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Archive for the ‘ChunkyMommy’ Category

There is not enough room down there for anything anymore.

Today while sitting in bed doing some reading I peed. The Bed. I didn’t laugh or cough or sneeze, I was just reading some poorly written chick lit. And I peed. Initially I thought that maybe, just maybe my water had broken (because I don’t actually know what that is like since I was induced for The Dictators birth)  and that would just figure since Stewart was away at work at the time.

Thankfully just the duvet and cover got wet (and it wasn’t much) – but seriously folks I am 32 years old, you would think I would understand when to go to the damn bathroom already.

I need to get back to my regularly scheduled program of wiping ass and kicking the laundry pile (which is now bigger due to a king size goose down duvet and cover).

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Six weeks until the official due date.

I feel like there is so much to get done to finish preparing for this baby – yet trying to summon the energy to get the list accomplished is near impossible. I start each day more sore then the last and end each night short of breath and completely uncomfortable. I curse the fact that my fucking arms even exist right now – because my god where the hell do I put them when I am attempting to sleep? I am an emotional wreck and in a (well concealed) state of panic because soon there will be two little people to take care of and still only one me and one Stewart. I worry about how the hell I am going to get meals cooked with the world’s busiest toddler in the house AND a new baby. Oh and cleaning? HAH! Another point for me to panic over. Already I feel overwhelmed, and soon it will get worse. I want to spend as much time with The Dictator as possible before the baby is born – yet I want to teach him to be independent and to learn that I can not carry him around any longer. I still need a good middle name for The Deuce.

I want, I need, I have to, I should…….. it never seems to end.

Recently we went to our weekly playgroup which is held in the basement of a community hall. The stairs down to this basement are completely open and freak The Dictator out so normally I have to carry him down the stairs to the play area. On this particular day I bent over to pick him up and contractions started HARD (like 7 cm dilated no epidural contractions – yeah fun times). This has been happening for a couple weeks and is one of the reasons my awesome OB/GYN put me on sick leave from work.  There is no way in heck I can carry a two year old, diaper bag and his hot chocolate down the stairs with that kind of pain – so The Dictator threw a fit. And started crying. And started begging me to carry him. And started apologizing for absolutely no reason (it isn’t his fault – I really needed to sit down a few minutes and let the contraction stop) and breaking my damn heart.  After 15 minutes of trying to get him to calm down (and me being in tears myself) one of my friends walked by on her way down the stairs and carried The Dictator down for me.

And I couldn’t help but be mad.

Mad at myself for crying because I couldn’t do something so simple for my son. Mad at my son because he just wouldn’t wait a minute for Mommy to feel better. Mad at the world for seeing me so upset over really nothing. Mad at all the fucking old people who parked in the community hall parking lot (like a bunch of douche-bags in Oldsmobiles and Buicks with Kleenex boxes in the back window) so they could get their free flu shots and yet we had to walk 2 blocks (no joke) from a parking spot in a residential area to the community hall to go to an organized playgroup. Mad that not one person who walked by and heard me explain to my child that I could NOT carry him down the stairs offered to help me – even just with the fucking bag. Mad that I just didn’t turn around and take The Dictator back to the car (which was the aforementioned 2 blocks away) instead of trying to get him to relax while I caught my breath and got him down those stairs. Mad that I got mad and upset.

I am just a tired emotional wreck with a crampy, slightly bitchy uterus and compressed lungs. Sent your condolences to Stewart in the comments OK?

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First is a confession. I am a hypocrite.

Now for an important announcement brought to you by The Dictator.

We will be welcoming The Deuce into our family around December 3, 2008. Feel free to show up a bit early Deuce, since your older brother was almost 2 weeks late.

I have spent the past four weeks battling at least one of the evil trifecta of pregnancy at any one time. Fatigue, nausea and irritability; I am your bitch. Smells and meat totally gross me out right now, yet for some reason I have a painful craving for Panago pizza. Chicken Club no tomatoes and Tropical Hawaiian to be precise. I went a full pregnancy with The Dictator without a single craving. The craving things that are not in your house thing just is not fun. Nope. Not at all.

Currently I have the fear of twins, that could be because my friend was just here with her twin boys or it could be because I have been feeling fetal movement already (at 10 weeks); which Dr. Google says can be a sign of a multiple pregnancy. Did I mention multiples run in both sides of my family? Twins and triplets. I doubt it is happening here though.

So in a nutshell I have been to lazy and pukey to post lately. But I promise I shall get better at this soon.

On the bright side, if the Canadian Food Inspection Agency needs someone to sniff out Mad Cows or rancid meat in filthy restraunts, I am your girl!

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The fear

I have a fear. No it isn’t the pain childbirth (62 hours of labour and a shitty non working epidural with 4th degree tearing? been there done that) or untimely death or spiders. I have a constant fear of my teeth falling out.

I like to blame my parents and the fun they had with pulling their dentures in and out of their mouths when I was a kid. They thought it was so funny to see me try to take my teeth out too. It could also be because I knocked my front tooth out as a kid when I stole my neighbours roller skates and tripped over the laces onto hard cement and endure having a new filling popped in it every few years. That and I am prone to getting cavities, something about thin enamel and deep molar pits. I dunno.

Anywhoo, I have a recurring nightmare that my teeth are falling out, and although I know that your teeth falling out is supposed to “mean something” in dream speak I really think it is a black and white thing for me. I am seriously freaked that I could lose my teeth.

Because seriously? I think my teeth are one of my best features – at least they don’t gain weight.

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After my interview from Sheila, I received a couple emails asking me about my breast reduction surgery which I touched on very very briefly in the interview. Two emails were from women who desired to have this same procedure done, one from a woman who wanted to know how I came to such a decision and two more (from a woman and a man) who basically pissed on me for having the nerve to cut off my boobs and called me vain and lazy. Trust me. If you saw the size of my ass you would not think I am vain. I figured now was as good of a time as any to address this issue and some common boob myths.

I have been large chested since I was 15 years old, maybe even younger. I swear one day in 9th grade I woke up and realized that doing laps in Gym class was going to be a real painful experience. And it was.  By the time I graduated High School I was 115 pounds and should have been wearing a DD bra (but I totally squished myself into C/D cups).

This leads me to Myth #1: Boobs are large because you are fat. Not so. 115bs and 5’4″ tall wearing a size 4 is not fat. My boobs though were really big.

For a couple of years I buggered around doing odd jobs trying to decide what I wanted from my life. At one company in particular I was repeatedly hassled by a white-trash poorly dressed head cashier and a dumb ass store manager about the size of my chest. Although I always dressed professionally (as in suits, dress pants or dresses) the fact is when you are in an E cup bra there is no hiding them puppies. The assholes thought that I should go to a men’s store and buy a sport jacket to wear over my suits and company supplied shirts so no one would see how large my breasts were.

I finally threatened them with harassment charges for hassling me about my breasts – and was promptly transferred to another store (where I started dating Stewart). The manager at the new store had heard of my problems with the previous store (the other manger who transferred me had implied I was a slut to the new boss – because you know girls with big boobs are easy right? ugh.) and dealt with it head on. He had no problem with my chest size and also stated I was more then appropriately dressed to work in his store and that the other guy was lucky I never pressed charges.

Here is Myth #2: Women with big breasts enjoy the attention. Most naturally large chested women I know go through great pains to minimize the appearance of their breasts and we all hate it when people stare at our chests while talking to us. It is embarrassing and awkward. 

My first year at post-secondary school should have been exciting and rewarding. I chose a field where women did not traditionally work (Electronic Engineering) because I loved that kind of stuff. A week into my program I was approached by one of my instructor’s and told that I was lucky I was cute and had a large chest because it would ensure I passed the program and find a job in the field. That just about sealed it for me. I spent a day in tears and then marched my ass to my family Doctor for a referral to a Plastic Surgeon. My Doctor said he had wondered for a few years why I hadn’t asked to have the surgery done.

Want Myth #3? Women with large chests are air-heads or dumb. I applied to post secondary school with a 98% in Physics, a 95% in Math and a 90% in English. When I graduated I was within 2% of the top of my class over all (technically in the top 3 people), was the ONLY person to get over an 80% in every class offered in our program and scored a perfect grade in 3rd year University calculus. I am not dumb. Neither are 99% of the people with large boobs. The sweet payback is that I ended up making $30,000 a year more then that instructor.

Finally Myth #4: Women who have breast reductions do it for vanity reasons. Ab-so-fucking-lutely that was 40% of the draw for me.

The other 60%? I had x-rays showing the bones in my shoulder compressing from the weight of my bras. Migraine headaches were a daily battle. The back pain was never ending. I was spending 200$ on a single bra because my personal boob alphabet was approaching J-K-L. Fun letters I tell you! I never owned a shirt with buttons and bought shirts at the plus size store (and had them altered smaller) because they covered my chest. Regular shirts were never long enough because the size of my boobs would totally alter the length of the shirt, leaving it creeping up my front. I could NOT find a bathing suit to properly fit them into unless I wanted to look like a porn star. Finally, I was sick of people not knowing my name and being referred to as “the one with the big tits”.

It is a decision I never regretted and I would do it again in a second. It improved my physical health, my confidence and probably improved the way that people (who do not know me) look at me. I no longer fall under the “big boobs = stupid” umbrella and can buy different clothing. Best 12 pounds I ever got rid of.

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Bumpy Red Annoying Skin has taken over my body. For all of my adult life.

I have these hideous red bumps on my arms, and sometimes my jawline. It is called Keratosis Pilaris and can affect any part of the human body. I have been medicated and lubricated (sounds dirty) by Doctors and Dermatologists but never have found any relief from these ugly bumps other then a tanning bed (which I hate doing because my gawd the aging and Cancer!).

Keratosis Pilaris

This makes me very self conscious about wearing short sleeves, and when it spreads to my face I get really self conscious and wear my hair down all the time (to cover my jawline). I also get these lovely bumps on my back and on my ass. Lovely hey? Who wouldn’t want to smack that red bumpy ass?

Today when I was digging online I found many reviews for this lotion that you can buy at Sephora, and I am going to order it and try it out because I am dreaming of a summer of smooth arms and a non-bumpy ass. Once I try it for a week (and maybe even do before and after photos) I will post a review of it.

KP Duty by Dermadoctor

Now if someone would just make a magic cream for my cellulite.

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So far this morning I have consumed the following:

1 small biscotti
12 ounces of coffee with half and half cream
So far this morning LittleMan has consumed: 
6 ounces of formula
6 ounces of Homo milk
1 bowl of cereal (about 1/2 cup)
1 bowl of fruit (also about 1/2 cup)
1 waffle
1 Big Sea Shell Pasta stuffed with Ricotta Cheese and Spinach in a tomato cream sauce (leftovers from date night last night YUMMY)
What I want to know is how is he not gaining weight (well gaining very slowly), and I am not losing it? I know I could eat better, exercise and stuff but I am not the biggest eater and my weight is still only coming off at a rate of a pound a week. Yes, I know biscotti is not the breakfast of champions, and I should eat more regularly…. but there are things to do and babies to play with you know? 
It still doesn’t add up.

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