Thursday, December 23, 2010

...and from the ashes, something rises.

I'll be honest and say most of the time, I am not impressed with this world. Too many hurts, wrongs, sadness. I know there is just as much light and happiness but somehow the darkness seems to overshadow it. But then something happens to remind me why I love. Not love anyone or anything in particular, just love. In general. Miracles in the midst of devastation. Beauty in the midst of tragedy. I think somehow experiencing giving life in birth opens this shutter. A shutter that was previously blocking the full intensity of happiness and sadness. Since I experienced what was the most amazing and absolutely perfect thing on God's green earth when Liam was born, things somehow are more vivid in life. My shutter was opened. And what has happened these past few days is so intense that I can't even force the correct adjectives to flow through my fingers.

I have friends. That statement sounds so common, but to me it is bursting with meaning. Some don't even live here. Some struggle to put food on the table. But somehow it doesn't matter. And somehow, when it is needed, nothing is impossible.

In the span of two days, two friends experienced losses. The first was expecting the birth of a baby she was going to adopt, only to have the birth family change their mind. The second was going to the hospital expecting to give birth to her healthy baby girl, only to experience a tragedy that left her with empty arms and a broken heart.

It's always been stressed that Christmas is the season for giving. And is that ironic when a community is expecting to receive a beautiful Christmas baby, but it turns out the baby is not for the earth, but for God? Giving. Instead of receiving. Giving hope, tears, open arms.

A community of strugglers, who are also givers. $2000 was gathered in a span of 2 days to help with expenses incurred during the earthquake of life lost.

I have friends. And I've never been more proud to say that.

"Only in the agony of parting do we look into the depths of love." -George Eliot

Monday, November 29, 2010

Tuesday, November 23, 2010

Well, he inherited at least one thing from me.

Being a jumpy weirdo.

This kid jumps at EVERYTHING. So do I. He's never actually scared or upset...just jumps about a foot and makes a hilarious face.

So, because we're mean, almost every night when he's sitting with us at the dinner table, one of us makes ourselves burp just so we can see him do it. Usually he laughs after, I promise. He just thinks the camera is weird so won't smile when it's out.


Thursday, October 21, 2010

Nom Nom Nom.

I zombie babeh. I eat ur brainz.




Ew. Ate first brainz. Not good.


Momz! You switch my onesie to boobs. No brains.

Sunday, October 17, 2010

Barbie, I understand your woes.

My child has turned me into a Barbie.

And I don't mean the perfect bodied accessory wearin' plastic kind.

Ever hear the proportions of Barbie? Something about how if you blew her up to life size, her proportions are so ridiculously unhuman that she'd look totally weird and not at all like the drooling-Ken-sexscapade she supposedly is?

That's me.

I don't get it. I didn't gain that much weight (20-ish lbs) and never got that big. I was back down to my pre-pregnancy weight the day after he was born. I've actually struggled to keep weight on and not get yelled at by the midwife because nursing burns so many calories and apparently I can't keep up.

So why doesn't anything fit me? It's not that things are too big, or too small. It's both. Pants that fit me perfect in the waist are too small on my ass and are highwaters. Pants that are long enough and fit my butt are falling down and giving me droopy drawers when I walk. 5's are too small and 7's are too big. wtf?

And don't even get me started on shirts. My boobs ruin it all. Shirts that fit me perfectly otherwise are too Dolly Parton-like on my boobs. If I size up to accomodate Liam's favorite meal knockers then the rest of the shirt looks like a sack and I resemble a bag lady. Some of the t-shirts I've been wearing just fine for years are suddenly so warped because of my boobs that the bottom is pulled upwards and I look like Winnie the Pooh with my stomach showing.

What the hell happened??? I don't LOOK that different. So why can't I fit into any size that currently exists? Every morning I go into my closet and I want to slit the throats of adorable fluffy kittens.

I realize no one really gives a shit or wants to read about my pants not fitting right but I just needed to get that out. Now excuse me while I go dig under the floorboards...I do believe my self esteem is hiding down there somewhere.

Thursday, October 14, 2010

Tick tock tick tock

Is that a clock ticking? Because I think time is moving too fast for the ticking to even happen. I enjoy my kid so much and I get a little depressed when I think about how fast these 11 weeks have flown by. In two months this human came emerging from another human, learned trust, love, how to smile, how to roll over, how to laugh, and that he has two things called hands that sometimes do what he wants them to!

Keep up the good growin' Bubs! But feel free to slow it down a little. ;)

Tuesday, October 5, 2010

Not rock bottom but rocky nonetheless

Today....yeah, no words.

Liam had a pediatrician appointment for his 2 month well baby check and I wanted to get his reflux under control. My big boy is 9 weeks old, 12 pounds, and 25 freaking inches long! That's one long baby. Anyway, after sitting through a lecture from a know-it-all CNA chick about how I'm going to hell for not vaccinating my kid and sign here and here and here and we're not responsible when your kid dies from your horrible and irresponsible choices blah blah blah (her face was priceless when she saw I cloth diaper as well...damn hippies!) I talk to the ped and find out Liam's shitty ass insurance won't pay for Prevacid so he is stuck with the generic form of Prilosec. And I have to go to an apothecary to get it compounded to liquid form for him. Nice. He also wanted an ultrasound done of his abdomen to check for any issues causing his reflux. Which means no eating for Liam in case he needs to drink barium. That sucks. They made an appointment for me for an hour later and after battle the insurance company because they STILL haven't changed his name from Baby Boy Sontag to his real name (come to think of it, he doesn't have his social security card either...not that it has anything to do with insurance but I just now thought of it anyway) we headed over there.

It was awful. He screamed and screamed because he was in pain from reflux, barfing, and starving. I was trying to fill out paperwork while he howled and kicked the clipboard out of my hands while puking on me and the floor and trying to eat my boob through my shirt, and the crowded waiting room glared at me. Then the insurance thing popped up again and I had to call them and they couldn't hear me through Liam's screaming. On top of that I had to pee like crazy and was worried I was gonna pee my pants since my bladder is shot to shit. I was very close to tears.

Finally we get called back and we get this crabby old lady who has such a thick Indian accent I can't understand what she is saying. But she kept yelling at Liam for crying and not holding still while she did the ultrasound. He's 9 weeks old! Quit fucking yelling at him!! I finally told her this wasn't going to work and we were leaving. She went and got the doctor instead and he came in, talked to Liam and calmed him down, told me to nurse him and he did the ultrasound while Liam was eating with no problems. Everything is structurally okay, but the sphincter is definitely irritable and immature and he'll just have to be on meds till he outgrows this.

Go home for food and our hallway is flooded and the plumber is on his way. My mom said she'd come over and let him in so I could go to the apothecary. Got on the freeway and proceeded to sit in non-moving traffic for over an hour because of it being completely flooded. Routed off, got the the apothecary (all the way downtown I might add) and was told they don't have the Prilosec at the moment, but the apothecary in north Phoenix does. I drove all that way for nothing. They faxed his prescription over and it won't be ready till tomorrow, so my baby still has no meds. Fuckers. Just his lame-ass nasty tasting joke of a med, otherwise known as Zantac. Mylanta gives him more relief than that.

Anyway, sit in MORE traffic on the way home because people are stupid wastes of space and can't drive when it rains, then get run off the freeway by a semi-truck who decides he wants to switch lanes ZOMG RIGHT NOW RIGHT FREAKING NOW!!!!!! and I had nowhere to go but off into the dirt. We spun, and came to a stop, Liam screaming his head off. We both just sat there and cried for a bit because come on Universe, our day already sucks without reality of sudden death thrown on top of it. Take 10 minutes to merge back onto the stupid freeway and come home to find out our dishwasher is the culprit of the flooding and the plumber we had here previously to fix it actually broke the pipe and caused the flood. Nice.

Shaun gets home right after with a ruined windshield, busted sidemirrors, and dents all over it like a golfball. Hooray for hail.

Tomorrow can only be better right? Damn.

Thursday, September 30, 2010

I doubt we're welcome back there...

Liam and I won some raffle thing for a free photo collage at a portrait studio inside BuyBuyBaby in Chandler. So I drove all the way out there today to get a few pictures taken.I don't even really like the photos that come from portrait studios but hey, it was free.

He screamed the whole way out there because he hates the damn car, so by the time we got there I figured he was just going to be exhausted and pissed off and definitely not photogenic. Nope, I open the door to get him out of the back and he starts grinning at me. Little turd.

So they're doing the same ol' lame pictures of him on some dumb pillow with a dumb backdrop with dumb boring pastel colors. Typical crap. She goes to move him and he projectile vomits all over the backdrop. Like, massive amounts of curdled milk. That backdrop is not washable. Now it has a weird watermark stain on it. Go Liam! He laughed. Again.

Then, as we were walking out to the desk in the front of the studio, the lady goes, "Uh, he had an accident..."

I just assume he spit up again and went to grab a rag out of my bag. But something about the horror in her voice made me realize it wasn't spit up. Then I glanced down and saw the problem. When taking pictures of him in his cute little dinosaur printed cloth diaper, I had failed to tightly fasten it because I was in a hurry and he was squirming. I forgot to fix it before we left. He managed to take a large liquid yellow crap out the leghole and down his leg, dripping on the carpet of the studio. As I was walking. There was a 12 foot long shit drip trail behind us. And that stuff STAINS. I didn't quite know what to do, and the lady said they'd just call maintenance. Whatever that means. Good luck buddy.

So yeah, I don't think they'll be inviting us back anytime soon. Brand new studio. Brand new carpet. Brand new poop stain.

I love my kid.

Sunday, September 19, 2010

Sunday, August 22, 2010

Would you like tits with that? Adventures in fast food.

A friend of mine was recently asked to leave McDonald's for nursing her kid. That sucks, and was a pretty stupid move on the manager's part if you ask me.

I decided that while I'm generally not a big "make a public scene" kind of person, I do enjoy pissing off the masses so I'd organize a "nurse-in" (play on words from sit-in) at the same MickeyD's. I picked a day and time, made a Facebook event and holy crap the internet is VERY functional. Hundreds of people responded and I had Channels 5, 10, 15 and KTAR all emailing me asking for interviews. I declined, since I don't really care to be in the spotlight for something that doesn't have anything to do with me and also the point was for it to be a group thing, not an event with a ringleader.

Saturday over 100 women showed up to nurse their kids in the McDonald's. Every news station was there, and the managers looked nervous walking around with their Blackberries. It was hugely successful though, and I'm still dumbfounded that I could create something that huge by simply posting something on Facebook. The internet is freaking crazy man.



I did get a lot of hate mail over the whole thing though. From complete strangers. Telling me I'm gross and to feed my kid in the bathroom and no one wants to see my tits. Actually, I can think of several people who wouldn't mind seeing my boobs and, for the record, if anyone told me to my face to feed my kid in the bathroom I'd probably squirt them in the eye and have an interesting string of words to burn into their mind.

Anyway, two guys in particular stood out. I checked out both their Facebook profiles and you will see why.

Guy Number Eins: Fat, white, pasty weirdo with a creepy upclose shot of his pointy eyebrows as his profile picture. Likes? Dungeons and dragons and Spongebob Squarepants. Need I say more?

Guy Number Zwei: Thick glasses older nerdy lookin' guy. Occupation? He owns and operates a radio station for cats. Yes, cats. His "about me" section? It said, "I like cats." Yeah, apparently you do. A lot. He told me he was going to show up to the McDonald's and make me learn my lesson for starting this protest.

So there you go. The majority of Arizona must be okay with nursing babies in McDonald's because it seems the opposers are at home on Facebook in the middle of the day sending hate mail to strangers while not getting laid and feeling bitter that they've probably never touched a real rack in their lives.

For once I was speechless towards D&D guy but to Teh Kitteh Guy I simply responded back, "So, are you planning on doing this before or after you have sex with your kitties?"

No response. Lame.

Saturday, August 14, 2010

These boobs were made for suckin'.


So all you hear all the time is that breastfeeding is natural, beautiful, healthy, cheap, etc etc. No one ever tells you that it's hard to learn, very painful at first for some, and that your nipples will look like a bag of smashed assholes for a few weeks. The kid is a damn barnacle and I swear I can hear my boobs calling out in the dark for mercy from the grinding of hard little gums.

Even with all that though, the idea of giving my kid a bottle doesn't appeal to me. Before he was born I didn't really have an opinion. I knew I was going to nurse him, mostly because it's free and better for him anyway. But I didn't really care if he nursed or got it from a bottle of pumped milk. Now, after several weeks of having him (which, by the way, I still feel in a haze and that the real parents of this kid will show up at any minute to pick him up) I feel his body conform to mine, watch his little hand hold tight to my shirt while his eyes stare into mine with a million questions and wonderings in them, and hear his sighs of content and I can't think of anything cooler in this whole world. Every time I take him to the pediatrician and he is weighed I am completely and totally awestruck that even on the outside, my body continues to put him together and give him the means to grow. Something that thousands of women have been doing for thousands of years still amazes me like it's the first time it's ever happened. Yeah he gets bottles a lot when my mom watches him or when Shaun wAdd Imageants to feed him. Sometimes I give him one when my bags of smashed assholes need a break. But I'll always put the plastic and fake nipples second. I had no clue until I experienced it. And now I know what people have been talkin' about.

Tuesday, August 10, 2010

He's fired.




The Shrimp woke me up at the butt crack of dawn to eat. I was nursing him in bed half asleep when some explosions went off in his diaper and I suddenly felt my stomach and thighs get all warm. Figures. Shaun had put a disposable on him, which I HATE because he ALWAYS leaks out of them. He smiled a blissed out smile as I pulled him away from me and found myself covered in orange sticky crap. He was covered too. So were our sheets and comforter. I yell for Shaun to help and he brings wipes then proceeds to dry heave and thrash around on the floor half laughing and half gagging. I'm wiping the kid off when he pees all over his face and the bed. I pick him up to get him out of the mess, thinking he's empty and I'm safe. No. He pees, again, all over me, my lap and chest.

I decided we both needed a bath at that point, and he didn't object (in fact, he was just chillin' the whole time looking at me like he wasn't naked and we both weren't covered in poop and pee). I laid him back down to go start the bathwater and he proceeded to barf all over himself.

At that point there was not much I could do other than take a picture and submit it to www.shitmykidsruined.com. So I did. And the owner emailed me back wanting to know if they could have my permission to use the picture in the book they are publishing in November. My kid will be famous for his trifecta of nasty.