Childbirth
Posted by admin | Filed under Babies, Feces, Motherhood, Pregnancy, Uncategorized, Womanhood
Have you ever had one of those days where you got out of the shower and wondered, as you toweled off, whether you remembered to wash everything? As in, everything important? As in, YOUR BITS?
Come ON. I know I’m not the only one who’s ever done it.
Ok, you bunch of liars, it’s besides the point anyway. And for the record, I always get back in the shower and do said washing, just in case I did happen to forget. That is, unless I’m REALLY tired. Fuck it, I never get back in. You happy now? I’M FILTHY. Bastards.
And to think my husband’s colleagues read this shit while at work. Hey guys. How you doin’? Get back to work, you slackers.
SO ANYWAYS, the whole “forgetting to wash important bits while in the shower” thing reminded me of the times I COULDN’T wash the important bits while in the shower — like after having a baby. And that led me to wonder whether I had ever posted about childbirth, and lo and behold, I hadn’t. So for those of you who haven’t experienced the joys of childbirth yet, brace yourselves. Because MB is tackling this horrific subject matter.
Are you ready?….
It really isn’t that bad, relax. I mean childbirth. It really isn’t that bad.
Now, I know this is a very individual thing, and some women have terrible nightmare experiences, while others (you suck, by the way) push like they have a bit of gas to expel and TA-DA! baby is born. But the truth is, most of us end up somewhere in the middle. Meaning, while it’s neither a terrible nightmare nor the passing of a bean burrito, it sucks giant monkey nuts, but eventually ends with you holding your baby in your arms. (And with any luck, that baby is sleeping blissfully for the next eighteen years).
Now, let me qualify the whole “it’s not that bad” comment by saying one word: DRUGS. Take every. Ounce. Offered. And then ask for a bit more. Because seriously, ladies, there is no medal at the end of all this — just a squalling baby. And if you’re black and blue from the battle, how are you going to win the war? And yes, I just compared child-rearing to war. Sure, I admire the women who do it all without drugs, in a barn, out in a field, while on a yoga ball, in a jacuzzi, or whatever. Props to you. Really. But don’t tell me you’re better than me, or that your kid is better off than mine. I’ve known too many women who started out with the noble desire to have a “natural” childbirth only to end up in labor for days, having to have emergency c-sections. Look, go with what feels right, not what you think you should be doing. It’s your vagina that is getting demolished, after all.
My personal experiences with childbirth were pretty good (and by “pretty good” I mean they were one notch above getting my eyeball gouged out with a mechanical pencil. Not that it’s ever happened to me. I’m simply assuming). It was a lot easier the second time around, since I knew what to expect and wanted to delay my trip to the hospital as long as possible. With Ava, I was far more relaxed, annoyed, and reluctant. I was ordering the doctor around (”No, you MAY NOT cut my lady parts! And there is no way in HELL you’re using that thing to suck out my baby’s head! You know what? Just sit there and be quiet, goddammit. I can do this myself.”)
To be honest, the worst part for me was the immediate aftermath — taking the baby home and having to sit on a donut for days while my boobs threatened to explode everywhere. Let me make a recommendation to you ladies who have vaginal births and episiotimies: DO NOT take a mirror and look down there. BAD. IDEA. Refrain from looking, directly touching, or even thinking about your bits for a couple months. Because trust me, doing so will make you cry.
Now, before I wrap up this post, let me say a word about having everybody you know plus a camera crew in the delivery room: Another BAD. IDEA. Do you really want tons of people watching your vagina stretch to gargantuan proportions? Or possibly see you poop? Actually, come to think of it, tell your husband to get lost while you’re at it. Really. Husbands are totally worthless in the delivery room, unless they’re doctors. And even then – no point in having the hubby in there if he’s a, oh, ophthalmologist. TH really didn’t do anything helpful while he was in there. As a matter of fact, he scared the living shit out of me by turning white and muttering, “Oh my God” one too many times. The nurses had to ask him if he needed to lie down. Men are so goddamned worthless.
To those ladies who have had a baby: What was the worst part for you?
To those ladies who have yet to experience it: What scares you most?
Tags: baby, bits, childbirth, Feces, lady parts, vagina
NO, Panties!
Posted by admin | Filed under Feces, Insane in the MOMbrane, Just plain funny, Preschoolers, parenting
I thought we were about done with the potty training. Because when we’re at home, Nora does delightfully well – so long as she’s naked from the waist down. GOD FORBID I put panties on her, because she apparently thinks panties are diapers that are a wee bit less absorbent. I figured this out after much trial and error (”error” being feces falling out of underwear and pee-pee trickling into socks. Not MY socks, thank God – Nora’s socks).
I’ve tried to dispel this belief that panties are Ultra Lite diapers, but I have yet to be successful. Yesterday I was trying to get the girls in the car to go for brief visit to the store (you know, for important stuff like donuts, mascara I will never wear, and Eggo waffles), and I couldn’t get a cotton-panty-wearing Nora to sit in her car seat. I thought she was just being contrary, because that’s what three-year-olds do for a living, and I started to get impatient. I said, “SIT. IN. YOUR. CHAIR. NOW.”
Nora looked at me pleadingly. “No, Mama, I CAN’T!”
ME: “Why NOT?”
She looked at me like I was a mongoloid. “BECAUSE I don’t want to squish the poopie!”
Fair enough.
At the risk of suffering through another one of these experiences, I’ve resigned myself to putting pull-ups on Nora when we leave the house. I have no idea when she’ll get the drift and stop pooping her pants while out in public, but I’m hoping it happens before middle school. Because middle school is fucking brutal as it is, no need to add “shitting one’s pants” to the list of reasons to make fun of a middle schooler.
So in a related anecdote, TH was filming Nora proudly declare that she makes pee-pee and poopie in the potty like a big girl (and before you start thinking TH is a wonderful father who documents his children’s milestones lovingly, realize that he did this solely for the purpose of future blackmail). Nora smiled widely and said, “No more diapers!”
TH and I cheered her on.
Nora: “And no more panties!”
Er. I wish I could post this video, because you see me in the background choking on my Chinese take-out. TH replies with, “Well, no, uh, you still have to wear panties…”
Houston, we have a mild problem. Nora may grow up to be just like her Mama. *Lecherous cackle*
Tags: blackmail, diapers, Feces, panties, pee-pee, poopie, potty training
My Car Smells Like Rancid Butt
Posted by admin | Filed under Feces, Insane in the MOMbrane, Just plain funny, Uncategorized
It started off as a status update on Facebook, but turned into a full-fledged post. Because sometimes life is so goddamned ridiculous it's retarded.
Yesterday I noticed it smelled funny in my house. Particularly in the girls' bedrooms. This has happened before, and it was because a critter died in our walls. It has also happened before because I forgot I left a poopie diaper in a corner. What? Oh, AS IF you've never done that. So yesterday I used my werewolf sense of smell (sorry, I'm reading Breaking Dawn right now and can't stop with the vampire / werewolf metaphors. I'm not even sure "metaphor" is the right word to use there. It's more like vampire / werewolf references in inappropriate circumstances. Because SOMEONE is going to call the cops on you if you keep saying you're a werewolf. Or a vampire. Or better yet, you're in love with a werewolf. Or a vampire).
Wow, that was a long "aside." Whatever, if you didn't like it, you probably aren't reading this anymore, so I'm not going to worry about it. If you are still reading this, you're probably wondering when I'm going to get to the fucking point. Right. So the point. The stench. I sniffed around the house, moving like a stealthy ninja, trying to figure out where the source was. Because I hadn't left the house in a couple days, it hadn't occurred to me to check the garage. THEN I had to go somewhere, and as I carried the girls to my monster truck, the stench got significantly worse. At this point, I was fairly convinced it was a poopie diaper issue, because I leave poopie diapers in the garage. What? You have a problem with that? Where, pray tell, do you leave YOUR poopie diapers? Not like "your poopie Depends," but like your children's diapers. I don't want to know what you do with your shitty Depends, you sicko.
So anyways, I opened the door to the car and the smell hit me like a freight train. Holy. Shit. It was so bad I started gagging. Nora and Ava were not quite as affected as I was, even though Nora wrinkled her nose in distaste and said, "Mama, it's stinky in here!" I strapped them into their carseats anyway and started searching for the ass that had died in my car while breathing only through my mouth. SURLY I hadn't let enormous chunks of food rot on the floor of the backseat. I mean, sure, I've been known to feed the girls snacks in the car, but this was not a molded graham cracker. This was a forgotten cheeseburger. Make that five forgotten cheeseburgers. With a side of putrid ass.
I finally found the culprit crammed under my double stroller. Two packages of uncooked chicken breasts that I had bought three days ago. Oh. Ma. Gah. I'm telling you, mommy brain is a bitch, people. And now, I can't get the rankness out of my car. It's going to take a looooooong time for it to go away. And I think I may smell like rancid butt myself, not from just leaving my butt unwashed, but from merely sitting in the car.
Whatever. Have a good weekend, ya'll.
Tags: Depends, mommy brain, monster truck, poopie, poopie diapers, rancid butt, vampires, werewolves
Changing Tables
Posted by admin | Filed under Babies, Feces, Insane in the MOMbrane, Just plain funny, Motherhood, parenting
I try, as often as possible, to avoid using public changing tables. And by “avoid” I mean I’d rather let my girls wallow in their own excrement for hours, develop uncontrollable diaper rashes, and scream in discomfort non-stop than use one.
If anything has ever motivated me to potty train my girls directly out of the womb, it’s these bacteria-laden contraptions. “Antibacterial protection” my ass. I’m soooooo sure your Microban is protecting my kid from the CHUNK OF POOP hanging from the corner of that Diaper Deck. Not to mention, is anyone else afraid that thing will break while your your baby is on it? They creak and moan under the weight of my kids, and it doesn’t help that someone thought it was a good idea to place it level with an adult’s chest. Yeah, so the baby falls a good four feet to the hard, urine-splattered floor beneath. Or, on the flipside, these things are so hard to pull down you worry it’ll snap back up while your kid is in it.
That’s not to say I don’t use them. Sure, I’ve used them out of desperation (think poopie explosion up the back and – no, I’m not kidding – into the hair. God, partenthood is fun). Not just that, I’ve used them when I’ve had nothing to put between my kid and the table itself. Yes, I know, GROSS. But what do you expect me to do? Use my sweater? Fuck that. Plenty of kids have survived E. coli infections, I’m sure. Just don’t touch my Theory cardigan.
The other day I was at a Chili’s and absolutely HAD to change a diaper. I can’t stand the food there to begin with, so I don’t need the stench of poop wafting in the air to make me lose my appetite. So anyways, I went in to the bathroom and saw that the changing table was directly in front of the bathroom door. Who the FUCK came up with that brilliant idea? So anyone who needs to use the bathroom opens the door and BAM! gets hit by the sight and smell of a baby’s shitty ass. Turn the baby around, you say? You’ve forgotten about the mirror. So it doesn’t matter what you do – people will get a font-row seat to your child’s bowel movements.
And another thing: I want to petition for more changing tables in men’s bathrooms. Come to think of it, how about changing tables ONLY in the men’s bathrooms? Yeah, ’scuse me, dude, could you change my kid’s diaper? We don’t have one of those in our bathroom…
Bwahahahahahaha! Ahem. Photo by orbz via Flickr.
Tags: changing tables, Chili's, diaper, Diaper Deck, E.coli, Feces, Microban, poopie explosion
Turd In a Jar
Posted by admin | Filed under Feces, Insane in the MOMbrane, Just plain funny, Motherhood, No One But Your Mom, Uncategorized
It's kind of like SNL's "Dick In A Box" minus Justin Timberlake. Ok, fine, it's nothing like it. But now I have an excuse to post the video of that skit.
When I say I've been knee-deep in shit the past week, I'm not remotely kidding. My girls have caught this virus that causes its host to spout diarrhea non-stop, and for a while there I was really worried. Nora caught it before Ava did, and since she exhibited no other symptoms, I began to think she was suffering from all those horrific ailments you learn about from Googling "diarrhea." Malabsorption, Celiac disease, pernicious anemia… (Why haven't I learned not to do this? WHY?) Moms, let me remind you that nothing good comes of Googling your child's symptoms. Unless you enjoy never-ending panic attacks.
Because of Nora's constant "I have a tummy ache" and her amazing ability to "go" no fewer than six times a day, I scheduled an appointment with the pediatrician. My mom was in town at the time, and she's more of a worrier than I am (I didn't think it was possible either), so we kind of feed off of each other's panic until we're both convinced the Apocalypse is upon us. My father, a physician himself, reminded me over the phone that there really wasn't anything the pediatrician could do to find out what was wrong with her, except ask for a stool sample.
Nothing is funnier than the word "feces" – except for the words "stool sample." *Juvenile snicker*
I did some mental calculations and came to the conclusion that the pediatrician would send me home with a "hat," sterile container, and a bill for $30. And then I'd have to go back to her office after collecting the sample. Figuring I would skip a step and possibly save myself some money and an extra trip to the hell known as the Houston Medical Center, I decided to TAKE a stool sample with me to the doctor. My mother thought this was a brilliant idea, just so you know the insanity is hereditary in my family.
Now, it just so happens I remember keeping one of those (unused) sterile urine containers from when I thought Nora had a UTI a while back, so I began searching for it. I found it in the pantry, filled with nuts. No, that is not a joke. TH used it as a storage place for his nuts. And by "nuts" I mean peanuts, cashews, almonds, etc., not "testicles." Just FYI.
I dumped out the nuts and washed the jar, figuring it wasn't sterile but it probably didn't matter. I knew it wouldn't be long before Nora had another bowel movement, and when she did, I scooped the poop into the jar. Now, there is something about scooping poop that is entirely different than changing a dirty diaper. I can do the dirty diaper thing. Actually messing with the poop itself? Wow, did that make me gag. (And no, TH, I did not use one of our kitchen spoons for this.)
When I had finished, I proudly showed the stool sample to my mom, whose eyes widened as she cried, "My God, you put A LOT of poop in there! I really don't think they're going to need that much…"
Whatever. Better be safe than sorry.
We then had to decide where to store the stool sample until the doctor visit, which wasn't until the next day. Man, talk about a couple retards humping a doorknob.
MOM: "I think it needs to go in the fridge."
ME: "No way! What, we're going to put it next to the butter? I don't think so."
MOM: "Well, then leave it in the garage."
ME: "But won't the heat, er, ruin it?"
We went back and forth like this for several minutes, moving said stool sample from the fridge to the garage to its ultimate location – double Ziplock bagged, in a cupboard next to the fine china we never use.
Turns out Nora got better that night, and we ultimately decided not to go to the doctor after all. After I explained this to TH, he asked, "So, uh, what did you do with it?"
I just smiled mysteriously.
And now, as promised:
Tags: "dick in a box", Feces, Justin Timberlake, poop, poopie, retard, stool, stool sample
No “Mother of the Day” Awards For Me
Posted by admin | Filed under Babies, Feces, Insane in the MOMbrane, Just plain funny, Preschoolers, Uncategorized, parenting
I am in the process of potty training Nora (read: feces on the carpet). I've decided not to go the "potty train in a day" route, because the thought of shutting myself in my house all day taking Nora to the potty makes me want to cry. Because I'd rather eat bellybutton lint (and not my own, mind you) than stay home all day encouraging my kid to shit and piss (in the right place).
As it is, my half-assed attempts at potty training are complicated by the fact that Ava wants to know what all the fuss is about, and every time Nora pees or poops in the potty and I praise her for it, Ava wants in on the action. She crawls over to where Nora is sitting (shitting?) on the potty and tries to push her off, because something is going on in there and it isn't gonna happen without her, goddammit! I have to pry Ava off of Nora, not to mention dispose of the poop/pee ASAP, lest Ava stick her chubby fingers in it. This has turned the potty into a place of great interest for Ava, and I've often caught her with her head in the potty. I'm thinking about buying stock in Lysol.
As a result of said potty training, Nora spends most of her time at home running around bare-assed. This, of course, means that I have to slap a diaper on her when we leave the house, and unfortunately I don't always remember to do that.
So. The other day I had to run to the neighborhood Walgreens for my allergy meds (and some milk, if you must know) before the pharmacy closed, and so I chucked the girls into the car and rushed over, not bothering to take anything but my wallet with me. I was standing in line at the pharmacy (apparently I wasn't the only one trying to get her drugs before closing time, much to the dismay of the pissy Walgreens pharmacy technicians). Ava was strapped into a shopping cart, and Nora was running around and making a lot of noise, showing off for the (mostly elderly) people in line. She was wearing a pretty little summer dress from Carter's, and she decided that NOW was a good time to play a game in which she repeatedly bent over and touched her toes.
Nora: "Up, down! Up, down! Up, down!"
Oh, FUCK. Nora was flashing / mooning no fewer than fifteen people over and over again, because Mommy forgot to put a diaper (or some panties, for God's sake) on her little pride and joy. I hissed at her to stop, all the while trying not to laugh. Not one to be outdone, Nora stopped the bending but began pulling the hem of her dress over her head.
Nora: "PEEKABOO!"
For the love of Christ. Could those stupid technicians take ANY longer? It's like they're deliberately moving in slow motion just to piss everybody off.
Everyone in line was horrified, except for Ava, who thought it was hysterical. Which only encouraged Nora to continue.
I'm gonna have to start going to a different Walgreens.
For old time's sake, because you can never have enough baby tushie, even if you ARE at Walgreens.
Tags: ass, Feces, flashing, mooning, pee, pee-pee, poopie, potty training, tushie, Walgreens
Feces On the Carpet
Posted by admin | Filed under Feces, Just plain funny, Preschoolers, parenting
(You had to know it wouldn’t be long before this topic came up again. My “feces” tag was getting too much competition from the “meltdowns” tag. I HAD to do something.)
The downside to having off-white carpet all over the house is that, well, it’s fucking off-white. Not only is carpet disgusting (in my humble opinion), housing God knows what kind of filth and tiny critters, but stains appear on it if you merely stare at it for too long.
The upside to having off-white carpet is that feces can be seen from several yards away. This is assuming, of course, that your child (or husband – hey, I don’t judge) has not eaten chalk recently. The chances of stepping on a turd or of your children of the crawling kind eating said turd before you get to it are slim(mer). I must warn you, however, that getting the turd stain out of the carpet is near impossible, and someday you will point it out to your child’s boyfriend (girlfriend) and sigh fondly. “That’s where Little Precious shat on the carpet. Ah, it feels like just yesterday…”
So I’m potty training Nora bit by bit rather than all “in a day” and have set the potty out in the living room for her convenience. I am assuming that this makes it easier for her to get to the potty quickly when the urge strikes, and therefore minimizes the number of accidents. This assumption depends on her ATTEMPTING to get to the potty at all, and not getting OFF the potty mid-shit.
The problem is that the TV is also in the living room, and if that thing is on, Nora FORGETS to get her happy little tush to the potty. Ok, let me rephrase that: She remembers as the pee trickles down her leg. Let me just say, potty training gives a whole new meaning to the preschool show “Toot & Puddle.” I’m beginning to wonder if it has hypnotic effects on Nora, subliminally telling her to “toot and puddle” all over the floor.
Truth is, she’s starting to catch on, and she is having fewer accidents with time. Unfortunately, by the time I finish potty training Ava a couple years down the road, my carpet will have seen its final days. Jesus, it’s seen its final days ALREADY (if I’m honest with myself), but TH keeps insisting it’s fine. We’ll just keep rearranging the furniture to hide the stains, and yes, we LIKE having the coffee table BEHIND the couch. It’s the new fad in interior design. For serious.
Photo by Daniel Greene via Flickr.
Tags: carpet, Feces, potty training, Toot & Puddle, turd
Feces
Posted by admin | Filed under Feces, In the News, Uncategorized, parenting
Yes, I know I'm obsessed. It all started when I noticed my tag "feces" was getting to be one of the larger tags, and I decided it was hilarious. Very little, in my opinion, is funnier than feces. I mean, even the word itself is funny. When you have kids, you realize that you've become quite nonchalant about the subject, bringing it up at dinner (while eating chili and remaining utterly unphased); describing the size, color and consistency in public with fellow mothers (or anyone who will listen, really)…
So it occurred to me that maybe my blog appeared in a Google search for the words "blog" and "feces." Nope – not in the first page of search results, at least. But holy shit, there was some entertaining stuff in that first page. I totally got distracted and spent a good 30 minutes doing nothing but reading about feces. I read about a man who showed up at his murder trial covered in his own excrement. About how shrimp feces monitoring reveals the overall health and condition of the shrimp. About how cat shit is added to the "world's most expensive coffee." About how India is selling doors and windows made out of human feces. I cannot make this "shit" up, people.
Two search results struck me as particularly entertaining: This one in which four pieces of ENORMOUS rhino poopie were auctioned off on Ebay back in 2007. Some jackass paid $1,075 for a rhino turd. The other result that struck me is recent – some kindergarten teacher sent one of her students home with a bag of feces. I guess the poor kid shat himself and the teacher thought this was an appropriate form of punishment. Dumb whore. I hope her ass is fired instantly.
Ok, it's not rhino poop, but it sure is funny. That is one big anus. Photo by Millerpd via iStock.
And one more piece of feces news: I think I may have to start potty training Nora. God, this is going to suck. I really just want her to tell me she's ready before I embark on this feces-filled endeavor. Thoughts?
Tags: endangered rhino, Feces, kindergarten, potty training
Speaking of Punishment…
Posted by admin | Filed under Feces, Motherhood, Preschoolers, Stay At Home Moms, Uncategorized, parenting
Nora saves her absolute worst behavior for me. It's really quite remarkable. Yesterday, she was a holy terror. Everything I asked her to do, even things she generally enjoys doing, was thrown back into my face with a saucy "Nope." I'm surprised she didn't partake in fece-finger-painting (awesome – I can add the tag "feces" to this post too). She purposely asked to do things she knew I wouldn't let her do ("Mama, I wan' DIS" – pointing to a chainsaw), and when I gently turned her down and suggested she play with something else (perhaps a lighter power tool), she flung herself to the ground screaming. EVERYTHING was a fight with her – getting her to eat, changing her diaper, getting her into the car, getting her out of the car, taking a nap (I laugh at myself for even trying to get her to do that), taking a bath, even playing with her goddamned toys. She was dead set on playing with dangerous or valuable objects, or, in the alternative, doing something completely inappropriate, like say, oh, pouring milk from her Cheerios on Ava's head. Or using Ava as a horsie. Uh-huh. I was in the kitchen when I heard Ava grunting and Nora squealing in delight, yelling, "GIDDYUP, HORSIE! YEEEEEEEHAW!"
Now, I consider myself a reasonable parent. I don't get mad very often (I know, you're shocked, aren't you?) and when I do, I tend to cool off quickly. All Nora has to do is say, "I love you, Mama!" and I'm putty in her hands. And the little goblin knows it, too. I'm a big motherfucking softie.
The most frustrating thing about this is that the second TH shows up from work, Nora goes from being Nemesis in Resident Evil: Apocalypse to a slightly cuter Boo from Monsters, Inc. the instant her father walks through the door. So what does TH see? A daughter who is smiling, loving, and sprightly, while his wife is a raving, exhausted, cranky stay-at-home mom who is doomed to have permanent frown lines etched into her face. Oh, and who also appears to be a LIAR, thanks to her kids. Seriously…
Moms totally get a raw deal. We work our asses off, get used and abused by our kids, and then are portrayed as unattractive, unhappy housewives on television and in the movies. And yet, I love my fucking job. Would someone explain this phenomenon to me?
Anyways, before TH got home yesterday, I was trying to get Nora and Ava upstairs for their bath, and Nora said, "I wan' ice cream." I replied with a calm, "No, you don't get any ice cream tonight, because you've been misbehaving all day." To which Nora replied by flinging herself on the stairs wailing. Her wails quickly turned into choking (fake) coughs as she tried to get my attention.
Nora: Mamaaaaaaa, help, I sick!
ME, counting to ten in my head and taking a deep breath: What's the matter, Nora? Is something hurting you?
Nora, clutching vaguely at her stomach area: Y-y-y-yes! Help me!
Me, casually: Do you need some medicine?
Nora, shaking her head wildly: N-n-n-no! I need… I need… I NEED ICE CREAM!
I had to immediately turn away from her so she wouldn’t see me laughing. In all seriousness – how can I NOT love my job?
Yeah, yeah, yeah… they’re cute and all…Photo by ptaxa via iStock.
Tags: Feces, housewife, ice cream, meltdowns, punishment, Stay At Home Moms
It’s Official
Posted by admin | Filed under Feces, Insane in the MOMbrane, Just plain funny
I’ve finally managed to make the tag “feces” the largest in my tag cloud. My goal has been achieved, and I can now stop blogging. I’m just kidding. I can now concentrate on making “wine” or “xanax” the second largest. I mean, I want people to get the right idea about this blog from first glance, you know?
