Stealing Faith

humor for relationships, family & life

26 Responses to “Are You Pregnant?” When You’re Not Pregnant At All


http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NYYU6ksWB1I/Ulrm1LMQJFI/AAAAAAAAAE4/IkSg7kWavQg/s1600/Bloated+Belly.jpg

http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NYYU6ksWB1I/Ulrm1LMQJFI/AAAAAAAAAE4/IkSg7kWavQg/s1600/Bloated+Belly.jpg

I’d like to talk about something close to my heart — literally. The lard baby.

 

Last week Jennifer Garner – yes, that Jennifer Garner who is able to pull of a seriously crazy Thriller dance imitation in the movie 13 Going on 30 and is married to Ben Affleck – blatantly stated that she has a baby bump… without a baby inside.

 

Friends, Jennifer Garner has a lard baby, too! She told Ellen Degeneres all about it, summing it up with these words: “I am not pregnant, but I have had three kids and there is a bump,” she explained.

 

“From now on ladies, I will have a bump. And it will be my baby bump. And let’s just all settle in and get used to it. It’s not going anywhere. I have a bump. Its name is Violet, Sam, Sera.”

 

I’m not sure there is a way for me to like a person I’ve never met more, but if there is, Jennifer Garner has just paved the way.

 

I haven’t had to deal with magazine readers scrutinizing my midsection, or bold headlines discussing my fertility. But I have had strangers ask me when I’m due with my next child. The only thing is… I’m not pregnant and we’ve made it medically unlikely that I my uterus will ever again house a rapidly growing tenant.

 

Perhaps you, too, have experienced that awkward moment when people break the law of never asking a woman when she’s due without visibly seeing her stomach lurch, making it blatantly obvious there’s either an demon-possessed intestinal tract or a fetus fighting for space in that midriff. My lard baby has been celebrated while waiting in line at a Love’s rest stop, in a sporting goods store, at a homeschooling conference… at all of these lovely locations when you’re really not thinking about sucking your gut in.

 

No one really wants to be on the receiving end of the situation, but it still happens — and what are you supposed to say in response?

 

I typically try to take the high road and explain to people I had four tenants in my uterus in a space of six years, I love potato chips, and I’m pretty sure I’m allergic to the function of my own sweat glands. I try to smile and encourage them that I’m not upset and lately I’ve been telling myself that (now that I’m nudging 40-years-old with my tippee-toes) it’s a compliment these strangers think I’m young enough to be in the process of replication.

 

But, my friends, I also feel the need to prepare some creative come backs. If you have any, please leave them in the comments. In the meantime, here are twenty-six clever, tart, and/or hilarious responses to “When Are You Due?” when you aren’t due at all I’ve found (and embellished):

1. “I’m not pregnant, but I just ate a meal the size of an infant hippopotamus.”

2. “I’m actually not pregnant — perhaps that’s just one of the many things you can’t tell by looking at my body’s size and shape.”

3. “Oh no, that’s not a pregnant glow. I’m just super attractive. Thanks for noticing!”

4. “Don’t worry.  You’ll be the first to know when it happens because I always tell strangers before family.”

5. “Why?  Do I look fat?!”

6. “Actually, I just gave birth…but my body doesn’t realize that yet.”

7.  “I don’t have a baby in my tummy. It just looks like I do, thanks for encouraging me to support the Spanx brand.”

8. “I prefer not to talk about that. It’s bad luck.”

9. “My OB once said he never assumes a woman is pregnant until he sees a head coming out. Maybe you should do the same.”

10. “Nope, not pregnant yet, but we are having so much fun practicing! Would you like any tips?”

11. “YES, I am going to have five fat babies and name them all Dave! They shall be known as ‘The Daves’.”

12. “Wow, that’s awkward.”

13. “That’s a rather… personal question, isn’t it? What other personal questions would you like to ask me?”

14. “Oh, enough about me – let’s talk about you! When are going to >insert overly-personal life event here<?!”

15. “I hope not… it means my birth control isn’t working.”

16. “We’ve been trying for so long… (looks away) I think I might be barren.”

17. “Why do you ask?”

18. “Actually I’m infertile. Do you think you’d like to donate your eggs? I could pay you.”

19. “Oh, Heavens, no, I can’t *stand* children!”

20. “My insides are a rocky place where [husband’s] seed can find no purchase.”

21. “Not yet, but the night is still young!”

22. “Are you really that interested in what goes on in my bedroom? You don’t look like that type.”

23. “No baby, just fat!”

24. “I am not pregnant, but I will assume you are admiring my lovely glow.”

25. “I’m not pregnant, just wearing a tummy enhancing dress.”

26. “OH MY HEAVENS —  WHAT DO YOU KNOW THAT I DON’T?!!!”

 

Again — I’d love to hear your own comebacks in the comments. Jennifer Garner, the lard babies of the world, and I both thank you.

 

Going Natural


There’s a little bit of a punk in me.  Maybe it’s in you as well?

 

Because I’m a stinker, sometimes I do things just to get a rise.  I guess it’s my way of checking my mental pulse.

 

One of the ways I do this is to follow blogs and news from sources holding different values than I hold.  I’m a firm believer that untested philosophies are worthless, so if I can be challenged to defend my point of view I’m likely going to be more intelligent about my opinion and more likely to convince others I’m right!

 

(Let’s be honest, it’s all about being right, right??)

 

I recently read an article about how underutilized the IUD is as a form of birth control.  If you’d like to read the entire story, here’s the link.

 

Here’s this nasty, hard-looking device being promoted as awesome.  Forgive me, I like to avoid a plastic anchor being placed into my body just so I won’t possibly be burdened with a child!

 

What really made my blood boil was the innocently offered statement:

 

“Today’s options are t-shaped and work by damaging and killing sperm, as well as changing the uterine lining to make it an especially inhospitable environment for little embryos (should the sperm survive).”

 

I can’t help but become outraged because that’s not just an inhospitable environment for the sperm to survive… that’s a fully viable child that’s being destroyed because the fertilized egg can’t implant!

 

When I think about the absolute magic that comes with childbearing and the odds against a child being conceived and carried to term it makes me incredibly sad that so many people make the choice to halt the life of a child based on thoughtlessness and convenience.

 

(In case you haven’t figured out, I believe life starts at conception, the moment that little sperm hits that little egg and fireworks erupt.)

 

Going cold turkey with birth control isn’t a viable option for most people, I realize.  After all, I am pro-child but fully terrified of ending up living in an asylum for small children à la Dugger-style.

 

I didn’t want to be on the birth control pill anymore but I didn’t want to practice free lovin’ either.  I didn’t like the hormones of the Pill and I didn’t like learning that during each year I had been on the Pill I had likely conceived three times but my body had created an “especially inhospitable environment” and flushed that baby out.

 

While there were definitely other options available I wanted something that was easy, logical and effective.  (And not so messy, either.  Because I’m a sissy and don’t like messes.)

 

At the time I was exploring options for birth control a friend passed on a very valuable resource, here it is.

 

My friend told me about the book Love and Fertility published by the Family of the Americas Foundation.  The explanation of this method is logical, easy to understand, and it also helped me understand my own body.

 

For us, it has been 100% effective.

 

So I’d like to share it with you.  I hope this makes you at least think of birth control options – and perhaps take a chance on going natural!

 

(I recommend buying the book from the Family of the Americas Foundation.  I included the link to the book on Amazon.com just because I thought you might enjoy reading the comments.)

 

This post was originally published May 23, 2011 and is being recycled as part of the “I’ve Been Around” summer! Hope you enjoyed it and I’d love to hear your thoughts in the comments!

Advice to the Soon-to-Be Mother


vancity197 / stock.xchng

vancity197 / stock.xchng

It’s Mother’s Day and I heard a rumor that I am a mother.

 

The funniest part about that rumor is… it’s true! There are some people who think because I’ve birthed four children I know something about mothering… little do they know it only means I have lost the majority of my brain cells and have upped my potential need for Depends as a geriatric.

 

I have several friends who are about to pop with their first child, so in their honor, here are a few bits of advice to ponder about motherhood:

 

1. To my friend who has spent most of her life a slight bit smaller in circumference than the knuckle on my pinkie finger: your body will not ever recover from the stress of a multi-pound mass spreading your hips. You won’t care.

 

2. To my friend who has been fiercely independent and worried about being able to love anyone completely unselfishly: there will be a moment when you realize you will do anything for your child. It won’t be a feeling you planned, it will sneak up on you and suddenly you’ll be overwhelmed with an amazing amount of pure, unfiltered love and find yourself shopping for your child instead of yourself on your birthday or Mother’s Day. But don’t worry if it doesn’t happen immediately – you aren’t an emotional cripple. You’re adjusting to a new phase of life and that takes time.

 

3. To my friend who is finally pregnant after years of infertility: you will be disappointed. When you’ve waited so long for a dream to come true, it won’t ever quite match up exactly to your hopes and imagination. However… the reality will be more luscious and awesome than you could have envisioned for your life. And it will be worth it.

 

4. To my friend who is finally having the baby of the opposite gender: you’ll be glad you were a Scrooge and kept the toys the older kiddos didn’t like. This new one will be interested in them, because no matter what social science would like us to believe, there are innate gender differences.

 

5. To my friend who discovered the vasectomy failed: I’m praying for you. And will be here to lend support as needed – but it’s obvious God had a plan for you that’s destined to be fantastic – and when God has a plan it’s a pretty good idea to fall in line.

 

Now, in the nature of miscellaneous motherly advice, here you go, you new mothers and moms-to-be:

 

  • Go to MOPS. It’s a place you don’t have to suck your tummy in.
  • Spend less time thinking about the crib bedding and more time staring into their eyes. That’s time well spent.
  • Carry your child across your midsection for the first several months. People will notice their cuteness instead of your leftover lard baby.
  • Let people hold the baby. There will be fewer offers once the child gets older and limited exposure to strange people germs builds immunities.
  • Be intimate with your husband. Yes, I know that’s how you got knocked up in the first place but he’ll be there in your old age while your kids are backpacking Europe and having their own babies. Keep him happy and he’ll keep you happy.
  • Try not to worry about the sleep issue. No one really knows what’s best for sleep training and half of us are sleep deprived for decades. Just invest in a coffee pot and a sense of humor.
  • Don’t scrimp when it comes to buying a nursing bra. You live in those things 24/7, so get what’s comfortable.
  • Never underestimate the joys of a nice pair of yoga pants. They cover a multitude of abdominal sins and don’t carry the surrendered, shameful stigma of pajama jeans.
  • Let people open the doors and give up their seats for you. The pregnancy is a brief, blissful interlude of time where people will go out of their way to make your life a bit more comfortable. In just a few short months you’ll be getting the stink eye from the Granny as your kiddo screams their way through the check out line… enjoy the non-judgmental courtesy while you can.
  • Create memories. Write down why you’re excited about being a mother, your perceptions of parenting. Find a special token that will remind you of the hope and anticipation involved in child rearing. Remember you can truly like to spend time with your children, even when they’re teenagers! Give yourself touch points to come back to in the times of struggle. They will remind you why you’re willing to go out in public with vomit on your shoulder. Because they’re worth it.

 

What pieces of advice would you offer to a new mom?

 

 

Quick Guide to Children: Ages Birth – 6 Years


Our first 6 years looked something like this...

Our first 6 years looked something like this…

I can’t claim to be a childhood expert and there are certainly no titles and degrees from fancy institutes attached to my name, but as a mom of four kids I believe I can offer a valid assessment of the first six years of child rearing as acquired in the school of hard knocks.

 

For those who are just embarking on this journey – I hope this quick guide can offer you hope when things look hopeless and discourage you when things are bright. If you have completed your own child parenting journey with a live, functioning adult child, I hope you will add your own observations in the comment section!

 

Birth through 1-year-old: A fantastic season of life! Everything your child does is new and exciting and fills you with pride. If he poops, it’s the sweetest smelling poop you’ve ever known, if she spits up, the spit up is either less than every other child or significantly more. Nothing is in halves during the first year.

 

The sleeplessness, it may get to you. You may possibly believe you are going to die. There will be dark, gloomy days when you remember sleeping in or staying up late or getting in the car and driving without wondering if your diaper supply is sufficient.

 

This is the year when previously confident people usually realize they DO NOT have their act together. They are much more insecure, confused, angry, and impatient than they originally thought. They also realize their capacity to love is significantly higher than ever imagined. And for parents… conjugal visits can be sketchy. Do not despair. Year two is just around the corner. It gets better.

 

1-year-old to 2-years-old: One day you have an infant and the next you realize the baby fat has melted off of their cheeks. You pretend you’re imagining the unpleasant scent of your body as you immerse yourself in all of the “firsts” of a little one. The pterodactyl screeches of your child fade – finally! – into recognizable words and you see personality in your child that gives you hope for a future where they discover the cure for cancer and carry out world peace.

 

You finally know how to put a pack ‘n play together in less than 25 minutes. You start sleeping through the night consistently. This newfound rest, combined with the realization you’ve spend thousands of dollars on unused clothing and toys, convince you to try for another child.  Your spouse is all for the trying to get pregnant process but terrified and sobered when the pregnancy test comes back positive. The memories of the sleepless nights come back in cold sweat nightmares.

 

2-years-old to 3-years-old: The child you’ve produced is, in turns, part angel, part demon, over the top exasperating and phenomenally charming. You sleep anytime you sit still and stop taking photos for the baby book. This makes you feel guilty.

 

The baby lengthens and you’re left with a toddler speaking a foreign language in a vehement voice, expecting you to understand and comply with their wishes at all times! You buy them a wristwatch, How to Teach Your Baby to Read, and shoes with shoelaces expecting overnight success. They don’t learn how to tell time, read, or tie their shoelaces. You mope, certain this is a parental failing on your part.

 

3-years-old to 4-years-old: You are enchanted by this little creature in your home in much the same way people stare at pictures of koala bears, not realizing they are actually vicious when not drugged on eucalyptus leaves. Your child loves you desperately and copies everything. Because we are all innately selfish, we find this to be a sincere form of flattery until…

 

… the “whyarrhea” begins. Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why?! This is a level of Dante’s inferno! Gray hairs sprout from your head and you have new growth upon your chest and ears. You’ve lost track of the passing of time and friends you don’t see on a weekly basis. Just about the time you are ready to quit this whole parenting shebang, you catch a glimpse of fantastic, unadulterated beauty in your child, an innocence you will do anything to protect – and you are renewed enough to answer another “why?” question.

 

4-years-old to 5-years-old: This is quite possibly the best year of parenting yet! Your kiddo is potty trained, can wipe themselves even!, they can button their clothes and carry on a conversation! They amuse you with comments about how the world works, still cuddle, and remind you of why you wanted to reproduce in the first place.

 

Four-year-olds are amazing, particularly if given tranquilizers.

 

5-years-old to 6-years-old: Your child begins to understand that life is not fair. They are NOT OK with this discovery and live in a state of outraged justice.

 

Passionate tears flow on a regular basis. You find yourself playing judge and jury 67 times per hour. At night you curl into a small ball next to your spouse and pray. This is a very important year for hand holding in a marriage, and it’s important to know that a 20-second hug engenders a feeling of intimacy in humans. Hug often.

 

6-years-old to 7-years-old: You’ve made it to the sixth birthday! This is a major accomplishment! You can now look forward to one of the years when your child will look the most awkward. Missing teeth, uneven growth spurts, a sudden aversion to cleanliness… six is the year for these pleasures, and more!

 

The weak in spirit may fear for their life, but have no fear, the sixth year is only 365 days long and you CAN make it out alive. Repeat to yourself, “The days are long, the years are short… the days are long, the years are short…”

 

What would you add to this simple guidebook?

 

 

Lords a’Leaping: 50 Shades of Grey, Meet the Gremlin


Remember Gremlins? Yeah. One lives in my belly now.

Remember Gremlins? Yeah. One lives in my belly now.

I’m doing my own version of the 12 Days of Christmas this year. Today, on the day lyrically celebrated by 10 Lords a’Leaping, I’m going to republish the 10th most popular post on StealingFaith in 2012.

 

The first thing I would like to say is, “Thank You!,” for not getting all up in my business after blogging about Magic Mike yesterday.

 

It’s almost like many of you were waiting for someone to speak out against the double-standard… I expected to get hateful comments but instead… much hurray-ing has ensued. Thank you.

 

A few people have mentioned 50 Shades of Grey. I didn’t talk about it yesterday because I had this half-hearted hope people might not be reading the books… but then a couple of men referred to it and my hopes were crushed.

 

I’ve spent the last hour researching the 50 Shades trilogy (because I haven’t read it and won’t read it – but it’s also stupid to write a post about the books if I haven’t checked out the buzz).

 

Women, if we get all hot under the collar and steamed up about being submissive to our husbands, ranting and railing our feminist propaganda… why on Earth are we buying a book that’s being hailed as “mommy porn” that’s all about a woman being submissive to a control freak man?

 

When I was dating if a man wanted me to sign my will away with a legal contract it would have been a sign of bad stinkin’ ju-ju.

 

So I don’t get it. I’m not going to talk about it anymore tonight (and maybe ever) and will instead count the last hour of my life as wasted.

 

I admit to being a grouch. I blame it on the gremlin in my stomach trying to gnaw his way through my flesh and squeeze his ridiculous self through my protruding belly button.

 

That evil little creature is the reason I’ve slept a generous four-to-six hours of the last three days, and those hours have been from a seated position.

 

My back is spasming. My stomach is clenching. My nose is stuffed up. My toes look like Cheetos Giant Puffs.

 

The milk in the refrigerator expires after my due date.

 

A customer asked me today how many children I have and if I’ve figured out what causes them to come into being. I was able to keep from throttling him, but only just.

 

It’s the home stretch of pregnancy, and I’m handling it with the grace of a hippopotamus with a toothache.

 

So, let me take my grumpy self away from blog land and leave you with this tidy nugget of wisdom:

 

The fictional BSDM of 50 Shades of Grey ain’t nothin’ on the torture you’ll experience if you get knocked up (or have to put up with your little lady and her potential, galaxy-destroying bad attitude while with child).

 

So keep your pants on, it’s safer.

 

(December 20, 2012 response to this post: I wrote this five days before Bubby surprised us with a premature arrival. I was justifiably uncomfortable – so much so that when they gave me the spinal for the c-section I almost cried because it was the best I’d felt in months. However, since then I’ve visited the 50 Shades author’s website and saw this quote: “Erotic, amusing, and deeply moving, the Fifty Shades Trilogy is a tale that will obsess you, possess you, and stay with you forever.” I’m sticking to my guns on this one… I don’t want to be obsessed, possessed, and unable to forget anything that has the potential to de-value women. So there.)

 

 

A Guy’s Guide to His Post-Partum Gal


nem_youth / stock.xchng

Many a guy has looked at his gal and newborn, filled with a desire to take part in the magical parenting journey but unable to figure out exactly what to do.

 

Sometimes it feels like there’s no space for dad in the weeks after the birth. He’s not the mom, he’s not lactating, and there are only so many diaper changes available to complete every day.

 

Dads – I’ve got you covered with five practical strategies to help you find your place in your newly changed family life… along with a few warnings to keep things  from going suddenly, inexplicably, bat-crazy wrong.

 

1. Complement her appearance. Find something about your gal that is genuinely attractive. You see, a woman, after having her insides rearranged as her uterus grows from an organ the size of a marble to roughly the size of a planetary mass, can feel a little – shall we say – ugly. Strategy:  Complement her, play up to her vanity. WARNING: This is not a good strategy if there is any part of you that suspects in a future moment of irate passion you will yell, “I told you you were beautiful when you looked like a grizzled walrus and had cankles!” The key here – be sincere.

 

2. Give her insanity grace. There is no greater indication of the power of hormones than me going through the last 10 months saying this is our last pregnancy… and then five days post-partum telling my husband I’d like to have another baby. Hormones. They are wicked, wicked little zappers. Strategy: When she says something completely outlandish, make a deal with her to write the notion down and seriously discuss it’s applicability seven months in the future. That will give the hormones time to settle down. WARNING: Experts say it takes two full years for a woman’s hormones to return to normal after the childbearing process. (I’ve been pregnant or lactating 6.5 years of the 8 I’ve been married. You do the math and realize why I refer to my husband as a saint so often.) Be the bigger man – give her room to to be slightly bonkers.

 

3. Let her sleep. Having a newborn is a little like military special operations training. Sleep deprivation, the body stretched beyond capacity, being literally responsible for another’s life… Strategy: Be a warrior! Wake up for that last night time feeding and take the baby into another room so your gal can get a few hours of sleep when she’s not “on” and listening for whether the baby is still breathing. WARNING: When she asks how your night was, DO NOT tell her it was hard because you didn’t get much sleep! This will remove all brownie points you have accumulated! In dire cases, this inadvisable course of action may actually cause her head to explode. Shrapnel can land in tender places… just don’t do it.

 

4. Become a domestic maestro. If mom has been the conductor of household management, having a baby can completely derail the cleanliness of the house. Strategy: Every day, do a spot check of what remains undone: dishes? laundry? wiping the toilet seat down? lightbulb changes? grocery shopping? folding clothes? emptying the trash? making the beds? creating a mini-Olympics so the older kids get to bed early and worn out? If there are tasks undone, just do them. There are even bonus points available if you do these things without expecting applause! Get older kids to help you… the more time mom can spend with her feet up, not stressed about how the house looks, the better off everyone will be. WARNING: Do not despair or become resentful if you don’t get oodles of praise… it’s good to expand your horizons to see what your gal does on a daily basis. And… I can pretty much guarantee, consistency in this area will ultimately benefit you. (Approximately 6-8 weeks post-partum. Wink, wink.)

 

5. Be a Daddy. There’s nothing that melts a gals’ heart more than seeing her guy all gushy and tender over their baby. Strategy: Hold your baby. Talk to your baby. Make eye contact with your baby. The time for rules and regulations will come – as a newborn there is no way you can spoil the little sucker. If they cry all night long, get out of bed and walk the floor while singing a song. Daddys matter. WARNING: This might make you feel, well, vulnerable. Like the anti-guy. After all, real men smash small things and beat their chests while yelling, “ARGH!!!!!” (At least that’s what it looks like in The Avengers.) You might get a little scared by how much you feel for that baby. That’s OK. If you’re willing to take a bullet for any member of your family… you should truly know the people you’re protecting. Love is a good thing.

 

Do you have any suggestions for dad’s that have been invaluable for your family?

And then there were four…


This is my son. He has emerged. I am practicing saying, “son.”

I didn’t post last night and I’m not going to say, “I’m sorry” about it.

 

I was feeling horribly, horribly rotten and fell asleep on the sofa early without pulling out the laptop (or going to the bathroom).

 

When I woke up at 3:30 with my bladder screaming in agony, I felt an internal “pop!”. By the time I made it to the bathroom it was quite evident my water had broken and the little imp inside my midsection was making a determined effort to evacuate the premises.

 

For the first time I was able to wake up my husband with the words, “Honey! It’s time!” (Every other delivery has been a planned c-section where an alarm clock wakes us up. This is Uno’s fault, as she had a distinct fondness for parking her noggin under my right rib and never turned head down. I’ve always been grateful we live in the U.S., a place where breech babies and their mothers don’t die in childbirth because a c-section is an option!)

 

Lizard reacted remarkably well! He was up in a flash, helping me pack the bag (because who actually has the bag packed when the scheduled date is three weeks away?!), calling our friends to come over and stay with the sleeping kiddos, and giving our parents and siblings heart attacks with a 3 o’clock phone call!

 

(I had to ask for advice about what to wear to the hospital… it didn’t seem feasible to stick a hand towel down my pants to catch the leaking. We worked it out, but not without my friend laughing at my naiveté. Rude.)

 

Right before we walked out the door Lizard grabbed a stick of string cheese and offered me one, too. Since my stomach was terribly upset, I gratefully chowed down the cheese in hopes the milk product would settle things. This is an irrelevant fact that will be significant soon. Just file it away in the back of your mind.

 

We got to the hospital, they stuck me in a wheelchair, and pushed me across the rodent-maze that is a hospital that’s been in business for decades and expanded multiple times. When we got to Labor & Delivery they took me to the triage room, monitored me, and let me know they were going to have to have proof I was leaking amniotic fluid.

 

That’s not an awesome process. But I was able to prove it, so that’s all that needs to be said about that.

 

All during this time I was feeling quite badly about the string cheese because it had done nothing to settle my stomach! I was dry heaving all over the place and it was. not. fun.

 

Now, in an airplane when you get nauseous, they give you a discreet white bag.

 

In a hospital they give you a blue horse condom.

 

I’d like to describe it in a different way, but I really don’t know how. It’s a 4″ plastic ring attached to an 8″ blue bag. You’re supposed to hold it to your nose and up chuck the cookies right into it. But it’s a really disturbing shape, it crinkles, and it made me feel naughty, which all culminated in vomit performance anxiety and I ended up just moaning, contracting, and thinking bad things about the phrase, “hung like a horse.”

 

Good times, good times.

 

The nurse came by and let me know my baby doctor was on her way to the airport. Apparently she didn’t think delivering my baby was worth turning around and ruining her family vacation. I see where I stand on the list of priorities.

 

Her partner in crime, whom I’d never met but has a lovely Swedish last name, would be delivering the baby. He preferred to do early morning c-sections, so he would likely be in to do the surgery at 7 a.m. Hurray!

 

Time passed, I counted on 7 a.m. and then the nurse reappeared. “The surgery is scheduled for 11 a.m. because we don’t want to take the chance on you vomiting up your cheese stick and choking to death.”

 

That string cheese became the bane of my existence and proof of my rookie mistake. I don’t think I can eat a string cheese without resentment for the rest of my life.

 

In an effort to make a long story shorter, I’ll just say my body wasn’t interested in letting modern medicine take charge and I moved into active labor. Apparently your digestive system stops working once labor begins so the doctor decided since I wasn’t going to digest the stupid cheese anyway we might as well get the show on the road.

 

And so the surgery began. It was as flawless as a c-section can be… really! Except for the fact my Swedish doctor kept a running commentary on the best place in town to buy garden manure.

 

The real surprise is when Bubby came out, we discovered he was about seven and a half pounds!

 

Let me explain. At his young gestational age he should be a smidgeon over six pounds. That is not the case. He is huge. Which means if I’d actually kept him cooking until the scheduled c-section date he would have arrived in this world roughly the size of a Galapagos turtle.

 

I’m glad he came sooner.

 

The end of this really, really long saga is we have a baby boy in our family. Really! We are a family of six, with four children who are “practically perfect in every way.”

 

How cool is that?

 

As far as yours truly, I am feeling good. There are narcotics available to a woman who completes major abdominal surgery that just can’t be legally or safely consumed from the comfort of your own home.

 

At home, Tylenol is the only pain killing option. Which, to steal a phrase from a friend, is like telling a crack addict to have a cup of coffee to stave off their cravings.

 

Not anymore! The discomfort and pain I’ve been feeling the past weeks is magically erased by remedies with opium derivatives.

 

I feel good. (I may have 600 typos in this post, but heck!, I feel good!)

 

That’s the long story of the birth of Bubby. You’ll hear more as the weeks progress…. but for now, you know….

 

… the rest of the story.

Socks that Bully


Socks of Destruction

I have just finished a laundry marathon, which means my kids won’t be wandering around in their pajamas anymore (except by choice).

 

It has done little to help my Cheetos-toes and my ankle bones are missing, but my heart is lighter and I feel like I’ve accomplished something worthwhile today. (Don’t tell, but I also got a load of dishes done.)

 

This laundry marathon had me washing the cutest baby boy items we received from last week’s baby shower.

 

I admit, I was afraid of baby boy clothes. They don’t have ruffles, bows, or anything pink, which in our household of girly-girls, has seemed like sacrilege. I get distinct joy in seeing a well-placed piece of glitter; boy clothes are filled with things that confuse me and make me nervous I’m about to be harmed – balls, baseball bats, dinosaurs, monster trucks and such.

 

BUT… these gals, they did it right in laying my fears of boy clothes to rest. There are monkeys (who can’t love an animal that throws its own feces?),  elephants, and stripes. These items are soft. Small. They make me want to coo over the rambunctious infant about to enter our lives.

 

In no more than three weeks. Ay-yi-yi. I need the equivalent of a stiff drink. Or strong drugs. What was I saying?

 

Oh, yes!

 

In the midst of this baby shower bonanza, I came across a set of socks. It’s part of a larger group, I think there are six pairs total, but this particular pair, navy blue and gold, is sporting the phrase, “I love naps.”

 

I love naps?!

 

Why would anyone put such a patently untrue statement on anything, much less a pair of socks?!

 

I have never known (or been related to) an infant that genuinely thought, “Hm… nap! I love it!”

 

Oh, they might doze off at the slightest drop of milk or mid-cry, but come 2 am the sadistic streak comes out and all that “I love napping” tomfoolery goes straight out the window at a ferocious speed.

 

That sock is a deliberate taunt at parents, making them believe their little angel is going to actually be kind to them, that the stories of sleep zombie-parents are over-stated attempts to garner sympathy from other adults.

 

That won’t happen. Ever.

 

That sock is just wrong. (Not really evil, but wrong. Mean.)

 

Now, if someone wants to knit me up a pair of socks in size 8.5 that says “I love naps,” I’ll wear them every day with pride.

 

What is the silliest thing you’ve seen on a piece of child’s clothing?

50 Shades of Grey? Meet the Gremlin.


Remember Gremlins? Yeah. One lives in my belly now.

The first thing I would like to say is, “Thank You!,” for not getting all up in my business after blogging about Magic Mike yesterday.

 

It’s almost like many of you were waiting for someone to speak out against the double-standard… I expected to get hateful comments but instead… much hurray-ing has ensued. Thank you.

 

In the process I’ve had a few people mention 50 Shades of Grey. I didn’t talk about it yesterday because I had this half-hearted hope people might not be reading the books… but then a couple of men referred to it and my hopes were crushed.

 

I’ve spent the last hour researching the 50 Shades trilogy (because I haven’t read it and won’t read it – but it’s also stupid to write a post about the books if I haven’t checked out the buzz). To be honest, I just got sick and tired of reading about it!

 

Women, if we get all hot under the collar and steamed up about being submissive to our husbands, ranting and railing our feminist propaganda… why on Earth are we buying a book that’s being hailed as “mommy porn” that’s all about a woman being submissive to a control freak man?

 

When I was dating if a man wanted me to sign my will away with a legal contract it would have been a sign of bad stinkin’ ju-ju.

 

So I don’t get it. I’m not going to talk about it tonight (maybe ever) and will instead count the last hour of my life as wasted.

 

I admit to being a grouch. I blame it on the gremlin in my stomach trying to gnaw his way through my flesh and squeeze his ridiculous self through my protruding belly button.

 

That evil little creature is the reason I’ve slept a generous four-to-six hours of the last three days, and those hours have been from a seated position.

 

My back is spasming. My stomach is clenching. My nose is stuffed up. My toes look like Cheetos Giant Puffs.

 

The milk in the refrigerator expires after my due date.

 

A customer asked me today how many children I have and if I’ve figured out what causes them to come into being. I was able to keep from throttling him, but only just.

 

It’s the home stretch of pregnancy, and I’m handling it with the grace of a hippopotamus with a toothache.

 

So, let me take my grumpy self away from blog land and leave you with this tidy nugget of wisdom:

 

The fictional BSDM of 50 Shades of Grey ain’t nothin’ on the torture you’ll experience if you get knocked up (or have to put up with your little lady and her potential, galaxy-destroying bad attitude while with child).

 

So keep your pants on, it’s safer.

Writer’s Block Loss: Top 3 Things


Hi, how are you? Please excuse my belly. It’s the size of the Chrysler building.

The computer screen is taunting me.

 

I don’t often have writer’s block, but when I do I take it personally and blame my computer. This is in direct opposition to the love and affection I typically shower on my laptop as a member of my immediate family.

 

Tonight the laptop is not being kind to me. I have many thoughts twirling around in my head and I don’t know which rabbit trail to follow. It’s all the computer’s fault. I know it.

 

In defiance of the evil plan my laptop has to keep me from writing, I’m going to go with my old standby and share the top three things on my mind.

 

1. Bedtime. For the third time this week our kids have gone to bed after 10 p.m. The first night was the 4th, when we stayed up to watch the fireworks and Uno keened in grief because she fell asleep for the grand finale. We’ve compounded the problem by skipping naps for several days in a row… it’s pretty much guaranteed tomorrow is going to be a day filled with emotional break downs.

 

I can’t wait. Not.

 

2. Friends. We have been awash in friends this week. When you’re stuck in the every day of life, it’s easy to start feeling disconnected and alone. With the holiday we’ve had a few celebrations and last night some amazing women hosted a baby shower for the still unnamed child cooking in my womb. (The photo of me by the cake… was shocking. I am huge. I have posted it so you can laugh.) Today we visited with friends we haven’t seen in almost a year… and I’m overwhelmed. These people are awesome! They inspire me. They fill my heart with joy. They challenge me.

 

I can’t believe we are so lucky!

 

3. My feet. (My first two thoughts are valid, this one, not so much.) I’ve been on my feet a lot today, which means at this point in the evening my ankle bones have disappeared and my toes look like Cheetos magically affixed to the ends of oar paddles. The thing that makes me craziest is when my toes swell, the change in pressure makes it feel like I have dirt hiding out in the crevices between each toe.

 

Absolutely maddening. Yes, I know there are people starving and being tortured all over the world and I’m complaining about my toes being swollen. It’s silly. But it’s real and it’s the third most pressing thing on my mind tonight. So there.

 

(Ha! The computer didn’t win the writer’s block game!)

 

Now, what are the top three things on your mind?

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