And speaking of things that suck

Leaving Post Office after standing in line that didn't move for ten minutes:

Moon: We're leaving?
Me: Yes. The line isn't moving at all.
Peanut: We're not going to go here?
Me: No. The baby is heavy and I don't want to wait any more. There's a really long line and only one person working.
Peanut: Yeah. Their service sucks.

Our medical system really does suck

D. had a minor medical procedure today to prevent any chance of future pregnancies. For this, I am eternally grateful. The entire thing lasted less than two hours, and he has a 2 cm. incision on his balls.

The doctor sent him home with instructions to rest for at least the next 24 hours and a prescription for Vicodin.

Less than three weeks ago, I expelled a living, breathing, eight pound human being from my womb. Labor lasted about six hours and ultimately resulted in my being torn open from my urethra to my anus. I basically had a massive, hemhorraging vaganus.

My discharge instructions were to resume normal activity as tolerated, and take 400 mg of Motrin every four hours for pain.

2 cm. nut cut = Vicodin
4 in. vaganus = Motrin

Our medical system sucks.

What I hate about breastfeeding

I don't mind that each of my breasts is larger than my baby's head.

I don't mind that I will spend roughly three solid months of the next year with a baby attached to my boob.

I don't mind that my nipples hurt.

I don't mind that every time my baby latches on it is still so painful that it makes my toes curl.

I don't mind that every time my baby comes close to emptying a breast it just fills right back up again.

I don't mind that I'm producing enough milk to solve the world hunger crisis.

I don't mind that I have to wear ugly bras with flaps.

I don't mind that no matter how hard I try to be discreet, everyone ends up seeing my nipples.

I don't mind that on a daily basis milk leaks through my bra and shirt, then drips onto my pants.

What I hate about breastfeeding is that the fucking dog won't stop sniffing my tits.

Playing along with Kim

From my writer-friend, Kim:
Below is the list of Entertainment Weekly’s 100 “new classics.” Bold the ones you have read. Place an asterisk next to the ones you have loved. Italicize the ones you want to read. Strike the ones you hated with a fiery passion. And always, if you are so inclined, post this meme on your own blog and leave a link to your answers in the comments.

1. The Road , Cormac McCarthy (2006)
2. Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, J.K. Rowling (2000)
3. Beloved, Toni Morrison (1987)
4. The Liars’ Club, Mary Karr (1995)
5. American Pastoral, Philip Roth (1997)
6. Mystic River, Dennis Lehane (2001)
7. Maus, Art Spiegelman (1986/1991)*
8. Selected Stories, Alice Munro (1996)
9. Cold Mountain, Charles Frazier (1997)
10. The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle, Haruki Murakami (1997)
11. Into Thin Air, Jon Krakauer (1997)
12. Blindness, José Saramago
13. Watchmen, Alan Moore and Dave Gibbons (1986-87)
14. Black Water, Joyce Carol Oates (1992)
15. A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius, Dave Eggers (2000)
16. The Handmaid’s Tale, Margaret Atwood (1986)
17. Love in the Time of Cholera, Gabriel García Márquez*
18. Rabbit at Rest, John Updike (1990) - hated all Rabbit books
19. On Beauty, Zadie Smith (2005)
20. Bridget Jones’s Diary, Helen Fielding
21. On Writing, Stephen King (2000)
22. The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao, Junot Díaz (2007)
23. The Ghost Road, Pat Barker (1996)
24. Lonesome Dove, Larry McMurtry (1985)
25. The Joy Luck Club, Amy Tan (1989)
26. Neuromancer, William Gibson (1984)
27. Possession, A.S. Byatt (1990)
28. Naked, David Sedaris (1997)
29. Bel Canto, Anne Patchett (2001)
30. Case Histories, Kate Atkinson (2004)
31. The Things They Carried, Tim O’Brien (1990)*
32. Parting the Waters, Taylor Branch
33. The Year of Magical Thinking, Joan Didion (2005)
34. The Lovely Bones, Alice Sebold (2002) - most fucking hated novel of all time. Did I mention I fucking hate this novel? The only other novel I hate as much as this is "The Crimson Petal and The White"
35. The Line of Beauty, Alan Hollinghurst (2004)
36. Angela’s Ashes, Frank McCourt (1996)
37. Persepolis, Marjane Satrapi (2003)
38. Birds of America, Lorrie Moore
39. Interpreter of Maladies, Jhumpa Lahiri (2000)
40. His Dark Materials, Philip Pullman (1995-2000)
41. The House on Mango Street, Sandra Cisneros (1984)
42. LaBrava, Elmore Leonard (1983)
43. Borrowed Time, Paul Monette
44. Praying for Sheetrock, Melissa Fay Greene (1991)
45. Eva Luna, Isabel Allende
46. Sandman, Neil Gaiman (1988-1996)
47. World’s Fair, E.L. Doctorow (1985)
48. The Poisonwood Bible, Barbara Kingsolver
49. Clockers, Richard Price (1992)
50. The Corrections, Jonathan Franzen (2001)
51. The Journalist and the Murderer, Janet Malcom (1990)
52. Waiting to Exhale, Terry McMillan (1992)
53. The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay, Michael Chabon (2000)
54. Jimmy Corrigan, Chris Ware (2000)
55. The Glass Castle, Jeannette Walls (2006) - own it
56. The Night Manager, John le Carré (1993)
57. The Bonfire of the Vanities, Tom Wolfe (1987)
58. Drop City, TC Boyle (2003)
59. Krik? Krak! Edwidge Danticat (1995)
60. Nickel & Dimed, Barbara Ehrenreich (2001)
61. Money, Martin Amis (1985)
62. Last Train To Memphis, Peter Guralnick (1994)
63. Pastoralia, George Saunders (2000)
64. Underworld, Don DeLillo (1997)
65. The Giver, Lois Lowry (1993)
66. A Supposedly Fun Thing I’ll Never Do Again, David Foster Wallace (1997)
67. The Kite Runner, Khaled Hosseini (2003)
68. Fun Home, Alison Bechdel (2006)
69. Secret History, Donna Tartt (1992)
70. Cloud Atlas, David Mitchell (2004)
71. The Spirit Catches You and You Fall Down, Ann Fadiman (1997)
72. The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time, Mark Haddon (2003)
73. A Prayer for Owen Meany, John Irving (1989)* - Irving is always a fun read, even though he makes everything way too tidy
74. Friday Night Lights, H.G. Bissinger (1990)
75. Cathedral, Raymond Carver (1983)
76. A Sight for Sore Eyes, Ruth Rendell
77. The Remains of the Day, Kazuo Ishiguro (1989)
78. Eat, Pray, Love, Elizabeth Gilbert (2006)
79. The Tipping Point, Malcolm Gladwell (2000)
80. Bright Lights, Big City, Jay McInerney (1984)
81. Backlash, Susan Faludi (1991)
82. Atonement, Ian McEwan (2002)
83. The Stone Diaries, Carol Shields (1994) - own it
84. Holes, Louis Sachar
85. Gilead, Marilynne Robinson (2004)
86. And the Band Played On, Randy Shilts (1987)
87. The Ruins, Scott Smith (2006)
88. High Fidelity, Nick Hornby (1995)
89. Close Range, Annie Proulx (1999)
90. Comfort Me With Apples, Ruth Reichl (2001)
91. Random Family, Adrian Nicole LeBlanc (2003)
92. Presumed Innocent, Scott Turow (1987)
93. A Thousand Acres, Jane Smiley (1991)
94. Fast Food Nation, Eric Schlosser (2001)
95. Kaaterskill Falls, Allegra Goodman
96. The Da Vinci Code, Dan Brown (2003)
97. Jesus’ Son, Denis Johnson (1992)
98. The Predators’ Ball, Connie Bruck
99. Practical Magic, Alice Hoffman (1995)
100. America (the Book), Jon Stewart/Daily Show (2004)

Some peoples' children

Moon got to have a friend sleep over to celebrate his birthday. He chose M., the annoying one (okay, all of his friends annoy me, but this one is extra annoying). The evening went like this:
6:00 - M.'s mom returns my children, who have spent the last four hours at her house, and drops off M. with his sleeping bag and essentials for the evening.

6:05 - Moon shows off the huge quantity of snacks that were purchased for consumption at his sleepover. He has: Oreos, M & M cookies, Cheetos Puffs, Cheez-its, Tostitos, and lots of soda.

6:06 - M. declares he won't be having any snacks because we didn't buy anything that he likes.

6:10 - I ask M. if he likes Pizza, since the snacks were a total strike-out. He declares his love for pizza. So long as its cheese or pepperoni, and tastes just like the kind that he likes. When prodded for specifics, he says that he only likes Costco pizza.

6:11 - All three boys sit on love seat and play gameboy. Individual gameboys. Without looking at each other, talking, or interacting in any way. It appears to be big fun.

6:40 - Non Costco pizza arrives. When offered a soda, M. declares his hatred for every kind that we have. When offered milk or water, M. informs us of his "problem" with dairy, and requests orange juice (which we don't have). M. ends up with a glass of water.

6:45 - M. picks all pepperoni off pizza and stacks in a pile. Then makes a pile of cheese. M. likes to eat his pizza ingredients in seperate portions.

6:55 - Dessert is offered. M. wants ice cream, despite his dairy "problem." Informs us that dairy just makes it hard to poop. Opts for vanilla ice cream, because he doesn't like the kinds that we have.

7:00 - The video gaming begins. M. decides that he must kneel on the ottoman in order to play. When I suggest that the boys remove some of their stuff from the ottoman to make room, M. informs me that it's okay, his house is every bit as messy as ours, so he's used to it.

10:00 - D. suggests that Peanut be allowed a turn at the video game, as he has waited patiently for THREE HOURS. M. assures us that Peanut doesn't need a turn, as he can play the game any time he wants.

10:30 - I retire to my room to nurse The Baby, so as not to traumatize M. with the appearance of my freakishly massive jugs.

10:35 - M. barges into the room where I'm nursing and says, "Excuse me, I understand you have the trays to make popscicles. Could you make me some. My mom makes them all the time and I really like them. If you make them now they would be ready in time for me to eat them tomorrow before I go home. They're good with orange juice, but since you don't have any, you could at least try to make them with rootbeer." I reply, "No."

11:00 - The boys are told to turn off the games, brush their teeth, and go to bed.

11:55 - The boys finally spread out their sleeping bags and lay down.

12:00 - Peanut complains that M. has his comforter from his bed and won't give it back. M. yells that we should explain to Peanut that he needs the comforter for padding under his sleeping bag and Peanut should just go without.

12:01 a.m. - We make M. give Peanut his comforter back.

5:45 - M. is wide awake.

6:00 - M. wakes Moon up so they can play gameboy.

6:01 - I tell the boys there's no way in Hell they're getting up this early or playing video games and force them to go back to sleep.

8:00 - The boys are all up for the day with nowhere near enough sleep. Video gaming commences.

8:30 - M. barges in on me while nursing (again), and says, "Um, excuse me, my mom is going to be here in a little while, and I'm pretty hungry. Can you get up and make me some breakfast?" I say, "You're nine. Make your own breakfast."

9:00 - D. gets up and cooks homemade waffles for the boys. M. says, "Um, excuse me, can you please heat up my syrup?" D. says, "We don't do that here."

10:00 - M.'s mother arrives to pick him up. We tell her that M. is a joy, and we're glad to have him any time. They leave, then we breathe a sigh of relief, compare notes on the audacity of other peoples' children, and vow to never do this again.

10:01 - I realize that my children were at M.'s house for four hours the day before, and Peanut uses the word "Anus" in every sentence as noun, verb & adjective. And he throws in the occasional "penis, fart, butt, poop," as needed. I remember that M.'s mom gave my children snacks. And realize that Peanut announces he is finished with a food by gagging on it until he nearly vomits (or actually vomits), and spits the food in the garbage can. I remember that if he's not allowed to regurgitate his last bite in a garbage can, he will throw-up on the table.

10:02 - I remember something about glass houses and stones.

10:03 - I congratulate myself on the fact that Moon is a really nice kid.

Breaking up is hard to do (even with caller ID)

Now that school is out, I'm not ambushed daily by the Pushy European (P-Eu). However, she still has my phone number. And my cell phone number. After avoiding her for two weeks, I made the mistake of answering the phone three days after The Baby was born. It was P-Eu, of course, inviting Peanut over to her house for a play date. Knowing that Peanut had his nose out of joint about The Baby, I figured some time away would do him good. P-Eu even kindly offered to pick him up and bring him home so I wouldn't have to leave the house.

She showed up an hour late as usual. P-Eu Jr. climbed up her skirt and showed everyone her thong-clad Euro-ass. And then she tried to leave with my kid. In her tiny red convertible Euro-car. The one that has no seatbelts.

When I looked out the window and saw them climbing into the car of death, I waddled my postpartum self outside to stop them from leaving.

Me: Uh, wait, does that car have seatbelts?
P-Eu: Oh, no, it doesn't. Are you not okay with that?
Me: Um, no, not really.
P-Eu: Oh, well how about I have him ride in the front seat, it has a seatbelt.
Me: Hm. Well, he's not really supposed to ride in the front seat, either. No, I'm sorry, he just can't do that.

Seeing Peanut's face fall, I volunteered, three days postpartum, to follow P-Eu in my car and drop Peanut off at her house, even though driving was very uncomfortable for my crotch (yeah, I said crotch, deal with it).

I dropped him off, came home, and was pissed. I bitched to anyone who would listen about how that crazy P-Eu wanted to drive my child around in her death car. I badmouthed her mothering skills and her inability to follow the laws of this, our beautiful nation, as if I have room to criticize anyone. And I vowed to break up with P-Eu.

But, I didn't plan to actually tell her I'm dumping her. No, I prefer to take the passive aggressive route and just avoid her calls. She must have been embarrassed by the car incident, because she didn't call for an entire week. And when her name started showing up on the caller ID again, I didn't answer the phone. Problem solved.

Then the bitch got wily.

She called from her cell phone. And D. was home from work and didn't know any better, since her name doesn't show up when she calls from her cell. D. answered the phone and BAM!, my break-up plan was ruined.

I was even feeling a little weak, and considering letting Peanut have a play date with P-Eu Jr. After all, he's a nice kid. He can't be blamed for his mother's hyper-aggressiveness and complete lack of consideration for other people. Sure, a play date would probably be fine.

Except, P-Eu wanted a play date that day. When I told her no-go, we had plans to go to the library, she asked if I could take P-Eu Jr. with us. See, she wanted to attend a class, and if she couldn't find someone to take P-Eu Jr. she would have to hire a babysitter.

11 days postpartum, with three kids and a sore crotch (yeah, I said it again), P-Eu asked me to babysit. That takes some serious Euro-balls.

I am so totally breaking up with her.