To overcome my severe and debilitating writer’s block, last week I reached out to you, dear readers, on ideas to write about. I got a few suggestions…

Arla-Shay suggested…
Explosive diarrhea is always fun. Can I bring you a couple of bean burritos from Taco Bell?

randomgiggles thought…
The Twilight series – your thoughts about this…(fan or not)
Friendships that have ended and how you overcame it..

These, while great suggestions, have either been asked and answered thoroughly (poo stories, really Arla-Shay? You haven’t had enough?!) or are topics that I can’t exactly write about in this semi-public (who am I kidding? UBER-public!) forum.

You see, when I started writing this blog, it just began as a “ooh, what a fun what to chronicle Bee’s baby years”. Honestly, like most things I do, I didn’t imagine sticking with it past week 4. And that’s being generous.

So when I started writing about my Spanx Exercise Adventure and Foul Diaper Situations, I only thought about 15 people would be reading those crappy additions to the blogsphere.

But soon, I was whoring my blog out to anyone who would listen. Dentist appointment? I’d tell everyone within ear range about the blog. Given, it probably was a little difficult to translate with 50 pounds of torture devices in my mouth at the time. Pap smear? I’d mention all my vagina documentation without missing a beat. Gastroenterologist and Therapy Session? You don’t even want to know…

My point? Is that now all the people I would want to dish about and relive funny stories about with them, well, they probably read the blog, too.

Let’s just say I’m about 2 for 3 for roommates that still like me after the fact. But as for that one who doesn’t, maybe that will make a good post someday, because I’m sure that bitch lovely, character-building individual doesn’t read the blog (or wouldn’t admit it if she did).

Hmmm…Maybe we can make an exception and unseal these lips for a day or two…

Song title: Our Lips Are Sealed by The Go-Go’s

We will find out if our little nugget Cletus is a hamburger or a hotdog (girl or a boy) on March 23rd. It seems like lately whenever someone realizes that I’m pregnant and not just letting myself go (to be fair, I am letting myself go as well), the first question out of their mouth is…

“Do you want a boy or a girl?”

First of all, that’s a horrible question because no matter how you answer it, you feel bad that your not-so-soon-to-be-baby will feel like shit if he/she ever found out that they have the “wrong” genitalia. Unless, of course, you answer with the super fucking lame, “We just want it to be healthy.”

Really?! Because there are so many of us parents out there that don’t give a shit if our kid is totally a retarded spider monkey potato baby just as long as she has a vagina?! Jesus Christ.

Anywho, like I was saying, I think the question is really unfair. Mostly because I am totally bias.

My answer to the question every time? A girl.

But it’s not my fault, really. It’s Sissy’s fault.

We were so cute. What happened?

You see, I have one older sister, Sissy. During our youth, we were the typical siblings: I completely annoy the shit out of my sis to which she would respond with an Indian burn on my arm. To which I would go crying to my mom like the youngest is supposed to do. Don’t blame me, blame society.

But once Sissy went away to college, I think it only took roughly 24 hours for us to become best of friends. It was then that we learned that as long as we don’t have to live with each other for longer than a week or so, we are super BFFs.

Sissy and I have never understood how siblings could be anything but the best of friends. We see each other as often as we can living an hour away from each other and having 4.5 kids between us. We call each other roughly 112 times a day, 8 days a week, if only to discuss getting boob jobs and giggling over scenes from the Hangover.

But there is a glorious beauty that comes with a BFF Sissy. For one, there are so many things that we can share that few others could. (Side note: Random Friend does not represent any one of my particular friends so don’t get pissed, k?)

While Shopping with Sissy
Me: How do these jeans look? Super fly, right?
Sissy: Um, no. Definitely not. They kind of give you camel toe but in your butt.
Me: ((sigh)) You’re right…

While Shopping with a Friend
Me: How do these jeans look? Super fly, right?
Random Friend: Nah, I don’t think those are working for you.
Me: What do you know, slut? ((stomps away))

Chatting with Sissy about Family
Sissy: Can you believe what random family member did? What a butt monkey?
Me: Right?! Don’t even get me started on that reh-tard!!

Chatting with Friend about Family
Friend: I can’t believe what your random family member did! What a butt monkey!
Me: Shut up, bitch. That’s MY retarded family member you’re talking about!! ((throws punch))

Planning a Night Out with Sissy
Me: First we should eat and then drink and then drink some more and have a slumber party and be drunk with the drinking and it will be awesome!!
Sissy: I’m pre-funking already!

Planning a Night Out with Random Friend
Me: First we should eat and then drink and then drink some more and have a slumber party and be drunk with the drinking and it will be awesome!!
Friend: Sorry, I have to wash my cousin’s aunt’s sister’s friend’s neighbor’s poodle’s hair that night.
Me: Whore.

You know, maybe I’d have more friends if I stopped calling them whore all the time…

So anyway, you can see that I’m terribly biased when it comes to preferring a sibling gender for Bee. I know that if Cletus is a boy, he and Bee will be as thick as thieves (mainly because I will force them to be friends even if I have to use Sissy’s Gitmo Indian burn technique), but somehow I don’t think they’ll be calling eachother five times a day to discuss vaginaplasty when they’re older.

But, hey, I could be wrong.

Song title: My Best Friend by Tim McGraw

Along with my ability to eat, not throw up, and my will to live, it seems as though Cletus the Fetus has also sucked all of the creativity out of my body as well.

That’s where you come in, my faithful tens of readers! I need post ideas!!

What do YOU want to hear about? More complaining about my pregnancy? Bee pregnancy stories?

See, I’m so blocked that I can only come up with those two ideas. Argh! HELP!!

Song title: Writers Block by PT Walkley

First of all, yes, I’m totally three days late with the posting of the contest winner.

And, yes, I am so lazy that I am typing this out on my iPod instead of walking 30 feet to grab my laptop.

I blame, well, my natural slothness. I really don’t have any better excuse.

But enough with all this pomp and circumstance and whatnot (this IS my interpetation of pomp…)

The wiener of the adorable handmade knit mittens by Sharlita (www.sharlita.etsy.com) is:

ajearl779

If you are ajearl, email me at mom_to_bee@yahoo.com!

Thank you all so much for entering the contest! I plan on having another one soon that may or may not include something to beautify your vagina.

How’s THAT for a teaser?

Song title: Everybody Loves A Winner by Freddie Redd

Don’t forget to enter my latest giveaway for a pair of delicious hand-knitted mittens for your favorite little toddler!! (click here to enter the contest!)

Also, I just got word from Arla-Shay that she’ll knit a pair of mittens for a boy if you’d prefer!!

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So last week I had my first Cletus the Fetus doctor appointment. Finally, this pregnancy is starting to feel more “real”.

You know, more real than feeling like I’m going to vomit every 5 minutes.

I realized about a week ago that due to the twelve months of constant humping and constant disappointment (not necessary due to all the humping) to get this baby in my ute, that I’m a lot more cautious. I mean, I know this baby is in there and most likely isn’t going anywhere, I just haven’t wanted to get myself too excited after so long, just to have something tragic happen after all that wishin’ and hopin’ and thinkin’ and prayin’…

But I digress…

Last week, well, something great happened! We got to see our little Cletus for the first time!!

Isn’t he/she just darling? It’s okay, you can say it…it IS the cutest little fetus you’ve ever seen, right?

And while just being in an OB/GYN’s office definitely puts you in the “woohoo! I’m pregnant!” frame of mind, it also reminded me of what lays ahead.

Like the elaborate prepping-for-surgery-esque work you have to do to your vagina before just peeing in a cup.

And having to walk around the office and get home with a vagina full of KY Jelly after a vaginal ultrasound (which, trust me, isn’t as fun as it sounds) or a lucky visit with a “full exam”.

And the potentially embarrassing Biggest Loser weigh-in each visit. Every time I go in, I still ask if they want me to take off my shoes, coat, purse, clothes, underwear…anything to make that number smaller, right? (Thank god it’s still early and I’ve only gain 4 pounds. That will change soon, my friends. Soon.)

Side note: I totally thought I was starting to “show” until I sat amidst a bunch of women who were at least 8 months pregnant. Then I just felt like I was in an episode of “One of these things is not like the other…”

I’m starting to get really excited about Cletus (and even more excited for the little dude to get the fuck off my bladder sometime soon), but what other things did I forget with my Momnesia (you know, that helpful little thing that makes you forget all the shitty aspects of pregnancy so that you are dumb enough to try it again)?

Song title: Doctor Time by Rick Trevino

Well, ladies and gentleman, it’s about that time…

TIME TO GIVE AWAY MORE FREE SHIT ON THE BLOG!!

Some of you may be familiar with Arla-Shay, my lover from another mother…

Arla-Shay at the Glitter Party

I swear that she normally wears far less eyeshadow and glitter. And her eyes don’t normally glow red like the Devil either.

Her husband, on the other hand, totally has a mullet.

Well, Arla-Shay has started a new Etsy store that features her awesome knitting. Seriously, even though knitting is for, like, 80-year-olds, this girl can knit with the best of them! (I jest! I jest! I wish I had the skills to knit! I’m pretty sure I would just accidentally poke both my eyes out with those big needles if I ever picked them up…)

So in honor of her Etsy debut, Arla-Shay is giving away a pair of hand-knit pink & charcoal gloves, complete with the cute stringy thing that will make sure that little devils like Bee don’t lose them!

UPDATE: I just got word from Arla-Shay that she’ll knit a pair of mittens for a boy if you’d prefer!!

So here’s the dealio to enter in the contest…

Visit Arla-Shay’s Etsy Shop (click here) and post in the comment section of this post which item is your favorite! If you’d like, you can also comment about how adorable her glove models are…

For an additional entry, sign up to receive Mom to Bee in your inbox (click here). If you are already receiving Mom to Bee in your inbox, you already qualify for the extra entry!

For shits and giggles, we’ll keep the contest going until Thursday night, 8 p.m. PST. (’cause a girl needs to be free to watch her stories). I’ll post the winner first thing Friday morning!

Good luck!!

Song title: Free As A Bumble Bee by ABBA

Wow.

So apparently there are a lot of people out there that are offended by either (1) my disdain of Walmart, or (2) somehow talking about my vagina and spastic colon wasn’t as offensive as complaining about having an eye infection…

Because I lost more than two-thirds of my subscribers two days ago!!

WHAT THE HELL!?!?!

I’m really hoping that it’s some sort of Feedburner glitch or somebody might be wallowing in self-pity tomorrow. I’m not naming names, but there is this one overly-sensitive and emotionally-erratic pregnant chick I know that is going to be crying her pink eyes out tomorrow over some Cold Stone Ice Cream (hear that, Mr. Bee? I’m still craving. GET MEH SOME ICE CREAM!!).

On a somewhat related note, today apparently is Official DeLurker Day, which means all you tens of people who haven’t deleted me from your readers should comment on the post tonight and tomorrow telling me, I don’t know, how totally awesome I am you are and whatnot.

Write whatever you want. What’s your favorite color/food/sexual position? If you weren’t doing what you are doing now, what profession do you think you’d be doing? What’s your worst phobia? (We don’t judge here. Fucking clowns.)

Oh, and all you peeps that somehow accidentally managed to delete me from your readers, well, um, COME BACK!! I promise I won’t ever talk about anything remotely disgusting, inappropriate, or “colorful” again.

You know, until tomorrow.

UPDATED: I just read online that it IS in fact a Google Reader/Feedburner fuck-up that is affecting my stats. I should have my normal 12 subscribers showing on my chart in no time. Phew!

But I think I still need some ice cream…

Song title: Where Is the Love? by Black Eyed Peas

Yesterday, I had a dream.

It was a simple dream…

See, yesterday was supposed to be the first Tuesday in months that my Mommy’s Morning Off was actually going to be OFF: No doctor, No therapist, No acupuncture.

Just me, the laptop, Panera and the blog.

In my dream, you, my lovely reader, would have already finished a hilarious post that made you pee yourself laughing while simultaneously stroking your junk heartstrings with it’s common-every-woman-ness.

But my jacked up, hot mess of a body had other plans for me…

Monday morning I woke up with a swollen and painful right eye. I forced myself through the day, but by Tuesday morning I decided to call my eye doctor when I looked a little too much like this dude:

So instead of my sweet little blog ménage à quatre, I spent the morning being driven to the eye doctor by Mr. Bee and being diagnosed with an eye infection.

But the most super awesomeness of it all?

Now I get to spend a week in my glasses, having been banned from wearing my contacts.

“So what?” you ask, innocently. “You’ll just look like a nerdy, hot librarian for a week. Deal with it.”

Well, true, my friend. But…

But…

My glasses are like one tiny prescription below where I need them to be. So that means I’m more of a squinty, confused librarian.

Oh, AND when we moved last, apparently I thought the safest way to pack my hardly-ever-used glasses would be to wrap them in diamond-crusted sandpaper after grinding them in to some gravel and letting two drunk cats with sharpen claws bat them around for a few hours.

My point?

They are scratched to hell and back.

So while this week didn’t exactly turn out as I had planned, at least I can spend my time hunkered down in my house dreaming about a non-infected next week.

Fingers crossed.

Song title: Just a Dream by Carrie Underwood

Last week, I confirmed something that, yes, I already knew.

I fucking hate Walmart with all of my being.

On a good day, I would usually prefer to trim my lady garden with a dull cheese grater over stepping one in-grown toenail in to the gates of Hell door to Volde-Mart.

But post-Festivus, Mr. Bee and I found ourselves in possession of roughly a metric fuckton of video games and DVDs (gotta love those relatives that give you a full year’s supply of VeggieTales – gag). Since we were 99% positive that said gifts were purchased at Volde-Mart, and since we found ourselves chock full of Holiday Cash (I really love those relatives!), AND since VM carries the type of SLR camera that I’ve having wet dreams about for years, we decided to return all those cherished gifts to cut the cost of the camera by a third or more.

And so begins my Lord of Rings-esque quest(s) through Wal-Mart Hell.

With an upcoming snow vacation looming (photos and stories soon!), last Tuesday I ventured out of my anxiety-free home with gifts galore to purchase my our lover camera.

So after I willed myself to have the intestinal fortitude to endure the customer service line, I found out that Wal-Mart sucks in a whole new and exciting way: you can only return items that carried at that particular store. Example: If you received gifts that were purchased online (or even at another store), you can only return them online or at that particular store. Even if it’s a bajillion miles away.

Of course, we don’t have the receipt, and although I weighed the ramifications, I decided we shouldn’t be totally rude and tell our relatives that, “Uh, thanks for the presents, but can I have the receipt? You know, just for, um, reference?”

After my FIRST VM visit (foreshadowing), I came away with only $30 of return money, about $100 short of what we thought we’d get. I was crushed. I suffered through my VM anxiety for this?!

I immediately called Mr. Bee for help because I am a whiny 5 year old who can’t do anything for herself. After a few hours and an acupuncture appointment, Mr. Bee tells me to go get my camera anyway.

Because he’s looking to get some totally awesome!

I was near a different VM that I knew should have the camera model (thank you Interweb) and arrived at my second VM of the day ready to swallow all of my pride and beliefs to give VM hundreds of Mr. Bee’s hard-earned money.

You know, if I could actually find the camera.

I’m told upon arrival that, “Oh, they lie online, we probably don’t have it, but let me look…yeah, no.” Then I’m told that said worker could look it up in the system to REALLY find a location with it…if only we had something to scan in.

Did you get that? I need to have THE CAMERA WITH THE BARCODE FOR HER TO SCAN in order to FIND THE CAMERA.

It’s like trying to look up how to spell “vaginal discharge” in the dictionary but needing to know how to spell it in order to look it up! (Thank God for spell check, right?)

Through a post-Christmas Wal-Mart Baby Jesus-esque Miracle, I actually found the barcode for the camera in a nearby catalog and worker bee went hunting yet again. Soon, low and behold, she found the camera!!

For $80 more than the online price.

Fuck. You. Walmart.

So after what seemed like 527,000 hours at 120 different Wal-Marts, I left with my tail between my legs and no camera.

It seemed too late to order it online (even with $17 rush shipping, fuck you again Walmart) in time for our upcoming snow vacation, so as a last resort I checked Amazon…

And found the camera! For $50 cheaper! And with $4 next day shipping!!

As of Wednesday, I we are the proud new owners of an SLR Canon. And I’m no Pioneer Woman, but hopefully the photos on the blog will suck a little less now.

So the moral of the story is Amazon rules and Wal-Mart drools.

Oh, and FUCK YOU WAL-MART. FUCK YOU TO HELL.

Song title: Wal-Mart Special by Royal Wade Kimes

It seems like now that the new year is here, everyone is declaring their two-thousand-and-hate for 2009. For some reason, I was really surprised at all the “OMG, 2009 sucked my cornhole! Happy NYE!” updates on Facebook last week. Maybe it’s just me (and I’m sure that there is some likelihood that it is just me), but I didn’t think 2009 was all that bad.

But hear me out, people, because gawd knows I didn’t have a smooth ride of it.

First let’s remember that I spent roughly 8 months of 2009 shitting myself. On my awesome scale, that ranks right around getting my vag sewn up for 45 minutes after getting Bee ripped from my vag.

Side note: it occurred to me the other day that I haven’t written, in detail of course because duh, about my Bee birth story. It’s more of a Bee-forcefully-ripped-from-my-baby-hole story, but I’ll get to that later.

Next, to deal with my ass-exploding problems, I started pooping, I mean popping pills (legal and prescribed, just to be clear) and saw a therapist for the first time in my life.

I made new friends and lost some friends.

I/we struggled to get pregnant for 12 months. That’s a lot of sex, people. 2009 was exhausting, yo.

Mr. Bee lost so much blood that he got a free trip to the ER with a complimentary blood transfusion. Oh wait, that shit wasn’t free? Damn!

But even with all that (literal) shit to deal with, I still can’t say that 2009 was total suckage. Mr. Bee is now back to 90, okay, 80, okay 75 percent, but with all those issues I think we’ve gotten a better hold on some of his symptoms.

Through my poo issues and therapy, not only did I recognize behavior and symptoms I’ve been having all my life in response to anxiety and agoraphobia, but I also got amazing feedback on difficult personal relationships that I was dealing with.

Mama Bee’s Advice to Live By: Don’t make someone a priority in your life when you are only an option in theirs.

And even better, I came away in 2009 with a reconnection with a old friend that, sweet Flying Spaghetti Monster, I really needed! The timing really couldn’t have been better.

Probably most frustrating was spending all year “trying” for a baby. As every month drifted by, I couldn’t help but think of how much bigger the age gap between kids was getting. But struggling for Cletus reminded us to be thankful for what we have and to not take anything for granted (especially how easy you think it will be to get knocked up).

So even though 2009 was filled with our fair share of bodily fluids, and I can’t believe I’m actually going to post these words, everything we went through had a purpose.

If the only lesson I took away from last year is that needles in your vagina can impregnate you, then I consider 2009 a success.

Song title: The Spirit of 2009 by Dada