Way to kick my ass, food poisoning.
Not that I had a huge weekend planned anyway, but it would've been nice to do something other than lay on the couch and DIE.
It started with some cramps Friday evening, that within a matter of an hour was full on hurling my innards out. I couldn't even hold it for the trip home, I ended up puking in the truck.
Without getting all TMI on the three of you who read this blog (and already knew), let's just say at one point it was coming out my nose, there was blood coming out of my esophagus, and my system was kicking back water. I called both my parents, utterly convinced I was just DYING.
I was up until four the in friggin' morning, and um...So was Bryan. I was bawling, "I'M DYING BRYAN, OH MAI GAWD CAN'T YOU SEEEEE?!"
Saturday I pretty much slept the whole day, since I got no sleep the night before. I didn't puke much, but then the cramping started. Holy hell, that was worse than the hurling. I could feel that coming on, and knew it would end in a minute or so. Not cramps! Hoooo no! They'd come, they'd stay for a bit, make themselves comfy (if not wholly unwelcome), and then they'd leave. The cramps felt like when I was in labor, DYING Y'ALL, and the second epidural wore off, and just in case the point wasn't made earlier: DYING. (I may be exxagerating, but I shit you not they really did feel like labor.) At that point, I was advocating going to the hospital, faking labor, and BEGGING for an epidural. (Ask Bryan if I actually asked to do that, because, I was DYING, and also wasn't entirely coherent.)
Kiera, our seventy five pound sack of loving dumbness, felt sorry for me and jumped up on the couch to cuddle me. On my stomach. While I was cramping. Doubt she'll be making that mistake again.
When I was in the throes of the cramps I briefly considered pushing. (Remember, not coherent.) In a moment of lucidity, it occured to me that when you push, things come out. There's only one thing to push out and I didn't have the strength to get up and shuffle my DYING ass to the bathroom. I didn't push. Bryan is grateful.
I'm better now. I'm no longer DYING. I'm back to my bitchy ole self again.
I've been thinking for months that Pooker is speech delayed. Yet everyone told me I was overreacting, every child is different, and how I need to calm down. I cannot effectively articulate how much those statements frustrated and angered me. I knew something was wrong with her. I knew her speech was off, I knew that she wasn't as developed as she was supposed to be. And yet everyone told me to shut up, she's fine.
Finally, I philosophically gave everyone the finger and scheduled her to be evaluated by the county. "You're just wasting your time" they said. I said they could shove it up their asses, I was going to test her anyway.
They were WRONG, internets!
As it turned out, she is indeed speech delayed. As of this posting, she is 16 months old. She has the speech abilities of a 9 month old. She should have at least 2-3 words in her vocabulary, and trying to mimic what we say. She will try to sound out consonants, but she doesn't say WORDS. When the evaluator asked her where I was, and who I was she just shrieked.
So where does this leave me? Well, the nurse is coming to our house next Thursday to do a more in-depth evaluation. From there, she'll keep coming to the house and to daycare to work with her. For once, I was right. But I wish I was wrong, that she was normal.
This is my Pooker Butt. The baby I fought so hard to keep healthy when I was pregnant, despite my body working against me. The little girl who has my heart, melting every time I see her smile. The baby who is so upbeat, who runs as fast as her little legs can carry her to give me a big hug. She is my heart. She is my soul. She is my life. She's....just...she's everything.
I’M GETTIN’ HITCHED, Y’ALL!!!!!
It started with looking at rings and sets last weekend. Next thing you know, we’re talking about what type of wedding we want. Next thing you know, I’m standing next to him, “So, um how’s September fourth of next year sound?”
“For what?”
“For getting married. Tentatively, I swear.”
“Sure, works for me. Wanna hand me that wrench?”
I skipped back into the house and mass texted everyone to save the date. Because honestly, for me it translated into, (albeit probably incorrectly but whatever), “Go ahead and make that the date and start planning OUR. WEDDING. FINALLY.”
My BFF (and Matron of Honor) Jacqueline asked if he proposed…Well…Technically, no. But he’s agreed to a date and that’s good enough for me. Details, people, just details.
I’ve picked out bridesmaids and go to look at gowns on Saturday.
Since I'm all about getting married lately...As in I got hammered Wednesday night and proposed to Bryan. He said no. But I thought I'd post some pics from my HELLACIOUS first wedding. How hellacious you ask? Um, I was drunk during the ceremony. No joke.
Ever have one of those days where you wake up just itchin’ for a drink, but you’re so tired you’re afraid you’d drown in your rum and Coke? Really? Just me? Oh, well okay then.
I woke up late because I could not sleep last night. I suspect it’s because my Mother gave Bryan and I a new king sized bed, and I’m still getting used to it. The mattress is a heck of a lot firmer than our old one, and I’m not used to having so much room. I’m used to having Bryan smooshed right up against me, and now I can lie on the bed, like the Vitruvian man and still not touch him.
I also had a freaky dream about my delivery driver and the in house technician. The driver was King of Scotland, wearing a kilt and the uniform shirt, while the tech was a court jester…In a Spandex leotard. I need professional help.
I had all of five minutes to shower, get dressed, do my hair and makeup, and get to work on time. I ended up taking a 2 second shower, pulling my still dripping-wet hair into a ponytail, eschewing makeup, grabbed the first pair of clean pants & shirt I could find and literally ran out the damn door.
On the way to work, a guy next to me was honkin’ up a storm. I turned, and it’s one of the guys I used to work with years ago. He knew my name, asked how Bryan as doing while I….Couldn’t for the life of me remember his name. He wanted to chat; as I was driving down the road, resisting the urge to just speed up and speed off. When he (finally) turned off, I was stuck behind Father Time in a caravan. Behind me was some kid who looks like he just graduated from wearing Scooby Doo underwear in an Accord. I dropped a gear, switched lanes, and passed him. The Scooby Dooby Doo kid pulled up next to me and shouted, “OH MY GOD, I LOVE YOU! I LOVE YOUR MERCEDES! MARRY ME!”
Um, dude. It’s a BMW. It says so on the back. Can you not read the alphabet? Did you see the BMW logo and confuse it with Mercedes-Benz? I mean, seriously, WTF?
I got to work, and nearly wept with joy at the sight of coffee in the coffee pot. I poured myself a big mug, and took a long swallow, only to find out it was yesterdays brew that was kept warm and no one has made a fresh pot yet. I nearly wept again, but not for joy.
Then I got into a fight with a rep who submitted six different contracts for ONE account, so they’d have different rates throughout the year. When I told the customer it doesn’t work like that, she called the rep who informed her, verbatim, “Heidi doesn’t know shit.” Excuuuuse me? Who’s been here longer, and who’s dealt with contracts exclusively for that time? Oh, that’s right: ME. Screw you, bud. Y’know what? Screw you twice.
Finally, lunch time rolled around. I had $5 to my name, and thank God Boons Wine was one sale for $3.99. Yes, I did drink my lunch. I also found out that the Bimmer I’ve been RAVING about, showing off, and generally acting better than you in? It came thisclose to overheating while I was driving back from Ye Olde Liquor Store. That’ll teach me to be humble, won’t it? It wasn’t even 1:00PM yet, and I painted a pretty pathetic picture: hiding out in the back parking lot, drinking cheap wine from the bottle, chain smoking, and wishing I could take a spork from the break room to slit my damn wrists.
After lunch, I found out that I owe some company from years ago close to $350. For a bill that my ex-husband created, but it was in my name. When we divorced, he told me he’d take care of it, but the douchebag clearly never did. So, it went to collections, who took it to court. They tried serving me papers, at a job I haven’t worked at in over 4 years. Finally, someone over there wised up, because I got a notice in the mail about it, and I now have to find $350 somewhere and pay these douchetards, or they’ll garnish my wages. Aaaand since my ex and I never had anything more than a verbal agreement and it’s in my name, guess who’s stuck with the bill no matter what?
I found out we have 2 Coronas, and a bit o’ whiskey and tequila at the house. I’m thinking about just mixing all three together when I get home.
This week has been craptastic. Several little things that have happened have made me want to explode. Here's a run down:
-The guy who has the Blazer refused to give is our $100 deposit back since we decided not to buy it. Even though he told us he would. I've filed complaints with the BBB and the Washington Attorney Generals Office. (Who has a Twitter, BTW. That's just weird.)
-On the way home, I almost hit a guy in a BMW 328i who was turning left and didn't see me. I had the right of way, and yet I got reamed out for it. Um, excuse me? Hows abouts I just run you over outta spite?
-My computer at work has taken upwards of 15 minutes to boot up every morning. I'm told it needs more memory. Yet the office can't buy any, since we're on a purchasing freeze. Yet the reps want everything NOW. Then tell corporate to buy me more memory, OK?
-Wednesday my company released a press release saying they're laying off something like 3,600 employees company wide. They didn't send out an e-Mail to US. THEIR EMPLOYEES. Nope. A press release. Yet we're still getting wages and benefits cut. Screw you too, corporate.
-Pooker had 3 screaming, back arching tantrums Wednesday. Because Mama's mean and won't let her teeth on electrical cords. Thursday, we visited a friend of ours where she was a perfect little angel. We get home...Tantrums. Yay for behaving in public, I guess?
-Wednesday night I mended the lining in my favorite skirt, since it had torn. I've had this skirt for at least 5 years. Thursday, I'm walking out of the office and it rips up the back. At least I was wearing panties that day, no?
-We stopped by my friends house. This suck-ass Serb, Senecha was there. Number one, quit staring at my chest so blatantly. Especially in front of your cute GF. Two, if you're going to offer everyone else a cold one, it's generally considered courtesy to offer me one, too. Douche. Also, THINK BEFORE YOU OPEN YOUR TRAP. I ended up telling him, verbatim, "Do you ever thinkg before you open your mouth? I mean, do you intentionally try to be a stupid, suckass douchebag or does it come naturally? Also, when you're offering everyone a beer, don't walk right past someone and ignore them. [As I go and get one myself.] God, I swear, you're such a f**cking douchebag! How you've managed to snag a cute, sweet little girlfriend is beyond me. Aside from the fact that you're a douchebag, you smell like you've never made the acquaintance of SOAP and you've got the worst acne I've ever seen." Everyone was rolling with mirth, since they all agreed, he had it coming. I felt better after that.
-Today, my friend Kevin texts me. He landed a PLUM financial analyst job making like $50k a year. He's got ZERO experience in the field, and no qualifications. But his Mom's BF has connections. I've been applying for jobs like that and I get the cold shoulder! Who in Karma land did I piss off?!
-Today, I checked my financial aid status. It says they're missing documents. Under the MISSING: list, there's nothing. I called and emailed them but I haven't heard anything. Okay, well then I guess I go to school elsewhere and they get my federal funding dollars.
I'm trying to keep a lid on my negativity, and keep things in perspective. At least I didn't hit the guy. At least my skirt didn't rip in the middle of the day. At least I have a job. At least Bryan isn't a douche. At least Bryan knows WTH soap is. Breathe, Heidi, breathe.
Most everyone knows that I swear. A lot. Heck, even my friend K's husband didn't know who I she was talking about until she said, "You know, Heidi? The one that swears a lot?" "Oh, you mean Heidi Goddamnit?"
I'm trying to quit, I am. But unlike smoking, there's no patch for this. Just a little toddler to remind you that she IS listening, and IS learning to talk.
So Saturday she got into something she wasn't supposed to, I think it was Bryan's computer stuff. I'm not sure. Anywhoodles, what I do remember is saying, "Well, f***. This is GREAT." Pook just sat there, looking at me. She then slowly sounded out the word I just uttered. In a shining moment of grace, classiness, and all around MATURITY I then said "Oh SHIT, you just repeated it!"
I'm that classy, y'all.
To say that I am mad, furious, angry, upset, or livid right now would be such a gross understatement. I am so engraged right now that my hands are shaking to the point where it's hard to even type.
Angel sent me an e-Mail saying that she had a proposition for me, that I should call her. Curious, I sent her a text message asking what was up. What followed makes me so fucking furious I can barely speak coherently.
She asked me to convince Bryan to give up ALL of his parental rights to the kids. She tried to tell me that it would be better since we could concentrate on us, devote all our time to Pook, and it would save us money, how the kids more or less hate me, and how he's a horrible father anyway, and he listens to me, so why don't I just put a bug in his ear?
I have several issues with her request. Number one, you do NOT drag my child into this unless you want to suffer a horrible death. You want to drag our innocent child into this mess? Sweety pie, you're going to open Pandoras box. You fuck with my child you fuck with me and trust me, when my temper flares up, Satan himself hides from me. Don't try to tell me how to parent MY DAUGHTER, and don't try to tell me how Bryan should parent OUR DAUGHTER. Don't try to tell me what she does and does not deserve. If you mention my child again, I swear to everything I hold dear you'll be eating from a straw for the rest of your miserable existence.
Secondly, my relationship with Bryan is none of her damn business. Have we hit a rough patch? Sure we have. Like all couples. But we're working through it, and I sincerely believe we will come out stronger for it. Unless and until our relationship starts damaging the kids in some way butt out of it.
Seriously? You're seriously trying to play the money angle with this? Let me tell you something, Twat Face, it wouldn't matter if he paid $6,000 a month in child support and we were eating ramen noodles every night. He will never, never, EVER give up his kids. Would it save us money? I'm sure it would. But those kids are worth every single fucking penny he/we spend on them, and more. Unlike you, Twat Face, we don't put a price on the love we have for them.
The kids DO NOT hate me. Oh, they say I'm mean do they? To be honest, in the beginning, I was overly harsh with them. I was 21 years old, had never dealt with kids before, and I was dealing with two kids who were CONVINCED (thanks to you) that I was here to replace their Mother. Over time, with just plain ole trial and error, guidance from Bryan, and listening & observing the kids, I've gotten MUCH better. I've learned that Bubs is a very sensitive little boy, and that he needs to be parented accordingly. I've learned that T is high spirited, and needs to be handled WORLDS differently than her brother. I've made mistakes but I've admitted to them and learned from them.
Twat Face, you seem to think that Bryan is the worlds worst father. Namely, because he missed a few of T's softball games. But let's examine the facts, shall we? He asked you repeatedly for a game schedule so we could be there. You only told him that she had games on Saturday. When, in reality, she actually played two games a week. But again, something you failed to mention. We still don't have a softball schedule. Oh, he doesn't stay home with them when they're sick? Well, golly, Twat Face, it'd be nice if you'd tell us WHEN THEY'RE SICK. The phone calls at 1800 hours of "Bubs was sick today and I stayed home with him, by the way." is crap. How the hell do you expect him to stay home with them if you don't tell him? I know, I know it's a novel concept.
Speaking of model parenting, let's examine you for a moment. No, no, Twat Face, despite what you think, you're not without blame here. Remember a few years ago? I know most of it is a drunken blur, and that is what I'm pointing out. You wanted absolutely nothing to do with YOUR KIDS unless it was a holiday when you could dress them up and show them off and Oh, aren't you just the perfect little (well, not anymore you're not little) Super Single Mom?! All you did was drink and party. Now, to your credit, you don't do that as much anymore. But again for the first part of their lives all you did was drink and left Bryan to deal with and raise your kids. Great parenting. I mean, honestly, you should write a book. I know!! You could call it, "What To Do If You Want To Scar Your Kids For Life...By Twat Face" Has a nice ring to it, don't it?
Furthermore, you bitch, if you have an issue with Bryans parenting, you need to bring it up with him. Not me. Texting me and sending me e-Mails behind his back is beyond chickenshit. Trying to recruit me into your bullshit plan is beyond stupid. Did you honestly think I'd go along with this? Did you really think I'd not tell Bryan?! How stupid are you? You're either A) incredibly stupid, B) incredibly drunk, C) incredibly high, or D) all of the above.
Lastly, Twat Face, don't ever try to tell me you love your kids again. If you truly loved them, you would not take them away from the father they absolutely ADORE and love. There's a damn good reason every time they see him they run up to him as fast as they can and give him bear hugs. Because they LOVE him. He is NOT a bad parent. He's not the perfect parent, but then again neither am I, and you're the furthest from perfect I've ever seen. You're right up there with my mother, which is scary to say the least. If you loved your kids even one iota, you'd never even think to take those kids away from him. And frankly, taking away those kids would kill Bryan. Literally. He loves all three of his kids with everything he has, and so do I.
If it weren't for the fact that it's illegal, and it would crush the kids, I swear to God I'd have no problems bitch slapping your pockmarked face until you finally got it. If you were laying in the gutter on fire, I wouldn't piss on you to save your life. I'd probably take a nice, healthy dump in your mouth. I hate you that much. You've enraged me to a point I've never been at before. You screwed with my kid. You just made the biggest mistake of your life, Twat Face.
-Weird things make me happy. Like having exact change. Or waking up at exactly 6:30. Or when I fill up my tank and it's exactly $20.00. I think I should've included this in the Quirks blog for Jen.
-In a roaringly funny twist of karma...Joe hates cats. Joe moved into his Aunts house. Who just happens to have five cats. Karma's a bitch, aint it?
-I've found that my office scarily imitates The Office. Down to Dwight. (Shudder)
-If I'm paperclipping shtuff together, I have to have all the same color paper clips. I'll root around until I find what I need or choose a different color.
-Letting Pook sleep in our bed from 0600 hours until 0730 wasn't a great idea, because now we've created a monster. One that will sleep in her own bed tonight. If it kills me.
-When unpacking, unpack underwear first!! Cannot stress this one enough. There's nothing like rooting around in a box for 20 minutes trying to find panties when you're already late for work.
-Texting an April Fools message, "So I just tested and yeah...We're pregnant again" to the BF who doesn't want more kids isn't the smartest idea.
I...I just don't know. I don't know if I'm going to be with Bry much longer.
Without airing our dirty laundry to the entire web, there's two main reasons: getting married isn't that important and he doesn't want more kids.
Nothing wrong with that except...You guessed it. Getting married is important to me, and so is having at least 1-2 more kids.
I can understand where he's coming from, I do. His first marriage was brutal, he doesn't want that again. He's got three kids, four is too many. He's simply done.
I can't drag him kicking and screaming to the altar, proclaiming "You're going to sperminate me OR ELSE!"
We've had some pretty nasty fights over this. We love each other, but love doesn't conquer all. Not with issues like this.
I told him I have a LOT to think about, and that by no means was this conversation over. We haven't spoken about it since. But there's an underlying current of tension. I can practically see the questions running in his brain: Will she or wont' she?
To be honest, I don't know if I will or won't [stay].
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