Apparently, this behemoth baby already weighs over 6 pounds. (6 pounds, 3 ounces is what they “measured” him at, to be exact.) YIKES. Thank god I’m not pushing his big ass out.
Anyone want to make some guesses as to what this big ole Thanksgiving turkey will weigh when he actually does come out??? My vote is still 27 pounds. (And it’s all okay, because, again, he is not making a trip through this birth canal. Oh, hell no! Suzie, you can stop cringing in fear.)
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Remember me? No? Well, that’d be my own damned fault.
Let’s do another round of “Shannie Sucks So We’re Having Yet Another Boring Random Shit Post,” shall we?
Everywhere I go people rush over, all worried and concerned, and ask me if I need help or if I need them to call someone for me… I’m that.damn.big. And I’m not even 35 weeks yet. Nurses at the doctor’s office even think I’m there because labor is in full swing. Totally not kidding. I get that from a handful of people everywhere I go. I don’t think if I was in labor, people, I’d be perusing the Ben & Jerry’s at the Walmartz… Seriously. I’m not even 35 weeks yet, folks.
See… No shit:
Avery is still being a rockstar. That child is amazing! She has gotten so grown-uppy. *Sigh* She’s also playing soccer (which she is not so fond of… She’d rather lay in the grass in front of the goal…) and taking ballet and tap (which she loves!) and is doing most excellently in pre-K. She’s a smart cookie. Takes after her Mommy…
Henry is still throwing temper tantrums… But, is hilarious when doing so… He hates it when we laugh. He throws himself in the floor and keeps peaking to make sure you’re looking… It’s not so hilarious, though, when you’re in, oh, say Carter’s, like we were today, and he starts taking clothes off the racks and running around screaming… Then pitching a major wild ass fit when you try and trap him back in the stroller… I was sweating and out of breath by the time it was over with… I should have known better than to let him out, even when he promised to sit and play at that super germ ridden Leggo table with all those snotty nosed kids. I bought ONE pair of pants. That’s it. That’s all we had time for before we had to do the “tuck and run.” But, when he’s not pitching a holy hell fit, which is mostly when we’re not in public, he’s super sweet, cuddly and loves to kiss me and my big, giant belly.
I can’t wait for my favorite holiday, Halloween! Lots of candy for Big Mama AND we’re having a part-ay for the kids! With a hayride to trick-or-treat off of. Remember my Halloween Party from last year? It was a drunken adult affair, though… But, since I’m knocked up this year and can’t imbibe, the kids get the big party. What’s the point in me throwing a big adult party if I can’t get snockered??? Is there one? I think not. I love this pic (and it includes the elusive Mister):
What could a hugely pregnant lady dress up as? Besides a blimp or a Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade float. A whale? An elephant?? Ooh, I could dress up as a Walmart shopper, in a velour jumpsuit with potato chip crumbs stuck to me and rent a “sassy chair” and run over people all night. Give me some ideas.
I really don’t think I’ll make it to my c-section date (which is November 24th… two days before Thanksgiving.) I think Super Tucker has other plans. Which is fine by me. Unless he makes me miss the midnight showing of New Moon on the 19th/20th. That would suck. Big, nasty ones. And, we actually are looking forward to being in the hospital for Thanksgiving…
My letter of resignation as Lifetime President of the Ittie Bittie Tittie Committee is in the works… I got myself measured, like a real grown up, for a bra and not only was I ready to move from my normal bra size of NA (yes, it’s a real bra size… Nearly A, not non-applicable. But, that would work, too…,) I measured a MUTHA HUMPIN’ D cup! A D CUP. Did I say that loud enough??? I MEASURED A MUTHA HUMPIN’ D CUP. I called the Mister, because I was about to faint, and he laughed hysterically. And laughed. And laughed. And laughed. Too bad I won’t let him touch them.
I’ve been waiting for the doctor to put me on bedrest… I’m in constant pain. Seriously. It hurts to move. It hurts to sit. Come on, November. Luckily, I have an adoring, pampering husband that spoils me incredibly and makes me stay off my feet… Even if I won’t let him touch my mother humpin’ D cup tittays.
Avery can’t come to the hospital to see the baby… And I haven’t told her yet. I’m so upset. I know she will be… They won’t admit anyone under 19 into the maternity ward. I understand why, but damn. And seriously, why 19? Why not 18? Or 16? That seems kind of a weird, random age…
The Mister’s brother and his wife just had a beautiful baby girl! They named her Charlotte, isn’t that pretty? I’m glad it’s something nice and very beautiful, otherwise Avery would have been pissed that they didn’t name her Silly Sallie like she told them they had to.
You want to see a picture of the nursery?
Yep, still a guest room. This poor, poor third child. We haven’t even started purchasing any baby stuff. I have nothing baby… I gave it all away after Henry. And I have five weeks. FIVE WEEKS. And I’m not convinced he won’t fall out any second now. (We do have a crib & a piece of furniture… Obviously not put up… But, that’s IT. Seriously, this poor, poor child. If we keep this up, he’ll be wearing Henry’s used underwear… “Eh… He’s the third, it doesn’t matter, just give him the cold, dirty bathwater…”)
I feel like I’m 11 1/2 months pregnant and I’m having to hold the baby’s head in with my hands.
The Mister is finally moving back into his old building this weekend. Remember about 9 or so months ago when a tornado and flooding destroyed it? It’s taken this long to renovate it…
I’m addicted to pumpkin. Starbucks sees me at least three times a week for a Pumpkin Spice Latte and either a piece of pumpkin loaf or a pumpkin cream cheese muffin. I’ve been making pumpkin desserts and visiting Ben & Jerry’s for their pumpkin cheesecake ice cream… The Big P and I definitely have quite the love affair going on at the moment. Pumpkin…. Mmmmm….
My tummy is so big, that I can’t even get my arms around it to reach downtown, much less get a mirror anywhere in the vicinity, for the major deforestation of the giant redwoods trimming of the hedges… I seriously gave myself a reverse mohawk last week. Imagine trying to trim the old girl up all nice and neat while blindly wielding a sharp razor… Putting your body in very precarious positions, in a slippery ass shower, while lunging desperately to reach around your giant ass belly to places YOU CANNOT SEE, that you know would hurt like a mother fucker if you made one slip up, is not a good time, people. Not somewhere you want to cut yourself… I really think the doctor was stifling a laugh when he checked me… He kind of coughed a bit and gave me a sympathetic pat on the leg. I mean, not only did I scalp myself in some places and completely miss others, I accidentally bought those cheap ass razors with no lubricant strip… So I had dried blood droplets and smears everywhere. What a pretty sight that must have been. I’m still battling the excruciating razor burn. But at least I didn’t cut anything important…
I have an ultrasound Thursday so we can estimate how big this baby is… I’m thinking he has to be 13 pounds already. Maybe 15.
Mmmmm… I just thought of something yummier than pumpkin…
Avery is leaving Thursday to go to the beach for four days. I’m going to miss her soooo badly. And worry about her. But, I know she’ll have fun.
After having these mammoth D cup tittays, I think the boob job will be coming a lot sooner… The Mister will be pushing for it pronto. And I’m going to be pushing for a tummy tuck to go along with it. Especially since the massive belly completely drawfs the big tittays, so they don’t look big at all. I have them, but I can’t tell I have them… I want to SEE those things… See them and enjoy them. And just imagine what that big ass belly will look like when it deflates… If I’m going to have rocking mammoth boobies permanently, I want a rocking flat tummy to go with them. No post-c-section gelatinous muffin top. Let me rock that two piece, please.
Let’s see…. What else is going on in Shannieland… Nothing of importance. Not that any of the above is of any super importance to anyone besides me… And in the case of the boobs, the Mister… But, there ya go. An update from a major slacker. I should win an award for my slack-assedness. It’s been almost a month since I’ve blogged. A MONTH. If I wait another month, I’ll be in the hospital having this kid! (And sipping on an ice cold beer that Mister snuck in while eating my cafeteria turkey and dressing.)
And just for good measure…
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And with that, I leave you all with an image of hope, peace and pure love…
I also want to take this time to tell you, on this 8th Anniversary of our marriage, how much I love you, Mister! Let this image symbolize that feeling of love and peace, and just all good coming together in this world, that you bring me. That’s a whole lotta love… I’m the luckiest gal in the whole wide world. I love you more than you know, my Main Man. Happy Anniversary.
P.S. Love you, too, Life, Love & Lola!
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Yeah… Thanks, Dad.
Meet Honey:
Avery’s new PONY. Yes. Avery has her very own pet PONY now. How the fuck do you top that???? Seriously… How???? I mean, just look at those faces!
And not only does she now have a fucking PONY (which is very sweet and cute and we adore him, but that’s beside the point…,) they told her the pony could live at our house. Yeah… Um, NO.
When I got on the phone with them, my stepmom said, “She can just bring the pony to your house to live.” I sat there in silence and sort of laughed a nervous laugh… They live on a farm. A working farm, with cows and horses and chickens and goats (and alligators… not really one of the “farm” animals, per se, but they deserve a mention.) We live in a NEIGHBORHOOD. A sort of snooty neighborhood. A neighborhood where if your bushes get too high or you don’t have your flowerbeds up to par, someone *cough*NosyNeighbor#1*cough* complains. And in this neighborhood, we live on an acre and a half. An acre and a half that is not fenced in… An acre and half that is partly woods. Anyway, you can see why Honey can’t come to live with us. Surely it’s quite obvious, right? Plus, we don’t even own a fish… Why would we want a HORSE to take care of? AND, I wouldn’t send a fish to live with someone without asking first, much less a HORSE.
All of this makes perfect sense in my mind… And while it was sweet and thoughtful and loving of them to do, seriously, what.the.fuck? Pony at your house, GREAT. You live on a farm and have fifty horses already. Pony at our house, not.so.great.
So, they tell Avery they’ve bought her a pony and that it can come live with her at her house… I get on the phone and she tells me she just told her that…
Me: “Um, *nervous laugh* that’s okay… We’ll just let the pony live there.”
Her: “No, really… She can keep it there!”
Me: *nervous laugh* “No, really, we can’t keep a pony here.”
Her: “Sure you can! It’s like a big dog.”
Um…. It’s not like a big dog, it’s like a LITTLE HORSE. Biiiig difference in my book.
Me: “No, really, it can just stay there.”
Her: “Just put a fence up and it will be fine.”
Me: “It’s against our neighborhood covenants.”
Her: “Huh? What?”
Me: “It’s against the neighborhood covenants. We can’t have a pony in our back yard.”
Her: *silence for a few seconds* “Well, that’s not FAIR.”
She did say later that if she had known it was against the covenants she wouldn’t have told her that… But, what a thing to spring on someone… “SURPRISE! Here’s a pet PONY! Now, just fence in your yard, build a barn, buy some horse feed, feed it, brush it, shovel horse shit, take care of it daily… You know you can never go out of town again now, right? And did I mention that you need a trailer? Which will be a huuuuge pain the ass to load him into… OH, and the vet bills are astronomical… But, it’ll be SO MUCH FUN!” In her defense, we do live out of town, sort of in the country (but still only five or ten minutes from town, so not really in the country…,) and everyone around here (outside of the neighborhoods) has horses. It’s kind of a horse farm-y type area… Regardless, we’re not on a horse farm, we’re in a neighborhood.
And on top of us having to be the bad guys and say no to the pony living with us, like I said earlier, how will we EVER top that? The only thing I can think of that might even remotely come close is permanent residence in Cinderella’s Castle at DisneyWorld. And that’s still a maybe… But, hmmm…. It will be damn funny watching my mom try.
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Never leave an unpotty-trained toddler boy without a diaper for any length of time. He may just turn into a human fountain (a fancy one that spins) and cover the entire bathroom with pee.
A penis fountain, even a tiny toddler sized one, can somehow miraculously spray almost to the ceiling.
Never leave a box of toothpicks anywhere near the hands of small children. They will poke the shit out of each other, leaving little pin prick size bruises. And also poke the shit out of your ass.
It is almost possible to eat an entire 9×13 pan of homemade banana pudding. I am trying again tonight just to see if it can, indeed, be accomplished.
If you give a toddler boy a badminton racket, he will beat the shit out of anything around… His sister, the pictures on the dresser, the coffee table, the t.v… And will somehow find said badminton racket no matter how many times you take it and hide it.
It might be a good idea to never start a Thomas the Train obsession in a toddler boy. Just a heads up.
Four-year-old girls can be as emotional and dramatic as teenagers.
Four-year-old girls can be as sassy and smartass-y as teenagers. (Although, she’s mostly sweet.)
Four-year-old girls are waaaay smarter than you think they are…
A bandaid can fix just about anything that is ailing a kid.
A twelve pack of beer can do the same thing for adults. (Come on, November…)
Never assume that just because your kid pooped minutes before leaving the house, that it’s safe to leave to run errands sans diaper wipes.
Never assume that just because you left the house without diaper wipes that you are helpless… Socks, shorts, grocery sacks and even an old stuffed toy can all be used in a pinch. And then replaced…
Never, ever assume that your child can wipe their own ass well enough to pass inspection before the age of five.
Just a few lessons we’ve learned over here in Shannieland recently. Thought I’d just FYI ya.
Did I mention I’m ready for November?
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No, I didn’t already have the baby… Although, I do wish November would hurry its slow ass up and get here so I can…
Introducing “The Big Bitch,” as the Mister likes to call her… Or the “Monster Car,” as Avery likes to say… Remember our big talk about minivans and how lots of you said, and I agreed (no offense to minivan lovers out there,) that the thought of driving one makes us throw up a little in our mouths? Yeah… Well, I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. SO, we decided on a Tahoe.
But, then we (and by we, I really mean I,) test drove this and fell in love. It has everything you can possibly get on it. Not that I needed all of that extra super cool stuff, but it was the only one they had… (Do you know how limited the selection of SUVs is out there right now?) I’ll probably never use, or even figure out how to use, half the features on it. But, it is cool to have them.
Anyway, They wouldn’t get right on the price, so I thought that our search must continue. Then, the Mister sort of surprised me with it! That man’s so sweet. He called me, I was already online searching the Atlanta area again for all full-sized SUVs, and said, “Go clean out your car.” They delivered it and took my car back with them… And they gave me a full demo in the driveway. Sweet.
Anyway, no minivans for this household. Nuttin’ but big, gas guzzling, road hogging, SUVs for us, baby.
I started to title this “My Suburban Can Run Over Your Prius.” Maybe I should have. Catchy, yes?
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(Howdy strangers, by the way. I suck. I’ve always said that.)
I just had to post this because I love it. This is specifically about stay-at-home-moms, but works for any mom, sahm, working full time, working part time, working from home, whatever… This captures a day in the life of a mom. And as far as coming from a sahm’s standpoint, I have friends who are parents themselves that still wonder what it is us that stay home do all day… Well, here ya go! (This would also work for those of you out there who have spouses that don’t understand what all moms do, stay-at-home or otherwise…)
So, here’s to us!
And a quick note to Tacoma…
Dear Tacoma:
Your friend probably has plenty of time for you… She’s just avoiding you because you’re a self-absorbed bitch.
You’re welcome.
Shannie
P.S. The Mister is now boycotting sex for fear of getting peed on. This is the man that tells me it’s okay for Henry to eat shit like bugs and dirt… If “a little dirt won’t hurt,” surely a little urine won’t either…
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Just to give you an idea of how terribly my bladder is functioning, I went to Labor & Delivery last night because they wanted to make sure that I wasn’t leaking amniotic fluid because I’ve had so much wetness. Niiiiice. Especially when you have to lay there pantsless for three hours hooked up to all these monitors, just for them to tell you that you pissed yourself…
Oh, the joys of pregnancy.
Where’s my countdown to booze ticker…
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The Mister just said, with an awful grimace, that I smell like pee…
(Please see number 2o of the Random Crap post.)
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