Ma Ma Ma Ma Ma Ma Ma Myyyy Mirena.

I feel like I'm smuggling some ultra-awesome, covert weapon of mass destruction, yet the size of a snicker's fun-sized bar, in my cervix. Kinda like that tiny gun Will Smith's character carries in the beginning of the first "Men in Black"? Tons of power within Itty-bittyLivingSpace (think: Aladdin's Genie on that last part... love me some Robin Williams) 

(oh, fun fact: he ad-libbed most of the Genie - so much so that they had over 16 hours of sound from him alone.) 

(additional fun facts from Robin Williams: favorite quotes:

 "Cocaine is God's way of telling you you make way too much money"

"Ah, yes, divorce, from the Latin word meaning to rip out a man's genitals through his wallet."

"See, the problem is that God gave men both a brain and a penis, and only enough blood for one to work at a time."

"A woman would never make a nuclear bomb. They would never make a weapon that kills, no, no. They'd make a weapon that makes you feel bad for a while.")

(I have SOOOOO many more favorites.... Alas, another time... le sigh.)

So, my uterus.

I violated it.

It's not the first time though, so it expects this type of behavior from me. AND BOY, does it like to show how pissed it is. It's all "honey, I feel like you don't appreciate me" and "geez... you care about everything else but me" and when it comes around to That Time, it... like most women, goes all "I'm going to murder your face off" and kicks and screams and slams the frig door in my face and I'm all "dude. WHAT.EVER."

Since some of you crazies don't follow moi on Twatter, here's a few snip-its:

Me = waiting room, enters an OBVIOUSLY first time soon-to-be mother and her husband , *cue swooning* over pixelated grey photos of their precious Gift:

Woman in Ob office looking @ ultrasound photo "I just can't believe she's grown!". Repeat. 15 times. Yes lady - THEY GROW.

OMG - THEY GROW??!?!?!???!?!!!!!?!?!?!??????????????????

Holy Bananas, people. You aren't just getting fatter.

She'll probably name her Dime or Nickel. Quarter needs a playmate (and I'm not linking that because YOU need to be a better Mom Job Stalker. Get. To. It.)

Then we have a "Picture This Story":

I am told to undress from the waist down. Sorry ladies and gents, but I am obligated to tell you that they suggest you get the Mirena placed (seriously, placed? inserted? shoved in?) while you are Being Visited... so there I am... Being Visited... undressed... and Chase is RUNNING AROUND THE ROOM WITH THE VAGINAL JELLY. Can't Chase him - risk gigantic mess. I can yell - mildly effective. Good thing I brought the "well-behaved" child...

At some point, he realized the vagina jelly didn't taste all that great (joke) and he decided to join me on the exam table. Only thing - he ripped at the only shred of covering I had over my lower regions to get up there. 

Frickin' Brilliant.

I am now in mid-mental-debate as to whether I should just throw the thing away, rip off a long strip and wear it Brazilian Bikini Style or make a paper snowflake.

I'm not telling which one I chose.

Then Dr. Violate Your Insides came in - discussed the Mirena with me, and asked me to spread em. Oh. Right... *cough*... this goes THERE.... er... can't I just take it home with me and think about it?

He remarked about my cervical placement... apparently it's flat or low or Not Where It Should Be or Something... here's the exact tweet:

Dr. said "wow" in regards to my cervical placement. I'm going to take this as the highest of gynecological compliments.

You know... "wow" is what I am accustomed to hearing from people starring at my lady parts. (SORRY MOM... ) (how many of you consider your relatives when writing a post?) (I "consider" them... consider how MORTIFIED they will be... hehe)

Dr. McViolater then mutilated his way into my cervical floor and nudged some crazy ninja stuff up cozy with the bottom of my uterus.

My reaction:

Um. <|><£|{€£,£?~£¥~|{£¥€,€}\€!::?@&(&)&?:\£+€~\\<. OUCH!

Yeah. That's pretty much Not English.

Dr. McViolater explained that due to my Insides and Whatnot, I'd probably hurt more. Gah-reat.

I went to CVS post-maul and browsed nail polish while waiting on my antibiotic spiked with pain "I like pleasure spiked with pain, music is my aeroplane....." aaaaaaaaadddderrrrrrrralllllllllll

Oh. Yes. Nail polish... I looked like a schizo by the time I left - about 6 different colors streaked across different nails. I heart nail polish. I bought hair accessories instead. Took me two seconds to pick those out... I'm an odd duck.

Yeah. I've been Mirena'd.

Here's my Mirena Christmas Wish List:

• No babies.
• No babies.
• No babies.
• Boooooooooooobies (it's LIKELY and I can DREAM so SHUT YOUR FACE)
• Weight gain
• No babies.
• Boobies.

How do you feel about grey metallic nail polish?

Yes, I keep a box of Vanilla Wafers in my car. LOOK AT THE POLISH. Freaks.

(Oh, just follow me on Twatter already: http://twitter.com/themomjob)

No Girls Allowed and Letting Go

Having 2 young boys, you get a fair share of "so, are you going to go for a girl?" to which I sharply reply "no, no, no... I wanted boys," and I mean it with every inch of my soul.

My grandmother had 2 sisters, my mom was 1 of 2 girls, and I was 1 of 2 girls as well. When I was pregnant with Chase, and we called my grandmother to tell her the sex, she replied "Oh, well, you'll just have to try again for our girl!"

Which, for the record, made my skin crawl.

And very, very few people "get" that I didn't want a girl. Nothing against them, obviously I am one, but I just don't do pink frufru and ponytails.

I was the little girl with matching everything (EVERYTHING) and whereas that worked for my mom and her personality, I am not wired that way - I don't believe I'd be able to play matchy-matchy this and that just to leave the house. The Ponytail Wars, the Ballet Recitals, the Sassy remarks....

I joke that the boys can tag along to the store in mismatched shorts and shirts, with dirt under their nails and suckers stuck in their hair, and people giggle because "boys will be boys", but if I were to have a little girl in the same conditions, DHR would be on my doorstep within hours.

Sadly... true.

After Chase's birth, it seems that both sides of the family dropped the "what about the third". Chase put us all through the wringer. Which, makes me uneasy... what happened to Chase was a freak accident. Odds are in the hundreds of millions... it's not that we have "bad genes" or that Chase was a "bad egg"... Chase is my calm, easy-going, plays-by-himself kid. He's actually less fuss than Conner (it could be the age though...). It breaks my heart a little to think we were "thrown out of the baby-making pool" because of what happened with Chase's birth. Does that make any sense?

I have this growing pile of clothes, baby clothes, in Chase's nursery. It started out as just one plastic tub, and now the pile stands NO LIE 4-feet high. On the bottom are newborn clothes, then 0-3 months, 3-6 months, 6-9 months... the top foot is sadly now 12 months and even some 18 month shirts that won't fit....

Technically, I am supposed to go through these clothes and stack them into "Giveaway", "Keep" and "Sell" piles... "keep" being for a quilt I want made of the more memorable boys' clothes - like the yellow duckie onesie both the boys wore, the shirt that always made Conner's eyes the most beautiful shade of blue, Chase's "accidental" take home outfit with ponies and cowboy tassles on the booties...

Problem: I just can't do it. I can NOT mentally and physically go through this MOUNTAIN of baby clothes. It means no more babies. No more first smiles, first crawls, first steps... you get it.

No. I don't want another baby, at least I don't think I want another baby. I make the joke with Michael that I might be up for it if he could guarantee me another boy, but we both laugh knowing that God would laugh at US and give us a girl. Because He knows I could handle it, and God's funny like that.

I need inspiration to let go of the baby things. Or I need a miracle to bonk me on the head and say "you could have one more baby". I'm beginning to think neither are going to happen.

(Inspired by this article, which explains even further why I just can not have a girl) (she also blogs over at the Mother Load)

The One In Which Amanda Whines and Dooms Herself to a Third Child

He’s beginning to border between rocker dude and pretty, pretty princess. And frankly, I’m going a bit overkill on the “make sure Chase never wears the pink Polo, or any other moderately frat-tastic girlie shirt”.

I wouldn’t HAVE to avoid anything of the sort if I could just bring myself to do one TINY thing: cut Chase’s hair.

It’s past his ears, down his face and well over his collar at this point. Conner’s hair was never this long at Chase’s age.






And it’s not like this would be his first Official Hair Cut. I’ve trimmed it 3 times at this point due to chronic attempts at The Mullet on behalf of Mr. Chase. It was only growing around the back and MAN, Mike and I DIED laughing every time it’d grow a bit and there he was…. missing only a dirty Wife Beater and a beer.

So, what’s different about THIS trim is that I know what’s in store - full on Toddlerhood eyeing me down as if to burn HOLES in my HEAD.

As soon as those locks hit the floor and I turn to comfort my squirmy little man, I’m sure to breakdown into a Puddle of Delirium only to throw all the condoms out the next day and start tracking my ovulation because THIS CAN’T POSSIBLY BE THE LAST LITTLE BITTY ISTY TINY WHITTLE ADORABLE SNUGGLE FACED BABY!!!!

Oh.

But it SO is.

And after That Scare that I’m SOOO not telling the Internets about (just don’t ask or I WILL TELL only to embarrass Conner when he and his friends have access to aforementioned Internets by age 5), I’m pretty darn sure that I don’t want anymore wee ones growing in my belly. [read: For Sale By Owner: One Gently Used Uterus, only Inhabited Twice]

I LURVE staying home with the boys, and they are, without question, the joy of my life. I can’t imagine my days without them and truly enjoy all the love and laughter they grant me each day. But, my house is full of toys. And I prefer peeing alone. And I couldn’t possibly go through being pregnant again.

The technicals have it too - No more room in my Equinox (just won’t fit another car seat, so baby Numero Tres would be trekking it Old School, fighting for The Hump in the front…. Oooohhh…. How Britney of me). Money is tight. The third bedroom is totally accounted for. How in the WORLD would I POSSIBLY bring Conner to Pre-K4 with Chase in tow AND another newborn??!?!??!?!

See? Not. Happening.

So Chase, your hair will be cut this week. Mommy can’t keep you little forever. *Sniff*