this is the first father’s day without my dad, and i gotta say it sucks. so i feel like yip-yapping a little about him and reminiscing about the good ‘ol days…
his name was manny, short for manuel. which is why i changed the baby’s name to wilson manuel. and yes, i know i’m crazy, but more on that in a later post.
anyway, my dad was born in 1929, and grew up super-duper poor in a teensy-weensy town in pennsylvania. his home life totally bit the big one, and as a kid, he had to work his ass off in coal mines to make money for his family, which had 12 kids. on another note, dear lord, can you imagine my grandmother’s va-jay-jay?
at 15 years old, he was too young to join the army, but that didn’t stop him. he changed the date on his birth certificate, ran away from home, and never looked back. when he got to the army, he was handed his first toothbrush—and had no clue what it was. he’d never, ever brushed his teeth…but you know what, i bet puddn’s breath after a night of partying is still worse.
he became a total perfectionist. years ago, my mom wanted new wallpaper in our kitchen, so he surprised her one day and hung it while she was out. he meticulously lined up the latticework and flowers exactly, and when he got home, he proudly showed off his handiwork. it was perfect alright, just upside down…with all the stems going up. which is how it stayed for the next 10 years.
he always wanted us kids to do well. before computers (jesus, did i just write that?), he’d type all my high school papers on the typewriter—even if he had to stay up all night to do it (man, i was a brat), and every year i had a rockin’ science fair project—cuz manny always took over.
then he taught me to drive drill-sergeant-style. he made me learn stick by taking me to a giant hill, and refused to go home ’til i got us up it (i cried). before my driving test, he made me practice parallel parking in a car with no power steering with cones about 6 feet closer than they should’ve been. after that, he claimed he turned me into “a pretty good driver—for a female.”
he was a great coach, too. all the girls always wanted to be on mr. manny’s softball team cuz he and my friend hope’s dad took us to baskin robbins after every game, whether we won or lost. btw, he had a raging sweet tooth—which i totally got from him. and so did lulu.
he loooved to dance. when we threw him an 80th birthday luncheon, he wanted a DJ.
he was super-organized (now why couldn’t i have inherited that?), and had a special drawer full of important papers, like his huge folder of dirty internet jokes.
he loved to play games, and his favorite nights were when we’d all sit around the table and play cards or board games…and he’d laugh watching weezie and i try to cheat.
he was stubborn as sh*t. for years his docs kept saying he was a goner, and somehow he’d always will himself to get better. i used to joke that he could just tell me to visit…he didn’t have to pretend to kick the bucket every time.
one of those times was when i got married. we didn’t know how much longer he’d be around, so i planned a wedding in 2 weeks, so he could walk me down the aisle. now i think he faked it just so i’d get hitched.
he was a total jokester. a few weeks before he died, he had major surgery. when he woke up, it was a tense moment when the docs asked him his name, where he was, the date and who the president is…all questions to make sure his brain was back in action. when they asked if he knew who my mom was, he looked at her and said in all seriousness, “i’ve never seen that woman before in my life.” then he started giggling.
he never complained. ever. like ever. even though the guy was in so much pain for years and years, he’d never let you know it. if you asked how he was, he’d just say, “well, i’m still here!”
he wasn’t afraid to be silly, and all kids adored him. it was weird how much kiddies loved him. and he was an awesome pop pop. stinks was his “lulubelle,” and she looooved him. god, i hope she’ll always remember the special bond those 2 had. (note to self: make one of those shutterfly books.)
he used to tell us that as a kid, he swore one day when he grew up, he’d give his own family the life he never had. and he sure did. my dad gave us everything—he was an honest, hardworking, easy-going, loving, generous, all-around great guy. and he was so proud of his family, his “pride and joy.” man, i’d get so embarrassed when he’d brag about us to someone when we were standing right there.
i miss my dad, and i wish he was still around to see my kids grow up. my biggest regret in life is not letting him meet our little manny sooner than the night before he died. i guess better late than never, right? (sigh.) but i will say it’s crazy how much the little guy looks just like his pop pop, right down to the sparkle in his eyes.
if your dad is still alive ‘n’ kickin’, please don’t forget to call him today. or better yet, go visit him.
happy father’s day!
xo
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say what!?!
the other day some girlfriends and i were yapping about embarrassing things kids blurt out in public. well last week, lulu yelled out something so bad i almost pooped my pants…
you know the comments i’m talking about. like when my friend’s toddler pointed at a lady and asked about the baby in her tummy. cute, but the prego wasn’t knocked up…oops. and we’ve all heard about kids asking a stranger the horrifying, “are you a lady or a man?” whoopsie.
so here’s the story about stinky’s shout-out:
we all flew to kansas city for our friends’ wedding. (side note: it was an epic, crazy, stupid, awesomely fun time…see pics below. i now wanna move to kc even more than ever.) after flying home, we were lined up butts to nuts waiting to exit the plane. lulu was standing in front of puddn, but when she turned around to face him—and i swear to god it was dead silent in that plane—she suddenly screamed out in that high-pitched kid-voice of hers:
“HEY, DADDY! I’M GONNA GRAB YOUR PEEENIS!”
the whole plane gasped and busted out laughing, i sh*t my pants a little, and among all “oh my god”s and “what did she say?”s, some lady hollered from the back of the plane, “out of the mouths of babes!”
it was clearly so wrong on so many obvious levels—yet somehow innocently adorable and hilarious. jesus, this kid is too much.
anyway, puddn brushed it off like no big thing (no pun intended), but i could tell he was totally cringing. for once i almost felt kinda sorry for the dipsh*t. but i did what any self-respecting mom would do in that situation: pretended like i didn’t know those 2 dopes. and then i laughed at them right along with all the rest of southwest flight #238.
i can’t wait to tell all stinky’s friends when she’s a teenager.
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en-rage-ment party
when you find random pairs of undies in your yard the next morning, you know you threw a pretty good party…
so puddn and i hosted an engagement soiree last saturdee night for one of the dipshit brothers, ty, and his betrothed, britta. before spiraling into drunk insanity, it actually started off as a civilized celebration.
puddn ordered a taco truck. i rented tables and chairs. britta and i made bouquets. i dumped the kiddies off at a friend’s house. and puddn went to costco and came home with the entire liquor department.
i knew we were in for trouble when my friend asked if her ‘sitter should stay ‘til 11 pm—and was that late enough. um, didn’t the invitation very clearly state the party was from 4:00 to 8:00 pm?
oy.
in reality, i knew from experience this group of ding-dongs would never leave at 8 pm. or 9 or 10 or 11. but the real prob was after a knocking back a few white wine spritzers, i demanded that everyone stay—all night. whoopsie. and the other prob was they listened.
btw, those friends with the ‘sitter went home to relieve her at 11, and brought their 8-month-old baby back to our place to keep raging. and you thought you knew how to party.
so anyway, the vino kept flowing…right into my glass. i guess that’s what happens when i’m the the one pouring it. obviously i got tanked, and so did puddn. duh. i think it was just past midnight when we put on a makeout show for everyone. jesus.
then clothes flew off as folks hopped in the hot tub. and then we started dancing like idiots. the neighbors must’ve liked puddn’s music mix cuz i kept waiting for the cops to bust us…a bunch of over-served parents in their 30s and 40s. oh yah, and an 8-month-old baby.
i finally threw everyone out just before 2 am, to screams of “fuck you, janz!” and “suck it, janz, we’re staying!” all i have to say is thank god for uber car service.
cut to sunday morning: most moms spend mother’s day morning enjoying breakfast in bed or having a lovely brunch with their families. me? i had my head in the toilet. lulu said, “mommy got sick cuz she ate too many cookies.” man, those sauv blanc cookies will kill ya.
next weekend…party at our place!
cheers!
he scared me, too.
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schmother’s day
here’s what i know about my mother’s day: it’s probably gonna bite the big one. how do i know? well, if it’s anything like the past two years, puddn will just say, “what, you’re not my mother” and i’ll get bupkiss. i know, i’m the luckiest gal ever.
i have two kids. i pushed lulu outta my va-jay-jay after 26 hours of labor, and for wilson, i was sliced and diced open after nine months of bed rest, my insides removed (along with the baby), and then stuffed back in. so you know what? i deserve a fucking mother’s day present.
but here’s a new idea: screw the present. what i really want is to spend mother’s day alone. seriously. 24 hours all by myself. just me, myself and i. does that make me some kinda mom-asshole-sociopath? probably. so sue me.
but really, i’m sure sunday will be great. puddn and the kids will probably take me to a nice brunch. i mean, i won’t be able to eat cuz i’ll have to hold one of the kids on my lap, stop another from screaming, get oj spilled down the front of me, walk around the restaurant 52 times, and clean up a pee accident, but i’m sure it’ll be awesome. yaay, me!
so seriously, why can’t i just be left alone on my special day? on mother’s day, moms should all get a well-deserved break from their families. i’m not talking for a week…just one measly, stinkin’ day. then our families would really appreciate what we moms do. am i right or am i right?
dear god, i can picture it now: no tantrums, no kid shitting on the floor (that happened today), no one peeing on my sofa, no wiping snotty noses, no watching fucking “caillou,” no stupid “bubble song” on repeat in the car, no kids hogging the bed, no one biting my nipples (that’s actually not as fun as it sounds), no pumping milk outta my boobs, no timeouts, no threats of timeouts, no telling someone to stop biting her brother, and no cheering like a lunatic when somebody pees on the damn potty.
nope, none of that horseshit. just me. all alone. oh sweet jesus, it would be glorious.
what would i do? i have no idea. and who the fuck cares? i mean, the other day i nursed the baby while i was on the can. yes, you heard me. on. the. can. oh i know, it’s disgusting…but what would you do with a screaming, crying, maniacal baby? you’d lean your bare ass over on the pot, pick up that baby and slap him on your boob, too. anyway, the point is i’d like to be able to have two minutes to myself. just two. is that too much to ask?
so back to mother’s day. i love love love my kiddies. most people accuse me of being too obsessed with them, and i probably am. and puddn’s okay, too…at least most of the time. but if there’s a day to celebrate lil ol’ me, shaddap and let me celebrate the way i wanna. i mean, jeez.
or if you insist, fine, just take me to brunch and give me a really, really, REALLY expensive present. with a receipt.
happy mother’s day! xo
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drunk mommy
the other night i did something i hadn’t done in years: i got totally f*cking bombed. and good god, i loved it.
you might be thinking, “big whoop,” but for me it was kind of a big deal. see, i’ve maybe had a few measly sips of booze in the past 3 years. puddn still yaps about the last time he had any fun with me—12 freakin’ months ago when we were sh*tfaced in nyc. so basically, we were due for a good time.
still, i really didn’t mean for it to happen. but the in-laws, mooshie and sarge, were in town watching our lil a-holes, so i knew the kids were in mediocre hands (booyah, moosh).
puddn was giddy as a schoolgirl when i actually agreed to go out, so he called the dipsh*ts and a few other idiots to go to dinner. as we cruised out the door, i told moosh, “i’ll probably just have a glass or 2 of vino, leave puddn’s drunk ass at the bar, and be home in a coupla hours.”
whoopsie.
when we showed up at dinner, everyone cheered like it was my freakin’ coming-out party and demanded that i get drunk. holy peer pressure. so i ordered a sauvignon blanc. that lasted about 3.2 minutes. puddn ordered me another. then another. and then i morphed into the loudmouthed drunk girl at the bar. but according to puddn, i was totally on fire…this is what he wrote on his facebook page that night:
“tonight janz and i went out for the first time since having ridge. my wife is the funniest person i know…and she reminded me this evening why i love her so.”
cute, right? i know, it’s definitely not like that d*ckhead to say or write anything nice about me. in fact, a few of his dumb friends (yes, you, sheehy) assumed i’d hacked his facebook account and written it myself. well, jerks, i didn’t. maybe i was just that f*cking fun.
but let’s be honest here, that fb post was also kinda annoying. i mean, why does it take me going out and getting completely wasted for my husband to remember why he loves me? i mean, what is that? i’ll tell you what: it’s insulting.
okay fine, maybe i’m a boring stick in the mud these days—and not exactly the fun-loving party animal puds fell in love with. but come on, how am i supposed to be a binge-drinking maniac when i’ve got 2 kids now? gimme a break, nell carter.
anyway, puddn dragged my drunk ass outta the bar at 11. thank gawd cuz i would’ve stayed out all night…knocking back vino, showing pics of my kids to random strangers, and ogling young guys like the creepy, old cougar i am.
when we got home, i started pumpimg (to pump and dump, duh) but passed out on the sofa and woke up to milk overflowing everywhere. ugh, whoever said, “don’t cry over spilled milk,” was clearly an idiot.
next thing i know it was 9 am and i had a raging hangover. clearly the craziest thing that happened was that puddn took care of baby ridgey all night. but it’s a good thing cuz i can’t wait to do it again! who’s with me?
CHECK OUT THE RIDICULOUS VIDEO OF OUR DRUNK NIGHT OUT!!!
CHECK OUT THE RIDICULOUS VIDEO OF OUR DRUNK NIGHT OUT!!!
the infirmary
why did i open my big, fat mouth and whine about how hard it is having 2 kids? i’m an idiot…i should’ve known that things could get much, much worse—and they sure f*cking did…
first of all, puddn went out of town on vacation, i mean for work. but the idea of flying somewhere all alone, staying in a hotel, ordering room service, waking up and showering and putting on an outfit, hanging out with people who don’t sh*t their pants 10 times a day, then going out for dinner and cocktails—that doesn’t sound like work at all. it sounds like a pretty freakin’ great vacation to me.
again, i should’ve known that things were gonna get sucky cuz something happens every time puddn is lucky enough to get the hell outta dodge: lu gets sick, i get a migraine, my car breaks down, i get in a wreck (it was the other guy’s fault)…you get the idea.
well this time stinks got sick…really sick. she was a sad, snotty, slimey, crying mess for 72 hours, and then the barking cough started. woof.
i tried to keep her disgusting sick germs far away from our too-soon-to-have-an-immune-system-yet newborn baby, but yah, right. it was a nice try. even though i plopped her glassy-eyed, zoned-out tuckus in front of the TV for 3 days, she still managed to sneeze and cough all over her poor lil bro. and i swear to gawd she did it on purpose just to be an a-hole. trust me, this kids knows exactly what she’s doing.
so then ridgey got it, of course. well if you think a sick toddler sucks, try an illin’ 1-month-old. omg, it broke my heart. the poor lil guy couldn’t breathe, so he couldn’t nurse—and he just cried and cried and freaking cried. and when ridge wasn’t crying, lulu was. and when lulu wasn’t crying, i was. but mostly, it was all 3 of us bawling at the same time. yep, it was awesome.
i got exactly 2 hours of sleep the first night and 3 hours the next. you do the math on that one. i didn’t shower or wash my face the entire time. i didn’t see the light of day. i maybe brushed my teeth twice…maybe. and i wore (and slept in) the same dress the whole time. i’d love to hold one of those blacklight thingies over that dress…i’m sure every inch was covered in bodily fluids—urine, vomit, breastmilk and feces—well, everything but semen, which is the only fluid i would’ve liked to have on my dress.
and the worst part is my 2 sweet babies were both miserably sick, but who did i feel mostly sorry for? myself, of course. how pathetic is that? jesus, what kinda mom am i?
so once again it’s confirmed: clearly i’m an epic fail at this mothering of 2 thing. so if you’re at home with 2 or more little brats, for the love of god, please tell me how to do it.
thank you.
one down
this weekend was ridgey’s one-month birthday. and if there’s anything i’ve learned over the past 30ish days, it’s this: having 2 kids sucks.
i’m totally serious. if you’ve already got 1 decent kid and you’re thinking about having another, i have 3 words for you: don’t do it. life with 2 kids blows balls—and the worst part is that lil angel you already have will turn into a holy f*cking terror right before your bloodshot eyes.
yep, somehow over the past 4 weeks, my sweet, precious stinky has morphed into a raging a-hole. and i have no clue how to deal with it. i mean, whaddaya do when all your kid wants to do is throw toys, smother the baby, scream “nooooo” at the top of her lungs, and run away from me? does anyone have the number for that british super nanny chick?
on top of everything, stinks has chosen this week to stop napping. cold turkey. i’m pretty sure the lil jerk did it on purpose just to eff with me. and dear god, i need that hour for, like, a million reasons: to check emails, do laundry, cruise facebook, twitter and instagram, to make phone calls, write blog posts, and just take a freakin’ shower. so now what? well i can’t do any of it. hence my lack of hygiene and blog posts lately.
at least once a day, i text puddn with something like, “that’s it. today’s the day she gets punched.” i know, it’s sick. but i haven’t really done it…yet.
and then there’s the new bambino. lil ridgey’s cute ‘n’ all, but man, what a pain in the butt. he’s actually a great little baby, but the prob is he sleeps like a baby, no pun intended, all freaking day long…and then in the middle of the night, he’s ready to rock, meaning cry, eat, grunt for hours then explosively sh*t his pants. it’s kinda like puddn when he’s hungover.
so basically i’m up most of the night—either feeding ridgey, changing his poops or pumping my stupid, leaky boobs—sometimes all at the same time. at least i’m a master multi-tasker these days.
maybe i’m just too old for this crap. years ago i could party all night long for days (or weeks) in a row and still function at work. but nowadays a 6-pound preemie kicks my ass. it’s pretty pathetic.
so anyway, there’s a reason why there are barely any pics of me and the baby…well, it’s because i look haggard and hideous and am covered in breast milk stains. i’m constantly exhausted—and in just one month, between my wrinkles and grey hair, i look like i’ve aged 10 years (f*ck, that means 50, y’all). god, i can’t wait to pump my prune-face full of botox.
i keep asking puddn how crazy-ass peeps with more kids do it. like my friend alex who has 5 kids and 2 dogs…how the hell does that work? all i know is i’m barely keeping it together over here. clearly it doesn’t suck for everyone…so i guess i’m just really bad at it. (sigh)
but at least i haven’t punched anyone yet.
mooshie knows best
we spent all morning a few days ago in tears…you see, after helping us out for weeks, mooshie finally hightailed it outta here. stinks bawled her face off, i cried, and i think even puddn teared up knowing he had to go back to eating my cooking…
mooshie (my mother-in-law formerly known as milsie; stinks mispronounced it “mooshie” and it stuck) is puddn’s mom, aka, the one responsible for the 3 dipsh*t brothers. yep, i blame this beyotch for most the probs in my life.
but to be honest, i dunno what in balls we would’ve done without the moosh over the past few months. the first time i rushed to the hospital in the middle of the night, moosh hung up with puddn and booked a plane ticket to l.a. for that same day. and basically, she never left.
she seriously rescued our asses. moohie’s mos def a take-charge kinda chick, which is just what the doctor ordered around here. have i mentioned she was the friggin’ mayor of cedar rapids, iowa? i mean, she’s clearly no dope, so it still baffles me how she managed to raise 3 of the biggest idiots on earth.
most gals would go apesh*t if their mothers-in-law came to visit for months on end. but lemme tell ya, the moosh isn’t like most m-i-ls. i’ve gotta admit, she’s pretty f*cking awesome.
from the first minute i met her, i think mooshie and i actually had more of a spark than puddn and i did. though she’s still pissed at me for sending her an official invoice for $10 a few days afterward when i kicked her butt in a grammar bet (take that, moosh…booyah!). she’s become more like a bff to me rather than a monster-in-law. and believe it or not, i wanted her in the room when stinks was born, well just to film the birth…but again, it’s probably not something most m-i-ls are invited to do.
so anyway, while i was on bedrest, she waited on me hand and foot, cooked gluten-free meals every night, did laundry and dishes, cleaned our messy house, went grocery shopping, ran errands, nannied lulu, watched “bachelor pad” with me, etc., etc., etc., etc. then when baby ridgey got here, she took care of his tiny crapping ass, too, while i tried to recover from that stupid c-section. i’m just miffed we couldn’t figure out how to pump milk outta her boobs. now that would’ve been awesome.
at any rate, we really ran the ol’ broad ragged. but the downside was that instead of performing night nurse duties, too–which is what we really needed–the damn moosh passed out at 8:30 every night. gee, thanks for nothin’, moosher.
i obviously love to give her sh*t…i just can’t help it; it’s so fun to make fun of her right to her face. oh man, she especially loves it when i call her our “hired help.” and i can pretend to boss her ass around, ‘cept she actually listens, unlike her dingdong son.
now that she’s gone, our house is a dump again, stinks is totally bored, i swear ridgey is sh*tting twice as often, i’ve made exactly 1 decent dinner, and the worst part is i actually have to take care of my own 2 kids. plus, to be honest, it’s just not as fun around here. i hate to admit it, but believe it or not, the old lady’s actually a pretty good time.
i keep trying to think of ways we can somehow repay her. the moosh did put her own life (albeit boring and retired) on hold for months just to take care of us. but then i remember that puds and i gave her the best gift ever: 2 freakin’ awesome grandkids. lord knows the other 2 dipsh*ts aren’t stepping up to that plate anytime soon. plus, as i like to remind her, someday we’ll pay her back her by changing her diapers.
besides, the b*tch left us with only 1 of her yummy homemade gluten-free lasagnas in the freezer. and that’s plain rude.
we love you, moooooshie! come baaaaack!
baby on board
i know i’ve been really bad about posting lately, but a) i’m spending time loving on my new baby (and my sweet stinky, of course), 2) i’m still in a shit-ton of pain from having my pelvis sliced open and my guts rearranged, and c) i’m just being lazy…
our lil ridgey (né robert joseph clancey, IV) was born exactly 4 weeks early, on thursday, september 13, at 8:13 am. he was actually pretty big for a preemie, weighing in at hefty 6 lbs, 13 oz., and 18 ½ inches long. the doc said if he’d gone full-term, he would’ve been a giant 10-pounder. ouch.
the good news is he was totally healthy for a preemie. thank gawd. he only had to spend 1 night in the nursery to monitor his breathing. then the next night, a nurse walked in on me holding him in bed, totally passed out and slumped over his tiny body. so he was promptly taken away from me for the rest of the nights for both our sakes. jesus, i was a wreck.
so yah, back to me. i never thought i’d say these words, but i really wish my vagina had been stretched open and ripped to shreds. cuz that would be about a bazillion times better than this whole c-section recovery crap.
i’m not gonna lie, it’s been brutal. i feel like such a big baby myself, but i’m pissed at everyone who told me a C was easy. seriously, eff you.
but with that stupid placenta previa, i had no choice—there was no possible way the baby could come outta my va-jayjay. i had plenty of time to mentally prepare for the surgery, but nothing could’ve prepped me for the pain. or looking down and seeing staples across my stomach. holy sh*t.
i also stopped all my pain meds after 2 1/2 days. if you know me, you know how stubborn i can be, and i was convinced i could do it without any drugs. plus, for some reason i thought if most moms are back to normal-ish in 2 weeks, then i could do it in a few days. yes, i’m an idiot.
but for the first 2 days, i popped percocet (aka oxycodone) pills like i was on an episode of “intervention.” trust me, i loved the high but then my 6-pound bambino wouldn’t wake up for anything to nurse and was dropping weight like crazy (turns out the meds go right into your breastmilk and make the baby drowsy…duh)—so i quit that sh*t cold turkey.
and dear god, the pain. holy bejesus. why oh why does anyone choose to have a f*cking c-section? i’ve had a baby both ways now, so i can say this method of cutting the baby out sucks balls. a week after pushing lulu outta my coochie, i was pretty much healed and back to normal (and better than ever…i’m pretty sure the doc gave me the ol’ “extra stitch”). but this time, au contraire mon frere. i’m still a complete hot mess.
so it’s a damn good thing this baby is the sweetest, cutest, most precious and adorable thing i’ve ever laid eyes on (well, tied with his sister). i was honestly starting to resent him since he was such a raging a-hole for 9 months. plus, i was scared i could never love another child as much as i do my lil stinkers. but now that i’ve met the lil guy, holy moly, he’s seriously stolen my heart.
lulu was a whopping over-8-pound fatso, but our tiny ridgey is a skinny, pathetic, bobble-headed lil ol’ man who looks like a cross between wallace shawn (think “inconthievable!” from “the princess bride”), don knotts and a small rodent. but god, he’s the cutest old man-rodent-baby i’ve ever seen.
so i think we’ll keep him. 
to be continued…
ready or not
like it or not, this baby’s coming. soon. like really f*cking soon…like in less than 24 hours. and even after 12 days of lying on my ass in the hospital waiting for this day to come, i’m still not remotely close to being ready…
what’s wrong with me? well to be honest, i’m scared. what if this thing’s not cooked enough in here to come out yet? he’ll only be 36 weeks on thursday. that’s still considered to be premature (though of course i know lots of babies who were born much earlier and are fine) and i’m not thrilled about having a baby in the NICU. i wanna at least be able to hold the lil sh*t…jeesh.
then i’m a lil nervous about the whole c-section thing. clearly i haven’t bled to death yet, but don’t worry, there’s still a chance of it happening on the operating table. the doc told me it would go in this order: blood transfusion, then removing my uterus (for a hysterectomy), then coma, then croaking. i dunno about you, but that doesn’t sound like a very fun thursday morning.
although i gotta say it might not be that bad to slip into just a teensy-weensy coma for a few minutes. a) i’d probably get a great blog post out of it, and 2) maybe puddn would appreciate me a lil more if i was a goner. then again, he’d probably be too busy planning a celebratory hot tub party. d*ckhead.
but the thing i’m most afraid of is having 2 freakin’ babies. i know, lu’s a big-girl now—or so we tell her—but let’s be real here, if the kid still sh*ts in a diaper, that means she’s still a baby.
and now i have to bring home a newborn and start the entire process all over again…the sleepless nights, the fear of SIDS, colic, more sleepless nights, breastfeeding, pumping…dear god, i have to start pumping again. okay, i’m officially starting to freak my sh*t.
what the hell were we thinking?
seriously, i can barely handle having 1 kid, and my stinky’s a lil angel. lord knows this new baby’s clearly a troublemaker—and how can he not be when he’s a freakin’ clancey boy? oy. and vey.
and top on of all that, i’ve become an idiot. seriously. puddn always says that when we met, i was really smart…then asks me why i’m such a dope now. and i have no idea what happened, but for once, he’s right. i’m a complete moron.
like a few weeks ago, i took stinks to my doc appointment, and afterward, i stuck her in the carseat, gave her a snack, and off we went home. a few minutes later, she started giggling like crazy, saying, “hiiiii mommy!” i turned around, and there she was, bouncing around in the backseat. jaysus, i hadn’t even buckled her in the carseat…i pulled over and started bawling. how on earth can i take care of 2 kids when i can’t even handle 1? omg, i’m so f*cked.
and on top of everything else, i don’t even like newborns. so what if i don’t love this kid as much as i do my marinky? i mean, there’s absolutely no way in hell i can…i’m totally (yes, i know, a lil weirdly) obsessed with my sweet girl. so i’m sorry, new kid, you’re screwed.
plus, i’m pissed at the lil guy for being such a gigantic pain in my ass from the very beginning. with stinks, i had a dreamy, perfect pregnancy. this one was the exact opposite—a total sh*tshow: IVF, bleeding, placenta previa, bedrest, bleeding, hospital bedrest, bed pans, more bleeding and now a friggin’ c-section. it’s horsesh*t i tell you. if an adult was ever this much of an asshole to me, i would’ve punched him in the face by now.
i asked my nurses last night if anyone’s ever gotten drunk in the hospital after a c-section. cuz i’m thinking ‘bloody placenta marys’ all around.
