A Matter of Bloody Perspective

Getting, or not getting, your period changes in its significance depending on your stage in life. When I (and I assume most other women) were in their twenties (and late teens) not getting your period on time was a significantly traumatic event. What if I'm pregnant??? How will I go on?? Oh please, let there be red in my underwear today. I'll even wear a panty-liner to entice you, oh beautiful menses.

Fast forward a decade or so, and you have the opposite reaction. Getting your period is now a significantly traumatic event. Especially to those people who are TTC (that's trying to conceive for web-based-geeks). There are the hundreds (dare I say thousands???) of dollars spent on pregnancy tests, even more for those of us impatient folks who need to know at least 4 days before their periods are due, and then need to do a few more after the first 2 negative ones, because this time it might be wrong (oh please tell me I'm not the only OC one out there). And do those tests need to be so expensive?? The doctor's office has them in bulk without all the fancy plastic crap surrounding them, and they do just the same thing. For probably a few bucks. Anyways, my point is that at this stage, you hope beyond hell that you don't get your period. And when it comes, and you've been trying for months, it is the most depressing bloody mess ever. And then you realize that all that stressing about being pregnant when you were young is just insane because getting pregnant has to be one of the hardest things in the world. But don't tell any teenagers that or they might be less careful.

To sum it all up, I can't wait until I get to the stage where getting my period has no significance at all except to signal that another round of feminine hygiene products will be used and disposed of. And also maybe that menopause has not yet begun. And that my body is tirelessly crusading for one last chance at reproduction. And that won't bother me because I will not be yearning for a positive $20 pregnancy test.

Sometimes I wish I made the sperm and someone else worried about everything else.

Hugh Jass

So, let me say right off the bat that I am not so silently cursing the garment industry, specifically the children's garment manufacturers. They have decided that all babies are slimmer now than 8 years ago. I know this because pants that were Aliya's fit Kinsey's extra-large cloth diapered butt. Those that I have bought for Kinsey now are too small. Poor girl looks like her pants were painted on her. It makes it really difficult to put the cloth diapers on her, because it limits her clothing options. But, really, why should this be an issue? Why are little girl pants so small in the bum?? Is having a chubby baby out of fashion?? Kinsey is not fat or chubby by any stretch of the imagination. She is a rather tall girl, though. But I have to wonder what the heck really, really chubby babies wear. I haven't found a clothing company that makes a "chubby" size of pants in size 2. And you can't just go up to a size 3 and roll them up because the size 3 bums in pants are the same size as the size 2 as they assume your child is out of diapers. A pox upon all the children's clothing manufacturers and their "slim" baby bums!!!

Too tired to Blog

Well, it's official. I have become a delinquent blogger. I think someone may petition the court to have my wages garnisheed for failure to keep up with my "blog" payments. I guess an apology won't cut it this time. So here's my long winded excuse.

As most may know, Kinsey was conceived using "fertility drugs" and a whole lot of begging and pleading on my part for Steve to "donate" to the baby-making cause. I'm a little confused as to why I had to force him to have sex. So then after Kinsey comes, I assumed I would not be able to ovulate on my own. But, hey, wouldn't you know it?? Last April my fertility monitor has a big egg on it. And by some stroke of luck, I actually got pregnant. I spent a lot of the first month in awe that it hadn't taken enough effort, feeling guilty that my friend Tassi had miscarried, and a little freaked that I didn't have many pregnancy symptoms. I must confess to doing 9 pregnancy tests while I was pregnant, and not ever feeling convinced. I felt like I didn't deserve to be pregnant. Which, apparently, I didn't. I miscarried in July at 9 weeks. Turns out the 9 pregnancy tests were a huge waste of money, since you will test positive whether or not there is a viable fetus. That's something I wish I had known a wee bit earlier.

So fast-forward to a few months after the miscarriage. Hey, guess what??? Old irony came to call and took with it my fertility. So now I am back on clomid, which make me extra tired and sad. It all adds up to one big bucket of fun at the Skye-Weisner household.

I haven't been able to blog about this up until now, because it has been too damn painful to form the words. I guess the moral is I am not meant to have a baby unless I have worked f***ing hard for it. Oh well, at least they turn out to be cute kids. It would REALLY suck to work that hard for a cranky, homely, non-appreciative child!!

Tune in in a few months for more raving, bitter blogs!! (BTW, the rest of my life is pretty okay)

Reading as torture?

I am not the great parent I was when Aliya was a baby. (When you have recovered from your howls of derisive laughter, you may continue reading) I have to admit that I don't read to Kinsey as much as I did with Aliya. And yet, despite my pitiful parenting, Kinsey still loves to be read to. Especially when she's in a rotten, stinking, cranky, stick hot pokers in your eyes kinda mood. Then she really wants to be read to. But she can't decide what she wants me to read, and she keeps flipping pages, hoping maybe the next page will be more interesting. Which apparently it never is. When I finally tire of the schizophrenic reading regime, she breaks into sobs and writhes on my lap, while huge tears pool on her chin. Then she slithers down off the chair, leaving a big trail of Kinsey slime, and falls to the floor in Aliya-like mock drama and continues crying her little eyes out. Then she calms down, finds another book and brings it to me, and the whole stinking drama begins again.

Tomorrow I start drinking heavily. And I may join the illiteracy movement.