My obstetrician and I discussed my medication options again after I freaked out about the NO BREASTFEEDING EVER DON'T EVEN THINK ABOUT IT NOT EVEN FOR COMFORT warning that accompanied my Lexapro prescription. She realized that I was definitely conducting the crazy train and she finally got on board and called in a 'script for Zoloft for me. She assured me, yet again, that I need to be on medication (she reiterated that about four times during our last phone conversation) but that I should get some counseling as well. In fact, she referred me to a few offices that specialize in new-mom-crazy, or PPD as you medical-types like to call it.

I have been on Zoloft for four days and I have noticed the following:

1. It's not working. At least, not in the keeping me from wanting to kill everyone sense.
2. It makes me drowsy. No operating heavy machinery for me! (Does that include the vacuum?)
3. I almost feel MORE depressed sometimes. Like my anxiety has been replaced by depression.
4. I have no appetite. I still eat but I'm never hungry. If I wasn't breastfeeding this would be the best diet EVER.
5. I feel sluggish. I lack the energy to do anything. I watch the laundry pile up and sink fill with dishes and I do nothing.

My OB told me to try it for one month and if I don't like it she'll prescribe me something else. I appreciate her making an effort with me because you never want to piss off a woman who is running on poor quality of sleep and pumped up on Dr. Pepper. She gets it. Maybe she's even a little scared of me.

She should be.

I want to keep this brief because if I take too long then Peanut will wake up and I'll have to type with one hand and well, that takes forfuckingever.

When you have depression you feel alone. You feel like no one understands and no one cares. You are in a dark place and you are stuck there with only your hopelessness to keep you company. Which sucks. Like, a lot of suck.

If you are a blogger in a community of other bloggers you are not alone. You can be depressed, or have a sick child, or have even lost a child, and there will be others just like you. Others have gone through exactly what you're going through. All you have to do is type. Well, you have to publish your blogs too. You know what I mean. Don't argue semantics with me. I'm going to stab you.

What I am trying to say is that if you reach out people will reach back. When something is on your mind the worst thing you can do is keep it bottled up.

Another blogger reached out to me today. She read my blog and wanted to let me know that I wasn't alone. That there are times when she feels scared and anxious. That she experienced a tragedy in her life and found solace, found camaraderie, in this thing we call the blogosphere.

If you are depressed, or crazy, or lonely, or angry, or euphoric, SHARE IT. Because you will always have people standing behind you to support you. Not literally, of course. If everyone that left me comments and sent me emails was standing behind me, well, my living room can't hold seven people comfortably.

I want to say THANK YOU to my bloggy friends for making me feel like I'm not crazy or at least I'm not crazy all by myself.

Happy Half Birthday, Peanut!

Remember when you were born? Of course you don't. But I do. You were tiny. You were such a good baby, so relaxed, so calm. You hardly cried in the hospital. And then we brought you home.

You're a firecracker, kiddo. Your dad and I love you so much.

Now just let me get some sleep, dammit!

I can't capture it on video. I have tried. A million times. As soon as Peanut sees the camera she stops.

What I'm trying to say is that MY DAUGHTER SAID 'MAMA' FOR THE FIRST TIME!


And the second time. And third. And well, she pretty much says it all day long which means that I am her favorite and SHE LOVES ME THE MOST.


Of course she does. I'm her mother, goddammit!


It makes me laugh when I'm nursing her and she'll let go, look up at me, and start her 'mama' babbling. As if she's got something to say and she can't wait until she finishes her lunch to tell me. I hope that it's always like this.


Oh god, here comes the sappy mommy loves her baby drivel.

Peanut, you are amazing. You are learning to crawl which freaks me out. A LOT. Seriously, stop moving. I can't put you on the floor to play while I take a shit anymore. I have to take you with me. Otherwise, you'll scoot and roll around and end up underneath the sofa which, believe me, would be hilarious. In an OHMYFUCKINGGODWHEREISMYBABY way. Har har, Peanut. Nice one.

You are developing such a cute little personality. Remember the time I took a choking hazard away from you and you screamed and had a temper tantrum in the middle of Hobby Lobby? So precious.

You'll be six months old tomorrow, Peanut. This means that I have managed to keep you alive outside of the womb for half a year already. Not just keep you alive but love you and help you to thrive. Parenting WIN!

I love you, little dudette. Now, if you could just sleep through the night.....

I love my husband but I do not love his hat. He refuses to let me get him another one with a less redneck phrase on it. He was actually wearing this hat the night we met and EVERY NIGHT THEREAFTER. Except he was hatless on our wedding day. Much to his chagrin.

So yeah. That's your Wordless Wednesday or Whatever.

No, I didn't make that up. It means difficulty with achieving orgasm which is a side effect of my new anti-anxiety medication that I haven't taken yet. Why haven't I taken it, you ask? Well, I'll tell you. Gladly.

My health insurance company, Cigna, doesn't cover it.

My husband's company offers health insurance which we partake in because private insurance is crazy expensive. Our plan which includes all three of us is over $300 per month. This covers 90% of all procedures and surgeries (which is apparently really good coverage). We have a $100 copay for ER visits (I'm a hypochondriac so having a fairly inexpensive ER copay is crucial. Although the last time my INSIDES WERE GOING TO EXPLODE I actually had gallstones. TAKE THAT, HUSBAND WHO DIDN'T WANT TO TAKE ME TO THE ER AT FOUR IN THE MORNING.). Our office copay is $30 which is the most I have ever had to pay in my entire life. It's a PPO which is the kind of insurance where you don't have to seek out a referral for specialty doctors like psychiatrists.

ANYWAY THIS IS BORING AND NO ONE GIVES A FLYING FUCK. LAUREN, GET TO THE POINT.

So I visited my obstetrician today and explained to her that I was a raving lunatic and she prescribed me Lexapro, or Lex as I like to call it. Actually, I don't call it anything because it's not currently dissolving and rocking my world. Why? My insurance company will not pay for it. Apparently there are alternatives to Lex and my doctor should have picked one of those instead. Something tells me that pharmacists hate doctors and doctors hate pharmacists and they both hate sick people.

The pharmacist assured me that he would contact my doctor and get my doctor to contact Cigna to tell them that I need Lex and they should pay for it. If my insurance company doesn't pay for it I will either have to pick another medication or pay $308 for a three-month supply. So I have to choose between a pill that might help me not be bat-shit crazy anymore or buying groceries?

I sincerely hope that my OB gets back to them soon. I want to start getting better NOW. The last two nights were okay but I took Benadryl so that I could sleep. I still brought Peanut to bed with me. I was able to sleep but the mom-worry never turned off. And I know it won't because being on high alert is important when you are in charge of keeping little people alive. I just want to stop being such a fucking mess.

So Lex, if you're the pill for me I hope that my insurance company will pay for you. If not, maybe Zoloft? Prozac? Effexor? First the pill, then the therapy. Then? A happy mommy I will be!

I broke down. Again. This is unacceptable.

Tonight she fell asleep while nursing so I held her on my lap and Twittered and tried to get through about ninety gazillion new posts in Google reader. It was about 1am and Twitter was boring and so I decided to correct my shitty sleeping habits by going to bed early.

Wait, I missed something. Before bed time. Peanut was sleeping on my lap and she acted as if she was having a bad dream. I held her to my chest and gently rocked and shushed her in hopes that she would either wake up and realize that everything was okay or that her bad dream would leave her thoughts and she'd go back to sleeping peacefully. The former was the result. I knew she was okay. Whatever was bothering her was gone.

At least, I hope it's that easy for babies.

What I'm trying to say is that I can't sleep.

Tonight's fear is that something will fall on her. A bookshelf is what I keep picturing in my head. Fuck my head.

I laid down in our bed with Peanut and couldn't even attempt to go to sleep. I started bouncing from one horrible thought to the next. I thought about those sick bastards who harm babies (those people deserve to die) or people who neglect their babies. I had a fearful thought that Peanut would roll off of the bed and onto the floor and in the morning I'd get out of bed and accidentally step on her.

As I am reading over that last sentence I'm crying over the thought again.

I got out of bed, secured Peanut so that she wouldn't roll off, and went over to my husband's side to make sure he knew that she was next to him. He knows where she is - he's just as aware of her as I am. I lean in to tell him that I'm getting up because I can't sleep and as I start to tell him why I begin to cry.

I sob loudly and cry out "How do babies survive in this horrible world?" And then I ask him the most horrible question that's ever come out of my mouth: "Have you ever raped the baby?" And I knew the answer was NO but because my fucking crazy train of a mind was thinking it that's what came out.

Thankfully my husband didn't get offended or at least didn't let on that he was hurt by that question because he knew it was just fucked up ol' Lauren being all fucked up.

We have gone back to co-sleeping at night. If she is in her crib in her room it's just too far away and too many bad things could happen. I need her right next to me. I still check to make sure she's breathing even though her tummy is touching mine.

I am not afraid of her dying of cancer or some other awful illness. I'm not afraid of SIDS (anymore). I'm afraid of outside forces causing harm to my little Peanut. I am eleventy-billion percent certain that I would never hurt her and I know that her dad and the rest of her family would never do anything to harm her but everyone else? Hell, even objects are a threat now thanks to her recent developments in mobility. And what worries me about any future medication usage is that it will make me sluggish and inhibit my panther-like reflexes. I don't want to be bat shit crazy mom but I don't want to be zoned out droopy mom either. Because while I know that she will be okay and that I'm being a total whack-job, none of that logic seems to be around at 1am.

Dr. Lauren is self-diagnosing! I can't pretend anymore - it's time to call a spade a spade.

While a medical professional has not stamped me with this I am going to assume that I have post partum depression (PPD). WebMD lists the symptoms of PPD:

-Depressed mood-tearfulness, hopelessness, and feeling empty inside, with or
without severe anxiety.
-Loss of pleasure in either all or almost all of
your daily activities.
-Appetite and weight change-usually a drop in
appetite and weight, but sometimes the opposite.
-Sleep problems-usually
trouble with sleeping, even when your baby is sleeping.
-Noticeable change
in how you walk and talk-usually restlessness, but sometimes sluggishness.
-Extreme fatigue or loss of energy.
-Feelings of worthlessness or guilt,
with no reasonable cause.
-Difficulty concentrating and making decisions.
-Thoughts about death or suicide. Some women with PPD have fleeting,
frightening thoughts of harming their babies: these thoughts tend to be fearful
thoughts, rather than urges to harm.

Let's examine this, shall we? Depressed? Sometimes. I'm tearful but that's because I'm emotional. We all cry while watching The Biggest Loser, right? Anxiety? YES. I have so much anxiety that I'm surprised that I don't just hide out at my mom's house all day until JuJu gets home from work. Loss of pleasure? When I do actually go somewhere completely alone that's how I feel - completely alone. I do feel worthless when I look around me and the house is messy (or at least it feels messy to me which is actually not really messy at all) because while I know I've been taking care of Peanut all day I somehow should have been able to clean too. I feel weak. I feel stupid. I don't, however, think about killing myself or Peanut. I worry about others trying to harm her which causes me to be anxious all of the time.

FOR EXAMPLE: It's cool and breezy outside tonight thanks to the forty-billion consecutive rainy days we've had so all day I left the patio doors open. We live on the third floor so I didn't mind leaving them open since I was home all day anyway. But once it's bedtime? Hell no. The doors to the patio are closed and locked. And before I go to bed I check the locks on the front door too. JuJu and I always lock the deadbolt when we're home. It's a habit and there has never been a time when it wasn't locked. Yet, I check it. Visual confirmation is enough for me - I don't physically touch the locks but why do I need to check in the first place?

I can't sleep. During the day I sleep just fine. I love naps but I also love going for walks and visiting my mom and crafting and these are things that take place during the day. If I take a nap then those things are taken from me. You know what robs me of the things I enjoy doing? INSOMNIA. Why can't I sleep? Because my daughter is in another room. She sleeps longer and better when she's not right next to me. When we co-sleep she tends to nurse all night and that keeps me awake but it also keeps her from fully going to sleep. At least that's what it seems like to me. She sleeps more soundly by herself. So she's swaddled in her crib. Far away from me. I hear nothing on her monitor. Maybe a flicker of static. I'm back where I was when we first brought her home. If she wasn't making noises then it HAD TO BE because she wasn't breathing. I couldn't sleep either way. I need to sleep. I don't like sleeping until noon. I'd rather go to bed when JuJu does and wake up rested and chirpy in the morning. I don't like staying up until 4am because my mind won't let my body sleep. I want my mind to SHUT THE FUCK UP.

Seriously, nothing bad is going to happen. Peanut will not die every time she falls asleep. No one is going to yank her out of my arms or break into our apartment. We aren't going to get into a car accident or be held up at gun point. Her nursery isn't haunted (I don't even believe in ghosts so how fucked up is that?). There are no knife-wielding psychos at the mall. My mommy group friends aren't going to kidnap Peanut while I use the restroom. Her pediatrician isn't going to administer any vaccinations that I tell her not to give Peanut (she nor I will be getting the H1N1 vaccine).

The world isn't that bad. Why can't I trust anyone? Why am I so scared?

I'm done. I will be finding a psychiatrist who will hopefully prescribe me something that I can take while breastfeeding. I will pour out my thoughts to this person so that I can stop burdening my family and friends with it. I will get better. I will be a great mother, a kickass wife, a brilliant student, and a good friend.

The suckage stops now! Well, once I get help. Tonight is another sleepless night.

I guess that my homemade baby sludge isn't too bad. Wait. I think that's mushed up banana. I didn't have anything to do with that. Except that I mushed it! With a fork! It took time! It ripened in my kitchen, too! On a banana stand (teehee)! MY banana stand! FTW!

Yeah, that's your Wordless Wednesday or Whatever. Now go. But not before you leave me a comment telling me how cute my daughter is and that you aren't judging me based on the state of my kitchen table and its clutter. Didn't notice the first time you watched the video? Too bad. It's messy. Get over it.

Have you ever met someone that didn't want to lose weight? Or someone who knew how to lose weight but refused? Or someone who argued with his wife about trying to prepare healthier meals for her family so that her child wouldn't grow up in a fat house SO HELP ME GOD?

I informed my husband today that I would like to get rid of all of the processed foods in our house. I was inspired by this blogger who made the change and immediately noticed that the change was a positive one. She called it a relationship. A relationship with food. Is that what I have with Dr. Pepper, pizza, and Tex-Mex? I thought that I was good at surrounding myself with those that love and care about me and then nurturing those relationships. I was nurturing my own fat ass.

JuJu doesn't see anything wrong with eating processed foods. Chemicals. Yum! I'm not going to be self-righteous and therefore hypocritical about it because I just snacked on green olives. I want us to eat healthy. I want us to lose weight! I am so fucking tired of being fat! Do you know how cute I'd look in little dresses? With my red hair and blue eyes? I'm adorable, folks, and nobody can see it because of my fat. Namely, I can't see it. And really, I'm the only person that matters when it comes to my body. Seriously.

So, back to Mr. Fat 'n Happy. I know that he wants to lose weight. He even bought 'skinny' jeans to supposedly motivate him to work out and eat healthier. It didn't work. I have skinny jeans too. I'm disappointed in us. He seems complacent. This is one thing about him that drives me crazy. I know where he gets it from too which is even more frustrating.

All I can do is work on myself. Since I prepare all of our meals I have control over that aspect. JuJu doesn't eat lunch but if I made one for him he would take it to work. We stopped eating after 9pm which has helped (although we've regressed lately). So while I love my husband and care about his health and happiness I am going to stop nagging him. At least I'll stop nagging him about his weight. Everything else? Oh it's still on.

I have written so many damn posts about weight loss. This will be the last one.

I try to add some humor to my posts (and fail 94% of the time) but since the following is about September 11, 2001 it will be joke-free. Unless I'm a classless individual and let one slip.

First of all, I usually write with the TV on and the baby babbling either in my lap or on the floor but I have eliminated these distractions for this post. Okay, the TV is paused and the baby is swinging. I didn't eliminate the baby permanently for fuck's sake.

Okay, I couldn't even get into the meat of the post without crackin' wise. IntegrityFAIL.

I was eighteen years old in 2001. It was one of the roughest years of my life. My depression was warping me into a monster. I'd already had a crisis (or what my mother labeled as a crisis at the time but as a much wiser adult now I realize just how bad I got) and even after I got on medication I still couldn't get out of bed in the morning. Since I was not home schooled this obviously was a hindrance to me graduating from high school. So I didn't. What a shining moment in my parents' lives that must have been. Anyway, I was spiraling out of control and was eventually kicked out of my mother's house. I stayed with my dad but that was awful too so I did whatever I could to avoid being there. I wanted to escape. I hated my life.

In August I met Scott. He came along at the perfect time because I was drowning and he pulled me out of the water and wrapped me up in a fluffy warm towel. Yep, that was Scott. He himself was not fluffy. The Navy and his rigid upbringing left him devoid of showing emotions but I always knew that he cared about me. We were dating for a very short time before I moved in with him. He quit his job before I met him and was living on his savings. I don't know why he quit. It's irrelevant. So both of us were unemployed and therefore spent all of our time together. My parents liked him. He took me off their hands. They no longer had to be responsible for me.

Scott and I were still sleeping that morning when my mom called around 10:30am. We always stayed up late watching movies or having sex and there was no reason to wake up early so we didn't. I answered my phone and without saying hello first she said "I just want you guys to know that we're okay. We decided to stay in this morning and not go sight-seeing." My mom and her husband were visiting his family in Virginia and had planned on touring Washington DC that morning. I had no idea what she was talking about. Of course they'd be okay. Was she losing her mind? Then she told me to get my ass out of bed and turn on the television.

Rock. Bottom.

I sat in front of the television in my pajamas all day. Scott and I didn't really talk much that day. We didn't know what to say. And whatever we said - would it even matter?

That evening we went for a walk and saw a police car patroling the apartment complex. At that moment I felt safer than I had felt in a long time. The world was quiet. I knew that tomorrow was going to rip open the wound again but tonight was calm.

Surprisingly I didn't have any nightmares about it but I remember praying so hard that I would get hot and flushed and start to cry. I didn't know anyone that had been injured or killed in the crashes nor did I know anyone that knew anyone that was there. I was lucky. I was far away in my Texas town sitting on my sofa. I wasn't breathing in ashes trying to get as far away from Ground Zero as possible. I wasn't buried under rubble. I wasn't frantically calling loved ones making sure that everyone was okay.

I was on my sofa. Like I am now. Far from being face to face with what happened. I think that for me that's probably a good thing. I'm so sensitive that something like that would make my head explode from anxiety.

So..... that's my 9/11 post. I almost said 'obligatory 9/11 post' but I didn't feel obligated to write it. I felt compelled. Everyone has a story about what happened that day. There are a billion different points of view for a single series of events that changed our lives forever.

I love Autumn. What I don't love is that it is nonexistent in Texas. At 8:30 this morning when Peanut and I went for a walk to get some coffee (for me, not the baby, you twat) it was already 80 degrees and sofa king humid. Since I can't go out in public in anything that resembles pajamas or shorts (I just can't. I'm neurotic and self conscious) I had to wear jeans. Sweat city, folks. My fat-thanks-to-having-a-baby ass was uncomfortable. Ever had to peel off your clothes? It's AWESOME.

The good part about the morning was that Peanut and I got some Vitamin D and some exercise. We usually only go for walks if we're with our play group or out shopping. I'm not one for exercising but I wanted, nay, needed coffee so badly this morning that I actually put forth some physical effort to get it. And I just might do it again tomorrow.

Or I'll run to the grocery store later so I can go back to making my thing-that-keeps-me-from-killing-you juice. I need to get a big FUCK OFF coffee mug. Mine are all far too small to satisfy my morning caffeine needs with just one cup and I hate having to make two. It makes me feel like an addict. And I'm lazy.

I will admit that the coffee addiction is only in the morning. I'm not an after-dinner coffee drinker. And before I had Peanut I rarely drank coffee. Now? I can't function without it.

To be honest I feel like a total poser raving about coffee as if I'm some kind of connoisseur. This would be false. I use instant crystals. As in, scoop it into your hot water and it dissolves and presto! you've got coffee. I want to remedy this because there is only like one kind of instant coffee and it's not very flavorful. I need a coffee maker. I want to buy beans and grind them up in my food processor and then brew fresh coffee every morning. Hell, I want a coffee maker that has a timer so the delicious, hot, liquid that-keeps-me-from-killing-you will be waiting for me when I wake up. It'll be calling out to me. I will finally have a reason to wake up in the morning. Well, a better reason that changing the baby's soaking wet overnight diaper. That's right. Wiping her ass isn't my sole purpose in life. But you know, don't tell her that.

Oh, so the point I'm trying to make is that I need a coffee maker so please send me one. It needs to be black and not too large since it will take up permanent residence on my kitchen counter. I don't want to pay for it and I don't want to review one. Just send me free stuff without wanting something in return. Isn't that how this PR thing works? You are constantly expecting us to write glowing reviews for free or in exchange for your shitty product. Let's turn those tables! Now, go through your inventory. Something nice. Not too expensive. Thanks!

Yeah, I don't know where she gets that attitude from. She looks really annoyed at me. Possibly for putting that flower on her head. Deal with it, kiddo. You're my doll. And that's your Wordless Wednesday or Whatever.

Somehow she sensed that I was at a loss for what to write about on this fine Tuesday morning. Normally I do my 'Sin o' the Week' on Tuesdays but I've been slacking and I make no apologies for it. I have been BUSY but I haven't forgotten about you. I am hoping to launch my bow shop by the end of the month and I want to make sure I've got a crazy amount of inventory. Also, Peanut is teething even though we still haven't seen any teeth. So maybe she's just being a fussy jerk. ANYWAY, I have a specific set of questions that I am going to answer below:

What word(s) do you use too much in your writing?
The BAD ones. I love allegedly and anyway.

Which words do you consider overused in stuff you read?
Baby. HAHAHA. Nothing really comes to mind. I read some really fantastic blogs that are written by much better writers than myself.

What's your favourite piece of writing (written by you)?
I wrote a play in the third grade that was marvelous. It was a mystery which is odd considering that is probably my least favorite genre of literature. As far as current writings go I've written some blogs that I'm pretty proud of such as -
This Ain't No Ordinary Wet Tee Shirt Contest
For the Record
I'm Sorry I Lied to You

Regrets, do you have a few? Is there anything you wish you hadn't written?
There is a Diaryland diary out there that belongs to me with some pretty awful stuff in it. The content isn't even written well. At one point I wanted to post some of those entries on this blog as kind of a juxtaposition to where I'm at now not only in my life but in my writing as well. It was so awful that I couldn't do it. I still have the link but you don't and we're going to keep it that way.

How has your writing made a difference?
It helps improve my memory. That sounds really stupid but it does. I can't remember things throughout the day but if I plan on blogging about it then I make a hard mental note because it's important to me. Also, I need an outlet. I need a place to throw up.

Favourite words
See above - overused words. Whatev is another favorite.

Least favourite words
Moist; any word I can't pronounce correctly.

Do you have a writing mentor, role model or inspiration?
There are a few (dozen) bloggers that I admire and emulate:
Rock and Drool
Loralee's Looney Tunes
Mommy Wants Vodka
Aiming Low - a collection of delicious bloggy women. All funny and very good writers.
Truthfully when I get writer's block I tend to float on over to Aunt Becky's blog because she writes the way I wish I could write.

Writing Ambition?
I would like to publish a book someday. Maybe of my journey to motherhood. Perhaps by then my writing won't suck as much.

You know how you think of clever anecdotes and bitchin' jokes that simply must be in your next blog post but by the time you get around to writing it's all gone?

Story of my life, folks. Only, I can't fucking remember it.

I feel like my house is the mental ward of a hospital and I'm the only patient. JuJu is my wacky tough-love giving doctor. He's always crackin' wise and putting me in my place (in a loving way, for fuck's sake! I'd blow up his ass if he treated me like a submissive housewife).

Anyway, with my current crafty endeavors and my group counseling sessions courtesy of Twitter all of this is making me feel like a mental patient.

Let's talk about it, shall we?

I'm not entirely certain that I have post-partum depression but we'll call it that for the sake of labeling because I LOVE LABELS. Now that my IUD has been removed we are all hoping that it will be the end of all of my emotional troubles (and acne). I had it removed on Tuesday afternoon and by now I am expecting to feel ninety-gazillion times better. While I don't feel THAT good I have noticed a few changes. Good ones. Would you like to hear them? Well, fuck you! I'm going to share anyway!

I haven't snapped at JuJu or anyone else (you're welcome, Wendy's drive-thru employee). When he does something that might have set me off now I don't rip him apart for it. I haven't cried out of anger or fear all week. When Peanut doesn't cooperate and does some annoying shit like CRY because she's hungry or tired or wet (suck it up, kiddo!) I don't get overly emotional. My breasts explode but my warm gooey insides that would die for her don't go berserk.

I hope that I am more pleasant to be around and that I handle stress with a bit more grace. My sleep habits are still wonky but that is partly my doing and not the medication. At least, I think it's my fault. The desire to fornicate (sorry dad, but really, how do you think Peanut came into being? Magic fairy inseminating dust?) is slowly returning. And my mane and coat are super shiny!

The moral of the story is that while not getting pregnant is important, not being a complete mess is more important. We are using other protection but nothing hormonal. I am hoping that my hormones will level out and that this fluke period I got two days after having the IUD removed will be my only visit from AF until I'm through breastfeeding. Isn't that supposed to be one of the perks? No period? I guess that I am one of the lucky ones!

I love talking about money. No really. I LOVE IT.

Now that my hormonal birth control / mind control device has been removed there has been talk in the Rock 'n Roll camp about having a second child - our beloved Filbert. While having another baby is in our plans for the future I don't think it's in our plans for the immediate future. If I were to get pregnant within the next few weeks my children would only be fifteen months apart. I'm already exhausted just by typing that. I can't imagine having two kiddos so close in age. My younger sister and I are thirteen months apart and it was very hard on my mom and dad. My sister and I did go to daycare because my mom couldn't stay home. I know that I am fortunate but let's not push it. I don't want my 'job' as a 'stay-at-home mom' to become actual work, folks. One kid is relatively easy but two? Two under two? That is a special kind of hell that I'm not ready for.

So that was supposed be my Wordless Wednesday or Whatever. I guess it more or less falls into the WHATEVER category. Now go forth and multiply.