So much to say.....

so little time to say it.

Such is the story of this blog. Wow, I have really neglected it, and my fellow blogging buddies. But seriously, if I had time to say it right now, I would spell out all the reasons why I didn't blog for so long, and why now that I am back, I still find so little time to say all the crap I wanna say. But I will eventually, and you can take that as a threat.

Here is a sample of my day so you have an understanding of why blogging falls short on my priority list:

5:45am Finally drag my spent carcass out of bed after hubs has been gently caressing me, then tapping me, then flicking me, then smacking me for at least 45 minutes to try and wake my sorry ass up.

6am Start trying to coax Makena out of bed as sweetly and wonderfully as possible otherwise the punches start flying and the screaming starts--her, not me.

6:15am Finally get Makena dressed and downstairs and start the next battle: trying to brush her hair.

6:30 Pack Kaili's bottles and shit, along with pumping accoutrements; try and stuff my face with cereal or anything closely resembling breakfast.

6:45am Wake Kaili, change diaper, dress her, offer her at least one engorged boob.

7am Out of house (on a good day), in the car, and settle into morning rush hour traffic, hope that Kaili falls back asleep without any screaming, and try not to nod off during the 45min-1hour commute.

8am Arrive at care-giver' s house, thrust engorged boob #2 in Kaili's face while still in car, burp kid, try and avoid flying spit-up on work clothes, drop off at care-giver's and try not to grab kid and run into hills all the while telling myself that my family can live on peanut butter and jelly, be happy living in a tent on the beach, wearing clothes fashioned from ocean debris.

8:30am Arrive at a thankless job, at which my boss is still treating me like shit because I had the gall to get pg and take a 4mo. Maternity leave (long story that I will prolly write about some other time).

From 8:30am to 4pm Try and look productive even when daydreaming about girls and in between strapping on the P*imp N Style 2x's throughout the day.

4pm Hightail it outta there! Speed on over to care-giver's house, scoop up sorely missed baby in my arms, smother her with kisses, get detailed report on how many shits she took and volume of said shits, also receive reports on number of smiles, coos, zerbets, and generally cute things she did while away from me.

4:15pm Head over to Makena's school, hope the baby doesn't fall asleep on the way, pick up Makena and listen to all her stories about how much she hates her teacher, the asshole kids that pick on her, and her general dislike of 1st grade and the mounds of homework her Nazi of a teacher assigned to her that day. Give Makena lots of hugs, kisses, and positive words of wisdom and fantasize about kicking the ass of the big girl in 5th grade that always picks on my precious cherub.

4:30-6pm Depending upon the day and how many assholes are on the road, this is the usual time that the girls and I spend commuting back home. During which time, we sing, play I Spy, girl-talk, Makena usually gives Kaili a bottle, tries to keep her entertained, Makena and I strike bargains about getting the aforementioned homework completed, and try to keep the bickering and the mutiny at bay over the pain-in-mamma's-ass homework. All that peppered with comments on jerk drivers and wishing we could invent flying cars.

6pm-8pm Try to get Makena to not hate The Man, stick with the program, and complete her homework with as little tantruming, time-outs, and name calling as possible (her, not us). Try to fit in a nutritionally balanced dinner (yeah, right), prepared by the hubs. Insert my boobs in Kaili's face way too often because she likes to make up for missed mommy time by incessant nursing. Plop the little one in her newly purchased high chair, stuff her with organic rice cereal prepared with breast-milk, introduce the "yellow veggies" and convince her that they are the nectar of the gods and much preferable to the crap the big ones in the house are shoveling into their mouths. Wash and sterilize bottles and baby paraphenalia because I am obsessive and will practice any kind of voodoo to prevent the little one from catching all the lovely bugs and virus' that prey on day-care babies (so far so good, no illnesses yet *knocking on wood, saying 10 hail Mary's, throwing a pinch of salt over shoulder, clicking heels together 10 times*). Get the girls bathed, pajama-ed (in Makena's case, convince her to wear some clothes for a change, girl has nudist tendencies), and calmed down and prepped for the big finish: BED.

8pm-9pm Struggle to make that bed thing a reality.

9pm Look around the house and wish I could afford a cleaning lady, or at least perfect human cloning so that I can have 2 of me to get all the things that I don't have time for completed.

9:05 Stop daydreaming and give up on the idea of tidying up or getting anything else done and collapse in a catatonic heap somewhere and say a little silent prayer that this will be the night that I get at least 5 hours of continuous sleep.

For the rest of the night: somehow lose track of time by watching tv, surfing the web to check up on fellow bloggers and long lost sistas, and not accomplishing much of anything. Drag my ass to bed, but then realize that I cannot fall asleep because the hubs is snoring so loudly that I think a freight train is in my boudoir, I can't stop my mind from churning and thinking about all the things that I WILL get done tomorrow that I neglected today, and calculating how much sleep I will get before Kaili wakes up for one of sometimes many nighttime feedings if I fall asleep right this very second....or this very second....ok, this second....no wait, this second....or how about right now.....or now........

Midnight to 5:45am: Hear plaintive cries on the monitor to feed much fought for, much desired 2nd born child. Trudge bleary eyed into room, feed child, fall asleep in glider rocker, place precious baby back in crib, and head back to bed. If this routine happens more than once during the night, then time in glider rocker is spent seriously questioning the intelligence of decision to have a second, sleep stealing, vaginal canal enlarging, milk parasitic, belly flab causing, precious angel baby.

5:45am Oh shit, time to lather, rinse, repeat.

So that is my day in a nutshell. Pretty lucky, aren't I? No seriously, it doesn't escape me, and not a single day passes, that I don't feel this incredible feeling of wonder, that even when my life is at its suckiest, it still is pretty fucking wonderful on the whole. Really. Fucking. Wonderful. I am a lucky individual. Not quite sure who I blew to deserve it all really.


I think I am going to be sick

Apparently even though I have 2 gorgeous, luscious lovelies at home, the struggle to conceive and carry to term has left me a tad bitter. This makes my stomach turn. Ugh. For those of you who still are struggling and are still reading, I want to rip her hair out in your honor. Un. Fucking. Believable.

Why does this bother me so?


Shit happens, man

Notice the date? Just a special little gift from my sweet baby to me.

Note to self: if baby wakes up from nap and is giggling and cooing more than usual, said baby is probably up to no good.

Being a parent for me means being able to embrace the shit. Love the shit. Become one with the shit because it will end up all over me eventually.


Sweet, silicone breastices!

You know that booby prize I have referenced in the past? Well, just wanted you to know that it wasn't fictional, it really does exist!

Well, actually, this is really is the contraption that saved my hide and allowed me to return to work. See, Kaili is one of those picky kids. From day one she had shown her preference to the boob, my boob, allowing and accepting no substitutions please. This means no use of synthetic nipple replacements of any kind, even the parental aid I like to call the Baby Plug (also known as the pacifier). This kid ardently, adamantly refused to accept a bottle when first introduced, sealing my fate as the functional "milk truck" and squashing all hope of my husband getting up for those late night feedings.

I tried just about every single bottle variation on the market. I became obsessed with the nuances of every nipple permutaion out there.

Finally, at some high end, over priced, baby boutique, I found the above pictured item. My husband admonished me for spending more money on such a silly looking contraption, and bitched and moaned at how hard it was to use and how dis-functional it really was. He complained that it wasn't ergonomic, and that it was akward, but really, I think the problem was that he just forgot how to handle a breast. I digress.

The booby contraption finally came to the test however. I had tickets to see a band with a visiting friend. I wasn't about to piss money away and not use the tickets, so I had to leave the house. It was sink or swim time. And after what I imagined was hours of screaming, downplayed for my sanity by my friend who babysat for me, Kaili finally settled in and grudgingly took a few ounces from the booby contraption! What joy! Sweet relief!

Hubs still argues that it was simply desperation that finally broke my child of her stubborn refusal of all nipples synthetic, but I give all the credit to the booby contraption. And while it is no longer needed as Kaili is finally making use of the small fortune that I invested in A*vent products, I still look fondly at the boob and the freedom that it gave me. And hell, with the money that I spent on it, it has got to have other uses, right? I am thinking that it could also function as some kind of marital aid of some sort. See, there I go again, finding some way to bring it all back to the sex. Is is abundantly clear to everyone that I am not getting any? I am so sex starved it just isn't funny. Really, it's not funny. So stop laughing now. That means you, Zeeks.

Thanks Santa....

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...but I already have EXACTLY what I have been wishing for all this time. Everything I ever wanted in this life is sitting right there with you.

I am humble, oh so humble this Holiday Season, and more grateful than words could ever express.

My only wish: That all of YOU, dear Internets, have some joy, some peace, and whole lotta love this Holiday. Oh, and a little sex to top it off would be just dandy too! What? I can't always be good! Can't give up the naughty!


I've got a joke for you....

What is mustard yellow, smells like sour milk, has 4 eyes, and never sleeps????

I'll let you ponder that for a bit.....

OK, time's up. The answer is ME!

So I am feeling the need to come back to ye olde blog again, and intend to do so soon, but I would like a little audience participation. Heh. That implies that there is still an audience! But for those of you still audience-ing, (gluttons for punishment or tride and true friends?) I want your opinion.

A. Should I come back to the old stomping grounds and still blog away as the "Bermuda Triangle of Embryos"?

B. Since losing embryos may very well be in my past, should I start up a new blog under a different name and regale/bore you with tales of shitty diapers, latest parenting guffaws, and adventures of "Scooter Pie and Sweet Potato"

C. Or should I keep telling it like it is here, but change the name of the blog?

I am a suck ass decision maker, as evidenced by my lack of blogging because I was perplexed by this very issue, so I leave it up to the stragglers and miscreants that are still lurking about...abducted by aliens! Hmph!

And the real question remains: can I put coherent thoughts together to blog about in the first place in between my limited sleep, stuffing my face with any calorie laden food to keep my milk supply up, and the whirring noise of the Medela P*imp N Style?

Other than that, life is glorious people. REALLY fucking glorious!

Opine away little monkeys.


Mabel, she's the BOMB!

The booby prize and the distinct knowledge of knowing that you are my soul mate if you can name the artist of the song in the title....

Funny story...while hubby and I were going around and around on names and could never agree on one, hubby kept reminding me of his love of the name Mabel. I rejected the name immediately- OVER and OVER again, but hubby kept coming back to the name.

After this 8lb 11oz luscious, delectable, fruit of my loins popped out from her 41 week bachelorette pad, and we established that she was indeed a she, hubby once again reiterated his love of the name Mabel. I was too exhausted and distracted by my task of counting fingers and toes and studying the Klingon like ridges on my new daughter's head to bring forth my objections once again to the name. Oh, yeah, I was also distracted by all the med students poking and prodding at my placenta and the unique learning experience that it presented.

The pediatric nurse then came in to take away my rotund little cherub of joy, and Keith and I couldn't help but notice the name proudly displayed upon her nametag--yep, you guessed it, it was MABEL. Keith called it kismet, divine intervention. I waited until later to tell Keith "screw divine intervention, we ARE NOT NAMING HER MABEL!"

And so my friends, I introduce to you..........


And for those of you mainlanders the pronunciation is (ky-lee). I know, I know, we are one of those obnoxious assholes that has to throw in some unique spelling to make her stand out. I can see it now, when she is in 3rd grade, she will come home crying that each and every once of her Valentine's Day cards will have some butchered spelling of her name. But as long as we stay here on this rock, at least there will be a bunch of people who will get it right.

I am unsure as to the exact meaning of her name...Keith looked it up and said it meant sweet potato, but I looked it up and it said that it was the name of some obscure Hawaiian goddess. Either way, she is one delicious little sweet potato who I can't stop kissing and cuddling for one minute.

I have to take turns, however, and share her with one of her greatest admirers....her big sister.

So sorry about leaving all you guys hanging for so long. And my sincere thanks and return of all the love and support that I have received! This is all I have time for right now. The haze of lack of sleep and my inability to see past the huge pile of laundry leaves my blogging abilities to fall by the wayside. I see a glimmer of light on the horizon, so I promise to be back soon with tales of vulgarity, baby poop, cracked nipples, and urges to drink copious amount of alcohol, but first I must go see and OB about a gaping whole of a vagina. Be back soon!


Janet - please erase this post soon!

I have decided to fill up space, as I assume everyone else is stalking Janet's blog multiple times per day in hopes to get an update or picture of her new baby.

I'll let you all know that I got an brief e-mail from Janet that all is well. PART of the reason she hasn't posted is because her mother bought them a new computer desk and it took forever for her husband to put the computer back together. (But, now that it's back on... well, I can make no excuses for her)

Janet said that she is tired a lot, but otherwise all is well. Her mother has recently left as well. So... come on, Janet - - you better update your blog soon! If you don't, you may regret adding me as a contributor ... he he he (sinister laugh)