Public Service Announcement

Now see here, pregnant woman, or someday pregnant woman, learn from this. I wish someone had told me how smug I was. It's too late for me. But you can still be saved.

On the Record

Check this out. A few months ago, we took #2 to the doc. It was a late afternoon appointment. Normally I keep all doc-related things in a special briefcase-like contraption, but this time, since I had all this stuff to carry, including #1, I just put everything in my purse - brilliant move. Of course, the inevitable happened. The immunization record got lost. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

The next appointment rolls around and I cannot find the stupid card. At the doc's office, I do the whole, "Oh shoot, I forgot it!" Well knowing, nope, didn't forget it. Intentionally didn't bring it because it's lost. But it was the nurse who was asking for it. Then the doc comes in, sees the kid, yada, yada. Before he leaves he says, "We'll just update the shot record at your next visit." DAMN. I was hoping he wouldn't find out. I realized then that I have this fear of disappointing the doc - the doc who I love and is pretty much the only reason I endured sharing a room after delivery of #2. I could have changed my insurance but I said, "No way, man. I love our pediatrician." (I also feel like somewhat of an elitist because he's not taking any new patients.)

Then I had to clean out my car. I found the shot record under the driver's seat. Yippee! Everyone rejoice!

So #2's appointment is this morning. Ask me. Go ahead. Do you have your shot record?

Here we go again. Cleaning out my car is something I rarely do. I had to be designated driver for some dinner party so I figured I might as well give the passenger a lesser-gross experience. Thing is, I was hurrying up and then running late so in my haste, I cannot, for the life of me, remember where I put the goddamn shot record.

Of course, I spent all of last night looking for it, trying to visualize my steps that night, everything - to no avail. I'm ready to throw in the towel, get a new shot record card, and never lose it again. You have my word in writing.

I googled what to do if you lose the shot record. Apparently it's not that big a deal if you've had the same doc - which we do since the dude has only been around for four months. I found myself on eHow reading about it. Then I glanced down at the article of the day. How to Work Through Feelings of Social Isolation. Was this all an elaborate ruse courtesy of the universe to get me to learn how to make friends?

Universe, the jig is up. Please give me my shot record card back.

Update: It really isn't a big deal to get a new shot record. I envisioned a smack down from the nurse, or at the very least, a disappointed frown. When I told her it was lost, she nodded and said, "OK, I'll get you a new one." The card stock is not the same caliber as the original but it's yellow and up to date. It'll do.

The Pot Calling the Kettle Black?

So I was messing around on the World Wide Web looking at other people's blogs about their families. They were pretty boring. I want to say that people should only write about their kids if they have funny stories about puke, or their kids shoplifting, or how they think the urge to have children was a momentary lapse in good judgement. But these boring blogs are strangely fascinating.

I was reading this one blog where the mom was talking about the kid's baptism. Who cares? Does anyone really care (aside from the numbers people at the Catholic Church who are worried about a drop in, well, numbers). I'm fascinated by the fact that this lady thinks people care, or more so, the possibility that some people do read and do care. And what about the jerks like me? People who don't care and read ONLY to make fun of others. I know, fucked up, right?

Here's more fucked up stuff. They had all these pics of the kids on the blog. The kids were ugly. I'm sure they'll grow up to be incredibly handsome, bright human beings, but they're just not enjoying their most photogenic years so far. So how fucked up is that? Some complete stranger/asshole (me) is looking at their blog, making mean-spirited remarks, and posting it on her blog. Where's the humanity in that?

(This is precisely why I don't have any pics of my kids on this blog. I am afraid of Internet Deviants who will Photoshop mustaches and devil horns on my kids.)

P.S. I know, I know. To each his own. Lord knows people don't need to read about my IUD or how I'm short-changing #2 with generic baby products.

On the Up and Up

Let's talk about Target. There are people out there that swear that Target is one of the greatest contributions of modern man. The fact that you can get an Isaac Mizrahi blouse, motor oil, and Cadbury Cream Eggs all under one roof is the stuff dreams are made of. I didn't used to be one of those people. Walmart is down the street from me. The service can drive me bonkers but driving the extra ten minutes to get to Target just wasn't worth it.

And then I had a baby during the Great Recession.

Actually, I shouldn't put it all on the new baby.

I procrastinate. I am a SUPER PROCRASTINATOR. In all aspects of life. This includes buying essentials for the babies - like diapers.

I used to buy Huggies diapers at Costco. I hate going to Costco by myself and because John hates going to Costco period, I kind of ran out of diapers. So I scrambled up some Target coupons for Pampers but the coupons were the kind where you had to buy wipes and diapers to get a measly $4 off. The total transaction would have been way more than what I would have paid at Costco but since I waited until that absolute last minute, I was screwed. So off I go to overpay for these Pampers. When I get there, I notice that (yes, I know I changed tenses. Eat me.) there is a mustard yellow package with a nice clean design. It's Up and Up - Target's new generic brand. I think to myself, "Screw it. I'll just buy these for now since they're super cheap and go to Costco in the morning."

I never went back to Costco for diapers. My kids' hazardous waste goes exclusively into Up and Up diapers and they are AWESOME. And CHEAP. I wish they had super jumbo packs (like Costco) but other than that I have only kind words to say about these diapers.

BUt that was only the beginning. I started exploring other Up and Up products for the babies. As of today, we use the following Up and Up products: Diapers, baby wipes, baby laundry detergent, baby corn starch powder, AND (drum roll please) FORMULA!

The decision to move to Up and Up formula was a hard one to make - taking about four minutes in the formula aisle. Normally, we get #2's formula in Tijuana - Enfamil Premium at a whopping $19 for the mega can (vs. $35 at Costco). Again, I ran out and waited til the last minute when it was raining and super inconvenient to go to TJ. I gathered my coupons and hopped off to Target at night. I was standing there with my friend Anne, showing her the price of Enfamil vs. Up and Up. She asked why I couldn't just get the Up and Up. To which I responded, "YOU DO NOT MESS WITH FORMULA." If it works, let sleeping dogs lie. If you change it, you could open the flood gates to a night of HELL - crying, gas, CRYING. And then it hit me. Big deal. If #2 doesn't take to the formula, I'll just switch back to Enfamil. But if he does take to it, this could save me a bazillion dollars. Here's why. The Up and Up mega can is (another drum roll please) $16 and change. No crazy trip to TJ required AND cheaper!

Fortunately, #2 didn't skip a beat. He's been on the Up and Up for about a month now. Still thriving, still loving life.

Which reminds me, I have to go to Target right now. I don't think I have enough formula for tomorrow.

Status Update

ball, bowl, help, hat, hand, monkey, apple, cool, bubble, cake, cupcake, sit, walk, go, mine, fall, shoe, nose, mouth, eyes, TV, eat, food, out, up, down, bath, hot, cold, mama, daddy, dude, moon, goat, panda, dog, cat, bed, water, cookie, please, yes, no, fish, head, open, poop, car, milk, pop, one, two...

Dally has over fifty words now and can identify the letters of the alphabet. His teacher thinks he's going to be a really good reader because he sounds out letters when he sees them. She's also convinced that he's brilliant - something we already knew but nobody else did because he didn't talk.

Whaddup now, bitches.

The Five-Year Protection Plan

Gas to go to the doctor's office = $20
Co-pay = $15
The possibility of not having a period for five years = priceless

Since dudes can write about their intimate experiences at strip clubs, I'm going to write about my intimate experience at the gyno's office. TMI my ass - this is a public service announcement.

A friend of mine who is also totally done with being pregnant had told me about how completely awesome the Mirena is. Mirena is an IUD. I didn't know exactly what an IUD was other than that its failure was the reason yours truly is alive today. (Shout out to my mom for being in the 1%.)

But my friend said, "It's like I don't even have periods anymore!" My ears perked up. No more periods, you say? Now that's a cause I can get behind. So I was all on board to get it.

Then my other friend got the Mirena. Concurring with the first friend, she said it was a painful insertion process. But hers was also followed by tremendous cramping that had her taking some serious muscle relaxer/vicodin/ibuprofen cocktails. She ultimately had to get it removed. Turns out, you really should think long and hard about getting it if you've never pumped out a kid - apparently that can make all the difference.

Not taking that into consideration, I chickened out. I don't like pain, and I especially don't like feminine pain (read: menstrual-type). After I had #2 I had the most painful cramps I've ever had in my life and I had no intention of revisiting that so soon again.

Then I got my period.

Goddamn, getting your period sucks. I forgot how much it sucks, having been pregnant and all. That's like the only good thing about being pregnant, that and the baby that you eventually get, but only if it's not a little butthole (as #2 is not).

So I phoned my health care provider. I asked for an appointment to get the Mirena put in and they told me there was nothing available for the next month; someone would call me back. Cool, I thought. This would give me plenty of time to change my mind. Not more than 15 minutes later, they called back and said my CNM could see me tomorrow at 1:15pm. Shit.

Fortunately, it was an otherwise busy and stressful day so I didn't spend the morning fixated on how sucky an evening I might have, how it might affect my P90X performance, and how I might be super cranky or high on painkillers that night.

I went in and unknowingly took a pregnancy test. Damn right it was negative. Then the nurse took out what looked like a tie box. It was like 20 inches long.

"This is the Mirena."

So I'm thinking to myself at this point, "Holy shit, how's that supposed to fit inside??!?!!?"

She smiled and said the CNM would be in shortly.

Now my CNM is the coolest chick ever. Aside from the fact that she rocks, she also happens to think I'm funny - which means a lot to me because John thinks I am not at all funny. And everyone thinks he's super funny. So as we're having this conversation about how I should be a stand-up comedian - her idea, not mine - she says, "That's it. It's done."

Which makes me think she scammed me. She probably doesn't even think I'm funny. She just knows me really well. (Excuse me if my idea of a good time doesn't involve latex gloves and a speculum.)

So whatever. I'm not funny; John's the funniest guy ever. But the bottom line is I've got no cramps, no spotting, no nothing! I may not have a period for five years and for that, let us rejoice.

Muffin Anyone?

The good news is that I can get into *some* of my pre-pregnancy jeans. The bad news is that it usually involves a disgusting muffin top - which, ladies, if you didn't know, really means just because they zip up, it doesn't mean they FIT you.

During the latter portion of this last pregnancy, my insomnia drove me towards several interesting infommercials. The best one? That's a toss up between the Magic Bullet and P90X. Since I already owned the Magic Bullet, I became fixated on P90X - an extreme workout regimen that lasts 90 days. It's easy to talk a big game when you look like a minke whale but have the excuse of impending childbirth to keep you from doing significant exercise. So I was talking all kinds of smack.

"2010 is the year of great weight loss."

"I'm gonna bring it."

"As God as my witness, I will never be fat again!"

Then the baby was born. I was all excited at first because the pounds seemed to be dropping like prom dresses after midnight. I was thinking, "Dang, if this keeps up, I'll be back to normal in like three weeks." I thought it was all baby weight. Overgrown uterus and shit.

So #2 will be eleven weeks old in two days. Things have slowed DRAMATICALLY. And by dramatically I think the word STAGNANT is in order. This leads me to believe that I can no longer blame this mess on the baby. Nope, this is all me now. And a thousand slices of pizza, about five hundred gallons of ice cream, and fifty pounds of Snickers bars.

For awhile I felt like shit. But then, one day, as I was shopping with my sister, it dawned on me that I don't have to be thin to feel good. I just have to buy bigger clothes. And so I did. I bought bigger jeans and bigger slacks and assorted bigger tops and accessories because those, thankfully, are One Size Fits All.

Here's where this story gets interesting. Remember when I was all pregnant and talking smack about P90X? I just started week three of P90X and the jeans are fitting a little looser.

Things are looking up.