bustle-y day

from the mind (ha!) of cookie dog:

***barking at the wind! barking at the wind! barking at the wind! barking at the wind! -pause- sniffing my ass. barking at the wind!***

from the mind of nandie pants:

***barking at the wind! barking at the wind! barking at the wind! barking at the wind! -pause- sniffing cookie's ass. barking at the wind!***

from the mind of suki:

**SHUT UP I KEEEEEL YOU BOTH!!!***

santa can suck it

Santa,

You fat dirty fuck! What a wonderful gift I got...half a night's sleep.

JUST ONE TEENY HALF.

When I asked for 5 hours of uninterrupted sleep...I didn't mean Monday.

I MEANT EVERYDAY.

but you knew that, didn't you?

you dirty cocksmoking sumnabitch. enjoy watching the suki suffer, don't you? I'm dying over here, and you love it. you, sir, are one sick fuck.

from now on,

I'm writing my letters to the easter bunny.

Suki

Ps. I hope you choke on the cookies, douchebag.

got what I wanted!

Dear Santy Clause,

Thank you for the bestest Christmas present ever...

5 whole uninterrupted hours of sleep!!!

It was the bestest gift ever ever ever ever!

Love,
The Suki

too busy to bitch...err, I meant blog

firstly, I hope everyone had a super duper holiday. honestly...I mean that. (believe it or not hehehe)

ours was...hectic. christmas eve never happened for us.

the prof is not doing so hot, lately. he stopped breathing in the middle of the night and has pretty much been screaming non-stop for days.

I'm hoping dietary changes will hook him up with some relief...if not, my god. the poor thing will just continue to suffer.

we made christmas morning happen. it was nice. small family. little bit of food and "grab bag" presents.

my grandfather got a bag of bows...and someone got my car keys.

we're broke. it was late. I was tired...I'm still looking for one of the dogs.

the prof is still in bad shape (in fact screaming his head off downstairs with 'pah)...so I'm a bit (more) frazzled (than usual).

while the holiday wasn't all sugar plums and candy canes...

it didn't totally blow, and quite frankly...

at this stage in the game, I'll take that.

Happy Holidays from teh Sukster, the 'pah, monkey and Mr. Ballistic!

Christmas is a cluster fuck

we not only dried the tree off...but completely out, as well.

I'm guessing it'll last 'til the 26th...maybe longer since my sunroom is about 14 degrees.

we went to the mall tonight. the far away mall. the its so damn cold you can't open your car door and you're now trapped in the mall-mall.

the griswalds got nothing on us.

the prof went ballistic. overstimulated. I guess nursing him in the food court was just too much...

so I finished in Arby's.

the monkey slammed the grocery getter's hatch on my head. oqui kicked me and I tore the nail on my business finger into the nail bed.

in retaliation I:

-punched the car
-scratched the kid
-kicked oqui back
-and gave myself the finger

I still don't have any gifts for anyone. I haven't made any that I said I was going to. my house is really REALLY really trashed, now (like the dogs got into the diaper pail kinda trashed). I'm broke and have no food and have to cook for the party that was supposed to be here, but is now moved elsewhere because I cried like a little girl about it...

and I forgot, ever so briefly, about the prof's disastrous reaction to dairy, drank half a milkshake and he's once again pooing green and screaming bloody murder.

anyone know where I can get me some tofu cheese?

never mind. don't answer that. if it came to tofu cheese...



I'd...well, let's just hope it doesn't come to that.

treesicle

we're really not very bright.

we finally decided today to get our tree (I was convinced that if I stayed angry enough christmas just wouldn't happen this year...but lo and behold the fucking thing showed up, anyway).

its cold as shit, so we get bundled of all bundled up and drag our sorry asses, the prof AND the dogs out to bumblefizzle to tag our tree.

we had either completely forgotten our recent "winter weather events" or...we're just plain dumb.

we're heading on down the highway, over the river, through the woods and past the frozen power lines when I start to get this niggling feeling that sumzhing...just aint right.

glorious winter beauty abounds. an amazing blanket of white as far as the eye can see. trees, shrubs, fields, roads...shiny. amazing. covered in ice.

how long do you cook a christmas tree?

I knew we were making a boo boo, but the car was loaded and I just didn't give a fuck. we picked our three hundred pound ice laden beast, strapped it to the roof of the grocery getter...scratches be damned.

we drug that mother fucker home, rather unceremoniously unloaded it (it's tremendous weight threw oqui about 14 feet when he let loose its bonds) and realized...

we didn't have the hole drilled in the trunk.

yeah. we're focking BRILLIANT.

so the treesicle is on the back porch, nestled snuggly under a tarp with a space heater running full blast for shits and giggles. we attempted to give it a new 'do with a blow dryer and realized...

we aint THAT fucking stupid.

next step is to drag it to the side of the house, fire up the clothes dryer and see if the vent won't do some damage to the ice floe.

if'n we ever get it defrosted...

we still have to figure out how to get that cocksucker to stand.

I like oqui's version better

"we're trully fucked" had me laughing out loud. at least he still has a sense of humor...

-------------------------------------------------------

This week has been just horrible!The weather is cold, cloudy and uninspiring. I've been literally breaking my back have had little quality time with the Prof, the dogs no longer recognize me, and I'm feeling drained, pale and stressed out.

The house is a constant battle, smells like pee and is ready for a nuclear weapon. Honestly, I can't wait to crawl into a deep coma and wake up in Utah!!!

Geneia and I are at each other's throats over any little thing. Having a baby has put a gigantic strain on our relationship.

The Monkey's grades have improved from last quarter, however I constantly have to make sure she completes the work, her room is more of a disaster than the rest of the house put together and she needs a major lesson in how to help out around the house without asking 40 times over the course of 7 days, and without the bullshit teenage attitude. She gets off Scott (haha) free here at home.

The Prof has been spitting, gagging and still has painful reflux. He's sleeping at best 5 hours a night but more like 5 minutes a night and both Geneia and I have suffered as a result. Sleep, what in the hell is that?

We have no money and are planning a family vacation to the bankruptcy court. We've also organized a charity toy drive for us. and are busy, busy, busy joining the growing mass of those less fortunate this season.

We're truly fucked.

Appreciation is certainly hard to earn. Positive attitudes are a thing of the past.

Sincerely,Mr. Scrooge McFucknut

bizarro blog

This week has been just excellent!

The weather is warm, sunny and inspiring. I've been taking lots of long walks with the Prof and the dogs, and the I'm feeling toned, tan and trim.

The house looks gorgeous and is ready for the holidays. Honestly, I can't wait for my entire family to come over for christmas. this'll be the best christmas EVER!!!

Oqui and I are closer than ever. Having a baby has worked wonders for our relationship.

The Monkey's grades have really improved, her room is clean and she's been a tremendous help around the house.

The Prof has really settled in nicely. no more spitting, gagging or painful reflux. He's sleeping peacefully through the night and I'm pretty well rested, myself.

We've got plenty of money and are planning a family vacation to the Mediterranean so we can just relax and enjoy each other some more. We've also organized a charity toy drive and are busy, busy, busy helping those less fortunate this season.

We're trully blessed.

spoiled rotten

rocking endlessly in my arms.

sleeping for hours on my chest.

occassionally weasling his way into bed with mommy and daddy.

cuddling, snuggling, noodling.

yup, teh Suki's getting spoiled.

he ran into my foot. honest

since my daily life brings absolutely NOTHING of interest these days...I'm gonna go ahead and start telling stories from my past.

gonna start small since my attention span is...ooh. look at the pretty flower!

Brian and Vicky. sister and brother. evil incarnate. they were the neighborhood bullies (until I inherited the spot) in my childhood...well, 'hood.

Vicky was considerably older than I was, thus, we had limited encounters. the only one I can CLEARLY remember was when she offered me a piggy back ride...

only to drop my dumb ass in a puddle.

fucking bitch. I told my Grampa (father of 11 of his own and pretty much EVERYBODY'S grampa...'cept mine that day). he found her on the playground. asked her what happened. she lied. he (at least appeared to) believe(d) her. I felt violated. only this morning did I realize that he was humoring her.

fucking bitch.

her hellion brother brian was closer to my age and we clashed almost daily.

all that ended when he accidentally ran into my foot. my grandparents owned an urban church and my father was the pastor. we were southern baptists, which I'm guessing explains a whole hella lot. every year missionaries from the DEEP DEEP south used to come up and stage vacation bible school. I hated that week.

we lived in the parsonage above the church, and were promptly evicted from our bedrooms to make space for classrooms all week. meaning...neighborhood kids were chilling in my bedroom and eating in my kitchen.

fucking bitches.

where was I? oh, yeah...brian and vicky. they were neglected, abused and acting out (frankly, so was I but nobody seemed to give a shit about that. now did they?)...and got away with MURDER because they "needed the attention."

round about wednesday of that week I had had enough of brian's incorrigable ass rumaging through my shit, raining on my parade and pissing me off.

so...I was standing on the steps outside. he approached from the sidewalk approximately 4 feet below...

and his mouth accidentally ran into my foot.

what I gotta say? the boy was clumsy.

-whistling innocently-

so I said I was gonna stop complaining of breast 'tenderness' and nipple pain, right?

right.

so....I'll have a coke.

The Prof seems to be having a pretty good day. we've elevated any and everything he lies on and I'm going dairy free.

I'm practically starving as I'm incredibly lazy and a glass of milk, cup of yogurt or piece of cheese are easy to grab and have been pretty much my only sustenance since the booger's birth...but it'll give me an opportunity to seek other...more creative...eating options.

like McDonald's and shit.

my poor baby :(

the good news is that wednesday's barium swallowing episode showed that he doesn't have pyloric stenosis and DOESN'T need surgery.

the bad news is that he has wicked reflux.

he snorts and has labored breathing.
his voice and cries are nasally and raspy.
he spits up...alot.
he has trouble nursing (hence my boobs being the single most painful thing on the planet..ever).
he's in pain.

Initially, I was convinced to medicate him. now that I've done more reading, I think I'm going to hold off on the drugs.

there are slings and pillows that elevate. I can eliminate some things from my diet. massage. etc...

if he's still in pain, though...I'll give him the zantac.

it breaks my heart to see that feeding him...

hurts him as much as it hurts me.

his comfort is waaay more important than mine.

I'm done complaining about my boobs, now. honest.

tall moment

I had a revelation last night. at least it seemed like one to my sleep deprived, slightly deranged mind...

and I felt really tall.

significant.

then it passed and I shrank (all but my muffin top, that is)...

and life continues.

if I should happen to find 6-8 minutes of uninterrupted time later, I might just fill y'all (yes. I just used "y'all") in on it.

this sucks

I'm fat.
It's raining.
I'm tired.
Babies are boring.

I'm out of chocolate.

for once

I'm irritated about something other than my good for nothing (but irritation) boobers.

in a fit of pregnancy...I gave away all my clothing.

not surprisingly, the only articles to survive the purgeocaust were my "climbing" clothes.

so I've got a closet full of racer back tanks, dirty long sleeve t's and fleece jackets...

all reeking of camp fire and making me hate my life just about now.

YETMEOUTTAHERE!!!!

I'm irritated.

raise your hand if you're surprised.

yesterday's visit was wonderful. besides the fact that she's obviously a baby whisperer and speaks infant...the lactation consultant really (really) knew her stuff.

instant diagnosis. immediate action plan to remedy the situmination. detailed instruction and demonstration.

and, of course, I can't do it at home.

fuck. fuck. fuck.

I was so excited when I left there that besides calling everyone I know...I almost cried. hallelujah. amen. my problems, they are a-solved.

fuck. fuck. fuck.

the prof isn't cooperating, I'm still in tremendous amounts of pain (no one seemed to realize exactly how distraught I was/am over this), and I don't have enough arms to do it right.

so, not only am I still chained to the sofa by my aching boobs...I've now had a taste of what it can be like...and a minimal amount of hope in getting there again on my own.

I suck.

after coming down from my this-woman-is-amazing-and-I-CAN-do-this-high...I think I feel even worse than before. I want this to work. I want this to stop being excruciatingly painful.

I want a life.

I tried to rebound from my fuck-the-cruel-cruel-world-this-isn't-working crash by turning it into a little game. instead of dreading each feeding, I'm making little wagers with myself as to my odds of getting it right.

obviously, I can only accomplish difficult things when:

a. angry (check)
b. challenged (check)
c. full of chocolate and/or vodka (quasi-check. I need a refill on vodka)

did I mention fuck? fuck? fuck?

in other news (besides fucking...cause that most certainly aint going on):
the monkey has been spiking a 103 degree fever for the last 3 days. not cool. it responds to fever reducers, and she has no other symptoms, so we really have no single solitary clue what the fiznuck is going on. alas, we keep pumping her full o'drugs and hope her brain doesn't fry...

anymore than her 13 year old hormones have already fried, that is.

oqui's office christmas party was yesterday and with the monkey having such a ridiculous fever, I asked my grandmother to come keep an eye on her while we were gone. we fully intended to take the Prof with us (like I was gonna leave him behind?!?!?), but grandma pulled a compelling lil "you know...you can leave him here, too" on me, and we had our first night out sans child...accidentally.

I was nervous and ready to go home, then I had a(n admittedly watered down) vodka tonic or two and felt a little bit better.

for 20 minutes.

the food was good, the people weren't too terribly boring (old people are kinky), but my boobs hurt and I was ready to bounce before I finished my salad.

so I finished my salad...and we eventually went home.

no injuries. minimal crying (on both the part of the Prof and my grandma). the monkey's core temp didn't exceed critical measure and my business cash wardrobe from days of yore managed to almost fit.

I was fucking hot.

but my boobs hurt...

so we came home.

now, I'm home, and lo and behold...

my boobs still hurt.

fuck the tatas.

getting help

NOT from a psychiatrist...at least not yet.

this whole breast-feeding piece is whooping my lilly white (and currently too large) ass.

I saw two lactation consultants already this week...no dice. apparently my issues require the big guns, so the prof and I are driving to philly for an appt at the breastfeeding resource center.

I hate driving. the prof hates when I drive. it's a looong looong way. this is most certainly going to suck.

HOWEVER, a friend of mine had multiple breastfeeding issues, hauled her ass to the BRC, got things straightened out and managed to nurse for 14 months.

fingers crossed, guys.

the prof and I are miserable.

truth be told

I'm getting a little sick of the baby thing.

I need to get out of the house.

today

totally sucked.

had an appointment for a nursing consultation at the birth center. of course, the prof screamed bloody murder, projectile vomitted and peed in his own eye.

I said to the midwife, "yeah. he's a bit 'opinionated" to wit she replied, "hmmm...wonder where he gets that from."

indeed. a rottweiler and a pitbull don't go giving birth to a golden retriever.

so he fussed, was forced to get nekkid in public, again and was completely out of sorts. he wouldn't latch, kept startling and screaming in his sleep and was generally fucked up.

...then the la leche league leader came over. too much. sensory overload. he went directly into a coma until she was ready to leave, at which point he exploded into a symphony of unhappy noises. fortunately, she's an old hand at fussy babies and danced with him a bit. he got quiet for 42.3 seconds...

then let loose hell's fury, again.

she left. he gnawed ineffectively on my boob for an hour or so then cried some more.

so now it's 11:30 at night, I haven't spent a minute with the 'pah (we even had to take turns eating dinner cause the prof needed soothing), stink bottom's belly is less than satisfied and I'm sore as shit.

I got a list of old wive's tale cures for breast plugs, all of which I'm going to try...repeatedly. if they don't work, I'm going to nurse exclusively on the left side. my right boob can go fuck itself.

so if you happen to see a lopsided boob chic with a screaming baby attached to her...that'll prolly be me.

today proved quite a few things to me, though:

-I know my baby. I know what he wants/needs, and when I can't or don't give it to him...I get what's coming to me

-complain as I might...I'm extraordinarily grateful. half a dozen women took the time to see me, visit my home, talk on the phone with me, research things for me, etc. I'm incredibly lucky to have that kind of support. I might be feeling icky over the prof's less than perfect latch...but at least he does. we're nursing (ineffectual and uncomfortable as it may be)...and that, in and of itself, is a blessing.

-my family likes sausage gravy and biscuits. I feel like an IHOP chef.

-I'm way more patient than I thought. I gotta give myself some props for holding it together so well while stink bottom freaked. the dark chocolate and vanilla stoli treat I promised myself when I got home helped...

-doing shots with your 13 year old daughter = probably not a good thing...

but kinda fun when you're having a shiteriffic day.

(relax...her's was half full and mostly orange juice)

-again...I can always cut the fucker (the fucker being my uncooperative tit) off.


for christmas, I just want my tata to stop hurting.

today

was better.



the prof and I cuddled, nursed, cuddled, nursed, watched some TV, drank some OJ, hit up the classical station...and cuddled and nursed some more.



kept the unreasonable, nerve piercing screaming to a minimum.



suki like. very nice.

ouch

my boob hurts.

like really really hurts. the thought was that I don't have a breast infection because I don't have a fever and I'm not slumped in a corner sobbing,

BUT...

I seem to have a plugged duct (or entire extended family of them) for about two weeks now. it hurts into my armpit, down my arm, into my chest and sometimes my teeth.

I'm doing everything under the sun to just MAKE IT GO AWAY!!

hot compresses, nursing like its my job, lots of fluids, as much rest as one can get with a crazy as a shithouse rat infant, massage, more massage and yet some more massage, change in activity (climbing can go fuck itself til my boob stops threatening to burst), change in diet (I threw out the bag of potato chips and didn't go to friendly's), I don't wear any constrictive clothing (I also threw out my nursing bras), standing on my head, nursing on my hands and knees and praying to buddha.

at this point, I'd be willing to kill a kitten if it would make this incessant, brain numbing pain go away.

fine. I can't actually kill a kitten, but I'd order that bitch's execution in a heartbeat.

I'm at the end of my rope (which magically seems to elongate every time I say/think/feel that way) physically, mentally and emotionally.

there is good news, however:

-I can always cut the fucker off (by fucker I'm referring to the boob and not the child)
-colic tends to last until the third month. no longer.
-the monkey has had great success in hushing the baby
-I feel zero remorse in saying no to absolutely every request for action. I'm not leaving this house for anything shy of antibiotics and/or a Mr. Miaggi massage.
-I'm justified in "resting"
-I can have sex...assuming Captain Cock Block goes to sleep
-technically, alcohol is no longer forbidden. I'm not sure I wanna liquor the lil' chap up TOO much...

but it might just have to happen (please refer to "I can have sex" bullet).

white boy for sale

what the hell happened?!?!?!?!?!?!

somebody hit the colic switch on our lil' dear and he's been wailing his ass off for days now.

nooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!

the novelty wore off about 8 seconds into his first crying jag (can you say tubal ligation?)...and now we're just trying to muddle through and keep coming up with new and exciting ways to shut the little shit up.

some snippets from last night's dialogue:

- "don't kick your dad in the dick. no, I said don't kick your dad in the dick."

- "you know, nobody WANTS to commit infanticide...but I can see how it would happen"

- "stop giving your mother such a hard time. those are good full boobies. now, settle down and suck (you ungrateful lil' *bleep*)"

- "I'm giving you another 40 minutes before I call the adoption agency"

- "sooo...you're sure you don't want any more (children), right?"

- "yes, yes. I know. it's dreadfully difficult being an infant. now shut up."

- "what the hell kinda party is this? all we've got to drink is MILK!"

and my personal favorite (after Oqui had enough, picked him up for a "man to man" talk, informed him that he was being unreasonable and he better get his act together...which he promptly did btw)...

"don't make me tell Daddy!!!"



obviously...I'm no longer in need of my fallopian tubes.

crying over spilled (spilt?) milk.

I'm obsessed with my tatas.

they are the lil' Prof's only means of survival (unless someone gave him a bottle, that is).

they're sore.
incredibly sore.

they're busy between 5-7 hours a day.

they refuse to be clothed.

and, quite frankly, I'm sick to death of them.

breastfeeding is...I'm not gonna say 'hard' because the act itself is actually quite easy...

so I'm going to go with "laborious."

it is all encompassing. pervasive. it leaks, if you will, into every single aspect of my existence.

it affects what I eat, how I dress, where I go, how my time is allocated, when (as well as where and with whom) I sleep, and is basically running my fucking life.

a human milk supply is a very fragile (I'm coming to realize) entity. I can't exercise too much (0r at all...cause I'm sore). I can't take a break. it must continue...every two hours. no matter what.

I have to feed constantly to avoid clogging, plugging and infection, and it's all I can do to get a few extra ounces a day put aside should I want to *gasp* leave StinkBottom for an hour or so. (which, quite frankly...I don't)

last night...I spilled an entire bottle of precious, hard-won, coveted milk.

not gonna lie...I almost had a heart attack.

did I mention that I'm sore?

I won't even consider formula or supplementing. not a chance in hades, so I've come to the conclusion (oqui had to tell me) that I better just make the better of it.

I thought that being pregnant was a buzzkill...

but (incredibly) achey and highly demanded boobs definitely take the tata.



I'm never leaving the house, again.

ooh, I did forget...

as if I was begging the universe to enact my boob leaking fear...

(and like a total dumbass) I forgot to properly protect against leakage, and sent oqui home for nursing pads.

I will get better at this...honestly.

so yeah...

we climbed.

I did suck. worse than I expected, actually. I was unbalanced, lacking technique, way weak and my harness didn't fit. I want a do-over on the last 10 months.

I also did snarl. I tried not to, but it was inevitable. people were near him. people I didn't know. me no likey.

all in all I have mixed feelings about the evening.

the climbing gym USED to be like a second home...tonight I felt like a stranger.

worse than a newb, cause I know I should know what I'm doing...and DO know enough to know that I looked like an idjut.

on the other hand...

that harness aint getting any bigger and unless I feel like lugging around 10 pounds of "training weight" for the rest of my life...

a girl's gotta hit the wall.

(literally, figuratively and colloquially)

ooh, I forgot...

MAJOR CON:

-my boobs'll probably leak.

weight

as chubby as I am (at an appointment yesterday i was told that my current weight is within "normal" range, to wit I replied..."fuck normal"...but I digress)...

this post is not about my gigantic muffin top or saggy gunt (hot, right?).

it is instead about decision making.

I'm considering climbing tonight, and have thusly decided to weigh the pros and cons.

pros:

-I'd be climbing. duh
-the 'pah and I need this. this is how our partnership was formed...this is what we do together.
-physical activity is (or at least was) a huge and integral part of my being...perhaps I should remember what that feels like
-I'd be climbing.
-gotta take that first step in getting back to my old self at some point
-everyone could see the monkey at the gym, so I wouldn't have to worry about trying to fit in showers on random weeknights for visitors
-catch up with peeps

cons:
-the gym is stinky and germ infested and the Prof is still itty bitty (obviously, he'd be coming with us cause I can't have him out of sight for more than 15 minutes without a mild panic attack)
-I might suck
-fashion (and function) disaster. I don't think I have any clothing (or climbing shoes and harness for that matter) that fit
-I'm probably gonna suck
-everyone is gonna want to touch him. I might snarl
-intense upper body exercise can lead to clogged ducts, breast infections and sheer misery (although the chance is slim, this suki does NOT look forward to fearing a breast infection again...being hit by a truck might be preferable)
-I'm still uber protective and get unintentionally and inexplicably spazzy when out of my den with the cub. I might snarl.
-I kinda like drop-in visitors...as long as they don't smell of smoke and try to touch the Professor
-what's a pull up???


all that being said...I really want to climb.

but, I'll leave it in the hands of the 'pah.

he's probably too tired to want to climb, anyway...

oqui wants

oqui wants:

-new pants
-snow tires
-a good nights sleep
-the baby and I to be quiet during his fifth feeding in the dead of the night
-vegetables that aren't over-cooked
-and apparently, a skull fracture in the exact shape and size of my ski boot.

gentlemen, here is a bit of sound advice for those of you who either have little ones, or will at some point...

do NOT fuck with their breastfeeding mother.

she is chubby, hormonal and sleep deprived to the point of near-psychosis.

translation: she will stab your bitch ass.

if you cannot be at least helpful (gasp! what is this suki going on about??? a man being helpful in the middle of the night???) then at least do yourself a favor and make an effort to contain your hostility...

lest you find yourself at a 24 hour grocery store, screaming infant in hand, asking the clerk where they keep the infant formula...

'cause your baby momma got sick of your selfish ass and bounced.

paperwork

I'm wondering if it's too late to legally change the pooper's name...




to Captain Cock Block.



It's painfully obvious that as long as this child insists on sleeping in our bed (it's also obvious that he'll insist on doing so for quite some time)...



we won't be seeing any action...at least from each other. the child is 8 lbs of pure cock-blocking fury. in bed...he's about 6'8" 340...and determined.

we'll either need longer appendages or detachable naughty bits.



go go gadget genitals.

remind me...

to NEVER go to Vegas.

last night was sheer torture with the Professor. he was held and coddled and sweated up by a myriad of interested visitors all day (ie. he slept his way through the torment, body lotion, deodorant and perfume)...

and was hell on earth last night.

I made it to bed around 1am. he got up at precisely 3:14...and stayed that way until almost 6:30 (I'm guessing. I finally threw in the towel and handed him over to oqui somewhere around daybreak).

he nursed. cooed. pooed. puked. farted. peed. nursed. wailed, etc...

I was all good for the first two hours. he's wicked cute, but when my he pinched my nipple for the 80th time with ice cold, newborn, pincer-grip fingers...I was done.

that shit hurts.

sometime in the wee hours of the morning:

me: that's it! oqui, I'm done!
oqui: hmmmshshsmmmmghghaj?
me: the kid. he's yours. I can't do anything for him. g'night.
oqui: what are the chances he cries it out?
me: (said in a none to friendly tone) NONE!

a nanosecond later the Prof stopped crying.

obviously I'm no good with calculating percentages and am quite the stupendous fool.

good thing he started fussing, again, 4.3 seconds later or I would've lost all street cred.

so I tried to nap amidst tears of pain, frustration and exhaustion, whilst the 'pah tried to quiet the kid without a boob.

eventually we all slept. I even managed to sack in til 10ish (at the expense of o'pah being the walking dead today)...and I got myself a nice warm bath.

amazing how all is well when one no longer smells like baby doodie.

all told, this whole baby deal is pretty damned easy. I'm not anxious, upset, weepy, depressed or even moderately annoyed. he's nursing well. I feel rested and at ease and I'm thinking the nonny is only slightly worse for the wear...

now, if we can just muster up enough money for things like heat, shelter and food and one income...

we'll be all good.

harmony

there is balance in the universe.

after nearly killing me (and my boobs) the other night...the Professor has repented.

he spent the majority of today quietly observing his surroundings. he allowed several hiney changes without a single complaint...

and he did something that approximated a smile.

goddamn this kid is cute.

I think I'm going to have to go in and actually WAKE mr. give me the boob every 43.78 minutes for a feeding.

who's child is this???

and can I keep him? please!

humans are NOT nocturnal

could somebody please explain this to the Professor?

between 11pm and 6am he had me up for 3.5 hours.

for those of you a lil' slow on the uptake (like me)...

that's officially HALF of the freaking night.


I'm dying here...

our first week with Professor Stink Bottom

It's hard to believe (REALLY hard to believe) that I'm due (or at least was due) today...

this Friday if you go by the ultrasound dating, and here we are with a 9 day old human.

It's been a total time warp. day. night. sleep. waking...really no difference between them. we eat. we poo. the kid and I leak (pee for him, breastmilk for me). we change butts and outfits. lather, rinse, repeat.

I seem to alternate between good days and bad days energy-wise. During a good day, I clean the house, warm up some food and maybe (that's a maybe) take a warm bath...then, after having over-done it the day before, have a "bad" day during which I seem to do nothing more than nurse, loaf and drift.

both kinds of days...are actually kind of nice.

lazy hours pass looking at his perfect little head, kissing his soft little cheek and wondering what he's going to look like and whether or not he'll be a lady killer.

let's face it. he will.

his schedule is...erratic, at best. the only consistent thing thus far has been that he has absolutely no idea (none whatsoever) that momma likes to sleep...

at night.

he invariably cluster feeds between 2 and 5am...usually involving at least three diaper changes, two outfit changes, a case of the hiccoughs and vomit on my shoulder. again...

I really don't mind. if all he needs to keep his world a'foot is to fall asleep (5 or 6 times over the course of 3 hours) at the breast...I'm down.

he's wicked cute.

thankfully, he's nursing like a champ. so much so that I even let his great aunt Debbie (I think after yesterday, though, we'll have him call her evil aunt debbie) give him a pacifier.

heartbreaking and devastating. partly because I'm scared it will interfere with his nursing (and I'm extremely committed to that)...

but mostly because its hard to watch someone else comfort him.

so I pried the Nuk outta the evil auntie's hand (it involved something of a clint eastwood western style show-down, I'm almost ashamed to admit)...and almost threw it away.

instead, dreaming of uninterrupted hot soaks and a meal using more than one arm...I put it aside for later...

"just in case."

evil aunt debbie laughed.

my mother has cooked and frozen enough food to keep us fed for another three weeks, and I hear I've got 3 more casseroles coming.

go, mom. go, go. go, mom.

my family has been keeping a respectful distance since I had an all out crying jag after our first bout of visitors. I'm still having trouble letting anyone else touch him...he's just SOOOO SMALL.

by next week, though, I'll have to break down and start letting people parade through to show off the cutie. first the aunties...sans husbands and children (it's flu season. they're gross), then maybe some of the older cousins that don't strike me as having cooties...

then in three years, The Professor can start meeting his same generation cousins.

maybe.

yesterday he gave us a bit of a scare. he was overly lethargic and limp. last week his bilirubin was on the low end of high and we were told if he were to become...you guessed it...lethargic or limp, to call right away. of course, by the time the nurse called us back, he was wailing up a storm and had nursed.

all clear there, but still...try not to scare us like that, again, lil' man.

friday a photographer from the local paper came out to get pictures of the kooky home birth couple who used hypnosis for a human interest story next week.

we tried so hard to look normal. really, we did. oq wore a penn state shirt with a red sox hat, I did some stripey looking thingy and The Professor wore your standard issue baby garb. the photog got here just as Mr. Stink Bottom exploded, and had to wait 15 minutes while I disinfected the pup. by the time I got downstairs, PSB was in a roar, and I was sweating like a pig.

I pointed out the two clean places in the house suitable for picture taking...

and he picked two others. at one point (near the end of our lil' photoshoot, no less), I asked him if my hair was ok. he replied, "yeah. yeah. sure." I pulled a face and asked him, "no. really. is it ok?"

he smoothed a giant chunk down and said, "no worries. we'll just photoshop that."

sweet.

the goal of the piece is to highlight the benefits of HypnoBabies birthing (four hours of painless-fearless labor and five minutes of pushing. I HIGHLY recommend it. for realz)...and perhaps shed some light on the crazy hippy practice of home-birthing.

instead...people are gonna take one look at my drawn, gaunt face and effed up hair and go get IUD's.

either way. community served.

so we count our days listening to coos and whimpers...not to mention loud peeling screams (the Prof's got a set o' lungs on him, he does)...

hoping it doesn't go too slowly (I'm a little eager to get fit and climb stuff, again)...

but really hoping that it doesn't go by too quickly.

ps.

he has a name now.

Introducing the Amazing No Longer Nameless Baby:

Bryson Armando

giving birth...

was not NEARLY as traumatic as the poo I took last night.

I can't say for sure...but I'm almost positive satan had a hand in my bum.

Oqui insists that I go see a doctor...however, the only place I'm going is to the 24 hour super wal-mart to get some metamucil, fiber one, rubber gloves, tubing and a tow chain.

My bottom has been through a hella lot these last few days...

and I'm just looking forward to everything going back to being "innies."

and just like that...

I'm not pregnant anymore.

we have a beautiful (as yet to be named because he won't look us in the eye) baby boy.

I've been trying for a day and a half to find the words to accurately describe my birthing experience...and haven't been able to come up with them. it was the singular most amazing event of my life.

my water broke sunday morning at 3:25. wasn't really having contractions (at least no stronger than what I've been having for 4 months)...and thought I would maybe get some sleep til around 8 or so.

nothing doing.

he was born at 7:20.

I called the doulas first and told them, "nah. I don't think I need you yet." then I called the midwife. same deal. "nope. don't come yet." I walked around for an hour or so trying to clean up...then it occurred to me, "oh dear lord. I'm having a baby...like NOW."

the doulas got here just after 5 and i was already laboring in the tub. let me tell anyone who reads this:

HIRE A BIRTH DOULA.

they were absolutely stellar. between oqui, Lasi and Danielle I managed to birth my son with less than 2 1/2 hours of active labor (I'm going with 4 hours total) and five minutes of pushing.

no drugs. no hospital. NO FEAR.

when the midwife got here I was 7cm dilated...less than an hour later, he was born. in the very bed he was conceived in.

all the reading I've done during pregnancy really emphasizes the pain and mental anguish of labor and delivery.

so. not. true.

with the proper support and relaxation, the kind of birthing experience I had IS NORMAL.

the norm. common. typical.

I only wish I had discovered my power and strength with my first child...

then I might not have been too scared for 13 years to try it, again.

the as-of-yet-to-be-named baby is gorgeous, gentle and the sweetest thing I've ever seen.



...I think I'm going to demand a DNA test...just to make sure he's mine.


HIRE A BIRTH DOULA.

Dear The Whole Entire World,

Go eff yourself.

My issues with you are innumerable and indescribable...as evidenced by my unwillingness to talk to anyone (just leave me alone), and the fact that I've been watching the Discovery Channel non-stop for 6 hours.

I guess I'm just too fucking lazy to put a bullet in my head.

I am emotionally, physically, psychologically and hormonally drained. I haven't got an ounce left. My blood pressure is high, my head is in a vice grip, I'm at 123% abdominal capacity and I truly and completely despise my position in life right now.

I'm finding it hard to:

-like
-trust
-tolerate
-be close to
-talk to

ANYONE.

My likely-to-stab-the-next-motherfucker-who-gets-near-me index is astronomical.

So, go about your merry business, dear the whole entire world, and kindly...

leave me the fuck alone.

dag nabbit!

I was there!

I was sooo close!!!

my uterus was acting wonkie, contracting up a storm, getting ready for the big event...


then I blew it.

I went ape-shit over the nursery (and everything else) starting stomping, moving furniture (mostly by throwing it), screamed a bit, cried a ton, almost puked and generally increased my adrenaline level 3,000 fold.

adrenaline = stoppage o' labor.

when I finally relaxed (about 5am)...the contractions came back (getting fierce this time)...

then I went super-demon, again and killed them.


are my hormones trying to tell me something???


or is it my psyche?


either way...homeboy STILL has a huge dome (getting bigger even as I type this), could turn breech again any minute...and must to be leaving the womb...

like now.

castor oil cocktail anyone?

this could mean something...

or this could mean nothing at all, but...

I lost my mucus plug today (for real this time...not just in a dream).

I'm hoping it means birthing waves are just around the corner and lil' man is ON.HIS.WAY!!!


either way...I should probably:

-pay the doulas
-clean the house
-get the nursery set up (yes. its STILL not set up)
-find some old sheets and plastic
-decide on a name for 'y'unior
-eat three bowls of brownie batter (while this has no relation whatsoever to going into labor...I think it'd be a nice touch)

wish me luck and SPEED!!! (I'm sooooo bored)

good news...ruh roh news.

today's ultrasound confirmed the lil' booger is head down.

YAY!!! sooo excited!!!

AND that he's got a giant dome.

ruh roh. little scurred.

he's measuring two weeks older than he really is with a head circumference of 34 cm.

it is sooo time to get this lil' guy born.

jumping jacks...

lots of jumping jacks.

ass up and fingers crossed

the lil' booger seems to be head down, butt up and ALMOST in the right position.

awaiting confirmation via a mid-wife handling my nonny and a not-so-sweet ultrasound tech lubing up my belly and blasting the squirt with sound waves for the 5th time (I'm so sorry lil' bubbers. let's just hope they aren't later found to be overly harmful).

then crossing my fingers he stays that way.

the whole medicalized birth possibility is still just that. a distinct possibility. we can't deliver at home until we've had a "confirmation" ultrasound...while I'm in labor...that the squirt is in the right place.

so either way...I'll be starting my birthing journey in precisely the place I don't want to be...a hospital.

HOWEVER, if things go well...

I can still go home and get things done properly.


voodoo dances and whammy castings are greatly appreciated at this point.

frightened, angry and a little bit confused

I'm having trouble understanding how most people's reaction to the possibility of a c-section is mostly that of "meh."

its a devastating thought to me.

one is every 3-4 American births ends in major abdominal surgery.

what?

there is NO way this is necessary. Induit women would dig a hollow in the snow, squat above it and birth their children unattended.

tribal african and south american women are EXPECTED to birth alone...not waking their husbands until the baby had arrived, then returning to the fields (forests, etc) within a day or two.

of the industrialized nations...the united states has THE WORST infant mortality rates.

what are we doing wrong?

worrying about liability. losing the art of natural birthing. disregarding the fact that women were BUILT to do this...and instead considering everything a complication, hindrance or a "medical issue.". last I checked...women gave birth well before doctors even existed.

birthing a breech baby is becoming a completely lost art in our culture, because no practioner can get malpractice insurance to do it.

a study conducted in Canada within the last few years showed elevated risks to both mother and fetus when the baby was breech and delivered vaginally. the study did not discount first time, at risk mothers or those with other complications or previous c-sections.

in other words...it was biased, uncontrolled and incorrectly interpreted and its now the basis for 'standard' practice in our country.

and its becoming a real pain in my ass (and emotional state).

I'm petrified and incensed that I may be forced to subject myself to major surgery, compromise initial bonding with my child and once again, have my wishes to see this through...completely...without unnecessary intervention or meddling.

I'm capable of this. all women are. why do they keep telling us we aren't???

I'm in the process of writing two birth plans. one for at home...proceeding at home, without intervention. it'll go something like this:

-catch the baby
-give him to me
-have a brownie and a safe trip home

the end.

the second birth plan (the one where we have to go to the hospital) will read more like a protection order, ticking off all the intrusive "preventative measures" I don't want them to subject my child to.

instead of being able to bond with his brand new family...oqui will be forced to assume the role of protector and armed guard assuring that the child never leaves his sight, lest they decide to innoculate, circumcise or give him a bottle...

and I'll be vomitting from anesthesia...

for days.

I feel violated already.

Dr. Elizabeth is confident she'll get the booger turned around...which will be a moot point if today's lab work doesn't bode favorably for me.

I feel beaten up, tired and sore...and as much as I want to focus on the positive, I can't help but be concerned that it's acceptable to unnecessarily cut women in this country.

how can that be?

why are we (women...and all the men who happen to know and care for one) standing for this sort of treatment?

shit.

today's visit to the birth center bore bad news on two accounts.



firstly, my blood pressure is elevated. out of "normal" range on both attempts. its been steadily rising and has now necessitated some tests and peeing in a jug for 24 hours. I haven't had any other symptoms of pre-eclampsia (unless sleeping 13 hours a day counts)...so we're in watch mode only.



secondly, and this is the one that really sucks...junior is breech. at 37 weeks this is not the best of news. they want to schedule me for an external version (painful, not very effective procedure to try to turn the squirt)...making sure that they have the doctor available to perform an emergency c-section should the baby go into distress.

nope. not gonna let them do it.

I'm disappointed that malpractice suits have brought obstetrical care to this point. vaginal delivery of a breech baby is slightly more risky than a vertex sprout...but not cause for instant major surgery.

I read last night that delivering a breech baby is becoming a lost art. at least in this state. no care provider will do it. so unless I get this lil' booger turned...he's destined to be cut out of me.

...a far cry from the peaceful, gentle, loving home-birth we're preparing and planning for.

I'm petrified, but trying to control my fears to keep my blood pressure down and junior in peace. we're trying chiropractic, accupuncture, massage, posture and voodoo.

our first chiropractic treatment with Dr. Elizabeth yielded a whole lotta movement from the sprout...SOME of it in the right direction. she's confident she'll get him turned. 99% effective. I like her (she's a climber). I like her attitude.

since we've decided we're not going to let them manhandle me and the baby, we don't have the arbitrary deadline of tuesday to get him turned. assuming all stays acceptable with my blood pressure...

we might have a few more weeks to get his lil' butt in the right spot (which, in case you were wondering...is NOT in my pelvis).

so for now...I'm spending alot of time trying not to worry or cry (unpossible) with my ass in the air...

reading up on nursing and bonding after c-sections.

super mega bad dream.

for some reason...my entire family was at my house...

and I couldn't feed any of them. (<----christmas party anxiety?)

then...I lost my mucus plug (in a rather dramatic and graphic fashion that I'll spare you all. all 3 of you, anyway) and couldn't get ahold of oqui or the birth center.

THEN...when I went to the birth center they 'checked me' using a greasy mcdonald's paper bag as a glove...and sent me home to 'complain about it some more.'

when I got home, after attempting to call oqui 43,538,389 times...I found him sitting at the kitchen table...

as a fat asian man (<----I'm really not sure what that signifies, but boy was it scary)...

staring at his cell phone as it rang, yet again...and ignoring it.

several minutes later he spoke, only to tell me he had been fired.

(did I mention he was a fat asian man???)

sooo....


I'm never going to sleep, again.

it's cold.

I woke up to a 57 degree house at 10:30.

shivering, I wondered how cold the rest of the family was when they got up at 6.

aaaaaaaaahahahahahahaha

(^ ok. that was mean.)

creepy furnace guy has our sizable deposit and will be starting to deconstruct the old bohemoth tomorrow morning. friday the spiffy new unit (<----I just like saying "unit") arrives and soon after that we should have some heat up in this piece.

space heaters are working over time in the sunroom and living room...

and I'm wondering if our electric bill will cost more than the new furnace???


probably.

child abuse

living on brownies, brownie batter and zucchini bread for two days isn't TECHNICALLY child abuse, right?

don't tell the fuzz...

I'll go have some baked chicken.

promise.

fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu uuuuuuuuuu uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.

I'm cranky.

I've been patient all day as people have been traipsing in and out of the house telling me how many internal organs its going to cost to replace the furnace, but now I'm done.

no more stress for me today, thanks.

the only person who HASN'T come over is the alarm guy.

I'm really looking forward to our 4am "session" again...you know, the one where the alarm goes off for no known reason and scares the shit out of us for hours.

I have no milk.
I have no heat.
I have no bed and bedding for this baby...or even a room to put it in.
I have no desire to bathe (and I really need to).
and my back hurts...

really really hurts.

fuck this house. fuck the 'burbs. and fuck every heating contractor on the planet...

I'm so over this place.

ouch. bitch. moan. grumble. gretz. fuss.

I want some brownies, dammit!!!

come on, money stick!!!

we need a new furnace. the old (and I DO mean old) one has come to the point of endangering our lives.

sooo...I'm having estimates done for replacing the furnace, drilling through the sides of the house and blowing insulation in (it currently has none), and have the ducts cleaned and sealed.

I'm also having the alarm company come out and make sure all the smoke detectors are working.

all of this means the house will be a disaster area for the remainder of my pregancy...

and its officially off the market, now.

BUT...I'll feel warm, safe and security system protected. (oqui might be in pain, however, from selling his spare kidney to pay for all of this)

for those of you who just LOOOOOVED this place but didn't make an offer...

too late, suckas!

aren't you upset you didn't get to replace the furnace and deal with insulation dust yourselves?

there is a special place in hell

for men who abandon women and their children...

and I know a guy who just reserved himself a spot.

a friend of mine just had a baby on friday. I visited her, the lil nugget and her boyfriend in the hospital on saturday and planned on taking her a casserole after she went home monday. all seemed well. the boyfriend was diapering the little tyke, his siblings were admiring the baby and momma was trying to nurse.

everything seemed fine.

hadn't heard from her in a few days...sent her a message asking how she was doing. I got her reply at 6 o'clock this morning.

he left her. her mother took her home from the hospital monday...and he never came home from work.

he left her, unemployed, with a newborn in HIS apartment. just...

took the fuck off. didn't respond. didn't even have the sack to tell her what he was planning.

her parents are moving her to their house on saturday, and she was able to catch the paperwork in time to change the baby's last name...

and she's having the most miserable time of her life, when she should be focusing on healing and bonding with her baby.

two weeks ago...these kids were buying a house.

his mother spoke to her mother yesterday...and TOTALLY CONDONES her son running out on his fiance and newborn son.

they should both be shot. if my son ever pulls some stunt like that...

I will personally remove his testicles.

I know this guy is young, and I respect the freak out - alot of new dads have one...but not like this. not now. not this way. usually they go on a bender, blow the savings and/or hit a strip joint...

not move their furniture to their mom's and abandon their child.

savage.

what the hell happened between saturday and monday? did he know in the morning he was gonna bail...or did it occur to him sometime on the way home?

how? just.....when? i mean...wh...

what the fuck?

I hugged oqui as tightly as I could after I read her message. I nearly cried. I can't imagine how heart broken I'd be if he were gone...for any reason. I don't know what life would be like with his son...and without him.

his father took off when he was two...mine slowly but surely rotted his brain until at about the age of 12 I decided I was better off never seeing him, again.

why do some men consider the role of father a disposable one?

he's a dead man

he hid my chocolate.


who DOES that???

sweats, chills, headache

are we there yet???

I'm 34 weeks - out of the proverbial woods, but still a little too soon for the lil' booger's lungs.

the baby has dropped...really REALLY dropped, my joints and ligaments are all super duper stretchy (I keep jamming my fingers, and my legs don't QUITE feel like they're attached to my hips), and my abdominal wall has now completely forgotten what a six pack is and is split right down the middle (feels sooo good. not!).

sunday was my baby shower...and an open house...and really humid and hot. I had a great time seeing all my family, but I was soooo tired and having wicked strong contractions the whole time.

soon...so soon.

my goal here is 37 weeks. any sooner and he might have issues...and later and I'll stab myself to death.

I know every pregnant woman wants to "go early" but I have a distinct sense that it'll be all I can do to wait that long. at my last visit, we didn't even bother to check for dilation...his head is so low and I was having such intense contractions that we both agreed...

what does it matter?

when I'm in labor, we'll know. no sense getting agitated over it, either way.

this cold/flu/whatever isn't helping. I think I'm getting dehydrated and crampy cause I'm still sick.

that's right...STILL sick.

last night was chills, then sweats and a massive headache. lather, rinse, repeat.

all the while...uterus tight, cervix tingly, belly crampy.

I woke up this morning and sent oqui a text, "Is it time yet? Can it be time, now?"

his response (and part of the reason I love him so very very much):

Hang in there!
You're doing great!
And he'll be thankful for all your patience and hard work.
And if he isn't...I'll beat him.
I love you!!!


love you, too! now let's get the nursery done and prepare to beat him...

dr. douchebag

sniffles, coughs, aches...finally decided to see my primary care physician before the weekend...

just in case.

he hasn't seen me in ten months and the first thing he says when he walks in the room is, "well. you look different! gaining a little weight are you?"

yes, d-bag. I'm 8 months pregnant.

he then proceeds to caution me about excess weight gain...going so far as to jiggle my arm fat and give me a stern look...

without so much as looking at my chart.

gloves were off. this guy got a reeming.

I asked him, "do you even know how much I've gained? I know you're used to seeing me at training weight, but seriously...what are you thinking?"

I've gained a total of 23 pregnancy pounds at 34 weeks.

someone with the starting bmi that I had should shoot for a healthy gain of 35-45.

this guy is straight outta the fucking 50's mentality; when they made women (and babies) sick but restricting weight gain to a ridiculously low amount. I'm going to nurse, you incredible fool. I NEED a fat store.

it got ugly. I told him he better do the research cause the old school way of thinking is unhealthy and he told me to shut up.

I told him I'd slap him...

so I guess we're even.

I then went to the birth center, described my encounter in great detail and the midwife called him an ignorant jerk.

he is that, for sure.


nevertheless...

I'm a little unsettled by my arm actually jiggling...and will have dreams of beached whales tonight, I'm sure.

I hate you, dr. d-bag. may your testes swell and your eyes bleed.

dang it

someone just requested a showing of the house at 10am tomorrow.

this place is to' up from da flo' up.

he's been working on the nursery (which it will only be if no one buys this place)...and I've been trying really hard to create permanent dents on the bed and couch.

we've got baby brain washing class and back to school night tonight...and the kid will be working on a school project.

meanwhile, the dog is snoring contentedly at my feet.

fucker!

why does he get to take a nap?

ayude' me!

it hurts.

it=

-my head
-my lungs
-my back
-my belly
-my throat

someone send help...

please.

mucus

go away!

my mumps titer showed that I still have an immunity and no active infection.

shweeeet!

nevertheless, I'm sick as a dog.

for the record...coughing hurts like a mofo when your abdominal wall is stretched paper thin. I hereby veto coughing.

while I'm sweating and gagging and feeling a bit nauseous from swallowed phlegm...I can't help but wonder if the lil' booger is sick, too???

is he in there gasping for breath and aching like a mofo?
does the lil' guy need a fluid change or an ice pack?

I can say one thing for certain...he's obviously as mechanically uncomfortable as I am, cause he won't stop SQUIRMING!!!

rootching around constantly. rib spreading, liver kicking, pelvis stretching antics.

I might mind it...

if I had anything else to do these days.

it has come to my attention

that I'm NOT pure evil.

we started our hypnobabies class this week (holy most boring three hours of my life) and got a chance to chat up the instructor for a few minutes before getting started.

a little background on Lasi:

she's a birth doula, a child birth educator, a hypnotherapist, mother of three and co-founder of the mothering and more support and education network. a true and through baby loving, parenting hippy guru...

and SHE didn't like being pregnant, either!!!

!!!YES!!!

I am NOT the most selfish, self-centered, self-involved whine-a-baby on the planet.

some people just don't like being knocked up.

that being said...with all my brand spanking new hypno-programming going on...

I can honestly say that I haven't hated it this week. he's getting big (probably too big) and squishing my internal organs...

but I feel a blissful sort of exhaustion that I might (dare I say it?) equate to 'peace' in my less worked up moments.


that...and I know I'm close, now.

not because I'm having dreams of the baby (I've been having those all along)...


but because I'm having dreams of climbing, again.

cracker ass crackers

so I'm chilling at the tennis courts, letting the dogs run down their too-long claws when the high school kids get out.

as mandated by the uber-wealthy suburban code, the range rovers, lexuses and large toyota SUV's start flying by...inexperienced teenagers at the helms, playing shitty music too loudly, and ignoring stop signs.

then...something (really) funny happened. a volkswagen full o' white kids was driving around the neighborhood screaming "NIGGER!!!" at equally white kids on their way home to million dollar houses.

I laughed. I peed. I had to start walking home to change my drawers.

it was a good thing that I was already on my way home, cause I piddled again when I saw the archetypal thick necked, square headed jock kid, driving a spiffed up standard issue, country-boy mustange at a stop sign...

listening to gospel.

the emo kids talking about skate boarding and the two puerto rican boys talking about what gats they wanna get were annoying....but at least they made sense.

I haul my overly large ass up the hill to find my daughter and 3 of her friends (all eating MY fruit) standing at the corner in skinny jeans.

now, to my kid's credit...she probably belongs to the only trully heterogeneous group in the district. there were two skinny girls. two white girls. two black girls. two chubby chics. short hair, long hair, different styles, different lilts to their voices ("like....OH MY GOD!!" and "how yoooou doing?")

but, ladies. ladies, ladies, ladies...

come on.

skinny jeans???

wtf.

dude! no.

the school nurse made the rounds this morning advising all pregnant women in the school that a child was hospitalized with mumps. a child in one of my classrooms.

with a sibling in another of mine.

needless to say...ten minutes later, Miss Suki was out.
*insert cartoon take-off noise*

I'm now on my way to the lab for a titer...sent directly to the hospital lab...so IF...

just in case I'm a dirty virus carrying mofo...

I don't get other pregnant women sick.

dude....no.

saturday night in lame-o land

we're listening to the red sox (cause we don't have TV)...

and watching the neighbor tool around the kitchen in her panties.

she's kinda hot.

perhaps tonight isn't so lame, after all...

brownie batter? WHAT brownie batter???

no. I wasn't just eating brownie batter by the spatula full.

no. I didn't poor the pathetic remnants into a much smaller pan to hide my indiscretions.

no. I won't have a belly-ache or get salmonella.


today I put some things into perspective. (and it had nothing at all to do with brownie batter...honest)

pregnancy has been stomping me...and I've been whining like a lil' bitch the entire time.

I now know why.

I came into this pregnancy prepared. ready. able. willing. wanting it.

feeling like a million (albeit chubby) bucks and on top o' da world. nausea couldn't touch me. I'd climb til I was due, and riding would fill out the remainder of my time.

it was going to be PERFECT.

ha. haha. hahaha. hahahhahaha

then I got sick.

superwoman image shattered. I actually felt disappointed with me for allowing myself to feel crappy, again. I felt like I was strong enough to fight it down.

I'm a scrappy (if not entirely brave), feisty lil' woman. I can handle anything.

again....hahahahha

so not only did I feel yickdafied...I was disappointed in myself, as well. which made me feel more yicky. more disappointed. more yicky. more disappointed...

and meanwhile I was falling out of shape and getting spongy.

but NOW...NOW!!! I've changed my entire perspective. given myself some leeway. cut myself some slack.

now, I see it like this...if this lil' ninja-fu-kwon-do booger is able to so thoroughly whip my tail...

he's one bad mofo.

that's right, bitches.

I'm having a super baby. he's 3 lbs and 15 inches of sheer chuck norris + bruce lee + mighty mouse with a side of will smith bad assedness.

he's gonna slide out swinging and karate chop the midwife in her throat.

he's gonna be a wild-haired, cloth-diapered menace to society...

and leading our climbs in four years.

he's gonna eat raw squirrels, and wash it down with tarantula venom...

then he's gonna share a bowl of brownie batter with me.

this kid...

is gonna be a tail-whipping, name taking beast.


I better start shopping for reinforced titanium cribs, now.

ps.

I've gained almost 4 pounds in 2 weeks.


I MIGHT just save cart-man the effort and murder myself.

all hail the cart reetee!!!

I'm not sure if its federal law, but every grocery seems to have at least one resident "challenged" individual on staff.

ours...is the cart pusher.

this guy...well, he's plain ol' vanilla looney tunes. gesticulating wildly as a habit, talking to himself, non-stop...the dude is crazier than a shit-house rat.

his 'conversation,' when directed towards others is generally friendly and he seems (I hope) relatively harmless...yet somehow...

he scares the absolute shit outta me.

in my experience, the only thing more dangerous than a bona-fide 'out-of-toucher' (with reality, that is) is an out-of-toucher with a gun. I just can't get over the feeling that an accidental neck snapping is only one frustrating exchange away. (I'm gonna tend them rabbits, george....)

today...mr. cart reetee and I had a frustrating exchange.

NOT MY FAULT, I FUCKING SWEAR IT.

he looked a little peeved that I was coming out with a full cart of groceries...just as he was heading for the barn with his load of empties.

the dude got distracted (mayhaps by his second or third personality) and left two carts directly in the middle of the lane of travel. now, he's already pissed at me...simply for being there, what's a suki to do?

put my cart ALL THE WAY ON THE OTHER SIDE back in the carty returny thingy and make him walk out there (consequently...past my car, bringing him closer than I'd like)...or do I do the guy a prop and leave mine, in the middle of the fucking road, with the other two?

with my most giantest smile ever I pushed it to the other two and said, dripping with sweet sweet (don't rape me) honey, "here ya go, bud. got another one for ya!"

he went ape shit.

"no. no. no. I SHOULDN'T'A LEFT'EM THERE! NO. no. NO! SHOULDN'T'A LEFT'EM!!!"

I made haste to my car and locked my fucking doors. as I peeled out...I caught a glimpse of him in the rearview taking my cart, and my cart only, back to the store...

gesticulating wildly.

two minutes later, still stuck at the light...

I noticed the other two carts were still in the middle o' da road.

so....

I'm either going to cut my hair (unpossible. there's none left), get a total face transplant and grow 7 inches...

or find a new grocery store. cause homeboy, I'm sure...

wants to fucking kill me.

attention span, be damned!

I've started quite a few blogs recently...maybe one of them even worth reading...and haven't had the ability to stare at this computer long enough to finish one of them.

so I'll 'splain the run-down of recent events. no, there is no time...lemme sum up:

-the physiological symptoms of pregnancy seem to be simmering down a bit. I'm not nauseous, getting headaches or otherwise feeling like I ate a brick of rat poison. I'm in the home stretch now...from here on out its purely physical and emotional tailspin. I feel very...full. I'm not particularly large...and seem to have a tendency to have big babies.

this is b/c I've rebuked jesus, I know it.

so I don't sleep very much, cry when I shouldn't, have fire in my throat and crave alot of ice cream...but it really isn't that bad. I've adjusted by going to friendly's every day, taking lots of naps and not really moving...at all.

and that seems to have settled that.

- I almost completely disowned my mother last week (without her knowledge). this could be a very long story...however, I'll just suffice it to say that I've dealt with some demons and will probably allow her to see the kid...

just never ever babysit for fear that she might run off to mexico without telling me. bitch.

-oqui went office space and it was hilarious. the kid and I watched in amusement as he stabbed the shit out of an old tape...all the while muttering to himself and us that, "oh. this is gonna be bad. real bad. I'm angry. don't look at me. I'm really angry."

poor kid. he really needs a bike ride.

- the ex came to pick up some mail and we got to chatting about what's going down in his world. while I don't really approve of some of his choices...he seems to at least be enjoying himself.

you know...in the kind of way that artists enjoy self-torment and over-indulgence.

I'll just pray for his liver (and his pecker) and continue to try to persuade that he REALLY really wants this house back.

I won't, however, hold my breath.

- the kid has a birthday coming up....so I should probably accept that she'll soon be sporting new, unacceptable clothing and make-up a la MomMom...and step away from the knife drawer.

- babies are expensive and I don't really have a job. this is an on-going theme, though...one I'm attempting to remove from my radar by eating self-rationed, semi-dark chocolate squares.

- I'm looking forward to getting active, again. while I'm (believe it or not) starting to enjoy my uber-laziness (rest and hydration are, after all THE very best defenses against pre-term labor)...I had a dream the other night that my first time back climbing...I was stronger than I've ever been before.

I drooled a lil' bit. I'm getting pretty excited.

I <3 fall.
I get to meet my lil man soon (not soon enough).
I'll be climbing and riding and skiing before I know it...
and my boobs are getting purty durned big.

all told...life doesn't suck (despite the wicked backache).

yet me go!

I went back to work yesterday...planning on filling a vacant reading position at the high school until either:

a. they hired a 'real' teacher
b. I went into labor
or (the most likely option)
c. I got sick of it.

well...I got sick of it in three hours.

by 4th period a psychopath threatened me.

by sixth I had a student on a bad trip.

by seventh I could only laugh and say things like, "oooh! did they hire a juggler?" or "hmm. must be taco day" when the cafeteria errupted into fights and chaos.

by 8th a vice principal came into my classroom and lectured the mongloids for 20 minutes (in the process saying some uber discriminatory things about me that I'm still deciding whether or not to pursue) while a student made lude humping gestures behind his back.

by ninth I had called in to quit the position...and told 6 or 10 people off.

all told, I spent 7 1/2 hours in Hades...and decided once and for all (I really mean it this time)...that I'm never going back. I let the sub service know that under no circumstances should I be considered for any position where the students are too big for me to toss...

and since the 5th graders are 20 years old in this district...I'm stopping at about 2nd grade...

if I ever go back at all.

I'm not sure what the hell I was thinking to begin with. I was bored. we need money...it made sense at the time. I was feeling well rested and figured "I climb mountains...I can handle these punks."

neg.a.tive.

mountains don't curse you out and make you wanna punch them. I'm still reeling over the fact that a 16 year old boy physically threatened a woman almost 8 months pregnant.

if oqui had been there, that kid've died. hell...if ANY gentleman or member of polite society had been there, they would've ripped his face off.

total losers.

so the district continues to crumble (it's literally the worst I've ever seen it)...and i'm not having one single. fricking. thing. to do with it.

it's outta my hands...

not worth me going to jail over.

I have come to realize...

1. I have come to realize that my butt: doesn't belong on a white woman

2. I have come to realize that when I talk: I DEMAND TOTAL SILENCE AND YOUR RAPT AND COMPLETE ATTENTION, MAGGOTS!

3. I have come to realize that if I love someone: I'm probably pretty tough on them.

4. I have come to realize that I need: chocolate. lots of chocolate. bitch...where is my motherfucking chocolate?

5. I have come to realize that I lost: my desire to work with children...EVER again.

6. I have come to realize that I hate it when: I accidentally pee a little bit when sneezing.

7. I have come to realize that if Im drunk: I should hide my cell phone lest I start send unclothed pictures to people who REALLY don't wanna see that.

8. I have come to realize that marriage: is complicated...and expensive.

9. I have come to realize that work: is, has been and will always be my nemesis.

10. I have come to realize that I will always be: a big bootied ho.

11. I have come to realize that I like: cursing...alot.

12. I have come to realize that the last time I cried was: yesterday. sleep deprivation makes you whacky.

13. I have come to realize that my cell phone is: never anywhere near me when ringing.

14. I have come to realize that when I wake up in the morning: I'm already bored.

15. I have come to realize that before I go to sleep at night: I should pee...twice.

16. I have come to realize that right now I am thinking about: sleep and peeing.

17. I have come to realize that babies: are vicious lil' rib jabbing gansters.

18. I have come to realize that when I get on blogger: uh, I'm here for the gang bang.

19. I have come to realize that today I will: sit. sweat. plan and stew.

20. I have come to realize that tonight I will: see above.

21. I have come to realize that tomorrow I will: still be bored.

22. I have come to realize that I really want to: HAVE SOME FREEDOM!!! suki needs to travel...like...bad.

23. I have come to realize that working out: will have to wait.

24. I have come to realize that friends: usually DON'T have brownies in their back pockets.

25. I have come to realize that the person who might repost this is: probably wittier than I...and less pregnant.

5'9"

that's not vodka...I swear it.

that's how tall I'd like to be for the remainder of this pregnancy.

I'm thinking an extra six inches of trunk space oughta suit the lil' booger just fine...and keep people from feeling the need to comment on just how small I am.

maybe if I was taller, he'd consider getting his toes outta my ribs. but I'm not. so he won't.

he's head down, back to the left, appendages to the right and nestled snuggly into my spleen.

hands and feet are busier than ever...'massaging' my innerds.

joyful.

last night he was contorted in such a fashion that I felt like if I rolled over I'd break his little leg.



not gonna lie...I considered rolling over just to test the theory. (wooooh, lawdy do I feel evil for typing that!!!! hahahah)

besides being completely squished (both of us)...all is proceeding well. my midwives think I'm a sissy (because I complain like its my job)...and I swear they were all but SUGGESTING a hospital birth with medication. holy, shit, sista. are you for real?

where my support is at?

so I've decided that I'm going to make it a point to relay to these two lovely ladies that being a cry-baby and a sissy are two entirely different beasts (with me, admittedly, being the former...while the jury is still out on the latter).

yeah, I whine. I'm bored, uncomfortable and (did I mention?) bored...I can't drink, eat sushi or even cookie dough (the horror!)...

so I bitch for sport - my newly found release valve (my old ones involved extreme sports and lots of core workouts). that doesn't mean I'm not tough, you dirty heffa!

so now they've pissed me off. good thing, too, cause now I feel a brand new (and improved) sense of determination to have this baby naturally...my way. maybe this woman is incredibly perceptive, sensed my looming apathy (have I maybe, perhaps...once or twice maybe mentioned how much I dislike being pregnant?) and knew that pissing me off was the most likely way to ensure my "participation" in the process.

participate this, d-bag. I'm gonna have the fastest, most comfortable labor you've ever seen...complaining not a once. and you'll be lucky to be called in to catch the baby and pick up my discarded slimy innerds...cause I don't like you that much, anymore.

and one other thing...if one of them tells me I'm "tiny" one more time...there gonna get a nice tiny fist to the throat. I'ma bruce lee the next person to comment on my small-i-tude. I feel gigantic...and the last thing I want to keep hearing is how small I am...or how big I'm GOING to get.

this baby is gonna be a giant (not that this pleases me...you know with the whole natural childbirth thing and all) and I'm plenty large, myself, thank you!!!

see? PLENTY big...perhaps a bit skeletal...but PLENTY big.

eff 2 u, life touch!

I hate (HATE HATE HATE) school portraits.


they're cheesey, gay, a rip off, and a bit "in your face" if you know what I mean.


Life Touch, purveyor of cheesey portraiture, happens to be at the top of my list of companies that should be allowed nowhere near a school.


take the district I teach in, for instance...85% of these kids receive free lunch, medical assistance and food stamps. they don't have a lot of cash to be throwing around...and Life Touch (good ol' Life Touch) takes it upon themselves to photograph these children THREE TIMES A YEAR!


what? two of those times they don't even give the parents the opportunity to pre-order then only photograph the kids who actually can and will buy.


nope. they disrupt the whole school (taking up classroom and hallway space and valuable instruction time) for days on end...snapping shots of every kid in sight...


most of whom haven't even combed their hair. and if they haven't (they don't)...the photographer has a handy dandy trusty multi-child comb he or she whips out to tame the fly aways.


without fail...two weeks after picture day there is an outbreak of lice.


after photographing all these kids (for the second or third time that year) they take the liberty to go ahead and print up packages for ALL OF THEM.


yes. all of them.


they then send them home with the kids with cool lil' gadgets like stickers, bookmarks, and photo back pack tags...and expect the parents to cough up the money to keep from breaking the kids' hearts.


if they can't (and don't) pay...they are supposed to return the packages to the school, who then returns them to the studio...


who then destroys all of that good paper, non-biodegradable ink and plastic.


I hate them.


so every year I make it a point to write an incredibly nasty and accusatory note and send it along with my child on picture day. two years ago I threatened the teacher's life if she let them photograph my kid, again.


lo and behold, her class was called down while with the social studies teacher (who hadn't read my 'fight the man....and Life Touch' note)...and I got another set of cheesey portraits to throw away.


this year, as tradition dictates, we wrote another note...



however, my kid is older and wiser than before and has learned that I'm crazy...and just didn't get in line when it was her turn.


I ALMOST KINDA feel bad that I'm making her a social outcast with my strong opinions and general distaste for anything commercial. Last night, when she saw us cackling away while filling out her 'order form' she said, "oh, no. not again. can't you just be normal or something?" I said hell no and threw my fist in the air. She then told me, "sometimes...you just gotta go with the flow." Negative, I say. Threw the fist in the air again and said, "fight the man, my child." She rolled her eyes and walked away. despite her rebuking my views...I know it. the force is strong with this one...even though she didn't hand in my note.


curses!


I suppose...I'll just have to mail my notes directly to the studio, instead...


with a bomb.

babies are boring

can somebody PLEASE tell me what the hell I was thinking???

I got oqui a present!!!

it cost me all of five dollars...

is over 20 years old...

is multi-colored...

fits into a tiny eensy weensy lil' bag...

and is probably the coolest thing going on the planet, just now.


my intent was to wait for the baby shower (or some other time when he might be feeling left out and dare-i-say-it 'whiney')...but I'm pretty sure he's getting it as soon as he comes home.


...I sure do hope he likes it!

can't wait.

soooooooooo tired.

soooooooooo sore.


where my balance ziz zat?

I've been crafting...or more specifically, organizing my craft stuff with a feverish passion, but not much of anything else. I get really sore and crampy when I walk more than 42 feet...but at least I know I'm not dilating (thanks to yet another cervical ultrasound yesterday, after which I cried like a blubbering baby to a total stranger).

I want so badly to push myself and do...well...ANYTHING, but I end up paying for it with pain, fatigue and (worst of all) fear that THIS TIME the contractions really are doing something. something we don't want them to do for another ten weeks or so.

inactivity does not suit me. I'm wearing it like a pair of loud plaid pants that show off my cellulite and love handles.

I've made it a point recently to NOT sound like I'm complaining or that I'm ungrateful.

whoopsies! maybe I should make it a point to be silent in order to achieve that end.

I've come to accept that this pregnancy is totally whooping my ass. this is ok. its a minor sacrifice to make to feel a lil booger squirming around in my belly. it'll seem even less of a sacrifice when I finally get to meet him...and figure out his name.

I hope he has hair.

I'm just a bit bitchy and whiney cause I'm bored and sore...and let's not forget massively hormonal.

oqui has made a (subconsious) habit of leaning way down and looking into my eyes when I talk to make sure I haven't been crying recently. it's funny when I haven't been...kind of invasive when I have been...and want to hide it.

I've been trying to hide it...alot. no sense in showing how overly emotional and unstable I am to the world...(blogging doesn't count. noone reads this shit, anyway)

when I have every faith that this is, indeed...a temporary condition.



in fact...I'm giving myself six weeks of recovery after the baby is born...and already planning my training regimen for January.

its gonna feel so. damn. good.