Emergency Room Visits Are In My Near Future

Now that I have succumbed to the reality of having two boys, my thoughts are now starting to evolve into ways to keep those little a-holes out of the ER.  We all know boys are Tasmanian Devils that apparently don’t hear what their parents say unless it involves ice cream or boobs.  Their ability to listen is most certainly selective, because screaming their names or saying no doesn’t seem to resonate.

Being the helicopter mom that I currently am, I know this helicopter is in for a crash landing. There is no way I can maintain my lunatic-self with two boys OR the future emergency room patient – will be me.

I have two older brothers and have heard the horror stories from their childhoods and witness many of these stories myself.   Yes, in hindsight the stories seem funny, but I am sure my parents were not laughing when they stamped their Frequent Rewards Card at the ER every week when those two were little.  You name it; they had it happen to them. One brother broke his chin trying to boobie-trap the other one. Who the hell breaks their chin? The other brother broke both of his wrists while trying to do a flip out of a swing.  The poor guy had to wear casts, which were held up with rods attached to a belt around his waist.  Know what this meant?  My mom had to help him pee, shower, eat, etc. He was in Junior High school at the time.  I’m sure having your mom help you pee at that age was humiliating. For the record: I am not holding either of my son’s man parts if their dumb a** breaks their wrists. Take note boys.

casts

Now, I had my fair share of doing stupid sh*t.  I was a definitely a tomboy who didn’t have fear of much.  For example: once while on my way to work at my lifeguard job, I got a flat tire.  No biggie – right?  Wrong. Obviously, I don’t know how nor am strong enough to change a tire, so I pulled over on the left hand side of the road.  Yes, left side. Way to go brainiac! I then proceeded to walk down Interstate 35 in a bathing suit, all the while hitchhiking to get a ride to a phone.  Now this was, of course, before cell phones if you can even imagine that. I finally caught a ride with an 80-year-old couple that I first asked, “Promise you aren’t going to kill me?  It’s hot and I can’t walk anymore.”  They replied with a resounding, and almost defensive, “No, we aren’t going to hurt you!” And continued with, “You really shouldn’t be walking down the highway in a bathing suit.”  No sh*t Sherlock. Thanks for the words of wisdom.

bathing suit hitch hiker

Either way my stupidity didn’t land me in the ER (knock on wood), or on a black market in some foreign country, so that was a plus.   Point being: I know my boys will make stupid choices, it’s all part of being a kid and learning. However, if those choices involve blood; I’ll be the mom passed out in the corner with a hand full of rosary beads, praying it’s only stiches or casts. Wish me luck.

"Please Jesus, no blood!"
“Please Jesus, no blood!”

Gender Reveal: Surprise!

Whether you find out the gender of your baby during pregnancy or at birth, it is a very special moment. It is in this moment you begin to picture your life with this tiny being, choose a name, and fall in love with them even more than you were the day before.

With this pregnancy I have had many surprises. It’s been very unconventional, to say the least. Since I’m high risk and had an ovarian cyst burst in the first month of pregnancy, I’ve had many ultrasounds to confirm the baby’s health. At twelve weeks I went in for my second ultrasound. I took Sebastian with me so he could see the baby, however my husband was traveling on business and was unable to make it.

Once we arrived, the tech was finally able to confirm my due date and that the baby was healthy. I had seen this same tech several times before, so we began to build somewhat of a tech-patient friendship. Right before my appointment ended she turned to me and asked, “Are you finding out the sex?” I stopped breathing. Am I? Did I want to find out without my husband? Did I want to find out this time around? Was I ready for this news? But before I could let my brain control my mouth, my lunatic, control freak side took over: “Yes! Can you tell this early?” She confirmed you could and followed up by saying, “Now don’t going buying a bunch of sh*t just yet, but I pretty sure it’s a girl.”

My eyes welled up. Sebastian yelled, “Baby sister!” I couldn’t believe it. I walked out on cloud nine. I felt so blessed to be a mom to one of each. Even though I thought I wanted two boys, my mind started scrolling through years of ballet classes, mani-pedis, wedding dresses, and suddenly I was excited. Very excited.

I know she told me not to buy a bunch of stuff, but I did. I posted her name, Sophia, above the crib and decorated it with purple bedding. I also bought a couple of cute dresses. We didn’t tell our families right away because we wanted to wait for confirmation. We scheduled another ultrasound at a private place, which allows your family to log on to their website and view the screen with you. We thought this would be a great way to reveal the sex, as our families live in different states. Since we already knew the sex, we were trying to act surprised.

The tech prepared me on the table and stuck the wand on my belly. We were watching the screen in front of us patiently as she tried to get the baby to open their legs. It took a few tries but when she finally got the baby turned, she wrote on the screen: It’s A Boy!

WHAT THE F**K!!! My face dropped to the ground as my family was texting and cheering. I asked her, “Are you kidding me? That can’t be right? When did she grow a penis!?” The poor women looked at me…. speechless. Then…I cried. She wasn’t sure how to react after that. She tried to cheer me up, “Look Mommy, he is waving at you!” Yeah lady, whatever, waving at me saying, “Sucker! I tricked you!” Sebastian still confused followed up, “No more baby sister?” Adam, Sebastian and I sat in awe. We then paid the fee and left. As soon as I got home I returned all the girl stuff, cried a little more, then went to sleep.

The next day, I started thinking: If that b*tch wouldn’t have told me girl and showed me a little vagina as proof, I would have never had this reaction. But she did. She was wrong. Get over it. A boy is awesome. You will always be Queen of the house and you won’t have to share your shoes and handbags with some chick you call your daughter. It was then I started getting excited – for another boy. So ladies and gentleman come November, Thanksgiving to be exact, Mr. Alexander (the Great trickster) will make me the happiest mommy alive.

To celebrate we took some cheesy gender reveal photos. Enjoy.

Rust_8

Bye Bye Sophia!
Bye Bye Sophia!
It's A Boy!
It’s A Boy!
Yes my son is almost my height!
Yes my son is almost my height!
We tried to do glitter but Adam was not feeling blowing glitter.. as you can tell by his face.
We tried to do glitter but Adam was not feeling blowing glitter.. as you can tell by his face.
Still not sure about "Ah-wix" (Alex), or sharing his momma.
Still not sure about “Ah-wix”
(Alex), or sharing his momma.

Rust_28

Not sure yet, but he'll get there..
Not sure yet, but he’ll get there..

*Special thanks to Sylvia Stutz, an amazing photographer and friend, for her patience with a toddler and the great photos!

 

 

I Miss Breastfeeding. Did I Just Say That?

I know most of you are vomiting in your mouths right now, especially those of you who are currently breastfeeding.  Maybe I just miss it because I am not partaking at the moment.  Or, maybe my body is tricking me into missing it to prepare me for the long months ahead after the baby is born.

I remember with my son, I almost gave up after the first week.  He didn’t want to latch on because the milk was not coming out quick enough for his liking.  Hmm, no patience – wonder where he gets that from?  We called everyone we knew who had kids to ask for advice.  Should we get a Lactation Consultant?  Does he hate me? Is my milk bad?  Is it an allergy? Reflux? Finally we just relaxed, listened to our instincts, and it worked.

Sebe baby

I started pumping right away because I wanted to build my supply up.  Plus after he ate, I still felt engorged so I had to release all the milk.  After a few weeks I was producing 52 oz a day. You read that right. FIFTY-TWO ounces a day. I was a cow, literally. Oddly enough, I was proud of this.  If my husband wasted or spilled any of my milk, it was his ass.  This is liquid gold people! Respect!

This is what my freezer looked like... Legit.
This is what my freezer looked like… Legit.

Once I got the hang of it, I loved it.  Of course, there were a few things not to like. For example, it dominated your daily routine. You most certainly had to plan lunch or play dates around your pumping schedule.  It also was very inconvenient when life got in the way.  I once had a six-hour flight delay, and had to pump in an airport bathroom stall. Vomit. I used the handicapped stall as it had enough room, and of course, as soon as my milk let down; knock knock.  Sh*t!  

Luckily the lady had a daughter who was breastfeeding too, and we were in Texas where people are generally nice.  She replied, “It’s ok Honey, you finish up, I can wait.”  I hugged her when I stepped out and offered her my next born out of guilt.  She laughed, and passed on my offer. Good thing, because I didn’t catch her name.

Back to why I miss it: I loved that my body could provide such great nutrition for my son, and it was free!  Formula is ri-dic-u-lous-ly expensive. I also loved for every ounce of milk you produced, 20 calories were lost. Along with working out and eating healthy, I dropped weight like a bad boyfriend!  If I had a piece of chocolate, I would turn to my friends and say, “It’s cool, I can just go pump it out!” I liked seeing their faces riddled with jealousy as they wished their boobs could pump out calories too!  To be honest, this was one of the main reasons why I did it for almost a year. Selfish? Maybe. Brilliant? Yes!

Mostly, I miss that connection with my baby.  It was a beautiful thing and made me proud to be a mom. Now, come November I want all of you to remind me of this post when I am b*tching about breastfeeding.  Until then, I will relish in my fond memories.

Me and my boo
Me and my boo

Lies, Lies and More Lies

I enjoyed Babycenter.com during my first pregnancy.  I really liked their emails informing me of what and what not to do during my pregnancy, also receiving their updates on the growth and development of the baby.  I loved being part of a community of other ‘first-time’ moms as well. I felt like we were all scared to death and trying to lend blind advice to avoid panic attacks. It was comforting and exciting.

baby se

The second time around, I still love to get the ‘your baby is the size of a Kumquat’ emails. (Pause.  What the hell is a Kumquat, by the way, and why are you insulting my baby like that? Carry on.)

kumquat
I guess they are kind of cute! Dear Kumquat, get a new name STAT.

However, many of the other notifications they send me I literally want to reply  in all caps: THE GIG IS UP, CUT THE CRAP!  For example, I received an email recently titled: Welcome to Your Second Trimester!  I thought this was sweet, but when I opened the email I burst into laughter. Following the nice welcome note, the email continued:  This is the time when most women feel their best. Liars!

Who are ‘most’ women?  The chicks who work at Babycenter.com? And by best, do you mean as compared to the rest of the pregnancy? I guess not having my head in a toilet is now an advantage, however peeing myself and slowly feeling my pelvic bone spread is not what I would consider ‘feeling my best’.  Just tell me like it is ladies.  Here is an example of an email I would like to get:

 

Welcome to Your Second Trimester!

While you may start to feel relief from the nausea, remember you are still pregnant.  Just seven more months of feeling like you have no control of your body. Yay!  Things to expect over the next few months:  You will start to waddle as your uterus is causing a wedge in between your pelvis. Your boobs will get extremely large, and  yellow stuff will start to leak out.  Your nipples will always feel like they can cut through glass.  Last but not least, since your organs are all pushed together you will pee yourself on occasion.  Avoid sneezing. We know this sounds awful, but it will ALL be worth it when you see your little bundle of joy. 

Sincerely,

Speakers of Truth

 

The second part of the email they sent me read: ‘Most’ women also (here we go with the ‘most’ comparison again) experience a spike in their libido. Okay, okay.  Calm down there Babycenter. The only thing I am experiencing is in my dreams, and when I wake up I realize my body can not keep up with my mind.  Sex is not anywhere near sexy when your pregnant.  It is uncomfortable and awkward.  If there are women out there who say differently, then they are in a class all their own.

Just keepin’ it real. Feel free to do the same Babycenter.

 

 

Traveling With A Toddler: Cruel and Unusual Punishment

Traveling with a toddler is brutal, especially alone. You would have thought I learned my lesson after this debacle, but apparently not.  That’s the thing with kids; you always give them second chances because you are blinded by love.

photo-4

The last time I flew alone with my son, I swore I would never do it again.  That was nine months ago.  So he’s changed, right? He would listen to his momma and be a good boy this time, right? Not. So. Much.  Monster Diva is officially his new name. Being pregnant doesn’t help either.  I am tired and the last thing I want to do is chase after a toddler in an airport.

I took some key mistakes on my part from last time and prepared a grand plan.  Almost as if I was writing a strategic sales plan, I carefully mapped out activities and pitches for the three-hour flight.  I listed all my collateral: Goldfish, DVD’s, Fruit Snacks, and my ultimate bribery tool: Chocolate. I also tried to pack light (which is almost impossible with kids) to prevent carrying too much luggage.  I checked the bags to free up my hands, in case I had to chase the little monster. Checking bags is very difficult for me.  I HATE checking bags.  I like to have my bag in my possession and not have to wait when I deplane.  Me, a woman, once took a carry-on to Paris for a five day trip to avoid the baggage claim. I took a stroller this time too. Why?  To lock his a** in and prevent him from chasing shinny things.

We made it to the gate relatively drama free.  I got this! Right when that thought crossed my mind… here we go. He takes his shoes off and starts trying to ‘Hulk’ his way out of the stroller. All the while he is shouting, “I wanna go on air pwanne!”  I tried to stay calm and convinced him they wouldn’t let him on if he is a bad boy.  Then, I found a TV with cartoons.  Thank you Jesus. Tip: try to not have more than an hour waiting time once you get to the gate. This is known as the witching hour.  I took notes for next time, literally.

"Only good boys allowed on plane!"
“Only good boys allowed on plane!”

Once we got on the plane, I cornered him in the window seat and apologized to all those around me in advance.  Taking off was exciting for him, he liked to count to ten and yell, “Blast Off!!”  Luckily all the people around me thought it was cute. He also bursted out in song a few times, serenading his audience with favorites such as: Twinkle Twinkle Little Star and Old McDonald. Just like the last flight we had together, he doesn’t like people sleeping around him and would yell, “Wakey-Wakey!”

The remaining time was challenging, but at that point I just didn’t care. After two airplane bathroom trips holding him in mid-air trying to aim in the toilet, I gave up. He opened and closed the window shade at least three dozen times, and we were the last to get off the plane because he took his shoes off and refused to put them back on. I had to use my secret weapon, the chocolate, to get the shoes back on.

photo-1

Luckily my husband met us and flew home with me.  I pawned the kid off immediately and told my husband I was now invisible. He was a trooper and kept Monster Diva in check for me. I have to fly again with the kid in two weeks….alone. Isn’t there a better way?  Should I just give in to the embarrassment?  Should I just let him be a toddler and tell all the other passengers to go screw themselves? Are there day nannies that will fly with me?

I don’t know, but I need a new plan.  If I wasn’t pregnant I would down a few glasses of wine. Either way, God help me. Prayers are appreciated.

Tips from this flight that were helpful:

  • More snacks
  • Charge computer longer
  • Put shoes on that are difficult to take off quickly
  • Sit in the back of the plane so not as many people around
  • Fly at night so he sleeps
  • Drink (if you can)
  • Don’t take any carry-on’s, it is too stressful
  • Pack light
  • Buy kid headphones (mine didn’t fit him well)
  • Remember this is temporary

Why Shopping for Maternity Clothes Ruins My Life

I am pretty sure there is nothing worse than shopping for maternity clothes. First off, I hate spending money on clothes that I am forced to wear. Some women –(I hate you)–, can wear regular clothes for the first five months. I am not one of those women. I have a torso the length of a paper clip and I am 5’2″. Along with having a small frame, I married a giant. My first kid was 22 1/2 inches long and came a week early because his poor legs were jammed in my rib cage. This combination of bad genes and a giant husband means I start showing the minute I get pregnant. This forces me to wear maternity clothes for the full pregnancy and postpartum.

ME preg

You really only have two choices when shopping for maternity clothes. You can either go for (moderately) cute and more expensive, or cheap and look like you are wearing a large tent, with a rope around your waist tied ever so lovely in bow on your backside. I despise bows. Why would a thirty-something want a bow tied right above her large pregnancy booty to draw more attention to that area? And pregnancy jeans… that subject I will save for another post. The only thing I will mention is that maternity jeans give a whole new meaning to swamp a**. Prepare yourself.

In an attempt to score some deals on dreaded maternity clothes, I was browsing Amazon last night and suddenly felt like vomiting. Who are these ‘pregnant’ chicks they get to model the clothes? They must be wearing prosthetic bellies because there is no way they look that good pregnant! And to p*ss me off even more they are shown wearing high heels. Look, I have been pregnant and I know you can not wear heels. IT HURTS! I am convinced, just like little-miss Kim Kardashian, these models take the photo and then change into flats… immediately. Maybe I am just being a hater, but when I was pregnant my feet grew half a size and they were way too swollen to wear heels. The minute my foot touched a heel, my body quickly reminded me: Not so fast sister…

Lastly, the ultimate blow to your self esteem is shopping for a maternity bathing suit. Lucky for me I will be pregnant over summer (Yay!). Shopping for a bathing suit when you have a normal body is enough to send you into a wine filled b*tch session about how much you hate your body. Imagine shopping and trying on bathing suits when you look like this:

monstor

Again, you have these 5’10” chicks who look amazing wearing these suits. Thanks for making me feel worse Amazon! I eventually gave up and just succumbed to the thought of looking like the above and bought the first suit I saw. However, to help hide my embarrassment, I also purchased a big hat and sunglasses. Until the baby comes I shall remain incognito, especially at the pool. If you do see me out, don’t blow my cover. Also, if you ask me if I am having twins due to my large belly, I may punch you in the face. You have been warned.

Took My Pregnancy Test… I Passed!

Yes, you read right.  The ole’ baby maker came through in the clutch!

First off, I would like to thank God.  Secondly, I would like to thank my husband, family, friends and all the readers who were so supportive. Your comments and advice came at a time when I desperately needed them.   If you are thinking this sounds like an Oscar speech, you are right. This past year was a miserable, emotional roller coaster that almost ended with us giving up on expanding our family. And, I was on the brink of starting expensive, daunting fertility treatments. So…I really do feel like I won an Oscar, better yet, a baby!

ultrasound

I found out I was pregnant two days after I wrote this post.  I was driving back from Starbucks and made a quick stop at Walgreens to buy one more pack of pregnancy tests. As I was cashing out, I said to myself, hopefully this is the last dollar you spend on these. Once I got home, I immediately put the tests away.  I wasn’t ready to take one and have my heart broken yet again.

Later that week I felt ready.  I took the test and when I checked the stick, a positive sign glared back at me.  As I would with a negative sign, I grabbed the box and read the instructions about ten times to make sure I was reading it right.  Then I did what every girl does, I took another test.  That one, a positive too!  I ran out of the bathroom, looked at my husband and started crying.  This time he knew my cry was one of relief.  He stood up, hugged me and whispered in my ear, “Finally.”

preg tes

Besides having enourmus boobs, nose bleeds, bleeding gums, the bladder of an 80 year-old, and barely being able to keep my eyes open lately, I can’t really complain. Pregnancy does not suit me, but I’ll gladly oblige for the end result.  I know, I shouldn’t complain and should feel very blessed, which I do, however let’s be honest ladies – pregnancy sucks.

Just a couple more weeks and I will be in my second trimester, which they say is when the ‘glow’ starts. By ‘glow’ I mean I will look more pregnant and not just fat. I have already been asked, “Wow, are you having twins?”  No, I am not.  There is only one, so says my doctor, and thank you for making me feel like a whale.

I am hoping for a girl, but a boy would save me from bankruptcy.  The husband says he knows it is a boy, so we shall see.

Again, thank you for all the love and support and I will be sure to blog along the way!

XO,

Holly

 

 

 

 

 

Sometimes the Grass Is Greener on the Other Side

People are quick to say, “The grass isn’t always greener on the other side.”  But what if it is?  How would you know what shade the grass is, if you are not willing to see the other side?   Do people say this out of fear?  To convince themselves they don’t deserve better? Sometimes a different shade of green is exactly what we all need.

I am that woman. The one who spent her entire twenties and half of her thirties working around the clock.  The one who was always accepting challenges head on, and filling up my day with projects for other people.  In hindsight, I did miss out on a lot of things; a real college experience, traveling, family time, days spent soaking up the sun by the lake.  You name it, I missed it.  My parents did what they could to help, but I essentially paid (actually am still paying for – damn loans!) for my own education. This meant all work and no play.

You know that's right!
You know that’s right!

On top of that I had an intense desire to succeed.  I wanted better for myself and for my kids. I wanted to have nice things, be able to pay for college, and take those family trips my family was never able to. That drive for success landed me here.  Yes, I am successful and have a dream job to many. I worked very hard and sacrificed a lot to get here.

Even on the rare occasion we do get to do fun things, I do not have a trained mind to stop and really enjoy the moment.  I am always forward thinking.  What should I make for dinner?  I wonder if my client returned their contract.  STOP woman, you are at a pool, in Miami, in the dead of winter in Chicago. Relax. Sooo, I wonder if that woman did send back her contract, let me just check my email real quick.  Of course, one email turns into twenty-five emails, and then a phone call, then anxiety, then there goes my fun pool time. By the end of each day, I am mentally and physically exhausted.

This was a true statement..
This was a true statement..

But the success and money were worth it, right?  Yes, the experience, the confidence I gained in myself and the connections I have made were absolutely worth it.  On the other hand, it was not worth missing my son take his first steps, say his first words,  watch him play on a sunny afternoon, or ruin my Miami pool day.  This is time I can never get back.

So, since I make sh*t happen and was tired of complaining and watching my life go by, I decided to do something about it.  Take that leap of faith I have dreamed about. I resigned from my Director position, at a company I truly loved, after eight years.  I want to see if the grass is, in fact, greener on the other side. I knew I made the right decision because the Pope and I resigned the same day. He, apparently, had enough too. I will chalk this up as divine intervention.  If the Pope could do it, so could I.

pope

It has been several weeks since my last day.  The first week was definitley scary.  What did I do?  Will we be ok financially?  Did I make the right decision?  The next week it felt like vacation. Now, it just feels great. Liberating in fact. I can do without daily Starbucks and other things I don’t need, if it means not being too tired to read my son a book before bed.

My theory is my career will always be there.  I am a career driven person, that will never go away either.  In the meantime, I will focus on expanding my family, writing and dedicating my time to my most important role of all… mom.

My advice to you:  Take that PTO.  Don’t save it for a rainy day that never comes.  Spend a day with your family without sneaking off to check your email on your phone. Spend a day doing nothing but stuff for you. But above all, don’t miss important milestones in your kids life. Because those my friend, you will regret.

So is the grass greener on the other side you ask?  In my case, so far, yes.

GRASS

Who Knew Getting Pregnant Was So Difficult And Why Didn’t You Tell Me

Truth be told, I am quite upset with my baby maker these days. Why is being a woman so difficult? I spent my entire youth trying not to get pregnant, only to be on a desperate baby rampage in my thirties.  Trying to get pregnant is a sensitive subject, I get it, but I am not afraid to speak about it.

Many women keep quiet about the trials and tribulations of getting pregnant, either out of embarrassment, pride, etc, so when difficulties happen with you, YOU start to feel like the problem. Why me? What is wrong with me? How are all these b*tches around me getting pregnant? Why is MY baby maker on strike?  These are my actual thoughts right now as a sit in Starbucks next to some pregnant chick.  B*itch.

Why is hers growing and NOT mine?
Why is hers growing and NOT mine?

The whole ‘trying for a baby‘ process is like a bad dream.   Scratch that, more like a freakin’ nightmare. Each month I jump on the crazy baby train begging to be dropped off in pregnant-ville, yet the a**hole conductor has yet to let me off. So here I am almost a year later holding my first class ticket without my glass of champagne.  This first class is complete rubbish.

When we first started trying, we were told to have sex every day after my period.  Then we were told doing this would only lower sperm counts, so we need to have sex every other day instead.  Then came my thyroid problem, so I was put on medication.  Then I was told my progesterone was low, which explained why my eggs were not able to attach to the uterine wall, resulting in a miscarriage. Next my doctor suggested I quit my job, because the stress was too much. Lastly, she told me I am getting old and only have a certain amount of eggs left.  Awesome!  Defending my eggs I blurted out, “But I still feel so young! Women have babies into their forties for Christ sake! I am only thirty -five, just turned thirty-five.”  My sensitive doctor replied, “But you are still thirty-five, let’s call it what it is.” She told me to get ovulation kits and try a couple more months before we had to meet again.

Not happy with your outcome Mr. Smiley!
Not happy with your outcome Mr. Smiley!

Equipped with all this information, I went to CVS to buy ovulation and pregnancy tests.  After I filed bankruptcy from my CVS bill, I downloaded the app, AESOP Fertility. This app tracks my monthly cycle.  It shows a green dot when my eggs are ready, and a red dot when I should be prepared for another month of heartache. Once my cycle starts, I have to rub progesterone cream on my hands nightly.  When the green dot finally shows, it was go time.

My husband doesn’t mind the beginning of ‘go time’, but wants to kill me by the end.  I constantly boss him around, “No, this way.  No, that way!”  After the deed I have to lay with my legs in the air and a pillow under my hips for twenty minutes.  TWENTY MINUTES.  Way to kill the fun. The worst part is when you stand up after those twenty minutes to go to the bathroom. Ladies you know what I am talking about. Vomit. 

The next few weeks are always a blur.  Any little hot flash, dizzy spell, hunger pain, twinge of the uterus I immediately think, I’m pregnant! When the time comes to take a test, it always shows negative.  From there the denial sets in.  Maybe it’s too early.  This test is wrong. I know I am pregnant! Then I take another test, negative again. I wait. A few days later the spotting starts.  Maybe the egg is implanting, I read you spot sometimes during this process. I wait.  The real bleeding starts. I then realize I am not pregnant, I just wasted all that money on those stupid pregnancy tests, and I cry.  I cry because my plan didn’t work. I cry because there is no baby. Finally, I cry because I know next month I will have to do this all over again.

Preg Test

If we don’t get pregnant soon, I have to take a pill which helps you ovulate, however increases your chances of multiples.  Great, just what I needed.  Sorry Kate, but ‘Holly Plus Eight’ doesn’t work for me. If that magic pill doesn’t work, I’ll have to start seeing a fertility specialist. Any specialist scares me.

images-3

Everyone always says, “At least you already have your son.” Which is true, but I long for a bigger family and not getting pregnant hurts just as much, regardless of what number kid it is.  Plus, my son needs a sibling to keep him occupied while I write all these blog posts for you ladies!

Please send your good vibes and baby making mantras, as I can’t take many more months of this vicious cycle – sober, at least.

s

Much Love,

Holly

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Rules of ‘Engagement’ After Marriage

Our friends keep asking us to write about sex.  Okay ladies, we will take one for the team.  You’re welcome. Mom and Dad: If you are reading this, now is the time to log off. Thanks.

As wives we can all remember how we lured our husbands to love us in the first place.  All it took was one look, and they knew what time it was.  It was so easy to get them to do whatever we wanted. Okay, who are we kidding, we still use sex as a ploy to get what we want… and so do you.  (DON’T LIE!).

SEXY LOOK

Unfortunately, times have changed. Back then we had less responsibilities, less stressful jobs, hot little bodies and more time on our hands.  As that time filled up, sex became lower on the totem pole. It also became somewhat of a chore.  We know as wives we have a duty to make our men happy, but guys, help us, help you. Very simple.

Here are some helpful hints you can share with your husbands if they want to get laid more often:

  • Numero Uno: Don’t ignore us all night, without so much as a, “How was your day honey?” Then once we climb into bed think it is go time.  The only thing going around here is ME – TO SLEEP.
  • Next, help out with the chores.  Studies show, (according to Yahoo!), when men help out with chores, women feel more appreciated.  Therefore more inclined to give it up. Hey, you can’t argue with Science!
HELP US!
HELP US!
  • If it is after 9:30 pm on a weekday, forget it…. immediately. 
  • When initiating sex during the work week, romance is not necessary.  You have about ten minutes before we fall asleep,  make them count!  We are a sure thing so stop wasting time.
  • Weekend sex, the rules are different.  Romance IS necessary. If you try to cut to the chase, we will feel used and fat. (Tip: we always think we are fat no matter how skinny we are.)
  • To clarify romance: This does not mean grab our butts as we are trying to cook or brush our teeth.  This caveman act is not sexy.  Sorry to burst your bubble guys, but it doesn’t turn us on.  Romance means massages, candles, take on an extra chores, draw a bath, etc. You get the idea (hopefully).
Nothing says I love you like alcohol!
Nothing says I love you like alcohol!
  • Last but not least, insist your wife reads 50 Shades of Grey.  The writing is horrible, however the content is smokin’ hot. It will work and it does.

I hope you enjoyed our Rules of Engagement.  Now pass them along and please feel free to add your own in the comment section below.

Cheers,

Holly & Kari