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When I was pregnant with Ben 6 years ago now, I was utterly floored to find out that he was indeed a he, so floored that it was a miracle I had been laying down for the sonogram because if I hadn’t been, I’d have fallen over from the shock of it. My intuition is terrible, almost as bad as my ability to sing on key, which is pretty horrifying. I’ll admit it now, I was pretty upset by it as I had really, truly, madly, deeply wanted to have a daughter (let’s be honest here so that I can tell you that it was a damn good thing that I found out then and not later in the delivery room. I’m sure the doctor and nurses would have been a little freaked out by the sight of me crying over the privates of my perfect little boy, as apparently I had been judged to be an unfit mother. I guess I must have a poker face when it comes to OB appointments, because my ancient little doctor who barely said a word to me in the nine months that I saw him, kept coming into my postpartum room and saying “Wow, you REALLY love that baby!” which shocked me. Of COURSE I loved my ickle baby!)

When I got pregnant with Alexander, I was much more laid back about it, likely because it had taken quite a long time to get pregnant, as long as It was healthy, I genuinely didn’t care if It was a She or a He. I found out before Dave did, as the sonographer refused to let him come into the room until she had completed her assessment of the fetus, which I wasn’t so happy about, I mean, what if something had been wrong? Did I really need a stranger to tell me some bad news alone?

Anyhow, she asked me if I wanted to know what flavor baby I was having without Dave’s hulking presence (hahaha) and of course, I’m impatient so I found out. I can still hear her in my mind, “It’s a little boy and he’s perfect.” Ah, sweet sweet relief, the baby I had wanted so much was well (to be fair here, having had the misfortune to rotate through the NICU at a major children’s hospital, I took nothing about the health of my unborn child as an assumption of the best. I saw many, many horrifying things there, most of which will never leave me and STILL haunt me even now), and now I could gloat: I had won the bet.

Instead of having to wear a “Chicks Dig Linux” shirt, Dave was going to have to wear a Britney Spears one. In public. Without covering it up. Which reminds me…I need to make him DO that and THEN I’ll post them on the internet for him! I’m such a nice wife.

The discussion of having another baby has recently come up, as my initial intent was to not go back on birth control and just wait-n-see what happened, get the newborn/baby thing done with and get Dave’s nuts snipped (again: aren’t I a SWEET wife?), and while our other friends were dealing with midnight feedings and diaper rash, we’d be sipping Pina Colada’s by the beach somewhere, laughing knowingly. Unfortch, Lake Michigan doesn’t exactly count as a beach in my book, AND I think if I were to have an Oops! Baby! now Dave’s head might explode and Alex might try to strangle me in my sleep.

So no babies for awhile (besides you need to actually ovulate to have babies, and the one benefit that I can see to Alex’s need to wake up at all hours of the night and eat is that I haven’t had my period since last July.) for us. A long while, actually, because the prospect of physically being pregnant again freaks me the hell out. I’m a TERRIBLE pregnant woman, a fat, obsessive, unhappy, and sick as hell.

But (isn’t there always one with me?), I have a new problem. Suddenly, I really, really, really want to have a daughter with every fiber of my being, in order to balance out all of the testosterone raging rampantly throughout my house. I want to play house and dolls and put her in cute ickle dresses and OOOHHH PATENT LEATHER MARY JANES! I want to choose a name that I really, really like for her and not have to worry about it being too trendy or frilly or not manly enough (plus, between the two boys and their 209 middle names, I’m clean out of good boys names), I want to not have to cut off her hair because it’s “too long” and “too girly looking”. I want someone who maybe just maybe looks somewhat like me and have it not be an insult to them later in life, because what boy do you know WANTS to look like his mother? I don’t want to have to train yet another young boy how to pee standing up WITHOUT losing aim because Oh! Look! A Mirror!

It’s okay to have wants, although I am highly afraid of what I would feel if/when we have another baby and it turns out to have yet another penis. Because frankly, I have enough of them to worry about.

Last Thursday, Dear Internet, I told you that I was done whining about being fat and was going to start really DOING something about it. And, because I cannot tell a lie to you, darling Internet, I did. I joined Weight Watchers Online. I’d done a hacked up version of it before, after my wedding and I’d lost about 10 lbs (but I was obviously much thinner then). It’s a diet I can live with and (apparently) works for me.

Tuesday, I weighed myself and I’ve lost 2.5 pounds, which is a little over 10% of the upper end of what I’d wanted to lose before Christmas Eve. If that isn’t motivation, I’m not sure what is. This doesn’t mean that I won’t offer up a silent prayer before I get onto the scale each week, because I happen to be superstitious like that, but I am hoping that the numbers continue to go down in a reasonable manner, because I cannot do those low-carb diets (one word: anal leakage. Oh wait, that’s two words. My bad. Now I’m fat AND dumb!)

The kicker of all of this is, is that I’m actually eating MORE than I was before (although I am frankly AGHAST at the points values of some of the things I’d thought were pretty decent for you. Who knew that the huge tortilla that you get at Chipotle ITSELF has 7 points? Asinine, really, especially considering I don’t even really care for the tortilla part), which honestly goes against everything that I’d thought about dieting. Dieting = eating LESS, not MORE in my head, or at least it used to.

So I am not hungry, I don’t feel as though I have to subsist on boxed meals, and occasionally I have to force myself to finish my points for the day. (Ohmygod, did you know that creme brulee has about a million calories in it? I DIDN’T. That sucks, because it is BY FAR my favorite dessert. I loves me my creme brulee.)

Now I just need to secure some babysitting so my ass can get back to the gym and burn some more of those damn calories off (did you know, because I didn’t, but with breastfeeding, you need an additional 10 points per day!?! That’s awesome. I may never wean him.)

Week One of Operation Get Rid of My Fat Butt is done. Let’s hope that Week Two is as awesomely awesome.

I started this blog several months ago as a sort of Mommy Blog, not necessarily because I didn’t like my other blog, because I do, but because I needed somewhere to chronicle what day to day life is like when you’re somewhat outside looking in. I don’t have a ton of Real Life Mommy Friends ™, which can be hard for me sometimes as I don’t have people to reassure my feelings or experiences. Not the end of the world, no doubt, but surely I wanted somewhere where I could really be me, without constant humor or judgement from those who do know me.

I wish I’d started it sooner because it has been a tremendous outlet for me.

Now, to be clear, I am not particularly computer savvy. Wait, scratch that, I am not computer savvy, and the only reason I am able to have a blog is because Dave set them both up for me. I have been known to try and respond to spam email because, hey, I thought it might actually be for me (I don’t get much email). Thankfully, Dave stopped me from being too much of an idiot (to be fair, it wasn’t an email for pen!s enl@rgement or V!@gra or anything of the like), and I have since learned not to be completely stupid.

Today, I noticed that I had a comment from someone who has not been to my house and seen first hand the swirls of dog hair floating in the breeze and he mentioned that I had been nominated for an award. This blew my mind as I had only thought that the people who read this blog were people who knew me!

At this point, I am so freaking flattered that I don’t even CARE if it’s a spam thing (although I don’t believe that it is). I don’t actually expect to win, as I have never won anything in my life, unless you count the Cougar’s tickets I won when I was twelve and the team was just starting out and they were practically giving the tickets away to fill seats. I don’t gamble and I don’t win, but hey, whoever nominated me, I will totally write a post in your honor if you tell me who you are and what you want me to talk about because you have made my day infinately better.

So thank you, whomever you are, thank you.

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