How I'm becoming happier by not caring

I've been trying to write a post about my mother for the last two days, but that's just not happening. So sorry, guess I won't be linking up with Let's Talk this month.

I've been thinking about who I am lately. I want to be the girl who doesn't care what anyone thinks. I'm not that girl, not by a long shot. Always in the back of my head, I'm thinking two thoughts: Please don't be mad at me. Please love me.

But I am making progress. I am learning what makes me happy, and what I don't have time to dwell on. I think I realized this when I tried to start writing about my mother. And I didn't really have anything to say.

I haven't spoken to her since Christmas. She didn't even send a card for Bug's birthday.  And I don't care, because it took trying to write a blog post about her to even realize that she wasn't calling me, and I wasn't calling her.

I don't wish her ill, so I hope she's ok. I just don't have time to worry about it. I wish we had a better relationship, but we don't.

I'm also starting to not care what anyone thinks about my parenting skills (or lack thereof). I'm a yeller. I get it. I have tried not to yell, I have told the children that I don't want to yell, but there are sometimes moments when I feel like they are not hearing me unless I raise my voice. I wish they listened the first time, but that doesn't always happen.  So you might hear me yell. Don't like it? Maybe you should take them for the afternoon and tell me what the secret is. Have fun.

I will say that I am a much better parent when I'm only with one of them. A neighbor caught me walking through Target as I was in a deep conversation with BK about the best Pokemon cards. I felt like mom of the year. It's the little things.

And I'm finally starting to not care about what people think of me at work. This is a hard one, because I have to see these people every day. And it's also hard, because some of those people think they're still in high school, and they'll friend or defriend you at the drop of a hat. But then I starting thinking, how awkward is it for these same people to decide that they need something from me after all and try to friend me again? I think it's kind of funny when I get a friend request, and I know we were friends last month, because I saw the photos of your parakeet that you insist on posting every 20 minutes (FYI-- we're at work. You sit 20 feet away from me. You are not with the damn bird right now, so stop posting pictures, acting like you're feeding him a treat right now).

And by the way, I might have friended you again, but I'm still in charge of the vacation calendar and you still can't have Christmas off, so I guess I'll be unfriended again next week.

So, those are the three things that I'm trying not to care about, at least not this week. What do you not care about?

Why I'm shopping for a new dentist

Ugh. I have dental issues.

I've been toying with the idea of getting braces for awhile now. I've always had relatively straight teeth, but then after I got pregnant, something funky happened. Now one of my front teeth pokes way out compared to other one. My son is constantly telling me that I have a loose tooth (I guess he thinks it's about to fall out???). Please don't take a close up picture of my smile.

So, I went to the dentist and said I wanted braces. They said they would be happy to take my money, but I needed to go to the periodontist first. I have bad gums, and it would be silly to spend a thousand dollars on straight teeth when they're going fall out of my bad gum head anyway.

So, I made an appointment with the periodontist. But then, I was eating a breakfast burrito, of all things, and I broke a tooth. Son of a--! So, I had to go to the dentist for a consult, and they recommended a crown. They said I could come in a month later, on the same same day as my periodontist appointment, and I could do everything all at once. My out of pocket would be $269.  Ugh. More than I care to give the dentist, but it couldn't be helped. And I was happy that I could do everything all at once.

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A month went by. Then dentist called me yesterday, to confirm my appointment today. "I'll be there," I said. "What's my out of pocket again?"

The answer: $950.

Excuse me? That's total, right? Not my out of pocket?

Nope. My share was $950. And I have really good insurance.

I told the person on the phone that I was told the amount would be less than $300, is there a mistake?

No mistake. Please pay $950 at the door.

It's highway robbery to expect me to pay $950 on a tooth that you can't see and doesn't hurt. I cancelled the appointment for the crown and said that I would just go to the periodontist appointment.

"No, we cancelled that appointment so we could get your crown in. We have you listed on call in case there was time in his schedule, but he's booked pretty solid."

More yelling on my part, but there wasn't anything that could be done. I asked for the next available appointment with the periodontist.

July.

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I told them they've lost their minds and hung up.

But at least I don't have to take a Xanax today.

Go Fund Yourself

I usually write a recap of my weekend or week on Mondays, but I've been sick all week and I'm really not feeling it. Instead, I'm going to talk about Go Fund Me.

For those who don't know, Go Fund Me is a website that will post your request for charity, you share the story with family and friends, and Go Fund Me will accept donations on your behalf. For this service, Go Fund Me charges 7.9% of the total funds collected, plus an additional 30 cents per donation.

I can see how this would be useful in life. I knew a couple who tragically died in a car accident last year, leaving behind three children. A Go Fund Me account was established, and I donated. I could also see its use if a house was demolished in a fire or hurricane, some kind of natural disaster that was unavoidable.

But I have a problem with people asking for money to help finance their own life choices. The girl who wants to go to Brazil for her 30th birthday. The guy who wants to get his fiancee the engagement ring of her dreams. The couple who wants to adopt a baby from China.

(note that I have nothing against adopting a baby from China, but if you can't afford it on your own, perhaps you should make another plan)

I don't know, I just feel like this is a cop out. If you want something, work for it. I am discouraged by this mentality people have these days that people will give them whatever they want if they just ask for it. I don't understand why people can't just work for what they want, and be happy with what they have, instead of asking for more.

I wanted a nice engagement ring, but it was more important to find a nice guy. 

I wanted to a adopt a baby, and it was free to adopt a child who needed a family from my my own county (actually, I get a check every month-- email me if you have adoption in your heart and I can give you details). 

 The Agent told me when we got married that he wanted 6 kids. We only have two because kids are expensive. I would not ask anyone to financially support my decision to have more children (plus, they're exhausting. I couldn't handle a third child).

No, I didn't go to Brazil for my 30th birthday. I stayed home and had a house party with my friends. And it was awesome, and mostly free.

February recap and goals for march

1. Lose 5 pounds. On February 1st, I was 239.9. One March 1st. I weighed 238.9. Only one pound. Sad face.

2. Read 3 more books. Another good reading month! I read 4 books in February:

Long Time Coming by Edie Claire. This one was ok. Not spectacular, but not terrible. The writing was pretty good, but I'm not one who enjoys the paranormal. I had guessed a couple of plot twists way before they were revealed, but there was at least one that took me by surprise.

The New Girl by Tracie Puckett. I did not like this book at all. Like not even a little bit. Forget the fact that it was incredibly short-- the first three or even four books of this series could be combined to make one decent sized book. But the message was very discouraging. A minor who falls in love with her teacher? And the teacher has feelings in return? Why is this man not in jail? Nothing actually happens, but still... not an appropriate message. I'm glad it was free.

A Family Affair by Mary Campisi. I can't remember why I started reading this book. Maybe it was free? That's usually how I come across authors I've never read before. This one was moderately entertaining. A very wealthy man dies unexpectedly, and his rich family learns that he had a second entirely different family, one that accepted that they could only spend 4 days a month with this man.. The question became: who was his real family? Who held his heart?

This book was good enough that I purchased the second book in the series. It wasn't as good, but it continues to follow the path of the two families as their lives intersect. It's called A Family Affair: Spring. 

3. Design and make cute Valentines for the kids to pass out. Done! I pulled a free printable off of Pinterest and made these cute ring pop valentines for BK:

Bug was a bit harder, but we designed hers ourselves and she stuck two Hershey Kisses to the back:

4. Throw a fabulous party for Bug. This was a success! I need to do a recap of it, but here's a pic of the girls, as they were getting ready to watch a movie. They had thought all of them could fit on the air mattress at once, but it wasn't comfortable, so they ended up ditching the mattress and all sleeping on the floor in a mass of blankets, pillows, stuffed animals, and girls. Good times.

Now on to March Madness!

End Basketball and start baseball. The last basketball game is March 5th, and opening day of baseball is a week later. This is easy enough.

Lose 5 more pounds. You would not think it would be so hard to lose 5 pounds.

Read 3 more books. Suggestions?

Donate 4 bags of "stuff." I probably can donate more, but I'm going to start out small. I'm just hoping that by donating 4 bags of stuff, I can get slightly more organized.

Go to the library. You would not think I would need to make this a goal, but there simply aren't enough hours in the day. Maybe if I make it a goal, we'll actually go.

Have an awesome Spring Break! The babies have two weeks off, and I'll be spending one of those weeks home with them. Any ideas to make it awesome?

A Baby Story

(This is a repost. Enjoy it!)

Large and in charge

March 1, 2006.… I was large and in charge, my friends. I was 5 days past my due date and was ready for this child to come out NOW. Of course, Bug had other plans and had set up permanent shop. I wasn’t even having contractions, wasn't even dialated. Rats.

I went to my scheduled OBGYN appointment on Wednesday, March 1. I knew they were going to decide at that appointment whether to let me keep cooking or to schedule a day and time to be induced. Frankly, I was hoping to be induced. I liked the control that it gave me. I had fears of my water breaking while standing in line at the bank. Not a pretty sight.

My appointment was at 11 am. The Agent came with me. We were going to go to this appointment, and then get something to eat, since I was always hungry. I could almost taste the French dip sandwich already.

At the appointment, they hooked me up to a machine so they could check my levels of amniotic fluids, and I was supposed to sit there and tell them how many times the baby kicked during the test.

There wasn’t any amniotic fluid in there. None at all.

And Bug wasn’t kicking.

“When the last time you felt your baby move?” the nurse asked.

I had to really think. She was so big, she didn’t move much by then, and when she did, it was at night. Plus, she had been kicking for so many months, that I barely noticed it anymore. I wasn’t positive that I had felt her at all that day.

I told the nurse as much, and she ran to get the doctor. My doctor was with a patient, so another doctor came instead. He looked at the pictures of the non-existent amniotic fluid  and said, “We need to get the baby out today. I’m calling an ambulance to take you to the hospital.”

I started to panic a little. Taking an ambulance was not part of what I imagined. No one I knew needed to take an ambulance when they had their baby. “Can’t my husband take me?” I whimpered.

“You need to go right now,” the doctor said flatly. “you need to take an ambulance.”

That was enough to start me crying. Something was seriously wrong. I was freaking out.

“You need to calm down!” the doctor ordered. “You’re going to lose the baby if you don’t calm down.”

Yeah, right. Tell someone they’re going to lose their baby if they don’t calm down, and see how calm they get. Ass.

But I did my best to relax as the paramedics came and strapped me to the gurney. Then I had the frightening ride in the ambulance, alone, because The Agent had to follow with the car.

(Poor Agent. I don’t know what he was thinking, but his mind must have been racing. Or at least the car was racing. He beat me to the hospital, and was pacing the room when I was wheeled in.)

Thank goodness, the hospital staff was more encouraging. They said the baby was fine, but they agreed that she needed to come out today. I was given Picotin. By 3 pm, I was starting to feel my first contractions.

I started inquiring about an epidural. The pain wasn’t overwhelming, but I didn’t want to wait until I was beyond my threshold before I got some relief. "You still have a ways to go,” the nurse said. “Your contractions aren’t even registering yet.”

Ugh. They hurt this bad and they’re not even registering yet? I must be the wimpiest person ever.

I suffered through increasing pain for almost three hours. Each time a nurse came in, I’d ask for something. “It’s still early,” the nurses would say, “Induced labor could take 24 hours or more.”

God bless The Agent. “Can someone at least check her?” he pleaded. Thank God he said that. They sent in a doctor to check me, and it turned out the band that they put over my belly to measure my contractions was out of whack, and not registering. They put a new band on me and suddenly the readout looked like there had been a 6.9 earthquake in my belly.

Friggin’ incompetents.

I got my epidural at 6 pm. Heaven. Life was good again.

I was starting to get uncomfortable again around 8 pm, but the pain wasn’t bad right away, and I had American Idol playing on the tv, so that helped to keep me preoccupied. The Agent was getting antsy and nervous. He kept asking for the doctor. One of the nurses came in while I was watching tv. “All the nurses simply love him,” she said.

“Who? The doctor? Is he coming?” The Agent seemed more nervous than I was at this point.

The nurse laughed. “No, Chris Daughtry, on American Idol. We all think he’s just so cute.”

I thought this was hilarious. The Agent did not think it was very funny.

I was able to suffer through the pain until the end of American Idol, and then asked for more pain killing juice.

Nope, too late. It’s time to push.

Crap.

I took a deep breath and pushed with all my might, while the nurse counted to 10, just like on tv. Then I looked down between my legs. Where’s the baby?

She didn’t even budge.

It turns out I sucked at pushing. I gave it my all for two hours, each time the nurses saying, “One last big push and then your baby will be out.” Here’s what I have to say to nurses everywhere: DON’T LIE! If it’s going to take two hours to push out a baby, then don’t say it will only take one more push!

At 11 pm, the doctor was bored, I was exhausted and in pain, and the baby was showing signs of stress. “We need to get the baby out now,” the doctor said. “I’m going to have the operating room prepped for a cesarean.

Sounds good to me. Let’s get on it.

The doctor spent at least five minutes talking to me, about the risks and dangers involved, how I needed to sign something, The Agent needed to sign something, blah, blah, blah. I remember just laying there with my eyes closed, and I kept answering, “OK. OK.” That’s all I had the strength to say, but inside I was screaming at the doctor. “I HOPE YOU HAVE SOMEONE GETTING THAT ROOM READY FOR ME WHILE YOU'RE BLABBING AWAY! THIS BABY NEEDS TO GET OUT NOW!”

Then, the doctor left, and there were still four nurses around me. They told me to keep pushing while the room was getting ready. Fine. So I pushed some more. And some more. And some more.

And then one of the nurses said to The Agent, “Come here.”

The Agent didn’t want to leave my side. The doctor had told him to press down on my stomach to help the baby out, and he had been pushing hard on my stomach for the last two hours (so hard it left a mark… I didn’t even feel it). The Agent had a squimish stomach, he really didn’t want to see anything a nurse had to show him.

But The Agent went to the nurse, and she pointed between my legs.

The head was coming out.

The Agent was a changed man after that.

“Babe, she’s here! She’s here! Push her out! She’s right there!”

Oh my God, I wanted to smack him so bad. What does it LOOK like I’m doing?

But I didn’t have the strength to argue. I wanted to ask the nurses, “Hey, how’s it coming with that c-section?” but I didn’t have the energy. So, I just took a deep breath and pushed.

Ow. Owwwwwww.

The doctor came strolling in as the head came out, me wanting to scream and cry and swear like on tv, but I was too busy getting this person out of me to do any of that. “Oh, it looks like we won’t need that c-section, after all.”

You think?

The head was the hardest part, and the rest of her came out easy after that. At 11:38 pm, the doctor guided her out, and then said, “Wow, she’s pretty heavy, you’re going to have to hold her for a bit,” and all but dropped her on my stomach. But I didn’t care, I actually only know that from watching the video later. I was just so amazed.

“Look, Agent. I can’t believe I did that.”

The nurses and doctor couldn’t believe it, either. She was a really big baby.

Really Big.

Really REALLY big.

Are you ready for the number?

11 pounds, 3 ounces.

Me and Bug, the day we came home from the hospital

She didn’t break any records, but she was the biggest baby born that day. I'm so glad that I was able to deliver naturally. The pain of childbirth went away as soon as Bug was in my arms, and I don't think I would have been that lucky if I had to have a c-section. We knew she would be big-- I’m 5’10”, The Agent's 6’2”, I gained 76 pounds while I was pregnant, and I wasn’t diabetic-- but I never in my wildest dreams imagined she would be THAT big!

So now, my baby isn’t a baby anymore. She’s ten years old. TEN! Double digits!  She’s still a big girl, but she’ll always be my baby.

Now, if I can just do something about that sassy mouth of hers....