10 Things I Hate About You

There’s not a day that goes by where I don’t think about you.

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t hate myself a little bit because of it…

Still to this day, I’m unable to figure out which kind of crazy you are.

Sure, we all have our hang-ups, our “issues”, our problems…but when it comes to you, I’ve seen so many different people. I never know who to believe. Do I believe that they are all you? Like that quote that states something along the lines of, “When a person shows you who they are, believe them.”. It’d be sooo sooooo much easier if you could wear specific articles of clothing when you turn into different personas. Like, if you’re gonna go into a rage, please, PLEASE wear a red hat, so I know to get me and the littles far, far away until you’re ready to reason rationally again… If you’re gonna turn into a lying fucktard, please, in the very least, share with me a code phrase(something along the lines of, “I’m about to lie.” so there is no guessing on my behalf)…that or ya know, wear something extra flamboyant.

I just don’t “get” you, and I really wish I did.

Watching you smile into your phone, being attached to your newest possible fling…killed me. Not because I don’t want you to be happy…not because I feel ownership of you…but because of our past and the fact we’ve never done anything to heal the wounds that were made, and then the words and caresses you still use with me. As if I meant more to you than how you choose to describe me to others. They are still there, those wounds. Painful and inflicted, and pulsing brightly.

I bawled when you left to go dancing days after I had (y)our newest baby. Not because I didn’t want you to go out and have fun…but because I hadn’t even gotten a hug, a “Thank you for carrying and birthing my baby.”, a “You did amazing.”. Instead, you left our toddler for me to “care” for the 2 days immediately after I gave birth. I cried a lot in those 2 days. Yes, partially because of my drop in hormones, but mostly because I was tired and you and I were so disconnected.

You stepped up and helped out after that… and you did a really great job for the most part. I was pleasantly surprised. Your words and demeanor changed for the better towards our toddler. I’m not sure if you realized how your lack of patience was effecting our son, or if you were just overly aware of how I was watching you.

When it comes to you and me and boundaries, well, we’re fucked. Well…we did fuck…a lot.

Even up until I had Lil Miss. I don’t want to anymore… I’ve said this time and time and time again.

You’re physically beautiful. If I had trust with you, you’d have so much more of me. So.much.more. Instead, you’re left having conversations with yourself. You’re left initiating everything. Rarely, do I respond or if I do, it’s kind of half-assedly.

Sex is amazing. If there were such a thing as God, than sex would definitely bring you(/me) closer to said God. But, I need to be closer to God with someone else…

I’m ready to trust the person I decide to “be with”.

And also, I’d TOTALLY be lying if I said I didn’t miss all the biting/passionate kissing/scratching/hair pulling… It’s been waaay too many moons since I’ve seen any of that glory. =/

Current Thoughts

Fact: I have to move out of this home by August 1st.
Question: Where to?

Fact: I will be giving birth sometime in the next 4 months.
Question: Who will be my labor support? Who will be my post-labor support?

Fact: Bella wants to live in the country.
Question: How can I make this possible and still have emotional/mental/physical support?

Fact: Skylar’s father claims he wants us to move near him or his family or he wont pay child support without going for 50/50 parental rights.
Question: Can he actually do that without a history of being present emotionally or physically for his son? Ex: Several no-call, no shows, and questions about his son’s welfare are VERY rarely ever asked. I’ve requested a scheduled time for visits(and child support), but was denied. He goes over a month on a regular basis without seeing his son, and he only lives 45 minutes away.

Fact: I have enough money to get an older used car, and then I’m basically broke.
Question: Should I rather not spend that money? Should I save what I have for the “what-ifs”? Skylar’s father is currently ignoring my request for a serious conversation, so I’m going off of what I have/know.

Fact: Bella’s father would like to be involved in her day-to-day life.
Question: Would he ACTUALLY be that involved if I were to move near him?

Fact: I want to DO something, but I currently feel stuck.
Question: What would make me feel unstuck? *Financial security. *Support team to help me and babies.

Raging Hormones and Assholes Should Not Be Mixed

or stirred for that matter…  *ba dum chh*

Maaaaaan, oh man.  It’s been a loooooooong time.  Too long.  Way too long.

I’ve debated on starting a whole new blog.  One that I don’t plan on sharing with specific people, but ya know what?  Right now I’m saying “Fuck it !”.

I really wanted to start a pregnancy/single mom blog…but seeing as how I’m half way done with this here preggo nonsense, I think that’s probably a no-go, and maybe I’ll just stick with this familiar page.

In case you don’t want any negative vibes fuckin’ with you, get out of here right now.  I’m one pissed the fuck off ray of sunshine, and I’m gonna vent and rant til I see fit.

Fuck.my.baby.daddy.  I mean…that’s what got me into this mess…twice.

“I like to spend my time making things. Creating things. It’s an obsession, and I hope you share it. Not that I don’t mind kicking back and doing nothing (or grammatical double negatives for that matter, which serendipitously often tend to imply the way I really feel…), but at the end of the day, I like to feel I’m plugged in and part of something bigger.” ~ Baby Daddy

Gotta love my soon to be childrens’ deadbeat dad who will take the time to attempt to woo other ladies(and sometimes men) on dating websites rather than put forth any kind of an actual effort to have/maintain relationships with the people already within his life.  Let’s see, it’s been 2 weeks since he asked to see his son(he chose not to come…), and 4 weeks, 2 days since he’s actually seen him.  He lives 21.6 miles away, and without traffic, lives about 40 minutes away.  If you’ve read some of my other diary/blog posts, you know baby daddy and I have quite the history.  He’s treated me like shit, and for some reason, I keep trying to pretend like it’ll magically stop.  I’m stupid.  Seriously, who the hell does this to their self repeatedly.  This takes me back to my mom staying with my dad.  Religious dogma refusing to be unbred? Bah, I digress.  Anywho, so we don’t actually live that far from baby daddy.  I moved back to the area thinking it was to let my son bond with his father.  The thing is, there is no bonding.  Well, I guess sometimes there is, but when you see a (very young) child so sporadically, well, there isn’t exactly any relationship formed.  My son cried hysterically on his birthday.  Granted, he was going through a bit of a “stranger danger(anxiety)” phase, and could have used a nap(but as a single parent, there was no way in hell I could time that in along with the homemade pizza for guests and a shower).  In the presence of his very own dad and brother, my son saw strangers.  *My son now see strangers and makes googly eyes at them and shines his famous dimples at them.  We’re over the high anxiety phase.*  Do you know how sad it made(makes) my heart to know my son had no idea who his own father was?  We’d been in town 4 1/2 months at the time of his 1st birthday.  And as soon as we went upstairs, my son gladly accepted loving comfort from a male housemate…

My son’s father next to never asks about him…  Even when I tell him he’s sick…nothing.  I normally have to wait hours, days, and weeks to get any kind of response from him.  It’d be alright if I didn’t know his phone was normally on him at all times, glued to him and checked repeatedly throughout the day.  So, it’s alright for him to respond to his other friends while at my house but he can’t take the time to respond to ME for days at a time,  And this can be when we’re “getting along” great.  Which, truthfully, I need to admit and finally believe, is when he’s feeling lonely/horny.

This mother fucker just went on vacation, invited my family, and then took back the invite, because he didn’t think his 5 year old would be able to handle it.  His other son IS sensitive.  He’s literally a little genius, but pretty awkward socially.  He’s raised in a Chinese American household.  Anyway, I have a 5 year old high needs daughter who has impulse control/anger issues, and a baby…  Needless to say, the other boy is not used to either.  So instead, Baby Daddy invites me to house-sit for him so I can tend to his dogs and plants.  Yeah, he went there…  And then, he got mad and blew up at me after asking if i was upset by the situation.  So glad to know his other son will always be held in higher esteem.  Lucky for that beautiful boy, he’ll probably never have to know what it feels like to share his dad.

Eleven days.  It took me 11 days to invoke a response from him.  I bet you one million dollars that boy repeatedly checked up on his dogs, his work, and even his plants, but he couldn’t be bothered to ask about his son(who had an abscess in his mouth when he left and who also had just stopped taking antibiotics for a double ear infection), my daughter who was vomiting up blood 2 days before he left, the baby in my womb, or my health/well-being.  He was too busy with his other son and family, ya know, enjoying vacation…  So I wonder what his excuse will be when he attempts to right this specific situation and sees his son twice in one week, and then doesn’t again for 2 1/2-5…  I txted him to tell him I felt the baby move on the outside for the first time. I told him to stop being an asshole and to be happy/celebrate with me.  NOTHING.  I fucking got nothing.  Told him I scheduled the gender reveal ultrasound.  NOTHING.  This is what I deal with on a regular basis, and I’m sick and fucking tired of it.  I told him my landlord wants to sell my room…  That it was scheduled for me to have a sit-down with some of my housemates regarding my time-frame here this coming Tuesday night(technically later tonight).  NOTHING.  After an entire evening of being overwhelmed with single mama woes and his assholery, I cried and cried and cried some more.  I want a loving partner who will be there WITH me, rubbing my belly, my feet, someone who will love the life I’m creating and the other beauties I’m trying not to ruin in the meantime…  Someone who will dote on me and my needs and allow me to do the same in return.  He’ll never be that person.  He comes in for whatever he feels he needs and then runs far, far away until he can work us into his schedule once more.  I’d love to believe that moving closer to him would solve this dilemma, but with our record, I foresee the lack of physical distance between us…well, I foresee him using me/my home to have sex, see his children for brief amounts of time, and then I foresee him leaving his dogs with me to care for/after while he goes to work and to seek out other bands/chicks/activities.  He’ll choose to be angry and blame me for something…something like having emotions and feelings regarding something, and then he’ll stay away for weeks at a time.  I CANNOT DO/HAVE THAT WITH ANOTHER NEWBORN ON THE WAY.

I’ve tried telling him I need boundaries(but obviously I really, really suck at enforcing them…).  A set schedule made.  He has one with his other son.  Why can’t Skylar have the same?  I wouldn’t care if it were once every 2 weeks.  Sure, I’d have some kind of judgement, but it’d be something regular…  No, you may NOT have our son by yourself until you prove you’re a fit and stable father.  Every single time you see our son, you talk about how fat he is.  HE’S ONE YEAR OLD,  My daughter was a chunk and now is extremely thin, muscular and tall.  Even if he is on the beefy side later on, love him for him, and not who you’d rather he be.  Bah !

So yeah, moving nearer to my grandmother, in a rural area is sounding more and more fitting. Country life for the babies to rule/roam.  No gangs.  I’ll be able to regularly check-in/care for on my grandmother with dementia.  And I’ll have loving support in the form of life-long friends,  I’m thinking if I do make the move down south again, I’ll hire a live-in nanny to come help while I recuperate after having the newest bambino.  Baby Daddy will always be welcome to come.  I’ll give Baby Daddy 1 thing, he’s been financially providing,  Which is how my family currently survives,..  So, he HAS been contributing.  I hope he’s on board with my most current thoughts, and I can get him to put in writing that he’ll continue to financially provide.  Court is such a fucking hassle.  I’m just tired of being afraid of him not financially providing anymore if I don’t go along with his wishes, which last I knew, he wanted to purchase a home closer to him for us to live in.  Well, we literally have 20 weeks until the baby is supposed to be here.  What if Mouse is unlike my other 2 and decides to come early???  I want to be in a new home environment so I can get my other children well adjusted before the new baby arrives.  Aye.  So after I txtd Baby Daddy and told him I no longer thought moving closer to him would be beneficial(said I’d need loving support and he wasn’t able to emotionally provide for what I believe I need), he FINALLY responded !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  with: “Sorry, I’ll be back late tomorrow. Its been a busy vacation that for sure”.  That was 3 days ago…  zero effort to txt, call or see me or his son, since…but yet he gets on OKC to look for/talk to women who might potentially be his mate,  Fuck you, asshole.  Fuck you.

I’d Push The SH*T Out Of That Button !!!


If there were a “Punch Him In The Face Button”, I’d push it.

So fucking hard.

Over and over and over again.

Now while it feels good to type that out, I’m also lying.  I’d have to be one raging bitch, and I’ve never been there(angry enough to resort to violence).

Soooo, just when I thought things were getting better, I choose to be offended by things a certain someone says…

Now, I don’t think said person is trying to be a jackass.

But…well, that’s how he comes across(to me, of course…).

During my 8th month of pregnancy, I got pregnancy induced carpal tunnel syndrome.  Now just to clarify, this wasn’t “hand numbness caused by sitting on my ass too much and eating shitty foods too often”, which isn’t an exact quote, but definitely correctly paraphrased.  I was a single mother to an active 5 year old, and worked full time as a nanny to a beautiful little baby boy.  I was the opposite of lazy.  This isn’t to say I wasn’t tired.  I was ~ very tired.  I was actively creating a child inside of me.  Until you’ve done that or have actual empathy for those who have, shut the fuck up.

Carpal tunnel, especially pregnancy induced, has nothing to do with shitty foods or inadequate exercise.  Nooot to confuse that with me saying less of both of those wouldn’t have been beneficial to my health.  It would, as it would be for any one.  I was active before I got pregnant, during my pregnancy, and then you know what I did after birth?  Besides cry at every feeding because of pain and pure exhaustion, I was busy healing my body from growing a person inside of it.

My child is now 10 months old.  I haven’t seen a full night of sleep since I was in my 2nd trimester, while pregnant with my son.  I started waking up with excruciating pain, multiple times a night.  It got way worse immediately after I gave birth to my son.  I woke up several times a night every. single. night. for at least the next 2 months crying almost hysterically because of the pain in my hands.  Have you ever nursed a newborn every hour on the hour with hands that you wished you could cut off rather than endure the pain?  I refused anything stronger than an ibuprofen so I could nurse my newborn.  I. Did. That.  while you played chicken.  Don’t fucking judge me for being tired.  Hell yes, I’m tired.  I sleep in a contorted position every single night so that my healthy 10 month old can nurse when he’s thirsty/hungry/needs comforting.

Am I as active as I could be?  No.

Do I eat as healthy as I could?  No.

Now that that is out in the open where you wanted it to be, let’s talk about how it’s winter.  I’m also the exact weight that I was prior to having Skylar.  The magic number that everyone was so excited about for me, since I was incredibly active and toning up/slimming down.  My belly is fluffy.  I’ve had 2 babies, and unlike after my 1st child where I gained all my weight back (220lbs and I did not have carpal tunnel), I’ve lost it all and kept it off since having Skylar.  Diet and exercise can only go so far(I do realize it could go way further with this body.).  Genetics and atmosphere play a huge role.

Let’s also talk about how I am active.  Ever gotten a snowsuit on an infant that hates to put clothes on?  Exercise.  Ever gone up and down 3 flights of stairs on repeat on a daily basis with the other hand holding food/highchairs/5yr old accessories?  Exercise.  Ever nursed all day every day?  Exercise.  Ever attempted to keep a 5 year old entertained, clean, fed, teeth brushed, stories read, sanity kept ~ all while also entertaining an infant at the exact same time?  Mother fucking EXERCISE !  How about walking through a blizzard with a snowsuit clad baby JUST to get out of the house in the middle of winter?  Oh, your arms get tired while holding your son after a few minutes?  Excuse me while I hide a chuckle…

Just today, I had a friend email me to tell me he wished he could give me a massage and allow me a nap while he watched the kids.  Ya see, he gets it.  He just fucking gets it.

And while your Googling skills are pretty masterful…  I figured I’d help you out.  Go to Google and instead type in “pregnancy induced carpal tunnel” or even simply “carpal tunnel”.
When I was telling my friend who’s in nursing school how my hands still go numb.  She immediately thought I might have nerve damage.  If you’re attentive, you’ll see I still don’t hold my child with my hands, but support his weight with my arms, leaving my hands dangling so as to not aggravate the numbness feeling.  Nerve damage is not the same as “hand numbness”, and picking up your child aggravates the symptoms.  But you see, I wont stop doing that…and I’m the only one who’s here to do it.

Juuuuuust in case you weren’t aware, exercise can make the situation much, much worse.

The next time you wanna give me some advice, you may wanna sit on it long and hard, first.

I THINK I SEE NUMBER 2 !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

My birthing experience with Skylar was nothing short of amazing.

This is the tale of  how it all began…and with it ~ the great discovery I made tonight !!!  ♥

Bella had had a late night.  We were reading a bedtime story around 10pm when all of a sudden, liquid started gushing from my vagina.   How’s that for a colorful start?  ;)  I ran(well, to be completely honest, it truly was more of a waddle at this point…Although, I later found out from my last roommate that I still managed to maintain my supermodel gait.) to the bathroom where even more flowed from me.  I knew it was my water breaking.  I quickly showered and was incredibly grateful I’d purchased a 3 pack of adult diapers for the whole birthing process.  My roommate had told me I purchased it without reason, seeing as how the hospital would provide me with everything I needed.  Haha to you, (ex)roomie !  (That’s said in jest.  I love her to the moon and back.)  Ok, so me, my baby, my roomie, her baby, aaaand her baby daddy all rushed the gun a little bit.  I called the dr’s office as soon as I was outta the tub and assumed they’d have me come in asap.  I was wrong.  Hah.  So while I was waiting on a dr to call me back, we were all running around like chickens with our heads cut off preparing for the big hospital adventure.  After I got the call to stay home and wait for the contractions to start(with directions to go in the next morning if they hadn’t started), I decided to attempt sleep, knowing even in my excitement, this was the last bit of sleep I’d be getting for a looooong time.

Oh, I also texted my bestestest friend in the whole wide world, Larissa, and she hauled ass from 7+hrs away to join me !!!

Also, also, I broke down and texted my baby daddy to tell him my water’d broke.

Also, also, also, I texted my Reiki teacher and good friend(who was scheduled to be there for my birthing/moral support), Isabel, to let her know I’d be going into labor soon.  I knew she was just getting home from being labor support for another mutual friend who was coincidentally due the day before me, who also gave birth the day before me !  I told her to get some sleep, and I’d let her know when I needed her.

I’d gone in for a prenatal appointment earlier that day, on my delivery date, actually.  I was zilch, nada, nothin’.  The midwife talked to me about inducing(no way!!!) if I went much longer in my pregnancy.

Apparently, it’s pretty rare to have your amniotic fluid gush out of you before any contractions start.  I think I read only 10-12% of laboring mamas start labor this way.  Don’t quote me on that percentage.  I just remember it being very low.

We’ll thank the 2 walking trips to the store(earlier that evening and the night prior) carrying massively heavy(I mean a shit ton of weight.) grocery bags home by myself.  Well, I think Bella carried grapes home.  So, she helped…

My contractions started coming shortly after midnight.  They were 5 minutes or less apart.  They started getting pretty severe around 3am.  I texted Skylar’s father.  When he didn’t respond, I got reeeeeeally angry.  And sad.  We weren’t on good speaking terms.  All I could think about was he knew labor was scheduled to start soon, and he still wasn’t there for me.  He chose not to come over.  Even though I want to blame him fully for that.  I can’t.  I was a willing participant in the situation I co-created with him, and even though it hurt like a bitch that he wasn’t there, a large part of me didn’t want him there, because I couldn’t trust him with my vulnerable state.  I was going through hard labor, by myself.  My roommate was asleep with her toddler in the next bedroom.  I didn’t want to wake her.  My 5 year old was asleep on my bed.  All I wanted was be held and be able to be vocal about my physical pain.  I kept the moaning to a bare minimum for my daughter’s sake…

Without knowing anything about his situation, I assumed the worst, and thought he’d chosen to be with her rather than to keep me comforted during my labor.  I called him and woke him up from a sleeping stupor.  I ended up hanging up on him, because I was so upset with all of my rambling thoughts.  Thoughts of him lying there holding his love, peacefully sleeping.  Thoughts of the abandonment and lies.  Thoughts of how alone I felt during my contractions, while I was well on the way to having his son.

Anyway, he eventually pieced together that I was in hard labor and wanted him there.  I expressed how I wished he was there to press on my back during the back labor pains.  He came, and didn’t press on my back.  *aaaargh!!!!*  I know he wasn’t exactly comfortable with the whole situation, and by that, I mean any of it, but it was far too late for any of that…  I was having a baby.  His baby.

By the time we were ready to walk out of the door for the trip to the hospital, Larissa arrived !  She rode with us(She has a fear of driving in cities.), and Isabel got there right after I signed all the paperwork and got into a hospital gown.

Did I mention hard labor???  I got into my hospital room around 7am.  I had Skylar at 11:06am.  So in all actuality, I only labored for less than 12 hours !!!  That’s pretty remarkable in itself.  I hard-labored for about 5.  I had several hours of me wanting to punch everyone that looked at me or tried to talk to me…but that’s to be expected, right?  ;)  Skylar’s father, thankfully, watched Bella for me.  I remember thinking(several times) I’d just walk out of my hospital room to run away from the pain.  It hurt.  Like a bitch.  Like a whiny, screaming, little bitch.  Yeah, that’s what it felt like.  My nurse and midwife were pretty amazed that I was birthing naturally without an epidural.  I guess it’s pretty rare to see a woman do it by choice now-a-days…

Isabel and Larissa were in and out during my hard laboring.  I never expressed not wanting Skylar’s father to be around for it, but I certainly wasn’t going to be the one to invite him in, either.  He’d told me how he didn’t have a desire to watch his other son be born(as in outta the vagina...) nor a desire to cut his umbilical cord.  I knew I had a better support team than that available to me for this birth.  In all honesty, I couldn’t have had a better support team.  I had my Reiki teacher blessing me, loving me, encouraging me, my best friend being a smart ass and strangely quiet, and a kick ass nurse who knew *juuuuust the right spot to press during my back labor*.  She’d gone through 2 of her own natural births, so when I asked her to remind me why the fuck I was doing this without medicine, she was there to give me the right answers.  I was scared when they wanted to “check” me(check my cervix for dilation).  I kept remembering how long and horrible Bella’s labor had been.  I was sooooo incredibly afraid that my body would not do its job properly.  Afraid I was going through all that I had gone through with the many, many hours of hard labor without fruition as I had with Bella’s (beautiful) birth.   When my cervix refused to go beyond 4 cm after 20 hours of hard labor.  I was afraid, but mostly, I was in. pain.  I kept moaning, “This huuuuuuuurts.  This fucking huuuuuurts.” and my doctor and nurse would be like, “Yup.  It sure does.  It’s supposed to.  Now stop tightening your back, and let your muscles relax.” and my best friends would have a chuckle over it, and I’d once again want to punch everyone in the room.

In case you didn’t get the memo, I am NOT a violent person.  I avoid drama, even verbal altercations, like it’s the plague.  For me, it kinda is.  It brings back all kinds of childhood memories I’d rather just forget about.  Labor turned me into someone I’ve never been before.  And I’m not gonna lie, I kinda like it.

It’s pretty fucking cool.

(Sorry, I guess I really like the word “fucking”.  It’s one of those “cool”, adult, words I can use after the babies are asleep.)

Looking back.  I was pretty bad ass.  And my cervix WAS dilating.  Beautifully.

I pushed all 8 pounds, 9 ounces, 21 1/2 inches of Skylar Phoenix out of me in less than 30 minutes !  Hell yes, I am PROUD !  “I am woman.  Hear me roar !”  ;)

I chose to have delayed cord cutting(please check out the benefits, if you’re unfamiliar), and as soon as he was out of my vagina(the dear midwife tried to get me to feel him as he was crowning, but I was waaay too intent on getting him out of me…), he was on me, given to me, handed over, and against my chest, nursing.  It was beautiful, divine, heavenly, and all the other god-like adjectives you can give to this situation.  I was his lifeline and he, my beautiful prince who’d just spent the last 9 months cramped in my belly.


Larissa cried and was overwhelmed by my strength(which made me feel all kinds of awesome-thanks, Riss).  Isabel cut Skylar’s umbilical cord.

The entire way to our next hospital room(there are birthing rooms and rooms you get moved to after…), he was nursing, and humming aloud on his outtake breaths.  Isabel and I found it calming and beautiful.  Our highly educated nurse found it disturbing(We totally trusted her knowledge !  She was loving and kind.).  I guess it was fairly rare.  She was afraid he had stuff in his lungs, so she listened intently once we got to our new room.  He appeared to be ok.

The pediatrician said Sky had a heart murmur, but by the next day, it was magically *gone*.  It could have been birthing muck lodged in his lungs.  It’s a long, grueling, dirty process.  ;)  I, myself, was born with a heart murmur.  The pediatrician also told me Skylar was born with undescended testicles.  This brought me down a notch from my fairyland, fantasy world.  I was all by myself, nursing my sweet newborn when I heard the news.  She was also very adamant about giving Skylar the hep b vaccine.  She didn’t like that I had him in the same hospital bed as me(co-sleeping).  She and I were nooot on the same page at all.

Did  mention I was by myself?  It sucked…  I knew where my vagina had been, and had had all the blood tests done that the hospitals require.  I stood up for my rights, and I mentioned, “Isn’t hepatitis b transferred via blood born diseases?”.  She went on to tell me that there are drug users in Chicago, and what if my son found a needle at a public park…?!?!

*Ahem*  “What if…?”  Yes, moving on…

[Just in case there are pregnant mamas or daddys to be glancing upon this blog, I also suggest you investigate yourself the vit k shot, eye drops, circumcision, and whether or not to bathe(chemicals in the soaps…) your child immediately after birth.  Also, placenta encapsulation.]


Hoooooly Bajeesus, was he ever beautiful?!?!  YES, yes, he was.  And then some…

Unfortunately, Skylar’s father decided he didn’t have the same connection that he’d had with his previous son, and he felt Skylar didn’t look like him…  So, he decided he wasn’t going to sign the voluntary acknowledgement of paternity papers.  He asked me where I got the papers, and tried telling everyone I got these papers from a lawyer or insinuated the hospital didn’t give them to me.  He went on to tell me that he didn’t have to sign anything like it for D, which is NOT accurate, because it’s been law since 1999, and he wasn’t married to D’s mother.  There are huge differences between D and Skylar’s births.  Mostly, he was there for D’s mother.  He was around ~ a part of the picture.  He had a sense of control and comfort.  He didn’t have that with me.  So, our baby didn’t officially get a father at birth, and the baby had to take my name.  Not a huge deal, but really, a huge deal.  The baby’s father insinuated I’d slept with others or that I didn’t really have a clue about who’d father’d my child…or he didn’t believe what I said.  He kept saying stuff like, “Ok, now you can tell me, I wont get mad.  Did you have sex with anyone else?”.  No, motherfucker.  Would you like me to Google that shit so I can express it to you in another language?  NO means NO !!!!!!!!!!!!!!  He later went on to say he believed I conceived immaculately…  Yeah, let that sink in.

Sooooo, it mother truckin’ sucked.  My beautiful babe looked like his paternal grandfather at birth, and still to this day has his daddy’s adorable feet/toes(which he still adamantly denies), sleepy eyes, and quizzical expression from time to time…

I told him to leave.  No if, ands, or buts.  I was PISSED.  He was too scared and didn’t want to claim his own son.  3 1/2 months later, the paternity test revealed to him with 99.9999999…% accuracy that he WAS the father…so there’s that.

The last month of my pregnancy, I got pregnancy induced carpal tunnel.  For most women, it goes away immediately after birth with the loss of all the fluids.  Mine stuck around for the next 3 months or so.  It hurt me so bad, that I woke up crying every few hours.  I had to take pain medicine, not because of my natural birth(oh yeah, I tore, so I had to be sewn up “down there”),  but because it hurt to move my hands.  Nursing was ridiculously hard to do with hands that I wanted to cut off…  My best friend was amazing and watched my 5 year old for the next several days.  Can we all say together now, “GODSEND !“.  My roomie also helped watch Bella while my body was busy recuperating and so that the baby and I could bond.  I’m not going to lie, Bella spent the next 2+ months in front of the tv.  It is what it is.  I was(and still am, sometimes…) tired.  No, exhausted.  Probably clinically.  I didn’t have anyone to help me with the baby.  I’ve been away from him 3 times – like ever, and I’ve had yet to have an entire night of sleep(although my mommy boobs would be sure to hate me).  I ended up getting mastitis the first month after giving birth.  Skylar’s father being present in our lives would have gone a long fucking way.

It is what it is, and I know I have to make peace with the past in order to learn to make peace with the present.  I’ve not been able to let go of expectations or judgments(I mean – it’s pretty fucking obvious…).  I know my situation(s) and the world I live in can be anything I paint it to be.  I feel wounded.  I’m choosing to feel wounded.  Just like I can choose to feel blessed and fulfilled(which I definitely feel!).  I’m working on it…

It’s close to 10 months after the birth of Skylar, and while I’m still raising my babies by myself, I am now in a secure home with great people surrounding us.  I am no longer “alone”.  I’ll end this with my happy discovery of night before last:

I’m workin’ on a blog about the birthing experience I had with Skylar’s labor…but I’ve got some really amazing news. I’m pretty sure his 2nd testicle has dropped. Sounds pretty weird for a FB status, I realize. 

Right after Skylar was born, this pediatrician came in to tell me my son was born with a heart murmur and that he had undescended testicles.

I was all alone, had just had a natural labor, had carpal tunnel causing me excruciating pain(so bad that it caused me tears to hold my newborn), and was reeling from all of the (loss of) hormones. I was pretty devastated. But by the next day, the pediatrician told me his heart murmur was gone. (Yay !) She told me I still needed to look into doing immediate ultrasounds and talked to me about finding a urologist to do possible surgery on my son to bring his testes down.

I researched the hell out of it all, and decided to let nature take its course, and if they hadn’t dropped naturally by the time he turned 1, I’d take him to a specialist to help us figure out the best course of action. Just so you’re aware, over 50% drop naturally by the baby’s 9th month. Also, if the baby’s testes don’t descend naturally, it can get to be too hot in their bodies and cause damage to the organs. I didn’t even know if he was born with them…

Back in October, his first dropped, and I’m pretty sure his 2nd was coming down to play tonight.  Skylar just kept laughing at me while I was trying to feel around. He’s the most ticklish baby ever.


The End.

Synchronicity ~ Gift of God

Once upon a time ago(I’m pretty sure I started my last blog out like this.  Whoops.),

I worked at a cafe.

A crepe cafe.  I got the job the first week I moved to the big city(of Chicago).

Heh, that’s not the only thing that happened the first week I moved to the city (I also got knocked up.)…

Anywho, my job was easy and routine, and only lasted a month.  2 months, tops.

Not only did I get a newer, way better job, but the day after I put in my 2 weeks notice, I found out the cafe was crashing and burning and closing immediately.  Talk about synchronicity.

Anyway, one of the last days the cafe was open, a man came in.  A tall, handsome man, in a Trader Joe’s T-shirt with a name tag that read “Ted”.  He was with a tall, slender, young girl who acted with such a familiarity with him, that I assumed her to be his daughter.  I remember trying to guess her ethnicity(all in my head…  I guessed part Hawaiian.).  I remember the experience, because he was ridiculously cute, and he appeared to be stumbling over his words because of an attraction to me.  Now, it would have been purely physical, mind you.  We’d just met.  I was in my normal Crepe’s a Latte T-shirt, visor, apron and pants.  I do remember that day, for whatever reason, I actually put forth an effort to look decent…  So I was wearing purple eyeliner and had my hair in a braid that I threw off to one side.  He tried to chit-chat with me, all the while, completely unable to look me in the eyes.  My mind was pulling a blank on a way to  lengthen the conversation.  He told me he went bowling across the street often and that he came into the cafe on the weekends, sometimes.

After he left, I could not get him out of my head.  I walked to Trader Joe’s on my way home that night ~ hoping to catch a glimpse of Mr. Ted.  Negative.

I attempted to internet stalk Mr. Ted.  Looking for his face on OKC, and putting in specific words on FB.  Again, negative.

And then Crepes a Latte closed, and that was the end of that, right???

Well, fast-forward 17-ish months to dinner tonight.

Low and behold, Mr. Ted showed up for dinner at my table.

I didn’t realize it was him until after grace was said and after I’d enjoyed most of my plate.  And then it dawned on me while he was making conversation with someone else.  His brother, who’d invited him, is my friend and housemate.  Effin’ crazy…  He said he worked at Trader Joe’s.  I stared at him, and knew.  I’m incredibly good with faces, so I repeated the shorthanded version of him coming in that one time(ya know, minus the nervous, flirtatious energy).  He wasn’t tongue-tied tonight, and he made a comment like, “Yeah, I think I may remember you.”.  I didn’t remember his name until I asked right before his departure, and then it clicked(along with the internet stalking remembrance…).

This is all…funny.  Funny in a way that this is THE smallest, huge city.  Funny in the way that life is incredibly beautiful and FULL of synchronicities.  Funny in the way that it makes me smile when I look back and remember the way I felt knowing someone was innocently attracted to me.

Now, I have NO way of knowing(right now...) if he was single.  I’ve no way of actually knowing if he found me attractive, or if he was that startled by my physical beauty(I don’t know that that’s ever happened…).  He was married(Ummm, I mean I didn’t internet stalk him successfully tonight…), and he may, still very well be married.  Or, he could be courting someone right now.  Or, why the hell am I even wondering if he’s in a relationship ?!?!

I (kinda) feel like I’m cheating on my housemate with his brother.  (I assure you, our relationship has been beautifully platonic.)

So yeah…I just Googled the origin and meaning of the name Ted.

Apparently, it’s Greek origin, short for Theodore.

Meaning: “Gift of God“.


I woke up from a delightfully delicious dream…to a rooting 9 1/2 month old.  


I tried to go back there(to racy dreamland).  Aaas weird as that sounds…

Yes, I’d be multi-tasking.  But nursing is not sexual.  It just ~ is.

Anyway, I’ve not had a dream like that in awhile, and it’s been…ha !  Exactly 1 month( just glanced at the date…) since I’ve gotten any.  

To be completely honest, the dream is probably just a result of my hormones.  Aunt Flow just left, so I’m probably getting closer to ovulation.

Also, it’s the Super moon tonight.  A super new moon.

According to Kelly Rosano, http://www.kelleyrosano.com/blog/ :

A new cycle is beginning for you. The Aquarius New Moon can empower you to move in a bold direction. You may break free from bad habits and relationships. You could awaken to your divine destiny. You are no longer distracted by fear and doubt. You are ready to be who you were born to be. You are prepared to stand in your divine power and shine your light. This energy promotes your creative self-expression…”

According to dreammoods.com :

“To dream that you are giving or receiving oral sex signifies your willingness to give or receive pleasure/joy. It is symbolic of your creative energy and reaffirms that you are headed in the right direction in life. The dream may also be a pun on “talking about sex.” Perhaps, you need to communicate with your mate about your sexual needs and desires. Or you are acting out your sexual wishes.”

So there’s that…

I could…

Ya know, get some.


And right now, I kinda want some.  And by kinda, I mean, a lotta.  

But it’d be a temporary high.  There’d be hugs, closeness, maybe some help with the babies, and ya know, penis in the vagina action.

And it’d be great(no, really), and I’d be able to separate my feelings and emotions from the very act of just participating in physical intimacy.

I could…and if my vagina continues to scream at me…then it’s possible I’ll reach out.

Buuut, it’d be STUPID.

Ridiculously, ridiculously stupid.

There’s sex positive ~ and then, there’s us.

And we’re in a whole new category all by itself…

Happy Birthday, Dogie Fanno


Once upon a time ago, I was newly 2, and my mama had another rugrat.  He was named was Logan Nathaniel McMahon aka Dogie Fanno(early Miranda-speak).  I also called him dodo butt(pray tell, whhhhhhy?!), bubby, and an assortment of colorful words when we didn’t get along…which was often.  We were basically like cats and dogs.  It’s all fun and games prancing after one another, sniffing each other’s butts, until someone steps a lil too close into the personal bubble, and then it’s like BAM ! I’ll show you my teeth !  And claws.  And growls…and it might take take some time before I’m purring again, and he’s sleeping peacefully all woofed out.

Ok, I’m done with the analogies(for now).  ;)  but that’s basically us.  We’re so different, but similar in a lot of ways, that we just step on each other’s feet(all clumsily and heavy footed).

One of my very earliest memories is Dad carrying you(you were a fresh, tiiiiiiiiiiiny newborn !!!) and me being right next to you both, walking up to a window outside of a hospital.  I’m assuming this is when mom almost died after she gave birth to you.  Man, I wish she were here now.  I’m sure I’m butchering this story.  Hell, you could have been a little older, but I know you were a baby.  And I definitely remember being brought to a window to see Mommy.  She was really sick, and we weren’t allowed in.  Anyway, yeah ~ I remember that !

Mom used to tell me I would rush to bring you your paci, bottle, toys, etc.  Apparently, I reeeeeally loved you.

I remember teaching you to spell simple words like “yes” and “no” and simple math.

We used to play Power Rangers.

I remember mom telling me the story of when you were 2 & 3 and you’d tell these amazingly detailed(and fabricated) stories. ~ such as the cockroaches being super huge and stealing some kind of food that you actually ate.

I remember mom telling the pigeon story.  You were little and riding your tric.  When all of a sudden you were COVERED in bird shit.  You were pointing up at the sky chanting, “No, no bir-dee(said with more of a “w” sound than an “r”) !  No foo-foo on me, bir-dee!”  Apparently an entire flock of pigeons decided to let loose on you at once.

You loved to run around naked.  As(s) soon as you’d get out of the bath, you’d make a break for it.  …right out the front door !

When I was 2 or 3, I’d go climb in the kitchen, steal bread off the fridge or out of the cabinet, and bring it back to our bedroom to share with you.  We’d leave a disaster of crumbs in your crib.  Mom would ask if I got the bread.  Of course not.  The baby did it…

Once when we were young, there was an earthquake(Helloooooo, California !) that happened in the middle of the night while we were sleeping over at Grandma June’s.  Mom woke up and freaked the eff out shouting at dad, “I have to get to the babies!!!!” over and over.  He basically had to slap the stupid out of her to remind her we weren’t there.

Our aunt and uncle got married again, and you taste tested their wedding cake befooooooore they cut it.  Dad was piiiiiissed !

I remember crying hysterically as an ambulance came for you when you had a seizure at our christian pre-k.  I remember the teachers trying to distract me with song time. “Peanuuuuuut, peanut butter, and jelly !”  That was before you started getting kicked out of like every pre-school…

I also remember having the ambulance called because mom thought you ate part of a popsicle stick.  That was scary, too.

It’s amazing Halfpint never died with the amount of chocolate you left out for her to consume every.single.holiday.  She was like 5 pounds sopping wet as a puppy ! (rat terrier runt of the litter)

“Doo doo doo caw-choo !!!”  You’re welcome.  Playing pretend that we were a family traveling in an RV on our bunk bed is one of my most favorite shared memories with you.

You pissing on me in your sleep and having it rain down on me in the middle of the night is one of my most horrid memories.

Before we moved to IL, we had this globe light fixture.  We were playing ball in the house.  We were NOT supposed to play ball in the house…  I broke the glass covering and it sprayed eeeeeeverywhere.  I *aaaaalmost* had you convinced to take the blame for it.  I thought I was gonna get my ass beat for it, and surprisingly, mom was really chill about it.


Our sister, Ashley, came for a visit, and during one of your diaper changes,  she asked mom, “What’s wrong with his his extra toe?”.  Mom had another small freak-out session…until she realized she was referencing your other, other toe.  :)

We played on the same unisex baseball team(s).  I sucked.  You probably weren’t much better.

Dad had a horrible temper, and you were still so. fucking. stubborn. ~  One night, he was serving us some kind of crap out of a can, and he was threatening to take off his belt to beat us if we wouldn’t eat the canned mushrooms in it.  I gagged while taste testing.  I’m pretty sure you just bellowed…and got a spankin’.


Haha, you’d always fight with me about when your berfday actually was.  Ok, Logan, your birthday can be on the last day of January if you prefer…

Also, I helped teach you to spell your middle name.  “Nathaniel” is a bitch for a youngin’ !

The only actual fight I’ve ever been in was in your defense.  Neither side won, but they didn’t fuck with us anymore.  Or maybe they did…  =/  I just really remember being pissed and standing up for you.  Fuckin’ bullies.


So…I love you, and ohhhh yeah, remember Phantom of the Opera at midnight, walking the streets of Vienna?!  Oh, hallucinogens…


Happy mother fucking birthday, baby brother.  Thanks for sharing part of your life with me.  <3

Baby Holdin’ While Poopin’


Ok, I added a new notch on the ol mommy belt tonight, ~ holding a baby while pooping.  

Now, now, you can pass out the awards later.  :p

I’m sure it sounds disgusting, and I have no real idea why I’m blogging about it, other than to amuse myself now…aaand maybe later when I eventually read it again…and to hopefully give you something to giggle about.  

So, as I’m sitting on the cold rim with my pjs around my ankles, ya know, doin’ my bidness, I’ve got my chunky monkey 9 month old standing on my thighs.  He’s up way past his bedtime.  Baby Dinosaur is teething.  And snotty…so it’s messing with his sleep schedule.  Anyway, I’ve got a naked, diaper clad baby happily smiling away.  He’s staring past me.  I’m just his tool to see things from a higher perspective.  He keeps looking towards the sink(trying to figure out what he can taste/grab), all the while quickly opening and closing his mouth in the sense that he’s pretending to speak, but no sounds or anything with volume escapes his mouth.

It was really flippin’ cute, and I fell in love with him, all. over. again.  

Have you done that lately?  Fallen in love.  I highly recommend it.

He kept reaching for my toothbrush(within grasping distance for him, just slightly above my head), and when I’d pull him away at the last moment, he’d get pissed !

I meeean…I wasn’t teasing him.  

I’m smiling about it all over again.  

He’s sleeping, now.

My sweet baby.  My little angel.

Last night when I snuggled his neck, he reeked of garlic.  Apparently, he chose to bathe with the garlic bread while eating it.  

Ya know, gotta master all of those sensory sensations at once.  ;)

I couldn’t even begin to imagine my life without him.  He’s taken my life by storm.  He’s his own little person at only 9 months old.  

My lil fire baby.  Beautiful, smiley, dimply.  He’s called Monkey Butt and Baby Dinosaur for a reason !  haha  God, I love him.

He’s amazing, and I’m so grateful to be sharing my life with him.  


In love

Bang Bang, Bitches


I was happily three-fourths into my second beer of the night, laughing my ass off at a comedy on the television in front of me(if you’d like a movie suggestion, “Horrible Bosses” is where it’s at), sharing space with 3 other beautiful people.  One was peacefully slumbering on, half on the couch, with his lower half haphazardly sprawled across the ottoman.  His beautiful wife was perched at the opposite end of the couch I was laying on, intently keeping track of the comedy, while intermittently helping me in the chorus of laughter our 3rd housemate invoked out of us.

He(our 3rd companion) felt…jolly.  ;)

Suddenly, there was a noise heard from outside that caused me to literally slide until I was almost completely horizontal with the floor.  I pooled slowly and with little thought other than becoming one with the floor.  I was scared.

“*bang bang bang bang*

*bang bang bang*


1, 2, 3, 4,

5, 6, 7,

8.  Was that 8???
Sleepy was no longer interested in catching up with his Zzz’s.  “Yeah, that was 8.”, he said.

While I was busy trying to become nonexistent while lying on the floor with my head still propped up on the couch, my housemate who’d previously been intent with watching our comedy, sprung to action calling our local police department to report a “Gray hooded, young Hispanic man headed *insert whatever direction here. I’m horrible with geography, and apparently I’m also horrible at retelling tales.*.”.  I slowly became unthawed and less scared as it sunk in that the gun shots were over, and the suspect had fled.

I went and checked my babies.  Still safe and secure and sleeping soundly.

Whoa.  What an end to an eventful day, an eventful week.

The past couple of weeks have felt pretty heavy to me.  Many of my loved ones have lost their loved ones ~ brothers, grandfathers, friends, the unborn, fathers.  Anniversaries of those who’ve passed on have also come and gone these past few weeks.  I know(feel/assume) death is only a transition of energy, and that death unites friends and family, but it also brings with it sadness and a sense of loss.

Yesterday, Bella and I went to visit a friend of mine.  The poor thing slipped on the ice, fell, and landed hardest on his FACE.  He ended up in urgent care with a shiner(and boy is it a shiner!) and a concussion.  =(  He had to be woken up every 2 hours last night to make sure his noggin’ was ok.

Before we went and visited with my friend, we dropped an overdue library dvd off, and walked the few blocks to the bus stop.  On the way, we passed this window with what I assumed was supposed to be Archangel Michael(half naked, fit, winged man with a sword).  I mentioned it to Bella, and she was all kinds of fixated on it.  I really connect with the idea or energy of Archangel Michael.  I find a lot of strength in what he represents.  It was comforting to come across.

I’m a weirdo who sees number sequences, and I keep seeing the numbers 3 and 5 together.  A long time ago, I decided to stop worrying about what the numbers meant(if you attempt to look it up, everything contradicts).  I kinda take them as universal messages or nods to pay attention and be aware. This past week, it’s been really flippin’ strong(seeing number sequences).  Every single time I look at a clock or walk into a room, it’s coincidentally on a master number.  The numbers normally come when some kind of big transition in my life is gonna happen. And even with all of this death and transition around me, I can’t help but feel one more is going to hit really close to home.  “3’s and 5’s, such as 353 or 335 – The ascended masters want to prepare you for a big life change that is imminent. They want you to know that they are holding your hand through this change and that everything will be alright. Embrace the change, and look for the blessing within it.” That’s from an angel “channeler” Doreen Virtue at http://spiritlibrary.com/doreen-virtue/number-sequences-from-the-angels .  I don’t ask any one to believe what she has to say.  It’s just something I chose to follow a couple of years back for simplicity’s sake.

So yeah, with the gun shots, a shit ton of thoughts flooded into my head.  Feel free to attempt to follow the rambles that were something along the lines of, “Why???  Who is shooting at who?  What’s the point?  I’m scared.  So much violence.  I hope no one is hurt.  Are my babies ok?  How can we stop this?  How can we bring about good change?  What would happen if one of my loved ones were lost in this way?  What if I were lost to this physical world in this way?  Is this what the 3s & 5s mean?  Thank you angels, friends, loved ones, ascended masters, god/goddess(s), ancestors for helping to keep this family safe from stray bullets. (I’m sure I’d have been saying a much different prayer had a stray bullet hit elsewhere…)”.

I’d seen a homeless man on the subway with a big gash open(but healing) on his hand.  I noticed it because he was trying to keep his hands warm on a very frigid evening.  I prayed for him, sent him love and hoped that he had a pair of gloves.  Looking back, maybe I should have given him my gloves…yes, they were keeping my hands warm, but I know I could have replaced them.  Maybe with much easier capacity than this fellow I shared a ride with.  A housemate who was looking at me with compassion as I recited my story, said, “Yeah, but prayer only goes so far.”.  I agree and disagree with that statement, but it definitely caused me to think and think hard about what he’d said.  So for that, I’m entirely grateful.

I can pray, chant, sing and give Reiki.  I can set the flow in motion.  I can set intention, but am I really doing anything if I’m still sitting on my behind watching from behind my ice frozen windows?  I believe there are many different types of people.  Those with thoughts and ideas and those who are the go getters who get shit done.  There are a shit ton more “types” of people, and we can sit here all day long labeling us all.  But really, what good will that do us if we’re not working together for a common cause…a good cause…a loving cause…

I want to commit myself to my community in one way, shape or another.  I also know I’m horrible with follow through.  Are there any other fellow Chicago-ans or even other people from other cities willing to help me do something?  Anything, really.  Let’s converse.  Let’s bring awareness to the people who’ve not been as fortunate as us.  I’d love to bring a smile, laughter, food, and/or music to those in need.  Sometimes a hug and a listening ear is all that someone really needs.

Let’s share some love.  <3