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.

This & That.

Well...not a lot of new developments, anywhere in life really. So, I guess I have a just smidge of a hodgepodge of shit.

Last week at my 12 week appointment, they think my due date may be off my 7 days. Which puts this kid as becoming a member of society on my birthday. Because that's exactly what I wanted for my birthday- to have my vagina ripped in half.

Riot turned 4 years old. I don't have a toddler anymore- I have a kid. Today he showed me a new four year old activity...he tucked his junk between his legs and said, "Look , Mommy- my doodle all gone!" I expected this- but at 14 not 4. There is no way he has seen this or heard it anywhere- so I now know that these are the things boys are naturally equipped to do from birth.

I finally got a pumpkin white hot chocolate. It was too hot to drink so I planned on getting all up in it at home. After driving all the way home I dropped it getting out of the car. It spilled and was all gone. I cried real horse tears while my offspring comforted me. He is learning at a very young age how terrifying pregnant women can be.

Girth almost had sex with me last night. He was even having some beers to do it. Then I farted too many times. He was really upset and dragged me across the couch, held my head down and force fed me my own fart smell. I did not like it, not at all.

Girth also bought me pregnancy Pilate's. I have also begun the squat challenge again. This baby can have my uterus- but it cannot have my ass. The Pilate's will also keep me nice and limber for next years pyramids and such.

I think some of you might judge me because I continue to bartend twice a week at a club that allows smoking. Just keep in mind that I am not judging you when you call yourself a stay at home mom as opposed to a welfare recipient. Bartending there might not be ideal while I am pregnant- but neither is syphoning off the system. Before you just tell me to find a different part-time job, remember I already also babysit full time as well as attend school full time. And you and your opinion are welcome to lick my nuts at any time.


So, yeah. That's where I'm at lately.






 

 

Maybe it's a mean day.

Obviously pregnancy is not all glory. Quitting smoking, drinking, and caffeine all in one day has taken its toll. I want mimosas for breakfast and Bloody Mary's for dinner. I want to empty a pot of coffee before 8 in the morning. I want to ride the meat train to pound town around the clock.
Just kidding, I haven't stopped doing that yet. No plans to either.
Pictures of bar shenanigans make me feel left out. I want to be a pyramid topper, fall on my face and do too many shots. I want to eat unhealthy food and own my body.
Naturally these feelings come and go, and my hormones will level out. Spare me the pregnancy is wonderful, embrace it spiels. I already know all of that. I am just not going to pretend to be the magazine mom who feels nothing but excitement. I feel EVERYTHING right now. I feel lonely and crowded, happy and weary, excited and exhausted, beautiful and hideous. It's all there- it just depends on the day. Becoming a family of four is a thought I still have not fully comprehended. I'm hoping for a girl- but a boy would not disappoint in any way. Keep the fucking "a healthy baby is all that matters" to yourself as well. That goes without saying, twats. No one is willing to sacrifice the health if their offspring for their choice in anatomy.
Sometimes I want to invite company over so I can be a bitch to them. I don't see why Girth has to bear the brunt of it when I have so many friends and so much twattyness to go around.
I want all of my food covered in gravy. Or lime.
Baby names. When the time comes that I actually announce it- remember that I am not looking for permission granted, or acceptance. Try not to make yourself look like a dick- because in the end, that's all you will have done. Can't please everyone, and I am not about to start by using my offspring as a people pleasing tool.
I think I'm done today.

 

 

 

Blahblahblah.

Charlie Hunman. Charlie frigging Hunman. This is who will play Christian Grey. While I can surely see myself banging him, I cannot see myself banging him as Christian Grey.
Eh, who am I kidding...
I am pregnant with raging hormones, sex obsessed and relentless. I'd get hot right now if Conan O'Brien was cast in that role.

My tits are getting ridiculous already. They are rock hard, weigh about 72 pounds apiece and feel fresh out of the oven warm. Last night at work one of my overworked bra straps gave out on me. The fucking plastic piece sprung off and flung off with enough speed to almost slice me in half. Had to MacGyver it up and lasso the loose strap over the back of my neck and around my other strap.
Super comfy.

In one week, at the end of the month while rent is due- two laptops needed repairing, my cat needed a vet visit, the washer broke, mailbox was beaten off its post by a scumbag, I am laid off babysitting for a few weeks, and a couple "surprise bills" popped up. Fuck you August.

Quitting smoking, drinking, and caffeine/coffee all in one day has made me volatile. My patience has evaporated. I have filled those three voids with sex. Girth will need words of encouragement, and lots of support in the oncoming months. I'm about to put him through the fucking wringer.





 

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.