Ok, first of all, let me say, I LOVE my children. I am IN love with them. They are amazing and I will never regret having either of them. I'd leave my husband if I needed to protect them, I've been mad a friends and family when I have felt my children have been dissed. All those complemtary things said, that doesn't mean I haven't considered listing them on EBay. They are exhausting, precious little beings. They have stolen my identy, they have taken my body and ruined it for any future with playboy.
Recently, my mostly potty trained son informed me that he will now be peeing in the toilet but depositing his poop in his pants. GROSS!!!!
Because what I want to do MORE than wiping his butt is cleaning up poop from his pants.
I thought it was too easy to potty train him. I silently gloated to myself that potty training my son was SOOOOOOOO easy. WRONG!!!! It wasn't. He started pooing has pants in the MOST random place. He would take off and hide in the coat closet and take a dump. Or, he would do it while standing right in front of me.
ME: "Are you pooping?"
SON: "Nope."
ME: "Yes you are."
SON:"Nope, I'm done"
ARE YOU KIDDING ME RIGHT NOW!!!!!!??????
Luckily we are about 7 days into a new trend of pooping on the potty like a big boy. And completely on his own. Lucky for him, because I was about to put him back in a diaper and just go back to chaning a poopy diaper. It's MUCH easier (sure, it's much grosser..... no it's not) to change a poopy diaper than to change a pair of pants and underwear and do a load of laundry with ONE pair of pants and one tiny pair of toddler underwear because I think it's gross to wash freshly soiled laundry with just regularly dirty clothes.
HUGE SIGH of hopefully not jinxed by this blog relief!!!!!!
Tuesday, March 27, 2012
Monday, January 30, 2012
First kiss- part 2
"What?"
I couldn't blame Tom for his confusion. I was confused by what I'd just said too. I didn't really want to drag my dad into such an intimate moment, but, the words were already out there.
"I want you to call my dad and ask him. If it's ok with hime, then I'm ok too."
And also, if he wasn't serious about me, he wouldn't have the balls to ask my dad. If I meant something to him, well, there you go.
"No way."
"All right- see you around then."
I dropped Tom's hand and headed the other way around to our barracks.
"Wait. Seriously? You want me to call your dad? Ok, I'll do it."
Damn!! This meant I was going to kiss Tom. My first kiss.
We walked to the MWR area and found a semi-private bank of payphones lining and otherwise empty space.
"Seriously? You really want me to call your dad? I have to ask him."
Notice, I've never called Tom super smart or quick. This was taking a while to sink in for him. Not that I was surprised. Part of me hoped that the idea of asking my dad if he could kiss me would have freaked Tom out enough that he would just forget about the idea entirely buying my virgin lips a little more alone time. Not that that was particularly what I wanted. But still, my heart was racing just as fast as his was as I pulled out my phone card and began dialing the 700 digits that would connect Augusta, Georgia with Portland, Oregon.
When I explained to my dad that I was the desired object of Tom's affection, my dad began to chuckle. Apparently to him, it didn't seem that odd a request.
"This will be fun, put him on the phone. What's his name? Tim??? John???" For some reason my dad's brain had the ability to block out the name of anyone who was male and important to me. Unless for some reason he was making fun of someone, well then..... he was all about it.
"Tom. Dad, his name is Tom."
"Ok..... well, then, put Jim on the phone."
The conversation went a little like this (I'll play the part of my dad, for those of you following along at home.)-
Dad- "hello Tom...... you want to kiss my daughter."
Tom- "Yes. Yes I do. I'm really fond of her (Yes, he really said fond.) and I want to kiss her."
Dad- "So, what does that mean exactly. Do you want to put your tongue down her throat and play some tonsil hockey?" (Again, not his finest day.)
Tom-"No, I really respect her. I would never do that. I just want to kiss her."
Dad-"Really? Come on... Does kissing her mean that you put your hand up her shirt?"
Tom-"No, Just a kiss. On the mouth.
Dad-"With tongue?"
Tom-"Maybe? Do I have to tell you all of this?"
Dad-"Sure. I don't care. Knock your self out. If she's ok with it, I don't know why you're asking me."
And with that, the call was ended. Tom looked like he wanted to lay on the floor and cry and then walk home, nevermind kissing me today, or ever.
But he didn't leave. He laughed nervously and we walked outside.
He and I sat on a picnic table under a tree. It was a very starry night. I couldn't back out now, not after the humiliation I'd just subject poor, nice, Tom to.
He moved my hair (I'd love to say that he brushed my waist length, wavy locks out of my face and looked lovingly into my eyes, but I was in uniform and had pretty short hair at the time. I imagine if it was pulled back at all, it was very sloppily done and sticking out of the placed it was too short to be pulled back at.) and leaned in. I closed my eyes, he licked his lips and moved closer to me.
And then.........
I couldn't blame Tom for his confusion. I was confused by what I'd just said too. I didn't really want to drag my dad into such an intimate moment, but, the words were already out there.
"I want you to call my dad and ask him. If it's ok with hime, then I'm ok too."
And also, if he wasn't serious about me, he wouldn't have the balls to ask my dad. If I meant something to him, well, there you go.
"No way."
"All right- see you around then."
I dropped Tom's hand and headed the other way around to our barracks.
"Wait. Seriously? You want me to call your dad? Ok, I'll do it."
Damn!! This meant I was going to kiss Tom. My first kiss.
We walked to the MWR area and found a semi-private bank of payphones lining and otherwise empty space.
"Seriously? You really want me to call your dad? I have to ask him."
Notice, I've never called Tom super smart or quick. This was taking a while to sink in for him. Not that I was surprised. Part of me hoped that the idea of asking my dad if he could kiss me would have freaked Tom out enough that he would just forget about the idea entirely buying my virgin lips a little more alone time. Not that that was particularly what I wanted. But still, my heart was racing just as fast as his was as I pulled out my phone card and began dialing the 700 digits that would connect Augusta, Georgia with Portland, Oregon.
When I explained to my dad that I was the desired object of Tom's affection, my dad began to chuckle. Apparently to him, it didn't seem that odd a request.
"This will be fun, put him on the phone. What's his name? Tim??? John???" For some reason my dad's brain had the ability to block out the name of anyone who was male and important to me. Unless for some reason he was making fun of someone, well then..... he was all about it.
"Tom. Dad, his name is Tom."
"Ok..... well, then, put Jim on the phone."
The conversation went a little like this (I'll play the part of my dad, for those of you following along at home.)-
Dad- "hello Tom...... you want to kiss my daughter."
Tom- "Yes. Yes I do. I'm really fond of her (Yes, he really said fond.) and I want to kiss her."
Dad- "So, what does that mean exactly. Do you want to put your tongue down her throat and play some tonsil hockey?" (Again, not his finest day.)
Tom-"No, I really respect her. I would never do that. I just want to kiss her."
Dad-"Really? Come on... Does kissing her mean that you put your hand up her shirt?"
Tom-"No, Just a kiss. On the mouth.
Dad-"With tongue?"
Tom-"Maybe? Do I have to tell you all of this?"
Dad-"Sure. I don't care. Knock your self out. If she's ok with it, I don't know why you're asking me."
And with that, the call was ended. Tom looked like he wanted to lay on the floor and cry and then walk home, nevermind kissing me today, or ever.
But he didn't leave. He laughed nervously and we walked outside.
He and I sat on a picnic table under a tree. It was a very starry night. I couldn't back out now, not after the humiliation I'd just subject poor, nice, Tom to.
He moved my hair (I'd love to say that he brushed my waist length, wavy locks out of my face and looked lovingly into my eyes, but I was in uniform and had pretty short hair at the time. I imagine if it was pulled back at all, it was very sloppily done and sticking out of the placed it was too short to be pulled back at.) and leaned in. I closed my eyes, he licked his lips and moved closer to me.
And then.........
First kiss part one
I had dated a few nice boys in high school. I'd dated, it seemed, one for every year. Only one was notable, but, him, I hadn't kissed. And he was- so I thought then, the one. I wanted to kiss him, I imagined it, there were even a few times that we both leaned in only to be inturrupted by something more life altering, or at least distracting than our first kiss. But still, I found myself at the ripe old age of 18, 2000 miles away from my family and friends, in the Army and never kissed.
And then I met him. Tom. We had so much in common that I should have been alarmed. We sat talking for hours. Our relationship was built on, among other things, a shared afinity for Winnie the Pooh. While shared much with Eeyore, he fancied himself a Piglette guy. We stared at eachother and giggled at things that I'm sure now would embarrass both of us. And then, our first Saturday night together out of the barracks, as we walked back from a movie, I in my BDU's and him in jeans and a Winnie the Pooh T-sirt (sorry Tom, I could not resist) we got serious.
We were several seconds into a contest where the winner has managed to unwrap a Starburst using only the things in their mouth. While this wasn't normally a challange for me, we had both gotten to the point where the wax on our wrappers had now become the wax on our teeth and the wrappers were no longer protecting the yellow and pink candies from anything. Spitting the paper and candy mixture on the sidewalk, Tom picked this moment to tighten his grip on my hand and make an announcement. "I want to kiss you."
Never in my life had I heard these words. They were laced with magic and romance and fairy dust and every other deafening sence that overpowered common sense. And they sounded good. And then common sense kicked back in, perhaps a little too powerfully. Because what should have come out of my mouth was either a simple yes, or a no, but neither of those happened. I was concerned that this overly nice guy with very sweaty hands was after my first kiss as some sort of trophy, a simple notch on his belt, to accompany a failed proposal and a crazy ex-girlfriend in Michigan. We hadn't been "together" (which is for the Army, an entirely different set of scenarios than being together in college or high school, or the real world and can be defined but what my mom calls WAR LOVE) for very long. And I'd made other, more committed people wait much longer than Tom, with his bright blue eyes and Ken-like blonde hair. Was I ready to give this first kiss, aged like an eighteen year bottle of scotch, to a virtual stranger that I just happened to know more about than I knew about some of my roommates?
"Did you hear me? I want to kiss you? Can I kiss you?"
"Ok..." My voice shaking and quiet..... "but I want you to call my dad and ask him first."
And then I met him. Tom. We had so much in common that I should have been alarmed. We sat talking for hours. Our relationship was built on, among other things, a shared afinity for Winnie the Pooh. While shared much with Eeyore, he fancied himself a Piglette guy. We stared at eachother and giggled at things that I'm sure now would embarrass both of us. And then, our first Saturday night together out of the barracks, as we walked back from a movie, I in my BDU's and him in jeans and a Winnie the Pooh T-sirt (sorry Tom, I could not resist) we got serious.
We were several seconds into a contest where the winner has managed to unwrap a Starburst using only the things in their mouth. While this wasn't normally a challange for me, we had both gotten to the point where the wax on our wrappers had now become the wax on our teeth and the wrappers were no longer protecting the yellow and pink candies from anything. Spitting the paper and candy mixture on the sidewalk, Tom picked this moment to tighten his grip on my hand and make an announcement. "I want to kiss you."
Never in my life had I heard these words. They were laced with magic and romance and fairy dust and every other deafening sence that overpowered common sense. And they sounded good. And then common sense kicked back in, perhaps a little too powerfully. Because what should have come out of my mouth was either a simple yes, or a no, but neither of those happened. I was concerned that this overly nice guy with very sweaty hands was after my first kiss as some sort of trophy, a simple notch on his belt, to accompany a failed proposal and a crazy ex-girlfriend in Michigan. We hadn't been "together" (which is for the Army, an entirely different set of scenarios than being together in college or high school, or the real world and can be defined but what my mom calls WAR LOVE) for very long. And I'd made other, more committed people wait much longer than Tom, with his bright blue eyes and Ken-like blonde hair. Was I ready to give this first kiss, aged like an eighteen year bottle of scotch, to a virtual stranger that I just happened to know more about than I knew about some of my roommates?
"Did you hear me? I want to kiss you? Can I kiss you?"
"Ok..." My voice shaking and quiet..... "but I want you to call my dad and ask him first."
Tuesday, July 5, 2011
PPD
It's an ugly title. But I'm not afraid to use it, becuase it is something I'm dealing with, and something that is scary. I hate the way I feel right now. I am sure that this is temporary, I went through it with the first one, but I don't remember this.
I'm working with my doctor's to try and find something I can take that doens't mean that I can't breast feed, but will make me feel like doing something other than sitting on the couch. Not that there is anything wrong with the couch, but it's tough when there are things I'd like to be doing, but can't find the motivation to try.
For now, today is a tough day. I've had a few tough days the last few weeks. I know I'll get through this, but it's the getting through it that is tough.
I'm working with my doctor's to try and find something I can take that doens't mean that I can't breast feed, but will make me feel like doing something other than sitting on the couch. Not that there is anything wrong with the couch, but it's tough when there are things I'd like to be doing, but can't find the motivation to try.
For now, today is a tough day. I've had a few tough days the last few weeks. I know I'll get through this, but it's the getting through it that is tough.
Friday, June 24, 2011
So thankful for my big old boobies
Ok, I'll say it first, "that's an interesting blog title". Well, I have to say, I AM. I love the fact that not only I was blessed with ample bossom, but that now that I have kids, come to find out, they are actually able to pull their weigh in some other way than just down.
When I was in highschool, and a sigle gal looking for a mate, these beauties did more than their share of attracting eyeballs and man stares. Other than that, they were heavy, bulky, and really didn't do much FOR ME. I've had to buy them expensive bras, that are only sort of pretty. One day in a V*c***ias S*cr*t store, I had a petite, skinny, size b cub sales person look at me and say "Oh, well we don't really carry much in YOUR size. "
I take them out with me everywhere. It's tough to find them a sexy bathing suit that covers them. WHen I excercize, they are the last things to get small and firm, yet the first to volunteer to participate in weight gain. I've never really minded them, and have used them as the assets they are when necessary.
They make buying formal wear stressful.
When I lived a lifestyle that made running mandtatory, They were, I'll just say it, a pain. They made situps awkward and push ups short, because they kinda hit the ground alot.
They are sexy, and I know I'm blessed (pardon the pun), I love my bussies. But it's been a "learn to love" type relationship, that has evolved based on a life time of ownership and the ability to compare with others who have less.
With Owen, I breast fed for a few months but I had to stop when it came time to radiate my body in order to ensure complete eradication of the cancer. It broke my heart to stop before I was ready. Owen didn't really notice, and thanfully, he never really developed a passion for the bottle. But one thing I missed was watching him eat. I loved the complete look of contentment that he had as he nestled in my snuggly parts and I loved knowing that I was alble to provide for him something that was so simple and yet so complete. I knew that I was providing him the most perfect and whole food, something that was meant entirely for him, designed to care for him and give him everything he needed nutritionally. Not only did it make him feel good in a way that only food knows how to do, but it made me feel good becuase it was something I could do so simply.
My breasts were designed for feeding. And I was able to not only make enough for satisfying meals, but to also make plenty of extra. Once I got "good" at making breast milk, I was feeding the baby, and then I could pump about 10 ounces per side every feeding.
Now that we have Dilynne, I am lucky enough that the type of radiation I got didn't effect my ability to make milk in the future and I can once again enjoy breast feeding my daughter. It is a wonderful thing that I am so glad I am able to do FOR my kids (becuase the whole pregnancy/labor/birth/life thing is really just a small part).
I am up till midnight, then at 3, then at 6 for the day. When the alarm goes off at 3 (she's jaundicy, and needs to be fed whether she thinks she wants it or not), I am only really not happy about it until I get to the crib and pick Dilynne up. By the time I make it out to the living room, I am honored that I get to spend this quiet time together with my daughter. At six, she is pretty much awake on her own and ready to eat and we start the day together. It is a tradition I plan on keeping beyond the 6 weeks I got with Owen, and if we are lucky, we will be able to avoid paying for formula.
I am so glad that I am built "just like my mother" and get to put these big old boobies to work earning their keep.
When I was in highschool, and a sigle gal looking for a mate, these beauties did more than their share of attracting eyeballs and man stares. Other than that, they were heavy, bulky, and really didn't do much FOR ME. I've had to buy them expensive bras, that are only sort of pretty. One day in a V*c***ias S*cr*t store, I had a petite, skinny, size b cub sales person look at me and say "Oh, well we don't really carry much in YOUR size. "
I take them out with me everywhere. It's tough to find them a sexy bathing suit that covers them. WHen I excercize, they are the last things to get small and firm, yet the first to volunteer to participate in weight gain. I've never really minded them, and have used them as the assets they are when necessary.
They make buying formal wear stressful.
When I lived a lifestyle that made running mandtatory, They were, I'll just say it, a pain. They made situps awkward and push ups short, because they kinda hit the ground alot.
They are sexy, and I know I'm blessed (pardon the pun), I love my bussies. But it's been a "learn to love" type relationship, that has evolved based on a life time of ownership and the ability to compare with others who have less.
With Owen, I breast fed for a few months but I had to stop when it came time to radiate my body in order to ensure complete eradication of the cancer. It broke my heart to stop before I was ready. Owen didn't really notice, and thanfully, he never really developed a passion for the bottle. But one thing I missed was watching him eat. I loved the complete look of contentment that he had as he nestled in my snuggly parts and I loved knowing that I was alble to provide for him something that was so simple and yet so complete. I knew that I was providing him the most perfect and whole food, something that was meant entirely for him, designed to care for him and give him everything he needed nutritionally. Not only did it make him feel good in a way that only food knows how to do, but it made me feel good becuase it was something I could do so simply.
My breasts were designed for feeding. And I was able to not only make enough for satisfying meals, but to also make plenty of extra. Once I got "good" at making breast milk, I was feeding the baby, and then I could pump about 10 ounces per side every feeding.
Now that we have Dilynne, I am lucky enough that the type of radiation I got didn't effect my ability to make milk in the future and I can once again enjoy breast feeding my daughter. It is a wonderful thing that I am so glad I am able to do FOR my kids (becuase the whole pregnancy/labor/birth/life thing is really just a small part).
I am up till midnight, then at 3, then at 6 for the day. When the alarm goes off at 3 (she's jaundicy, and needs to be fed whether she thinks she wants it or not), I am only really not happy about it until I get to the crib and pick Dilynne up. By the time I make it out to the living room, I am honored that I get to spend this quiet time together with my daughter. At six, she is pretty much awake on her own and ready to eat and we start the day together. It is a tradition I plan on keeping beyond the 6 weeks I got with Owen, and if we are lucky, we will be able to avoid paying for formula.
I am so glad that I am built "just like my mother" and get to put these big old boobies to work earning their keep.
Birth Day
On Monday, I set my alarm for the first time in a few days. We got up, showered and headed out the door to change our lives again, forever. This has been a wonderful change. At 2:52 pm on Monday, June 20th, wieghing 8 pounds and 12 ounces at 21.5 inches long, Ms. Dilynne Michelle entered the world our lives in person. I had been carrying her under my heart for the last 9 months and it was wonderful to finally put a face with the heart beat, hiccups and kicks.
Dilynne has dark hair and pouty lips and beautiful skin. She is already a funny little girl who makes wonderful baby noises. I have fallen in love with a new person, upone meeting, the same as with my husband and our son.
Her brother Owen pays attention to all the moves and noises she makes and reports the minute by minute plays like an ESPN broadcaster.
I have relaxed into the role of a mother of two, and now the mother of a daughter. Nothing is as I expected it to be and everything I hoped it would be. Our lives are a cozy disposition of events and I am reminded every day that life is really this good.
Dilynne has dark hair and pouty lips and beautiful skin. She is already a funny little girl who makes wonderful baby noises. I have fallen in love with a new person, upone meeting, the same as with my husband and our son.
Her brother Owen pays attention to all the moves and noises she makes and reports the minute by minute plays like an ESPN broadcaster.
I have relaxed into the role of a mother of two, and now the mother of a daughter. Nothing is as I expected it to be and everything I hoped it would be. Our lives are a cozy disposition of events and I am reminded every day that life is really this good.
Monday, June 13, 2011
I Didit!!
Owen says that alot. It's funny. It's usually accompanied by his own round of applause, but for me, just knowing I have done something is satisfaction enough. No need for me to break out into an applause when I have just pumped gas/paid for groceries/put the last load of laundry away/frosted a cake.
So what have I done so deserving recognition?
I just did a job interview. 9 Months pregnant and look at me go!!!
It was a phone interview. Nothing I own that fits is also something that would be suitable for a first impression.
No, now adays my outfits consist of either black or brown on bottom and some solid color that matches either black or brown, or BOTH on top. These clothing articles are stretchy, most have a splotch of ruin somewhere between my breastesses and my giant protrusion that reminds me of something that used to be my belly button. On my feet, are usually a flip flop or tennis shoe, swelling dependant. I prefer to let my feet breathe. In general my shoes match eachother but not necessarily the outfit. And really, to call my clothes outfits is stretching the truth by just a bit. They are realistically, mearly just body coverings at this point.
I look at the denim clad, high heeled woman with envy now. Where as 9 months ago, I was checking out her shoes, I am not in awe that she can button her pants.
Where was I? Ah yes... a phone interview. I think it went one of two ways. It was either a great interview and a mere formality until I receive a job offer, or, it went horrifically, and my nerves got the better of me. Which is how I feel. I was so nervous. My blood pressure went from it's standard 60 over 110 to 110 over 500 in a few short minutes. I was breathy, I couldn't think or remember that I was trying to think.
It was, however, good practice and a wonderful reminder that I am a skilled, resourceful, smart, intellegent person with a resume that FAR outshines an upcoming birth and maternity leave combo.
I Didit!!!!!
So what have I done so deserving recognition?
I just did a job interview. 9 Months pregnant and look at me go!!!
It was a phone interview. Nothing I own that fits is also something that would be suitable for a first impression.
No, now adays my outfits consist of either black or brown on bottom and some solid color that matches either black or brown, or BOTH on top. These clothing articles are stretchy, most have a splotch of ruin somewhere between my breastesses and my giant protrusion that reminds me of something that used to be my belly button. On my feet, are usually a flip flop or tennis shoe, swelling dependant. I prefer to let my feet breathe. In general my shoes match eachother but not necessarily the outfit. And really, to call my clothes outfits is stretching the truth by just a bit. They are realistically, mearly just body coverings at this point.
I look at the denim clad, high heeled woman with envy now. Where as 9 months ago, I was checking out her shoes, I am not in awe that she can button her pants.
Where was I? Ah yes... a phone interview. I think it went one of two ways. It was either a great interview and a mere formality until I receive a job offer, or, it went horrifically, and my nerves got the better of me. Which is how I feel. I was so nervous. My blood pressure went from it's standard 60 over 110 to 110 over 500 in a few short minutes. I was breathy, I couldn't think or remember that I was trying to think.
It was, however, good practice and a wonderful reminder that I am a skilled, resourceful, smart, intellegent person with a resume that FAR outshines an upcoming birth and maternity leave combo.
I Didit!!!!!
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