Urban Drool

So, folks...

I went to my stats today (which is odd becuase unlike someone who shall remain nameless but who just might happen to live with me and whose name might just rhyme with "the Toy," I never look at my stats because I don't give one pee-diddle about my stats) and saw that I have had around 1800 visits this month.

Which, when I went to check just now, was pretty comparable to the number of visits I have had every other month (it usually ranges between 1200-1900).

What struck me was that the "number of pages read" thingy for this month is over 17,000.

17,000 pages read.

When most months (as I learned today through some sleuthing) there are around 2,000-4,000 pages read.

17,000 pages read this month.

I did a closer search and saw that someone went through and read my entire blog. The whole thing. They did this between September 18 and September 24.

Huh. Now, I'm not sure if I'm really flattered or kind of paranoid and disturbed. See...aside from the Boy, my MIL and two very close girlfriends, absolutely no one in my "real" life knows where to find my blog. And I am a little wigged out that someone who knows me (or used to know me) has invaded my little corner of the universe.

So...I ask you dear readers, was it any of you all? If you are someone who has been reading me for awhile and comments every now and then and for some reason just decided one day to go ahead and re-read the whole blog...well...that's fine. I'm sure it was about as stimulating as a castrated rooster in a same-gender-oriented henhouse. But if it was someone who knows me and knows that I would not want them reading my blog and becuase they know this they are not making themselves known...then...to that I say: please stop.

Or at least email me or comment here and let me know.

Ok. That's it.

Guess what happens right after you write a post claiming that you are going to be writing more posts?

You get a head cold so icky and so mucus-filled that your ears are blocked up and you sneeze until you loose bladder control and the baby is sick too and you call off work and watch way, way too much Roseanne and Grace Under Fire on the O network.

...but the Scrubs-a-thon on Comedy Central was wunderbar. I do love me some Zach Braff.

Anyway.

Back at work.

Barely.

Thinking about writing.

Getting very, very excited about the MOST WONDERFUL TIME OF THE YEAR. (Hint? It's not Christmas)

The baby already has her own little witch's hat and orange and black and yellow and purple stripped leggings, is all I'm saying.

Later.

When I was pregnant and nearing the end of my 3rd Trimester I spent a lot of time fearing what the physical aftermath of labor and delivery and new parenthood would be like. I pictured torn up vaginas and swollen labias and cracked, painful nipples and such.

As we all know, the vagina remained happily intact due to the Pickle's exit from my body via the alternate trapdoor located downstage right. The nipples were indeed cracked (one still is!) and there were waves of nipple pain for several weeks until I became more or less numb to it, but the worst most definetly passed a long time ago.

What I did not foresee and what NOBODY TOLD ME ABOUT (not even Mya's Mommy, the secretive, back-stabbing wench) were:

1) the permanently screwed up/kinked up/tensed up/out of whack back issues

and

2) the complete inability to poop normally. Ever again, Amen.

Since about halfway through my pregnancy and continuing through this very day. (or in other words, FOR ABOUT THE PAST YEAR) I have not had a day go by where my back is not in moderate to severe pain. My shoulders and upper back are constantly riddled with spasm-ing muscles and/or visciously knotted muscles and/or tensed up muscles that never seem to relax. Moreover, the left side of my lower back is in a constant state of feeling as if a huge nerve is being pinched.

The combination results in me occasionally walking around as if I am an arthritic 90 year old crone.

And the poop? Can we please talk about poop for a minute? Um, I have no idea what connection exists between a 9 pound human being being squeezed and lifted from your sliced up uterus and not being able to have a normal bowel movement, but all I DO know is that since the Pickle was born, I have had either horrible constipation or horrible runs. I have intestinal cramping that nearly rivals some of my pitocin-tweaked labor pains. My delicate bits towards the back door area are irritated and even torn up and bleeding a bit from some of my more...um...enthusiastic attempts at emptying my lower intestines, shall we say?

I would like to point out here that my "infant" is now a 7 month old child. And these back and butt issues are just as viscious today as they were the week after she was born.

All I can say about this is .....the hell?

wwwhhhaaaa....?

There is no real reason for this post other than to randomly crank and moan and complain. Frankly, I have not felt "well" since May of 2005 and I am really tired of it. I would love one day, just one day where I wake up and for a full 24 hours I feel moderately well rested and no part of my body is in any type of pain.

I don't see this happening anytime soon, as I don't plan to wean my little Pickle until she is around 15 months old. I will have a bit of a break for about a year or so after that until I get back on Metformin (aka my own special freakishly effective laxative) and try for a second round.

...and with that, I wish you all a good weekend. Next week I hope to get back in the swing of things blogging-wise and maybe do some much-needed slamming of my in-laws. (EDITED TO SAY: Brother in law, not necessarily parent's-in-law) WON'T THAT BE FUN???

I found the link to this "quiz" via one of my lovely ladies to the right (read here: Leelo's Mom).

I thought it would be fun and good for a laugh (and indeed it was), but did not count on the fact that it would be oddly insightful.

Kinda. Sorta. To a limited extent, anyway.

Belief-O-Matic

For those interested in my results, I was deemed 100% Neo-Pagan AND 100% New-Age AND 84% Unitarian Universalist.

OK, so their math leaves something to be desired. It was still fun.


"It's not what you believe, it's that you do believe."

Cats found. All is well. Except that I am sure I grew more than a few gray hairs in the past 30 minutes.

One cat was outside, the other was in the bedroom, howling for the first one while sitting in the window.

Little Bastard #2's howls and a strategically used can of cat food lured Little Bastard #1 inside.



Assholes. Don't they know they cannot do this to us? For all that they drive us insane and are nosy, pesky, ungrateful little beasts, we adore them.

I am going to go home and kiss both of them.

Then I'm going to kill them for making me worry like this.

Thank you times a million to my Boy, whose quick thinking and cool head ensured that our little bastards are once more safe and sound.

Because I just didn't feel COMPLETELY and totally awful today, I just found out in the previous 6 minutes that

a) my two cats ran away

and

b) I did NOT get the fantastic job that I had a 2 1/2 hour interview for for VERY BIG AND IMPORTANT LAW FIRM, LLC.

Going to go sob in the Ladies room now...

I am floating around - I think my whole family is in some kind of transitional phase right now, and we have not yet landed. The Boy, the baby and I had to achieve a new normal when we first got home from the hospital, a new(er) normal when I returned to work, and we are now in the throes of yet another shift into another new(er) normal.

We ain't there yet.

And I am having a really tough time.

In truth, I feel bruised and beaten - greatly disheartened. For weeks now, I feel like everything I say and everything I do annoys/angers/embarreses/just plain pisses of my husband. The rolled eyes, exasperated sighs, stormy silences and outright bursts of anger are running rampant from him right now. It's as if I am a constantly misbehaving 5 year old and he is the unfortunate sod whose job it is to babysit and correct/chastise me.

In his eyes, I don't clean the house the "right" way: the way he does.

Ditto for feeding the baby.

and soothing the baby.

and shopping for household goods.

and dealing with trying to find a new job.

and speaking to him in public.

and just generally existing, so it seems.

All of these above things are done (by me) incorrectly.

Everything I do is met with irritation and indignation. I cannot remember the last time I received a completely unsolicited kind word from him. I cannot remember the last time we were driving somewhere in the car and he just reached over and held my hand. Or the last time he approached me, smiled and kissed me and said "thanks."

He will, however, call me and ask me to do a million things for him on any given day. I try and accomplish most of them. And I do get some of them done. But it's the one thing...the ONE thing that I did not manage to do that I hear about ad finitum when I get home.

I know things are tough right now, for both of us. I know that transitioning into a new family dynamic after you have a baby is huge. And difficult. And takes a long time. But I cannot believe that I am REALLY all that irritating, all that incompetant. Am I really that impossible to live with? Am I really that much of a dissapointment?

Between my boss at work, telling me that I am useless and my husband at home who most of the time acts as though he would greatly prefer to not speak to me or even be in the same room with me, my self esteem these days is nonexistant.

It sucks.

I have nothing else to say right now...I don't even have the heart to write a (already way overdue) Pickle Periodical. How very sad.

OK...going to hide in a corner and lick my wounds and be as invisible as I can be...

Go to Miss Zoot today.

It's so well written that I'm just going to point my finger in her direction and say "Yes!"

Go to her site.

Get a button.

Print out the list of "100 most often banned books"

Be shocked at the titles you see on that list.

Most importantly, read a book. Any book. And think.

...as the daughter of a former school librarian and current book store owner, I am passionate about this issue. Children should be allowed (should be required) to read any book they can get their grubby little hands on.

{erg...within reason, that is. I mean, I am openminded and all but even MY brows would lift if I ever see a 7 year old Lucy thumbing through a copy of Hustler.}

But seriously folks, "How to Eat Fried Worms????" "THE LIGHT IN THE FUCKING ATTIC?"


And don't even get me started on my beloved Harry Potter.

My folks never censored anything I read. AND LOOK HOW AWESOME I TURNED OUT!

On September 11, 2011 our country will face the 10 year anniversary of 09/11/2001.

On September 11, 2011 my daughter will be 5 years old.

Old enough to see the (what will inevitably be) the many, many documentories, memorial specials and news reels on the television and internet.

Old enough to notice that people seem pretty sad or quiet.

Old enough to start to ask questions.

I have no idea what I'm going to say to her.

Still alive.

Boy is gone so much these days...going from no job to two jobs on 48 hours notice is BAT SHIT KRAZY! (with props for that incredibly cool phrase to http://www.misszoot.com)

Still interviewing for a Big Ol' J-O-B. Had an interview 2 nights ago for Very Big and Important Law Firm, LLC that lasted for nearly 3 hours. Is good? Maybe? We shall see... I know I need to get out from where I am - that much is perfectly clear. Got "reprimanded" 4 times yesterday from my "boss" for "incompetant" work on a file that I HAVE NEVER WORKED ON AND AM NOT EVEN ASSIGNED TO AND I HAVE NO IDEA WHO THIS PERSON IS WHAT THE HELL??

Pickle a bit confused with all the comings and goings, but perfectly happy (so far) to be spending so much time with Gram-Gram.

My back hurts.

I need a haircut.

Why did The West Wing have to end?

Why am I going to be forced to watch endless hours of football for the next 5 months?

At some point I will start actually writing. Maybe.

Erg.

Later, gator.