Let's Compare, Shall We?

Main Entry: nocturnal emission

Function: noun: an involuntary discharge of semen during sleep often accompanied by an erotic dream -- compare WET DREAM

Merriam-Webster defines a wet dream above. Now, I don't know about you but my erotic dreams are often quite pleasurable (and totally unrealistic!) When I wake up, I've got a smile on my face and I didn't have to do a damn thing.


I got to thinking about all the hard work making Lola was. The first three months of her existence were spent on the couch of a second story apartment without air, crying and barfing. I laid as still as I possibly could so as not to make myself warmer (spontaneous combustion was a very real possibility) and so I wouldn't invoke the ire of the fickle and pissed-off parasite in me. I imagined the tiny little alien-like grouping of cells like a mighty volcano god ruling my body. Smell the wrong smell, drink an ounce more than approved or think the wrong thought, the volcano god would know and send me sprinting for the bathroom, merrily retching as I go...


The next three months were physically better, plus it had positive things such as feeling Lo move, finding out her sex, hearing the heartbeat, the blessed, beloved heartbeat! But, as the universe balanced itself out, my psychological stability weakened even as my physical condition became bearable. I say bearable because pregnancy still sucked vs. non-pregnancy. The frequent urination, the enormous tits, the kicks while I was trying to sleep and Lola's constant hiccups were still taking their toll. My head was doing it's best to get used to the idea of motherhood and failing pretty miserably.


The last three months was more half/half horrible. I couldn't sleep, I half-expected Lola (in-utero kung fu master) to kick a wee foot right through my womb and cause internal damage. The growing Lo weight was putting pressure on my hips, my back and my poor pelvis was sore. I felt like I had just set a new world record for gangbanging and all I was doing was sitting in an office chair. I did finally get comfortable with being someone's mom, but the sheer physical discomfort really helped dispel the anxiety and make me look forward to her birth. A most selfish anticipation...


1. I barfed.
2. Busted blood vessels in my face, making me look like the walking dead.
3. Didn't sleep.
4. Went off the deep end, came back again.
5. Worried, worried, what if'd, what if'd, worried s'more
6. Pored over baby books, learned what a mucus plug is, examined underwear for bloody show, shopped, washed, cleaned, agonized...
7. Got beat the fuck up from the inside by the body-snatcher
8. My nipples were bitten
9. Labor pains!
10. My vagina stretched to a whopping 10 cm, requiring my first ever stitches.

The comparison of contributions to the making of babies: The above to what men can do involuntarily while dreaming a good dream. Hmmm, imagine me, weighing my Athena-like scales of fairness... I think Lola got the right last name.

PS. This post originated from Tee's tendency to say, "My penis made her." in a smug little voice when Lo's being particularly cute. I think he forgets the tiny little nine months of hell I contributed...

Christmas Break Updates

Wow, glad that X-Mas bile is out of my system, I was starting to dislike myself...



Christmas was, of course, perfectly wonderful, making me feel like a foolish harpy. Lola got many, many toys, including a doll house that actually made her step back and say "WOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWW!" She unwrapped a majority of her presents, my presents and Tee's presents, much improvement from last year when the paper itself held more wonder for her than the carefully chosen presents inside.



There was little to no whining, tamtrum-throwing or overtiredness (on her part or mine) and since I didn't have to attend more than two places this year (instead of 3+in previous years) it turned out to be the most relaxing Christmas on the books. Lo and Tee napped while I watched Willow, we ate leftover tostadas and then visited my aunt and uncle's home for enchiladas. I enjoy the Hispanic side of my family because they are accepting and loud and the kitchen's always hopping, and because they customized a whole role of enchiladas without meat especially for moi.



Next time you have 30-some crazy Mexican relatives over at your house and you are supervising/expertly filling/rolling tortillas in the enchilada chain gang, you tell me if you remember ONE/10,000 of your nieces doesn't eat meat. Love ya Uncle Dean.



Other things to note: Lola decided to eat crackers in bed one morning and I gave her my mostly unconsious go-ahead and fell back asleep. When I wake up, it was like a Ritz genocide in my bed. I had a whole role of buttery, delicious crackers sprinkled like crispy confetti, under my prostrate body, nestled between my tits, mooshed into my pillow, hiding in the crack between the bed and wall. Judging from how many there were in my bed, she probably ate about two and then realized how fun it was to shower Sleeping Butthead with them. I'm just glad she hasn't pulled one of those poop-smears, it could've been a lot worse.



On the Tee Front, we went to see The Spirit on Sunday and I believe that while absence makes the heart grow fonder, close proximity just makes us fucking annoyed with one another. If you have a cuddly, comfortable date-night in mind (as I did), keep dreaming. This was stiff and careful, almost formal without the pleasant nervousness of a date with someone you don't know that well. We were so anxious not to say the wrong thing, piss the other off, that we barely talked, smiled only a little, laughed not at all. This is stupid, why are we even trying?

Tell Me a Story

No, I'm not here to digress on my lovefest with Tee. Rather, I will take a divergent path and speak oh-so-eloquently about my favorite kinds of stories: "How they met" stories.

I LOVE "HOW THEY MET" STORIES!

Even if it's something as my parents' simple "friends introduced us," I'll pry and poke and question until I get the smallest of details. Which friends? What kind of restuarant did Dad take you to? Did he pay? Did you think Mom's Catholic school-girlness was naughty? Was Dad's hair long then...how long...like to here? What can I say, I enjoy em.

I think one of the reasons I like these stories so much is because it brings a rush of excitement back to the person reliving it. Another reason is that this simple story can always open someone up to telling other stories somewhat related. My mom will then branch into my Dad's shithead friends (now mostly dead, yikes), the many times they broke up and how they each took a (different) date to the same place which resulted in jealously I can still hear tinging her voice to this day.

I like to imagine how the storyteller must've been like when the story was taking place. I like to place normal, ordinary details in there somewhere to make it more realistic. Did my mom go into the bathroom with her friend and compare notes about their dates? Maybe she had an achey back from PMS but my dad's presence was distracting enough that she forgot about it.

Another reason is that I don't really have a "how they met" story. Tee and I met in high school. We were part of different groups and somehow we met, exchanged numbers to hang out and he called me. I took him to Phil W's house and my guys were shocked that I brought this stranger into our midst*. The silence only lasted a eon but they warmed up pretty fast because even if Tee wasn't one of us, he was recognizable with his long hair and goofiness and soon was accepted as an honorary member of our clique. (*This was particulary unique because I seldom brought gals around and it was even rarer I brought a guy. When I needed attention from a guy, I left, got it, and came back to "my men." I was rabidly anti-boyfriend throughout most of high school.)

Tee and I grew apart after high school with me going to Whitewater and him going to drugs. I found and called the number on the back of his senior picture with the hope that he would design a tattoo for me (artistic and all) and we hung out on weekends in Rockasha. The first time we kissed, Tee was under the influence of some pretty heavy drugs and I broke it off halfway through because I didn't want our first kiss to be under those circumstances.

But since I can't deny the truth of it being the first, that's the one I remember anyhow.

Feel free to add any faux-realistic details in an effort to make this story and it's author more human and/or exciting. I'll see if I work on it too.

Oh yeah, and I've yet to get a tattoo designed for me.

Family Matters

My family is pretty cool. After the whole I-hate-life,-the-world,-and-especially-my-family teen years ended (blessed relief) I've realized they are pretty fucking great actually.

The more involved I get with other peoples' families reallllllllly makes me appreciate mine. Sure, my brother is a juvenile deliquent with a tendency to do some monumentally stupid shit. Yeah, my mom calls Johnny Depp Johnny Debb and buys way, way too many toys for my child. Ok, my dad speaks little and ignores a lot unless you're speaking Tonto-talk: wine, music, cooking etc. Lola can be a huge brat at times BUT they don't even compare when it comes to some families.

To prevent myself from being dooced - I will try to make the following anecdotes as generic as possible.

Some families I've met hate each other. They'll come right out and tell complete strangers that they are better-loved than their own blank. They scream at each other on the phone, they comment on how superior their children are vs a siblings'. They call each other worthless. All I can say is "ouch!"

I try to be considerate of my siblings' feelings. Even when Pete is a total space cadet and forgets a birthday or, oh, maybe schedules his vacation practically ON my child's due date, hey, is raising a stink really worth it? What if he died tomorrow? I sometimes snap at Ian (although I do my best not to) but then I feel bad, apologize and take him out for lunch. Oh yeah, and I don't punch Chad in the face for his politics, and that's saying something.

Some families have too much money. These family members grow up to love the hollar-hollar-dollar much more than each other. They marry spouses whom they don't love and have stuck up children together. The siblings don't get along but they don't fight often because they are too busy pursuing their own, costly, interests. Hunting takes precedence to romance. Downhill skiing and ATV's and super expensive remote control cars are more important than actually talking with the kids. Designer shoes, jewelry shows and the newest cleaning gadget are the first to be bragged about, but God forbid someone mention a (gasp) book!

Now don't get me wrong, our family is materialistic in the basest sense. You should see our fucking living room, it's a miniture version the the Happyland Palace or whatever M. Jackson calls his cameoflauged Venus childtrap. We love art shows and all the jewelry that comes with it. If we had a lot of money, who knows, maybe we would've turned out exactly the same. BUT, we don't AND we didn't.
I enjoy shopping with my mom and sister and grandma and our babies, Lola and Grey. It's trying at times, I get cranky (especially if I haven't eaten) my Grandma unintentionally cuts me down, I might possibly be hungover... But besides all those things, I don't really go to buy things, I seldom have money, I go to hang out and bask in the female family ambiance. I'm so glad that I have a daughter that I'll be able to pass this safe, loving tradition on with.
While trying on shoes, I fill my mother in on my love-life, school, my goals. It's at Target where I remember to tell my sister an anecdote about Lola's latest and greatest temper tamtrum. While eating at Sprizzo with Ian, we trade ideas on our first tattoos. Yes, we're spending money during these outings but sometimes it feels like they are more of an excuse to bond with family than replenish the toilet paper or find a new pair of jeans.

Now that I'm thinking about these families who-shall-not-be-named, I keep coming up with more examples of horrible family ties. The dads who left, the naggers, the selfish SOB's that.... wait a second, breathe.

This makes me want to go home and hug my not-perfect but closer-than-most family right now. I'm giving great thanks to that Savage Garden that placed me here that I'm a Llanas and that Lola is one too!