That's a wrap

ok... the dust has finally settled from the mayhem of our first christmas with a baby.

I'm acutely aware that this was probably the easiest christmas we'll ever experience, as we didn't travel anywhere, didn't have to hide all the gifts that santa dropped off early, and didn't have to schlep from house to house sending tidings of good cheer. Next year, the toys will be more complicated, and I'm sure the ways to entertain the monster will be as well. I can see it already---- next year is going to take some energy.

As for this year.... it didn't quite fit the description of our traditional holiday fare, but it was pretty nice to relax and spend time alone together as a family. a minimal amount of phone calls were made, but after sending out 168 christmas cards, I think we deserved it. yes, I said 168.

Rhena apparently slipped the guy in the red suit a ten spot or something, because she was treated very very well by family and friends alike.

I think all of my non-selfish intentions on sundays this past year must have impressed the Man with the Plan, because I, too, did very very well on christmas. It wasn't anything I opened as much as the clarity to recognize how very Blessed I am. I mean, sure--- the gifts were there, but looking at Troy holding Rhena, and knowing they are both mine.... talk about powerful. Of course, the little box from Tiffany's helped, too.

So as this year comes to a close, another chapter in our life does too.

Nevada has been good to us. Sure, the pregnant and shadeless summer sucked ass, and I've clearly learned that there are more hues of brown in this state than Crayola is letting the world know about, but there have been some high points.

No doubt we're going to miss our friends the most. We have made some very good friends here... but I'm confident we'll see them again.

I'll definitely miss the lack of traffic. not sure how charlotte is going to be in terms of getting to the mall, but I'm happy thinking I won't need to worry about swerving away from the killer tumbleweeds.

But onward and eastward.


The cars will be picked up some time between January 3rd and 13th, the house gets packed on the 12th, and loaded on a truck on the 13th. The madness ends (or begins???) on the 14th when we fly out.

We just bought all of our plane tickets today.... Troy will spend one extra day in new jersey before flying down to NC.... that's going to suck; having him be so far away..... but we're going to get a webcam so he can keep daily tabs on the little booger. I'm thinking I can do something with this website and the cam, too, but I don't want to think about that yet....


if my brain is going to be on anything, it's the golf-ball of a lump that has formed in my right breast. oh yeah--- it's a beauty.... I got me a clogged milk duct.

yes, I said it.... clogged. milk. duct.


apparently the only way to loosen it up is by rigorous massage and heat. that's like saying to someone who's covered in bruises and going through menopause that you want to squeeze the purple parts in a desert. ok-- maybe not the same, but imagine having the sweats and putting a hotwater bottle to your skin, and choosing to repeatedly stub your toe over and over (and over and over) again. and then when you're done ramming your toe, have someone drop a brick on it for good measure.

my OBGYN says it's normal.... why am I not surprised?

they thought the screwdriver-up-my-crotch feeling was normal. the good news is that with due diligence to self-pain, this golf ball will probably break up within the next few days.. week to a week and a half at the latest.

so that's about it from cze-johnson land. I hope y'all had a wonderful Holiday... whatever one you chose to celebrate.

Popeye is a dirty scoundrel

Hello... Reno police?


yes, ma'am...


I'd like to report a break in.


what seems to be the trouble?


Well, someone has apparently snuck in my house and dropped a pound of spinach in my daughter's diaper. I'm thinking Popeye might have something to do with this....



Yes, dear readers.... Rhena has hit a new level with diaper surprises. ....just yesterday, I was scraping the funky cold corn chowder from her tiny little cheeks, and today I'm choking on a green spongy-leafy substance that could surely double for Popeye's fighting fuel. Hell, if I ate this crap, I'd be able to knock someone out, too!

I'm serious, though--- maybe he was hiding in the shadows of Rhena's gargantuan feet.... all I know is somebody with some close ties to spinach came and dropped a bomb on us.

And I'd like a formal apology from whoever writes all those books that say that breast-fed babies' poops don't stink. I'll admit, for the first 3 months, her poops had a rough-yogurt smell... but lately....

let's just say my little lady is getting more and more like her father every day.

in other words....


her ass STINKS.


like choking-gag-cough-is-that-a-tear-in-my-eye stink.

Nothing really has changed in MY diet, so I'm wondering what's causing this metabolic napalm in my little creature. perhaps another growth spurt??? I wouldn't doubt it....

the poor kid is only 3 months and like a week old... and already she's filling out the feet of her 3-6 month sleepers...... but enough about my little bean sprout.

I have to go find Popeye and tell him to knock it the hell off.

Sunday Bloody Sunday

So today while I was taking my shower, my nose started bleeding.


EWWW!!!!


did I get any sympathy from my husband? no. all I got was... "you need to drink more water. it' s dry here."

really?

no shit, Sherlock!



he must have been brainfarting, cause if there's one thing I've made abundantly clear in our years together is that the only thing I hate more than the SIGHT of my own blood is the TASTE of my own blood!!!

I mean... again, I say--- EWWWWW!!!!


so as I stood in my torture chamber of rain, gagging on the residual blood dripping down the back of my throat, desperately pinching my nose in hopes to stop the hemorraging, he went about his business. As I gagged louder, clutching the shower walls for support in my tomb of terror, he left the room.

I don't think he even blinked.

even later, when I went into his office with tissues stuck up my nose (with some bloody parts hanging out for effect).... I got nothing.

He must have forgotten that I'm the mother of his child... that I carried her in my WOMB for NINE MONTHS.... through the blistering heat of this God-forsaken shadeless state in summer time.......

and to that---- He must have forgotten that I MOVED TO RENO for him.... leaving my happy life in Seattle to settle among the red-necked-white-trashed-80's- junkies-reunion capital of the world.....


He must have forgotten that I wash his dirty underwear and sweat-soaked clothes on a regular basis....


I mean, c'mon.... what's a girl got to do to get an "awww, you poor thing..." around here????


oh well... my complaining is for naught... he never reads this blog, anyway. But don't worry, dear readers... I'm fine. I think I only lost a pint or so.


*sigh* ...I guess I'll just go drink more water.

Led Zepplin--- makes babies happy!

Dear Readers----


I have a secret! wanna hear it? ok--- but only if you pull your screen in close and promise not to tell.....

ready?

ok... here it is.....

BABY MUSIC is NOT NECESSARY!!!!!

that's right--- the Purple Dinosaur, Queer Wiggling Quartet and Strange Blob Industry are in cahoots with each other and are keeping a vital piece of information from their begrudgingly listening adult public. But I'm here to bust that door wiiiiide open!

I mean, yes--- kids like music... even moreso... kids like people who dance crazy. (enter cartoony dinosaurs, four guys who dress funny and colorful blobs) but what is more appealing to our youngsters? the MUSIC or watching people make fools of themselves?

I don't think we're giving the babes of today enough credit. They're products of a very cynical world, and I can bet a whole quarter that they're hip to our game. I really think they enjoy kicking back and being entertained just as much as us CSI junkies. SO while us parents are tuckered out from working all day, or feeding the kid all night... it's easy to flip on the TV and let someone else do the entertaining.

But I can't help but wonder if I found some concert footage of Led Zepplin and played it for my monster if she wouldn't be just as happy, if not HAPPIER, cause at least she's listening to some damn good tunes. I mean... Robert Plant was a crazy mo'fo, and by ANY standards, you could call his dance moves entertaining, if not wildly eccentric and trippy. Hell, I'd even venture to say he's speaking baby language with all those multi-pitched screams... don't believe me? go on... put on Immigrant Song.... see what happens! (no really... click on it... )

Now I'm not condoning encouraging the kiddies to spark up and chill to Stairway to Heaven all day, but I certainly don't think there's anything wrong with letting the kids know there's more music out there other than Disney. Miles Davis, Johnny Cash, Aerosmith, Rob Base and DJ Easy Rock, Frank Sinatra, and let's not forget disco!!! you want a crazy dance?? DO THE HUSTLE!

Point is this.... like it says in this great book I received, called The Three Martini Playdate.... sooner or later, the youngin' is going to find a song that they must absolutely hear over and over (and over.. and over...) again.... might as well be a song you like, too! ESPECIALLY if you're going to have to dance to it, too!

So rock on, dear friends.... and be happy next Christmas when the little tike asks for Earth, Wind and Fire's Greatest Hits, and not some wiggling guitar that is impossible to find anywhere online except for e-bay.

Our house is a very, very fine house

and apparently someone else thinks so, too.


that's right, kiddies.... pack the bags and hide the valuables..... this house has an offer on it, and by golly, Miss Molly.... we's is a gonna take it!


we should know for sure what our final day in Nevada will be within the next two weeks, but if all goes well, the Johnson Trio will be heading east around the end of January. Still debating on whether to drive or fly, which I'm thinking that no matter what path we choose, it could probably be turned into some movie of epic proportions.

other than that, I'm still recovering from the Christmas Social. I had about six too many vanilla latte martinis, and about 3 not-enough-for-an-old-lady-like-me hours of sleep. Yes, I know the social was two days ago, but the 3 months prior of very interrupted-slash-very-minimal sleep COMBINED with the lack of sleep and abundance of espresso and vanilla vodka is starting to rear its ugly head. In other words---- me thinks I'm tired.

SO on that note, I'm going to go grab some sugar plums and re-introduce myself to my pillows. After all.... I need to be well-rested for when we go see the mouse in 102 days!

I'm BAAAAAAAAACK!

Well, I've had plenty of time to think of blog material in my hiatus.


Troy's monitor blew up, so he had been using the laptop. During this time, I rejoined the makeup mafia, took some pictures of Rhena, put up our christmas tree, wrote some Christening thank you's, took some more pictures of Rhena, made all the favors for the upcoming social, cleaned the house, put the house on the market, took even MORE pictures of Rhena, wrote some more thank you's, then figured I should take a few pictures of Rhena.


It's not that I like taking pictures of the kid or anything, but she IS the firstborn, and if I don't use up half of the hard drive by the time she's six months old, I might lose my license or something.


But she is pretty darn cute, and her nose is smaller than the riendeer's, so I figured what the heck.


So in other news.... today is Troy's birthday. He made it to the 35 year mark. If you don't find some wonder in this feat, you must not know Troy.

Tomorrow is another Christmas social. It'll be the last one here in Nevada. While there are some twinges of sadness that go along with knowing that we'll be leaving yet another set of some really great friends..... It's pretty exciting to think that next year at this time, we'll be on the east coast.

I can't say what the 'grand prize' is yet this year, but I can say that the favors are hand-made candles. I can also say I must have been caught in some post-partum mental breakdown when I thought that making candles as a favor would be a good idea. For the record, I would like everyone to know that Martha Stewart I am not. No, really---- jail jokes aside.... if she REALLY does/did all the crap she promotes in her magazines and on her shows, I have to give her credit.

I suppose it would have been faster or easier if I had a chainsaw or heated knife to cut through the monstrous block of wax, but alas... no such nifty gadgets for me. I was left hacking away with a dull bread knife while Rhena squealed in delight of the sight of her mommy breaking a sweat. But I digress. the candle-making took some effort. Next time I'll just go to K-mart and let Martha earn back some lost time.


Lastly, while I'm out giving credit... I have to hand it to my parents.... they have definitely topped themselves this time. Their Christmas gift to us (the Johnson trio and the Roselle Park gang) is a week-long vacation in Disney World over the Easter Holiday. That's right--- Derek and Dawn, Dara, Delaney and Damian... Me, Troy and Rhena and the folks. let me repeat....

WEEK.

LONG.

VACATION.


IN DISNEY WORLD.


My parents freaking ROCK. March 24th can't get here soon enough.

Add another candle....

So at what point are you considered 'over the hill' ????

yes.... as it stands, dear readers- today.... I am yet another year older. I think I'm in the dead zone, though. Not as in I'm-so-old-I'm-almost-dead, but in the this-really-isn't-a-significant-birthday years.

Not that I think my birthday isn't significant---- on the contrary!!!! My birthday ROCKS!!!! it's just... 32? eh--- BORING! the ability to drive, drink, rent cars..... been there, done that.

so while my NUMBER birthday isn't very exciting, I'd like to focus on the sheer fact that today is the anniversary of MY BIRTH!

I mean, yeah, sure--- other people have their b-days today... whoopdee-doo!

TODAY IS ALL ABOUT ME!!!!!


I'm not looking for gifts on my b-day anymore... I really do have all I could want. But there is something very heartwarming (read : ego-boosting) about having people wish me a happy birthday. Even if they're just saying it to be polite, I'll shamelessly take it as acknowledgement that the world is better off because I'm here.

shee-it... I don't need 'it's a wonderful life' to know that. I know I've impacted people... just as much as other people have impacted MY life. I mean, that's the way it works, right? at least if you have a heartbeat, anyway...


I suppose I should really be giving the credit to my mom. she's the one that did all the work 32 years ago. I *do* give thanks to her... all the time, actually. She and my dad are definitely the root of all my happiness, if you really think about it. And no--- I'm not saying this because I plan on stealing Rhena's thunder on HER b-day....

(but nor do I plan on letting any acknowledgement slip from ME today....)


I'm just saying that if it weren't for my parents, I wouldn't be here, which means I couldn't be happy, which ALSO means who would be complaining to y'all on a regular basis? well--- I bet lots of people would complain, but not like me.

Let's face it... sometimes you read this blog and get happy. WHY you get happy is irrelevant. be it because you're glad you're not going through what I'm going through, or because finally someone else can relate, or just cause I'm cute. (sorry... I just threw that in there...) I know you know what I'm talking about though.

Let's face it... I'm special! I mean, sure, we all are in our own way, but this blog is about me, so.... like I said--- I'm special and it's my b-day, so bring on the wishes!

The producers of this site would like to apologize for the overdose of ego-maniacism displayed in this entry, and would like to ensure the reading public that future entries will return to normal dosages of ego from the resident writer. Thank you for your support.

Thankful

Well, I'd like to say I was too busy feeding homeless people and spreading good will towards mankind yesterday to post my thanksgiving thoughts, but the truth is that I was kinda busy stuffing my face and having a nice quiet day with my new family.

Today, however... there's plenty o' time for blogging.


there's also plenty o' thanks I should be giving this year, so I best get to typing.

But now that I think about it--- this isn't exactly the first page of my new book where I list my acknowledgements. Not that I think all of my blessings don't deserve a big loud whup-whup... I just don't feel like getting all mushy on ya here.

Believe me--- I'm very thankful for the life I have and all of the amazing things I've experienced this past year. I'm grateful for my husband and child for the love and happiness they give me on a daily basis... and far more appreciative of my family and friends than I actually let them know.

Let's face it--- we already know that I'm no saint.... but I have been Blessed. I don't need a day on the calendar to know that, though. I mean--- every day is a new adventure.

speaking of adventures.... I will give a written whup whup to those pilgrims.... now THOSE were some crazy mo-fo's! I was watching a show on PBS... that reality show where people went to live in some cold-ass town in Massachusetts and live like the pilgrims did... built their own houses, established crops... all that stuff.

I wonder if they realized just how much their lives sucked. I don't think they did.... 'cause they thought they were living BETTER lives than when they were in merry ole England. Plus, they didn't have all the cool stuff we have today, so to that effect, I guess they wouldn't know better.

I wonder if I would have been able to survive that lifestyle. I doubt it. I mean, I'm all for a weekend adventure here and there, but a few months on a BOAT???? then get to this crummy land with not even a MALL in sight? yeah--- I'm gonna go with no.

Troy and I play a game every now and then where we pick an era and wonder what our lives would be like if we lived during that time. we haven't discussed pilgrim time, but we've already established that during the Little House on the prairie days, I would either be a saloon girl or a fat old lady name Liza Mae running a brothel. Somehow even in make-believe I don't mesh well with tendin' to the crops.

During prohibition, I'd have been a flapper girl.... during the 40's I'd be a dancehall girl or working in a casino..... Notice the trend? ...not exactly pilgrim-esque, if ya know what I mean. I suppose a few years later I could have been a witch in Salem, or some Hester Prinn-type.... but the pilgrim thing just doesn't line up.


I DO cook a mean turkey, though.... well, NOW I do, anyways--- (first thanksgiving ---and TURKEY, for that matter--- I ever cooked was the year I got engaged to Troy. Turkey looked FABULOUS on the outside, but more like a new sushi dish on the inside.... at least the mashed potatoes were good that year!) I suppose that should at least count for something, no?

So anyways---- my hats off to those who have struggled so I don't have to. Past and present, dead and alive.... I know you're out there.... so thanks.

The Shots Heard 'round the World

Are your ears still ringing, dear readers?


yeah... mine are.



Today, my little monster got her shots. I was there to hold her hand and comfort her, and like a good daddy, Troy was there to hold mine and comfort ME.

I suppose it went well, once you get past the glass-shattering-10-minute-long-blood-curdling-I'm-serious-when-I-say-people-in-California-could-have-heard scream fest.

But like I said, after about ten minutes I was fine again.


nah--- I really didn't scream that long, but I did choke back a couple of tears while I watched my poor child look at me in horror as I held her hand and let a stranger stab her three times.

Actually, now that we're home, and she's gagging on the infant's tylenol I'm trying to give her for lingering pain... as I look back... it's kinda funny how red her entire head got while she screamed what was surely curses in infant-speak. I give her credit... when she's pissed, she puts her whole self into it. she's going to make a good wife someday--- I can just tell. well, that, or a drill sergeant. ... either one will work.

but yeah... today was tough.

She seems to be happy now, though.... her band-aid covered legs are kicking along to the music we're listening to. I'm more concerned how she'll fare over the next few days. --- I've heard that a lot of kids get sick after getting their shots.

I know at SOME point I'm going to have to deal with her getting sick, but her getting sick for the first time AND me trying to cook a turkey happening in the same week would just kinda suck in my opinion. --- Me thinking it would suck pretty much guarantees it'll happen, but you never know. ...Maybe God will throw us a curveball and have ME get sick instead.

Speaking of God.... we got the kid on Team Catholic last weekend. She's now officially open to getting guilt trips from anyone...

Kidding aside, though--- it was a nice day. As the priest poured the Holy Water over her head, I surrounded her with the same joyful hopes of what the future will bring that I fealt on our wedding day just a little over a year ago in the same church.

I looked out at the family and friends who joined us to witness our baby girl being received into the Church, and could sense the love they were so freely giving to a child many had just layed eyes on. What a beautiful feeling.

Like I said... it was a nice day. Unlike TODAY, which was a day I would have rather skipped in the parenthood 101 class. But in the end, it's all good. ...She won't remember a thing about these shots when she's older, and I learned that while she may not LOOK like me, she's just like me in that she hates cherry flavored liquid tylenol. ...I knew I liked this kid for a reason!

This can't be good

ok--- it's official....



I have begun my quest for ruling the world.


I....


HAVE......



PICTURES!!!!!!!!!



This is even better than fried chicken.....

Just Plane Crazy

ah, yes... another week down. My little booger is 7 weeks old today. crazy! the whole 'mom' thing still hasn't fully set in for me yet, but I suppose 7 weeks in the grand scheme of things is pretty much nothing, so I'm not sweating it.


I'm sure I'll feel like a mom the first time she dents my car just by 'washing' it for me.


but things are good. We're heading to jersey next week, and I'm very excited about this. excited... but also pretty nervous.

Am I REALLY ready to travel with a baby? Hell-- I have problems remembering to pack all of MY things..... so much for traveling without checking bags anymore.... I mean... this is no quick trip to the mall, people..... we're going ACROSS THE COUNTRY!!!!

I can't help but wonder (read 'worry') about how she'll do on the plane. will the cabin pressure affect her? will the re-circulated air make her sick? how is the time change going to affect her?


She's a tough cookie, that's for sure, so I'm sure she'll be fine... but I am still just a little unnerved about the pending trip. I guess it'll be cool cause we get to board the plane first... and at least on the way there we don't have to change planes.

We have a layover in vegas.... but our little rebel has already been kicked out of a casino, so that pretty much cuts any fun time for mommy and daddy during those 2 hours.... Not sure I want her to see too much of vegas, anyway. I know what *I've* done in vegas... I can only imagine what TROY has done.....

let's just say Rhena is NEVER allowed to go to vegas unsupervised. EVER.


But I'm not worried about that yet... last I heard from Troy, she's not allowed to leave the house til she's 30.

when the saints come a' marchin....

well--- for those of you Catholic Fans out there... it's All Saints Day.

I haven't given much thought to Saints since my Confirmation, except maybe a few times along the way. There's a shitload of them, though. So many, in fact, that the Saint of the Day website has more than one listed for each day.


While I find this entirely comforting to know that there have been so many people that were so damn good in their lives that they were named to be Saints... it also makes me feel so ashamed that I am NOWHERE near being a fraction of what these folks were. But--- SOMEBODY has to make other people look good.....

In essence, Saints wouldn't be who they were if it weren't for people like me. So... on All Saints' Day.... I'll give my props to the peeps who done good.... but I'll also, in my most unable-to-EVER-be-a-saint-way..... pat myself on the back for helping them get to where they are.

Trick or Treat

well--- Happy Halloween, kiddies!


Today was a definite first for me... today was the first time in my cognitive memory that I did NOT ... repeat.... did NOT dress up for halloween.

I guess having a kid DOES change some things.

No decorations are up... except for our pumpkin that stays out all year.... it's been adorned with christmas hats, sombreros, bunny ears, and all the likes... but now--- in its true destined season.... it sits alone with no other decorations next to the TV.

it's kinda sad, actually.

another thing that's sad is the kids here in Nevada. I think the summer sun has taken its toll on the chilluns of Reno, cause today was a phenomenon I just don't get.


here it is..... halloween. day of sugar overload. a chance to go up to COMPLETE STRANGERS, and DEMAND CANDY!!!!!


now call me hard-pressed, but if Halloween were on a Sunday when *I* was a kid... I'd be hitting the streets around one in the afternoon, and not stop until at LEAST 8 or 9pm!!!


Here it is... almost 6pm, and not a ring or knock on our door yet today. WTF????



Troy claims it's cause they're waiting til dark, but the sun is down, and my big bowl awaits. Personally, if I were a parent, I'd prefer my kids were out during daylight (at least dusk). Oh wait. I AM a parent! ...well, you know--- when the monster gets old enough to comprehend the magic of candy. Or at least when she's old enough to pass for being able to EAT candy, which troy and I will actually keep for ourselves and give her some grapes and crackers instead.

but I digress.

6pm, and no kids yet. again, I say WTF?


And here's the real kicker..... we live in a development.... dude... developments were GOLDMINES!!!!

Everyone had the coveted "Green Valley" development when they were growing up. You know... where the kids who had nice toys lived.... where the houses were super close together, and had realllly scary decorations? You'd go to these houses and within minutes, you had at least 3 full-sized candy bars, a few dollars, and had the shakes from the crazy chainsaw guy who opened the door.

Maybe the kids are home waiting for another phone call from Arnold Schwarzenegger to remind them again to vote for Bush.


oh well. perhaps it's my own fault for not having decorations up this year. Maybe I should move our year-long pumpkin to a window for the kids to see. I thought about hanging a sign that says "we have good candy", but that's a little desperate.

Next year, in North Carolina, we are SO doing our house up scary. ....Shit... I may HAVE to.... how else am I going to burn off all this candy I'm going to get stuck eating?

happy haunting, kiddies.... may your pumpkins runneth over!

Taking things for Granted

I admit... there's lots of things I take for granted.

All too easily, I find myself bitching and moaning about this and that without much regard to the fact of how well I have things.

Today, in particular, I'm thinking about how lucky I feel to have my little monster. Aside from her being cute as all hell... (in my totally biased opinion, that is...) you add in the fact that she's healthy and I had nine-plus months of little to no complications for my pregnancy, and like I said, I feel pretty lucky.

I also end up feeling shitty, cause I don't take the time to realize this every day. I mean, I KNOW deep down I've got it good, but sometimes it's just so easy (and FUN) to complain. But I digress.

What's really got me thinking is that today is my friend's birthday. you see, she's a few days away from finding out whether or not she's pregnant. This may not seem like a big deal, but she and her husband have been to hell and back trying to get pregnant. It makes me mad, cause someone as kindhearted and loving as her has such a hard time, and every few minutes another crack-whore drug addict is getting knocked up.

And don't get me started on all the women that have to go on Maury Povich to find out who of any number of men could be her baby-daddy. It falls somewhere between sick and wrong, but again... that's just my biased opinion.


then I look at sites like this one, and I get a glimpse of someone ELSE... this time someone I don't know... a perfectly good person, just try try trying for a baby. And all the links on her website show just a miniscule FRACTION of how many more women are out there in the same situation. This girl finally did get pregnant, so for her there's a happy ending.... or beginning, depending on how you look at it.... turns out she's having twins.

Anyways, it's Friday, and I don't mean to be melancholy.... I'm actually in a great mood.... I was just thinking about my birthday friend, is all. My present to her this year, as well as all the other hopeful moms (and dads) out there... is to never, not ever, take my little monster for granted.

....Now, I'm not saying I'm not going to ever get urges to send her to another planet for a little while 'cause she's driving me crazy---- I'm just saying that I won't take it for granted on how fortunate I am to have this little baby in my life.... even when she poops, pees and pukes on me... all in the same morning.

Count your blessings, kiddies... whatever they may be.

Big Feet and Headless Chickens

My child has abnormally large feet. but this is ok, cause her legs are pretty long.... I'm hoping she'll grow into them. (the feet, that is)

SO here we are--- it's been a month since the arrival of my little monster. Life seems to be pretty good.

I'd say we're getting on a schedule, but it's more like I'm getting used to being at her beck and call. She went for her one-month appointment, and is up in weight and has grown in length. So I guess at the very least, the feeding bit is working. No news on any mental trauma I've inflicted yet, but I'm not expecting any insight on that until puberty or thereabouts. (again-- hers... not mine)

But the appointment went well. she's now 9 pounds, 3 ounces... up a pound ten since birth. my arms still look fat, though, so I'm convinced we need to go shopping more. I figure, the heavier she gets, and the more we go places, the more my arms will get a workout. At least this is what I tell the Bank of Troy. Everybody wins, you see---- Rhena and I get nicer clothes,(score one for the Johnson girls) and my body gets in shape from all the walking and baby carrying (good bodies make husbands happy!!!)

eh--- so what if it doesn't make sense. somewhere deep down I understand it, so that counts for something.


So, that's about it on the baby front. I mean, sure there's plenty--- like how she'll purposely hold a poop until a clean diaper is put on her, how she seems to enjoy kicking me when she's on my lap.... oh, and the best.... how she'll scream and scream and scream and then scream some more) when it's just me and her, but as soon as troy or someone else comes around, she's all smiles.

but enough about baby-ville.

today I want to give props to Dan. I enjoy going to his site... he usually has some good random shit to check out, (this one is my favorite so far) or at least something funny to point out. (funny meaning sad-slash-ironic-slash-pathetic, like the case of the new jersey parents) I don't know where he gets half of the crap he posts.... I suppose if I were to ever pull my head out of my ass and read the news, I would find some interesting stuff, too... but we all know I'm too wrapped up in my own little world.

well, today, I give you something to look at. I was actually looking for the website to find out more about the chicken fight commercials that Burger Stink has been running lately, but I found this little gem about a headless chicken. I think the best thing of the whole website is that they post chicken recipes. Hey, if you can't join 'em, .... EAT 'EM.

No.... SERIOUSLY!

ok--- as I've said before, I do not know how to comment on my comments. Granted--- I haven't tried posting a comment to my own blog. I swear I was gonna, but something Bill said made me think that this time I needed more than a comment.


so as you can see... my last thought was about Rhena being the favorite 'cause she's the first born.


Bill says it's cause we'll have known her longer.


I beg to differ.


Seriously--- believe me when I tell you.. first born children ARE the favorites!! Bill is not understanding this for one of three reasons.

first-- he's probably a first born, and is pissed that it's taken him this long to capitalize on the abundant offerings.


second--- he's probably NOT a first-born, and is in utter DENIAL that he is NOT his parents' favorite, and has come up with some piggly-wiggly logic to make himself feel better cause he's has a sneaking hunch all along that his parents liked his sibling just a *little* more...

finally, and most probably--- my third reason Bill just doesn't understand.. (and quite possibly you, too, dear reader---) He's not from my family.


Case in point. I invite you to step into my father's mind... just for a second. careful now... chances are, you're reading HIS blog thinking... what in HELL is that man talking about????

The point is... this man TRULY and most firmly will attend that first-born children are the favorites. he'll back it with examples of them always getting newer and bigger toys, clothes and what-have-you. Personally, I think that's because foolish young parents spend all their money on the first from their loins, then wisen up by the time a second comes along. after all... by that point, the parents are realizing that they must pay for their first child to get braces, go to college or some other costly activity. SO again... by the time the second comes around... the parents are in save-mode.


Then there's the whole "First in General" notion... the eldest child will invariably do everything (walk, talk, read, score goals, etc etc) first ANYWAY.... so the parents are all goo-goo with excitement. by the time the second kid does it a few years later.. it's like... "eh--- SEEN IT!"

Another example--- my brother. take a look at his blog. it's been OVER A MONTH since he's posted anything. but--- is anyone giving HIM shit about not posting??? yeah-- of course not....

I do not speak from bitterness.... I myself am a second-born... this is true.... but I HAVE found ways to tap into the old man's heart.. or at the very least, his wallet. you see, dear reader--- I am the first-born GIRL.... so I've got stuff my brother can't even TOUCH!

I also learned the first-born thing very early, so what did I do??? I MARRIED a first-born. somewhere, somehow.... it all works out for me.

And now for something completely different

ok--- I admit... I was pretty proud of pooping, but it did NOT... I repeat, did NOT warrant being my only blog for over 2 weeks.

apologies.


So.... on to something different.

Though--- I do have to admit, it's kind of hard to THINK of something different, as poop has invaded my life. My child has a knack for expelling the most horrible of scents and liquids from her netherlands... and no sooner do I put a clean diaper on her and she's off creating a new Andy Warhol-esque of Campbell's corn chowder.

But for you, my dear readers... I will try.

Can I buy you a drink?

oh wait--- no--- wrong scene. Uh.... Come here often?


Yeah, let's face it. I'm still figuring out how to take on this new role of parenting, AND still be interesting to people who don't sell diapers. I take back what I said about things changing. My sense of humor has slipped for sure... so desperate am I for adult conversations, I've even been laughing at my husband's attempts at jokes.

Entertainment? long gone are my days of drinking til 4am followed by 2 eggs over medium with hashbrowns, bacon, and english muffin and a side of sour cream... I now find fun in guessing how many times my chub-rock child will throw up on me.

You'd THINK by now I'd be getting the hang of the whole lullaby / singing thing... nope. Rhena's destined for a life of tone-deafness and lack of rhyming if she takes after me. I think she shuts up when I sing only because she wonders what in hell I'm talking about. Or... she could just be utterly amazed that someone can sing that bad. really bad. poor kid.


But amidst all the chaos of keeping a 3 week old happy all day, life is going on. Troy's bike got stolen.... from the Harley Dealership. it happened while we were in the hospital... he was getting some saddlebags put on, and left the bike there to be worked on. lo and behold, when he went to pick up the bike when he returned to work a week later, the bike was gone. all's well that ends well, though... or however that saying goes. Harley Dealership is covering the whole thing through their insurance, and now Troy will be getting a 2005 Fat Boy. (he had a 2004 dyna-wide glide)


In other news... Troy put in his notice at Microsoft. He's accepted a new job on the east coast... in Charlotte, North Carolina, to be exact. So--- he'll be working from home here in the shadeless state of Nevada for the next few months, and sometime in January, we'll be heading east. We're definitely going to miss the friends we've made here in Reno, but we're way too excited about being closer to family. ( not to mention a slew of other things, too... )

so that's what's been going on. I appreciate all the comments and positive e-mails everyone has been sending our way. I don't know how to reply to comments on my blog (perhaps I also make a comment? not sure...) and I'm still about 20 deep in my inbox, but again--- everyone who has sent good wishes , they are very much appreciated. I would love to post a picture of my monster, but I'm too cheap to purchase server space to put her picture up. Those Gerber babies are pretty cute... just pretend Rhena's one of them...

oh, and yes, I know the spelling of Rhena has thrown a few of you. it's pronounced REE-NUH. We threw the 'h' in there to give it a prissy effect. I figure it'll come in handy when she's making friends with OTHER snobby kids in high school. After all... she IS the firstborn, and bound to be the favorite....

And this too, shall pass.....

Holy Mother of God.....



I FINALLY pooped.


Rhena is now a week old, as were the bowels I gratefully just flushed.


I can only imagine, after this nightmarish experience, the hell the poor women who deliver naturally go through. God bless their little souls, and may they have many bottles of softeners on hand.


other than that--- it's been a good week. Been home since late monday afternoon, and am finally getting into the swing of motherhood. Yeah, yeah-- I know. All the moms out there are like... "honey--- you ain't seen NOTHIN yet!"

I appreciate the votes of support from the more experienced reader, but hey.... you were young dumb and stupid once too, so cut me some slack. Besides.... I'm going on very little sleep here, so allow me my disillusioned feelings of confidence!


Anyways--- it's been a week. Already, I can't imagine my life without her. What in hell was I doing before I had this tiny bag of squish and bones???? I honestly can't remember. I mean... I was pooping and sleeping more often, that I DO remember.... but the rest seems a distant second place.

There's lots of things I'm still trying to figure out--- about Rhena, about my own body, about parenting in general, but I have a feeling that will go on as long as I'm breathing. It's pretty overwhelming when you realize you don't know jack-diddly, or are "still pissin' yellow", as my dad would say. In the meantime, I'm trying to focus on small victories.

Today, Rhena making it through a whole week with me and Troy as parents without us breaking her or her moving out was one. The other was pooping. well, the pooping wasn't small by any means, but a victory nonetheless.

I may just go have a cup of raspberry tea to celebrate..... I might have a bag or two left over.

Johnson.... Party of Three

SO. YA WANNA HEAR A STORY????? Pull up a chair, kiddies... this could take a while!!!

So Thursday, I ran around like a madwoman--- running errands, doing furniture shopping.... --- you know... the usual stuff for a girl a week overdue!


anyways--- I talked to a few friends that day/afternoon, so y'all know nothing was going on. Party was set for Saturday--- gonna have folks over to watch the hopkins/de la hoya fight.... all systems seemed fabulous and ready to wait til Tuesday, (my next doc's appointment) so I could get me a libra!


I was watching crappy TV while Troy worked, and started noticing that my stomach was hurting like a mother. I had been crapping a lot that day, so I figured it was just more stomach pains. only thing... they were hitting me every 10 minutes, and only lasting like a minute. WTF... all I could think was this next one was gonna be one helluva poop, ya know?


well, as the night progress, the pain level did too, as did the frequency. by 8pm, I was using the stopwatch... I figured after 2 hours of these pains and not even a fart... it had to be contractions (told you folks I'm slow!)


by the time apprentice came on, they were just over 5 minutes apart, and I found myself breathing through them. I can't remember if I hee'ed or haw'ed, but I needed to breath to get through 60 seconds of pure stomach hell.


We decided this was it, so we headed to the hospital so we could at least be in a room by the time someone was going to be 'fired', and would be able to watch it.


Sure enough, but 10:45 pm, I was in a room, and getting hooked up to the fetal heartbeat and contraction monitor.


couldn't tell you who got fired, cause I was breathing. that was effort enough.




They monitored me for a little over 3 hours. AT this point, the searing pain was coming every 3 minutes. No Ginsu knife could cause the pain I was feeling.... and 3 hours of them sucked. it sucked bad.

(side note--- these people that think that BREATHING through a minute of intense stomach hell must have survived some form of world war or chemical assault that simulates small green soldiers with bayonets stabbing your innards. did I mention the pains sucked? yeah. they do.)


so I did what any rational pain-wimp would do---- I proceeded to throw up on TOP of the contractions. life was just a party, can I tell you???


around 3 or 4am, they held a little conference. oh!!! BTW--- my doctor was (and still is) on vacation, so I have the entire on-call staff up my cooch. nothing says welcome to motherhood like a stranger's arm up your cooch!


My nurse--- bless her heart--- did not want to send me home. she was feeling the pain for me (and smelling my puke, I think) and did not want to have to send me home, as I was already overdue.


Doc said I could go home, or stay and have him break my water and give me an epidural.
now--- I may be slow to the take, but to GO HOME and continue to throw up, feel searing pain, and only be comforted by my cold bathroom floor.... or stay and get the show started.
yeah. no brainer. I would have taken virgo septuplets if it meant I was going to get some drugs!!!!


By 4am, the drug line was in, but I was still needing to breathe through contractions. WTF, dude??? Flirt, flirt, but showing my "I could kill you with my bare hands if you don't make this go away" face, I politely asked if I could get more drugs.


I was now in the inner circle of users. I had my normal Epi drip, plus and extra 10 cc's of juice mixed in. don't know, nor did I ask what my special cocktail was--- all I know is that it worked. Carrie was back in business.

Around 6am they checked me, and I was somewhere ABOUT 3cm, so they started a petocin drip in my IV. Petocin, so I'm told, is supposed to help your cervix dilate.

LONNNNNNNNNNG story (mind you... long PAIN FREE story, cause drugs are through my veins like the red on my blood) long story short... by 4pm, I was still at 6cm.... not good for the amount of petocin (about 10 hours worth) that I had in me.


We decided to go for the cut.


I had to do a shot of some sweet and sour liquid that was supposed to nuetralize stomach acid. No matter how tight I held my nose, I could not even fool myself into thinking it was a lemon drop or dirty Tuaca. I puked again. (that was like #5)


My drug pimp tapped another clear life saving fluid into my IV, and said I should be ok for surgery.


The surgery was weird. I was feeling like I was being crucified. at first I thought it was the drugs talking, but then they strapped my arms down, and I was feeling a little edgy. It seemed very b-Movie ish. like some mad scientist wanted his way with the vixen fat girl. But I digress.


The cut itself was fine--- I fealt nothing thanks to my new best friend in the entire world. At 4:43pm on Friday the 17th, little Rhena Elizabeth was untangled from the cord wrapped around her throat twice, wiped up from the meconium that was smeared on her body, and took her first breath.


un-effing-believable.

a-freaking-mazing!

I stayed on the table (ok... no choice, and inability to move might have played SOME part, but y'all know what I mean!) and Troy went with our baby girl to get her stuff done. During this time I chatted with the surgeons about good bars and restaurants in Reno (or rather... lack thereof) and Seattle. It seemed like the thing to do.


All in all... at least after the drugs took hold... it was a good experience. there's quite a bit to the aftermath, but hell... I'm not working, so you'll hear about it next time we gather round the monitor.


I feel like I should come up with some clever way to end this post, but all that comes to mind is that I'm a mom now. That alone is the coolest thing ever.

Sooner or later.... something's gotta give

well---


here we are again.... another monday. A new week has begun, and still no monsters in the house.

Nothing feels different.... no water breakage, no bleeding, no little hand or leg hanging out of my cooch.... nada. I'm supposed to call the doctor tomorrow, so we'll see what he says. For now I've got nothin, though.


but hey... some of my TV shows are starting their new seasons this week.


I'm debating whether or not I'm going to be the reality junkie I was this past year. Seeing people get fired by Donny Trump, cat fights over mediocre looking men on the Bachelor, girls with unreasonably large boobs eating/slurping/chugging odd animal parts either in whole or recently mashed on Fear Factor.... American Idol is sure to bring a laugh during the auditions.... who wants to be a makeover? swap my wife, and give me a million dollars..... yeah.... REALITY TV. Isn't there an island I should be getting voted off of?


The ironic thing is that the FICTIONAL shows like CSI, NYPD Blue, Third Watch, and the Law and Order shows are closer to the REAL reality than any of these chopped up glimpses into set up life scenerios.


All of the "reality" shows are the same. sure, the people on them are different.... almost. The hot ones, the smart ones, the arrogant without apparent reason ones, the gay ones, the geeky but likeable ones, the antagonizers, the sluts..... oh, and the fat guy. always gotta have a fat guy. ... or person with some visible sign of normalcy that can only be seen as a hollywood defect.


I dunno... maybe if the head brainwashers at the networks labeled it as "you WISH this was Reality" TV..... I might have more respect for the shows. but the truth is I have none. yet... like an accident, I can't stop watching. I WANT the people to eat disgusting stuff on Fear Factor. I WANT the girls to fight over an ugly guy who's hooking up with 20 of their new BEST FRIENDS.... and better yet.... I WANT them to CRY when they're not the one picked for 10 minutes of airtime... I mean attention. I am addicted to other people's failures.


I don't feel bad in saying that, though, cause I know there's a LOT of other people who feel the same way. Why else would the Jerry Springer Show still be running? Jerry-boy just shows a lot more fat and toothless people, while the networks show pretty people screwing up. yeah--- I can alway turn to Jerry when I want to watch people fail AND get an ego boost at the same time.


People have told me I won't get ANY TV time once the monster finally comes out. This may very well be true. I'll certainly miss the mental vacations, but overall... I can't see missing TV as a bad thing.

Somebody had their baby today....

.... too bad it wasn't me.



well, here it is--- September 11th. ...... 2 days past my due date, and still no baby.


If today was today five years ago, I'd take that today to complain how the kid is still in there, how I keep getting bigger, that I'm uncomfortable, etc etc.

But... today being the REAL today, on the anniversary of a date that musters emotions from all walks of life, my state of comfort seems pretty small.

2001 saw tragedy on September 11th, and it is not easily forgotten. Friends of mine as well as strangers shuddered when I first said that my due date was 9/11.... as if to have a child on September 11th was yet another tragedy. I have to admit that for a while, even I was a bit relieved when the ultra sound technician guessitmated my due date to the 9th some 20 weeks ago.


But now--- well, I don't know how I feel. I'm very sad for all of the victims and more importantly, the survivors of the New York and DC and Pennsylvania attacks. There's no questioning that--- to lose a loved one, no matter WHAT the fashion, is extremely difficult. To lose a loved one in a targeted attack where the victim remains innocent must be even worse.

But again... I'm not quite sure how I feel. I personally don't know anyone that lost their life on September 11th... in 2001 or any other year. But the idea of being morose on the anniversary of death is not something I like to do. I ALMOST wish the baby was born today so that there would be something good associated with the 11th of September for me. ....there's still enough hours left in the day, so I suppose it's possible. ---- unlikely, but possible.


But somewhere, a baby is being born right now, and its family is celebrating life. ---- hooray for those born on September 11th... a reminder that LIFE is what it's all about... not death.


Today, I am mindful of all the unknown people whose lives ended, but I am celebrating the lives of the people I DO know--- living, deceased, and those yet to be born.

How NOT to go into Labor

well--- here it is---- Labor Day. well, at least by what the calendar tells me, anyway. I know I'm sure as hell not having a baby today!

So.... in honor of me STILL not having this baby--- I thought I would compile a list of things to do to avoid going into labor.


Ironically, this list is also the same list of things I've been doing to try to coerce my unborn monster out of me.... but I think my direct relationship to the Murphy Lineage and assumed laws might have something to do with that.


but enough of that--- off we go!


1. Raspberry Tea.
ok--- I admit.... I've drank/drunk/whatever enough of the stuff to fill a bath tub. it makes me wonder if I should have just tried that in the beginning.... (filling the tub, that is...) maybe the raspberry soaking INTO my skin would have had a more direct effect on the womb? I do know that not one cup (nor two or three) has had an impact on me going into labor. It HAS upped my TP usage, though---- I pee like a banshee these days.


2. Packing My Suitcase
yeah--- this was probably the killer without me knowing it. I mean... what was I thinking???? getting P R E P A R E D for something in advance????? surely God laughs at me.... I know the suitcase did for a whole week before I finally put it in the car. Now I only hear it when I drive somewhere or go out to the garage to get something from the extra fridge. Thank goodness I'm lazy and don't do much of either these days!

3. Long Walks
well--- I wouldn't say I've been tip-toeing through the tulips or anything, but throughout this pregnancy, I've been on my feet A LOT. the mafia kept me busy all summer, and I have tried to take the stairs when possible, but I think the rumor of moderate exercise or walking to induce labor is some skinny aerobic instructor's way of selling her workout. I've tried the walking... it doesn't work, and it hurts my hips. Come to think of it... I'm actually kind of glad this one didn't work!


4. Shaving
Any woman who has gained a severe amount of weight or increased her body size in a short amount of time can attest that shaving becomes increasingly difficult the bigger she gets. If I wasn't sweating all the time, I swear I'd maintain an average leg hair length of about three inches, but the extra hair isn't so pretty when you're wearing shorts. Therefore... I have kept to my smooth and clean regime... even to the point of using a mirror to catch those hard-to-see areas. - this has been quite difficult, but far better than being caught unexpectedly. I mean--- who really wants to bust out the weedwacker when a head is coming out of you? --- I'd also hate to be the one girl in labor and delivery who's being referred to as 'the wooly mammoth in room 6' by the nursing staff. But... back to the problem with being prepared.... I sure as heck believe my smooth areas have kept things from happening.

5. Astrology and God
anyone that knows me knows I was wanting, for household harmony, to give birth to a Leo. this would have meant that the monster would have had to come early. I've actually (albeit now shamefully) used some of the moments of silent intentions at church to pray for an early arrival. Yes--- not only does this hit up Murphy, but probably pissed God off that I wasn't praying for some starving kids in Africa.... so I now wait in my Purgatory of Being Childless. I've since come to mentally accept that we will have a Virgo, and am now praying for the patience to accept that the monster will come out according to His Will. But--- my God being a Catholic God, I think I have to have at least three weeks in a row of good praying behavior before He'll allow the confinement to end. (yesterday made two, by the way...) I've toyed with idea of going to confession and getting a clean slate, but then I would have to hear the suitcase, so that idea has been bagged.



there's a ton of other things---- like wearing a pantyliner, having one of those plastic liners on the bed and in my car in case my water breaks (don't want to ruin any outfits, mattresses or new car's leather seats with baby juice) starting my leave of absence sooner than necessary from the mafia.... washing and folding all of the baby's clothes so the room is ready for his or her arrival.... they all add up.


The good news is that the doc won't let me go past 41 weeks, and they believe the monster will be no more than 8 pounds. so at least there's an end in sight. or beginning... depending on where you're looking from, I guess.

But enough kavetching. Happy Labor Day, kids.... the calendar one, that is. enjoy the BBQs, drunkeness and three day weekends. I'm going to go enjoy the rest of my non-labor Labor Day as well. I may even eat cake.

Till the next time....

All that for nuttin'

yeah--- so I went for the sonogram today.


long story short--- they didn't tell me diddly-squat.


the 'tech' was not allowed to guess what the monster's weight was, as then I could hold her liable to that number and sue her ass if she's wrong. Not really my style, but given the world we live in, I suppose it's plausible.

SO now I have to wait til thursday, when my doc can look at things and tell me what's going on in his small head. (Not that he's stupid... I just think his head is a little small for his body....)


the good news is, I actually saw Monster's face. it's FAT. I mean... this kid has a set of cheeks on it that would make the good humor man set up camp next to us at the beach.

But still--- it was MY little fuzzy black and white chubby-cheeked monster that I was looking at, and that alone was pretty darn cool.

We tried to get a picture... actually had a snapshot of it's face.... but then my hair started getting hot, the room began to spin, and I almost passed out again. In the frenzy of trying to get my bloodpressure back up and keep me from puking my guts out, (and thus cure my ghost-white skin complexion) the tech forgot to print out the kid's face.

oh well.... this too shall pass. So thursday it is.... Maybe then we'll have an idea of when and how this kid will be making its debut. No sense me stressing over it... the kid is what it is... and an extra piece of anniversary cake isn't going to change the kid's weight too drastically, so I may as well enjoy myself.

more tea, anyone??? I do have a fresh pot brewing......

The size of things

Some people say that size matters.


I'm one of 'em.



So.... I had my 38 week appointment yesterday. Typical appointment.... pee in a cup, step on the scale (up another pound, BTW), take the blood pressure, drop the pants, and dig up the cooch.


I'm not going to get into the whole cold-sweat thing I experienced when I actually LOOKED at the scale this week. True, I'm up a pound, which is good.... which makes my gain like 11 or 12 pounds... also good. what's not-so-good is realizing that if I've only gained 11 or 12 pounds for this pregnancy.... eeeeek!!!! how big WAS I before I got knocked up???? but again.... I'm not going to get into that. the past is out of my reach, and pictures proving my former bigness are well hidden, so forward march!!!!!


yes... what clicks my door opener this week is what the doc said after he inspected the inner sanctum of baby-land. After fiddling on my monster's head for a minute, he took off the gloves and started palming my stomach like he was Spreewell on a free throw line. After a few hmmmm's and huh's, gropes and squishes, he sat me up and said I needed an ultrasound.

Ever the glutton for punishment, I asked why.

He said he wanted the techs to do a fetal weight check. yeah...... annnnnnd?


well, he *could* be wrong, but he's thinking that the babe in said toyland is rapidly approaching, or possibly already AT the nine pound range.


excuse me, I'm sorry... I was distracted by the paper sticking to my bare ass..... did you just say NINE POUNDS?????????


obviously, being naked from the hips down removed my option of running screaming from the room... or at least waddling away as fast as a woman with 90 year old hips can manage.....

I impressed myself by not screaming, but I do believe my jaw dropped and a squeak came out.


He must have seen my eyes triple in size, cause he then began to say that it COULD be that I was having a contraction when he was feeling the monster, which would make him over-estimate the size of the intended vaginal projectile.

Through the dull ringing of the words 'nine pounds' being repeated in my head like the Brady Bunch episode where the kids remembered only too late that mom always said not to play ball in the house.... yes....through the the ringing I heard something to the effect of him being wrong with tall girls, but since I'm neither tall nor comfortable with a nine pound child, I really couldn't tell you what he said.


nine pounds. good gravy. and it's still got another 2 weeks to grow!!!!!


So I go on Tuesday to get this kid sized up. what all of this ultimately means, I have no idea. There was talk that if the kid is indeed that big, it may have a problem coming through the chute, so to speak. maybe they'll induce me and get it out sooner---- maybe I'll have to have it cut out of me.... I dunno.

So I'll continue to sweat it out until Tuesday. My next appointment is on Thursday, so I guess that will be decision time... especially if the kid is a heffer.

think small thoughts in the meantime, kiddies----- I don't even BOWL with a 9 pound ball, ok?

ok... enough on this. me and Baby Huey have to go lay down.

Grass is always greener on the other side of the cervix

yeah.... so maybe not the visual y'all were hoping for, but I was thinking about that today..... you know--- the whole "grass is greener" adage.


By nature I wouldn't call myself a JEALOUS person, per-se. I would say that I'm very aware of my surroundings, and acutely aware of what's going on with other people.


Sometimes this does result in frustrations on my end---- I have too much, I don't have enough... whichever, whatever. But to really soak up and live the word JEALOUS... well, that might be a bit extreme. If something burns my chaps well enough, I'm more likely to get off my butt and make it happen for myself than to piss and moan and vibe ill wills on someone else for having what I want.


But here I am, wanting something that I don't have, (read... baby outside) which could easily and lickity-splitty flip to wanting what I JUST HAD when I no longer have it.

side note--- this does not mean I'm conceding to possibly agreeing with the amazon fatty who said she missed being pregnant. I firmly believe her wanting to be pregnant was out of quests for attention.


Anyways--- what I'm thinking is maybe, just maaaaaybe, I might think it was better when the monster was inside after it comes out. Now, fear not, dear reader--- I promise I will make NO said attempts to get it back inside.... but--- doing the math... I can see the positives for having the devil inside.

less messy.... more quiet..... easy to keep an eye on..... feeding time presently makes BOTH of us happy....


aaaaaaah, but the list seems short. I still think that the kid on the OUTSIDE is the far better scenario.... at the very least more interesting. I may have a different opinion once the beast actually learns to talk.... but I have a few more months before I need to worry about that. Right now, I need to set the table---- it's time for another tea party.

Dreams of Susan Lucci

ok---- so how is it possible to dream about a person that you don't even know? Well, I have to blame my friend Susie for mentioning something about Susan Lucci looking as good as a 30 year old, even though she's like 79 or something ridiculous like that.


you see... though I've heard the name and have some sub-conscious recollection that she's some actress that it took 50 years to win some soap opera award.... I have NO IDEA who this woman is.



yet--- she plagued my dreams this weekend.


Yes, it was an all-star, all-Susan Lucci weekend, folks.


everything happening in my dreams was either for or about Susan Lucci. Lunch, driving... some movies... I couldn't escape the woman in my sleep. which again, might I add, is weird, cause I don't even know what the woman looks like.


I think at some point last night, her wonder-twin power transformed her into the old lady that's starring in some princess diaries movies. But that (again) provided no comfort, as while I know what THAT woman LOOKS like--- I have no freaking clue what her name is.

There was also a fuzzy moment on Saturday night that I wanted to name the monster Lucciano. I decided on it so we could buy our tickets to go home for the christening... it made sense... it was a family-inspired name, and we could call the kid Lucky if it was a boy, or Lucy for a girl. yeah... OH-KAY..... now I'm ITALIAN in my dreams????

Life (or my dreams, at the very least) were much simpler when I was younger. All I had to worry about back then were the alligators next door that wrestled me when my brother and I played kick-ball. But alas--- my days of hanging out with reptilians seem to be over. I've moved on to dinosaurs of the human kind.

SO I dunno--- who woulda thunk it. Susan Lucci. I finally looked her up this morning on the net. She is old---- they wouldn't even list her birth-year on any of the websites I looked up. She's probably got more plastic in her face than I had in my wallet in college. But I'll give her credit--- she does look good.

Sad thing, though--- I've already forgotten what she looks like. I just hope I can forget about her altogether by tonight.... or at least move on to some other old woman like Angela Lansbury or something.

Stopped Watch

so my husband got me a new toy...... I guess he figured I needed SOMETHING to play with, seeings how this kid doesn't want to come out and play.


he got me a stopwatch.


I know it's so I can time the times between screwdriver manias, but I've found it quite useful for doing other things.


like timing how long it takes me to go down the stairs (18.3-something seconds)

or get up off the couch (30 something embarrassing seconds)


it's well over three minutes to get a new steaming cup of non-labor inducing raspberry tea if the kettle is full

and another 35.28 seconds to get UP the stairs with aforementioned cup of non-labor inducing raspberry tea.


but I digress.


I kind of feel like a cross between a fat Flavor-Flav and an olympic coach, but my accent at best is only central jersey, so I think I'm more akin to an early 90's rapper. I DO like the way it swings from one side of my belly to the other... even funnier when the monster moves it. I truly am stylin' and profilin'.


I'm sure I'll find plenty of uses for this watch well after my own personal labor day--- Diaper changes will take on a whole new self-improvement regime.... new personal bests for leaving the house (penalty minutes for forgetting the kid, of course).... then when the kid is older.... forget about it! I can't WAIT to bust it out 16 years from now when the kid comes in after curfew!!! moo-haa-haa-haa


well, until *I* become my child's public enemy #1, I will continue to annoy the living hell out of anyone that lets me time them doing things.

One is the loneliest number

well--- it's been a week of raspberry tea, uterine bribing, and subliminal downward rubbing on my belly hoping the monster will take the hint, but no luck.


I'm still big, and very much still carrying the extra load.


I would have posted sooner, but was too busy peeing every two seconds from all the extra tea.


I ALMOST thought we would have had something going this weekend--- the hip pains had gotten much worse, and I had a new pain to occupy my brain. this one was akin to a screwdriver being shoved up my crotch. every three to four hours.


Now, I know this sounds a bit harsh, and you're wondering how I would know about the screwdriver. Truth is, I wouldn't, so I'll say it was more like a dry tampon being ripped out of me, which indeed I HAVE experienced in my 20+ years of the joys of womanhood.


anyways--- long story short... I spent the majority of sunday in bed, thinking the laying down would help subside the pariah of pain that was going on inside of me. Come Monday morning, I was still feeling like a blindman's toolbelt, so I called the doc.

I was instructed to go to the hospital for monitoring... just in case.

well.... everything is just dandy. I can't say my hopes weren't up just a TEEEEEENY bit--- I mean... all the peeing from raspberry tea... the cramping--- maybe just maybe God DID want us to have a leo???


nope. Monster's perfectly comfortable where it's at.

The good news is that I did find out that what I WAS experiencing were actual contractions.... there's just not enough, and they're not synchronized with each other for this to be considered true labor. But hey--- at least if my cooch is going to feel violated every few hours, I know it's an eventually step to the final picture.

The other thing I found out is that I've started to dilate. again, I say this is good... cause it means we're heading in the right direction, right? bad news is I'm only 1cm. now, I can't remember if I've ranted about just how big 10 centimeters is, and the astonishing realization that my hole has to GET THAT BIG..... sweat, panic, fear!!!!

I digress.

I'm only 1/10th of the way there. comforting again, that I've finally begun, but being that there's no hard and fast rule to how long it TAKES said pregnant woman to get from point A to point B, and given the high propensity to get distracted very easily, I'm thinking it may be some time before I find myself pushing, or at the very least--- in drug land, which happens somewhere around 4-6 cm???


the other critical factor here is something I'm trying to not think about, which invariably cause me to think about it even more. the thing is this---- if ONE centimeter feels like a snap-on tool convention, what in hell is TEN centimeters going to feel like????

Well, HELLO, Madhatter!

Just call me Carrie in Wonderland.

I admit it--- I've fallen prey to the legend of some old wives' tales. One of my online girls suggested that drinking raspberry leaf tea will help induce labor. Since this particular tale does not involve jumping off of chairs or ingesting frighteningly spicy food, I figured what the hell.


Let's just say that last night I celebrated the monster's very first un-birthday.


now the trouble with maternal urban legends like this tea party I've joined is that it makes no mention of how much or at what time. SO just in case raspberry works better in the daylight hours, I'm having a cup with my plate-o-Murry's. I'll probably have another cup tonight before I go to bed, too---- at the very least, it'll give me something to do every 2 hours as I get up to pee.


I'm sure this is all crap, and it started back in England one season about 9 months after some shitty weather and the onset of a good crop of raspberries.... but again, I say what the hell. I'm down to a 30 day count-down, which by all means isn't bad, but let's face it..... It's hot, the kid is getting heavy, and I want it out.

so a very happy unbirthday to you, little monster!

can someone pass the sugar?

A Class Act

so as of today, my husband and I should be ready to be parents. Or at the very least, give birth.

the key word there is should, but I digress.

Today, we attended a day-long class that was sponsored by the hospital that our little monster will enter into this world at. This class was FAR better than the milk-nazi class I attended earlier this week, but I'm not sure I know too much more now than I did last night at this time.


well, ok--- I did find out which hospital doors are open from what time til when... but already I'm having trouble remembering what those critical hours are. I DO remember the one that's open 24 hours, so I guess that counts for something.


I learned the early signs of labor, and all sorts of info and checklists as to when to actually call the hospital. The problem I have with this is that the two main indicators they list of when to call/go to the hospital are when 1- my water breaks, or 2- when my contractions are 3-5 minutes apart.

The water thing I can understand. If suddenly I find that I'm uncontrollably pissing myself (or what FEELS like such) --- I think I would go to the hospital, regardless of being pregnant or not. Unless, of course, I'm not pregnant, horribly drunk, AND at some bar, in which case it's time to pay my tab and get my ass home. Ultimately--- pissing yourself is cause to go SOMEWHERE, so that sign I think I can handle, even in the midst of realization that the monster is starting to come out of me.


This contraction thing, though---- I'm a little sketchy about this. If I don't know what a contraction is, HOW am I going to know when they are coming 3-5 minutes apart??? I've never admitted it, but I'm jealous as all hell of my online girls I chat with who know when they're having these braxton hicks contractions. These, of course, are the same girls who knew when their babies were moving and kicking at like, oh I dunno--- their third week of pregnancy???? Well, maybe not THAT soon, but still---- while I was trying to differentiate between whether I need to fart or hit the toilet really hard, they were all bubbly in their new joy of uterine movement. Eventually I caught on, but being Polish, it wasn't until I saw my whole stomach moving at the same time I felt the need to fart. I figured my intestines were in bad shape, but they weren't so far gone that they could make my whole stomach move.

But back to contractions. like I said--- I have no idea what a contraction feels like--- real, fake, or whatever. My stomach FEELS rock hard sometimes, but it could just be the monster's ass for all I know. As for pain--- well, when the little bugger starts doing karate, yeah, I can feel some sharp pains.... but I was also told that this is my uterus stretching to grow for the kid.

they say when it happens, you'll know. Well, I hope that's true. actually, I'm really hoping that my ignorance might pay off in the sense that I won't know how long I'll REALLY be in labor. I mean, if I don't catch drift of things until things are obvious to even ME, then maybe it'll be a shorter time from realization to birth. One can only hope.......

Why Babies Are Like Tomato Sauce

This blog may be a far stretch for some to handle, but anyone that really knows me also knows that I can relate just about anything and everything to food.


so off we go, shall we?


SO my theory. Babies and Tomato Sauce. The one thing that everyone can without a doubt agree on is that in order to have either, there is one crucial ingredient. Since I'm related to a lot of Polish folk, I'll spell it out---- regardless of size, color, shape, etc--- every pregnancy/baby needs a fertilized egg, and every tomato sauce needs tomatoes to make it official. Can we agree on this?



In my opinion, that's about the only sure thing for either situation. The chemical makeup, the cook time, the texture, the flavor---- they're all different for each sauce out there. Everyone has their opinion as to how it should be done, and everyone's a critic with the final result. Some are seedy, some are tart---- others runny, and others rich. I'd say no two are alike, but once you get a recipe, you can pretty much stabilize your results. Even so, though, the only time you get TRULY identical results is when the sauce comes from the same batch.


Call it hunger, call it boredom, but I couldn't help but think about this last night while I sat in the nipple hell I shall refer to as my breastfeeding class. Not that the woman teaching this class was scary or anything, but she had the intimidation factor of a little old Italian woman with a stray curly hair sticking out of her chin. That is, a little old woman with a stray curly hair sticking out of her chin trying to teach your culture-less ass how to make a good tomato sauce.

This woman spouted on for 2 hours about how anything OTHER than breast milk was bad for babies, and a mother should respond to her crying child the minute it makes noise and stuff a breast in its mouth.... Imagining this woman's hurken breasts stuffed into a child's mouth was disconcerting enough, but then she put a video on, and I got more than my share of unpleasantries.

I've openly said before I'm going to try to breast feed, which is all fine and dandy. Being subjected to 2 hours of women massaging their engorged boobs til drops of milk comes out on video was a little too much for me, though. It was like Skinamax hired a teenager to do their latest showcase movie. Yes, I still hear the lambs crying, Hannibal!


So the point of my ramblings today is that despite the over-exposure to nipples last night, and 2 hours of fearing the Milk Reaper teaching the class, I think I've learned something. Everyone has their own style for breastfeeding, raising children, or even making a nice sauce---- and will most likely swear by it. For a newcomer like me, I think the best thing I can do is listen to everyone, filter out most of the garbage, experiment in my comfort zone, and keep testing til it looks, feels and tastes right.

now THAT'S Italian!

Limitless

My husband is the best.

There are way too many reasons why he's the best for me to list at this point, but I had to take a minute and say out loud how much I love my husband, and how fortunate I feel to have him in my life.


He is my friend, my soulmate, my partner. ( Let's just say my team would suck real bad if he wasn't on it.)


Every time I think I've got him figured out, he goes beyond my expectations. Don't get me wrong--- sometimes this isn't a good thing..... but mostly it IS on the good side of things. He really is, in my opinion..... limitless.


My month-early anniversary present is what prompted me to do this tribute to Troy, but the more I think of him and our relationship, the more I realize that he should be lauded for his everyday behavior. No--- not for the farting or monkey-like behavior..... but for the way he treats me. the way he looks at me and makes me feel like I'm the only woman in the world that matters. every day.

so in case I don't say it enough.... I am madly in love with Troy Johnson.

Things don't change THAT much

It seems like the one common saying I've heard throughout my 7 1/2 month sentence of parasiteville is that (cue the music)


THINGS WILL CHANGE...

when the baby is born. Like some Ominous Cloud will form the day the monster is pushed out---- water will separate, four guys on horses will come riding in--- oh wait. wrong monster.


But seriously--- everyone seems to be under the adage that having a baby changes everything. Don't get me wrong; I appreciate the immature thought behind this saying. I realize that a LIFE will be dependent on my husband and me for the next 60+ years, be it physically, emotionally, FINANCIALLY, or some combination of all aforementioned and more.

But HOW freaking stupid do you have to be to think that it happens when the uterine growth finally comes out?????


while I'm at it--- how unconscious does someone have to be to not recognize that life changes ANY time something is added or deleted to one's life? Am I the only one who took Algebra?????


LIFE changes when you learn how to walk. Life CHANGES when you learn how to drive. When you learn about the opposite sex. when you go to college. when you move out. when--- GASP---- you have to pay bills. (on your own, that is....)


Not to throw a big "neener neener" at the world of ignorants, but seriously--- NO SHIT, SHERLOCK! My life changed the minute I knew I was going to marry Troy. No more independent-thinking 'oh he's just some guy I know' thinking for me. This man became my partner. I knew and accepted the challenges of compromise, forgiveness, give and take WELL before I walked down the aisle.

SO why should things be so drastically different with a child? my life changed the minute I knew I wanted to be a mother someday. It changed when my husband and I decided we wanted to go forward and BRING a child into this world. It changed when I turned around after flushing one day to see a blaring pink line on a piss stick.

I guess what I'm saying is you really have to be under a rock to think that things will change drastically once a baby is born. there is no ON/OFF switch or magic lamp that turns on when a baby arrives. In my opinion, it's kinda like a sunrise. --- God isn't stupid, ya know.... I think He was on to something when He made pregnancy last 9 months, kids not walk until after they've been crawling, and several other small wonders beyond this blog. In other words, dear reader--- shit's changing all the time.

If you can't tell the changes that go on in your life on a regular basis, well, I guess you're one of those wise sages that runs around telling people like me about the major changes coming my way. --- Do me a favor, will you? Go home and wait for someone to turn a light on for you. At the very least, there'll be one less shitty driver on the road for me to worry about.

I'm a weenie.

ok--- I admit it. I've reached a new level of shame for myself.


I'm a big weenie.


I went to the dentist yesterday, and it was the most horrific experience of my life so far.


Had I known how much MORE painful the direct scraping of my gums would be while preggo, I would have waited on this appointment. Seriously--- I mean; I've gone more than 6 months of no dentist before... try like 3 years!!! And yes, the first visit back really sucked ass, but I was allowed to pop some advil afterwards, naturally washing them down with several Jack and Gingers.

But being the new-improved, 50% more free mom-to-be... I kept my appointment. I don't want cavities.... I want my in-utero monster to know that Mommy takes care of her teeth cause she wants to set a good example. MOMMY can handle a simple dentist appointment, and she can do it without silly little pills or alcohol as a reward, even though she hasn't been flossing like she should, and has been neglecting her back molars due to the gagging reflex her gigantic sonicare causes, and knows that this month's cleaning is going to be especially rough.


So I went, and didn't eat anything prior to prevent any queasiness from the barrage of tools about to spend time in my mouth, or possibly that distinct yummy latex taste. Nothing like the taste of latex in the morning.


I threw up three times.


for a basic cleaning.



HOW IN HELL AM I GOING TO HANDLE BIRTH?????????


Granted, the whole birth thing doesn't happen in my mouth, and there ARE drugs allowed in THAT party, but still..... bleeding gums is probably a walk in the park compared to the Vietnam that's going to come out of me with the monster's arrival, and there's a LOT less stretching, cutting and/or ripping involved with dentists.


I keep hoping I'll wake up some morning and there'll be a child in our bed. It's not that I don't want to go through with the whole birth process (oh, ok--- twist my arm--- you caught me. I really wouldn't mind skipping it altogether) but my theory is--- the monster isn't going to remember. Why should I have to?

Suck it, Tri-Star!!!

ok---- so I've come to the conclusion that I may never answer the phone again. EVER.

ditto with the front door, but I'll get to that.


I really DO love to talk on the phone. any of my girlfriends can attest to that, as can my husband when he's at work creating meeting to go to just so I'll finally hang up. But there exists an evil in the phone industry called "Out of Area" and its sidekick "Private".


Not only are these two people MY arch enemies--- they plague many other innocents at every possible hour of the day.

No-- they're not unstoppable; I could invest in a fancy number blocker that requires people to state their name and numbers before being allowed to disturb the peace in the Johnson Manor. But let's face it--- I'm cheap.

so I don't answer the phone. EVER.


Well, that's not true; I have actually risen from my gorge-fest (or movie, or slumber, or some other sacred home activity that should ordinarily not be disturbed) to take a peek at the number on my phone. If I recognize it--- I'll answer it!

But 9 times out of 10, it's Mr O. of A. or Private. So we let the machine pick up.


On our machine, we sound pleasant, and we assure people that if they leave a message we'll call them back. And for the most part that holds true--- but does O of A or Private ever leave a message? nope. they just wait another 2-10 minutes and call back.

I'm on to their game, and personally, I don't want what they're selling. I know it's not creditors or debt collectors calling--- my husband and I have paid our haunting credit debts, and are in good credit standing now. Besides... creditors ALWAYS leave messages.

but night after night, day after day--- the calls come... as soon as the machine picks up; they hang up. well --- screw you, too, buddy!!


SO back to my point. this past weekend, we had some friends visiting. Not wanting to appear like lazy people who have disassociated ourselves from the world, I actually answered the phone when they were here.

BIG MISTAKE.

Pregnancy, 2 friends you haven't seen in about 2 years, their 2 children ages 3 and 1 1/2, a hungry husband and a woman talking 1000 miles an hour on the phone do not mix well in the comprhension boutique, if you catch my drift. So while I thought I was agreeing for her to call me back at 6pm on monday, I was setting up some appointment for a guy to drop blah blah blah a travel voucher blahbitty blah for a 3 night stay in some hotel somewhere blah blah tropical or local places to choose from.

Can I hang up yet?


Moral of the story is--- the guy did NOT show up at 6pm last night. he showed up at 8:30pm. while I was in the middle of putting my prodigal child's dresser together. His 20 mintue demonstration of some Tri-star vacuum cleaner took approximately 3 hours. While the invention was quite wonderous, and my husband and I were dually impressed with its sucking power and disgusted at how much dirt was actually in our carpets, this poor kid would not leave.

I say poor kid cause he had red hair, and would surely be beaten by SOMEONE in the near future for not taking $3000 from us for one of these sucking machines. he also was about 7 feet tall and awkward as a teenager on a first date.... but my pity level only goes so far when someone stays in my house for 3 hours trying to push something on me that we can't afford.

SO dear reader--- if you call me.... leave a damn message. More importantly, if you're visiting us--- don't give us dirty looks cause we don't answer the phone. otherwise, we'll schedule the next demonstration at YOUR house.

You win some, you lose some

well--- so much for my glory days of high-fiving doctors.

I had my 2-week appointment today (currently at 33 weeks in this pregnancy) and the scales (despite wearing clunky high heels) did NOT lean in my favor.


I lost another 6 pounds.


Just like that, America's Pregnant Sweetheart turned into Mommy Dearest. There were no lauds.... there were no smiles.... just those damn smug receptionists looking at me like I'm intentionally starving my baby.

My doctor isn't TOO concerned, but he was stumped how I could lose so much weight. The tie breaker will be when I go back in 2 weeks, he says.... but I know it won't be good if I'm not up again.


I just don't know how I can eat anymore. Murry has filed a stalking suit against me, and I'm on a first-name basis with the girl at the pretzel counter at the mall. People at my food store are suspicious that I'm casing the joint, cause I keep showing up when the bakery section is putting out new bread. In fact, I feel guilty now as I type, cause I'm not eating at the same time. God forbid I'm burning calories with my fingers, and not ingesting 3x the amount simultaneously.


Well, like the two hopefuls on jeopardy each night, I will find a way to beat Ken. I will be heavier in two weeks.... even if it means stuffing my pockets with jars of tomato sauce before I step on the scale.

I'm no better than a Drug Dealer

SO if there's anything I've learned about working for the Make-Up Mafia, it's that there was a mix up in the Reno Division of Ego Handouts.

Why is it that I find that the prettiest girls that come to my counter have the lowest self esteems, whereas the most haggard of two-bit whores tend to not realize that THEIR roses smell like Poo-poo? (Thank you, Outkast)

The other thing that truely amazes me is how much money women will pay to acquire someone else's definition of beauty. I'm not saying there's anything wrong with cleaning yourself up and presenting yourself as best you can, but the extreme measures some women go through is just crazy. I mean, let's face it---- if you're in or beyond your 40's, chances are, you might get a wrinkle or two.

that happens when you smile sometimes, ya know.


but they come in droves, armed with their credit cards to purchase and slather on products that will seemingly stop Father Time. And I'm a greedy commission hungry fool, so I help them. I create morning and night skincare regimes, I personalize their color story to highlight their eyes and draw attention to their voluptuous lips.... I push and pimp products like some common Brooklyn Street Hustler.

I used to try to tell women they didn't need this or that, but each time I did, I found I was faced with a crazed stare that could have only meant that if I didn't give it to them they would make me do shots of estrogen til my eyes bled. ---- Of course now, I have the baby to think about, so I give the ladies what they want, and they go away hopeful.


I suppose when this little monster comes out, I'll be happy to be reprieved of my psuedo Drug Dealer status. I won't miss the desparation on the customer's part, and I certainly won't miss having to tell someone that Youth Dew actually smells wonderful. But that mental toying with people.... the suggestive selling..... that's gotten fun. There will be part of me that misses just how far to the edge of their bank statements I can make women go, but hey--- I can always take up that sport again with my parents.