HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!

I remember the day like it was yesterday. Actually I remember the day prior to that as well. I had my weekly appointment with my OBGYN doctor to determine whether or not he was going to induce labor. My due date was the following day. I was scared out of my mind. I convinced myself that not only would I go through an excruciating labor, feeling every contraction, kick, burning and squeezing this human fetus from a hole which was way too small for that shit, but I also convinced myself that I would die just after giving birth. Yes, my whole entire life I never wanted children for fear of certain and sudden death.

Secretly, I went to the doctor's office hoping he would tell me that the little creature inside me was not ready to come out, and I could host him a couple of weeks longer. I hoped, I prayed, I wished upon a star. My attempts were futile because doctor told me he would be inducing my labor on the following day. I smiled weakly, and I could have sworn I saw little devil horns on his head and fire shooting from his eyes. I knew I had a day left to live before I went straight to hell.

My mom went with me, and she came home with me, she knew I was scared. She promised to stay with me and comfort me. I soon learned that her idea of comforting me was calling up my unborn spawn's father to go out drinking to ease their nerves. Excuse me? Pregnant lady here, what do I get to do? I got to watch them drink and get plastered until I finally had enough. Luckily for me they picked a bar close enough that I could walk to. So I walked home...big, fat, pregnant and alone. I decided to take the opportunity while I was alone to write my Last Will and Testament. Only I didn't have anything of value to leave except my unborn child, so I left him to his father of course. Since that took all of 5 seconds to write, I decided to write goodbye letters to all of my loved ones. Telling them that I loved them and it was great knowing them. I think I wrote about 5 letters total. On the envelope "Please read in case of my death) and stashed them away in my drawer.

Finally I was able to go to sleep, and my mother and baby daddy came home around 5 a.m. smelling like a brewery. I think they must have intoxicated me with their fumes, because I felt super relaxed but kind of nauseous at the same time. I was to be at the hospital around 7 a.m. where they would break my water. My mom was with me, and baby daddy was in the hallway nursing his hangover.

They broke my water and it was like nothing I ever experienced before. I felt a gushing, I heard the water splash to the ground, I felt like I was in a pool. By then, my drunken mother was practically laying in the chair next to me. The doctor's and nurses avoided going anywhere near her. I don't think they wanted to assist me with my childbirth feeling as though they were under the influence.

After I stopped gushing and had my gown and sheets changed three times, my mom asked if I was ok. I wasn't, I was scared as sh*it but I didn't really feel any pain which surprised me. This was going to be easier than I thought. "Do you mind if I go home and get some sleep for a couple of hours?" my mom slurred. I wanted to say no. I wanted to punish her for leaving me alone to die on my last night on this earth. But I reluctantly said yes she could leave. I hoped that she would not get stopped by the police on the way home, because I was positive she was still very much drunk. At least she smelled like it anyway. She told me to call her whenever I needed her if the labor got to be too much. I think she figured she would have a few hours for a nice restful sleep before I called her.

Wrong.

Within 30 minutes the labor was coming on full force (or so I thought). I felt like I was getting kicked in the stomach over and over by a camel. I felt like someone was using my insides as a wet dishrag, wringing them out over and over again. I demanded that they call my mother. I wanted her there to live my last few hours of life with me, and to watch me endure the pain and suffering so that I could be viewed as a hero after my death. She came back right away, never complained but did fall asleep in the chair until my screams and cries would wake her up every so often. And then......yes then the miracle happened. They said I could have my epidural.

Oh epidural, how I love thee. I heard horror stories about how they shove the needle into your spine and how you have to be careful not to move or you could be paralyzed. And how much it hurt. Oh I heard storied about the agony. But when they came in with that giant needle, I was happier than a pig in mud. I whipped myself around on the bed, laying on my side....not caring that the gown had opened and my bear a*ss was exposed for everyone to see. I arched my back before they even instructed to. I think I even said "Put it in dammit, just jam it in!" I never felt pain, I welcomed the needle to my spine as I would welcome a bouquet of flowers on my birthday. I embraced it, I loved it. I felt no more pain. I thought to myself though, how ironic is it that I would go through a painless death? I kind of smiled to myself, thinking if I had to die this would be the way to go.

My joy was short lived though. 7 hours later, still no baby, still no death. But the epirdural was wearing off. I wanted them to jam another needle into my spine but they refused. I begged, I pleaded but they ignored me. I wanted to kick them in the teeth every time they came near me. But they assured me I needed to feel the contractions so I could begin pushing. "But I don't wanna push....can't you just pull him out? I cried. They denied me, the lazy bastards. So thus I began my pushing.

I pushed and I pushed. And then I pushed some more. Nothing. My sister-in-law was in the room with me, holding a towel on one end, and I had the other. Every time I contracted, I pulled and she pulled. It was a bloody tug-of-war and she was not going to win, I was. For an hour, I pushed......and they kept telling me as soon as I could get the head out, it would go quickly. Ok, well when the fuck is the head going to come out and how hard do I have to push? Not that I wanted to get it over and done with because remember, I still thought I was going to die while pushing...but dang it HURT. Finally my little one was making his way down and they could see his head start to come out. And man did that hurt like a sonofabitch. I was as though someone took a hot, searing butcher knife and was slicing my private region open. But I pushed and pushed, said a little prayer to God and told him I would see him soon and out came the head, man it must have been huge, I thought. As it turns out, the doctors didn't lie to me either. As soon as the head came out, his body flung out of me with one gentle push. Alas, he was here! All 8 lbs. 12 oz and 12 hours of hell.

I closed my eyes, ready to meet my maker. But as I heard the activity around me, my spawn giving that first wonderful cry and then them asking me if I wanted to hold my little boy (to which I said no, the fact that he was all bloody and covered in mucous grossed me out -- but they plopped him on my stomach anyway, the defiant fuckers) I realized that I lived. I survived! I made it! All my fears and anxiety was for nothing. I am free! I am woman, hear me roar! I am...... oh sh*it. I'm a mother now, and I have no clue what to do.

*Dedicated to my baby boy who turns 15 today! I love him!

Can't Think of a Good Title at 1:39 AM

Yes, it's 1:39 AM and I am still not asleep despite the fact that I have to take my dad to the airport at 5:30. I am going to be a walking dead person tomorrow. I've had this problem falling asleep the past few nights. Last night I couldn't get to sleep until 3:30 (what is it with the half hour b.s.?) but in my own defense (and who am I defending myself to?), I didn't have to work today because I had oral surgery today and had to take the day off. I don't like oral surgery but having the day off was a nice reward for my punishment.

Speaking of oral surgery....I now have this painful lump in my jaw near the extraction. I wonder if this is OK? I'm still tasting blood which I don't particularly enjoy because I would rather be tasting food. Real food....ya know, the kind you can chew. Today I had garlic mashed potatoes and chocolate ice cream. Which I have to be honest, was pretty good. But I ate way too many potatoes. Country Crock makes a great tub of potatoes and I ate them all. Now I feel kind of gross but between that and the ice cream I think I still stayed under my calories.

Well I'll be damned....I'm getting that sleepy feeling. I'm going to jump on it while it's still here.
And this concludes a very boring, random and useless posting for today.
Ciao

At your service

I'm the type of person that waits for a call back. When someone says "I'll call you back" doesn't that usually mean that they will call you back? It doesn't really irritate me so much when my friends do it, but when I'm involved in a "relationship" (or whatever dysfunctional friendship I'm involved in), I get annoyed when they say they will call me back and then don't. I'm not just talking a one time thing or even a once in a while thing....I'm talking about when it's a habit. When I get to the point where they say "I'll call you back" and I mutter to myself "Yeah right." It pisses me off because it's rude.

I wonder if it's because I am someone that makes herself too available to people. Whenever a person calls, I pick up most of the time unless I'm in a place where I can't. But I'm always there, day or night. People never have to worry about whether or not they are going to reach me because I'm always there. But how do I change that? How do I stop being me? It's not like me to just look at my phone, see who's calling and ignore it. How does one make themselves less available when they are always available? Maybe I should start doing the ignoring. Because being too available means being unappreciated...... apparently.

Rant over.

Regal, my ass!!

Yeah yeah I know it's been a while since I blogged. I actually had a draft from 8/27 but it was boring so I deleted it. Nobody reads these anyway so who cares? Today I am posting a story that I emailed to a friend of mine about my trip to the movies this weekend.

So it was Friday night and per usual, I had nothing to do.Well....nothing I wanted to do anyway. I really don't mind doing nothing (yes, I've gotten that lazy) but from time to time, I don't like it. I get antsy....I feel like everyone else in the world is outpartying, or spending time with loved ones, or involved in some sort of activity that keeps their ass off the couch. Everyone but me. So those are the times that I force myself to do something. I'm not one of "those" types of people that looks through the paper to see what's going on in the neighborhood or just picks an activity just to keep myself busy. I'm not that motivated. If I'm going to get off my lazy ass, I'm going to do something I enjoy.

If you've seen me lately, you've seen that I like to eat. But I wasn't about to go out by myself and have people pointing and staring and saying to their friends "Awwww, look at the fat girl eating by herself! Poor thing is so fat and lonely that she has to come to a restaurant alone because nobody will be seen with her. Awwwww" Ummmm, no. I'm not having any of that. Let them pick another fatty to examine, I say!! So the next best choice I thought, for me, was to go to the movies. I've gone to the movies alone before. It took me some courage to do it the first time. (I actually recall sitting in the theatre and when the lights were still onbefore the previews, I would look around and then look at my watch as though I were waiting for someone. I figured by the time they realized I was alone they would be too in to the movie to care.
*Note to self:They don't care anyway. You are not the center of their universe*Whatever.)

So I decided to call up my son who was at his dads house for the weekend and asked if he would be interested in seeing the movie. The only problem was, he was with his friend. This friend.......ugh. I can't stand him. He talks too much, he's too loud, he tries to hard to impress people -- usually by making up stories about how cool he is -- but worst of all......he shits himself. How old is he, you ask? He's 15. Yes 15....and he shits himself. I don't know what his problem is.....if he's got an issue where he doesn't feel the need to shit until it actually happens, or if he's just too lazy to go into the bathroom and sit on the can for a few minutes. But nonetheless, he poopies in his pants. Not only that but according to my son and his dad, the kid tries to hide the fact that he shits himself by taking his underwear off and throwing it in the corner or under the bed, hoping nobody will find it. Apparently he thinks his shit doesn't stink. His dad has told me that onnumerous occassions, he found shit balls behind the bed and in corners. So apparently the kid must have felt the urge to go but figured that the 2 foot walk to the bathroom was too much and decided to relieve himself whereever he saw fit. Anyway, I'm digressing.

So the kid was there and I reluctantly told my son that he could invite him to go along but that I couldn't pay for the kid because I didn't have enough money. I asked my son, "he's not going to shit in my car, is he?" I couldn't help it but say it like that. He reassured me that he wouldn't. Because I swear if I smelled one foul odor in my car, I was going to make him eat it. Anyway, you'll be happy to know that McShitty had no incidences while he was in my presence. Lucky for him. But there's more to the story....

We get our movie tickets and I paid for my son and I. I told him I would get the snacks because I didn't figure it would be that expensive. So, knowing that I would be starting Weight Watchers again this week, I decided to allow myself a weekend of binging - including a medium popcorn with extra butter. I ordered them a large popcorn and they each got a soda. I was excited. I couldn't wait to shove the first buttery kernel in my mouth. I ignored the fact that the popcorn was pre-scooped and already in the bag, as opposed to being freshly scooped from the machine and bagged efficiently. I like it that way better because I would ask them to butter it in the middle. The more fat, the better right? Anyway, I'm digressing again. I ignored the fact that the popcorn was already in the bag and I still couldn't wait to get to my seat so I could star tshoving it in my mouth, several kernels at a time.

The cashier gives me the popcorn and the sodas which I distributed elicately to the boys and she rings me up. I horrified when I saw the amount pop up on the cash register. $29.95!!! Even typing it now makes me throw up a little bit in my mouth. Yes, that would be $29.95 for 2 popcorns and 3 sodas. I looked at her....I think I had the deer in headlights look, with my mouth gaping open. When I shook the shock violently from my system, I said "Are you serious?" I was ready to battle. I wanted to take her head and shove it deep within the popcorn bucket, suffocating her in the buttery kernels, lodging them up her nose and in her ears. I wanted to take the sodas and start flinging them at unsuspecting movie goers and revel in their own stunned reaction. If Ihave to be shocked, so do they. I wanted to run through the mall, screaming a high pitched and blood curdling scream, informing everyone that I had just been ra*ped.

But when I saw the look of understanding in her eyes.....the one that said "I know we are charging an obscenely gross amount of money for your refreshments and I'm very sorry and embarassed to be associated with this crime" type of look. But then again, if that were the case she would have warned me against the purchase wouldn't she? Yeah, that's what I thought. I paid, fury and rage inside of me. I informed my son that he better eat his $30 worth of popcorn. He said he would....he knew he would be punished by his broke mother if he didn't. Nonetheless I got over the horror of what occurred and I got in to the movie, sat down quickly and almost violently and I savored the moment I got to shove the very expensive popcorn in my trap and I realized immediatlely as soon as the first kernel touched my palette....the popcorn tasted like shit anyway! (But not like the shit from McShitty as referenced earlier). It was cold from sitting, even the heat lamp didn't give it the warmth it deserved and there wasn't nearly enough butter on it. I wanted those little kernels to swim freely in the butter....and they were denied. They were denied and so was I.

I will never buy refreshments at a movie again. Not ever.