Marcus The Doctor

In the immortal words of "Dora the Explorer" (Shoot me.  Shoot me, now.) "He did it, he did it, he did it, hooray!"  This past Saturday Marcus was officially accepted into the "company of scholars" (their words, not mine) when he received his Doctorate of Engineering.  What an achievement that has been 5 years in the making.  Along with working on his doctoral thesis these past five years Marcus has:  Married me, welcomed 2 baby girls (and a cat) into his life, purchased 4 homes and flipped one, purchased an apartment building, moved twice, took jobs in D.C. and North Carolina, received his pilot's license, traveled to Hawaii, Jamaica, Costa Rica, and Japan, and broken at least two bones. 

Couple all of these life events with me trying not to kill him and it's a miracle he made it at all.  No, seriously.  His life was on the line on more than one occasion.  Everyone congratulated me, too for being here supporting Marcus but I certainly don't deserve any credit because half the time I was debating on the merits of poisoning versus electrocution or just moving back in with my mom.  I'm also not proud to say that I know for a fact when flung across the room at a high velocity avocado stains walls.  Don't ask me how I know, just trust me.

All of this is simply to say, though, how great it is to know this portion of our lives is over.  We made it through despite the craziness that has been our lives and now we can focus on other things, like absolutely NOTHING.  

She's Here!

So...you know how people will say something then follow it up with "famous last words?"  I should have written "famous last words" at the end of my last post.  It turns out I was going to have a baby it's just that she was waiting for her exact cue to arrive.  She's very punctual this one.  Again, I won't go into the nitty gritty details but just know this is a post about giving birth.  I may say things that make you uncomfortable.  I can guarantee you it won't be nearly as uncomfortable as I found myself at just about this time a week ago.

Marcus and I went to bed on time last Tuesday, about 10:00.  I couldn't fall asleep because the baby was kicking and going nuts and not allowing me any reprieve from the movement.  At about 11:00 I started feeling cramps.  My first thought was I had to use the bathroom.  However, after about 15 minutes passed I had another cramp and I realized it was more of a wave than of a constant crampiness.  So, after about 45 minutes of off and on crampiness I woke Marcus up and told him we should probably call my mom.  He was wide awake although he later confessed he thought it was 6:00 in the morning he was already sleeping that hard.  Lucky.

So, we called my mom and she got to the house and we left for the hospital which this time was a mere 5 minute drive away.  By this time I knew for sure I was experiencing labor pains, I was just hoping it was enough for them to keep me at the hospital.  Famous last words.  We got the hospital at 1 in the morning and went through the ER where they insisted on wheeling me up to Labor and Delivery because not but an hour earlier another pregnant lady had arrived at the ER and never made it to Labor and Delivery before delivering her baby.  We got to L&D and they checked me into triage where they determined I was 5 cm dilated.  Much better from the morning's prognosis of 2.5.  After a while they got me into a room where things quickly progressed.

The contractions were long,  hard, and just about back-to-back; much worse than with Alex.  I opted to go without an epidural figuring I did it last time why couldn't I do it this time?  I'm not saying I would have done anything different this time around but there were definitely moments where I thought "Why the f*** am I not getting an epidural?!"  The nurse checked on me a few times and the last time she walked out of the room she said if my water were to break or if I felt the need to push call her.  I swear it was five minutes later and I felt the need to push. 

So, I'll leave it there but I do want to mention poor Marcus was thrust into the role of holding a leg where he got to witness first-hand the birth of his new baby.  Everyone was very concerned when Marcus suddenly asked for apple juice and he was practically forced to sit down.  He eventually made his way back to my head where he stayed until it was over.

At 3:10 AM, a mere four hours from start to finish, we welcomed our new baby into the world.  Everyone in the room was excited to see who it was (apparently nobody waits to find out the sex these days) and Marcus announced to the room that the baby was a girl!  Both of us were stunned.  For whatever reason we felt certain this baby would be a boy.  Instead, she was a healthy, beautiful girl whom we named Jospehine Margaret.  She weighed 8 pounds 3 ounces and was 19.5" long at birth.  I'm pretty sure she's already doubled in size just a week later based on how much she's eating.  So, there you have it.  My very normal, 40 week long pregnancy followed by a very normal delivery which resulted in a fabulous baby girl.  We're all happy to be home and settling in though some of us are a little crankier than others (*ahem* Alex).  That's another post for another day.

Our new bundle fresh outta the womb

Violated? I Think Not.

I remember shortly after Alexandra was born having a conversation with my girlfriend about the lactation consultants at the hospital.  "Didn't you feel so violated when they came in, grabbed your boob, and shoved it in the baby's mouth?!" she asked.  "Seriously?" I said, "I had a male nurse squirting warm water on my vagina not but 6 hours earlier.  A woman grabbing my breast was the last thing I cared about by that point in time."

Manipulation

I'd like to take a quick moment to note that yesterday marks the very first time Alex manipulated her dada because I wasn't giving her what she wanted.  Who knew it started so young?

Basically, we were all three in the pediatrician's waiting room, Marcus, me in the middle, and Alex sitting in her own chair much to her delight.  She then started sliding off and insisting I put her back in the chair (we're working on our upper body strength).  After a while I grew weary of the game and told her that I wasn't going to put her back in the chair.

She looked at me for a minute or two, I suppose trying to ascertain how serious I was, and when she finally concluded I was indeed, very serious, she walked over to Marcus and indicated to him she wanted to sit in his lap.  He picked her up (having not noticed what was going on next to him) and she proceeded to crawl out of his lap, onto and over me, and into "her" chair which she promptly slid right out of.

The thought process for this took less than a minute which I applaud; it didn't take her long to figure out a solution to her problem.  But the deceit?  Whoa boy.  We are in for it.  She's only 18 months old and she has a lot to learn...this is going to be bad.

Women Are Dumb

As you may or may not be aware I am a glutton for punishment.  I also like to make fun of stupid people.  As such, I occasionally peruse a chat forum designated especially for women who are either trying to get pregnant, are pregnant, or just like to talk about those things.  For the most part I think they're all ridiculous and write about ridiculous things that could easily be addressed if they'd just pick-up the phone and talk to their health care practitioner.  But, then again, if they did that I wouldn't have such great fodder for my blog posts.  Also, I suppose it's a sign of the times.  We can find all of the answers we need/want to hear by simply posing a question to a group of strangers who have no authority on the topic at hand.  I digress.

The most recent "WTF" moment came yesterday when a woman asked who else was regularly checking their own cervix.  What.  The.  F***ity.  F***?!  WHO regularly checks their own cervix and most importantly WHY?  I cannot overemphasize enough the WHY.  Why are they checking their own cervix and for the love of Pete how do they even know what they're feeling for?  That's why people go to medical school and trust me, these women are nowhere near medical school learning.  The responses she received were equally WTF as women gave helpful hints on how to squat and...I can't.  I won't even make you re-live the whole thread because I care.  Just know that it was beyond weird and we'll leave it at that.

This whole thing icks me out to no end.  I do not understand women and I am one but I'll be damned if I'm sticking my fingers up where they don't belong.  That's what I'm paying an OB-GYN to do, to tell me what's going on in there because well, he should know.  So, until next time remember folks:  That pregnant woman you shook hands with may have just checked her own cervix.  

35 Weeks Today

Today we are officially at the 35 week point which, if you actually know me (like, in real life), then you know that Alexandra was born at 35 weeks.  Thus, the importance of today.  As of 1:39 PM EST there are no signs of early labor and the impending arrival of Baby T #2.  Which is kind of disappointing.  Don't get me wrong.  I totally understand the importance of a 40 week gestation and the longer the baby gestates the better but, really?  5 more weeks of this?  Provided the outcome is the same as Alexandra's which was we had a perfectly healthy, albeit small, baby then I'm more than willing to give birth today.  I mean, I'm like really willing.  My belly button is popped so far out it looks like a fifth appendage.  My smooth walking gate is officially more of a waddle because the baby has a habit of pressing on my bladder and backside at the same time which is highly uncomfortable.  I'm also a little nervous about just how big this baby will get if we go to a full 40 weeks.  Birthing a five pounder was nothing.  Birthing an eight pounder might be a whole different story and one I don't really want to have as part of my repertoire.

In general, I'm just over it.  I don't suppose I was really into it to begin with as pregnancy isn't something I enjoy despite how easy it is for me.  Although, with all of that being said I know what lies ahead.  It's a vast span of time when Marcus and I walk around like zombies and I cry a lot because it's overwhelming.  So, on second thought, maybe having the baby isn't such a great idea.  (S)he should probably just stay put for a long, long time.

When It Rains It Pours

About two weeks ago our area was hit by what is called a "derecho" which, if you're too lazy to click on the link I've provided, I understand to be defined as a land hurricane...whatever that means.  Our house fared well and we never lost power during the 10 minute onslaught of wind and rain but it was the first time I ever considered running down into the basement for safety.  Instead, I found myself nervously hovering around the foyer, holding onto a sleepy Alexandra who I'm sure felt my anxiety, and readying to bolt at any given second.  Once the worst of it seemed to be over I took Alex back upstairs and nervously checked my phone over and over again for signs of another storm all while praying Marcus, who was driving home from Ohio, made it home safely which he did.

This is all to say that the house we dwell in was lucky as were the occupants.  The house we own in Dahlgren was not so lucky.  A giant tree split into three pieces and came crashing down around it, destroying the AC unit which is unfortunate because we just had one whole week of above 100 degree temperatures.  Luckily, nobody was hurt and there was relatively minor damage to the house itself.  Despite how minor the damage was though has resulted in a $12,500 bill.  That's right.  Twelve thousand five hundred dollars.

Who has that kind of money?  I don't know anyone (personally) who has money like that lying around.  So, I've come up with ways to make that money.

First, I've already sold Alexandra into child labor.  Those tiny little fingers have got to be good for something and it's about time she started bringing in her fair share anyway.

Second, I have resigned myself to hooking.  I feel like it's a market previously unexplored in our area and as such could be a really lucrative career choice for me.

Third, given Marcus's previous history in college (think Magic Mike but on a considerably less grander scale) I have decided he will need to seek a second job as a male stripper.  He can't give up his day job because that pays very well and we'll need as much cash flowing as possible.  The problem is he's lost a lot of weight recently due to his job being so busy and his "forgetting" to eat (seriously, I hate men) so he'll have to beef up but other than that I think he'll find a second job isn't all that bad.

That's it.  My three, fail-proof ways to make some extra money and pay for the repairs to the house.  If Marcus had his way he'd do all of the work himself but I've tried to make it known that not having a bathroom or closet is becoming unacceptable...and I think he's finally starting to listen.  Maybe.  Probably not.  Hell, who am I kidding?  He's not listening.

You'll Never Believe This One...Then Again, You Probably Will

It should probably not come as a surprise to those of you who follow me on Facebook what this post is about.

Yes, Marcus got a new (to us) jet ski.  A friend was looking to sell his mid-80s jet ski and instead offered to give it to Marcus for free.  Naturally, Marcus, being Marcus, could not refuse this enticing offer despite the fact we have a baby due to be born in early October, Alex's new bedroom needs to be painted and put together, the master bathroom needs to be finished as it currently consists of nothing but tile, and the master closet needs to be finished as it currently consists of all of the tools being used to work on the master bathroom.  Also, might I add that the only person who could possibly even get any enjoyment out of said jet ski is the only person who could possibly even take care of all the aforementioned projects (not including the new baby part...I am all over that one).

Marcus has a propensity to acquire things for the shear sake of acquiring them despite there often being very good reasons not to do so and then they become projects that take the place of more important projects and to be honest, they never really take flight anyway as evidenced here...here...here...and here.  Pretty much all of the linked blog posts are about the other jet ski in our life.  After doing the search for those posts it occurred to me that I never once wrote a blog post about the time, a few weeks after Alexandra was born, when Marcus went out and purchased a new (to us) Jeep Wrangler.  Because that's what a new family of three needed at the time, an old, rusty Jeep Wrangler that only Marcus or I could drive separately but never together because there was no way in hell I'd put my brand new baby in that thing.  Heck, I wouldn't put her in it now.  I digress.

Despite my attempts at being the coolest pregnant woman you'll ever meet and despite my attempts to not throw the pregnancy card out there at every chance I get this pregnant woman is really, really starting to freak the f*** out.  There is a lot of work to be done in a very short amount of time and I'm banking on going to term with this pregnancy despite my previous history.  God help us if this baby comes early, too.  God help Marcus if he goes out, gallivanting around on a jet ski when work on the bathroom and closet could be done.  Oh yeah, that's a threat.

Temper Tantrums

Have you ever seen the Saturday Night Live commercial that parodies the woman's contraceptive Seasonique?  In the parody they call the contraceptive "Annuale" and it's really one of the more hilarious skits I've ever seen.  (I'll put a You Tube link up later)  The best part is when the voice-over in the ad states that when the women do start their period after using Annuale they better "hold on to your f****** hats" and then it cuts to a scene of absolute chaos as the women in the skit start raging and going berserk.

That is all I can think of when my 16 month old is throwing her daily temper tantrums.  Somewhere along the last few weeks temper tantrums have turned into daily events and all we can do is hold on to our f****** hats.  They start with very little warning, they're violent, they can last for what feels like a lifetime, and the second they're over it's as if nothing happened.  I suppose she's always had it in her I've just forgotten over time because for the most part she's been a very happy and easy going baby.

It's all coming back to me now though and I remember as a newborn she would fuss and cry for what felt like hours.  Nighttime was especially hard and I would find myself walking the hallway, cradling her, and singing lullabies to soothe her.  Now that she's bigger and stronger and has no interest in being cradled or sung to it's a lot harder to soothe her.  While I sit there doing my best to hold onto her and help her calm down my heart breaks because I don't know what else to do and I don't know how to prevent it.

I hate to admit this, he'll gloat forever, but I think Marcus is right.  It's just a phase and we have to work through it like we've worked through everything else.  Of course, being that she's a girl I'm sure the temper tantrums will never stop to some extent.  God help us when we hit the teenage years.  We're going to need a lot of wine.  

20 Weeks

I can't believe we're already half way through this pregnancy.  With everything that is going on I suppose it's no wonder.  Between baby showers for friends, bridal showers, graduations, bachelorette parties (to write a post or not to write a post, that is the question), and upcoming weddings time is flying by.  I'm beginning to feel very anxious about all we need to accomplish and it certainly doesn't help when Marcus says he'd like to fix the jet ski and/or buy one that is new-to-us.  Because we have time for that!

"What could possibly be on your list of to-do's before the arrival of Baby #2," you ask?  Well, one thing I've neglected to write a post about is the current state of our master bedroom which is the major cause of this anxiety.  In December, right before he was to start working full-time again, Marcus decided to begin renovating our master bathroom and closet.  It was in dire need of a renovation as the master bath and closet left much to be desired.  The master bathroom had a pedestal sink, toilet, and stand-up shower.  There wasn't even a cabinet to store things.  The master closet was in the bathroom and could only hold my things and while I may be a shopaholic I also purge often and I don't have that much stuff.  In short, both areas needed to be expanded.  So, Marcus demolished what was our bathroom and closet and that's where we are today.

The bathroom has slowly been coming together but it's a long ways away from being complete.  The closet, well, that's more or less just an idea at this time.  What we do have for the closet is a hole through the master bedroom wall into a smaller bedroom where the closet eventually will be.  I shouldn't complain too much.  For one, it's only been 5 months.  I have a dear, sweet friend whose been without a master bathroom for well over a year now, God bless her.  For two, when all is said and done we will have a very awesome bathroom and closet.  However, it's starting to get old.  My clothes are currently down the hall in an empty bedroom which soon needs to be converted into Alexandra's new bedroom.  The nearest bathroom is across the hall and next to Alexandra's current room and so in the middle of the night when I inevitably have to get up to use the bathroom I have to maneuver the creaky floor boards hoping not to wake anybody.

I have a calendar with important dates noted and a countdown that indicates where we are in the pregnancy.  Slowly but surely our time is dwindling and so far our weekends are packed full with summer activities.  Marcus is the master at over-extending himself so we may need to call in the troops for some help.  So, with that being said I need the following:  A painter, a carpenter, a plumber, and a general contractor.  You will be paid in full with beer and pizza once the bathroom proves to be working and once my shoes are neatly arranged in our new closet.

Deep Thoughts

It's fascinating really that the human body produces a brand new organ, the placenta, each and every time a woman conceives.

Bad Mommy

About a week ago Alex was sent home from daycare with a 102 degree temperature.  By the time we picked her up and got her home she was clearly not feeling well but wasn't registering an abnormally high temperature so I figured she was teething again.  She went to bed and the next morning when she woke up she had a rash all over her face, legs, and arms.  Crap.  She was also clearly miserable and Marcus and I spent the entire weekend tag-teaming her as every 15 minutes (it felt that way) she would start crying and would be rather inconsolable until some solution was found whether it was a sippy cup with milk, a toy to preoccupy her, or Tylenol.  We even took her to the doctor on Sunday because by then we were at a loss as to what was wrong.  Naturally, we spent the $25 copay to only be told it was a virus that had to run its course.  Side Note:  Come to find out someone in her class had Hand, Foot, Mouth disease so I'm thinking she caught a variation of that.  Anyway, long story short for about a week she had the remnants of a nasty looking rash all over her body and face and in an attempt to help clear it up I went out and bought Aveeno baby bath wash and lotion.  Aveeno works wonderfully for me so I figured it would do the same for Alex.  After a few days of lathering her up in the tub with the Aveeno wash and then making sure she had a liberal amount of lotion applied to her body before bed I expected great results.  Only, the rash was getting worse.  It was getting more red and angry looking.  I was perplexed.  That was, until I noticed one night as I was about to lotion her up that what I was actually applying to her skin and sending her to bed in was body wash.  I was generously applying body wash, putting her in her PJs, and kissing her goodnight all like the dumb a$$ I am.  The poor baby took it like a champ and never seemed bothered by it though I suppose if it had gone on much longer she would have started to complain.  I'm just glad I caught it when I did and didn't find myself at the doctor wondering what this unexplainable rash was and why it wouldn't go away.  So, here we are, a week later and Alex's skin is looking marvelous.  I'll chalk that one up to being a blonde because there really is no other explanation.  

My Friends Just Call Me "Crazy"

So, remember that time I said, and I quote, "The fact of the matter is while another child is definitely in the future for us I need to become one of the women I despise in order to go through it again. With that being said does anyone have any suggestions on how I can drive myself bat-shit crazy because that’s the only way this is happening" in regards to being pregnant for a second time?  Well, uh, hi.  Nice to meet you.  I'm Bat-Shit Crazy.

How, you ask, did this happen? Other than the more conventional way, my guess is the following, all of which took place at the end of December/beginning of January in what can only be described as a comedy of errors:

1. At the end of December I bought a pair of really nice jeans that I knew wouldn't fit but could act as a goal to work towards because I was still carrying about 8 pounds of pregnancy weight.  (Kuddos to a few friends of Marcus's who asked if I was back to my pre-Alex weight.  That was very thoughtful.  It must have been my pregnancy glow.)
2. Shortly after I bought the aforementioned jeans I took a HPT which came back positive. After digesting the news I realized I would be pregnant for my sister's June wedding so I hurriedly (read: totally jumped the gun) purchased a maternity dress for the occasion. Soon after getting the positive results on the HPT it turned out to be a false-positive (more on that later), so I sent the dress back only to find myself pregnant (for real) a month later.  Did you follow all of that?  I then went back to re-purchase the dress and discovered it was no longer available thus I had to start the search for a maternity dress for a wedding all over again. (In the end it worked out for the best because the new dress is gorgeous.)
3. Also, after realizing I wasn't pregnant I decided to pick-up running again because damnit, those jeans were super cute plus I wanted to lose the last few pounds before even thinking of getting pregnant again. Ha!
4. I then paid a $65 registration fee to sign-up for my first race in over a year as the motivation needed to continue running.
5. Finally, during the mid-January time-frame, right before I knew I was pregnant, I reconnected with my ballet instructor from years ago and promised that I would come back to class in March. In between the time I saw her and the time classes started I discovered I was pregnant but the last thing I wanted to do was go back on my word (because that's what she would have expected after all of these years) so I found myself in class for the first time in 15 years during one of the worst few weeks of the first trimester, twirling and leaping and fighting back nausea all at the same time.

And that's it.  My 5, fool-proof ways for ensuring you will get pregnant.  We'll call it the "Tepaske Method."  Also, I suppose I should look into changing the title of my blog.  But "You and Me Equals Three Plus One" doesn't have as nice a ring to it.

*This post will be a good test to see who actually reads this blog.

Ballet

I elegantly slide my foot into the canvas shoe and tighten the drawstring in anticipation of my long-awaited return to the ballet barre.  As I gracefully walk across the floor, head held high, stomach lean and taut, legs long and limber, shoulders back I think of how amazing it will be to put 13 years of previously unused knowledge to use.  As the instructor begins I claim my spot at the head of the class not wanting to miss a thing.  My plies are perfect; Entendues enchanting; Arabesque's amazing.  I pirouette across the room in a blur of beauty.  Everyone must wonder who this magnificent creature is.  Where did she come from?  Who trained her?  It is as if Anna Pavlova herself is channeling my body in her final performance of the Dying Swan.

What really happened:

I fuss with my new canvas ballet shoes hoping the shoddy stitch job I did on the straps hold up during class.  For 13 years I never had to sew a thing because my mom always did.  The night before I was half-tempted to call her at 9:00 and ask if she would finish sewing the straps on for me.  As I stand up and readjust my outfit I see in the mirror bulges that were not there earlier when I first got dressed at home.  Damnit.  Where did those come from?  I plod across the floor trying to ignore the belly pushing my pants down and wishing I had remembered to put on deodorant and brushed my teeth.  I would hate to be asked not to return due to a lack of personal hygiene.  The instructor starts the class.  "Eh, this is easy enough," I think as we begin warming up at the barre.  5 minutes later and I'm lost.  "What the hell is a frappe?!  I mean, I know what it is at Starbucks."  "Sh*t.  Why is everyone facing me now?  Oh, hell.  I shoulda turned around back there."  Once our warm-up is complete we head to the middle of the floor.  Everyone else vies for a position in front of the mirror while I hide behind a column.  It gets a little blurry (literally) here because I forget the cardinal rule of pirouettes, which is spotting, and I fight back the nausea creeping up, putting my head between my legs.  At some point we gather in the corner to leap and twirl across the room in hopes of appearing light and airy.  At each landing I hit the floor with a thud, the mirrors shake and the ceiling above cracks and crumbles onto my head.  I swear I hear an elephant herd nearby but I realize I must be dreaming.  We're nowhere near the Serengeti, silly!  Finally, our instructor calls it quits, disheartened I'm sure by the repairs to the ceiling she will now have to make after tonight's lesson.  I make my way back to my bag and change into my street clothes feeling satisfied I had the guts to return to ballet.  As I wave goodbye to the instructor and head downstairs I swear I hear the trumpeting of elephants but quickly realize it is the instructor weeping.  I must have made that big of an impression on her.

Happy 1st Birthday!

Well, I can't believe it but today is Alexandra's first birthday.  It is amazing to me how quickly this past year went.  Between hardly getting any sleep and constant diaper changes it's amazing Marcus and I survived and feel like it all went by way too fast.  The changes we all have gone through in 12 months are amazing but none more so than Alexandra herself.  She went from a crying, barely cognizant, tiny person to a mobile, Buddha bellied, full of personality person.  To capture that here are a few of her stats:

Weight:
19 pounds 2 ounces

Height:
29.5"

Teeth:
Her two front, bottom teeth are just poking through

Hair:
Thicker and blonder but still barely there

Words:
"Mamma," "dadda," "keh" (kitty), and "ball."  We are currently working on "supercalifragilisticexpialidocious."

Favorite games:
Rolling the ball; stacking her colored rings; using her shape sorter; "chase" which equates to her crawling away very fast then slowing down to hear if you're coming, speeding it up when she hears you coming and laughing her head off; clapping her hands or anything that makes a pleasing (to her) sound; pushing her wagon back and forth a million times; hugging her stuffed animals; helping load and unload the dishwasher; reorganizing the Tupperware drawer; giving open mouth kisses which could explain why I'm home from work today; and putting her forehead on our forehead, eyes looking into ours, while flicking her tongue in and out like a lizard thus sending us over the edge with laughter.

Favorite songs:
"The Wheels on the Bus," "Itsy Bitsy Spider," "Over the Rainbow," "Hush, Little Baby," and  Bach's Concerto in D.

We are working on:
Waving bye-bye, being gentle with Lasagna (not to mention mamma and dadda), walking, multiplication, and listening better.

Milestones reached:
To be honest I have no idea if she's reached her milestones or not.  I know she does things some babies her age do and she doesn't do things some babies her age do.  I don't really care as long as she's happy which she is about 95% of the time.  The other 5% of the time tends to go downhill during nap time or bed time when she's not exactly thrilled to be left behind in her room.

Happy 1st Birthday!

Idiots

Every day I am reminded that we are surrounded by idiots.  Our lovely neighbors are a prime example and a brief review of just about any article's comment section on the Internet is another example of the stupidity I face on a daily basis.  It bothers me that Americans are required to attend school until we are 17 years old yet nobody seems to actually be learning anything (which is a whole other blog post for another day...that will probably occur around election time when I'm at my wits end with all of the ignorance that abounds...this will eventually lead into a blog post about stupid people breeding).

Anyway, there must be something about the area where we live that attracts the dumbest of the dumb.  While we live in a pretty nice neighborhood I suppose idiocy knows no boundaries.  At 2:30 in the morning Marcus and I were awakened (awoken?) by a young man practicing his skateboarding moves in the parking lot directly across the street from us.  Why, do you ask, was someone skateboarding at 2:30 in the morning in the freezing cold?  Well, I would respond, he is a classic case of a flippin' idiot.  A skateboard-flippin' idiot to be exact.  This normally wouldn't bother me at all except, well, it was 2:30 in the morning.  Maybe part of me is jealous that this young man apparently has no other responsibility except to skateboard in the middle of the night.  Or, maybe I'm just pissed off because he woke me up from a deep slumber.  It's probably the latter because, who am I kidding?  Even without the responsibilities that I have today you would be hard pressed to find me skateboarding at 2:30 in the morning...or any time of day for that matter.

The more I think about it, there must be something with that particular parking lot that attracts idiots.  Again, in the mornings, around 6:00 or so, the construction crews for the university across the street start to show up.  One morning this week they decided it would be fun to have a car horn fight.  Yay.  Please, continue honking your car horn at each other for approximately 5 minutes and think it's funny.  You know what else is funny?  A brick through your windshield.

So, what does this say about me?  Well, for one, I'm clearly not a morning person.  Two, I have zero tolerance for those who exhibit absolutely no common sense or regard for anyone but themselves.  Three, I think it's safe to say that by the time I reach the age of 70 (God willing) I'll probably be living in the mountains with a bunch of goats.

Diary Entry # 3

Day Too Many To Count:  Miracles of miracles!  I feel the end is nigh.  For nine whole months Alexandra the Great has continued her diminutive supremacy over us.  While her demands have grown louder her grip on us has loosened.  For 7 straight days the Great One has slept through the entire night.   While she has awoken at various odd times we, her servants, have fought over who will meet her needs and in the end she has fallen back asleep with nary a peep.  Is it too early to rejoice in our new found ability to sleep?  That may be, but for now we will take it and so help us God, we will look back on this week of solid sleep with fondness and as a time of great peace in our land.

Update 12/9/2011:  It was a little too early to rejoice.  We got 10 straight days of uninterrupted sleep and now we're back to waking up in the middle of the night.  Oh, well.  It was fun while it lasted.  

Over the Shoulder Boulder Holder

I now know where the term "over the shoulder boulder holder" comes from and it's not as much fun as it sounds.  The "boulders" I find myself carrying around are causing me neck pain, back pain, and my already horrible posture has gone from bad to worse.  I really can't fathom why women would pay to increase their breast size and endure this for the rest of their lives.  Then again, I'm not the one being paid millions to do so.  I digress. 

Before Alex was even born I knew I wanted to breast feed for at least 6 months.  Now, 6 months later, I've achieved that goal plus I've managed to stock-up over 100 bags in the freezer in the hopes she'll be well supplied into 7 months.  Since my goal has been reached I've slowly been trying to teach my body not to produce any more milk which, as it turns out, is a slow and sometimes painful process.

I have to be honest about one thing, though, which is I don't breast feed in the traditional sense and rather I pump 100% of the time.  When Alex was born she weighed 5 pounds 2 ounces which, considering she was 5 weeks early, was pretty healthy but still small.  Combine her small size with my, how shall I say, gazongas (yes, that's the technical term and, if I may, quoting the hospital lactation consultant, "I have no doubt those puppies will be producing milk soon.") we had problems learning how to work together and properly breast feed.  After a few unsuccessful sessions in the hospital with the lactation consultants we found ourselves at home to figure it out on our own.  Side note: Someone once remarked that they felt violated by these women who come in and grab your breast in one hand and the baby in the other to which I responded "you did give birth, right?"  Anyway, at home we persevered trying to figure it out all while pumping so that Alex could at least get breast milk from the bottle.  Eventually, each attempted breast feeding session would end with a hungry, screaming, particularly pissed-off baby, and an equally frustrated mother.  One thing led to another and I found myself pumping all of the time.  While a small part of me regrets missing out on the bonding that comes with breastfeeding in the end it doesn't bother me too much because I know I gave her exactly what she needed without taking the easy route by giving her formula.

So, here we are, and I really do feel like I'm carrying two, hard boulders strapped to my chest.  I'm completely over having to wear a bra 24/7 and I'm completely over not being able to wear most of my tops (I went from a 34B to a 38E).  And, Lord, when the bra does come off I have to be sure and check to see if Lasagna is underfoot because I don't want to have to explain her untimely demise to PETA:  "I know what you're thinking and I swear it's not what it looks like.  All I did was take my bra off and my boobs fell down and struck the cat on the head killing her immediately."  The press would have a field day with that one:  "Over the Shoulder Boulder Holder Murder!"  "Killer Knockers Kill Kitty!"  "Feline Found Dead, Flopping Breasts to Blame."

With any luck you won't be hearing about me in the paper anytime soon.  Unless Pam Anderson wants to have a boob off.

Marcus's New Black Eye

So, we were having a perfectly innocent conversation regarding who was going to pay for the cleaning service today.

Me:  I guess I should write a check for Tomasina.
Marcus (who had already written a check):  Whatever, it doesn't matter. She probably already picked up my check anyway.  But you owe me $120.
Me:  I gave birth.
Marcus:  That was six months ago.

I had no idea that the fact I gave birth, and he didn't, had an expiration date.

If You Live On The East Coast You Can Probably Guess What This Post Is About

We survived the 5.8 earthquake of 2011, Washington D.C.

Trust me when I say I’m being facetious in writing that.

Yesterday began just like any other day. I got to work late (though if you ask my officemate I’m the most punctual person he knows since I arrive every day right at 8:30. Too bad my start time is 8:00), I took a quick trip to the new Wal-Mart across the street (it’s all the rage right now in this little town), ate lunch, and oh, yeah, did some stuff for which I’m paid. Then, at around 1:50 pm, the earth began to shake. There is a hotel being built next door so my first instincts were that a piece of construction equipment had fired up. When it didn’t stop I immediately knew we were experiencing an earthquake. Thankfully, my officemate was gone for the day because if he had turned around he would have seen a rather panicked Lauren half out of her chair, half under her desk wildly looking around at the ceiling, the desk, the lamp posts outside, and the skeleton of a three story hotel waiting for any one of them to come crashing down. Luckily, none of that happened and the quake was over in a matter of seconds though my nerves were shot for the rest of the day.

When I was a little girl my family lived in Monterrey, Ca and some of my earliest memories are from that time. One that sticks out in my head is how my three year old mind processed earthquakes. In my mind earthquakes were actually a giant ant shaking our house. Clearly, nobody thought to inform the three year old what was going on at the time. With that being said there are many differences between being 3 and experiencing an earthquake and being 30 and experiencing an earthquake one of which is the adult knowledge that earthquakes cause death and destruction. On the other hand there are similarities between being 3 and experiencing an earthquake and being 30 and experiencing an earthquake one of which is pooping in your pants.

Speaking of pooping pants there was one family member who seriously needed a 50s-housewife-style tonic to calm her nerves down hours after the quake struck. Poor, Lasagna. She was so unnerved by the earthquake we found her collar in the baby’s room and eventually found her in the farthest room of the house, cowering in a corner. It took a lot of treats and coaxing to get her to come out and even as of this morning she was on edge when anything sounded out of the ordinary (which apparently includes her food being poured into her bowl…which might make one wonder if I feed her often enough and I promise, I do). I can just picture her as a person, small and nervous and constantly wringing her hands with anxious eyes shifting around, waiting for the next thing to set her off as she reaches into her purse to get one of her special remedies for her “headache.”

Finally, and hopefully the only person in the family who really poops her pants, there’s Alex. According to Marcus, who was home with her at the time, she was completely oblivious to the 5.8 magnitude earthquake. I know she’s aware of her surroundings more and more each day but she is apparently not so in tune with the earth beneath her feet…or in this case the earth beneath her toy. Marcus sent me the picture below not long after the quake shook and I like to think she’s laughing in the face of danger. It’s either that or she went all Dr. Evil on our asses and plotted the whole thing herself because she certainly has a devilish look on that pretty face of hers.

 I demand the sum... OF 1 MILLION DOLLARS.