Wednesday, March 14, 2012


It only took 4 tries, a surgical dose of valium, more lidocain than all the teeth in all the world need ,vicodin, advil, and one super amazing doctor with her awesome sidekick resident- and I have joined the ranks of the IUDed.

I am achey and crampy and all together too aware of where my internal organs are at the moment.I am also surprised I can type. Gonna go cuddle up with the boyfriend and make gushy eyes at him because he offered to come in and hold my hand. I got a little misty over that.

Tuesday, March 13, 2012

How come

It's always "shared austerity" but never "shared prosperity"?

Never ever do these douchenoodles who are all about (allegedly) spreading the pain around talk about spreading the joy around too. That goes for both parties, btws.


So not only is Kid older today, but tomorrow is round number 4 of "Let's break the laws of physics using RQ's girl parts". And it's the fucking communist invasion for the 2nd time this month (I knew something was up when the last one was only 5 days long. But hoped that I was just getting a reprieve from the semi-regularly scheduled slaughter. But NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO)

Anyways, since I am now officially a pro at pre IUD prep (and after throwing a screaming fit- will getting a surgical dose of valium) I didn't even ask when the pharmacist handed me a bottle of misoprostol. I got this down. I know what's up. You stick it in your bits the night before and according to legend your cervix magically opens the next day to reveal the lost city of El Dorado!

But that's not what my instructions say. I actually had to go look the word "buccally" up because despite my fairly impressive vocabulary, I had not fucking idea what the hell that was. It turns out that this time I am to stick the pills in my cheeks (face not ass) and wait for them to dissolve. This sounds like some kind of hell. I will be sitting in my office tomorrow, cheeks puffed with gross, gritty drugs, bleeding from my vadge, feeling like a colony of smurfs is waging a spears and mace war in my uterus, counting down the hours till I can sign my damn consent for to have the jaws of life used on my bits, so that I can take the magic pills that will probably knock me the fuck out for the entire ordeal.

(I want a prize for longest run on sentence in a blog post, please).

If 4th time isn't the charm- I am selling my uterus to the highest bidder. It causes me massive issues- but it's super fucking fertile. TAKE IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


Kid is seventeen. Holy fucking shit! JesusMaryAndJosephChrist! I don't know how this happened. But I am intensely proud of the person he has become. He is sweet and funny and kind. He's a little bit (a lot) of a hermit. But I think the social stuff is something he will figure out once he's out of the house. I know and love a bunch of late bloomers on the social stuff and they are fine.

This is such a weird time, this beginning of the end of childhood. I am not quite sure what to do with myself. And I have to wait to see what Kid will do before I can plan. I think that is what is weird. Years of being the one in the driver's seat and then WHAMO! and they are driving off on their own. Will Kid stay home for long? Will he want to go to college straight away (he's starting at community college so he can plan as late as he wants) or will he want to work for awhile first. That was one of my favorite people's plan and she's now getting her PhD in math and awesomeness. I don't know. He doesn't know. He has to make the decision for himself and all I can do is give advice. Weird. Sofaking weird.

And weirder still is the fact that I am more, what exactly is the way to describe it. It's like the little fluttery fear and excitement you get standing on a diving board while deciding to jump or not. I am more outwardly that than the Kid is. He's all cool now. He's mastering my raised eyebrow of doom. He would think that I was being silly and ridiculous for being all WOO WOO 17!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

My baby is 17. I am still not sure how that happened.