Category Archives: Getting My Shit Together

Max Goes To School (or, the crazy lady who feeds the pigeons on her lunch break)

So, I took Max to his first preschool trial day. I dropped him off at 8ish, I prepped him for weeks not to cry when I dropped him off. He’s never been dropped off anywhere before without me, except his grandparents house. So I knew it would be a shit show. The whole ride there he said he wouldn’t cry and he was very excited and proud to say that, then we pull into the parking lot, I look behind me and he’s silently crying as soon as I put the car in park! He was trying not to let me see him cry?! Killing me!! After a quick pep talk, he was good to go. Me not so much. Where’s my pep talk?!

I walked him in, waiting for the second round of crying, but that never came. He ran in, sat with the teacher and couldn’t care any less that I was leaving. THIS IS NOT HOW I PLANNED THIS. I’m weak, and emotional. I wanted him to come running back then we’d dodge the hell outta that place and go have brunch somewhere and spend the day at kiddie hipster play land with all the Logan’s, Unicorn’s, and River’s who don’t know how to share.

But alas, I walked out and I got in my car, and I didn’t. know. what. to. do. I started driving, but where was I going?! I LITERALLY DID NOT KNOW WHAT TO DO WITH MY FREE TIME. This sounds crazy, but you have to understand that I’ve been staying at home with him for 3 years now, every day, all day for 3 years. I don’t remember what I used to do? I think I used to paint a lot, or I guess I went to work? I actually have no memory of how I could possibly fill a whole entire day to myself?? This is the saddest craziest thing I’ve ever written.

At one point after the drop off, I drove to get coffee, finished my coffee as slow as possible, which was still less than 4 minutes, because I’m on mom-toddler-rush time, all the time. If he would have been there I wouldn’t have finished it at all, in fact I probably wouldn’t have even taken a sip. Frequently I buy coffee, leave the coffee shop, then toss the full cup at some point within the hour or two after I buy it, just so I can say “I got coffee”. I’m going to be more efficient in this, from now on I’m just going to go to Starbucks, give them $4.00 and walk out. Anyway, it was nice to get to drink a warm coffee. But then what?? This is so embarrassing, you know what I did??

I just drove around the block of the coffee shop 5 or 6 times. ISN’T THAT CRAZY? I’m fucking crazy. I legitimately did not know what the else to do with my time?! I think maybe I wanted to do so many things that I just couldn’t pick one, so I ended up doing none?? Oh, I also went to the bank. Like an adult. That’s what adults do, we go to the bank.

After that, I drove around some more, I ended up at a mall… I got bored at the mall and waited for the time to tick down to when I could go pick him up again. GUYS ARE YOU READING HOW STUPID THIS IS?! I know i’m not *that* crazy, because at least I can call out that I am obviously a big crazy loser and no, I am not not okay with the fact that I couldn’t even fill 3 hours of my day, so I chose to drive aimless around a block. So, yes… crazy, big, loser, yes, I get it. And because I get it, it’s not so bad?? Like it would be way worse if I wrote this as doing that is such a normal thing that people do, right? #Justification

How weird is it gonna be when I go back to work and I have to interact with people all day again?! I’m gonna be that person, that one person that works with you that you don’t talk to because she’s a weirdo… you know who I’m talking about, you all work with her. Anyway, that’s me. And that crazy lady used to be awesome, just remember that.

tldr; When you think of a crazy work lady, think of me before I was her.

It Gets Easier

So, I stopped writing. Not just for this blog. But all together. Truth be told, over the past few years I wrote five different blogs and two books. Most of which existed only on my desktop. But I enjoy writing. Its my favourite hobby and has been for at least 20 years. I stopped though. I stopped painting, drawing and sketching also. Max takes up most of my time, but even my little free time I have – I stopped.

I stopped a little over year ago after my first miscarriage. It’s been a year. Fuck. It’s also been 8 months since my second miscarriage. It’s been a year since I was that Melissa that I knew my whole life. I feel like normal me is never coming back and that stresses me out every day.

Everyone says it gets easier. They’re right. But not easy enough.  Not like how it used to be.

I’m defined by those two events. I used to be defined by who I felt I was and the awesome things I did, this sarcastic funny social planning super dork with annoying organizational skills who was always relaxed with an IDGAF attitude about everything – with not a care in the world. I mean, of course I had things to care about, but nothing that defined who I was or that I focused on all that much.

These two events though, they shape what defines me now. Because I can’t escape them, nor do I want to. They happened and they’re there, and they’ll always be there. Even on the best of days, they still happened.

I can’t say the M word. I keep calling it “that baby stuff that happened. ” I’m impressed with myself for mentioning it above in this post.

It’s a weird feeling to be so happy with your life, but with this underlying horribleness  there at random times. I love my project management job, I love my real estate job, I love that I’ve gotten to spend every day all day with max for almost 3 years, I love Brian, I love my house. I love my amazing friends. But there’s always that underlying stuff that creeps up every now and then that’s like “ya you’re life is amazing and I’m so glad you’re happy but don’t forget about what happened last year”. The voice moderate resembles Kanye West as I read this back. Which will now make it a little but more palatable moving forward.

I haven’t slept since the second one. I’m tired. I’m exhausted. I have the same nightmare about it every single night. And I’m exhausted.

Everyone says it gets easier. It does. But it’s not easy enough.

It’s been a year. I need to get my shit together. I’m going to start writing again. I don’t know if it’ll be the same. I’m pushing myself to write again. I don’t want to write. I’m forcing myself do it. I’ve been sick all day week (I wrote this a week ago and keep revisiting it because i’m too scared to post it.) thinking about having to post this, to finish writing it, to share it, to do anything to it. I don’t want to do it. I’m not brave enough. I don’t want people to know. My heart rate is 134bpm right now as I read this back, knowing that I have to post it soon. I’m sweating and I want to throw up.

I sound depressed. I’m not. Life is great and I’m happy all he time, I’m probably annoyingly happy. I just hate talking or thinking about this.

I carry this secret around. I’m the most open person on the planet (as proven by an old blog post open where I explain the horrifying grotesque details of childbirth.) But this… This I’ve kept a secret from everyone except a few close friends.

And that secret made me stop writing. I can’t write a blog post but not write about those events, because they’re there whether I write about them or not. So I don’t write. Because I don’t want to write about them. I don’t know why I didn’t want to. I did want to. I just also didn’t want to. I don’t want people to know. Why don’t I want people to know?  I don’t know. I don’t want the sympathy, I don’t want people to think about it when they think about me, I’m ashamed about it, it’s not anyone’s business, and I can think of a hundred more reasons.  I don’t know… I just don’t like the thought of people knowing about it.

No one talks about it. Until it happens. Then you find out it’s happened to the majority of people you know. And you feel so much better knowing that other people know what you’re going thought and that they’re fine so you’ll be fine.

And I hate that I added myself to the list of people that don’t talk about it. Because if everyone talked about it, it would be less shit. It would still be shit but a fraction of a tiny percent less. So I don’t know why I didn’t talk about it. I’m begrudgingly writing this. It’s been a year and I need to get my shit together.

They say it gets easier. And it does. I don’t cry about it anymore. That’s a lie I’m crying right now and every now and then. But typically I don’t anymore. I’m talking to friends again. I can see pregnant people again and not care. Ultrasound photos still kill me. New babies I can handle though, it’s weird.

It gets easier. It’s never the same as it was, but it gets easier. If you’re going though it, as corny as it is… you aren’t alone. And it does help to hear that.  And don’t stay silent. And it will get easier. And I KNOW you don’t want to hear that because you don’t want it to get easier because it’s horrible and unimaginable and why and how should it get easier. But in a few months you’ll remember thinking about me telling you it’ll get easier and you’ll realize all of the sudden that it did get easier. And you’ll feel relief at the tiniest little weight being lifted off even if just for a moment realizing that it isn’t as bad now as it was when it happened.  And that’s what easier is. And every day a little bit more. And some days a little bit less. And it will  be one of the things that defines you. And I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing, but it’s here now and it happened and we continue our lives and try to find normalcy in what is now the new normal. It does get easier. It’s not the same, but it’s easier.

#BackToWriting

The Worst Part Of Having Kids

There really is a bad part… I mean, there are probably several really shitty parts to having a kid I suppose. LIke the lack of sleep forever and ever, the constant worrying, the not ever having money again…

Max is going through the what I like to lovingly call the “asshole” phase of his life.  He has an attitude temper thing and just really needs to chill out. Like really. He LOVES to defy every single thing I say. Sometimes he’ll stand there doing the opposite of what I say while staring at me just to see my reaction. I ignore him and he’ll stop sometimes. He also likes to run away… he ran on the street the other day hysterically laughing because I was screaming at him not to. I’m a day away from becoming a leash parent.

He loves to ignore me or pretend he doesn’t hear me or do things he shouldn’t do that are amazingly dangerous, like jump on the edge of the couch, or try and open the hot oven, or play with knives*. He also loves to get super angry and throw shit at me. I spend a good part of my day yelling at him or putting him in time outs, which he thinks is hilarious. Me: “Max, stop that or you’re gonna get a time out! Do you want a time out?!?” Max: “LOL11!!1!l!!1!! HAHAH YES!!”. Every. Single. Time.

I don’t want to yell at him, it’s the worst… I don’t want to be mad at him, but really, he’s being unreasonable. He’s 2, so I don’t’ ever expect him to be reasonable, but 14 hours a day of someone just giving you shit all day, you get annoyed and angry and yell-ey. Then there are the days when he’s perfect and awesome and cuddly and cozy and wonderful, and you forgot about the shit days. No joke, he was on such a rampage last week that I contacted three daycares and got two job interviews, I was so done.

Anyway, none of that is the worst part of having kids. Because they’re kids and that’s what they do and you deal with it, and it’s ridiculous but whatever. Half the tantrums are hilarious, and I have to hide myself from laughing at him.  But, the real worst part is this…

When they go to sleep, and then you spend the next 8 hours feeling guilty and watching them sleep soundly and innocently and super cute, and you feel like THE WORST PERSON ever for just yelling and reprimanding them for what felt like all day. Like you really feel horrible, because you realize that they’re so little and young and don’t know any better, yet you were the jerk being horrible to them all day. When in reality it’s probably not true, but they’re so good and sleepy and quiet and you forget how asshole-y they were all day.

And you promise yourself the next day you aren’t going to get mad at them, or yell at them or anything because they’re too perfect and cute and everything you’ve always wanted. But then the second he wakes up, he comes downstairs and says “mommy make me bacon and put cartoons on and don’t change my diaper.” and you say “You aren’t actually my boss (yes he is), and also say please, and also yes I am changing your gross diaper” and he replies with “NO, mommy make bacon right now!!” and you say “relax, I’ll make breakfast in a minute, I have to change your diaper first” and he says “NO NOW!!” then starts screaming and kicking you and throwing shit on the floor and you’re like “DUDE RELAX, we don’t throw things and we don’t kick people!!!!!”…and now it’s been 45 seconds and you’ve already yelled at him once today.

#TerribleTwos

*He doesn’t actually play with knives, have access to knives, or anything of the like

I Got My Mind On My Money, Money On My Mind

As of next week, I will have been officially off of work for 2 years. That went by so fast, it’s insane. My whole long term plan was to use all my savings (which I budgeted would last me 2 years) then go back to work, since it would be easier to find Max daycare now that he’s older.  BUT NOW, now I can’t put him in daycare, so I can’t go back to work, and now I’m fucked.

It would have been so much easier to put him in daycare when my mat leave ended when he was 12 months, but now we have a thing together and there’s no possible way I couldn’t be with him all day, I love him way too much now. I love every single minute of every single day we have together, more than anything.  That makes me sound like I really didn’t give a shit about him at 12 months, which isn’t true. I just maybe gave less of a shit than I do now. Wait, that’s also not true. It’s just that at 12 months babies are A LOT of work and no reward. Barf cleaning, poop cleaning, crying for no reason, and they don’t do anything, it’s really really boring. But now he does cool stuff, and we talk to each other all day, and we have so much fun. And if he barfs or poops (and he does all the time, so it’s great), he tells me to clean it because he’s demanding, but then we do laundry together, and take long fun baths, and it’s not so bad. He also tells me what he wants to do all day, so we do it, and then he spends the rest of his day recounting what we did and laughing. HOW CAN I PUT THAT IN DAYCARE???   I can’t, and so I’m broke for the foreseeable future. Although I can’t even pay rent now, so I’m beyond broke and moderately scared, I have no clue what I just got myself into. Massive fail.

I really thought by now it’d be easier to put him in daycare because I thought I could just tell him he was going to daycare and he’d understand, so it wouldn’t be like I was randomly dropping him off somewhere he didn’t know. But that’s the problem, that now he does understand, and he isn’t going to have any of it. He has a serious complainey attitude problem, which I have no idea where he gets it from at all, in the least. At. All. So he’s not going to even go to daycare if I wanted him to. He would leave and come home himself, I know it. Either that or he gets kicked out of daycare for swearing, which is a very very strong possibility. And it should be noted that I wasn’t the one to teach him to swear. Brian said “holy shit” by accident one time, and Max just repeated it. Also, he heard the F word when we were watching Wolf of Wall Street, before I knew he could even acknowledge  things he heard on TV. And in all fairness I didn’t know Max was in the room when I was watching it.  And that means now I just watch Food Network all day, because I can’t deal with what he’s picking up wherever, and because I watch Food Network all day, I’m hungry all day, and because I’m hungry all day, I eat all day, and because I eat all day, I get really fat all day, and because I get fat all day, we run out of food quicker, and because of that I need to buy more groceries, and because of that I run out of money sooner. And this is the circle of life in my house.

TL;DR

Send money

Father’s Day II/Kissing Babies

crazy_cake_fs

Is it inappropriate to kiss your baby on the mouth?!?!?!  Brian says you aren’t supposed to do it, but 1. I can’t help it and 2. I don’t care.  I Googled it because now i’m nervous that I’m disgusting, but it seems to be a grey area all over the Internet.  I mean it has its con’s, one time I went for a kiss and he opened his mouth and it was awkward… but that was just one time. Shit, ok, i’m not gonna do it anymore, now that I write about it, maybe it is weird. No one tells you any baby rules!!!!! They tell you don’t lie them on their stomaches because SIDS!!!!!!!  That’s all they tell you! Oh and to make sure you breastfeed, otherwise they get asthma. That’s for sure why I have asthma. Way to go mom.

Unrelated… I’m trying to figure out what to do for Father’s Day, and fucking Pinterest makes me feel so motivated and subpar all at the same time.  I spent over an hour (and 16 Google Chrome tabs) planning some cool stuff, and then a total of literally 10 seconds being like “ya as if I’m EVEN going to go to the store to buy these cookie cutters, sprinkles, a scalpel, duct tape, and a tub of margin” let alone come home and put it together and bake it. I’m just gonna phone in Father’s Day and blame it on my ankle. OH WAIT maybe I can get this nanny to bust something for me?? Is that allowed?  I don’t know how nanny’s work, she seems to be willing to do anything I ask her so far. She’s cleaning my stove and doing my laundry as I type this. I feel like such a baller, is this what most people feel like?? I can’t remember what it was like to work and have money!!  Although it’s so super weird that someone else is doing my laundry. Now more people than just me know that I still exclusively only wear my maternity underwear. THEY’RE SO COMFORTABLE, SHUT UP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Happy Mother’s Day!!

Well this is my second Mother’s Day, it’s my new fave holiday, (If you can call it a holiday). I’m slightly more jaded this year, because I feel like maybe Mother’s Day is a bullshit excuse for your husband’s to cook you the one meal they’re going to cook you for the year and think they’re amazing for it.  I’m totally an asshole, sorry, sometimes my humour makes me sound extra asshole-y when I write it down, versus what it sounds like in my head.

Anyway… here’s my Mother’s Day in a nutshell:

I woke up before everyone else, and spent my free hour in the morning taking a shower and wasting time watching videos on the Internet of people falling.  I heard Max wake up and I ignored him because I assumed since it was Mother’s Day, maybe Brian would go get him instead for me. I don’t know what the appropriate amount of ignoring your baby time is when trying to prove a point?  i’m gonna cave and go get him in a minute, and it’s only been a minute. But when I do go get him, I’m going to be very loud to ensure Brian wakes up and hears that I had to go get him and then feels bad because it’s Mother’s Day #FFS, and my bar is set so low that all I would like is not to start my day changing a diaper on a baby who hates getting his diaper changed.

Ok i’m caving and going to get him.  Happy Mother’s day Mom’s!!!! May you be spoiled beyond belief today, and get a shit ton of kisses and cuddles from your babies because they know it’s a special day and that’s all you want. That and a bottle of wine. And not to change diapers.  And not to get barfed on. And not to eat a cold meal that’s half already been in your baby’s mouth.

Dr. Phil

I am very quickly becoming irrelevant and losing my identity. Well maybe not losing it, but forgetting it I guess? I think more than anyone I know who had a baby last year, I tried to keep my pre-baby friends and pre-baby hobbies as much as I could. I tried so hard!! And it worked really well for the first year. But you don’t go back to work after mat leave, and all your friends do go back, and your other friends are still at work, and you realize, two things:

1. Life is still going on outside of your house. Your friends are still going for lunch drinks and talking about I don’t even remember what?!? People get new jobs, promotions, new friends, things still go on and people move on.

2. You aren’t going out anywhere anymore and you’re only hanging out with other moms (moms that you fucking love, so I’m fully fine with that), but now you have nothing else to talk about except your baby (who isn’t even a baby anymore, when did that happen?!?).

So when I do go out with old friends, I’m finding it increasingly difficult to converse. It’s really bad. But more importantly, I just don’t really go out with them anymore, which is really shit because they are actually my friends and just because I have a kid, I feel like that’s not a good enough reason to lose them, because I still fucking love all of my old friends. But I can only try so hard to set up plans to meet, it’s a lot of effort and I can’t be the only one doing it. This situation is definitely a massive negative in the SAHMing situation. But in the grand scheme of things, it’s nothing compared to being home with him every day.

I struggle with wondering whats better though, me being here for him all day every day, but then to Max i’m just his mom. Or me having a really great job and then I’m Max’s mom but also he knows me as someone who works hard and does cool shit. It’s a tough tough battle that goes on in my head all the time, I don’t know which is better. I mean i guess neither is better, but I don’t know which I prefer. I suppose by the time he goes to school I’ll be back at work and this will be moot, right? I don’t even know how this all works, like when does his memory kick in??

Anyhoo, today on Dr. Phil this lady tried to adopt a baby that was posted on Craigslist but shockingly never got the baby and she doesn’t understand why. Ugh. I really need to get out more.

Postpartum GTFO

I wrote this post a long time ago… I didn’t and still don’t have the courage to post it. The only thing getting me through, is a little glimmer that maybe some person somewhere random will read it and not feel so alone and shitty. I’m going to hit Publish in a second and spend my whole day regretting it ugh. I’m actually sitting here nervous to publish a blog post!! #CrazyPerson

Fucking postpartum eh?? No one tells you shit about this. I mean they tell you over and over again about the baby blues and how you’ll be sad and bullshit, and it could turn into depression and all of that. But no one tells you details. No one tells you that when you see your baby for the first time you might be like “wtf is this?”.

It was only around 10 or 11 months where I maybe told one person how I felt after I had Max, to which they replied they felt the exact same way after their baby. Then I told another person, who told me the exact same thing. I think maybe 3 or 4 people know how I feel, because I was/am so embarrassed by how stupid and wrong and idiotic it is to feel that way. And now I realize, that actually tons of people feel this way. I think if I knew that this is how people felt, I wouldn’t have felt so shitty for feeling so shitty!! #Fail

A couple hours after he was born, they were looking for a wheelchair to take me to see him for the first time. They came into my room and asked me if I was ready to go? I was like “go where?”. Legit. And I knew in my head that was so dumb, which made it even worse, because now I had this internal battle going of “uh you had a baby you should probably want to go see him. What’s wrong with you?!” Then the other voice saying “meh, doesn’t matter”. HOW COULD I NOT WANT TO SEE HIM??? What the fuck?! It makes me so sad to even think that that’s how I felt, because I love him more than I can ever describe, and that thinking was just so horrible, it kills me.

So I finally saw him for the first time and cried endlessly right there in the NICU. ENDLESSLY. I couldn’t even talk. My midwife just hugged me, that’s all there was, I had no words. I mean, we both basically almost just died, and I hadn’t slept in 5 days, and so much horribleness just happened, I just couldn’t grasp it. Then they wheeled me away and my first thought was “who’s baby is that?”. It’s so hard to explain how you feel, because normal me was still “there” thinking “holy shit he’s so awesome, I have a baby!! But then you have this overwhelming feeling of “but he’s not really yours, and why do you care?” I was so sure he was switched at birth, so fucking sure. And I was sure of it for such a long time too. I didn’t love him any less, but I even remember having the thought “well, there’s nothing I can do about it now, so I’ll just have to take him home”!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! WHAT IN THE FUCK?!?!?! If ANYONE could have come to me in that moment and told me “yep, lots of people think that too” I wouldn’t have been so upset. Because I wasn’t upset that he was switched at birth (because I knew somewhere deep down that he wasn’t – but it was somewhere I couldn’t get to), I was upset that I had the THOUGHT that he was switched at birth and I wanted my brain to go back to normal me who didn’t think ridiculous things. Anyway, instead, people told me “lololol he’s your’s, don’t be stupid”.

I was in the hospital for a week with him, and I cried for 5 straight days. And all these visitors were coming to visit me all day, and I just kept being like “fuck, get your shit together and stop crying.” For the first two days, I couldn’t say his name. And whenever anyone did say his name, I had to leave because I’d start crying. It’s so fucking stupid now. I remember day 4 I had to go into the NICU to nurse him for like an hour and he fell asleep on me, and I just stared at him, I loved him so much. We were all alone in the NICU, him sleeping on me and I’m just sitting there thinking that I didn’t even deserve how amazing this was, and I cried because I didn’t deserve him. And the nurse comes over and says “Don’t let him fall asleep nursing!!!!!! YOU SHOULDN’T DO THAT!”. In retrospect, I would totally tell her to shut up. But when you’re in that moment and it’s all new and you’re so tired, and you don’t even know what’s going on anymore, and you’re in a strange place, you’re just so different than your normal mindset. So I put him back in his incubator and went to my room, and no exaggeration I cried straight on until Brian got there at 9am. That’s 5 straight hours of crying, ridiculous.

I’m so annoyed at myself for even letting that happen. I’m so mad for not knowing that all of this is normal. I mean I know some legit postpartum depression stories, like really upsetting stuff, and I’m so glad I didn’t go through that. But I really feel like if I knew that was normal, it would have been just a bit better. Because I remember, really… the worst part is crying because you are crying! Does that make any sense? Like you don’t want to be crying, you can’t stop crying, you know it’s fucked up that you’re crying, and that just makes you cry even more. But maybe it’s ok to be crying!! Someone should tell you that you SHOULD be crying right now, and it really would have made it so much easier I think.

I think if they’d tone down the breastfeeding stuff during all the baby classes, and up the postpartum talk, it might be just a little bit easier. But what do I know. What’s your postpartum story?? Is it that bad?? Is it worse? I don’t wish that on anyone, but I’d love to know that more people feel just as shitty.

Carnival

Swear-ey

How many times during my pregnancy did I hear “make sure you get a Brazilian before you go into labour”. SO. MANY. TIMES. This seemed like such a priority for so many people, important enough that I heard it from all different types of people at any moment they could fit it into a convo.

Conversation that actually happened:
Friend: Don’t forget to plan to get waxed like a day or two before your due date
Me: I have so many more other things I’m concerned with. Also I feel extremely uncomfortable naked and this pregnant (Another post for later!).

Friend 2: You need to plan to get waxed before you get to the hospital, you’re going to regret it.
Me: A giant person (comparatively) is going to come out of my body, so I couldn’t care less about anything else.

Anyway, this went on for a while between so many people so many times. Idiots. Who even cares???

Dude, even one time in our birthing class two of the women there asked the instructor (lol birthing instructor. “Here are instructions on how to make a baby come out of your body.” It’s ridiculous in retrospect.) when they should get waxed before labour? And if it was allowed? It was such a priority for everyone. Meanwhile my priority was like “fucken please how is this going to come out??” that’s my priority. Then I had panic attacks. Then I convinced myself he wasn’t going to come out

I remember when I first heard of Brazilians, back in the 90s during and episode of Sex and the City, and Samantha explaining all about them. And I feel like for sure she meant you should have one when giving birth, right? It wasn’t just for hooking up (do kids still use that word? Do I sound old because I called 20 year olds kids?), it was DEFINITELY for when you’re in labour obviously. It was a subtle undertone in that episode, but I got it for sure.

So I’m in labour, and I’m pushing and everything is going wrong, and the doctor is freaking out yelling at me, and I’m yelling and swearing and crying and in general being a huge fucking mess, and there are 12 other people at the bottom of the bed staring at everything EVERYTHING (including Brian, thank you very much), and then the umbilical cord rips and blood shoots into the air from the umbilical cord, kind of like that scene from There Will Be blood (OH I DIDNT EVEN REALIZE!! Zing!) when the tower falls over and all the oil comes exploding out?! (how hot is this story right now??). It was just like that, and I remember crying and screaming and looking down at the table, and it was so silent… and in slow motion, like a really dramatic scene in a Scorsese film. I heard the oxygen they were giving Max, everything else sounded like quiet mumbling, I heard the doctor screaming at one point “PUMP UP HER EPIDURAL SHE’S GONNA NEED IT! OVERRIDE THE SYSTEM!!”, and then a heart monitor beeping, and more silence, and looking to my left at the lead paediatrician trying to make Max breathe, and looking to my right at my doula who was crying, and my midwife in the corner cowering with her face covered and upset, and again to the bottom of the bed – the 12 people, eager students, experienced doctors all trying to deal with this situation… and all I could think of in that moment was… fuck, I wish I got that wax.

#TailBetweenLegs

I can’t close this blog down. You know what’s wrong with me? I shut this blog down barely 48 hours ago, but I kept blogging more than I ever have. It’s just that I kept doing it in a notepad on my computer. WHO DOES THAT? Whats the point? because I want to make myself laugh at my own jokes? WHO DOES THAT TOO? What’s wrong with me. Someone said to me “I don’t know why you aren’t actually a writer as a job, since you write so much all the time”. Because writers don’t get paid, and because project managers do get paid – they get paid a lot to make fucked up deliverable dates for writers. That’s why.

Anyway, I wrote like 10 blogs in a notepad, knowing full well they weren’t ever getting posted (which I think made them that *much* better). Then I talked to some amazing friends who put me in my place, called me an asshole, and forced me to start blogging again. I still don’t feel comfortable with it, I hate that a bunch of crazies are in my shit reading this right now (btw go fuck yourselves). So, I’ve removed comments, privatized my WHOIS, and removed my email address. So I can live in my comfy swear-ey bubble and they can suck m… I can’t even say that sentence. How awkward. I have no problem saying “cunt” in any context, but “suc… I can’t. I DIDNT EVEN REALIZE THERE WAS SOMETHING I COULDN’T SAY!?

We’ll see if these changes make me feel any better about it… and thanks everyone for the phone calls, voicemails, emails, etc.., you totally didn’t need to, but thank you. #Love

Now to choose from one of the 10 I wrote… I think I’m going to post the Brazillian Wax one, because it feels like a good come-back story and I probably would have never posted it had I thought it would have actually gone in the blog in the first place. #Rebel. Stay tuned.