Blather

Hey look! I remember this. This is that spot I used to regularly come to write down my every little obnoxious thought and deed. I think I even maybe enjoyed it from time to time. Of course, that was before I had a demanding chubby-cheeked infant attached to me expecting to be fed all. the. damn. time.
There is a reason that at 6 weeks she weighs 10 lbs and I think that despite what she may be telling the other babies it isn't that I don't feed her.
She's actually a pretty easy going baby. It's just that if she's awake she's hungry.
Lately she's been taking the occasional break to smile at me and coo a little. And spit up. Or fart.
Remember how much of a freak I was about strangers touching my pregnant belly? To my credit, I only tried to bite one person and touched 2 of them back. The rest just got snapped at.
See, I thought that was the worst thing that would happen. I thought that once I gave birth, the inappropriate touching would end. But then I'm an idiot and of course it didn't.
No, I sort of miss the belly touching phase because at least then there was a barrier between some stranger's germ-ridden hand and my baby.
In an effort to not have a coronary in public, I generally let it slide as long as they don't touch her face or hands. But I draw the line at the woman who tried to stick her finger in Josie's mouth. All I could keep picturing was that woman scratching her ass and now here she was trying to shove that ass-digger in my little baby's mouth!
Freak.
So. Lesson learned: As bad as it is to touch a pregnant woman's belly, sticking your ass-digging-finger anywhere near baby's mouth may result in the mom loudly telling you to keep said ass-finger to yourself and then having anyone within earshot give you bug-eyes.
********

Once upon a time I had a rather nice figure. I wasn't scary skinny. I had curves but was well within my healthy weight range. Even after my first baby, returning to said lovely shape was truly effortless. Such is the benefit of being terribly young and stupid.
Now....
It was only a few weeks ago that I was proudly displaying that baby bump. Even sharing that picture here. I loved that round full belly. I couldn't see my shoes, my back ached and I knocked things over. But I loved it. There is something about it that is simply beautiful.
Since she's been born? I won't even look at myself in the mirror unless I am fully clothed. And there is something really wrong with that. It doesn't help that none of my clothes fit anymore. It doesn't help that I know exactly how much I weigh and exactly how much more that is than when I had my first.
I try not to contemplate it too much as that is simply depressing. As is the realization that I can no longer buy a bra in a store because they don't stock them that big. No, I get to order mine on-line and hope that they'll maybe somehow shrink overnight. Like, maybe if I close my eyes, they'll return to a size more suitable for a human being. One who has not had a boob job. Yet.

Adjusting

Josie is a month old today though it seems that she has always been here. But I think that's the way it is with kids. At least for me, once they are here it seems as though they have always been. As though who I was before, that life is so far from where we are as to not matter. And it doesn't. I'm sure I'm not explaining myself well.
This month has been hectic. Josie's birth, my parents visit, my grandfather died (it's ok, really. We'd been expecting it and he was ready. He missed my grandmother so very much), school started, Bre's cheerleading started (and someone please slap me because I somehow agreed to co-coach and I can't even blame it on Newborn Stupor since I agreed before she was even born) and my job as PTA treasurer has started to kick in.
In the midst of all this, our house has never been so peaceful. It seems that we have all found a softer side and even David, with his love of screaming, has taken to speaking in whispery tones around his baby sister.
This is not to say all is rosy in our world. Bre is still 9 going on 30 and is in serious need of an attitude transplant. David tried to give Josie away at the grocery store but the next day he pushed a little girl who got to close to her (in his opinion) and declared Josie to be his baby.
Josie has finally reached a point where I can put her down for an hour here and there to get things done. Her cheeks have filled out in that perfectly plump, begging to be squeezed way of an infant who loves to eat. And she certainly loves to eat. A lot.
She coos. She has for over a week now. Someone told us she wasn't supposed to do that yet but I don't think she really cares about time lines because she has been smiling at us too. She still snorts.
David is utterly fascinated by her one moment and absolutely bored with her the next.
Her toys, however, are a different matter.
We are adjusting. Always adjusting.
I am reveling in this period of quiet contentment.

A Birth Story (without the graphic details- you're welcome)

I know, I suck. But I think I get a break since new baby +toddler+ 9-going-on-30-and-therefore-knows-everything= Whack-a-doodle with little time!

So... birth story. I think mine is more of a mild warning in listening to your instincts and not the nice nurse on the phone telling you that you are probably not in labor. Because when you listen to the nice nurse, it is only the fact that you have some neighbors that don't think you're totally nuts that saves you from having your baby on your bathroom floor or by the side of the road.

I couldn't even tell you when my contractions started because they didn't feel like contractions. Or at least not what I remembered contractions to feel like. It was all below my belly button and in my lower back. I tried to explain to the nurse that they were coming at regular intervals and that my labor with my first was less than 4 hours. She said I could come in but she didn't think it was necessary until they were 5 minutes apart.

That's where I went stupid and said ok.

Then I lost my damn mind and told my husband that he could go in to work. Work which was at least 45 minutes away but would likely take more than an hour by the time I needed him.

In fact, he had just reached his shop when I called and told him to come home. Fast.

At 5:30, I called my neighbors to see if they could watch David since our original people weren't home and our backup wasn't answering her phone.

When she came over to get him, she took one look at him and said she was taking me to the hospital.

I knew I was in labor by then, though the contractions were all still very low. I could feel her kicking my ribs through the contractions. And what was once 7-15 minutes apart, was suddenly 2 minutes apart.

We had to hurry.

Joe, naturally, went to the main hospital instead of the birth center (which is in the next building). The same birth center we had David at. I'll chalk it up to his nervousness. At least this time he didn't run up and down the hallway completely confused and asking me if I was sure that my water ruptured as he did with David (I was standing in a puddle and water was still coming in spurts- did he really need to ask?).

By the time he got there it was 6:15. The nurse checked me, and despite knowing I was in labor I still expected to be sent home.

"OK, you're at 8 cm!"

I think I started to cry. I knew that meant no epidural. No pain relief. I'd waited to long. I'd ignored my instincts and now I was going to pay.

I have to admit that this time was not as bad as it was with Bre. At least this time there was a break between contractions. With Bre it was just one on top of the other and I felt like I couldn't breath.

I used the labor ball and my darling husband decided that this was the perfect time to take a picture and there is not enough money in the world for me to be willing to share that picture with you Internet. I would sooner shave my head with a dull razor.

They tried to give my an IV- 3 times- but it didn't work. Instead I got large black bruises that lasted 2 weeks.

The doctor finally came in and decided to break my water. She warned me that once she did it, my contractions would get stronger. I tried to warn her that the second she did it, this baby would be out.

And I was right. I don't think that the water was done gushing before the baby's head crowned. I remember a lot of people talking and someone telling me to listen to the doctor, but then everything got muffled and all I could do was push. Her shoulders got stuck and I think that was probably the worst of it. Bre (did I forget to tell you she was in the room? Well, she was. By choice) couldn't look anymore. She later told me it was "the grossest thing I've ever seen in my entire life!". I think we've successfully deterred her from having children for a very long time. I've always said that a great way to lower teen pregnancy rates is to let teens witness a meds-free birth.

She came out screaming and I started to shake. Uncontrollably shake. This maybe wouldn't have been too big a deal, but I needed stitches. It's very unpleasant to get stitches. More so, I think, when you're shaking.

This is when the nurse lost her mind and asked if I'd like to hold my baby.

Hold my baby?

Lady, I can't hold myself!

But it passed, and so did worst of the pain (thanks to a little friend I'll call Vicodin) and nothing else mattered.

Josie was here. And I could finally hold her.

She scowls like her dad when he's thinking. She has impossibly long fingers and toes. She snorts.

This time I managed to not mix up my motrin with the bottle of colace they give you. With David I took 6 colace before I realized that it wasn't my motrin. The recovery was different. I had been told that recovery after the 3rd baby is harder, but I didn't really think about it until I realized that I couldn't walk. It was 2 weeks (and several Vicodin later) before I could walk without pain.

But it's all worth it.

At last.....

And everything I ever thought I knew is forever changed..... again.

Miss Josephine Violet

August 10, 2007
7:20 am
7 lbs 12 oz 19 1/4"

Cha-ching!

There have been many times during my tenure as 'mom' that I have wondered if maybe my kids are more than just a little.... insane.

Yes, maybe it's not me. It's them. There is no other explanation for the things that they do and say except that they are crazy and they are taking me with them.

Like when Bre decided that our cat wanted blue oatmeal. Which she made in my kitchen towel drawer with peach oatmeal mix and blues clues applesauce. So much fun to clean that up.

Or when she thought she'd make pancakes. On my floor.

Did you know that bisquick, juice and glue is really nasty?

So far, David's adventures in the manic arena have been pretty much limited to the odd comment or face.

Or... they had been.

The other morning, after being poked in the head for the millionth time, I turned on cartoons and drifted back to sleep. He still has not learned that 6 am is not a good time to poke mommy in the back of the head. He has learned that doing so will buy him an hour of early morning cartoons and the fun of stuffing things up my nose as I snore.

When I gave up for the morning an hour later he was just laying there, smiling and clearly pleased with himself.

Normally, this would have sent the alarm bells a-ringing but my brain is not firing on all cylinders lately.

I suggested a diaper change, normal routine.

And he said 'No'.

Huh? He never says no! Well, he says no but not to the first morning diaper change.

He continued to smile at me.

"Wanna' shake my booty!"

Um... oookkkaaayyy.

Go on and shake it then little dude.

And that's when I heard it.

That strange little noise clinking around as he shook as hard as he could, grinning like a fool and watching me.

The hell? What! Is! That!!???!!!

He shook his butt a little harder and started laughing like a lunatic.

I grabbed him to change his diaper and see just what he'd been up to and he dissolved into hysterical laughter.

I don't know what exactly I was expecting to find. There have been plenty of surprises in the diaper arena during the last 2 and half years- none of them particularly pleasant.

But never in my wildest dreams did I ever expect to find the pile of quarters, dimes, nickels and pennies that were pooled out of there.

Dude! My son poops money!! I have the human change machine!

Ok, so really he had just dumped the contents of a change jar in there but it was nice to dream for a moment. It's much nicer to think that he could poop money then what actually comes out of there.

And as I looked over at my darling son, still grinning like a fool, he informed me that "I have butt money mama!"

And I'm the crazy one??

Bitchy-pants

Being pregnant for this long has given me a nasty and rather surprising case of Tourettes which, so much fun when you have a 2 year old who repeats everything he hears.
No one wants to be anywhere near me right now and I can't say that I blame them. I'm finding myself mouthing off to anyone who annoys me. Like the couple at the grocery store last week who felt it was their duty to comment on how awful it was that the woman who just left had 5 young children and how they hoped she ran a daycare. I suggested they run after her because I'm sure she would be happy to accept their opinions on her uterus and reproductive abilities. After all, that's every one's business. Right?
Or the clerk who couldn't believe that I didn't want to know if we were having a boy or a girl. And just wouldn't leave it the hell alone. Or the people who keep calling me to ask if I've 'popped' yet.
Popped?
What the hell? When did I become a balloon?
I hate being cranky. I hate that I can't seem to keep my mouth shut. I hate that the slightest thing can set me off lately.
I hate feeling like I'm somebody else.

*******

On a lighter note......

When we were kids, my stepmom would always ask if we heard the ducks go by every time we passed gas. Recently, when David heard his dad rip one, he asked "Who's in your butt daddy?" with just the most shocked look on his face. So I told him it was just ducks and didn't think anything more of it.

Now every time he toots, he announces to every one that he has ducks in his butt.

It's gotten us some strange looks and a few laughs.

Freak.

Today was such a beautiful day I couldn't wait to take the kids to the park. A few hours of reading and peace for me, a few hours of running and screaming for them. I settled into the nook of a big shady tree and cracked open my book, occasionally peeking over its' pages to check on the kids.

For awhile, it was all perfectly normal. They ran and chased each other and dug into the wood chips under the play equipment. They made up games and spun tales with other kids.

And then I heard the dialogue in my head and realized that as far as I've come from my hermit-like tendencies on the outside, I'm still that shy kid who fears rejection. Even if it's not me that faces exclusion.

I watched my 2 year old approach some boys who seemed to about 4 or 5. They were playing in the wood chips and David just sat right beside them and began digging with them and talking to them. At first they just stared at him and I found myself silently pleading with them to like him, to include him, please, please like him. In a few minutes they were smiling at him and going along with whatever game he had invented.

I realize that I do that a lot.
With David and Breanna. Silently pleading with the other kids to please like them, please include them, please want to be their friend! It's always silent (thankfully!), I don't want to be that mom. But I wonder if they know anyway. I wonder if they see my desperation for them to have friends, lots of friends, the thing I never had but always wanted and I wonder what it says to them.

I know that not everyone they meet will include them, will claim them as one of theirs. I hope that my desperation won't hurt them more when they are rejected.

I wonder what it's like to watch your kids play and just be kids and not worry about whether or not they'll turn out like you. And fervently hope that they'll be a far better version.

So what if it doesn't make sense?

I'm at the point now where I just can't wait to have this baby. At the same time, I don't want this pregnancy to end. My husband says I'm completely off my rocker and perhaps medication would work (in his defense I was blubbering something about being out of Reese's peanut butter cups at the time and threatening to shave his eyebrows but still....). Yes, he's still breathing. For now.
And this led me to favorite past time:

The Pro/Con List.

Things I Will Not Miss About Pregnancy

1) Strangers touching my belly (Did you not hear me the first time I said that I bite? Well, you were warned).

2) Leg cramps (and foot cramps and not being able to walk without wincing)

3) The penguin waddle (yes, I do. Shut up)

4) How every time I laugh, sneeze, cough, or breath I end up peeing a little (and seriously? If that freaks you out, boy are you ever in for a surprise about some of the things that happen to you during pregnancy and birth).

5) Having to pee every 20 minutes.

6) Having to crawl to the bathroom because it's too painful and a little risky to actually stand up and let the baby put full-on pressure on my bladder.

7) Random contractions

8) The regular daily phone calls asking whether I've had the baby yet and why not

Things I Will Miss

1) Having an excuse for my random acts of insanity

2) having an excuse for this big belly and giant ass

3) having this baby all to myself

4) the movement (provided it's not a foot in my ribs or a fist in my bladder)

5) An excuse for my natural gracelessness

And probably a myriad of other little things for both lists that I'm suddenly blanking on.

But never mind my whining! I've been doing enough of that lately.
I promise that I will have a better post up later.

Role Models

It's pretty much inescapable. At some point throughout the course of any given day, my daughter ends up hearing the names 'Lindsey Lohan', "Britney Spears', 'Paris Hilton' or any one of the other "celebrities" that I am trying really hard to steer her away from.

So can I just say that when she heard the name 'Britney Spears' her first reaction was to ask me, "Is she the crazy one who shaved her head?", I felt some measure of relief?

Because if at 9 years old she can recognize that there is something not quite right there, maybe there is hope that I can keep steering her away from these "role models". Even better, use them as role models of how not to be.

So now instead of cringing every time the news comes on, I've been pointing out the things that they are getting recognized for and talking to her about it.

Now she's asking (not in so many words) for girls it would be ok to look up to.
I've already mentioned Mylie Cyrus (she loves Hannah Montana) and a few others who seem to have their heads on straight with the understanding that while they do have qualities to be admired, she still must follow her own path.

What I'd really like to give her is a role model outside of Hollywood. Someone she can look up to who gives back to their community in some way. We need a website for that.

Stalked By Phone

I hate my phone. In fact, I'm not answering it anymore unless I absolutely must. So go ahead, keep on calling me every day to see if I've had the baby yet. I'm not answering so you can't drive me crazy anymore!

Seriously? If you called yesterday and I didn't have the baby and you called today and I'm answering the phone.... do you really need to ask? Especially since I promised to call when this baby comes out?
Right.
So now you can sit there and keep pushing redial over and over again and keep leaving messages about how you're so sure I'm off having this kid Right! This! Very! Second! and I will sit here eating God's most perfect food (otherwise known as the corn dog) and imagining you losing your dialing finger.

Let's face it. This kid is not going to come out. I am going to have to go in after it. And you calling over and over again isn't going to help anything along. It's only going to make me want to come over and punch in the nose.

Carnage

When I was little, my grandma used to treat us with animal crackers. I loved those little red circus boxes. I'd line them up and make the animals perform. Those were the Best. Cookies. Ever.
So when I handed some to the kids I was fully expecting the same reaction.

Instead I had Bre asking me where the sprinkles were and what about chocolate chips? Didn't I know the true value of a good chocolate chip cookie? With sprinkles? What was I thinking?
But she ate them and agreed that they weren't the worst thing I had ever made her try.

David was quiet. He sat and stared at the animals and just.... stared.
I was sure that he would soon be off and running leaving behind a pile of animal crackers, untouched and unwanted. I went back to cleaning the kitchen and was soon thrilled with the little growls of a toddler and his imagination.
In a few minutes he ran off to play with his big sister and I went to see what became of the animals.
It was then that I came to fully understand that yes, I had a boy. Not a toddler, certainly not a baby. A boy.

Poor headless animal crackers.

General Whining

It started as every morning starts. A slight ache in my legs in feet. Normal. Something I had experienced in each of my previous pregnancies.
Then IT happened.
Spasms in both legs and into my feet that left me in tears and scared David (so he's not used to watching his mom roll on the floor hanging onto her legs, crying 'owowowowow' over and over again. What can I say?).
Several hours later and my legs and feet still hurt. All the nurse can tell me is to drink more water (I'm going to float away), take some Tylenol (riiiiiggghhhttt. Can't I just have my epidural now?) and rest (um. that's what I was doing before my legs exploded.)

I'm afraid to go to sleep now. I know what's going to happen. I know it's going to end up with me on the floor in tears.

Lazy

I'm at the point now where time is dragging and I'm starting to believe that all my worry of ending up in premature labor has turned to absolute conviction that I am going to have to reach up there and yank this kid out myself. I'm still contracting but I've managed to convince myself that it doesn't mean anything. Because I'm still here, still pregnant by some good fortune.

I am running out of things that I can do with the kids and it's wearing on all of us.

Out of desperation, I took them to Build-A-Bear to make a present for their sibling. (see above photos as I am too lazy to move them around right now).

We go to the library every week. We skipped the playground this week because I was afraid I would melt into the wood chips and instead spent as much time as possible in front of the air conditioning. They've played in the sandbox and on our swing set and we've done crafts and baked endless cookies and gone here, there and everywhere that is free.

And I am humbled by the fact that there is still about 8 weeks left before school starts.

********

I've been neglectful (surprise!) of my e-mail lately so this is late but I wanted to thank Dee for the giraffe shirt ideas! I love a lot of them and am trying to convince David that he only needs one, not 6.

Since you are all so good at finding things.....

David is fascinated by outer space. Planets, stars, moons, the sun. He knows what meteorites are and knows which planet is Earth. I blame Joe and the habit of watching that one Universe program on the History channel.

The problem is, he wants a book. And I haven't been able to find one with ample pictures and simple explanations. Something suitable for a not-quite-pre-schooler.

Any takers?

*********

Taking a Risk

The 10th (today for most of you) marks my 2 year blogging anniversary and I can honestly say that I don't know what the hell I've had to talk about for two years. I can't even believe that I'm still posting because I have a habit of saying 'Oh yeah, that sounds like fun!' and then promptly forgetting about it. Kind of like that time I thought I'd change this blog up and then I just.... forgot.
In that two years I've posted lots of pictures. Mostly of the kids, a few of Joe and the dogs, but never of myself. I haven't had a picture of myself that I liked in some time now.
But these.... well.... they're not so bad if you don't mind the double chin or the freaky little mole in my belly button.

My Least Favorite Holiday

So we had this great idea that we'd watch the fireworks with the kids because, yes! Our kids, they love things that go Kaboom! and are not at all scared in anyway by loud noises and fire! Yee-haw!
We're out of our fucking minds.

Let's just start with the fact that where we live, it's just expected that all you have to do to see fireworks for the 4th (2nd, 3rd, 5th and 6th too) is step out your front door because everyone and their brother went to Boom City and spent a paycheck to have the best display and see who could blow up their arm first. What? Your neighbors don't spend every fourth of July trying to blow up more body parts then the guy next to him?
Well.
Aren't you special.

Ours do.
Often at 2 am.
Right outside my fucking window (I'm sorry I'm so cranky. I'm sure it has nothing to do with the fact that the little bit of sleep I'm able to get each night is now being interrupted by the assholes behind us and their need to set our house on fire. Or you know, maybe a little about that).

So, fourth of July. Joe had bought a little box of not so noisy but oooh pretty colors! fireworks and we sat outside to watch him light them up and catch a glimpse at the neighbors spoils.
At first it was fine.
Bre hid behind the van and yelled out that she could see them much better from inside the house thank you very much until we finally convinced her that should any spark even glance in her general direction, Joe would throw himself on it to save her. She then sat in a chair in the driveway and cowered a bit. Yes. Just like last year only with fewer tears.
David was.... unsure at first. He sat in my lap and seemed ok. Even vaguely interested in the pretty pretty colors.
Then our neighbors set off one that was Really. Really. Loud.

"AHHHHHHH!!!!!"

After I pried his fingers from my eyes and calmed him down, he settled back into my lap and pressed his head as far into my chest as he could.

"Cober my ears! Cober my ears!"

And this is why I have no pictures of our fourth of July celebration as I spent the rest of the brief time he was willing to tolerate this with my hands over his ears and trying to interest him in the pretty pretty colors.

He simply looked at me and I'm fairly certain that if his vocabulary allowed he would've informed me that this whole fireworks business fucking sucked and I was nucking futs if I thought for one instant that he was going to actually enjoy this shit. And shove it for good measure.

After 3 roman candles, David was crawling up my head and ripping out my hair begging to be taken back in the house.

So I did.

Joe convinced Bre to stay outside with him if only because it meant that she got to stay up later. Later he told me that she actually held a sparkler for a whole 5 seconds and didn't scream.
And that is progress people.
David came in and went to sleep. I think it may have just been to much. Our dogs were happily sedated (Auggie couldn't even get off the floor) and I was..... jealous. I would love to be sedated right now. Perhaps then I wouldn't mind that our neighbors behind us and the ones across the street are attempting to blow each other up and my house stands in the middle of this fun little battle.

Happy Fucking 4th.

When In Doubt, Ask The Internets!

I've been working on some new wall art for baby Gollum's room. I decided to go with my favorite classic children's books. The problem is, some of them aren't really what I want and I'm running out of ideas. I think I need one or two more pictures and then I'm set.

So far I have:

Yeah. I don't know how to move those pictures down to here. It's one of the things that pisses me off about blogger. But, you get the idea.

Better Than American Express

If there is ever a time in your life when you think guys will not hit on you, it's when you are pregnant. Very obviously pregnant. So pregnant, in fact, that your belly button is no longer an innie and it's grossing you right the frick out. So pregnant that your ass could be used as a flotation device in the event of a flood. So pregnant that you can almost point to where you are pretty sure your ankles used to be and your 9 year old has to tie your shoes for you because you can no longer reach them without performing some intensive contortions that may or may not result in pulling several muscles and maybe cause you to use more swear words then you would normally use in front of your children and cause you to whimper piteously every time you have to move (what? just me?).
Unfortunately, this is not so.
There is a breed of a guy who will think nothing of coming up to you as you are wandering the aisles of your local grocery store with your 2 children and your baby bump and proceed to hit on you.
He may say things like:
"So you like kids?" No, I just really enjoy labor, back talk, and the smell of poopy diapers.
"Are you and your baby daddy still together or can I take you out to dinner?" Are you kidding?
"I really dig that pregnant look." I really dig in my purse for my stun gun when creepy guys won't go away.
"Can I touch your belly?" Do you value your life?

But fear not! All you really need is a 9 year old with an attitude and strong desire to eat her ice cream to tell the guy that her daddy is waiting for us and maybe he'd like to talk to him and then give him the patented Ticked Off Tween Stare.

I never leave home without it.

Waving a White Flag

Summer Vacation Day 2:

Kids have taken over.
Am barricaded behind couch.
Must be quiet or they will find me and wrap in toilet paper.
Again.
I believe I heard my daughter discussing the benefits of duct tape though it may have been delirium after being stuck back here for a few hours.
Send help.

Fast!!

Dear Hurricane,

The other day you skipped your nap and stayed up way past your bedtime. I had been anticipating a full-on meltdown at any moment but you surprised us all with your very happy self. You had fun playing with our friends and playing games.
At 10 that night we started to finally wind down. You had your spiderman jammies on and shot webs at our guests as they left. We were in the kitchen laughing when you decided that was just enough.
You took my hand and yawned.
"Come on Mom. Les' go seep now."
So we did.
You said goodnight to your sister.
We crawled into my bed and daddy said goodnight before running downstairs to watch a movie.
We whispered for a few minutes about how much fun we'd had.
"I need a hug now."
You rarely ask for hugs and I am never one to turn down the feel of your little arms reaching around my neck.
As we settled back against the pillows, you curled into me and rested your head on my shoulder.
Within seconds, you were snoring softly against my arm. I breathed in the scent of you as I kissed your head and soon, I was asleep too.
It was a perfect day.
It was a day I could not possibly appreciate more knowing that just down the street, a mother will never again get that chance.
Because of something very foolish, something so heartbreakingly stupid, her baby boy has died.
And it makes me appreciate even more that despite my blundering, you've made it this far.
So when I ask you for another kiss, or squeeze you just a little bit tighter, indulge me. I'm just reminding myself how lucky I am.

Mommy Needs A Maid

I have a massive list of Things That Must Get Done, Like Yesterday You Fool. Which is exactly why while David took his nap, I played games on the computer. Because nothing says 'hard work' like a little goofing off.
Internet? I have issues.
Not the whole procrastination thing. Big deal. Stuff gets done eventually, usually. No, my issues came to light when at 2 pm this afternoon I had this overwhelming urge to punch a video game character.
I was playing NannyMania on MSN. At first it was ok. Granted it was a bit like real life and I wondered how this was goofing off since it was just reminding me of all the things I should be doing, but whatever. I played on.
Then I found myself calling the kids bitches and wondering where the sterilization button for the dad was. Because I could 'clean' something and 5 minutes later, I had to go back and do it again and OMG!! What. The. Fuck??? Have they been to my house lately? Because this is what I freaking do all day. Well, minus another adult woman following me around and shaking her head while the kids destroy the house. And by the time the kids were school age and drawing all over the bathroom while the dad watched tv and the mom just walked around in some valium-induced hazed, I found myself yelling "Ha Ha Motherfuckers!" every time I completed a level. And then that stupid nanny would say something moronic like "This is too easy, I could handle another baby!" and I'd begin wondering if these characters could feel pain.
"Well, why didn't you quit playing then?"

Because I had hoped (and fully expected) that at the end of the game, the nanny would be rewarded by being able to drop -kick that family into Sims Hell.

I think maybe it's time to tell my husband that it would be a good idea to put his clothes in the hamper all by himself. For my sake.

And his.