Mommy Wants Vodka

…Or A Mail-Order Bride

When You Were Two


Dear Amelia,

When you were two, you were a tiny Muppet of a girl, all curls and whirls and bounce and fire.

Pink Birthday Balloons

When you were two, you danced when you were happy; clapping your hands and snorting and giggling.

Amelia Mommy Wants Vodka

When you were two, you could also kick the ass of anyone who needed it with your fists of fury. Your fury is legendary.

Fists of Birthday Fury

When you were two, Hello Kitty was your best friend. You called it “Hi Kitty.”

Hello Kitty Stuffed Animal

When you were two, your laughter sounded like the tinkling of a thousand bells.

Mommy Wants Vodka

When you were two, your mother tried to make you a heart cuppity-cake. It looked like testicles.

Cake Wrecks Aunt Becky

When you were two, your mother bought herself a present to celebrate your birth.

When you were two, your house was filled with balloons and laughter and love and light.

Mommy Wants Vodka

And for a moment, on the day that you were two, my heart took flight.

Happy Birthday, My Princess of the Bells, Amelia Grace.

Life, Unexpected


Dear Amelia,

One of the only things my mother – your grandmother – said to me that ever made any sense was this: “wow, you sure do have to learn everything the hard way, Rebecca.” I don’t think she was being unkind, considering I’d just dumped my cheating boyfriend, scrapped my lifelong dream of becoming a doctor, and pushed a squalling infant – your biggest brother – out of my vagina. I was twenty years old. That was before I then dropped my nursing career for an illustrious “career” as a blobber and popped out two more crotch parasites, so yeah, it’s safe to say that your grandmother was right on the money there.

And, I fear, it’s probably genetic.

Because the moment that doctor informed me that there was something wrong with your head, it reminded me of this: life is unexpected.

Had the pill not failed me, I never would have gotten knocked up with your biggest brother, which means I would be Dr. Aunt Becky (that’s Mommy to you) by now. In that one tiny moment, my life was forever altered.

That’s the way life works. It’s in those unexpected moments that we discover who we really are; who we are really supposed to be. Maybe it’s not what we planned or what we thought we’d be doing, but it’s beautiful and it’s ours. I don’t expect you to take my word for it. Go ahead, find out for yourself. You already have.

Amelia's Dragons

At a couple of days gestation, thanks to some wonky issues that no one understands entirely (folic acid deficiency plays a part), your neural tube didn’t properly fuse and that big skull of yours didn’t quite get put together the way a skull should. Then, your beautiful brain started to grow outside your skull cavity, necessitating some pretty heavy neurosurgery when you were a wee babe. That moment, at a couple of days gestation, forever altered everything.

Thanks to that one unexpected moment, a whole host of things happened. A cascade effect. The best of which is this: you now have a cadre of Auntie and Uncle Pranksters who will kick the ass of anyone who needs it for you (never, ever underestimate the power and love of The Pranksters). You’ve also helped put a face to your disorder, encephalocele, and you gave me the idea for Band Back Together.

Aunt Becky's Daughter

Pretty good work for a two-year old.

I’m so proud of you, Amelia (or, as you like to call yourself “Nie-Nie”). Having a daughter was one of those lofty goals, like “having a discernible waistline” that I thought I could never achieve, and here you are. Even as I delivered you, I expected the doctor to tell me that you had a penis. I just couldn’t imagine I’d be so lucky as to have a daughter.

And yet here you are. My Miracle Mimi, the girl with the curls like a halo, she is here. Kicking ass, taking names, and probably going to murder me in my sleep over a pair of high heels.

I can hardly wait to see what you’ll do next. Unless it’s murder me. Which I really wish you wouldn’t do.

Aunt Becky

Happy Birthday, Sweet, Slightly Scary, Always Wonderfully Awesomely Ass-Kicking Baby Nie-Nie.

It’s you + me against the world, kiddo. So watch the fuck out, world.

Love Always,


Eight Weeks Post Op


It came to my attention through this very awesome email:

I have been reading for some time and now I am peeking from behind the corner to say, you know, “yo,” and also, possibly bring you a high five. Anyway, we have not seen many “after” pics since your procedure and I was wondering, how are you and your abs doing? How are your feelings and things?

that I haven’t exactly been talking about mah surgery very much.

So, Em, HIGH FIVE and this one’s for you.

Brief back story, I had a full abdominoplasty (which is a hardcore tummy tuck) at the beginning of November, 2010. My surgeon lopped off six pounds of stuff and then fixed the underlying muscles that were all bent out of shape in a condition called Diastasis recti. I’m shaped like a daddy long legs spider, relatively long legs and no torso, and after three eight pound babies, my abdominal muscles were all *coughwheeze* “I GIVE UP.”

I did it without a whole lot of warning because I knew that if I thought about it too much, I’d be all, HOLY SHITBALLS, THAT’S A HELL OF A SURGERY, AUNT BECKY, so it was really just a “let’s get ‘er done” kinda thing.

So it was done and I was all OUCH, because do you know how often you use your abdominals? A fucking lot. That’s how much. I couldn’t pee without crying.

It was like that for weeks.

Since I don’t lay around very well, I spent a lot of that time feeling kinda sad. It’s like all of those emotions you push down because you’re too busy to ever think about them, well, they come burbling out when you’re stuck on the couch and time goes by so slowly that you wonder if it’s a trick of the clock or something. But I think that was a good thing for me to finally have to sit down and focus on them.

I can say that because I’m feeling loads better. I still have pain – a lot of pain – where the nerves in my abdomen are trying to grow back. But that, too, will (probably) pass. I’ve weaned my Topamax dosage down to half of what it was and been able to keep it there without getting a fuckton of headaches. I’ve had less back spasms.

In short, my life = more awesome now.

I don’t have any Before Full Abdominoplasty Surgery Posts to show you because, well, I don’t think I want to see it.

Here’s my three week post op post.

And this is how I look today:

8 weeks after tummy tuck surgery

8 Weeks Post Full Abdominoplasty

With the exception of the quality of the photos, I’m really happy with the surgery. I’m back to the normal substandard quality of life of a blobber that I was used to before surgery (read: none. I live my life online).

Would I have a tummy tuck again if I knew then what I know now? Without a doubt. Which is more than I can say about that weekend in Rio.

And short of a Baywatch audition, that’s about the best result I can hope for.

I’m Going To Make Christmas Merry If It Kills Me. And You.


I was watching some Law and Order: These Kids Have It Worse Than You, So Man The Fuck Up, Aunt Becky when the holiday commercial with the Hershey’s Kisses came on. I’m sure you know it. It’s been on since I was a kid and I haven’t been a kid in a long time.

You have to know the one I’m talking about: the red and green and silver kisses play, We Wish You A Merry Christmas. It’s really sweet and festive and it always makes me happy in the pants and not because I’m all that fond of chocolate. Because while I do have a vagina, I’m not someone who orgasms at the thought of chocolate. Dexter, however…but alas, I digress.

But I sat and watched the commercial and realized how UN-happy the holidays were making me this year. I’m the last person under twelve who loves the holidays and I was sitting there on the couch moping about Christmas. The happiest time of the motherfucking year.

I couldn’t even tell you why I was moping. Certainly I had no REAL reasons to be feeling acutely sorry for myself. Of course there are things that have gone wrong for me in the past couple of weeks, but there are more things that have gone right.

So I did what I always do: I promptly bitch-slapped myself. It was time to trim my fucking tree, deck the halls and be merry and bright. If I had to use toothpicks and elaborate putty makeup to do it, I was going to slap a smile on my face and fake it ’til I made it.

I love the holidays. It’s time to start acting like it.

So here’s what I’m going to do.

FIRST, I’m going to give you a video of my daughter. Laughing. I captured the Elusive Frat Boy Amelia cracking her own ass up. It’ll make you laugh. In under two minutes, she’ll make you laugh. (ignore the crap on her face. We weren’t planning to shoot a video)

She’s my clone. I swear, I was doing the same thing a couple of weeks ago.

NOW, I’m going to add a Mr. Linky at the bottom where YOU can add a link to your own post about something that made you laugh or smile. You don’t have a post like that? WRITE IT. In fact? Why not write a new one? Write about something that makes you happy. If you don’t have a blog? Leave a comment. Write it on Band Back Together or Mushroom Printing. They’re both user-submitted blogs.


Let’s FLING GLITTER and be MERRY! Tomorrow, we’ll continue our blog carnival. Why? WHY NOT.

Don’t make me send Amelia over to fart on you. She totally will, you know.

P.S. All of my shirts (including the Shut Your Whore Mouth Shirts and everything else on the site) are 20% off with the code holiday2010.

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