a day I had, I'm soooo tired" it's all I can do not to pack my bags and run away to...to...somewhere with no husbands and no children.

The day is half over and I'm counting the minutes to bedtime. Hopefully, tomorrow will be a better day.

Random Ants

We have a problem with what I call random ants in our kitchen. Actually, they should be called random dead ants because that's what they are. Dead.

I don't know where they come from or why they are dead. Every night I wipe our counters and window sill clean, and every morning there they are. A trail of dead ants. If it had only happened once, I would find it rather amusing. Now, it's starting to piss me off.

I know we have plenty of live ants outside. Just lean against one of the posts in the backyard and you have yourself a lovely ant sweater. Stand too long in our driveway, by the huge crack in the cement, and you've got yourself some matching ant socks. I can't stand it, but what makes me happy is that I can kill these ants. I have the control of where and when they die. The ants in my kitchen are already gone. It's like ant heaven or something.

Sometimes, like this morning, I will find one lone ant stumbling among his fallen brethren.

I lean down to his level and beg him to tell me what went down in my kitchen the night before. He won't tell me, just picks up a fallen buddy and carries him about 2 inches before I squish him into oblivion.

Maybe they are southern ants, re-enacting Gettysburg nightly on my kitchen counter. Yes, that must be it. I wonder if I awoke at the right moment, would I could hear their tiny muskets sounding off and their tiny general's yelling for more fire? Then, maybe a moment of silence before their little ant voices rise up chanting about how they come marching one by one? Hurrah, hurrah.

Winnie the Pooh: the grumpiest bear this Halloween

We should have taken her as Eeyore. What a grumpy-butt she was.

I'm so tired my mind is on the blink

Well, here un urp-land, things couldn't be greater. That was sarcasm people, get used to it.

I'm hating life right now. I feel like a bad mom because of the rejoicing that goes on when the wee one goes down for a nap. You would have thought I won the damn lottery. Hooting and hollering are known to happen. Then I go down for a nap. And it's a glorious thing.

I forgot how bone-tiring pregnancy can be. How I forgot, I do not know. I mean, it was only last year. My mother was right, nature does make a women forget, otherwise we'd all be only children. The tired I'm feeling right now and pretty much all the time is different though. This tired is grumpy. As in watch out for her grumpy. I've bitten my share of heads clean off this week.

In other news, the morning sickness has progressed nicely. I'm pukin' in the morning, pukin' in the evening, pukin' at supper time. I can't look or even think about uncoked chicken. Which sucks, because that's about all we have in our freezer. This happened last time too. It's enough to send me running for the nearest toilet/sink/backyard. And I know it only gets worse from here.

Great.

Prayer request

please keep Cecily in your thoughts and prayers as she goes through the devastating time.

Hmmm

Well, I'm stumped.

How can I be so, so sleepy all frickin' day and now...now I couldn't fall asleep if my life depended on it. Insomnia sucks people. Sucks hard.

So, you want to know my secret do you? On how to catch up and advance on your bill paying? Well, secret one is minimize. Get rid of everything you enjoy. Cable, long distance, internet....Oh wait, we didn't get rid of that. We are barbaric. Secret two is macaroni and cheese. Toss in some Top Ramen, a lot of chicken and rice and you've got yourself about $200 a month saved on groceries. The third secret is lack of self-love. Well, kind of. I haven't bought myself new clothes since I was 8 months pregnant and that was because my husband was sick of me leaving the house in pajamas. I've also had the same makeup for about a million years. No, seriously though, my eyeliner is about 4 years old. I only wear makeup if I'm going somewhere where there might be new people to meet. This rarely happens since we weren't spending money. And, we all know how cheap entertainment by family members is.

At times it sucked. I look into my daughter's closet and weep because she has ten times the amount of clothing I do and none of the items will fit her in a month. Or maybe a week. Have you seen this kid eat? My husband does get new "work" clothes (i.e. jeans, teeshirts), but only when absolutely necessary (read: falling apart, so holey you can see through them). Meanwhile, I'm wearing a shirt someone passed down to me and I'm content. Harrumph.

But, have no fear. We will be back in the red and the big giant stress hole come January. This is, after all, baby's first Christmas and we don't want her thinking Santa is a tool, now do we? So, Toys R Us, here we come. I can see that damn giraffes eyes lighting up with glee at the hole we'll burn in our wallets.

More evidence of the "face"

The Chinese Face

This is what we affectionately refer to as the "Chinese face." It's hereditary, passed down on my side of the family. It has shown up early in my offspring, which just proves how much of a genius she is.

Seriously, I have dozens of childhood photos of myself, my mother and her sister all making a face like this. Something about a camera makes us squint our eyes shut and grin. It really drives my grandfather batty.

Some people get excited when little "Timmy" shows signs of having father's throwing arm, or little "Becky" shows a flare for cooking just like her mother, and I get excited when my daughter shows how retarded one can be in front of a camera. God bless us, we're gonna need it.

Caught up?

All of our bills are paid through December. How in the hell did this happen?

We have been steadily behind for about a year. I sometimes don't know where our money goes, but it goes. And quickly. That's why I almost shit my pants (sorry for the visual) when I wrote out all the checks, licked all the stamps, sealed all the envelopes and wrote our remaining balance in the register. A balance in the black. We actually have money left over. It's crazy.

I suck with money and unfortunately, I married a sucky-money person too. Together we can blow all sorts of cash on all sorts of nothing. That's why having kids really makes the anxiety disorder in me rage. I can't tell you how many nights I've lost sleep worrying about how dear husband was going to get to work with gas being so freakin' expensive ($2.48/gallon is rape I tell ya). So, now I have nothing like that to keep me awake at night. What am I going to worry about now?

I'll think of something dear readers. Have no fear. I'm a professional worry-wart. But, perhaps you can give me some suggestions...

*again I have typed a spelling-error free post. Someone give me a cookie!

The beginning of a lot of pictures (as in a hell of a lot)

Notice the hint of drool on the chin. A trademark in this house.


*sidenote: doesn't it make you feel good when you hit spellcheck and it tells you no errors were found. Admit it, a little voice in your head says, damn, I am good.

Feeling better

I didn't actually puke yesterday, but boy! Did I want to. I think it would have been better than the nauseated state I spent all day in. It sucked. Yet, I know it's a great sign (thanks for pointing that out, Toni). I'm still nervous and confused on how to feel. My emotions are on a rollercoaster from hell. One minute, I'm excited and planning in my head how my two little ones will grow up close, the next minute, I'm crying and wailing on about how I can't handle this, oh God what have we done?!?! Blah...That's my new favorite word in case you haven't noticed.

Then, there is a little piece of me that feels guilty. Guilty for not having to go through any type of treatments, no drugs, nada. While the majority of the blogs I read are written by wonderful women dealing with infertility. It breaks my heart. I realize though that the few gals (whoa, did I just use gals, eek I'm morphing into my grandmother) who read my blog and struggling are truly happy for me. I'm grateful for that. And I'm still pulling for you all.

Agh, enough mushy, depressing crap. Today we get our camera and I'm so excited. And a little sad that I am so excited over a camera. I should look into those things people have called lives. I've heard good things about them.

And so, it begins

Morning sickness.

Need I say more.

Actually, it's more like morning, afternoon, evening, middle of the night sickness.

Blah.

Advance warning for my loyal readers

We are finally getting a digital camera.

Take this as a warning: massive amounts of meaningless pictures will be posted here starting next week.

I'm sorry.

Perhaps if I drug her

My baby doesn't like to snuggle. She doesn't like being held, really. Very independent. Just plop her on the floor with lots and lots of toys within reach and she's happy for a good hour. Everyone says I'm lucky. I think it sucks.

While pregnant, I had fluffy, pink dreams of wasting rainy day afternoons curled up on the couch with my beautiful baby. We would wrap ourselves in a yummy blanket and I would read to her from Shel Silverstein's collection of odd poetry.

Well, it looks like I will have to drug her to get that fantasy. I've tried, but do you know how hard it is to snuggle with a little person arching her back and screaming like a banshee? It's a little difficult. And, since my emotions are starting their rollercoaster of fun, I'm trying hard and waxing nostalgic for a baby I never had.

Then, yesterday it happened. My friend, her 2-year-old niece, my banshee, and I were at the local Starbucks drinking lattes (the adults, not the children. Come on I'm not a monster), when suddenly, she lay her head on my shoulder and hung on to my shirt with her tiny hands. I cried. Yes, tears actually came to my eyes at such a wonderful moment. She then promptly fell asleep. Ah, I thought to myself, so when she's tired, she will cuddle. I filed this away in the part of my brain that doesn't forget things (this is in a far, dark, dreary corner).

So, lesson of the day is: skip a babies nap and they will comply with your cuddle demands.

Mother-in-law

I hate my mother-in-law.

I know you are saying, "Christina, hate is such a strong word, don't you mean dislike?"

No, I've thought it over and I mean hate. Truly, really hate. It's sad I know, but let me give you the latest example why. I'm sorry if it sounds petty, but it's just the icing on the cake.

To backtrack a little, in February, my lovely MIL threw me a baby shower. She was insistent on being the one to throw is. Made a huge deal about it from the moment she heard we were expecting. So, she asks me for a list of people I want invited and anything else special I would like done. So, I make out a list of my friends and family and a list of games I would like played. She then calls me and questions half of the names on the list, are you sure you want to invite her, you know I don't like her. You get the picture.

Weeks go by, I ask if she needs any help. Nope. Okay. Then my step-mother calls. She's a little confused because when she called to RSVP, MIL told her she needed my step-mother to be in charge of games. Hadn't I given her a list. Yes, I had. I guess she was just planning so much she couldn't get to it. She never mentioned the list to my step-mother, so I rattled it off for her. Set.

Then, the night before my party, MIL calls my friend Linda (one of the ones MIL doesn't like) and tells her she has to get the cake because she doesn't want to make one. What. The. Fuck. Needless to say, I'm a little upset. But, I am also 8.5 months pregnant and chalk it up to emotions.

The day of the party arrives along with all the guests. There are no decorations, no food, no drinks. Nothing. Everyone is a little uncomfortable. It also doesn't help that she is in her sweats and has the heater cranked up to 80 (it's February in California. Not heater weather for those who don't know). MIL pulls me aside and asks is my step-mother remembered prizes for the games, because she better have, it's the thing to do. I walk away without answering her. I didn't want to hit her, and I might have then and there.

The party goes on despite the missing elements. I start to open presents. Halfway through, I have to excuse myself and step outside because it was HOT in there and MIL wouldn't a) turn down the heat, or b) let anyone open a window. Returning, I force myself to finish and that is when MIL jumps up and starts cleaning up and telling everyone they have to go. Sigh.

So, that brings us to yesterday. MIL is throwing a shower for her daughter, who's baby is due in December. I walk in the front door and what do I see. Decorations. Lots of decorations. And food. Lots of food. MIL ordered sushi special, and her daughter a) can't eat sushi and b) hates it anyway. What. The. Fuck.

Then there was the cake. It was huge, beautiful and delicious. I asked MIL where she got it and she goes on and on about this deli on Oakland where she gets all her family cakes. It's a tradition. I had to bite my tongue to keep from telling her where to stick that particular tradition.

When I got home last night, I unloaded all my tears and hurt onto dear husband. Bless him for putting up with my new pregnancy hormones. Now, I'm not sad anymore. No, now I'm filled with hate for this woman who has come into my life and looks to be here to stay. Blah.

Relapse

Well, damn. I just couldn't resist buying a couple more tests. They were on sale at Safeway.

Not to worry, still positive.

God, I'm a peestick junkie.

Lord, help me

I had to almost physically restain myself from purchasing more HPT's at the grocery store today. Picture me wrestling myself in the feminine needs aisleIt's like the 4 I've taken aren't real, that they were all bad, and I have this almost uncontrollable urge to continue testing until my first OB exam. Which is in a month. Damn, I hate waiting.

All of the "what if's" are playing out in my head. Though, I must admit I am a lot calmer this time around. Maybe because I keep chanting there is nothing I can do to stop something bad that might happen. If it happens, it happens. We all know what 'it' is.

I'm sick of being so pessimistic. Yet, somehow I thrive on it at the same time. It' sthe drama queen in me. Negative attention is better than no attention, I always say.

Really, though. I need to stop. I'm going to go crazy and that won't work for anybody. No one wants a crazy mom or wife. Right?

questions

got this from Linda and thought it would be fun to answer some random questions at 7am on a lovely Wednensday morning...I apologize now for any nonsense, I'm still sleeping as I type.

1. What's your middle name: Kelly
2. What color pants are you wearing right now? Spongebob squarepants pj bottoms
3. What are you listening to right now: the noise in my head
4. What was the last thing you ate: Some peanut butter on a spoon
5. If you were a crayon what color would you be: Green
6. How is the weather right now: 56 degrees
7. Last person you talked to on the phone: my mother
8. First thing you notice about the opposite sex: their ass (I never admit this to them of course)
.9. How are you today? sleepy
10. Favorite Drink: Diet Coke w/Lime
11. Favorite sport: Baseball, if I have to watch one
12. Hair Color: Brown
13. Eye Color: Green
14. Do you wear contacts: I used to until I ripped one, forcing myself to wear just one for about 3 months. Finally stopped that when I went to the doctor complaining of headaches and bouts of dizziness. His prognosis: wearing only one contact will do that to you.
15. Siblings: 3 sisters (twins ages 22, the other 13)
16. Favorite Month?: December
17. Favorite Food(s): Right now, anything not nailed down
18. Last movie you watched: Anastasia with the kids I watch after school
19. Favorite Day of the Year: December 25th
20. Summer or Winter: Winter
21. Hugs or Kisses: both
22. Chocolate or Vanilla: Chocolate always
23. Living Arrangements: With husband, daughter, dog, guinea pig, and two fish
24. What books are you reading? Books, what are those?
25. What's on your mouse pad: Nothing
26. Favorite Board Game: Clue
27. What did you do last night? Went to my former job and chatted it up
28. Favorite Smells: a clean house (anyone offering?)
29. Can you touch your nose with your tongue: No, and thanks, now I'll be trying to all day
30. What inspires you? Ask me later because right now all I could think of was food
31. What is the best vacation you have ever had? Disneyland when I was little. My life is pretty boring and husband has yet to take me somewhere that would be catagorized as "best"

There you go. Useless facts about me you never needed, but now have.

Refresh

Here's the trouble with not having a life and spending half (okay more than half) of your time on the internet: nobody updates their blogs fast enough for you.

I spend a good part of the day hitting that damn refresh button over and over.

So, do me a favor and update people. Please.

Who in there right mind?

Holy shit, is all I have to say about this.

And don't even get me started on this. It costs more than our 2002 Ford Taurus, which we bought brand freakin' new.

And there is no way my child would be allowed any where near this.

Who has this kind of money to burn?

Put down the camera and help your child

What I don't understand and never will is how people can be filming their lovely offspring, see said offspring fall humorously off their bike/skateboard/diving board/roof of house, and just keep on filming. Then, they send it into a crappy show like AFV (come on, we know you are still America's Funniest Videos, just with a slightly less annoying host than Bob Saget), and seriously hope to win the $10,000. All I can mutter is WTF?

I saw one the other day (no, do not ask me why I am watching this damn show, okay?), and I kid you not, the person filming didn't even move while the teenage girl being filmed had her hair catch on fire! On fire! Her hair was a flame and all this person did was zoom in for a close up. And I bet he was thinking oh, this might be the one to win me the big money. Put down the camera and throw some water on the poor girl's head. How hard is that? Is the thought of your 5 minutes of fame that enticing that you risk another's life and limb for it? Sheesh.

Now, that being said, we are contemplating getting one of these moving picture makers. Please pray that I have the foresight to put down the camera and aid my child. Especially if she is lit up like the fourth of July.

Why I married him

Him: wow

Me: what?

Him: I was just thinking...

Me: about what?

Him: about how damn strong my spermies are. I have super sperm. My sperm is the greatest sperm in the world.(this line sung to the tune of that Kenny Rogers song: I am the greatest).

Now that the cat is outta the bag

God bless my husband, but he has a huge mouth. Yesterday, instead of working, he called everyone and anyone to tell them the news. I hate that he feels compelled to do this. Doesn't he know how bad of luck it is?

I'm one of those women who don't want to think about anything baby until I'm actually holding a screaming infant in my arms. In my perfect world, we would call everyone with the news from the delivery room. Maybe not even then.

I'm terribly neurotic. I've already begun the "wipe myself raw with TP, checking for spotting" ritual. That one can become quite costly. Only the best toilet paper for me. Can't be scratching my ass up with the cheap stuff. I'm also is a bit of a fog. I go from acceptance to denial in about 15 seconds flat. I freak out because I don't feel pregnant yet, oh god, why don't I feel pregnant yet? Um, maybe because you are like 4 weeks along, silly girl. Nevermind the logistics, it doesn't help. I'm already convinced this will end in failure. Sad I know, but what are you gonna do. Miscarriages really fuck up your view on pregnancy. Gone are the carefree days of happy baby thoughts, shopping for everything baby in the first trimester. Now, you are lucky to feel happy, truly happy for 5 minutes a day.

My husband on the other hand, he's already got the kid in college. Bless his heart, the forever optimist. I just wish he would keep it to himself.

Well, I'll be

so, um yeah.

Dear Husband made me test again, claiming that the one I had was "too old."

This time I got a positive. Four effing times.

I shit you not.

First appointment isn't until November 15th, unless something wrong happens. Yeah, thanks receptionist lady for mentioning that. Now I'll never get any sleep.

I'm happy, yet feel a little guilty. Like is was too easy this time. Normal?

Sigh

It was negative.

I'm now waiting for Aunt Flo. She should be here soon.

Well, here's to next month.

Holding my breath

Well, here I am 12 dpo. I have a hpt burning a hole in my medicine cabinet. Here's the thing with me peeing on those damn sticks: it always gets my period flowing. Yeah, it's like Aunt Flo (the spiteful bitch) is waiting for her phone to ring. I believe the tone is set to "Pee hitting small stick in B flat." She answers and exlaims, "I would love to come for a visit!" and packs her large bags and makes herself comfy. Damn her.

Here's a weird thought I've been having. What if, by some miracle, I am pregnant this soon? I know I should be thrilled that it didn't take as long as the first times, but here's the thing. I'm a little afraid to be pregnant again and to have another child so soon.

I'm a very lazy person. Evidence of that statement is in this blog. How many mother's of a 6 month old baby have time to cruise the internet all day, writing random thoughts to a few strangers? This one does, because she has no life. This box I stare into and this keyboard I pound away on is my life. Sad, I know. And another kid is a lot of work. And being pregnant with a baby to care for is a lot of work. Work I don't think I'm ready to do. Selfish, I know.

But, I'm pretty sure I'm freaking for nothing and when Aunt Flo (spiteful, spiteful bitch) comes a knockin', I will cry and wish to God I was pregnant. Because that is what I really want.

Why having a cold is a good thing

1. It gets me out of going to dinner at the In-laws.

2. I can't smell the guinea pig's dirty cage.

3. I also can't smell the babies dirty diaper.

4. Sorry, hunny, too sick to cook dinner. But I think I could rough it for a meal out. Teehee.

5. Also good for getting out of housework.

6. I can stay in jammies all day long.

7. Don't have to shower if I don't want to.

8. Nyquil.

9. Did I already say I don't have to go to the In-laws. Woohoo!

10. Getting hubby to make me a midnight snack, you know, to help me get better.

Confessional

Okay dear readers, I'm about to share a deep dark secret. I have only one bra. No, wait. I have a second, but it has been deemed "the backup." Oh, it feels so good to get that off my chest, pardon the pun.

I have what one might call gigantic breasts. Huge. Enormous. Oh. My. God. "How does she carry them" breasts. Men think they are a gift, I think they are a curse. I pray for a day where my husband can feel the weight and pain of carrying these bad boys around. Then let's hear him rant about them. Ha.

So, I have this one bra. It cost me $40, which is pretty cheap considering how much material went into making the damn thing. It almost totally supports me and my boobs don't look like misshappened overinflated basketballs in it. You'd be surprised at how common a problem that is. Anyway. It's blue, with wide straps and 4 clamps in back. I learned long ago to kiss 1 and 2 clamped bras goodbye. My backup looks exactly like it, only it's missing the underwires. It's my laundry day backup bra.

I'm over at a friends house and she's folding her laundry. About 10 minutes go by and I notice she has pulled out about 7 bras. Cute bras. 1 clamp bras. Bras that probably cost her $10 at most. In that instant, I hate her. I hate her perky bosom, I hate her pretty braziers , and I hate my boobs a little more.

My step-(monster) mother just sent me some pictures from the trip to Hell. In them, I am sitting Indian-style on the floor, my precious sitting up so pretty in front of me, and all you can focus on is my humongous tatas. Whoa. Something's gotta give, and I think it's gonna be my back. Again. And I think to myself, while staring in horror at the image on my computer screen, my one "good" bra is not doing such a great job at doing what it's supposed to.

It's time to retire her and get a new one "good" bra. Bleh.

Sniff Sniff

I'm sick.

Somewhere along the way to hell and back, I picked up a lovely souvenir. A common cold. Now my house is not only covered in baby drool, there is now a trail of mama snot. It's a regular slime fest here.

Since becoming an adult and married, I hate getting sick. Hubby is not good at the babying of a sick wife. My mother rocked at babying me and it's probably why I am such a whinny brat now when I'm sick. She used to prop me up on the couch amidst blankets and pillows, enough to swim in, and fix me a plate of poached eggs and toast. A must for the infirm.

Darling husband doesn't do any of this. In fact, last night I had to not only fix myself something to eat, I ad to make his dinner too. Then I got booted from the comfy side of the couch so he could watch baseball. That's right. He layed claim on the TV on Thursday night. Survivor night. I know.

So, I dragged my sniffling, coughing butt into our bedroom and watched my show on our puny 19" TV. Oh will my suffering ever end?

Back

Well, I'm back after a long, hard, road trip into hell and back. With a pit stop in Coeur d'Alene, Idaho.

First, a little background. My father and mother divorced when I was seven. Since then I have only seen him for about 2 weeks every year. This still holds true even though my mother lives in Idaho and my father lives 20 minutes away. Anyway. The divorce was ugly. My father decided he didn't want a wife and children anymore, so he packed us up and shipped us to grandma's house. Nice. Since that time, he has found it necessary to bad mouth my mother any chance he gets. You may be asking how much brain damage I suffered in order to agree to spend 7 days, in a row, in a car, with him. Because I am a glutton for punishment. And I keep hoping he will miraculously change and become the father I always wanted (cue Oscar inducing music here). He is pretty well off and has always made sure we got what we wanted. Physically, not emotionally.

The trip started off okay. My baby girl is an awesome traveler. She loves car rides and can eat sitting in a carseat. So she was content as long as we stopped every so often to change her super absorbent diaper (thank you Huggies). It was me who fell apart by day 3. I was tired of hearing my step-(monster) mother tell me how I would have turned out if she had raised me and I was tired of having a numb butt from sitting in the backseat of a 1984 Lincoln Continental (looks comfy, but trust me, it ain't). Fortunately, that was about the time I got dropped off with kid in tow at my mother's house.

Mom's was a blast. Sure, baby had her moments. But, overall she was happy and we found her a very stylish hat. I actually cried when I had to leave. I don't think my dad found that as heartfelt and warm as my mom did. Teehee (I know, I'm a vindictive brat).

Lessons learned: don't agree to drive out of state with father again, try to make it to Idaho more often, and realize that people don't change the way you want them too.

Don't worry, I'll be back

Okay, so I'm going to be gone for a week. Me and the kid are taking a little road trip with my dad (remember the one who doesn't like screaming babies?). I'm excited because we're going to the town I grew up in. So, essentially, I'm going "home." I get to see my high school buddies, my cousins, my sisters and my mother. I should pretty much be full-blown crazy when I return. Should make for interesting blogging anyway.

So, play nice and be good.

And now for something completely different

for a much needed laugh, check out this

Happy 'I Got Fired' Anniversary

Today is the one year anniversary of the day I got fired from my job. Why did I get fired? I still don't know. Let's reviews the facts, shall we?

September 14th, I quietly told my boss that I was pregnant. She was excited and nervous for me, since I had suffered a miscarriage 9 months before. I gave her a note from my doctor, explaining that I was not to do any lifting of animals, or pet food over 10 lbs in weight. Oh, in case you didn't know, I worked at a veterinary hospital. Lifting animals and food were pretty much my job. She took it well and said she would be talking to the big boss, Dr. Kuhn, about it tomorrow. This was a Sunday.

Fast forward to Thursday afternoon. It was about 1pm, and I announced I would be going to lunch. My boss, Barb, called me into her office. As I was getting comfortable, she dropped the bomb.

Barb: We are letting you go today, Christina.
Me: What? Why? What?
Barb: Well, some things have been going on, as I am sure you are aware of. And we feel problems would be rectified if you were terminated.
Me: What did I do?
Barb: You know about the problems we have been having.
Me: Um...
Barb: (crying now) I am so sorry. Do you want to come get your last check tomorrow?
Me: Um...

What the fuck? Here I am a whole year later and I still don't understand that conversation. What is so funny is that no one knew I was fired for like 2 weeks. They thought I was taking time off because of my morning sickness. What the fuck?

Me being the way I am, I still obsess over this from time to time. My husband is convinced I was fired for being pregnant, but since that is illegal, they just threw some wacko excuse my way. Ah, that is what's so great about living in sunny California. You can be fired for whatever, they don't have to give you an excuse. There's a name for it, but I don't care enough to find out. My husband wanted to sue, but since I got unemployment and disability out of it, I just didn't see the point.

Actually, my point in posting this is I feel it was the best damn thing to ever happen to me. My house has never been cleaner, I get to stay home with my baby, and we eat a homecooked meal everynight.

So, thank you Valley Veterinary Hospital. Your incompetence has made my life complete.

Payback is gonna be a bitch

I've had the Jetson's theme song stuck in my head now for about 3 hours. I don't know how it got here, but the damn song is here none the less. I'm trying to kill time before I take my lovely to a birthday party. Hmph, 6 months old and already a social butterfly. My heart swells with pride.

I am always hesitant about taking her anywhere. I hate to disrupt her schedule. Usually, when we're out she's a perfect angel, but I am always in fear that she will decide that this day, this very moment when we are far from home, is the perfect time to have a spectacular meltdown. Then I will have to die of embarrassment.

It's not my fault. Everyone that meets her comments on how good and sweet she is. That brings on a lot of pressure and performance anxiety. Not in her, but me. It would be so much easier if she just cried all the time. Then the expectation bar would be a lot lower.

As you might be able to tell, I chickened out of getting medication for my "problems." About 2 hours before my appointment, I called and claimed transportation trouble. Why I can never just call and cancel without some big production number is beyond me. Everything has to have a reason.

I'm one of those people who can't say no without a "because..." Attached to it. It makes me look like a people pleaser. Ha. Most of the time, it's the drama queen in me coming out. I love to talk and I love to tell tall tales. When I was younger, I would lie just to see if I could get away with it. Made me really popular at parties in high school. Kids would come to me for the great excuses to give their parents as to why they were late getting home. Being a total party girl and rebel myself gave me lots of practice perfecting my skills on my own hapless parents. They were easy bait though. My mom actually believed me when I told her the cigarettes she found in my pocket were "a friends." Sheesh.

My mother laughs now at all the crap I pulled on her. Well, most of it. And only most of what she actually knows. Anyway, she laughs now because she knows that my kids will be the same and they will torture me just as bad, if not worse, as I tortured her. I'm so in for it.

How can you miss that?

I hated being pregnant. Every single thing about it. I had morning/afternoon/evening sickness all the way up to delivery day (I puked while pushing...Lovely), I swelled up like a beach ball, I couldn't eat anything without gagging or outright puking (except oranges...mmm oranges), and by month 7 I could no longer feel my hips and thighs, except for the syatic pain searing done my right leg. And now I want to do it all over again. Why?

Well, most of you know the obvious reason (actually, I hope you all know). But, there is another reason and I'm almost afraid to share. Yeah, that's funny.

I'm a drama queen. I love attention. Never was I happier than when I was pregnant. Everyone doted on me and I basked in all that glory. My husband stayed home every night to watch bad TV with me, my mother-in-law actually left me alone (halleighluia). Then, at the hospital, there was actually women paid to give me attention. It was heavenly.

I know it sounds conceited and not the right reason to have children, but who cares? Hate me if you must. Now, since I'm not pregnant anymore, I'm not getting as much attention. It's okay though, my daughter gets a lot. So, I live vicariously through her. It's great. Nothing beats the rush you get when someone compliments you on your offspring. Though you had absolutely nothing to do with how she came out looking, you can pretend and graciously say "thank you" all the while thinking, damn, I do make some good looking babies. Husband and I need to make more. This world needs more beautiful people. This isn't healthy I know, but I gotta get my kicks somewhere, right?

Confessions of a Reality Show junkie

It started out innocent enough. Just a little Real World here and there, then some Road Rules. But, it is now officially out of control. I can barely keep all the shows I watch straight.

Sundays: I have my evening fix of Surreal Life. Now, to be fair, I only watch this because I am a recovering New Kids on the Block addict and since Jordan Knight is a cast member I can categorize this under a NKOTB relapse.

Mondays: I get my fix with a little Dr. 90210 and Family Plots. If I'm really in a desperate state I will watch Fear Factor, but that Joe Rogan really knows how to kill a good reality buzz.

Tuesdays: This is a hard day for me. I have to find a way to squeeze Dr. Phil, Trading Spouses, Last Comic Standing, and Totally Obsessed all into the coveted 8 o'clock time slot. Never has TiVo looked so damned appealing. Damn my husband for seeing that this would only feed my addiction. Damn him.

Oh yeah, don't forget Big Brother and the Amazing Race. Usually, after Amazing Race I am a little too pumped up to go to bed. Especially with that Colin jackass they have this season. Best line ever: "my ox is broken!"

Wednesdays: Amish and the City and Dr. Phil baby.

Thursdays: It's all about Survivor. But can they ever top Rupert?

Funny story: my daughter was induced on a Wednesday. On the way to the hospital Tuesday night, I remember that Survivor All stars will be on Wednesday instead of Thursday. I freak. I tell my husband that she had better come out before 8 o'clock or she is grounded. He thought I was joking, since I didn't miss the show, I let him think that I was.

Fridays: Dr Phil and While you were out. I refuse to watch America's Next Top Model. I tried I really did with the first season, but those girls were so stupid. And I'm sorry, but even this junkie can't sit through an hour of Tyra Banks.

Saturdays: Big Brother baby.

So, you see why motherhood seems to be dragging me down? Thank god reality TV is set for evening times or my daughter would have to become nocturnal.

Our "first born"

This is Kaya, our chihuahua, in a picture just too cute for words. It may look like she's snuggling up to the baby, but what she is really doing is stealing the body heat of our child. She's really good at doing that. She'll snuggle up to me at night and I think, oh Kaya does love me, but if I try to snuggle back, watch out! Fortunately, she has enough brains in that wee little head to know not to even look cross-eyes at the baby, or it's off to a lovely farm where she can run free.

We were really worried about bringing the baby home and how Kaya would react to her. For the 37 weeks I was pregnant, Kaya was, what we termed, my "practice baby." Oh, I loved her so, so much. I would take her everywhere with me, snuggle with her while I sat on my growing ass watching Golden Girls (don't ask) and eating oranges by the dozen (and yes I even shared my orangey goodness with her). Ms. Kaya was top dog, and had been for 2 1/2 years. Then her pedestal came crashing down and here was this little, pink, oh-so-good smelling package that mama seemed to love more (I'll admit it, I do). My mother warned me that while I would still love the dog, my patience with her would wear thin. I laughed and said no, Kaya is like my first born.

That changed and quickly. Poor Kaya didn't know what to think. Suddenly, she wasn't allowed to jump all over mama, wasn't allowed on the couch, and forget trying to kiss the oh-so-good smelling package. She has done remarkably well though readjusting into a life of a dog. She and the baby are terrific friends and she pretends not to mind when her tail gets yanked of her fur gets slobbered on. And, I think she's realized that the oh-so-good smelling package has it's benefits, like free food spit across the room for her to chase, and a heater that doesn't kick as hard as the bigger heaters. We're a nice happy family.

I have to admit it's getting better, a little better all the time

Well, I've talked myself down from the ledge of dispair I was on. In case anyone was wondering, little Allie earned her angel wings last night at about 11pm. I didn't cry as much as I thought, it's just good to know she's out of pain and in a happy place now. Anyway.

I've decided to give the medication another whirl. I think a decent nights sleep and a day of normal worries is worth it. I made an appointment with Dr. Feelgood (so named for his love of pills) for Thursday morning. I'm thinking therapy might work too. Yes, I'll admit it here: Christina is a little crazy. I come from a long line a crazies.

So, I have a job now! I watch my friend's 10 year old and 9 year old after school every day. It's an easy job, they pretty much watch themselves. And they like to help with the baby. No complaining here about that. I'm basically getting paid to train my future babysitters. It's great. And, with all this money I am going to spend it on me. Only me. I have such a hard time with that, I'm one of those women that likes shopping for others and not herself. I can't remember the last time I bought myself clothing. Oh wait. Maternity pants, but that was it and only because it was totally necessary. This should be fun.

So, I'm coming up on my supposed ovulation time. Let's see how this works. I have to make an appointment for my dreaded yearly pap, so maybe I'll discuss it with Dr. Nice (so named because she is). I just don't want clomid shoved at me and all that. But, I'm future tripping where I don't need to be. So, I'll leave it at that.

Life really sucks sometimes

So, I've been following the story of a little baby named Allie, who was diagnosed with Acute Myeloid Leukemia in April of this year. She will probably die sometime this week. She is just shy of 9 months old. This sucks.

I am to the point of almost obsession over this little girl and her mother's brave journal. My husband has begged and pleaded for me to stop reading it, that I am driving myself crazy over a family I don't know. But, I can't. I just can't. So, every day I bawl my eyes out, and curse God and all that. All over a sweet baby I will never meet.

The "what if's" play out in my head all day long. What if this were happening to my baby and family? What if, at her next appointment, the doctor finds something wrong with my angel? What if, what if, what if? I'm really good at driving myself crazy.

During my entire pregnancy I surfed the 'net reading about miscarriage and still birth. I watched terrible shows like Maternity Ward and Birth Day, where the narrator always has you hanging on to your seat wondering if every birth is just so dangerous, and why would women choose this on purpose. Then after labor and delivery I became obsessed about SIDS. Now, I'm obsessed with horrible, scary diseases, some the names I can't even pronounce. Why can't I shut my brain off?

This has always been the way I am. I have this morbid fascination with all things regarding death and despair. My favorite shows are Six Feet Under, The Autopsy Series, and Family Plots. How's that for family viewing? My husband jokes that I am just studying on the best way to kill him and get away with it. Sometimes I tell him I am. And I'm not joking.

I've always thought that this was an okay obsession to have, that it wasn't harming anyone. But, now I have a child and I'm trying to have another and I wonder what kind of life will they have growing up with a death-obsessed mother. Will I become on of these overbearing, overprotective kooks who won't let my kids go to school for fear of every crazy with a gun? Will I never let them go over to a friends for a sleep over for fear of the pedophiliac father?

I'm trying really hard, but some days it's difficult. Pessimism is a word that describes me to a tee. My husband and I were discussing me going back on medication for my "quirks." I really loathe that idea because I feel, for me, that the drugs rob me of some vital part of my personality. I am in no way talking down about medication for mood disorders here. I think they are wonderful and should be used when needed. It's just for myself, I hate the feeling of needing a pill to make me "normal." But, looking at that beautiful face every day, maybe it's all worth it.

Who knew I could make something so damn cute?

Getting to know you

My husband and I are getting to know each other again. We've really drifted apart these last six months. First, my mother came for a visit when baby was 2 weeks old. She stayed for a week. Then my sister came right after for 2 weeks, then his brother moved in. Now that it's just me, him and the little princess we don't know what to do with each other.

I hadn't even realized how different our routines are. He works almost 7 days a week (taking one day off every 13 days) and when he gets home, we eat, put lovely to bed, then go our separate ways. He to his "man room," me to the office to zone out on the internet. I seem to remember being upset about never seeing him like 3 months ago. When and how did that change?

I was looking at him last night and realized our first wedding anniversary is coming up. And I hadn't even thought of what we would do or what I would get him. I mentioned this to him and he pointed out that our daughter has a doctor's appointment that day, so we will spend it together then. How very romantic indeed.

This morning we had a great talk about how each of us felt about the other. He said he was a little sad because he was no longer number one in my book. Did it make him feel better to know he's now a close second, I asked. He laughed and said that it worked for him.

Our relationship has always been a little different. We never had that "honeymoon phase" where we call each other lovey and kiss every 2 seconds. We don't cuddle much (I have this thing about skin touching skin), and we don't have much in common. Like, shows he loves to watch I hate. Food he hates, I love (come on who in their right mind doesn't like apple pie?). But we love each other very much and that has always worked for us.

I'm enjoying have him almost all to myself again. I don't even mind the little woman that's come between us now.

Blah, and other ramblings from my head

I'm not in a good mood today, but neither am I in a bad mood. I'm blah. Blah girl, here for all your boredom needs.

So, my evil brother-in-law, who was living with us, is gone. Yippee. To celebrate, my husband and I ran around in our underwear last night. I wouldn't recommend cooking half naked, I think you know why.

I took darling daughter to Sear's for her portraits yesterday. Had to wait 2 fricking hours. What is the point of making an appointment, if they just take any walk-in ahead of you? What a pain. Luckily, my baby is a good baby and performed her duty beautifully.

I feel as though I am in laundry hell. Having a baby I thought would up my laundry time, but no. She only needs laundry done once a week. It's me that has a sudden increase of dirty clothes. Baby puke on every shirt I own. Gross.

I'm going on a road trip with my father next week. My father who can't stand crying babies. Yeah, and we're bringing my crying baby. This should be fun.

On the plus side, I get to see my mom on said roadtrip! Oh yeah and my three sisters too.

I spent too much money on baby crap today at WalMart. My baby now has more, way more, clothing than me. This is somehow very depressing to me.

I wore makeup today in who knows how long. I still feel pretty blah.

'Cause I'm a super klutz, a super klutz, I'm super klutzy...Yeah

What were the gods thinking, giving me a child? Don't they know I can't walk down a hallway without bruising my arm on that damn doorknob every single time. We call it a perma-bruise. I have many. I know children are resilient because there is a doorjam I bump baby's head on at least once daily. She never cries, such a brave girl. She knows she got a crappy deal on this graceful mommy bit, so she keeps a stiff upperlip (now there is a saying I never understood).

In the last week I have managed to cut not one, but two fingers opening cans (corn and beans respectfully), then last night I burned my nose cooking dinner. That's right, my nose. Instead of using a spoon to dip into the sauce, I used my finger. The finger I cut rather nicely the other week on a can of corn. In went the finger, out came the finger on fire! Hot sauce comin' atchya. And so, I did what any human does when confronted with heat. I screeched and waved my hand around like an idiot. All the while screaming "hot..hot...HOT" And wouldn't you know, some sauce flung itself onto my nose, creating an instant-blister. Great. I'm taking it in stride though. Just add it to my growing file of "bone-head things Christina has done to herself." The file is getting a little large.

How will my daughter survive me? With a helmet and kneepads? That just might not be that bad of an idea.

The bummer post

If you'll recall, in my very first post ever I discuss motherhood and how boring it seems. Well, things have gotten more exciting in the last few months, at least for me. For my baby? Well, now I think she is bored with me.

I'm having a very hard time with this. I have recently discovered that I don't relate well to almost 6 month old babies. I have always thought that I was a kid-kind-of-a-person, but it turns out I'm a other-people's-kid-kind-of-a-person. My days start out great, I feed her then we watch Bear in the Big Blue House together, then she plays in her jumperoo until her morning nap. After that it is all down hill. I start panicking around noon. What will I do with her next. How can I keep her entertained for 7 more hours until she goes to sleep for the night. I find that I am having severe performance anxiety. And, let me tell you, I think she's on to me.

Things that kept her happy yesterday piss her off today. Toys she hated yesterday are all she wants today. I can't keep track. And, I've mentioned her rolling before, she's gotten very good at it and can roll the span of our living room in about 10 seconds flat. I seriously doubt she will ever crawl. Why should she when rolling gets her from point A to point B so nicely. It's a little frightening how fast she moves. I left her in front of out entertainment center yesterday so I could get a drink and when I returned she was half way down the hall. But, she rolls so quietly and mostly when you aren't looking, so it's a little like a horror movie where objects keep moving closer to you, yet you never see if happen. I just know she is going to be like this when she's older, sneaking up on my husband and me while we're doing something. Something naughty.

So, back to the boredom. I believe she is bored with having me here all day, every day. She's fussy when I hold her or try to play with her. She prefers to lay in her crib, or on the floor by herself. When my husband gets home, she squeals and giggles. Let me tell you, it hurts my feelings. I know that's gotta be PMS and sleep deprivation talking if my feelings are hurt by a 5 1/2 month old baby. But, I have always been sensitive. My mother says more a drama queen, but whatever.

Is motherhood supposed to be like this? I thought it would be hard yes, but also the best time of my life. Instead I feel like I'm auditioning for the roll of my life and failing miserably. Please, tell me it gets better.

See, I knew there was a reason for all of this

I am in love with the blogging world. This is where I have found my sisters, the women who truly understand me. I get them.

I am on the computer most of the day. Wait, that sounds bad. But, it's true. Luckily, right now my baby is at the delicate age where she needs sleep more than anything, and I am happy to oblige. I don't know what I will do when she gets older. You may have to remove the computer from my house, lest my child become malnourished and raised by the Wiggles and Barney, God forbid.

The computer and the people I find on it are the closest things to friends I have. Don't get me wrong, I have human friends (really I swear), but none of them have children and none of them even want children. So, it makes getting together slightly difficult. One friend actually wondered why I couldn't just leave the baby sleeping while we ran across the road to Taco Bell. What? Are you kidding? Her argument was that the baby wouldn't wake up and we'd only be gone for like 15 minutes. All I can say is, thank God she hasn't reproduced. Can you imagine?

So, dear blogging sisters, this is why you are all so dear to me. I know you will never try and talk me into leaving my precious for the glory that is a bean burrito for $0.99 (side note: my spell checker just recommended purity for burrito...hmmm).

Okay, yeah

So we're officially trying to concieve. The reason for the "so soon" is because it took us five years and two losses to produce our angel. So, God willing, we'll have another little one by the time our current little one* is in school.

I'll admit now that I am scared. Scared of how long it will take. Scared that I might suffer another miscarriage. That would suck, to put it bluntly. But, in the name of reproduction I will fight on. I've dreamed since a was "this high" that I would have two children. And I'm going to give it my all.

What I hate about trying to make a baby is how addicted to peeing on sticks I get. It's all I can think about. And when I pee on one, I over-analyze it. I stare at it under every bright light in the house, trying to see the two magic lines. But, I will admit, I find that kinda fun. Now, they've come out with those damn electronic ones that say, clear-as-day, "NOT PREGNANT" Sheesh, could they be any more harsh and rude. Couldn't they say something like, "we are so, so sorry but it's just not the right time for you to be pregnant. This will all work out according to God's plan" Okay it's a little long, but makes me feel better. Though, I think they would have trouble fitting all that into the little window. Then you also have the problem on God's name in there. I can just see the uproar that would cause. So, EPT should be happy I don't work for their advertising company, or we'd all be screwed.

Damnit

I had a wonderful post all written out. It was moving. It would have made you laugh, made you cry. But, right before I could hit the publish button, that damn error message popped up and shut down my window, deleting the most wonderful post ever written by mankind.

Okay, it wasn't that good, but you understand my frustration right? Here's a quick recap:

• my daughter is cute
• she also drives me crazy
• we've decided to start trying for number two
• I'm not crazy...really

more later...

Um, can you say ew?

Prunes. Who possessed Gerber to make prunes part of the healthy diet of a growing baby? I'm sure there are those who know what I am talking about. Prunes have the uncanny ability to multiply in a baby's digestive tract, and exiting said digestive tract with enough force to power a small power boat. My God.

Yesterday they seemed like such a great idea. I should have listened to my husband when he made some comment about old people and staying regular. I remember now how high of horse I climbed onto when I turned to him and said, "Gerber made it a baby food, we have a baby, so she's eating it." Famous last words.

Now, my daughter's bowel movements have been regular, no trouble there. She performs her duty (of should I say doody) every other day. Like clockwork. But, yesterday, oh yesterday was the day to end all days in the poopy category. She had a total of three (yes three!) dirty diapers. And they weren't your average dirty diaper. Oh no! There was poop everywhere. Everywhere. Did I say everywhere? After the third nasty diaper and her second bath of the day, I marched into the kitchen (after climbing off my oh so big horse) and promptly threw the prunes away. Enough is enough. I needed a bath myself after changing those stinky things.

So, thought Gerber says prunes are a great thing for baby, we will not be serving them in my house. Not until husband and I are old and needing to stay regular.

Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee

Move over Muhammad Ali, there's a new boxing champ in town. And she's a pistol. Baby's gotta new game, it's called "Punch whoever holds me as hard and as fast as I can." Lovely.

It started a few days ago. She has newly discovered her hands and boy! Does she know how to use them. Got a drink in your hand? Not anymore. Wearing glasses? Not anymore. Nice, thin lips? Not anymore. Well, maybe that last one is a good thing. I had been toying with the idea of collagen injections. I figure now with how strong my precious is getting, I will have that Angelina Jolie look for the next dozen years or so. I'll be a toothless Angelina, but that's just a minor detail we can work out later. Teeth are highly overrated in my opinion, I mean babies don't need them. I'll just eat through a straw. Might even drop a few pounds in the process. Call it the new heroin chic.

Seriously, I hope this is a development that fazes itself out. She hits everything. The dog won't come within 50 feet of her. My husband suddenly has things that need done right away. That leaves me holding the bag, er baby. Hence, the fat lip and crooked glasses.

So far, so good

My blessing turned 5 months old today. I am so patting myself on the back for a job well done. If you knew me, you would know I live in a constant anxiety ridden existence, where boogie men wait around every dark corner to jump out at me and ruin a fine day.

I am a complete pessimist. Not only is that glass half empty, there is a leak at the bottom of the glass and who's going to clean up that mess? Really? It's going to dribble everywhere. I just...Oh sorry, there I go again. Where was I/

Oh yes, pessimism. During my entire pregnancy I was convinced something Bad was going to happen. Capitol B.A.D. The fact that I had suffered a miscarriage the year before only fueled my fire. I kept my husband up many a night wailing and crying about how I was going to lose this one too. Then the second trimester showed up and the baby was fine. I didn't believe it of course. I now had new problems to worry over. Pre-term labor, stillbirth, fatal birth defects. You name I thought it. What's interesting though is how I deal with this type of fear. I suffer alone, well almost alone, I do drag my husband down into hell with me. But, not once did I call the doctor and demand to be seen because of how strong my feelings were. I didn't want her knowing just how crazy I was (am). I was afraid that then she would take my child away from me, deeming me unfit for parenthood.

This was the first thought I actually had when my healthy little girl was born. I looked into her eyes, fell in love, and immediately thought they wouldn't let me leave the hospital with her. I was not going to make it as a mother.

Five months have passed and I do still doubt myself every day. But when I look into my healthy, beautiful baby's eyes, I know that I am responsible for the smile on her face, the clothes on her back, the diaper on her butt, and the chubby rolls on her legs. Maybe I won't ruin her life after all. Maybe I can make it as a good mom.

You may think I'm crazy

We're trying to have another baby. I know, I know you think it's too soon. You think the sleep deprivation has finally killed the last two brain cells I had that worked properly. I'm not crazy, I swear. We just figured that it took us so long (about 4 years) to conceive our daughter (with two miscarriages along the way), that we should start trying now. Maybe then we'll have our second by the time the first* is in school.

What's bothering me though is how mixed my feelings are on this. Don't get me wrong, I love my daughter, but she wears me out. I can't imagine going through this again. On purpose!

She's going to be crawling soon, then walking, then getting into everything I don't want her to. Or so I've been told a million and one times by anyone over 40 in my family. I swear, if my mother-in-law says one more time, "just wait until she..." I will poke her in the right eye and scream. Just imagining doing that now fills me with a nice warm feeling. Maybe I won't wait for her to say it, I'll just call her over now. As you probably guessed it, I don't like the mom-in-law very much...But that's a different post for a different day.

As I was saying, we are back in the trying to conceive mode. So once again, I'm becoming obsessed with being pregnant. I have to physically hold myself back from peeing on those damn sticks everytime I go to the bathroom. They need a warning label on home pregnancy tests saying "WARNING: HIGHLY ADDICTIVE. SEEK MEDICAL ATTENTION IF YOU FIND YOURSELF PEEING ON MORE THAN 4 IN ONE MONTH" Not that it would stop me. But, maybe we could start an anonymous meeting club, like AA or something. "Hi, my name is Christina and I'm addicted to peeing on sticks." Sounds good to me.



*if you're wondering why I never use my daughter's name, it's because my family is big on googling other family member's names. This is how my cousin's weblog was found and now there is a prayer chain going for her. I know most of what I write is pretty tame, but why involve family when you don't have to.

Banana's and Cereal? Now I know I'm in heaven

I think I can handle this food stuff

This isn't what I signed up for

I've been a mother now for 4 months, 2 weeks, and 4 days (if you count today, which I do since it's past noon) and you'd think I'd be able to roll with the punches a little more right? Wrong.

Oh, I'm used to the spit up, the exploding poop, the drool that covers everything. But what I was and still am not prepared for are the strange and twisted things happening to my body. Suddenly, I have grey hair, I still get up three times a night to pee, and I have a rash. Yes, a rash.

I went to the doctor for it yesterday. He asked me "when did this rash first appear?" I thought it through and answered. "when my daughter was born." He just nodded like that answered everything. I wondered if the two were related and he answered that it's a definite possibility. That the stress and trauma from childbirth and of being a first time mom could be wreaking havoc on my immune system. What? What? What?

So, in essence, I'm allergic to motherhood. It causes me to break out in this red, itchy rash that I now have a nifty cream prescribed for. I could be a total downer and say I'm allergic to my kid. Isn't that lovely? Other people are allergic to cool things like peanuts, pollen, cats, and I'm stuck with children. The only good thing I see coming out of this is I now have a great excuse as to why I can't babysit a certain someone's kids. Because it's bad for my health, just ask the doctor.

10 reasons having kids rocks

1. Late to everything? Just blame it on the baby.

2. You can cut annoying phone conversations short by using the excuse "baby needs changing."
(sidenote: changing is interchangeable with burping, feeding, napping, bathing, smothering...)

3. Accidentally pass raunchy gas? Just blame it on the baby.

4. If you pinch baby's leg so she screams, people let you cut to the front of the line at the bank (not that I've tested this one, I'm just guessing)

5. Twice a week you get a chance to go to a store like Target or Wal-Mart with the excuse "baby needs diapers and formula." This gives you a chance to spend a little time and money on yourself. Just don't forget to actually pick up some diapers and formula or darling husband will suspect the truth.

6. Forget to bathe for a week? Just blame it on the baby. We know it's really because you've been watching soap operas all week.

7. Now you have someone you can dress the way you want and experiment on...Isn't that why you had the baby in the first place?

8. For at least the next 5 or 6 years, you are the coolest person on the planet.

9. Now you have a reason as to why you buy cocoa pebbles and fruit roll ups.

10. No matter how horrible of a day you've had, there is always someone little and sweet waiting for your cuddles at night.

Screaming Mimi for sale...Cheap.

My darling little girl has picked up a new habit, and it's about as fun as poking yourself in the eye with a sharp stick. Which, incidentally, is what you want to do once she's started. She screams. And she knows it will send me running to her in a heartbeat, which is why she does it.

The first time was yesterday. I put her down for her nap. Which I knew she didn't want, even though her eyes were rolling around in their sockets, trying to get her lids to shut. She always grumbles when I put her down. Well, this time about a minute and a half into her whining, she let out a scream so shrill, you would have thought world war three had just happened in her crib. I run in there prepared to find her limbs dismembered from her body, and she stops screaming, looks at me and smiles. She smiles! And it was a breathtaking smile. I checked her over just to be sure (you never know when those arms might have fallen off, always check), closed her door part way, stuck my eye in the crack and waited.

I didn't have to wait long. She looked around the room, stuck her bottom lip out, took a huge breath and let one rip. All this time she is staring at the door like she knows I'm going to be running through it at any minute. Wait a minute! How in the hell did she get so smart? She's only 4 months old, she doesn't even have any hair yet.  This is not good.

Since then she has been screaming for everything. Take her bottle out of her mouth to wipe her chin: she screams. Lay her down to change her diaper: she screams. Look away from her while she's in her jumperoo: she screams. Am I painting a pretty picture?

So if any of you would like to purchase this adorable screaming Mimi, please let me know. I promise, she's cheap. I'd sell her for 10 minutes of quiet if you want.

Um, about this rolling

So my baby is now an avid roller, as I've brought up numerous times. But, before you start picturing a chubby blur of rolling flash, let me get it straight for you. Yes, she rolls, but only in one direction and only from her back to her belly. So you know what that means. I am constantly being bleated at to flip her chunky self over. And I do, never once complaining (ha).

It's quite amusing during the day. Night comes and it's no longer funny. Just as I drift to sleep I hear it. The bleating that sounds like a goat that has his ass stuck in the air. I stumble into her room and find her beating the mattress with her tiny fists, bleating and drooling all over the place. The first time it happened I called in husband to have a chuckle. The second time it happened I smiled and flipped. The one hundred and sixty fifth time it happened I bleated along with her and cursed my ovaries. Why can they make such a beautiful child yet only produce one that can only learn to roll one way at a time? When will this end?

My mother laughs when I tell her and says "all in due time." Yeah, easy for you to say when you live 1000 miles away and get your 8 hours of sleep at night Damn you! She just laughs some more and I can hear her think it, payback in all it's glory.

So, what will I do? I know what I'll do. I'll keep stumbling into her room, in the dark and flip my precious baby over. And over. And over.

Maybe when she hits her teens will I be able to stop the nightly visits.

Anything you can do, my baby can do better

After reading this on a message board I post on, I got to thinking about just how crazy women act when their children are involved. And yes,  when I say women, I am including myself. Seeing how I qualify because 1) I have a vagina 2) I have a child and 3) I am so guilty of this. Oh, and I do know of a few men who do this, but for the most part it's us women who bring home the gold.

Imagine if you will a world where people talked like this about themselves. Like, for instance, in the workplace. "Hey Bob, guess what? I can totally roll over from my back to my tummy and not get my arm stuck. I've been able to do this for weeks now. I heard you've only been doing it a few days." Or, "Hey Sally, my husband smiled at me last night, what can your husband do?" Sounds pretty silly doesn't it.

So why do we insist on putting our own offspring through this? Are we really already living vicariously through them? Are our own lives that boring (well, yes mine can be sometimes) that we have to use our children's development as entertainment and a way to one up our neighbors?

I mean really! Who cares when baby rolls over, smiles, laughs, picks his nose, or farts intentionally in public all for the first time. All babies eventually do this, why are we so gung-ho to make sure our babies are the first among our friend's babies.

Think about it. The more our kids do, the more they are growing. And I've decided today that I don't want my kid to grow anymore. It's just to heartbreaking. She will never be that pile of drool that just lays there ever again. Now she can roll! And rolling is what she does best. She is a baby on a mission! She's got places to go, damnit! And nothing's going to stop her.

And that makes me really sad. 

 

Like a rolling stone

My baby rolled over today, from her to back to her tummy respectively. And I missed it. I was sitting right next to her and I missed it. There I was typing away at an email message while my little girl was grunting and straining to get her big head to roll over with the rest of her body. I heard her grumbles and muttered a few you're okay's and just one more second, and when I finally looked down I remember saying to her "oh, no wonder you're grumping. You're on your arm. Let me just....wait! You are on your arm! On your tummy! But I put you on your back!" I was so proud. For a second. Then the shame of bad motherhood swept over me.

How could I have missed such a pivotal moment in her young life. I pictured the future in a flash. Me painting my nails while she took her first steps, me yakking on the phone while she learned to ride a bike, me fiddling with my walker while she graduates from high school. Just nominate me for worst mother now. Instead of college, we should just save for her therapy. They blame it all on the mother anyway. Now I know why. All of those poor souls in therapy now are probably there because their mothers missed it when they rolled over.

I'll have to consult my baby manual on this one (HA! Did you seriously think I actually had a copy of this elusive booklet!), but I wasn't aware of the fact that your child decides to do all the cute, wonderful, new tricks when you aren't looking or even expecting them. So far, I've missed her first smile (given to her Aunt), her first laugh (given to Grandma), and her first explosive poopy diaper (thankfully given to Dad). I've decided that I must never partake in any extracurricular activity again. I must stay home and watch my girl 24 hours a day. Forget eating and sleeping. NO! I must be there to witness and record every glorious moment of my precious gift from heaven's life. Just think of how close that will make us in her teenage years.

I can hear the therapist counting his money now.

Oh, my aching back

Someone shoot me (with some demerol!). The bad back is back, he's muscled his way in, shoving good back to the side. He never calls first, just shows up in the middle of the night. Ugh. The good thing about having a bad-back-attack is no housework! The bad? Having a 17lb 4 month old to carry around.

I truly believe my enormous breasts are the cause of all my back misery. In fact, I can pretty much blame them for everything. Sorry, I can't learn golf, my boobs will get in the way (didn't anyone see Jessica Simpson try at this?). Sorry, I can't go jogging with you, my boobs will get in the way (and probably knock me out). Sorry, I can't breastfeed my child, my boobs will get in the way.

Okay, that last one was sad. I tried so hard to breastfeed, but when you're holding a newborn in a football position and you are all hunched over like Quasimodo something is going to give. And that something is my back. Believe me, I tried to see through the pain. But it wasn't happening folks. And do you think I got any sympathy from the Nazi's at Le Leche League? Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! I think they would have forced me to continue even if blood was squirting out my ears, eyes, and mouth. No thank you kind ladies, I think I'll try formula (gasp).

And you know what? My baby is still alive and doing fine and my back is almost back to normal. Except for days like today. Today it again feels like I'm morphing into the Hunchback. Now all I need is a bell tower.

My chubby monkey

Ah...sweet, sweet sleep.

I actually got to sleep in today, until 9:15am. Woohoo, it's a glorious day. Granted I was up until midnight with brat child, then again at 4:30am, but I digress.

Why is it when we're young we can stay up all night and still be bright-eyed and bushytailed the next day? Now, as an adult, we miss 1 or 2 precious hours and we're transformed into the antichrist. You'd think that as growing children, we need all the rest we can get. Our bodies are done growing now (at least in length...some of us still grow in width), and we can't enjoy them all night long without the aid of illicit drugs.

Also, I remember being able to crash anywhere you put me. The backseat of the family wagon, the couch, the sandbox in the backyard. Now, if I'm not in bed, preferably medicated with a Tylenol PM, there is no way I'm falling asleep for another hour.

I think that's the hardest part about having a child. The first thing to change was my sleep pattern, and that was before said child had even made her grand appearance. I think as soon as I hit that third trimester mark, my sleep left me and was replaced with achy hips and a tiny bladder. But, I think she was worth it. Though, I rarely am thinking that at 4:30am, when she is ready to play and I'm ready to crash.