It’s been a matter of time management to do more than to sit and read emails or leave a comment. Something I am not good at since I’m trying to make sure that sleep and food remain a priority. Unfortunately, I’m not always successful hence my raccoon eyes, continuing weight loss (from everywhere but my ass), and the ability for my husband to peak my bitch-o-meter in the blink of an eye.

But I need to post something even though I’ve struggled with whether or not to do so. Here’s what I’ve asked myself: is it worse to read about a blogger and her new baby when she goes endlessly on about how the baby’s beyond perfect as she’s pooping diamonds and being sought for a baby food modeling contract and sleeping eight hours every night plus napping for three hours two times a day…; or read about the complaints about becoming a boob buffet and feeling as if her showers last longer than her nights of sleep?

Well since it’s a matter of what state of mind the reader is in, either scenario is annoying. So here’s the deal, I’m going to just be blunt and tell you right now things kind of suck.

I’m so unbelievably tired. So tired that as I zone out while nursing ZGirl, objects swim in front of me like mirages (I just had to ask my husband what does one call it when they’ve been in a desert for so long they start going crazy and seeing things  – that’s how damn tired I am). ZGirl, while a good nurser, is a horrible sleeper. I repeat, horrible. She’s six weeks old and she sleeps less now then she did at two weeks old. During the day, she cat naps for maybe 45 minutes sporadically. I never know if I should try to lay down since within minutes of me doing so, she wakes up.

We have tried to introduce a bottle, the results of which were anything but pleasant. In fact, after one very disastrous attempt, she was so hysterical by the time I took her to try nursing that her breathing was much like a Chihuahua’s would be after running nonstop for twenty minutes in 100 degree heat. And that night? We figure she decided to teach us a lesson as she didn’t sleep for longer than 90 minutes at a stretch…it has been the lowest point so far for me.

Mr. DD, who has been ripped a new asshole so often, it’s a miracle he can sit, is finally getting how shitty I’ve been feeling. He’s the one who put into words how I’ve been feeling about ZGirl’s endless demands: she’s my ball and chain.

I know that there will come a day that all of this will seem so trivial. It’ll probably come when ZGirl first screams at me from the backseat, “You’re not a good Mom!” as XBoy did a couple years ago (at least it no longer breaks my heart). But right now? It’s been hard. Really, really, REALLY hard on me both emotionally and physically, which explains my limited presence both here and at your blogs. I wish I could say it was because she was shitting diamonds, burping up butterflies and conjuring unicorns with each of her little grins.

It’ll get better. It has to. My sanity depends on it.


Stupid prioritizing.

Blog or feed/change/feed/feed/change the baby?

And now that I have what I believe will be just a few minutes of “me” time, I don’t know what to write.

Nothing is new here. Mr. DD must be pretty stressed as well as he has not reigned in his temper when it comes to XBoy. XBoy started 1st Grade last week and for the first time in four years, I did not get a picture of him on his first day of school. It makes me feel quite shitty.

We’ve introduced the bottle to ZGirl and she doesn’t do too bad with it except for the fact that quite a bit ends up running out of her mouth. It’s aggravating watching Mr. DD feed her since he props her up on his knees and feeds her that way so she doesn’t get cuddled. Or he lets her lay flat and she gets gassy…it’s like he’s never fed a baby before. I have to busy myself elsewhere to keep from snatching her up and just telling him to piss off.

Because of the milk that gets spilt onto ZGirl, which subsequently pools around her neck and back, she has become the infant poster child for ProActive acne medicine. She’s a virtual pimple field. It’s not purty. I try to keep her cleaned up and dry…alas, I know it’s a stage she will outgrow soon enough.

She has also been giving us brief smiles, which is impressive since XBoy didn’t first smile until he was nearly eight weeks. The first one I got from her was at her five week point. No matter how tired or bitchy or gross I am feeling/looking, that split moment pushes all negativity aside.

I must go. I would like to be dressed for the day sometime before noon, and my teeth are in desperate need of brushing. I’m working on a new page for my blog which will be a way of thanking ZGirl’s generous internet aunts but my computer gets sketchy connection, at best. Loading pictures takes an act of god; however that’s if I get any pictures taken. She’s changing so quickly and I need to hold each and every moment dear as they continue to float away like so many soap bubbles on a summer breeze.


ZGirl is a month old already…

I know! The time flew, didn’t it?!

For you maybe. Me, not so much.

I can tell you that I am so sick of TLC and HGTV. I’m sick of CSI: Las Vegas. I heckle the couples out loud on Bringing Home Baby and Baby Story. Today, I resorted to nursing ZGirl in the back seat of the van while it was running just so I could do a little extra shopping. I need a drink.

Her one month check-up was fine – perfect – if you go by the pediatrician. I was a little disappointed that she hadn’t broke the 10lbs mark and is only at 9lbs 7 oz, which means she didn’t even gain two pounds. On the other hand, she grew an inch and a half. Google tells me that breastfed babies are “leaner”. That kind of makes me feel better except I’ve never seen a “lean” breastfed baby. They all seem to be chunky (and I mean that in a nice way).

Also, today she had a renal ultrasound. If you might recall, her kidneys were ever so slightly abnormal in size and my OB said we would have a last US once she was born, as whatever the problem was, usually resolves by birth. Except the pediatrician said he would do it at her one week check-up…but then we both forgot. So finally it got done. I thought I’d hear back today the results, but haven’t. I’ve actually given it little thought, feeling pretty sure all is OK.

She’s currently napping and Mr. DD is due home with XBoy any minute so I’m going to snag a much needed nap myself. Today I tried putting her down on her tummy. I swear I heard angels sing as she sighed her way into deep sleep. She’ll still be on her back at night, but to squeeze those extra minutes for now? Bliss.


This is what happens when ZGirl falls asleep nursing and subconsciously decides she’s done before I get a chance to “break the seal”:

This is her in her human disguise:

By the time I wean her, I’ll be able to work my nipples like Indiana Jones works his whip.


When we set out to purchase our acreage, we ended up in a bidding war with another couple, who we successfully outbid. This couple, the Jungs, went on to purchase an acreage in the 2nd addition, which was actually created just so they could live on an acreage. When we found out that they would be moving a pre-fab house onto the property, I decided to go to the hearing to protest. It wasn’t out of spite, but purely to protect our future investment since our covenants specifically outlined that any construction must be done on-site to prevent property owners from parking their double-wides.

After the hearing, in which myself and another property owner openly voiced our concerns, Mrs. Jung was visibly agitated with us, and while we spoke to the husband who assured us that he understood where we were coming from and that his house would appear to be stick-built, she literally stomped away to sit in the car. Add to all of this the fact that at the time, XBoy and their daughter attended the same daycare and we had actually got along well prior to all of this.

That was in 2003. Since then, they moved their house onto the property. We built ours. We now live no more than a 1/4 mile away from each other, and I can actually see the roof of their house as I type this. Mr. DD and I have tried to make nice: we dropped off Halloween treats that first year; we sent them Holiday cards; we wave when they are outside and we’re driving by.

Then in the winter of 2007, Mr. DD borrowed my SUV and did not take it out of low 4WD and I didn’t notice until I was heading down the street. I pulled over in the Jung’s driveway so I could try to figure it out. While in the driveway, I saw Mr. Jung coming up the street. Instead of turning into his driveway, once he saw me sitting there, he drove past. A few minutes later, I was still trying to get the vehicle out of low, and he came back around and this time pulled in. It was enought time for him to have gone up to the next mile marker, turn around, and hope that I was gone. Needless to say, that was a bit weird.

We still wave when we pass, but that is all. It seems so sad that they have a child who is the same age as XBoy and they won’t let bygones be bygones and let them play together (I suggested it in my cards) since I know how lonely and bored he gets without the close neighborhood interaction of in-town dwelling.

This week things escalated to whole ‘nother nasty level, hence these background stories. A couple of weeks ago I received an email from a friend to let me know she was sending something for ZGirl and to watch for it. Watch I did, and while I thought about following up with her when up to a couple days ago nothing had arrived, I didn’t want to assume when my friend had sent the package.

That was until Mr. DD ran into Mr. Jung. Mr. Jung asked Mr. DD if his Mom’s name was ZGirl. “No,” Mr. DD said, “that is my daughter.” “Oh, were you expecting a package?” Mr. Jung asked. “Not that I know of,” Mr. DD answered, because I didn’t mention it. “Well we received a package addressed to ZGirl and my wife opened it. We’ll get it up to you.”

When Mr. DD relayed the conversation, I was a bit pissed but also gave them the benefit of the doubt. I mean, if the package was addressed to ZGirl without the last name, I could see opening it up. However, if our last name wasn’t on it, why would Mr. Jung have guessed it was Mr. DD’s mother? I would have to wait to see the package. Two days passed and while the Jungs live spitting distance away, they still hadn’t stopped with the package so I told Mr. DD to go to their house last night and pick it up. When he arrived, he saw the package sitting inside the door with ZGirl’s FULL name on it. Even though the TV was on as well as some lights, no one came to the door. He called and left a rather brusque voicemail and this morning, the package was dropped off quietly at our front door.

Not only was the package opened, but the clear plastic that wrapped up the contents was opened as well! Why she did stupefies me since the packing slip had a gift card attached…WITH OUR NAMES IN IT. Now, she may not know who ZGirl Lastname is, but there’s no denying that she knows who the hell “DD, Mr. DD and XBoy Lastname” are.

The package was delivered on the 4th. I have no idea when she opened it, but once she had, why didn’t she bring it right up to us?? It sat in their house for over a week. I wonder if she thought she could get away with keeping the item, but once she saw it was personalized was stuck trying to figure out what to do with it. Why else would she have removed the item from it’s protective wrapper when clearly it wasn’t HERS!

Mr. DD is on a rampage. I’m venting here, but am certainly not as frustrated or as indignant as he is (he threatened calling the sheriff before he saw the package had been dropped off covertly). I told him there’s no love lost between the Jungs and ourselves and just to let it go. It seems odd that he’s the one that needs the talk down from the overreacting ledge since I’ve worn myself quite a comfortable spot there.

I’ll let you know how the soap opera plays out.


I never thought I would forget how much time a newborn demands even though they sleep 23 hours a day. ZGirl will blissfully laze away as long as it means staying curled up on my chest. Sneaking a 10 minute shower is nothing short of a gamble. It’s frustrating that in moments of selfishness: showers, extended bathroom breaks, eating, and lastly, blogging, that she performs a coup de grace on my Me Time without mercy.

I know, I know. I really shouldn’t complain. But I will and then move on.

The one thing I thought I’d never be doing almost four weeks postpartum is nursing exclusively. I lost my patience with XBoy when I couldn’t tell if he was getting enough and he was waking every hour, apparently starving to death. I gave in to the siren song of a husband willing to wield a bottle and allow me to sleep for five hours in a row. ZGirl took to nursing like a pro. I only had a day or two of nipple ache (a medical term-to-be if ever there was one) and voila – “My milkshake brings all the boys to the yard…” (did you know I could get that as a ringtone if I wanted??).

I am not prepared for nursing long-term. I want to introduce a bottle NOW, but will wait until my appointment on Monday to talk it over with the pediatrician. ZGirl has already given her opinion in no uncertain terms on a pacifier: GET THAT FUCKING COLD, HARD, NASTY-ASS THING OUT OF MY MOUTH, BITCH!

Jaunts out of the house are done in a mad scramble and I could easily end up on What Not To Wear for my unwise decisions to just wear whatever I slept in the night before out. I will however put on a non-milk stained t-shirt out of respect. Which reminds me: Mr. DD did make an after midnight run to Wally World a few days after ZGirl came home for a pacifier run. When he returned, he told me how he saw a woman walking around with two wet circles on her t-shirt. He said instead of judging her, he empathized with her plight. I, of course, would have judged her.

I have been out three times to eat with the in-laws in the past couple of weeks. Each time, ZGirl’s timing has been impeccable: demand food just as mine shows up out of the kitchen. It matters not that I nursed her before leaving the house. Not one of the places we went had anywhere private, including last night’s outing, when I had to whip out boobage in the waiting area of the restaurant right under the security camera. I don’t care that nursing is supposed to be a natural  experience. That’s not natural, people. I don’t want to see it so I know most others don’t, either.

So I am either fighting cabin fever or trying to protect my modesty. Imagining a year of this does not exactly inspire me to continue. Some nerve I have, right? Complaining about being able to breastfeed but not really wanting to. You have my permission to virtually bitch-slap me, but before you do, how about a little distraction? Look! It’s ZGirl!


One of the most common questions I got when I had XBoy was, “Is he a good baby?”

Why no, he was not. One night when he was just eight weeks old, the local authorities showed up at our door with XBoy in tow: he had been caught tipping cows in the neighbor’s field and drinking their milk.

It’s a pat question for new mothers, and I’m again asked it routinely.

Is ZGirl a “good baby”? She’s a typical newborn which makes me a typical newborn’s Mom, which is to say, she is wearing my ass out.

From about 7:00 pm till 10:30 she is showing every sign of colic. I really thought that my experience this time would be different since ZGirl is exclusively breastfed, whereas XBoy was mostly formula.

I hate colic. I hate that when I try to burp her or soothe her with a short burst of nursing, she becomes as rigid as a plank and scrunches her face and hands so tight, the most tense tissue turns white while the rest is beet red. These are the times I call on Mr. DD. He will walk throughout the house while I lay in bed thinking I’ll try to catch a catnap. I never do, though, since her squalling tears me up.

During the day, she is mostly glued to me curled up on my chest like a small, sweaty rock. When I try to put her down, she begins yelping within just a few minutes. Right now I’m catching a break because I’m trying something new: the bassinet’s on vibrate with white noise in the background. It will probably only work this one time.

In the limited time when she is down, I try to squeeze in a million tasks: napping, laundry, bills, blogging, and even a little work. My moments with XBoy have been slivered to suppertime and then later a quick good night while tucking him in. If I’m lucky, I’m able to help him with his bath. I think that’s been the hardest change for all of us.

So is ZGirl a “good baby”? Depends on your definition of “good”, I guess. To me she’s perfect.

And with that, she’s done with the vibrating bassinet.



Between my internet shopping (I’ve never felt as geographically isolated as I do right now!) and surprise packages from friends and family, getting the mail is fun again.


Thank you Shelli, Shanna and Suz!


I know pregnant belly shots are hard to take in. Even harder is me taking in the post-belly shots. I’ve already admitted that I had a bit of a muffin top, but now I’m not even sure what to call this…pooch…I have now. Well, besides “gross”. While I’m just a couple of pounds from being at my pre-pregnancy weight, I’m still 15 over what I was two and a half years ago, my tentative goal for the end of this year.

Unfortunately, those couple of pounds are standing between me wearing maternity pants and my normal clothes because the weight is centered squarely around my naval. OK, and hips. Whatever.

Here’s me a few days post c-section:

 Sizzlin’, no? (Someone, please! Tell me how to get rid of iodine stains!)

Then there’s this 11 days postpartum:

 You can practically hear the slow leak, can’t you? PsssstttthhhhhhhhhhpPP!

(I also have some close-ups of the staples at the incision site, if you like…?)

It’s just marginally better now at almost three weeks (three weeks??!), and more than likely the last little flubber will be the hardest to be rid of. Fuck.


Of course, I’m referring to the small-headed creature in this picture, just in case you were wondering.


I took ZGirl to my workplace a few days ago to introduce her around. Since I’ve been fairly open about our earlier miscarriages and some of our treatments, a few of my coworkers know things had been painfully difficult getting to this point. Because of that, I heard several times, “It was all worth it, wasn’t it?”

While I smiled and nodded I thought: Well…no, not really.

Sure, it was worth making the difficult decision to cross that line we had drawn in the sand several times over about what kind and how many treatments we would pursue. It was worth the thousands of dollars we spent on all the IUIs, IVFs, the FET and of course, the donor egg cycle. It was worth the pain caused by hundreds of injections. And if that’s “all” we had to endure, then yes, it would most definitely have been worth it.

However, I will never forget that to get to where I am right now, I lost four other babies. That’s  the part that was not worth it.

It is also illogical for one to expect that I would ever have to think about the impossible – would I trade ZGirl for Vivienne or Wolf or Miscarriage No. 2 or Miscarriage No. 4? I would hope that no one would be as simple minded to ask me such a question. I would also have to hope that ifwhen I am asked, I am able to restrain myself from getting “stabby”.

I learned so much about myself, so much about others. I learned that there is a hidden dimension to what it means to be family or friend that only reveals itself – whether positively or negatively – when there’s a very personal crisis. Valuable lessons to be sure.

But, please, don’t assume “it was all worth it”.