I finally was able to upload and organize the pictures from G’s birthday party.
I am a little upset about the quality of the pictures. I wasn’t able to get good shots because I was too busy hosting the party and making sure everyone was happy and fed well. If I wasn’t so over protective of and completely in love with my camera, I would have asked someone else to take pictures for me. The only time I was really able to take pictures was when she was eating her cake and opening presents, that’s why there’s 89 of those. The Wanna Be Professional Photographer in me is slighty pissed about it (Can you tell? It’s 10 minutes later and I’m still talking about it!) but I’ll get over it by the time her next birthday rolls around. Hopefully.
My doctor appointment went better than I had imagined it in my mind. He didn’t laugh, but then again, I didn’t use the term “I’m dying.” Instead, I explained, yet again, how I can’t sleep at night because of the racing heart and feelings of not being able to breath. He said that all of the tests he did last time came back totally normal. So normal, infact, that he used the word “Excellent!”
That can only mean one thing.
I’m crazy.
He believes that I am having panic attacks at night. The symptoms are “classic” and I am “prone to anxiety attacks”. So. He prescribed Paxil, asked me to take it and see if the symptoms go away . He also ordered a “treadmill test” to reassure me that my heart is TOTALLY NORMAL AND EXCELLENT! And? Perhaps? Maybe? He’s going to order a sleep study to rule out sleep apnea.
Here’s the struggle I have now.
I don’t want to take the Paxil. I’ve been off of anti depressants for a few years now. I don’t want to go back on. I don’t want the extra weight. I don’t want the feeling of having to rely on them but most importantly? I am NOT ready to wean Gabby.
Yes, internet, I still breastfeed my one year old. Not that often, pretty much just at night and in the morning, but I’m not ready to give that up yet. I feel like that would be incredibly selfish of me to do that to her.
I realize I need my sleep and that I have to be well in order to care for my children properly, but I can’t seem to bring myself to take that away from her. I get all emotional just thinking about it.
Perhaps I have some issues I need to deal with when it comes to letting go of the breastfeeding. Wait, ME? Have ISSUES? No way! But I can tell you this, the thought of stopping RIGHT NOW so I can take paxil? Makes me feel very sad.
I have no idea what I am going to do, but I hate hate HATE that I have to choose between a pill and my daughters needs.
Am I being overly dramatic about this? Probably. I’m sure she’d be fine if I weaned her, and I’m sure this is MY issue, the finality of it all kills me.
So what’s a woman to do?
I have no idea. I can function without sleep, I’ve been doing it for months now. I’m not so sure I could deal with a screaming little girl who wants The Boob and can’t have it. I don’t think I’m ready to deal with that just yet.
sigh…

Getting ready to go out is easy when you literally only have ONE thing that fits you.
I only mention “going out” because… I’M GOING OUT TONIGHT!! With a friend! No kids! To see Jamie Kennedy at the Improv! DID YOU HEAR THAT?! I SAID I’M GOING OUT TONIGHT!
I’m trying to play it cool and not act too excited about this, but… I’M GOING OUT TONIGHT! WITH A FRIEND! NO KIDS! TO SEE JAMIE KENNEDY!
I hope he doesn’t suck, because, man, I painted my toe nails for him!
I should finish getting ready now, because, I’M GOING OUT TONIGHT!

The Pokey Strike WORKED!
The first thing Pighunter did when he got home from work today was called and made an appointment to get snipped!
Of course, he has to go to a class first (which, I get to attend! Oh, the fun I will have!) That class is booked until August, and we’re on a “waiting list”. But hey, at least he made the damn phone call.
Hopefully, before the end of the year, his penis will no longer be a Weapon of Mass Fertilaztion and he can “stuff my enchilada” as many times as he wants and… NO BABIES!
When he made the call, I just sat there thinking “Wow, he really DOES want to have sessual relations with me!”
I am THIS CLOSE to being able to have sex again without saying things like “I SWEAR I WILL KILL YOU IF THAT THING BREAKS”
My vagina is so happy. (Yes, Melly, she’s smiling.)

Nothing quite as awesome as getting poked first thing in the morning.
With a needle…
(remember? Tony’s Weapon of Mass Fertilization is still “active” so, no pokey pokey from him allowed! That’s right, I went on Pokey Strike until he makes an appointment. I had to take drastic measures, people.)
The nurse asked me how I was doing as she looked for a vain “I’m ok. I’d rather not be getting poked this early in the morning, but…”
“Well, everyone has to get poked every once in a while” She replied
“And not always the good kind of poke, either” I shot back.
Oh, how she laughed. Good thing she wasn’t apostolic, I thought to myself, she might not have appreciated it.
Doctor ordered some tests to find out what’s wrong with me, but based on the 5 pages of “symptoms” I read him, he believes that I have acid reflux. Call me crazy, but I think symptom #15-(Throwing up in my mouth a little everyday), is what he based that belief upon. That would explain me waking up feeling as if I can’t breathe and then panicking and my heart racing.
He said something about “cutting out caffeine”, “avoiding spicy foods” and “losing weight”, but I was too “busy being in denial” to know for sure.
He also said he wanted to put me on some meds, but can’t because I’m still making and administering Tittymilk. I now have to decide if I want to stop the Tittymilk so that I can take the meds. I’ve decided I’ll wait until after the results of the bloodwork come in before I make that decision. I’ve also decided to use the word “decide” as often as possible in this paragraph. It’s my blog, I’m allowed to make that decision. The decision is mine. Because I decide what I do with my body. It is not the governments decision to decide.
There are several reasons why I don’t want to stop breastfeeding.
It’s convienient. Especially when Lil’ G decides to wake up at 4 am. I can bring her into bed, Whip A Tit out and we both fall back asleep. Everyone’s a winner. Even Tony, because he gets to SEE the titty! Awesome!
I would miss the experience. I love when she nurses. I love the closeness, the way she smiles at me while she’s doing her business, the way she’ll rest her hands on My Big Ones, the sound of her breath as she’s drinking. I would miss that, but I know it has to come to an end sometime.
I’m also afraid of what is going to happen to My Big Ones after the milk dries up. I was T-R-A-U-M-A-T-I-Z-E-D after I stopped nursing Andrew.
Three days after I had stopped, I started undressing to get in the shower. I took my bra off, looked up in the mirror and HOLY SHIT! MY BOOBS!
My breasts, once full, plump and large, were now two flat, deflated, pieces of skin with nipples pointing towards the floor.
“TOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONYYYYYYYYY” I screamed.
“MY BOOOOOOOOOOOOBS!” It was as if someone took a needle to them, popped them and let all of the air out. What was left was the ugliest pair of boobs my eyes had ever beheld.
I cried. And cried. And cried again.
All day.
Everyday, for the next few weeks.
Now, back then, they were ONLY a D. I can’t imagine when will happen to my E cup boobs. THEY WILL HANG TO THE FLOOR! I will have to fold them up to stuff them in my bra! I will have a bra full o’ skin n’ nips. No actual boob! Gross!
I’m scared. And I’m not even kidding.
I have an idea! I’ll “quit nursing” but never actually “quit making milk” by secretly pumping everynight after the family goes to bed. No one will ever know! Well, no one except the entire World Wide Web!
Sometimes, I am able to put aside my stupidity and let a little genius shine through.
I just hope everything comes back normal so I don’t have to make any decisions that might cause the deflation of my boobs.

Why do people act so shocked when I tell them I don’t speak Spanish? What is UP with that?
Yes, I’m HALF Mexican, but, um, I wasn’t raised in Mexico. I was raised in here in the good ol U.S of A. And? My mom is WHITE. I’m only part Mexican, people. The other part is German/Croation. I like to call myself a Germican.
My dad never spoke Spanish in our house. Always English. That’s not totally true. We’d say “tortilla” and “chonis” and “cola”, but other than that? Straight up English in our casa.
I can’t ever recall anyone being shocked or outraged that I don’t speak German. Never ONCE have I had anyone been all up in my grill when we pass by a Der Wienerschnitzel.
“What’s a shnitzel?” You’re German! YOU SHOULD KNOW THAT!” But DIOS MIO, if we pass by Casa Jiminez and I can’t tell The Whitey in the car what a Jiminez is? THE OUTRAGE!!
You’re half mexican! You should know what a Jiminez is!
Really? I should? Well, HOW COME YOU DIDN’T ASK ME WHAT A SCHNIZTEL IS WHEN WE PASSED DER WIENERSCHNITZEL? Why are you singling out My Mexican?
“Well… your DAD IS MEXICAN!”
I yiyiiiii! You’re correcto! I totally forgoto! I’ve been so busy doing gigs with my Mariachi bando, that completely SLIPPED MY MINDo! Thank you SO much for reminding me! Can I treat you to a burrito?
What’s with the outrage, people?

I’m going to say something that I haven’t been able to say outloud because I’m scared. Talking about it makes it real, and I don’t want it to be real…
I have 2 very hard lumps on my right leg. I noticed them about 3 months ago. It freaked me out, but I hoped they’d go away.
They haven’t gone away. They’re still there.
I’m scared. For the past month, I’ve not been able to sleep, I am terrified I’ll die in my sleep. SJ told me I should “talk to somebody about it” and Tony agrees. I’ve not slept in our bed for over a month. I fall asleep sitting up on the sofa, usually around 2-3 am and then I am awake again by 6.
This morning, Tony saw that I hadn’t been to bed (because my side was still made) and he asked me how I’m functioning during the day on virtually no sleep. I told him that so far I’ve managed, but I can feel it catching up to me.
I do believe that’s the reason I’ve been taking things so personally. Why I’ve been crying a lot and convinced the world is against me. I am literally on the verge of a breakdown. I suppose not sleeping for a month because I’m scared to die might have something to do with it.
I know I need to get taken care of, but fear is stopping me.
“I don’t want to know!” I say.
But I have children, I have to know so I can take care of myself. And chances are, it’s nothing like I imagine it is.
I’ve already typed “lymphoma” “bone cancer” “non-hodgkins disease” into google this morning and yes, I am now a basket case. Well, more of a basket case than I was before I went and did the search. I’m crying, I’m feeling like I want to throw up, I’m panicking, big time.
I have a tendancy to be a bit dramatic, but this is real. Believe me.
*update*
I scheduled an appointment for April 8. Thank you for trying to calm me down, I love you guys. /cheese.

There are a lot of reasons why Our One and Only Date Night should have sucked.
(We were supposed to leave at 3:30 to get to the movie on time. We didn’t get out of the house until 3:55.
Ethan harrassed me the ENTIRE TIME I was getting ready. “Oh, I see how it is. You’d rather stare at a stupid movie screen THAN LOVE YOUR CHILDREN!”
Five minutes after Tony dropped me off to buy the tickets for Hitch, it started POURING RAIN and I did NOT have an umbrella.
I was freezing the entire movie because I was SOAKING WET.
Everytime I called to check on the kids, I could hear Gabby SCREAMING BLOODY MURDER in the background. Apparently, “she’s TOO attached” to me.
We didn’t get to go out to eat because GABBY WAS SCREAMING BLOODY MURDER and I couldn’t bear to leave her there another minute.)
However, I am happy to say, it totally did NOT suck.
You know why it didn’t suck even though it should have sucked?
Because, for 2 hours, I got to hold my husband’s hand without having to let go so I could wipe an ass, whip out a tit, break up a fight, clean up a spill… oh. and? KEVIN JAMES!
Awesomeness. Maybe next time we’ll get to have sex.
Maybe.
Speaking of “awesomeness”…

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It’s a gorgeous outside right now. I went outside to talk to my man and sip on my venti, iced, soy, white mocha. I closed my eyes and felt the warm sun shine on my pale skin. I miss that so much, sitting outside, soaking up the sun, it felt so good.
I listened to my husband talk, his voice soothed me. He reassured me everything is going to be ok. He’s so happy I’m working on getting better. He worries about me, but he doesn’t run away and hide. He’s right there, next to me, telling me it will be ok. He is a good man.
I could hear my children playing in the front yard. Their laughter made me smile. I remember those days when I was a kid and everything was so simple and fun. Not a care in the world, except who’s team I would be on when we played games or if Jimmy, the neighborhood hunk, would notice me that day, maybe even smile at me. I miss that childlike innocence.
It’s amazing how sometimes happiness is literally as close as your own backyard, but you just can’t see it because you’re too afraid to open the door and experience it. Once you do, you can’t understand why you have been denying yourself that kind of joy.
The simple things in life, I forgot how important they really are.
I’m so glad I was reminded of them today.
Why can’t I write like that anymore? Not that I think that was great writing, but at least I was able to capture what I was feeling at the moment… Why can’t I seem to express what’s happening in my mind, in my heart, in my life without resorting to writing about the ripping of a fart? Oh yeah…THAT’S WHY. My life has changed completely and I suppose it’s only natural that my writing would reflect that change.
Right?
RIGHT?!
(I wasn’t even able to finish THIS post because “someone” was sitting next to me PUSHING POOP OUT. I only tell you this because I’d hate for you to blame the fact I can’t write anymore on ME.)