Hugs.

Shaved my muffin for the first time in almost 3 weeks yesterday. Exhilarating, terrifying, gratifying. I was so nervous as to what lied beneath. I pictured Pee Wee Herman in the truck with Large Marge. The part where she looks normal, turns away, looks back with the scary face! I imagined my muff to be the scary Large Marge once revealed. Two razors later, and a bathtub that looks like I skinned a bear in it...there she was, pristine and seemingly untampered with. This felt like running into your high school best friend 20 years after graduation. There we were, eye to whispering eye. So much freedom in seeing your own junk, in landscaping your own bits. I have slayed my own biscuit, I am a bad bitch, no one to be trifled with. Now I wonder if I will break the no sex for 6 weeks rule. This massive hormonal shift has currently rendered me basically asexual, as opposed to the raging cock monster I was while pregnant. Girth I believe is enjoying the break...but starting to "miss" me. Hopefully that means that I will get some ass slapping and heavy petting out of the this fiasco. When my libido returns, of course. Naturally I am not completely selfish. Taught Girth a new phrase and everything.
Mouth Hug.
When I offered one, he asked what I was talking about. I should have walked right out of the room. I am a nice wife though, so I told him. Which he continues to forget, and now asks for "Meat Hugs". Thoroughly grossing me out. So, alas we have the waiting game for my sex drive to make its appearance again. Which he may regret...I mean, we have been married for like 5 years. Mouth hugs don't come cheap...he's going to pay his dues.

You're so vain...I bet you think this blog is about you.

These frigging tits. Over it. Completely over it. This rack has been a 'C' cup since I was a barely 5 ft tall, 105 lb 8th grader. They enter a room before the rest of me does. In high school they maxed out my upper body at a sturdy 'D' cup...then when I reallyyyyyy filled out...BOOM- 'DD' by the time I was 20. Weighing a bucktwenty left me unproportioned to say the least. Now, in my mid thirties and two kids later...they need to be gone. Years of being smacked, slapped, twisted, pinched, poked, and milked have taken their toll. The girls have had a good run, but I am ready to say toodles. They look alright, per the life they have led. Let's face it though...let's be real. What was once top of the line Saks Fifth Avenue has become more thrift shop. Not like local thrift shop though, more like a thrift shop in Beverly Hills. Second hand none the less...so I would much rather they not make it to their dollar bin days. About time for the squat challenge to come back into play too. Just need to have that checkup and make sure my uterus and ovaries aren't going to tumble out mid-squat. It has only been a couple weeks since springing my gorgeous baby from my muffin, and maybe I'm being a little vain...but let's face it- well, actually, LET'S not. It's my fucking body. It's the only one I get and at 34 it isn't getting any perkier, or becoming any quicker at perking itself back up. If that means reducing the size of these big fat jugs, squatting till' the cows come home and not sliding any carbs down my throat, then so be it. I have no goal weight, no goal size. Only the perfectly attainable feeling of "look how hot my ass is in this flesh that I have got".  
And since I have yet to see cellulite or stretchmarks-  the least I can do is show my genes some gratitude by taking care of my body. Get it right, keep it tight, am I right?

Cuddles & Kegels

It is still surreal that we are doing the baby thing again. 11 days old and she has suckered me into co-sleeping, twice. Which we are super against. She has also been caught sucking her thumb- which we are not a fan of. The kitty has smacked her in the forehead, and Riot is probably going to pet the hair right off her cute little baby head. She has taken a shit in the palm of Girth's hand. Literally. The girl is an absolute charmer. Most girls win hearts by smiles and coos...not our kid. Much like her mother, she found taking a shit to be a bonding experience.
Charlee Maylene is awesome, and content. Her schedule already aligns perfectly with what works for us, and she is just easy. Girth thinks we get easy babies because I am so completely neurotic during pregnancy- so they just come out ready to handle anything. I find myself singing The Doors to her alot, "Hello, I Love You", mostly. We cuddle the shit out of her, I kiss her face fast and relentlessly, saying "kisses, kisses, kisses", over & over...lightly. She half smiles, her eyes flutter and she coos.
I melt.
Through all of this, I have cabin fever. I am ready to walk the bridges in the sunshine, hit a tanning bed, get back behind the bar at work. If only I had realized my life would be complete with mothering, bartending, cuddling and kegeling about $60,000 dollars ago. C'est la Vie...Meanwhile I have to take it easy on my bod, and there is not much I can do by way of exercise 11 days after squeezing out a kid...I kegel. All day long. Doing it right now, actually. My muffin will be able to snap a stick at the end of 6 weeks. So, that is my life right now. Cuddling my two babies, and kegeling.

"I have a daughter"...the most strangest thing I have ever said aloud.

 

Some details.

 182 lbs is obviously my maximum capacity. Weighed that for a month and a half, and it is also what I weighed delivering Riot. I should have known Charlee would not be waiting another two weeks. Being that I could not sleep on Saturday night, I took a Benadryl. Woke up constantly through the night, a little crampy, a little pissy...or so I thought. Bladder control being what it is and all and 9 months pregnant. Girth left the house at 5:30 for work, and the whole house was awake due to me complaining about "pissing" my pants. Finally, 3 pairs of sweatpants later- common sense kicked in. That and as pair number 4 were going on, I sprung a huge leak and trailed through the house getting to the bathroom. As I stood in the bathroom with no pants on, screaming at my mom, her in my bedroom staring at me, a huge gush flew out and hit the floor. We gagged. I called Chris...told him he might want to hurry along.
OH! Also woke up to no water...as the pump got jacked up over night. So, the only water in the house was what was exiting my body. Legs not shaved, muff- NOT in check, greasy hair, gushy mess. In other words, lookin' good.
This of course did not matter, 15 minutes later when my contractions all but crippled me.
4 minutes apart on the way to the hospital.
3 minutes apart on the table, where they examined me and said, "We see hair!".
To which Girth replied, "Hers or the babies" and my mother exclaimed, "SHE'S CROWNING!"
It was not my hair, and the baby was not crowning...but I was 4 centimeters dilated.

This is 9 am.
Epidural time was around 11:30.
The epidural slowed labor, and I could feel absolutely nothing, could not even move my legs, which made me think I was paralyzed...which terrified me. My mother, mother-in law, and Girth hung out with me. At one point I felt pressure on my b-hole...poop. Made Girth look...he yelled...all three of them went to the other side of the room and laughed at me. No one would clean me. "She shits in it, she sits in it". Finally a nurse saved me...and there had been no actual poop. Girth had witnessed a turtle head. Ooops.
At 2:00 they slowed the epidural, so I could feel when to push, at 3:00, I pushed. I pushed three times in 5 minutes, and at 3:06 p.m. I reached down, grabbed her underneath her armpits and pulled her out of my muffin. That was easily the most satisfying, terrifying, self powering, primal act I have ever done. She laid on my chest for the next hour, and we fell in love with her over and over again during every second of it, just like we have and will each moment after.
Thoughts of my 70's muff and no shower went out the window, the pain didn't matter...because after Girth laid his eyes on her, I fell in love with him again. The way he looked at me when I pulled her out of my body, the look on his face when he holds her, and the pride he has when there are four of us on the couch together is intense. It really makes this 6 week no sex business worth it. And while the nurse did tell us, "No intercourse for 6 weeks"...she also added, "at least not in vagina". Of course we had the nurse that says that...
Now all is well, Charlee is a great, content baby, Riot is an amazing big brother, Chris is a doting daddy, and I am feeling good. My only complaint is wearing those huge pads...3 inches thick and wrap from your belly button to your asshole. Tampons are obviously not an option, and having to wear this gigantic thing in just torture.

I swear I can hear it swish like windpants when I walk fast.

 

That about wraps it up.

August 18th, found out we were expecting.

6 weeks...August, 2013

 

 

 

 

Week 12

 

 

 

 

Week 15

 

 

Week 19

 

 

Week 20

 

 

NOVEMBER 2013

 

 

Week 28

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Week 35

 

 

Week 38

 

 

Charlee.
We were surprised to find out about you.
Then we were surprised by your early arrival.

Now we will look forward to every surprise you have in store for us.

 

 

 

You just completed us.

 

 

 

& you made a 4 year old boy shine with pride.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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.

(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?