Monday, September 26, 2005


I realize that my posts are not the greatest in the world. But when I write a post and it gets eaten by the blogger monsters, it pisses me off.

And then when I painstakingly try to recapture what I'd said in that post and re-write it a second time only to have it eaten once again, it's enough to send this sleep deprived bitch into a tailspin.

Yes, I know, I should always save my posts somewhere else, but I didn't do that, ok? So bite me.

So anyway, I just wanted to post to let you know that I don't have it in my to re-write that post a third time. Apparently bad mouthing Tyra Banks isn't allowed on blogger and that's why my post won't get published.

I'll try again tomorrow. And I was so happy that I'd be posting about something else than baby boy and not short circuit your brains with too much baby stuff. So much for that plan!



Tuesday, September 20, 2005

The World's Greatest Bottom Lip

I've just spent the past 10 minutes staring at baby boy's bottom lip. If you are single or married without kids and ever wondered what the hell stay-at-home moms do all day, this would be it. We sit in front of our computers dreading writing the most boring press release ever and choosing to hold our fussing baby instead and staring at the one feature of his that came from you and proves that giant growing belly I had for nine months was not caused by my love of tortilla chips dipped in sour cream.

Baby boy looks exactly like his dad which is a good thing really, because Sweetie Pie, if not better looking than me (which I think he is) is at leasr more photogenic than me.

But that bottom lip, larger than that top lip is all me. The way it qivers after a good cry. The way it drops down to a pout at the first hint of not getting his way. And the way it reaches his earlobes when he smiles because he just farted. All these things make me look at him and say "holy shit! I've actually procreated..."

My boobs are about an inch lower than they were less than a year ago, but it's all worth it.



Monday, September 19, 2005

Hurricane Baby Boy Has Blown In

Well, I know. I've been kind of quiet for the past two weeks. Almost dying will do that to you.

It's funny that my last post was on September 1st, because I had absolutely no idea when I wrote that post what the next day was going to bring.

No, I mean really no idea. I was supposed to have a new business meeting at 10:30 a.m. that day.

Instead, after spending my fifth consecutive night in my guest room, trying to muffle my screams in a pillow while I clutched a heat pack to the right side of my stomach right next to my ribs, I called the birth center in tears saying that I couldn't live like this anymore.

They'd actually asked me to come down on Thursday, but you see, when you have shitty healthcare, and your last sonogram cost you $957, you kind of avoid going to see the doctors.

Long story short, I was told to come down immediately, had to cancel my new biz meeting. Everyone thought it was my gall bladder, yada yada yada. Ends up my liver was dying (trust me, that's a very painful thing), my blood platelets were down to below death level. Basically, I had something that I'd never heard of, since I skipped the chapter in What to Expect When You're Expecting about all the really rare shit that no one ever gets or has heard of. Ends up that there's something called HELLP Syndrome, which is what I had and I was to the point where at any second I could have had a stroke or gone into a coma. Who knew!

Since my short story is getting long, long story short, only way to fix me up was to get the baby out of me. So next thing I knew, less than half an hour after going to the hospital for lab work, I was strapped to a table in the OR where "What if God Was One of Us" was playing and then I was gutted like a fish.

Baby Boy was born looking absolutely perfect and gorgeous and a very small 5 lbs 15 ozs, which makes me think that this natural childbirth thing might have worked out after all if I hadn't wimped out and sabotaged my liver just so I could get out of it.

So now, Sweetie Pie and I have been learning to be responsible adults, which means that we basically sit around the house and go "what the fuck do we do now????" as baby boy wails that he needs to be fed again.

My porn-sized boobs are a complete let down when it comes to breastfeeding and baby boy turns his nose up at my nipples, offended that they don't produce enough milk to feed his growing body. And I now have a scar right at the bikini line that ensures that should I lose the extra 15 pounds I carried before I got pregnant, I still don't have a shot at a successful porn career. That's ok, I never looked good as a blond anyway.

Motherhood has been a blast so far. I've decided on being the cool mom who lugs her baby everywhere. So at the age of 8 days, Baby Boy already had his first dinner out for my 30th birthday. He's been to Cafe Express for lunch and tomorrow night, he's hitting Pappadeaux for some fried Oysters.

His hobbies currently are spitting up, pooping when mommy's removed the old diaper but has yet to put on a new one and smiling every time he gets gas (which ironically is also one of my hobbies). He can already speak some kind of rare Swahili dialect that only uses the vowel "a." "AAAAAAAAH AH AH" can mean "I'm hungry" as much as it can mean "Wow, Oprah's looking really fine this season."

I'm still expecting someone to show up at our house and saying "We're sorry, there's been a terrible mistake, you don't have a baby, let us take him back and we'll give you this shiny object to distract you."

I'm not sure at what point it hits you that you're a mother. Sometimes I worry that he'll grow up and go to leave for college and I'll be bawling my eyes out realizing that I'm somebody's mother. Because I'm kind of slow that way.

Yeah, just try to tell me that's not the cutest baby boy you've ever seen in your whole life. And he's just six days old on that picture. Just imagine how hot he'll be when he's 18. I'm taking applications for his future girlfriends right now. They have to be hot, slutty and very rich. Until he's 22. Then I want a nice sweet girl who's rich and has good birthing hips. Oh, and a good liver. Because I've discovered those are important.