Fucking Babies, Man

Right after Egg was born, TB and I discussed having another baby as soon as humanly possible. Because babies are yummy and awesome and we were both high on baby fumes. When we came down a few months later, we realized that although we loved the shit out of Egg, we were fucking tired. Straight on the heels of that realization, we used our legendary math skills to determine a few bumming facts:

• Chicken is 12 years and 3 months older than Egg
• When Chicken is 18 and in his freshman year of college Egg will be in first grade. Or kindergarten. Whatever. It's late and I'm tired.
• It is likely that Chicken will no longer live in our home full time during his college years and he better get the fuck outta dodge after he graduates.
• We are basically raising two only children, or as close as one can get and not actually have two only children. Which is impossible, technically.
• We don't want Egg to grow up without a sibling that is nearish to his age.

This means we need to have another baby. We talked about it and thought that two plus years was a good space between kids, hypothetically. We did not want a fall birthday. This meant that we would want to get pregnant late spring or early summer. Which sounded great on paper, but the two of us were terrified and not ready in the least. And of a month and a half ago, my body wasn't even fertile. See: breastfeeding around the clock and no ovulation.

With my first visit from Aunt Flo, it looked like things could happen in a few months. And my only thought was, "FUCK NO." I'm not ready. TB isn't ready. And then I got an awesome haircut and some good advice that we really needed to hear but were too fucking stupid to figure out on our own: You shouldn't have Baby B to make Baby A happy. Or in my hair stylist's world: "Don't get another puppy as a playmate for the puppy you already own. You might end up resenting the poor thing. Get a puppy because you want one, and for no other reason." How is it that advice from someone that has three different colors in her hair (like blue!) and no children woke us the fuck up?

But it did. I love babies. I love Egg and Chicken. Some day I might want another baby. That day might be too late for my aging reproductive system, but I am okay with that reality. Right now, my husband spends at least four hours driving to and from work every day. He gets up at 3:30am five days a week. I'm still getting up at least twice every night to nurse Egg. Parenting a teenager has its own challenges, and we are both stretched to capacity. So we're waiting until the thought of having another baby sounds wonderful to us. I hope it's not too late, but I know that now is too early. What do you think? What has worked for your family (if you have one)? What about your hypothetical family? I want to know! Does this sound stupid? Why are all three cats staring at me? Damn. It's 11 o' clock. I'm going to bed.

Reason #46 That I Don't Eat Wheat

Somehow I managed to get a haircut all by myself today, send a package to a bloggy friend, AND catch up on Anne's blog. Then, I decided that I needed to blog a particular story for her, in hopes that she won't feel so alone in her plight of peeing with small children in public toilets. In addition, my aforementioned bloggy friend needs some laughter at my expense. Also, I am nasty and I like to share.

Recently I went on a wheat binge. I do this every 3-6 months until my body screams no more wheat and then I stop eating wheat for another six months. I increase the amount of magnesium I take when I eat wheat or I would never shit ever again. The problem is that my body hates wheat and too much magnesium and sometimes there is a critical failure.

This time the failure was complicated by two things: Walgreens and Egg. You see, I needed to use the restroom in a very urgent way. I was four miles from home. I had Egg with me. As I strode desperately into the store I might have misjudged the feeling of gas for something a little more sinister. And possibly totally fucking shit myself.

I got into the bathroom and realized that I had to hold Egg while violently emptying my bowels because there was no fucking way I was going to put him on the ground. As I undid my belt and jeans and pulled everything down I realized that I had a little problem. Here is where you need to avert your eyes if you are at all squeamish. Really, it is very bad. I shit on my feminine napkin. Shit of a supremely muddy nature. On my pad. For some reason this was even worse than just shitting in my underwear, although I thought the cleanup would be a breeze. Just throw it away! Finish pooping! It's all good!

Now, remember that I am holding Egg on my lap. Figure in the fact that shitting on one's pad while furiously speed walking through Walgreen's really makes for a um....mess? So much of a mess that while attempting to clean up my general ass region I smeared shit on THREE out of five fingers on my right hand in three different wiping attempts. While trying to hold Egg and not let him touch the toilet paper, the ground, my fingers, or anything else.

Have you ever walked into a toilet stall and wondered how the holy fuck someone got shit on the toilet seat? You think that shitting is a straightforward event that does not involve stray fecal matter? Well, dear readers, I now know how that shit happens, although I cleaned up my mess before I left. Egg and I went straight home and we both bathed before doing anything else that day. For those of you that say, "I don't know how you can not eat wheat," this should answer any and all questions. I am positive that this was the second worst shitting mah pants episode of my whole entire life.

Birthday, Bitches!

Egg turned ONE!! on January 20, 2010. On February 13th we had a party. The kitchen was complete, the back yard was awesome, the weather was perfect, and we all had a great fucking time. Here are some pics to tide you over until I post again.

Look at our forehead furrows. You think we are related?

The island in our kitchen, which I turned into a cupcake extravaganza. The cake was two layers with butter cream frosting. I made it all by myself because I am awesome. I'm not a cake maker so I am super proud that it doesn't look like a three year old retarded monkey made it. The birthday boy bib was a Christmas gift from Crazy Neighbor Lady.

Dude. Look at that motherfucking back splash. I KICKED ASS, yo.

The island! We did a different color Corian on the island than on the kitchen counters. Do not look at TB's Star Wars Lego collection up high! DO.NOT.LOOK. Avert your eyes, dammit. This is only part of it. The rest is on the other side of the kitchen up high.

TB in front of the television compromise. He wanted a big assed tv. I wanted new counters in the kitchen. WIN-WIN!!

Egg's girlfriend. The party kicked so much ass that she accidentally left her pants at my house.

 

Chicken and his best girl friend.

My adorable baby sharing cake with his daddy.

Egg sharing cake with Mama!

So cute! NOM NOM NOM!

Egg opened all of his presents. Tearing off the wrapping paper, he handed me a piece and continued until he was finished. He pulled every piece of tissue paper out of each gift bag, and pulled out the gifts. It was crazy. I've never seen a one year old do that shit. Notice the wardrobe change? Someone got cake ALL over so he got a quick bath and change into his Batman shirt that daddy loves.

TB and his friend Michael discussing their Droids, aka Geeks in their natural habitat. The room behind them is Egg's. For those of you that are Twitter inclined, they are also known as @xyrth and @michael_saul.

Egg got this play structure from TB's dad for Christmas and his birthday. TB and I (well mostly TB) worked our asses off to get it put together in time for the party. We had to stain every piece of wood and then put it together. In the background (if you squint) you can see the bushes we just planted and a Fuji apple tree in the corner. Our backyard was barren when we moved in and now there is GRASS! and BUSH! and TREES! and FUN THINGS!

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!

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!*

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!

Birth Story, Part III

First post, second post. This post is inspired by Missed Conceptions. Damn you, woman! If you didn't feel so crappy I would send you a strongly worded missive. Note: some of this story comes from TB, as my brain forgot to store chunks of time. Any mistakes are all his fault, as always.

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Let me start by saying this: "HA HA HA HA." Because that is what the world said to me after I called everyone and told them that I would update them on my labor in the morning after a night of sleep. When I say everyone I am including my doula. You know, the person that holds my hand, rubs my whatever, and gets me through this labor without the fibro + pain kicking my ass? TB is exhausted and looking forward to some sleep as he has been awake since 3:30am. I close my eyes and drift off.....sleeeeeeep.

CONTRACTION!!! Okay! I'm awake! OUCH! Sleeeeeeep. (repeat cycle every 3-4 minutes)

Fuck. So the pain meds and sleep meds aren't helping with the pain or sleep, unless a minute of sleep followed by pain is considered effective. I make it through three hours and get pain meds again at 1am. My cervix is still being a stubborn fucking bitch and remains at 2cm. (TB takes over the story here because my memory is fuzzy due to the ambien + pain combo. Note to self: avoid ambien.) He tells me that during this time I am peeing every fifteen minutes and drinking a lot of water to avoid an IV. At 3am my blood pressure and Egg's heart rate drop with every contraction. I am holding my breath through the pain (damn I KNEW I would pull that shit!) and they put me on oxygen. In retrospect, I'm not sure how giving someone oxygen that is holding their breath works, but whatever. I'm beyond caring at this point. I'm in so much pain and according to The Rules of Labor I'm not even in labor yet, right? My cervix hasn't changed and I've been in the hospital for 12 hours. LAME. I am going to write a letter to my cervix about her work ethic and shit.

Just as I start to write my cervix a letter, a nurse checks me and I have gone from 2cm to 6cm in fifteen minutes. Good job, cervix! Way to dilate! The powers that be decide that the pain killers are to blame for the heart rate/blood pressure issues and I am to get an IV with pain meds. At this point I would let an elephant stick it in my pooper if it would help the pain. Luckily for my ass, there are no elephants around. It takes two tries to put in the IV, and I end up with an awesome bruise on my arm from the first attempt. This is another place that TB fills in the gaps, because the next day I look at my forearm and ask WHAT THE FUCK happened to me? The IV goes in my hand and they administer pain meds through it that have no effect on my pain. YAY ME.

They order an epidural, but it will take an hour to get it. TB gives the okay because I am not speaking at this point. TB is at the verge of throwing up at the sight of me in so much pain. I am not responding verbally to anyone and they are concerned. With each contraction I am holding onto the rails of the bed like they are keeping me afloat. The nurse coaxes me into different positions to keep Egg's heart rate from plunging. When I get onto my hands and knees I get the incredible urge to PUSH. I remember debating with myself, because I was afraid I would push something else out and being on my hands and knees....you get the picture.

Then I thought, "fuck them. they're not helping me" and I PUSHED AND PUSHED AND PUSHED. It felt awesome. This was the first time I have felt the urge to push in labor. I highly recommend it, this pushing and feeling the baby moooove. Of course, no one knew what I was doing at the time because I still wasn't speaking.

At about 5am I got the epidural, which took another two pokes because the doctor hit a "puffy" blood vessel the first time. At 5:15am they checked me HOLY CRAP Egg's noggin was RIGHT THERE. The epidural hadn't kicked in yet and I was ready to deliver Egg right NOW and my doctor was at home, snoozing away. Luckily he lives near the hospital. At 5:30am I was able to speak again, which was a relief to everyone. I hadn't been worried because I was thinking mah own thoughts the whole time.

At 5:45am my doctor arrives and tells me to push. I start to tear and my doctor wants to give me an episiotomy and I DO NOT want another fucked up pussy experience like I did the first delivery. As I'm fussing about not having one he starts cutting. I'm in my own world by then, having the most amazing experience of feeling Egg's head and body move down the birth canal and out of me. It is hard to describe, but imagine the difference between pushing a ball out and pushing something with SHOULDERS out of you. It was the first time I have felt this sensation and it was amazing. Although I felt it, I didn't feel any pain at this point.

As Egg's head crowns my bag breaks just in front of him, with only a bit of amniotic fluid. The position that he delivers in created a wedge at my cervix and the rest of the fluid comes out after him. He is delivered at 6:03am, three hours after my labor starts changing my cervix.

To Be Continued...

Birth Story Part II

The first part of the Birth Story Series is here. Thanks to Essie for reminding me that I had this post to finish up tonight!

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I drove to my doctor’s office, two hours early for my normal 3pm appointment. Of course, my doctor was at his other office and only a front office lady that I didn’t particularly like was there to help me. She gave me the options of waiting for my appointment or head to the hospital which was about a block away. I told her that I was bleeding somewhat heavily and didn’t think a bloody show was supposed to be a bloody fucking period. She shrugged. I almost muttered “useless fucking bitch” under my breath at that point. I looked at Chicken, felt another contraction hit and said, (in my mind) “fuck this shit” and went to the hospital.

On the way to the hospital I called my doula. She was still having childcare difficulties and I wasn’t worried about it yet. My objective was to get reassurance that everything! Was! Okay! and have a damn baby at some point. Preferably with my husband in the room, because he was 100 miles away and afternoon traffic from his jobsite to the hospital was going to be a bitch.

When I got into the hospital, I expected to head right back to labor and delivery. Oh hai! I’m stupid people making you wait in the waiting room with SICK PEOPLE AND CHILDREN. I glared at everyone and tried not to breathe in their January germs. Fucking heathens and all going to the ER for a cough in the middle of the fucking day. Go to the doctors you assholes! Apparently contractions do not leave any room for sympathy. After waiting three hours (or fifteen minutes) I got to discuss paperwork with some lady that wanted to call a clergy person for me. Uh? What? Do preacher-type people usually come hang out in birthing rooms? I declined and signed fourteen pieces of paper which contained ?? I have no fucking clue. Then they wheeled me to Labor and Delivery. It was about fucking time, yo.

They gave me a gown and checked me, my vitals, etc. I was still two! fucking! centimeters! They wanted to monitor me for an hour, and I was totally down with that plan. Except they put down a towel for me to place my lady bits on to keep the blood from getting all over the place. Since I was getting up to pee every ten minutes, what was I supposed to do with myself? Hold something over my crotch as I hobbled to the can? So I put on my handy underwear and a pad, like a normal fucking person. Although they didn’t say anything to me, I felt the unhappy vibes the nurses were giving me. Over fucking underwear. Fuck you stupid whores. I don’t like dripping blood on the floor. It’s gross and my 12 year old is sitting right there next to me.

Speaking of Chicken, we had not made a firm decision about where he would be during the labor/birthing experience. We made a backup plan in case he wanted to leave, and if he wanted to stay it would be fine. If I decided I was uncomfortable with him there, he would leave. Well, he wanted to get the fuck out of there, so my step-MIL came from work to pick him up. My FIL was already here by then, chatting with me to keep me company until TB arrived. Note to self: next time have some sort of plan for getting FIL out of the room during labor.

All I wanted to do was to get down to laboring, but dealing with relatives, a missing doula, a doctor that was running late, a husband that wanted to play on his PSP (at least he made it to the hospital!), and nurses that were convinced that I wasn't actually in labor kind of fucked with my mojo. I couldn't concentrate enough to make changes to the stuff that was bugging me because I kept having painful contractions. Finally my doctor made an entrance.

I talked with my doctor and figured out my options:

A) I could get some meds to make me comfortable, go home and get a good night of sleep and come back tomorrow if I was in labor
B) I could get hooked up to a bunch of shit, get a mild amount of pitocin, get meds to make me comfortable, get a good night's sleep
C) Take oral pain/sleep meds, take liquids by mouth, let my body do what it wanted, get a good night's sleep

"A" freaked me out because I knew I was in labor, I was bleeding more than I thought I should, and the hospital was 35 minutes away from my house in excellent traffic conditions.  I had followed option "B" in my first labor and it sucked. I wanted a natural-ish birth and I wanted to see what my body would do all on it's own. I wanted to be able to get up and walk around, shower, pace, shower, etc at will and not hooked up to an IV. My doctor was on board though he thought that I would end up with pitocin in the morning and pushing out a baby by mid to late afternoon. Whatever. I wanted to take it one step at a time. MY next step was to eat dinner with TB and continue contracting- with no change in my cervix. Stupid cervix. At 10pm I was given oral pain meds and ambien. I posted the most awesome post EVAR and prepared to sleep as much as possible...

Cloth Diapers FTW (for teh win!) Part I

I love using cloth diapers. I recently held down a poor pregnant couple for more than a half hour when they unfortunately mentioned that they might be using cloth diapers. I have many opinions on cloth diapering, and I am going to share all of them with you tonight! YAY diapers! The first thing in order to entice you to read further is teh cute. Cloth diapers ARE FUCKING ADORABLE, YO. Here is Egg at four months:

See the cuteness? Have you ever seen a diaper clad baby with COW print on his nethers? You have not! Think of all the joy you get out of dressing your baby boy or girl. With the wee little socks, the cutest onesies, the hair bows, etc. Dressing babies is FUN. Adding another opportunity for cute and/or matching? AWESOME. Egg at six months:

Notice how the cow diaper cover still fits and is still sparkly white? Do you have any idea how many times Egg has shit his ever-loving brains out all over that cover? Exactly. Much shitting all over. And the cover keeps on keeping on all day. Now you're intrigued, right? Teh cute has sucked you in and you want to know more about keeping your baby's ass rash-free and the landfills disposable diaper free? I know! WIN WIN!

If you have looked into cloth diapers, you might have become overwhelmed with all the choices, acronyms, washing, drying, OMGICANTDOTHIS. But! You are here and I can make this easy peasy for you. In disposable diapers there are a few types, too. You have the EXPENSIVE, the CHEAP, and the EARTH-FRIENDLY. Sometimes you have Huggies that are earth-friendly-ish and then the sensitive type and the crawling and the swaddling and isn't every baby's skin sensitive? So if you can make a decision to disposable diaper, you can figure out cloth diapering. I promise!

There are three general types of cloth diapers, ignoring the permutations of organic and not bleached cotton and blah blah blah. You can mix and match types as well as CHANGE when your baby grows. So you are not married to a particular type. The first type is Prefold + Cover. A prefold looks like this on one-month old Egg:

A prefold is a square piece of cotton that is made of layers sewn together. The layers are thicker in the middle. They come in different sizes to fit your baby. The thing holding it together is a Snappi and is much like the metal thingy that holds an ace bandage on your parts. You don't have to use pins unless you prefer them.

These are from Green Mountain Diapers. Two people I respect and admire recommended using this website to purchase prefolds. I really didn't like how 1999 the website is, but the prices and quality and reams of how-to advice are invaluable. You cannot buy the crap you find in Babies R Us. Is is like trying to use a Kleenex as a pad on a heavy flow day. That shit just won't work.

So we have a prefold, a snappi, and a cover. Covers are teh cuteness. Look:

Covers are waterproof. The prefold soaks up all the yuck, and the cover keeps the yuck from getting on you. There are designer covers, plain white covers, character covers, the sky is the limit. Now there are covers that are more adjustable, which means they last longer on your growing baby. These are Thirsties, and they kick ass. The snaps on the front allow you to adjust the rise, making it span a wider range of baby sizes.They come in a TON of cool colors and really last.

Prefolds, the cotton part that absorbs the yuck, snappis that keep the prefolds on, and covers that are a waterproof barrier between you and the yuck. If it sounds like I am repeating myself, it is because that's how you learn, stupid hooker face! Next diapering post we will talk about Pocket Diapers and All-in-ones.

Sometimes I Feel Like This...

My MIL emailed this picture to me and I didn't know if I wanted to laugh or cry. Some days this is exactly how I feel about breastfeeding. Not most days, but there are times when my poor bewbies feel battered all to fuck and the thought of one more bite from those sharp bottom teeth makes me want to hide under my bed. I don't have the energy or brain power for a full post, so this is my lame, "Still nursing full time and (mostly) loving it" update. Hey, at least the first day of my last period was 4/20/08. Fuck you PMS!

Homo Says What?

I am home!!1!

Halp!

I need your help, innernets. I am going to Austin, TX next week to visit my SIL. She is in need of support, yo. The kind that is found in adorable babies of awesomeness. I haven't flown with a baybee in more than a fucking decade so I am a little lost. I did not buy a seat for Egg so he is on my lap, and Chicken is staying home with TB. I am leaving Tuesday morning and returning Saturday afternoon. I tried to make my flights short, have a decent but not too long layover in Denver, etc. I've done this before with Chicken as a baby across the states (VA to CA) a zillion times, but I'm rusty.

I am flying United Airlines and according to their website it will cost me $15 for the first piece of checked baggage and $25 for the second if I prepay online. The third piece of checked luggage is $125, same with the fourth, and the fifth is $200. Holy fucking shit. REALLY? How does a parent with a child travel to a place that does not already have things like a stroller, car seat, a place to sleep that has bars for fuck's sake? Egg is too big to put in a dresser drawer at this point. I figure that I will need one big assed suitcase for clothes and such, plus checking the car seat. Two items. That leaves me without a stroller or a place for Egg to sleep other than in my arms. I have a co-sleeper that converts to a play pen that can be easily checked, but then I have to forgo A) a car seat or B) clothes and diapers.

Any suggestions? I really like wearing clothes but if I have to fly nekkid I will.

ETA: Husband of Awesome (AKA TB) found this: "When traveling with a child, either on a paid ticket or on your lap, checking car seats and strollers will continue to be free." on the United website for me.Between that and all your VERY HELPFUL OMGILOVEYOUALL comments I think I can relax a tiny bit. Just enough to freak out about baby + plane = wild card of possible doom but likely just plain fine and I need to just shutthefuckup already.

Yo, Muthafucka

I really wish I could do something for you all, my bloggy readers of awesomeville. I'm not too big on the hugging, but maybe I can take you out for coffee to show my appreciation? I'll have mine decaf as I'm still nursing up a motherfucking storm, but we'll chat and I'll express how much you totally fucking rule. All of you, with the ruling and such. If you have any big ideas about how I can hand out innernet hand jobs, just let me know!

I meant to get back to you all sooner, but someone decided to get sick (for reals) for the very first time. Egg is two weeks shy of nine months (how the FUCK does time fly like that?) and he has previously only a mild case of yucky nose to his name. This time, he is SICK people. The kind that you can smell when you walk into his room. His ass is en fuego. This is the first time I have looked around at the hordes of dirty cloth diapers and wished for disposable diapers. The kind that don't require the parent to relive that time when you were in the middle of a diaper change and your baby started peeing and you gasped (YAY! Pee = not dehydrated!!) and then he got upset and started to cry and the force of the cry pushed GREEN watery shit out of his butthole (which you had the privilege to watch) all over the diaper cover and beyond in a foot-long streak of green POO. So. Much. Poop.

Tuesday I took him to the doctor because 102+ fever and a shit-ton of nasty green poo had me stressed out and worried. The doctor said "Must give Pedialyte!" and told me to watch out for dehydration, nurse him as much as possible, etc. Apparently, Pedialyte is on Egg's list of Things That Make Me Hurl so now I had a baby that was shitting green, foamy, water and hurling all over me. I decided that throwing up the two drops of Pedialyte plus all the breast milk I made FROM FUCKING SCRATCH, PEOPLE was not going in the direction of dehydration avoidance. I then tried Gatorade (barf) and Sprite (vomit). No dice, yo.

Egg will take breast milk from the source and very thin rice cereal mixed with breast milk. If I make it too think, he pukes. If I give him too much, he pukes. Luckily, I have both those things, but my Lord my bewbies are tired. Did I mention the biting? And the comfort nursing, which I can do ALL DAY if need be but BITING? I've been bit THREE FOUR times today. Yesterday he left dents in my nipple, two little straight lines from his two bottom teeth. I suppose I should be happy that he hasn't drawn blood. Yet.

In the hours since I began this post, I have put Egg to bed. Ninety minutes later he woke up crying, diaper change, attempt at nursing, more diarrhea, diaper change during which he shit MORE. A successful nursing session, another bite to lefty, sound asleep and put to bed again. Two minutes later he puked, unprovoked, a full stomach of milk all over himself, the sheets, etc. Another load of laundry, another nursing session to refill the tummy. He's back in bed now, it's 10:30pm and I am torn between getting into bed and staying up later. The instant I fall asleep he'll be up again. Shit. Literally.

Hey! What an exciting post, huh? Barfing and shitting and boring OH MY. So sorry, better luck next time. Cross your fingers, I hope Egg feels better soon. And stops BITING THE BEWBIES.

Have Cats Or A Sense of Humor?

Then go here. Are you scratching your head, too? Fucking bizarre shit, yo. Teddy Bear sent me the link and I had to share.

My MIL sent this to me today:

This picture was taken over the weekend and I hadn't seen it yet. It makes me smile.

Back To School, Sam Style

Back to school always kicks my ass, and it is even worse when Chicken arrives back in California on a Friday night with two days to get ready before school starts. Chicken began eighth grade at a new school, and it was exciting, nerve-racking, and expensive. PE uniforms, PTSA memberships, blah blah just write the fucking check already, lady!

I try to get involved in Chicken's school. It helps to know other parents, teachers, and the administrators, especially when your kid is a damn procrastinating smarty pants. I find that volunteering to help out the PTSA in some way gets me in the door. This year I offered to help at the school's book fair. There I met the PTSA president and a few other ladies. I offered my tech services and was asked to come to a meeting the following week. (I swear this is going somewhere)

Monday I drove to San Diego to visit my friend Tobiwan. He was in town and we spent a chunk of the sweltering day together. It has been 100+ degrees for a week or more. I had to race back to Chicken's school in order to make the meeting on time. I show up and ask the front desk ladies where the restroom is, and rush in to pee. I am balancing Egg on my lap, trying not to drop him or pee on myself. I manage to get my pants back on and hobble to the sink when Chicken's principal comes into the bathroom.

"Hi! Are you going on campus or are you staying in the office area?" asks Mrs. Principal

I told her that I was going to a PTSA meeting on campus.

"Oh! Well you have to meet the dress code to go on campus," says Mrs. Principal brightly.

"..."

"I have a shirt in my office I could lend you," she cheerily informs me.

Mrs. Principal jaunts off to her office while I attempt to wash my hands without dropping Egg, while contemplating the conversation that just took place.

I just got dress-coded. At my son's middle school. DRESS-CODED. By the Principal. On the eleventh day of the school year. Me. Too mortified to be pissed off, I wander through the halls of the administrative building looking for the principal's office. I find her, and she has an extra large polo shirt for me to wear. I put the shirt on over my super-slutty top and slink to the PTSA meeting, where I announce that I am late due to being dress-coded by the principal. There is nothing like being new and singled out for a dress code infraction to impress the other mommies! Go Sam!!

In case you were wondering, I was wearing this top:

Yep. A nursing tank top. While carrying my nursling. For shame! Except I wear mine more loosely than the dummy. Apparently the problem was the straps. They must be two inches wide to be in line with the dress code. *sigh* Typically I wear a little short-sleeved sweater with it, but as it was 106 degrees outside I was FUCKING HOT and wore only the tank top. And because I'm a total whore, that's why.

Mad (Wo)Men

TB sent me this cool thing from MadMenYourself that allows you to create a version of yourself in the framework of the show Mad Men. If you haven't seen the show, you're missing out on some pretty good television. I started watching it while I was pregnant with Egg. I had to stop watching it, because I was pregnant with Egg. You see, I am a die-hard smoker. I haven't smoked in four years, but I am a smoker at heart. For some reason, being pregnant made me crave a cigarette terribly. Watching everyone smoke throughout the whole show was too much for me to handle, so I stopped watching.

I could probably handle it now that I am free of the crazy pregnancy hormones and simply subjected to regular old crazy female hormones. Where was I? Oh yes, the site. In the image above, I'm the one in yellow. You can tell it's me because I have a cigarette in my mouth and one in my hand. You can never have too many cigarettes, I've found. It's like having too much money. Impossible!

You can pick your hair, face, eyes, mouth, accessories, etc. I was at a loss when confronted with the hair color choices. Do I pick the color my hair currently is or the natural color? Where is the option for "gray and brown but dyed black then faded and slightly grown out and now dark brown?" I selected the middle body type because I have bewbies currently. Speaking of bewbies, I was at the pediatrician's office today when the nurse asked me if I had a pacifier. I said brightly, "No! But I have a bewbie!" I am nothing if not helpful.

"What?" She looks confused.

"A breast. I have breasts," I enunciate clearly and speak slowly for the hearing impaired and the poor middle-aged male doctor that is standing there still.

"Oh." She is not as thrilled as I am.

She has this little trick that she does with a pacifier and the rotovirus vaccine. The baby sucks on the pacifier, she swaps it with the oral vaccine, finishes with the pacifier. I can just imagine this using a real, live, nipple. Egg sucks on my nipple, takes the vaccine while my milk lets down, and sprays all over the exam room. No worky. Oh well. He didn't mind the oral vaccine this time. He was pissed off about the shots, but a quick nursing session and flirting with the nurses and receptionists fixed his demeanor and I took my NINETEEN pound baby home.

Fucking Whores

I fucking SWEAR that the next time I get a forwarded email about some dire emergency virus or political issue or what-the-fucking-ever that says, "Verified by Snopes.com" and includes a direct link to the page in snopes that deals with the fucking horrible OMGWTFBBQ whatever I am going to lose my shit and kick everybody's asses. EVERYONE starting with the fucking WHORE that sends it to me.

Do you know why? Because if one fucking single person would fucking READ the page in Snopes that deals with the problem they would realize that they are forwarding a hoax. Most of the time they send this forwarded email to everyone in their Inbox and that is fucking how viruses get spread, you stupid fucking twat lickers. (Not that I am against licking twat.)

It was bad enough in the days before most people knew about Snopes. But when the email has a handy link RIGHT THE FUCK THERE? And you blindly assume that just because your dear friend ASSMUNCH sent it to you that THEY read it? Nobody reads things, people. No one. But me. So stop it. It makes me fucking cranky because I feel like an asshole when I reply to a well-intentioned person that they are forwarding on a hoax. I hate being that person. But seriously? This shit has gotta stop, yo.

To make up for the FURIOUS cussing, here is a picture to make you smile:
This kid can sit up like a champ. He is king of sitting. And pooping up his back when sitting because the shit has got to go somewhere, right?

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!

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!

Easter Bunny

We got back from our vacation late Saturday night and skipped Easter this year except for the adorable bunny ears that I traumatized Egg with yesterday. I found them at Target for a dollar a few weeks back and could not resist. Happy 1st Easter baby boy!

PS I have a post on TB's Bad Grandma saved on TB's phone, I just need to transfer it over and hit publish. I wrote it on his phone Saturday night after taking an especially awesome shit in the middle of the desert. I highly recommend a good outdoor poo every now and then. Speaking of poo, I am almost done with the poo book. On with the contest! I already finished Dooce's book and will have a post on it some day soon I hope.

Half-Nekkid Shower Time

For more Half-Nekkid Thursday excitement, go visit the King Of Nekkid.

OMG VIDEO!!!1!11!!

I posted a video at Egg's blog. I am super awesome. In case you were wondering.

Lickin' Mah Ass

Yesterday I shaved my legs for the second time since Egg was born. Just in case you think that I am neglecting you but accomplishing everything else. Ho ho! I am not. On the up side, I have only missed one shower thus far in new parenthood, if you calculate the necessary amount as one shower per day. I usually prefer more, but I'm not greedy. Much. Do you know how much I missed you? I just paused Private Practice to write this post. I am giving up a chance to watch television without a small person grousing at me just to update you-my bloggy peeps. Le sigh.

Let's start with a fun topic, shall we? Depression!! Wheeee! I'm pretty sure that I was depressed during my pregnancy. If you've been depressed, you know what I'm talking about when I say that looking back I am thinking to myself, "Self-what the fuckity fuck?" It is like looking down into a deep black hole and wondering how the fuck I got in there and very thankful that I got out. The reason that I am thinking this is that life is feeling very fabulous right now. Showers? Great! Food? AWESOME! Life? Fan-fucking-tastic!! Chocolate? I could fucking eat my weight in chocolate within hours of popping Egg out of my cooterus. I cannot believe how much better I am feeling.

How's the fibro? Pretty much wonderful compared to the last few years. I don't know how long this goodness will last but I am going to milk it for all it is fucking worth. I have energy, I am sleeping great (three hours at a time) and my pain is manageble. Go me!

Breastfeeding. Ug. And YAY! And ug. So far the journey looks like this:

• Tired baby leads to poor latch initially
• Leads to cracked and fucked up nipples
• Leads to breast infection in righty
• Prescribed antibiotics
• Leads to yeast in nipples and Egg's mouth
• Leads to OMFG ouch
• Leads to much interaction with vinegar, nystatin, diflucan, etc.
• Kills yeast (knock on wood)

Things are going well on the latch/infection/yeast front at the moment. Yippee! Except! Now I am battling serious oversupply. Here's what oversupply looks like (with a bonus of nursing in public and being judged):

1. Baby grouses due to hunger
2. I put Egg to my breast
3. Egg nurses
4. Milk lets down like a fucking fire hose
5. Egg coughs, sputters, swallows air
6. We are both coated in milk
7. Egg hollers because he is drownding in milk
8. Egg hollers because he is still hungry
9. Egg hollers because he needs to burp up the air he swallowed and he HATES it
10. My milk stops flowing finally
11. I'm sad
12. Egg is crying
13. People are thinking, "WTF is she doing with her titty to that baby?"
14. I feel like a failure and want to hide under my bed
15. Egg is pissed and hates the titty

I've done some research and we are working on the oversupply issue. I'm nursing on one side for 6-8 hours at a time to tell my body to STOP FUCKING MAKING SO MUCH DAMN MILK ALREADY. At home I nurse on my side in bed whenever possible. I pull Egg off during the initial let down to keep him from being overwhelmed. We're working on it. But FUCK ME I really want this nursing thing to be easier. Please?

On the funny (in my mind) side, one of my mother's friends made a comment to me about nursing the other day. "If you keep nursing you'll lose all the baby weight!" Um...yeah. I already lost all the baby weight. Any other real or imagined extra weight is all mine. Thanks, though.

Last but not least, we took care of the excess cock situation. TB posted an ad on Craig's List and a lady responded. She had two egg-laying hens that she was willing to trade for Peck and George. She is going to breed Peck to some Wyandotte hens that she already owns. George is going to be the main man for her mixed breed hens-he gets to use his cock, too! I don't have pictures of the new hens yet, but they do have names: Oreo and Maynard. Oreo named for her black, white, black coloring and Maynard after the lead singer of Tool. Chicken named them both, and I am very amused.

I have learned something valuable about chickens: roosters crow and hens lay eggs! Amazing, huh? Oreo and Maynard are teaching Beck about making nests and laying eggs, all the womanly arts of henhood. The three are getting along famously although the new girls ignored Beck initially. Beck walked into the house a few days ago like she lived here, and then when TB noticed her she hopped up onto the bar. What the fuck, chicken?

So, that's all the energy I have right now. I am reading a few posts a day, but I usually don't have two hands to type comments. I'm around, I'll be here and there and will post more often as Egg allows. Take care of yourselves!

Baby Feets

I am not dead. I am not even terribly sleep deprived. I am simply being forced to choose between several options when Egg is sleeping:

• Sleep
• Housework
• Errands

Notice how none of those include the computer? Yeah, me too. I will get back to blogging soon. In the meantime, just know that I think of all of you often and wish that I had another body to blog all the wonderful adventures that I am having every day. Egg peed on the wall in the middle of a diaper change! Bad Grandma gripes, "When are you going to circumcise him?" while staring at his penis. I wouldn't change any of it for the world.

Shhhh!

My MIL is visiting. I'll be back when she leaves and/or I get a free moment. She is rocking the house with the cooking and driving and supreme awesomeness. Egg is doing very well, tomorrow we have a doctor check-up and get to find out how much he weighs!

Reminder

I post Egg pics and info at the other blog. Don't forget not to mention Sam's Stories if you comment over there or I won't be able to publish it. I will be putting a link to that blog in my sidebar and updating other linky goodness soon I hope.

Don't Worry About Righty

It all started with Egg being tired in the first 24 hours of his life. I couldn't get his mouth open enough for a proper latch and even though I knew my nipples would pay for it I didn't want to make Egg go without food. Poor latch turned into scabs turned into mastitis (breast infection) in my right breast turned into OMG super fucking painful nursing on that side turned into Egg saying, "WTF? I am not nursing on that side if you're going to stiffen and gasp every time I do." So...I gave up on home remedies, called my OB and got on antibiotics to take care of the mastitis. I hate being on antibiotics fucking AGAIN but I need Righty and I don't want to be forced into renaming her Painfully Lumpy.

During the painful nursing time I found that putting Egg on Lefty for about 50% of his feed on that side and then switching him to Righty worked. He would be totally into the nursing groove and not want to stop enough that he only objected to Righty a little bit. I let him finish off Righty and then he would go back to Lefty and finish that side. So although it took some trickery Righty has not suffered beyond the craptasticness of mastitis. Each day that I nurse on Righty without pain Egg is more open to nursing on that side. Don't worry mah peeps, I shall not let the Egg neglect Righty. I also purchased the most expensive probiotics known to man (or so it seems) to start the instant I get off antibiotics. All I need right now is a case of thrush to deal with, right?

Aside from the stupidity of mastitis, nursing is wonderful. I was so looking forward to it and I am so glad that my boobies have cooperated. Anyone need cream for their coffee? For their whole household and their office? My cup runneth over and down the front of me throughtout the day. Even when Egg decides that a 2 or 3 hour nursing marathon is mandatory I am good to go. YAY for my body working for once without a lot of hassle.

Egg LOVES the boobies. Although he sometimes gets irritated at Righty, his routine is so endearing. He'll take a taste test, lick it, sniff it while curling his nose up and then decide that it is edible. With Lefty he tends to get my milk to let down (which takes seconds at this point) and then rub half his face in it while snuffling happily. The kid is just overjoyed to have boobies of his very own. He always lets go once he is done feeding, and just plops his head down on my breast contently with his face smeared with milk. It is hard to do anything else while he is eating because it is so wonderful just to watch him nurse.

I am so ridiculously in love with Egg and enjoying ever minute of being with him. TB and I agreed that if it were possible to get pregnant again RIGHT NOW we would do it. Luckily we can't, because I'm sure in the coming months we will be exhausted and have our hands overfull. But right now? This is the best thing in the world and I wish everyone could have this experience.

Milk Face

You know that you've had enough when you pass out in your plate.

Sleeping

Baby + Kitty Cats = Bliss

Thanks to Batty Nurse for the most amazing handmade blankie, sent with a handmade card. Egg spends most of his time snugly wrapped in it. She set the bar high, peeps. I swear I will post something with wordy content soon, but at this point if I'm not holding Egg I'm sleeping while TB holds him. The only reason I am posting right now is that I am in my favorite room on my regal throne dropping the kids off at the pool so to speak. Chicken said to me earlier, "Now I know why they call them milk jugs." Yes, Chicken. The titties are HUGE. Relatively speaking that is...not compared to someone with actual huge titties but huge in my world. I hope my MIL doesn't mind them hanging out when she comes to visit next week. These puppies need AIR people and I am not about to deprive them. Upcoming posts to include:

• The joys of breastfeeding and the baby that turns up his nose at Righty
• Watching poop come out of the butthole and discussing the phenomenom with TB
• Stitches in my taint
• Feeling the urge to push and then pushing Egg out
• The post I forgot I wrote, AKA totally stoned in Labor & Delivery
• Foreskin and swim shorts
• Listening to a woman throw up repeatedly
• Things I learned while Knocked Up
• Food and Hunger OH THE JOY
• Weight and the laws of the universe
• TB fathering a newborn baby
• TB getting pulled over for "driving like an asshole"
  
• ...and whatever else strikes my fancy the next time I take a shit

At Home With Egg

So fucking happy.

Egg Has Arrived

I originally attempted to publish this post at 7:ooam Tuesday, January 20th. However, the server gods hated me and when I logged back in I found NOTHING. And no Sam's Stories. Nice, huh? What a day to have shit go bad wrong, when all of the innernets is waiting to hear the splendid news. Egg is here! The stats:

Baby: a boy Egg
Weight: 7lbs 7oz
Length: 18 1/4"
Born: 6:03am, Tuesday January 20, 2009

We will be hopefully returning home Wednesday morning (in just a few hours) and I will update as soon as I can. Everything went splendidly and I am so in love.

I Have Teh Innernets!!

Sam here, live and in the hospital. I woke up this morning at 11am feeling rested for the first time in weeks. I got into the shower and started having contractions about every 3-4 minutes. I ignored it because I have been having contractions FOREVER and OMG I am just totally over it at this point. I needed to drive to my in-laws out in BFE to pick up Chicken and then drive back into town to drop him off at a friend's house so I could do errands and then see my doctor.

I made it to my in-laws house, stopped inside to pee and WHOOSH! I wondered if my water had broken. Nope. Seems I lost my plug and had a bloody show. I haven't ever experienced these things so I was going WTF? and luckily I had a pad in my car (from eons ago) and I was set. I think the bloody show should be more aptly called Holy Fuck I Started My Period because it was not exactly a dainty, ladylike show. Gross.

I decided that going to my doctor's office was a good idea, so off Chicken and I went to see the wizard. Of course, he wasn't in the office so they sent me to labor & delivery which is one block away. I've been here since 1:15pm PST. I'm having regular contractions 2-4 minutes apart but I'm only dilated to 2cm. And I can't wait for the nurse shift change because my nurse has the shortest fingers in the world and my cervix is WAY back there and FUCKING OUCH PEOPLE. Her knuckles kill the outside of my parts while her fondling of my cervix is not delicate. Leave the hoo-ha alone, people. I'm sure Egg will fuck it up enough on his own.

My doctor should be here soon to discuss what we are going to do, send me home, keep me, etc. I haven't been officially admitted at this point. Teddy Bear is with me and Chicken left with my step-mom-in-law. He was bugging the serious fuck outta me. Damn kids. Since I now have my laptop and teh innernets I'll be updating as I can. If I can't I will try to text Redneck Diva so she can update. Wish me cervix dilation luck okay?

Fucking Jinx

Remember how I was talking about being sick and back in the good ole days when bronchitis was my very best friend? I am an asshole and my lungs are making me pay for my transgressions. My OB called in antibiotics today and when TB arrived home with them I could have kissed him. Except I was too busy hacking up green shit. I know that antibiotics are not ideal when pregnant, however my asthma/pneumonia/hospitalization history dictates that I take care of my fucking lungs or they refuse to work. Supposedly, Egg needs oxygen and shit to live and when my lungs don't work, he gets all brain damagy on me. Fucking kids these days, huh?

In the State of The Uterus, my contractions are getting longer and stronger. But not closer together. I am thinking at this point that I am going to continue to dilate and efface and all that shit but not go into full-blown labor until one day I sneeze and Egg falls out of my vagina. Every time that I have the runs I think, "Maybe THIS is it! My body is clearing the way for teh bebe!" And then it turns out that my fibro/IBS hates me and likes me to spend lots of time shitting my brains out. Oh yeah, that again.

Hey? You tired of me bitching yet? Want to hear unbearable cuteness? Chicken was on my bed with Reina the Devil cat perched happily on his chest, purring away when he said, "I wish Egg was here so I could hold him instead." AWWWWWW. And then he went back to being a 12-year old asshole. Like his 34-year old asshole mother.

Baby Stuff And Douche Canoes

I suppose at this point it is obvious to even me that I am going to have a baby here in a few weeks. After waiting a decade for this event it hasn't seemed real and I have just finally started to buy things for Egg. As things arrive I've been looking at them and wondering when it all will just go POOF! into the night. Luckily I have a few good friends that have handed things down to me (like clothes, a swing, a bouncy seat, a car seat), because otherwise this kid would be naked and bored. Although I suppose there are worse things to endure than naked boredom. Like being fucking sick and hugely pregnant.

That's right, my peeps. I have a fucking cold. I blame it on myself for thinking poorly of those bloggers that have in recently been felled by one foul illness or another. You see, although I have fibro, fucked off allergies, and asthma I rarely get sick now that I don't smoke. So when I read about this blogger or that getting sick for the five thousandth time I think, "What the fuck sicky sick person?" I used to get bronchitis at least once a year and occasionally throw in pneumonia for good measure. I spent the winter months hacking my lungs up every year. Stupid fucking smoker. But now, I don't get sick very often. I FEEL sick because the fibro likes to imitate the flu, with body aches, fatigue and general but I'm not ACTUALLY sick. But now I am. Actually sick that is. And I don't like it one bit. Chicken is here, Egg is almost here, and I have shit to do, yo.

Which brings me to the purpose of this post. I think. Maybe. Or not. I'd like to talk about parenting decisions that one makes before bringing a baby into the world because I sometimes forget that you all don't live in my head. I must actually communicate through the written word my craziness or you miss out and shit. So! Let's talk about stuff Sam is planning on doing after Egg comes into the world:

I am NOT circumsizing Egg. Dear Lord please do not chop off foreskins just because other people do it. Come on now. Back away from the penis. If your son wants to be circumsized he can do it when he grows up and makes the decision for himself. If you are curious to learn more about the decision, I recommend going here and taking a look at Monkey's collection of links. By the way, Chicken is not circumsized. If you have any questions about the topic, let me know.

I am using cloth diapers. I purchased them here as recommended by several friends and I can't wait to start using cloth. I want to use cloth for both environmental and health reasons. Fewer chemicals on Egg and fewer chemicals in the landfills seem like a WIN-WIN choice to me. I will be washing them myself in my super awesome new HE washer.

If my boobs cooperate I will be exclusively breastfeeding. When Chicken was an infant I could have fed him and the rest of the local population easily. The porker gained TWO FUCKING POUNDS between birth and his two week checkup. Yes, that is the appointment where they want to see the baby back at their birth weight. Not Chicken. He weighed 9 1/2 lbs at his first doctor appointment. My nipples were cracked and bloody for those first two weeks but dammit the kid wasn't going hungry. How long will I breastfeed? I have no clue. As long as it works for me and Egg I suppose. I'd like to go a full year and figure it out from there I suppose.

On the weight front, I'm up to 11-12 pounds gained. Food still sucks and I'm still drinking Ensure to keep up my caloric intake. I can't wait until food sounds yummy again. By the time Egg arrives I'm not going to have any body fat left. Which would be nice except for the whole breastfeeding thing which I think requires a bit of fat storage, right? Teddy Bear says that I look like an orange with straws sticking out for arms and legs. Thanks, honey. I'm really feeling the sexy now.

As far as the douche canoe goes, try visiting this link for more information. I'd go with definitions numbered 1 and 3 myself, however number 10 which says it is "a piece of feces, frozen then used as a dildo" is pretty awesome. I've never even THOUGHT of freezing shit and then using it in that manner. Obviously I am much too conservative and I need to work on dirtying myself up. One douche canoe at a time.

One of Sam's Friendly Letters

Dear Uterus,

You're doing a great job thus far! You are keeping Egg cozy and warm and for that I am appreciative. I assume he is well-nourished as well as provided ample space for kicking and shoving. I know you take a lot of abuse from him, especially during his active times of the day and night.

Normally, I would call this a job well done and leave it at that. However, I have a small issue that I'd like to address with you. Maybe we can come to some sort of agreement just between the two of us? How about this: I will try my hardest to avoid having a doctor cut into you in order to remove Egg from your grasp. You, in turn, will SHUT THE FUCK UP UNTIL I'M IN REAL, ACTIVE LABOR YOU STUPID WHORE. Because really, who wants to have contractions on and off ALL FUCKING DAY LONG, HUH? NOT FUCKING ME. I am over this shit. Either dilate my cervix all the way and let me push Egg out or chill the fuck out. Okay?

It's not that I don't like you. It's more like you are fucking annoying and it is hard to have a decent conversation with my husband when I am paying attention to the rock that my abdomen has briefly become. It's a little bit uncomfortable and I'm sure Egg is tired of having his poor nads squeezed half to death. Stop it. Also, I'm not ready to give birth yet. Tomorrow I am packing my bag and fixing my hair, but tonight? Not so much with the hair or even clean underwear (beyond the pair I am wearing). So fuck off. Give me a little more time to prepare for this shit.

Also? My baby shower is going to be on Saturday. And Chicken is flying into town on that day, too. I'd like to attend both events with my cooterus intact, thank you very much. No swollen labia, new baby, and bloody cooterus for this weekend. How about Monday? Monday is good for me.

Love,

Sam

Sidenote: TB says that currently my nipples remind him of Whoppers Malted Milk Balls but without the chocolate coating. I have no fucking clue what that means.