the miracle of life...sucks.

yeah, yeah...pregnancy. blessing. blah, blah...miracle of life. woodie hoo hoo...power of a woman.

I hear ya...and to that I have only to say:

THAT'S BOOLSHIT!

I don't care how much a woman prays, hopes, wishes and dreams for a child...if that heffa has the nerve to so much as utter anything remotely similar to "I love being pregnant" ...

(which a largely pregnant woman said to me at the playground the other day, and GOD HELP ME...I couldn't keep myself from throwing a punch. thankfully...my heart wasn't in it and I missed her chin by three inches or so. the standers-by thought I was joking and laughed accordingly. grood. didn't really wanna be the ghetto chic scrapping on the tot lot...but, I would've been had that shot connected.)

there are only two possibilities:

1. she's lying through her fat pregnant teeth

or

2. her experience of pregnany is NOTHING like mine.

I love my babies. I *heart* being a mommy...and I whole-heartedly, 100 hunnred percent HATE being pregnant.

particularly largely pregnant, immobile, sweaty, pukey, pee-y, heartburny, hemorhoidy, fat arm-y pregnant...with work to do.

the physical limitations of pregnancy (depsite the whole miracle of life bit...) are basically...

annoying.

I like to bend. I like to stretch. I like to climb, run, ride, drink the occassional naked juice (sake for the rest of you...or at least those of you who weren't privy to the nekkie texts), soft cheeses and high mother-fucking-fructose corn syrup.

I also like to be able to see the nonny...you know, just in case.

this particular complaining jag stems from two things (actually...I had a really good productive day, by the entire time I was out raking leaves, trimming beds, etc...I could think only one thing "yo! I wanna be able to bend, bitches!" thusly, this blog was formed).

the first: we just bought a house and have lots of work to be done. heavy lifting, chemically laden work and I'm not a big fan of having baby duty (born and unborn) while oqui gets to dig shirtless in the yard.

ok, I'm fine with him digging shirtless in the yard, but I'd like to be doing some digging, as well.

and two...I'm big. very big. bigger than I was with either of the others big...and I've still got two months to go.

neither oqui or I can imagine my frame getting any larger. yet,

it shall.

I'm scurred.

oh, and I feel like my insides are leaking out...through my belly button. it's actually painful to the touch...and I have a toddler who insists on touching it 43 million times a day.

BELLY! BELLY! aye aye, belly! BELLY!

he takes great pleasure in sticking as many fingers as he can in what used to be my belly button (my belly button, proper, has now moved three inches north and two inches...OUT).

and heaven forbid I sneeze.

oh god.

when am I due, again?





wait. that's a stupid question.

nobody knows.


*sigh*

O2

small fry gave us another scare today...

here's to hoping my unborn son is getting enough oxygen to his lil' dome!

cake decorating for dumb asses

deprived of any real creative outlet (or, more specifically, the time to attend to the ones I already/used to have)...



I've started taking cake decorating classes. this was probably not a good idea. I'm already frustrated (<----understatement) with the million projects that are floating around in my head but not materializing, and adding another pursuit is probably in bad judgement. but another preggo friend is doing it, its in the evening (ie. daddy'll have to babysit. SCORE!) and since we're both huge, it's not like we can head to a sushi bar, have some cocktails than go scouting for hot guys at the mall or anything...so, despite lacking any passion for this, whatsoever...I agreed to go.


besides, I figured being able to make a really slamming cake would open my hippy gift giving options open. I mean...how many picture frames/cards/name plaques can you get from one person before the charm wears off and they just look cheap?


I've already had two full blown wake me up heart-a-racing cake decorating nightmares.

should a new hobby make you lose sleep? give you the sweats? cause you to curse (more than usual)?

notice the attention to detail...

if not...I'm thinkin' I need to give up on these damn cakes.

however, being a recovering trooper (there once was a day when I considered myself tough)...I decided to give my assignment a whirl and packed up my cake decorating shit (did I mention my bank account got raped in lack-luster pursuit of my cake decorating dreams?) and to head to my mom's house.

my reasoning for going to my mother's house yesterday was twofold:

firstly, oqui needed to paint the woodwork...and no VOC paint wasn't gonna cut it. so to avoid the stank, the Prof and I needed to head out.

the great care with which the icing was applied...

and secondly, I was hoping she'd mind the boy so I could get my cake on.

so.didn't.happen.

four hours in I had nothing but a bowl of batter and some mint and baby poo colored icing.

off to a great start.

then...my mother and her husband split. (not split up...just left) so, I was elbow deep in icing (my lord how i HATE making icing), the Prof hadn't napped all day (ie. he was hella fun to deal with) and she collects antique dishes...which were all readily accessible for the Prof to smash should I take my eyes (or hands) off of him for a second. fun.

in other words...my hands were full/tied and not a damn thing was getting done on my cake. never mind the fact that I lugged 83 pounds of supplies to her house, with her full knowledge that it was to be my cake making day.

siiiiiiiike.

anyway, I managed to at least bake the bitches (her oven is unlevel, btw), put the crumb coat of icing on (for the uninitiated (like me) that means the dirty layer of icing that's supposed to go UNDER your nice clean pretty coat) and loaded up some piping bags with poo-mint.

smooth.

never made it to that nice smooth professional looking what I was going for top coat of icing look.



I gave the fuck up. I was gonna toss the mixer, eat the 8 cups of icing with a spoon: on the spot...and pour a bottle of vegetable oil on the floor as punishment for my mom abandoning me...


then something clicked.

this is hard, I thought. I'm no good at this. (actually "suck balls" is the terminology that comes to mind) therefore...

I CANNOT GIVE UP!

I finished the fucking cake.

so much love went into this bitch...I couldn't fit the fuck.

actually, it wasn't a "fucking" cake...but only because I couldn't fit "FUCK" on it...but in the world of happy-shmappy-housewife cake decorating...I'm pretty sure it'd be viewed like a recently jailed whore.

still deciding whether or not to pursue this particular creative "outlet" or not.

like my mother said (her exact words) "FUCK THAT! I like things that provide the greatest effect with the least amount of effort"

word, mom.

I have so many other creative pursuits that are FORGIVING. you make a little no-no and there are 83 ways to fix it.

with cakes...not so much. you can slave and labor and sweat, white-knuckled, over a spatula and icing bag, be 87% on your game and end up with a cake (after 6 hours of work) that's 13% pure horse shit.

ok. so I don't hate CAKES...just decorating them.

sooo...the jury is still out on this cake bidness...




and my blood sugar is through the fucking roof.

yup. it's like that.

fuck my to-do list.

just give me enough sleep, a free hand once in a great while and get the fuck outta my face when I'm obviously going to explode...

and things'll be aight.




...if not, somebody's getting punctured.

status...symbol

I think my doo doo list is supernatural. self-perpetuating. above reproach, reprove or reprieve (mine).

despite my ass-busting efforts, the fucker keeps growing.

work begets work...

thusly, I've decided to eat ice-cream, go for a stroll, take a cake decorating class and let entropy do its merry ol' thang.

to doo-doo

things that MUST be done. today (...ish):



-bathe. oqui had a dream the other night that I was walking around in hotpants leaking spaghetti from my rear with marathon runner's diarrhea. he was horrified as noodles squirmed out of my ass in public despite his efforts to "cover me up for god's sake!". I think the kind sir doth not appreciate where personal hygiene falls on my daily priority list (hey, these mofos gotta eat and there's but so much time in a day)...so I'm gonna take me a nice warm bath. quickly...before the Prof gets up.



-get outside. I'm tired. I'm lazy. this neighborhood is about as visually appealing as a tenement, but it looks kinda nice outside today...so I think we'll go. shame I can't fit the jogging stroller in the car (wait. I just remembered I don't have my car. duh) or I could try to take the Prof for a stroll over roots, rocks and branches in the woods. the back carrier is OUT OF THE QUESTION at 7 months pregnant, though. shit. I can barely walk as it is. mayhaps another time for the woods.



-solidify my plans for the opah's b-day gift. I'm a hippy gift giver (ie. rarely purchasing anything, but making it, instead) however, he's been sending me "hint" e-mails for things he'd like to see me buy. I've got several things up my sleeve, but am having trouble choosing one. just can't seem to pull the trigger. I guess we'll just see, oqui...



-make SOME progress SOMEHOW on the planning of colors, layout, etc with either the nursery, dining room, living room or the Prof's room. this stuff has to get done before a: I give birth or b: we run out of money to finish it (if we haven't already. I think we might have) If I choose just one furniture arrangement or color scheme...I will be pleased.



-nap. I'm really tired.



things to do this week FOR REALZ THIS TIME:



-organize my craft closet. this means putting up some shelves to get stuff out of boxes. I'm feeling creatively bankrupt, the feng shui up in this piece is seriously blocked by all these boxes, and I desperately want to be able to make some inspired decisions. clearing the clutter should do that...



I hope.



-return my grandfather's totes, ladder, utility knives, etc. if that just so happens to facilitate a nice long visit (my grandparents are HILARIOUS)...all the better.



-(joint effort) pick the dining room color. the SECOND dining room color since the first makes oqui puke. again...decision making + teh suki = epic fail.



-get the risers for the Monkey's bed so all the work oqui put into her room the first two weeks in this house isn't wasted because her mattress is still on the floor. I should probably finish sewing her closet curtains and put together her framed artwork, too. we spent $50 on cool fabrics to frame and they are currently chilling in a nice folded pile...somewhere. this is unaccepable.

-pull up the carpets while oqui isn't here to stop me. we're just stalling (cause it's going to be WICKED expensive to remedy) BUT we both hate it. the color all but destroys the extreme awesomeness of our new spiffy gray living room and...it smells like old lady carpet powder. I'ma just do it, then we'll have to deal.

speaking of dealing:

-finish removing the wallpaper from the entry hallway. I went low (ie. did what i could reach without a step ladder because I'm about as coordinated and graceful as a 3 minute old giraffe) and oqui was supposed to go high. I think I shall FORCE him to go (and/or get) high. whatever works to get this damn paper down.

-install the Prof's new/spare/new baby's car seat. we've already passed the point at which we're able to return it, but I 'spose it'll be nice to know if the bammer fits. it's huge. if you don't want to drive an suv or mini-van...do not have children. I currently drive neither and am having issues.



-SEND THE PACKAGE TO C-LINE!!! I put together some maternity clothes and other goodies for a friend in Texas like, I don't know, two months ago...and have yet to send them. she'll only be pregnant another 9 weeks. I'm dropping the ball on this biotch (the package OBVIOUSLY) big time. it.must.be.done.



but, doooood. I HATE the post office.



-bribe oqui to ship the package.



oh dang. I've done already used up like 93% of naptime and will be hard-pressed to remove the spaghetti from my ass before the Prof wakes up.



see how nothing gets done around here???

because I've over facebooked it...

I'll put the 83 things I'd like to post there, here...in one convenient, not as creeperish place.

-I've now eaten enough chocolate today to make my heart feel as if its going to explode. my fetus is freaking out and I think I'm going to puke. way to go, suki.

-I still want to murder my child for being an irracible prick today (and the reason I almost killed his baby brother via chocolate). I think I want to murder his sister, father, great-grandmother and 923786 cousins, too. It's like that.

-to gym or not to gym? I may puke. the Prof will very likely make me want to stab him, again, and I'm feeling waaaaaaaaay too fat to put on stretchy pants.

-e-bay can suck it. I remember a day when a "vintage" nursery rhyme book was:

a. actually vintage and NOT from the 1980's
b. less than $43
c. cute

- the nursery can suck it, too. the child will probably be all fucking spazzed out from the amount of chocolate his mother consumed during her (lovely) pregnancy...and will never. ever. sleep. I'll just build him a cage, instead.

- my nutritional status for the day = white-trash, ghetto-fied, pre-packaged, preservative and sodium laden bunch of non-food shit. stress, I hate you.

- my hand hurts. bad. how to climb lugging an extra 20 pounds of (dimpled) ass with a bum thumb?

-my arm hurts too. angry typing, fuck you.

-I want more money.

and finally...

fuck the world.

amen. goodnight. suck a fat one.

buckshot update

a very quick and completely INcomprehensive update (before the Prof gets his hands on another power tool or permanent marker):

-IT'S A BOY! we found out (finally) last week. small fry has a pecker. we also found out that small fry was measuring VERY small fry. couple of moments of panic (amnio suggested, chromosomal defects mentioned, etc)...then some relaxing and trusting...followed by a few days of low-grade (yet persistent) concern (not gonna lie, despite my efforts to accept and relax I lost alot of sleep)...then finally, a call from the midwife yesterday, who, apparently, had an at-length discussion with the perinatologist, told him he got it ferhoodled, the DATING is wrong and small fry is actually developing-perfectly-normally-average-fry.

grood. now, I can eat chocolate and climb without feeling like the devil.

-I'm finally pregnant. hard to get up off the couch. feeling fatigued and my ass has gigantor dimples in it (NOT something I'm thrilled about, mind yo). too hungry to cut back on calories, too exhausted to exercise. just gonna have to ride this one out and maybe buy bigger pants. not too terribly worried...

its all good as long as I keep my pants on.

-home improvements are moving along at a good steady pace. me and the 'pah created a master schedule/list o' chores and have been steadily knocking things off. we picked AND applied a color to the dining room (which, coincidentally is NOTHING like what we thought we'd get). we've got the living room color picked, and just need to finish banishing the wallpaper from our existence. yeah...it'll be a while.

-climbing again! yay. last week we went 3 times. felt.fucking.awesome. I even got up to climbing an overhung brown (5.9ish), but I think in the last 3 days I've become too pregnant for that. I still wanna keep climbing, but have a feeling I'm going to have to put my ballz back in (ballzout!) and just diddle around a little for relaxation. climbing to remove ass dimples at this stage in the game is ill-advised :(

-the Prof is advancing in leaps and bounds. UNBELIEVABLE the skills he's acquired in the last week or two. he's pushing his crib around the room, saying, "uh oh!" shaking his head no and saying "nuh uh" at me when he's about to do something naughty, saying "no touch!" then touching anyway (getting the theme here?). he's made all sorts of progress...and is more dangerous than ever. he now climbs ONTO the dining room table...where he tends to find sharpies, screwdrivers, drills and other contraband. our toddler proofing efforts are going to be stepped up a notch this weekend.

ie. I'm going to get MYSELF a padded helmet and hope for the best.

-nursery planning has come to a screeching halt. mainly...because I kinda had a feeling it was a girl. so all my super secret-kept to myself plans are no longer appropriate (much like the vintage pink plaid dog I bought). I'll have to regroup and come up with some more pecker-friendly ideas. BUT...since I, apparently, have an extra (lovely) three weeks of pregnancy to prepare (fuck that. I don't wanna gain more weight)...

we should have plenty of time.

-actually, advice needed:

do I make one sleep room that the boys share and then make the spare room a play room???

-or-

do they each get their own sleep/play space?

I see the advantage to having separate sleep space, but really feel like the play space should be shared. we only have four bedrooms...so I don't have a spare there. we do have the spare family room but it is ANTI-child proof. tile floor (with radiant heat, so carpet wouldn't be an energy-efficient choice), fireplace, climbable cabinets...and it's a stairway removed from the kitchen. (only a concern while preparing meals. they'd ruin the place).

the (currently) spare bedroom would make a nice playroom. bright, cheery, soft carpeting, etc. It does have some built-in climbing apparatae (ie. shelves) that I'd probably have to remove, but I could otherwise pad the walls and feel relatively confident skulls weren't being busted.

the small fry will very likely spend the first half a year sleeping in our room, so the sleep sharing room wouldn't need to happen until (hopefully) the lil' booger was a little more consistent and less likely to wake the Prof 83 times a night (I, on the other hand, will definitely still be awoken each night a plenty).

so...yeah. thoughts?

I've never done the two small children thing. I, honestly, have NO idea what the hell I'm doing...




ps. re: the dining room color. it was supposed to be green. honest.

oqui's gonna kill me

we have been dutifully and begrudgingly scrubbing, scraping, peeling and arm wrestling with what's left of decades old wallpaper in this house for weeks.

it is a source of irritation, sore arms and DUST.

we agree...people who wallpaper have a reserved spot in the little known 10th ring of wallpapers' hell...where they spend eternity covered in glue, chipping fruitlessly at the mess they made while on this planet.

all that being said...

I wanna do this in the nursery:

the back wall (not the best shot) is "wallpapered" in pages from vintage Little Golden Books.

it IS the absolute cutest idea I've seen thus far...and something I've done in the past.

...(wishing I had pictures)...

I papered the wall behind my mother's piano with pages from old music primer's and sheet music she played as a kid. awesome looking, yellowed pages.

in the lil' dutch colonial in Wyo, the ex and I papered his entire studio in crinkled brown craft paper...a kinda psuedo leather look. later, it became the Prof's nursery and I really liked the warmth and comfiness.

soo...oqui's probably going to want me dead, but I'm going to hit GoodWill and the Salvation Army and start collecting old nursery books.

...then do the unthinkable...

BUY wallpaper paste!

muaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahahahahahaha

teh belly (...again)

all 20-21 weeks.

regretfully, these are mostly crappy self mirror shots, as I think Oqui is still refusing the inevitable.

sprout number 3.

just for shits and giggles...

I think I'm gonna run the dishwasher o' doom, today.

we settle (or will settle) on the new house in about 3 hours, which means we are FINALLY liberated from this hell-hole!

in case I've never fully relayed the story...here it be:

-tired of paying an exorbitant mortgage that was still in the ex's name...oqui and I decided to do one of several things. buy the house off the ex. no go. the value had dropped such that it would've been a negative equity situation and I don't overpay for ANYTHING...even my own house. sell the house. again, value tanked. no way to sell. hand the keys over to the ex and be about our merry bidness buying a new one. we opted for that.

and oooooh, lawdy! did that turn out to be a disaster!

- went in and out of contract on a whole shite load of properties over the course of several months. inspections. jitters. realizing we're having another sprout and need a hella big house. needless to say...we wasted alot of time, money and probably irreparably damaged our karma. fun.

- ran outta time. the ex had his moving van reserved had nowhere to live in a few days and we had to be outta the house unless he and oqui were gonna spoon for a few weeks. which leads us to....

- the worst decision of our lives. we re-entered an offer on a previously disregarded property (too much work to be done) because we knew the seller would take it, it was big enough and with 20 or 30 grand of work the house would be stellar. from that moment on...we have been so fucked.

- seller takes our offer, but turns out to be ape.shit.fucking.crazy. there is an undisclosed bankruptcy, mental competency issues, the title can't clear, the guy's a general purpose fuck up (not to mention STUPID), and we're a few days away from being homeless when we have to make a decision...

move into dickhead's house and rent until (if?) title clears, buy the piece of shit, spend 2 years fixing it and live happily ever after...

or be homeless?

- we move into dickhead's house. KARMA was in full-force. our movers didn't show up (they actually posted our info - addresses, phone numbers, names, EVERYTHING - on craigslist emploring people to come photograph our belongings. I STILL want them dead), our shit didn't fit in the truck, the garage was soggy when we got here (ie. nowhere to put shit), so on and so on and so on.

fun, fun.

- we are yet hopeful and start busting our asses and wallets trying to get this dump habitable. my 73 year old grandfather came and removed the leaves that this asshole had let sit for YEARS. cousins, nieces, niece's boyfriends, mom, stepdad, friends, friends' friends, and near strangers scrubbed, sanded and painted this heap of hell with us. and then we waited...

waited...waited...for title to clear, settlement to go down and to rip out the DISGUSTING kitchen and bathroom so I wouldn't feel too skeeved to bathe, here.

nothing doing.

- we get pissed. and more pissed...and more pissed. the stove literally blew up in my face. the dishwasher drains into the sink cabinet...oh yeah, the sink is broken - along with every other piece of plumbing in the house, no oil in the tank, faulty wiring, fire hazards, dead limbs hanging over bedrooms...

I want badly to hurt dear chuck-o, our "landlord" of sorts.

- final straw. we sent an addendum ammending our "rental" agreement over to the seller specifying that we are SICK OF HIS BULLSHIT and will absolutely NOT be paying a dime in rent for December (listing our extensive repair expenses for undisclosed bullshit as cause), giving him 12 hours to sign or we're fucking outta here.

- the asshole won't sign it.

-fuck to you, asshole. we terminate the agreement, STILL refuse to pay him a dime in rent, and now he gets to sit on his mortgage for months until a. he clears title (if ever) b. some other bunch of retards agrees to buy this heap. c. hell freezes over.

see? I told you he was dumb.

- we DEMAND our deposit money back and threaten to sue the pants off of him for our expenses. should be an easy case since it is CLEARLY OUTLINED IN OUR CONTRACT that he would be responsible for such expenses.

- his lawyers are assholes, too. our deposit money...still in escrow at the broker's office, somehow gets tangled up as one of his "assets" in a bankrupty procedure.

- we hate everybody...and start calling lawyers.

- meanwhile, we look for other houses. first time out, oqui and I fight like hell. this is getting too stressful. our agent (bless his little heart) is stillll trying to talk oqui into sticking the hell-hole deal out, so....

- I gotta flip my shit on everyone. foot down. no more fucking around. we are motherfucking OUTTA here. they finally listen. all is (somewhat) well...we keep looking.

- enter into contract on another house, but we're definitely "setttling". while it's big, in great shape and extremely well maintained...the school district is sub-par, it is NOT in our gorgeous neighborhood and we've recently come to find its half a mile from a trailer park. oh wells. diversity is good....right.

- we come to find the hella mess with crazy seller is legally holding our shit up.

- we get even angrier. weeks pass. we're still living in filth with 83% of our belongings unpacked, but somehow...I think we're finding peace. I've just stopped thinking about how disgusting the kitchen is (oh, I've also completely stopped cooking), I don't touch the bathroom floor (which no amount of scrubbing will EVER clean)....and we just DEAL.

- still dealing...still dealing. finally we get in touch with the CORRECT lawyer who sets everyone straight, the contract is cleared, the money returned and we are set to settle in just a few hours on the new, much more appropriate...bigger house.

which leads me to the dishwasher o' doom...

it's been pretty rough trying to feed a family of four in a totally inadequate kitchen with almost no working appliances and since its the monkey's job to do the dishes...and the dishwasher leaks like a sieve...

we haven't had a clean dish in weeks.

but since I gotta pack these fuckers one way or another, and I won't be here long enough to enjoy the mold that will undoubtedly thrive under the sink post-dishwasher cycle...

I'ma load that bitch up, throw some towels on the floor and try my damnedest to leave this place in the condidtion we got it...

completely fucked up.


amen. hallelujah. who wants to help us move?

a tiny little piece of social commentary

I was, today, driving behind the LONGEST short bus I have ever seen.

all of the children on this bus appeared to me to have either:

a. serious developmental delays (bear in mind, I have a degree in developmental psychology)
b. be acting really dumb.

they looked, for all intents and purposes, like wee-tees. if this is just the way kids act these days (ie. drooling, stimming, mouth dangling neanderthals)...I'm scurred.

either way, I blame Coca-Cola and lunchables.

for christine...and my emotional health

I'm MAD. (duh)

our pediatric practice is full of a bunch of very sweet doctors led by some seriously misguided policies. AND THEIR OFFICE MANAGER IS A BIIIIIITCH!!!!

there is NO ROOM for discussion of alternative medicine. breastfeeding is given minor lipservice as to the method of choice but then off-handed comments like, "don't listen to La Leche League, they're crazy" are made and formula samples are handed out en masse. my sons allergies and intolerances were repeatedly dismissed (now he's having developmental regression. who do I have to FUCKING SHOOT up in this bitch?) and heaven forbid you're hesitant about vaccinations.

I've been treated like a criminal because of my unwillingness to overload my son's immune system with THREE relatively unproven combination vaccinations at once.

fuck you, doc. we've discussed this at length and basically what I'm hearing from you is two-fold:

1. vaccines are safe. it's what I've been told and I'm buying it, wholesale. research? what research? I've been indoctrinated. I question nothing.

2. no, I'm not willing to take personal responsibility for any harm that may befall your child due to our ridiculously overwhelming vaccine schedule.

ok, doc, so you're worthless to me.

actually, they weren't ENTIRELY worthless. they did initially agree to put him on a modified vaccination schedule...spreading them out. THEN when Oqui took the Prof in for the shot...he came home with three bandages on.

how dare you???? we discussed this over and over and over. you knew my hesitations. we came to an agreement. you fucked me over.

I don't take kindly to be dicked around ESPECIALLY WHEN YOU MAY BE RISKING MY CHILD'S DEVELOPMENT.

fuck you.
fuck you.
fuck you.

did I mention...FUCK YOU?!?!?!


now, here's the best part...I'm not even decrying vaccines as a definite devil. my view point is this...

I don't know.

it's like the greenhouse effect. you choose what you believe, but in all honesty, doing an internet search, reading articles and studies is very likely going to lead you right back to your original belief. it's so contradictory...and science being "science" is inherently skewed. (DON'T EVEN GET ME STARTED ON RESEARCH METHODS!!! for my senior honor's thesis in college I tried to debunk the theory of the normal curve (and thereby all statistical analyses based on it) but noone would sign off as my advisor. shocker)...

that being said, I now know I've been going about this all wrong. I'm been trying to relate to pediatricians as scientists ie. people searching for information, when actually...they're just practitioners.

muh bad. you're so busy prescribing antibiotics and shooting kids in the thigh that you forgot to think about the basis for all the treatment decisions you make.

diagnosis is easy. all you have to do is remember what symptom goes with what...

actually DISCOVERING disease/developmental info/treatment standards/etc is hard.

sorry, I thought you might like to try.

so, end result is this. I'm not comfortable subjecting a child with a history of digestive disorders, possible seizures and now speech regression to round after round of immuno-stress.

yeah, he COULD get meningitis...but he could also end up on the autism spectrum, with developmental delays or with a mommy in prison for shanking his doctor.

I'll take my chances with nature instead of the pharmaceutical industry.

but thanks for your concern...

fags.

resolve

I don't normally do resolutions. I think I stopped that particularly annoying habit somewhere around my 16th or 17th year at which point I realized:

hey, it's kinda ghey to only focus on self-improvement for the first 3-6 (depending on your motivation level) weeks of the year and let the rest go to pot.

my resolutions usually come about (in one way, SHAPE, or form) round about the time it gets too warm for pants.

I take one look at my (perpetually) chubby white thighs and start thinking fitness. I usually drop 5 or 10 pounds with the warmer weather, increase my general activity level (it's easier to climb withOUT ice) and go about my merry business until the dark starts creeping back in before my climbing partner gets off of work...then general malaise inevitably seeps in.

such it is.

HOWEVER, since I seem to be stuck in a general state of malaise for the last year and half or so...I gotta switch some shit up.

pregnancy and breastfeeding (particularly both at the same time) have REALLY sapped my energy and cramped my damn style. without climbing, riding, skiing and general romping about on a consistent basis...

I have turned into one downright ornery and nasty BIOTCH.

in my defense, however...I WAS looking at this providing undivided attention to a small child thing as a relatively temporary situation. The Prof is getting older, I was starting to get excited about school, job, training, etc...ie. getting some "me" time, again...

when, lo and behold, our dumbasses got knocked up, again.

plan B. I see now that I have GOT to find a way to "stabilize my mood" without the full commitment to going ballzout that I used to be able to give it.

in other words...at 32 years of age...I must learn to juggle.

so juggle, I will (well, at least I'll TRY once I stop hacking up a lung).

thusly and therefore, I've decided to make some life-changing, sanity-saving (recovering?) resolutions:

1. I will make The Prof's food BEFORE he wakes up as often as possible. the lil bastard is unbearable when hungry, and he's obviously STARVED the moment he awakes. sooo...to avoiding wanting to puncture his dome...momma's gonna freeze some veggies, stock up on frozen waffles and stick some food in the lil shit's mouth the second he gets up. buys me some "thinking time" and def improve our relationship (can you tell I just fought my way through lunch with the little ingrate?)

2. step away from the devil's box. the happiest years of my life were those WITHOUT cable. other than the toddler music channel and the nursery rhyme videos...I can totally live without it. it is pointless, time consuming and makes me hate my life (guilt, guilt, guilt). I'm gonna craigslist some kid videos (COMPLETELY NECESSARY DON'T YOU DARE JUDGE ME!!!) and tell comcast to suck one. oqui will very likely have an anneurism, but his lazy ass hasn't taken the trash out in 10 days...so as far as I'm concerned, he has no acceptable argument here.

3. do something creative....nuff said.

4. do something physical. last weekend we hit the climbing gym and, not gonna lie here, my harness HURT. I know some women climb until they're 8cm dilated...but I'm obviously not that chick. with my history of early contractions, bleeding and generally being a pussy while I'm pregnant, I'm gonna need something a little more appropriate. I hate yoga...so I'm still ISO my perfect exercise. I used to walk a good 2 hours a day (the Prof, fortunately for me, LOVED his stroller) which was great for shedding the last 5 or so baby pounds...but didn't do shite for the now non-existant back muscles. since I haven't so much as walked around the block in 4 months (did I mention how much I HATE being pregnant?)...a little stroll to the park in the witch's tit cold is definitely a start...unfulfilling...but it'll be a start. I'm also, for some strange reason, feeling the tap dance vibe...but don't hold your breath on that one.

5. do something educational. I want to learn a new skill. I'm thinking lampwork (ie. flame and glass sculpting) or maybe the ukulele. whatever it is...I want it to be novel and fun.

6. do something productive. job, maybe? I know that's aiming high. I didn't sleep more than 45 minutes straight after the Prof was born and I can't imagine my odds improving with TWO leeches to contend with, but...optimistically speaking...I can at least prep and plan for an EVENTUAL return to the work force. perhaps research real estate? do some computer classwork? work on honing my resume lies? either way...I'm too sexy to spend the rest of my days knee deep in baby poo...so I'll at the very least do some serious thinking about my options.

7. start a garden. no excuses. I come from farmer stock. there is no reason on this planet I should not be planting, tending, harvesting and canning my own food. I intend to cut my trips to the grocery store in half. I'll regret this come august when I refuse to leave the house for anything other than a midnight stroll to the freezer section of the supermarket...but, it shall be done, nonetheless. I'll just have to weed by candlelight.

8. regain my personal sense of style. the fact that my entire wardrobe is "functional" is no longer acceptable. there will be stripes, possibly glitter and some pink shoes.

9. more campfires, sunsets and gurgling mountain brooks. ahhh. that's the stuff.

10. do at least one thing (good book, warm bath, red toe nails, etc)...one single, solitary, special thing for myself every single damn day.

no point in letting the sprouts COMPLETELY suck my soul out, right?

11. take more pictures. this baby is wicked cute. just in case he grows up fugly...I should document the cutitude now. just saying.

besides...nothing funnier than looking back on the drunken saki pics (hotdog, anyone) oqui and I used to take. *meow*

12. start living up to at least 10 or 11% of my potential. I'm wicked smart, yo.

and finally...

13. find some motivation to do a few of the things (big and small) that I dream. this will probably involve caffeine...and I'm ok with that.


I'll keep y'all posted on how well this actually goes.