Sometimes, we have those days.

Sometimes I feel as though I spend all of my day yelling. That no matter what my offspring does, he is not acting right. That he is not listening, that he will not be quiet for two minutes, he won't pick up his room, he is spilling his drink, he is not moving fast enough, on & on & on. It becomes one thing after the other and my patience has no time to replenish. When I reflect back on those days, as I am having a more calm day, I pick it apart. Did I yell at him because he would not shush it for 10 minutes, or because I needed him to shush it for 10 minutes? Did I yell at him for spilling that drink, or did I yell at him because I was sick of cleaning that day? The awful thing is that all of those answers are more about me, less about him- yet he catches the heat. Those are the days when I am selfish and making it all about me, all about what I need, want, or do not want. When he is simply being a four year old. He goes to bed every night at 8 pm, no hassle. Though on a night when Girth and I are prepped to watch a movie that we are excited for, or when I am carpet crawling because I want to get it on- our kid fights going to bed like it's his job. You know what I do? I take it personally. Irrational...ridiculous...absolutely. I am irate though, because of course he is fighting bedtime because there are things that I want to do. No sense, only selfishness on my part. To separate these feelings though is quite possibly one of the most difficult things for me to do. To base my reaction off what has simply occurred, rather than how I feel about what has occurred. Perspective. When he asks me to fix his car for the hundredth time, and I am losing my shit...how big of a deal is it? To me, it is nothing but the turn of a wheel. To him, it is a crisis. His car won't work right. It's his car, he is four. This is the equivalent of my car not working right, at just about thirty-four. And because we have managed to raise an insanely compassionate loving child, he would fix my car for me in a  second if he could, with no qualms. Yet I show agitation spinning the wheel on his ride, or I just refuse to do it anymore. What I want to do is keep him free from stress and anger, yet sometimes I feed it, or become the source. Learning to deem his problems for as real as he sees them is a task, but crucial to his development in how he will help others deal with theirs now, and as an adult. I really need to get consistently on board. Sometimes I wonder who teaches who in this house.

Sassy deep voice.

When I take a shower, I am actually still just sitting in the bathtub. Always done it, love it. So, I am showering the other day and in pops Girth. This never happens, you know...because we are married. So I am sitting there, and he is standing there washing his hot bod. I being the poster child for pregnancy piggishness, immediately want to partake in sexual activity. Except when I turn around, because he was actually going to receive  a beej...he peed on me. I begin scrambling around in the bottom of the bathtub, while he towers over me unleashing his bladder upon me laughing like a psychopath. If I was into Golden Showers, this would be cool- but I am not. And, he doesn't know it yet, but he done fuckedddddd upppp (insert sassy deep voice for effect). I asked him how he could just pee on me while I was sitting there, relaxing, letting the water hit me looking all naked and beautiful. He replies:

 

"You mean like a fat mermaid?"

Oh. Alright, alright. We can play that game. I inform him of how he just lost out on a filthy shower Blow J.
Terror filled his eyes.
Followed by sadness.
Then by hope.
Now he's coming at me with a boner, and I'm like- NO. And shoved the plastic Cinderella hair rinsing cup over his cock & balls, making a cool suction noise, and it stuck there.
"You got a princess on yo' dickkkkk!!!!" (deep sassy voice again). He didn't get one either. I am the keeper of the beej and what I say goes. Hopefully he chalks this up as a lesson learned & keeps his stream in check.

One other thought...I think for Girth on V-day I shall get my vag waxed into a heart, dye it red, and shoot hershey kisses out of her like a cannon. Sounds cool, right? Don't anyone steal my plans now, ya hear!
 

The home stretch.

       I can no longer see my vagina. I can locate it- due to 33 years of working memory, but I cannot see it. This makes me wish I was some sort of magician, that when handed a paintbrush I could still paint a beautiful landscape while blindfolded. Alas, I am but a mere commoner who made a bad call in the muffin department. I decided to just wax that floor bare, considering there would be no straight lines made anyway. So away it all goes. I'm not a fan of this look in the first place, but I can't see it anyway, so fuck it. Girth was alarmed- to say the least. I think that a bald vagina, my bald chicken anyway, while pregnant is not a sight to behold. Bald on me is less Vin Diesel, more Uncle Fester....if you catch my drift.  

       My ethnic nipples appear to be melting. Ethnic, because they are insanely dark right now. They will go back to normal, at least they did after Riot. We'll see this time. Melting, well, this also happened with Riot, but it is just strange. The bottom of my nips have lines...like a freckle pattern that curve to the underside. Looks like my nipples are melting right off.

       I have carpal tunnel in both hands. The baby is also positioned comfortably on my sciatic nerve. Gives me a really great ass cramp/leg cramp. This baby is not nice to me.

       Girth has gained almost 10 pounds, had bouts of acne, and had morning sickness in the beginning. Weight gain aside- I'm clear of the other symptoms...Girth has really taken some for the team.  

Hello 3rd trimester.

 

 

No photo for you. I am too bitter about not being able to take a selfie because my camera is broken.

 

Nailed It...

I just had Girth home on vacation for over 10 days. It was glorious- the complete opposite of what I had anticipated. We laughed, we had fun, we raged between the sheets. Movies and snacks and staying up late...we were super best friends again. He made me breakfast and lunch almost every day, he let me sleep in, he even cuddled me with all of my farts. Obviously our offspring was a  part of the fun, he always is. He generally monopolizes it. That is where our attention is focused in between work and school and life in general. It goes without saying. This time though, our attention was on each other- and we needed it. I sneakily flashed him running from room to room, made absolutely disgusting jokes and comments- one so repulsive that I am not even going to share it. I laughed at myself for about 10 minutes before I could even get the sentence out to him...laughed so hard I pissed in my pants, couldn't breathe and my lips went numb. Through his pity, he also laughed...when the sentence finally left my lips...he looked both horrified and disgusted. Two thousand thirteen had a lot of shit in it, a lot of change, a lot of stress, a lot of everything. Then we ended it by falling in love again. We didn't do resolutions, because we don't keep them. We do what we want when the time comes, we go with the flow. We only expect to be better than we were the year before. Personally, I have entered 2014 as a college graduate with a double chin, a huge fetus riding shotty on my vag, a frigging beautifully charming four year old son who thinks he is a man, and a loving husband packing a mean kielbasa. As far as I am concerned- we already have this new year by the nuts...

To date.

I am over worked, over sexed, and over sized. Blogging had fallen by the wayside. Thanksgiving was good, but the only thing that got stuffed was me. And by me, I am sad to report that I am only referring to turkey in my belly. Our Christmas tree is up- but not without some bullshit. You see, as Riot & I sat peacefully on the couch Sunday afternoon- the fucker tipped right over. Shattered glass and a big fucking mess- I dial up Girth at work. In a frenzy. We hang up, I have Riot go in his room, because I am raging...I tear that fucking tree apart. Had I been able to unleash it from that hellish death trap of a tree stand, it would have been in the front yard. I go into Riots room, feeling bad for having sent him there with no explanation, became the big spoon, and we fell asleep until Chris came home at 5 to a tore up house. I didn't even fucking sweep up the glass. Thank you pregnancy hormones. All in the world ended well, as we redecorated and watched Christmas movies. Am I the only person who hates The Polar Express?? Ugh, give me the classics- before things sucked, thanks.

My belly is so low I am fearful of developing a FUPA after birth. Twenty-Two weeks along this Thursday- and I feel like I did with Riot at 9 months. FUPA fear aside, I am convinced that I will die during childbirth or that I won't like the new baby as much as I like the old one or that other people will dismiss Riot for the new baby or...the list goes on & on. This pregnancy might really drive me crazy. Feeling her move now though, that calms me down. It feels different from Riot's movement- his were like ultimate fighting. This time, she seems to move more fluidly...like she is twerking. Charly Maylene seems to be sticking. And on April 10th she shall be taking over the world in her band tees, tutu's, and leg warmers.

Pregnancy Recap, the Evolution of 17 pounds.

 

Week 12

Week 15

Week 19

Week 20

 

Anyway, there's also this...

 

Amazon sells zombie dildos

 http://www.amazon.com/Fleshlight-FL6753-Freaks-Zombie-Dildo/dp/B006JMDUTG

 

So, for almost 80 bucks, you can buy a dead dick.

 

It's all in a name.

Nineteen weeks and the jig is up-it's a girl baby!! My excitement was eclipsed by terror, and then excitement won out again. My god. A female. A carbon copy of myself...like my boy baby is already not...holy balls. A family of four lies within the wakes. How is this possible when I do not feel like a grownup? When did I become the matriarch of a small family? How is my goofy husband a hero and role model to a small boy? Who are we, and when did this happen!? Last I knew we were a care-free duo who had sex whenever they wanted.  Now we busy a 4 year old in the kitchen with food or some other item he is not allowed to have so we can jam in a solid three minute trip to pound town. We enforce a strict 8 pm bedtime as well, because sex is a priority. I have a feeling that come Springtime- this new family member is not going to give a shit. Time to configure a new plan. Hopefully after having her, my hormones will level out and I can stop abusing Girth. The pregnant dreams I have are insanely vivid, and all about sex. Lesbian sex included.  I am not above resorting to getting my husband drunk in exchange for sex. Pretty sure he'd like me to be sedated. Everyone also seems very curious as to the name of this new offspring too! Well- there are three contenders, in which I sent a mass message to 7 females under the utmost secrecy, in order too gather opinions. Bottom line, one is a favorite, and I know some real twats. This quickly turned into a funfest for the seven of them in making fun of me and my unborn child. Why I have love for these bitches is beyond me. Their opinions are valued though.

 

Charly

 

Lennox

 

Birdie

                 Middle name will be Maylene on which ever one we choose.

 

Note to self...thank you, self.

How much do you think we REALLY need the acceptance of others? How much does their opinion of us really matter? I mean, it doesn't define us. Sure- it matters to some extent. How much better would it be though to have a healthy level of self appreciation? To just know all that you are good at, to recognize your own attributes. Compliments are awesome, they no doubt make my day- but it's always awesome to make my own day too. So, on days where I feel hideous, like shit, like I don't do enough- it's nice to remind myself of what I have going for me. So, I am just going to toot my own horn, louder than a mother fucker.

1. I'm a good student.

2. A good worker too. Especially in clutch situations.

3. I have a pretty sweet set of knockers.

4. I am a superb fucking mom.

5. A fantastic lover. Skilled in the undercover arts.

However, there's this too...

1. I sound like a cat banging on deaths door while singing.

2. I can be tactless.

3. Thoughtless too.

4. I'm judgemental.

5. I have scummy girl hair.

But, I can always work on these...

1. Leaving my comfort zone.

2. Being honest with myself.

3. Doing more for others.

4. Being a twat.

5. Sandwich making.

I know what I am good at, what I am bad at, and that I am a work in progress. Maybe I could have added that my terrible trash mouth could be worked on...but....eh.
Update- My mom bush is gone. Though, not without pressing it into a Mohawk in the bathtub, then screaming for Girth to come in- only to have him rip open the shower curtain while I scream "PUNK PUSSY!" at him. Or 5 minutes later when I yelled for him again, leading him to tear open the shower curtain a second time and hear me say, "Give padussy loo-who a kiss". His disgust with me is permanent, and I accept that he will never accept me.
Acceptance is one of my attributes.