Way, way, way TMI

On this, The Eve of my Surgery, I'm feeling fine. As long as I eat only lettuce and air. What follows for the rest of this post is a lot of talk about poop and whatnot so if you aren't into that sort of thing, then go ahead and click over to TLC so you can read that -- shocker! -- Jon.and.Kate are getting divorced. Gasp! Whoda thunk? Anyway...

Since discovering my Gallbladder Issues, I've had to severely restrict my dietary intake of fat. Therefore, I ate 2 cans of fat free Pringles over vacation and I am here to tell you that it will go down in history as one of the Worst Ideas Ever. Initially, I just started shitting orange oil every time I took a dump. Crazy, Halloween-colored orange stuff. And not a little bit of it. A LOT of it. For days.

Sadly, I just took it in stride. Sort of like, "Wow, check THAT out. I'm shitting orange grease. Huh." Such is the life of a chick with jacked up insides. You endure a lot of crazy stuff below the belt without getting too alarmed.

Then, last night, my insides decided to evict themselves in a truly violent manner. I seriously could have shown up for a colonoscopy this morning with complete confidence that I was dead empty from the waist down. It was one of those lay-down-on-the-bathroom-floor-sweating-and-writhing-around episodes. Good times. The pain was so intense that I finally got to practice those neato breathing exercises I learned for labor. You know, since I never actually made it to the part of labor where you push. I just opted for the slice-me-open method. But I digress.

This morning, I ate nothing. Absolutely nothing. Didn't even drink water when I brushed my fuzzy, orange, oily teeth because I was afraid of the Mt. Vesuvius possibilities. Yet, somehow this agitated my gallbladder. Stupid, stupid gallbladder. So I took 2 of my last 3 vicodin and prayed for the best.

Everything stayed quiet for the rest of the day. Right now, I'm staying up until 11:59 so that I can shove every fat free item in the house down my gullet since I'm not allowed to eat after midnight. And my surgery isn't until 12:50pm tomorrow afternoon. That's just cruel, I tell you. The nurse cheerily explained that I could swish water around in my mouth during the day but that I better damn well not swallow it. (Anyone else picturing Michael Scott murmuring, "That's what she said"?)

This time tomorrow I will be gallbladder-free and, presumably, pain-free. Well, there will be the pain from surgery recovery but I bet it will be a cakewalk compared to gallstones. If not, you guys will be the first to hear about it. I'll be bitchin' and swearin' like Courtney.Love with PMS.

Now, if you'll excuse me, some fat free pudding with fat free cool whip is calling my name!

Flying Horses?

I've decided to post every day in July. I don't know why. I think I feel a little guilty reading the gazillions of blogs that I read, knowing that those people have just as much (or as little) time as I do, yet they still make the space in their day to post.

So I've made up a calendar of what I'll post each day. I'm jumping on the bandwagon for a few staple days each week (Perfect Moment Monday, Wordless Wednesday, Mel's Show and Tell). I'll also do a couple of memes floating out there. To really milk it, I'm going to split E's interview questions for me (from about 100 years ago) into 6 different posts -- since there are 6 questions. Smart, no? I still have 10 days that I need to figure out what I'll post.

My brilliant plan is to write all of those 10 posts next week while I'm laid up after my gallbladder surgery. I tried to be sneaky and had planned to publish a few of the draft posts I've got lying around. But when I looked at them, they all sucked. There was one all about how shitty Liam was sleeping, and it was titled "Flying Horses". I have absolutely no idea why I titled it that, as I usually don't add the title until the end. But, whatever. So, no well of decent draft posts to dip into.

We just got back from a week at Myrtle.Beach. It was a blast! Until the drive home. That was like Hell on Earth. Everything about it was bad. The only thing that didn't blow up in our face was that we neither ran out of gas (although it was close), and the car didn't actually break down (although we seem to have some sort of electrical problem brewing). Worse than it taking about 426 hours to make an 8 hour trip, worse than hearing my darling children wail for hours on end, worse than feeling like I just rode to the Moon and back in a sardine can, is that I missed my date with LJ and Mel. This would be the makeup date from when I missed the TOOTPU gathering a couple of weekends ago. I think the universe hates me. Thanks a lot, universe. Fuck you. The only thing that kept me from climbing up to the roof and jumping off is the adorable picture that LJ sent me of V on my phone. :-)

Okay, it's time to take a shower and start unpacking. We just couldn't face it yesterday. I can't wait to see the little nooks and crannies that Megan has selected to smuggle sandy shells home in.

Vexed and irritated

gall
–verb (used with object)
to vex or irritate greatly: His arrogant manner galls me.

Raise your hand if you know what your gallbladder does. I bet there are only two types of people who have their hands up right now: those in the medical profession, or those who have had their gallbladders removed.

The good news: I am going to kick some ass in this round the Biggest.Loser contest at my work. I lost 5 lbs last week alone, and will continue to drop it like crazy for the next month or so.

The bad news: Eating has taken on a whole new meaning of pain. My gallbladder has become a traitorous, villainous, evil, spiteful, soon-to-be disposable, miserable little thorn in my side. Actually, in my abdomen.

We're going to cut the bitch out. It can't come soon enough, as eating baked fish and lettuce is getting old. I love both, mind you, but I'm weary of watching everyone around me consume fat. Fat, fat, glorious fat!! Oh how I love thee, I will see you again soon.

I got to spend a lovely 5 hours in the ER of my local hospital learning that I have gallstones. So many of them that neither the Doctor or the Radiologist were able to count them all. Guess what I was supposed to be doing at the very moment I was writhing in pain at said ER? Having a lovely lunch with the TOOTPU gals. Dammit, dammit, triple dammit.

I have to say that it was mighty weird to have so much bloodwork done, and such a lengthy sonogram, yet to have none of it at all oriented to my reproductive tract. That was mostly liberating and exhilarating, but also sort of disappointing. I'm a cycle junkie, I guess I miss it more than I thought.

Just to torture ourselves, while frittering away eons in the ER, Kevin and I got on the topic of a 3rd child. We both firmly agreed that we are thrilled with the 2 we have, and never ever plan on trying for more, but if I magically became pregnant, we'd be happy. Of course it would be like the immaculate conception since I am infertile, Kevin has a vasectomy, and we use condoms (a story for another day). So, let's just say the chances of me magically getting pregnant are slim to none. And slim just left town.

I have an appointment with the surgeon tomorrow. I assume that after that, they'll schedule the procedure. We are going on vacation for a week, starting this Friday, so it will be sometime after that. I'm just so happy to know what the problem is, I could cry tears of joy.

I plan to ask about a tummy tuck (or lipo) and some handiwork on my outrageously separated stomach muscles. In reality, neither of those two things are going to get addressed, I'm sure. But I can still dream. As it is, I won't be able to lift anything heavier than 10 pounds FOR A MONTH. Oh yeah, you read that right. A FREAKING MONTH. In case you were wondering, Liam weighs 22 pounds. Well, shit.

Before you ask, I'll tell you that I don't know what The Plan will be. We're going to figure that out on vacation. I guess I'll import my MIL for a while, hit up my teenage nieces when they aren't away at summer camp, call the 14 year old babysitter in the neighborhood who just put a flyer on our mailbox, and wing it.

Anyone out there thinking, "Why doesn't she call her own Mother?" The answer is that I would hack my own gallbladder out with a rusty butter knife then slather my children in meat juice and leave them in the care of rabid wolverines before I'd let my Mom watch them. Okay, okay, that's a little extreme. She's a possibility. She's just the proverbial Last Resort. For lots of reasons. That's a whole 'nother post, trust me.

By the way, Megan had taken to telling people, "Mommy's ballblather is broken." I snickered every time I heard it, but Kevin eventually made me correct her. Now she over-enunciates it: GALL-BLADD-ER. I've gotta find the humor somewhere, people.

Wow

Happy Blogaversary to me!


I had no idea that today marked 2 years since my first post. Three different friends left comments wishing me a Happy Blogaversary and I thought they were drunk. Finally, I figured I should check the archives and see when the hell this machine got cranked up. Yup, 2 years ago today. Wow! (Okay, I just read the LFCA for Friday and saw my blogaversary there. NOW I get it. Thanks, Mel!)

I have so much that I could say -- about IF, about blogging, about you guys, about life after IF. But I suck at making time to blog. And my next post will be a book review of The Double-Daring Book for Girls. So don't look for any Hallmark card-inspiring sentiment there.

Just know that I would be in the loony bin right now if not for all of your support (my bloggy friends), for blogging the craziness out of my head, and for the gals of TOOTPU. I wish I could put a big, warm hug in an envelope and mail one to each and every one of you.

Happy Birthday!

I could think of dozens of wistful, heartfelt, touching and tender things to say about my gorgeous, wonderful, funny little boy who turns 1 today. But instead, I'll just show a few pictures of what he's been up to lately.

He melts my heart and I thank God (and my RE) every single day for him. Happy birthday, buddy!!

It's here! It's here!

Look what I'm reading!!

I was so excited when it arrived yesterday I think I squealed like a teenage girl after Adam Lambert performance! I was tipped off (by the famous author, of course) to look at the acknowledgements in the back and -- hey! -- there's a shout out to the TOOTPU gals. Yay us!

Now that I have succumbed to a practice which is one of my pet peeves (ending every sentence with an exclamation mark!), I'll just stop. Plus, HELLO people, I've got a freakin' book to read.

Congratulations, Mel. I love you and I love your book. :-)

P.S. - GO BUY ONE!

Cute pictures and not much else

All at once I have lots to say and then jack shit to say. A real post will be forthcoming, I promise.

In the meantime, just so you know I didn't fall off the planet Earth (since I've totally sucked at keeping up with Facebook too), here are some pictures of the kids...

This is the new love of my life. My little boy freakin' rocks!

Here is Megan in her Easter garb. She's scaled her bed in an effort to get away from Liam -- since he's now into CONSTANTLY following her around. Poor thing, she better get used to it.

I am in awe that ANYONE with more than 1 kid (I still can't believe that *I* have more than 1 kid -- yay!) can get a decent picture of the two of them. These two are the best that I could scrape together after Church on Easter...

Here is what happens when a deer runs into your car (while your husband is driving, thankfully) at about a zillion miles an hour. You get a new hood, a new bumper, a new quarter panel and lots of other cool stuff while your car goes to live in the shop for two weeks. The deer goes to live in Bambi Heaven.

A lame post, I know. But that's about what we've had going on. I'm going to see Bean's little boy on Sunday and I simply cannot wait. Thankfully I've finally found something to get me as wildly excited as I have been for the last few days about the fact that Mel's book is coming early!! Wahoo!!