Monthly Archives: May 2012



Did you ever set a date for something, thinking it was so far in the future that you wouldn’t have to think about it for ages?  Then all of a sudden, you realize the date is fast approaching and you’re nowhere near ready for whatever the thing is you’re supposed to be doing?

A little before the twins turned one, a friend of mine got engaged.  She asked me to be in her wedding and also asked all of us bridesmaids to remain unpregnant until her wedding.  Yeah, it’s a lot to ask, but having just given birth to twins like the day before (well it seemed like it), I was all, SURE!!!!  So from that point on, I was all about birth control.  Actually I have two toddlers, so I’m mostly about abstinence, which makes for really good birth control.  Same diff.

My husband has always wanted to have four kids.  I wanted two.  But since we had two the first time, I sort of felt like I maybe wanted three.  Maybe.  So we talked and I told him I might be agreeable to another one, but only after this wedding.  We talked about trying once the wedding was over.  And it was so far away, I barely gave it a second thought.

The wedding is Friday.  Like two days from today.  And I’m no more prepared to get pregnant than I was a year and a half ago!  I don’t really even want to think about it.  The husband hasn’t brought it up yet, but he will, eventually.

This really should be a non-issue because, technically, I’m infertile.  I’ve already said I won’t do any more treatments and I meant it.  No more injections, no more inseminations.     But my body, being the freak of nature that it is, spontaneously started ovulating on a semi-regular basis about six months after the twins were born.  So I might actually get knocked up pretty quickly, you know, the old fashioned way.  Or maybe not.

Either way, I’m ovulating tomorrow or Friday.  Part of me wants to say, fuck it, let’s see what happens.  That’s a very small part, though.  The larger part has a million different reasons why now is an awful time to try to get pregnant.  Like the fact that I go almost completely insane trying to take care of the two kids I have.  Or the fact that our financial picture is less than rosy, to put it (extremely) mildly.  And also, the fact that I am finally on the way to having the body I want.

But then again, is there ever a perfect time?  If someone came to me with the excuses I have, I’d probably tell them, no, you’re never going to find the perfect time, so you might as well go for it right now.  I mean, if I’m probably going to do it anyway, why not do it now?  Are things going to be that much more perfect in a year?  No.  I’m just going to be a year older.  Chances are, I’m still not going to be thrilled with the idea of gaining weight.  And we’re definitely not going to be rich.  And my kids aren’t getting any easier.

Soooo….what?  What do I do?  The funny part is, three years ago, when I was going through infertility and loss?  I would have given anything to have the luxury of this little internal argument.  If only financial concerns and weight gain were the only things keeping me from having a baby!  I feel like such an asshole now.  But is feeling like an asshole a good reason to expand my family?

I’m torn.

I really don’t know how to proceed.





My kids’ vocabulary improves, like every single day.  They speak in sentences, which I find amazing.  I mean, how is it that these little people were able to learn a language in such a short time?  Six months ago, they barely spoke at all.  And now?  Eliza adds as many words into her sentences to make them as long as possible.  And she sings!  She makes up songs with the names of everyone she knows.  It’s usually to the tune of  ‘Twinkle, Twinkle’ but sometimes, not.

Two nights ago, I got them corn on the cob to go with their dinner.  It’s their favorite and their eyes (Especially Eliza’s eyes) positively lit up when they saw it on their plates.

(This is where it gets a little gross, just so you know)

The next morning, Eliza told me she ‘poopted’ and as I was changing her diaper, I was all like, “Gross!  There’s corn in your poop!”

She looked all confused, so I showed her.  Then I taught her to say, “I poopted and there’s corn in my poop.”  She practiced over and over and then we called everyone she knows so she could say it over the phone.  I could not stop laughing.  It just sounded so funny when she said it.  We called her Nana and her Babci and her uncle and her Daddy and she said it to all of them.  They were like, “Um, Ohh, okay.”

Can you see where the title of this post comes in?  My sense of humor hasn’t really matured from fifth grade.  And actually, it is more the sense of humor of a fifth grade boy.

So later, the husband and I dragged the kids to Lowe’s because our air conditioning busted and we were trying to find fuses for the compressor, which, according to my husband, someone stole right out of the box since last year.  So we’re in line, waiting to pay and Eliza was talking to the old man in line behind us.  I hear her talking about how her brother is a “bad, bad boy!”  And “that’s Mommy” and ‘Daddy went to the car.”  And next?

Next she says, “I poopted and there was corn in my poop!”  Halfway though that sentence (which I heard in slow motion), the little voice inside my head was going, “Nooooooo…”  as if it were trying to prevent a stack of expensive china from crashing to the floor.

The man looked horrified.

Luckily, she went from that to the next non-sequitur without missing a beat, though the man was in the process of backing away from her by then.

Mom voice


I’ve been doing a lot of yelling lately.  It’s so constant that I’m afraid my kids are going to start hating me.  My throat actually hurts from it.  I could list all the things my kids do to make me yell but anyone with kids probably knows all the things a two year old (or two) can get into.  Let’s just say that my two year old twins seem to have a death wish.  Or a wish that their mother go completely insane.  I don’t know which.

Before I had kids, I used to picture myself as the mother of twins (yeah, I really did).  The twins in my fantasy were toddlers, only slightly older than my kids are now.  We would be on outside on the lawn, dancing around and laughing and we’d all sort of fall into a big heap, still laughing.  And neighbors would walk by or look out their windows and think what a fun mom I was.  You know why that would never happen?  There are a few reasons, actually.

Number one, unless my house was surrounded by an electric fence and/or a moat, Jack would have darted far, far away before any such lawn dancing started.  I would pick up Eliza and go chasing after him, screaming, Stop Right Now!  Do you want to go back in the house?  Get back here! and he’d keep running like he didn’t hear me.  I would eventually catch up and grab his arm and he’d fall and cry.  I’d be out of breath and sweating from sprinting after a toddler while carrying another toddler (because if I left her there, she would be gone when I got back).  Then I’d try to get them both to walk back and they’d fall lifeless to the ground in protest.  I’d drag them a few feet and yell some more to get (the f*ck) up or we will go back in the house!!!

At that point, my mood would have deteriorated and I would more or less drag them back to the lawn and insist they play like normal children, while I sit on the ground and try to ignore them.  Kids are like cats when it comes to being ignored.  They want nothing to do with you when you want a hug or a snuggle, but the second you feel like if you’re touched just one more time you’re going to FREAK, they decide you’re a jungle gym and while they’re climbing you, hey, wouldn’t it be fun to tangle their sticky fingers in your hair?  Then Eliza would probably start one of her repetetive requests (I’na cheese stick, Mommy.  I’na cheese stick.  I’na cheese stick, Mommy.  Cheese stick.  In the kitchen.  I’na cheese stick.  Cheese Stick!) and Jack would run away again.  Sigh.

So the mom voice.  It’s loud.  It’s obnoxious.  The kids hate it.  I hate it.  I don’t know how else to say things though because they don’t listen.  They do things like put the end of a plug in their mouth or try to play frog on the stairs or rip the blinds right off the windows.

I truly miss the days when I could put them in a jumperoo and leave the room for a minute.  I can’t leave the room at all now, because it takes them all of 15 seconds to get into trouble.  It feels a lot like the inmates are taking over the asylum.

Don’t get me wrong, some days with them are great, lots of fun even.  Today is just not one of those days. :/

Keratin and PMS


Two days ago, I went for a very overdue haircut. During my appointment, which feels a lot like a mini vacation, I asked about some sort of smoothing treatment that would enable me to cut down on my amount of blowdry time. We decided on Keratin Express, which is like the Brazilian treatment, but without the formaldehyde. It only lasts about 6 weeks, but it’s also much cheaper than the other one.

Over the years, I’ve learned not to get my hopes up for things like this. I have the kind of curly hair that looks ah.may.zing. about 5% of the time. The other 95% of my life, it is completely uncontrollable and not in that Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman way where I have to toss it around and blow it off my face. If there is even a tiny bit of humidity (which there almost always is), a bad hair day is almost guaranteed. The problem is, it never really dries completely. So if I touch it, at all, it loses any shape it had. And if I don’t touch it, it frizzes to my face and neck and slowly kinks up until I have a frizzy hair helmet. If there’s a drop of moisture in the air, I might as well throw it in a ponytail right then and there because there’s no hope of it looking normal down. Humid or not, I’ve completely given up on blowing it straight. It just never looks right.

I’d heard from quite a few people how amazing this Keratin stuff is at smoothing and getting rid of the frizz. It sounded miraculous to me. I admit, my hopes were high.

The whole process took about an hour and involved spraying and flat-ironing. When she was done, my hair looked incredible. It was shiny and bouncy and straight! It curled under just a tiny bit at the ends, which looked so pretty. I walked out of there with a gigantic smile.

I was told not to wash it for at least a day. My hair looked fabulous the whole next day and did not even start to feel greasy until that night. I’d waited a good 36 hours, so I decided to wash it with the special $40 shampoo and conditioner I was told would maintain the treatment longer. I stepped out of the shower and waited for my hair to air dry into the same look I left the salon with the day before.

That did not happen.

It air dried into the same frizzy mess it always did.  I cursed and opened a bottle of wine.

The next morning, I was still in denial.  Maybe I had just been overly optimistic in thinking this treatment would enable me to put forth zero effort for perfect frizz-free hair.  The kids had a play date with some friends at 11, but it was only 9:30, so I sat down with a big round brush and blow drier and got to work.  When that didn’t work, I pulled out the flat iron.  And hour later, the kids had trashed my bedroom and I had straight-ish, yet still incredibly frizzy hair.  I was panting and sweating and frustrated and, well, full of rage.  I threw the mess up in a ponytail because it looked plain awful down.

The drive to our play date was unpleasant.  I was incredibly tense.  I yelled at other drivers.  I got really angry with the GPS voice for not giving me enough warning about a turn and called her a f***ing B*tch.

Did you ever have one of those moments when you sort of rise up out of your body and look down at your outta control self and think, You know what? I bet I’ll get my period later today.  And I did, later that day.

My mood got better.  The play date was fun.  The hair still looks like shit though.  I’m not too sure what to do about it.  I paid about $80 between the treatment and the shampoo/conditioner.  I’m not one who typically complains or returns things, especially in situations like this where I like the woman who does my hair and I don’t want her to think I’m difficult and annoying.  But she promised this would work.  I think I’m more upset that I believed her and got my hopes up.