You know what no one ever tells you about child birth? That after you are done pushing the baby out, you aren't done yet. You still have to deliver the afterbirth. By that point you are about to kick someone in the face. They also forget to mention that you will lose like 1/4 of your hair. My sister-in-law mentioned that it happened to her, but that it happened right after she had the baby....My hair decided to wait 6 months before coming out in clumps like some sort of stray dog.
I am getting my tonsils out on Monday. I am beyond a wreck over it. Maybe I don't really need to do this. Sure the doctor said that if I wait, I will just have to have it done in a few years out of necessity, but what if he's wrong? I'm not so worried about the recovery part. That will suck, but after having a baby I am pretty confident I can deal with a tonsil removal. I mean, as long as my throat doesn't swell up like my nether regions did, I think I am good.
I am worried about anesthesia. I hate sleeping as it is. I don't like missing anything, and I really just don't like sleeping. I am freaked out that I won't be awake during all of this. The loss of control, and the complete lack of ability to know what the hell is going on. Wait, am I going to have to get a catheter again? OMG I HOPE NOT. What if the doctor (who looks just like Neil Patrick Harris) decides to sneak a peak at my raisin boobs? What if I go in there and I am out cold, and they read the wrong chart and remove my left arm? I guess part of it is that I don't have that much faith in Army docs.
My Pap had his tonsils out during WWII. They gave him a shot of whiskey and then held him down and just cut them out with what he described as a pair of rusty curved scissors. I remember sitting in his part of the house as a little girl and him telling me about it. My Pap had black lung, and a plethora of other issues. He never mentioned the horribleness of recovering from a triple bypass surgery...he DID mention the horrible nature of his tonsil removal. I guess that kind of leaves me a little worried.
What if they go in there take them out, and I end up sounding like Paris Hilton for the rest of my life. I can't pull off that stupid baby voice. I need a voice that people take seriously when I am telling them I have a peg leg because I went in for a routine tonsil surgery and I ended up missing a leg, and still had to have my tonsils out.
I hope the doctor doesn't judge me for all my cavities. Do you think ear nose and throat doctors look at tonsils like plastic surgeons look at boobs? I will have just ovulated right before surgery. Will that hurt the baby if I am pregnant? Will it ruin my chances of getting pregnant? I got a flu shot yesterday, will that make me die when I get my tonsils out? How many people die from tonsil surgery? How many milkshakes can I have in a day? Will it bring the boys to the yard?
Ovulation is painful. I don't know how bitches do it every month. If this is what if feels like to ovulate, I would like to thank my body for opting out.
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
Thursday, October 13, 2011
Giant Baby
Charlie took it upon himself yesterday to undo his diaper and pee all over himself. I put him down for a nap and the screaming that came from his room would be tat amount to being lit on fire.
I want to talk about weird baby people, and giant baby problems.
Maybe I have a weird thing when it comes to my kid, but I get all weird when people I don't know want to hold my kid. I spent 34 hours pushing that kid out, and 6 months milking myself so he could become gigantic baby. I am invested. I'm just saying it's a little weird when we are at the auto body shop and someone just holds out their arms to hold my kid. What if they are the butterfingers of their family? How would I know? I just think I should at least be on a first name basis, and maybe a firm handshake before I hand over my baby. I could then assess whether or not you have the hand strength and non-limp wrist needed for baby holding. I also want to know the person's first name so that if they suddenly drop my kid, I know what name to scream out when I then murder them.
I've never been a baby holder. I don't seek out other people's children to hold them. Especially people I don't know. I guess it is very person dependent. A few months ago Chad and I went to a wine and beer shop and the owner asked to hold him. I just handed him over like SURE! I mean she sells booze, she has to be cool right? I am sure that is a parent fail. However, she was older, and he smiled like crazy to be with her. When I let the lady at the body shop hold him he looked over at me with this look on his face like, "WTF are you doing to me? STRANGER DANGER!" Then looked back at her as if to say, "I'm totally farting on your right now."
I have a gigantic baby. He's 22 lbs and 6 months old. That puts him the 98% for weight. I don't think you understand how heavy that is. That's 1/5 of my body weight. I kind of want a sled to drag him around behind me. He's in this new phase where if I leave the room for a second he screams his head off. He wants me to carry him around like I'm some sort of pack mule. I have a TON of clothes that he just skipped right over and didn't even get a chance to wear because he went from 6 lbs to 22 in like 2 months. I am sick of the judgy eyes on me. If you look at the size of Charlie, he should be walking and sitting up and doing things that 1-2 year olds do....people don't realize he is a mutant giant baby. They think I am just carrying him around as a super protective Momma Bear. The carrier does make it easier to keep people from trying to hold him though.
Ever since I had Charlie, I am afraid to use junior tampons. I fear it will get lost in the abyss.
I want to talk about weird baby people, and giant baby problems.
Maybe I have a weird thing when it comes to my kid, but I get all weird when people I don't know want to hold my kid. I spent 34 hours pushing that kid out, and 6 months milking myself so he could become gigantic baby. I am invested. I'm just saying it's a little weird when we are at the auto body shop and someone just holds out their arms to hold my kid. What if they are the butterfingers of their family? How would I know? I just think I should at least be on a first name basis, and maybe a firm handshake before I hand over my baby. I could then assess whether or not you have the hand strength and non-limp wrist needed for baby holding. I also want to know the person's first name so that if they suddenly drop my kid, I know what name to scream out when I then murder them.
I've never been a baby holder. I don't seek out other people's children to hold them. Especially people I don't know. I guess it is very person dependent. A few months ago Chad and I went to a wine and beer shop and the owner asked to hold him. I just handed him over like SURE! I mean she sells booze, she has to be cool right? I am sure that is a parent fail. However, she was older, and he smiled like crazy to be with her. When I let the lady at the body shop hold him he looked over at me with this look on his face like, "WTF are you doing to me? STRANGER DANGER!" Then looked back at her as if to say, "I'm totally farting on your right now."
I have a gigantic baby. He's 22 lbs and 6 months old. That puts him the 98% for weight. I don't think you understand how heavy that is. That's 1/5 of my body weight. I kind of want a sled to drag him around behind me. He's in this new phase where if I leave the room for a second he screams his head off. He wants me to carry him around like I'm some sort of pack mule. I have a TON of clothes that he just skipped right over and didn't even get a chance to wear because he went from 6 lbs to 22 in like 2 months. I am sick of the judgy eyes on me. If you look at the size of Charlie, he should be walking and sitting up and doing things that 1-2 year olds do....people don't realize he is a mutant giant baby. They think I am just carrying him around as a super protective Momma Bear. The carrier does make it easier to keep people from trying to hold him though.
Ever since I had Charlie, I am afraid to use junior tampons. I fear it will get lost in the abyss.
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
Let's Give Him a Hand
I am getting my tonsils removed on October 24th. Truth be told, I am scared....A LOT. I mean at one point in my life I considered getting boobs....but going under the knife and waking up to huge bajungaz seems a lot more awesome to waking up missing your throat boobs. Did you know that uvula piercing is actually a thing? WHO THE HELL IS LOOKING IN THAT PART OF YOUR MOUTH??? WHHHHHY? I mean really. To pierce back there, you would almost need to hire a child or a little person to put their hands in there. Stupid.
I'm off point.
I am scared to go under anesthesia. I am scared to wake up and not be able to talk. I am also worried I will have a bleed, and that I will sound like Kathleen Turner or William Shatner. It needs to be done. I've had repeated infection and the tonsil stones were fun for a while. Now, I am beyond done with them, but I want to keep them. Not in me...but in a jar with formaldehyde in it. In a cabinet that is where I will keep "miscellaneous useless parts of me." I have my baby teeth somewhere in storage at my parents house, so I can pick those up now that I have the perfect place to put them. Where does one go about getting formaldehyde without seeming like a serial killer? I mean, seriously. I want to keep them so that when Charlie gets older and has friends over I can bring them out and put them on our nightstand to deter them from going in our bedroom.
When I was in middle school I got invited to this super annoying girl's Halloween party. There were 20 girls all in her parent's big semifinished basement, bobbing for apples, being blindfolded and sticking our hands in a bowl of peeled grapes that feel like eyeballs, and screaming like 12 year old girls do. Did I forget to mention her dad was missing a hand? So, half way through the party her dad comes down the stairs with a jar....WITH HIS HAND IN IT. To this day I am not sure if it was really his hand or not. I don't want to know. Talk around town was that he lost it working in his deli while making sausage. Maybe that's why I don't really like sausage. Or hands. Or basements.
I want to be able to carry on this tradition. I want my tonsils in a jar. If I have kidney stones, or my appendix out I want that too. I would like to tell kids the story of how I lost my tonsils on Halloween. The only down side of this whole thing, is that on REAL Halloween, I will be laid up. I won't be able to make anybody cry by asking them if they are Michael Jackson for Halloween because they are wearing a leather jacket, a bleeding scream mask, and skinny jeans, and may or may not have been black. I won't be able to make a British kid cry because I laughed when he asked if I was American, and ran off with a fun sized snickers.
I'm thinking of making our next kid Jewish. Not for realsies, but just telling people he is Jewish. When we introduce them places we will say all our kids names and then whisper, "he's Jewish." Like, would that not BLOW people's minds?
I used to carry around a wallet with the pictures that came with the wallet still in it...There were two couples on the beach. One was a young couple just married and the other were seniors. Then there was an old black man and a little girl. I used to pull my wallet out and point to all the pictures, and say that he was my dad and watch people react. I'm not racist, that's just funny watching people work through that.
This is what it's like inside my head when I start to freak out over the possibility of dying from a tonsillectomy. Dramatic? Maybe. But, this is what happens in my head.
I'm off point.
I am scared to go under anesthesia. I am scared to wake up and not be able to talk. I am also worried I will have a bleed, and that I will sound like Kathleen Turner or William Shatner. It needs to be done. I've had repeated infection and the tonsil stones were fun for a while. Now, I am beyond done with them, but I want to keep them. Not in me...but in a jar with formaldehyde in it. In a cabinet that is where I will keep "miscellaneous useless parts of me." I have my baby teeth somewhere in storage at my parents house, so I can pick those up now that I have the perfect place to put them. Where does one go about getting formaldehyde without seeming like a serial killer? I mean, seriously. I want to keep them so that when Charlie gets older and has friends over I can bring them out and put them on our nightstand to deter them from going in our bedroom.
When I was in middle school I got invited to this super annoying girl's Halloween party. There were 20 girls all in her parent's big semifinished basement, bobbing for apples, being blindfolded and sticking our hands in a bowl of peeled grapes that feel like eyeballs, and screaming like 12 year old girls do. Did I forget to mention her dad was missing a hand? So, half way through the party her dad comes down the stairs with a jar....WITH HIS HAND IN IT. To this day I am not sure if it was really his hand or not. I don't want to know. Talk around town was that he lost it working in his deli while making sausage. Maybe that's why I don't really like sausage. Or hands. Or basements.
I want to be able to carry on this tradition. I want my tonsils in a jar. If I have kidney stones, or my appendix out I want that too. I would like to tell kids the story of how I lost my tonsils on Halloween. The only down side of this whole thing, is that on REAL Halloween, I will be laid up. I won't be able to make anybody cry by asking them if they are Michael Jackson for Halloween because they are wearing a leather jacket, a bleeding scream mask, and skinny jeans, and may or may not have been black. I won't be able to make a British kid cry because I laughed when he asked if I was American, and ran off with a fun sized snickers.
I'm thinking of making our next kid Jewish. Not for realsies, but just telling people he is Jewish. When we introduce them places we will say all our kids names and then whisper, "he's Jewish." Like, would that not BLOW people's minds?
I used to carry around a wallet with the pictures that came with the wallet still in it...There were two couples on the beach. One was a young couple just married and the other were seniors. Then there was an old black man and a little girl. I used to pull my wallet out and point to all the pictures, and say that he was my dad and watch people react. I'm not racist, that's just funny watching people work through that.
This is what it's like inside my head when I start to freak out over the possibility of dying from a tonsillectomy. Dramatic? Maybe. But, this is what happens in my head.
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
Starting to Try
This is an informative post.
It took 2 years to create Charlie.
It was hell.
You're all like, "Yea 2 years of doin' it seems sooooooo tough."
It is ya jerks.
There is an eight year age gap between my sister and myself. We grew up in different decades. Might not seem like much, but it was. It was hard to find common ground, when I am wearing a belly top and listening to Britney Spears, and she's all "Ohhhh I have to go to work and be an amazing pharmacist with all my smarts and math skillz." I was all like, "Does my hair look better with highlights in beige or honey?" She was all, "Based on your body weight you can't take that much blah blah blah I SAVE PEOPLE." You see where I am going with this. While my relationship with my sister is beyond amazing now, growing up was two separate worlds. She was in college when I was in middle school. The closest I got to my sister during those years, was sneaking off to her room to look through her things while she was probably doing organic chemistry homework. I want my children to be close in age. To be able to kick the crap out of bullies together, to torment the same teachers with not so much as a 2 year break before the next one comes to punch them in the face with knowledge.
We needed assistance to conceive Cha Choos. Clomid to be exact. So over the past few weeks there have been some changes....I stopped breast feeding/pumping. It was one of the most painful things ever. All I wanted to do was drain those puppies. Now, that is over. I had to stop so that my "lady times" could resume. Now, they have. I have started back on the Clomid. We are starting to try for our next little one.
I am beyond excited, and a little sad/scared. I don't want to not give Charlie all the attention he deserves. I worry that I will be that lady in the robe at the bus stop with a maxipad stuck to my thigh. I worry I won't have the energy for two toddlers. I fear that if I have 2 we will stop, and the joy to newborns, and babies, and all that goes with the beginning of parenthood will be lost for forever. I don't want to rush, but with my fertility issues, we have to be realistic about our time frame.
Clomid makes me have hot flashes like crazy. It also makes me a little emotional. Suit up everyone. Barracuda Liz is going to make an appearance regularly while on Clomid. The reason I chose to write about this, is because there are a lot of people in the same boat as me. I write to stay sane. I write to tell people that you aren't alone in struggling to create a family. So, here's to doin' it biblical style. Weee!
It took 2 years to create Charlie.
It was hell.
You're all like, "Yea 2 years of doin' it seems sooooooo tough."
It is ya jerks.
There is an eight year age gap between my sister and myself. We grew up in different decades. Might not seem like much, but it was. It was hard to find common ground, when I am wearing a belly top and listening to Britney Spears, and she's all "Ohhhh I have to go to work and be an amazing pharmacist with all my smarts and math skillz." I was all like, "Does my hair look better with highlights in beige or honey?" She was all, "Based on your body weight you can't take that much blah blah blah I SAVE PEOPLE." You see where I am going with this. While my relationship with my sister is beyond amazing now, growing up was two separate worlds. She was in college when I was in middle school. The closest I got to my sister during those years, was sneaking off to her room to look through her things while she was probably doing organic chemistry homework. I want my children to be close in age. To be able to kick the crap out of bullies together, to torment the same teachers with not so much as a 2 year break before the next one comes to punch them in the face with knowledge.
We needed assistance to conceive Cha Choos. Clomid to be exact. So over the past few weeks there have been some changes....I stopped breast feeding/pumping. It was one of the most painful things ever. All I wanted to do was drain those puppies. Now, that is over. I had to stop so that my "lady times" could resume. Now, they have. I have started back on the Clomid. We are starting to try for our next little one.
I am beyond excited, and a little sad/scared. I don't want to not give Charlie all the attention he deserves. I worry that I will be that lady in the robe at the bus stop with a maxipad stuck to my thigh. I worry I won't have the energy for two toddlers. I fear that if I have 2 we will stop, and the joy to newborns, and babies, and all that goes with the beginning of parenthood will be lost for forever. I don't want to rush, but with my fertility issues, we have to be realistic about our time frame.
Clomid makes me have hot flashes like crazy. It also makes me a little emotional. Suit up everyone. Barracuda Liz is going to make an appearance regularly while on Clomid. The reason I chose to write about this, is because there are a lot of people in the same boat as me. I write to stay sane. I write to tell people that you aren't alone in struggling to create a family. So, here's to doin' it biblical style. Weee!
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
Stupid things I did that made perfect sense at the time, to look back and realize I should probably be dead right now.
Growing up was hard for me.
I had "delusions of grandeur."
I felt a need to be liked, and to be famous.
Tragedy of youth ensued.
I was in a pop group.
I was 20.
It had a name...sort of. NFX...then, nothing. Because no one could agree on a name and I said NFX was stupid.
It all started at Tower City mall in Cleveland, Ohio. When there were still stores in there, and no homeless people. I went with a friend of mine for an open casting call for the WB's show Dawson's Creek. We ended up not being able to audition since my friend needed to be at work by a certain time. What did happen, was I saw people there recruiting for a "pop group." This was back at the time when boy bands were super popular, and everyone was looking to cash in. I ended up going to an audition, sand the disco classic "Last Dance" and they immediately asked me to be part of the group. At the time the group consisted of two blond 19 year olds that used way too much hair gel, and were the same guys that would go to clubs, and clear the dance floor so they could "break dance." There was one other kid in the group that has a lisp. Then, began the auditions for the other people. By the end, we had a guy named Geo that was our choreographer, and a little blond girl that had a stage mom, lispy guy, and one other young teenage boy still in high school.
That's the background for the post I would like to entitle "Stupid things I did that made perfect sense at the time, to look back and realize I should probably be dead right now."
Our "manager" lived in a studio apartment in a town close to Cleveland. He was a wedding photographer, about 40, and he devoted himself to having a place where teens could hang out. Our musical director was a 450 lb dude with a casio keyboard, that lived with his mom. We all had busy schedules, so as things progressed some of the members of the band were asked to stay overnight to get more things accomplished. I was never asked, but lisper and teenager were both asked. You see where I am going with this?
As things progressed, I would write the lyrics to songs about love and they were LAME. You know, about first love, and kissing, and going all the way. We got this big audition to perform at Tower City. We practiced, and practiced. We were performing Mariah Carey's "All I Want For Christmas." The young guy still in high school got a little bitchy over my spotlight.
One weekend, we all got in a big argument, and the music director and I decided to take off for Windsor. Yea, we drove to Windsor. He gambled. I drank. Then, we got a hotel room where oddly enough there was only a queen sized bed. WHY DID I THINK IT WAS PERFECTLY NORMAL? When we got to the boarder, I had no passport. They asked me what city I was born in. I told them. Then they asked what county that was in, and I had no idea. They still let me through. Probably, because they assumed I was not going to come back anyway. Seriously. I went to ANOTHER COUNTRY with a dude I barely knew, and then slept in the same room with him. WHAT THE HELL. 20 year old Liz was about the stupidest person I have ever known.
You're lucky I am here to tell you all about this embarrassing time in my life. I should probably be a skin dress right now.
I will write more about my epic tales as I remember them.
I had "delusions of grandeur."
I felt a need to be liked, and to be famous.
Tragedy of youth ensued.
I was in a pop group.
I was 20.
It had a name...sort of. NFX...then, nothing. Because no one could agree on a name and I said NFX was stupid.
It all started at Tower City mall in Cleveland, Ohio. When there were still stores in there, and no homeless people. I went with a friend of mine for an open casting call for the WB's show Dawson's Creek. We ended up not being able to audition since my friend needed to be at work by a certain time. What did happen, was I saw people there recruiting for a "pop group." This was back at the time when boy bands were super popular, and everyone was looking to cash in. I ended up going to an audition, sand the disco classic "Last Dance" and they immediately asked me to be part of the group. At the time the group consisted of two blond 19 year olds that used way too much hair gel, and were the same guys that would go to clubs, and clear the dance floor so they could "break dance." There was one other kid in the group that has a lisp. Then, began the auditions for the other people. By the end, we had a guy named Geo that was our choreographer, and a little blond girl that had a stage mom, lispy guy, and one other young teenage boy still in high school.
That's the background for the post I would like to entitle "Stupid things I did that made perfect sense at the time, to look back and realize I should probably be dead right now."
Our "manager" lived in a studio apartment in a town close to Cleveland. He was a wedding photographer, about 40, and he devoted himself to having a place where teens could hang out. Our musical director was a 450 lb dude with a casio keyboard, that lived with his mom. We all had busy schedules, so as things progressed some of the members of the band were asked to stay overnight to get more things accomplished. I was never asked, but lisper and teenager were both asked. You see where I am going with this?
As things progressed, I would write the lyrics to songs about love and they were LAME. You know, about first love, and kissing, and going all the way. We got this big audition to perform at Tower City. We practiced, and practiced. We were performing Mariah Carey's "All I Want For Christmas." The young guy still in high school got a little bitchy over my spotlight.
One weekend, we all got in a big argument, and the music director and I decided to take off for Windsor. Yea, we drove to Windsor. He gambled. I drank. Then, we got a hotel room where oddly enough there was only a queen sized bed. WHY DID I THINK IT WAS PERFECTLY NORMAL? When we got to the boarder, I had no passport. They asked me what city I was born in. I told them. Then they asked what county that was in, and I had no idea. They still let me through. Probably, because they assumed I was not going to come back anyway. Seriously. I went to ANOTHER COUNTRY with a dude I barely knew, and then slept in the same room with him. WHAT THE HELL. 20 year old Liz was about the stupidest person I have ever known.
You're lucky I am here to tell you all about this embarrassing time in my life. I should probably be a skin dress right now.
I will write more about my epic tales as I remember them.
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