It's good to have a brother

I was having a pretty crummy day a little while back and I found myself on Facebook talking it out with my brother. It was amazingly therapeutic. Especially this part of the conversation:

Ben: I hope everything sparkles for you.
Me: Aw! Ben! I think that's the nicest thing you've ever said to me.
Ben: Really?
Me: Yes.
Ben: What about the time I hugged you really briefly at the airport.
Me: Yeah, and there was that one time you patted me on the back really quickly.
Ben: I think that time I was actually trying to punch you in the arm but I missed.

It's good to have a brother.

One year ago today I was interviewed for a magazine.
Three years ago today my children sprayed various liquids all over my house.
Four years ago today Joseph was poetic about vomit.

True friends help you give birth - Part III

For the rest of my pregnancy I didn't see much of Jen. We got together once to discuss my birth plan but that was about it. (This was the first time I met Jen's daughter who has since charmed me to such a degree that I have become convinced that that she and Joseph will need to get married some day. Or she can marry Elle. Whatever, I'm open minded. I just want her for my daughter-in-law.)

They day before Little A was born I was at my regular 38 week check-up with my ob. My doctor made my year when he said he would induce me the next day. I was so excited! The next day was Jen's day off at the clinic. She would be able to be there for the birth. Our we'll-make-it-work-if-we-can plan had worked. As I was leaving the exam room I ran into Jen's nurse in the hallway. I snagged her and told her the news and we squealed and jumped up and down. She went and grabbed Jen and then the three of us squealed and jumped up and down.

Jesse and I headed to the hospital early the next morning. Jen arrived shortly after I was hooked up to the pitocin. The three of us played cards for a while until the contractions made it too hard for me to pay attention. (My birth story is here if anyone is interested. Don't worry, I'm not going to bore you with every detail of it all over again.)

Once the contractions really got painful Jen became my rock. Oh, don't get me wrong. It was wonderful having Jesse there too but it was different with Jen. Maybe because she had been a doula before, maybe because she's a woman who has given birth. All I know is that she always seemed to know exactly what I needed. My back rubbed, my hand held, something comforting and reassuring said. She didn't leave my side for the entire 10 hours or so that I was in labor. When I was pushing a started to panic a little bit she talked me through it. I really credit Jen with letting me have the kind of birth experience that I really wanted.

Immediately after Little A was born I laid back in the hospital bed. I was overwhelmed by emotions. I felt so happy and satisfied and proud and relieved and awed. I looked up at Jen (who was still standing right by me holding my and) and I felt a sudden rush of sadness. I thought "Here's this amazing person that's come into my life and given me an incredible amount of love and support and this short, intense period and now I'm not going to be able to see her anymore. Now that her job is done, our relationship is done too."

Almost as soon as that thought crossed my mind I felt Jen give my hand a squeeze. She leaned over, looked me right in the eye and said "This is not over. You and I are not over." Through gulped back sobs I agreed. Yes, we would be friends beyond that day.

And that's exactly what we've done. We've only gotten closer since Little A was born. We talk all the time, we text constantly. We watch each others kids and get our families together for game nights. She has me over to her house for baked goods after old woman scar me and I buy her fake spider webs at the craft store. We have laughed together and cried together and gotten drunk together. She has seen me at my best and at my worst. She puts up with my mood swings and neediness and neurosis and I put up with her ........ I don't' know. I don't have to put up with much. I guess I tolerate her love for brewing beer. There's not much we don't know about each other but we each accept the other for what we are without judgement or condition. Hell, she's seen me naked and even that didn't send her screaming for the hills.

I know I sometimes complain about not having enough friends but I need to try to remind myself of all that I've actually got. I several family members that I am very close to, some of whom even feel like sisters to me. My brother, in spite of being surly and curmudgeonly, is always there for me. I have a few good blog-friends who have enriched my life in ways I would not have imagined possible back when I started this blog.

And I have Jen. I was looking for a friend like her for a long time and instead of finding someone like her, I found her. I am very, very lucky.

One year ago today I mooned a bus full of people.
Three years ago today my blog had a guest poster.
Four years ago today I continued my obsession with pooping while giving birth. This this time with a twist.

True friends help you give birth - Part II

When I was pregnant with Elle I woke up one morning unable to hear out of either ear. "Oh no!" I rationally thought. "I have pregnancy induced deafness!" I made a quick trip to the doctor where I was schooled on how pregnancy can't make you deaf but it can cause huge amounts of wax to build up in your ears which is gross and weird but not nearly as dramatic as what I had imagined.

I was older and wiser when I was pregnant with Little A so I was not too terribly worried when I woke up one morning and found myself unable to hear anything. I was just glad it happened on a day when I had a regular pre-natal check up scheduled.

When I got to the doctor's office I waited and waited and waited to be seen. Finally a nurse came out to the waiting room to tell me the doctor was running behind and would I mind seeing Jen instead? I eagerly replied "JEN?!?! I LOVE JEN!! THAT WOULD BE GREAT!!" (Because when you can't hear anyone you start to think they can't hear you either unless you are very, very loud.)

The nurse gave me a smile that said "Its my job to be compassionate and caring but I'm glad I don't have to deal with you anymore because your reaction freaked me out a little bit" and had me sit back down in the waiting room.

Moments later Jen's nurse came to bring me to an exam room. Here's the funny thing about Jen's nurse. She and I actually used to work together before Jesse and I were married and we were pretty friendly. We hadn't seen each other in years and it was lots of fun catching up. And by catching up I mean I screamed at her about my waxy ears and she marveled over exactly how huge my ass gets when I'm pregnant.

When Jen came into the room we hugged and then I yelled at her about my waxy ears. Considering how much I had liked Jen the first time I met her this wasn't exactly the second impression I wanted to make. "I was so glad to have made your acquaintance! I am gross and produce excess excretions!" Jen was cool as a cucumber though. She didn't even flinch, just set about trying to clean my ears out.

Only she couldn't do it. And if you want to feel awesome try having ears so waxy that even a trained medical professional can't get them clean. "I'm going to get my nurse." Jen muttered.

If you want to feel really awesome have someone you used to be friends with but have not seen for years weigh you and then hold a cup of your pee in their hands. Then have them try to clean out your blocked ears. There is no way to look or feel when cool when you have two people trying to dislodge wax from your ears. (In the interest of full disclosure I have to say that at one point another nurse was called in to consult on the situation. I wish I was kidding.)

At this point I was nearly in tears. Jen and her nurse were being great about the whole thing but I really don't like the center of attention like that. Especially when the reason for all the attention is that my body's byproducts have super-glue powers.

I did what I always do when I am in awkward situations. I joked. Badly. "Haha!" I chuckled weakly to the nurse. "Aren't you glad we get to see each other again? You're learning all kinds of new things about me!"

And to Jen "Who else can you bring in to help that I know? My husbands boss? My old daycare lady? That boy I had a crush on in 4th grade?"

And without missing a beat Jen replied "No, we're going to have him come in for your first cervical check."

And in that instant I knew that I didn't just want Jen to be my doula. I wanted her to be my friend. It's not often that you meet someone who can make you laugh, really laugh, while someone is standing next to you squirting water into your ear to create a kind of earwax soup. And when you do meet a person like that? You find a way to hang onto them.

We all know that friend making is not my strong suit though. It would be several more months until I really felt like Jen and I had become real friends. And all it took was for me to squeeze a person out of my body.

Four years ago today I thought Elle was a boy.

True friends help you give birth - Part I

I have talked about my friend Jen very briefly before on blog but I want to talk about her a little more today. I figure I should balance out some of the whining about not having friends with a story celebrating one of the really amazing friends that I do have.

Jen and I met by accident. She's a nurse midwife at the clinic I had all my pre-natal stuff done at when I was pregnant with Little A. During this time I had been searching for a doula to be there during the birth but I had not been having any luck finding one. In fact, I had even asked at the clinic where Jen works if they knew of any and the people I asked had just given me a blank stare. It's a pretty good bet that if a person has no idea what the word you just used means, they're not going to be able to help too much.

One day my ob was running really behind on appointments and I was asked if I would be willing to see a nurse midwife in his place. At that point I would have seen a janitor if it would have gotten me out of there faster so I agreed. I have to admit that when I heard the word "midwife" I was expecting to see someone who looked like this so I was a little surprised when instead this young, sassy looking redhead walked in. I liked her right away.

Anyone who knows me knows I am a talker and a sharer. Give me two minutes and I've give you my life story. That is, if I know you. If we've just met I'm more likely to stare at you in panic and terror if you try to talk to me. I'm really not so good at meeting new people. Right away though there was something about Jen that made me feel at ease. Two minutes after she walked into the room I was spilling my guts all over the place. I was telling her the sort of stuff that I don't even put on this blog and you know that's got to be personal because, um, hello?

The best part of the conversation came when I told Jen I was having a hard time finding a doula. She was pretty irritated that I was having such a hard time finding someone. Err, not irritated at me, irritated at the people who had refused to help me because I was having a child for a gay couple. See, before Jen became a nurse midwife she was a doula so she understood what an important role a doula can play in a birth. She told me about some places I might have more luck finding a doula and then, to top it all off, gave me her number at the clinic to call in case I needed more help.

Her number. Haha. She didn't know this at the time but I don't call people. Not people I don't know. I won't even call to order a pizza. As I walked out of the clinic that day I held her phone number in my hand and thought to myself "Man, I wish I could have her as my doula." I thought about it all that day and all of the next. Then I did something I never do. I picked up the phone and I called her.

Imagine my surprise and delight when she said that not only would she love to be my doula but that when I left the clinic that day she had been thinking "I wish I could be her doula."

And so it was set. We agreed that she would be my doula ..... if I gave birth while she was not at work. That was ok with me though. I was just happy that there was a chance she would be there. I was happy I had found someone I had clicked with so well. What I didn't know at the time was that the next time I would see Jen, things would not have as happy an outcome.

One year ago today I answered some questions about surrogacy.
Four years ago today I was still worried about pooping while giving birth.

The good, the bad and the downright gross

Yesterday was my four year blogiversary. I didn't even realize it until I was finished with my entry but there you go. It's somewhat poetic that neither my first entry nor my entry four years later got any comments. (I hope that anyone who thought about commenting on my last post instead went and left a comment on Shannon's blog.)

I get fair amount of traffic to this blog. And by fair amount I mean more than the six or so visitors a day I used to get. I get a ton of google hits. Most of the time they're for things like "girl pooping" or "girl problems" or "zicam and breastfeeding" or "detachable penis". I do get hits once in a while that kind of amuse and/or horrify me. A few recent ones are:

story about a girl who causes a problem but then helps to fix the problem and with her help the effets of the problem are reduced in her community and a lesson is learned - I find this one very cute for some reason.

say a girl is 19 and a boy is 13 does the boy need to wear a condom - What the boy needs is the police. Seriously. That's .... wow.

is it common for college students to wear diapers - Sure. If they're super freaky.

girl who poops on the toilet and then feeds there baby out there boobs pictures - Good lord. What an oddly specific fetish.

am i hot if i am fat and eat cake? - As one fattie to another? Yes. Yes you are.

I think I have Assbugers - "don't care about other people don't like people" - I think it's breaking an internet law if you diagnose yourself with something you can't even spell.

oobi on noggin breastfeeding - :o

So you can see why I've kept at this for four years. It's not the four cents a day I make on ads. It's not the avalanche of comments I get on every post. It's not even the knowledge that I am providing a much needed service to the world. (Because if I don't mommy blog, who will?) It's the ability to connect with the freaks that keeps me around. Because if I don't blog how else will I know about your poop fetish?

One year ago today I laughed at earnest people.
Four years ago today I was the most boring person on the face of the planet and I feared pooping while giving birth.

My friend Shannon

Please let me take a minute and let me tell you a little bit about my friend Shannon. Some of you may already know Shannon. She's not exactly a shrinking violet and she's not afraid to let you know exactly what she what she's thinking about any given topic. The size of her mouth is exceeded only by the size of her heart. I say that with love and I know that when she reads that she'll understand. And if she doesn't, she'll let me know. Shannon is the only friend I have who will call me at midnight and start our phone conversation with "Girl, SHUT UP!"

In the past couple years Shannon has been through more loss and tragedy than an entire boatload of people should have to endure in their whole lives. She has lost her son, her home, her health, her sister (in a manner of speaking) and several other family members.

But do you know what happens when you call Shannon? She asks right away "How are you doing?" And she means it. It doesn't matter how minor or silly your problem is compared to everything she's got going on, she really cares about what's happening in your life.

She's funny too. A little while back I called Shannon and I was in tears over some stupid issue or other. Not only did she not tell me to get over myself, she made me feel better. Within minutes she had me laughing over a crazy story about taking her dog to the groomer. She's got a million great stories and loves to share them. In fact, most of the times that we talk on the phone our conversation only comes to an end because my phone is dying.

Right now Shannon and her husband are raising (not just taking care of, but parenting) four young children who's parents are dealing with drug addiction. She does it with a sense of humor, energy and competence that most people would not be able to muster on even their best day.

And Shannon doesn't do it on her best day. She does it all while battling cancer. Cancer that has not responded to chemo. Cancer that is draining her energy and causing her great pain. She doesn't take her pain medication because it interferes with her ability to take care of the kids.

Shannon is not super woman though and right now she's not doing real well. She's fighting and if I know her she will continue to fight but she needs help. Please, send her your love, your prayers, your kind wishes, your good vibes. Those kids need her, her husband needs her, her friends need her. The world is a much better place with her in it. As her husband says "We did not come this far to lose her now."

One year ago today it was Easter.
Two years ago today my first IFs picked their egg donor.
Three years ago today I hated a guy on Top Chef.
Four years ago today I started this blog. Crazy.

Thank you for ruining the word "hobby" for me

As you may know I am working on meeting new people and making new friends. Last night I tried something new and attended a crocheting group at my local craft store. My hope was that there would be at least one person there I could chat with. That was my simple hope. My simple, is-that-really-asking-so-much hope.

For the first half hour of the "group" I was the only one there. I tried to crochet in a friendly looking manner thinking maybe that would lure more people in. When that didn't work I crocheted sullenly. That did the trick. Moments after switching over to sullen mode I was joined by an old lady who smelled of stale Newport cigarettes.

The old lady had a crochet project with her but she didn't work on it very much. Mostly she just talked about her various medical ailments and forced me to look at her scars. You've got to give it up for medical science. It allows someone who's had two strokes, an aneurysm and a fall down two flights of stairs to still be up and waking around and scaring the bejesus out of random strangers.

The defining moment of the evening came when the old lady started to tell me about one of her surgeries. She told me "They split me open from my boobs to my hobby room!"

And when she said "hobby room" she pointed to her crotch.

Then it was time for me to leave.

So last night was a bit of a bust. I didn't meet any new friends and now I can't hear the word "hobby" without a little piece of my soul dying.

One year ago today Joseph got in touch with his past lives.
Two years ago today I was forced to do yet another meme.

The locks! They do nothing!

Before we moved into this house every place Jesse and I ever lived had just one bathroom. This was never a problem for Jesse as he feels perfectly comfortable using the bathroom while I'm showering or showering while I'm using the bathroom. I'm a bit more .... uptight than he is so I've never been totally comfortable with that arrangement.

Joseph has inherited Jesse's comfort with shared bathroom experiences. In fact, he's taken it to the next level. He'll walk right into the bathroom no matter what you're doing. He'll do it for pretty much any reason too. If he has to use the bathroom, if he wants to throw something away, if he's got something to tell you, if he's bored and has nothing else to do. Thanks to his general lack of awareness of the need for personal space and privacy he sees nothing wrong with it and my shrieks of "Joseph! Get out of the bathroom" really don't even seem to faze him.

You can imagine how pleased I was when we found our current home. Two full bathrooms PLUS a toilet in the laundry room. Score! I really figured that once we moved into this house I would never again have someone walk in on me when I'm in the bathroom. Oh, how I underestimated my family.

It turns out that the best bathroom in my house is "whatever bathroom mom is in". The second I walk into a bathroom it becomes the happening place to be. The kids walk right in. "Mommy, can I have candy?" It's like they know I'll agree to whatever is asked just to get three seconds alone on the toilet. (Yes, I realize I could lock the door but our last house didn't have a lock on the bathroom door and now I'm out of the habit.) Jesse's not much better. He doesn't always walk in but he'll stand right outside the door and talk to me. Um, hello? I'm in there making bathroom noises. I might not enjoy the audience.

On the rare occasion I do remember to lock the door it's pretty much an exercise in futility anyway. The other day I locked the door when I went to take a shower. As I washed my hair I heard someone rattle the knob. "Haha!" I thought "I've done it now! No one will be able to enter my fortress of privacy and shampoo!"

Two minutes later the knob rattled again. I ignored it until I realized the door was actually opening. In walked Jesse and Elle. Jesse had popped the lock open so that he and Elle could come in. Because when I lock the door to the bathroom what I really mean is "I still want you to come in, I just want to make it slightly less convenient for you."

What the hell is wrong with my family? I know it's a hackneyed mommy-blogger complaint but will I ever again have a moment to myself in the bathroom? My family members are three, eight and thirty something. At what age will they realize that privacy is a very precious commodity and that I could use a little more of it? Is my husband doesn't' have it down yet, is there any hope for my children?

I have a story about my mother-in-law that I would like to add here but I won't because she reads this blog (Hi Judy!) and while I'm ok mocking my own immediate family, it gets kind of weird if I'm talking about the in-laws. Let's just say that Jesse's bathroom etiquette appears to be genetic and leave it at that. Oy.

One year ago today it was St Patrick's Day.
Two years ago today I did a Google meme.
Three years ago today I wrote what can only be described as the most boring blog post ever.