Sort of defeats the purpose of a BLOG

Ok, it's been forever since my last blog. Dexter is 13 but oddly I'm still 32. My moustache is still better than his. So here's the thing: it turns out that not only do we, as women and mothers, have to deal with pooping on the delivery table, have our vagina's sewn back together and have our partners search for hemorrhoids(I had to look up how to spell that), but it turns out there are plenty of things that can happen to you after the baby is born. I, unfortunately developed postpartum hypothyroidism. No biggie, just a pain in the ass. Here's what happened. In October, I started to feel super exhausted and weak. It was weird because we had Dex sleeping 12 hours and I was sleeping more than I had since I was first diagnosed with pregnancy. I couldn't figure it out. I didn't want to get out of bed, I had trouble concentrating and everything just seemed like such a giant effort. I was far more exhausted than when the baby was a newborn, to be honest I was terrified that I was suffering from postpartum depression. Searching the Internet to see what was wrong certainly didn't help. So I dragged my ass to the doctor to see if I was low in iron or something. She's a great doctor and asked all of the right questions and I had my blood taken. She called me up and told me I had the most abnormal thyroid she had ever seen. I've always been a bit of an over-achiever. Anyhow, I've tried two different levels of meds to sort me out and I am happy to say I'm feeling much much better. I have to go and get these nodules thingys that have developed on my thyroid taken off, otherwise I could get a goiter! Could you imagine...a goiter! If I developed a huge goiter on my neck I would tattoo a nipple on it and tell everyone that I had breast implants put into my neck because two boobs just weren't enough for Will. Anyhow, I'm not telling this story for any sympathy or words of encouragement or anything, I'm telling it because a lot of new Mom's might equate extreme exhaustion with just being a new mom, but if you feel like you seriously can't get out of bed in the morning, just go and see what's up because it's an easy fix, if it's your thyroid.
So that's that. My friend said to me, "Why haven't you written lately? It sort of defeats the purpose of a blog." I responded, "Your face defeats the purpose of a blog" and now I'm back to bloggin'. There has to be another word for blogging, for those of us who don't do it every day. I don't have the time and quite frankly, I don't have enough material. Life is funny, but most days are pretty ordinary and I'm not about to be one of those people who starts blogging about the amazing sausage she ate the other day. Anyhow, it's time for me and my goiter to tend to the baby.

Who do you have to sleep with around here to get a kid baptized?

First off, do you think the title of this blog is too much? Ok, so here's a disclaimer: I'm going to talk about religion so if you're sensitive to it then I suggest you skip this one. Here's the thing, after much deliberating,I have decided to go ahead and get Dexter baptized. My sister-in-law put it best when she said, "Do you feel as strongly about NOT getting him baptized as your parents feel about GETTING him baptized?" The answer was no, I don't so why not make them happy and just go and do it. Although I don't consider myself Catholic, they are and it's important to them so because I love them so much, I will of course do it. I see it as a nice way to get the family together to celebrate the baby.HOWEVER, these people do not make it easy. I went to a church on Kingston Road here in beautiful East York, Toronto. I had to get my original baptism certificate (huge pain in the ass) in order to even have Dex considered. Anyhow, I think we're all ready to go when the Deacon calls me up and encourages me to get him baptized at the church of which Will and I would be considered "parishinors" if we were Catholic. So now I start to lie, (a lot), to a super nice holy man. "Well, I just really love your church and it just gives me a nice feeling and I would like him to get baptized there." The truth? You were the first place I called that had any spots available in November a.k.a MO-vember and I've been growing my moustache for weeks in anticipation of this oh-so-holy event. He was so nice and kind and just wants me to raise my baby in a church that we can become a part of and all of this stuff. I feel the soles of my feet burning as the flames of hell tickle my arches. "I understand that but I feel right about this and hope that we can do it in two weeks time." He responds, "Why don't you go round this other church, attend mass and see how you feel! Then if you really believe in your heart that this is the church for you, then I would be more than happy to baptize your baby." Crap. "Ok Deacon, I'll be in touch." I get off the phone and unleash a fury of eff bombs. I call this other church and this woman was not as nice as Deacon Jerry. Me: "Hi, I'm calling to discuss baptizing our son at your church." Her: "Are you Catholic?" Me: "Yes" ouch, here come those effing flames again.
"Well are you a member at this parish?"
"No, we just moved to the neighborhood. We just came from Vancouver." Now I'm just lying for no reason and the flames are climbing up my calves.
"Well in order for your son to get baptized here we'll need your baptism certificate as well as your husbands and both of your confirmation certificates."
"Well my husband isn't Catholic."
"What is he?"
"He's sexy."
"What?"
"You heard me."
Ok, I didn't say that. I said, "He's of no religious denomination."
Silence.More silence.
"Well you 'll have to get your priest from Vancouver to send a letter to us saying you're a practicing Catholic." Which is sort of funny because right now I AM practicing to be a Catholic. I'm practicing really really hard, some might even say I'm acting the part really well. She recommends another church so I call there. This woman not only wants all of these certificates from Will and I but a bunch of stuff from my brother and sister-in-law, who are meant to be the goddparents. PLUS, they want us to come in a meet the priest and do some class. Holy crap Catholocism. This just in: You're not the most popular choice for religions these days, not sure if you read the papers, but you could stand to be a BIT more lenient with regards to who you let in. I don't think you really have the luxury to be picky. Do I have to spell it out here? Your leaders aren't exactly the barometer by which one should judge good and bad and you're giving ME a hard time? I'm seriously beginning to reconsider this whole, "make-my-parents-happy" thingy. Anyhow, hopefully this super nice Deacon will just give us the green light and fingers crossed he doesn't read this blog. By the way, I know how hypocritical it is to have my baby baptized when I don't believe at all in the religion but what the hell.

Psychically Delicious

I was thinking; you can me overwhelmed and underwhelmed so if you're just content, are you simply whelmed? Like if I'm just hanging out and someone asks me,"Hey Larissa Primeau, what's up?" Can I answer, "Not much just whelming out." I think the laws of the English language would dictate that yes, I could. Speaking of dick-tate, how annoying is Jennifer Valentine? The baby sleeps through the night but wakes up at 5:30-6:30 now. I let him play while I watch BT. She's kind of half Kimmy Gibler half Six from Blossom: the annoying neighbor that you have to be nice too.
Speaking of annoying, I had yet another moment of WTF, with the baby , at the grocery store. He is 7 months and currently the cutest thing I've ever ever ever seen. We're at Loblaws buying lots of Presidents Choice (I wonder if Galen Weston feels obligated to only buy PC brand but sometimes just hates his Dad and goes for Heinz). I'm in the produce aisles and a woman yells over from the adjacent aisle, "WHAT A CUTE BABY! LET ME SEE HIM." She comes running over and I get a chance to assess who I'm about to interact with. She is definitely eccentric. Rings on every finger, fantasy themed sweatshirt and those kind of glasses that are so thick it looks like her eyes are holograms. She also looks (and smells) like she's been into a bag of Smartfood. Gross. She starts rubbing the baby's head, which I immediately think is a bit much, but just figure she's a friendly lady who loves babies. She's talking but I don't really know about what. Then she tells me, "You know, I'm gifted." At first I thought she meant academically and I started to cough out "Bullshit" but before I could she said, "You know....psycically." Ohhhhhh, of course, thaaaat kind of gifted. Well, even responding this with a simple "oh ya" was apparently an invitation for her to start talking about herself for (i'm not exagerrating) 25 minutes. She started by telling me she's found over 8000 kids in Phoenix, Arizona. Guess you shouldn't let your kids out of your site in Phoenix. What an outrageous lie but I continue to let her talk. She was going on and on and on about Julian Fantino(previously Toronto's Chief of Police) and how he never listens to her. I of course say loudly, "That son of a bitch!" "I know!!!" she answers enthusiastically, obviously missing my sarcasm. It's eventually getting to be a bit of a bore being so polite so just as I'm ready to say, "Have a nice day" she puts her hands on Dexter's head and says, "Oh, he is just the joy of you and your husbands life." Thanks psychic. "He's going to be a lawyer or an advocate for something." That was good to hear but she was in fact, nuts, so I didn't take what she said too much to heart. If Dexter goes to law school and fights for the little man, I have some apologizing to do but in the meantime, I said thanks, she said "God Bless" I told her "I didn't sneeze" and off we went. I spent the rest of my time making sure we didn't get in the same aisle again.
I just took Dex on a plane for the first time last week, that blogs to come. In the meantime, I have to get the baby brushed up and ready for law school. Basically I'm just going to one day tell him to tell the law school that in 2010, a psychic who smelled like Smartfood, predicted it was his destiny, so no LSATS required.

What am I doing wrong?

I was just reading over some of my past blogs and I've noticed something. Odd things happen to me. I'm approached by weirdo's, I have public mishaps and I don't really know why. Will says it's because I stare at people too much; I guess that explains the weirdos. One time in Vancouver I stared at this weird guy for too long. It wasn't my fault, he was half way through a sex change and I dare you to name me one person who wouldn't look at that for a second longer than appropriate. The guy is walking towards me really quickly. Now I see that not only is he in the midst of a huge life change, but he also has "crazy" gleaming in his heavily made up eye. As he passes me, he extends his right arm and clotheslines me, right in front of a sidewalk cafe! Because he/she was going at such a fast clip, I stumbled backwards and almost landed on a baby carriage. The woman screeches and tries to push me out of the way. Now I'm falling in the opposite direction. It all happened in about 2 seconds but it was total chaos. The people at the cafe thought he/she had stabbed me and one nice man asked, "Should I go after him". I answered, "Uh no, he's crazy and you can't chase crazy out of someone." I decided to stop slack-jaw staring at people.
Now last week Dexter and I went to Winners at Yonge and Bloor. In the beginning I was way more apprehensive of taking the baby with all the shit, into the heart of the city. Not because I was worried about safety or anything, more because it's a giant pain in the ass. Now I don't really care and if me and my buggy seem to bother people, that's their problem. I was in a line-up waiting to buy a pair of shoes. The woman who was at the till was taking FOREVER and people started jumping out of line out of annoyance. A guy game and opened up a second cash and said, "I can help someone over here." The 2nd woman in line went to the new till and now I was third in line at the annoying till. So, I decided to jump into the new line too, becoming second in line. Now I don't know what your philosophy on line-ups might be, but to me, if someone opens a new till, you can either keep your spot in the original line or roll the dice and jump into the new line. It might be the right decision, it may not but that's how it works....to me. This was not the line-up philosophy shared by the she-beast who was second in the original line. As soon as I went up to the till to pay for my shoes, she came white-trashing her way over and slammed the stupid thermos she was buying on the counter and yelled, "EXCUSE ME BUT I WAS NEXT IN LINE AND YOU CUT IN LINE AND YOU ARE RUDE AND OBNOXIOUS." I don't normally use this word, but I was flabbergasted. I didn't know what the hell she was talking about so I very smoothly answered," wuh wuh wuh wuh wuhhhhht?" Fat White Trash answers "I WAS WAITING NEXT IN LINE AND YOU SHOVED AHEAD OF AND YOU'RE RUDE AND DISREPECTFUL". Now I have a handle on what's going on and I am burning with rage and want to unleash a tirade of motha fucka's on her but I see her 6 year old and her 2 year old staring up at us with sheer terror in their eyes. I have a feeling they've heard her go nutso more than once. I gave them a sympathetic look that said, "sorry that you had to be her egg. I hope at least one of your Daddies is rich." At this point there is honestly a crowd gathering.Anyhow, instead of showing her how many ways I could call her female gentalia, I decided to take the
high road and said, " I think you're confused. You could have done the same thing I did. You chose the wrong line". Fat White Trash responds, "YOU'RE RUDE AND DISRESPECTFUL AND I WON'T LET YOU BUD IN LINE." Now I'm starting to lose control and for just a split second contemplate throwing my shoes at her and running. What is wrong with people? If she really thought I had wronged her, why couldn't she just calmly tell me how she felt. I'm a rational person. I would have laughed it off, apologized for the misunderstanding and let her go ahead. Instead, she chose to go menopausal on me and freak the eff out. I decide to hit low and say, "This is a fine example you're setting for your children." See, when someone is screaming and going nuts, the best idea is to calmly attack their character, I recommend going for the kids and their inability to raise them. I was pretty proud of myself until she started to slowly walk towards me. Now she's about a foot in front of my face and I'm thinking, "Oh shit, am I going to have to throw down at the Winners? I don't know how to throw down. I'm fucked." She sticks he finger in my face and yells,"I'M SETTING A GREAT EXAMPLE FOR THEM! I'M SHOWING THEM NOT TO GET PUSHED AROUND!" I could smell the ham on her breath. I figured this woman had been in a few dust ups in her day so I stepped back and said. "Alright, just pay for your stuff." In the meantime, the pimply cashier said, "Ladies, ladies please". HIlarious. This poor teenage boy didn't learn how to deal with this in Winners training. Anyhow the moral of the story is....I don't really know but it took a few drinks to calm down after than one. THe next day a psychic in Loblaws talked to Dex and I for 40 minutes. I really have to stop making eye contact. That story to follow.

Upper cut Upper cut

So I shaved my legs. Annoying. I guess it's better than shaving my face every day. I mean I only have to do that every now and then.
Dexter is 6 months and we're right in the midst of letting him "cry it out" at night. Up until this point, he's been getting up once a night and one of us has had to go in and just soothe him back to sleep. Anyhow, that was enough of that so we are currently on day two of letting him cry it out at night. I don't know who or what this whole Ferberizer thing is, I may have smoked weed out of one in University, all I know is that we've made the decision and we're sticking with it. The first night he cried for about an hour and 15 minutes, last night 30 minutes. I thought I would DIE when we had to do this but the wine and ear plugs are doing their job and I haven't really laid in bed bawling, like I thought I would.I wanted some valium too but apparantly you're not supposed to give that to babies.Obviously that's a joke but while we're on the topic I have an open request to science. Science, can you please figure out something harmless to give babies to make them sleep? Stop working on cloning sheep and get your shit together. Stupid science.
Here's the thing, maybe it's not that "nice" to let your baby cry in the middle of the night, but you know what else isn't nice? Having Super Nanny come to your home and make you some busted ass schedule while she tells you how incompetent you are. This baby is going to sleep for 12 hours a night, in his own bed, if it's the last thing I do.
As a new Mom, you have to quickly adapt to a brand new lifestyle. Before Dex, I had 31 years of just pretty much doing what I wanted and being amazing. Yes, it's super cool hanging out with Dex and seeing him grow, but I would be lying if I didn't say that there are times when I get a bit squirrly. It's not even that I need people to hang out with or anything, I just need to do something that has nothing to do with baby and everything to do with me. I don't think there's anything wrong with being a bit selfish. As a matter of fact, I think it's a bit good for kids, especially when you only have one. I've never been a mathematician but I have an equation: Too Much Attention = Spoiled Kid.
So I went to the gym and did this mixed martial arts class and left Dexter in the gym daycare a.k.a germ warfare. There were about 4 babies and 6 toddlers snotting around and licking everything. It was awesome. This is how you build an air tight immune system, Dexter is going to be like the bionic baby.So in this class you do a lot of kicking and punching. I was really into it and punching the shit out of an imaginary opponent. Jab , jab, jab, kick kick kick!
"HEY LADIES! CAN YOU FEEL THE BURN IN YOUR BUTT!?!?!"
My inside voice: " I can feel the jiggle in it."
"DO YOU WANT THIS?"
My inside voice: "I want plastic surgery instead"
"C'MON! I WANNA SEE YOU SWEAT!"
My inside voice: "I wanna see you die"
So there I am jumping and sweating and having a great time when I go and throw a solid right upper cut....right into my chin. I punched myself in the chin...hard. The craziest part about this whole fiasco? It's not the first time I've done it! I took a similar class a few years ago and punched myself so hard in the chin I thought I had bit my tongue off. The instructor even stopped the class. Anyhow, this self-inflicted punch wasn't so bad as the first time I did it. Hopefully next time I take this class I won't spaz out and nail myself again. I'm happy to take a class that teaches me how to kick some ass because I almost had to throw down at the Winners the other day. That's for the next blog.

Spoiler Alert: May be Offensive

The weather is getting cooler and we are rapidly approaching hairy leg season. There are pretty much two seasons in my world: smooth leg weather and stubbly leg weather. Who am I kidding, they're stubbly in the summer too. I try, but seriously, every day? Sometimes I wish I was a hippie....or German.
We're getting into fall and Dex is 6 months old and cute levels are reaching an all time high. It's out of control. It's also out of control that I only have 6 months left of maternity leave.Shit. Who's going to watch The Golden Girls at 2:30 in the afternoon now?

Dear people at TV Tropolis,
I'm sorry your ratings are suffering, I had to go back to work.
P.S (Consider showing re-runs of Small Wonder. Vikki was a robot well ahead of her time)

I was in Yorkville not long ago, just wasting time and people watching. I was pushing Dex in his stroller and realized I wasn't the only one. Yorkville is a hot spot for Mom's, baby buggy's congesting the streets, only these aren't the kind of baby buggy's that I have, or my friends have. These are the baby buggy's of the elite or just people who want super expensive baby buggy's. Now I don't dive into swimming pools of money every day so it's hard for me to wrap my head around spending that much money on something so temporary, for someone who really could care less, but I'm trying. To those who have these uber-expensive buggy's, please enlighten me...do they perform felatio? Can they make gelato? Do they play re-runs of Small Wonder? Listen, I know I sound judgemental but I'm trying my best not too because everyone can do whatever they want, with whatever funds they have,I know it's a personal choice. I just want to understand. I like spending money. I like spending $1000 or $1500 on travel, or home improvement or on a couple of sweet call girls and an 8 ball of blow, but I don't get the over-priced buggy. So anyhow, the jokes on me because as I was over analyzing the banality of expensive strollers I was too busy staring at the ladies lunching on the patio of the restaurant I passing, and walked right smack into a parking meter. Let me correct that, I ran the baby, in his stroller, right into a parking meter. Whoops. I let out a slightly hysterical laugh and took my heavily discounted Graco stroller and got the hell out of there.

Ou est la moula?

Ok, so the film festival is about to start here in Toronto and I've decided that I'm going to strap the baby in the baby bjorn and try to crash a party. What bouncer douchebag is going to turn away a woman with a baby? I'll be sure to film it.

So Will is currently on paternity leave for a couple of weeks which is awesome. His work tops him up to 80% of his salary, my company does not. That is why I steal. Anyhow, I travel to the States a lot with my work and while preggers and in the U.S, I realized how much better we have it up here compared to them. Getting a year off and paid about $1600 a month from the government is a pretty good deal. HOWEVER, it's not even remotely as good as other countries.Sweden gives 16 months full paid leave per child. In the Czech Republic, women can stay home for 3 years with every child and are supported by the state, the entire time! It's probably a bitch moving up in the corporate world as a woman in the Czech Republic, I imagine.Guess what they get in the States? 12 weeks. 12 weeks and not a dime. I wonder where they find the time to get so fat? Just kidding Americans. Please don't shoot.
Anyhow, we've spent lots of time at the cottage since Will has been off and the baby loves it. As he is a product of Will and I he's pretty white. Almost translucent. You're not supposed to put baby sunscreen on a baby until they're 6 months so I just made sure he was in the shade and wore a hat the whole time. I swear he got about 5 minutes of sun and his little arm was a bit burnt. Woops! So I've decided that sunscreen is probably better than a sunburn so now he's all oiled up with Hawaiian Tropic oil. He's getting ready for a role on The Jersey Shore. Speaking of which, can you believe Angelina and Vinny? HIOHHHHH!
Dex is almost 6 months and I think soon it'll be time for him to leave the Breast-aurant. He's sort of playing with them now and it's weirding me out so in a couple of weeks I'm going to somehow figure out how to stop breast feeding without my boobs getting engorged. There's two words I never thought I would have to put together: boobs and engorged. Isn't it so weird that we all fed off of our mother's breasts? I know I'm supposed to say it's so amazing and magical but I'm sorry, it is kinda weird. Milk comes out of my nipples. Sometimes it's a Shiraz, other times a Merlot. Speaking of which, it'll be nice to be able to have more than 1 or 2 glasses of wine. Je t'aime le vino. To be honest, I 'm just pretty proud that I was able to do it at all. In the beginning it was THE WORST but then your nipples become like horses reins (as in leather and tough) and you're good to go. Sexy eh? Until next time.

People vs. Dogs

First of all, I forgot to shave my right leg. Just realized it.

Anyhow, Dexter is a little over 5 months now and cute levels are at an all time high, I can't take it. Having a cute baby, I am often stopped by strangers in the grocery store, or drug store or somewhere, and they talk to the baby. Sure, it's friendly and I'm polite but truthfully, I'm beginning to find the whole thing a bit weird. Don't get me wrong, I like people and I have no problem talking but it's the way in which I have to communicate that is starting to weird me out. Here's the thing, I have to talk for the baby. Here's an example: "Ohhhhh, how cute. And what's your name?" Me: "His name is Dexter." "Ohhhhh, and how old are you?" Me: "He's 5 months". "Ohhhhhhhhh. What a cutie. And you crawling yet Dexter?" Me: "No he's not but he's writing Arabic and speaking Latin like a priest."
It's just that when you have a baby, you're forced to talk to people you really have no desire to. It's probably the same for people with puppies. I sound like an uppity beatch but I'm ok with that. You know who I like talking to? Crazy people. Crazy people have all sorts of interesting things to say. In fact, I was once recited a poem all about farting by a crazy person. Now if someone came up to me and Dex and said, "Hey lady with cute baby, can I recite you a poem about farting?" No hesitation. Yes. Of effing course.

Short but sweet. Next blog hear about how Dexter managed to get one sunburned arm. Whoops.

Now what did I forget?

Here's the thing about becoming a parent. Everyone says, "Oh your life changes sooo much" and "It'll never be the same" and "it's so much work" which if you don't have kids, isn't really a great sales pitch. If you've never worked a hard day in your life, well then it might seem overwhelming, but if you're not a total pussy, then it's just a nice extension of what your life already was. There is definitely one thing that's changed for me and that's how I view my parents. You suddenly realize just how much they love you and then you immediately feel like an asshole for ever being a teenager. Another thing that's changed for me is actually thinking about my own mortality. Who ever thinks of dying? Weirdo's that's who. But when you have a kid you suddenly have to think about what would happen if you, or both of you, die. Creepy right? Well I've decided that if I have to go, I want to go like a fruitfly: drowning in a glass of red wine.

Speaking of your life changing, it's not totally unreasonable for you to forget that you have a kid in the first couple of months. Or at least that's what I've convinced myself of. I forgot Dexter the other day in a moment of panic. Here's what happened.
I went to this used kids toy store to get him one of these exer-saucer thingy's. As a side bar, we have a semi-detached house in East Toronto and all of this baby shit is seriously taking up too much room, but I digress.
So I'm on the back deck cleaning this thing because it smelled like rotten cottage cheese. I had the door out to the deck open and we don't have a screen. I feel this thing whizz by me and hit the window of the door. I thought it was one of those crazy giant moths. Ever seen one of those things? They look prehistoric and what's up with the powder on their wings? I'm going to try and snort it. Anyhow, I look to see if this teradactyl like moth has flown into the house and what do I see? A freaking bird! This bird is in our living room and totally freaking out! It's flying around and hitting into the walls and the windows trying to escape. So I naturally go running out of the house screaming. I mean honestly, maybe if I lived in Avonlea I wouldn't have minded a bird flying around the living room but this is Toronto and it's a city bird with city problems and I have no desire to touch that mess. So I see my neighbors car in her driveway and knew she grew up on a farm (assuming farm people are used to catching live fowl) so I went and banged on her door. No answer. As I'm standing there waiting for her to show up I feel like I'm missing something. My cell phone? Nope, that's not it. The iPod? Nope, still not it. OH SHIT! THE BABY! Dexter was sitting in his Bumbo in the kitchen while the bird was having a spaz in the living room. Keep in mind this isn't a big house so basically Dex was in close proximity to the enemy. Shit, now I have to run back in to save the baby from what seemed like a bald eagle to my frantic imagination. I run in the house screaming,grab the baby and peek in the living room. Yup, now it's the size of a crane and it's bashing itself into the window over and over again. I run back to the neighbors front door only to realize no one is home. Eff. Am I going to have to deal with this man eating bird on my own? I spot a man two doors down doing some carpentry out on their driveway. He was a contractor renovating my neighbors house. I run up to him, baby in tow and tell him there's a bird flying around my house. Can you help? He responds, 'What kind of bird?" Holy shit! As if I know. I skipped that class on school that focused on the birds of Ontario. Unless it's been a mascot for an Ontario sports team, I'm lost. He comes into the house, goes right up to the thing (which is now seriously spazzing out) and just as easy as anything, scoops it into his hands and says to me, "It's only a sparrow". Well la-de-da Steve Irwin. I thanked him and offered him sex but he refused.
That was the first time I've forgotten I have a child but at least I didn't leave him for to long. I'm the youngest of four and when I was a baby my Mom took my older siblings to the grocery store and about 15 minutes into the drive my brother said, "Mom, where's the baby?" I was on the kitchen counter. So my Mom lit up a smoke in the car, turned around and got me. I love the 70's.

Festival and Freaks

So last time we left off with a story from Montreal from 2 weeks ago. The rest of the weekend was awesome. I have to admit, bringing Dexter (as a 4 month old) to a music festival in another province, had me a bit anxious but once we got to the venue and got all sorted out, all of my nerves went away. The music was amazing. Two days of incredible weather, company and live music was pretty much the highlight of the summer. Dexter was so cute in his big blue headphones to protect his little ears, he was like a goddamn celebrity. When Will put him in the baby bjorn to go and see Major Lazer with the guys, there were more pictures taken of Dex than of Lindsey Lohan's crotch. Hilariously, Dex fell asleep during Major Lazer. He was waaay more into Snoop Dog, probably because he's so West Coast. Anyhow, he was really good and didn't have any meltdown's until the last 2 hours of the car ride home but I was having a meltdown too. I may have spent too much time in the Holiday Inn hottub because it felt like my skin was crawling. Anyhoo, no topical diseases to speak of (this time) and the weekend was awesome. The best part about it was realizing that taking your baby or kid out of the comfort zone is always going to be ok. Even when you think it's a bit over the top, it'll always work out in the end and if you're still anxious when it's happening....drink more.
Ok, on to last week. To let you know, I do some voice work and I was lucky enough to get sent on a couple of auditions last week. Up until this point, Will had always just come with me and sat in the car with Dex because the auditions only take 15 minutes or so. Anyhow, I decided just to take him in with me and figured I would get the receptionist or someone else who was auditioning to hold him while I went in. In hindsight I probably shouldn't really leave my baby with strangers but I try to assume the best rather than the worst. So there's about 3 other women in there waiting to audition and they all go bananas over Dex because he's a baby and women are genetically bread to instantly assume their best baby voice when a baby enters the picture. Can we talk about the baby voice for a minute? We all do it and none of us realizes just how ridiculous we sound while using our baby voice because we're just caught up in the cuteness of the baby and the moment. I am going to record the way I speak to Dex just to listen to what a moron I sound like afterwards. Imagine going into a interview and introducing yourself in the voice you use to talk to you baby or niece or nephew or whatever? The same could be said for your dog voice. We just think that babies and animals need to be spoken to like someones got your balls in a vice; 3 octaves higher with a subtle hint of crazy. Anyhow, back to the audition. This one actress is really the loud one out of the group and is asking me all sorts of questions about the baby and making faces and using her baby voice which sort of sounded a bit like Liza Minelli after some Vicoden and gin. Needless to say, Dex wasn't responding to her very well. She looks up at me and says, "He's never been here before." I was a bit caught of guard and stammered, "Uhhh, no he's not. I've never brought him to an audtion before. He's definitely never been here." "No" she responds "He's never been here before." Ok. Again I say, "Yup, this is his first time at a voice audition." She shakes her head and says, "What I'm saying is he's a new soul." Ohhhhhh riggght. We were talking about reincarnation! Duhhh, how silly of me not to have first gone right to reincarnation.What a rookie conversation mistake! She's nodding her head at me like she's just figured out how to cap the oil well and I just say, "Right well ...sure." There are very few times where I'm at a loss for words but Shirley McLean here managed to stump me. Here's the thing, I think there's something to be said for reincarnation but when a wide eyed voice actress thinks she can read into your babies past lives, it's a bit funny. I didn't leave Dex with her while I auditioned.

ma ma ma muffin top ma ma muffin top (to the tune of Poker Face)

When I was pregnant I gained the appropriate amount of weight, about 30 pounds. You really can't avoid gaining weight, it has to happen, and anyone who thinks otherwise is probably stupid or a celebrity. Your uterus gets huge, your placenta weighs a ton and of course the baby. Anyhow, I didn't totally blimp but it does take a while to get your body back to it's pre-baby form. Not that mine was anything you would see on the cover of Shape, but it's nice when your belly starts to get back to normal and you can fit into your old jeans again. For me, things have been happening as they should. I still looked 5 months preggers for the first couple of weeks but of course everything starts shrinking back to normal. I still have a sweet carrot muffin top but when I stop breastfeeding, that should go away (for the most part) too. Here's the thing. Whoever created the term "muffin top" is an evil genius because it really is the best way to descibe that awful flab that so attractively overhangs your jeans. The old term, "Love Handles" wasn't nearly as suitable because it just wasn't true. If they were called "Hate Handles", then that would be ok but who the eff loves those handles? You can come up with any kind of cutesy phrase you want (more cushion for the pushin' etc..) but at the end of the day, having the "muffin top" sucks. So having said that, I have a confession to make: I still wear maternity jeans. Yup, I'm wearing them right now and I don't give a crap. I can get into my old jeans but my chocolate chip muffin top is gross and until it's gone, I'm just not into it. I bought 2 pair of maternity skinny jeans from H&M when I was pregnant. They were 60 bucks each and I"m getting my monies worth and that's that. For those who aren't familiar with the maternity jean, these ones sit at my hips and there's a tight cloth band attached to the waist, about 3 inches in height, that pulls up over your belly. For post baby it's great because it eliminated muffin top and sucks you in a bit. These jeans should just hit the mainstream. Let's all just be a bit honest with ourselves here. No one is 16 anymore and things happen to your body post 29 (male and female). I'm not saying we're old and gross after 30, just simply that things change and low rise jeans are less sexy and more of a landing pad for that bit of pooch you've developed from 11 years of drinking. Anyhow, good on those ladies who somehow avoided the muffin top post-birth. Nice genetics. I figure I'm 3/4's of the way back to pre-birth bod but to be honest, I kind of don't care. Is that bad? I mean, I like to exercise and stay active but I also like red wine and blue cheese so if I have to choose between washboard stomach and food, the fromage wins.
On to other things. We just got back from Osheaga music festival in Montreal. We went with a bunch of friends and of course Dexter who has just turned 4 months. He's so mature.
We drove to Montreal and it was a pretty easy drive for the most part. We got to town at about 8.30 Friday night and went out for dinner in Old Montreal while Dexter slept in his buggy. On our way back to the hotel, two of the guys had to pee so they ducked off while my friend Ryan and Sue and I waited on the street. We were in what appeared to be the Regent Park of Montreal with some sketchy charcters lurking around. Anyhow, out of nowhere this short potato of a woman comes right up to me doing the crack dance. You know that dance? It's kind of like the hokey pokey but more jitty because you're high on crack. She had a baseball hat on backwards and a black t-shirt that said in bold white letters, "Fuck You You Fucking Fuck". She was a real peach. She cracks her way right up to me and says in her thick with crack voice, "Can I hold your baby? I'm just really mad and if I can hold your baby that would make me feel so much better." I replied, "Of course you can! I've never wanted anything more for my baby then to be cuddled by a person who just , moments early, had been honking on the crack pipe! Please, be sure to kiss him lots, especially on the mouth!" As if. What I really said was , "NO!" really loudly. If I had adamantean claws they would have come out. Ryan just sort of chuckled because the whole thing was just a bit too ridiculous. I wasn't scared of this crackie, I've lived in big cities long enough to have become desensitized to their unpredictable ways but I didn't want her anywhere near me or my baby so I just started to move away. She says, "It's just that I don't think I can have kids so I would just like to hold yours." Big surprise, I wonder whose fault that it? I again repeat loudly "No!". I must have really been paying attention in highschool during the No Means No assembly because although I'm pretty chatty most times, this was the only word I could come out with. She moved along and I relaxed. There was a second there I thought I would either have to fight off a crack head or just run for my life because there was no way this lunatic was getting one step closer. What's the lesson here? Know your crack areas in new cities and just avoid them, especially if you have your baby in tow. The rest of the weekend was awesome, we went to Oshega Music Festival and got back yesterday. More on that later this week! I'm moving my blog to Wordpress because it's better so I'm sure you'll all lose sleep in anticipation.

I Brought Beer to a Mommy Group

Dexter is 4 months old today! To celebrate, we're going to go to Zanzibar so he can look at some boobs. He's SUPER into boobs. Anyhow, I went to a Mommy group the other day. Here's the thing, I'm not really a Mommy group kind of a girl and I didn't really know that I was going to a Mommy group. My friend asked if I wanted to go for lunch at Monarch Park with her and her little 9 month old. It was a beautiful Friday so of course I said, "Yes". Here's the thing, my friend is great at organizing get togethers and bringing people together so maybe I should have suspected it was a Mommy group but I didn't. My friend is also not opposed to having a beer so the obvious choice of refreshments on a gorgeous Friday was obviously Sleemans's Original Draft. As I'm approaching this gaggle of babies and buggies I think, "Oh shit, should I break out the beers?" See I would like to be the kind of person who says, "I don't care what anyone thinks of me" but I do, (to a certain extent) and I immediately felt like the skid of the group for bringing beers. I noticed a lot of vitamin water and fruit as I sat down. Well I got over it pretty fast because it was EFFING HAWT and I was salivating for beer so I busted it out of diaper bag and said, "Well, it's noon so nothing wrong with drinking in a public park eh ladies?" My friend was all for it so I didn't feel totally alone in my love of the hops. Needless to say, I did get a funny look or two but that might be because I was talking about masturbation as well. You can take the girl out of East York but you can't take the East York out of the girl! It was a fun get together and I may just bring a two-four next time. I mean what cop or by-law officer is going to bust a group of Mommies for drinking in the park? If they do, we'll shoot them with our lactating guns, execution style.
Mat leave is seriously the best. My first job was at 13 at Tim Hortons and I haven't really stopped working since (with the exception of that time I was fired.....wooops!) and it's been beyond amazing having time off, not only to raise my baby but to just slow down and enjoy the city and the summer. I met Will for lunch the other day and decided just to walk around Yorkville with the baby, to see how the other half live. Yorkville is a pretty weird place, it's like walking through the Wardrobe. One minute you're just at Yonge and Bloor and the next minute you're in a mini Beverley Hills. BTW, doesn't Beverley Hills make you think of a lezbians boobs? "Hey, check out Beverley's Hills. Sweet rack on Bev eh?"
So I'm pushing the baby buggy and staring at all the interesting people with plastic surgery faces; I'm most likely slack-jawed. I should have been paying attention to where I was going because as I'm passing this super shi-shi patio of ladies lunching I run right into the effing parking meter. Of course that causes me to yelp and now all of the Tori Spelling look-a-likes are staring at me as I"m trying to to pretend that I've not just winded myself and ran my baby buggy into a stationary object. Dexter was laughing, most likely at me and I just laughed really awkwardly and loudly, like I had meant to do it, and just kept walking. I already didn't fit into Yorkville because my sunglasses are from Zellers but that definitely made me the Yorkville leper.
I must remember to take the empty beer bottle out of the bottom of the buggy. I've got to go to this church to look into the baby getting baptized. We'll discuss more about the baptizing of the baby in the next blog. Here's a preview: I can't believe I'm getting the baby baptized.

Rainbow baby

First of all, I forgot to get Dex his 2 month shots. WOOPS! I got them the other week but I must have forgotten to check the handbook that came out of me right after the placenta. Ummm, shouldn't my busted ass doctor be informing me of these things? Here's the thing, my doctor is ok. She's super young, bright and has passable hygiene(This is important to me because one time in England I honestly once went to a doctor who looked homeless) What I'm saying is, she's good on paper but as a family doctor she's cold, kind of weird and I think slightly judgemental. I made the mistake of telling her that Dex sleeps on his stomach and she was super pissed at me. I responded with , "It's ok, don't worry about it, it's how he sleeps so that's all there is to it." She was carrying on about "Studies show that..." blah blah blah but the problem is, she has yet to have any children so she's all text book and no experience. Of course the same could be said for anything, I mean you don't need to have herpes to know how to treat it. Everyone knows you're supposed to put yogurt on them. Anyhow, when I was suffering from the nip blisters I went to another doctor in the office and she was THE BEST! So warm and kind and really easy to talk to. She's also a mother and had tons of real life advice for me. So, how do you dump your doctor for another when they're in the same practice? Maybe I"ll use that whole, "It's not you, it's me" thingy. I"ll tell her I'm having impure thoughts about her and don't think it's ethical that she gives me paps. I dunno, it's a problem.
Needless to say, I CAN'T forget his 4 month shots so someone remind me when it's the 20th of July ok?
Speaking of summer, Will and I brought Dex to Gay Pride here in Toronto. We made him this super cute onesie that says: "I Love My Gay Uncles" and brought him into his first ever beer tent. They grow up so fast! Anyhow, at first I was a bit apprehensive thinking, "should I really be bringing my 3 1/2 month old baby to a beer tent at Pride?" but then that thought passed as I looked around and saw so many people having such a good time, loving one another no matter gender, race or religion. If there's ever a beer tent to bring your baby to, the one's at Pride are it. Anyhow, Dex drools like a camel these days so instead of putting a demeaning bib around his neck, we've been putting little kerchiefs on him. Bibs are lame and for total babies. I get Dex and the stroller into the tent and by brother-in-law Brad says, "Nice kerchief Lar, you know what that means don't you?" Suprisingly, I didn't. He then informs me that in the gay culture, some may look at a red kercheif around the neck as a symbol. A symbol of what, you may ask? Get ready for it....here is comes....FISTING! Yup, we looked it up on Brads Blackberry and apparantly a red kerchief to the right means you're a fister and one to the left means you're the fistee. Dex's was to the right (thank God!). Now I don't know many gay men that subscribe to this theory but apparantly it's a thing. So I've got a fister bib on my baby at a beer tent at Pride. No harm done though, I mean you should have seen the numbers he got! Total stud. So we hung out for about an hour and then took off. The music was so loud I was actually afraid that Dex's hearing would be damaged and I would have to tell the hearing specialist it was because we were too close to the drag queen singing Gloria Gayner's "I Will Survive". Speaking of hearing, I just ordered Dexter these little baby headphone earmuffs because we're going to Osheaga in a couple of weeks. That's this music festival in Montreal. Now I"m not telling you this because I'm some super cool hipster that brings her babies to music festivals, quite frankly this is a bit of a selfish move because Will and I really want to go to this festival and we have a baby so he's coming along.Total buzz kill. HA! Just joking obviously. We'll see how it goes, it's definitly going to be a different experience from most music festivals I've been to in the past and not exactly relaxing but what the hell. Might as well give it a shot. I'll just have to do my best to try and not flash Snoop Dogg when he's on stage. Anyhow these mofo headphones better get here on time otherwise I'll be stressed out. Until next time.
Larissa Primeau
M.O.Y (mother of the year)

Strangers in the Night...

Bonjour,
I'm evidently not the most dedicated blogger as it's been yonkers since I've posted my last blog. To let you know what I've been up to:
I played at the World Cup
Slept with Jon Gosslin (again)
Threw some poop in American Apparel at the G20 and snorted some volcanic ash. Anyhoo, I'm back and I've got a boeuf. Yup a bouef. Dexter is now 3 months and is cute as anything, really becoming a little hilarious baby. Of course, like any hilarious little babies, he has not- so-hilarious, meltdowns. The other day I was in Shoppers Drug Mart and one such meltdown occured. I knew why, it was time for him to eat but I was forcing him to stay out because I had shit to do. Anyhow, he's SCREAMING like I was poking him with a hot iron rod (which is how I got pregnant in the first place. HII OHHHHH) and of course everyone is staring and giving me those "oh poor you looks" when to be honest, I don't really care if he's screaming. I mean, he's a baby and it happens and there's no need for sympathy or empathy or apathy or anything ending in thy. Needless to say, a woman in front of me turns to me and says , "Oh dear, I really think he's hungry." REALLY? You don't fucking say. Thanks for that profound parenting tip stranger with dry genitals (she was buying Vagisil, for real). So I race out of the Shoppers because I'm afraid my inner thoughts might become outer soon and I don't need another public confrontation with a stranger again(please refer to my real life story about a swearing match I had with an Angela Lansbury look-a-like at Compuserve, posted on Facebook).
I get home and take him to the Breast-aurant and all is good.
The next day I go to Sobey's (because my life is about baby and chores at the moment) and this super weird cashier, who I try to avoid when I need to by groceries, starts cooing and talking to Dex. To give you an idea of how weird Toula is (that's her name) she sort of looks like a cross between an old Angelica Houston and a bearded dragon, in other words, very amphibious. On top of that, she has possibly the worst bangs I've ever seen. I wouldn't be so mean about her looks if she wasn't such a douche baguette. I've seen her get annoyed with bag boys, she got pissed at another cashier for borrowing her pen and she even told me to hurry up when I was packing my groceries. So there's Angelica Lizard talking to my baby. She asks me what his name is, I tell her "Dexter". "Oh" she replies, "my friend has a dog named Dexter. That's a dogs name." "Right, I guess so", I respond........."Toula". Like what the eff kind of a name is Toula anyhow but that's besides the point. Am I wrong to think it's rude for a stranger to tell you that your child has a dogs name? I know there's lots of animals with dogs names like Max, or Bailey or Mr.BoJangles but it's just not polite to tell a stranger that their baby has a dogs name. Maybe that stupid dog has a baby's name, has she ever thought of that? Anyhow, my bouef is with strangers who mess with you and your baby. Either tell me how cute he is or eff off. So that's my bouef for the moment. Other than that, things are good. I love summer and Mat leave. Stay tuned for more amazing blog posts brought to you my an amazing woman.

Flashdance

I have a mini-hangover. I probably shouldn't, since I"m breastfeeding but I honestly didn't think a pint and a half was going to get me drunk! I mean, I have french-canadian heritage and it's not like I'm morman, I've been drinking for a while. Anyhow, I've let my people down because I managed to get partially wasted last night at a patio, on a pint and a half. I met Will after work with the baby and we brought him to his first patio. Not Will....the baby, I can't figure out if that's totally irresponsible and white trash or avant-guarde and European. I don't really care, Momma just needed to get her drink on.
Needless to say, I'm up at the anus of dawn (that comes before the crack) to parent Dexter and my head is banging. Welcome back old friend hangover. It's been a long time buddy.
So anyhow, I've left Dexter in the capable hands of the cats, so who says drinking and parenting don't mix?

It's actually amazing how the minute you have a kid, something that wouldn't have really phased you that much prior to parenthood, now really gets under your skin. Let me tell you a story.
Last week I went to Tim Hortons at Main and Danforth (at 9am), here in the beautiful burrow of East York, Toronto. Now our neighborhood isn't the complete ghetto, but there are some real dirtbags circling around: like a bunch of seaguls over roadkill. Normally I take no notice of said dirtbags but something compelled me to glance to my left, as I pushed the buggy out of Tim Horton's and down the road. What did I see? One of East York's finest, taking a pee, in a planter put there by the city to house beautiful flower arrangements. Ok, if I saw this particular rastifarian at 2am peeing in the planter, I probably wouldn't have thought much of it, but it was 9am and I had to look at his GIANT clanger while he relieved himself. Gross. It just seemed even worse because I was pushing a baby. Well my immediate reaction was to just yell at him. I spat out, "Awww, you're disgusting!" I probably shouldn't have done that because then he flashed me a toothless grin and started to shake it at me! As if. I immediately decided that I was not going to raise my beautiful baby around such grossness and went home and went on MLS to look for a different house. I called WIll and told him we were moving. He laughed and told me to calm down. The funny thing is, this is the second time in about 14 months that a man has shown me his schlonger. A guy came out of the alleyway behind the subway station last year and had his dink out of his pants and shook it at me. Honestly, I never got so much dick in my life until I moved to East York. Needless to say I've since calmed down and decided not to move but if I see one more penis (that I haven't paid to see) we're outta here.

I have to go and eat bacon now and drink diet coke. It's the only cure.

Then we go wild...like a blister on your boob

So Dexter Jean-Claude Macky is now 2 months old and he's the cutest thing ever, but of course I'm going to say that. He's also reading at a 5th grade level.
There was a moment over the past couple of weeks that I almost gave up the breast feeding. I've been one of those cases where it's been a struggle but everything's good now. It's funny but I guess I just assumed breast feeding would come super naturally to myself and the baby. Such is not the case, well, not my case. I had to deal with blisters, not on my feet from cheap flip flops, on my nipples. GROSS! It was the worst. Imagine someone having to suck as hard as they can on your foot blisters...every three hours. They're effing awful and I am so grateful for medicinal nipple creme. There's that crap they sell at Shopper's but I needed industrial strength. I also went back to see the lactation nazi's and was shown a better way to get him on the boob. So, now he's got a full access to the Breast-aurant. Not that it really matters, I mean it's 2010 and we have formula if the booby feeding isn't working so it's not the end of the world. However there's so much pressure to breast feed your baby you can't help but feel a bit guilty giving them formula. They make is seem like you're a terrible mother if you don't always give them the booby juice, it's really not fair. I mean, try your best but honestly, don't make me feel bad if I can't do it! This isn't the stone ages, we have alternatives. The point is, if you can't breast feed don't let those lactation nazi's get to you. Besides, once you breastfeed a few kids your boobs end up looking like two ziplock bags filled with rice pudding so you might as well do what you can to save them.
So having sex after having a baby is a bit different. It's not hotdog down a hallway different, just a bit tender but that goes away. Someone told me that it would be awful because I wouldn't feel a thing but that's totally not true. She must have had a huge vag to start with. I call her The Big V behind her back. Remember those drug stores? The Big V's? Do you think they realized how hilarious that looked? I hope it was on purpose and they were just being super funny.
Anyhow, I'm out with Dexter the other day, he's dressed all in blue and this guy asks me "Boy or Girl?"
I said, "Seriously? Uh, he's a boy. Want to see his massive dong?"
Just joking, I didn't say that, but I was a bit offended. I know I shouldn't be, he's only 2 months old and babies that are that young are kind of androgynous but the all blue should have been a dead giveaway shouldn't it? Am I missing something?
Anyhow, he's only waking up once in the night now and I'm the happiest person on the planet. I never thought I would be so excited about the prospect of 5 hours of sleep in a row. Before the baby I pretty much got 9 hours a night. I needed my beauty sleep. The life of a model requires it. Oh you didn't know? Ya, I had been modeling for a while before I got pregnant. There's a HUGE demand for 5 ft 3 inch 31 year olds now.
That's it for now. Here's hoping I've conquered the nip blisters. Think of me next time you're running and get a blister...then get someone to suck on it.
All the best.
Larissa Ann Primeau

Lactation Nazi's

It's been a while since I've written one of these; turns out having a newborn is a lot of work. Who knew? Good thing I waited until I was 31 to have a baby, honestly I don't know how teenagers do it. By "It" I mean sex. I really want to know how teenagers are doing it these days. Has it changed? Are they better at it because of the Internet?
Anyhow, I last left off with a story about the actual birth of Dexter. After that, it was two nights in the hospital full of screaming babies and lectures from lactation consultants a.k.a lactation nazi's. I mean, I understand that they're just there to help new mother's (me) figure out how to get another human being to suckle on my nipple for the sake of food, rather than pleasure but honestly, lay off lady. I finally decided not to let them worry me when I went to this breastfeeding class on day 2 of the hospital stay and the lactation nazi running the class referred to myself and my baby as "Youse". Are you effing kidding me. I'm supposed to take advice from a person who thinks that the Youse is a word. Maybe I would consider taking her advice if I was asking her whether or not I should go and see a Poison concert or what colour to paint my double wide trailer, but anything else, she can eff off.
The other weird thing about this nazi was that although she didn't have a speech impediment, she pronounced the word "if" , as "ith". It was as though she had a speech impediment for just that word. Bottom line, she was an idiot and I eventually figured out how to breastfeed. Speaking of which, was anyone else aware of how much it would hurt in the beginning because I didn't have a clue. I guess with my pregnant glow and euphoria of having a baby, I didn't really realize that having your nipple pulled to the back of another human's throat (baby or not) is kind of uncomfortable. Never mind the fact that your nips have to adjust to the whole situation so be ready for blisters, bleeding and general sexiness. Oh ya, and how about the double breastpump? HILARIOUS! The lactation nazi made me pump my gorgeous boobies after every time I fed him to increase the flow of lava and I couldn't believe how ridiculous the pump is! Now I use it all the time but the first time you throw those fun bags into the pump, your boobs have definitely transitioned from titties to teats. When I was on a dairy farm in New Zealand, they had the EXACT same contraptions for the heffers to get their milk. I made sure to Moo every time the nazi hooked me up to it. To be honest, the joke got old after I did it twice but I kept doing it because sometimes a joke gets funny again just because you refuse to let it die. Look at Rodney Dangerfields career.
Anyhow, we brought him home and it's now been 6 weeks since he was forceped out of my amazing uterus and things are pretty good. I mean, as good as they can be really. He eats, he sleeps (kind of), he pees and poops and now he's kind of smiling a bit which is the best. I have to go for my 6 week check up which I'm not looking forward to. Honestly, after 22 hours of having roughly 14 different pairs of hands up me, I never want another doctor near my vajay ever again, but I guess I have no choice. The good news is sex is just around the corner which is a good thing. I've had some freaky sex dreams lately, the latest one involved this old lady cashier from The Metro. She wears about 500 buttons on her vest, most of them cats.
Stay tuned for more anecdotes of the first year of motherhood, told by moi.
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It Taint What It Used To Be : Part Deux

Hey. So this is the second part of the labour and delivery blog because some weird and funny stuff happened and seeing how I'm missing that part of the brain that registers embarrassment, I'm going to share these incidents with all of you and the pedo's that accidentally stumble upon this blog.
As I mentioned in part one, labour was roughly 22 hours. Now for someone who thinks a simple fart is funnier than anything in the world, you would think that pooping etc during delivery wouldn't bother me. Wrong. It was oddly my biggest fear. I mean really, I may not be a lady but I"m not an animal and having a cute, bubbly 24 year old nurse have to wipe my bum as I'm crying to get this baby out, is even just a bit much for me. Regardless, they don't embellish or even mention that you're going to crap yourself in What to Expect When Expecting. So I'm here to tell those of you who have yet to give birth; you're going to shit yourself. That's what to expect when expecting.
Anyhow, now that we've gotten that out of the way I'm thinking "well, there's really nothing left to hide. Let's just push this baby out once and for all." Unfortunately it wasn't that simple. Things start getting frantic and there's a bunch of people in my room as Mt.Sinai is a teaching hospital. I would like to think that at least 5 sets of future OBGYN's hands have rooted around inside of me. I like to do what I can for education.
The doctor comes in and it's go time. I had requested Heathcliff Huxtable but he was busy eating a hogy, chips and grape soda because Claire was out of town.
So the doctor says to us, "It's either the forceps or the vacuum". Will answers , "Well what do you think?" doctor responds, "Neither are very pretty."
Great.
So he goes for the forceps. My friend Noelle said it best when she described forceps as silver hockey sticks. They're definitely tong like in nature, but tongs you would be using if you were going to bbq a brontesaurus. Anyhow, in they go, they flip the baby around and out they come. I thought they had pulled the baby out at this point and am asking "What is it? what is it?" The doctor tells me, "I have to go back in." Awesome.
Back come the brontasaurus tongs and after some aggressive pushing and pulling out comes our cute little boy. There are tears and laughter and all that stuff you imagine as they put him on me and then weigh him and get him all wrapped up. Will takes him out to meet my brother Marc, my parents, Tina and Lara and our brother-in-law David. So now I'm still stuck in the stirrups and the doctor proceeds to do some serious sewing. There was as episiotomy involved and if you don't know what it is, you can Google it but I suggest you don't Google any images otherwise your eyes might fall out of your head.
Anyhow, lets assume you know what it is and carry on.
This is when things get pretty funny. The doctor's head is pretty much at eye level with my va-jay jay and ass as he's doing some genital quilting. He's also showing a student what he's doing and explaining the whole process. Again, let's take a minute to thank God for epidural. The next thing you know, a sound escapes; a long, drawn out , high-pitched kind of sound. Imagine slowly letting the air out of a balloon. Yup, that kind of sound. Some call it a toot, others a fluff, I prefer ol' faithful... fart. Without any control of that area, I had just farted in the doctor's face. With the maturity level of an 8 year old boy, I start to laugh my head off and attempt to apologize but the Sorry wasn't really coming through my fit of giggles. The doctor looks up at me and says, "Well , I guess I deserve that." HILARIOUS! Thank god he had a sense of humour although what the hell else are you supposed to do in that situation? Well there you have it. I farted in a doctor's face. I wish I hadn't been so tired at the time because in hindsight I should have said, "In your face!" but that is a regret I guess I have to live with. Stay tuned for the next blog where I reveal more amazing tidbits about my amazing bodily functions, a run in I had with a lactation specialist (a.k.a lactation nazi's) and my affiar with Jon Gosslin.

It Taint What it Used To Be

So it happened. I gave birth. Yup, 8 pounds and 8 ounces of beautiful little baby came out of me. Have I mentioned that I'm just 5 ft 3 inches and pre-pregnancy weight was about 119? What I"m saying here is that is a lot of body to come out of this body. I mean, I've had (over the course of many years) 8.8 pounds up me, but never out. SHAZAM! Just kidding, not that slutty. So anyhow, it was a pretty cool, surreal and hilarious experience so the labour blog is going to have to be broken up into a few segments.
Here's the first part of the story.
We went into Mt.Sinai on Friday, March 19th for a stress test in the evening. When we were there the nurse mentioned they weren't that busy so would we like to have our baby that night. We were scheduled to come in on Monday to get induced but figured "Why not? There's nothing good on T.V tonight anyhow." They break the water (with this weird knitting needle thingy) and labour begins. At this point I had probably told about 5 of the staff that I definitely wanted epidural, I may have even told an orderly and a homeless guy in the hospital for gout. They recommended to try to labour for a bit by walking around, it would help to speed up the process. So contractions hit and I last about an hour and 15 minutes. Lets just take a minute here to discuss contractions and natural childbirth. Contractions feel like the devil is sodomizing you and epidural is like the Angel Gabriel battling the devil for dominance over your uterus. If you take epidural, the Angel Gabriel is victorious in this historical battle of good versus evil. Should you choose to bypass the epidural, the Devil continues his reign of evil supremacy for what could be over 25 hours. So here is my question: Why the eff wouldn't you take the epidural? Seriously. I'm asking any ladies out there who CHOSE not to use the epi, not the ones who had no choice, but the ones who go into labour, purposely wanting to experience the devil's wrath.I'm not judging you, in fact I admire your bravery and threshold for pain; but I honestly wonder why. Is it because you want to feel your baby come into this world as much as you possibly can or is it a personal triumph thing or did you simply not anticipate just how bad the pain would be and by that time it was too late. Please enlighten me because if I could buy epidural as a street drug just to take on a Friday night, I would. It is the best. I think it was what Tina Turner was talking about when she wrote the radio classic, "Simply The Best". I cannot stress enough how important the epidural is in the labour process and I weep inside for the women who went before me when this miracle drug was not available. I think my point is clear and I look forward to hearing the non epidural takers opinions and thoughts.
So now I'm nice and high, a feeling I've missed the past 9 months. Without boring you with all of the details just know that 22 hours later cute little Dexter Jean-Claude Macky was born....but not without some struggle. We took this super boring pre-natal class where they tell you to make a "Labour plan." My plan was to take drugs and push a 7 pound baby out. Not quite. It's like New Years, you can plan the shit out of it and it's still doesn't go the way you want. So stay tuned for the next blog post where we delve into the dark abyss of forceps and the thrilling world of episiotomy. Oh, and just to give you another reason to keep up with the blog, upcoming ones involve embarassing flatulents, ridiculous bowel movements and advice on how to face your nurse after she's had to clean up your poop on the delivery table ....3 times. Things are about to get freaky people.

Overdue

Ok, there are a few things that are ok being overdue. For example, it's ok if a library book is overdue. It's .25 cents a day and it's really not going to break you, unless it's a library book from the University of Western library in which case they bend you over and threaten to not give you your degree but then they do and it's your first "real world lesson" that most people are full of shit. Apologies are also things that can be "overdue". For example, I once put a fake phone number on a parked car I had backed into. Then I saw the woman come to her windshield and call that fake number. That is someone who probably deserves an apology from me, long overdue. Something that should most definitely not be overdue is a baby, more specifically, your first baby. Why? Well basically for a month before you push the aforementioned human out of your vajooj, you think it's going to come, and you play the actual delivery over and over and over and over in your mind. As much as you try not to, it just keeps sneaking back in; slipping, squishing, oozing and grossing its way back in. So then the day comes, and the baby doesn't. Ok, no biggie, maybe tomorrow. Ok, still no biggie, maybe the next day. What didn't come? Ok well nothing you can do about it, maybe the next day. Woops, didn't come that day either. So now you start listening to people's tricks about inducing labour. Eat some spicy food. Sure no problem, the fact that I've been constipated for the last 5 days is probably an indication that spicy food isn't going to feel that good but what the hell, eating is the one thing that a pregnant woman is really good at. So FYI, eating spicy food with 5 days of constipation under your bloated belt is as good of an idea as sleeping with Adam Giambrone. God, that's a night I'll never get back. Take it from me, you don't want to ride that rocket.
Then there's the sex option for inducing labour because every girl wants to get down with the get down when she's a) constipated and b) packing a torpedo that hangs over your bits required for labour inducing sex but you know what, let's do it. Take me upstairs and induce the hell out of me. Remember losing your virginity? More awkward. Anyhow, enough about 9 month pregnant sex, I'm not here to give you AMAZING visuals of me and Will. The point is, we can build an ear in a petri dish but we are still unable to determine the exact date a baby comes into this world. So baby, I love you, but get out. This is housekeeping and you've missed your check out time.

Here's an idea....keep it to yo' self

I'm writing another blog now because the baby hasn't come yet and when it does, I suspect I won't have as much time to write as I would like to, or at least that what everyone tells me. Since I've been with child people have told me a lot of things. Here are some other funny things people have told or asked me as I've become noticeably pregnant.

1) "Are you pregnant?"
2) "I have a feeling you're going to have a vaginal birth" (told to my by the old Second Cup lady)
3) "If you're anything like my wife, you're going to be ripped to shreds" (nice one)
4) "Why would you ever choose to do that to your body?"
5) "Is it yours?" (granted this was by a crazy man on the subway who may or may not have been high on opiates)
6) Me: "I'm pregnant"
Him: "Gross"
Then of course there's those classic people who LOVE to tell you how hard it is to be a new parent.
You tell them you're pregnant and the first thing out of their mouth is: "Say goodbye to sleep" or "Have lots of sex now"
when really I think the word they're looking for is "Congratulations" or maybe "You're a slut".
No one I really liked has ever said that stuff to me, just the annoying people and annoying they are. I'm 31, I'm not the star of an MTV show about being a teen mom so trying to scare me about the realities of newborns is stupid. It's kind of like those preachy ex-smokers. Just because you got through it doesn't mean it's ok to tell people how shitty it is, that just makes you a pain in the ass. Anyhow, my lack of sleep and celebicy is meant to come in 4 days so I better go hump and nap.

It's The Final Countdown do do do do , do do do do do

I am meant to have my first baby in 6 days. Yup, in 6 days I will push, pull, and possibly poop my way into motherhood. Yup, you heard right...poop. This is not something they advertise in such incredible classics as: Look Who's Talking 1 &2, Nine Months or Oscar robbed 1988 Kevin Bacon masterpiece, She's Having a Baby.
Nope, no director chooses to share the realities of what really happens in the birthing room, it doesn't sell tickets. They also fail to show that your baby will most likely come out with a cone head, giant balls and or labia and other such non-cute afflictions, the result of a uterus contracting you out of a birth canal. Thank god this is not a journey we can remember. Could you imagine? Picture it , Sicily 1947...wait sorry, wrong blog, that's my Ode to Patrillo Blog that I haven't quite started.
Ok, picture it, you're 30 and if you don't squeeze yourself out of a Rhino's ass you'll die. That is pretty much the equivalent of what's about to happen to this tiny little baby inside of me. I am simply the vessel; a rhino's ass.
So needless to say, the anticipation is killing me but it's not a bad anticipation. Anyone who has done this knows that it's an exciting and thrilling anticipation but honestly, you would HAVE to be lying if you didn't admit that shitting the bed, contractions, baby through birth canal, placenta action and stiches didn't freak you out just a little bit. Regardless, there's no turning back now, which is part of the calm. It's been happening forever and will continue to happen long after I have children but in the meantime, I am writing this blog over the next twelve months in order to learn how to cook my way through Julia Child's cookbook. Just kidding (I bet that's the most overused blog joke of all time) I will be taking myself and you through the first 12 months of motherhood. So here we go, welcome to "From Titties to Teats: A humourous look at the first year of motherhood", as told by Larissa Ann Primeau.