Friday, March 28, 2014

Our pillar.

We love making beds on the floor. We pull the memory foam off the bed, grab all the big thick comforters, and all the soft blankets and build that bitch up. Topping it off with couch pillows, body pillows, and a snoogle. We put the kid to bed at 8, per usual, and get our cuddle on. Occasionally we let him in on it. The other night, I could not get comfy, and crawled up onto the couch. Woke up at 4 am when my hideous child came stumbling out of his room and crawled onto the floor, because zombies were eating him and he needed daddy. I layed there looking down at them and was hit with way too many emotions. Both asleep and intertwined, Riot's little body wrapped right around daddy's, head on his chest with his nappy, curly, soft hair all draped all over. Girth on his back with one arm wrapped around him...I couldn't take it. I squirmed clumsily off the couch and mashed my big body right onto Girth's other side. Snuggled up into him as tight as I could with his other arm around me. Content. He reminded me of a pillar. A pillar of strength and safety and love. With him in the middle, holding us both, I felt that it completely summed up our lives. I am neurotic, unorganized, always going in 40 different directions...which is not much different than our 4 year old. Somehow though, Girth holds it together, us and himself. The other night putting Riot to bed, I yelled at him for being sassy and talking back, he yelled back at me that I hurt his heart. I cried. He cried. We sat on his bed crying and yelling at each other...Chris came in completely stunned. His big pregnant wife and his small toddler child crying and freaking out. How he remains sane, I will never know. He does though.
He closes his eyes alot. Shakes his head, looks up at the ceiling and mouths words. I have a feeling these may be coping mechanisms...  

Whatever gets him through each day with us though...because it's no easy feat.

Mine.

Thursday, March 20, 2014

(5) Realizations.

1. Happiness after children, a happiness that a person with no children and no significant other could possibly know is: Eating a food right out in the open that those other people in your house want nothing to do with. You will never know freedom until you feel that feeling.

2. "Second offspring who gives a shit", is real. I had a journal for Riot...kept from the day I found we were pregnant until he turned a year old, a box with tokens and nostalgia from us and all the people who love him. I have over 50 photo albums of pictures, that all were printed after having him.
Sonograms of Charlee and tid bits of other things are scattered throughout the house...where did the novelty go? 


3. I just made my self fancy french toast. Eggs, french vanilla creamer, cinnamon, powered sugar and syrup. I am fond of saying, "That's what Charlee wants", when I get a craving...However, after she is actually here and asking me for breakfast...I'm going to chuckle as I toss a poptart at her.
"That mom" is completely me.


4. After freaking out, and trying to break Girth's things, he calms me down. He handles  my instability, and my irrational behavior...and he is calm about it. He then waits three days for me to pull an apology out of my asshole, at a completely irrelevant time, spoken very fast without even looking at him.
He accepts it.

He accepts me.
It is not flowers for no reason, buying me expensive things, or giving me my way that makes us what we are.
It is him telling me to go fuck myself. It is him waiting for that apology that takes me 3 days. Doing the dishes (occasionally). Making it rain on me while I twerk. Being a good father. It is tolerating, and not tolerating, all the while being accepting of all of me.


5. Six years later I can still make him belly laugh and blush. Belly laugh after I pretend to snap his neck after sex, blush when I lift and drop my foot between his legs in the chair at the doctors office to unzip my boot hastily. I blush and get giddy when he fake chows at me out of nowhere.


In three more weeks we will introduce another small person into this mix. But, hey- 3's a crowd, 4's a party....right?











 

Wednesday, March 12, 2014

Four more weeks.

Four more weeks to go.
Four more weeks till' my vag explodes with the cutest chubbiest baby girl full of hair.
Four more weeks till' I can retire my mom bush.
Four more weeks till' we are a family of four.
Four more weeks until my hands stop going numb.
Four more weeks until I can stop worrying about slicing my asshole of while shaving...due to hands going numb at the most inopportune times.
Four more weeks of pissing my pants regularly.
Four more weeks of feeling like my pelvis and muff bone are being tapped with a hammer.
Four more weeks for a Bloody Mary.
Four more weeks till' missionary sex where I don't even have to move is an option.
Four more weeks until I have all the energy to play with my son that we need me to have.
Four more weeks until I can stop feeling guilty about not having it.

Four more weeks until I will never feel a life forming inside of me again.
Four more weeks until my son transitions from only child to big brother.
Four more weeks of feeling every emotion in the entire spectrum about all of the things that will happen at the end of, or will cease to exist at the end of these next four weeks.

EXHAUSTION.




 

Thursday, March 6, 2014

Two of them.

What in the flying cardinal cock am I suppose to do with two kids? Panic mode is starting to set it. We took the stroller and car seat out of their boxes last night. Took us an hour to work the frigging things, in which Girth declared it to basically be a transformer. Then I watched him push it through the house and the panic went away. We can do this.
Then he goes to work in the morning.
And I freak out again.
Two kids. Two kids. Two kids. My luxury of napping when a new baby naps will not be available. Because there will be another one strolling through the house. Two babes will be screaming my name. A small one when it wants to be fed, or for pretty much any other reason- only she knows, and the other one more than likely because the cat jacked his ass up again. We went through an entire box of band aids over his Winter vacation. A spec of blood and he loses his mind...certainly won't be a doctor. Then again, he won't be a serial killer either, so that's a plus.

Two kids. Two sets of demands.
I have also decided that I will not be doing tea parties, or fake eating/drinking with Charlee. If she wants me to sit down at a small table to play lunchtime or whatever small girl children do for fun, she better have made me something to eat. A panini maker is effortless...she better throw something in there that I can attempt to actually eat. I will color and draw all day long with her...but I am not sharing my crayons with her. She'll probably learn that the hard way.
How am I suppose to eat food alone?? I'll obviously never bathe alone again. Probably never going to have sex for more than  4 minutes at a time again. It's hard enough getting Girth to put out now. I was SO CLOSE the other day. Nine o'clock at night, in the kitchen with Girth, haven't even been gross in front of him all day long.
I'm really on the verge of getting some.
Instead, I got the BG's.
I trot out of the kitchen, farting the entire way to the bathroom. Huge farts rip every time each foot hit the floor. Got to the bathroom. My asshole all but exploded. He comes to the bathroom, looks at me in my vile condition, one word out of his mouth,
"Nope".
Just like that. I get nothing.