Week 8.

Had a 3 hour doctor appointment at the new practice today. And If this was any indication of the rest of this pregnancy...Jesus. The sonogram went just dandy. Then it was onto the pap smear and boob feeling. So Girth and I are sitting in the room waiting for 16 days on the doctor to come in. I am naked from the waist down, paper sheeted up. I have to fart. Badly. I can't hold it because I have a pap smear coming. So I jump off the table, inside the smallest room ever, and stick my ass in the closet sized space with a curtain for changing clothes. I fart. Obnoxiously, loudly, horrendously. Girth dies. I run back to the table, hop my fat ass back up there. Still waiting. So I am begging Girth to come over and see the view while I am stir-ups. He's not having it. That bitch is no fun. Again- I have to fart. I repeat the process, my poor husband is hanging his head in his hands. Shamefully. Next, here comes the doctor and his apparent entourage. In this small room is now Girth, the doctor, a nurse, a computer lady, and my vagina. Pap time. Almost impossible to not make creepy eye contact with the full house. All of a sudden, BOOM. Rectal exam. Hold the phone. I expected the doc to knock first, but he stormed in. Girth noted my surprise. Then, just like that- everyone is gone. I jump off the table and fling my paper dress off, Girth yelps. "Why is your pussy so hairy??" I'm like, what? He's like, "What the fuck is wrong with you?" I told him I was growing it out like a woman. Then he continued to belittle me on the height of my underwear and said we are going shopping for new ones. On the way home he fed me a jr. bacon, so all was forgiven.

 

  

Dynamic.

I have had something on my mind since yesterday. A friend asked why I teach my son to swear, though she did bring up that "teach" was probably not the best word. This was in regards to mentioning how my offspring used the word "shit" when talking to me. There was nothing condoning from her, or nasty. Simply curious as to why he would just use that word. Well, because he hears it. Especially these past couple weeks while his mother is running around crying over not being able to shit. Naturally I do not want my child to swear...but so many other things are more important to me also. The other day I was actually shitting and had my head on the bathroom counter. Yes- our bathroom is that small. Well, Riot comes in and says, "Awwww, mom, you taking a big shit?" I told him yeah. Then I watch him lay down on the bathroom floor right beside me on his back, put his feet up on the cabinet and rest his arms behind his head. He says, "Mommy, tell me about some of your favorite things". So I did. He learned that from me, just like he learned the word shit from me. He is ridiculously compassionate and aware of peoples feelings. At a parade once, he tore out of my hand to run over and hug a crying child that he did not know. He is wild and gogogo all the time, but he's a pretty quality kid. When he pours his own drinks and spills the milk, I clean it without a word, when he asks to walk without holding my hand, I let him...because he is establishing independence. I watch him lay down, organize, and cover up his babies telling them he loves them. Hugging them all, kissing them all, and making them kiss each other.  He is an independent, smart, witty, loving, compassionate kid who says shit and piss. Our family dynamic is less then perfect, but we work, and we work well. 

Girth and me, we are wicked frigging good at what we do.  

Nothing less than beautiful.

I figured I would also give a brief rundown of Riots worldly entrance.

1. My water broke at home, at the dining room table while I sat in a chair with no pants on. I jumped up, running to the bathroom with fluid flying out of my vag, hurdled over my cat who was stretched out in the hallway and sat on the toilet. There was a trail all through the house from my run, except where my cat was laying, because I slimed her.

2. Only half of my water broke at home, the other half they broke during labor, in which I yelled, "It smells!!!", and Chris simultaneously yelled, "It's on my shoes", all while my sister stood there laughing.

3. 18 hours of labor, 3 epidurals, 45 minutes of pushing, 2 full days with no sleep.

4. The second epidural wore off just before the pushing began, I felt pretty much everything. Because I am spastic, I flailed and kicked over the entire stainless steel tray of vag/baby tools and items in front of me.

5. The third epidural came after Riot flew out of my poor muffin, and my placenta did not detach. My doctor went ahead and got balls deep by reaching her entire hand and arm- all the way up to her elbow into me and pulling. Because I felt as though I was being gutted, and rightfully so, I screamed like a murder victim. The 3rd epidural was administered immediately.

6. I received 5 million stitches from my taint all the way up to the man in the boat. Seriously. I also received a hemorrhoid as a thoughtful parting gift.

7. When the nurse was stitching me up, I would not stop farting. It was like my asshole gulped air for all 18 hours. I kept apologizing, and she would giggle and move her head to the side...it was insane. Just huge gusts of air erupting. my sister and Chris thought it was awesome and the other nurse commented that they sounded like, "cartoon farts".

8. My doctor would not allow pictures or videos to be taken. I was hugely disappointed.

9. Chris was great and petted my hair with a wet cloth the entire time. This regretfully resulted in my after delivery photos looking like I had a greasy mullet.

10. The birth of our child was a shit show, but nothing less than beautiful. And all of these things make me strangely excited to do it all again.

                                                              So new. A whole day old.

First day home.

Best first day, ever.

 

Did it. Again.

First, I want to say thanks for all the congrats!! It's amazing how glorious and celebratory an unplanned pregnancy is in your thirties! Although I do feel nervous, like, knocked up 14 year old catholic lass nervous.  Girth is beyond pumped, and will be the keeper of the balance and sanity from here on out. We thought we were one and done- we were wrong. Don't be twatty and confuse unplanned with unwanted though either.  This also definitely explains why I murdered that burrito from Taco Bell, have been abusing Girth's penis, practically orgasm if wind grazes my nipples, and have not shit in days. I am 6 weeks along and scheduled to squeeze this babe out on April the 10th, 2014. While a healthy child is all that matters, bitches are lying when they say that they don't secretly hope for one sex or the other- just a little. I just so happen to secretly hope for a girl this time. A boy would by no means disappoint me, but I already know we make a gorgeous boy baby. Now I want to see what a girl baby will look like. Which is a decision I will want to take back during her teenage years. Naturally,  we have already chosen the name for the girl as well. No- we will not be telling for a very long time. Ladies these days are a bunch of no mind, baby name stealing shitbags.
I will of course be blogging the usual all over, but these blogs will also be full of every beautiful and disgusting aspect of pregnancy. Occasional pictures of my body, boobs, crying face, poop, everything. You have no idea what the terms "overshare" or "TMI" will mean in the next 36 weeks. Also probably weird photos from baby morph websites, and if all goes well- a video in about 9 months time. Thank me later.

Sally Sassafrass

First of all, the only people still wearing jeans so low that their yucky pussy bush is barely covered- are older women who should not even be allowed to purchase them. Keep watch for bedazzled back pockets...it will be a dead give away for those jeans. As will be the giant fucking moose knuckle in the front. Because she is probably past 40, and wearing those jeans, I am willing to bet Girth's big ol' wiener that she will be wearing a tube top as well. In reality she is probably only 30, but looks 40, while all her bestest friends are 21. She'll be getting loaded and having fun, then crying about her lonely single life while shoving her hand down the front of some strange guys pants. He's only going to let her blow him though- because no guy in their right mind would hit that snootch anymore. Don't get me wrong- she will still get laid, occasionally. By some poor unsuspecting soul who thinks he is nailing a cougar. But he isn't. He has just been duped by a haggard 30 year old. Maybe I am just getting older myself, maybe I am just feeling twatty. But people are grossing me out lately either way. I drink, I piss my pants, show my tits...I get belligerent. I just don't do it regularly, I don't prowl for new dick, and I certainly do not pretend to be a 20something. It would be impossible anyway, I am way too stuck in the 90's. I just don't get how these women think these things will land them a good guy while they are single and looking. No one wants the lady who only looks decent when illuminated beneath the dim glow of Coors lamp hanging over a pool table. Smarten up. Stop being so fucking embarrassing and you might get a guy to call you before midnight. And for fucks sakes, stop dressing yourself from your tween daughters closet.

No.

 

Best Friends

Well, Girth stole me away for a sneaky surprise camping trip. We brought a tent, 2 steaks, pbr and a bottle of vodka. We are obviously wicked good packers. Aside from blogging, another thing I have not done in a month is drink. And it just so happened to be a Hawaiian themed party at the campgrounds that night. Guess who got crunk? Wapatula, beer, a Bloody Mary, and some concoction of liquor inside of a watermelon with straws poking out set me up for lushiness. Probably not the best choices were made having not drank in a while. But I think I only stormed off once in anger, for who even knows what. I also took a huge leap off a deck- to which I didn't stick the landing. Jacked up my bum birthday knee again. Still limping. Photos informed me that half of my bra was hanging out of my tank top all night- trashy box- check. My one comfort is that nearly everyone else, was in no condition to remember shit. Girth was upset that the night was actually suppose to be a more romantic getaway- just the two of us. While it did not go as he planned, we still had fun..
Highlight?
He ravaged me in the tent. Unexpectedly, after telling me he would not be hitting it that night. He couldn't help himself though, because I was a hot mess. One better? We got busy outside the tent. I am pretty sure that being naked outside in the woods is my most favorite thing in all the land. I really just wanted to gallop around the entire campgrounds like that. I have been naked in the woods, but not completely, completely. And not since I was like 15.
Low point?
Well, you know in the morning my body hated me when it let me know that I would be needing to take a huge shit. Blue Bowls. Jesus Christ on a cracker- the most disgusting BB's I have ever waltzed into. My eyes water, I yanked my shirt up over my face...I moaned. MOANED, it just escaped. Why isn't there anything in a BB to cover your shit after you leave it? Maybe scoop some sand, some kitty litter, fucking something??? Isn't there anything that will dissolve shit??
So, there is our Saturday. Bottom line is, Girth loves me. He planned a sneaky good time, with just each other- which is fantastic, though it didn't work that way. He ended up putting out, again- by surprise, and we just enjoyed each other. Overnights with any period of time is so rare for us. It's good to be reminded why you're best friends again. I needed that as much as I needed the D.

Best Friends. 4-eva-eva.