Now with 20% more FAIL!

My husband just told me that I’m failing all kinds of fails in regard to posting regularly. In fact, I’m a string of fails not unlike a fail necklace. I’m made of fail with a rich and creamy fail nougat. He’s nothing if not supportive.

*sigh*

Anyhow, I’ve been being beaten down by The Man as per my usual rants re: The Workplace. That’s soon to come to an end, thank you 8 pound 5 ounce baby jesus. More to come on that once The Man is officially The Ex.

Coming Soon:
one year post-op extravaganza
summer plans including BlogHer, visits to Nana and Papa and surgeries
recent reads
potty training

Independant

Like most native-born Americans, I take freedom for granted. I’ve never known a life lived behind the veil of a burqa, nor have I seen a friend or loved one stoned to death for dishonoring her family.  I don’t have to perform brutal and horrific acts on my daughter so that she’s acceptable to society. I had the chance to go to school and even pursue higher education. I can choose to work outside my home or stay home with my child. I even got to choose the man I married and whether or not I wanted to have a child with him.

I know that I was born here by luck of the draw. I could have very easily been born in a place that doesn’t know the meaning of the word “freedom.” However, I know that the freedoms I have did not happen because of luck. Brave men and women had to fight, shed blood and even die for me to live the way that I do. I also know that we have a long way to go before every man, woman and child in America is truly granted the same rights and freedom, but we’re way the hell ahead of the rest of the world. I am so very grateful to those who fought in the past and those that will choose to fight in the future.

Thank you, from the bottom of my heart.

Calling all waitstaff!

Have you ever waited tables for a living? Even if it was in college or whatev. If you have, would you please email me? I have some questions for you.

erica @ andnoplacetogo dot com

xxoo!

Day Two and I’m Already Panicky

I was going to post pictures of the delightful “hamburgers” I made for Father’s Day using a Bakerella recipe. However, my camera is ALL THE WAY in my room and I’m ALL THE WAY in the living room. I think we can all agree that’s simply too much effort on my part. You will have to wait until I’m not quite so effing lazy tomorrow.

The Workplace sitch has settled down some, but is still unacceptable. I’m taking each day as it comes and trying not to get too wrapped up in the future. So far it’s helping. Well, that and the z0loft, but whatev.

Future baby plans are in the works. And by that, I mean I’m planning and talking about it non-stop and Gerald just sort of avoids it like the plague. That bodes well, right? Anyhow, I’m “legally” able to get pregnant next month as I’ll be one year post-op from my bypass, but I’ve got to wean off of the aforementioned z0loft before any baby-making attempts can be made. Apparently, modern science has not found a way to make anti-crazy pills safe for pregnant women. I’m thinking they need to be working on that. I’m at my all time Crazy High when pregnant or post-partum. I’m hoping to be able to nurse the next baby since I didn’t have the chance to nurse Maddie, but if Teh Crazys are as bad as it was last go ’round, then I’m all for going with formula and a side of z0loft for Mommy.

In regard to my eating habits, I’m happy to report that today was a good day. I haven’t eaten anything “bad” or had anything in excess. To be honest, though, that’s fairly typical of any work day. I sort of fall apart between Maddie’s bedtime and my bedtime. Here’s hoping that I’m strong tonight.

More ambitious than I ought to be

With BlogHer only 30 days away (SQUEEEEEE!!!!), I’ve decided to set a goal of posting every day until then. I seem to have fallen out of love with my blog and I’m hoping that spending some quality time together will bring back the spark.

That being said, I make no claims to publishing actual interesting content. My goal is to post. Not to post well.

Item the 1st: Why is it that motorcycle drivers/riders ALWAYS acknowledge each other on the road? I’ve seen a motorcyclist on one side of the highway raise a hand in some sort of half-assed wave to other motorcyclists on the OTHER side of the highway traveling in the OPPOSITE direction. I mean, I understand the whole “acknowledging a member of your particular tribe” thing, but really? I don’t wave to everyone else driving a minivan. I don’t wave to other mothers pushing their kids around in carts at Target. (You know, unless I know them or whatev.) I don’t give a shout out to every other person with visible tattoos, either. So what’s the deal with motorcyclists? Do any of you ride/drive a motorcycle? Can you PLEASE clue me in? This is driving me batshit crazy. Thank you.

Item the 2nd: My weight loss has stalled. Now, when I say stalled you may get the idea that I’m working diligently to lose weight by exercising and eating healthfully. And you’d be wrong. I’m pretty much eating like crap and not moving unless it’s absolutely necessary… and not always then. I really need a swift kick in the ass. Feel free to leave one for me in the comments. Bonus points if you throw in guilt about not setting a good example for/not being around a long time for Maddie.

Item the last: My “business” cards for BlogHer arrived today. I. Am. So. Effing. Excited.

Impotence

I can’t stop thinking about Baby Emily and her parents, Brian and Katie.  I cried on and off all day yesterday. I thought about them a million times today. Wondering how they were. Wondering if my fervent prayers for a miracle had been answered.

They weren’t.

I don’t understand. I want to be angry with God. I want to yell and stomp my feet and lash out at the injustice of it. I want an explanation. I want to know what His plan is that this tiny girl should spend half her life fighting for just one more day. I want to know why He made it so little babies have to die.

But, I’m not entitled to answers. So, instead I pray for peace for Emily’s family and I cry some more. I wonder if Brian and Katie have any idea how profoundly their Emily has touched my heart. How I’ve followed their story for the last year and how attached to Emily I’ve become. I wonder how a little girl I’ve never met can reduce me to a sobbing mess.

I hug my daughter a little tighter and find extra patience for her whiny demands. I bury my nose in her neck and breathe in her distinctive scent and pray that it’s never tinged with the disinfectant smell of hospitals. I hear her say “I love you, Mama” and pray that it’s not last time.

Unfair

I don’t know what to say, except to beg you all to pray for Emily and her family.

Housekeeping

So my kid came down with The Pinkeye last week. I took her to the pediatrician on Friday for confirmation and a prescription only to discover that she also had (ANOTHER!) ear infection and some kind of sinusy thing. After a couple of days of meds, both oral and ocular, she’s doing great.

However.

I woke up at 3am with green goop in my eyes. I took my contacts out, cleaned myself up, used some of Maddie’s eye drops and went back to bed. At 7am I tried to open my eyes only to find that one was glued shut by some unspeakable substance. I felt like a tool, but I emailed in sick to work. I mean, I know I’d be pissed if someone came into work with some kind of communicable thing, so even though I felt fine I figured it was best to stay home. Luckily, within 24 hours of starting the antibiotic eye drops The Pinkeye is no longer contagious. Whew.

<Insert clever segue here>

I’m thinking about doing that Mystic Tan stuff. Now that I’m not crazy fat anymore, I’m wearing shorter dresses and maybe even some shorts(!) this year. The only problem (besides having to shave my legs more often (i.e. more than once a damn month)) is that I’m pale. No, I’m really more “clear,” than “pale.” And I’m not working it like Dita. I’m sort of sickly looking. Back in the day I used to tan and I briefly considered starting up again regardless of the health issues. (Hello, vanity!) My husband ixnayed the anningtay by saying that if I started he’d start smoking again. Well, I lost that one, didn’t I?

So, I’m thinking this Mystic Tan shiz may be the answer. Have any of you used it? The local tanning place has a deal where you get unlimited sprays for $50 a month. I’ve read that they last anywhere from five days to a week, so at five tans a month it’s only $10 a piece. I’m willing to splurge on it, but it’s gotta be worth it. I’m not trying to look like an oompa loompa over here.

Quick Stones Update

Turns out the kidney stones were not, in fact, kidney stones at all. I had evidence of a ruptured ovarian cyst on my left ovary and a big mamajama of a cyst on the right side. So, if the pain happens again, I’ll know that bad boy ruptured and I won’t get suckered in to believing my husband about the kidney stones.

Genetics, Shmenetics

So my boobs are hideous, right? I’ve lost fat, but not skin. This equals SAGGING of EPIC PROPORTIONS. Think “tennis ball in a tube sock.” (You: I so did not want or need that visual, kthanx.) Before my surgery, I promised myself that my reward for reaching my goal weight would be plastic surgery. First on my list? Boobs. I don’t want fake ones, I just want them put back into the northern hemisphere of my body.

On Monday I saw my OB/Gyn for my annual visit and we talked about my boobs and the history of breast cancer in my family. The conclusion is that I’m going for genetic counseling and testing for the breast cancer gene. (Specifically, the BRCA test.) If I test positive for a known mutation, I’ve opted for a preventative mastectomy along with reconstruction.

I have no love for my breasts. I find them extraordinarily unattractive and I’ve never forgiven them for failing to nourish my beautiful girl. I don’t consider my breasts to be the seat of my femininity, so I won’t feel like less of a woman when my natural breast tissue is removed. Honestly, I think I’ll be relieved. I don’t obsess or ruminate on THE CANCER and whether or not it’s COMING TO GET ME, but it is sort of a small, dark cloud that hovers in the back of my mind. I don’t want to be ripped away from my husband and my child by some insidious disease that hides in a body part that I don’t even like. I also want Maddie to know whether or not she needs to be extra vigilant with her breast screenings and self-exams as she gets older. I feel like this information is vital to her future health, you know?

If the screening turns out to be negative for known mutations, I don’t think it’ll make much of a difference for me. Physically, it will save me from a mastectomy, of course. But THE CANCER cloud will still hover in the back of my mind and I’ll still stare suspiciously at my reflection sure that my breasts are plotting a war against me.