Round Three

So I'm pregnant again. I could be all PC and crap and say that 'we're' pregnant again - but that would be a false representation of just who is going through the muddy trenches with a very large and angry gun on her back that sometimes jams and hits innocent civilians.

This is very much a planned pregnancy. We want our kids to have plenty of people to count on when Mom and Dad bail when the last one hits 18 and they have to send a wire to some distant village in the Cayman Islands that is delivered by a man chewing straw. We want our kids to have plenty of options for bone marrow, kidney and blood transfusions. And most importantly, I have gone of my Ack medication and am not thinking clearly at all. I was wooed by The Hubbins' persistent powers of persuasion and by his ability to play Ava Maria from his rectum. After 11 years a devilishly laid eyebrow raise and a boob grab is all I get for foreplay. Lest I not get any nookie at all, I best know the signs.

So I was a mean, ravenous sex crazed monster once the IUD was pulled. And like I foretold to my midwife, we got pregnant the first month after the foreign birth control object was yanked.

And then, The Nothing moved in.

The -"I feel gross and achy and nauseated and ugly and swollen and we've done our duty so leave me alone now" - nothing. I went from giving my husband marks he was embarrassed to show at work to not being amused at all by his advances - such as they are.

I complain constantly - about everything. I'm sick of the sound of my own snivelling voice.

Then yesterday The Ow moved in.

When I was pregnant with Sawyer I had terrible arthritis pain in my hips and hands once the Relaxin moved in : that oh-so lovely chemical your body produces to make your joints more loose to facilitate pushing out a baby pig from what's supposed to be a place of joy and excitement. With Riley the relaxin affected the joining of my cartilage and rib bones in my chest causing something called costal chondritus. Translation? OW.

Either way its not fun.

So we're closing on our new home next week, Sawyer started Kindergarten this week, we're having another baby, I have 13 credits I'm taking this semester and we have a new family member:

Her name is Myra and she's a Meyer's Parrot. She's not at all as loud as the other birds we've had, which means there is less of a likelihood that I will stuff her with garlic and roast her.

She's more of a Daddy's girl and prefers men in general - which is the antithesis of the birds we've had before. In general parrots like higher voices - and as I sound the same as I did when I was 12, I've always had good bird juju.

But this one's a little slut for The Hubbins. Whatever. Maybe he'll Dutch Oven the bird instead of me.

More Trade Offs

Why does my sanity have to come at the expense of my sex drive? Why is it that no medications exist that can help control Anxiety Disorder (heretofore referred as The Ack) and yet still leave me as the sex crazed minx that I am? Why, Huh?!! Huh? I am growing tired of trading one for the other.
With the meds, I laugh more. With the meds, I am better prepared to weather two whining toddlers, I am able to get up in the morning and DO THINGS. Stuff gets done, and if it doesn't I don't consider myself a worthless piece of shit and stay awake at night and worry about all the shit that The Ack firmly believes that should have been done. With the meds, I don't obsessively peel at my skin, or pick at my skin, or squeeze at my skin, or look at my skin, or think about my skin. I'm able to laugh off The Husband's incessant chauvinistic remarks and see them for the "I love you because I'm chasing you in the schoolyard" that they are.

Without the meds, I'm jumpy, irritable, and a raging horndog.
Not fun when you have a stressed out and tired husband all the time.
And with nearly 11 years under our belt, I'm discovering that no two people can be in The Mood at the same level at the same time. One may just want to receive special kisses while the other wants some good 'ol monkey sex. One may want a backrub and some sweet lovin, while the other is really interested in watching Dateline. In fact, the only time that Allen and I were ever in the same mood at the same time was when we were in the midst of divorce proceedings.
Funny, that.

Why Chuck Norris needs to put on a bunny suit and make out with me

So you all know how I care not for The Sister In Law.
Well, since The Husband and I signed the international/intergenerational/intercongigal peace treaty, things have been amazing. Even the fact that ALL of our relatives no longer speak to us is actually a thing I revel in. The drama level in our lives has hit near to Defcon 1.
But through the grapevine (translation: Mother in law) I have learned that The Husbands Great Uncle is having medical problems. A mass has been found in a lung - follow ups are required and the family is on this month's issue of Waiting On Test Results monthly.
So the tale goes that Mother in law called Sister in law to relay the news and this is the first thing that trickled from her holier-than-thou-my-organic-fucking-bean-sprout-ass-is-better-than-yours lips:

"Well, if he had just lived healthier..."

Ok, so this is a man who has - like many of the men in the family- supported his family by ranching, driving truck... anything to keep food on the table. This is also a man that drove at all hours of the night when The Husband, Mother in law and Sister in law broke down in the middle of nowhere on their way out to see the family.
This man is a sweet and gentle and loving and respectful as any I have met. That whole generation of their family is rife with good, honest, hardworking people.

So here is where I put it out there, with complete disregard for karma and all other cosmic forces.
I hope this bitch gets cancer or gets hit by a truck.

(missed me, didn't ya??!!)

What good does it do sit up on a high horse and wave your hemp oil ass at everyone in your life? Is being right really that important? Or maybe is being empathetic and at peace with the fact that each person has their own path more important?
Don't get me wrong, I do shudder and cringe in frustration when I see parents loading their carts with half a dozen cases of soda. My kids eat whole grains, I won't buy anything with hydrogenated or high fructose anything.
My kids know what soda tastes like and they prefer juice. Yes, they get the occasional lollipop.
But honestly, is my way of life any better if I make other people feel bad about theirs? She's an Evangelical Health Nazi.


And I know the title has nothing to do with anything. I really have yet to find a reason to title anything that. So there it is.