Ms. WTH is having A

Baby!

Now, you didn't seriously think I'd make it all that easy, did you?

I figure what better way to re-enter the bloggy world than with the announcement of the gender of the fetus, right? People will actually click for that, right?

::crickets chirping::

Ok, well, humor me.

...and pay no attention to the fact that it's been 2 months since I've posted. Yes, I know that's not cool & no one wants to follow a blog that doesn't regularly post.

Again, humor me.

I had the ultrasound last Friday. The tech was very generous with the pictures.

Seriously. I have like 20.

Way back in March, we started out with this:

Awwww....look at the cute little....uh...Lima Bean!



Then we moved on to this:

Awwww....it looks kinda like a little baby...



...with little stubby appendages.



And at last, we got to the ultrasound! The ultrasound that would determine whether I could start buying boy onesies or beginning my plans to thwart the sea of pink that would drown wash over me.

Lima is so cute!



...huh...there is definitely a family resemblance there too.



so Lima, you think I should let everyone in on the secret?



I'll take the thumbs up as your approval/consent for this next one...so no suing me for inappropriate photos of you later...

IT'S A



gratuitously unnecessary arrow!

The Universe and My Body Are in Cahoots

You know, I had always thought that my body was on my side. Being that I'm the one who cares for it & all, I kinda assumed it would have my back. So to speak.

But now? I wonder.

The morning sickness (morning? Pfft. Yeah. Whatever) and complete and utter exhaustion slight fatigue are, I suppose, to be expected. I mean, creating an entirely new human being? Not a minor endeavor. We'll cut the body some slack here.

Where I start questioning the body's motives, however, is in the fact that it basically turns off its immune system while creating this new human. Which seems like a design flaw to me.

I mean, I'm not an omnipotent creator or anything, so I'm sure I'm missing something...but does it not seem like a good idea for the body to ramp up the ol' immune system? I mean, should we not be amassing an army of protection for the fortress guarding the developing human?

Wouldn't a more immunologically robust - thus healthier - mother unit be of benefit? Isn't that the basis for the theory that I'm supposed to eat only organic everything sent from the heavens itself along with my prenatal vitamin?

I get that the suppression of the immune system is to keep the body from "fighting off" the new lil' life as a foreign invader. I get that.

But shouldn't the body that is designed to reproduce recognize reproduction in action and not see the new little human critter that the body was designed to produce as a foreign invader? When said critter needs to be expelled, there's a whole process for that. A whole process not really involving the immune system at all.

Unless it could help push. Ahem.

The immune system should just mind its own business and stick to the real foreign invaders. That way, it wouldn't just up & go on vacation while I'm busy incubating a human life and allow any ol' Tom, Dick, and Harry germ to just mosey on in and take up residence.

Like whatever the hell Germ moved into my chest and gave me bronchitis. That Germ? Doesn't belong here. It has made itself entirely too comfy. I mean, it's partying at all hours of the day and night. And it doesn't help that it's dragging Lungs, Throat, and even my freaking Bladder to the parties.

The Germ gets things started, then the Lungs show up & start with their hacking. The Throat shows up shortly thereafter all sore and usually brings the Nose with it. Although, the nose is a bit sloppy at parties & can't ever decide if it should show up running or stuffed.

And the Bladder. Hmph. The Bladder has no self-respect whatsoever. When the party gets going? The Bladder just lets it all hang out, leaving me really grateful that the bathroom is a quick dash from the bed. I've tried to send the Kegels after it to keep it in line...but that thing is just incorrigible.

And here's my body, sending the troops out on leave while I'm trying to grow a person here. Who is supposed to control all of this nonsense?? Isn't that what I have troops for??

I mean, usually I can enable the germs' bad habits with a little pharmaceutical action, and while they're chilling on the couch, the troops can come in and kinda scoot them out without much fuss. Which would seem ideal, what with the shortage of available troops and all, but no. I'm growing a person and responsible mothers do not fling pharmaceuticals at their germs.

They use Tylenol. Which, frankly, seems a bit like selling the germs oregano and then being shocked when they get pissed about that.

cough

The pain of forgiveness

What is the truth of forgiveness?

I do not believe in forgive and forget.

If you forget what you have forgiven, does that not diminish the forgiveness?

If you forget what you have forgiven, how can you take meaning from what happened? How can you protect yourself in the future?

Forgiveness means scars. It means accepting those scars, that they are there. That there was pain in their acquisition. Pain that changes what was there before.

Sometimes the scars are obvious and ugly. Blistered and twisted like a burn on the soul.

Sometimes the scars are legion, making their wearers unrecognizable. Only a shadow of what could've been hidden behind hash marks of pain.

Sometimes the scars are deep and hidden away. These are mine. Stowed away in the darkest night of my soul.

With the years of childhood I don't remember. With the feelings of helplessness. The sadness. The betrayal. With the mask I wore to hide the real from everyone around me. Because those things doesn't happen in good families.

Sometimes the wind of memory blows the curtain aside and the scars are exposed. I want to look away as disgust crawls over my skin like a swarm of insects scurrying from the disturbance. The ghosts of the past steal my breath. Cloud my mind. Bind my feet. My soul screams for it to stop. As my mouth remains silent. As it always did. Ashamed. Confused.

Then I pull the curtain closed. I take my mind somewhere safe and quiet. There is no need to revisit them more often than necessary. Those scars will live with me forever.

I keep them safely tucked away. Hidden from prying eyes. In the cold. In the dark. In a place where scars should never be. I keep them in the same way they were made.

I acknowledge them. The one who gave them to me. And I know that I am who I am because of those scars. Because of that pain.

The value of that strength? Has outweighed the anger from the pain.

For me, this is forgiveness.

WTH happened to Ms. WTH??

So my apologies for being gone for a while. This seems to happen to me from time to time. Perhaps it is some kind of mood cycle or lunar cycle or just when all the shit in life finally catches up with me.

I've been squashed under pregnancy exhaustion, lots of work, a birthday party, some unexpected family drama, and pregnancy exhaustion.

Have I mentioned that I'm really tired? I am a black hole for sleep. Not sure I mentioned that.

Sometimes? Something just has to give. And I'd rather not write at all than to dump a boring and/or stinky pile. Although this blog is primarily a cathartic exercise, I am trying to develop my catharsis into more of a "craft" as opposed to haphazard emotional venting.

So Yeah.

There it is.*

*50 "holy crap" points goes to anyone who can identify this movie quote.

I will not sink

I stared at those two lines for a long time. Watching as they began to wobble and blur with the trembling of my hand and the welling of my tears.

The meaning of those parallel little pink lines washed over me like a flood.

My life was going to change in a way I had all but decided I never wanted. I was no longer walking the road I thought I was. The landscape was not what I thought it was.

The nights of numbing escape from my past? The nights of drinking with that handsome coworker? Had yielded unexpected consequences.

As I sat there, stomach knotted with fear, reality began to warp in my mind. My perspective began to bend and twist in response to this new information.

Decisions began to take shape before I consciously realized they needed to be made.

The creepy stalker ex? Twisted into more than an annoyance. Now, he was a threat to my family.

The blurry carefree nights of stress numbing? Melted into a dangerous health hazard.

My 1-bedroom apartment suddenly shrunk and filled itself with pointy, toxic choking hazards.

My income was now squeezed into inadequacy, failing to stretch itself to the new boundaries soon to be required of it.

A list began to materialize in my mind. My doctor must be called. Prenatal vitamins must be purchased. The handsome coworker must be informed. The income must be stretched, expanded, or perhaps even supplemented. The stalker must be eradicated.

I knew there were other things, but I allowed those to remain fuzzy at the outside edges of my thoughts.

This whole baby thing? Was completely alien to me. I was an only child with no experience with children. There was so much I didn't know. The immensity of it all threatened to suffocate me with its weight.

As it happens so often in my life, I had been shoved into the deep end. Without warning and without the knowledge I needed to swim.

But as it happens so often in my life, I would refuse to sink. There might be splashing, flailing, coughing, and spitting. It might be ugly at times. But I would not sink.

Even as I watched those lines tremble, I knew I would not sink.




Assignment: When meeting someone for the first time, describing a scene from your life that would help show the person your true self.

Dating a pregnant chick

When I met the man who would eventually become my husband, I was in an unusual state of mind.

For most of my post-pubescent life, I have been, perhaps, a bit boy-crazy. Once I figured out what they were for, I wanted one of my own.

I just had a hell of a time trying to find one that I wanted to keep.

There was the white trash reject, the we-should've-just-stayed-friends guy, the spineless emo guy (complete with tiny junk), the completely unmotivated pothead (with a very hot roommate...coulda, shoulda, woulda...*sigh*), the astonishingly-immature-even-tho-he-was-way-older stalker, the drunk, etc.

The drunk knocked me up and left the state upon learning of said knock uppage. Real sweetheart, huh?

By this point, I was 26, had been a serial monogamist for 10+ years and completely done trying to date. I had a kid coming that I had to consider & really, it was just easier to be on my own.

I met Hub when I was 6 months pregnant and still very determinedly not interested in dating. I was working 2 jobs & was still feeling the sting of being knocked up & left.

Fuck men.

Figuratively speaking.

Hub had previously been with his baby mama who really didn't want to do anything on her own. She preferred to "contract out" any work that might need to be done with a "service exchange" program. With pretty much anyone who might be willing to exchange services.

Ahem.

Ew.

Hub meets me and is all enamored of my "can do" attitude (i.e. the "fuck everyone I'm going to take care of this shit myself" attitude). He was amazed at how hard I was working to make things happen.

I told him we would not date. I had no desire to date. None. Plus? I was gigantically pregnant. No. Dating.

So about a month later we were dating.

Ahem.

He had told his family (on the other side of the country) that he was dating a woman with a kid. Which was true. He just omitted the fact that the kid? Was still IN the woman he was dating.

Details.

I didn't know this until right before I delivered. I was suitably frowny and told him he'd have to own up. If he didn't? It would bite him in the ass later. He agreed.

On the day I delivered Boo, he called his family to tell them the news. Here's how that went:

Ring....Ring.....Ring...

"Hi, Mom? I'm Ok. I just wanted to let you know that I'm in the hospital right now."

POP (this is the sound of my eyeballs flying out of my head)

"What? No, I'm fine. It's the girl I'm seeing"

Me: facepalm

"Um...you know how I said she had a kid? Well, actually, she just had him. No, just now. Yeah, sorry about that."

If my son ever makes a phone call like that to me? I think I will implode. Just saying...

Tell me what you love about your daughters!

Because I know how my life works, I am deeply suspicious (read: confident) that this baby that I'm growing (and here I go assuming that it's only one. HA!) will be a girl.

If you have read more than just this post, you'll know that I've had a tough time with my stepdaughter, Princess. She has not been a great representative for all girlkind.

I used to be a girl, and I remember being fabulous. Well-behaved, intelligent, and witty. The perfect child.

I imagine my parents - my mother in particular - did not share my viewpoint of perfection.

Ahem.

We may or may not be hoping for a boy.

Ahem.

However, I know my life. And if I were a betting [wo]man, I'd put my money on girl. I so would. I am that sure.

I would like to keep the wailing and gnashing of teeth to a minimum in that 16 week ultrasound appointment, tho. I don't want to get that look from the ultrasound tech. I want to be able to plausibly pull off the "yay! it's a girl!" reaction.

Don't get me wrong. I'm not hating on girls. I'm really not. So many people talk about how much they love their girls and how they couldn't imagine having boys. I want to hear about all those things that y'all love about the girls.

What I love about my boy? The rationality. The logical thinking. The general lack of drama. The general good-nature. That everything is not a tragedy. The love of science & figuring stuff out. The fact that he is Boo no matter the circumstances - he does not put on a big fake show for people & then turn into Satan when those people leave. He will equally be Satan whether those people are there or not.

I am not a girly girl. I kinda hate pink. I think princesses suck, on the whole. Not that it stops me from watching their movies on occasion, but they still suck. With their lack of substance, personality, and low standards in men. I mean, prince is all they look for & if he's a idiot or douchebag...eh, whatever. They just sit around & wait for him to rescue them. Who wants to wait around to be rescued? I'll bail my own ass out thank you. And I have yet to meet a prince charging in on a white steed to make all my dreams come true. Pfft.

I digress.

I get along better with boys. Let's take this thing apart. How does it work? Let's talk logic & figure stuff out! Let's talk about ideas! Bring me some Tonka trucks so we can dig around in the back yard! Oooh, but watch out for the little brown logs back there...

I just can't deal with constant travesty. It makes me stabby. Life is always going to suck in some capacity (at least until Princey shows up) so get over it already.

Parents of girls? Throw me a bone here. What makes them so cool? What do I have to look forward to in a daughter? Other than the fact that I will have more than 1 dusty rack in the corner from which to choose her clothes.

I'm still here...more or less

It's been a while since I've posted. I actually hate it when that happens.

Ideally? I'd like to be a 2-3 times a week poster. Not too much, but a couple of consistent posts per week.

Yeah. That's clearly working out for me.

Hmph.

As I'm sure many of you will be shocked to discover...I'm actually feeling a little run down lately.

gasp!

In some ways this pregnancy has been easier than my 1st. I sorta know what's going on, etc.

In other ways? Even tho I'm only 6 weeks? It's been harder. I've been queasy for the last couple of weeks. Usually, it's not too bad. But if I don't nibble regularly? It can get kinda bad.

I have yet to throw up. ::knocking vigorously on wood:: But I have come very close.

And I'm tired. Well, tired-er.

On the whole, I'm not too psycho. I've been even-tempered enough that Hub's head has time to grow back between "episodes."

I'm also rounder than I want to be. Already I have jeans that are quite uncomfortable around my middle. Everything else fits fine (thank God), but the waist? Muy uncomfy.

I continue to hope that this is because it is my 2nd child and not because I'm incubating a litter.

So, physically? I feel pretty "bleh." Mentally? I'm pretty happy. Combined? I'm generally in a robust state of "meh."

I am still (slowly) making the rounds to everyone's blogs...but I'm not feeling as commenty as usual. So my apologies for my lurking.

I'm trying to work up some good writing...but my general state of "meh" has made it challenging.

A V-day quickie. Woo!

Happy Valentine's Day!

And welcome to my 100th post! Which I actually just noticed. And my super awesome 100th post? Is going to be a quickie.

I hope you like quickies.

I was wrong

Apparently? I was wrong.

A tale of 2 chihuahuas...and a cat.

So we have this dog. She is actually chihuahua #2.

She is the second chihuahua we never expected to own. But here she is. She has a much different personality than our 1st chihuahua. She's also shaped somewhat differently than our 1st chihuahua.

Boxy.

And somewhat loafish.

And there are a few conflicts.



The 1st has been the sole dog for probably 6+ years. Now, we have introduced an interloper. An interloper who has a much more dominant personality.

She is also about as graceful as a brick.

This square loafish brick often tries to mount the much larger cat, Gandalf.



Boo, upon witnessing this feat once, announced to me "Look mommy! She's trying to pick up Gandalf!"

But I don't think it was the same kind of "picking up" he had in mind.

Ahem.

Another fun tidbit about this dog? If there is attention to be had? She bull-dozes her way in because SHE must be the center of said attention. She has forcibly plowed into and knocked over the smaller, more demure chihuahua #1 to get in on petting action.

If there are other animals between her and what she wants? Pfft. Whatever.



Species is really irrelevant.



When the kids aren't around, we have come to call her the whore loaf. Because she so is.

A couple days ago, I'm pleasantly scratching chihuahua #1 behind the ears. She is loving this. Yeah, that's the good stuff right there.

Enter chihuahua #2. Forcibly.

Chihuahua #1 goes sprawling, with an expression of great offense.

With my customary eye roll I inform chihuahua #2 that she is, in fact, a hooker.

"Mommy, what's a hooker?"

Dammit.

Dichotomous Heart

This evening I got some news I didn't want.

I can't say that I'm surprised. That happens a lot, actually.

It tends to happen when I get my hopes up for something. It seems to happen more often when I tell people about that thing about which I have my hopes up.

I know that is just perception. That I just notice the bad things more. That I make a note of things that reinforce my belief and kinda disregard the rest.

I don't remember if I got that tidbit from my psych education or a book on tape I listened to. Either way, it came with a bunch of references and citations. None of which I ever bothered to verify. Because I'm just not that anal.

Nonetheless, because something was not unexpected? Does not make it any less disappointing. And I often don't handle disappointment well. Especially if others are around to witness my disappointment.

Again, I think it's perception. I really don't handle the disappointment any better by myself, I just don't feel like a boob acting like an ass in front of myself.

Hub told me that I should prepare to have Princess with us for at least another year. That he has not seen her mother (Skankula) prove that she can be at least semi self-sufficient. Which is his requirement for returning custody to her mother.

And he is right. Fuck if he isn't right.

And I so profoundly wish that he was not. So much.

I am not bonding with this child. She epitomizes much of what I have hated in children before I had Boo.

See, Boo surprised me with the knowledge that I could love a child. That I could have that ooey gooey mommy feeling.

One of my greatest fears during pregnancy - aside from being a total and complete failure as a parent - was that I would not bond with my child. I had never liked children. I did not have that squishy "I'm going to be a mom!" glow while I was pregnant.

But as much as I want her out of our house, and as much as I don't miss her when she's not here (hate me if you want...but I'm being honest)? As much as I really feel all of that? I can't in good conscience send her somewhere that I know is actually bad for her.

As I may have mentioned before? I have all these stupid principles. And sometimes? they really get in the way of what I want. What I also believe the other members of this household want. What her mother wants. What she wants.

Despite my frustration with our situation and the problems she brings to our household, I can't send her into an awful situation. Plus? I support my husband. I agree with his logic.

So? I focus on the logic. I try to harness my feelings. I try to make the best of a less than ideal situation.

I just wish I could be happy about it.

The Monster Inside Me

Yesterday I posted about some of my fears about having a baby.

In retrospect, I almost feel like a bit of a boob. Almost.

I know that the things that are freaking me out are either superficial or statistical anomalies. My brain knows this. Truly, it does.

But other things sneak in. Little tidbits, like barbed seeds, they stick in my brain & begin to grow.

So is there a baby or not???

In case you're new, or have short-term memory loss, or just don't remember the silly details of my existence, Hub and I decided over Thanksgiving that I would go off the pill.

What followed? was months of illness, unexpected "visitors," and generally getting the finger from the Universe.

So as we bring month 3 of "trying" to a close...the big question is Am I Pregnant?

A trip or 5 to the DMV

When we moved to Maryland, there were all kinds of fun things to do. Get settled in our dumpy apartment infested with Rhaphidophoridae, find jobs, and get our cars all legalled up.

So, Hub and I walk into a bar the MVA (which is Marylandish for DMV - or MVD if you only speak Arizonian) and the bartender lady at the triage desk says what are you in for? what are you in for?

Forbidden Desire

Just the thought of you fills me with desire.

In my mind's eye? It's just the two of us. Alone. Away from prying, judgmental eyes.

I breathe deeply...and the smell of you is subtle, but intoxicating.

I close my eyes and I can still see you.

We have a wicked chemistry, you and me.

I imagine having you all to myself. That in this moment? You are mine.

All of you.

Feeling Cantankerous

Today is not going as I had hoped. I need an outlet so that I don't explode or cry. Neither of which is seen as particularly professional.

And since it's officially a bloggy boycott day? I feel today would be the perfect day to chuck the (possibly) interesting post I had in mind and just go for the vent since my 7 readers will not be reading today anyway.

An Open Letter to the Evil Head Cold From Hell

Dear Evil Head Cold From Hell (EHCFH),

Your Christmas arrival was most unwelcome. The fact that you keep finding new and inventive ways to torment me? Also very unwelcome. You & I need to part ways, EHCFH, because this is just not working out between us.

In fact? You're just pissing me off at this point.

Stowing my emotional baggage

Recently, Kris from Pretty All True wrote a post that really got me thinking. It was a very deep and touching post about her differing experiences as a mother to her two daughters. If you have not already read it, you should.

Yes, I'll hold.

::hold music plays::