The Boobie Trap

What happened to my lovely lady lumps? Where'd they go Fergalicious? A sistah wants to know? Still got all that junk inside my trunk...rarely is it get- get -getting anyone drunk...but um..what was I saying?

Oh yeah.

I want a boob job.

Here's the thing...or thang as the Black eyed peas might wax....
I used to have really cute boobs. I was cool with them. They were never too big or in the way and they weren't tiny. They were just a nice perky B/C cup depending on my weight fluctuation that day/month/year.
Like I said, we. were. cool. It was probably one of the only body parts through my puberty, high school, college years I was okay with.

When I got pregnant with Quinn, I consciously walked myself through it "okay, I can do this...they'll be fine. I'll have some big boobs for awhile and then they'll go back to normal." In fact, I remember at my very first appointment asking my OB/GYN, "soooo what do you think will happen to my boobs". Ya know, a common question a 65 year old Mormon OB in the heart of Salt Lake City gets asked on a daily basis...I'm sure. (Screw the hum drum "can i hear my baby's heart beat..is everything okay bullshit." WHAT ABOUT MY TATAS??)

Anyway, he was like, "uhh what do you mean?".
ME: "you know, after I have the baby, what will happen...will they stay big, will they go back...what am I REALLY in for here?"

DR.: "well, you're planning on breast feeding so they will stay big for awhile but at your size, we usually see them just return to the same size they were previously".

SWEET. I was cool with that.

But that's not what happened.

ANYONE that has ever nursed a child knows what happened...and you've already "oh gurl"d this story a couple of times.

During the pregnancy, my boobs got big. The kid came out, my boobs got bigger. And then the nursing began.

My boobs became something I had never seen before. King Kong Boobs. They were large and IN CHARGE...of some serious milk supply....

I felt like I was carrying around two other appendages. I would try to boost them up in 2 sports bras and my chin would be resting on them. I had never see so much cleavage in my life. My husband was like "OH YEAHHH!" Until he was squirted in the face...then not so much. They became foreign objects I was attempting to handle every 2-3 hours.

Don't get me wrong, I really loved nursing my kids. And would I do it again in a heartbeat...yes...if I knew a boob job was waiting for me at the end of the milk train.

ANYWAY, after I stopped nursing Quinn and my nipples began to resemble something other than over sized pencil erasers; I could see a slight difference in them. Less perkiness, less firmness, less of the old me.

But I got pregnant again and I nursed again.

After I finished nursing Sloane I remember looking in the mirror, waiting and waiting for that bounce back with the slight change. Yeah...still waiting. In fact, what the hell happened? These sad sacks of mammary glands don't resemble anything other than deflated balloons. Sad, old, balloons, that have given up on life. I think they're depressed. Balloons that, each day scoop themselves into a bra too big for them but they're too lazy to go out and buy a new one. Balloons that in the tanning bed must stretch up so VERY VERY High or else they will have a white line under them. Balloons that have lost most of their helium...and will to live.

So, yes I want a boob job. But I'm not looking for the 20 something porn, buoyant boobies that stick straight out when you take off your bra. I'm just looking to get back a little closer to what they used to look like. That's all. Nuthin more.

And if I can find someone to finance this dream, that would be a perk!

Pissing Match

Christ Almighty.

This kid is going to give me an early death....

What I don't understand is how I can birth two children created out of the same DNA and they can be completely different. COMPLETELY.

The proof was there from the moment she came into this world. My mother has said, "I've never heard a baby crying while still crowning"....and it's true. Embarrassingly true. I've never wanted to crawl up into that delivery bed and hide in my own birthing goo so badly..but damn that child was loud and irritating. I kept apologizing to all of the nurses and she was like -2 minutes old.



And she never stopped.

They refused to keep her in the nursery because they said she was so fussy she was waking up all of the other newborns. I cried and cried. And never slept and cried some more. I begged Cort to let me surrender her at the hospital. Somehow, I'm not sure that would have gone over very smooth. Here's this middle class 31 year old, rolling up with her husband and 3 year old trying to hand over her newborn because she just can't take it anymore. Here, take the bassinet, Avent bottles...even my breast pump...you can have it all...JUST LET ME GO TO A HAPPY, QUIET PLACE!!

I'll never forget the constant questions from friends, family, gawking strangers "what's wrong with her, what does she want, why does she keep crying?" "Maybe she's collicky, maybe she's got reflux, maybe you should analyze her diet".

OH GOD! You're a fucking genius! Why hadn't I thought of all of those things for the 87 Million days, hours, minutes I've had her freaking the fuck out in front of my face...GOD! I'm such an idiot!

Instead though I was polite and would respond with something like, "i think she needs me to make her a stiff drink and tell her how pretty she is".

But I'll tell ya, that first year was something out of one of those Saw movies. I considered cutting off my own leg to escape.

ANYWAY, I digress. We are now 2 1/2 years old, pretty much out of the crying every 5 seconds (a blog for a different time!) and in full potty training mode.....or so I thought.

Oh funny mommy...always assuming shit will be on your schedule and you will be able to exercise parental authority. YOU'RE HILARIOUS!

I'll be honest. I don't read a lot of those "how to" parenting books. Because I think they're full of shit. But I do know that you're not really supposed to PUSH the whole potty training thing...kind of make it their idea or whatever. Because you can SCREW THEM UP FOR LIFE!

So we started very soft and slow. I would comment on how great the Elmo panties looked at the store and OH WOW! Potty chairs! How cool! She'd come in and watch me go and flush for me. Within a few weeks she started to get the message. So she tried it a couple times and it was great- we did potty dances and made a huge deal out of it and things were progressing nicely.

Now let's be clear...I am only talking about Peepee. Poopoo, I have learned takes much longer to get out of the actual diaper and into the potty chair itself. So WHATEVER! Toy Story pull ups will continue to be a part of the pooping ritual. I gotta say, I think it's a little confusing when Sloane will say to me in a full sentence, "mommy, can you get me a diaper I need to poop". "uh sure thing fully capable child". BUT I'M NOT PUSHING IT DAMMNIT! Don't want to give anyone pooping issues! I don't know what those would be...but I've been warned! Don't do it! Maybe she'd be in her college dorm begging her roomate for a pull up so she could take a dump in the back corner of the room? I don't know? Better than a drug problem right? hmmm...maybe not so bad.

Anyway, so things were sailing smoothly....until summer hit. Damn you summer and you're warm sunshine and kiddie pools and bathing suits and fun outside time! It started as innocent as this: our adorable sitter was playing outside with the girls and accidentally locked the front door. They were locked out of the house for probably 15 minutes before she was able to connect with Cort on text message and figure out where the hide a key was etc. So in that period of time I guess Quinn had to pee. So our sitter just told her to pee in the bushes.

That was it. That's all it took. Sloane had found her calling in life.

What a concept. Peeing somewhere other than the toilet. This was AWESOME!

Every morning we would wake up and Sloane would ask "Can I peepee outside?".
No.
We would pull into the driveway from being out "Can I peepee in the grass?".
No

I thought the peeing in the outdoors was it.
Until I was sitting in this exact same spot just about a week ago and in walks naked Sloane and straddles the dog "What are you doing?" I ask.

"I'm going to peepee on Roscoe".

We invited some friends over the other day and all 4 kids are in the kiddie pool. We are lounging in chairs just chatting away and I look over in the distance to a Sloane still in her swim suit, squatting by the side of the pool peeing on the grass. WHAT ARE YOU DOING?

"I peepee outside".

In the last week she has peed somewhere in the house once a day and not told a soul. I walked into her bedroom and KNEW I smelled pee. It took me a few minutes to hunt it down and there behind the toy box was a puddle....accompanied by floating, soggy Nemo stickers...poor Nemo.

The victim most days has been our downstairs TV room. Which is very, very unfortunate because it's CARPET! EFFF!

We've dumped gallons of that Pet & Kid spray on it but it doesn't matter, that entire room needs to be recarpeted at this point.

It's one of those things that now when I walk into the house I'm paranoid that all I smell is pee.

And honestly, I'm not sure exactly what type of discipline to take on this whole journey. My aunt suggested the angle "well I guess you're a baby and you'll need to keep wearing baby diapers all the time, no big girl panties for you". Which is a good one and I'm kind of doing that but Sloaney enjoys wearing diapers and those things are expensive! So right now, we've just kept on her every 20 minutes "do you need to go, do you need to go?". It's the times where no one knows exactly where she is that she takes the opportunity to do it.

In conclusion: I just never saw this coming. Quinn was such a play by the rules kid. She would have NEVER DREAMED of peeing on the floor, let alone her dog! It's comical to watch this complete polar opposite behave...and I guess that's a good thing, I'm not trying to surrender her still.

Going Postal

So lately every afternoon without fail, there is a loud banging on my door by a lovely Post person. As I open the door, I'm anticipating the dialogue, mood, demeanor. Standing in front of me...it's always somewhat the same: male/female in all the postal gear, one ipod ear phone out, holding my mail, kind of out of breath, kinda sweaty "WE WILL NOT DELIVER YOUR MAIL WHEN THE DOG IS OUTSIDE.... SO HERE!". the mail is shoved into my abdomen.
I nod, with a smile and a sarcastic tone say "okay, thank you".
Secretly, I'm pissed.

Let me explain

My Dog is outside. My Bassett Hound/Beagle mix dog is lounging in the front yard. He's so threatening...with his drool and laziness and droopy eyes. Yes he will cut you, rip your head off...he's force to be reckoned with. Seriously?
Secondly, we never have the same postman/woman/person. It's like we are the red headed step child of mail routes...no one wants to deliver in our ghetto Millcreek neighborhood. It's a different person everyday. In fact, when we first moved into this neighborhood 6 years ago we had an awesome post dude...he was a dude. Long hair, tan (kind of my type ;)). He would bring Roscoe treats, pet him and deliver our mail everyday and fortunately avoided any altercation with my easily irritable dog! But these days, I don't know what it is, I've never seen the same person twice deliver our mail. So everyday they knock on the door and think they're telling me something new. I want to be like, "yeah dipshit, the person that delivered the mail yesterday explained your hang up and the person that delivered it the day before that and the day before that...but I'm afraid I'll get myself so worked up I'll papercut their face with my overdue bills.
Thirdly, because of our random bag of players; the mail never gets delivered at the same time everyday. So even if I wanted to make sure my dog was in the house I wouldn't know what time to bring him in. It's anywhere from 1p-6p daily...yeah...so that's cool.
Basically, I don't want to call up the post office and bitch at them and I don't want to be rude to the next person as it may be they're first day of work. I'm not quite sure how to remedy the situation other than right now it's so hot out Roscoe rarely wants to be out there so he just goes out, does his business (maybe kills one human) and then comes back in to relax in air conditioning.
The bigger question here is, why are people still sending stuff regular snail mail?

Baby Hungry or just craving a snickers?

I can't decide. I go back and forth on a minute by minute basis.

The thought of another baby...well, conjurs up more thoughts...

Would I love to have another child to enjoy in my life, nurse, raise, talk to, be entertained by, hold, hug, kiss?

Yes!

Would I love to get pregnant, puke my guts up, get more stretch marks, endure heartburn, give birth, worry about complications, deal with a non-sleeping new born, worry about newborn issues, stress about paying for a 3rd child, stress about paying for my first 2, stress about giving enough attention to each one?

Hmm. Look at that; more cons then pros...that's what I thought.

The romanticism of having another child is what my daydreams are made of. But I can still remember the stark reality of bringing Sloane home and thinking "holy shit, we are starting from square 1 again...with an additional child". And then layer on the fact she's superhuman and didn't require sleep but instead 24/7 one-on-one attention. She's what Post Pardom medication brochures target.

A few months ago Quinn asked Cort for a baby brother. Cort calls me and says "well what do you think?". I responded "I think you try to give your kids everything they want so when they ask you for a sibling, you're ACTUALLY considering it? I think you're nuts, tell Quinn we'll think about it!"

As it stands right now, we are painfully aware of our finances. I'm paying for Dance classes, tumbling and preschool...and that's it. If I bring a 3rd kid into the mix then what? What goes away? The 2nd child took away my daily starbucks fix. What will the 3rd one remove? ...besides more elasticity from my womb and vagina.

Worst Neighbor Ever!

I do highly covet that title.
Yes. Me.
I, without a doubt am one of the worst neighbors ever. As I sit here on my laptop watching from a hidden corner in the house so no one can see me as my neighbor's 65 year old mother weeds my garden out of the kindness of her heart. Thinking she's going to surprise me.
And frankly I am surprised. But also super guilty.
If I was a decent human being I would have rushed out there 15 minutes ago and said something like "Oh! No No! you don't need to do that! REALLY! Thank you so much but I will get to it! Oh Gosh! You're so sweet!".
Hmph. How perplexing. I mean I would love to go out there and be all nice and whatever, but my ass is super duper comfy right here holding a warm laptop.
mmmmm....in fact, think I'll take a nap. and then I'll be super surprised when I wake up and have the whole thing weeded!
WE BOTH WIN!

Hot Mess

A few weeks ago we went to a BBQ at some new friends' house. We were just beginning the "getting to know you" preliminary chit chat when in walks Sloaney from their back yard, covered in mud, shoeless and peed pants...whining.

Without missing a beat I say "oh she's my hot mess" almost like an afterthought, kind of brushing it off.

S.I.L.E.N.C.E.

Nobody says a word...I'm not sure for lack of an appropriate response or with what I said.

In fact, in hind sight I'm not sure they were familiar with the phrase "hot mess".

Doesn't anyone watch Chelsea Lately? or Clean House?

Hot mess? Foolishness? Mayhem?

Has my crappy cable television watching hobby integrated itself into my parenting?

The answer my friends is YES.

But the answer is also that she is my hot mess. And I mean that in the most loving way. oh and the way where you want to sock her in the face when she won't GO TO BED HOLY SHIT CHILD IT'S 11PM GET TIRED! STOP TRYING TO INDUCE VOMITING!

Anyway, that whole BBQ scenario I have not been able to get over. I am embarrassed by my verbal diahrrea but I also feel defensive like "come on...lighten up!". Nobody has perfect parenting skills...oh but I did forget to mention. The husband? Is a child psychologist!

Yeah. So I'm sure the diagnosis report in his head of mother and child was a fucking novel.

From that outburst on; during the rest of the BBQ I tried to act like June Cleaver...which I'm was entertaining to watch because I have no natural tendencies that are even slightly Cleaver-ish.

I'm more of a Roseanne...with maybe a hint of Grace Under Fire.

Frustration Station

I don't think you can have it all.

I don't want to be a Debbie Downer but it's time for a reality check. For the last 5 years I have been juggling everything...let's just talk about the 2 significant things- work and kids. The older they get, the harder it gets. And the more balls I get in the air, yet still the same amount of hands to juggle them.

I want to be an involved mom and I also want to be able to bring home a paycheck and use my business brain from time to time. But it seems like trying to do both, at some point everyday I'm at my breaking point. Yes, everyday. I break down. Freak out. Lose my mind. At some point during the day, I call my husband, tell him I can't do this anymore, I'm gonna lose it. I yell at a child. I yell at myself. I yell at a coworker.

My cup runneth over. E.V.E.R.Y.D.A.Y.

There are things I want:

1. Alone time

2. More office time during the day

3. To make a perfect breakfast for my kids

4. To not lose it with my child when they throw a fit

5. To be able to drop everything when my daughter asks me to read her a book

and

There are things I need:

1. a paycheck

2. transportation for my children from lessons and school

3. a camp director for all 4 of our lives/house

How come I can't combine all of those and have it turn out just dandy everyday? Or at least MOST days? Why am I always on the verge of breaking down?

My mom told me years ago that once you become a mother/wife/etc you will feel like everyone wants a piece of you. It's true...everyday my phone rings or someone yells to get my attention and I think "now what? What fire do I have to put out at home or work or New Jersey?" Who's question do I have to answer now. Who's life needs a lesson? Who spilled chocolate milk on the couch and needs a 3 page proposal in 10 minutes?

I told my husband that I believe no one takes me seriously. I feel like something is always being compromised...work or home. The scale is never completely balanced and even. Yes, Yes I know everyone says "put family first"...ESPECIALLY IN UTAH. And I do believe that. But it is also true that if I do not successfully perform in my work, I will no longer have a paycheck coming in. I have great childcare for my children when I'm at work so I honestly rarely worry if they are being taken care of or having a good time when I'm away. I just try to make childcare and my absence a fairly rare occurence.

I apologize for this sounding like a poor me song and dance but I truly wish I could figure out a happy medium so I'm not breaking down everyday. Is this pressure of work and family all in my head? Is this the new image of the working mother?

Where's the middle ground?

Where's my sanity?

Where's the beef?