Going Bananas for Bananas January 1, 2012

There are two things that I will openly own being a judgmental bitch about when it comes to parenting. Don’t get me wrong, I’ll judge in private all day long about lots of things, but about two things only will I really be a vocal bitch: healthy 4 & 5 year old’s who still wear diapers and super picky eaters.

 

I get that diapers are a big deal for some kids, especially with pooping. Big C would pee on the potty all day long from 18′ish months, but asked for a diaper and had to go hide and be in a certain position for MONTHS before he finally got to the point where he was all the way out of diapers. But, that was when he was 2. Not 4. When we start getting past three and a half and potty is still an issue, it’s time to talk to the doctor, to make sure everybody’s healthy, then get on the ball. Because you can’t wear diapers to kindergarten. (If you are dealing with a 4-5 year old in diapers, I’m sorry. I get that it’s probably a huge PIA for you and you wish the kid would shit on the pot, too.)

 

The picky eater one, I have always been much less understanding on. Hard to imagine, yes? Here’s my take, you offer kids TONS of variety. Give them lots of healthy options, eventually they will get hungry enough to eat. Little C rocked my world on this hypothesis, a little, but eventually even he came around. See his first nanny would let him eat ANYTHING just to get him to eat. So guess what he was eating? Well, what would you eat if you could eat ANYTHING? Duh, Cool Ranch Doritos and Fruity Pebbles all day! Or, even better, let’s not eat, let’s just drink milk. Gallons and gallons of milk. I did not realize he had been surviving on nothing but trans fat and high fructose corn syrup, so of course when he started coming to my house and was offered things like cheese, strawberries, cantaloupe, apples, broccoli and Cheerios he wouldn’t eat. He was three, and he went two whole days not eating here and only eating at his mom’s. But, eventually, he did try some of my “weird food.” He now eats pretty normally. Don’t get me wrong, he’s still a picky eater, but he will try new foods now, and has gotten used to the fact that Aunt Minta just doesn’t let kids eat crap. But see, he was three when we fought this battle…

 

At 16 months those reasoning skills just aren’t there. Likewise… a 16 month will just be a hungry ass until you give them what they want. So, right now, we’re mostly just eating bananas, peanut butter toast and avocados. Because everything else ends up on the floor to screams of “b’NANA!!!!!!!!!!  b’NANA!!!!!!!!!!!” (or, “mmmm st”, that would be mmm toast, which is what I say as I cut it up and put it on his tray, or “CAAAAAAAAAA-do”). Last week, it was eggs. Eggs, eggs and more eggs. Now, eggs are “cucky” and are met with a deliberate head shake and “hunh-uh.” This kid used to bash Indian food like nobody’s business. He was the baby garbage disposal. You needed food eaten? Give it to Baby G, much like Mikey, he’d eat anything. These days, not so much. He’ll eat 7 bananas in a day, or 3 pieces of PB toast in a sitting, sure… But pasta? You must be kidding!

 

Tell me this is just a phase. Tell me I’m not reaping the fruits of my judgement. Lie to me if you have to…

Tuesdays are for Meltdowns August 18, 2010

Right, then. I am insane. It is official.

Tonight, I acted like a right loon over nothing. Well, not nothing. But nothing to be acting like a loon over. Apparently the stress has bottled up and chose to release itself quite inconveniently all over G. The one person who’s been there 100%. The man busted his ass all weekend, and I yelled at him over one load of laundry not being done. Because: AM BITCH.

What happened? Well, it started with my dad calling. He asked about me & the baby, but he seemed to have more on his mind. And, he did. He really wanted to talk about whether I thought it was a good idea for him to move in with my mother while he finished school because he was having a hard time making it to school on time because of work and he can’t miss many more days or he’ll be kicked out. Because right now, I need to be worrying about his stress, too. Don’t get me wrong, I care. I care too much is the problem. I worry about my dad. He’s not in very good health, he’s not in very good shape financially, and he’s not very good with discipline and keeping his shit together. So, anyway, I talked to him about his issues. Because that’s what I do.

While I was talking to him, G was getting frustrated, because he had bought me ice cream, that I wasn’t eating and I wasn’t paying him my undivided attention.

So, when we got home, G made a snarky comment about me being on the phone, the pug got under the bed (because the gate wasn’t closed…), I found that she had torn up one of my new chair pads and I spilled my melted ice cream (that I really wanted) all over my birthing class papers.

I Fucking Lost It.

I cried, I screamed, I tried to beat the pug with her leash (she ran under the bed). This is NOT my normal behavior. I completely went psycho. I told G it was all his fault for making the snarky comment, which started the snowball effect. Then I cried some more, until I puked.

I am not proud of this behavior. I do not approve of it at all. I had no control. Seriously, none. I was like a lunatic pulling at my hair, scratching at my face and screaming/crying. NO CONTROL. Scary.

Now I’m all better (besides feeling foolish for behaving that way) and can see that the things that felt so monumental at the time (I really wanted that ice cream) were quite small. But at the time? You’d have thought the house fell down.

So, for the second Tuesday in a row, I’ve behaved like a loon and it’s getting worse. If I make it to next Tuesday expect a change to a full on werewolf or harpy or something…

*******************************

For the record, I’m pretty sure underlying stress was the culprit… you know little things like:

- My boss is illegally withholding my paycheck for no reason and refusing to discuss it with me.

- I have a lot of work that I feel responsible to get done before I leave (potentially for ever) but also feel like I should not do this work, because I haven’t been paid in 20 days.

- I do not feel ready to have this baby.

- I repeat, I do NOT feel ready to have this baby.

- That pug is really going to have to go.

Why No Belly Shots July 18, 2010

One thing that you probably won’t see around here are pictures of my belly. I probably also will not have maternity photos made. Not that I don’t want to memorialize this time, but to be honest… my belly, not so cute.

Actually, my belly is a bit scary. I have a ring of bruises that’s about 2 inches wide around my belly button. Which looks really bad. It doesn’t really hurt, but it looks terrible.

Also… While my belly is quite hard and I can plainly feel where Baby G lives, I have lost so much weight that I have a flap of loose skin hanging off of the bottom of my belly. The best part? It’s triangular. It looks really, really funky. Best part? It’s really soft, so the seam of my pants/shorts give it a camel toe appearance iffins I pull them up enough that the crotch of my pants isn’t between my knees. G is already talking about saving for a tummy tuck. I am mortified.

Because for real? I’m fat. I’m fat as hell. I was fat as hell before I got pregnant. The OB is estimating that I have actually lost 25-30 pounds of fat so far in this pregnancy (i.e. 7% to 8% of my pre-pregnancy weight). This is awesome, right? I mean who doesn’t want to lose weight rather than gain? One of the biggest things I was scared of was busting 400 pounds. One thing that never occurred to me? How my body would look AFTER.

I was certainly no model before (plus sized or otherwise). And, I am in no way saying that I don’t think aesthetic changes are worth it. Obviously, my appearance has not been my top concern for a long, long time. (One of the disadvantages of meeting your soul mate so young.) But, this skin flap is really bothering me. It’s vain and stupid. Maybe if I was getting laid on the regular I wouldn’t be so sensitive about it now (he’s afraid of poking the baby’s head and is convinced that he’s capable of doing that). But fact is, I am sensitive about it and I feel really shallow and ridiculous for it.

In Other News: Grrrr July 17, 2010

I am fresh off of one hell of a week. There were plenty of baby related highs, for which I am immensely grateful. But, there were also some lows/frustrations that are bugging me still…

Work: Even though I worked overtime (I am a salaried employee, i.e. every hour over 40 is a donation to the company) in June, including working on weekends and rearranging my personal schedule to accommodate clients on multiple occasions, my boss decided that because I didn’t have all of the details of that time entered into our project tracking software he was going to hold my paycheck. He did not inform me of this decision. (This in and of itself, illegal… But company has less than 50 employees so the great State of Ohio could give a bigger shit.) When he found out that in fact I had entered it all (admittedly late) he forgot to release the hold on my paycheck. So, I woke up Thursday morning to $8 in the bank. I didn’t go to work on Thursday. G wanted me to stay home Friday as well, but I felt that I needed to keep up with my clients… So, let’s see we have passive aggressive game playing, creating a hostile working environment. Six more weeks. Six more weeks.

Family: This actually happened this week… Mother wants me to come swimming with her and the boys. Oh, but one of the boys is sick with “heat” and doesn’t want to go and the other is a video game head and doesn’t want to go. So, let’s just go out to eat. On her side of town because heaven forbid we drive 15 minutes to eat dinner. Except of course Big C wants Uncle G to come, but Uncle G didn’t come with Minta to the other side of town because he didn’t want to go swimming. So, can we meet in the middle? No, Big C wants to go to a restaurant that only has three locations, all of which are an equally long (again, 15 minutes) drive. And even though it’s child friendly and the kids will eat the food, Nana doesn’t like it. So, I get to hear her bitch about a decision made by the sister, G and Big C. Except when we get to the restaurant I find out Big C is sick with dehydration/sun poisoning, not “heat” and has a throbbing headache. So naturally his mother orders him water soda to drink. He takes three bites of his food and literally vomits all over the table. Because he’s that sick. But hey, he’s all right, she’ll just take him home and give him a bath and some water, he’ll be fine… Yes, I would have taken him to the hospital and no, I would not have under any circumstance taken him to a restaurant in that condition. On the bright side, I got to hear Little C make vomit noises all the way home.

Dogs: Yeah, I’m about done with the pug. Like DONE. She has shat on the carpet everyday this week. EVERYDAY. What else has happened this week? I kicked her out of the bed. This is retaliation. I am pissed. PISSED. I also stopped making their food. Have seen dramatic decrease in Waldo’s aggression, but dramatic increase in pug stubbornness. Seriously folks, I’m just not willing to invest much more money or effort into this dog, she really might be on her way out.

Baby Shower #2: My mother completely dropped the ball. My sister has picked up the ball. They are now fighting over it. And, also, have scheduled it for 8/21. Yes, past full term. Please stay tuned for stories of missed my shower because was giving the birth at the time… Also, stayed tuned for stories of, had to return a bunch of shit in October because I had to buy the necessities BEFORE the baby was born and received a bunch of tiny shit/duplicates with no time to return it before the baby was born. (I swear I’m not as big an ungrateful bitch as I’m coming off, just frustrated…)

The Hubs: Is far too spoiled. Life with him and newborn is going to suck the life right out of me. I have always prided myself on being a good wife, but I think I did not do myself any favors by spoiling him so much… (Again, not as bitchy as I sound, just frustrated over little shit, like you know, having to arrange for dinner EVERY night and heaven fucking forbid I need a clean dish to do it, or have planned something he doesn’t feel like at the time. How to manage that on a single income, I don’t freaking know.) Plus, as I’m getting closer to NEEDING him to take care of me more, I’m hearing a lot more sarcastic comments. For instance, as we’re watching a hypnobirthing dvd of real hypnobirths I commented on one dad who had it down. The man was rotating three washcloths and making sure she had the coolest one on her head and he was rubbing her back and give her lots of encouragement. I simply made the comment “Wow, this guy’s got this labor coach thing down!” G’s response? “We better turn this shit off, don’t want you getting any ideas…” Was he joking? Sure. But, still… grrr!

OK, all done bitching.

I am 32 weeks pregnant with a healthy baby. None of the shit above takes away from that. Nothing takes away from that.

Peace

Calm

Peace

Calm

(Still practicing the Hypnobirthing!!!)

I am not good at vacations May 21, 2010

Last year I scheduled a vacation for the week before Memorial day and the week before Labor day. Last year I had two miscarriages. The first was found the week before my vacation week and the D&C was performed during the time that should have been vacation. The second I started bleeding on the Friday before we were supposed to leave.

This year I scheduled vacation for the week before Memorial day, and am due to have a baby around Labor day. This year my husband is recovering from reconstructive hand surgery and my grandmother is dying. (On the brighter side, the baby is still alive and looking to stay put for say 12-15 more weeks.) It’s looking a lot like vacation is going to be canceled again.

FUCK!

I really needed that vacation. I really needed time AWAY. Time to chill. Time to read on the beach. Time to not have to think about time.

FUCK!!! FUCK!!!! FUCK!!!!!

OK, I could have bigger problems right? Seriously, I have money for a vacation and a husband to go with and it’s a babymoon… So, really where do I get off being all whiny? Yeah, well, up yours voice of reason!

Yeah, so, that’s why I’ve been MIA and commenting so infrequently. We’re doing depression, Minta-style. Which means 1) wake, 2) work, 3) sleep, 4) repeat.

Surgery Date Scheduled May 14, 2010

for…

MONDAY!

Told ya!

We may still be able to make the childbirth orientation. If not… fuck it. I hear women wing this shit all the damn time. Who needs to be prepared for the most monumental experience of their life?

Yeah, that’s the ticket…

Protected: Testing 1-2, Testing 1-2 March 12, 2010

This post is password protected. To view it please enter your password below:

Password:

Hollow and Alone November 11, 2009

So, the depression’s back. I bet you missed it…

 

Today is one month from Blueberry Bean’s EDD. In one month from today I should be bringing my baby home. I should be prepping up for maternity leave/retirement and putting the finishing touches on the nursery. My belly should be round with baby. But it’s not. It’s hollow. My baby is never coming home.

 

In a month I’ll be 30 and I’ll still be alone. I’ll still the mother of only dead children. It’s possible that I could be pregnant again by then, but it won’t be the same. This is so fucking unfair.

 

My children are dead and my marriage is falling apart and my job’s a chaotic mess and I’m crying at work again, yay!

 

Well, I guess I shouldn’t say my marriage is falling apart. No one is leaving or anything, I just feel so alone, so un-cherished, so IDK… objectified or maybe unfulfilled is a better word. Yes, unfulfilled and unloved pretty much sums it up. It’s like I’m just the maid/cook that also happens to put out whenever called upon to do so (or you know, when maybe/potentially/possibly/could be ovulating). Actually, I’m the maid/cook that’s supposed to seduce him whenever he wants to be seduced. I would be like Alice, if Alice was also fucking Mr. Brady. Not having an affair with Mr. Brady, see. Just fucking him on the side. But, I’m supposed to bend over backwards in appreciation if he does ANYTHING at all to help out. And, I do. Because I think if I keep acting the way that I wish he would act, then maybe he’ll want to act that way to me. But he won’t. I might as well be a fembot Stepford wife.

 

OK, I’m going to shut up now. Stark contrast from last week, eh?

Pissy, Pissy Kind Of Day October 6, 2009

Here’s a shocker that you’ll never believe. Ever. In a million, trillion, bazillion years.

 

I’m feeling pissy.

(This is what I look like, except with blue/gray/green eyes and slightly less pointy teeth, oh, and fat.)

 

Well, more than pissy, really. More like enraged. Like I’m just waiting for the final straw to break so I can go all She-Hulk. I usually feel this way 2-3 days before that bitch Aunt Flo comes for a visit. But, she just left. I also tend to feel this way when jacked full of Clomid. But I’m not. Is it possible that I’m just a naturally pissy person? Probably.

 

So why the rage fest today? I have no clue, but I wish it would go away. And also, I wish shit would quit happening that pisses me off. OK, so here’s some shit that pissed me off, you guys tell me if I’m being a hormonal she-beast (most likely), or if I should run away because I’m in the danger zone? Now I’m singing the song from Top Gun.

• Hubs says my arms are too big. Like Hulk Hogan big. He thought they were just fat, but then he saw me flex and now he’s scared of me punching him. He said that. To me. Dick! My reply: maybe you should tote the C’s around a little more… Carrying around 30 & 50 pounds on the weekends tends to build some muscle.
• Boss, ok, not going there will get too mad again. Suffice it to say there are days that working for an ultra small company is a very, very bad thing. OK, I’m going there. My boss doesn’t see anything wrong with paychecks being late every pay period.
• I have that full, slightly crampy feeling of early pregnancy/period coming. Why must my body fuck with me this way?
• Dad called me yesterday, at work, to talk about why my Bro and Sis aren’t answering his calls, and also to ask about his computer. No, I’m fine Dad, just dealing with dead babies, shitty work stuff and a seriously fucked up body, but you know your computer is more important. See, now he’d get all pissed and offended if he read that, but for real, I need certain people to care every now and then. Ask real questions. “How are you” is not a real question. “Are you on treatment this month” or even “How’s it going with the treatments” or even “If you want to talk about the babies or your treatments I’m here” are all better options than “how are you.”
• Took Big C to the pet store with Emma, he wanted a pet. I offered him a female beta to go into the tank with his male beta. He wanted a lizard. I told him that I wasn’t investing $50 into a $10 lizard that I would have to take care of when he wasn’t at my house (that would be 3-5 days a week most weeks) he told the sales lady that I was selfish and gave me a major attitude for the whole rest of the day. I offered the child a pet. A reasonable, affordable perfect impulse decision pet. But, I’m selfish and mean and the worst aunt he has. Seriously, that kid can be an asshole sometimes.
• At lunch today Kung Pao beef ended up ALL OVER my pink argyle Tommy Hilfiger sweater that I love. It’s heard to find plus sized brand named clothing in Podunk Ohio. I have to drive 2 hrs to get to the dept store that sells this stuff. I have kept this sweater looking decent for 5 years. Grrr… (it did come out, but now my tits are cold and wet)
• I’m fat. I eat a decent diet. I’m not a fulltime health nut (kung pao beef for lunch…) but I don’t eat Big Macs everyday (or even every week) either. I cook dinner, or go for healthier restaurant options. I exercise. Again, maybe not “a lot” but more than most. My dogs are well walked and my Wii Fit is low on batteries. But, I’m fat. I take a handful of fucking pills everyday to reduce the insulin but still, my ass (and apparently arms) are gigantic.
• My husband bitches about being fat, and says “we” need to go on a diet, but eats 3 portions at dinner and does eat fast food for lunch. He weighs 50 pounds less than I do. IT’S SO FUCKING UNFAIR.

 

All done. Sorry. I do actually feel a little better though. I need to quit with the never ending bitching. But I just feel so… so… so…

Okay, the octuplets have finally gotten to me February 4, 2009

When the octuplet story first broke, I was not quick to jump on the WTF band wagon. Afterall, we knew nothing about the situation. May the parents were wealthy, had been doing fertility treatments for a very long time and had no other children at home. But, if they were middle class schlubs like me & G, or had a couple other kids or whatevah what’s it my business?

So then we learn the mother was a single mother. Okay, that’s her business. Also, she went against her doctors recommendation to murder, sorry, I mean “terminate” (and now you know my stance on abortion…) some of the babies. Again, I can honestly say if placed in that position, I would make the same choice. So, at this point I’m still empathizing with this woman.

Then we learn she has not a couple but SIX small children at home, and she lives with her parents, and she’s unemployed and apparently she and her parents a little bit crazy. This is where I’m starting to loose my empathy and understanding with this woman. Really, SIX kids and you’re getting MORE fertility treatments. Now, who I am to say how many children people should have? I’m not saying that there should be some set criteria for people to be allowed to use ART or even just good ol‘ fashion CC and IUI. What I am saying is… Good fucking grief, who screwed the pooch on her psych eval? Seriously. What sane unemployed, single mother of six children under 8, living with her parents in a two bedroom bungalow wants more children badly enough to go out and get implanted with at least 8 (I’m not buying that “they multiplied” bullshit) more embryos? Honestly, you know what I think, her quarterly storage rent was due and she thought “Fuck it, why pay for them in storage when I can use them?” Insane.

So at this point, she’s crazy, but she really can’t help it, she’s crazy. Someone (hello Mom, Dad, Doctors, ANY-F’ing-ONE) should have sent her to shrink by now, but whatever. Then the crazy woman wants money to talk to Oprah, and now we know what it’s all about. Maybe she started having kids because she wanted to be a mommy, and God knows I can certainly understand that, but at some point she saw the Duggars and Goslyns on TV and thought, now there’s a way to make money! It’s a new version of the welfare baby ploy. We’ll call it the TLC baby ploy.

Now this would be a good point for me to clarify something. I love the Duggars and the Goslyns. I am happy for their success, and they seem to have their acts together and priorities straight. They also both happen to be Christian families. For starters, these families came to be large by very different circumstances. One by choice, one not by choice. They both supported their own families before TLC came along, by planning and in some cases with the help of loved ones, but neither had their children with the intention of using them to make money. Oddly, even as an yet unfulfilled infertile, I still love to watch their stories, but if the background behind their stories was quite different, I can’t say I’d feel the same.

Back to the main point… This crazy woman has had 8 babies on purpose to get on TV. What kind of irresponsible monster is this? I know I’m making some assumptions here, but I truly believe they are not off base. I’m judging, and I know it, and I don’t care right now. This whole situation has me so mad I can’t even see straight. There are honest people in the world who just want to be parents for the joy of being a parent, and who need ART/fertility treatments to realize those dreams, and this crazy woman’s irresponsibility has ultimately cast an ugly shadow on all of us. I think all parties involved did it for the money and the worst possible scenario is that they continue to get more attention and start actually making money from these children.