There aren’t a lot of people in this world who laugh at my crude sense of humour. Because, really? I am a twelve year old boy trapped in an aging saggy woman body.
When I first met her in person, Anissa was sitting in the lobby of the Sheraton Hotel in Chicago during this past BlogHer. As I walked past the lobby on the way to the elevators, I heard her cry out, “Hey! Bitches!” to which I, of course responded to, because honestly? HELLO!
As I turned towards the person calling out some derogatory reference my name I saw Anissa waving manically.
She was so pleased with my response that she began yelling to anyone who would listen, “Hey! She turned around! She’s turned around!”
For all I know, she could have meant it literally. I mean, it’s not like that would have been the first time. But I took it as endearing: that’s what us bitches do.
A huge grin crossed her face as she shoved her gigantic boobs in my face hugged me fiercely, and it was then I was completely sold on all that is Anissa.
photo taken by Shash and stolen borrowed from Anissa’s facebook.
Still, to this day, I love her like a sister. There aren’t many people that can make me laugh the way she does.
Why am I blowing smoke up Anissa’s ass telling you all about Anissa?
Because yesterday afternoon news traveled through twitter like a tsunami that Anissa was in the ICU after suffering a stroke. At the rip old age young vibrant age of 36, Anissa has suffered a second stroke (you can read about her first one here).
But not only has she been dealing with her own health issues, the Mayhew family just celebrated a huge milestone for the youngest in their clan. Peyton has been one year cancer-free! (Peyton’s story can be found at Anissa’s first blog Hope4Peyton.) For once in a long while everyone was healthy and doing well. Now this.
Right now, there is a P.O. box being set up for those of us far away to help out.
**UPDATE**
The P.O. box address is:
The Mayhew Family
860 Johnson Ferry Road 140-184
Atlanta, GA 30342
By sending gift cards for food, gas and other necessities we can try to help alleviate the burden on their family of five. By sending funds we can help diminish the financial burden, because at this point? There is little news about what the future holds for the Mayhews.
For more information, please visit Aiming Low where they are trying valiantly to provide up-to-date information on Anissa’s condition and what we can do to help.
If you write a post for Anissa, please take a moment to add it to the Mr. Linky provided at Heather’s site, Izzy’s site, as well as at Aiming Low.
If you have questions, please email
Please note: the family has asked for privacy at this time. Please respect the Mayhew family’s privacy by NOT calling the hospital. The outpouring of love is amazing, but we need to remember that there is a family who needs their space.
Most of all: Please pray that our friend pulls through this.
So we’re headlong into weaning in the Me Household. It’s entirely my fault that it’s been left to the very end because well, I’ve been negating the fact that I really have to go back to work.
5 days until I’m getting up at the ass crack of dawn to be at my desk by 7:30AM. What-the-fuck-am-I-thinking?
So ya. Two kids, daycare drop off and traffic. I am going to be rising before the summer sun in hopes of dropping them off as the doors open at 7am to be at my desk by 7:30. It’s bad enough trying to get one kid out the door, but myself up, showered dress and them as well?
Pray for me.
What was I talking about before I was so rudely sidetracked by work?
Ah yes.
My boobs.
THIS IS THE POINT WHERE MY MALE READERS READER WILL WANT TO STOP BECAUSE AS MUCH AS THEY’D LOVE TO SEE A POST ABOUT TITS AND ASS, THIS IS MORE A POST ABOUT BREASTS WHICH HAVE SUSTAINED LIFE FOR 11 MONTHS – WORKING BREASTS IF YOU MAY. THIS IS YOUR FIRST AND LAST WARNING!
I’m yelling because that’s the only way I seem to be able to get my point across to men. Sorry, it’s just the truth.
I was contemplating doing the morning and night breast feeding while Hudson is in daycare, but I’ve changed my mind leaving my boobs in a state of flux.
Seriously, they’re screaming at my this very moment.
They don’t know what the fuck is going on. The left one is producing milk while the right is just going with the flow and doesn’t give a shit.
I think if it were at all possible, my right breast would be the male in this relationship.
While the right is just hanging low and not caring what choice I make regarding a suckling or not, the left one is a fiery, angry bitch.
Clearly the left breast would be the female. Duh.
And did I mention angry? Leftie can’t handle this indecisiveness and she it’s letting that be known. Tender, lumpy and FIERY. Feeling a little rock hard-ish in spots, I’m beginning to wonder if there’s an organized union of milk ducts readying a protest against my body and Leftie.
I think nursing would alleviate the pressure and pain, but those milk ducts are rallying the troops for a fight and I think it would just piss them off further if we were to fuck with them again, yanno? And there’s just no reasoning with lactating milk ducts.
And the more I play with them, the more they ache.
And by play I clearly mean compress and knead, not fondle and grope. Geez.
Can I just say that I am a only slightly disappointed that nursing has come to an end; and only slightly because instead of full and perky fun bags we’ll shortly be back to that look of oranges in tube socks.
If you’re following me on twitter, you may have witnessed my breakdown on Friday.
Preparing for a dinner date with Mike, I had to pump some milk for Hudson. He was going to be spending a couple hours at the daycare for a special evening where they have the children and their siblings stay until 10pm for a mini sleepover-like party: friends, pizza and movies in their pj’s.
I was also trying out the new MilkBank Vacuum Storage System for my Parent Bloggers review (check it out here - THERE’S A GIVEAWAY!!) so I got out my pump – which I fuckin’ HATE doing – and managed to get a good six ounces of milk.
I placed the pump on the counter forgetting to use the base on the bottle and before I knew it the whole thing fell over and milk spewed everywhere.
I watched the liquid gold flow along the grout lines in my ceramic tiles as I envisioned myself sucking it up and spitting it back into the bottle; cupping it in my hands and pouring it back in; getting the turkey baster to suck it up.
Even as a tumbleweed of cat hair lodged itself in the travelling liquid I thought – for a millisecond – about just picking it out. Yes, seriously.
Then I was forced to accept defeat. I mean, I couldn’t feed this to my child anymore.
But it’s not like he’s an infant anymore. A little dirt won’t hurt, right?
I grabbed a stack of paper towels to clean up the mess.
I could wring the paper towel out into the bottle maybe…
I took a deep breath and covered it, watching it slowly seep through – the tears started.
I cried over split milk.
And I’d do it again.
** I’m giving away a MilkBank Vacuum Storage System over at my review site, Glamorous Geek. Please stop by and leave a comment for your chance to win one of your own! Giveaway ends Saturday at 12pm EST. **
:::
Grace in Small Things: Part 10 of 365
Sick babies – only because they’re both SLEEPING
Sunshine on a cold brisk winter’s morning
Finding my car parked at the end of the driveway when, for a brief moment I thought it was stolen
Because whipping out a boob is so much easier than getting the kid situated in a high chair, finding a bib, cracking open a jar of food, fighting for his attention, cleaning the mess, wiping his face and then washing the dishes…
Maybe Hudson will be having bitty when he’s 30 too.
My aunt is still here. It’s come to the point where her husband has to be ready to let her go. Your thoughts, hugs and prayers are definitely helping us through this very trying time.
(Seems a little inappropriate to have a breastfeeding funny in he same post as I talk about my aunt’s mortality… but there I go trying to lighten the mood again.)
Hudson and I have a very different relationship in comparison to what Carter and I shared; I now see that maybe my urge for him to grow up and experience things overcame the loving and bonding we could (or should) have shared. Maybe I could have held him more, even played together more? He’s a completely healthy, outgoing and super independent toddler that I don’t think I would do anything differently.
But once night would fall, I couldn’t think of anything else but getting some alone time before I went to bed. Once 9pm came I was done but all he wanted to do was cuddle and be held, all I wanted to do was crash on the couch and watch some mindless television.
By four months we had begun The CIO Method.
Yes, Ferberization, The Ferber Method… Cry It Out.
In less than 2 weeks, Carter was sleeping through the night and is still a great sleeper, minus some nights of bad dreams and needing to pee, of course.
Hudson is a completely different story which I could kind of sense from day one. He’s emotional, craves touch and very mellow. He’s very much a sensitive soul.
This has brought on Attachment Parenting – the holding, the wearing (only sometimes though since I don’t really enjoy it), the tenderness, the constant cuddles and the co-sleeping.
(We did and do use Attachment Parenting with Carter just not to the extreme I’ve noticed with Hudson.)
What could you hate about that you’re wondering?
Well, I don’t really hate; in fact, I kinda like the loving, cuddly happy baby part, but the co-sleeping? I could totally do without.
I am in no way knocking those who do, nor those who have a family bed. It’s just not my cup of tea is all: I like my space when I’m sleeping and having a baby in the bed freaks the shit out of me to be frank. We tried the bassinet beside the bed thing and it wasn’t working; it’s come to the point where I’ve put the guest bed in the nursery and moved in with Hudson where we sleep together.
(Sounds so wrong. Hi, I’m 12.)
But I don’t sleep well because I am afraid of rolling and smothering baby forgetting that he’s in the bed with me (which has nearly happened already!).
For the most part, it’s working alright I just miss being in my bed with my blanket stealing, kicking and snoring husband.
Weird. I know.
I’m ready for Hudson to be in his own bed and me in mine, but I need help getting there.
I know how to do the crying it out thing, that’s not the trouble. But what I don’t know what to do about is teaching the baby to cry it out with a toddler sleeping in the room adjacent to the nursery. Carter’s a decent sleeper, but I know if he heard his brother losing his shit next door, he’d be up in a shot.
Enlighten me with your assvice.
(Guess it’s not really assvice when I ask for it, is it?)
But! I don’t want to hear about how he’s too young to cry it out and how mean it is, because it’s not and it works and we’re happy with it and I’m hating co-sleeping: I’d rather my baby cry then be rolled on.
I’m in an all ’round shitty mood today. Horrible, horrible mood. I believe I even described myself as a hateful bitch on twitter earlier. (click for a larger view)
Nights have been fuckin’ awful around here lately. Hudson will not sleep unless he’s touching me. Some part of him has to be touching some part of me at. all. times.
Yes, so cute. Awwww… but! As soon as I move he begins to fuss… then WAIL. It’s getting very tired very fast. I haven’t had a decent night’s sleep in weeks. I am a zombie throughout the day and now today? FUCKIN’ BITTER.
The whining, the fussing, the WHINING is enough to make me suicidal, and to top it off Mike whines and bitches that he’s not getting any sleep either. Well, whoopdi-fuckin’-doo. Welcome to my world. Yes, yes you have to work in the morning my love; I too have stuff to do – like take care of little children and KEEP THEM ALIVE!
Last night he even asked me to stay downstairs a little longer so that he could get to sleep before I brought The Hot Fussâ„¢ upstairs. Am I the only person that thinks that makes absolutely no fuckin’ sense whatsoever? Wait until your sleep to bring The Hot Fussâ„¢ upstairs? Idiot. But I did has he asked and it all went to hell in a handbasket as I tried to put the damn baby down so I could take a piss. Hudson fussed, Mike bitched and I fuckin’ lost it.
What the fuck did you think was going to happen? HONESTLY?! You ask me to WAIT until you’re ASLEEP to bring him upstairs? It’s your own fuckin’ fault you fuckin’ moron.
(A tad harsh, maybe. But? Serioulsy?)
So he left to sleep on the couch.
Later fucker.
I got to share the bed with The Hot Fussâ„¢ for the night while he squirmed, fussed, nursed, farted and slept. I, on the other hand, tried to stay perfectly still so not to roll on top of him and smother him with my giganiticness.
HOT MESS.
I have the pack n’ play wedged beside my bed but it’s not good enough for him because: OMG OMG, I can’t feel you – any part of you – TOUCHING me CONSTANTLY!
The thing is: this? This has been going on for over a month now and I mah brainz r fried! I can’t handle living in this foggy cloud of anger; being deliriously tired all the time. It’s aging me so fast: by next Friday I’m likely to be an extinct dinosaur. Bring on the fuckin’ ice age! Maybe then it’ll be fuckin’ QUIET!
Today I’m dragging the old spare bed back into the nursery and moving there with Hudson. Maybe this way we can both get a decent sleep, even for a couple hours. I’m just so frustrated because Carter wasn’t like this; at four months he was sleeping through the night already – I know, I know all babies are different but I no likey this different. This different fuckin’ BLOWS!
Oh and to top it all off? Get an email this morning from a co-worker telling me that they received a messege from my “temptingmama” account. Even though I specficially told gmail to send it from my other personal account it tacks on a fuckin’ messege saying that it was sent from temptingmama ON BEHALF OF … Someone please explain that to me?! WTH is THAT!? So mad. So so mad.
I am so close to just locking myself in the closet today.
I just want to run away! Run away!
Oh, and if you’re wondering how I had the opportunity to write this post?
Seriously my boobs are HUGE and engorged within about 2 hours after feeding him.
I now have stripper tits. Horray! for stripper tits!
[See how many google hits I get for that phrase.]
I just fell in love with Lightroom. I seriously NEED this program. The trial version will have to do until my big boobs pay off and I can afford to buy myself a copy.
[Good segue right?]
I spent the better part of yesterday going through old photos and editing what I can while I have access – plus I wanted to add a bunch of stuff to Flickr, just haven’t had the chance. My photostream is now littered with images of Carter when he was a baby and I just can’t believe how big he is now – and how different he looks compared to those days. I feel a sense of nostalgia as I review those pictures and think about how he will never be that small again; how he will only get older from here. First kindergarten, then high school, college and so on.
Hudson – 3 weeks
Carter – 3 weeks
It’s painful to think about them not being this small forever.
More painful because I like little kids, not teenagers.
I know what I was like as a teenager and karma will bite me in the ass with vengeance.
We need to get better at making memories. Memories that are worth holding on to. Sure we do make some at home, but it would be such a shame to sit here on our asses (like we have been) and miss out on these fun years. The years where they can’t hide their smiles and excitement when they see animals at the zoo or going for a picnic is simply the greatest thing ever. I want to see the look in their eyes when they see a killer whale for the first time and hear them talk about our adventures for days afterward. They deserve that. WE deserve that.
I’m not a creative person and, personally, find it hard to think of things that we can do as a family that won’t cost us money and Mike someone won’t find something to complain about. Mike Someone hates walking and strolling without a purpose (even if there was a purpose, he’d rather drive – but not too far from home because then that’s out too) so our choices can be are limited.
Got any ideas for us? What do you do with your children that isn’t too costly and they LOVE. Something that will get us out of the house and not further in debt?
(Weekly Winners are light this week since I was busy editing old photos rather then taking new ones.)
photo taken by Shash and stolen borrowed from Anissa’s facebook.
