Saturday, May 31, 2008

Get Her Ooooooouuuuuuut!


This is Jennifer. The one who can't breathe, can barely move, hurts all over, and can't stop running to the bathroom.

I am increasingly hostile. My hormones are playing a leading role in my life. I know this because I almost cried when I put the bassinet in my FINALLY finished nursery last week. It's not like I hadn't seen it before. I don't know why moving it from the living room to the nursery was so emotional, but it was. After that, I yelled for the rest of the week and continue to do so.

Ironman can do nothing right. He's practically making me taste his food before he'll eat it because poisoning him sounds like one of the most rational things I could do right now.

I am constantly reminding my children that it's not their fault that mommy is cranky. Then I snap at them for the very next thing they do.

It's surface of the sun hot here. All week it's supposed to be over 100 degrees. Factor in the heat index, and I'm sure we'll be hovering around 110.

I would like to yell at strangers.

Curse words are my friends.

I'm afraid I'll kill someone when I have to go to WalMart tonight.

If I have to bend over to pick up one more sock, toy, crumb, shoe, or scooter, I'll scream--- as soon as I can stand back up and catch my breath.

I feel like I could go into labor at any time now which makes me feel like I should be more worried about how clean I'll be leaving my house while I'm in the hospital for five days recovering from a c-section. I know that makes no sense. I should be resting while I have the chance. But out of town guests may or may not be coming. THANKS FOR THE HEADS UP, POSSIBLE OUT OF TOWN GUESTS!!! My house may or may not have dirty underwear in between the sheets where you may or may not be sleeping.

The other night we were even timing contractions. At the time, I was so grateful they eventually slowed down. Now I'm praying that I'll go into my OB's office on Tuesday and that she'll tell me she'd rather do the c-section early than risk me going into labor. PALEEEEEZ! PALEEEEEEEEEZ!!!!! Take her now!

After all, I've done the really crucial stuff. Baby clothes are all washed AND pressed (never going to happen again) AND put away. Bedding and blankies are clean. BPA-free bottles and pacis have been bought, sterilized, and are ready to use. Formula is lying in wait. Newborn diapers, creams, meds, wipes, lotions, and soaps have all been purchased. My bag is basically packed minus the toiletries and items I can't live without like my sleep mask. My kitchen and bathrooms are clean--at least for the moment. I'm caring less and less that my children's rooms are covered in toys or that my bedroom is filled with boxes of baby items that are for older babies--I have no idea what to do with that crap.

See, I'm having a very uncomfortable contraction as I type this.


I would like for you all to know that I'm sparing you some really gruesome details of this pregnancy because we're in mixed company. Merle would have a heart attack if I gave details, and his grandchildren are too precious to be without their fantastic grandfather.

And while we're mentioning fellow bloggers, I'd like to say that I have a draft in my email box from March 5th addressed to Ched. That poor little guy. He writes me the best emails, and I am terrible about replying. He hates WalMart and has a CRAZY person stalking his blog. I started to reply and was interrupted. It's been months, and I'm beginning to think I'm never going to finish that email. Ched, if you read this, thanks for the great emails that I'll never get around to responding to.

To all of you great people who emailed me responding to the breastfeeding Nazis, THANK YOU! I just attempted to send out a group thank you letter. I hope I didn't skip anyone. If I did, thank you so much for taking the time to share your story, humor, and/or advice. It made me feel a ton better about my decision.

If you don't hear from me for a while, it could be that I went into labor early. More than likely it means I'm laying around like a beached whale cursing at the door jams for being so insensitive and annoying.

If you read all the way to here, you rock. Thanks for letting me vent. That is all.

Monday, May 19, 2008

If You Only Knew What Was In My Nightstand

Most of you know that I almost never read blogs anymore.

I'm not proud of it.

But today I did go over to Momumo's blog to thank her for her comment on my last post.

Man! I don't even remember anymore how to link to someone else. I know she's at Anyway, it just so happens that she tagged me. I haven't participated in a tag in forever, but I was kind of curious what this tag could bring up, so I'm participating. I'm supposed to tag five of you guys, but I always feel like a teacher handing out homework assignments when I do that. Consider yourself tagged if this seems like a way you'd like to spend your time.

Here are the rules:

1. Pick up the nearest book.
2. Open to page 123.
3. Find the fifth sentence.
4. Post the next three sentences.
5. Tag five people and post a comment to the person who tagged you once you’ve posted your three sentences.

Here's what happened when I attempted to do this...

The nearest book only had 10 pages and was called I'm a Big Sister. I almost gave up because I didn't want to move to find the next nearest book.

I decided to look in my nightstand. There I found The One Year Chronological Bible. Yeah, I've never gotten through it though it is an easy translation. I found myself laughing at one point in it. I think subconsciously I must have thought something was off if I was finding the Bible to be a funny read, and I don't think I've ever picked it up again. Anyway, today I thought, "Oh, wow! This could be one of those times that I'm led to read a certain passage in the Bible and it will really speak to where I am in life right now.

Not so much. It talked about the rules of when to set my Hebrew slaves free. My Hebrew slaves ain't never gettin' set free!

Scratch that attempt. I continued to dig in my drawer. I had NO idea how many nasty things were hiding in there. All I know is there are a ton of smooshed raisins dumped in there, and I don't eat raisins. I could write an entire post on the bizarre things in my nightstand, but I digress.

Next book: The Viewer's Guide to Tivo. Page 123 was an appendix of additional set up examples. There were no sentences.

The next book was a gift. I never finished it either. It is by a Christian author that I don't see eye to eye with, and on page 123 he's writing about casting out demons. My demons ain't never gettin' cast out!!!

I bet by now you're wishing I just would have quoted the Bible and been done with it.

The next closest stack of books are under my bed. The Thirteenth Tale was on top of the stack. I've never read it either. Surprised? It came in a box of books I received FOR FREE thanks to this blog. It looks like a book I might dig, so I'm keeping it. I'm finally proceeding with the tag, so here goes:

A liar. And the plea that had so moved me--Tell me the truth--had been uttered by a man that was not even real. I was at a loss to explain to myself the bitterness of my disappointment.

It's too bad I chose that book instead of the one underneath it called The Bracelet. It just so happens page 123 is a steamy love scene between a flower-power antiwar protestor and a soldier heading off to Vietnam that involved mahogany furniture and sunlight. Ah, well. I think I might have to finish that book.

Breastfeeding Nazis Take a Chill Pill

Here's a question for you.

Why do people feel it's appropriate and/or necessary to ask you if you're going to breastfeed?

What business is it of theirs?

I would like to say, "It's none of your business, and while we're discussing things that are none of your business, I'm not telling you what form of birth control I'll be resorting to either."

Any suggestions as to how to handle those types of people? As much as I amuse myself with scenarios involving smart aleck comebacks, I know I won't really use them in real life. I need something non-rude. I welcome your ideas.

I happen to have a decent list of legitimate reasons not to try breastfeeding this time around. They are deeply personal and involve more than just the fact that I've not had success in the past. Breastfeeding Nazis don't understand that unfortunately. They assume you're selfish or not educated as to how important breastfeeding is to your child.

Tonight I've been visiting various websites where women are discussing the issue of not breastfeeding their children. One of the most popular questions is, "How do I deal with the guilt of choosing not to breastfeed my child?" It didn't matter if the woman had given background on her problems with it or not, there would still be BF Nazis popping up everywhere saying, "Why WOULDN'T you want to breastfeed your baby when it's the most natural thing in the world?"

Okay, Nazi...NOT the issue at hand! She's asking how to deal with the guilt...not asking you to lay more guilt on her.

Even the breastfeeding moms who were saying, "Don't feel guilty" had to add, "Not that I use formula because I had no problems breastfeeding." It's like a freakin' brag badge! "MY MILK GLANDS WORK EFFORTLESSLY! IN YOUR FACE!"

It's so insensitive. The women who are the type to feel guilty are usually feeling that because they're good moms who wish their circumstances were different. Don't all good moms wish they had milk fountains that gushed forth an abundance of immune system building, life sustaining, creamy goodness??? I have seriously heard of women who brag about the quality of their milk. What the heck? Pat yourself on the back, lady!

Luckily I am surrounded by supportive family and friends who don't act that way at all. The moms I know who have had success are very humble about it and view it as a blessing because they realize that's not the case for every mom no matter how badly she would like for it to work.

The main people I'm dreading dealing with are the nurses at the hospital and some of my in-laws. I'm already considering asking the nurse to note in my chart BEFORE I have my c-section that I am not breastfeeding, don't want to speak to a lactation consultant, and not to question me about it. As far as in-laws go...I have a step MIL that is all up in my biz anyway about how I raise my children. She felt comfortable in stating her opinion with my third child that I really should try to stick with it because formula is so expensive.

That's ANOTHER thing the BF Nazis kept bringing up on the discussion pages...why formula feed when breastfeeding is free? Can you say...STILL NOT GETTING IT!!!!!??? Like some poor woman is going to suddenly see the light and say, "WHAT? Formula costs money!?! Well, forget that! I'm not spending another DIME on this kid! I'm breastfeeding! Thanks for clearing that up for me!"

But back to my step MIL, I'd like to have some kind way to shut her up. I know (unless she's now reading this blog for some reason) she'll question me in this area. Currently all I've got in the way of dealing with her is a Three Stooges-type double eye poke. My FIL will sit by and quietly judge me and then bring up later that my children's teeth would be better if they had been breastfed instead of bottle fed.

So that's my beef tonight. I need advice about how to deal with these people, and I also don't have the first idea of what a woman goes through who chooses not to breastfeed from day one. I'll be talking with my doc about it, but as of today I'm reading the drugs aren't good that stop milk supply because they can cause such a hormonal shift that you end up dealing with depression. From what I've read, you just have to deal with the pain until it passes. Sound true? Anyone been through it? If you want to share your wisdom with me in a private forum, contact me at


Wednesday, May 14, 2008


Oh my gah!

If there were a hot line to call for complainers, I'd be on it all the time.

Here are my complaints in no particular order:

I have raging heartburn if I don't keep on top of the Zantac 150. I'm talking, "I'm going to throw up fire and bile any second now" kind of heartburn.

MY BODY HURTS WICKED BAD! It hurts to take a step. It hurts to shift my body while sitting down. Everything hurts. It's beyond an aching back and feet. Why does it hurt so much more on some days than others? My doc told me the more children you have, the more pain you're in during the pregnancy. I've also read that some women are more sensitive to the hormone needed to spread your body cavity so you can house and then push out an enormous object from your crotch. I would like to take this opportunity once again to say how grateful I am that I'm being sliced open instead of taking the crotch option. It took me about two seconds to make peace with the fact that I'll never be able to have a vaginal birth, and a second a half of those two seconds I was thinking about something else.

Secondly, I can't get my kids well all at the same time!!!! Gracie's on her second round of meds for her ears and woke up last night with a fever. She's coughing constantly despite cough suppressants and honey. I have to say that the honey works better than the cough syrup though. Also, I came down with a stomach bug yesterday and am loving the aches and chills. I love it so much that I've now passed on at least the stomach woes to Grace and Alex. Woo! I'm a great mom like that. Of course, no one will let me take a sick day.

Thirdly, we've got four weeks and some days now until the c-section date assuming Faith doesn't come early. The company where Ironman works is just now getting swamped. In my last agonizing pregnancy weeks, I'll have almost no help from him since he'll be working 7 days a week and those days will be extra long days. When he mentioned to his boss that he doesn't mind all the (non-paid) overtime now because he'll be taking some time off next month, his boss had no idea what he was talking about. Ironman reminded him we're having our fourth child. The boss asked why he'd need more than a day off. Ironman told him that he'd like to have some days off when I come home from the hospital to help with the kids since I will still be recovering from major surgery. The answer was, "Well see."

"THANK YOU!" SAYS MY BUTT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Well, there are more complaints where those came from, but I'm in need of a nap and luckily my kids are miserable, tired, and will hopefully fall asleep by the time the Zantac puts out the fire in my chest and throat. I didn't mean that the way it sounded. I'm not at all happy that my kids are miserable. Quite the opposite. The lucky part is that hopefully we're all about to get some sleep to make up for the hours of sleep we lost in the middle of the night.

Thursday, May 08, 2008

About Farting

Okay, one more post. This one deserves its own place in my opinion.

I have a four year old named Lindley. We've been working really hard on manners, helping mommy clean the house, and picking up things on the floor that mommy is too uncomfortable at 8 1/2 months to pick up. She's been doing GREAT just as her twin sister and 3 year old little brother have as well. I don't even think that sentence made sense.

As a side note, I've found that a lot of people in public want to ask me when my baby is due and if it's my first. I like to tell them it's my fourth baby in four years. That's when they look at me like I must get drunk a lot and forget my birth control pill. Then I add, "But it's been 3 years since I had my last baby." And then I walk away while their eyes are still cut to the side and their lips are moving while they're trying to do the math. It's not as fun as when I was able to say I had 3 babies 14 months and under, but it still puzzles people. You'd be surprised how many people forget that twins make it possible. Those are the same people who ask if my twins are identical--one being brunette with brown eyes, the other being blond with blue eyes.

Anyhoo, back to manners that we're working so diligently on...

Apparently Lindley "broke wind" the other day. I never even heard it, but she said, "Excuse me!" I was beaming with pride and had just started to applaud her manners when she added, "....says my butt!"

Ahhhhhhh, outta the mouths of babes. But thank you, Lindley, because "says my butt" is now my new favorite phrase to use in random conversation.

Since I wrote you last, I've dealt with all three children getting the moaning virus. Before the virus hit the third child full on, the other two came down with ear infections. We did ten days of antibiotics, but Gracie still says her ear hurts. Back to the doctor tomorrow for 4 year old check up for the twins and another ear check. Good times!

This post will be a random combo of updates, so try to follow...

This is a giant egg in a pair of pants.

Just kidding. It's a Weeble Wobble.

Just kidding. It's Faith. In black and white to disguise her mother's road map of veins going every which way. She will be here in 5 weeks! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK!

Here's a "CRAP IN A BAG!!!" shout out to my sister who sold her house before a sign was even in her yard. For what I'm sure were reasons that made sense to someone at the time, they agreed to be out of their house in less than a month. I believe it's less than 14 days at this point, and they have found no home to move into.

CRAP IN A BAG!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

My youngest turned 3 years old a couple of weeks ago, but we had too many sick little ones in the house to have his birthday party, so I bought them all huge balloons to cheer them up. It's not unusual for me to buy so many groceries that I need a second cart to haul them all out to the car. Someone was called to help me push the load out. I tied all the balloons to the handle of one of the carts because we have crazy wild wind here in the spring. Anyway, I waited and waited and no one came to help me. After another request was made, a guy started walking towards me that freaked me out a little. I copped a squat partly because my body was aching by that point and partly because I was hoping against hope that my help wasn't the guy approaching me. I know. I'm a horrible person.

He was tall and skinny with long, red, WILD hair going in all directions. If he were a Muppet, he'd be Animal with much more hair.

He was wearing dark sunglasses indoors as well as gloves with no fingers in them which I today became convinced must be standard issue for cart wranglers at Walmart...but I didn't know that at the time.

Thanks to ducking, he walked right past me. But then I had no one to take out my cart. DANGIT! THINK AHEAD, JENNIFER! THINK AHEAD!

He appeared to be quite the wild child, punk rocker, crazy kid of these days wearing painted on black jeans and who probably had things pierced that I didn't want to see pierced like his eyelids and Adam's apple or something.

The older I get, the less open minded I become about people who want to make statements that scream, "I'm different! Screw society and the norm! But don't judge me for intentionally looking like a freak!" That may cost me friends and readers, but it's one of the many ugly truths about me.

So anyway, still needing a cart pusher, they sent the guy back my way. I was taken aback by his ability to instantly engage me in conversation and get a smile on my face which is no easy task after two hours in Walmart.

He stuck his head between the balloons and said, "Gee, I hope these don't make my hair look frizzy."

Could have knocked me over with a feather. It's like he was able to read a big thought bubble hanging over my head that said, "That guy has a ton of frizzy, red, hair." He made me laugh really hard. So hard that I was embarrassed to make eye contact with him today when he was yet again my cart guy. We barely spoke, but it turns out he's a surprisingly handsome guy once you get past his appearance. Weird, but true.

And while I'm on the subject of Walmart, I have to tell you I LOVE the extra big black bags you can purchase for a buck to cart home your groceries. I bought ten since I always have so many groceries, and I've hardly ever used them all. They hold so much more stuff than the plastic bags, they're boxy on the bottom, so they don't turn over in your car, and they make getting groceries into the house SO much faster! The handles are long enough to throw over your shoulder, so you can load up like a pack mule. I take them with me every week, and they work like a charm! I never thought I'd be one of those people, but they're great. And I can look down my nose at the people who don't use them. PLANET DESTROYERS!!! Just kidding. I filled up a landfill single-handedly with disposable diapers the years I had 3 children wearing them day and night. I don't do much to help the planet, so this is my tiny contribution that happens to have turned out to be a benefit to me more than the planet probably. I find that I use the bags for all kinds of things.

I also took my first load of #1 and #2 recyclables to the recycling place today. Woo hoo! Our town is too lame to provide us with containers for recycling or the service where they pick it up for you, so I haven't bothered with it since we moved here several years ago. I did it all wrong. I put them all in the same place instead of separating them. Oooooo well. Next time I'll separate.

It seems like I had something else to add to this update, but my brain is dimming so quickly these days. Shut up. I know what some of you were thinking.

That is all.

What the Heck, Ironman?!?

I stumbled into the bathroom this morning--half awake--no light on--no glasses on--and saw a blurry vision of this...

Actually, I didn't even notice as I passed it. It was when I was sitting there doing what people do that I saw something out of the corner of my eye.

Bath tub toys were everywhere.

They seemed to have climbed out of their basket.

They appeared to be in the middle of some disgusting and pornographic dress rehearsal. One large maternity undergarment was even part of the props, but I removed it because nobody needs to see that.

Some people CLEARLY have too much energy first thing in the morning.