Monthly Archives: September 2013

I mean it when I say I got my ass kicked all week long.  Every. Single. Day.  Honestly, I can smell my body odor as I type because everyone knows Mama doesn’t get to shower every day like normal people.  It’s like a three-times-a-week at best event and this week I easily needed two showers each day.  Or is that just in my household?  Anyway… It was Famous’ first week of kindergarten and Slim’s first week of preschool.  Yay for milestones and excited little boys! Boo for little hiccups that turned into disasters that could’ve been avoided, but instead contributed to my hellish week that I’m glad has ended.  Por ejemplo…   I was phoneless for five days.  A water bottle leaked all over the inside of my diaper bag and my phone.  Bye bye phone and photos and messages and phone numbers that I hadn’t backed up since January!  See ya!  No worries that I had a baby in that time and all the precious little videos and eight million candid photos that I took are gone.  EFF!  But I digress…  Apparently in those five days a principal’s message was sent to me regarding the first day of school and how all classes start at 8:05.  Even the later gator kinder class that my Famous is in.  I did not get that message.  So guess which asshole walked into her son’s classroom two hours late on his first day of school???  This asshole.  Let me repeat, EFF!!  The Hubby and I exchange astonished looks as Mrs. Kindergarten says, “Oh they sent a message out about coming early today… I guess you didn’t get it?”  NO, we TOTALLY got it.  We just wanted to walk in two hours late to our son’s first day of school so we could establish ourselves as the slacker family.  That way the bar is set REALLY low… DUH.  She also said that there was a reminder posted next to the class roster the day before.  Guess who checked out the class roster to find out which class Famous was in??  THE HUBBY.  Guess who received the look of death as soon as Mrs. Kindergarten told me about that reminder?  THE HUBBY. I was fuming, I was mortified but more importantly I was worried that Famous would be discombobulated due to my screw up.  I apologized profusely to Mrs. KIndergarten and bent down and squeezed Famous  as hard as I could and wished him a wonderful hour and twenty minutes left of school and held back my tears until I could push my way out of the door.  How did this happen?  I was crushed.  I was angry.  I was pissed at myself.  EFF.  It’s times like these that I truly feel like I let my child down.  Even when, in reality, I could do nothing to stop it from happening.  Nothing I did caused this, but I’m still writhing in guilt that I couldn’t prevent this from happening and I sure as hell can’t change it.  It is what it is.  Luckily, when I picked Famous up from school he was grinning from ear to ear and was completely unscathed from the perceived disaster that had taken place.  All my worry and anguish was pointless.

I should’ve known, based on that event, there would be more “little earthquakes” throughout the week.  Famous’ second day I forgot his snack in the fridge.  Which isn’t the biggest flub up except Slim had a dentist appointment directly after dropping Famous off so, obviously, I was pretty late to that.  I spent most of that day running from one place to the next, with a dazed and numb Slim, feeding Mighty in the parked car while people stared intently at me.  What?  It was way too hot to have a hooter-hider smothering the poor girl and I was sweating like a pig already. The last thing I needed was more clothing so deal with it.  

I’m pretty sure I gave the boys whatever they asked for for dinner that night.  Oh, you want turkey roll-ups, Cheetos, and a juice box for dinner?  Done.  Why?  Because I’m exhausted and I can’t deal with one more difficult situation where I have to fight with or explain myself to a three-year old.  And Slim knows when to act up.  His timing is impeccable.  He’ll wait until I’m nursing Mighty, or she’s almost asleep, or she’s crying incessantly to throw himself down on the ground and join in or swing at his brother, or choose not to eat his food, or scream about not getting what he wants. Por ejemplo:  It’s Slim’s first day of preschool (Thursday) and I finish taking the obligatory first day of school photo in front of our house when I tell him (and the others) to make sure to wipe your feet on the mat when entering the house because the grass was wet.  I guess The Hubby said thank you to Famous for following directions, but didn’t say the same thing to Slim and he LOST IT.  I didn’t find out until we were half way to school what it was that Slim was having a coronary about because he was mumbling, crying, screaming, and mumbling some more.  So we showed up to Slim’s first day of preschool late and Famous, Mighty, and the Hubby didn’t get to walk us down to the school because if they had Famous would’ve been late to his school and that would have just been par for the course to Mrs. Kindergarten and I wouldn’t have that so they just dropped us off.  Slim was all red-faced and puffy as we walked in.  Not exactly how I pictured either of the boys’ first days playing out.  I’m pretty sure that’s 95% of my problem… I envision scenarios and EXPECT them to turn out as such.  My bad.  Expectations equal disappointment.  I definitely need to start expecting nothing and hope for the best.  I will say that just when I thought I was the world’s worst mother I would have little triumphs.  When Mighty FINALLY decided to nap longer than thirty minutes I was able to get laundry started.  Also, I bribed Slim with the promise of an otter pop if he bounced Mighty in her bouncy chair while I mopped the kitchen floor.  Total success.  Famous made his and Slim’s breakfast TWICE this week so I could get Mighty and myself dressed.  Score!  The boys showered successfully without killing one another and were totally clean!  Heck yeah! While grocery shopping a woman complimented my children and their good behavior, huge misconception, but flattering nonetheless!  So, with each complete fail (in my mind) followed a win that would brighten my outlook and allow me to push forward with my day.  I was sweaty and exhausted, but optimistic and feeling accomplished because without the bad in my day… how would I know the good?  Am I right?  Huh?  Huh?

Damn it’s a tough job being Mama and I’m learning more every day.  To those Mamas out there with more children, older children, a completely absent baby daddy, or the ability to wake up early enough to shower, dress, and put makeup on your face…  I commend you.  Cheers to (barely) surviving my first week of two school schedules and an infant in tow!

Famous

How did the Hubby NOT see this reminder?

Slim

Happy Labor Day peeps! In honor of the holiday I thought it a grand idea to watch the video of my labor with Mighty for the first time. I’m pretty much all healed up at this point so I’m feeling good about finally viewing that crazy thirty minutes from another, less painful, lens… Um, now that I have… I’m not sure how my vagina and my bumhole are two separate entities anymore after that nine and a half pound gigantor walked out of me on July twentieth. Holy. Horror film. Seriously, God hates me because if he loved me he would have blessed me with small babies and uneventful deliveries. I was present for two of my sister’s deliveries (I missed one because my thunder-stealing sister thought it a good idea to go into labor the day I got hitched. The nerve…) and her’s were all natural and totally NOT the horror show that mine were, so I definitely have a basis for comparison. When I asked Hubby if he wanted to watch the video of Mighty’s birth with me he responded, “No, thank you. I lived it.” That should’ve been a clear indicator of what’s to come. Now, I do not have any recorded evidence of my first two child births because with Famous I was shy and embarrassed about what it all might look like in my nether regions and therefore had zero interest in recording it, but with Slim I really wanted to see it for myself. I made the mistake of asking the Hubby to record the birth so I alone could watch it after. You know what he recorded? He recorded my face. The whole time. Perfect. Because that’s what I wanted to relive… my awesomely crinkled, push-face. Not the action of a nine pound twelve ounce baby boy coming out of my hoo-ha. Thank you, Hubby. You follow directions splendidly. Luckily, this time around my great, childless friend wanted to be in the delivery room and is fully capable of following directions and was totally down for watching the madness from behind the video camera. And she did just that. She was focused, quiet, and steady. So many details connected in my brain once I watched the video because at the time I was in so much pain I could only hear and see small patches of what was happening around me. Just to give you a bit of perspective… I wasn’t admitted into the hospital until AFTER I gave birth. I walked into labor and delivery nine and a half centimeters dilated. There was no time for an epidural. I gave birth thirty minutes after I received a room. My doctor? Who I love for keeping my vagina from ripping in half when I had Slim? Didn’t make it in time to deliver Mighty. All was NOT what it was supposed to be.

As soon as the nurse checked me and gave me the unfortunate news that there was no time to receive an epidural I immediately put a blockade up in my brain to keep all the panic, fearful, and anxious thoughts at bay because the last thing I needed is to completely lose my mind when I’m about to push this baby out completely aware and feeling everything. All I remember thinking is let’s get this show on the road. The sooner this happens the faster it’s over! So, I start the first set of pushes and I completely feel as though my efforts are making ZERO progress. That whole chin to chest crap is worthless. As I’m resting between my first set and second set of pushes I hear the on-call doctor ask my friend if she’s recording and if so she should step back a few feet to prevent the camera from getting wet. Whaaaaat?! I look over my big belly to see the doctor holding up a sheet, covering his clothes. I see my friend already standing at least three feet away from me and he’s suggesting she stands back farther? So, I start the second set of pushes, completely ignoring the chin to chest directions and I just sit back, bare down, push with all my might and SPLASH! I opened my eyes just in time to see fluid spewing across the room. Oh. My. Sweet Exorcism. What the shit was that? I look at Hubby and his eyes are wide, mouth open and completely giddy about the awesomeness he just witnessed. That, my friends, was my water breaking. The Hubby was super excited for me to see that part of the video, but it wasn’t as horror movie as it felt when it was happening. I was kinda bummed. With the third set of pushes came a whole new level of pain and for the first time in the video I’m vocal… and loud. But, I’m saying things like, “Oh, that hurts!” and “I can’t stop pushing!” and of course “Oh my GOD!” Pretty generic pain rants, but what I’m feeling is like I may die. My words give the pain that I was feeling no justice. Now this is where, in my opinion, the labor switches paths from a normal delivery, like my sister’s, to a number one seller, pro-abstinence, scare tactic, health class video because the following events are scary enough to make horny teenagers NEVER want to have sex for fear they may become pregnant and this WILL happen to them. No exaggeration necessary. It took the doctor twice as long to sew me up as it did for me to deliver the baby. But to actually see the damage as it’s happening was CRAZY. Thank baby Jesus I didn’t record Famous’ birth (it was just as horrific) or he would’ve been an only child. Why the eff did I want to record this shit show? Apparently feeling it wasn’t enough torture. So, I’m screaming and grunting… all that good stuff when her head is finally out and mister on-call doctor doesn’t do much to save me from stretching and tearing beyond recognition, but rather pulls her shoulders out and blood splatters all over himself, the nurse and the freakin’ floor and then baby girl cries and all focus turns to our nameless beauty while I bleed some more.

Even watching the video I couldn’t help but smile and tear up at the sight of such a beautiful miracle, but suddenly, and I’m assuming accidentally, my friend adjusts the camera from its focus on the beautiful babe resting peacefully on my chest to a very clear shot of what remains of my fine china. My teary eyes of joy immediately turn to shock. No wonder why my doctor (she got there in time to sew me up) was so pissed at what she had to fix. I’m gonna go out on a limb and say that the worst part of the entire experience was hearing my doctor say the words, “Well, at least her sphincter’s still intact.” Did you gasp? I gasped. Sphincter? No wonder I still take Dulcolax! Giving birth (my versions of giving birth) is GNARLY. You know what else is gnarly? How painful the afterbirth is. Delivering the placenta, getting sewn up, having a nurse bounce up and down on your uterus to get all the blood out and it not work. Having that same nurse stick four pills up your ass in a continued effort to get the blood clots or whatever to disperse then bring mister on-call doctor BACK after the suppositories to stick his hand in my sore and stitched hoo-ha to scrape my uterus manually. All that… was gnarly.

I’m pretty proud of how I handled myself that day and I’m pretty certain I deserve a medal. Yup. Since I’ve had three children all over nine pounds at birth and all births extremely noteworthy in the damage department, why not? It’s totally deserved. I guess I’ll settle for the satisfaction of torturing my children when they’re grown with guilt trips of how they MUST do what I’m asking because they are solely responsible for my back issues, abdominal separation, and incontinence.

Mighty

Slim

Famous