Cancelled Hiatus.

     Seven years. I have not blogged about my asshole or sex life or kids or anything...in 7 years. I've just been doing a lot of over-sharing on social media. Sending half nudes to friends and my sister. Now that I am blogging again though, you will ALL get to see them too! Reading through some of my old blogs was a real treat. I bet my husband would also love to read through them, reminiscing about the days before I grew out of giving mouth hugs. Maybe it will stir something up and I'll do it again. Probably fucking not though. Better chance of me bathing alone or shitting without an audience.  My mouth is for eating carbs and lying about giving blowjobs. That is it. I did just watch him rim his finger around his nostril and then drag his finger on the couch cushion, so I am getting hot. 

    So, about that seven years. I may care less about sharing an abundance of inappropriateness than I ever did then. Acceptance of myself, my mind, my body...are at an all time high. You are not obligated to enjoy me. You are not obligated to love the way my new cut out swimsuit beautifully frames my fat rolls. You are not obligated to judge me on not blowing my husband. It's all ok. And it's all going to get better. 

Here are my new curtains. 

Because this is what getting excited at almost 41 years old looks like. 

Coconut consult.

Finally the day of the consult arrived. Sitting in the waiting room I judged all the women working there about whatever I thought they had done. Of course they were good looking. It was kind of like being in an episode of Nip/Tuck. Naturally on a big day that I had been waiting for, I am sick. So, mouth breathing and judging was pretty much all I did, with Girth beside me. My hair was super static-y from my dumb too tight coat, and I wore a scumbag bra. You get the picture. Anyway, finally we sat in the consult room. Minimal, comfy, baskets of implants. We played with them, they felt like little water beds. Doctor comes in, we talk about my reduction, he tells me to undress from the waist up and put the white robe on. He walks out, I strip it down and get the robe on- which makes me wonder how many sets of teats have been wrapped in it, and when was it last washed. I stand in front of the big silver framed mirror flashing myself. Chris- he's still playing with baskets of tits. Now I am looking at myself, really looking. Everything seems real and vivid, and I think about how my body will literally change. Having a drastic change potentially on the horizon makes me see my body as actually quite beautiful. It was almost like a, "you don't know what you have until it's gone", moment. Of course I want them gone, but it was still a strange, jarring moment.
The doctor comes in, directs me to open the robe. I comply. Except I kind of stand there, holding the robe open. Completely went all Buffalo Bill in front of him. He had to tell me to relax my arms to my sides. Awesome. Then I face the mirror and he crouches in front of me, doing this & that. He turned my boobs into hamburgers. To show me approximate size and placement, he used my nipples like handles, and tucked and folded them in such ways that they resembled hamburgers. I was pleased.

Hello, stranger.

My lesbian dreams have been increasing as we close in on Christmas. Is this a coincidence? Holidays and boxes? I want a box for Christmas?

I have entered the working world. The land of clothes and regular showers. Who will pet my cats all day? Babysitters and school bus schedules. This world does not seem appealing...

Chopped off my hair. Last consult to lose the teets is this month too. Lose the hair, lose the tits...gain work clothes? The frig?

Girth is on the fast track to 30. He will be 29 this week. Just the thought of that is aging me...what am I going to do with his old balls?! Pin them up for him, I suppose.

Wasn't I just pregnant? Where did this staggering, mouthy toddler come from?!

My big kid called me "mom", the other day. Completely unfucking acceptable.

Just realized my "new world" contains Happy Hour. Maybe I will like it here.

My ass looks like someone smashed it between two bricks. Begging for a squat or 600. Challenge will commence...will not be posting ass photos this time. Sorry.

I am at pre-pregnancy weight. Things have shifted though.

I am lusting after James Spader so hard that it is shameful. Just the mention of his name and my hand flys to my zipper.

Monster Trucks balls have gotten so big that if you pet him from ears to the tip of his tail, you graze them. I think he grew them that big on purpose.

Girth and I finally had a night out. I did a pyramid in a tight dress...backed it up to a fence for a safety precaution (ie, my beating later), checked out photos the next day. Saw a woman standing in the back. Pretty sure she was sneak peeking my hamburger.

I think we are all caught up now.




 

Pretty, pretty girl.

This morning I rolled out of bed, started doing bills, started cleaning, all the usual things. I see Chris staring at me. I'm like, "Whatttt?"
Chris, "Why the fuck do you wear your sweatpants so high?
Me, "Why do you always start with me? I fucking don't..."

Chris, "Yes, you do. What is wrong with you? Get the camera & stand there."

I comply.

This is what follows:

 

 

 

I just lost on so many levels.

Maybe a little insight on why I don't get laid?
1. Sweatpants are indeed high.
2. I am in fact wearing a pregnancy bellyband as a tubetop.
3. He is actually being forgiving when he calls me, "Ugly as dick" in the morning.

 

Mom of A Boy

We have busy kid. He is a wild 5 year old who does not like to sit still. A great kid, an exhausting kid. Eager, full of energy, compassionate, thoughtful, curious, wants to do it all- wants to know it all. My kind of kid, my kid- who may seem overwhelming to some, is perfect by me. People with and without kids, especially not having a boy, or a boy who has not reached a certain age, have no idea. People who compare kids, especially boys to girls- I want to throat punch you all. I think the judgmental people forget that you are judging the parents as well. I think you think your snide undertone is not picked up in your offhanded comments. All of the traits my wild son has will be respected and adored when he is grown...completely worth the trouble of reining them in now. Mothers of boys his age will understand, but all other people should hold enough common sense to at least try and understand. We buy a thousand pairs of jeans a year, he eats an obscene amount of food, he talks incessantly, asks more questions than any one person should be allowed to in a lifetime, shows off like he is his own reality show, and has the attention span of a walnut. He is mine. I have a happy, content child. I have a happy, content baby. I am doing it right. I am not a warden, a Nazi, a drill Sargent, or an old western regulator. My style of parenting is not yours. My offspring is not yours to judge. He is everything I want him to be- should that be too much for anyone, feel free to make your own kid your protege. I am busy allowing mine to become an individual.

Big backpack, Big Love.

A Kindergartner. Being able to remember some of my own Kindergarten memories so clearly make it that much more surreal to be on the mothering end of it all. Here it is though, September, and my first born, my 4 year old love of my life is gone for an entire day. Who will build Lego cities with me all day, who will make me dress as a super hero, or villain depending on if he feels like smacking me around that day or not. Should I feel like an empty nester right now? His entire first day I felt like I was missing a part of myself, a constant ache. His small body toting that big backpack into that big school hallway was the culmination of the last almost 5 years. I wanted to pull my heart out of my chest and scream at it to calm down, that it didn't have to break- that this was a wonderful thing!
And it was.
At 3:30 when his happy face came through the door and hugged me with enough force to knock me down- there it was. He loved it. He was excited for the next day, he said that he had a great time. He ate every bit of the lunch I packed for him. He came home unscathed and in great spirits. I silently scolded myself for being so selfish, for thinking of my own breaking heart, about how I felt.
And then I said, "Fuck you, self. That's YOUR baby".
The first time I laid my eyes on him, I knew I would feel everything he felt, that I would feel everything for him, take away the bad and replace it with the good if I could. Today was OUR first, and I am so happy that I felt the bad and he felt the good. There is no other way I could wish it to be. That beautiful boy with his big eyes, his big smile, and big personality- he's still mine. I just have to accept letting him go a little bit and allow the world to help make those things become bigger & bigger.

Boop.

It is amazing how something so sweet and endearing can take a turn for the worst. Just laying in bed, giggling, cuddling, playing. Here it comes, a play full little face to face, finger to nose..."boop". Except for it wasn't just an innocent "boop". Girth booping me is adorable, I really do love it. It's cutesy, it's reminiscent of those first few months of a relationship. But then...then shit got real. Like I said- we were face to face. His mouth was just centimeters above my nose. That was his downfall. The word "boop" lost it's lovey feel instantaneously. All because along with it came his breath. Hot, unfiltered, "fuck my toothbrush today" breath. I swear I saw rings of hot breath coming down to my vulnerable nose, rings like that omitted from an 80's style death ray comic gun. I was helpless, stunned. How does a "boop" go so wrong? Comfortability, that's how. Had we been "new", he would have scrubbed those chomps before getting all up in my grill. Being together for eons though, it is obviously not an issue. You think about it in the beginning, you work to impress (amazing how brushing your teeth before bed falls under "impress")...just like you should be doing all along anyway, maintaining. So I give points for the "boop", but am left with no choice but to deduct for the trash can he pulled that "boop" out of. Trying to get a fresh "boop" is like pulling, well, or brushing, mother truckin' teeth around here.  I could offer a mouth hug every single day- but if I press my lips to his face and offer it, he'd probably pass if my breath made his dick shrivel, tuck, and hide itself behind his balls. Offer it like you wanna give it. If I really want to get dirty- I'll be prepped. You want me to swoon to your "boop"? Better brush dem' teefs. Damnnnnn, daddy,