When I First Thought I Was Fat

Remember when you first started thinking you were fat? The high school days where your whole body could fit into one leg of your jeans now. Iv always had some sort of image or body issue since I could remember. My generous genes provided me with the opportunity to hit puberty early and develop must faster then my peers. And by early, I mean 12... When I should be playing dress up with my Barbies, I was instead learning the ins and outs of being a "woman". I was with my poor stepdad at the time who had no idea what to do so he dropped me off at my aunts. My uncle proceeded to tell me to grab some ice cream and yell at the dog. That day will forever be burned into my mind. Not to mention... it was my birthday.

So from then on I started to develop and look at myself differently. Iv always had a curvy body. My mom used to call my JLo due to my unusually large ass that could used as a shelf. Though I know she was joking, it still bothered me and I would look in the mirror, comparing myself to other girls my age. While other girls my age still looked like average 12 year old girls (aka Justin Beiber), I had a more mature body. I had gotten mistaken for a 16 year old many times. My mother's friends would ask me to run to the store and get them cigarettes, thinking I was 18 already. This was my poor father's worse nightmare.

Yes, if only I was as skinny as I was when I first thought I was fat. Now, two kids later, Im in the most uncomfortable body I have ever been in. Both pregnancies I gain 60 pounds..  I know what you're thinking.. DAMN girl! Did you eat your husband? I almost did. I remember bawling in the kitchen because I was so hungry but nothing was satisfying. I craved raw meat! I was sure my kid was either a tape worm or the Omen. Instead he was almost 8 pounds at 36 weeks.  When I found out I was pregnant with Ogre baby, I was in great shape. I was the smallest I had been since high school and felt fantastic. I couldn't walk by a mirror without winking and yelling out cat calls, "Hey Girl! How you doin'?" But being pregnant through the winter was NOT a good idea. Its not fair that I was knocked up though Halloween candy, Thanksgiving turkey, and Christmas pie. At 4 weeks post partum, I called my doctor asking if I could start running again. All I heard from the other end was laughter.

So as I waited the full 6 weeks to get the clear from the doctor, I avoided the mirror at all costs. I know that I just had a baby but I felt sad, aggravated, and depressed when I would look at myself. Who was this woman in the mirror? Who's body is that? I know I should be happy because there are so many out there who would give up their body over and over again because they so desperately want a child, and here I am, 24 years old with two healthy (one HUGE) babies. But I am human. I am a woman in todays world where gorgeous, unrealistic new moms are flashed on Entertainment Tonight every day. I have come to the conclusion- they are freaks of nature. No one really tells you about the fourth trimester of your pregnancy. The trimester where you have pushed out a baby, fluids, half your organs, and if you are real lucky, a little shit for good fortune. Yes, I should be grateful my body just carried yet another little miracle man. But I will admit it. I was not happy with who I was in the bathroom mirror. I felt ugly. I felt fat. I felt unattractive. I wanted to feel like I was the most beautiful woman for The Beast, but as much as he told me I was still gorgeous as ever, I didn't agree. As wives, we don't necessarily feel better when our husbands compliment us. How do we know they really mean it, and they just aren't trying to avoid being smothered in their sleep?

What felt like forever was finally up. I joined a gym, got some work out clothes that fit, got Ogre baby signed up for the gym daycare and was completely ready to sweat my ass off. I was on the treadmill, sweating, breathing like a horse, and thinking- "damn girl, you must have been going for an hour now".... it had been 10 mins. So I was a little out of shape. It didn't help that my uber in shape, skinny, gorgeous friend was working out next to. She was going on that elliptical like Luke Bryan was down the road with no security and a puppy in his arms with her name on it. After my first day back in the gym, I just laid on the floor in a pool of sweat. Breathing like a 400 pound man with asthma.. Thinking, "I better be skinny in the morning"

But I have to tell myself that it takes time. And that I will never get my high school body back. I have had two kids after all. Spaz managed to push out my hips during labor- being a drama queen and all he had to make a grand entrance to let me know he has arrived. A true mamas boy from the beginning. And Ogre baby had me eating cupcakes like is was my last meal for 36 weeks. Ontop of that, I have stripes on my body like a tiger goddess.. Thanks boys.

Pre Ogre Pregnancy

9 Months into Ogre Pregnancy

Post Ogre Pregnancy

Its been about 10 weeks since Ogre was born and Iv lost 30 lbs so far. I'm halfway there. Its been getting easier to look in the mirror and feel better about myself. My mood is up, which Spaz is thankful for, and I feel less likely to inhale 23 mini cupcakes (I say this as I eye down those frosted animal crackers Spaz has).

I will never give up on my yoga pants and sweatshirts BUT I am embracing jeans again, along with wine- but for much different reasons. The best part? I know longer have Spaz lifting up my shirt in public to poke at my belly and say. "Jiggle jiggle, mommy!"

He's a gentleman. 

I Watch Too Much TV

A deady drug

I watch too much TV.. Actually I watch too much Netflix. Are you the type of person who ruins the movie because you take an educated guess at the beginning how its going to end? I am. And ask my husband- Im right 99% of the time. He hates it. When we start a movie, especially a crime movie, the first thing he says is- DONT GUESS THE KILLER. So the whole time I sit there with a smirk on my face and at the end I blurt out, I KNEW IT!You know that scene from The Heat, where she thinks she knows how to do a tracheotomy after watching it on Dr. Oz or whatever she was watching? If not CLICK THIS, this ego of mine has convinced me that watching these shows makes me capable of knowing what to do. And thats just dangerous.

CSI- New York
They have the greatest one liners at the beginning (you must read these in Mac Taylors voice), "These teens died from blunt force from rocks. Guess these kids...got stoned" "The cook was stabbed with a cork screwed. He got screwed..." "you killed your brother on a plane. Now your grounded"... Waiting for the one liners is half the fun. The other half is learning what to do if I ever come across a dead body. If I stumble upon a corpse- say on campus that was mauled by a mountain lion- don't judge, we were seriously warned at orientation- I'm going to end up being THIS guy:

Ill first tell everyone to back up and give this dead guy some breathing space. Then I'll grab my moby wrap from the trunk of my car and tape off the crime scene. Then I'll stare over the body and give my best one liner while taking my sunglasses off, "Here.. kitty, kitty". Next i'll put on my gloves from lab and use my tweezers from my makeup bag to pull off the cat hair evidence, which I will then stick in my zip lock bags that I keep my pretzels in (don't worry, I dumped those. Cant contaminate evidence). Once I use my blush and brush off finger prints- obviously from the student who let the giant kitty out on campus, Ill use the packing tape I keep in the car for the Beast care packages and remove the prints. That way when the police finally show up, I can hand them the stuff and say.. "Your welcome"  Cue theme music.

LOST
Then there is Lost. If my plane ever crashes on an island, I will stand up and say to my fellow survivors- "Do not panic my fellow men and women. I got this! I watch Netflix" First we will make huts out of the bamboo and giant leaves with the string we miraculously had on hand. Also we will pull a pile of drugs together. Because what Iv learned from Lost is people travel with a hella ton of drugs and someone will get shot. Or pregnant. Then I will get sticks and carve them into spears because Lost has taught me that spear fishing it easy. I will feed all! Fish for everyone! But when that polar bear shows up, we are dead. I can't take on a polar bear. Thats just unrealistic.

STALKED
This has taught me to be paranoid.

My Husband's Mistress

Thats right- you read that correctly. My husband has a mistress.. her name is Afghanistan. And she is a needy wench. Once a year or so she gets lonely and forces my husband to fly across the globe to keep her company for almost the whole year. Leaving me here to have a grand old time as a single parent. And to top it off, whenever the Beast leaves for deployment, all hell breaks loose. If you were sitting around your house thinking, "Hmm I wonder what its like to be Dani over in Colorado while her Beast man is gone.." first I'd tell you that you need to get a life, and then I would enlighten you to the joys of being a military wife to two military brats.

6:00 AM
The day usually starts out with Spaz yelling from his gated off room (you'll learn more about the imprisonment later),
"Mom! Mom! Mama! Mom! Mama! Mama! Mama! Mom! Moooooooooooooom!!!! GET UP!"
"Yes, Spaz, Im coming!"
"Moooooooooooom!!!! Im poopy!"

6:30AM
After I clean up my Spaz' diaper and lecturing him on the joys of going potty on the actual toilet, I begin chasing him around for 15 minutes yelling- "Spaz put a diaper on! We don't do naked mornings... that ended 2 1/2 years ago! Get back here. No don't pee over there!!"

6:45AM
Next is the youngest Spaz, AKA Ogre Baby. I smell something rancid coming from my bedroom. As I walk toward the room all I can think is, "Oh please be a rotting animal..." But nope. That is an explosion of mess in the crib next to the bed. A good morning present from my little gift from the heavens.

7:30AM
After cleaning up that mess we move on to feeding each monster. Ogre baby is easy to feed. He usually wants boob AND bottle then he licks the bottle clean after leaving me deflated. Spaz on the other hand wants one thing and one thing only- Hotdogs and chocolate milk. After telling him no he needs a normal breakfast he usually eats about two bites. After changing, feeding, cleaning, changing again, getting dressed (Which is sweatpants, t-shirt, and hair in pony with dark circles under my eyes) and packing bags, we are finally out the door to school. Oh but not before I hear a powerful voice scream,

"Moooom!!!! Mommmmyyy!!! Im poopy!"

8:30AM
Finally Spaz is at daycare after 10 hugs, 25 kisses, and 15 mins of stalling because he doesn't want me to leave, Ogre Baby and I find a couch to study on while we wait for Chem class. And by study, I mean attempt to read some Chemistry while every other person who walks by stops to say hi to Ogre Baby and ask me 30 questions on being a mom and a student. Let me break it down for you: Being a mom is easy. Because its instinct. Being a student is not. Its not instinct for me to know how to write the condensed structure of 2,2-dimethyl-3-ethylbutanol. I don't think thats any sane human's instinct.
If I'm lucky Beast will Skype me and we will chat about the local gossip and plans for when he comes back. During this I usually get some insane stares from the other students. Why is that hot mess of a chick with that small squawking human talking to her computer?

12:05PM
Class is finally done and Ogre has ate twice but wants more again after his continuous farting through the whole lecture. Baby or not- farts aren't cute.

2:00PM
After an afternoon of cleaning, feeding Ogre Baby, studying, some renovations, feeding Ogre Baby some more, changing 50 diapers with unimaginable colors inside, trying to fit a little time of working out in, and feeding Ogre Baby some more, its time to run to the Post Office to send Beast some care packages. I would like to say this is a quick run.... Ill stand there for an hour waiting as one person works the desk with a 3 mile long line full of angry and high Coloradans continuously bitching about the postal service and blaming it on either, A) the government, B) Obama, C) Immigrants or, D) the Yeti.

3:00PM
As I carry my 50 lb load of baby and carseat into the daycare, while trying to punch in our code through 2 security doors, I start to feel like Im visiting a prison inmate after signing my name in through two books onto of that. I finally get to his classroom door. Spaz's teachers then continue to tell me like they do EVERY day since Beast left, that Spaz was very emotional today and I need to continue to work with him and his emotions. If not that, I get an incident report on how some kid jumped mine and beat the toddler out of him... For how much we pay for daycare here for not even full time, I think they can keep their opinions on how my son is handling his dads departure to themselves and do their jobs.

4:00PM 
Its time for the FRG meeting. For those not associated with the military, this is the Family Readiness Group. The team of wives that help each other out during deployments with anything. For those who are associated with the military, this should be RFG for Real Fast Gossip. I don't usually go but I try and make an effort to be involved and get to know more of the wives. However, like a lot of fellow enlisted wives, I have learned a few things of the people to avoid. You avoid those who think they sweat gold and shit glitter. The ones who can do no wrong because of their husbands rank. Because of these women I usually don't partake in the meetings. I don't feel like sitting next you while you tell me how you know exactly what I'm going through as a mom while her husband is away because you have two cats. Because as all of you mothers know- cats and dogs are just like parenting a child.

5:00PM
Its time for dinner. So I ask Spaz what would he like?
"Hotdogs and chocolate milk"  So Chicken and potatoes it is. As Im cooking, I have Ogre Baby who is hungry again and screaming in my arms to feed him because he won't take pacifiers (iv never appreciated a pacifier more than I have in the last two months), and I have a toddler running around naked screaming hotdogs! chocolate milk! cars cars cars!! Im looking around the corner continuously saying, "put your diaper back on!"...

6:00PM
After getting Spaz to eat two bites of his food, begging him to finish his milk, and giving him yet another dose of benedryl because he has again broke into hives, I bribe him to sit and watch Cars for the 20th time this week- Ogre Baby wants to eat more. Im feeding him while a toddler drags me across the house by my pants to help him with a million things he's managed to break. ONLY TWO MORE HOURS UNTIL BEDTIME... After the 10th melt down in a row, I keep telling myself- you don't want to drink that bottle of wine.

7:30PM
Its bath time now and I fill up the tub but not fast enough. Spaz strips off the clothes Iv put on him for the 30th time and throws every toy he owns into the tub. I start to say, "No, not that one! That one has batteries!!" But its too late. And another one bites the dust.

8:00PM 
FINALLY. Bed time. The heavens have opened and the angels are singing hallelujah. First I have to clean up the gallons of water Spaz has dumped out of the tub. He believed it was the funniest damn thing since sliced bread. Now begins the real fun for the night. The game of "How many times can I get out of bed before mom duct tapes me to my mattress"... Bring it on little man. After an hour of me putting him into his bed and him laughing and chasing me out, naked none-the-less, I gate off his room and he's FINALLY passed out, head down, legs over the side of the bed. As if he was praying that I would let him stay up longer. So I head to bed after cleaning up the tornado that went through the house.. But ill be up every 3 hours or less to feed my garbage disposal baby. As Im laying there about to fall asleep I realize... I haven't even eaten yet.

Two Weeks

Well we have hit two weeks. Yes, I may or may not be crying. But these past couple weeks I have been crying over everything. Hormones at their best! Currently the Spaz and I are both sick with head colds. Lovely. A bunch of snot and whiney folks up in this biz snitch! My hours of sleep went from 5 a night to about 2… I have to paint on the under eye concealer these days. You know that feeling of waking up fresh and alive?

                                      I dont.

Ok so maybe I didn't do ALL that pre-baby Spaz. But you know I did paint this whole house and put it all together. And worked on our yard. Although I did manage to kill it. ALL. But the after is spot on. I forgot to even eat breakfast this morning. And I love food. Hence the 50+ pregnancy weight gain and just about an 8 pound baby at 36 weeks. Mmm cupcakes.

I wasn't going to nurse Baby Spaz but last minute I decide to go for it. I was tired of the judgmental looks and comments I got from almost everyone when I told them I didn't want to nurse. You'd think that I just said I plan on putting my child in a crib and locking the door for 12 months. I think that people these are way to judge wudgy on pregnancy and new mothers. Or parenting in general. The best decision is the decision YOU are happy with and that YOU feel good about. Love your child, feed him and protect him. There yah go. But how you do is no one else's business and they should keep it to themselves. However, I let what people said and how they looked at me get to me. So I will try pumping this time and if it works out then awesome. If not, Im not going to stress and cry for 5 months like I did with Spaz. I will do whats best for me and my child. So I have been exclusively pumping… Oy. Now I know what Ole' Bessy feels like.

This is how I feel now.

Spaz hates it. He panics every time I begin to pump.. He begs me, "Mama all done! All done!" He seems to be concerned that I am in pain. His sick sixth sense for his mama is unbelievable. This is the kid that followed me around the house asking if I was okay the night I was admitted into the hospital and began labor before I even knew it. The Beast is slightly concerned we may be nursing a scarring relationship between Spaz and I. Lets hope he doesn't have memories of his toddler years or his mothers knockers will be burned into his nightmares forever. Sorry Spaz.

The Worst Final of My Life

It started out with a loaf of beer bread. It was to die for. The whole family demolished it in one day… and by whole family I mean this fatty. So the next day I thought- we all need more beer bread. And by we all, I mean me.  Mmmm fresh out of the oven-- I gave some to Spaz who had one bite and spit it out. THAT should have been my sign. I inhaled a couple slices along and The Beast had some with dinner. That night all hell broke lose and The Beast and I had our heads deep into the toilets with food poisoning… It was a no fail recipe- you pour the mix in a bowl and add a beer. How on earth could we have failed? I ignored the advice to go into the hospital and get some IV fluids so I wouldn't become dehydrated. I just slept it off.

Fast forward to two weeks later. I make some amazing catfish, rice, and fresh peas in the their pod. MmmmMmmmMmmm. That night I felt like I had a bottle of wine. Yes- I had given myself food poisoning AGAIN! Moral of this all- I am no long allowed to cook unsupervised. The Beast is terrified to eat my food now.

So as I was getting sick all night long, Beast came upstairs to check on me and insisted I go into the hospital to get some IV fluids since I was 36 weeks. It wasn't until I starting throwing up blood- yes blood- that I said Okay Yah. I should go in. (with my thickest Minnesota accent- You Betcha)

I told Beast to stay home with Spaz so that he could sleep. I dragged my puking sluggish bowling ball into the car and drove myself to labor and delivery. Thank the heavens the hospital is only 5 mins away from our front door. Holding my red puke bowl, I stumbled into the triage room and laid down. I must have looked like hell because the valet parking asked if I knew where the ER was. After hooking me up and seeing how much blood I had been throwing up, they decided that I was going to be admitted for at the least the night and morning. After an hour the nurses said I was having contractions that weren't going away so she wanted to check me and give me more medicine since dehydration can cause preterm labor. I was barely a cm and he hadn't dropped down so she didn't suspect I was in any kind of active labor. Once I was transferred to the women wing with the rest of the bed rest preggos, they encouraged me to get some sleep and they would send the doctor in the morning to see if I was dieing. Well in their words, to see where the blood was coming from. Turns out my esophogase gave out from my talented cooking and tore enough for me to bleed into my stomach causing me to throw up. Lovely- I know.



The next morning the nurse came in who happen to be a midwife as well. They wanted to hook me up to the machine for 20 mins before the doctor came in to discharge me. Just to be on the safe side because I had been complaining of pressure. I could feel that my contractions were not going away. Didn't matter if I was laying down or standing up. Even after two bags of fluids and nausea medication. 15 mins into CNN, the nurse comes in and snaps her gloves on- "Im checking you. Those contractions are persistent and five mins apart. I suspect you are in labor girl" I laughed and said I wasn't even a finger tip earlier that night so I didn't think so but getting my cervix checked doest hurt at all.. so why not (insert some MAJOR sarcasm) "Yep you are a little over 3 cm…and he's has dropped way down"

Say what? I sat at 3 cm for three weeks with my first brat so this is nothing. She insisted I sit on the machine for an hour and see if I progress. If I progress I can be admitted and start my laboring process. If not, than its time to go home. I knew Beast would be excited to hear I was dilated so I waited impatiently for him to walk into the room.

"Hey Beastasoar! I am 3 cm…" -said the hippo

"Damn it, I had errands to run today."   Oh thats sweet, Beast.  

An hour later I got to experience the gentle touch of the cervix check again. Just about 4cm. I had a choice. Go up to labor and delivery or go home. Go home. WORST MISTAKE EVER. Its 11am, I am at home. And I can feel pressure during my contractions. Did I have to crap? Or was I about to have a baby that night? Suck it up, I told myself. You are fine, go take a bath. After a bath and hot shower I could feel so much pressure that I was afraid to sneeze. So I arranged for Spaz to get picked up from daycare, AKA to Spaz= the place that serves better food than moms crap, and yelled out to the Beast to get his keys, we needed to get going.

"We need to stop by the grocery store and get milk for you and Spaz for the morning. I don't want you guys without milk. You need milk so you can have breakfast. SPAZ NEEDS MILK.." Needless to say I was freaking out. But The Beast said No. And that I had to get going to the hospital. He was not about let my water break in the middle of aisle 9.  As we were driving, the contractions were getting stronger. By the second light I was screaming at an old lady in front of us "Move it Miss Daisy! Or I will move it for you!! What is with all you people?! Is it drive as slow as you can day?!! MOVE OVER" Oh yah I was in labor. It didn't help that The Beast was hitting every single bump on the road. 

Finally, we arrived and were put in a triage room to be checked. It was 3:30pm by this point. I could tell the nurses didn't think I was in labor since I was talking fine inbetween contractions but if I lifted my leg too far up, a baby might have fallen out. During contractions Beast couldn't stand too close or I was going to turn him into a woman. She checked me right away. Guess what I was at.. 4 cm! What?! Check again woman. Theres no way I haven't changed. This is how I felt when I was getting my epidural with Spaz. 4?? Maybe 4 inches… please. Lets just monitor you for an hour and see what happens… thats fine but I'm not going home, lady. Ten minutes pass by and I feel the worst and longest contraction of my life. OMG HE IS COMING OUT. BAM… my water broke. I looked at Beast in horror-

"Holy shit, Beast, my water just broke. Look under the blankets and see what color it is!" 

"Please don't make me do that.." I wanted to make sure the baby wasn't in stress. He ran out to grab a nurse. 7 cm!

Up went the bed rails and out the room we soared. Here we go honey- Someone page the doctor she is ready to go and going fast! Tears started streaming down my face. No this can't be happening this quick. And why is it so painful this time? And why did I have to jinx myself?! Through my pregnancy I told people I wanted to be a badass without pain meds. Silly Silly Stupid girl. Oh how you will regret the hell out of this. I believe the good Lord knew I would cave and get the epidural so he laughed and said, Let me help you out.... It was 3:45 when I rolled into my room and they tossed me into a bed. Fifteen minutes after I sat on that triage bed I was screaming for some sweet relief from a needle to the back. Nurses were scrambling all over the room setting the table up with all the scary equipment. Two baby nurses were rolling in a warm incubator and oxygen machine since he was arriving early. I heard one nurse on the phone, Where is doctor so and so, she is 7cm and was 4cm fifteen mins ago. I think she will be ready soon. She's also screaming for an epi so send the anesthesiologist please. Staying calm while in labor is NOT my strong suit. So screaming for an epidural and bawling my eyes out was an understatement. They told me the doctor would be 8 mins since he was finishing up with a C Section so just wait. I shook my head and said I have to push. I have to push now. They checked me and I was 9 cm and completed effaced. No epidural for me. The anesthesiologist walked in and they told him never mind. NO.. COME BACK. I was like crying Rose laying on ship wreckage… "jack, jack come back!!" I don't know what was more sad. Seeing him leave the room or seeing Beast leave for deployment.

 I may have seriously been the fastest laborer on the planet. However, I am not the quietest.

"I have to push. Im going to push! Something is going to blow out of my ass! I HAVE TO PUSH" The nurses kept yelling back- do not push you are not fulling dilated and you can tear your cervix. Well that just what I wanted to hear and I started crying histarically. OH MY GOD, I am going to die. 

"Please don't let me die. I don't want to die. I HAVE TO PUSH." The look of horror on everyones face was priceless. Well you tell me I'm going to tear if I push and my body is naturally pushing on its own- Panic will set in. I tried the "he he ho" breathing method they told me to do with Spaz to help my body not push but it wasn't working. So what was the next instinct thing to do? Start growling like an angry constipated bear. I kept crying apologies cause I couldn't help it. Nurses were hovering over my like vultures- Calm down, Danielle. You need to take deep breaths and calm down. I just wanted to yell at t to all get out. I needed one person in there and one only- someone to pull this kid out.

I could hear them calling the doctor again insisting he run down the hallway because I was ten and was already pushing. FINALLY, he comes into the room and asks me how I am feeling. Well, have you had the feeling you needed to blow a saint bernard out your ass? I have. It was 4:30 at this point and time. They told Beast to hold one of my legs. I knew it wouldn't last long. Five minutes into pushing he he looked as though he was going to pass out. I have never seen someone go so white so fast. They even brought in crackers and some thing to drink for him and told him to sit down. Finally, 5:05 PM and he was here!

"Look down, here is your baby.. take a look. Pull him out." They all kept cheering and telling me to see my baby. What was my reaction? Tears? Smiles? Grabbing him and pulling him out into my arms? No….

"JUST TAKE HIM OUT ALREADY. PLEASE!" My whole body was shaking. I had been loud and proud for an hour. I probably scared every poor woman on the floor. I was so loud and breathing so fast that later I noticed they had the oxygen mask going behind me. I was shaking so bad that I told them to hand him to The Beast. I was afraid to drop him. After I expelled the placenta, the nursing student in me kicked in- "Wait, can I see it??" Yep… I'm THAT chick. But hey- its not like I said I wanted to eat it.

Turns out I only needed a little medical attention with stitches but with no epidural it didn't feel great. It shocked me so much that I accidentally slapped my doctors arm. I gasped and said sorry but he just laughed and said its ok- just don't kick him please.

So all in all it was a horrid experience. Maybe natural birth is great for you. But, boy, I appreciated the drugs with Spaz's birth ALOT more after last week. Silver lining for those who are debating between drugs or not- my recovery has been tremendously better. Not only did I feel better sooner after giving birth, but I healed faster and was able to walk around quicker. I did have to get a shot of pitocin and jabbed in the stomach a million times since Im a ginger. They told me they were afraid I was bleeding too much- something EVERY woman wants to hear- so she came in every fifteen minutes to "massage" my uterus. And by massage I mean dig into my stomach like she was searching for my spine. It felt great.

So for all those knocked up chicks out there, here is my advice for you:
1. If you know you want drugs, go into the hospital as soon as you think you are in labor. AKA when you need to stop and lean over during the peaks not to relieve pain but so you don't rip your baby daddy's testicles off. Or the flood gates open.

2. If you do want to go all natural during labor, then labor at home as long as possible. If you feel like your baby is going to fall out if you sneeze, then you need to get that hospital. Or in my case- if you start growling and baring down like a constipated yeti.

Baby W
20.5 in long
7 lbs 10 oz

 

 

2014

Its 2014! Im not usually one for new year resolutions and all that stereotypical stuff. But with all kind of new stuff going on, I thought- why not? I should be blogging more and keeping everyone up-to-date but I have been… well lazy. And fat.

So here are my resolutions for this new year.. my goals and wants for the new year of new motherhood, wifehood, and studenthood.

Losing 50+ pounds of this baby weight. Hey I lost it with Spaz, why not now? I waited almost 9 months to start losing the baby weight with my first, but this time I plan on getting back on the treadmill horse and kicking it into gear as soon as I get the thumbs up from Michelle, my doctor. This pregnancy has been a huge one for me. I have already passed the weight I was when I GAVE BIRTH to Spaz. It didn't help when the nutritionalist from the health department called me heavy and told me that my weight gain was concerning. In my defense I am still healthy as a horse. I have low blood pressure still from when I was a running before this pregnancy, and all my testing for diabetes and proteins have come back normal every visit. I just like my cupcakes. So for this weight loss adventure- I will keep you updated on how I will do it. I follow the blog Eat Yourself Skinny and LOVE this girl! Not only is she gorgeous, but she has amazing style that I obsess over and she has been using this system called Tone It Up with some more gorgeous babes. Since I will have two littles in the house and no mother living with me, Ill have less time to get to the gym as much as I did with Spaz. So I want to find something for at home that will really kick my ass- well more burn it off and throw it out the door. Hopefully I can get my sista from another mista (you know who you are) to come over and do this with me.

Becoming a more patient and calm mother. This one hits close to home for me. Parenting is really hard sometimes. And with the stress of school and and soon single parenthood for another year, my patience level can start to drop. I don't want that. My kids didn't ask to born to a military house, or to a mother in school full time, or to a dramatic mother for that matter. And every time I walk into Spaz's overpriced daycare, I see the sign that says.

Only you can decide what makes you angry.

Aint that the truth? It makes me think about how I react to things at home everyday. Especially with this pregnancy pressuring down on me. I have been feeling this impending doom or labor and pain coming my way and Im impatiently waiting to get it over with. Because of this and the upcoming departure of my Beast, I find myself getting more irritated with Spaz at the end of the day. Then feeling guilty more and more. This year I vow to practice calming techniques. Practice smiling more. Practice reminding myself that he's only 2 years old. Practice squeezing him (in an appropriate pressure level) more and kissing his cheeks everyday. And practice telling myself that I am a good mother. Even with the 35 eggs in my basket and all.

Become a better wife. This year I will become a better wife and military wife to my Beast. Pregnancy isn't fun for me. Im not one of the glowing, love my body, embrace the pain kind of women. Im just not. And I won't let anyone make me feel bad for that- especially those who haven't been pregnant because you have NO idea. But I will admit that I shouldn't be as hard on my husband as I can be with these hormones and my low self-esteem during these times in my life. I may be his fault I am getting fat everyday, but he also is giving me something that some cannot give when its what they want most. Even though Beast is going to be away from us for a year, I can practice and become a better wife for him to come home to. I will become more tolerant and more patient with him during these times of stress from work. I will enjoy more moments with him and encourage him to continue to be an amazing soldier. I will tell him more often he is a wonderful father. I will kiss him everyday and tell I'm I love him and thank him for being so good to me because there are too many out there that don't have this. And when he asks for a dog…. I will say no. Because he won't like the wife I will become after that.

Last but certainly not least, I will get into Nursing school. Period. Theres not questions about that. It will happen.

So heres to my birthday in a few days- and heres to you ALL praying I go into a healthy and quick labor SOON. None of this- you can wait a few more weeks so its on my birthday, crap. You are just being cruel. And you don't want to poke the bear at this point. For real- I'm bigger than a bear. Grr...

 

Terrible Twos

Terrible twos……… Lord give me strength and have mercy on my soul

Caution: Im going to note right now Im going to have a potty mouth. This isn't a post about the "joys" and "glow" of parenthood….

Anyone who's had kids are cringing at the reminder of this curse. They know exactly what I'm talking about. Except they don't start at two. OH NO. For my Spaz, they started when he turned 1. Literally on his birthday, he woke up and went from this….

Awww.. So sweet right?

to this….

I don't own this photo. Found it on Pinterest under "zombie toddler"

It probably doesn't help that I'm more hormonal than a knocked up cow during July. I was so hormonal today, I began crying in my car when I heard the song, "we wish you a merry christmas". However, hormones or not, this whole "terrible two" curse that every parent have just flat out SUCKS. Go ahead and hate me but Im going to be the honest parent and say that these times make me look at myself in the mirror and think WHAT THE HELL WAS I THINK HAVING KIDS. Thankfully my kid does something sweet to make me say- OK… Ill put up with you for another day.

Yet, I still find myself having Mother-of-the-year moments. Today when Spaz earned himself a time out, mommy's belly threw her balance off and accidentally smacked Spaz's head on the door frame. Needless to say I didn't put him on time out in fear he just thought I hit him on the head for being naughty. I felt awful. Yes. I cried. Don't worry, Grandma, he got lots of loving from me after that. But hey- he behaved for quite a while. But this is not an okay to go smack your kid's head on the wall when they piss you off.

Ahh… The terrible twos. The curse that causes your sweet angel to become a head twirling demon. The throwing of toys, slapping mommy, screaming at the top of his lungs, freaking out over wanting everything and nothing at the same time, not eating anything I make him, biting, and NOW saying "oh shit", would make the strongest of women sit in a closet and drink. Or in my case- eat frosting from the can.

I can't tell you how many times Iv finally snuck away and sat down to relax, and then I hear a scream, a bang from a toy being thrown, then an obnoxious think that sounds like. "mommy!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Hep You!!!!!!!!!!"- in Spaz language thats AKA Mommy help me I have done something that i could very well take care of myself but I can't reach over two inches and grab that car because my arms and legs are broken and if I reach for it I may die.  

Oh how about going to the bathroom alone? Whats that like? Or taking a shower with out someone banging on the door? Because God forbid I have some privacy to wipe my own ass.

So to some it up.

Dear Spaz,
It is your 18th birthday and you are now an adult. I want you to look in the mirror and thank God that you are here today and that I didn't strangle you or drop you off at the doorstep of a church to be exorcized when you were two years old. However, you were so damn cute to make up for the times you slapped me, bit me, and threw your toys because- hell, why not. You did have some great qualities to make up for the times you drove me so crazy I changed your name to Pain In My Ass. You were a very polite toddler, especially to strangers. You always said please and thank you. And after your time-outs you always hugged your mommy and said Sorry. You took very good care of mommy's belly and always gave me kisses good night along with your Love You's. You behaved in public (for the most part) and were very respectful to your teachers and peers. And even after your time-outs, you still loved me as much as I love you. Now please, move out. Go to college. Become very successful. Happy. Don't marry someone crazy. And put your mom and dad in a great retirement home with candy stripers, shirtless cabana boys, and endless prune juice. And when my memory starts to fade, and you tell me stories of growing up- skip the terrible twos.

Love,
Your mom who probably will get gray hair before 30 thanks to you and your brother.

At the end of the day, Spaz, I would never give you up or not want you. Your terrible twos are teaching me to be strong and patient for those screaming women in labor at work. I see what you're doing, buddy. Thanks