BFF Swoops In Again To Save My Sanity w/Blog Game

So one of my BFF's tagged me in a blogging game (is that what they are called? I'm still an amateur!) - as per the rules and regulations I have to list 7 strange things about myself and then tag 7 others who will then do the same and so on. Since I am VERY new to blogging, I will only be able to tag a couple of people, but this is still fun. I SO needed this today and interestingly enough, I sat down to read BFF's blog right after the EX came. I didn't push him off the porch as I had dreamed, I did however slam the door so hard that the blinds rattled on a nearby window :)

OK so here goes. This is actually harder than it seems, I think it would be easier for other people to tell me 7 crazy things I do, but then that would probably just piss me off so maybe this is safer.

7. I have an obsession with numbers. I know almost every phone number I have ever dialed, even childhood friend's numbers from 20 years ago. I can rattle off mine, my man and my 4 kids Care Card #'s, Social Insurance #'s and any other important #'s like Drivers License, credit card #'s or whatever. When I was working as a legal secretary (my life before I was a SAHM) I knew all of the Incorporation #'s for every mortgage company that ever crossed my desk. My obsession extends to license plate #'s, I actually spot people I know by looking at their plates to confirm it's really them.

6. I hate wearing socks. The only time I wear them is inside my Nikes when I am running and sometimes in the winter inside my boots. I NEVER have socks on at home, and yet oddly enough I am one of those people who always has cold feet. I still can't bring myself to put socks on, I feel like my feet are suffocating.

5. I must load the dishwasher the same way each time. Glasses on the top left row, plastics on the other half and the bottom is for plates and bowls, always together and always facing the same way. The utensil basket is sectioned into 6 and MUST have all forks in one, spoons in one, knives in one, plastic spoons in one, sharp knives in one and misc (garlic press, blender blade, etc) in the last. If by some miracle someone other than me decides to load the dishwasher, I always end up emptying it and starting all over again.

4. I have a disturbing compulsion to weigh myself. For this reason, I do not and will not ever own a scale again. I will literally weigh myself ten times a day and if I weigh more one morning than I did the previous morning, I will restrict my food intake that day just to get back to the weight from the day before. I almost wonder if it's an illness, but if it is I have it under control. Sort of. When I was working at the gym, I would talk to myself on the drive to work and promise myself I wouldn't hop on the scale right away. It worked about half the time. I'm a freak.

3. I LOVE to sweat. When I am working out, I don't feel like I have "done it right" unless I have buckets of sweat pouring down my face and my armpits are wet. If there isn't a wet stain along my shirt from my boob crease, I'll stay on an extra 5 minutes and run like hell. The bigger the wet strip, the better I feel, it's like how I measure my workout. Gross, really.

2. Just like my friend Cheryl, I eat everything off my plate in sections. I'll eat all my meat, then veggies, then whatever else. In no particular order, but I absolutely cannot swap back and forth between foods. If one food touches another, I'll separate it with my fork before it hits my lips.

1. I know the words to almost every song out there. I don't usually sing out loud if I am with anyone, but I always lip sync the words and I sing if I am alone. I am a terrible singer, and I mean nails on the chalkboard awful. I would never ever go to Karaoke, I would rather stick hot needles in my eyes than subject people to my singing skills, or lack thereof.

** extra one: my man just asked what I was blogging about and when I told him he started laughing. Every night before bed, I HAVE to locate all three cordless phones and make sure the ringers are off on 2 of them and they are on their bases. Then I take the 3rd one, turn the ringer to the lowest setting and put it under my pillow. Yeeeeep, a complete freak of nature :P

Alright, I know there's more (in fact I can think of some right now about the way I grocery shop and the way I arrange the pillows on the sofa 50 times a day) but I'm leaving it at that so people still want to be friends with me and read my blog. LOL. Here is who I am tagging. Sorry it's not very many, maybe next time around I will have more blog buddies!!

Mummy Danni
Lisa
Charmed Girl

Profanity Philled Rant about Draco (spelling mistake intended)

So this afternoon I am hanging out with my man and the phone rings....it's the ex's cell number on my Caller ID. Those of you that know me will know that this event only takes place in cases of extreme emergency. He doesn't speak to me, ever, we only communicate via email. Pretty effing twisted since we see each other 10 times a week for pick-ups/drop-offs. So I answer and he's telling me he is at the courthouse for our hearing and where am I? WHAT?!?! This is MY hearing, MY day in court that I have been patiently waiting for for MONTHS now. I flipped my lid on him, so he put his lawyer (let's call him BS, short for Big Shot..or whatever :P) on the phone and I tore the guy a new one. How in the HELL was I not served with notice of this hearing, MY hearing? I ended up hanging up on BS and hopping in my car. I drove like a maniac (thank God for radar detectors) to the courthouse and as I was approaching, I see EX and BS outside, waiting for me. I peeled into the first spot I saw, parking half on the curb and hauled ass up the courthouse steps. BS greets me with a "Good Afternoon, Miss (insert last name)" to which I snorted "go to hell" and slammed my way through the doors like the classy broad that I am.

I walk into the conference room and there are signs on the table for Defendant and Applicant. At the Defendant side of the table, there is a barely any elbow room due to the well organized stacks of papers and manila folders. On my side, there is a jug of water and a glass. Empty and bare. My folder is at home, chock full of well organized notes to follow and point form arguments to make. It's at this moment it hits me - I have nothing but me.

The Judge walks in and I apologize for being unprepared and express my extreme upset about not being notified of the hearing date. She completely understands and although it appears that it was an error made by the court registry, BS's office also should have notified me and didn't. I would be willing to bet my left tit (and it was 'spency LOL) that this was a tactic. Somehow, some way, this was done to make ME look like an ass. Job well done, boys.

After asking a few routine questions, the Judge allowed me to say a few words. I think I did a pretty decent job getting my point across as to why we were there. I explained that the current schedule is hectic (back and forth ten times a week, yes TEN) and that with the majority of my time with my son being daytime, I am unable to persue the option of going back to work full time because I would never see him. To add insult to injury I would then be 100% financially responsible for daycare costs because it would fall into "my" time. When it came time for BS to explain why they were so opposed to my application, he goes on this big rant about my "disabled down syndrome kid" (yes, that's a direct quote) and how any change to the schedule may be traumatic for him. GIVE ME A FUCKING BREAK. I literally wanted to leap over the giant round table and strangle the life out of this ignorant piece of crap. The fact that M has Ds has NOTHING to do with this situation!!!! Is that the best he's got? Is EX really ok with his lawyer playing the Down Syndrome Card in court? Could I have honestly procreated with such a fucking asshole? Apparently so, because he sat there, all smug, leering at me from across the table. I guess I really don't even know him any more, who the hell is this Phil guy anyways?

Anyways, before I go off on a tangent about the remainder of the conference, it ended with the Judge saying that since the application is so vehemently opposed, this must go to trial. Guess how long of a wait it is for a trial? 6-8 months. SIX TO EIGHT MONTHS before this can be resolved. And of course, no guarantees that I will win. Things could very well remain as is and if I choose to work full-time, it will mean seeing my son ONE evening a week. What the FUCK.

Needless to say, I am beyond upset. I have never hated anyone as much as I hate EX right now. I loathe him and that's not nearly an intense enough word. I envision myself opening the door the next time he comes here (tomorrow at 5pm) and throwing him off the porch, right on his fat ass for all the neighbors to see. I imagine walking into his place of work and just plowing him, square in his smirky fucking face. You're probably wondering how I can be so cruel, right? If only you knew what this bastard has put me through since I left his sorry ass 3 years ago. It has been month after month of hell, with me always conceding and giving in to his ridiculous demands because I can't deal with it any more. Throughout the separation, my lawyer called him Draconian, in fact she even printed it in a letter about him, which I will save for years to come. I just might start calling him that to his face. Thousands of dollars wasted on said lawyer (which is the reason I don't have one this time around) for what? I walked away with nothing and every time I turn around, I'm bending over to take it up the ass all over again.

I am an absolute mess right now, my eyelids are swollen, my right leg won't stop shaking and I have that stupid hiccup thing that happens when you cry too hard.


This sucks.


edited to add: I came out of the courthouse to find a parking ticket on my windshield. Fuck me.

Bittersweet Decisions

So, it looks like two lines it's going to be. Starting my next cycle, we will be actively trying to conceive. Unfortunately, this decision comes in the wake of terrible news. The job I was waiting to hear about is no longer available, as the person for whom I would have been working for has been diagnosed with a terminal illness. It would be awful news whether I knew her or not, but it's especially saddening because she is a family member of a friend of mine, a friend whom I would consider in my "inner circle", even if we have only been friends for a short period of time. I care about her and what happens in her world, so I am sad for her. And for me, too. Not on the same level, but I am disappointed that I won't be given the opportunity to work for this person, because I believe she would have been the perfect person to help me on my way in my career.

I wasn't sure that me not going back to work right away was going to push me to make a decision about getting pregnant, but after several days of mulling it over, talking it out with my man and weighing the pros and cons, I figured why the hell not. Let's face it, waiting another 3 months or even 3 years isn't going to take away any of the fears I have about pregnancy. I am going to make an appointment with my doctor, but I know she will tell me the standard stuff....not to worry, I will be monitored, blah blah blah. I know she will give me the go ahead.

So I was feeling pretty good about this decision and then I remembered something, something huge. In some sick sense of irony (the story of my life), the day that I made this decision to have another baby, today, January 7th, is also my daughter's 15th birthday. Fifteen years ago today, when I was only 15 years old, I was laying in the hospital, alone (my mother having literally dropped me on the curb outside the entrance doors because she was late for work) and I was riddled with fear. It's almost funny when I think back. I was scared of the pain of labor and delivery. I was nervous about whether or not I would be able to take care of my tiny, fragile newborn baby because I was still a baby myself. Fast forward fifteen years and nothing much has changed. I am a grown woman now, but I am still unable to care for that very same child. Despite my best efforts, I was incapable of making my daughter's life a good one. She is on a path to self destruction and I am a helpless bystander. I have failed horribly as a Mother and yet here I am, ready to bring another child into my life.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

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! :)