Woohoo!!!
Pityyyyyy Partaaaaay!!!

woo

hoo

So, the credit card bill from Christmas shopping and baby supply shopping and final clearance maternity clothes shopping and and and and

Well, it was here last month and some of it was here in December. And, we put everything on our credit card because "we pay it off each month and it earns us points toward the very valuable and important and precious hunting addiction supplies and some great shoes and sweaters and Gore-Tex coats".

except I didn't.

Pay it off, that is.

I did make some substantial payments toward it, but OMG, the way this family consumes unnecessary things like milk and toilet paper and soap and diapers and formula too (because Lucky is a bottomless pit. bottomLESS, I say) and the car insurance and DirecTV and a few other things automatically get paid by the credit card. So, the balance is not going down.

It's not going UP either.

very much at least.

Well, The Mighty Hunter was given the news yesterday and the Great Money War began again after a tenuous cease-fire.

So, here's the damage.

I'm no longer handling money of any amount beyond pocket change.

pocket change = coins

I no longer have to pay the bills. I've hated and despised and loathed and hated that chore for years. I don't know why I've been the one to do it. But no more.

I have to consult with The Mighty Hunter before I make any purchases.

any = a coke

I have to submit receipts for every expense.

every = a coke

I have disappointed and hurt the Mighty Hunter and his confidence in me and his trust in me.

I can't begin to put into words the black pit of self-loathing and self-pity I'm in today.

He's not talking to me very much. He's forcing himself to answer my questions. He's not mad or yelling. He's through with that. It didn't change anything and he's through wasting his energy. He's civil. He's hurting and disappointed.

I'm responsible for that.

It breaks my heart to know I've done that to him.

Yet...


he still loves me.

his email back to me. Yes, I emailed him, because I'm chicken and it's the only way I can build the confidence to say that I need to hear that he loves me still...

"I will always love you. That’s something that will not change no mater what. It’s not something that I can turn on or off by your actions"



Party on, Gal.

Yes, I know that there are much worse things that I could be going through. There are much worse things that are going on in this world. This is just what I'm going through right now.

and it's really hard

really really hard





Not to be totally bipolar or anything, but...

Lucky's infant acne is not acne, its eczema. And that bottomless pit thing? Yeah, his weight gain is great.

Birth - 9 lbs
2 days old - 8 lb 2 oz
5 days old - can't remember
15 days old - 9.5 lbs
yesterday ( 1 month, 1 day old) - 11 lbs 14 oz

oink oink

bottomLESS PIT

I'm either very cool (kewl!) and have much of the hotty hot stylishness about me

OR

I'm olympic class stupid

Hold your applause to the end, please.

So...

Today, I returned some things to Sears and found some really cute things for Lucky to wear next fall/winter/spring when he should be approximately 12 months size. I even got a cutey little Christmas outfit for him with the sweetest black corduroy pants and an obnoxiously sweet snowman sweater and (don't tell The Mighty Hunter) a turtleneck. For $8.00. Wow. Someone should probably rescue my son from my genetic nerdiness.

Then I rushed home and fetched my borrowed Dirt Devil vacuum that had been emitting a stinky, hot rubber belt smell for months. (Who loans a vacuum out that stinks? I mean what kind of friend is that anyway? sheesh!) But that smell was wonderfully gone when I began vacuuming. Oh, and the belt that had been stinking? Well, it made the brush roller thingy spin. It did before it broke. Which was the source of the stinky, hot rubber belt smell of previous months. Yeah, so I fetched it and took it to the vacuum repair shop where they had a replacement belt for $3.

I'm excited that I'll be able to vacuum tomorrow. Yes, I'm insane. But my floors need sucking. Really, they do. vroom vroom suck suck. lots of suckiness, but the good CLEAN kind that removes allergens and dust and hairballs from my floor. Then I have an idea that is worth annoying the vacuum repair shop guy with another cell phone call.

me: I can replace the belt. It would take me probably 15 minutes. I'd probably skin my knuckles. The Mighty Hunter would insist on using a hammer. And we'd probably say some words we'd have to receive forgiveness for from Stinkerbell.

vacuum guy: yeah. It's not hard to replace.

me: But how long would it take YOU to do?

vacuum guy: 5 minutes maybe.

me: and how much would that cost me?

vacuum god: $3

me: do NOT leave without replacing my belt today. I desperately need to vacuum the dust and long-girly-hair-balls off my floor.

vacuum god: umm, ooooookaaaaaaaaaaayyyyy.

So, I get Stinkerbell from school and drop off the Dirt Devil and take her to singing lessons (Nee Nay Nah Noh Nuuuuuuu.)

I return to vacuum god's shop and pay the $6.24 for reviving the Dirt Devil. $6.24. Little does he know that I would have paid much MUCH more for his time and energy. Lots more. Like $8.67 for sure.

This part was just for fun and to brag on my RIGHTEOUS bargains of the day and amaze you with my Olympic class rambling skills.

and the gold medal for annoying writing style goes to....

So... I return to park on the street outside Stinkerbell's singing lessons. Lucky is STARVING. Call the Bad Mommy Police. He has never eaten in his entire 4-week life (Holy Lord. FOUR. WEEKS. Where did the time go?) He has already had 4 ounces of formula. What's a mommy to do? I can breast feed him.

Living in a very small Southern town. Parking on the street of the very small Southern town. Breastfeeding in my Mamamobile on the street in the very small Southern town. Covering up with Lucky's little car blanket to tiptoe around the sensitivities of the very small Southern town. And: I'm a little shy about showing the boobs to just any ol' body in my very small Southern town. I'm picky that way.

Yeah. So...

I'm covered up and Lucky is filling the bottomless pit that is his tummy. All is going well. I have plenty of time before singing lessons are over. Cover up side #1 and sit him up to burp.

UUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRPPP (an alphabet-burper in the making)

Lucky continues to fill tummy on side #2. He's now verrrrryyyy sleeeeeeepyyyyyy. Sit up to burp.

UUUURRRRRRRRRRPPP (sleepy baby, no burpy as big, ugh)

So, we snuggle for a good looong time. Yummy baby snuggle.

We have time to change his diaper before we sneak inside to listen through the door until end of class. The floor of the Mamamobile behind my seat is perfect for diaper changes. In the middle of unsnapping his little "Woof! Woof!" onesie, my cell phone rings. It's in the console - up front - still. Open front door again. Answer phone, step back to Lucky's position at sliding door.

What is that drafty feeling?

Put cell phone on shoulder because I'm the only person in the US without a bluetooth earpiece. My head is now cocked to the side and down a little.

What is that white flash I see underneath my neat, new black button-up, hang-to-dry, do-not-iron top? (that actually does NOT need ironing! no joke!)

(I also have it in white and MIGHT go back to buy it in chocolate and dark red too. Cuz I just love it!!! and it doesn't need ironing! Thank you Jesus!)

Now what was that white flash?

It's my bra.

My not-at-all-attractive-or-sexy-nursing-bra-from-6-years-ago-when-I-nursed-Stinkerbell-that-I-am-using-again-because-I-can't-find-one-that-I-like-any-better bra, and NO NURSING BRAS ARE PRETTY. PERIOD. They're all ugly. And I've tried several.

blech!

And I've been flashing myself on the street of my very small Southern town as everyone rushes home on a Friday afternoon, one block from the post office, at the corner of our main street and 3rd street, white under black.

So...

kewl or stupid?

I've been taking fashion lessons from Britney.

Except for the color pallate.

And the funky hat.
And the boob job.

**Sorry for all the extra spaces. Dang Blogger wasteful spaces.

Random thoughts of a Mommy who is not adjusting so very well to staying at home so DANG much and is watching waaaaaaaay too much TV and feels OBLIGATED to share it with the vast nothing that reads my blog - or to the LURKERS who NEVER comment. I know you're there. I see you coming and going. If we could only get on speaking terms!

or

How many links can I put in this post?



1. I don't like Obama. For a lot of reasons, but my favorite reason is his name is too much like OSAMA and I really don't like OSAMA.


I'm working on a conspiracy theory here. Or I'm paranoidy nutso. But, THAT'S a whole-nother post.

Now.... Stay with me... If you take the "B" out of Barack, it sounds like "Iraq". And if you change the "b" in Obama to "s", then you have Osama.

Barack Iraq
Obama Osama

anyone? anyone?

yeah. Big conspiracy here. I just have to figure out the rest of it. And how Area 51 is involved. Cuz it's ALWAYS linked to the aliens.

And Elvis.



2. I don't like Hillary either. It has nothing to do with her name. I just happen to agree with Obama's mouthpiece, David Geffen. Preach it, brother!



3. I nibbled on Lucky's belly and thighs today. Yummmm. Fat babies. Mmm Mmm Good!



4. I desperately need a life. I know it. It became so very VERY apparent today as I posted on the forums at http://bigbadbabynames.com/forum/index.php


5. And how in the name of all that is Holy and Beautiful do I get rid of infant acne?

evil evil infant acne!

Except I just learned that it's not acne. It's eczema. Evil evil eczema, whose name I want to type with an "x" for some reason, but must leave my beautiful son's face at this moment.

And you use .05% hydrocortisone cream on it. And it takes a LONG time. And when you rub it on his little cheeks and chin, he tries to latch on to your finger tip and nurse.

And those UGLY little bumps looked like Dennis the Menace freckles before they started to clear up.

6. Back to politics for just a sec.

Are we as Americans so dang STUPID that we need the very rich, very self-serving, very self-righteous, very nutty celebrities to tell us how we should think and feel about topics - and my recent favorite - who (whom?) should get our votes?

Are we? I'm not! I find it ridiculous and sad that actors, models, directors and producers have the ability to hand-select their favorite pawn politician and put them into a position where they can have a powerful influence on our country and its government.

Do we, as individuals and voters, lack the confidence and decision-making skills to choose a political candidate on our friggin' own without asking David Geffen or Angelina Jolie or that tall guy from the Shawshank Redemption?

7. Today is Friday, March 9, 2007. I am 6 weeks 1 day postpartum. Lucky weighs 12 lbs PLUS. I lack 5 lbs to get back to my pre-pregnancy weight. I had my postpartum check today. I'm "anatomically" healed and released from physician care. woohoo!!!

8. My hormones, which have been pretty stable since Lucky's birth, went on a roller coaster ride yesterday. I cried about nothing. When The Mighty Hunter asked what was wrong, I cried more and told him to leave me alone. I seemed to be feeling better, so he asked if I was ok, which only made me start crying again. idiot. He ought to know that I want to be left alone until I'm ready for a hug. And when hug-time arrives, he'd better be standing with his arms outstretched, hands patting the air, missing only my body in the embrace! sheesh!

9. Our stinky farm dog has fleas and has gnawed the hair off his butt. It's sad.

10. The Mighty Hunter broke our digital camera earlier this week. It still works when you apply the high tech adhesive to hold the battery cover closed.

11. How can they KILL Capt America? Not that I've ever read the cartoon. But it's like killing Capt Earth!

12. The guy who dismembered his wife. Stephen Grant. Yeah. He doesn't look like someone who has lost touch with reality at all.

13. Barbie Bandits. She was all, "We're gonna rob a bank cuz my friend that like totally likes me, he works there and then we'll buy some really HOT clothes that show off my HOT teen bod and then I'm gonna like spend my money on like a really expensive but badly-done bleach job and look just like Barbie doll! And THEN, I'm gonna REALLY SPLURGE! I'm gonna eat dinner at the Cheesecake Factory. OMG! Cuz its like totally the most rockin yumm-o kewl place to like eat really expensive stuff like cheesecake and then, we're gonna totally fun from the law like those old women Thelma and Lucy in that old movie, cuz we like totally broke some big like royal laws or something. We totally ROCK! Now, like, lets get facials and some kewl make-overs - oh crap! the cops!"

14. I should do something else now. something productive. something that doesn't bore you.

15. Tee Ball starts up soon. Can't wait. Stinkerbell is 6 ways of excited about it.

16. Have a good weekend.

Do they have a place at Gitmo for newborns?

Cuz my son's a traitor.

He has betrayed me.

Me. His mother. You'd think I'd get a little respect.

After all, I was the pregnant one. I was the one that puked my guts up and had the splitting migraines for 2 months. I was the one that got all those great pain meds! I was the one that waddled around with sciatica. I was the one that grew the brahma bull hump. I was the one that suffered from the constipation and diarrhea. I was the one that was told that you might 10 lbs! I was the one that needed the epidural to push you out of my patooty. I was the one that needed the stitches. I was the one that lost a lot of blood. I was the one that fainted and puked. Twice. All over the Labor/Delivery Suite. And the bathroom. And your Aunt Beboo. I was the one that had the OMG-take-your-breath-away-Wish-I'd-practiced-that-stupid-breathing afterpains. I was the one that had "retained matter" and developed an infection and had to go BACK. TO. THE. HOSPITAL. AGAIN!! for a D&C. I was the one that was nuts from the cabin fever. I'm the one with the sore nipples and leaking milk and wet clothes. In public. Unaware of it.

Ignorance prevents embarassment. It's just better to not know. At least until you get home.

And there you go, you traitor. You choose your DADDY to coo at first. He's the one that gets your first awake smile. He's the one that you listen to on the speakerphone and coo to AGAIN.



No love for Mommy.



I'm the one that gets to hold you the most. I'm the one that gets to snuggle close to you during the night. I'm the one that can silence your PITIFUL ANGRY cries just by holding you.



I'm the Mommy.



And you know it.





















Still, you're a traitor and I will remember it forever and will get my revenge by showing all your girlfriends the pictures of your naked butt and embarass you.




























That hairy crack is gross isn't it?

Bonus blog post...

It's not Howard or Larry or ZsaZsa's fake-prince, trophy hubby..


I'm the father of Anna Nicole's baby!!

Bury her.

Give the baby to some adoptive parents who will love her and help her recover from her methadone-baby detox.

Kick Howeird out of the country - Taiwan is good country for pimps.

Make Larry wash off his makeup.

Tell the "prince" to go change ZsaZsa's Depends.

Let's find someone else to Marilyn Monroe-ize to death.

Literally, to death.

Seriously, people. Let's get a life of our own. She was at best a beautiful, siliconed-up funny drunk. Now, she's gone.

It never was that interesting when she was alive. It's down-right sad and boring now that she's dead.