Monday, December 21, 2009
Saturday, December 19, 2009
Monday, December 7, 2009
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Sunday, November 15, 2009
i found out yesterday that the bacterial infection was twofold: i have a group b strep infection AND an e coli infection. wtf. seriously? thank you body for being awesome and keeping me going up to this point.
i'm taking strong antibiotics, and the dr says i should feel better in 2 weeks. it'll take a month for this to clear out, but i'm just happy it is finally getting fixed! yayayay!
Ok, first, let me say that if you think that I'm girly, or cute, or attractive in any way, please stop reading now. Cuz the following is going to ruin that forever.
You know who you are.
Oh ya, and if ever there was a post with too much information? This would be it.
When I had Chloe back in January, I knew that she would be my (our) only child. I wanted one. One child. No more, no less.
So, at my 6 wk check up with my OB, I had him insert an IUD. The easiest form of birth control. I didn't have to think twice about it. It's there. In me. No pills to remember, no plastic-y rubber ring to insert monthly, no weight gain associated with hormone based birth control.
Easy peasy pumpkin pie!
For the past 8 months (and a few weeks), I have had the WORST problems. Girlie problems. Problems where I finally begged. Yes BEGGED my doctor to just cut my uterus out and be done with it.
I knew I didn't want any more kids. I also didn't want to bleed 20 days on, 10 days off. And not just bleed. Hemorrhage. To the point where I would soak through a super plus tampon every HOUR.
See, I told you to stop reading!!! =(
For those 20 days, I would cramp. Cramp like I have never cramped before. My abdomen hurt ALL. THE. TIME.
I could FEEL my right ovary. It hurt too. It felt like somebody was shanking me in my lower right side. Sticking in an ice pick and slowly twisting it.
I went to the dr repeatedly. I told him I hurt. I told him that EVERYTHING made me bleed. My life was a bloody mess, fueled by money which went directly into the hands of kotex and tampax.
Yes, I still have a sense of humor.
After exams, ultrasounds, cultures, smears...shmears...and a mozillion specula later, my doctor said we just had to remove the iud, and go from there. If i had no relief, we would do exploratory scoping, then surgery.
And so the iud came out.
And it was sent to the lab.
And it came back as being full of bacteria.
Somehow, some way, my uterus has been full of nasty bacteria for the past 8 months.
My ovaries are full of bacteria, and have been marinating in this nast for the past 8 months.
And now it is all coming out.
Dear moonpie, is it all coming out.
I'm not even going to regale you with the imagery of what is coming out of my body, cuz it makes even me sick.
But I'm glad it is finally coming out.
I'm glad i finally have some answers.
I'm very glad that I don't want to have any more kids.
I don't know what is going to happen next.
I'm just waiting.
Waiting for my body to do its thing.
Clear me out.
Heal me up.
Make everything right.
Sunday, November 8, 2009
I'm ready for a looong nap. With a down comforter. In front of a burning fireplace.
I want to keep my hoodie on all day. All week. All year.
Fedor is amazing.
Best pound for pound fighter. Ever.
He did it again.
I'm afraid for the day that he loses.
Or maybe he will retire before then.
Chloe needs to stop growing.
She'll be a year old in 2 months.
How did that happen?
Is it naptime yet?
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
Hello everyone, and thank you for contributing towards my diaper drive! I'm not going to list who the donations were taken for, as I don't know that she would want that information public.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Somehow when my mother named my sister and me, she knew. Before we had even had a chance to show her the tiniest bit of our personalities, she understood them just right.
My sister is like the sun. Fierce, strong, fiery. Her life has always been intense and, at times, out of control. She's passionate and highly emotional.
I'm more laid back. Calm and constant like the tide of the ocean on a quiet day with no breeze. Mostly I just go with the flow.
It's hard to be her sister sometimes. Like the times when she's out-of-control-angry, and her temper can be quite scary even if her anger is directed at someone else. Or when she's depressed and extremely needy, calling in the middle of the night crying and hysterical. Or when she ignores/doesn't return my phone calls, e-mails and text messages, and I wonder, "What did I do? Or not do? Did I say something that pissed her off? Is she going to just stop talking to me and cut me out of her life without a word like I've seen her do to countless other family members and friends? Was that last phone call really the last phone call? Is she even still alive???"
And yes, when it's been weeks since I have actually heard my sister's voice on the phone, I really do seriously worry if she's still alive. Because of things she's told me during those late night hysterical phone calls. Things like, "I just want to die, I've thought of killing myself" or, during her recent, temporary split from her almost ex-husband, "Well if I die you'll know that he killed me."
It's been so long now that I don't even remember the last time I talked to her or what we talked about. I finally got a few texts from her tonight saying she just didn't feel like talking. The wording just wasn't her style. Something is wrong. And I'm worried.
My imagination is running wild, and then I tell myself I'm probably just overreacting. This is probably just her being crazy and selfish and herself. I'm just overreacting, and she's fine, right?
Monday, October 26, 2009
Then, to my horror, I thought that maybe the person had been hit by a car and knocked right out of their shoe. Yeah, their SHOE, not shoes. Does that even happen?
If it does, and you survive, what do you do with the other shoe? Do you keep it and buy a new pair, then have, say, 2 right shoes and one left? Or do you just discard it?
I think I would look for the missing one and wear them as a pair.
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Why I love it:
2.5 hours in the waiting room.
Old women who complain about having to register for a DENTAL clinic when they have no teeth.
Same women who tell me they need teeth so they can eat peanuts again.
(We'll call them) SLOW people drooling on me and grabbing at their crotches when I make eye contact with them.
Dirty diarrhea diapers.
And last but CERTAINLY not least...the old man who didn't quite know where he was, or how he got there.
Monday, October 5, 2009
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Sunday, September 27, 2009
on with my post... my words... my voice...
i developed an affinity for tattoos years ago. ink. needles containing colors that forever mark your skin. the tattoos i have represent an ongoing story for me and will continue to do so. my story is important to me. my tattoos are important to me. and while my love for ink may have began as a 20 something college kid, it's developed into something so much more. it has matured, as have i.
it is a story that i will one day share with my son.
jackson (17 months now) already points at and runs his delicate, precious fingers over the tattoos on my wrists. he has never known me without them.
i have marks. we all have marks. women and mothers have marks. both seen and unseen. known and unknown. visible and invisible.
whether our marks are as outward as some of mine, or as inward as mothers who struggle with PPD... they are all marks. leaving their own impression. making their own stance. and leaving us mothers forever changed and searching for a way to heal.
jackson was born via c-section. so i have a scar on my lower abdomen, near my pubic bone. that's how my son came into this world.
i love my c-section scar.
i imagine that mothers who have delivered their babies vaginally (pain and suffering aside, though i'm not sure one can put that aside... then again i haven't blasted a human out of my vag, so i don't know)... have scars, if not internally also externally.
again, a healing must take place.
a scar takes time.
i take pride in my scar. it may not be in my nether regions where i did not have to be sewn up, but there is a sense of pride that i have in my c-section scar. i see it with each shower i take and think to myself "that's where the magoo exited my body."
being a tattooed mother, an "inked" mother... i have endured criticism (bleh)... judgment (eh, suck it!)... and looks from strangers who i imagine look at me and think whateverthehell they want to think.
but in being a mother with tattoos... tattoos that my story continues to manifest itself in ink, gives me pride.
kids love stories. kids love marks, scars, scrapes, bruises. they want to know "where'd ya get that?" and i get to be one of "those inked moms" who shares with my son my story when the time is right.
it's my hope that judgment aside, women and mothers learn to accept and embrace each other not only for their similarities in being mothers, in enduring sleepless nights, engorged breasts, etc, etc... but also in those differences that makes us truly unique women... leaving our own mark on this world in the form of our children.
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Sunday, September 20, 2009
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
Saturday, the bf and I went to a friend's wedding. Actually, we just went to the reception (I have to be honest, I didn't even want to go) and had a great time.
Sunday, August 30, 2009
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Sometimes you just connect with somebody. Sometimes you just "get" each other. Sometimes somebody else can say it better than you can.
The following was written by the most amazing Angel aka @themommytsunami
You can find her own poetry, prose, and pictures at themommytsunami.com
Thank you for your words.
I am an emotional woman.
There is no denying that. In many periods of my life, though, I have been hard-pressed to find another human being that would listen to/empathize with the emotions that I was feeling.
I would be sad.
Very, very sad.
And I would turn to sibling/parent/friend. In their face, I would see a puzzling look. A look that, to me, said, “What the fuck?” Or, “I don’t get it. Why are you so sad again?”
Or, I would be overjoyed.
Very, very overjoyed.
And again, I would turn to a loved one. Again, quizzical looks, bewildered responses.
Why, oh why, was it so hard for me to be understood? Why could I not find my kindred spirit? The yin to my yang?
And then I discovered my refuge. The place in which I could find solace for sadness, enthusiasm for energy. A place where I was understood and I was understanding right back.
Now, I am not a musically talented soul. I sing. Loud and proud. But, probably off key and flat or sharp or whatever musical description of “not right” that you could insert here.
In music, I found those like souls that felt deeply, expressed passionately and shared with abandonment.
Music has defined my life. Through singing, dancing, listening, I have found my therapy.
And today, I want to share some of that music with you. Maybe you feel the same. Maybe you are looking at this page, puzzled by what I mean, by what I am writing. Maybe you are lost and don’t know how to find yourself. Maybe you and I will make that magical connection that I believe that music has the power to make.
The first major role that music played in my life is with my mother. My mom is a disco queen. I vividly remember driving in our yellow Maverick, listening to Michael Jackson at full blast, windows rolled down, my mom busting the words out to Rock with You, swaying in her driver’s seat, as I sat passenger seat (remember, this was 1980...children drove in the front seat back then...) beating the rhythm out on the dashboard and screaming the lyrics out at the tops of my lungs. When we would arrive at home, my mom would turn on Soul Train, and then we’d boogie to something by The Gap Band. Literally, our dancing partner might be the vacuum cleaner, our microphone a hairbrush. My mom did not have an easy life. She had a marriage to my biological father full of violence and pain and loneliness. She was raising two daughters and had no money and lived far enough from her parents that she wasn’t “close.” But, despite all of that, I remember my early childhood with fondness. My mother taught me to find joy in music despite the daily despairs in life. She also taught me that music is a way to bond with your children. Today, I often sing my actions aloud to my babies, and we blast the radio in our Suburban as we drive down the street, seat dancing to Michael Jackson, or the Beatles, or the Beastie Boys. My children have been known to bounce their heads to a beat as early as 6 months old. And that makes me proud. It’s my mother’s legacy.
Music has also been the calming effect on my soul. I feel very deeply. I am not saying that no one else does. But, have you ever felt the brink of despair? Have you ever felt that a black hole of pain has been swallowing you whole? Maybe you haven’t. If not, I am so very happy for you. Unfortunately, I do. A therapist has possibly diagnosed me as a “Highly Sensitive Person.” It doesn’t mean exactly what it sounds like. But, essentially, my emotional spectrum is wide and deep. Sadness for me is...melancholy. And one who feels this cannot solely depend on the people around them to bring them back to “human.” It’s tiring and exhausting for both parties. However, there are some amazing musicians and songwriters that describe it, sing about it, using words that, for lack of a better description, talk to my soul.
Jimi Hendrix’s “Manic Depression” is one of my favorites. He speaks to me when he belts out Manic depression is touching my soul. Dido on “White Flag” sings I will go down with this ship/And I won't put my hands up and surrender. The Roots and Amel Larrieux sing in the song “Glitches” You live, you die/And spend the years in between asking the question/Why you've been through what you been. Edie Brickell in “What I Am” states, Choke me in the shallow waters /Before I get too deep. And when Sheryl Crow croons God, I feel like hell tonight/Tears of rage I cannot fight or Lie to me/I promise I’ll believe/Lie to me/But please don’t leave or I have a face I cannot show/I make the rules up as I go/It’s try and love me if you can... I love that song. It’s truly the anthem of my love life...Don’t feel bad. It’s who I am.
Basically, they are my instruments of healing. Musicians, singers, songwriters...they have lifted me from moments in my life that I didn’t know how to express, how to escape, how to evolve from.
And, who could feel bad after a session singing? Music reminds me that I am breathing, my heart is beating, that I have a voice and I. Am. Alive.
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Friday, August 14, 2009
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
Friday, July 31, 2009
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
i'm awake - i have been since 7:30.
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Monday, July 13, 2009
i have nothing to report.
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Monday, June 22, 2009
Original recipe: (for Spanish Sangria)
- 1 bottle red wine (dry-ish)
- 1 tablespoon sugar
- 1/2 cup orange juice
- 1/4 cup lemon juice
- 1 cup club soda
- Thin slices of orange/lemon optional
- 1 bottle white wine (dryness to taste)
- 1/4 cup triple sec
- 1/4 cup sugar (to taste, really)
- 2 cups ginger ale
- thinly sliced orange & chunks of peach optional