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.
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Monday, July 5, 2010
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)
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)
Monday, June 28, 2010
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.
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.
Saturday, June 5, 2010
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.
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.
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
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
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
Friday, April 30, 2010
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.
If you like this blog, please subscribe if you don't like it, eat a fart.
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.
If you like this blog, please subscribe if you don't like it, eat a fart.
Monday, April 12, 2010
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.
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)