The things we do for vanity.

So you recall my earlier post about laser hair removal? And how I was all, "Oh, it's nothing! Totally easy! Pain free! I could do it while eating grapes and being fanned by John Stamos!" Yeah. I take it all back.

Stop reading now if you don't want to know about body hair. Specifically, mine. I warned you.

I recently decided to go all Chelsea Handler on my body and basically remove it all. You've already read about my first bikini appointment, and I started the underarm area the other day. Since my appointment this time was during my lunch hour, I couldn't appropriately self-medicate myself as I did in my first.

HOLY HELL IT HURT LIKE A MOTHERTRUCKER.

I've experienced the joy of a bikini wax no less than 40 times in my life (about 4 times a year since I was 18). I've also had a baby sliced from my uterus, and prior to that lived through nearly 24 hours of labor. You would think that both of these fine examples, plus the countless times I've done stupid things like running into walls or accidentally stabbing myself with Wustof kitchen knives would have prepared me for a silly little laser beam Star Wars-ing its way into my armpit.

I assure you, this is not the case.

I honestly don't know how I will make it through five more sessions on the pits, and four more on the bikini. Well, yes, I do. I won't be scheduling any more during my lunch hour, that's for damn sure. I will also add tequila to my rotation and possibly convince my doctor to prescribe Xanax. Momma needs.


Anyway, I have no idea where I was going with this post, other than to appropriately warn you that it friggin' hurts. And also? Self-medication is the way to go. 

You know, I have one simple request. And that is to have sharks with frickin' laser beams attached to their heads! Now evidently my cycloptic colleague informs me that that cannot be done.

Anyway, I promise I have a point here. As many a true drama queen would say...YOU GUISE! I HAVE BIG NEWS!

I recently took a big step in the world of being a grown up and also doing things I am afraid of and had my very first laser hair removal appointment. You know...down there.

Yes! I did it! And GUESS WHAT? It was fantastical! I saw ponies! And unicorns! And things on sale at MAC! (Ok, that never happens, but still. You see my point.)

I can't believe I didn't do this sooner. It will take 6 treatments to be totally swimsuit ready, but I seriously cannot wait. I will never have to have another godforsaken bikini wax ever in my entire life. Aaaand, I can take all of the people who ever gave me a bikini wax off my hit list and burn their voodoo dolls--it seems so cleansing! Why did I wait until I was freaking twenty freaking nine? Ugh. I will probably also feel the same way about Lasik once I am brave enough to do that. But baby steps, here.

In related news, I should also profess that I cannot be held responsible if you try this treatment and feel vast amounts of pain. I may or may not have consumed one of Joey's Tylenol 3s leftover from his shoulder surgery prior to being zapped with the laser. I plead the fifth.

A healthy colon is a happy colon.

This morning for breakfast I had 3 cups of coffee and a Fiber One Bar.

You do the math on what that did to my insides.

Like A Jock Strap, Only Better.

Day 3 of the wean (And by 'wean' I do mean 'cold turkey.' Just wanted an excuse to say 'wean') is going shockingly well. My last official pump was Sunday morning around 1:30 a.m. and I'm now to the point where I can actually think about touching my boobs (not like in a perverted way, you sicko) without vomiting.

I've received and openly taken all the advice from women who've lived through this, and it seems that much like labor and delivery, everyone has a different story...but EVERYONE experienced pain on some scale.

And by pain, I mean that you want to saw your boobs off with anything sharper than a rusty spoon while OD-ing on Tylenol 3 washed down with a vat of Pinot Grigio from Costco. Yeah, it's that bad. But, it's better than the alternative, which is evil, evil pumping.

The best advice I got was to wrap yourself up like a present and to not do anything to "stimulate" your boobs, otherwise they will keep making milk. This includes holding Alex close to my chest, because just that little bit of contact triggers my hormones to "let down" milk. (Who invented that phrase, "let down" re: milk? It's gross.) Suffice it to say I'm rockin' 2 sports bras and the boppy has become my "breast" friend (hahaha I kill myself) when it comes to feeding the little man.

The night feedings are SO much better, because instead of changing him, heating the bmilk from the fridge, feeding him, burping him, getting him back to sleep, washing the bottle, washing the pumping equipment, pumping for 15 minutes, slathering lanolin, repadding the bra and getting the bmilk into bottles/fridge, it's just a simple change, feed, burp, sleep. Gloooorious.

I'm unsure as to how long it will take my moo moo juice to dry up. I googled it and for some women it's a few days, others a few months. Let's hope I'm on the days plan.

Also - Obama? It was very uncool to interrupt ellen yesterday for your silly Supreme Court nomination. It wasn't anything I couldn't catch on CNN later today. Sheesh.

Cold Turkey.

I'm taking Alex off the boob. I have to, or I will die.

No joke, if I have to put those plastic little death shields up to my nips again, I will off myself. Violently.

Quick update for those not in the know, or are just tuning in: I think breastfeeding is the grossest, most disgusting thing on the earth. As payback for this, God decided to give me the pick of the litter that refuses to latch on. Please note that I DID try...very, very hard and often times to the point of tears. So, in an effort to give Alex "breast is best," I've been pumping out the milky goodness and feeding him via bottle.

The pump 'n feed is ridiculous and takes twice as long and sucks extra hard because after you've spent the time pumping, you STILL have to feed le child and THEN wash everything! Not that I'm complaining that doing this all for Alex was difficult or not worth it; I would cross an ocean with nothing but arm floaties and leaky goggles for him. But add in the sleep deprivation and the pain of the pump and it's a recipe for disaster.

I've done my research and consulted with our pediatrician, who has no qualms about it. Formula is pretty awesome these days...and let's face it, neither Joe nor I were breast fed at all. Like, not even a drop of colostrum. Zip. Zero. Zilcho. And we turned out alright, right?

Is It Just Me...

...or are all of the most disgusting words in the English language associated with pregnancy? This is probably a little bit of a TMI post, but I think it's necessary to get it out in the open.

Think about it: ovary, fundal/fundus, uterus, discharge, cervix, placenta, sperm, vagina, mucous, fetus...I could literally go for days. They're just gross words. Ew. Ew. Ew.

Speaking of things I think are gross, a friend recently shared this article on breastfeeding with me. It's a little long, but totally worth the read. One of my faves so far.

In related news, and forgive me if I've already blogged about any of this...I can't even remember what I had for breakfast this morning, but we are totally, 100% ready for WIP. I packed my bags for the hospital, so that milestone is behind me. All of WIP's clothes, bedding and blankets are washed and ready for him. Joey spent the weekend refinishing the tub/shower so we can play with him for hours in the bathtub. The carseat bases are installed. We bought batteries for all the crazy baby things that require them. (Rechargeable, nonetheless. You're welcome, Earth.) I mailed in my pre-registration forms for the hospital. I have all the necessary *cough*breastfeeding*cough* accoutrements. And, above all, I'm most happy to report that we visited Pediatrician candidate #4 last night and are SO happy with him/the practice. Winner, winner, chicken dinner, indeed.

So now we just wait. Hopefully, not too long!

Oh No She Didn't.

Today I went Mom2Momming with Keliann and Emily. 'Twas a 70+ table sale with no strollers allowed before 11 am. (Woot!) And how excited was I when I found THE table - perhaps even the table to end all tables? Very. The mom manning said table had (at least) a 3 carat rock on her hand and justsohappened to have all boy stuff! Polo, Tommy, you name it...she had it. And, it seemed that all the sizes were in the right season. JACKPOT!

After the M2M extravaganza (where we were all very, very successful), we grabbed lunch and continued on a quest to get me some nursing bras.

STOP READING NOW IF YOU ARE MALE AND RELATED TO ME, OR DISGUSTED BY TMI OF BOOBAGE, IN GENERAL.

I continue...

To set the stage, we were at Motherhood at Lakeside Mall. After being enthusiastically stalked by a staff of far too upbeat sales associates, we managed to sneak into a dressing room to try on the goods. I knew I wanted a sleeping bra, a few tanks and 1 "real" bra...you know, for those rare occasions where I will exit the home premises and don some non-100% cotton clothing for a social evening out on the town.

I managed to find 2 "real" bras, 1 sleeping bra and 2 tanks that I was relatively happy with. And BONUS! The sleeping bra that felt most comfortable to me just so happened to be a size SMALL. A SMALL!!! The last time I even looked at anything in a size small was...gosh, I can't even remember.

Off we trotted to the checkout, where we were once again greeted by an overwhelmingly cheerful sales associate.

No, I'm not interested in your credit card college savings program. No, I don't want to subscribe to Grandparents' Magazine. No, I'm not interested in ANY of the "free" crap you are offering me. Just freakin' ring my stuff up so I can take my non-returnable, non-refundable items that I wish were from Victoria's Secret instead of this crappy store and get the eff out of here.

After offering me everything but the kitchen sink, she finally got around to ringing up my actual purchases. Here's the part where she almost dies...

"M'am, are you sure that you want to buy the sleeping bra in the small?"

"Yes, I am sure." Why in the hell would I have put it on the counter if I wasn't?

"Well, I think you should reconsider the medium because your boobs will increase an entire cup size once your milk comes in." Gives me judging glance as if to say, "You're seriously not a small, lady."

"The small was comfortable. I will get the one I gave you, thank you."

She goes on to tell me with a smile about how awful breastfeeding is because you've got "milk squirtin' all over the place" and how "it just hurts" and she was "so glad she never had to do it again" and on and on and on and on...

Seriously lady? How did you get this job?

I could have strangled her. But I didn't.

I signed my receipt, grabbed my overpriced, non-refundable, non-returnable size SMALL bra and hightailed it on out of there.

I think in the world of friendliness, I'm really gaining ground, don't you?

Oh, The Horror!

Upon seeing the horrible fate that most of my female relatives wished upon me in the "Guess WIP's Birthday" game, I decided to send them a little nastygram thanking them for their "well-wishes" for a 2 week overdue baby the size of a THREE MONTH old. In return, they decided to share their birth stories with me.

My cousin, Debbi: Oldest (Ryan) due June 21. By July 4, she sat through several firework shows hoping they would jar him out, but to no avail. They induced him on the 5th. Her second (Justin), was induced on his due date...and thankfully he wasn't the 11 lbs. they thought.

My cousin, Jeannie: Oldest (Sammy) was 1 week late. She spent 43 hours in labor only to have a C-section, delivering a 10 lb. 4 oz. baby (OMG). Her second (Jimmy) was breach, so she again had a C-section two weeks early and he was STILL almost 9 lbs.

To be fair, it was these two that correctly predicted the cankles, so I have to believe our genes are that strong, and that my birth story will be as they say. I'm so, so screwed.

Feel free to share your birth story (if you have one) in the comment section. Especially if you had a 7 lb. baby 2 weeks early. Give me hope!

Oh. My. God.

Right at this very moment I am sitting at our kitchen table diligently writing shower thank you notes while my devilishly handsome hubby prepares a mexi-fab dinner in the kitchen.

That's odd...my shirt feels wet.

Touch, touch. Feel, feel.

HOLY CRAP MY RIGHT BOOB JUST LEAKED SOMETHING. I am going to vomit all over myself in about thirty seconds. Did I not just write about boob leakage in today's HDBD post? And you already know how disgusting I think boobs are. Sick-ah-ning.

I am now going to shower and wrap myself in absorbent gauze.

Boobies 101.

Ew. Ew. Ew. Ew. Ew. It's taking everything I have in me to type this post, but I must. It's too gross and funny not to.

Sooooo, I was at a super fun party on Saturday evening with some friends. As Joe and I were preparing to vamoose ('cause the pregnant girl is always the first to pull a Batman) the ladies and I started chatting it up about babies and all things baby-related. Note: I am the only PG one of the bunch...they all have children, mostly semi-grown...and by semi-grown I mean the average age is like 5.

Anyway, one of them asked me if I was going to try breastfeeding. My least favorite question, hands down. My standard response for every time I get asked this question is, "Well, I'm going to give it a whirl. If it works, it works. If not, that's why God invented Similac."

I swear I'm not bitter about it - I have just never, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever had a woman share with me a life-changingly awesome story of breastfeeding. Sure, they all admit it's "best for baby" and "such a great way to connect with your baby" but ALL of them had problems and horror stories to boot. Even my own mother had the worst time...bleeding, cracking, etc.

So tell me again why this is supposed to sound appealing to me? Quite frankly, it doesn't. Like, at all. And, to add insult to injury, I HATE boobs. Like, they are so gross. Nipples, too. Ewwwwww. Almost can't even type that word.

Back to the story...as I was getting tips and tricks from the ladies regarding pumping (ew) and I reiterated to them how gross I think the whole idea/process is. Then, one went into detail about how when you are pumping (ew), your nipple (ew) gets all stretchy and you can watch it going "in and out" of the machine (OMG triple, quadruple ew).

I literally cannot stomach this.

Continuing on...I was sharing this story with Kelli (sister) on Sunday morning. She shares my general feelings about boobies so we were having a good laugh as I reenacted it to the best of my Tony-winning abilities and laughed about how weird "Milking Machines" are. Yes. She's 29 and refers to breast pumps as "milking machines." I adore her.

She goes on to tell me about these things called "Wet Nurses." OH. MY. SWEET. JESUS. Have you HEARD of these things? Apparently they are women who nurse OTHER PEOPLE'S BABIES. AAAAhhhhhhhhhhh. Thinking about it makes me vomit in my mouth a little.

And since I don't want to do that, you can read more about these women here. I have to stop typing about this before I hyperventilate.

Margaret Thatcher naked on a cold day...Margaret Thatcher naked on a cold day...