The ironic post that wasn’t really ironic but was more just dumb.

Sitting on my couch right now rather vegged. It’s 11:10pm on Monday night and I’m blinking as I notice the time because, uh? I usually post the next day’s post at midnight, and well, that’s less than an hour from now, and as you are reading this you realize that I have not written more than 2 sentences of a post and it’s about nothing but my current predicament.  Which is really a rather lame way to start a post.  I meant, which is really an AWESOME way to start a post.  (I am so lazy that is the extent to which I’m going to go to convince you.  Not convinced?  Me either.)

What are you supposed to do when you’re such a raging lazy douche that you know you need to write your post, and it needs to be done immediately, but you’re still all, “waahhh, I’m too lazy to do this…” ?

Well, if you’re also an attention seeking whinebag, you Tweet your lamentations.

And then people respond.

You laugh.  Then you go, uh, but really… what am I going to write about tonight?

And then you write about how you didn’t have anything to write about and it was almost midnight when you usually post and you didn’t really feel like writing about something so you Tweeted about it and then you got responses and then you laughed and then you wondered what you were going to write about.

Yeah.  I totally went there.

And the most awesome thing is that when you’re done typing up your pathetic excuse for a post, and you wonder, “What photo could I possibly use on this post?”  You decide that the best photo of all for this post would be a photo of the post.

So there.

They suck our souls dry of energy, like a sweet, sweet nectar.

I would have written an actual post, but this monster wore me out today.

Seriously, there are some days when I have nothing left after the five million and sixth high pitched scream.  I just want to bang my head against the wall and wonder, “Why, oh why, did I ever procreate?”

I have to look at cute pictures that make me remember what a love-munch he can be and then go to sleep, and hope for a better day to follow.

What do you do to stop from popping the little head off your tantrumer/screamer/brat?

I always wanted a kid with an egg growing out of his head.

Dear Braden,

You are endlessly in motion!

Mommy is SO TIRED.  Mommy is SO EMOTIONAL.

Remember how Mommy keeps telling you to stop throwing your various body parts on Mommy’s belly because there is a baby growing in there and we don’t want to hurt it?  That baby is growing so much that it’s taking all of Mommy’s energy away from her.  It’s SUCKING OUT HER FRIGGIN’ LIFE FORCE.

All your silly energy is awesome.  Mommy really loves and appreciates it.  Your songs and dances make Mommy smile so much.

But sometimes Mommy just can’t keep up with you right now… and that’s okay, except when things get a bit dangerous.

So, for the next couple of months, could you please stop:

• running
• climbing
• jumping
• running
• twirling
• leaping
• running A FREAKING LOT
• taking off your diaper and peeing on the kitchen floor, THEN running through the puddle, slipping, falling and bashing your head

Because Mommy is seriously going to have a heart attack if you don’t CHILL OUT.

Love,
Mommy

Midget’s Kickin’ My Ass!

By request of the most lovely and admired Maria - my favorite Immorial Matriarch, I give you a glimpse at the projected winner of Only Human To Push A Head Through My Vagina in 2009.  (There are currently no other candidates, so it’s not a very heated race.)

The Official Pregnancy ticker is at 8 and a half weeks.  I’m feeling very grateful to be here.

Still so tired I feel like a midget’s kickin’ my ass and there’s nothing I can do about it.  Oh wait, that’s pretty much true, right?  Ha!  On a related note, if I owe you emails or anything else, forgive me.  I’m so freaking out of it.  Send me reminders, please.

Nausea comes and goes and is quite debilitating at times.  No actual puking so far, just like with Braden.  Amen to that.  Already gaining some weight.  Booo @ that.

Yo, Obama, Congrats!  Now… we already have a puppy – how about some Health Care Reform?  This prenatal care cost with no health insurance hurts, man.  (Can’t wait to see the hospital bill for the delivery, aaagghhh.)

Argh, Stress = bad!

*happy thoughts of candy canes*

Yes, I am a dumbass. Now let’s pretend this isn’t over a month old.

Here’s a story I never shared with you… b/c I forgot to post it.  Wow, can anyone say, “dumbass?”  Well, would you still like to read it?  Hope so!

______________________________________________________________________________________________________

In the spirit of reveling in the good, the night I was writing this post, I decided to take Braden to the park the next day, watch him run around, and just generally enjoy being outside.

Does it sometimes seem like just when you’re trying to turn the corner on depression, the shit rains down on you?

Braden had a horrible night sleeping that night. I was just saying to John last Tuesday night that Braden has been sleeping so well for some time now, and even though his sleep habits used to be awful with crying and carrying on all night, now he does wonderfully!

News flash: JUST DON’T EVER SAY THINGS LIKE THAT OUT LOUD!

The very next night (the night I decided to be all happy and travel to the park the next day) he took hours to go to sleep. I had to hold him 3 times and spend over an hour in his room after his original bedtime, to help him go down. Then he got up at 2:30 and decided it must be morning.

WHAT THE HELL? He never does that!

Oh, hai, did I mention that I had not gone to bed yet at that point (yes I’m an idiot)?

I tried taking him to my bed when he wouldn’t go back to sleep in his. For an hour and a half we played the, “Sleep For 10 Minutes, Then Play for 15 Minutes” game over and over again. As cute as it was, by 4am, NO ONE IS CUTE TO ME IF I’M STILL AWAKE AGAINST MY WILL. So I took him back to his crib.

Luckily, he only screamed for a little while.

The next morning, I was shitasstired.

I reminded myself to be grateful and to go enjoy the day anyway. So we did breakfast, and I packed up things we would need at the park. My face only dragged on the floor 93% of the time while I was rounding things up.

Coffee is good, but it does not work miracles. Drugs are bad, but I would have snorted cocaine that day.

It seemed like everything was going very well. Braden was fed and dressed, I was fed and dressed. The bag was packed. Suddenly, I realized it was hot out and I needed to pack water for the boy.

I put the diaper bag in the car, and came back to get water. Braden rounded the corner into the kitchen and saw the door to the garage open. I closed it. HE DIED A SLOW AND HORRIBLE DEATH.

It was LOUD.

Time-Out was had.

During time out it was LOUD. I stood in the kitchen and tried to remember not to curse hatefully.

I also tried to remember not to wish I was dead.  Or deaf.  One letter, either way, it would be quiet.

Once that episode was over, I took the water and the child and we got all situated, snapped, and buckled into the car. While I was buckling Braden into his seat, he pointed to the dome light and gleefully exclaimed, “Iiiiiiigggghhhhttt!!!” Aww. How cute!

I hopped into the front seat and strapped myself in, slamming the door shut.

Key in ignition. Turn.

Nothing.

Blank stare.

Key turn.

Nothing.

Extreme restraint of desire to say pissfuckshitdamnhellmotherfuckercuntlickercocksuckerWHORE!

(And, while I have potty mouth, it’s really not usually that bad.)

From the back seat, “Iiiiiiiiiiggggggtttt!!!” (gleefully)

I looked at the dome light. All the doors were closed. It was still on, dimly. Guess who had GLEEFULLY exclaimed about the light the other day when we were getting OUT of the car, slapping at it and messing with it? Oh, hai, that would be my child, who must have switched it to the CONSTANT ON POSITION right before we got out of the car, unbeknown to me.

Hahaha. I can has dead battery? YUP.

So, jumping way ahead (past me whining on the phone to John) and the AAA guy shows up. He was there in no time, he was polite, he juiced my battery in no time. (John, don’t read the next part.) It did not damage my day that he was a really super-hot hispanic guy with a dazzling smile.

(I might kill the car battery on purpose next time? KIDDING! KIDDING!)

The rest of the day was lovely. The park outing was beautiful… even though I forgot everything but the water the second time we loaded up. It didn’t matter. We didn’t need any of it.

We ran and played in the grass. The sun shone down on us.

The world did not end. It went on, and it was even fabulous.

Even though I’ve felt the need to vomit out all that crap up there on you? (Thanks for letting me do that!) I’m choosing to focus on the good stuff, this time.

More baby steps.

A decidedly different post than this past Friday’s.

I am sitting here, at my computer, with my brow furrowed, writing.

It is 1:18 am.

About 30 minutes ago, and after struggling fitfully for some time, my eyes opened wide (imagine the cartoon sound-mixture of breaking glass and squealing brass horns, and picture red veins in my eyes) and I gave up trying to go back to sleep with the buzzsaw next to me droning on endlessly.

Annoyed, I snatched up my pillow.  I resisted the rather strong temptation to hold it over John’s face.

Instead, I quietly (can stomping be referred to as quiet?) left the room and stumbled down the stairs (YAY FOR STAIRS!NOT.) to the couch.

After having finally quieted the seemingly endless stampede of noisy elephants in my brain that is my mind refusing to shut the HELL up when I want to go to sleep (does that ever happen to you?) I was starting to drift back towards the edge of slumber.  In fact, the wispy tendrils of sleep sent by the sandman were already winding their way into my hair and tickling my cheeks.

Suddenly, a small sound crept down the stairs and around the bend, hurrying to reach me before I escaped to my dreamworld.  It grew quickly, and (was I imagining it?) truimphantly it danced across my face with heavy feet, ripped its way down the auditory canals and bitch slapped my eardrums.  

I was not slow to identify it as the evil.snoring.from.hell.

It is completely normal and sane to lie on your couch half-naked well past midnight, biting your lip, clutching your pillow, and thinking about putting some “special powder” in your husband’s morning coffee.

I am so not deranged and psychotic.

*cartoon-sound: cuckoo clock*

Haik’use me, your thyroid’s F’D up, lady.

The levels of my
Thyroid Antibodies are
Insanely high, yo.

 A quick update on my thyroid labwork.  I finally got a nurse on the phone a couple of days ago.  She told me a few things that aren’t so awesome.

First of all, a bit of history: My levels have, in the past, been skewed such that the THS (which supresses your thyroid) was low… meaning my thyroid was actually running faster than it’s supposed to.  Before anyone gets all jealous (that b*tch had built-in weight loss hormones!) it was not enough to make me lose weight.  (You’ll remember, I was told, ”It’s not bad enough for us to medicate yet.”) It was just enough to make me feel like supremo crap – nervous, tired, moody, and anxiety prone.  That has been the case whenever I had it checked from 2005 up until now. 

Also, thyroid antibodies were detected at such levels that I was diagnosed with Hashimoto’s Thyroiditis.  That basically means that my body created an army to take out my thyroid, as if it were a foreign body, and is regularly attacking and mutilating the poor thing. As such, I have Goiter – a swollen, hurting, sad, whiny, crying thyroid that is just screaming out – “Pweease, pweease, stop hoorting me!”  I regularly feel like someone is choking me, and it’s hard to swallow sometimes.  *whine, moan, cry*

So, onto the current events.

I finally got my nurse on the phone, and she says, “Your thyroid hormones are normal.”

At first, you would think this is good news, right?  Ahh, grasshopper, but no.  Because what that means is that the “hyper” phase has now switched and the hormone level is heading in the other direction.  And good folks, what that means is that before long I’ll enter the “true” phase of hypothyroidism. 

But the fun continues.

“Your thyroid antibodies are incredibly high.  So much so that Dr. Crowe wants you to go see an Endocrinologist.”

How high are we talking, people?

There are 2 measured antibodies.

TPO - Normal Range: 0 – 34, My Result: 216
Anti-Thyroglobulin – Normal Range: 0 – 40, My Result: 849

And apparently, when your thyroid is taking a beating from an antibody level that high, it’s enough to cause the symptoms I’m experiencing (depression, fatigue, loss of libido, dry skin, brittle nails, weight gain….), even if the other hormones measure “normal.” 

Well, butter my biscuit.

So, no relief for me yet.  I’m on the waiting list for the best Endocrinologist in town.  At some point, I’ll get an appointment, and more tests will need to be done (and paid for – with what? my bellybutton lint?)… and maybe one day, I’ll get some medicine to help me feel better and be happy.

Maybe one day.

And hopefully we won’t have to sell Braden on the black market to afford all of this.

(In China, of course, where boys fetch more… what? So I’ve done my research….)

Go see my face.

The Doldrums

So, the past few days have been… okay.  Ups and downs.  A high desire to just sleep.  I’ve only threatened John’s life a handful of times, and I swear, I have been limiting my thoughts of poking him in the eye with my thumb to a minimum of 5 a day.  In all fairness, every time I tell him, “I’m going to slap you,”  he responds with, “I’ll punch you in the face.”  So, you know, I’m obviously not the only one with anger issues around here.  Also, there is still no desire for business.  Please pray for John’s continued sanity.

As part of my desire to be a better mother, I’ve really been working on my “closet problem” with Braden.  Although I haven’t been able to stop myself from putting him in there frequently, at least I’ve limited the amount of time he had to stay there.  Two hours at a time is really kind of me, right?

Additionally, The Mexican has still been spared the fate of the microwave, although I do have to admit that I’ve recently been considering putting him in the crock pot instead, anyway.  Less mess, and who knows?  He might be nice and tender… I’ve been so lazy about preparing meals lately….

Oh, yeah.  The jerks still haven’t called me with the results from my thyroid labwork. But guess what came in the mail today?  THE BILL.  The MF’ing bill.  Including a test for Thyroid Antibodies, WHICH I DIDN’T NEED.  See, I have ALREADY been diagnosed with Hashimoto’s Thyroiditis.  That means that antibodies have already been detected.  And there’s this thing about your body where ANTIBODIES DON’T JUST DISAPPEAR.    I am livid about having this bill in my hand already when I have been given no results, and I am livid about the cost. 

THREE HUNDRED EIGHTY SEVEN DOLLARS. 

Did you choke?  Cause when I saw that, my vagina literally just fell off my body.  Hey, I haven’t been using it lately anyway, so, no big deal, right? But come ON!  And, of course, the test I didn’t need was the most expensive one.

So, you know… I’m just a tiny, litte bit PISSED OFF.

The weather is not helping my mood.  Today = Grey.  The clouds are grey, the sky is grey, THE WORLD IS FREAKING GREY.  But no snow!  No, not here!  If it has to be so dreary and bleary and cold and crappy, it would be nice if we could have a gee golly winter wonderland out there.  At least then it would look SHINY as well as WHITE, instead of GREY.

Seriously.  I hate this.  Outside, it looks like if you tasted it, you’d have that bitter aspirin taste in your mouth.

Today, outside tastes yucky.  And that makes me sad.