Mom to Bee

At the end of this last week, Baby Bee’s super sexy boyfriend (can you say a toddler super sexy in jest without it coming across as disgusting and pervy? Yeah, I didn’t think so. Sorry ’bout that.) found out that he has, well, a temporary “condition.”

Well, there’s no easy way to say this, so here it is:

He has worms.

In his butt.

Did you clench your ass cheeks together just then? It’s okay, we’re among friends. My ass has been itching every since I heard the news. I’ll give you a minute to unclench…

Better? Okay.

Well, here’s the good shit. These worms (pinworms, to be specific) come out at night.

Oh yeah, you heard me. These little fuckers, after taking 1-2 months to grow from eggs in to worms (gag) in your stomach (gag), like to poke themselves out of YOUR ASS HOLE at night (dry heave) and lay eggs around your butt hole (vomiting tonight’s gourmet dinner of popcorn shrimp).

Seriously, how the fuck do we have vaccines for fuckin’ small pox and shit but I still have to worry about WORMS crawling out of my baby’s ASS?!

Oh and this is the best part. Guess what the super high-tech technique is for diagnosing pin worms?

Scotch tape.

That’s right, friends. You have to scotch tape your poor little itchy baby’s ass first thing in the morning so the doctor can examine the tape for eggs. Either that or poke around in your baby’s butt in the middle of the night with a flashlight, looking for the worms to poke their little heads out and say hello.

Seriously. What. The. Fuck.

Scotch tape? Really though?! In a world of advanced medical technology, there’s no better way to find out if a child has a parasite laying eggs in their ass crack than slapping some tape up in there? Like they aren’t traumatized enough with itchy butts and mom looking at their butt for five minutes every time she changes their diaper!

Any who, luckily it seems like Bee and her BFF (who all play together approximately 200 hours a week) have avoided Worm Invasion 2009 so far. But of course, they could have little wormies growing in their tummies right now just waiting to poke their little heads out in a month or two (gag).

Just in case, guess what I got to do this weekend (with the help of Mr. Bee)? Clean every. single. toy in the house. Looked a little like this:

While I’m not a huge fan of Worm Invasion 2009, mostly because it means I won’t have the escape of ten million play dates this week, I did at least get my house a little cleaner.

But my ass still itches even thinking about it.

Song title: Wiggley Worm by Nomeansno

Originally this morning I was going to write a post all about going to a party that my Sissy threw on Saturday and how absolutely “Seattle” I was on the way there.

I mean, come on. I was driving my SUV, in the rain, in traffic, on the 405 S-curves, while “dressed up” in jeans and drinking my Starbucks. Unfortunately, I wasn’t listening to Pearl Jam or Nirvana at the time. That would have really tipped the scales.

But that light-hearted post about how cool my Sissy is and how you should all be jealous if you don’t have a Sissy you love as much is going to have to wait. Sorry, Sissy.

Because last night I came upon a blogger’s post that made me so furious, I almost turned in to Lou Ferrigno.

The post was about Stay-At-Home-Moms (SAHMs) and whether or not staying at home with the kids really is a difficult job or not.

::okay, deep breaths::

So, I don’t want to single out or mock this particular blogger…but, well, I kind of do.

First of all, her blog title is “Baby Making Machine.”

And her header has a pregnant woman on it.

BUT SHE DOESN’T HAVE ANY CHILDREN.

And isn’t pregnant.

Seems a little premature to me (if only that because once you actually try to have a baby, it might not be that easy. Yet another thing that as a non-mommy, she just presumes will be easy. And I know! I did the same thing! I never thought that it would take a half year to get pregnant with Baby Bee!).

Anywho, so yesterday she posted that SAHM-ness seemed like a pretty cush job and she even described what she envisions is a “typical” day for a SAHM:

-You wake up when baby/child wakes up. If you’re lucky, you have a kid that sleeps in and you get to sleep in a little too.

-You watch the kid, make sure it doesn’t kill itself and try to teach them a thing or two.
-Clean, feed, entertain, nap it, etc.

-Clean around the house, do laundry, dishes, that kind of stuff (unless you have a spouse/maid that chips in with that stuff)

-Make food for everyone

And as if that wasn’t enough to enrage mothers across the globe, she ends the post with:

I know a lot of you women are SAHMs but I just wonder REALLY, what’s SO hard about it? I mean, if you didn’t like it couldn’t you get a nanny, or a part time job or something? I’m guessing the good outweighs the bad. I mean, why else would you continue to do it? It’s not like you don’t have a choice in the matter, and at the end of the day many say it’s the best job in the world. The best?… Maybe. The hardest?… Not buying it.

Obviously, it is her blog and her opinions and whatever. But what really struck me is that tons of readers have commented in opposition to an Anonymous Commenter (kind of a pussy move, right? But still) who said that basically she doesn’t know what she’s talking about and maybe she shouldn’t be concentrating on writing about something she doesn’t have a clue about.

And, I promise, the Anonymous Commenter wasn’t me.

But I did comment and told her that her post was the equivalent of me saying that medical school must be easy because all the sluts on Grey’s Anatomy did it and they spend half their time fucking each other.

I have always really taken offense to people with the “You just couldn’t understand” mentality. I think it’s offensive and demeaning.

But in the case of parenthood, totally true.

Even after getting through 40 weeks of pregnancy and having Baby Bee forcefully removed from my vaginal zone, I will always remember bringing her home and being exhausted. I looked at the calendar and thought, “Phew! It’s the weekend in two days. Then I’ll get a break and get to sleep in.”

And then it hit me.

I’ll. Never. Get. A. Break. Again.

That’s the first time, as a parent of a 3-day old, that I finally knew what it was to be on call 24/7.

And those moments of clarity happen with the good and the bad.

I honestly never knew what true love was before I blew out my vag with Baby Bee. True, all encompassing, I-could-literally-eat-your-cheeks-off-because-you-are-so-adorable love.

And please don’t compare your love of your dogs to the love a parent feels for their children.

Shit, I don’t even compare my love for Mr. Bee to the love I have for Baby Bee. There’s just no fucking comparison. Baby Bee wins hands down.

So I guess what I’m trying to say is that being a parent is a learning experience that is never-ending.

And to seriously make judgments and opinions on it without being a parent is kind of like saying that you know how to perform surgery but you’ve never picked up a scalpel.

But the bitches on Grey’s can do it, so it can’t be that hard…

Song title: She’s A Working Momby Dean Friedman

My body is playing some fucked up mind games with me this week.

Yesterday, I was so puke-tastically nauseous that even a normal (albeit disgustingly foul) poopie diaper of Bee’s made me gag. I had to sit next to an open sliding glass door to even change it!

So because of said gag-arific-ness, I convinced myself this morning to go against my common sense (and a promise I made to myself to have more will power) and peed on yet another home pregnancy test.

That's a Big Fat Negative for those of you playing along at home

And now, this morning, I’m (sorry in advance for the TMI) spotting just a smidge. But I *never* spot at the beginning of my joyous time of the month.

So here’s the question, Body. When will you make up your god damn mind already? Just open the flood gates or give me a positive test already!! But this unknown bullshit is killing me!

Song title: Mind Games by Yoko Ono

Oh, you thought pregnancy only lasted 9 months? How sweet.

But that is a post for another day…

My memories of even attempting to conceive Baby Bee are fuzzy. But through attempting to conceive Cletus the Fetus (also known as Baby Numero Dos), I recently recalled one of the (many) crappy aspects of trying to have a baby:

The Negative Pregnancy Test.

As I’ve said before, when I’m bored, hungry, sleepy, (fill in the adjective blank) I like to pee on things. But peeing on prego sticks is not all happy rainbows and unicorns and whatnot. It’s actually beyond heart-breaking when you don’t see that happy little plus sign or double line or whatever.

It wasn’t until Mr. Bee and I decided to start trying to get pregnant that we realized that it’s not always that easy. With Baby Bee, I got off birth control at the start of the new year and thought that I would with child in no time. I mean, Sissy pretty much only has to wink at her husband and she’s prego. But fast forward 6 months later and no baby, just baby blues.

It’s then that I joined a club of sorts. The I’m-Having-Troubles-Getting-Pregnant Club.

Before I go on, I must apologize to all the women out there reading that are still having troubles getting pregnant. They must be reading this and thinking I am the biggest whiner ever. I can’t imagine what it must be like to struggle for a year or years or forever without having a baby.

Since you spend your pre-child-bearing years trying so hard to NOT have a baby, I think the majority of us figure that when we decide to have a baby, it’ll be easy, right? I mean, all that birth control wasn’t for nothing.

However, for some of us, it’s not that easy. Without even trying I can think of a half dozen women my age (late twenties/early thirties) who had real serious trouble conceiving. In fact, one of my friends has been trying to get pregnant since before I was even thinking about getting pregnant with Baby Bee. It puts so much in perspective to think about those women. The women that would give anything just to see that double blue line on their pee stick.

But the test is negative. Again. So you must start another month of trying and hoping and keeping your fingers crossed that this month, well, this month will be different.

And while you wait for that baby to come in to your life, you hear on the news about girls tossing their babies out like trash. Recently, here in Washington, a teenager (with the help of her father – good parenting) gave birth and killed her baby, throwing it in the dumpster behind her house.

Or you hear about people just “accidentally” getting pregnant. Like when I was trying to get pregnant with Baby Bee, my neighbor’s eighteen year old boy accidentally knocked up his seventeen year old girlfriend.

Really though?

I’m planning my sex down to the day and you “accidentally” get Little Miss High School Musical prego?!

But there’s nothing you can do. You just have to get back in the game after every set-back:

1. Have sex. (okay, that part doesn’t suck)
2. Wait.
3. Pee.

and, unfortunately,

4. Repeat as necessary.

Song title: Baby Don’t You Break My Heart Slow by Vonda Shepard

So remember how a few weeks ago I admitted to peeing on stuff?

Well, due to my ridiculous impatience or lack of anything better to do, I’ve almost pee’d on all the tests I have. (No double line yet. Meow meow.)

Yesterday the second Walk of Pregnancy Shame commenced to buy another handful of cheap dollar store pregnancy tests (and yes, this time I hit up an actual Dollar Tree and saved myself $1.49 per test thankyouverymuch).

I really hope that I either find something better to entertain myself or get knocked up soon, ‘cuz it’s really kind of embarrassing stomping in to a dollar store with Baby Bee on my hip and buying as many pregnancy tests as I can feasibly carry without making it look like I’m selling them on the cheap pregnancy test black market…

Song title: Oops… I Did It Again by Britney Spears

::Yawn::
Is the week over yet? Seriously, yo. I’m spent.

Since Sunday, I have been so exhausted. And last night I was feeling kind of ill.

My brilliant deduction is that I’m either:
(1) exercising too much and causing my muscles to mutiny
(2) getting old
(3) pregnant
(4) sick

Obviously, I really hope that it’s Cletus the Fetus that is making me so. god. damn. tired. But I’m realistic that even if I am pregnant, it’s probably a little too early for me to be suffering from baby-induced exhaustion.

Options 1 & 4 are enticing because then at least I will, in theory, improve at some point. Whereas Option 3 is slightly depressing as this will just be foreshadowing the 9+ months ahead of me.

Sidenote: Baby Bee is talking to herself in her crib right now. She’s saying, “No!…No!” but not in an angry way. A really cute belligerent baby way. She’s also started to put a finger up to her mouth and say, “Hmmm…” when I ask her a question. Frickin’ adorable, I tell ya.

Because I am so exhausted and cannot come up with a witty blog post to save my life, I will henceforth and therefore and whatnot entertain you with a photo of Baby Bee that I took yesterday after she woke up from her nap:

Wishin’ and Hopin’ by Ani Difranco

My old/new obsession
How come the minute you decide that you are ready to have another baby, you suddenly can not think of anything else?

Is it the hormones? Well, I guess I haven’t actually conceived yet, so that’s probably not right.

Maybe it’s just a defense mechanism designed to keep pregnancy entertaining and blind you from everything it’s taken 20 months to forget?

All I know is that I am now obsessed with maternity clothes. And I’m not talking your run-of-the-mill maternity muu muus:

Aren’t they pretty?!

Well they should be for $125 a piece.

That’s right, my friends. Not only am I obsessed with pregnancy and prego clothes, I’m obsessed with fancy schmancy prego clothes.

I found this website, Isabella Oliver, before I realized that it is basically the maternity shop to the stars. I’m determined to look cute this go around. When I was prego with Baby Bee, I looked like a billboard for the juniors department of Nordstrom. You know, if they were sponsoring Juno, but old and not as cute or something.

But I don’t know if I can drop that much money on clothes. I would argue that it’s a ridiculous amount to spend on clothes that will only be worn 9 months, but, to be honest, I probably rotate most of my clothes that often anyway.

Except most of my shirts don’t cost $125 a piece.

Right now I’m wearing a shirt from the juniors department of JC Penney.

It was “Buy One, Get One Free.”

‘nuf said.

Baby You’ve Been On My Mind by Linda Ronstadt

Cha-Ching
And so it begins. The endless spending of dollars on the childrens.

Besides the money we’re wasting on the un-used condoms we have stocked up on in the past two years (sorry, Dad. I’m sure you weren’t expecting to read that so early in the morning), I have officially spent my first dollar(s) on the not-yet-conceived fruit of my loins (aka: Cletus the Fetus).

First of all, Dollar Stores ROCK. A tip to those of you who have yet to conceive (or just didn’t know this fantastic tidbit), DO NOT waste your money on $28+ pregnancy tests! My general rule is that if I’m going to pee on something, I better not be able to buy a nice, well, anything for the same amount.

When I was attempting to conceive Baby Bee (aka: Felix the Fetus), my Bridezilla Cohort clued me in to the wonderful world of Dollar Stores. Did you know you can buy all the pregnancy and ovulation tests you can carry for only…wait for it…A DOLLAR (each)?! And, believe me, we did. (I’ll admit, while we were there I DID actually turn to my friend and ask why there weren’t prices on anything. I’m chalking it up to pre-Momnesia, okay?)

In fact, we bought so many pregnancy tests in one visit that the Aurora (read: not the nicest area of Seattle) store clerk responded that we, the glamazon white girls, were “keeping it ghetto.”

That’s right, son. You never knew that Mama Bee was a fly motha – shut yo mouth!

Anywho, if you are looking to save money in what will be an endless money pit (aka: your lovable, squeezable baby), go to your local Dollar Store for some $1 prego tests (or in my case $2.59 prego tests since my “Dollar Plus” store is, well, more on the PLUS side of things).

Yesterday, Baby Bee and I visited our local Dollar Store (Plus) to stock up on what I predict will be a few months of peeing on a lot of pee sticks. Because I’m not the kind of mom/person that says, “Oh, I’ll just wait until my body tells me I’m pregnant and then, only then, will I pee on a stick. I’ll just be patient.”

Oh no.

My plan is to pretty much push Mr. Bee off of me and pee on a stick IMMEDIATELY after attempting to conceive.

I’m just keepin’ it real, yo.

Song title: Billion Dollar Babies by Alice Cooper

Tick…Tick…Tick…
What’s that? Oh, just my ovaries ticking. Never you mind those. It’ll go away on it’s own, right?

…

A week ago, we went up to Seattle for Mr. Bee’s Company Holiday Party Dinner (surely if there is only cocktails and dinner, one can not call that a party, right?). Somehow everyone and their mom (okay, maybe not literally their moms…) has come down with a really horrible, debilitating condition.

Pregnancy.

And for pretty much everyone I know, it’s Numeros Dos de los ninos. (That’s Number Two for you dumbies out there.) So, of course, practically every person I spoke to asked us, “When are you guys going to have another?!”.

To which I answered, “When I stop loving to drink!” and then downed a mouthful of rum from my ginormous cocktail.

But to be honest, I have been thinking more about the when, where and how…

How: Hmmm…well, I’m guessing Mr. Bee will be involved somehow, but no funny business, I promise.

Where: I’ll go out on a limb here and just say that it will probably occur within the city limits. Which city, I ain’t saying.

When: Damn, what is this? The Spanish Inquisition? (Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition!!)

My husband is still working 2+ hours away from home, 4 days a week (but has been home for the last few weeks which I think has affected my stance on the issue). But my ovaries have started calling I’m starting think I might be ready for another. Or more accurately, that in 9+ months I could possibly be ready for another.

Which has got me thinking and remembering my last pregnancy.

I had forgotten how scary pregnancy is. Sure, all that vomiting and peeing every five minutes is a thrill ride of fun. But beneath all the excitement, I remember this kind of overwhelming fear and worry.

Will my baby be okay? Will she be healthy? Will we be okay if she’s not? Do I get tested to see if she will have an 11th toe or do I just wait to find out later?

I will worry about eating right. About gaining enough, but not too much weight. About taking my prenatal vitamins and seeing the doctor regularly.

And then you get tackled by something completely out of left field.

When I was around 7 months or so pregnant with Bee, I woke around 3 a.m. for my hourly hardly-wake-up-to-pee-in-the-dark-session. It was just a regular night until (sorry for the TMI) I finished up peeing and found that I was bleeding.

I have never been so scared in my entire life.

I immediately yelled at Mr. Bee from the bathroom for him to wake up and told him what was going on. I laid down in bed while he tried to contact the on-call doctor on the phone. After leaving a message with the message service and waiting 15 minutes, my general opinion was “fuck them” and we called 911. Pretty embarrassing to have an ambulance full of aid people in my bedroom at 3 o’clock in the morning, but at least none of them were super hot. Now *that* would have been a cause for alarm!

Long story, well, long (sorry), we ended up going to the local hospital to be monitored and everything appeared to be okay. It never happened again and they never had an explanation for me.

But despite all of that, I’ll (mostly) voluntarily do it all again.

At least I have another month before it even becomes an option to get knocked up ’cause girlfriend ain’t gonna be all nauseous and tired without a hubbie around to help in the evenings. So not an option.

But, in the meantime, pass the wine!

Song title: Tick, Tick, Tick by My Dream Is Yours

…when you recognize the lady from the Advair commercials as being from Sesame Street.