I was amazed at the amount of panties that Target has to offer. I have always been a Victoria's Secret girl, basically because I like to walk around in the mall with my VS bag so that people think I have a fabulous sex life. At VS, I know what my size is... they make it easy. Small, Medium, or Large. I should wear a small, but the mediums feel so good that I buy a large. That is how I roll.
At Target all of the panties had numbered sizes. Now, why in the world are pantie sizes different from the size of your Levi's? For example, I usually wear an 8 (but I will not even approach my size 8 pants in my closet yet as the swelling from childbirth is still affecting my butt) so I would wear a size 6 in underwear right? I am not really sure.
Do we live in Europe? NO-so why do we have different sizes for the same area of our body. In Europe I would wear a 26, or a 48, or possibly a 12... but never a 8. It is so confusing.
I was having a moral dilemma in the lingerie department of Target. Do I try on the panties to make sure they fit? And if you try on panties with the panties you have on already how do you really get an accurate assessment of the size you need? Personally, I would never try on panties at a store without my own panties still on-heck, I would never try on panties at a store! My sister-in-law did this once and I thought it was the funniest thing I had ever witnessed. I prefer the buy and see procedure. You buy panties, take them home and see if they fit... if they don't-you take them back. I wonder how many other people do that though, or how many people have tried on the panties in the dressing room--and I truly wonder how many women follow the rule that is plastered on the sticker in the crotch of the pantie that says to NOT try on without your own panties still on. Basically buying panties is much like spending the night at the Sigma Nu fraternity house... you don't know exactly what you are sitting in.
Ultimately I decided to go with the most sterile package of panties... the Hanes Her Way bikini, size 6, white. Sexaaaayyyyy! They were vacuum sealed so I figured this was my best bet and my safest defense against crabs.
When my husband was entering his senior year of high school, he signed up for the Army. It always amazes me that he knew he wanted to be in the military before he had even graduated high school... he was so sure of what he wanted out of life at the delicate age of 17!
When I met him, he had just finished his 4 years in the Army and was now attending college through the Air Force ROTC track. I thought that it was interesting that he was a military man, but I honestly did not give it much thought. He was in college, I was in college... I was not thinking of much else. He was though-he is always thinking of more.
He was commissioned an officer just two weeks prior to our wedding. I knew we would be in the military, but I did not know truly what it all entailed.
We have all heard the description of a military spouse as being "married to the military." This statement is brutally true. I am married to a man, who is so committed to the military-to this country, that essentially means that I am married to not only him, but to what defines who he is... the military.
As our lives progressed in the military, I began to learn more and more about what it meant to be married to the military.
- It means watching your husband achieve great things, and also being there for him when you have to watch him fail.
- It means getting excited about a new assignment only to have it be in some horrible location, but going with a smile on your face and a "home is where my husband is" attitude that makes it all bearable.
- It means standing on a platform next to a runway and watching your husband fly off to different locations around the world at the crack of dawn...
- It means being frightened-but placing that fear in the corner of your heart because you know that living in fear for your husband's safety is not something you can dwell upon while he is gone or you will go crazy.
- It means buying a new dress to greet him in when he comes home.
- It means supporting your fellow military spouses.
- It means loving other military families just as much as you love your own biological family-because most of the time, your military family is the only family near you.
- It means spending Christmas, Easter, Birthdays, Anniversaries, Thanksgiving, and the 4th of July without your husband... but at least I have the kids with me, he is alone.
- It means wearing red, white and blue to every ceremony because you have so much trust and pride in those colors.
- It means moving 7 times in 13 years.
- It means being Hailed by new friends at a new base, and Farewell'd by old dear friends at your old base.
- It means that you will get so angry you can't see straight when the evening news runs a criticizing story about our troops.
- It means feeling a bond with every military member out there.
- It means loving those who serve with your husband for the simple fact that you know they have his back.
- It means saying "no problem" when someone needs you.
- It means supporting our President, because he is the Boss.
- It means being a supportive partner to your husband when he can't talk about what he did today at work.
- It means sending care packages and cards
- It means teaching your children to respect the flag that their dad fights under.
- It means teaching your children honor, commitment and dedication to this country.
- It means having an American flag wave in your front yard-not just on patriotic holidays-but every day of the year.
- It means having a heart that can burst with pride when you see your husband in his uniform.
- It means standing up and clapping for all Vets.
- It means learning from those who have been where I am right now, and have done it with grace and poise.
- It means always being proud to be married to the military.
Happy Memorial Day~God Bless our Troops and their families!
- They no longer just dump everyone's poo out into the ocean. They now clean the poo and dump it. So if you were wondering why your fish was lacking a certain nuttiness lately... it may be because of the purified poo.
- You can get Comcast cable on board! Wow! I am glad we now offer the men and women who are fighting for freedom the same luxuries that we offer our inmates in the prison system.
- I got the same sense of pride when I walked across the deck of that aircraft carrier as I do when I would hear my husband's plane fly over our house 15 times a day. The sound of freedom is overwhelming to the heart of a military wife let me tell you...
- Never wear a skirt on a aircraft carrier... the steps are all slotted and people are always walking under you. Fortunately the Navy is full of gentlemen-and the boat was empty so no one saw that I was wearing my Tuesday labeled panties on Saturday. What a fashion no-no.
- Not all Navy guys look like Tom Cruise (but my husband and his twin brother do!) but I still had a fabulous time tossing out lines from the movie "Top Gun" all day.
My oldest can now say that she walked the deck of an aircraft carrier, my son can now say that he sat in the XO's chair in the "Ready Room" and our three year old can say that she almost got to touch the big bell on board, but was denied as she would have put many fingerprints on the shiny bell, and our wee one can say that she was nursed on the Harry S. Truman, and she left a stinky diaper behind... I wonder if it will be purified before it is dumped.
"Sometimes I really wish we lived back in the old days where life was more community based & mamas would have neighbors to chat with over the fence or to have over for tea during the baby's nap. It would certainly make a difference for me! Especially on those hormonal days."
It got me thinking... why isn't life like that anymore?
We live in a fabulous neighborhood. We have great neighbors and there is not a shortage of kids to play with at all. The husbands are all out on Friday evenings mowing the lawn and Saturday brings cars being washed in driveways and flowers being planted in gardens. It is a modern day Norman Rockwell painting I tell ya--
But it still is not like it was when my I was a kid-or even when my mom was a kid. What has happened to the closeness where if you needed a friend you could find one, you didn't have to wait for them to get back from work or from taking little Johnny to his karate lesson/baseball practice/piano lessons/cub scout meeting/and so on.
I love when people stop by to chat. It gives me a chance to stop my normally scheduled crisis of the day and spend a few moments laughing and feeling like an adult. Nowadays, we have to plan a neighborhood chat. We have to supply beer a lot of the time as well in order to get everyone out of their houses... out from in front of the television... or worse, out from in front of their computers!
We live in a world that is so fast paced. As moms we can attest to the fact that we spend much of our adult lives behind the wheel of a minivan driving children who have multiplied at such rapid speeds that one day you only have one car seat in the rear view mirror and the next you have teenagers, toddlers, and infant car seats. How in the world did THAT happen?
We think of ways to socialize. We go to playgroup, mommy and me swim lessons, mommy and me story time, mommy and me art class, mommy and me therapy... it is ridiculous.
Why do we think that we always have to include our children in our socialization? Even when we have parties, we buy special foods for all of the kids that our friends will be bringing with them. Why is it that in today's world we seem to think that we cannot-or should not-do anything without our children. Why do we think that we can no longer have a life after kids?
When I was a kid, my parents had some crazy parties... I knew this not because I was at the party, but because I found the photos years later hidden in a shoebox in the back of my mom's closet. All I can say is-the 70''s were craaaaaazaaay! I also vividly remember my mother locking us out of the house when her friends/sisters would come over for an afternoon of fuzzy navels and spinach dip. We were free for a few hours, and more importantly, my mom was free for a few hours.
So I agree with dw-life would be so much easier, nicer, tolerable, if we did have that friend who lived just over the backyard fence. I think today I will put on my June Cleaver dress-complete with apron and bake some cookies. I will take them over to my neighbor and have a nice chat. Oh, who am I kidding... if would be much easier if I grabbed a beer out of the garage fridge and walked across the yard and yelled my neighbors name until she comes outside and then she and I can complain about life in general. These are the moments my children will wonder what happened to when they are adults.
I can't help it, and I don't know why I choose to take all of my anger out on him... well, actually I do know why I chose him. It is because he gets to leave this house everyday. He gets to be part of the land of the living. I am here-with children-some using me for food-others using me for entertainment value alone (let's see how long we can drive mom crazy until she breaks!)
I have always tried to be nice and kind to my husband. I like to think that I keep our life happy enough that he wants to come back for more. I am sure lately he dreads coming home. I wonder if he is like those people you see at rush hour who drive 5 miles UNDER the speed limit because the thought of going home is just too overwhelming for them and so they cause all the other people on the highway to have road rage. I do not want my husband pulled from his car and beaten people... I want him to speed home to me!
I can't help it though-these hormones are playing havoc in my life. Where once stood a slim, confident, attractive and funny woman now stands a saggy, droopy, poopy smelling mom who's head will start to spin around the moment her husband walks through the door each night. It is like I am saving it all up for him-because seriously, who else can I vent all of my frustrations on? He is it. He is the receiver of my angst. He is the catcher to my wild pitches. He is the Mary Jo Buttafuoco to my Amy Fisher.
So I apologize babe. I can't help it right now and if you just give me a little patience and the occasional Miller Lite, I promise your wife will return soon. You know the wife I am talking about... not the one that you had 14 years ago who wore thong panties and shaved her legs everyday. No, I am sorry but that wife is long gone buddy. I am talking about the wife who gets a shower in everyday and does not want to run screaming from this house each night at 6pm. The one who still thinks you are sexy--love handles and all.
Today in the car my oldest daughter shared with me a milestone. It was an incredible moment and I am so happy that she felt that she could share such things with me.
Yesterday at her softball game she received her first moon from a boy.
It seems she was coming out of the port-a-potty when 3 boys her age rode by on their bikes. One obviously took an interest in her and decided to turn his bike around and ride past her again--only this time he had pulled down his britches in order to profess his adoration for her by showing her his 12 year old butt.
She was thoroughly disgusted... thank God! Back when I was a kid, these were the kinds of boys I was drawn to. I cannot tell you how happy I am that she thinks his behavior was "one of the worse memories of her life thus far!" Wow-for her to say that this is one of her worse memories "thus far" I have to say that I must be a pretty darn good mom, I mean, if her worst memory is that of another person's butt being put on display for her viewing pleasure, then she has completely forgiven me for all of those embarrassing things that I do to her on a daily basis. Phew!
Check it out-just thought I would spread the humor...
Anyway... my wee one was crying, no wailing, at the Target checkout line. I don't know why-she had eaten right before we went on our 30 minute outing that took me 4 hours to get ready for, and she was not poopie, not sleepy, no one was pinching her (the three year old was no where NEAR her!) I guess she just wanted to cry. No big deal... and other than my milk letting down, I did not mind her little outburst. I had one quite similar to it last night--but that is another story for another time.
The cashier, who had to be all of 19 and probably dropped out of high school at 15 but took her GED because the court ordered her to, decided that she was an expert in baby rearing. She looked at me with her glaring eyes and said "Poor baby, she sounds hungry."
Oh really now! Holy Crap! You are a friggen genius! Why did I not think to feed this child today! What kind of mother am I that I have completely and totally forgotten that little infants need to eat! Phew-it is a good thing I came to your check out line Oh Wise and Powerful OZ!
June Cleaver rule #2--never ever never tell a mom that her child sounds hungry. Moms have ears-and a whole lot of crap on their "to-do" list. Unless you want to dine on a knuckle sandwich-keep your thoughts to yourself! This rule is a very good rule for mother-in-laws to follow as well!
I decided to let him decide what he should do-which probably puts me in the worst wife category... how could I possibly throw all of the guilt on to him directly? If I give him a yes or no answer he is off the hook with the ultimate decision right? I figured I would let him decide his own actions since I have enough to deal with in terms of children, laundry, and dinner.
So he decided to take his fate in his own hands and go golfing, but not before he pointed out to me that he is going to a course that he does not like very much and he is only playing 9 holes. Poor guy-he really needed an afternoon off, what with just having a baby and all.
Now, listen to my plans~I just put the baby down for a nap. That means I have 23 minutes to get to the grocery across the street. In this free time of mine, I have to round up my three other children from the outdoors because they cannot be outside when I am across the street at the grocery... so I get to deal with yelling, screaming, cursing, and tantrums (all on my part). I will take the 3 year old with me on my free 23 minutes because if I leave her at home with her older siblings, there will be blood involved when I come home and a bunch of "I didn't do it!" lines for me to sift through, and I won't be able to find the dog.
So I am off now, to run through the aisles as if my hair is on fire in order to get home in time to start dinner just as the baby is waking up so that I can finish making dinner one-handed while I hold the baby in the other arm-the arm that will bulk up with muscle twice the size of my right arm within the year from performing this one-handed dinner task. If I am really lucky, I will get a one-armed load of laundry in and I will do a one-arm vacuum job on the family room. This will all be done in time for my golfing husband to come home from his relaxing afternoon and sit down to dinner with the family. He will wonder why the kids all have duct tape on their mouths and why the dog is partially shaved... but he will not say a thing because he knows as well as I do that all the things that went wrong today happened for one reason and for one reason only. He went golfing. But I left the decision up to him~
Yesterday when I had my 2.564 minutes of free baby time I clicked over to her blog to see how she was holding up with a newborn. She was talking about not feeling as if she knew what she was doing-even though she had done this once before.
That got me thinking... I don't know what I am doing either! People expect me to-my husband expects me to know how to take care of this little infant, my Doctor calls me a "pro" because this is my fourth baby, my friends will come to me for advice on how to parent, and my new baby is surely hoping that I know what the hell I am doing here... but I don't.
If any career can make you feel inadequate it is motherhood, and let me tell you, I feel pretty lost.
Last night was a long night. I had never had a long night with any of my other children--or at least I do not remember having long nights with any of my other children. Maybe I did but I suffer from motherhood amnesia. This is the same type of amnesia that makes you forget the pain for childbirth so that in a few years you think to yourself "Wouldn't it be swell to have a sweet smelling infant around again?" and before you know it you are saying "OH Crap! I remember this pain!"
As I walked the floor with my new daughter last night I started to have a conversation with God. It was one of those "Just what are ya thinkin' up there God?" My husband and I have tried to plan out our lives as best we can. I have always known that God was truly the One in control of our lives, but He always seemed to be happy with how we were doing things so He never really stepped in to make me feel like I had NO control-and He apparently had it all. We all probably live like this at some point or another. We pray, we go to Church, we raise our children to love Jesus, and we fool ourselves into thinking that although we are making the choices, it is God whom we have put in the drivers seat of our lives-when all along we don't want Him to take control... we are fine thank you.
Our first three children were planned-by my husband and I. Sure, God knew they were His plan, but I always felt that they came just at the right time in our lives to fit into our plan. With our new baby--we were completely not in the loop of this plan. God showed me that He was taking over the wheel and driving this car. I am not going to lie to you and tell you I was thrilled with being pregnant again, because I was not. No, I was down right pissed off.
Throughout the pregnancy I prayed and tried to accept the fact that I was heading back into babyhood... all he while wondering why God decided to finally step in and take a little of the control back. I also wondered why He decided to do it in this manner-another baby? Surely He could have done it in a different way like maybe letting us win the lottery or something.
Last night as I started to make a worn out path in our hardwood floors with my new infant crying and squirming because her tummy must have been upset, or she had to poop, or she was too warm, or too cold, or she didn't like the pj's I put her in, or she wanted to light off, no on, no off, no on... I realized that I have no idea what I am doing! I had never felt the loss of control like I did last night. Then it hit me. This child who I held in my arms did not know me, and I do not know her... but God knows exactly who she is. I was so worried and angry about my own life plan that I failed to realize that God may not have been thinking so much about MY life, but the plan He has for our wee one's life.
I felt completely humbled at that point. All of my children have a plan that God has thought out for them... I am simply here to guide them along. To help them fulfill His plan. Hopefully I can look at motherhood as less of a career and more of a calling. Maybe we don't always agree with His plan, but it is moments like last night when I feel close to God. When I feel I am doing what I am supposed to be.
This is life-it is not meant to be all happy and full of butterflies and bunnies. It is hard-and learning from the hard parts is what makes life worth living fully. So kiss your kids today-God kisses them everyday. Tell your spouse you love them-God tells them that every day. Call your mom and dad and listen to them tell you the same story over and over again for the 100th time-God listens to them every day. Let someone hug you-God wraps His arms around you EVERY DAY!
Anyway, when Steve and I are together a good time is sure to be had by all. Well, maybe not all-but we are having a RIOT! Our spouses may roll their eyes at our jokes or our constant sarcasm, but we find each other completely entertaining.
I emailed Steve just yesterday about some home improvement jobs we have in store for him when he gets here and he emailed me back with a truly June Cleaver worthy reply. I thought I would share it with you all since I about fell out of my chair laughing...
My email to Steve:
OK, so my daughter's room needs a ceiling fan. Carl is going to purchase said fan, but does not have time to install it (read: does not know HOW to install it and the thought that he is not a handy man who can install a ceiling fan makes him feel insecure) We were going to have our painter Peruvian handy guys install it for us-but they wanted to charge $80... and they wanted to eat our guinea pig.
Carl called me today with a brilliant idea! He said "See if Steve will help me install the ceiling fan when he is here! (read: See if Steve will install the fan while I watch and assist by holding the nuts and bolts.)
So, we have a job for you when you get here... hell, you and I can probably do it. I recall installing the ceiling fan in my parent's kitchen in Highland. The garage door closed every time you flipped the switch, but that sucker could fan like no other ceiling fan!
This was Steve's reply:
Not a problem. It will be a pleasure assisting Carl. Have no fear, I only killed three and maimed seven assistants last year. All accidental. Way better than the year before. All charges have been dropped.
Do you think they will let me on the plane with a blowtorch, jumper cables, and a sledgehammer? I hope so. The Lord knows you can't put in a ceiling fan without them! Come to think of it, my rental car has unlimited mileage. If I need any tools I can just swing by home and get them. Golly Gee, am I smart, or what?! You are so lucky to have a cousin like me! I have good Levis.
Kind of a funny story for you. Today I went to get my ears lowered. My regular stylist is on maternity leave, so she had another girl cut my hair. Since the boss is gone, the radio is a little louder, the girls are a little more carefree, and we're having a good time yucking it up. I am just being "Steve" when all of a sudden the girl cutting my hair starts dry heaving and laughing. "What the heck", I say. It was so weird that I thought she was faking it.
I turns out that she has a "dry heaving trigger word". To which, I thought was about the funniest thing I ever saw. As well as her and everybody else there. Definitely the first time I had ever seen someone dry heaving and laughing when alcohol was not involved. It turns out that this tall, heavy set, girl wearing black, with different color streaks in her hair, deeper raspy voice, multiple ear piercings and a bottom lip ring, cannot hear the word "moist". For some unknown reason, "moist" turns this, could be an Ultimate Fighter or mercenary, stylists stomach. To which the real fun began. By the time I had left we covered everything from faking it (mmmmMoses or mmmmmmodel) to Betty Crocker's Super Moist cakes. Everyone's sides were sore. I believe some were numb from the waist down, and pretty sure a couple women peed a little bit. Laughter was becoming forbidden due to the migraines that were ensuing.
The entertainment value is worth the four dollar increase over the barber and the digs I get on just about any given day.
So my devoted readers, I share this with you because I thought that email was a great "guest writer" introduction to Steve. I am sure I will have many more stories to share with you after the Baptism weekend.
It is amazing how far a trombone playing Irishman can get on making people laugh just by saying the word "moist!" Only Steve... only Steve.
Sure sure, I know that I have just brought home a new child... but seriously folks, my daughter is making me crazy. Have you ever seen the movie "Problem Child?" She could play the lead role-no joke!
She no longer talks with a sweet voice, she screams with earth shattering pitches. She no longer asks for help, she now just does as she pleases and does not bat an eye when she is disciplined. She sticks out her tongue, she bites, she tells me that everything is her brother's fault, and she has decided to veto all grooming habits such as hair combing, teeth brushing and butt wiping.
She is a mess and I just don't know what to do. Do I send her away? I bet this is what they did in the 60's... they sent unruly kids away. Do I drug her? I bet that is what they did to kids in the 70's (I was a kid in the 70's and I bet my parents drugged us good). Do I spank her? That is what they did in the 80's before spanking was considered child abuse and parents were sent to jail for paddling little Johnny's rear end for setting the garage on fire and spray painting the cat. Do I put her in timeout? That is what they did in the 90's when all the parents were paroled from jail for spanking-they started decorating little benches and putting them in cute little corners of the house and called it the "timeout bench."
Well, now it is 2007 and I am not this child's friend... I am her mother. I am growing very weary of the whole "look, mom has a baby attached to her boob... she can't run after me." attitude my three year old is sporting. And what ever happened to whispering??? At 3 a.m. when she walks into our room to inform me that her covers are on the floor and she needs my assistance in placing them properly back on her bed-what ever happened to whispering? Now she simply screams "MOM! HELP! ME! NOW!" Any hope of having an infant sleep through that is sooo out the window.
Everything has to be done NOW for her... if I even say "wait until Mommy is finished" she will go into fits of screaming and crying and when we were in Target the other day I told the cashier that my daughter had Turrets just so I didn't look like a mother who had completely lost control of my child.
I did not ruin her life by bringing home a baby. When I brought home our son, I thought I ruined my oldest daughter's life and I used to cry outside of her bedroom because I felt guilty. Today... I do not feel guilty. Suck it up kid-this is life! It is time to grow up and move on the from the baby position. Siblings are a blessing-deal with it.
Is that a bad attitude to have? Should I be more sympathetic to my three year old's plea for attention? Should I feel bad for her even though she has a room full of toys and an older brother and sister who play with her all day long? Should I read her 10 books each night instead of 5? Should I do a song and dance every chance I get for her? Or do I just keep doing what I am doing... telling her how much I love her and how special she is to me?
I think I will keep on the track that we are on and this stage will run it's course just like the way hemorrhoids run their course. For a while the pain is unbearable, but with each day it gets easier and easier to take a dump. Let's just pray this constipation softens up real soon~
We started out the day with piano lessons. How we made it out of the house in time I will never know... actually, that is a lie. I know exactly how we made it out of the house-my three year old looked like a street urchin. She was allowed to dress herself and do her own hair this morning. I looked at her and did not have time to dwell on the fact that just 2 short weeks ago I would have never left the house without her looking as cute as a button, but this morning I let her have her way. She even had chocolate on her face from the ice cream bar she had before bed last night... nice.
After piano I had to get myself to Buy Buy Baby to return a few items that I did not need. This is the time of the post that I should mention that I will NEVA buy anything at Buy Buy Baby again. They are not nice. They are especially not nice when you want to return something. I guess that is why they call their store Buy Buy Baby, and not Return Return Baby. I suppose if they were called Return Return Baby they may have a line of new moms wanting to return their baby at 3 am each night.
I was returning a baby tub. I paid 30 big ones for this tub and decided the other day that I will never use the tub. We have a tub that came with the house that will do just fine. I think it is more of a pain to drag out a baby tub, fill it, get the kid in it, empty it, dry it-because if you don't you get mold, and then put it away again. It is much easier to just fill up the big white tub in the bathroom with 2 inches of water and lay the baby in there to kick and scream in delight.
Well, the lady at customer service (they need to think of a new name for this department) didn't think that my story was valid and she called her supervisor to come "inspect" the tub. Her supervisor came to "inspect" the tub and looked it up and down. She turned it over, pulled on the attached toys and even SMELLED it! She must have had a job as an airport strip searcher and decided that working at a baby super store was much more conducive to her bubbly personality.
She turned to me and said, "We do not take merchandise back that is in this condition."
Now, when this woman woke up this morning I am sure she did not think that she was going to meet me. If she did think that she was going to meet me, she may have had a bigger breakfast because she was going to need all of the brain power she could muster to deal with me-a lactating, bleeding, strategically perfected errand runner, who was dragging 4 kids with her like a big ol' caboose to a train.
I literally lifted my wee one out of my arms and said "Do you see this baby here? She is just a week old. She still has her umbilical nub for goodness sake! She has not taken a bath in that bathtub."
The supervisor pointed out some dirt marks that were on the tub... to which I replied were probably there when I purchased it. This I knew was a fib, because I looked at my urchin three year old and my mischievous 9 year old and knew that they had walked all over that stinking tub in the van because they can never step OVER something...no they have to step right on it. But I was not budging and I was not leaving that store without my refund.
I started in on the fact that this was ridiculous and that I would never shop here again and that I could have gotten it cheaper at Target and so on... People started to walk by slowly so they could listen to the commotion and eventually we had a nice little circle of moms around us. I was half expecting them to start chanting "fight fight fight" but they didn't.
In the end I made it out of there with my 30 bucks. The supervisor looked so pained to give me my money back that I felt all the more victorious! The kids and I hopped back in the van-but not before my skirt blew up in the wind and I was whistled at by a few Hispanic men in the parking lot. I am soo back!
The zipper status on my pants is at no-status. I cannot zip them, not even the baggie ones yet. I knew it was too soon. What was I thinking? I know what I was thinking-I weighed myself and felt pretty good. I surveyed my body nekid before my shower and felt pretty confident that I no longer looked pregnant... heck, I look a lot like most high school girls do nowadays. I should just throw on a belly button shirt and some hipster jeans and call it good. I would be sooo in fashion.
So I have entered this stage of postpartum... that delicate dance with pre-pregnancy clothing and zippers. I didn't take into consideration hip widening, or butt sagging... but hopefully next week I can get the zipper at least half the way up. That will be just a step closer to getting that zipper all the way up even though it is being pulled to the seams and saying to myself "Good job! Now lets wear these babies out in public!"
On Sunday I attempted a few pre-pregnancy tops. My boobs literally laughed in my face in the mirror and taunted me. Silly silly girl... medium shirts are for milk free tata's.
I wonder how Pamela Anderson does it!
We are complete opposites, and that is why we work so well together. I am the calm to his storm, I am the humor to his serious, I am the beauty to his beast. :) He is the reason to my discombobulation, he is the schedule to my disorder, he is the money maker to my spending. We are a lot like batteries, it takes a lot of each other's positives and negatives to make things work around here.
Today is my guy's birthday. I know I razz him a lot on this blog-but I speak only the truth. He is selfish, egotistical and he truly believes that the world revolves around him (I have his mother to thank for that one.) but he is also a sweetheart. My husband is an amazing father. Never have I seen someone so devoted to their children-he is faithful and true. I feel protected when I am with him, and lost when he is away. He takes care of me and I have no doubt that he would travel to the ends of the earth if needed just to make me happy. My husband is my best friend.
The other day I asked my husband if he ever thought he would be married with 4 kids. His reply was "no... not in a million years." That answer made me very happy. When we are younger we all have thoughts and dreams as to what our futures will hold. I am sure my husband thought his future held a wife (someone quiet and mousy I am sure) and possibly one child. He didn't know what hit him when he met me, and I am sure he still wakes up some mornings not sure whether to wind his butt or scratch his watch, but I do believe that he would not want his life to be any different. Sure, he may want more sex, or more steaks on the grill, but I am pretty confident that if it weren't for my love... and the fact that I seem to get pregnant often, than he would never have been as happy as he is today!
So there you have it... I am the reason for his happiness. It is ALL ME! He is so darn lucky that I came along and not that mousy wife in his dreams who would have only given him one child and he would have had to drive around in a BMW instead of a 13 year old Ford truck, or he would have had to vacation in places like Bora Bora instead of taking vacation time to do home improvement projects. I don't think he would have found much happiness in having a boat and a big screen TV when I see how happy he is playing catch with our kids in the front yard. Yep... it was my love that saved him from himself. My love that showed him what life is really like~
Happy birthday babe... and please don't forget to stop off at the grocery and pick up some maxi pads and breast pads for me-thanks!
"When you next add to your blog, I think you should ask your fans who has had the most unusual Mother's Day gift ever....I thought Dan had managed years ago when I received a rod and reel, but he's pretty well outdone himself this year! Yep, a Kubota Z turn mower to mark this very emotional day! He's often reminded me that I'm not his mother....true! So being the practical man he is, and the 3 acres my territory to care for, the mower makes perfect sense in this engineer's mind; what would Erma Bombeck have to say about this?
Happy Mother's Day !!
That got me thinking... although I personally have not received any "unusual" mother's day gifts, not because my husband is the world's best gift giver (if you have read this blog for long you would know that he is BAD at gifts... or even remembering my birthday for that matter) but I am sure there are some doozie gifts out there from the men that we have pledged our love and life to.
Father's Day is always a celebrations around here... Mother's Day, let's just say I am glad it falls on Sunday and can pray for my husband's speedy recovery at Mass.
So let me know ladies. The winner of the most unusual gift gets a prize... OK, no prize, but I will put you in my sidebar with a link to your blog I promise!
OK, on to a different topic... yesterday I was filling out our Wee One's baby book and it wanted to know the name of the Doc who delivered her. This sounds like an easy question, except for the fact that I have no idea the name of the Doc that delivered our baby. I sat startled, I don't even know if he was a REAL Doc or if he was the floor janitor!
When I made my way up to Labor and Delivery, I met a very nice Doc. He checked me and that was the last time I saw him because of shift change. I met the next Doc who was a female and very sweet... younger than me and skinnier, but still sweet. Later in the evening another Doc strolled in to introduce himself and let me know that he was "supervising" the female Doc that I had already met. I also met my anaesthesiologist, who was by far my favorite Doc in the entire hospital--I plan on doing an entire post on him in the near future, that is how much I liked him. Anyway, the two OB Docs were the only two Docs I knew of and I assumed one of them would be delivering our baby. In the military, you get who is on call basically-no matter who you have been seeing for the past 9 months.
Well, things started moving along and I started to feel a lot of pressure and I wanted to push. I could not push because the Doctors were all busy with other women--the nerve! As I lay there breathing in and out with each contraction trying not to push, our wee one's heart rate dropped. I was not alarmed, I know this happens and I just figured it was her way of saying "Let's move this along shall we?" Well, before I knew it, there were a GAZILLION Docs in my room... and I recognized not one of them. Where did they all come from? There must have been a Doc convention in the cafeteria and they all decided to converge in my room. They were having a vagina party, and my vagina was the main event!
Finally one Doc decided to take charge and as I looked at him, I realized that he was gorgeous. I am not talking "this man is going to save me from this pain" gorgeous, I am talking "Grey's Anatomy" gorgeous. I instantly nicknamed him McAngel in my mind. He instructed the nurses to roll me from my left side to my right side back to my left, all the while having my rear end shifted back and forth completely open for all to view which I am willing to bet looked a lot like a walrus being shifted from left to right on a chucks pad. I was cursing myself for not getting that bikini wax because although I was about to birth a baby, I realized I was about to do it in front of a gorgeous man whom I had never seen before!
My hair was a mess and my make up was all but gone... not to mention that my husband was standing next to me holding my leg up in the air. You just can't get a flirt on with a gorgeous Doc when your husband is holding up your leg and you are half naked.
I birthed the baby, McAngel fixed me up and shook my husband's hand and departed. I never saw him again. I didn't even get his name. I don't even know if he was a real man or a figment of my drug altered imagination. All I do know is that he was hot... which is such a weird thought to have about the Doc who just saw your unmentionables being mentioned all over the room. All of this made me start to think how easy it would be to impersonate a Doctor. McAngel could very well have been a model for Calvin Klein who wanted to see what life is like for an OB Doc and he picked my delivery to try it out. If that is the case, he did a good job and he should seriously consider dropping the modeling and become a full-time Doc, although I would much rather see him be a orthopedic doc, or a podiatrist rather than an OB Doc.
June Cleaver rule #2765: Never go to a gorgeous gyno. You will leave hoping for a phone call that will never come.
Today is the day... the one where I can only scream at my husband for not understanding that I don't want his help-but that he isn't doing anything to help me!
Today is the day... where I start to cry because my son won't pick up his socks from the floor.
Today is the day... where I hide in my closet with my head in my hands weeping because I can only wear maternity pants.
Today is the day... the one that only allows me a 45 second shower because no one can hear the baby cry but me and our three year old.
Today is the day... the one where I become insanely jealous of my neighbor who's children are all grown and out of the house and she can come and go in life as she pleases.
Today is the day... the one where I see my blessings as burdens.
Today is the day... where I secretly fantasize about what life would be like without children.
Today is the day... where I want to burn all of the baby books in the world because no one tells you about this day-the one where you hurt, you are sad, and you just want to run away.
Today is the day... when I can't see my life ever getting out of the nursing, diapering, and baby stage.
Today is the day... where I feel trapped.
Today is the day... where I know this is all hormones, but I can't help but feel overwhelmed and under qualified.
Today is the day... where I want all the other moms to know that we all go through this.
Today is the day... where I want all the moms to know that although they feel alone-we have all been at this exact same place.
Today is the day... where I have to convince myself that tomorrow will be better, and next week is not so far away.
Today is the day... that although I feel guilty for all of my thoughts and worries, I am still a good mom and I am OK.
I hate today.
On a positive note... today is the day my "outie" bellybutton turned back into an "innie!"
Today... I feel like I am lost at sea and feeding the entire boat!
My nipples are in PAIN! Good Golly Miss Molly... this is love I tell ya. I recall this dance with blinding pain with all of my babies and I am well aware of the fact that the pain will subside in a few days when my titties toughen up, but until then I keep telling myself to stay away from the Tequila... because although alcohol may dull the pain, it may very well get me pregnant again and in the same situation that I am in right now.
I remember when I was a little kid and I would ask my mom for some random thing and she would say no. I would complain and her response to me was always:
"You know what the kitty said"
To which I would say:
"What did the kitty say?"
And my mom would only tell me "Tough"
It was years later that I found out that the kitty said "Tough titty, but the milk is sweet."
Tough titty... boy oh boy.
I am in that stage where I go to nurse, I get all situated and ready to nurse, I position my precious little baby perfectly for a good latching, and then I wait... I have to talk myself into that actual "latch." I have to breath deep, say a prayer, coax myself into feeding and then eventually stuff this gawd awful big swollen nipple into my baby's tiny little mouth-that is no bigger than a bird's mouth. It is like stuffing John Candy into a pair of spandex pants... it is achievable, but it is a challenge... and it would probably work better with a gallon of oil.
So today's post in in honor of those poor Cuban women who had some tough titties when they were rescued-I can empathize with you. My baby may only be 8 lbs, but she can pack a mean suck that would put any hungry person lost at sea to shame.
We went into the Doc on Friday afternoon and they decided to induce (it could have been my constant pushing that convinced them... but I don't know) We waited around for a room to open up, and then waited to see a Doc, and then waited some more for I don't know what.
After seeing the Doc he asked me what my level of pain would be that I would need an epidural from 1-10. Since I was at a 0, I thought it was the perfect time to get one! He was a little surprised but agreed to my getting an epidural before I even had my panties off. I was not fooling around.
I ended up having an epidural 4 HOURS before they were able to come in to induce me... so I had an evening of television, my husband, and numbness from the waist down--it was like I was in college again.
I was finally induced-and 3 1/2 hours later baby was born. My husband is boasting that I only pushed twice-but I think it was more like 4 times. I don't fool around when I need to push. If all else fails in life for me I would be a great side show in the circus let me tell ya.
I have another Doc appointment today-I have been diligently working at getting this body of mine prepared to birth this baby. I have moved furniture, done laundry, cleaned out my closet and with each contraction I squat like I am in the weight lifting championships! I am moving and shaking and crossing my fingers...
My husband... he is golfing.
Now I ask you, why is it that men can always follow their OWN agenda and we (I) are stuck having to cater to the agendas of everyone else in the house? I mean, I may be going into labor ANY MINUTE NOW and I am running around making sure my daughter has her favorite pair of pink pants clean to wear with her pink shirt and pink flip flops and pink bow. Life as we know it would cease if she did not have this outfit on today. I am also getting the house ready for the cleaning lady--OK, I admit, many of you may be saying "What the hell are you complaining about? You have a cleaning lady!" But when you have a cleaning lady, you still need to get all of the junk up off the floor and back into it's original place. My kids also have ball games and piano recitals in the next 48 hours so that means I have to make sure there are people to drive them to such activities and that their uniforms are cleaned and ready... and laid out, because heaven forbid I just put it in the drawer and my son cannot find his red socks because he would never think to look in his sock drawer!
But my husband... he is golfing.
He is obviously going to have a tough day. He is obviously going to have to push something the size of a watermelon out of something the size of an orange. He is obviously preparing himself for a marathon of pain... by golfing.
I should have woken up today and gone to the salon. I should have gotten a massage this morning and a facial. I should have gotten my toes done and a bikini wax... but I would never do that. Why is that? I would feel incredibly guilty if I took the morning off and did something for myself? How screwed up is that??
But my husband... he is golfing.
He just walked in and saw that I am in a mood... a "maybe I need to leave her alone" mood. He looked over my shoulder to see what I was talking about today and he said "Don't say mean things about me!"
But HE WENT GOLFING!
He then decided to rant himself... it went something like this:
"I can golf if I want to! This is MY house! I pay the bills, buy the food, pay for everything! I am the man of this house! I can do what I want!"
To which I looked at him and busted out laughing... He quickly apologized for his hilarious rant and decided he better go get some work done before I turn into Sybil.
He just checked my temperature because he claims that women in labor are "hot" He is sooo trying to win me over.
After Chris Robinson was voted off American Idol my oldest daughter started to cry and declared she would NEVER watch this show again! Poor kid. I on the other hand ripped off my bra and threw it at the television set when Bon Jovi was performing! WoooHoooo!
My husband has been looking at me and simply shaking his head since we returned from the Doc without going into labor. He feels I did not lie enough, or rather that I was not convincing enough when lying. I decided that I had had enough and declared that it was HIS fault we are still pregnant... seeing as he has been lax in certain "stimulation" duties. This backfired on me because he was 100% willing to stimulate ANYTHING last night, and all I wanted to do was go to sleep. How do men succeed at turning around a situation to be OUR fault so perfectly? I bet they go to a secret "How to make you wife think she is crazy and then blame it on her" class.
Talking to my older sister yesterday, we somehow got on the topic of in-laws. Not ours, but the daughter-in-laws we will one day have when our sons marry. It was one of those future conversations... the kind that drive my husband crazy until he tells me that I am thinking too much (my husband doesn't like me to think).
My sister is hoping that her daughter-in-laws will like her. Then she said to me "Because there are people in the world that do not like me." You have to know my sister to know that there is NO ONE in this world that could not like her. She is the sweetest, kindest person I know. She is genuine and trustworthy. She is honest and faithful. The thought of someone not liking my sister is very distressing to her. I on the other hand replied, "Yeah, well I know that there are people who do not like me... and I don't give a shit." That may just be my problem.
My husband and I went in to the Doc and she asked how I was feeling. I asked her what I needed to say to send me upstairs to L&D. She said I had to say that I felt a decrease in fetal movement... so I said "I have felt a decrease in fetal movement." To which she answered, "Well, you better get upstairs!"
Once up in Labor and Delivery, they hooked me up to a monitor-two actually, made me strip down to my birthday suit from the waist down and checked my cervix. While in there... the Doc decided to strip my membranes-that felt like she was sticking her entire fist up my crotch, but that is beside the point. The monitors showed that the baby was indeed moving-and moving a lot. It is official, this child is just like all of the other children I have given birth to-she does not listen to me and she will take any opportunity to embarrass me.
Anyway, they decide to do an ultrasound on me to check my fluid... which of course was just fine. So they sent me home but told me to come back in two days where they will do everything they just did to me all over again.
I am going to use Michelle 's technique and once I am in there on Friday-I am not leaving without a baby! Especially since there is no way I want to battle the traffic on a Friday afternoon out of DC.
My husband was very disappointed... not because he is not holding his new little girl in his arms right now, but because he has to go to work tomorrow. Sometimes life is just so unfair!
I think I am ready-the flowers are planted, my little sister came in town yesterday to watch our other offspring, and I was able to paint my toe nails one last time. I even bought some Miller Lite yesterday and put it in the fridge... I need to have this kid soon because every time I open the refrigerator door I start frothing at the mouth!
I have to admit that I am a little bit frightened. Are all women scared out of their wits at the thought of labor or is it just me? I mean, going in to the Doc and saying "please help put me into excruciating pain." is kind of like handing my son a hammer and asking him to slam it on my thumb a good 20 times. I feel a little crazy here. I like to avoid pain-and today I am going to ask, even BEG to be put into pain.
If you could please say a little prayer for me today... that all goes well and that the sonogram was correct and this is a baby girl (we have so much pink!) and that she is beautiful and healthy. Also, while you are on your knees, pray that I don't poo on the delivery table.
My husband packed his bag last night. I had to giggle a bit. I have never packed a bag in all of my labor and delivery days. This makes my husband crazy because he is a preparedness expert. I always argue that I do not need to be so prepared because I have him... who not only makes sure we have extra underwear for every person in our family in the car "just in case" but also makes sure windows are locked, all seats are in the upright position and snack trays are secured and fastened... oh, and that we have extra fast food napkins in the glove box.
I prefer the "running with my hair on fire" preparedness technique. The one that will not allow me to pack an overnight bag for the hospital at all... which means that my husband will have to come home after my delivery and pack me a bag to bring back to the hospital. I can't help it-I am a thorn in his side.
I have been nesting though... but I nest differently than most women. I have not really cleaned my house-you know the nesting "clean the floors with a toothbrush" neurotic routine. My cleaning lady is coming on Friday so I figure I am good with the whole "is the house clean enough?" paranoia. Besides, if I clean today and the baby does not come for another 5 days... that means I will have to just clean it again. No thanks.
I nest by buying things. I can go an entire pregnancy and not buy one thing at all-I am not a shopper. The last few days though, I have this need to buy all of those things that have been on my mind to buy for the last year but have never gotten around to it.
For example, yesterday my "to buy" list consisted of:
- New drinking glasses that match one another. We have a cupboard full of mismatched glasses... and most have various restaurant logos on them. I could not stand it any longer and needed to get real glasses-ones that matched. How could I possibly bring a baby into this house with mismatched glasses from Applebee's, TGIFridays and 7-11?
- New flatware. We have very nice flatware, but not enough. I was tired of having to wash forks from the dishwasher each night before dinner because my children have to use 17 forks each on any given day. So I felt compelled to buy an additional 48 piece set-how could I possibly live another day with a half-empty silverware drawer?
- Bike helmets. My children all needed new helmets for the summer. I could not bring a baby into this house and be nursing quietly and have one of my children fall off of their bike and crack their head open from the lack of bike helmet wearing... I would not be happy having to take them to the ER in the middle of a milk let-down.
- Sandbox. Well, that one was on the list for principle alone because my husband was so adamantly against buying a sandbox. Listen, I am about to give birth here... no one is going to tell me what I can or cannot do! He is just lucky I did not want to buy a new car.
- Haircolor and sunless tanner. One has to look good in the delivery room-for all of those post-labor photographs.
- Flowers. I need to make the house look pretty for the baby the first time she sees it! There was no question that I needed to go spend $100 on flowers!
- New silverware tray. The old one does not fit all of the new silverware we have.
Once I have purchased all of those "must have" items, I am sure my water will break and I will be running around the house yelling things like "Don't I have any clean underwear?" or "I forgot to buy maxi pads!" That is how I roll... I can't help it.