For today's short post I'll refer to my list of possible blog topics. This one is inspired by my one and only sister.
Today's topic: Camping with Babies
My position: Nay.
I don't feel this needs further elaboration.
Tuesday, May 23, 2006
Tuesday, May 16, 2006
Oh Boy!
Well, my first Mother's Day was pretty much a bust. I travelled the entire roller coaster of emotions. It started with a “do you want to get up to get the baby?” (Uh, are you freaking kidding me? It’s MOTHER’S day. You go – not to mention I got up with her at 3am so, sorry dad, you lose.) Then I was given a wonderful card and a figurine I love (high point). And then we continued about our typical Sunday routine of Costco and Target (lull) followed by putting together the new bike trailer (high) then the total hysteria of Rhianna’s first adventure in the bike trailer (low) to my total mental breakdown (really low) but it all ended up ok and by the time I went to bed I was feeling appreciated and loved (good) but ended up getting the stomach flu so spent the night with diarrhea and vomiting sessions (really really really low). So… there’s room for improvement in future Mother's Days.
Yesterday was the Big Day. I dragged myself to the hospital between pooping/barfing episodes for my ultrasound appointment only for them to tell me that my appointment wasn’t actually until Friday. Apparently these preggo hormones are affecting my ability to read a date on an appointment card because when I looked on it, sure enough, it said May 19. Nonetheless, they said I could wait around and see if they could fit me in. I did and they did. Shout out to the ultrasound chicks -- thanks so much for not sending me home with no gender-news.
The verdict? I have a healthy little baby boy swimming inside me. Weird reality: when this is all said and done, I will have had a penis inside of me for almost a year (not even counting the actual catalyst for this event). To add insult to injury, the presence of said penis does not affect at all the amount of orgams I will have. Granted, that would be gross, but still, in the past, penis-presence has had some pleasure potential. This one, the one that will be in me the longest, not potential whatsoever.
Anyway, after a day of shock over my apparent ability to grow someone a penis (and my initial disappointment at not populating the world with mostly vagina-owning personnel), I’m coming to terms with, and getting very excited about, this whole boy prospect. That’s right – another thing I’m willing to admit – just like Miranda on Sex and the City -- I faked my ultrasound. But I’m coming around to the idea of a boy much faster than I thought I would. I'm already pretty excited about it and it's only been a day.
Sure, I’m still a bit afraid of my little boy’s (currently centimeter-long) slong, but I’ll get over it. After all, you have to face fears to get over them right? I’m realizing (woo-hoo psycho-analysis time!) that it’s not so much the penis, it’s the unknown I’m scared of. My initial reaction to this pregnancy was mostly “that’s not what I had planned” but I realize that I hoped for a girl because that would still be in my comfort zone. Sure, I’ll be ok with being pregnant, as long as it’s a girl because I know my vaginas and damnit, I like them. But he’s not a she and I’ll love him and the presence of his penis just as much as I would have if he'd had a vagina (but I’m still praying for no innie).
Who knows? Maybe it will make me more comfortable with the whole existence of penises in the world. I currently see them as a necessary part of nature, but really nothing to look forward to. I mean sure, there are pretty ones and scary ones – like noses. But basically, it’s a science thing. It’s just there – you have to accept it. Like evolution (no comments on that one because if you deny evolution, it will give me grounds to deny the Penis and Dave would be mad if I started a philosophical debate of the existence of the penis).
Really, I think the hoping-for-a-girl was also a lot about the name. I really liked our girl names. And as it turns out, Dave has more opinions than we initially thought about boy names. But that's how it was with Rhianna -- we had no trouble with boys names then, but couldn't agree on a girl. Unfortunately our leftover boy names don't seem to have the same alure. We're open to suggestions at this point.
So to sum up: Yay! It’s a boy! “Now we can have one of each and be done.” We’ll see. For now, I’ll be focusing on growing a good strong boy with a great little penis :)
Yesterday was the Big Day. I dragged myself to the hospital between pooping/barfing episodes for my ultrasound appointment only for them to tell me that my appointment wasn’t actually until Friday. Apparently these preggo hormones are affecting my ability to read a date on an appointment card because when I looked on it, sure enough, it said May 19. Nonetheless, they said I could wait around and see if they could fit me in. I did and they did. Shout out to the ultrasound chicks -- thanks so much for not sending me home with no gender-news.
The verdict? I have a healthy little baby boy swimming inside me. Weird reality: when this is all said and done, I will have had a penis inside of me for almost a year (not even counting the actual catalyst for this event). To add insult to injury, the presence of said penis does not affect at all the amount of orgams I will have. Granted, that would be gross, but still, in the past, penis-presence has had some pleasure potential. This one, the one that will be in me the longest, not potential whatsoever.
Anyway, after a day of shock over my apparent ability to grow someone a penis (and my initial disappointment at not populating the world with mostly vagina-owning personnel), I’m coming to terms with, and getting very excited about, this whole boy prospect. That’s right – another thing I’m willing to admit – just like Miranda on Sex and the City -- I faked my ultrasound. But I’m coming around to the idea of a boy much faster than I thought I would. I'm already pretty excited about it and it's only been a day.
Sure, I’m still a bit afraid of my little boy’s (currently centimeter-long) slong, but I’ll get over it. After all, you have to face fears to get over them right? I’m realizing (woo-hoo psycho-analysis time!) that it’s not so much the penis, it’s the unknown I’m scared of. My initial reaction to this pregnancy was mostly “that’s not what I had planned” but I realize that I hoped for a girl because that would still be in my comfort zone. Sure, I’ll be ok with being pregnant, as long as it’s a girl because I know my vaginas and damnit, I like them. But he’s not a she and I’ll love him and the presence of his penis just as much as I would have if he'd had a vagina (but I’m still praying for no innie).
Who knows? Maybe it will make me more comfortable with the whole existence of penises in the world. I currently see them as a necessary part of nature, but really nothing to look forward to. I mean sure, there are pretty ones and scary ones – like noses. But basically, it’s a science thing. It’s just there – you have to accept it. Like evolution (no comments on that one because if you deny evolution, it will give me grounds to deny the Penis and Dave would be mad if I started a philosophical debate of the existence of the penis).
Really, I think the hoping-for-a-girl was also a lot about the name. I really liked our girl names. And as it turns out, Dave has more opinions than we initially thought about boy names. But that's how it was with Rhianna -- we had no trouble with boys names then, but couldn't agree on a girl. Unfortunately our leftover boy names don't seem to have the same alure. We're open to suggestions at this point.
So to sum up: Yay! It’s a boy! “Now we can have one of each and be done.” We’ll see. For now, I’ll be focusing on growing a good strong boy with a great little penis :)
Thursday, May 04, 2006
Eleven Months
....Officially almost a year old, Rhianna is a wonderful little terror. She is understanding us enough now to actually follow through with the "take the remote to Daddy" commands, but, as Dave discovered, still too young for the "go get Daddy a beer" chores. I guess she still has a little growing to do :)
Ok, today's topic is post/pre-baby boobs so if you're shy, stop here.. That's right folks, I'm gonna "go there." Modesty? Not likely.
Before I had child(ren), I had no idea how much I liked my boobs. They were in the right spot, firmish but not engorged. The nips were in the right spot, pointing striaght ahead, and the brown part was about the size of a quarter. I wore pretty bras in lots of different styles and colors. Strappy, lacy, sporty, "no-cold-nipples-showing", padded, not padded, strapless, demi, full, underwire. Nude, blue, black, purple, pink, red, multi-colored, even one with sequenz (sp?) that never actually wore, but it fit.
Pregnancy #1. Boobs are now 4 sizes bigger (good for Dave) but constantly sore (sorry Dave, no-touchy). Nipples have grown astronomically. National geo anyone? Brown is now a silver dollar at least. No longer cute, but more anatomy-book-diagram-like. You want to know what the separate parts were? I got 'em in easy-to-view, extra large. Breast, got it. Areola, got it. Full duct, got it. Colostrum, got it. I have to admit, there was a little novelty here. It was pretty funny the first time I sprayed Dave with milk from 3 feet away -- ha! that'll teach him for teasing a pregnant lady. Beware the squirting melons!
Maternity/Nursing bras came next. Only available in Nude (not actually anyone's skin color), white, and occasionly, black -- but all available in E-cup (yeah, I didn't know they came that big either). All have unsnapping/easy-access-to-boobies capabilities. This is not sexy as you might imagine. If there is anything that can make a woman's boobs feel more like circus clowns, it's being exposed in a nursing bra. Yes, they do come in handy later on, but the experience (that every woman I know who's nursed has had) of your husband having annoying glee (read: rolling with laughter at those-parts-that-were-once-sexy) at seeing your headlights unwillingly exposed by two unsnapped cups of a nursing bra. It's humiliating and Left and Right both know it and will resent you for it.
Baby #1. Milk comes in and Pamela Anderson is left in the dust. I am a porn star (at least until you see the wreck that is the rest of my body). Let down? Ha. Flood zone is more like it. I'm not going to discuss nursing here. That'll have to be another post -- there's just too much to be said. At this point though, they aren't really UNattractive, but you don't recognize them. It's like your "fat" self. You look in the mirror and know your real boobs -- the pretty, perky ones you remember -- are in there somewhere, but you just don't recognize the image staring back at you.
Post-nursing boobs. Smaller, deformed, depressed versions of pre-baby boobs -- which have disappeared, as far as I know, forever. I for one, was a little excited that mine were smaller, but totally depressed at their lack of perkiness. They are mushy, deflated and more oval than round. They don't care anymore. THEY are depressed. The nipples start racing each other to the belly button. You hope neither will win for at least another 60 years, but the outlook doesn't look good. If I'd known this was in my future before I'd delivered, I think I would have switched to formula earlier but at this point, it's hopeless. Though the old bras start to fit again -- which is a nice relief -- they don't "fit" in the traditional sense of the word.
Pregnancy #2. It's been a relief that I didn't start lactating at 12 weeks during this pregnancy. Of course, that could be because I never really stopped from Pregnancy#1. (Yeah. I was not-nursing for at least 2 months before I got knocked up again, but, lucky me, my milkers didn't get the memo.) Now farther along, my again-pregnant boobs are looking "up" thanks to a full duct or two. They haven't been enormous like they were with Rhianna which is exciting because I can still wear some of the old more-interestingly-colored bras. Nonetheless, I think they are dealing with post-traumatic stress disorder from the whole nursing experience.
The most surprising thing for me about whole boob-changing experience that happens during pregnancy/nursing/"drying-up"/pregancy again is how different one is from the other. Until I became pregnant -- well, maybe even until I started nursing -- I had no idea Left and Right had such different personalities. One was very excited about squirting milk, one not-so-much. They liked to release milk at the same time (particularly when I forgot nursing pads in public) but Left really preferred to be first when Baby was concerned. One was very happy to be in UnderwireNursingBra while the other prefered Wireless. One nip got a mole, the other liked to change shape. One could be full, the other bone-dry. Who knew? They have retained their separate capabilities. They no longer care about symetry (or, for that matter, embarassing their carrier -- I don't say "owner" because you realize, at a certain point, that you have control over certain things in your body. My boobs are no longer in that category).
So there you have it. The lives of Left and Right to date. Hey, you could have stopped reading at any time, I wasn't pressuring you to read the whole post so I take no responsibility.
Ok, today's topic is post/pre-baby boobs so if you're shy, stop here.. That's right folks, I'm gonna "go there." Modesty? Not likely.
Before I had child(ren), I had no idea how much I liked my boobs. They were in the right spot, firmish but not engorged. The nips were in the right spot, pointing striaght ahead, and the brown part was about the size of a quarter. I wore pretty bras in lots of different styles and colors. Strappy, lacy, sporty, "no-cold-nipples-showing", padded, not padded, strapless, demi, full, underwire. Nude, blue, black, purple, pink, red, multi-colored, even one with sequenz (sp?) that never actually wore, but it fit.
Pregnancy #1. Boobs are now 4 sizes bigger (good for Dave) but constantly sore (sorry Dave, no-touchy). Nipples have grown astronomically. National geo anyone? Brown is now a silver dollar at least. No longer cute, but more anatomy-book-diagram-like. You want to know what the separate parts were? I got 'em in easy-to-view, extra large. Breast, got it. Areola, got it. Full duct, got it. Colostrum, got it. I have to admit, there was a little novelty here. It was pretty funny the first time I sprayed Dave with milk from 3 feet away -- ha! that'll teach him for teasing a pregnant lady. Beware the squirting melons!
Maternity/Nursing bras came next. Only available in Nude (not actually anyone's skin color), white, and occasionly, black -- but all available in E-cup (yeah, I didn't know they came that big either). All have unsnapping/easy-access-to-boobies capabilities. This is not sexy as you might imagine. If there is anything that can make a woman's boobs feel more like circus clowns, it's being exposed in a nursing bra. Yes, they do come in handy later on, but the experience (that every woman I know who's nursed has had) of your husband having annoying glee (read: rolling with laughter at those-parts-that-were-once-sexy) at seeing your headlights unwillingly exposed by two unsnapped cups of a nursing bra. It's humiliating and Left and Right both know it and will resent you for it.
Baby #1. Milk comes in and Pamela Anderson is left in the dust. I am a porn star (at least until you see the wreck that is the rest of my body). Let down? Ha. Flood zone is more like it. I'm not going to discuss nursing here. That'll have to be another post -- there's just too much to be said. At this point though, they aren't really UNattractive, but you don't recognize them. It's like your "fat" self. You look in the mirror and know your real boobs -- the pretty, perky ones you remember -- are in there somewhere, but you just don't recognize the image staring back at you.
Post-nursing boobs. Smaller, deformed, depressed versions of pre-baby boobs -- which have disappeared, as far as I know, forever. I for one, was a little excited that mine were smaller, but totally depressed at their lack of perkiness. They are mushy, deflated and more oval than round. They don't care anymore. THEY are depressed. The nipples start racing each other to the belly button. You hope neither will win for at least another 60 years, but the outlook doesn't look good. If I'd known this was in my future before I'd delivered, I think I would have switched to formula earlier but at this point, it's hopeless. Though the old bras start to fit again -- which is a nice relief -- they don't "fit" in the traditional sense of the word.
Pregnancy #2. It's been a relief that I didn't start lactating at 12 weeks during this pregnancy. Of course, that could be because I never really stopped from Pregnancy#1. (Yeah. I was not-nursing for at least 2 months before I got knocked up again, but, lucky me, my milkers didn't get the memo.) Now farther along, my again-pregnant boobs are looking "up" thanks to a full duct or two. They haven't been enormous like they were with Rhianna which is exciting because I can still wear some of the old more-interestingly-colored bras. Nonetheless, I think they are dealing with post-traumatic stress disorder from the whole nursing experience.
The most surprising thing for me about whole boob-changing experience that happens during pregnancy/nursing/"drying-up"/pregancy again is how different one is from the other. Until I became pregnant -- well, maybe even until I started nursing -- I had no idea Left and Right had such different personalities. One was very excited about squirting milk, one not-so-much. They liked to release milk at the same time (particularly when I forgot nursing pads in public) but Left really preferred to be first when Baby was concerned. One was very happy to be in UnderwireNursingBra while the other prefered Wireless. One nip got a mole, the other liked to change shape. One could be full, the other bone-dry. Who knew? They have retained their separate capabilities. They no longer care about symetry (or, for that matter, embarassing their carrier -- I don't say "owner" because you realize, at a certain point, that you have control over certain things in your body. My boobs are no longer in that category).
So there you have it. The lives of Left and Right to date. Hey, you could have stopped reading at any time, I wasn't pressuring you to read the whole post so I take no responsibility.
Monday, May 01, 2006
Lady Plugs
The best thing about my to-flush, not-to flush post? Cole has brought to my attention the term "lady plug." I like it. So from here on, tampons will be referred to as LadyPlugs. I'll have a whole dictionary of new terms by the time this blog dies. I'm generally not a fan of calling things that-which-they-are-not, but I think in this case, the new term is much more concise as the old one. Way to go Cole. You get ten points.
This weekend was pretty good. Saturday was wonderful, Sunday was kinda bla thanks to the cold-that-won't-die. We looked at a few cars for Dave but, since we don't have the insurance money yet, can't actually commit to anything. I really don't like car shopping and if Dave is happy, I'm happy. I'm hoping to avoid going to any more dealerships. Granted, I'll probably protest if he suggests buying a two-door Porche for less than 10K -- I mean, there just isn't space for two car seats in one of those things, let alone two full-sized adults -- but, barring the ridiculous(ly small) sports car, I could really care less. If he'll spare me from the icky used-car sales people and the still-smells-like-smoke-despite-ten-coconut-air-fresheners "pre-owned" vehicles, I might even throw in an extra $500 from my secret stash.
This weekend was pretty good. Saturday was wonderful, Sunday was kinda bla thanks to the cold-that-won't-die. We looked at a few cars for Dave but, since we don't have the insurance money yet, can't actually commit to anything. I really don't like car shopping and if Dave is happy, I'm happy. I'm hoping to avoid going to any more dealerships. Granted, I'll probably protest if he suggests buying a two-door Porche for less than 10K -- I mean, there just isn't space for two car seats in one of those things, let alone two full-sized adults -- but, barring the ridiculous(ly small) sports car, I could really care less. If he'll spare me from the icky used-car sales people and the still-smells-like-smoke-despite-ten-coconut-air-fresheners "pre-owned" vehicles, I might even throw in an extra $500 from my secret stash.
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