Wait A Fucking Minute

This post has been rattling around my mostly empty brain for months and I just cannot let it disturb my beauty sleep for one more fucking night. My GAWD I just keep thinking and thinking when it isn't even the most interesting or important topic to anyone. Fuck. Then I figure that I am about to irritate all 2.7 of my readers with this crap so I don't write it. Then I go to bed and think about it some more. Therefore, I fucking give up. I am writing this shit and getting it over with right the fuck now.

May I introduce: My Weight, The Slightly Shorter Version But Still Entirely Too Damn Long

I started out my pregnancy with Egg at 135 pounds. By four weeks along, also known as when I missed my period, I weighed 140 pounds. This is REALLY BIG for me, in case you were wondering. I'm 5'4" when I stand up really tall and I am small boned. By 8 weeks into my pregnancy I was back at 135 pounds. At 37 weeks (or so) I was at 147 pounds. I got sick and dropped back down to 145 pounds. The day I went into labor I weighed 145 pounds. (Yes, there is a labor and delivery story in my head bugging me, too. You'll get it. Just be patient.)

So! 145 pound Sam delivers a 7 pound 7 ounce baby plus whatever else comes out of my cooterus during my hospital stay. I come home about 30 hours after delivering Egg and smugly step on the scale because I AM A FUCKING IDIOT. Also? Who lets a one day postpartum woman step on a fucking scale? Stupid fucking idiots, that's who. Wanna guess how much I weighed? Exactly the same. THE SAME. I pushed a 7lb 7oz baby out of my fucking hoo haw and probably a placenta or twelve and I FUCKING WEIGHED THE SAME. What. The. Fuckity. Fuck?! It boggles the tiny little mind I posess to this day.

Now, I understand that medication blah blah IV blah blah bloating etc. but really? The same weight? Not a pound less or more. The same. It kills me. Then I started producing milk like some dairy cow all hopped up on hormones, Egg drinks like a champ and within two weeks I was at 128lbs. The breastfeeding hunger consumed me and my attitude about food changed completely. You see, by the end of my pregnancy I hated food. I looked at fat people and thought, "How the fuck did you get so damn fat? Food is nasty shit and you ate so much you got fat." After two weeks of not being pregnant this attitude had changed and I was starting to wonder how any of us don't weight 650lbs because fuck me food is good shit.

My total hatred of chocolate disappeared within hours of giving birth. I had TB raiding the snack machines at the hospital because I couldn't wait for my first breakfast after popping out Egg at 6am. I was so damn hungry. Today, at five months and change post partum, I'm hanging out at 131 pounds. Still more than I should weigh for my build, but I have massive titties and a baby to feed. I'm still hungry, but it isn't an all-consuming need at this point. Egg now weighs about 17 pounds and as long as he continues to nurse I could give a shit about what I weigh. I'll worry about that when Egg is weaned and I'm not trying to provide calories for two people.

The End

P.S. You do realize the titties from the sunburned post are only that big because I'm nursing Egg, right?

Edited To Add...

(re: previous post)

I drove about 40 miles, and most of it was freeway. Can you believe that shit? Do you think my body is working so hard at making milk that it forgot how to deal with the sun? Because that is fucked up, yo.

At Least I Was Wearing My Seatbelt?

We sold the convertible today, and I was in charge of delivering it to the new owner. Neighbor Lady took Egg in her NEW CAR! and I drove one last time with the top down.

Quick! And Off I Go!

I totally fucking missed my four year blogging anniversary. Shit cunt face dammit all to hell. There. I feel better. I have only a moment because I need to pack and get ready to visit the MIL and step-FIL in Central CA for the weekend.

Guess what? I got a new car!! For the first time since January 2001. (And even that was a used car.) I gave them my 1998 Honda Civic and they gave me a nifty 2009 Subaru Forester. The link is for a 2010 but it is the same difference. Oh, and I have to make lease payments for three years. And blow the sales manager twice a month. But, whatever! A car! YAY! I'll post pics soonly. (That is a word in my world. I swear. Soonly! Like soon, but an adverb version of it.) I will try to remember to tell you how awesome the dealership treated me. Seriously. AWESOME. If you want a Subaru and you're in southern California, go there and ask for Carl. I love him long time.

Speaking of awesome, Thank You! For all the advice. I really, really, really appreciate it. It is nice to hear that I'm being prudent and such as opposed to a total cunt-faced bitch. I can always count on my bloggy peeps! Now, off to continue laundry and packing and OMG I'm going to fondle my car. In front of the neighbors.

Procrastination

Procrastination is the beginning of many posts for bloggers I am willing to bet. I am currently procrastinating dealing with PAPERWORK. Oh how I fucking hate dealing with the mound of papers, most of which will end up in recycling anyway. Why they can't get their on their own I have no clue. Papers be gone!

Since we are here enjoying a stolen moment, I'd like to talk about May. Specifically why I only posted one single fucking time in May. Yes, it was partially Egg and taking care of the house, but mostly it was because I had something so big in my head that I couldn't think of anything else. And yet I wasn't sure if I could write about this thing. You know how Dooce once said that eventually the one person that you don't want to read your blog will read it? I was worried about my step-mother-in-law, (we'll call her Smile because I am awesomely creative) reading my blog if I talked about what was happening. And then I finally came to terms with the fact that I needed to talk about it. I need advice and support and whatever you dear readers can provide. Because this shit is driving me nuts.

Teddy Bear has a step-brother that is twenty-five years old and he has a drug problem. The kind of drug problem that lands him in jail more than he is out of jail. He overdoses, drives under the influence, steals, lies, passes out naked in various inappropriate places (seriously, this guy LOVES to get high and nude). His mother (Smile) and step-father (TB's bio dad) support him. He gets money for food, a place to live, a used car every 6 months or so (they get impounded eventually), and had not yet been forced to get a full-time job and clean up his act. He has had issues his whole life. And he has relied on his mother taking care of him his whole life. I don't think he is a bad person, I just think he is missing something that drives people to grow up and be sober.

Most of the time StepBro isn't an issue-he is in jail. But when he is out of jail TB and I avoid going to Smile's house because we don't want to be around him. We managed to do this without pissing Smile off due to creative stories and a bit of old-fashioned lying. We did not want to come out and say, "Sorry! We don't want to be around your son" for fear of royally pissing her off. Well, then Egg was born. And TB's sister came into town to visit Egg. And everyone was invited to have dinner at Smile's house. We said we would certainly be there, until we found out that StepBro was fresh out of jail and at Smile's house. Fuck. We declined. The shit hit the motherfucking fan, and eventually we received a nasty letter from Smile.

We haven't gone to Smile's house since. We have said (through TB's dad) that we won't bring our children there if StepBro is there, and the response is that StepBro is always welcome at Smile's house. TB's dad is currently limited to breakfast on Saturday mornings with us, away from his home with Smile. He has said that Smile will not even look at pictures of Egg, the first grandchild and one that she loved dearly.

So! I need your comments, please n thank you. What do you think about this? TB and I want StepBro to have some number of months of sobriety behind him before we even consider bringing Egg and Chicken around him. In addition, there is a restraining order that states StepBro is not to be with his mother, step-father, or at their house. So the cops could potentially show up and arrest him for violating his probation, a situation that I do not think is one that any child should have to witness. This seriously sucks, people. It makes my head and my heart hurt.

My Kid Is An Asshole

No, not the super cute smallish one. The big one. The big one with the super big attitude that goes with being twelve and on the verge of thirteen. You might say, "Oh Sam, Chicken is GREAT! He is not an asshole. How can you call your kid an asshole?! There is something terribly wrong with you!" To which I reply, "Fuck you. You know not of my pain." However, since I have a blog, I will tell you of my pain. Then you will agree that my Chicken is an asshole.

Chicken just finished seventh grade at a local charter school. During the school year he completed Algebra I and 85% of Geometry. This lead to an issue for next year, as I want him to attend the regular middle school near our house next year. This school changing is worth a whole post, so I shall not get into it today. The problem is that I don't want to make Chicken take Geometry all over next year at the pace of a traditional middle school, but I want him to have a thorough understanding of the subject. In addition, the local middle school does not offer Algebra II. TB and I spend much time and debate and phone calls and office visits to figure out a solution to this problem. MUCH TIME. AND ENERGY. MUCH!!

The solution: Chicken will not take math in eighth grade. He will be a teacher's assistant in a math class instead. He will take Algebra II at night at the local community college. I will be there with him. That way Chicken will not be bored out of his mind all year. Also, I purchased four workbooks for him to do over the summer, which will complete his Geometry I class. Today we started the first workbook. After a bit of fussing I said, "If you don't do this you will have to spend ALL YEAR taking geometry at XX middle school." Five minutes later Chicken says, "Okay. I will take Geometry next year."

WHAT THE FUCKITY FUCK???!! ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS? After all the, "Am I going to take him to the high school every morning to take math and wait while he is in class with a baby in the car and then take him to the middle school and even when my fibro says FUUUUUCK which it likes to do in the morning? Or should he not take math or should he do this or that and after FIVE MINUTES he says WAAAAH like a big fucking baby? HELLS NO. You are going to sit the fuck there and do this or I am going to stick my foot so far up your ass that you are going to trim my toenails with your teeth."

*Thanks to Neighbor Lady for the foot up ass/toenails/teeth saying.

**Alternate title: Why I Can Never Home School Chicken Because He is a Bastard

Post Script: I retired to my office to poop and write this post. Five minutes later my legs were asleep and Chicken shows up with completed work in hand. Asshole.

Twatapotamus

My next door neighbor and I are getting along famously. The other day I texted her and called her a "twatapotamus" which is a combination of a pussy and a hippo. A really large pussy that is terribly lazy and floats around in the water eating lettuce. That's my neighbor. I also decided that I hate the word crotch.

I'm sorry that I forgot to post. I was so excited that I posted a real, live, post that I promptly got caught up in reading comments and yelling, "OMG I ARE A BLOGGER!!!1!1" and thus forgot that I promised to post again. Thanks for reminding me that I am LAME.

I watch way too much What Not To Wear. You know how people look at themselves in the secret footage and say, "OMG I didn't know I looked that bad?" Well I had a similar moment the other day when I received this photo from my MIL:
Although my thought was OMGTITS!! I was at a pool party/meet the baby thing in Visalia with my MIL, step-FIL, and various friends and family of that nature. With my titties going RAWR!! I wore the suit because it had the most coverage (HAHAHA) with boy short bottoms and tummy coverage. It only shows one tattoo on my back and is fairly modest. When one doesn't have nursing titties. Ooops.

But, ther than the awesome display of bewbies, isn't the picture so sweet? It was Egg's first time in the pool and he really liked it even though it was on the cool side. That boy really enjoys the water. *sigh* He's my favorite baby. I am trying to put together an Egg post for his blog since I haven't updated there in forever. FAIL.

Wanna see my frog vagina? I know you do!
Isn't it pretty? I have been going through this personal transformation where I am wanting BRIGHT and PRETTY and HAPPY colors around me. I guess it is a reflection of how I am feeling on the inside, huh? I wish my body felt the same way. My body is currently angry, hateful, and sucking ass. I'm trying to ignore it and focus on the good stuff, like SUMMER and TASTY BABY and BLOGGING!

Fuuuuck Me

I am totally posting tomorrow. I swear. In the meantime, a very short and inappropriate story to tide you over:

H2's cat (which was originally my cat but she decided to love him instead) is dying. Or dead. He might have put her down today. I'm not sure. But yesterday I drove Chicken to see her before she went to the great beyond. She has been in his life since he was 4 or 5 years old, and this was traumatic for him. (this gets funny! don't cry!) When we saw Zada (the cat) she had a lion cut to reduce the spring shedding/licking/barfing cycle. As a very fluffy cat, the lion cut looks a little....ridiculous. So Chicken says, "Maybe she is dying of embarrassment." OMFG. That is totally my kid.

Aren't we adorable? That's us at the NIN concert. Or, us in the parking lot in my car right after I pumped at the NIN concert. Which I had Chicken take pictures of (the pumping, not the actual bewbies). Must document the ridiculous, right? See Chicken's missing tooth? That fucker fell out in December and is just now coming into place. According to the orthodontist that is normal for canines. Who knew? Also, this angle is perfect for my face. Look! Only one chin! But. Not so good for Chicken's face. Oh well. As long as I look stellar, right?

PS Don't hate me. I will be a real, live, blogger again. Pinkie swear.
PPS I got the most awesome new purse today. Bright green outside, pink inside. TB says, "It looks like a frog's vagina." ASSHOLE.

NINJA!!1!

Chicken and I are going to see Nine Inch Nails and Jane's Addiction tonight, also known as the NINJA tour I've heard. At least that's what all the cool kids (Chicken) are calling it. I'm calling it the OMGNINWTFYAY Tour. Google says that I spelled that wrong. What.Ever. Chicken has gotten into music recently in a way which amazes me. At his age I had a total of two tapes, which I received for my 12th birthday: Mr. Mister and FUCK ME I can't remember the other one right now. Oh yes, Tears For Fears. I was hardcore at 12, yo. Hard fucking core. Chicken has an iPod with a million gigs of space and listens to a million bands and spends much of his free time researching bands and tour date and whatnot. It's adorable I think.

It was Chicken's idea to see NIN and I am so stoked that I am sitting on the toilet as we speak/type/read/whatever with a nervous tummy. Speaking of my tummy, I recently found the lost Poo book and will be getting back to the reading and contest portion of your blogging experience sooner than later. Hurrah! I am also nervous because the last time I was away from Egg for more than an hour or so was on February 28th when I got mah hairs did. According to my grays it is time again, but I am hell-bent on seeing NIN instead. I know that TB is more than capable of taking care of Egg, I've pumped and froze milk enough for a whole day, and everything will be alright. Right? Right. I'm going to pump in the parking lot of the venue because too many hours without mah baybee means BEWBIE EXPLOSION and I am sure none of the cool kids want to see that shit.

Wanna hear a story? Of course you do! When I was 15 or 16 or maybe 17? I heard "Pretty Hate Machine" for the first time. I remember being in my friend's car with the CD cover (it was a CD, right?) and trying desperately to remember the name of it. I was a tiny wee bit totally fucked up you see, and knew that the next day would reveal that I could not fucking recall the name of the band or album. So I looked at the album title and thought to myself, "Bewbies!" except I probably spelled them the traditional way of "boobies" back then. So, bewbies are pretty therefore I would remember that I was thinking of pretty bewbies and that would take me logically to "pretty" and then "pretty hate machine." However, all I remembered was "bewbies" because I suck. The End.

Oh Hai!

Sometimes so much time goes by between posts that I have a ton of words all jumbled up in my head fighting for publication and then I write nothing because the choosing is oh so difficult. The easiest is an Egg update. One might think that I don't even have a small, smooshy baby with the way I ignore him on my blog. I suppose I don't write about him because at this time my blog is a place to be Sam, not the mommy or the milk factory. A few seconds to myself that don't involve nagging Chicken to do homework or wondering if that horrific fart merely filled Egg's diaper or if it filled the neighboring couch, floor, ceiling, and walls. The kid has talent.

Many, many people have asked if Egg sleeps through the night to the point that I am wondering WTF?!? people! It is not the Holy Grail of parenting, this sleeping through the night shit. Egg continues to do as he has since birth-sleep and eat through the night. Because Egg is either sleeping next to me in my bed or in the co-sleeper, the eating doesn't involve a whole lot of effort on my part. I get him hooked up to the bewbie, I find something to staunch the flow of the other bewbie, he goes NOM NOM NOM, and we pass back out. I change him once in the middle of the night generally, because he doesn't pee very much and doesn't poop at all during the night. WIN!!

I've been scared to write this because of the whole jinx factor...but I am more well rested than I was throughout my whole pregnancy. I do well sleeping in 3-hour spurts, and I try to sleep with Egg during his long day nap, too. There is something about being wrapped around a sweet baby that makes falling asleep easier for me. If Egg continues to nurse every three hours during the night it is fine by me! Sometimes I even get a 4-4.5 hour stretch in and I feel golden. I love sleep. It is awesome.

Egg is smiling like crazy, and loves to play on his activity mat finally. He reaches for and grabs his hanging toys, looking very self-satisfied. I sold my soul to the devil and bought a bumbo seat and guess who loves it? Damn plasticky goodness I loathe thee. On the eighteenth of April we got a new kitten because I hate myself. And because one of TB's co-workers had found Muffin (named by Chicken) in the woods with two of her siblings, a bowl of food and a bowl of water. I fucking hate it when people dump animals. She has had her first vet check-up and is about 2 months old. She also loves the bumbo seat. Chicken is her official Daddy person and he is responsible for taking care of her. With supervision, of course. I had forgotten how adorable kittens can be in all their kitteny glory.
Also, very hard to take pictures of, with all the RUNNING and PLAYING and WHEEEE!!!!

P.S. It took me two days to write this post. ARGH!