Life Family and the Pursuit of Sanity

or… adventures in infertility and babies and family drama!

I Hate Mother’s Day May 12, 2013

You read that correctly. I really do. Why?


  1. It’s too much pressure. First, there’s the pressure to make it a good day for MY mom. Then of course, there’s the MIL to deal with. And my Grandma. Oh, and I have to make sure that *I* at least appear to be having a good day so that G and Lil G feel successful. With all of the pressure to make sure everyone else is having a good Mother’s Day, I’m not having such a relaxing day…
  2. It’s *really* important to my mom. But, she pretends like it isn’t. But, every year she’s all mopey because whatever we did wasn’t enough. So, #1 x 2.
  3. I have 8 dead children and 1 living child. Not such good stats for a mom. Really shitty stats, actually. Don’t get me wrong, I’m all kinds of grateful for Lil G. He’s awesome and I can’t imagine life without him. But, on this day celebrating motherhood, I am inevitably depressed thinking about all of my angels.
  4. It took lots and lots of years to get this one living kid. Most of those years I had dead babies. I really hate when people say things like “Happy second mother’s day” when I have been a mother for years and years.
  5. Much like every other holiday that involves gifts and cards, I am reminded just how little my husband really knows me. He will get me a card from the store that is either sappy/sweet (like the one he bought for his mom) or complimentary in a passive aggressive kind of way (like the one he bought for my mom, which we’re not giving her). The gift will either be an appliance (I’m hoping for a deep fryer if it is…) or a DVD (probably of a movie I only remotely give a shit about). I want jewelry (which we can’t afford) or flowers. Or gardening shit. Or fancy new crochet hooks.
  6. Facebook will be full of stories of other mommies sleeping until noon while their perfect husbands and perfect children cook and clean and give them a perfect day. *Blech* and *barf* I don’t want to hear it and also, I don’t fucking believe it.

So, yeah, I hate Mother’s Day. Let’s please cancel it.


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

Filed under: Fall Baby,I'm a bitch, here's why,Pregnant — arminta @ 4:25 pm

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.





(Still practicing the Hypnobirthing!!!)


I am not good at vacations May 21, 2010

Filed under: Blogging,I'm a bitch, here's why,Marriage,Pregnant,The Blah — arminta @ 2:48 pm

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.


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

Filed under: Fall Baby,I'm a bitch, here's why,Pregnant,The Blah — arminta @ 10:02 pm



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…