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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