Naturally Woosh

I took Bug-bug downtown yesterday to visit people, friends, work, grandma and mommy's shopping haunts.  It turned out to be a fairly good trip as it was warm and sunny out and I got to do pretty much everything I wanted to do.  The baby wasn't too fussy, she acted up a little when she wanted to get out of the stroller... I don't blame her.  As comfortable as the thing is, I'd want to get up and work the blood back into my numb butt cheeks once in awhile too.  Nobody likes being strapped in for very long... like my friend Goose.  He tells of weird stories that don't make a whole lotta sense to me, something about pleather and spiky stuff but I don't ask for details and usually plug my ears when he starts coz I think maybe he's an odd little fellow and will stop talking if I don't listen.  Hey, what he does at those business "conventions"... 

Anyway, remember my stalker?  We've dubbed her Crazy Lady.  I haven't been bothered by her in a long time, mostly because everytime I saw her I'd look and walk the other way quickly.  I thought she had gotten the message that I didn't want to be her friend, or associate with her in any way.  I guess I was wrong.

Now that I travel with a stroller I have to use elevators.  They are such a pain in the neck because they take so long and then there are line ups and sometimes you've got stroller and walker bumper wars and now wherever I go I need to find out where they're located.  At my local mall, I've never had to know where these contraptions are which means that the first few times Oscar and I went shopping with the babies we milled around aimlessly until we hit jackpot.

My office is situated on the second floor of a high rise.  Good for fires and emergencies, I can still jump out the window if need be but at the same time high enough so that we've got a bird's eye view of the streets below.  I was on my way down to meet Stinky Grandma for lunch and good golly miss molly if I didn't get on the same elevator as the Crazy Lady.  My mind said "SHIT!" before I even registered it but luckily it was cool enough to keep that inside my head.

She immediately lit up like a kid on Christmas morning and greeted me like we were the bestest of best friends.  I started wheeling the stroller around so that I'd have my back turned to her for the purpose of a) physically telling her that I'm not interested and b) shielding my firstborn from this nutjob of a woman.  It didn't work.

Now there were a few other people in the elevator with us and they probably got the message I was projecting to her as I was not at all being subtle but she pushed them out of the way as I spun the stroller so that she could see (steal) and touch (eat) my kid.

C.L.:  HIIIII!!

Stinky T: (Tight smile) Hi.  

C.L:  IT'S BEEN SO LOOONG SINCE I SAW YOUU!!

Stinky T:  (Tight smile) Yah.

C.L.  THIS IS YOUR BABYY??

Stinky T: (Tight smile) Hm.  (No, she's a rental.  I like to do crazy stuff like take a baby that's not mine around town just for fun sometimes.)

C.L. SHE'S SO CUUUTE!!  (Touching and poking at my rental baby.)

Stinky T: (No more smiles) Thanks.

Ding!  We've landed.  Open up the damned doors.

C.L. DID YOU GO NATURAL? (As she says natural she uses her hand to mimic the down and up motion of a water slide.)

WTF?!?  What kind of question is that?

Stinky T: Excuse me??

C.L. DID YOU GO NATURAL?? (Once again, with the wooshing water slide motion.)

Stinky T: Um. NO.

At that, the doors were fully opened.  Well, opened enough for my stroller to get through so I took off.  Behind me I could hear more talking but I wasn't sticking around any longer.  I felt offended and caught off guard by how inappropriately nosy she was.  Who asks such personal questions like that to someone they don't even know?  What happened to "How old is she?", "How much does she weigh?", "Does she like to go for walks?"... normal questions.  And what's with the hand woosh?  What the hell is that??  I guess I could have explained that no, baby didn't go woosh but instead got yanked out of my uterus and show her by sticking a hand out of my shirt a la Aliens (except lower) if we knew each other and were joking around but I had given her enough of my time.  I don't know if she got the message that she needs to leave me alone but I've decided on my course of action should we meet again.  You can probably guess how far I will steer clear from C.L.  This lady can be amusing in a really creepy sort of way but I'd rather laugh at her from a distance.  And she can go woosh herself.

Don't Ask Don't Tell

My sister H recently informed me that one of my cousins is newly engaged and to that I say congratulations.  Then she excitedly asked if I wanted to know how he did it.  By "it", she meant how he proposed to the girl.  I said no.  She was surprised and asked how come I didn't want to know and my answer perplexed her even more; I just don't care.

It's not that I don't care that he asked her to be his life partner but the details don't interest me.  I'm not your typical sappy, romantic in that everytime we talk about your significant other I do that annoying "aaaaaw.." thing.  I get that he or she is special to you, after all I have my own special someone too.  OK, I have two special someones now that Bug-bug's arrived but I just don't really need to hear about you so much.

I get that some people like to clip clop up on a unicorn and have cooing doves gently sprinkle rose petals (or poo) about while the teapot and candlestick sing a ballad as the 7 dwarves present the princess with an exquisite rock.  I get too that others are more low-key and might toss the box over along with the bag of pork rinds during Satellite Hotstove (Hockey Night in Canada reference).  Whatev.  Either way, the important thing to me is that he asked the question without a shotgun in the ribs and she happily said yes.  Anything else is filler.

Maybe I'm just cynical but it seems to me within these last few years.. well, as long as I've been noticing, is that the act of proposing has become some melodramatic, over the top, mine is bigger than yours kind of thing.  I've heard of elaborate schemes involving scavenger hunts around the city, Amazing Race kind of dealios and just the kind of stuff you'd find in chick flicks where everything comes together perfectly after one implausible slapstick gag after another. 

There was this one time where I was hanging out with a group of friends and a couple took turns, took turns revealing to the rest of us their saccharine-dripping proposal story.  Everyone was listening intently and although I tried to sing loudly in my head to drown out the narration I heard it all.  As the couple finished I looked at another friend sitting near me who I knew shared my sentiment.  He quickly glanced at me and we shared a secret smile before he looked away.  We caught each others' eyes again and I could see that his nostrils were flaring ever so slightly, mouth twitching away and he averted his face from the rest of the group.  I took that moment to quickly pantomime throwing up by shrugging my shoulders and puffing out my cheeks.  We cackled away like idiots.  That was the best moment for me all night.

It doesn't matter to me how each guy decides to pop the question, there's no right or wrong way (no but there's the Stinky girl way and I am never wrong) so hey, if you want to go all out and make it super special for all time go nuts.  Just do it for the right reasons: yourselves.  Don't do it so you've got the best story this wedding season in which to amaze and impress the people around you coz it's really not a pissing contest.  The deed becomes cheapened when the events leading up to the question become more important than the answer.

Besides, you'll only feel bad when I gag and laugh and then I'll feel bad a little and think maybe I should do or say something to make you feel better.  But I'm a really bad liar so y'know, that might make things even more awkward for you.  I mean us.  No... you. 

Scent of a Poo

Why does everything in the Stinky universe always return to the topic of poo?  Well, that's just how the water flushes.  Poo is easy to talk about and if you don't like it that's too bad.  Life with a baby oftentimes lead to lots of poo talk; the smell, texture, frequency, the mishaps... Uh oh, did I say mishaps?

So now that Bug-bug is starting solids, her excrement have matured as well.  Whereas being on a completely liquid diet before, her poops were more akin to watery mucus, now that cereals are working their way through her intestinal tract it's much more like cake batter.  Yum.  I can't wait until she's on real real food.  Oh wait, yes I can.  The smell is much different too.  Milk poo is actually fairly innocuous, it smells like warm, sweet milk.  I like that smell.  Solid food poo on the other hand smells like, well, poo.  Without the benefit of the toilet water buffer.  Mr. Stinky and I must now gack our way through each Number 2 diaper change while Bug-bug kicks away joyfully.

Diapers are absorbent in nature, liquid waste is greedily sucked up and stored and when the Bug's poops were watery we had few problems with leakage.  Not so much now that she's churning batter... it tends to sit right on top of the diaper fabric, squishing around until someone mops it up.

Yesterday as I was enjoying my lunch I knew she had pooped, mommy noses detect everything.  As I was nearly done, I put her in her playpen and told her to wait a few minutes so that I could finish, as well as making sure she was too.  Those few minutes were my downfall.  You see, I've spawned a creature that almost never stops moving.  Even in her sleep she will swim around merrily in her crib.  So when I put her in the playpen and she wiggled about, an apoocalypse arrived.

Stripping her down to her diaper I got poo on my hands.  Having realized that there was a leakage somewhere I examined her closer and saw that there was actually poo everywhere: socks, change pad, clothes and even all the way up her back.  It was a massive poo, think brownie bomb explosion.  For a few seconds I wasn't sure what to do, mop up the leakage, take off her clothes or change her diaper.  You know in the cartoons when the character runs back and forth aimlessly while flapping his/her hands about uselessly?  I was totally doing that inside my head.  I managed to get down to business and get all three done with some success.  Wipe after wipe was expended to staunch the damage, next destination: kitchen sink.

Just when I thought the crisis was over, she let loose and peed all over herself.  I watched helplessly as residual poo bits swam around in the lake of piss and moaned this new development.  It was bigger than the kitchen sink, we were headed to the bath, and that's just what we did with me holding a dirty, naked baby at arms' length sprinting upstairs all the while hoping there would be no more surprises.

Somehow we made it.  It was touch and go for awhile but we pulled through.  I dread to think of the next outburst.

True Story

Bou Bou Bou...

Another one bought the desk!

Bou Bou Bou...

Another one bought the desk!

And another one gone, and another one gone, another one bought the desk.  Hey!

Yah, you're gonna get one too, another one bought the desk!

As a kid, I thought those were the words.  Made sense to me, that singer must really like buying desks.  Besides, if you had told me what the real lyrics were I would have scoffed; why would you bite dust anyway??  So I'd sing it loud and proud over and over again coz words aside, it really is a cool tune.

Years later when I learned the real words and their meaning I blushed furiously to myself over the mistake.  "Man, I'm so stoopid!  Buying desks?!  Tchh!"  But I'm over it now and can enjoy the memories of youthful innocence.  Sometimes when the song comes on I'll sing my version of it to Mr. Stinky who, of course, finds it amusing.

Yah I'm a loser but you know you wanna sing it my way.  Go enjoy your weekend and maybe buy a desk.

Honky Tonk Lovin'

We ventured down to Syracuse, NY for an easy 3 day roadtrip.  Not a whole lot to report on other than the fact I spent more than a few dimes on stuff for the Bug.  But we accidentally found one super happening place in the downtown area.  If you're ever in New York City, Rochester or Syracuse you must check it out:  Dinosaur Bar-B-Que.  The fact that this skeevy looking, biker dive was packed on a Monday night speaks volumes.  So too does the lack of parking space in the nearby area as we watched many a customer walking from blocks away, gravitating to this joint.  If I still was pregnant Mr. Stinky would be driving down everyday to pick me up some take out.  If any of you are planning a trip to the area let me know, bring me back some food. 

Cable Guy!

*Ring*

Hello? Hello?

*Click*

That's usually how I deal with telemarketers. I know they have the automated voice recognition doohickeys working for them on their end, and I was under the impression that those things are illegal but anyway, so when I hear the dead air followed by their own click and lucky cubicle drone connecting to sell me something I don't want, I hang up on them. Sometimes they'll catch me before I hang up so then the prize is speed talking their sales pitch before I tell them that I ain't interested and hang up. Mr. Stinky, however, will stay on the line hello-ing into the phone until someone starts talking. Then he might say something snarky to them. Sometimes he just keeps hello-ing until I get irritated and tell him to hang up the damned phone.

Anyway, now that I'm home during the day I receive many of these useless phone calls. Seeing's how we don't have call display I can't screen calls. I feel compelled to share a very recent, yet unusual experience with you dear readers, and I hope it leaves you as incredulous as it did me. Let's begin.

It was a Wednesday, just another Wednesday. Me and the Bug-bug (I know, I keep changing her name. Let's return to a slightly changed version of the original Stinkerbug OK?) were hanging around, doing our thing when the phone rang. I picked up and gave my customary dual hellos and was about to hang up when I heard a male voice on the other end. It turned out to be a bad connection but it led me to believe that it might've been Mr. Stinky on his cell phone just seeing if the house was still standing.

So bad connection guy turned out to be from a local cable company offering the latest promotion to better our service. These people annoy me so much, and this guy already had several strikes against him. Let's list them.

> Telemarketer

> Bad connection

> Heavy accent of some sort

> Enunciation.. didn't do, didn't care...

I only picked out a few words here and there but obviously I got the important ones. After his rushed introduction my response was polite yet firm. Here it is verbatim.

Stinky T: No thanks, this isn't a good time. (Haven't figured out how to put babies on hold yet.)

Bad Connection Guy: *Loud huff of irritation* This? Is not? A good time. For you??

Stinky T: (Brrr?!?) Yah... no, it isn't.

BCG: *Something something unintelligible something* Fine! *Click*

Oh dude, I just got told off and hung up on! What the hell just transpired? I could've been pissed off by the horrible customer service but all I did was look at Bug-bug and laugh. Of all the telemarketing calls I've ever received, and especially from a major cable company I've never had an experience like this. Like, he was totally pissed off that I was probably at home doing nothing besides picking my nose because obviously if I had something to do, like a job, I'd be out of my home doing it. Right? And if I was just sitting at home picking my nose then I should have a few minutes to at least listen to the latest promotion he had to offer and accept it. Sheeesh! I am such. a disappointment. How do I live with myself?

BCG must totally be a new guy too, coz I know that company and I know that they carefully monitor every single call and grade (I swear!) their employees at specific times of the year to list all their transgressions and here's your grade loser, bring those statistics up by the next term or you're getting written up and it'll go into your file. Dun dun dun!!

And no, I didn't better my service. We distinctly chose the shittiest yet most expensive package the company had because that's how we roll. Fight the power!

Old Faithful

Nursing pads are not expensive but the cost does add up when you use them on a regular basis.  Ever since the Fusspot arrived I've been utilizing their absorbent nature daily to prevent any embarrassing leakage.  My friend told me she only uses them when she leaves the house to cut down on costs, and today I decided that I would give the girls some breathing space and go without pads and bra.

That lasted 1 hour.  Then I felt the familiar tightening in my chest.  Following that, I completely soaked my shirt (are you grossed out yet?) and ran upstairs to change into something dry.  Upon locating a clean shirt I had to wait in the bathroom until my chest ceased to drip before changing.  Sorry girls, no more freeboobing it.  Not for awhile anyway.

I know, I'm way too open with my topics of discussion.  What're you gonna do?

Funniest Comment This Weekend

We were at a wings place, just Mr. Stinky and I, enjoying a romantical meal of sucking meat from little avian arm bones and smearing honey garlic and barbeque sauce all across our cheeks.

"Gotta go pee... I better wash my hands first so I don't burn my dick off."

That guy must've been handling some spicy fare.  But yah, made me giggle anyway.

Bye Bye, 2007

So this is the final 2007 post, it's been a good year.  Had a great pregnancy, not such a fun birthing experience and sometimes the Fusspot made me want to build a time machine to go back to the past and change a few things.  On the upside, mommy can go back to dealing with her issues with the occasional drink that always puts a smile right back on her face.  Oh how I've missed my wine while pregnant, it's such a joy to be able to enjoy alcohol again even if it's in small amounts.  A memorable night was had recently at Oscar's when there was the chance to sample from several bottles due to the number of people in attendance.

Anyway, so the holidays were good.  The baby was mostly well behaved, except for a few times when we saw family and she was overwhelmed, swarmed, tossed around like a hot potato and yelled at (Asians are especially loud and excitable).  But then, I can't really blame her for being upset when she was just obviously scared.  Of note, one of the grandmas (my mom) should never drink when the Fusspot is around.  A few drops of the fun juice revs up her loud and excitability factor exponentially.  Hot potato turned into a rugby scrum and I had to step in several times to rescue my screaming baby lest she become many baby parts before the night's end.

Fusspot is all ready for the New Year celebration tonight, within the last week she has discovered screeching.  At first very cute, it has now become a nails on chalkboard kind of scream she incessantly enjoys making.

So there you go, I gotta get back to my New Year's party.  It's all about video games, snacks and Jell-o shots.  I just had my first... never was a big fan of vodka but it'll do.  See you all in the new year.  

Boxing Day Giant

I usually don't go out and mosh with the crowds coz I don't like crowds but yesterday Mr. Stinky and I decided to venture out and introduce the baby to the crazy, crazy world of mob shopping.  We stuck mainly to the boring places (furniture stores) but did hop along to a nearby Best Buy just to check out what the draw was.

I've always been super annoyed with people who take massive strollers out to crowded places and bung up traffic.  Now I'm one of them.  Oh well.  Mr. Stinky got through the doors and thought I was right behind him except some guy who just purchased a gigantic flat screen TV of no particular brand was coming out of the doors.  I waited for him to pass before pushing through, except his TV fell off the end of his cart.  He hurriedly tried to toss the TV back onto his cart but with no one to hold the cart in place, it kept rolling backwards and the poor guy's brand new TV hit the ground two more times before his wife caught up to help him.

Having caught that bit of comedy, I proceeded to inch towards the doors but was cut off rather rudely by several eager shoppers.  This may be severely racist and stereotypical but these people are from regions of the world where lining up for something is not done.  It bothers me immensely when I line up patiently for something like the bus and when it comes a swarm of people appear.  Anyway.  So I tried to carefully enter the doors while the eager shoppers actually hopped around or contorted themselves around the stroller when out of nowhere the biggest, tallest, most awesomest man came to rescue me.  He grabbed one of them by the arm and yanked him out of my way like he was swatting a fly.  Dude.  That guy flew back like a piece of paper.  Images of Chara and McCabe fighting from a few years ago sprang to mind and while I giggled away madly inside my head, I politely thanked my knight in shining leather (his jacket was longer than my height!) and finally walked into the store to rejoin Mr. Stinky.  

Inside the store I hung out near a relatively safe display and Mr. Stinky snaked his way around the store to look at a few things.  The entire time I had my eyes on Mr. Humongosaurus doing his own shopping, he was not easy to miss, he towered over every single display rack.  He looked like he could be dangerous but as I watched him interact and laugh with the store staff I decided that he was just a big, tall teddybear.  I might've drooled a little just being in his presence, I'm a sucker for cool people like that.

We didn't stay long, just a few minutes.  There wasn't anything really worth buying but it was fun nonetheless.  But who cares, that wasn't the story anyway.

Nanou and the Tap-tap Shoes

Nanou is the nickname of my first friend in elementary school when my family moved to the GTA.  Her real name of course I won't use, but is also what we named our Fusspot.  I have a lot of special memories of Nanou, the second of a large family of girls and one boy I met her on my first day of school.

It was grade 2, I tugged on my teacher's sleeve at recess time and told her that I didn't have anyone to play with... to this day I can't believe I did that since by grown up standards that is the lamest thing in lamedom you could ever do but then again, kids are much more honest and open.  It was the truth and I needed someone to play with.  So after I told her that, she asked the class if there was anyone who would play with me.  I don't remember how many people volunteered but Nanou was the loudest and most insistent.  We became instant friends.

It was serendipity that she lived two doors down from me.  We spent a lot of time playing and laughing before her family outgrew their house and moved a few streets away to continue their expansion.  Nanou was a special creature, she was beautiful with blond hair and blue eyes but she was also incredibly intelligent and free spirited.  She could command attention easily but it was her ability to make people laugh, and her fearless feats of physical comedy that would years later make me think of Lucille Ball... she still makes me smile.

Every once in awhile we would plan to bring our tap-tap shoes to school.  They were simply our pretty dress shoes with a bow in the front and a little bit of heel to make a young girl feel all grown up.  When it was time to go to the washroom we would both ask the teacher for permission and with an arm over each others' shoulder we'd tap our way merrily down the hall cum personal dance floor to the washroom.  Sometimes we'd lose track of time and take too long, our teacher caught onto us and banned our together washroom trips after that.  We were resigned to tap-tap during recess and lunch time when everyone else was around and it was never the same. 

We went our separate ways come high school and didn't see much of each other anymore.  Once in awhile I would bump into her father, a slight man of stature with exceptional intelligence and manners who could put the fear into anyone who dared test his patience.  Of  our conversations he would always proudly sing of Nanou's accomplishments as a young lady coming into her own, bringing home report cards filled with only the letter A and preparing for a bright future doing whatever she wanted.

After awhile I didn't see him anymore so there was no more catching up.  I rarely saw her either.  Imagine my shock when one day out of the blue I saw my old friend as a stranger who would not acknowledge my presence.  From the beautiful and happy girl next door she had transformed into a beautiful but cold goddess.  The smile was gone, she looked so forbidding.  She was completely buried underneath layers of hairspray, eye shadow and leather.  She could have been 20 if not for the fact that she still looked like a young girl, I didn't talk to her.  I didn't know how. 

Her tap-tap shoes had turned into dangerous stilettos, all sharp and daring.  I looked down at my feet and saw an old pair of grubby runners so worn that walking across the dew covered grass in the morning my socks would get wet.  We obviously existed on completely different dimension with nothing left in common upon hitting puberty.  I turned to baggy clothes and sports, she embraced the lifestyle of high fashion and sleeping around.  Last I heard she had become a mother several times before leaving her teenaged years and dropped out of school.

I often wonder where she is now and what she's doing.  Does she remember our time together when we pretended to be mermaids during recess and made faces at each other just for laughs?  Would we have anything to say to each other should we ever meet again?  I look at my Fusspot  and hope that she's as fearless and funny and smart as Nanou was, that she'll wear her tap-tap shoes with another friend and be transported to their special dance floor.  But that's where the similarities should end, I hope that my Fusspot never loses her sparkle or smile and bright future when she could be whatever she wants to be.  I wish Nanou the best, I hope she's happy wherever she is. 

Sexy Hickey Story

Coz you know that title's full of crap.

A few days ago I had the Fusspot sitting on my lap and we watched TV together.  I decided that since she was relatively still - omg I think she's got some weird tic or something.  That kid never stops moving... even when she sleeps! - and her nails looked kind of long, I would give her a little manicure.

She's at the stage now where everything gets sucked on; her fist, her fingers, her bib, the shoulders on her sweaters which is convenient if all she has to do it turn her head to the side, her toys, your hand should it get close enough... There's a lovely gloss of baby drool on any and everything she can get her mouth on.  You could even say it's festive at this time of the year.  But really, it's just gross.

So while I was cutting her nails she turned her head and started licking my inner arm.  No wait, my stunningly toned and tanned bicep.  I was cool with this, if she was distracted long enough I could finish her nails and not have to leave that one sharp claw for later because she was tired of staying still and started to fuss.

Snip snip... suck suck... snip... babies have very good sucking abilities.  Very strong suction.  My arm (toned and tanned bicep) started to hurt.  Then it really started to hurt.  I hurriedly finished the manicure and pulled the little parasite off my arm only to find a very red and angry memory of times gone by, my daughter had given me a hickey.  This is stuff from like, forever ago.  What the hell indeed.

Christmas Shopping

'Tis the season I dread it every year.  Not because I'm a scrooge but because inevitably all the shopping hours and efforts focus on me.  That's right, I gift myself so many more times over than everyone else on my shopping list and at the end of the day that's OK.  Who doesn't like new and pretty things, especially when it's exactly what they want?  You so know I'm right.

I think sometime after a few years of adulthood most of us realize that every year is about the same.  Your friend can only use so many scarves, mom doesn't really want another set of flannel PJs because she hasn't even opened up the other four sets you had surprised her with in the previous years.  And honestly, when people ask what you want for Christmas you're not thinking a sweater or that new set of candlesticks.  What you're thinking as the words "sweater", "I don't need anything", or "the pool boy" fall from your lying lips (Santa knows!) are more to the tune of "pay off my house/car/yacht/illegal mail-order "house boy"", "a huge-mongous pile of money to swim in a la Scrooge McDuck" or something completely insane.  But it's what you really want, right?  In the end, who am I to turn down presents no matter how much at the bottom of my wish list they may be?

The problem is when I make my way to the stores to buy for other people.  Because it's so difficult to remain creative for others, my attention always manage to fall upon the familiar which of course is the stuff I like and want.  Before you know it, I'm leaving the mall at the end of a long shopping day with a ton of bags all filled with goodies for yours truly.  Incredibly fulfilling.  Until the credit card bill comes.  Even more frustrating just because I know that list I was supposed to be working on is still fresh and crisp, having never even been looked at.

One year Emma and I spent the day at the mall "buying stuff for other people".  We couldn't decide what to get each other while satisfying the criteria being A)affordable, B)the other person would like it and C)keeping it a surprise.  Of course C is just asinine since in order to get someone something they like you have to ask what it is that they want and come Christmas Day when they open up their present from you and it's exactly what they had asked for it really isn't a surprise.  Anyway, we just decided that if we should see something we liked or wanted we'd just buy it for ourselves and say it was from the other person.  All of a sudden, shopping for each other was so much easier.  Too bad you can't really do that with everyone else.

So yah, I unexpectedly had access to a car a few days ago and grandma was home for the day.  The Fusspot was left with her and I sang all the way to the mall.  After several hours of looking in all the wrong stores I came home with a few things for myself (there was a lot of self-control exercised) and nothing for anybody else.  What a waste of a shopping trip considering I rarely get such freedom nowadays.  I am so disappointed in myself.

Well, not really since I got presents but I should wallow in some guilt for a little while for the good of mankind.  I hear it builds character or something anyway... 

Magic Carpet Toilet Paper

I don't have anything colourful right now to offer my loyal legions of paid fans, so you'll have to make do with something that's been sitting in my draft folder for some time now.  Be in awe, be entertained.   

You wouldn't think that the topic of toilet paper would be so important but since I'm the primary shopper in the household and use so damned much of it these last several months it's got me thinking. And reminiscing. What a loser. You are. Shut up.

My public school dispensed toilet paper by the square. They looked like mini paper towels in that they were tri-folded and when one sheet was taken, the next would pop out ready to service. I hated that toilet paper. Not only were the squares tiny and useless, you really had to pull out a gigantic wad, even as a kid to effectively wipe anything, but curiously, one side of the sheet had a wax paper-like finish to it and the other side had the abrasiveness to skin a pig with a couple of passes. Now who invented that nonsense? What does a waxy finish do besides smear things around?! That's the last thing I want happening when I'm finished doing my business. The worst part had to be the odd times you pulled one square out and the entire stack followed unexpectedly so now you had a pile of useless "paper" on the ground and one sheet with which to wipe. And if you know public school washrooms you would know that they lived in perpetual shortage of soap. Mmmmm.

Mr. Stinky and I share a need for quality toilet paper. A comfortable product that doesn't exfoliate you down to the raw, inner flesh of the nether regions with every wipe. I promised him when we moved in together that he would never have to worry about crappy toilet paper as the household would always be well stocked with sale-priced, but good stuff. If you must know, anything $0.25 and less per roll is a fair deal. I never get the "ultra" stuff because the more ply per square, the less squares per roll and the higher chances of a clog occurring when that fluffy stuff soaks up the toilet water. It's all about the math people... and having too much time to ponder the trivial stuff.

I don't know who the supplier is for my employer but we get some magical stuff. It's not great toilet paper, but it's exponentially better than what Mr. Stinky has at his work. I had to pee once while visiting him and the paper in the stalls weren't even 1-ply, more like 3/4-ply. It was see-through and practically disintegrated in your fingers if you tried to unravel it too fast. Sad. Anyway, magic toilet paper. It straddles the abyss between semi-soft and barely tolerable but for the most part, is OK. What amazes me is that this stuff floats. Like the Cheerios mothers use to toilet train toddler boys this stuff doesn't sink or flush.

This morning after the first of many pees for the rest of the day I had to flush quickly three times in a row hoping that each one would employ the inertia of the previous flush to suck the stuff down the pipes. Honestly, I didn't use that much paper, it's just magical like I said, and I'd hate to leave proof of my presence for the next washroom user. It's a common courtesy; no one should have to look at stuff someone else left behind no matter how innocuous. Of course hearing all that flushing would lead anyone around with ears to think that I took a massive and unflushable poo and was now doing battle with the toilet to get rid of it. Not that it really matters, there are only so many options of action one could take in a washroom and I'm certainly not embarrassed to answer the call of nature. But shoot, three flushes. That's a lot of... stuff.

Talk Radio

Mr. Stinky enjoys it, I find it highly annoying and avoid it whenever I can. Sometimes it's hard when we sit in the car together and he's got the radio controls at his fingertips. Sometimes, when I'm really not in the mood I make him change the station.

I dislike talk radio because when I turn on the radio I want to listen to music. People talking happens everywhere, it's rare for more than one to share space and not have to discuss something, so I don't feel that I need to turn the dial to listen to strangers talking over the airwaves. I turn on the radio to get away from conversations and just let the music soothe my ears and mind.

What I hear on talk radio is a bunch of people talking and yelling over each other to convince someone else of their opinions and thoughts. But honestly, how often do you change your mind on a topic just because the next person wants you to? It doesn't matter whether it's people calling in to argue with the host or the hosts themselves spitting at each other, to me, angry people on the airwaves constitutes annoyance. Why would I tune in? Pish posh.

To illustrate how trite talk radio is to me, the following exchange is what I get everytime I am forced to listen to the program du jour. The words may be different but the sentiments are consistently about the same. Could be just me.

"Today we're discussing whether or not you agree with the new tax the city has voted to implement in order to pay off debt and refill the coffers. I'll start. To me, this is a pathetic ploy by the right-wing politicians to punish their constituents and fatten their wallets. It's a horrible idea that makes my head spin."

"Oh, all you left-winged conspiracists are always complaining about something or other. The city is bankrupt and we need them if we are to keep growing."

"Don't you patronize me!"

"Stop whining, you big baby."

"Oh shut up, you stupid dumbass."

"I don't like to shut up, I like 7-Up!"

"Pooface!"

"Poobrains!"

"I know you are but what am I?"

"I hate you!"

"I hate you too!"

"I hate you times infinity!"

"I hate you times inifinity plus 1!"

"There's no such thing, you uneducated and malformed humanoid!"

"Is too coz I just did. Stamped it, double stamped it, no reverse-ys!"

"I'm telling on you!"

"I'm telling on youuu!"

"Mooooooom!!"

OK, you get the point.

Cold Season

It's coming. I haven't got one but cold remedies are all over the news these days and last week I felt a minor dryness in my throat that went away quickly with lots of water and as much sleep as the Stinkerbug (aka Princess Pruneface) would allow. But on another site I visit, the author is suffering from a cold right now and it reminded me of a story from a long, long time ago...

I once had a bad cold during exam season in high school. The kind of cold where your nose is so badly congested that it feels like the snot has turned into one big solid plug. Blowing and sniffing were both ineffective as the log jam prevented any clearing of the nasal passages. I wrote an exam and halfway through my nose started dripping onto the paper. My horror turned into panic because in a quiet gymnasium an otherwise silent drip sounds like a Hollywood movie splat. I wonder who heard and who saw it fall. Since I couldn't sniff it back up my dammed up nose and blowing it with the scrap of tissue I had with me wasn't working either the only thing I could do, albeit in a humiliated fashion, was to shove the tissue up each nostril and let them soak up the excess drippage. But hey, when you're sick, feel like shit and have to write an exam, public image really falls by the wayside. As I recall, that exam was about 2 hours long. The tissue barely held back the flood waters.

I turned in my paper with snot splatters. I had tried to clean it up as much as I could but there was no hiding the evidence, you didn't need to be on CSI to see the evidence. A small part of me felt stupid but the rest of me only cared enough to go home and sleep the cold off. I remember hoping that no one who touched my paper would get sick because I oozed germs and boogers all over it.

First Trip

If you ever want to see a group of civilized women turn into a frenzied pool of sharks all you have to do is bring a baby into their midst.

Saturday was our first big trip out of the City. We had a family wedding to attend and were not looking forward to it at all since the drive was about 1.5 hour long and we would be staying overnight in a hotel. But with family gatherings so far and few between, we sucked it up and decided that the joys of seeing everyone would ultimately outweigh the stress of a screaming baby.

Surprisingly the Stinkerbug behaved very well. She slept in the car and when she fussed we stopped to feed her before continuing along our merry way. Upon arriving at our destination she was spirited away to be fawned over by cooing ladies and Mr. Stinky and I got to hang out sans baby. If you've never been swarmed, have a baby.

To watch the action play out is fairly amusing. The soap opera-ness of being passed around like a trophy, women being possessive and jealous became a great source of entertainment for Mr. Stinky and me. It's much like a wrestling match as people fought for elbow space and any bit of advantage to get her into their arms. All the while she remained calm and didn't fuss too much. Even as she slept, there were requests to hold her. I know, she's da bomb. We were so relieved things were going well.

The action at breakfast was pretty much the same. I fed her before we went down to eat and passed her off into willing arms. You should know I've learned how to gorge in record setting time... it has always been my reputation to be a painfully slow eater. Now I'm scraping my second plate clean before people have even unfolded their napkins. This is a survival tactic for when she starts fussing while I'm communing with my meal and/or there's no one around to help out... although I've also mastered the ambidextrous skill of eating with whatever hand's available. Anyway, as soon as we got to the dining area she was out of my arms. As relatives woke up and made their way down she changed hands like a hot potato, with everyone wanting to be the taker, never the giver.

The weekend and trip away from home turned out to be fantastic, even if we were tuckered out by the time we got home. The three of us passed out for the entire afternoon as soon as we got home. What a great weekend.

Mall Madness

"Did you think we'd ever be sitting side by side on a mall bench breastfeeding our babies?"

Yesterday was mall day with my friend and also new mommy Oscar. It was to be a big day since I haven't gone out too much with Stinkerbug (aka Princess Pruneface) just because she's such a difficult baby. But hey, we figured in a mall we'd be among many mommies and babies and it's always loud. If one or both babies start screaming, who really cares, right?

The strategy is to learn how to juggle holding a fussy baby while pushing an empty stroller for as long as you can before plopping a calmer baby back down, hoping for the peace to prevail.

We had lunch and walked around. When it was time to nurse we visited the "family room" located in the mall washrooms for some privacy. It turned out to be a dingy corner in the washroom with two worn and stained chairs and a plexiglass enclosure in what could only be described as a windex-deprived jail for toddlers. We decided to head for an empty bench out in the mall.

As we sat there next to each other, boob juice flowing, babies a-drinking and chatted away it occurred to me how odd the situation was. Not in the sense that we were doing anything wrong, but this was a girl I had known since I was a kid. We weren't always friends and lost touch several times over the years, but never did I ever think we'd be together in a situation like now. How far we've come.

Despite all the unpleasant bits to our day; tired arms (both), projectile vomiting (mine), giant poopy diaper (hers), fussy and screaming (both) it was also very enjoyable to be able to spend time with a friend who is going through the exact same experiences... although her baby is several weeks older than Stinkerbug so she can actually pass along tips to help me out.

Yesterday was a fun day, even as we were leaving and had to strap two screaming babes into the back seat of her car. We couldn't help but giggle as they bawled and wailed away like they were singing some dissonant duet until the car ride calmed them down to a drowsy surrender. Thanks for the date, Oscar.

What They Don't Tell You About Giving Birth the "Other Way"

I'm walking around and scratching like I got a mad case of crabs.

Rewind? If we must.

"You can stop pushing, Stinky T. It doesn't look like baby's coming out this way so we'll have to prep you for a C-section. Do you have any questions for me?"

Reading my pregnancy and baby books in the past 9 months I had always skimmed over the C-section chapter, just like the multiple babies chapter. Just like all the stuff that would never apply to me. How was I to know that I would end up getting sliced open while strapped down to the operating table crucifixion-style while hollering and complaining about the horribleness of the procedure?

They cut you open below the bikini line but I find it odd that they neglected to "clean" the area up a little before starting. Now I'm not a hairy person to begin with, but everyone's got something down there and to have a healing scar cluttered up with stragglers of the pubes seems a little... half assed. I also yelled more on that table than I did the entire time I was trying to push that baby out, actually, the pushing itself wasn't half bad. There's no pain from the surgery but you feel everything. The cutting, separating, pushing, tugging, all of that nastiness. I couldn't handle it, I was glad they knocked me out as soon as they pulled the baby out.

Afterwards I was told that surgery tends to turn the digestive system off temporarily and until I passed gas I would have to be on a clear liquid diet. I shrugged OK, like whatever, right? Dinner time. They delivered my tray. I devoured that apple juice, ate up my chicken broth and pushed the jello at Mr. Stinky and... that's it?! Oh hell no! I worked extra hard to get things churning again and let me tell you, I was farting like a champ and back on solids by breakfast time.

Why a C-section? Turns out some arch in my pelvic passageway is a little too high. It became the roadblock that prevented Stinkerbug's slide to freedom. During my marathon 4 hours of pushing I had a multitude of nurses, doctors and obstetricians visit me and invasively shove fingers into tight spaces to check on the progress of birth. Mr. Stinky and I joked that everyone but him was getting any action that day, he was wondering if the postman would drop by as well to join in on the gang probing.

The recovery process is just as fun. I was bedridden for much of the time afterwards in the hospital while they pumped all kinds of IVs and drips into me on one side. In the nether end I was hooked up to a lovely catheter. I was so bloated from all the liquids I looked like the Marshmallow Man. It was kind of like Show and Tell too, when I received visitors. "Look, I made this bag of pee all by myself! Wanna see?" All women bleed copiously after giving birth, whether vaginally or by C-section. Since I was stuck in bed I had to ask the nurses on a regular basis to change my underpads. So yes, I was also swimming around in my own sauce which resulted in a lovely and itchful diaper rash on my ass.

Once I was out of bed I was loaded up on painkillers. You never realize how much you use your stomach and ab muscles until they've been cut wide open. Every little move I made was extremely painful; if I sat for more than a few minutes I got out of my chair or bed bent at a right angle and would have to slowly straighten myself out. Mobility was quite the issue for many days afterwards. The afterpains hit me extra hard because as my uterus contracted and shrunk guess where I felt it the most? That's right, that nicely stapled smile on my belly.

So I walk around with my hand over the incision for support - it does help - and it looks like I'm a chronic masturbater too. Now that the scar is healing it's itchy as hell, along with the folds of wobbly skin that's working hard to shrink back to it's original tautness (ha!) and I'm holding and scratching and rubbing and having to explain to everyone around why exactly it is I've got my hand(s) down my pants.

Baby Boot Camp

I've survived my first two weeks. They say as with any new event in life the human person needs two weeks to adjust whether it be exercise, a new routine, diet, or in my case a screaming, fussy newborn. I long for the days of sleeping whenever and however long I wish. It's a distant memory, the days when Mr. Stinky and I could lounge around and do nothing just because we felt like it. Time has no meaning to me right now except that about every three hours I begin the cycle of feeding, changing, consoling and pleading with an unreasonable person to relax and go to sleep. I don't know what day of the week it is anymore, nor can I recall when something happened. Yesterday? The day before? All I know is that it did, don't ask me when.

I have adjusted to catnapping throughout the day when the baby allows me to. When I tell you I got 5 hours of sleep yesterday it's quite an achievement considering that over the course of 24 hours I can grab an hour here and there to total 5 and be able to function. Not very well I should add, but I doubt anyone's judging. And if you are, well, just wait until you have one of these beastly little babies. I won't be there to say I told you so coz I've already got my hands full but you'll see. A few hours of fragmented sleep doesn't even come close to one undisturbed snooze of the same amount of time in terms of satisfaction or refreshment.

I plan on discussing in the coming days about how the past couple of weeks have been like. I need to warn you that the material will be graphic, I never was a prude but after being in a hospital and having the entire hospital staff examine what's between my legs on a regular basis, there's really no need for me to beat around the bush (tee! I said bush...). If you're squeamish you probably won't want to read it, so take this as my forewarning to you.