June 16, 2011

*Censored for Content*

TMP Countdown: 229 Days.

I’ve been something of an eco-conscious and natural health person since I became an adult and was able to step out from under the influence of my litter-bug mother who will argue against global warming until she’s blue in the face. I recycle bottles and cans, I blue-bag cardboard, I recycle and reuse and prefer non-toxic cleaning (vinegar!) and laundry products (currently Arm & Hammer Essentials Free is my favourite). I do my best to avoid using plastic bags at the grocery store and I wash and reuse all of my Ziploc bags until they are falling apart. I plan to Cloth Diaper my kid(s), my dog and cat eat a combination of raw and holistic dry food (Orijen) and I prefer to reach for natural remedies over traditional medications. Heck, even the prenatal vitamin I’m taking is made by Jamieson.

Oh, I don’t claim to be 100% green – I fill my ’05 Ford Focus with gas and I drive it every day. I use paper towel and coffee filters (k-Cups actually!) and I don’t have a compost bin in my kitchen…yet. I love plastic straws and I don’t line-dry all of my laundry (only about 25%). But I try to be environmentally friendly where I can and I do my best to ensure that the products that I’m using in my home and on my person are natural and non-toxic.

****Warning: if you’re a guy (doubtful but hey, anything’s possible!) who is reading this blog, hi! Thanks for stopping by! You’re going to want to shut this screen down now and go have a beer because things are about to go all Estrogen-laden and bloody. But thanks for stopping by! Can I have your number? [Close. Window. Now.]****
Which brings us to a little something called disposable menstrual pads.

For years I’ve avoided thoughts of where those disposable pads go after they leave my garbage pail. The imaginary scene of stranger’s soiled pads being heaped on top of mine under a layer of dirt…ugggggg. I think I might just faint, and I have no problems at all with blood. It’s just, ew. Not only do I cringe at the thought of all of the waste that these babies cause, but the remnants of someone’s – of my! – shedding v-jayjay is, as I type this, lying in a landfill somewhere and possibly being pecked by seagulls. *Gulp*

[And before you tell me that there’s worse in landfills…I know. This is my own personal demon which means you are not required to feel the same way or even understand my squee-ishness]

I’ve also, until recently, avoided thoughts of re-usable menstrual pads. Wash my own bloody pads?? Gross. Except, well, maybe not. How’s that any worse than washing an explosive diarrhea episode off of a cloth diaper? But what about during the day, I’m not really inclined towards toting around a blood-stained and possibly odorous pad in my purse while I’m at work. Ew. So I did some research, and found that there are all sort of wet/dry bag options that work well for dirty pads, and that cloth pads are statistically odor-free and much more sanitary! And there’s a company who makes re-usable pads that require only a change of liner!

Beyond that, there is an extremely compelling reason to switch to a cloth pad: saving money. BIG TIME. I spend about $6 on a package of 18 Kotex pads with wings. I go through about 4 pads a day during my menses, which lasts about 5 days. That’s a pack of pads a month, totaling $72/year. Really, not that much money, until I add in the 19 years that I’ve been purchasing disposable pads…that’s $1,368.00 that I’ve spent on something that is uncomfortable, and which I’ve long suspected causes me actual physical pain due to an allergic reaction. The adhesive stays stuck to my underwear, and sometimes when I’m changing it the entire pad splits in half!

So I’ve decided to take the plunge and at least give cloth menstrual pads a chance. I’m going to order a Starter Kit from LunaPads, as well as a Planet Wise Mini Wet/Dry bag from Parenting by Nature (I just prefer this bag to the Moon Pad bag that LunaPads sells – the Planet Wise bag has a locking zipper and is sized better!).  If nothing else, having to launder the cloth pads will be good practice for dealing with cloth diapers!

Oh, I received my Bummis NB cloth diapering package! Gratuitous pictures to follow; I got 2 NB Bummis Super Brite covers (pictured) and a dozen Pre-Folds:

June 7, 2011

238 Days (Or, While I Bore You With Cloth Diapering Talk)

238 days and counting. I have another appointment with my OB/Gyn on the 20th, should find out about the sperm bank and possibly start checking the donors out. My best friend and I went out for dinner this past Friday and had an exciting discussion about what I would look for in a donor (intelligence, no allergies, and colouring similar to mine are my top 3!) while sitting in a booth at Boston Pizza. I whipped out the old trusty iPhone (gawd I hate mac anything but gawd I love that phone!!) and we started checking out the profiles for donors on one of the main Canadian banks. No, I'm not giving you the name. We had a ridiculous amount of fun going through the profiles. I have asked her if she will be my second when the time comes to start...her response made me think I'd given her the BFF-equivalent of the best orgasm ever. It was pretty awesome.

I've officially ordered my first run of Cloth Diapers. I got a Bummis Newborn package with 12 NB size organic cotton Pre-Folds (PF's) and 2 NB sized Super Brite Bummis covers (these rated HIGH in all of my considerable research!)...on sale! I also bought this nifty introductory package from Mother Ease for just under $20 (including shipping/taxes) that consists of one NB fitted, one NB MEAF cover and a liner, all of which would cost over $25 separately. And OMG the cover is seriously the cutest thing EVAH:

Seriously, isn't that ADORABLE??? I'm planning to eventually have at least 4 of these covers, which can be used with both the fitteds and the PF's, and the myriad of patterns practically has me jumping up and down with excitement. I'm not sure that any other covers are as cute as the MEAF's! 

On an unrelated note, my niece is at the Stollery and is a very sick little girl. The specialists are leaning towards a Dx of Celiac disease and my sister is sick with a Mother's guilt (unwarranted, but if it were me I'd probably be feeling the same!). We will find out the results tomorrow. On a happy note, I've spent the last 2 days taking care of my other niece (they are twins) and having some really great bonding time.

Well, that's about all the time I have - it's almost 11 and I am back to work tomorrow (ugg). More on that later....

May 29, 2011

Another Baby Blog From the Edge of Indecision

413 days.

Maybe. I am finding that I'm questioning my motives for waiting...as are others.  Besides the part time grooming course, which will take less than a year and is self-paced, I have no real reason for having a goal date that is over a year from now. It's a number that I picked almost 4 years ago, when I decided that I needed an age that wasn't too old to hinder conception, and distant enough in the future that I'd have time, at 27, to meet the Man of My Dreams. Hindsight being what it is, I know now that it boils down to one very simple criteria: being ready. And I am finally ready, right now. The only thing holding me back is that randomly chosen age...and my anal need to be as prepared as possible. Except, as many of my friends and my Mom has pointed out, I'm ready in ways that most hopeful parents don't even conceive of.

So the question becomes this: am I subconsciously procrastinating? Ahhh yes, I am able to procrastinate in such subtle ways that I don't even realize it until 10 years has passed and I find myself alone and childless, a professional woman instead of a Mother. Am I using the need for 'preparation' as a smoke-screen, a way to excuse myself from actually giving up on the dream of having a child, this child, with a man that I love? That's a very hard dream to walk away from. And being a single Mother...that's a scary concept no matter how it comes about.  Am I avoiding jumping into this with both feet because I'm still hoping that Mr. Right will show up (or in this case, Mr. There and Available!) and save me from being inseminated without sex, consigned to single mother-dom, and possibly single for the rest of my life?

My answer to that question is yes. But that's right now - tomorrow I may find some logical rationalization that perfectly supports my desire to wait until July 15, 2012 to get knocked up by a turkey baster. So I'm trying to find a compromise - I've decided to tentatively change my TTC date to January 31, 2012. That gives me enough time to finish my grooming course (can't use that as an excuse!), and plenty of time to be as anal as possible about being prepared.

So, the countdown to Mommy-hood continues: 247 days to go!

I'm being surprised by who is supporting me in all of this...and who isn't. I expected my Mom to be against my choice and was ready to argue my position; instead, she is my number 1 fan!! She is already planning which nursery crib/change table set to buy for the baby and has promised to take two weeks off after the baby is born in order to help me. On top of all that, she spoke to my Grandparents about it. My Grandparents are extremely set in their ways and have been married for over 60 years, and their viewpoints often land on the traditional side. I was terrified of telling them, and was going to keep quiet about it until I was preggers and somehow soft-pedal it...turns out I don't have to! My Grandma is ecstatic! My Grandpa is supportive though not interested in the girly stuff lol. My friends continue to amaze me with their generosity - my oldest friend, B, cried when I told her that I'd finally made a firm decision to go with artificial insemination. She can't wait to be Aunt B and is already putting things aside for me that she had when her kids were babies.

I've talked to my older sister about it and was surprised and disappointed by her reaction. She was disparaging and critical, and made a point of emphasizing how much better it is to have a child with a partner as opposed to being a single mother. She said that she is happy for me, but kept repeating that I need to find a man, I need to not give up on marriage/love/blah blah blah. And I told her that I'm not - I'll continue to meet people, but unless I should fall in love in the next six months or so (which is highly unlikely given the fact that my uterus likes to think that every guy is The One) this plan is going forward no matter what. She was unable to understand; apparently it's OK for her to use medical intervention in order to have children, because she knows where her sperm is coming from! But it's not OK for me. Needless to say, I've resolved not to discuss it with her any further.

My Mom and I visited Babies R Us this weekend, where I checked out the car seat I've decided on (the First Year's True Fit) and we basically spent 3 hours in the store looking at everything from jogging strollers (want!) to bassinets (want!) to baby baths (need!). We checked out nursery furniture sets at Walmart and I purchased a package of cloth diaper liners (kooshies, I think - super good price) and a super cute set of 3 bibs. And on that note, I leave you with pictures of the super cute - and so very ME! - bibs:

May 24, 2011

Why Aren't I In Bed By Now??

It's 11:24 pm, I'm exhausted from a long and busy day, and here I am, unable to sleep.

Because of this:

1 Year, 1 Month, 3 Weeks and 1 Day to go!

I am finding it strangely hard now to play this waiting game. I'm not sure why it's so much more difficult now - maybe because I'm actually planning. I've got concrete, measurable goals, I've purchased a few baby things (I couldn't help myself, it just made it all so much more real), I even have an App on my iPhone that counts down the days for me. I can feel my resolve waffling...I might like to start trying to conceive in January. Have a fall baby...that would be nice!!

I've started taking a prenatal vitamin (though not Materna - I cringe at the unnecessary expense of that stuff when a less expensive brand is just as good, according to my GP! Not to mention all the chemical fillers in Materna! I am taking Jamieson prenatal vitamins). Might as well start getting the body ready for baby now! I'm also going to start running again - I plan to start with some interval running on Friday (I'm booked with appointments/work for the next few nights!) and my Mom has indicated that she'd love to try running with me. I used to be hard core but this past winter found me dreading the cold, slick runs and I fell off the wagon. 

Speaking of wagons, my laptop is crying to be plugged in, I think that means it's time for bed.


May 22, 2011

Boy, It's a Good Thing I Don't Have Any Readers

4 months. Yep, it's been almost that long since I've even whispered to my inner Spanxster, let alone log into blogger and bother spewing my consciousness all over the www.

I've started a new job, lost 5 pounds, had a gastrostomy done, lost my only male cousin to suicide, jumped up and down in excitement when my sister found out that she was having a miracle baby - - only to cry with her a week later when she miscarried...re-read Pride and Prejudice for the eleventy millionth time, bought an iPhone 4 (yes, it has changed my life though I still maintain a solid hatred for Apple products!), learned that my soul-dog has chronic bursitis in her shoulder, got a nasty flu virus...

And this morning I had a dream that I was finally. Finally. Having a Baby.
My eyes opened, I rolled on to my side in bed and I cried. Huge, gasping tears that seemed to come deep down from my empty uterus. Without my even knowing it, my arms wrapped around my abdomen and hugged tightly around the barren space that had, moments ago, been filled with life. It was one of those 3-D, virtual dreams - the type that cannot possibly be lost in a moment of wakefulness because it's sensory and vibrant.

This morning I was pregnant. But now...now I am empty again, filled only by the most intense desire for something that has haunted me for 20 years. I've played an avoidance game for the last several years: up until recently, I've distanced myself from any hint of babies and children, anything that might increase the yearnings that are already so strong. I would avoid the baby section in Walmart, I'd hold myself back from speaking to a cute toddler, flip quickly past the photos of babies and make excuses not to see my friends who had children. When my sister had my twin nieces she called me on it - she wanted me to be their guardian but was worried about the emotional distance that I seemed to put between myself and those precious babies. And just like that it all spilled out of me - the envy that I felt, how difficult it was to face something that I wanted so badly but oh, god, I despaired that I might never have it! The ice cracked that day and I started opening up to other people's children again...but I still held myself back from actually planning having my own child.

The irony is that several years ago I decided that if I was still single and there was no chance of a relationship with a man by the time I was 32 (the number has often changed from 32 to 33 and back) then I would take the necessary steps to have a child by myself. I investigated single motherhood and IUI and ICI and various forms of man-less conception and talked to numerous people who were facing or had faced the same choice. I talked to my Doctor. I focused on my finances (which, granted, is smart) and the ethical and moral dilemmas involved in becoming what is commonly referred to as a Choice Mom. I did everything I could to inform myself of my choices while continuing to avoid any and all emotional implications. Because becoming emotionally invested in this process, in the creation of this possible child, means acknowledging that I might never fall in love again. It means that in exactly one year, one month and 24 days I will give up the dream of having this child with a man that I love.

It's terrifying. Not only in giving up on love, but just being the only parent. I go into this with eyes wide open; I was raised by a single mother who didn't receive any child support and made less than half of my salary. And it's still terrifying. I have a wonderful support system, a good job, great health benefits, a good head on my shoulders, I know how to budget like a pro and find the best deals. But Maternity leave is only 55% of my salary for a year...and I want that entire year with my child. And then there's childcare costs to think about, sports and clubs and clothing and toys and fun.

So I've created a massive spreadsheet that outlines the financial costs for year 1 after the baby is born - including a monthly budget - and how I plan  to supplement the meager maternity income. It's personal and real and helps to calm some of the anxiety of being a single parent. A few of the key items that I've calculated into my budget are:

~ Cloth Diapers

I've always preferred cloth to disposable diapers, even back when they were flat sheets folded and pinned with Diaper Pins that leaked horribly with heavy wetters and couldn't contain massive poo explosions. I don't like the chemicals in disposable diapers - did you know that most disposables are bleached with chlorine, and one of the by-products of that process is a carcinogenic chemical called Dioxin?? Wait, it gets better. There is no safe exposure level for Dioxin. That means that any exposure, no matter how minimal, is harmful. Then there's that crystal gel stuff that is in so many brands nowadays...Sodium Polyacrylate. That stuff was banned from tampons after some pretty solid suspicions that it causes toxic shock syndrome. Nope, I don't want any of that pressing up against my baby's tender privates!

Cloth diapers have less impact on the environment and are healthier and cheaper. And now, they are incredible. There are Pre-Folds, Wool Diaper Covers, Pocket Diapers, All In One systems (not my preference)...I've decided to start with a combination of Pre-Folds (PF's) and Fitted cloth diapers with Bummi Super Brites diaper covers (PUL's), as well as about half a dozen FuzziBunz One Size Pocket diapers. The former should last me approximately 6 months (depending on the baby's size) while the One Size Pocket diapers are incredibly adjustable and will grow with the baby until potty training!

The cost of purchasing the PF's, Fitted's and PUL's for 0 - 6 months is about $348 (including accessories). The FuzziBunz are $25 each at 6 = $150, and last one child about 3 years. That's a cost of about $25 every 6 months. Let's compare that against a lower-priced brand of organic disposables, which cost about $15/box at 30 diapers. That's $0.50 a diaper!! Over the course of 6 months, assuming 8 bum changes a day (less or more for newborns and toddlers), that's about $675.00!! Not to mention the gas cost of going to the store to buy disposables, the inconvenience of having to take baby out - remember, single mom!, the amount of space those boxes take up and the number of times that one has to take the trash out! (I don't do Diaper Genies. The thought of poopy diapers sitting in my house breeding bacteria for days makes me shudder!) And then, of course, there's the disposable wipes, chock full of more chemicals with a side of preservatives and fragrances etcetera etcetera, and ridiculously expensive. I'll be making my own wipe solution and using washable, cheap cloths from Walmart.

6 months of Disposable organic diapers: $675.00 + wipes (@ 0.06 / wipe = $230) + gas + inconvenience = $905.00
6 months of Cloth Diapers: $348.00 + $25.00 + laundering costs (every 2nd day about $15/month) + homemade bum wipes (25 pkg cotton cloths @ $19) + accessories (liners/Snappi's, about $20) = $427.00

That's a total savings of $478.00 over 6 months!! And the beauty of cloth diapers is that they can be used again for future kids (I'd like 2) or sold - their resale value is unbelievable!

~ Breast Feeding and Homemade Baby Food

I plan to breast feed. I probably don't need to tell you why. I've also always expected to make my own baby food, utilizing a food processor and a blender. So much healthier. So much cheaper! In an effort to keep this ridiculously long diatribe from becoming an essay, I won't detail the cost savings. Suffice it to say, I've got another spreadsheet. I'll save about 40 cents per ounce by taking an hour a week to make my own baby food. Doesn't seem like much? A 6 month old eats about 8 ounces of commercial baby food a day (yes, YMMV). I'll use Baby Gourmet, which is about 4 oz per package, and sold at Walmart for $1.47/pkg. It would cost about $2.94 (+tax) a day to feed Baby Gourmet (Stage 1) to a 6 month old baby. Not bad, right? That's $100 a month. I don't know about you, but I spend about a hundred dollars a month on groceries for myself, and I'm significantly larger than a 6 month old baby!! By making homemade baby food I can save almost half that, if not more, especially when fruits and vegetables are in season! And I can control the ingredients and ensure that there are no additives or preservatives and that my baby is eating the freshest, most nutritional food possible. And think of the variety!

I've already been told not to buy a crib/high chair/stroller/etc. I'm very lucky - my family and friends support me fully in this decision and can't wait to start spoiling the future baby. My Mom keeps asking me why I'm waiting another year to start trying; she constantly urges me to get it done tomorrow or next week. And a part of me knows that I could...but the responsible, parent-to-be side of me wants to ensure that I am as prepared as one can possibly be when bringing a new life into the world.

So I'll wait, and I'll work towards being the best Mom I can possibly be. And I'll wake up in the morning, sure that I was pregnant, and worry that I might have problems getting pregnant (I have endometriosis, le sigh), and continue to look for true love until July 15, 2012. Mommyhood, here I come!

February 4, 2011

Silence is...

Wow, it's been like 2 weeks since I posted anything.
[I just said 'like' in a blog. I don't even care.]

The cursor is just sitting here blinking at me, taunting me with all of the thoughts that I would have if I were smarter funnier clever-er a total slacker with nothing else to do but blog...ok well technically I'm typing right now but you know what I mean.

[pause, blink, think, blink]

Five minutes of my life I'll never get back.

I'm so glad it's Friday.
The End.

January 21, 2011

Friday Photography

I worked 14.5 hours yesterday. Frankly, I'm too exhausted to dredge up even the slightest amount of mental bendy-ness and post something funny or insightful or heartfelt.

So, I give you Friday Photography, and one of my very favourite poems (also my very favourite dog):

i carry your heart with me
i carry your heart with me (i carry it in
my heart) i am never without it (anywhere
i go you go, my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing, my darling)
i fear
no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet) i want
no world (for beautiful you are my world, my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you
here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart
i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)
~ e.e. cummings

January 20, 2011

Oh Mamma

At the tender age of 10 I decided that when I grew up, I wanted to be a Mommy.
Oh, over the years I bounced from one career choice to the next:
- Marine Biologist: even though I was rubbish at swimming...but I was absolutely obsessed with marine mammals. I've kept freshwater fish since I was eight years old. I wanted to swim with dolphins (I finally did about 2 years ago and though I partly hate myself for it - they were captive raised - I still maintain that the day I swam with dolphins is on my Top Ten list) and study whales and porpoises and sting-rays and-and-and.
- Astronaut: I have an above average IQ that stuck me in gifted classes in school until I begged my Mom to Please Put Me Back In Regular School! (she did) But I am no rocket scientist.
- Veterinarian: I was even more obsessed with cats, dogs and horses than I was with water creatures, and when I did a career study at a local vet clinic I resolved to become a Veterinarian myself. It is the one career choice that I never really gave up on, even today. I started training dogs, under my Mom's tutelage, when I was very young and became a groomer and trainer in my early 20's. I am a self-proclaimed - and self taught - expert on canine/feline nutrition. Yes, I know more about nutrition than your vet. I can go on for hours about proper nutrition, grooming and training.
- Pediatric Nurse: When I was about 16 the prospect of becoming a Ped's Nurse specializing in Diabetes warred with my long-standing desire to be a Vet. I wanted to help kids with Diabetes, give something back to the community.
When I was 22 I went back to college, after a long stint as a Nanny, and entered the Vet Assistant program in order to get a taste for Veterinary Medicine. I would have had to move to Saskatchewan for the Vet Program, you see, and I wanted to be as certain as possible that this avenue was still the one I wanted to pursue. Funny, isn't it, how one can believe that the years stretch endlessly ahead and there will always be time and money to do the things one desires. Le sigh. But at the last minute, after speaking to the Nursing HUC teacher (an RN herself) I transferred into the Nursing HUC program and spent two years learning about the anatomy/physiology/disease etiology/pharmacology/all those other -ology's of people instead of animals. I loved it and still wish that I could have become a professional student. Alas, I ended up working in Geriatrics for a not-for-profit healthcare society and dealt with dementia clients on a daily basis. I quickly realized that this wasn't the right environment for me (I wanted to work with KIDS for crying out loud!! But I needed a ton of experience before I could even pursue pediatrics) and got a job at a Doctor's office, where I put up with a egotistical, verbally abusive British thinks he's god doctor for 3 months. I ended up quitting and, through temp agencies, fell into Finance where I've spent the past 6 years regretting my 20-year old self's flighty choices and wishing I could afford to go back to school, even as a Vet Tech.
But through it all my desire for motherhood remained. Remains. I was voted the girl most likely to have 8 kids by the time she was 25 by my highschool peers. I was a Nanny and practically raised a little boy in my late teens/early twenties; he was my baby, that boy, and when I left him to go back to College it was as difficult as giving up a child to someone else. I was never a 'dater'; that is, I've been in 3 relationships in my 30 years and only one of them really mattered, only one man reached out and grasped my heart. He was The One. It was a long distance relationship. He was 11 years older than I and the relationship evolved from a very close friendship - he was my soul mate. Not the cheesy oooh-I-saw-him-across-the-room-and-it-was-luuuurve-at-first-sight mate; no, he was my Bosom Buddy. The closest, best friend I ever had. He never wanted kids until he initiated a romantic relationship with me; it was only then that his mind was changed. I, naive, hopeful, in-love-for-the-very-first-time Me, believed him. You may laugh bitterly - I just did.
I'm sure that you can probably guess what happened from there: one day we had a huge, relationship-altering fight about something not even worth mentioning now. In the aftermath he changed his mind again; I decided I don't want kids, he told me. (Way to press that EASY button!) He wasn't willing to do the long-distance thing anymore, nor was he willing to do anything to fix the distance. That day he just gave up on us, and in response I completely exploded and, after another 3-ish months of trying to be his friend and constantly fighting with him and grieving the relationship and trying desperately not to love him anymore, I gave up, too. I packed up my boot-trodden heart and never talked to him again.
And now I'm 30 years old, still single, having a hell of a time trying to learn how to date, where to meet men, where to meet men who aren't just interested in getting bendy and leaving, and how to trust someone Not to Break my Heart again. There is still nothing more that I need than to be a Mommy; sometimes it is a physical ache that causes a clenching in my chest and an aching emptiness in my womb. I am disgustingly envious of the women around me who glow with the prospect of motherhood, who have all of the things I so desperately wish for; it reached the point where I was having difficulty being around babies and children because I wanted them SO badly, because I was constantly surrounded by something it felt like I might never have! So, two years ago, I decided that if I'm not in a committed relationship with the possibility of children an almost certainty by my 33rd birthday, I will knock myself up. I have already started to investigate and initiate Intrauterine Insemination in order to have all my rubber duckies in a row, and I've written and filed a plan of action that includes a timeline (heh). I'm also preparing myself financially so that 2.5 years from now I will be able to provide the most stable environment I can as a single parent. I always keep in mind that the age I've decided on may have to change under certain circumstances - what it won't do, though, is go over 35. That is my threshold, I have to start trying by that age at the latest.
The amount of support that I've received from friends and family is overwhelming - I'm sure that there will be plenty of naysayers and judgers but for now I'm surrounded by encouragement and well-wishes and positive thoughts. My good friends are positive that I will be The Best Mom Ever, even if I'm single (and of course I agree since I channel awesomeness). My Mom would be on cloud nine if I raped myself tomorrow and got knocked up by a turkey baster...and to be honest, sometimes it's Really Incredibly HARD not to just throw good judgement in the mud and do it. Tomorrow. Next week. SOON!
I want to be a Mommy. I was put on this earth to be a Mommy. My empty arms want to be filled, my heart wants to give of itself, to provide love and guidance and eskimo kisses to a child. The very core of me needs to be a parent, for unselfish and selfish reasons beyond explanation. It simply is, I simply must.
But for now I'll wait.
907 days.

January 19, 2011

"It's gonna bleed like stink."

Ahhhh, one infamous statement made by my Doctor which I chose to disregard and which left me looking like Carrie, covered in pig's blood.

4 Weeks Ago

I'd been bothering a mole on my head for about two weeks. It was getting bigger and just didn't feel right to my probing fingers, so I made an appointment to have my Doctor take a look at it. OK, it was freaking ugly, too. My vanity was bothered when the 6 year old that I am a Nanny to made one of those squirrely little faces that only young girls can make, and asked me, "What is that weird thing on your head?"

It was big. It always had been big and sat squarely on my natural part about two inches from the hairline at my forehead. Oh, if that's not gross enough, I also have one on my left eye. Right on the lash line. You have to be right smack dab in my personal bubble to see it...which makes me thankful that I've not ever had a squirelly face from some Hawttie.

Anyway, my vanity was offended by a 6 year old and suddenly that mole was surely the size of a very large witch's wart and Needed. To. Go. So after work, on a Wednesday night, a few days before Christmas, I carried it with me into my Doctor's office where she felt it up, declared it surely benign, and offered to remove it.

[dumbass] "Yes please," said I.

"It's gonna bleed like stink," was her response. "I can wait until the weekend if you'd like?"

But the weekend was Christmas, and I was leaving for my sister's house for the holidays.

[DUMBASS] "I'll be OK, just get it over with!" I was sure that it wouldn't be that bad - after all, I knew all about the copious bleeding of head wounds thanks to my medical classes in college. I was prepared. A little blood never hurt anyone! [ahem...Dumbass!!]

She froze my head up, brandished a scalpel just outside my line of sight and started sawing. No, I'm not kidding or exaggerating for dramatic purposes. I heard the sawing. I felt the noise of that scalpel squeaking back and forth through the flesh of my scalp. Uggggggggggggg. I shudder even now thinking of it.

And then I felt the blood, waterfalls of thick liquid running down my head, soaking in my hair and puddling under my head on the pillow. I actually asked her if she had maybe hit something important, you know, like my BRAIN??? Or some magical Spanxster-only artery of awesomeness that might be spewing blood a la ER?? Oh Gawd my awesomeness is spewing!!!

Alas, my Awesomeness Artery remains intact (phew) and the gore of that night was the typical bleeding of a head wound. Which I should mention that I was prepared for. Uh huh. Right. When the surgery was done - after a blood-soaked gauze pad was pressed over the 3 stitches for ten minutes - my Doctor helped me to sit up (very carefully) and tried to soak up the red stuff coating my hair with paper towel. I joked about what people would think...should I scream a little before I leave the room, maybe add some cackling sound effects in for fun? (She rolls her eyes at me a lot. I don't know why.) Next time I'll wear my prom dress, I promised her. And then I walked out, blood-soaked head held high, thanking gawd for once in my life that my hair is naturally red and blood just blends in sooo well. Ahhh vanity, thy name is blood-red hair!
Yep, it bleeds like stink

Oh I forgot to mention...it Hurt. Once the freezing wore off it felt like my skull was exposed to the cold winter air. Ouch ouch OuCh! I, fortress of strength, who walked on a broken ankle for two days when I was a teenager, wimped out and called my Moooooommy. I whined and complained and whimpered and my Mom was over at my house within 10 minutes to help me rinse the blood out of my hair and pat my back and tell me what a brave little girl I am. It took 30 minutes!!!And that was just the rinsing!

The incision itself is almost fully healed (it was a benign growth!) and soon I'll be able to put some new hair in. [moment of silence for SQUEEEEEEE!] But you know what? I woke up the next morning and the first thing I thought was:

Wow, I missed out on a really epic self-portrait series of photographs!

It's no wonder my Doctor rolls her eyes.

January 18, 2011

My New Career Path

In light of recent economic developments (AKA: uber job suckage and rising costs of gas and groceries) I've decided to pursue a new career and become independently wealthy.

My new job (drumrolllllllllllll please!!):

*Dunh dun dun DUNNNNNNN*

International Jewel Thief.

I figure that my myriad qualifications make me the perfect jewel thief:

- Wearing Spanx everyday will make the adjustment into having to wear a catsuit quite smooth. [actually it will be lumpy. Veeeeeery lumpy. Probably requiring 3 Spanx under the catsuit just to avoid scaring potential thief-ees to death. Though that may be a tool to add to my arsenal...]

- My Freakishly Tiny Feet. Meaning I can balance atop smaller tops much easier than someone with, say, freakishly average feet. That's what I presume anyway...I'm not inclined to test my theory at this point.

- I chew at least 12 pieces of gum a day. Gum, as we all know, is a very useful little plaque-remover. It also freshens breath so I could potentially have a big bowl of greek salad to fuel my little thieving escapades without alerting my thief-ees with knockemdead mouth breathing. May also be useful in scaling walls.

- I have very stylish glasses.

You may consider this my official resume. My references are as follows:

"The Spanxster is easily the sneakiest person I know. She is so sneaky that when she wears sneakers she can sneak up on an elephant from the left side without spooking the big mammal." ~ Some dude

"I am willing to rub The Spanxster's fingerprints off with sandpaper." ~ Nameless

"She stole my ham sandwich that one Wednesday and I had to ask around the office several times just to find out it was her!" ~ Coworker

"Please make her an International Jewel Thief so she'll stop sleeping on my couch!" ~ Anonymous

"Frankly, she just looks sneaky." ~ Grumpy Old Man

Independent wealth, here I come!!!

January 15, 2011

Who Needs Wine...

I won’t pretty up my abysmal lack of stature; I’m short. It sucks – if you’re short too*, you know that there are evil cupboard gremlins that deliberately move the extra-virgin olive oil to the very back of the middle shelf. Where you can juuuuuust touch the bottle with your fingertips but grabbing it is impossible.

I’m 5’2″. But I totally rock Uma Thurman on the inside!

Thanks to my mother’s mother, who is a tiny Scottish lady, not only am I short, I also have curly red hair and ridiculously tiny feet. And when you put all that together, it’s like trying to drive a mini-cooper on Big Wheel tires. With nasty red handlebar streamers. During a thundershower.

Or something.

It’s like the reverse-hobbit effect (sans hairy feet, thank you very much); short person walking on feet too small, not to mention the well-known fact that I’m also busty (thanks to my sperm donors family for that – I hope you All get Hemorrhoids!)…like a ship without sails…or a rudder…or whatever the hell that’s called. Shit, that’s not right. OK, like one of those blow up punchy dudes I had when I was a kid, dude that BONGED from side to side whenever he moved, the one I named Bert and practiced french kissing on… But anywhore, it makes for some grade-A klutz moments, all of which star yours truly (see, totally channeling the Uma again!).

Most Notable (or, Why I Would Totally Win the “Are you sure you aren’t drunk?!” contest):

Numero Uno:
Seventh grade. Skiing. I didn’t need lessons because I was the awesomest, hottest girl around (I am not responsible for your personal delusions) and I was all over skiing the hill with the black rating with my more agile friends. My snowplowing skills were legendary and I was immortal. I had a cape, even - swear, it's in my linen closet attracting moths as we speak! A quarter of the way down the steepest fucking hill in the entire world (did I mention that the scenery is devoid of mountains?) my chicken-legs started failing me and I made a sharp turn to the left, heading directly towards the group of students from my school who were lined up in a row. Taking lessons. The instructor was yelling at me to STOP, I was shrieking that my brakes had locked up…..and BAM! I took out the last kid in line. Who, in turn, took out the kid ahead of him. Who, in turn, took out the kid ahead of him. And so on and so on, exactly like a game of dominoes but with blood and snot and all that squishy OOF and OW-NESS. I came out relatively unscathed but was banished from ski days for the rest of the year. Because I totally rock like that.

Numero Deux: 
Fast forward about ten years and picture this: our protagonist is taking a leisurely walk with The Greatest Mom. Ever., and her younger sister. The camera pans to show road crews working in the heat, tearing up three feet of pavement directly in the path of our main character, The Artist Formerly Known as Her Highness The Spanxster. Mother and sister walk slightly behind The Artist Formerly Known as blah blah blah, engaged in a heated discussion. So heated, that sister walks directly into a light standard. Baha.
Yeah, keep on laughing.
The Artist blah blah turns around to laugh hysterically and point at her now raccoon-ed sister, smugly showing her graceful manner by prancing backwards, laughing and pointing all at once. What Talent! What Grace! Until our doomed A-blah-blah continues to step back…into nothing. And proceeds to fall, backwards, three feet into the dug out road. Duhn-duhn-duh. To the couple sitting on their porch in audience, trying desperately not to inhale their entire cigarettes as they laughed, our protagonist grits her teeth, smiles, and says:
“I’ll be auditioning for the circus tomorrow! See you there!”
Sexy, eh?

Now, picture all this light-bottom, top-heavy, reverse-hobbit-ness perched atop size 5, three inch spike heels.

Yep, if I was a man, I’d totally want me.

Except…are you sure you aren’t drunk?

*Anyone taller than 5’2″ is Not short. And we hope you get hemorrhoids too!

January 14, 2011

Lower Your Expectations

When I was four years old, I was a ballerina. All little girls know that ballerina’s are beautiful for three reasons: their buns (hair, not ass, people), their tights and, of course, the tu-tu’s. I wore mine every day without fail. With leggings. Pink, purple, green, it didn’t matter. That tu-tu would be tied around my waist while I went frog-hunting with my bestest boy friend in the whole world.

I miss the simplicity of a tu-tu, believing that a stiff pink skirt was all one needed to W.O.W! the world. And the ease of hunting frogs that are nothing more than, well, little slimy green dudes.

Nowadays my frog hunts and stiff pink....AHEMs are unintended and crop up after particularly nasty dates during which the man sitting across from me discreetly picks his nose. At the dinner table. Dude, there is nothing discreet about diving for boogers. Or how about that guy on the undisclosed dating website who asked me if I wanted to barbecue up some cat and eat it. Yeah, I was all over that action……or not. My poor little pussy cringed in response. Yours did too, admit it. I am seriously considering anonymous donor insemination because I love to rape myself. And I really, really REALLY want a baby. My biological clock is tick-tick-ticking out a tune that's working it's way towards 31 and my spanx are the only thing holding me together. Sometimes. Wine occasionally lends itself towards my emotional stability along with running and a cigar.

I’m willing to try anything at least once – well almost anything...BBQ’d cat being one exception. I hate moths (and have been known to run screaming from them like a prissy little girl) and germs. My face is often hidden behind a camera and there is always a petite Border Collie glued to my ankles. OK, OK, running circles around my aging ankles to be more precise. People who are constantly texting their friends/family/Donald Trump make me want to grab a chainsaw and go all massacre on their index fingers. Shy is not a word to describe me. I grew up in the country, live in a small town and have an undying love for shoes. I'm extremely opinionated and confident in the universal fact that yes, I do indeed Know Everything. OK hold on, I have to consult with the Gawds of Google because I need a major hyperbole here. Right. I'm exorbitantly opinionated. Radically and terrifically opinionated. 100% right All. The. Time.

Oh, and I talk.

A Lot.