Got Rolls?

Sorry, I’m not available.
No, that is not the greeting on my non existant cell phone, nor it is the greeting on my answering machine. THAT is what the shirt in the “big girls” section had written across the front. In sparkly letters.
Apparently, plus sized women like me want to make it sparkly clear to the everyone who walks past us that “we may be fat, but SO?! WE BE IN RELATIONSHIPS, BITCHES.”

Then there was the one next to it.
“Smile. It distracts people” (again, in sparkly letters) Yeah! Smile, it distracts people… FROM THE SIZE OF MY ASS.

Those were just two of the super lovely, totally hip choices.

And let’s talk about the few shirts that didn’t have sparkly messages plastered all over them.
Apparently? If you’re a size 16 and up? You need bows and fake flowers plasted all over your bossoms. You also totally need sequins. to compliment your enormous tits. SEQUENCE SEQUINS, BITCHES! And not just one row of it either. You need like, 4 or 5 rows of that shit.
Perhaps I’m being a WEE TINY BIT defensive here, but can’t a woman of my size get a mother fucking PLAIN COTTON TSHIRT? Why must I advertise that “I’m not available” Or that “I’m all that and a bag of chips” (shuttie!)
GOSH!

Smack down

For the past 5 months, the Milk of my Tits has been the sole source of nutrition for my daughter. (Well, until recently, when she started eating solids, but as far as milk goes? The tits are IT) I breastfeeding her, I do, it’s such a beautiful experience… HOWEVER, lately I feel as though she’s sucking the life out of me. Every 3 hours, I have to whip ’em out. No matter where I am. No matter what I’m doing, I have to STOP, whip out a tit and sit there. I can’t go anywhere for longer than 3 hours without having to rush back home.
I am tempted to say “I’m not complaining” but the truth is, I’m totally complaining. I need a break. And? I need a glass of wine. A night out with my husband or with friends would be nice too.
Problem is the girl REFUSES to take a bottle. I was telling my mother about this over the weekend. I fully expected her to scold me for complaining. She didn’t! She completely surprised me by saying “that’s not ok! That little girl needs to learn how to take a bottle so you can get a break!” I was SHOCKED! My own mother! The ultimate believer that mothers are to live ONLY to serve their children, their husbands and their Jesus. SHE TOLD ME I NEED A BREAK! She told me I need to teach her how to drink from a bottle and that I should do it NOW. I agreed and I decided to go buy some formula and have Tony give it a try.
Oh, how Tony tried. He tried and tried and tried. Operation It’s Not Going To Happen” was in full effect. As you can see, it’s not even that she doesn’t “know” how to drink from a bottle. It’s that she flat out refuses to drink from a bottle. It’s that she’s like “If it aint a big, soft, warm tit? Get it out of my face, bitches.” She’s SMACKING IT OUT OF HER FACE, PEOPLE. S-M-A-C-K-I-N-G it.
We both eventually gave up and I gave in and whipped it out because I felt bad for her. She doesn’t understand. Her entire life, the boob is all she’s known and out of the blue we’re all “Here! Suck on this rubber nipple filled with formula instead!” I guess I can see why she’d resist and fight it, but I can’t imagine doing this for another 7 months without a break. I just can’t.
(I should clarify, I do NOT want to quit breastfeeding. Mostly, I find it to be an incredibly beautiful experience. I just would like her to be able to drink a bottle so if I need a break, or if I want to go somewhere, I have that option.)

Improved

After sleeping all morning, lots of liquids and love from mama, I’m happy to report that Ethan is doing much better. I honestly thought he’d end up in the hospital, especially after finding him on the floor of his bedroom this morning because he “felt too weak to crawl back into bed” after getting up to get his water bottle.
Now, we’ll just have to wait and see how long it takes for the rest of the family to get what he had. Joy! (And I’ll NEVER admit that I secretly hope I get it so that I can lose a few pounds.)

Being mama.

Today was supposed to be an exciting day. Opening day of basketball for both of my boys. First game at 12:00, second game at 2:30. We were looking forward to rushing in the rain to get from one game to the next, having some lunch in between. Sitting in the bleachers, cheering for our boys.

Instead, I’m sitting here with knots in my stomach thinking Ethan might end up in the emergency room, hooked up to an IV. He threw up a LOT yesterday and then fever set in. It was such a horrible day, trying to divide my time and attention between the three kids, knowing how badly Ethan needed me to be right there, and yet having a 5 month old who totally depends on me for everything. I took care of him the best way I could, without ever letting Gabby near him. I hand fed him chicken noodle soup while Andrew watched Gabby. I held his cup so he could sip water. I rubbed his feet, his hands, his head. I checked his temperature every hour. I gave him tylenol to keep the fever down. I held wet washcloths to his forward. I prayed with him as he cried and asked Jesus to make him feel better. I did everything I could short of taking his sickness upon myself (Which, believe me, if I could have, I would have) But I still feel as though I didn’t do enough and now, as he’s lying there so weak he can’t even sit up, as he’s shaking to hold up his water bottle, I can’t help but wonder if I should have asked my mom to take Gabby so I could have given my full attention to Ethan. OH WAIT, Gabby won’t take a bottle, I couldn’t have done that.
I’m feeling as though there’s just not enough of ME to go around, but mostly, I’m feeling very worried about my little Ethan.
I’ll let Tony take Andrew to his game (and YES, it’s going to break my heart into a thousand pieces that I won’t be there to watch him play his first game) and if Ethan doesn’t seem a little better after having been hand fed some oatmeal and after having sipped on some Pedialyte? It’s off to the hospital we go.

Birthday!

I’m on my way to watch the birth of my nephew. I can not even put into words how excited I am. I’ve not mentioned anything about it until now because my sister has problems keeping her pregnancies. She’s had 3 miscarriages since she had my niece almost 5 years ago and this pregnancy she was on strict bedrest for the first 5 months, hemorraging the entire time. But today, my little nephew will make his entrance into the world EIGHT DAYS past his due date, even though the doctors told my sister if the pregnancy didn’t end in a miscarriage, she’d most likely have a premature baby. HA!
I’m scared. I was with my sister when she gave birth to my niece and while I was holding her hand, she went blank, her head flew back and she suffered a Grand Mal seizure. I thought she was goind to die. I fell on my knees in the hallway and was all “JESUS, PLEASE, DON’T LET HER DIE! They actually sent the hospital chaplin to come “comfort me” because I was screaming and crying uncontrollably and you know what I did when I saw her? I freaked the hell out, that’s what!? I became hysterical “WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE? WHY ARE YOU HERE?!” (because, I know they send the chaplin when someone dies!! I’ve seen soap operas, people.) She assured me that she was just there to comfort me (translation: “Calm the fuck down, woman, your sister is fine and you’re scaring people. Jesus loves you now SHUTUP, Oh child of God!) My family makes fun of me to this day (my brother in law does a great impression of me, on my knees, talkin with the Almighty) but she’s my sister, if anything bad ever happened to her, I would die. I know this time will be different because she’s been diagnosed as epileptic, and the doctors will monitor her accordingly, but being the paranoid freak, I still might need a chill pill or 5.
I just have to believe everything will be fine this time.
I can not wait to hold that little baby boy.

Dramaqueenwhore is SO last year

The handle just BROKE OFF OF MY VACUUM.
For no reason. I was vacuuming up the livingroom and SNAP. Off it went.
The 2004 me would have been all “MOTHER FUCKER!” Thrown that bitch across the livingroom while crying and going on and on about how “Now I’m going to have to bust into my ‘We’re Going On Vacation This Summer if it Effin Kills Me’ fund”.
But that was ’04 me. The 2005 me isn’t like that. The ’05 grabbed the keys, went into the garage, found a roll of duct tape, taped that fucker up and kept on vacuuming as though the handle never just unexplicibly for NO FREAKING REASON snapped off.
I love the new me (Thanks, Dr.Phil, you sexy beast, you)
(I also love the MOST of the people who read this blog. So, since it’s “national de-lurker day” or something like that, why don’t you say something if you read my sad, sad little blog and never comment? BUT WAIT! THERE’S A TWIST. How about leaving a TOTALLY RANDOM COMMENT, lurker or not. I’ll give you an example. “Boy, that Gary Coleman doesn’t look 8 anymore and it’s creeping me the hell out!”)
Or! You could totally buy me a new vacuum instead?!

photograph

I just found a picture. A picture of a perfect little boy. He couldn’t have been more than a year old. Kneeling next to him was a beautiful, young woman with a smile on her face. This wasn’t an ordinary smile, either. This woman was bursting with pride and happiness. What a perfect picture.
And suddenly, I felt as though someone punched me in the stomach and knocked the living shit out of me.
The woman in that picture was someone I used to know.
The woman in the picture was me. A very young me.
How beautiful I used to be. How genuinely happy and full of life and love I once was.
What happened to that woman?
Life happened. Some good things, and a lot of bad things. Things that have robbed her of the pure smile. She’s become a woman burdened with shame, guilt, regret and depression. Somewhere along the way, she got lost and hasn’t quite found her way back.
I mourn for that young girl I see in the picture. I mourn for all she’s lost. All she’s destroyed with her stupidity and selfishness and stubborness.
As I cry, this precious little girl who I’m holding in my arms, my daughter, wraps her arms around my neck and nuzzles her little face against mine and although she can’t speak, she tells me “it’s ok, Mommy, I love you”. Her soft skin against my aging, dried out skin tells me to forgive myself, to leave the past where it lies and to move forward. Her sweet breath against my cheeks tells me that I’m not all bad, that I’m just human. Her gentle little coos in my ear tell me that I am worthy of love and that no matter what, she loves me, her brothers love me, her daddy loves me and I should love myself.
“Forgive yourself”, she says.
I don’t know if I can. I’ve hurt people I love. I’ve said things I can’t take back.
At times, it feels as though I’ll never be that beautiful woman again. I’ll always be tinged with ugliness. I’ll always be the depressed girl just trying to make it through life.
Then I feel my daughters tiny little fingers grab ahold of my hair, and it’s as if she’s grabbed ahold of my heart. I am aware of the fact that at this moment, I have to make a choice. A choice to stay stuck in the past, boggled down with guilt and sadness, to never move forward, doomed to repeat the mistakes of my past. Or, to forgive myself and to live in THIS moment. To live FOR the moment. To rediscover the joy that is my life NOW, in the present and to build on that for a future full of great things.
I have a choice.
I choose forgiveness, love, happiness, new experiences. I choose to live for the moment, expecting only the best for the road that lies ahead. Never looking back, except to reflect on how far I’ve come.
My God, it’s never been clearer to me than it is at this moment, she wasn’t an “accident” she was God’s gift to me and that gift is my second chance.