Thursday, November 10, 2011


You're probably wondering where the eff I have been, right? Packing, painting, ripping up floors and reconfiguring kitchens. Yup, we're moving. Again.

It's bigger. For more babies...and a banquette. More details once we're settled and I have internet again.

Friday, October 28, 2011

Baby Mermaid

Costume done!

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Amazeballs, right!?

If you have costume photos of you or your chil'run link them! Loooooove costumes!

Tuesday, October 25, 2011

Nooooo! A tooth!

Jesus! It’s Tuesday already? I don’t even know how that snuck up on me since time goes by in slow motion when your baby is cutting three teeth at a time. Three! Oh God, please give me the strength to NOT RUN AWAY this week.

Jillian’s first tooth came in around two weeks before her first birthday. This is pretty much how it happened…

Three teeth. One week. Between the crying and whining and Jillian’s general pissed off-ness I really wanted to run away. Whining is the WORST. Crying I can deal with, crying can generally be remedied by food or a nap usually but whining is a different, patience testing story. I know when I’m in a whiny mood ain’t nobody going to fix anything and everyone is going to suffer right along with me. Unfortunately my Mom cast the “I hope you have a child just like YOU!” curse and whining is the kiss of death. Are any of you under that curse too?

I hear it’s normal for babies to cut one on the bottom then one on the top then another on the bottom but Jillian has decided that cutting teeth the normal way and being within the chart for height are just not for her so she does things a little differently. Like cutting her first three teeth all in a row on the bottom. Now it looks like she is working on a row of three on the top. One has just barely popped through and I can already see the next two just under her gums. Greaaaaaaat.

I use Hyland’s teething tabs and Oragel if things get really ugly. Sometimes a pickle just to keep her whiny mouth busy and gnawing. Any advice for other teething remedies? Jillian is apparently to cool for teething rings or frozen washcloths.

Friday, October 21, 2011

Mall Rats

Sorry for the lack of posting yesterday and the day before too I think. Yesterday I was so busy. BFF Stube and I spent FIVE HOURS at the mall. Five. It’s not even like we have a good mall here either, like the Mall of America, we have a normal run of the mill mall. We do however have a children’s area in one of the wings* where they have a cushy floor and things for kids to crawl on and around. Jillian and BFF Stube’s daughter played for almost the entire time we were there while BFF Stube and I judged people. It was fun for everyone. We had lunch there and we probably could have had dinner there too and Jordan came before work to watch Jillian play.

There were a few time where some other kids almost knocked Jillian down but thankfully they just missed her. Lucky for them anyway because I would have pushed them down if they would have. It’s weird when you become a mother and all of a sudden you have the animal instinct to protect your young. Like a bear. Jillian really likes pushing BFF Stube’s umbrella stroller around and today some brat tried to take it away from her. Once BFF Stube told her to back off (but in a nice way because she’s nice. I’m not) she ran off but later sat in it. Maybe she thought my baby has superhuman strength or something and could push her 8 year old ass around but she was wrong. The girl is just sitting in there while Jillian is like “Get the eff out kid! I can’t push you!!” while I’m telling BFF Stube that the girl has a few more seconds to pop off before I help her out or yell to her mom to watch her kid. Like WTF do these people really think they can just sit on their iphones and play with apps or do whatever it is you do with an iphone and not watch your kid? Another kid almost kicked Jillian in the face and her grandmother (or insanely old mom) was right next to them. She got a good dose of stank eye while I grabbed Jillian and saved her from a black eye.

In the middle of our mall we have a jumping contraption. It’s like a slingshot type unit and kids seem to like it. Not BFF Stube’s kid though. She’s afraid to jump. One time I convinced her that she could do it and we got her all psyched up to do it and then once she was in the gates she was crying and begging to leave. Whoops. She likes to watch other kids jump though and I like to watch the jumping contraption operator. We call him my “boyfriend”. He looks a lot like Jordan. I will take a picture of him on Monday and I will do a side-by-side.

Are you a mall rat? Or the more pressing question, do you have a "boyfriend"?

*You’re thinking wings?? What? It cannot be that crappy of a mall if it has multiple wings! And I would have to tell you that whoever designed this mall is stupid and likes excersize and instead of having a regular mall this mall is like an “X” shape so you have to walk all over the damn place and you are SOL if you forget something or park on the wrong side.

Wednesday, October 19, 2011

Costume Contest

Last Halloween Jillian was around a month old and it was freaking hard to find a teeny tiny costume. Not that they don’t exist but every time I found a costume that I liked it was either 0-6 month and she would have been eaten by it or 0-3 month was sold out. Apparently everyone had teeny tiny babies like me and oddly, had the exact same cat obsession.

Here she is, only mildly being eaten by the 0-3 month costume.

But once she was in her car seat you couldn’t even tell what the frick she was. With the nuk and sleepy, beady eyes she could pass as a pig…with a tumor on its left leg. In the stroller? Forgetaboutit. In fact, a few people asked what the hell she was dressed as. Between the tray, the straps and Jillian just kind of laying there and not making cat noises, I would probably have been confused too.

This year, we’re going to make sure that when people set eyes on my kid, they are going to be damn sure of what she is. I saw a stroller cover on Pinterest but it was an umbrella stroller cover that looked like cheese and the baby was a mouse. Cue lightbulb. Child + grey costume squished and deformed by stroller = ???? BUT Child = grey costume squished and deformed by stroller + related stroller cover = Mouse in cheese! Duh, that baby is a mouse!

So in order to also have a “Duh, that baby is a ________” moment we too needed a stroller cover of awesomeness. Even though Jillian is walking her preferred method of motion is still crawling and we need a stroller and if in two weeks time she is all “I’m going to walk everywhere. I’m not going to crawl motherfucker!” then too friggen’ bad because I already made the stroller cover and your costume is not conducive to walking anyway. Or crawling for that matter. Anyone have a guess what she’s going to be?

Anyway, I bought a buttload of felt (the stuff on the bolt, not the tiny 9x12 sheets for like 29 cents) and just started measuring and cutting and then sewing. I thought felt was the best way to go since it’s hecka cheap and felt seems a lot less intimidating to me than regular fabric. Like tulle or something. I mean, it’s felt for christ’s sake and children use it and having about the same crafting abilities as a child, it was the obvious choice.

Now I don’t know about you but I’m no good at the sewing business, (hell I hand sewed because I can’t figure out the sewing machine I have and let’s be honest, it’s a little scary) but I managed to make a pretty good and well fitted cover for the background. After that was done it was time to transform my blue cover into the ocean backdrop I needed for my little mermaid. I made fish and a turtle, some starfish and what I thought was an octopus but later remembered that octopi have 8 legs and not 5 so I decided if anyone got technical on me it was a squid. Problems there too. Squid have 6 legs so I still don’t know what the fuck it is but it lives in the ocean, okay?!

I started on the mermaid top but it turned out looking like a bow and not a bikini-ish mermaid top even after I hot glued it to the plain shirt I got. Yes, hot glue. Sewing is hard. Even though I’m too scurred to use a sewing machine, in my head this costume was going to be so cool and look just like the pictures I found of mermaids on the internets. It didn’t. Since the fabric for the mermaid tail is shiny and slippery and was $8/yd in addition to the interfacing that was $12/yard that I needed to make it stiff so it will hold its shape instead of just laying there. After the mishap with the bra piece, I wasn’t about to mess up $20 bucks worth of fabric. So I’m going to have our family friend help me out and make it look legit. Once everything is done and the cover is on and Jillian is mermaided and in the stroller I will definitely share photos and of course, our many costume contest trophies.

What are you or your kids dressing up as? Do you have two kids and a husband and you’re going to go as pieces of a sandwich??

Monday, October 17, 2011


We had a long weekend man. Long. Friday we all went over to my Dad’s. My Dad really wanted us to come over to make Jordan help him work on a car… Jordan really wanted to go over so my Dad could provide dinner. They both won.

Jillian won too, she got to play with my StepMom and the cat that lives at my Dad’s. She loves cats, maybe more than me. Then again, maybe not.

Saturday we went to Jordan’s cousin’s wedding. Jillian was so behaved for the ceremony, unlike some little brat who was at least 3 years old who cried through the couple’s vows. Fucking rude, right? If I were the bride I would have just stopped and stared at the kid… and his parents. We sat in the last row so that if Jillian started in with her “angry arms” and screaming we could leave like normal embarrassed parents.

Jillian opted out of a nap between the ceremony and reception. Probably not the best choice, she was kind of a crab ass during dinner. Nothing a little poor parenting and some chocolate couldn’t fix. But I can tell you that chocolate cannot fix this kid’s ability to make you feel uncomfortable. Way to lay on the floor and be weird…and serious. This is why we have no friends besides BFF Stube.

Despite having stayed up late on Friday AND Saturday night Jillian still insisted on getting up at 7:35 a.m. Whhhhhhhhhhy? It wasn’t all bad, for the first time in her entire life, Jillian took a nap on me. She’s never done it before and so when she cuddled up to me and fell asleep I nearly shit myself. Thankfully I didn’t this time because then I would have had to move her and then the napping on me would have been O.V.E.R. Wish Jordan would have taken a picture but we couldn’t have been bothered to document the occasion, he was too busy not picking up the squirrel that the dog killed and then decided to roll in/on. He went to finally pick it up and it was gone. My guess is that she dragged it somewhere in the pricker bush because the dog reeked to high hell and was covered in burrs. This would be the most reasonable explanation but Jordan still insists a large bird found it and took it. I bet it took it to the pricker bush.

Sunday night I took Jillian over to FIL and SMIL’s house. I didn’t really want to go when they invited me since Jordan would already be working so I would have to go alone but they bribed me with food. There was dinner AND pie. Okay, and pie to take home too. Oh and ice cream. And homemade applesauce. Don’t judge me. Okay, you can judge me a little, I just judged me.

How was your weekend? Pie filled like mine?

Also, are the comments not working? I have noticed that I haven’t really gotten any comments. If they are not working then I guess don’t comment and I will figure out how to fix it. If they do work, then for the love of Christ, throw me a bone.

Friday, October 14, 2011

Good Advice

If you haven’t already noticed I come from a family who is obviously short on appropriateness. I should rephrase, everyone in my family is inappropriate other than my Mom. (You’re welcome Mom, sorry everyone else).

My Dad is really inappropriate.

A few weeks ago Jordan was bitching to my Dad about how naggy I had been lately while I was in the house, probably ironing his socks. When my Dad and Jordan get together or get to talking, they like to act like they are the ones in charge and trade secrets on how to keep us women folk under control. I can totally see it, the two of them talking about the Packers or something and then Jordan checks over his shoulder to make sure I can’t hear him bitching about me and my Dad whispers to him advice. I guess my Dad’s advice this time was to, wait for it, “fuck the bitch out of” me. My Dad. Telling my husband to put me back in my place by fucking the bitch out of me.

(When you see these t-shirts and you think "Who buys these?" Here is your answer.)

You haven’t met my Dad so when Jordan is telling me this crap I can’t help but laugh because my Dad is the biggest vagina in the world. My Dad is an OTR (On-the-Road) truck driver and after he gets home after his 60ish hour weeks he takes care of the laundry, cleans, does the grocery shopping and the cooking. My StepMom works a few hours a week but other than that, my Dad does everything including provide her with an allowance. So you can see why my Dad thinking he has “fucked the bitch” out of anything is sort of a joke. If anything, StepMom has been fucking the bitch out of my Dad for years. YEARS.

Jordan and I have been threatening to fuck the bitch out of each other since my Dad said it. You won’t go get me a Diet Coke? Don’t make me come in there and fuck the bitch out of you! It’s fun, try it with your boyfriend or husband, it really spices things up.

So when I was telling StepMom about my Dad having said that she nearly choked. Turns out that SHE says that she is going to fuck the bitch out of my Dad. Not the other way around. Nice Dad. I bet my Dad got the bitch fucked out of him that night. In fact, thinking about it now, Jordan has been a little out of line lately, maybe I'll fuck the bitch out of him tonight.

On a completely unrelated note, I hope the person who searched for “crazy families” is satisfied with this post and also, check out my past blog topics. The Seagull Eater post is a good one to make you feel better about your family. But one search term had me concerned.

Obvs I can appreciate some potty mouthedness but “fucking beeg mature womens cunts” even makes me blush so I’m not exactly sure why searching for that on Google brings up my blog in the results. Even so, my thought is that if you are looking for…that, you didn’t exactly find what you were looking for when you clicked on my blog link. Sorry about that. : (

Wednesday, October 12, 2011


Just thought I would throw it out there... What do you want to know? Throw me a blog topic!

Also, I am about to take your Teen Mom/16 & Pregnant obsession to the next level. Go to this website. Promise it's not porn.

Marry an Orphan

When you have a baby everyone will want to get their hands on him/her. Picture that nasty little freak from Lord of the Rings with his hunchback whispering “Precioussss”. At least that’s how my FIL and SMIL are. Seriously. It’s weird.

They want to watch her all time. And call her “Jillybug” while they do it. I hate that, there’s nothing cute about adding “bug” onto someone’s name and you don’t have to have your own stupid little nickname for her so you can act like you are in a secret club or something. Everyone calls her Jellybean or Jillian. Assholes.

They call every fucking weekend. They want us to come over for “waffles”. Let’s be real, you want to get your hands on our baby by bribing us with food, like animals. They want to come to our house and stay too long and bother me or they want to take her to their house so they can sit around and pretend that she’s their baby or something. I mean once and a while it’s nice to take a shower or look at Pinterest for an hour and a half but it’s not a favor when it takes you a god damn hour and a half to get here after you say you’re “on your way”. And I don’t even know why I bother asking to have her back at such and such a time because they are always late. “Oh, your baby has a schedule or has to spend time with you, oh well motherfucker!”

SMIL is obsessed with her and not in a sweet grandparent way either. My Mom pointed out that it’s not even like SMIL raised Jordan or even liked him while he was living with them. She made everything so uncomfy while he lived there. One time she and FIL accused Jordan and I of making a crack in their kitchen ceiling from rocking the bed since J's bedroom was above it. No joke. I would make him come to my house almost every day when we were first dating and still living at home. The point of dealing with all the bullshit of being a parent is so that one day you get a reward. Grandchildren. You don’t get the effing reward if you don’t put in the time.

I bet you’re like “Pssshh, that’s nothing. That’s what grandparents do, they annoy you”. I would tell you to listen to this shit. Every Christmas Eve Jordan and I have to make the rounds with our families. We went to my Dad’s first because his family are holiday hogs and end up keeping us for hours and hours. Like prisoners. So anyway we had only been with my family for maybe two hours when FIL and DoucheBrad started blowing up J’s phone wanting to know when we were coming over. This is the rude kind of shit that they do, totally unaware that other people exist in the world besides them. For piss sake we hadn’t even opened gifts yet and of course Jordan’s got DoucheBrad’s penis in his butt so he’s rushing me and reminding me that his family is waiting.

When we get to FIL/SMIL’s house Jillian is plucked from my arms and paraded around. General annoyedness ensues. When it comes time to open gifts, SMIL is holding Jillian and I tell her to hand her over. SMIL pouts and asks if she can hold her for gift opening. OH HELL NO, I’m her fucking Mom, I pushed her out of my ugly and I will be holding her for her first Christmas Eve. When they pull this kind of crap, I think it’s a joke. Like I’m literally tilting my head to the side with wide eyes thinking that someone is going to say “Psych!!!”. It doesn’t happen.

The pouting and inappropriateness doesn’t stop there. They even do it in front of our families. No shame. At her first birthday J and I sat next to her highchair for the cake smash, you know, because we’re her Mom and Dad. Anytime she eats anything she offers Jordan or I whatever food she’s eating and her cake was no different. It’s cute when you’re her parents. Not so cute when you are the grandparents and you are telling Jillian to “Let Grandma have some”. You look like a fucking baby snatcher. Not even kidding, FIL and SMIL each took turns asking Jillian to share while the other one took a picture. A few people commented on how off it looked.

So glad I have this memento of YOU forcing my baby to feed you too on her birthday. But god forbid anyone else gets to spend time with her. When they invite us over every weekend, it comes to a surprise to them that once in a while we’re hanging out with my family or just want to spend some time as a family. How fucking dare we? A few times my Step Mom posted pictures of her and my Dad with Jillian on her Facebook and SMIL had commented to me about the photos and how they got to spend the day with her instead of us coming to their house. What the hell does she think I’m going to do? Forbid her from spending time with her BIOLOGICAL GRANDFATHER and the woman who has been a third parent to me? Apparently.

My next husband is going to be an orphan. Trust.

Tuesday, October 11, 2011

Thank You

I don’t know about you but I am one crafty bitch. And I will be damned if Jillian isn’t a crafty bitch too. I saw a handprint animal on the internet once and I knew I could force Jillian to make one too. Some craft paint and a pack of brushes and we were in business. The first handprint craft we made was a garden.

As you can see, it’s sweet. If you are not one of those people who get art, those are my interpretation of poppies. They look good up close and less like blobs. Drunk with awesomeness, we made a handprint garden on a plate for my Mom’s plate wall. If you don’t have a plate wall, you need to get one. Now.

Since Jillian’s hand painted and hand printed sign is in her bedroom, only she can really enjoy and admire it so we made one for the living room. I don’t know why but I like clown fish and I would so have one if I could remember to take care of a saltwater tank but I can’t remember to shave my legs, so no clown fish for me. Sort of…. we tried to do a handprint clown fish (no upkeep required) but Jillian kept making a fist before I could get her little baby hand on the frame and we lost the other white stripe. You get the idea though.

I’ve done a handprint flamingo and another fish for my Aunt with her two kid’s handprints and I did a purple fish with BFF Stube’s daughter. The fish are pretty popular and I like to paint the backgrounds. I mean, who the frick is going to see this lovingly made keepsake and be like “Ooooh, I love it but I just fucking hate fish. Couldn’t you have done a emu?” No one. I plan on doing handprint animals and what have you for New Baby and continue to do them with Jillian as she get bigger (and more cooperative). So when it came time to dream up the Thank You for Jillian’s first birthday it was clear we were going the handprint route.

I thought a chicken would be super cute but there were no chickens at her party and I didn’t want people to get them in the mail and think I’m fucking retarded since there weren’t chickens there, so why would I do a chicken. Horse it is. I did the plain brown handprint with Jillian one night and then sent her to bed so I could finish it off with a bridal and a mane and tail. You didn’t think that she did that, did you? Good, her mad craft skills are still developing. Anyway, I sent the print off to Valerie from Inkblot Graphic Design Studio to work her magic yet again. Here’s the finished product.

EFFING AWESOME, right??? Again, I feel like I was sort of stealing from Valerie since she only charged me $8.00 on this one. I just told her that I wanted the same red background and other than that to just go for it. LOVE her. If you need something designed, ask Valerie. She’ll whip something up for you in no time. I think I should mention that I’m getting no swag from pimping out Valerie, she just did a fanfuckingtastic job and if you’re like me when someone convo’s you back telling you they want $50.00 to bring to life WHAT YOU ALREADY HAVE THOUGHT OF you look for someone a little less mentally imbalanced. Valerie? She’s balanced.

You’ve got your coat on to go get craft paint and a baby right now I bet. And plates for a plate wall.

Monday, October 10, 2011

Here We Go Again

I thought about it over the weekend, you know trying to make Mommy friends so Jillian can interact and socialize with other kids so she isn’t one of those kids that cannot leave my side and won’t play with other kids on the playground or something and I came up with a solution. Give birth to the friend. Duh, right?

It’s a little extreme, I admit.

After Jillian was born and my lady flower was in pieces more babies were a no go. Not going to happen. Lady flower was meant to be an entrance, not an exit. Jordo brought up babies A LOT. All this bull about I won’t “give him a son” and how he and his new wife would probably have kids. Maybe 3. He’s joked about me not trying while he’s simultaneously not not trying. What the eff? Way to be on the same page.

He’s always been pro baby #2 since he comes from an obviously very healthy and not at all dysfunctional large family whereas I’m the perfect only child. I had a great childhood, my Mom and I did a lot of shit together. Like apple picking and she used to take me and BFF Stube to Noah’s Ark every summer and buy me a prom dress that was hecka expensive and buy me whatever I wanted and that sounds pretty fucking awesome to me. But Jordan is all “Let’s have another baby so Jillian and New Baby can be really weird and creepy close and then we can neglect them, like my childhood”. No.

When I thought about having another kid I kept thinking that New Baby is going to be crying and I have to nurse or change his/her diaper and Jillian is crying and wondering why I don’t love her and then pokes New Baby in the eye out of jealousy. Then when she wants a car I have to tell her that she only gets x amount because she we can’t buy both kids cars and then she will be full of teenage angst and try to sneak out of her bedroom window so she can smoke parsley out of printer paper with her friend with the lip piercing and the bad reputation.

At the same time, I don’t want her to be like I remembered I was, hanging onto my Dad’s leg with the adults while the other kids played around having fun, maybe playing with fire, I don’t really know since I couldn’t leave my Dad. I’m also a little selfish** and I only have one friend. Not exactly the future I’m planning for my future Prom Queen either. If you're like me you're thinking Fuuuuuck, what to do, right?

The day after her birthday my thoughts changed drastically and then the list of Pros was WAY BIGGER than the list of cons. When you think about it realistically Jillian will probably be dangerously close to turning two when New Baby would be born and then she'll be a little more reasonable and probably helpful. And you know what, she can suck it because she's going to have a friend and that's that. She can thank me later, after she fetches me a baby wipe so I can change the New Baby. Or more likely after she has someone to confess that she let the popular boy from school feel her up and they can giggle about how they both agree never to tell me. Oh, didn't I mention that I'm planning on New Baby being a girl? I am, maybe I'll name her Quinn. It's all up to me you know.

So we’re back to Jordan feeling “used” since sex is no longer for recreation. He's like a needy, emotional little girl sometimes. Get over it Nancy, I only need you for your man juice.

Lay it on me, all your advice about having two or staying a threesome. Any advice for two chil’run sharing a bedroom?

** I’m not selfish with Jillian obviously, in fact, right now I’m wearing a bra that my nipples often escape out of because I would rather spend $$$ on her than get myself a new boulder holder.

Friday, October 7, 2011

Mommy Friends

Making Mommy friends is tough. It’s like trying to make friends in high school but worse because you’re way more desperate for friends once you have a kid or two. There’s this Mom I see at Walmart with her 9 month old once in a while. Every time I see her, I’m like waving like a fucking idiot and trying to keep from pissing myself from excitement like a Jack Russell. Embarrassing. Of course, she’s so laid back and probably like “There’s the effing nut that’s stalking me and her kid who just stares at mine. Weirdos”. I might not feel like such a twit if Jillian would at least act like she wants to be friends with her baby. Seriously, she sits in the cart and looks at Walmart Mom’s baby, who is always dancing and smiling at Jillian, like she’s fucking retarded. Snob. We saw Walmart Mom and Walmart baby once with Jordan and he asked me why I was “acting like that” after Walmart Mom steered her cart away. Probably to safety.
He can shut it, he ate soup laying down on his side…on the couch…while watching TV. And I can tell you without a shadow of a doubt that if he caught one of the animals or ME laying while eating he would go on and on about what a lazy little fuck we were because who eats while laying down? Off topic? Sorry.

Luckily, BFF Stube has a daughter who’s almost three so we force her and Jillian to be friends. BFF Stube and I have seriously considered being sister wives or at least moving her and her daughter into our basement to live. We may or may not have also discussed getting bunkbeds….for ourselves, not the chil’run.

BFF Stube and I took the girls to the library last week and Jillian decided to crawl up to another baby and her parents, lay down on her side (No, she wasn’t eating though) and suck her thumb. For 6 minutes. Seriously??? She doesn’t even suck her thumb EVER and who does that? They left 3-4 minutes later. It’s like she wants people to think we’re weird fucks or that she’s handicapped. I guess I will just smother BFF Stube since she’s pretty much my only friend. She calls me her jealous boyfriend, but we both like the attention, so it’s okay.

BFF Stube and I did see a super helpful poster on how to encourage and support your child. It was mostly shit you would think the Brady mom would say to her kids like “You’re super!” or “Whiz!” but one stuck out. I TRUST YOU. Are you effing kidding me? I can totally see this poster maker sitting there behind his desk (you know a man came up with that shit too, so don’t deny it), thinking of things to say to a child for this poster and he’s like “Hmm, 1001 Things to Say to your Child would be much better that just 1000 Things…but what to add? I trust you. Yup, I trust you. That’s it. This poster is going to be dynamite now!” I cannot think of anytime where “I trust you” would be appropriate to say to Jillian and BFF Stube couldn’t think of anytime to tell it to her daughter either. Except…

I’m going to leave this pool cleaner out while I run downstairs to get the laundry but I’m not going to lock the gate BECAUSE I trust you. Or maybe I might leave my machete collection out while you parallel play near it because I trust you.

Thursday, October 6, 2011

Birthday Girl

September 24th was Jillian's first birthday. It. Was. Awesome.

I pinned something on Pinterest about the birthday boy/girl waking up to balloons all over their room so I had to do it for Jillian. We snuck them into her room a few hours after she went down, even though there was a good chance that the balloons would scare her and she would wake up and just be terrified on her birthday. Thankfully she loved it. Please excuse her crazy bed head...

When I was thinking about what theme to do for her first birthday I really wanted to do the girliest, pink explosioniest garden tea party ever but it turns out that tiny floral teacups and babies don't mix. Who knew? And my rude mom wasn't willing to offer up her luscious garden and perfectly manicured lawn for a party for 50 people. God!

With my garden tea party idea shot down, the next logical option was a petting farm party. Oh, your brain does go from tea cups to livestock? Either way, I found the nicest couple who own a hobby farm with miniature horses, a mini steer, a mini pig, an alpaca, a donkey and a buttload of goats and they do birthdays. Sold. In other words, it was heaven for me, oops I mean Jillian. Once we booked the farm for the day I was unable to stop my brain from dreaming up the coolest birthday invitation know to soon-to-be one year old babies everywhere.

I made a horrible draft of what I wanted with squiggles and some Microsoft Paint worthy drawings to Valerie from Inkblot Graphic Design Studio on Etsy and she turned it into this...

( I don't really think that people are interested in calling me, but if you are, please don't. I will answer as a Pizza Hut employee if you do)

for $12.00 effing dollars. Do you believe that? This girl put up with my crazy and like 3 edits to send me the PDF of her design to have printed. $12.00! You can't even buy lube for that these days! Val also designed our post card Thank Yous too for $8.00. More on them later.

I put the invitations safely in their coordinating gingham lined envelopes complete with a custom apple stamp on the wrap around labels because I'm crazy. No really, who does that? I saw the envelope at my FIL's house and he and SMIL didn't even effing notice. Why did I spend the better part of an afternoon cutting and gluing in envelope labels when I could have been watching trashy TV or standing over the sink eating a sandwich so Jillian wouldn't bother me to share with her if no one was going to notice my envelope liners? Dumb.

With the invitation crazytown over, it was time to kick party decor crazytown into high gear. Luckily I had 2 MONTHS to find cohesive decor and pink bakers twine and other ridiculous things that no one probably noticed. What I couldn’t find in store, I made Husband build for me. Like the "Farm Fresh" boxes and drink stand. I did the wooden "1" by myself though. With powertools and my penis.

I also insisted on having water carafes with chalkboard labels because labels are bitchin’ and I like to make more work for myself. I saw a recipe for mint lemonade somewhere and I needed that too, but because regular ole lemonade did not go with Jillian’s birthday party color scheme, I used pink lemonade. It was like the nectar of the gods too, it barely lasted an hour.

Ignore the chocolate milk that my Cougar Grandma brought, even though I told her to only bring things that were in the color scheme. She brought potato chips in a YELLOW bag too. It's like she doesn't even listen.

Of course, carmel apples are a first birthday party staple and you have to make them yourself so that you can eat all of the leftover carmel and then gain a pound and then cry yourself to sleep because you are such a shameful little pig.

Jordo still insists that because of this party people don't think I'm crazy, they know I'm crazy. Whatever. Despite all the decor hoarding for months until the party, when the day came, I didn't have nearly enough time to ensure optimal placement since I was only allowed to set up an hour early and some assholes came like 45 minutes early and kept bothering me so it looks a little jumbled and not at all Hostess with the Mostest quality that I had envisioned.

Hostess with the Mostest perfect food tables can suck it though. Look at this cake. Fuck yes. It didn’t even just look pretty on the outside it was a pink ombre cake on the inside. Because I’m fancy.

Jillian had her own smash cake with a little "J" on it with the same ombre inside but she didn't even make it to the cake.

At first she was just picking little pieces of frosting off and eating them and feeding them to Jordan and I but after a few seconds she said "Fuuuuuuck this" and just dove mouth first. (Oh yeah, my baby swears in my mind)

As part of their packages, you and your guests get to ride in a cart pulled by a mini horse. At first I sorta felt bad for the horse, his name was some kind of nut, but it escapes me now but let me tell you Pecan or Walnut or whatever the hell his name was could MOVE.

Then they let us lead the horses around their barn. Jordan looked like he thought it was so stoopid but after giving him a hard time in front of our family and friends he did it. Crowds will do that to a guy.

Then my Mom, my Aunt and I thought it would be funny to make my Cougar Grandma do it too since she hates animals. Really, hates them. She calls my dog a "flea bitten hound" and she told the cat not to "rub his nasty self" on her leg. Oh, but back to the horse, she did and that horse was Grandma’s bitch for a lap around the barn. Poor horse.
And they had a kitten!!!! Don’t worry it’s still there and it somehow didn’t make it into my purse. But not for lack of trying. I don’t have an orange one, this kitten would have made my collection complete. I would have named him Martin. Martin was Jillian's favorite part of the animal portion of the party. The asshole donkey scared her by hee-hawing too loudly.

This is Jillian, me and BFF Stube judging people. We like to judge. A lot. This time I think it was FO.

Speaking of FO and DoucheBrad..remember how they we're all like "We're going to smother you and bother you all the time". Yeah, that didn't/doesn't happen. They don't really see Jillian other than when we happen to be at the same place that they are. DoucheBrad calls here talk about himself to Jordan. They did bring a gift though....a Mr. Potato Head. I bet you're thinking "Whaaaat? Mr. Potato Head is for older children, just like the package says, it's for 2 years+" and I would say, "Yes, yes that's true blog friends" and would point out that in the in the few minutes that I allowed her to play with it in front of Jordan, she managed to put an entire ear in her mouth. Thanks for the choking hazard motherfuckers.

Wednesday, October 5, 2011

Glad That's Over.

I knew we were those kind of friends. Because we’re awesome. I’d also like to point out that if I pull that disappearing act shit again, feel free to kick me in the taco. Really, I will just stand in front of you, taco ready to take a kick. I would deserve it. Maybe two kicks.

Tacos aside, my Jellybean takes up 90% of my time, you know, when she’s not playing by herself with that one toy that makes me want to punch myself in the ear. HATE that toy.

And let me tell you, this kid is a handful. She has quite the attitude. Slapping toys or food away, pushing people away from her, screaming at the cats. Obvs she gets it from Jordan, such a drama queen. Bahahaha.

ACTION SHOT: Slapping away Grandpa

It’s totally true when they say that you life is O.V.E.R when the start crawling. Into everything. Your tampons? All over the floor! Your bra? Dragged out from the laundry basket into the living room, right in the line of sight for the neighbor to see when she drops off the paper. Thanks Jillian. At least she and the cats have come to an agreement about their changed relationships now that she can bother them whenever (all 4 of them).

Now she walks around on furniture and take a few steps when she thinks we’re not looking. I sorta wanna push her down*. I mean, it sounds bad but I just am not ready for that yet. Talking though? That’s alright. Jillian’s very first word was “Monser” or monster in adult language. Who’s kid’s first word is monster? That’s right, my kid. It’s my fault though. The big, mean kitty (Hitch) always hangs out under her crib so I lift up the crib skirt and ask her “Where’s the monster?” (Greaaaaat parenting right, teaching my kid that there are monsters under her bed) and she squishes her little head down and looks under the bed for him. So that’s the reason for the odd choice of first word on her part. She also says “What is that?” TO EVERYTHING. I’m pretty sure she doesn’t know that she is really asking a question but I figure what the hell, I’ll throw ya a bone. It’s a curtain.

Oh, remember how I was all “I’m going to cloth diaper and make baby food so I can make you feel like you are a bad mom since you don’t do these things that are so good for your baby!” Well you have the baby and you realize things are about to get real and that having your sanity is a little higher on the priority list.

Post Donut Sharing Session

And currently she’s eating a previously frozen sausage from a box while watching some stupid show with some pigs in a disposable diaper (hey, at least it’s Earth’s Best). Yeah, my baby watches TV while eating. We’re awesome parents. Rereading that, just though I should point out that she’s not eating a whole sausage, I broke it in half for her. Kidding, I cut it up into little, choke hazardless pieces. Winning.

*Clearly I am not going to ever push my own kid down, but I’d be lying if the thought didn’t cross my mind. If you are appalled by this, you just wait until you have a kid and have to run to the bathroom just to get a head start on him/her just to have some alone time. Don’t worry, they always seem to crawl in and make it just in time to try to pull themselves up on your pants, then fall because the pants fall since they’re around your ankles and then they’re crying because they fell (the baby, not the pants) and you’re dripping pee all over the seat and the back of your friggen’ pants. Not all that ridiculous now, right?

Tuesday, October 4, 2011


I feel like an “I’m sorry I’m so effing lazy that I just up and stopped blogging” is sort of an asshole move. Not even going to go there, not even going to try to woo you with that shit. For Christ’s sake, last time I cranked out a post Jillian was like 5 months old and basically like a potato, just laying there, not doing a whole lot of anything. What the frick is my excuse? I am lame.

Totally counting on the fact that were those kind of friends. You know, the ones who can not talk for like, oh I don’t know, 7 months and then start talking again and it was never like we were apart. That’s us, right?

Do you forgive me?

Wednesday, February 16, 2011

DoucheBrad Strikes Again

Jordan and I had a wild party to go to for 95 year old Napping Grandma at her old folks home. DoucheBrad called that morning but we let it ring instead of answering and I sat there basking in the awesomeness of the situation. Then the phone rang again. Then J’s cell phone rang. Then the home phone again. Then we had to leave for the party and DoucheBrad called two more time on the cell phone while Little Baby was freaking out because the women in my family still think scary, big hair is still in. It also doesn’t help that one of my Grandma’s “roommates” gave me the “Please God let me just die now so I don’t have to hear any more crying” look. We left after 23 minutes.

On our way back home Jordan was all “I’m going to call him back and ask him what the hell was so important that he needed to call so many times while we were at my 95 year old Grandmother’s birthday party”. Think that’s how the conversation went down? I know you didn’t. He called back and his balls shrunk back into his body and just asked DoucheBrad what he needed. That’s all. I don’t even effing remember what it was that needed because it wasn’t even fucking important. I totally called him out on being a puss too. But at least Jordan started to realize how obsessed DoucheBrad is with him. It’s gross, like “The Crush” gross but instead of Alicia Silverstone, it’s DoucheBrad in that part of the freaky little psycho. Sick asses.

Like a month later we had to go to a memorial service for my StepMIL’s mom. StepMIL has a tiny family so she and FIL sent out a invitation to a celebration of life gathering at their house instead of doing something big at a funeral home. Since the general theme was death, I didn’t think it would be appropriate to bring Jillian. I wouldn’t bring her to a funeral so I wasn’t going to bring her to this either.

Apparently I should have because this memorial was like a fucking pig roast. Almost everyone was in jeans including StepMIL and FIL and their was shredded beef. Jordan and I looked like assholes in his dress pants and my pencil skirt. Jordan’s Grandma and Aunt who live an hour away were there too and decided not to talk to me because I’m (obviously) a real cunt because I didn’t bring the baby. To what the invitation indicated was a memorial service for someone who had died. But what the hell ever.

So DoucheBrad was all dancing in his pants after we got in the door because he loves Jordan sooo much and kept trying to talk to him and interrupt our conversation. Then he cornered us and wanted to know when we were going to come see his basement. Just to fill you in DoucheBrad and FO have been working on finishing off their basement since they bought their house two years ago and we’ve seen more than our fair share of their damn basement. We’ve seen it when he put the laminate in, we’ve seen it a month later when they put the bar in, we’ve seen the new light, we’ve seen the new hand towels, we’ve seen all this random shit no one gives a crap about. So when we are badgered to go see carpet in the same basement we’ve seen close to one million times, we’re not all that excited. Anyway, Jordan tells him that he doesn’t know when we will go see it. DoucheBrad wants to know what we are doing later. We have to pick up Little Baby. Well what about tomorrow? We don’t have anything planned but probably not. Well when then? We don’t know. This makes DoucheBrad really mad. So mad that he gives Jordan and I the finger two times in the crowded kitchen at a memorial and then calls us assholes. Oh yes he did, because we won’t get out our fucking social calendar to schedule a time to look at a basement. I tell DoucheBrad that he’s being really appropriate and he yells at me to shut up, the kitchen is still crowded if you’re wondering. Then I check to see if he is serious and I get told to shut up again before he storms upstairs and probably cries in to a pillow. I told Jordan that FO should have gotten a babysitter for her baby too. Too far? Probably but I can’t help myself.

After DoucheBrad is done being a tit baby he comes downstairs and he tells FO they are leaving. But not before he teams up with Jordan’s Grandma and Angry-at-Me Aunt and comments on how sorry he is that they didn’t get to see Jillian. I could have throat punched him right there but I didn’t because I know how to act like an adult in a situation like this. Fucker.

Jordan sees the light. And then the sky parted and it rained puppies and kittens. He tells me that DoucheBrad is a baby and I fucking need a napkin for my seat because I’m so turned on by his new opinion. Jordan wants nothing to do with DoucheBrad and I want to do nothing more than ride him like a bull. For the next weeks we live happily ever after until Brad calls and leaves a message (because Jordan ignores the call…progress!) to “apologize” and then talk all about the new car they got but doesn’t mention what kind. Now, I’m no effing psychologist but I’m not a friggen idiot either. DoucheBrad didn’t say what kind of vehicle because he thinks that everyone is just dying to know everything about his life that Jordan will surely call him back to find out what kind of car it is. Jordan doesn’t and I’m sure DoucheBrad is hecka pissed about this and I love it. Jordan is still not talking to DoucheBrad but this doesn’t stop him from making sad attempts to regain control of Jordan and his tight asshole. He even called this past Sunday and left a message because he wanted to know the name of a antique store we went to once. You know, because there is no such thing as the internet or a phone book.

DoucheBrad I am on to you and I know that you are sitting at home writing in your diary about how you make stupid shit up so in hopes that Jordan will call you back right away to answer your important questions, giving you the opportunity to weasel your way back into our life. Not happening. You douche.

Tuesday, February 15, 2011

Epic Douche

Jordan and I decided to go to Buffalo Wild Wings watch the Packers/ Falcons playoff game. We invited DoucheBrad and FO. That was an idiot move.

We had had this night planned for almost two weeks and I was damn excited. Little Baby was going to stay with my Mom and Space Stepdad overnight so we could paint her new nursery and then Mom and Dad were going to get their drank on and watch the greatest football team ever throw around the ‘ol pigskin.

FO was excited too. I don’t know why, she can do whatever she wants whenever she wants and doesn’t have to find a babysitter but whatever. Excited. So the plan was that DoucheBrad and FO would go to BWW a little early to get a table and such and then we would meet them an hour later, at 6 after we dropped off Jillian. You know, because you have to go over all the “she ate at this time, and this is how she likes to be swaddled and don’t leave her alone with Space Stepdad” schpeel. But we still got there before them…and waited for 30 minutes for a table. While we were waiting and had to pass up a table because they weren’t there yet, Jordan and I noticed a buttload of kids. I don’t know about you but I don’t like to talk sassy and get crunk around kidlets. So I suggested we check out the situation at Stadium View Sports Bar & Grill*, the more appropriate place for my planned drunken night.

DoucheBrad and FO said they would pop in to see if we could get a table there. 30 MINUTES LATER they still hadn’t even left the friggen house. So Hubs and I went and it was hecka busy and DoucheBrad and FO still hadn’t left. We checked two more crowded bars that they suggested before we just gave up and went back to BWW. Finally DoucheBrad and FO decided to grace us with the presence. FO was already pissed because, get this shit… DoucheBrad decided that morning to go ice fishing and not return until 6:30. No need to scroll back up, the time they were supposed to be there was 5:00.

So FO is pissed and it’s all uncomfy because there’s a lot of “fuck” usage, like usual when they argue. A few drinks later we’re all fine, the Packers are crushing the Cardinals and then DoucheBrad goes to the bathroom. Apparently he notices a rash or some crap under his eyes and comes back to the table to demand that FO inspect it because it’s obviously frostbite and he probably needs medical care. Like any other sane adult FO tells him it is not frostbite and to STFU. DoucheBrad wants FO to go into the men’s bathroom to look, because it’s SO SERIOUS. She refuses because it's a men's bathroom and… DoucheBrad calls her a bitch. Loudly. She ignores him and then he decides she is a “SELFISH BITCH”. Every damn Packer fan now knows that FO is a selfish bitch. DoucheBrad makes Jordan look and because Jordan is DoucheBrad ‘s ass monkey he goes. FO and I ignore him and continue eating ourselves sick on chili con queso dip.

DoucheBrad finally gives up the frostbite shit and then decides that he’s going to invite himself over. I tell him no because we have to finish painting, ‘cuz I’m still nice at this point. That’s okay because he doesn’t mind, he’ll help. Umm no bitch. I tell him that we only have one roller. That’s okay too, he has some at his house, he’ll get them. WTF? No means NO man.

The funny thing is Jordan and I talked about how this would totally happen and DoucheBrad would try to weasel his way into our house because it’s what he ALWAYS DOES. Jordan and I agreed that we were going to go home, paint and then get it on. No DoucheBrad. Turns out Jordan did tell DoucheBrad this outside while they were smoking but he still didn’t get the fucking hint. While I was trying to be nice about the fact that DoucheBrad was not going to ruin my night I told Jordan to take care of it because I shouldn’t have to argue with his brother. He didn’t, he sat there like a tit head. Then I got angry. Angry because DoucheBrad is a friggen’ douche and angry because I tried hard to avoid this shit and Jordan still didn’t take care of it and angry that I was too angry to get it on now. And someone called me a honky.

FO and DoucheBrad got in a fight too and she ended up dropping him off on the side of the road then decided to call Jordan and tell him how worried she was about him. Make sense to you?

But don’t worry because even after this disaster and a week of arguing about how he let DoucheBrad ruin our night, DoucheBrad’s ass monkey decided to give him another chance so the DoucheBrad saga does not end here.

*Maybe you’ve heard of it? It was in ESPN’s 100 greatest sports bars of all time. And this girl used to work there.

Wednesday, February 9, 2011

You Will Be Loved- And It Will Annoy You

So you’ve had your baby. Get ready to be bothered.

Like I said, Marta the Midwife put me back together and I took a shower. I barely had my giant mesh panties (and I use that term loosely) on before they were kicking my ass to the maternity ward. The good news is you get to ride in a wheelchair. The bad news? You will not want to because the last thing you want to do is put any kind of pressure on your new testicles while you try to keep your robe closed. Then you round the corner and your FIL and StepMIL are there to witness the sad sight.

Ughhhh. I moved as fast as I could in my mangled state into the significantly more comfy than the L&D cot, but still not soft enough for your sore self…because they were coming to bother me. I don’t know if you’re like me (a crabby asshole) but the last thing I wanted was visitors just hours after pushing a human being out of me. They stayed too long too and they didn’t get the hint that it was time to heave ho because I needed to whip my boob out to nurse. Come to think of it, no one really got that hint. The baby is crying and I can feel my boobs leaking and I’m trying desperately to signal to Jordan to make them leave but they don’t. Next time I will be rude about it.

When they finally left Jordan and I talked about how weird it was to have a baby finally and how his parents stayed too long and then went to bed. Well he did, I got up every two hours to nurse. The next morning more people came to bother me. In fact, Jordan’s aunt who we aren’t particularly close with showed up bright an early, 30 minutes after we got up, with her husband and their daughter. It was weird. Then the Cougster came but she left after 15 minutes. That was nice, that’s the perfect amount of time to bother me. We got a 3 hour break before my Dad, Stepmom, Naked Grandmad and Idiot Sister came. My Dad kept telling me how proud he was and how beautiful Jillian was and then he asked Idiot Sister if she wanted to hold her. Thank God she said no. Then friggen’ DoucheBrad came and interrupted my Dad’s time with his brand spankin’ new granddaughter. FO cried and I let her hold Jillian. Then my Dad and Co. left because they got crowded out. Sad. You would think it was bad enough having DoucheBrad there but it gets worse. Like he shit in my patient bathroom. Oh yessss, he shit next to my giant pads, mesh panties and Dermaplast and it stank it up. Bad. Then it stanked up the ENTIRE ROOM. Who does that? Who stinks up the room of a woman who is basically bed ridden and expecting hourly visitors? I yelled at him and then they left. Douche. Then a ton more people bothered me before we left like his Dad and my StepMIL…again.

But the most bothersome but completely excusable visitor was my aunt. My Aunt LOVES babies (and me) so you can only imagine how much she loves my baby. My Mom and I called her the morning that we left for the hospital but told her we would call when she could visit. I specifically had the Privacy Note on my account so if anyone called or came, the front desk, maternity ward and L&D were to tell NO ONE so I wouldn’t be bothered. But my Aunt REALLY LOVE BABIES so after she got done with work she cruised the hospital parking ramp looking for our cars. She found them and upon confirming that we were there, entered and wandered around L&D until a nurse who was frustrated with my Aunts failure to accept the “We can’t say whether that person is a patient at our hospital” schpeele, finally came to ask if she could come in. I was irritated but I like her so I let her stay. But she stayed too long too and she cried and it made me uncomfy and have to cry too.

Did you like visitors or did you try to go celebrity on their asses and use the Privacy Note? Did anyone take a stinky dump in your patient bathroom?

Save Money...on Diapers

I like money. I like saving it even more. So if you have a baby that uses diapers (and you do) you should RUN, not walk to your nearest Babies R’ Us registry area and get yourself some February 2011 issues of Parents magazine. Or any waiting room with Parents magazine. Inside are 20% off diaper coupons good for AmazonMom members.

So you’re living in the 90’s and don’t know what AmazonMom is? It’s a FREE program through Amazon where you save your ass 15% on diapers, wipes and other expensive monthly baby expenses AND another 15% for agreeing to get regular deliveries, either one box of diapers every 3 months or more realistically, two or three every month. Oh, that pot’s not sweet enough for you yet? Duuuude, you get FREE two day shipping too.

And not that any of you have gobs and gobs of cats like me, but you can save money by subscribing to get cat food deliveries too. I’m sure there are more items to save on, anything with the little “Amazon Prime” icon.

*I’m not getting paid to pimp out the AmazonMom program but if anyone asks, I would most definitely love FREE stuff. Like a Roomba maybe? Oh and don’t tell Babies ‘R Us that I loiter there and steal their magazines, even though they’re free.

Tuesday, February 8, 2011

Jillian: Tardy for the Party

The week that Jillian was due I was ten kinds of ridiculous. I was doing crazy shit like crying to my Step MIL on the phone because I was frustrated with being huge and sweaty and feeling like someone punched me in the vagina. I even pulled out a clump of my hair in the shower and then cried for like 20 minutes. I whined to my Dad that I was lied to. That I was told 40 weeks and I put my time in. I paid my dues. See? A tad dramatic.

Jillian was tardy for the party by 5 days when I saw my midwife again. After telling the nurse that I was in a mental state where I could probably club a baby seal she advised me to put the waterworks on when Marta the Midwife came in. Cry I did and even though Marta the Midwife tried to pull some bull on me about….well I don’t really know, I wasn’t listening, BUT she finally agreed to send me to the hospital the next morning at 6 am.

Jordo and I spent our last baby-free evening trying our luck at the casino and then hit the hay. I didn’t sleep. Jordan, of course, had a restful sleep full of his annoying nighttime mouth breathing. My Mom took one last fat photo of me and we headed to the hospital to finally have a damn baby.

I don’t even know if I told you or not but I went to the hospital on my due date thinking my water broke. It didn’t. I just pissed my friggen’ self. And of course, the peed-myself-false-alarm nurse was on duty and assigned to me for the real deal. At least we knew I wasn’t going home with soggy underwear this time (kinda). After the shift change I was assigned Nurse Linda. She was AWESOME, even though she was in control of the pitocin drip. And even though she broke my water without telling me and I thought I peed…again.

So anyway my Mom, Jordan and I were all hanging out, watching Teen Mom and laboring. Well I was at least. It was a good time until around ten (4 hours in) when the contractions really started to be a bitch to deal with. My Mom kept assuring me that it was only going to get worse. Thanks Mom. At noon I was holding on to the rails for dear life and holding my breath, because I’m an idiot. Don’t hold your breath, do the damn breathing. Oh, and those tarts who tell you contractions feel like menstrual cramps are lying through their teeth. IT DOESN’T FEEL LIKE THAT…IT’S WORSE. WAY WORSE. Like my Mom said.

Fifteen minutes later God, I meanLinda came in to check on me and offered me drugs. Glorious drugs! ‘Member how I was going to go natural? Well I caved and got the Nubain and it was the best time I had had since making the baby. I felt drunk like right away. It was awesome and instead of wanting to die, I just felt like I had to shit liquid. It was probably more awesome for my Mom and Jordan since they didn’t have to listen to me piss and moan anymore. The bad news was, it wore off at around 2 and the contractions were back with a vengeance. Linda gave me another dose of the Nubain and squeaked that this second dose wouldn’t be nearly as effective as the first. Greaaaaaat.

3 rolled around (9 hours in) and I had to poop. Bad. Linda let me use the bathroom and I tried like hell to lay one but I was pretty sure I would turn into one of those “I Didn’t Know I Was Pregnant” girls and have a water birth so I had to knock it off. Then a contraction came and my Mom sent Jordan in to check on me. “Throwing me to the Wolf” he called it, since he got screamed at to get out. Come to think of it Jordan got yelled at a lot. Whatever, I birthed his child, so he can suck it.

Just a note to those super private about their privates ladies: I was so shy at first and kept my lady bits covered as much as you possibly can in that situation. Then I was sweating like a whore in church and in pain and I didn’t care. I would have flashed the Pope had he been there. My Mom still says that’s how she knew by my total lack of decency that I was ready to push.

After I got back on the army cot I thought I was going to ralph so they brought in the sock-looking bag, just in case. Between feeling like you REALLY have to poop and clinching for dear life and dry heaving I was ready to have a baby. I told Linda I was going to start pushing. Then she checked me and I happened to be 10 centimeters so she agreed. Not that I needed her okay. So Linda is telling me to “curve around” my baby and pull my chin to my chest and all this other shit I didn’t listen to while Jordan counts to ten. Epically slow. I don’t think I ever made it to 6 thanks to his slow ass. So I’m pushing and it’s horrible. Then I poop and it’s more horrible. Jordan can’t handle any bodily fluids (or solids) so he was gagging. If you're wondering if you care that you are shitting and a stranger is wiping your ass matters at this point. The answer is no. Absolutely not.

Then I crowned. It was the worst pain I have ever experienced in my life. It feels like you’re birthing the head of a grown man with a HUGE hook nose and the hook nose is getting caught on the top of your ‘gina and is taking your clitoris with it. Or like birthing a bag of razors. No joke. I screamed one of those Hollywood-movie-with-a-birth-scene screams and probably scared the piss out of the other preggos. This was about the time I realized that the room was full. They were lady nurses who had quite obviously never birthed anything waiting to take care of Jillian. It made me mad. Then Jillian was born at 3:57 pm on September 24th after a 22 minutes of vagina-tearing pushing and I wasn't mad. They laid her on me and it was the single greatest moment of my life. She was gorgeous, goo in all.

I held onto her until Marta the Midwife finally showed up and started stitching me back up. It was too painful for me to hold on to her and brace myself so Jordan got to stare at our new baby. Marta would stab my ‘gina to numb it only for the numbness to wear off 15 minutes later. Feeling the needle make the stitches was less painful than taking the needle to re-numb me. This was the only part where I cried but, 45 minutes and 3 needles full of what was supposedly an anesthetic, Humpty Dumpty was back together again. Humpty Dumpty also wanted a damn shower.

Let me just tell you birth is gross. It is so gross and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. Here’s a run down of my nasty birth experience. Water gets broken and warm liquid leaks out for like an hour. Don’t even think about laughing, it will gush out. Ewww. Then you start pushing and if you’re like me, you poop. Ewwww. Then the baby comes out and s/he is covered in goo. Ewww. Aforementioned goo also comes out of your vagina and it too is warm. Ewww. Then the placenta comes out. Ewww. You will want a shower. Then you’ll discover that your lady bits are super puffy and closely resemble testicles. I swear, if I would have had the guts to flick one, it would have kept shaking for a little while after. Don’t worry, they shrink back to normal size…eventually.

On a side note, it’s true, the GIANT mesh panties moms talk about are wonderful. They’re roomy and they keep the matching GIANT hospital pads from rubbing on your sore testicles. Steal both when you leave because you’ll bleed for like a month.

Any questions?

ETA: Nubain* is a semi-synthetic narcotic/analgesic and it's a damn good time.

Monday, February 7, 2011

Remember Me?

Duuude. Being a SAHM is hard. I thought I would be hanging out on the couch with Jillian watching The Price is Right and eating bon bons…or, you know, Cheetoh Puffs. Turns out it’s slightly different. Most days I can’t remember the last time I took a shower and the never-ending pile of laundry haunts me. Haunts me. So don’t be mad that I dropped off the face of the Earth, mmk? Just remember the laundry. And this might help...

So, obvs a TON has happened since….okay, since September. On the bright side, I won’t struggle with things to talk about since I have roughly 5 months of stuff to catch up on. Like:

We moved out of the country and bought ourselves a new house in the city. Green Bay that is. Yes, HOME OF THE SUPERBOWL CHAMPIONS. Holla!

Jordan and I still continue to battle over his douche bag brother Brad. You’re surprised, right? He even flipped Jordan off and yelled at me to "Shut up" right before he had to go upstairs to calm down…at a memorial service. For someone who DIED.

Jillian was born! And then I lived with my Mom for a month because who are we kidding, I didn’t know what the piss I was doing and Jordan faked being really sick so he wouldn’t have to help or get up with the baby. I am so on to him.

I am SO not the crazy helicopter mama that I (and everyone) thought I would be. Jillian has had two sleepovers so far. TWO. But I’ve never diapered her butt with a cloth diaper and well, let’s just say makin’ baby food will probably not happen either. Whatever, you gotsta do what you gotsta do to survive.

Oh and my idiot sister is pregnant. She copied me. Don’t even judge and think “Wow, she’s delisional, who thinks people copy them?” She really did and then she posted on FB about how she has to get married because she’s pregnant (like me) and is going to have a small wedding and then go bowling after (like me). I am going to spoon her eyes out. Probably tomorrow. Or maybe the next day because I might not feel like getting dressed tomorrow.
I don’t even know where to start with posts. There is so much to write about. You tell me what you want to hear about first and then I’ll, you know, do it.

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