Mah Dirty Bewbies

I yelled at my husband tonight because I am a douche bag*. I am seriously frustrated at just about everything for no apparent good reason. It's probably just the hormones. We need to talk about breastfeeding before I cut someone. Egg is still nursing up a fucking storm, yo*. I finally got my first postpartum period less than two weeks ago. That's right, bitches. Just a few days shy of a whole year of no ragging*. I'm damn happy about that, let me fucking tell you. What that means for those of you that haven't nursed in every possible location in southern California for a year is that Egg is still getting 95% of his daily caloric intake from mah bewbies. And yes, I do realize that for some people,*  nursing full time does not stop their Aunt Flo from visiting. I got lucky, I admit it. On the other hand, I am at the point where I would like for Egg to eat some damn food already. Food that does not come from mah nipples.

My goal in breastfeeding was to nurse until Egg's first birthday. After that I wanted to continue if Egg and I still wanted it. I did not expect to pass Egg's first birthday (Jan. 20) still nursing around the clock, literally. A good night is when Egg wakes up every 3 hours to nurse. I don't even want to talk about a bad night. But the thing is, I don't really mind getting up and feeding him. It takes about ten minutes, he goes right back to sleep and so do I. I still take naps with him in the morning to make up for the loss and generally I am doing okay. A big part of my ability to get up every night is based on how Egg is during the day.

My kid is awesome. He has the best disposition EVAR. People comment everywhere we go on how happy and friendly he is, they surmise that he is a "good" baby. And damn he really is just that. He's happy and chillin' and starting to become funny and totally goofy. It makes it easy to get up at night when your baby is just so damn wonderful all day long. He will crawl off to his room, grab a few books and read to himself. I can see him from the living room, but he is content. By himself. In his room. It has taken Chicken THIRTEEN MOTHERFUCKING YEARS to get to that point. Not that I'm comparing them or anything. *smirks*

Now, I offer Egg food. He got over pureed baby food rather quickly and only eats regular food. Sometimes he will eat a decent amount of food. Sometimes he chews it, seems to enjoy it, and then spits it out. Other times he just isn't interested. If I was so inclined, I suppose I could forcibly wean Egg and the ensuing hunger would push him to eat more and then sleep better with a tummy filled with steak and potatoes. However, I am not really interested in pushing him to eat food on my time line.

If he wants to nurse then I'm going to let him nurse. If that means that I get up every three hours all night long, then that's what I do. I will offer him food and let him go at his own pace. I'll enjoy his sunny personality all day long. Here's what I need from you: any and all suggestions related to nursing, sleep, and food with the following exceptions: I'm not going to let him cry it out at night, I'm not going to wean him before he is ready. I waited so long for Egg and I know that in a heartbeat he'll be a teenager, rolling his eyes at me. (I mean I REALLY know that for a fact.)

I don't mind the getting up at night. I'm just so fucking over people telling me that if he ate more food then he would sleep. Maybe he would, but I'm not going to force it on him. And maybe he wouldn't. Some babies sleep through the night at six weeks old and I bet they aren't eating steak and potatoes for dinner. Or maybe they are and that's what I'm doing wrong. What the fuck do I know?

*I'm looking at you, The New Girl. Not that you're a douche bag. You know what I'm talking about, yo.

And The Winner Is...

Missed teh contest? Go here for the pooper scooper! Well, the poop post is not complete, but the drawing and WINNAR!! is finally here! I chose to label cookies and have Egg draw one of them from the milk jug*. Totally random! Egg can't even read! Also, Egg did not read any of the poo stories, so he was not swayed by your crappy comments. Pun intended! I'm silly today! Wheeee!

I labeled all of them, and decided that in case a sticky note fell off, the cookie drawn would determine the winner. So the cookie names are as follows:

• Yellow = Redneck Diva
• Blue = Parkingathome
• Red = Jenni
• Green = Anon (who contacted me privately about his/her comment)
  

Here Egg is contemplating the work at hand.

The milk jug has been mixed and is ready for drawing!

 He pulls out Redneck Diva but NO COOKIE!! It does not count!!

He goes back in for another draw...

And...the YELLOW COOKIE!! Redneck Diva is the WINNARRRRR!! Kristen, contact me with your official mailing address! (We'll pretend that I don't already have it, okay?)

*Thanks to Crazy Neighbor Lady for the toy! It was a Christmas present for Egg and is so cute. MOOOO!

I Came All Over My Kitchen

This post is slightly embarrassing for me to write, for two wildly different reasons. Or maybe three different reasons? Whatever. One, I have yet to post the winner of the poo book contest. I Swear On Baby Jeebus that I will post the winner tomorrow. I also swear that I have some seriously legitimate reasons for not posting in the last week or so, which is my second reason for embarrassment. I have been busy with a minor kitchen remodel. In light of all the monetary and earthquakery suffering that has been going on in the world I feel like an asshat to talk about the amazing shit that has been going on in my kitchen. My third OMG EMBARRASSED is showing the world pictures of my kitchen and then asking for your opinion on something. Because although I really want your opinion it feels a little like exposing my soft underbelly. And then more of the feeling stupid for having the ability to make my kitchen pretty. And talking about it. You may take me out back and shoot me now.

So! Let's ignore the previous paragraph of shame and get to the pictures and opinion giving, okay?

This is what my original counter top and back splash looked like (pretend the pic was a true "before" shot and I hadn't already started to hack at it), all white tile with Grout of Horror. I fucking hate tile counter tops. HATE. The grout would mock me, saying, "I could be cleaner, you know." Bastard.


This is the counter after all the demo work was completed. TB and I did all the demo and removal work. It saved us money and I got to imagine certain that I was taking out my frustrations on certain people. It was very theraputic.

Here is what this half of my kitchen looks like tonight. The Corian counters were laid professionally. I LOVE THEM. The tile back splash is my handiwork. Looking at the picture above is where you might be able to understand me having a medium-sized kitchen-gasm. It was a lot of work, but ooooh so pretty.


Here is where your esteemed opinion comes in, mah innernet peeps. Do you like the pencil molding tile on the top of the 1" squares or not? (above with, below without)



You may have to click on the pic and scrutinize the tile a bit. I haven't sealed or grouted the tile yet, but you can get an idea of what it will look like. I am leaning toward without, but I don't know how much of it is based on the price of the pencil molding. It is three-ish dollars per eight inch piece.

In conjunction with our the kitchen makeover, my lovely MIL was visiting to help wrangle Egg while we kicked the shit out of the tile. So, having Egg determine the winner of the poo contest with pictures and all was not possible without acting totally bizarre or telling her what I was doing. Neither seemed acceptable so you all were left hanging. So sorry! Tomorrow, poo book winner!

Egg says, "Dude"

I posted another short video at Egg's blog. That one contains some priceless Egg faces of merriment. I cannot adequately explain how much it tickles me when Egg says, Dude. He calls all the cats Dude, and I am torn between teaching him that they are cats and just going with it. He doesn't have to learn their names, they're not as important as Dude, after all.

*Make sure to read the previous post and enter mah giveaway!*

Poop Giveaway!

Remember when I said I purchased "What's Your Poo Telling You?" and I said when I finished reading it I would give it away to my dear readers? Well, that time has come. Fucking finally, huh? I think after the last two posts we all need some laughs and poop. Here's how it will work, official rules and all that:

1. Post a comment with your best poo story. It must involve poo from your ass or your immediate family's ass. No stranger poo stories!

2. Your comment must be on this post by 12:00am PST Saturday, January 15, 2010. That's 3am on the east coast for you non-math types.

3. I will have my official number drawing baby pull a number at random out of a jar. I will post a picture of the drawing! Cute babies pictures! YAY!

4. The winner must give me an address to mail the book to, and I will PERSONALLY AND WITHOUT MALICE sign the book for you. Personalized inscriptions are 20 cents extra, tax included. (Kidding! It's free! Unless you want to send me twenty cents!)

4b. I will post the winning poo story with a link back to the winner's blog (if applicable). If you would like to remain anonymous to the innernets at large, please say so in your comment!

5. On the day that I announce the winner, I will post my MOST TERRIBLE poo story EVAR!! Involving CAR and FULL TERM PREGNANCY poo. So terrible that it has never been told on Sam's Stories. Hopefully that day will be the Monday immediately following the end of the giveaway contest thingy.

6. If you have any questions, please contact me at samsstories at gmail dot com.

7. This giveaway is not sponsored, paid, threatened or containing blow jobs. I purchased the book with my TB's very own money. I just love poo. And books. And my readers.

Now, you might be wondering how to describe your poo accurately. I have a handy chart for you! This way we all can fully understand what type of poo you or your family member is having in the story. When I first found this chart I meant to post about it, and then fucking life and diaper changes got in my way. But today! I present the Bristol Stool Chart. Very handy for daily discussion of your poo with friends, family, neighbors, and people on public transportation. I especially like using this when on a lengthy flight. People really appreciate this kind of information!

I Miss My Dad

Four years ago my dad died. I'm making his chili for the first time today. It has taken me too long to get to this point, where I can make his chili and it will be more good memories than painful goodbyes. I am finally at the point where I can read his recipe and think, "Dad, 2# Beans unsoaked is NOT sufficient information. What KIND of beans? And who measures water in POUNDS?" *sigh* I miss you, dad.

Oh No You DIDN'T!!

This is my first post from my phone.
I gave up trying to post on my phone. Fucking pain in the ass. Beware, there is angry venting to follow:

I am having some serious issues, yo. My stepBIL got out of jail for the fucking hundredth time just before Christmas, because there is nothing like having the potential of a unconscious, naked, drug addict to make your Christmas merry. This is not an exaggeration by the way. It is what he does. Shoots up, gets butt-assed naked, and then passes out somewhere. Sometimes in his parked car, sometimes in the doorway of his trailer (when he lived in a trailer park and all sorts of people can see him), sometimes on a front lawn or maybe on my FIL's living room floor. After breaking into the house, stealing things, loading up his car and then POOF! Nakid and passed the fuck out. He was recently convicted of indecent exposure due to this habit. I don't know why he does this and I really don't care. He's an addict. He's never been a normal, responsible human being even before the drugs. But the problem isn't him. It is merely a piece of the fucked up puzzle I call the relationship I have with my FIL and stepMIL.

Before TB and I were together, he avoided his stepBro whenever he could and just lived his life. Now that I am in the picture, things are a bit different for all of us. There are children involved. The first time that my stepBIL appeared on the scene for me was summer of 2007. He got out of jail, I tried to be open-minded, he ended up back in jail. Rinse, repeat. TB and I decided that as long as stepBIL was an active addict with all the surrounding behaviors, we did not want to be around him. We did not want him in our house (or to even know where we live, etc.) We would not spend holidays with him when he was not spending them in the pokey. If he is ever able to be clean and sober for six months we have stated that we will revisit the situation. Until then, no way.

The last year has been supremely fucked up. StepBIL has been in and out of jail several times, and each time he gets out the issue is pressed by my FIL and stepMIL. We hold our ground, they say that he is CHANGED and DIFFERENT and this time it will be ALL BETTER. He's going to go back to school and get his high school diploma! He's going to BLAH BLAH BLAH. He relapses and goes back to jail within a couple of months. He has gotten thrown into jail for possession and violation of parole so many times I can't keep track without looking up his rap sheet. I'd like to add that many, many functional human beings do many, many drugs and go their whole lives without ending up in jail. He's obviously doing it wrong.

When he is out of jail, he gets a car, a place to live, money for food, clothes, etc. Even if the last car was towed and left in impound. He gets anything he needs. And right now they are buying him some land with a trailer on it so he always has some place to live when he gets out of jail. He gets kicked out of every place they put him, even though everything is paid for by his mom and stepdad. He doesn't have to work, go to school, stay sober, be a functional member of society. They give him everything and wonder why he doesn't stay clean.

All of which wouldn't matter to me, if it wasn't for the fact that I get blamed every time shit blows up. It's MY fault that we won't allow the children to be around my stepBIL. My FIL doesn't like ME. I'm not a good wife because I don't have his midwestern values. I don't cook dinner every night with makeup on and my hair done. I'm disrespectful of my marriage, looking all shitty like I do most days. I have endured years of snarky, passive-aggressive comments from my FIL. TB tells him not to say XYZ and his dad apologizes. Then does it again. I suck because I breastfeed with my dirty, nasty titties. I am a crappy mother because I put a hat on Egg when it is cold outside even though he doesn't LIKE hats. Everything is my fault. I am dividing the family by keeping away from my stepBIL. I don't make my FIL feel comfortable in my home. The list goes on and on and on....it always comes back to me. I did something wrong. (These are examples of the things that my FIL tells TB that I do wrong by the way, except for the breastfeeding which is only snarked at and not directly mentioned.)

A few days before Christmas we made dinner plans with my FIL to go to a restaurant and exchange gifts. We couldn't go to my FIL's house because my stepBIL was there, and a nice dinner out seemed like a good idea. My FIL was deciding on whether he should invite his wife, because she gets upset when he invites her to do things with us. (According to him.) Two hours before the dinner reservations my FIL calls my SIL (she is visiting us from Texas) decides that stepBIL and my stepMIL need to be at the restaurant. He states that it is a public place and we cannot stop them from showing up and sitting at the table next to us

TB calls his dad on the phone and tells him that we will not be meeting them at the restaurant. It gets ugly and TB raises his voice at his dad, something I have never heard. His dad threatens "Grandparents' rights" during the conversation if we try to keep Egg away from him. I quickly asked Google about it, and in the state of California where the biological parents are married, there are NO grandparents' rights through the court system. However, the fact that he mentioned this makes me very unhappy, to put it mildly. To have someone with fairly vast resources threaten to get visitation of your child BY LEGAL FORCE when that person lives with a volatile drug addict is terrible. To have it happen three days before Christmas really sucks balls. Merry Fucking Christmas everybody!

If you've been reading my Tweets today, you are likely impatiently tapping your toes. You want to know what I make TB do that is SO TERRIBLE AND AWFUL. You see, TB had breakfast with his father yesterday to attempt to hash out some of the crap that we have been dealing with for the last few years. During this meal my FIL told TB that he is unhappy with the things that I make my husband do, things that are My Agenda. This meal that is supposed to be about Respecting Our Decision Not To Be Around Drug Addicts and No More Badmouthing The Wife (me) is now about the things that I do that are NO GOOD. Of course!!

So? You ready for it? I made my husband go to the dentist and get much-needed dental work done. Approximately 10k of dental work because he finally had a job with dental insurance. I held him in the dentist's chair and forced root canals on him. If you are wondering, this wasn't cosmetic work. It was, "Your mouth is falling the fuck apart and you need to fix it before you are wearing dentures at age thirty." I feel terrible that he can eat and drink comfortably and is not in pain anymore, especially since I could have used that money for hookers and blow.

The other thing that I Am Guilty Of is pushing my husband to go back to school. I recently ordered his college transcript to see where he was and what is needed to earn his Bachelor's Degree. I went back to school when I was 25 and it was one of the best things I have done for myself. I'm proud that I have a college education and I want him to feel that, too. I am trying to convince him that he can start soon, taking one class per semester and I will pick up the slack around the house. It will be hard with a baby to care for, but he can do it and I can support him in achieving this goal. That's what spouses do, right?

The end result is that I am sadder than I have been in a long time. It really hurts to be disliked so much by TB's dad and stepmom. It hurts that every time TB talks to his dad he is hopeful that things will change, and then is hurt by the reality of the situation. But this time is different, because I am FUCKING OVER THIS SHIT. They are not welcome in my home, for any reason. They shall not see Egg. They shall not interfere with my marriage. They are going to have to do some serious fucking work before I will consider letting them into my life again. Fuck That Shit. I have had enough.

Sleep

We are having a wee smattering of sleep issues here at Sam's Stories. I'd like to illustrate it with the following texts between myself and our new babysitter: (I have a post on the babysitter issue, too.) (Not that our babysitter has an issue. I have an issue. Or twelve hundred.)

Sitter: My mom said I'm good to go for Friday.
Sam: Yes!!
Sitter: :) 5 to 7:30?
Sam: Yep! Thanks!
Sitter: No problem.
Sam: Can you text me your address so I can put it in my phone?*
Sitter: Sure. (insert address here) I'm going to your house tomorrow though, right?
Sam: Tomorrow? (at this point I am trying to figure out how to say politely that I had no fucking idea what she is talking about when she is a newish sitter and I don't know her well enough to use the word "fucking" yet) Hmmm....my brain is failing. Do you remember why? When I told you? Dude, I need a decent night of sleep.
Sitter: Haha. You said tomorrow from 5:00 to 7:30.
Sam: Friday! Today is Tuesday, right? I hope.
Sitter: Today is Thursday.
Sam: No way.
Sitter: Yeah.. Lol
Sam: ROFLMAO. I am SO dumb. Sorry!
Sitter: Hahaha no worries. You just need sleep.
Sam: Total FAIL. See you tomorrow then!

So, the combination of traditional holidays stresses, SERIOUS FUCKING FAMILY FAIL, shitty sleeping by one baby and therefore one mama and partially one daddy, and a new phone mean that I have no brain and blogging has failed me. Or I have failed blogging. Whichever. I have had mad, passionate sexor with my phone many times and OMG I lurves it so much. I can read blogs very well with my phone but typing an actual post is not appealing. I might have to get over myself and start blogging on it. I have SO much to say to you all!!


*I got a new phone so I am updating contact information. If you know me in the real world, text me so I can add you. I chose not to do a data transfer so I am starting all new. Like a baby. Or a virgin. Or a baby virgin. EW. All babies should be virgins. Otherwise is just WRONG. Sorry! One should NOT post after taking night time pain meds. No filters. Bad Sam!

Merry Christmas (From My Front Yard)

Doesn't everyone need a hippo in a tutu dropping a deuce on your lawn?

Gee, How'd Ya Figure That One Out?

Here is a partial page from one of my scrapbooks, depicting a five year-old Chicken on Halloween 2001. He wanted to be a rainbow kitty cat, so we made him a costume. Now look at these pics and tell me that you wouldn't have thought, "Dude. I totally think my kid is a homo*!"

*Yes I use the word homo, but not in a disparaging way. More like, "Super cool homos unite!" than "stupid homos!"