Sometimes a Cigar is just a Cigar

My junior year in high school I wrote a story very much like Stephen King's Rage. It was basically a first person account of a Columbine-style massacre, told from the killer's viewpoint. Of course, this was pre-Columbine so the true horror of such a thing wasn't really all that clear. It was just the violent fantasy of a bullied kid. But I had a teacher who was fresh out of an entirely religious education process and she found the thing and went all ballistic about it. I ended up getting referred to a shrink about it. Actually, the school brought the damned shrink to me. So once a week for about a month I skipped gym class to go chat with this lady so she could, I assume, tell me not to blow away the varsity football team. I came to call her Louise The Incompetent.

I once read an article about a shrink in the 70s who, to discover if gender identity and sexual orientation were learned or born traits, performed sex changes on infants and then quizzed them yearly about their sexual fantasies and showed them porno movies. I think that guy mentored Louise The Incompetent in college. She just had a whole lot of really 70s ideas about things. Very sexualized and Freudian. She told me (after a month, mind you) that I had been molested as a child and repressed the memories and that I had some sort of Oedipal complex toward my father. Yeah, I don't think so. I ended up declining her invitation to pursue my therapy sessions, promised never to shoot anyone (a promise I have kept, by the way) and moved to a new school with a less offensive varsity football team.

Last time I saw Louise The Incompetent, she said hi and waved like we were old friends. I tried to be cordial, but it's so hard when you hate someone. I mean, who tells a messed up 16 year old kid that they want to fuck their dad? I also got a facebook friend request from her that put me in a pissy mood for a good week. I once asked a competent therapist about Louise's whole repressed memory molestation theory and found out that it was very freshman-year psych 101. My views of sex were at the time indicative of me being exposed to sex at an age where I was too young to understand it. About half the time, that results from being abused. But in the other half, it comes from finding porn. And I had a neighbor girl when I was little who loved to show off her mom's Penthouse collection. Yeah, so no molestation here, just good old fashioned porno. And Loise, well she's in real estate now. I guess she finally realized that she sucked at shrinking heads.

And Rage by Stephen King is still an awesome book.

I have it all

How on Earth did I get here? What did I ever do to deserve all of this? I have an amazing husband who I literally thank the universe for every day. I have 3 great kids who make me smile all the time. And I have my dream home, my dream life, my dream everything. I mean, I could use a new van, but still basically, a dream everything. I must have been Gandhi in a past life.

Things I'm learning (before I forget)

1. Don't forget swaddling! At first I swaddled the baby all the time, but after a while I tapered off. Last night I broke out the Woombie again and Danny slept alone until 11:30.
2. Woombies are awesome. They're expensive (I got mine at Mamabargains) but they're worth it. If you can't find one for a decent price, go with SwaddleMe blankets, but the Woombie is more inescapable.
3. Don't sit down to nurse a baby without a spit rag. I seem to gravitate towards whichever couch the thing is NOT on, and then I get urped on and have nothing to clean up with.
4. Take 5 minutes. Repeatedly. Take the time to brush your teeth and hair before rushing to the crying baby. Take the time to make your coffee (decaf- blech!) while the baby fusses in the swing. Chew your food even if the baby doesn't want you to. Don't take hours, but take 5 minutes sometimes.
5. Do laundry. A lot. If I've done the laundry I feel like I'm not letting the house go, like I'm accomplishing something in the day, and it's one of the quickest chores I have. It takes 5 minutes to throw soap and clothes in the washer, and then another 5 minutes later to toss them in the dryer, and I can wait to fold them until Tom or Ryan gets home. Plus, I seem to get urped on a lot so I always have shirts that need to be washed.
   
6. Gilligan & O'Malley nursing tanks are great. I only have one right now but I hope to get more and to wear them even through the winter, under flannel shirts and cardigans. It's so nice to be able to nurse without wrenching the collar of my button down shirt over to the side, or lifting up my t-shirt and flaunting my belly. Plus it's a really good tank top. Supportive bra in it, fitted but not skin-tight, long enough to not show midriff or muffin top. I may wear the thing even after I'm done nursing.
7. If you're going to nurse laying down in bed, or co-sleep, put something under the baby. Danny's peed my sheets twice and crapped them once, too.
   

Autumnal dreams

Well, I had my baby, school has started for Ryan, and I'm ready for summer to be over. Or at least, for some cooler temperatures. I'd like to be able to take the boys for a walk, but not in 85` heat with 90% humidity. I'd like to wear Danny around in my new Moby wrap, but not when he just sweats and turns red where we meet. I like summer, but I love autumn, and I can't wait for red and gold leaves, pumpkins, apple cider, fires on the back patio, and Halloween. I got a sewing machine for my birthday this year so I'm definitely making at least one costume, hopefully two. I have no idea what I'll dress Danny as, but Tommy will probably want to be Diego.

Danny Boy

Danny was born almost 4 hours after my water broke (and 20 minutes after the doctor broke my water, because I make indestructible water that has to break twice) after ten whole minutes of pushing. And yeah, I got the epidural for that. heheheh
In the past 5 days, Danny has taught me much. I have learned that, contrary to manufacturer's instructions, you should NOT order your nursing bras by your third trimester measurements. The cup size is fine but the band is too big, resulting in supported but disturbingly wide set bosoms. I have learned that you can have 3 opposites. All of my kids look exactly opposite from one another. Bald and pink with blond peach fuzz. Darker complected with long brown hair. And finally pink and blond with long thick hair.

I want another one

I would like to wear winter maternity clothes. I think it would be nice to have big baggy sweaters and hoodies that don't meet in the middle, and to not have to worry about whether or not the straps on my tank top will cover my bra. It would be nice to have the thick, shiny, pregnancy hair and be able to wear it down my back instead of up in a ponytail in a vain attempt to not sweat to death through the back of my neck.

Sure, GD during fudge and cookie season would suck, but not gaining five pounds in December would be kind of cool. As would being able to pick out a coming-home-from-the-hospital outfit for a baby that consists of more than just a onesie.

I still really want this baby out of me, but I still also wish I could get another one in there sometime too. Making people is cool (until the last week or so) and it sucks that my pancreas is my people-making enemy. Like kryptonite for Superman, if kryptonite only really affected his ability to eat candy bars unrestricted.