A Tale Of Two Lines

So last night at about 10pm, I decided I was pregnant.

I am late, but my cycle has been whacked for months, from stress I am sure. But my boobs are so sore. Like big, heavy, sore watermelons hanging off me. Ok maybe cantaloupes, but whatever. They're sore. So anyways, I call my man at work and ask him to bring home a HPT. He knows the drill, we have done this LOTS. He gets home an hour later and he has the test in the package, but not in the box. I guess he took it out and threw it away after he paid for it because he didn't want any of his gossip loving staff to see the box through the plastic bag. Good idea, except that the test he bought wasn't the one I usually take. So, I peed on the stick and then waited.....

Two lines. Two lines. TWO F*CKING LINES. No, no, NO! This is not happening to me, not right now. I had a meltdown. A sobbing, ready to jump off the nearest bridge, raving lunatic needing medication, m-e-l-t-d-o-w-n.

As it turns out, the test was one of those ones that turns to a + sign if you are pregnant, so I mistook my | as the "2nd" line, when in fact it was a - meaning negative as in not pregnant. Now there's a sick cruel joke to play on someone. Perhaps ONE day I will laugh about this, but definitely not today.

Anyways, this really got me thinking. Why was I so upset? The idea of another baby doesn't scare me, on the surface of it. It's what comes with pregnancy that terrifies me. My track record is horrible, having had more losses than babies, ranging from 8 weeks along to 20 weeks. To add insult to injury, half the time my body doesn't realize it's not pregnant anymore and I have to have a D&C. My pregnancies have been far from "normal" - my doctor actually laughs about it. Not in a mean way, but in a shaking her head, baffled kind of way.

My 3rd baby M was born with Down syndrome. Please don't get me wrong, he is the love of my life....but that's not what I signed up for. Nobody wants that. My entire world has changed, I have been forced to become this whole other person I never intended or knew how to be. Does it scare me that I might have another baby with Ds? Honestly, not really. That doesn't mean that I don't feel an immense amount of guilt that my body did that to me. I know it wasn't anything I did. I know it wasn't anything that could be prevented. I know that it happened at the moment of conception. I know all of these things, but it doesn't take away the fact that I feel like my womb is a failure. I can't explain it, it's just how I feel. I could write an entire novel about my experience of having a baby with Ds, so I'll leave it at that.

My 4th baby M pregnancy was a roller coaster ride. I was diagnosed with Cholestasis, a rare (of course it's rare, this is me we are talking about) but serious liver condition that can cause stillbirth, especially if the pregnancy goes further than 36 weeks. I existed day to day, wondering if my baby was going to die inside of me. How does a person deliver a baby they know is dead? I lived in fear for months and drove myself crazy if the baby didn't move. The poor boy was poked and prodded and jiggled around several times a day, just to be sure. I battled with my doctor as to when we would deliver. She felt it was safe to wait until 38 weeks as long as we monitored carefully, I completely disagreed. After weeks of harrassing talking to her about it and printing off every statistic and medical article on the net, she caved agreed to induce at 36 weeks. Of course the induction(s) resulted in nothing more than 4 days of mild labor and no progress and ended in a c-section. The likelihood of me having Cholestasis with subsequent pregnancies is as high as 90%.

It always strikes me as strange that my first 2 baby M's were pretty much textbook pregnancies. They were also completely unplanned pregnancies when I was 14 and 19, with the same loser guy (apparently I never learned my lesson the 1st time). 3rd and 4th M's were planned, oh how they were planned. Temping, charting, timed. Very planned. Mother Nature sure can be a b!tch, eh?

So I'm scared. I'm not the kind of person who is scared of anything. Not heights, not spiders, snakes, death. Nothing like that. Just pregnancy, it terrifies me right to my core. And yet, I just don't feel like I am "done" having babies. I want one more, just not right now, not right this minute. Not that the fear will change months or years down the road. Will I be more mentally prepared? Probably not. So I don't know what the f*ck I am doing, whether I am coming or going. I am waiting to hear about a possible job opportunity and that will probably be the deciding factor for me, or maybe not. The waiting is exruciating though, I just want the god damn phone to ring already so I can get on with my life, whichever path it may be taking. I will truly, honestly be fine with either path. They will each be rewarding (yet frightening) in their own way. But I would like to be able to make a decision. Knowing what I am facing will help. Maybe I do have another fear, fear of the unknown. I need to be in control of something right now. A career and a life with the babies I have or a life with babies and then a career.

Two paths to choose from. One line or two lines? I just don't know.

This one's for my man

**Here's the post that's been saved in my drafts. He is even more deserving of it's posting after putting up with my Grinchy self over Christmas.



What seems like forever ago in the early stages of our relationship, my man and I were lying in bed listening to music and talking. We had been through SO much. How we made it through the first 6 months of our relationship is a true mystery.

When the media player (that had previously been playing on shuffle mode) got to this song, it just played it over and over. It was romantic and yet disturbing at the same time. We didn't say much, I just cried and he wiped my tears. We listened to it probably ten times.

I haven't heard the song in ages, but as I am puttering around getting ready for our company to come over, it came on. I stopped and listened to the whole thing and remembered all the tough times we have been through. Somehow, we have made it this far, our relationship (fairly) unscathed.

God how I love this man for being by my side, thick and thin, better and worse. Even though he doesn't read my blog, this one's for him. I love you babe.


you think i'd leave your side baby
you know me better than that
you think i'd leave you down when you're down on your knees
i wouldn't do that
i'll tell you you're right when you want
and if only you could see into me

oh when you're cold
i'll be there
hold you tight to me

when you're on the outside baby and you can`t get in
i will show you you're so much better than you know
when you're lost and you're alone and you cant get back again
i will find you darling and i will bring you home

and if you want to cry
i am here to dry your eyes
and in no time
you'll be fine

you think i'd leave your side baby
you know me better than that
you think id leave you down when you're down on your knees
i wouldn't do that
i'll tell you you're right when you want
and if only you could see into me

oh when you're cold
i'll be there
hold you tight to me
when you're low
i'll be there
by your side baby

oh when you're cold
i'll be there
hold you tight to me
oh when you're low
i'll be there
by your side baby

Drunk & Disorderly

I started a post last night about my man and how wonderful he is. It's saved in my drafts and I had planned on finishing and posting it this morning. That was before he made a total and complete ASS of himself at our get together last night. He's one of those people who has a very defined limit when it comes to alcohol. I can usually see him approaching the line and then I swoop in and cut him off. He's very good about it, if I manage to catch him before he crosses the line. Unfortunately, last night I was too slow in the swooping department. I was too busy socializing and playing hostess-with-the-mostess to notice. Once I realized he was totally past the point of no return, I just let it go, I mean it's Christmas, right? He was actually quite funny, not so much in a comedic, witty kind of way, it was more like cheap entertainment laughing at the drunk guy, but it was funny nonetheless. He babbled his way through the night telling partially coherent stories about people at work (he works in a grocery store) and then after a most enthralling story about frozen stuffing that comes in a package shaped like a triangle (wtf?), he disappeared. I found him passed out, fully clothed, on top of the covers in the bedroom. Really, the perfect place for him at the time.

When everyone left, I went to bed. In retrospect I should have just slept in one of the three other empty beds, but I figured he was passed out until morning. I won't make that assumption again. After some more incoherent blather, I finally got him to lay back down. And then he decided it was time to iron his shirt. At 4am. He had to work at 9. Then somehow, in a matter of minutes, it became MY fault that we were still awake. He was shaking his head at me, scolding me like a child, telling me he has been trying to sleep for the past 2 hours and don't I know he was to WORK in a few hours? WTF?

When I woke up and hauled his half-drunk sorry butt out of bed, I knew he would be late for work. He was only 15 minutes late, but I know for sure he got ripped a new one when he got there. He has called me several times to apologize for his abundance of idiotness last night, I'll give him that. He feels terrible (good!!). I've been trying to think of a suitable punishment, but I figure having to be at work for the next 7 hours with the hangover from hell on the busiest day of the entire year will suffice. {insert evil laugh here}

I am utterly exhausted this morning. I'm running on 2 hours sleep, my kitchen still needs to be cleaned, approximately 63,456,794 beer cans need to be taken to the recyclers and as I type this, my youngest M is smearing peanut butter and blueberry yogurt all over the wall in the dining room.

Needless to say, the post about how much I adore him isn't getting posted. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe.

Smiley Girl With The Perfect Life

You've heard about her a couple times. There she is people, in all her white-toothed glory. Smiling, happy, radiant. You probably wouldn't believe me if I told you that 45 minutes before this picture was taken, she was locked in her bedroom, curled up in a ball with a pillow over her head sobbing to the point of being unable to speak, gasping for air. But it's true. Her unbelievably supportive man (seen on the right, amazingly without any visible injuries) had to remove the bedroom doorknob with a screwdriver (this is the difference between him and me, I woulda just kicked it down) and coerce her out of bed like a cop talking a person off a window ledge. Gently and quietly, while carefully choosing his words so as not to spark total disaster. Somehow she managed to peel herself off the bed, pull herself together, and half a tube of concealer and a Kleenex full of snot later, walk out the door as if she spent the day relaxing at the spa. You know that commercial, "Maybe she's born with it, maybe it's Maybelline?" Well, it's definitely Maybelline. Except that I really am a diva at heart, so it's actually MAC, but who's comparing.

This is my life some (ok, most) days. I feel like a person who is battling Multiple Personality Disorder or a similar condition. It's emotionally draining pretending to be something you're not. Quite frankly, Scarlett, I'm sick of it. I now have zero patience for people who really DO have good lives. I secretly look forward to hearing about other people's misfortunes, because then maybe they will get a taste of what my life feels like. Bitter much?

Is this really who I've become? And if so, is there any turning back? Will I ever be able to tell someone I am doing well or congratulate them on something good they have going on and actually MEAN it? Will the drama and pretending ever end? Forget the Perfect Life part, will I ever actually BE Smiley Girl? One can dream, I suppose.

Well, I have to run, we are hosting a drinks & appies night tonight. The house will be immaculate, the food will be to die for and I will be my usual fake fun, lying likeable, phony perfect self. Ciao! :)

My Two BFF's

So this week has been interesting, to say the least. Yesterday was probably the most worthy of it's own post. I woke up in a fairly decent mood, really excited to go to my son's Preschool Christmas concert. We managed to get everyone ready, on time, which is an amazing feat in our house. So we're all geared up to leave and we can't find the keys. They are nowhere. My clean house looked like it had been ransacked by robbers by the time we were finished looking, but we did find them. When something crappy like this happens first thing in the morning, I should really take it as a sign to just stay the hell home and not bother facing the world. It's inevitably going to be a BAD day.

We walk into the church and the very first person I see is my daughter. Apparently my Mother thought it would be a good idea to bring her? (yes that's a question) She's sitting there, jet black hair teased as big as a football helmet, raccoon eyed makeup, a hoodie with skulls on it (yes, I said skulls) and skater shoes with tongues as big as my ass (which incidentally is growing by the day...effing Christmas season) Never mind that she was not only expelled from school the day before, but was also banned from all school district properties. Never mind that 5 days ago, she was drunk and high causing a scene at both the mall and her school. Never mind that the last time I was face to face with her, she called me a f-ing c--- and told me she didn't care if I died. Never mind that the last time she came to visit her brothers, she showed up drunk. Never mind all of that, there she is. I am surprised she made it to the front pew, one would have thought she would have exploded in a ball of fiery hell upon entering the House of God.

So anyways, I take a deep breath and I mutter under my breath "Just when I thought this day couldn't get worse".....and literally, within maybe 3 seconds, my ex walks through the door. What the f**k, are you kidding me with this sh!t? I'm not sure why it surprised me, it was after all his son's concert, but I was shocked. The next hour is kind of a blur. Lots of singing, kids whining, yelling, Santa's bells, my stupidfuckingex chatting it up with my Mom, Gramma and brother like nothing has happened. I wanted to scream at them. How they can even look at him after what he has put me through is beyond me. They even wished him a Merry Christmas. WTF?

Ok fast forward. We got the heck outta there and came home. That's when all hell broke loose. The previous owner dropped a letter in my mailbox. I ripped it open right away, but now I wish I hadn't. It's actually sitting right in front of me as I type and I can honestly say, I can't bring myself to read it again. I read it when I opened it, then I read it out loud to my man on the phone and that's it. It's sitting there, font side up and I can't even glance at it. My head hurts just thinking about it. As you've obviously figured out, it's not what we wanted to hear. There, in print, is the too bad so sad, if you don't like it, take us to court. WHO THE HELL DOES THIS TO PEOPLE? These people are not idiots either, they are both highly educated. They did this on purpose. They lied and they covered up their problems and left them for us to deal with. I mean seriously, what the F is wrong with a person to do this to someone. Someone they don't know. Someone who did them a favor by buying their house. Someone with a family, with little kids. Someone with plans for that house. Someone who wanted to fill that house with love and raise their children there. Someone with a heart and feelings and emotions. This truly is enough to break a person's spirit. Is there no human decency in this world? I'll say it again, WHO DOES THIS?

My drama has been going on for months, years maybe. I am just "that" person, never a dull moment. Most people don't see it, because on the surface I am Smiley Girl with the Perfect Life. But those who know me well, also know all my sh!t. Well most of it anyways. One of those people is my friend Cheryl. We have often said we must have been separated at birth. We are two peas in a pod with so many similarities it would floor you. Kinda creepy really. I am certain she must have felt my added pain yesterday, because she asked me to spend the evening with her (we haven't seen each other in months), doing whatever I wanted to do. We ended up going for appies and a few drinks (of course both drinking Rye, Diet Coke, tall glass, slice of lime) and I vented. Dumped, unloaded, unleashed, whatever you want to call it, but my god it felt good. I didn't cry, I didn't get worked up, I just talked it all out and she listened. We took turns. OK I am lying, I dominated in the venting department, but she did vent about what it's like to go back to work after 5 years as a SAHM and I listened. She labeled our friendship easy and that's exactly what it is.

So. Those were my two BFF's yesterday. The soul-crushing Big Fat Fuckyou from previous owners and my soul-lifting evening with one of my most Bestest Friends, Forever.

Life is not like a box of chocolates, it's more like a box full of shit

I woke up today in an 'okay' mood. Then life punched me in the gut.


Now I just want to die. Be gone. Disappear.


I hate this pathetic excuse for a life.

The Lady is a Tramp

So my man calls me last night to tell me that his mother is at the mall and is looking for a Christmas present for me. Not surprising, since we clearly expressed that we did NOT want any gifts from anyone this year as we don't have the extra funds to be buying for everyone like we have in past years. I still haven't figured out if she's doing it to make me feel guilty, or to make her feel less guilty because she can't not buy a present for her son. Anyhoo, apparently she found some lovely bath salts she thought I would like. (Can I just point out here that I have honestly only taken one, maybe two, baths in the 3 yrs we've been together?) Apparently the reason she was calling about them is because she was wondering if I would be offended. You're probably wondering how a person could be offended by bath salts. BRACE YOURSELVES PEOPLE. What you are about to read will either make you fall off your chair flat on your ass or laugh so hard that your morning coffee spits on your nose.

The bath salts are called Tramp. Yes, T-R-A-M-P. As in slut, whore, easy, skank, trollop, loose, bimbo, hussy, floozie, jezebel, harlot, tart, wench. Shall I go on?

Now if that doesn't say "Merry F*cking Christmas you douchebag of a daughter-in-law".....then I just don't know what does. Ho ho ho....pun intended.




(and yes, it's ok for you to laugh. I did.)