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?

Uterus Out On Lunch, Be Back In 5 Years

I wanted a son. I want a son. A little guy to love his Mama best and think his best sister is the coolest in the world. I remember the agony of waiting and anticipation of the bated-breathe genre to meet your child. I know the (possible) next time around, I won't be so fearful, I could enjoy the process more... The planning of the perfect nursery, washing baby clothes, holding and nursing your child for the first time.

UGH, fucking hormones.

Everybody said that once the first child is about two, that's when moms start wanting another. I HATE when everybody is right. Luckily, although heavily swayed by hormones and impulse (hence Lola) I am not entirely ruled by such hasty factors and I do have common sense.

Therefore, a list:

Excellent Reasons Why Having Another Child Is a Stupid Fucking Idea:
1. No house
2. No boyfriend
3. No money
4. 4+ years of school STILL
5. Loans, car payments
6. Love having my body to myself
7. Can't fit groceries and 2 car seats in my car
8. Only 23!
9. HATE pregnancy!!!!!!
10. Work full-time, school part-time

These crazy baby-thoughts don't appear out of thin air however, I've had help. Example A: Tee seems to be mentioning Lo's babyhood an awful lot lately, with a tone of wistfulness that I admit to feeling as well. Example B: He's been teasing me about admitting to wanting another child but when he mentions the future there is an "s" after kid, as is more than the one we have right now. Example C: After mentioning my boobs hurt (the only symptom of getting my period, hurray Mirena!) he said "maybe you're pregnant" in a jovial, ha-ha kind of way that contained more than a hint of hope.

AHHHHHH! Admittedly, we do work well as a parental team but that's a really bad reason to create another child if we're unsure of our long-term compatibility. Who created my loathesome enemy, the pituitary gland!?

For the sake of ourselves and especially Lo, I will be installing an electric fence around my vulva and one of those spiky anti-rape tampons where instead of mauling the intruding penis, it'll inconsolably wail with a newborns cry for 3 hours. Ha, self! Try and get horny now...

Oh yeah, and I'll leave my IUD in til it's time to get another installed...

What's All the Eggcitement About? har har

My St. Paul weekend was great. I ate overpriced cafe food, hit up a record/clothing/head shop and generally indulged my inner hedonist. There was plenty of outfit changing, hair cuts, whiskey, pipes, acorn squash (with brown sugar), sleeping and a complete lack of showers! A very fine weekend indeed.

To radically change directions, I've been contemplating becoming an egg donor. (Can you be an egg "donor" if you get paid? I guess I'm still donating said egg to another couple but if there's payment does it lose it's meaning? I guess the extraction is somewhat painful and the screening process is time-comsuming, is it a cop-out if I view the payment as "compensation?" Why do I feel guilty for even thinking about receiving money for this process, it is my egg after all and it's coming out of my body... Ahhh, calm down!)

Ever since I became of fan of Julie's blog and read her entire archived history and laughed and cried and sighed and sympathised and cheered with her about her fertility challenges, I've thought about the good I could do in this process. I could also get about 3 grand which could go into the house down-payment fund... Or it could get me through multiple semesters... Or it could hang out and wait til Lola or I decide to take up a hobby that deals with band saws, nail guns or blowtorches...

BUUUUUUTTTT... on the other hand, while I'm considering how wonderful it would be if my "donation" ended up completing a family and realizing somebody's dream of becoming a mother, my neurotic little mind starts ticking.

How could I not be curious as to what a person with half my genetic makeup is like. I would want to know if my genes dominated, is the child's hair curly? Does he or she have smallish almond eyes? What about those baby hairs that never grow right at the hairline? If it's a girl, does she have the same personality quirks as me and Lo? I feel like I should warn the prospective parents that in my family, we get real cranky, real fast if we're not fed on time, be aware. In short, I feel like I might get to emotionally attached to "my egg" and the genetics associated.

And then, when my mom sees the flyer I brought home from school, she says, "What if that child and Lola grow up someday and met and fall in love and never know they're related." Oh, thanks Mom, now I'm worrying about some crazy Lifetime Movie plot come to real life, my life, Lo's life...

But then I come full-circle and think about the good things I could do with that money, I could invest it for Lola's schooling. I could give my child a solid start while helping someone have one of their own. Plus, we Llanases are a healthy bunch, we make exceptionally cute children and it's really something I believe in.

Will I do it?

Mama...Bayyybe...

Lola is loving babies right now. Actually, she's frickin' obessesed. Everything is a Bayybe. Bayyybe ketchup bottle, bayyybe shoe, bayyybe plant etc. Sometimes she uses bayyybe as a synonym for "small" (a small plant), sometimes it's used as a way to express ownership (that shoe is the baby's shoe), and sometimes it's a title/noun (that's a genuine baby).

I can tell you that I sick and tired about hearing of babies but it's a subject that Lo holds dear and I'm trying to encourage her interests even if I don't agree. Shiiiit, I was doing my best to avoid bayybes for about 6 years through a combination of luck, everchanging contraceptives and lots and lots of prayers in my newfound religiousness when I thought there might be a bayyybe. Of course I reverted to my old ways as soon as I knew there wasn't, talk about not learning my lesson! This pattern and mindset sure makes it hard to get excited and comfortable with bayyybe talk every minute of every hour of every day, but I'm trying.

There is a point to this dear reader, which I will get to shortly. Yesterday Lola and I went to Cozy Nook Farm where we bought some pumpkins, sat on some vintage John Deere tractors, accepted candy from a stranger (jeez, am I slacking on my momness or what?) and pet some cows. First we got to pet the calf that was only a month old. It was housed in a nice little area all it's own with clean hay and a cool breeze. I was a little hesitant to let Lo pet it though because it had flies congregating on it's legs. When I shooed them away, I found healing raw patches and the poor baby had a pretty pitiful cough too. After hearing the creature wheeze, I decided it was time for Lo and I to go look for healthier animals to pet. We called a big cow over (named Cinnamon) or in Lola speak, Mama. A big cow, obviously the Mama.

Then my automatic cynicism receded a bit and I went into empathy mode. What if it is the Mama? How does she feel having her month-old, sick calf separated from her to draw pumpkin buyers to the farm? Does she even care, being a cow? I must admit, it didn't seem like she did, she was too busy sniffing/snotting on my baby's feet to look very interested in her own baby. But then again, it might not have even been her baby.

The point I'm trying to get it at is Lola is teaching me as much as I'm teaching her. Fuck off, I'm not spouting cliches for the hell of it, I'm trying to say that she leads me to think critically, open up my narrow perspective and maybe change my mind about a few things I've tradionally held one way or another. She makes me look at things with new eyes, I smile at things that I know she would like, I moo at cows when I'm all alone in my car. I skip on my way to night class and smile at people who give me disdainful looks.

I think I was well on my way to becoming a very serious, very self-absorbed person before Lola came along. I would never have skipped to class unless intoxicated. Maybe because I would've been embarrassed but most likely because it wouldn't have even occured to me. Lo has brought some serious fun into my life and rerouted my path to personhood all the better. I like being Lola's mom. I like myself more and I love her. Hear that Lo? I love you.

Do I love everything bayyybe? NO. But I love my bayyybe more than fumbling words can say.