What makes a Woman? April 11, 2007

Does loosing a portion of your girl anatomy make you any less of a woman? Does it matter? Is it totally absurd to identify your self worth through your vagina? It seems to me that I have been measuring my self-worth through my vagina most of my life. Whether it was based on who I was sleeping with (when I was much younger), to whether or not I could successfully make a baby, I have found all sorts of ways that my identity wrapped around the girlie parts. I have even been known to go a little off my rocker when my cycle is not in sync.

The reason for all this mental masturbation is that my girlie procedure is fast approaching; a little too fast for my taste. It has been brought to my attention that I have way too much invested in my girlie parts. I have always equated my womanhood to being a Mom, even before I had Mogo. I had lost 2 pregnancies before she arrived and 2 more since. My reproductive history has consistently been associated with a feeling of failure. My body has let me down repeatedly on the baby making front. I didn’t even do the pregnancy with Mogo very well. I sort of suck at it actually. Apparently, I did not produce enough amniotic fluid so she was all squished in there like a sardine. They thought it was due to Cystic Fibrosis or to kidney failure; my blood pressure was through the roof, and I spent 5 months on bed rest waiting it all out. I was sure she would never come to be. How could I call myself a woman if I could not do that right? The longer I was pregnant, the more I was convinced the safest place for her was in some incubator in the NICU. I was sure that those doctors and nurses could nourish her and keep her safe way better than I could. I was positive that the longer she stayed inside, the more apt she was to meet her demise. And, here she is, 4.5 years old and gorgeous. She made it. No Cystic Fibrosis, no kidney failure, no cord accident or chromosome anomaly. She was just 7 lbs, 4 oz. of bouncing baby girl. She was perfect. Thank the Gods.

OK sorry for the tangent. I know all of this is flawed thinking. There are plenty of feminine and successful Women/Goddesses who do not have children for whatever reason, or do not wish to. I do not think of them as being anything but the wonderful women they are. In fact, most are down right sexy! So why do I think it about me? Why are my girlie parts such a big part of my identity? Even if I can still get pg after this surgery, if I loose a tube, or ovary, or both; I am afraid I will feel somehow less than whole. There is even a bit of fear that my dear husband will agree with me. All of a sudden I am a jealous mess. I have never really been the jealous type. I think it might just have something to do with the procedure that is pending. I can justify just about anything but I really have to admit that I have been on high alert, my ears are perked up, and I am ready to pee on my husband at any moment so as to mark my territory. (Poor, poor Badger, he really can’t win these days.)

So what makes a woman? What other things make a woman feminine?

Procrastination is like masturbation… April 11, 2007

You only fuck yourself. That is what “they” say anyways. I am still trying to figure out who “they” are but apparently it is one of those things “they” say.

Why oh why do I have to be such a procrastinator? I know I have two days worth of meetings coming up; nearly 75 people to cater lunch for… why oh why, do I wait until the absolute possible minute to request help getting the tables & chairs set up?  I will tell you why… because I am a moron, that is why. I just spent 30 minutes breaking a sweat setting up 7 of the world’s heaviest folding tables for a lunch that was supposed to happen in 15 minutes. I guess it is a good thing that the meeting ended up running into lunch by another 45 minutes. See, now I feel stupid for rushing. They are the ones who will be late and I can always go powder my nose to get rid of the red blotchies that have set in on my face due to exertion.

This brings me to yet another gripe. I simply must find a way to loose at least 40 lbs. I am totally out of shape. If I was not so fat, I would not be sweating, I would be able to put up 7 heavy folding tables with my pumps on and maintain the cute hair flip my new hair cut does (love my new hair cut!). Instead, my hair has gone flat, the makeup I put on this morning has the drips, and my face is splotchy. I also dropped one of the tables on my big toe because I had to take off my shoes to do it, lest I break my ankle or something. Actually, I took them off because I have such a hard time wearing heels (probably because I am too fat). Of course, that has not stopped me from developing this crazy weakness for buying them. I love me some cute shoes even if they hurt.

This is not the first time. Procrastination for me is like my old hoodie sweatshirt. I know it has holes & bleach stains on it, I know I have not been able to get the permanent marker stain off of it and it has stretched out 3 sizes but, I just can’t seem to put it in the Salvation Army pile. Whenever I do put it in the pile, I always end up fishing it out before the pile gets loaded up to go to Sally. Why? Well, it is comfy, it’s warm and comforting. So easy to throw on, you barely even notice you are wearing it…

Ok so, the collective “they” certainly have a point. I will take it under advisement. Well, maybe later.

Universe Ordered Vacation. April 5, 2007

I have mentioned previously that I am going in for surgery. That is scheduled for the end of the month and I am trying to get my life in order for it all. Work wise it will sort of suck for me to be out that long. Personally, I think that getting a cyst on my ovary the size of a large kiwi is just the Universe telling me it is time to take a break. Specifically a 6 week long break where you are not going to be doing much. I am a little scared about it all and my biggest fear is that they may have to remove some other things while they are in there (valid fear). See, I am not done having babies yet and they may have to take out organs that are helpful in making babies (namely an ovary and a tube). I know you can still get PG with just one of each but I am historically not that great at pregnancy and adding another barrier to pregnancy does not at all sound appealing. Regardless, this is just a necessary evil and I fully expect all will be ok. 

These are the things I should have asked at my Pre-Op Appointment: 

1. Is there any way we could just forget about all this surgery business and you could just give me 6 weeks of paid vacation medical leave just because I am cute?
2. Are you sure you know what you are doing?
3. Can I have a few samples of Fentanyl to try before surgery? You know, just to make sure there are no adverse reactions to the medication. I want to be thorough.
4. Since you’ll be in there already, do you think you could just do a tummy tuck or lap band while you’re at it?
5. Since ya’ll will have to shave me anyways, it there any chance you could arrange for a Brazilian to be done while I am unconscious?

 10 things I intend to do while I am on vacation medical leave. 

1. Sleep a lot
2. Scrapbook
3. Cross stitch
4. Catch up on Guiding Light (my soap)
5. Start on Mogo’s baby quilt.
6. Keep my apartment immaculate
7. Make my sweet family dinner every night.
8. Work on organizing my life.
9. Read like crazy
10. Cuddle up with my girl a lot.

10 things I will actually do while I am on vacation medical leave. 

1. Sleep a lot
2. Buy a bunch of scrap booking stuff and get annoyed with it after a week.
3. Start cross stitching and then get annoyed with it and quit after an hour.
4. Sleep through my soap or end up watching kid shows with Morrigan instead.
5. Cut out a few squares for Mogo’s quilt and get sad because I just cut up her baby clothes.
6. Complain about the pain to anyone who will listen
7. Make dinner a few times a week and declare the other nights “Every Man for Himself”
8. Drive my sweet husband completely bat shit.
9. Read like crazy
10. Cuddle up with my girl a lot.

A sappy look into my marriage… April 3, 2007

I met my sweet Husband when I was 16. He was “the new guy” at school and he had a locker next to mine (Ok it was 2 rows over and not anywhere near my locker but those are semantics). He was somehow mysterious, quiet, and sort of dark and brooding. He wore white Creepers for which I dubbed him Ducky (as in Molly Ringwald’s Ducky), and he drank espresso before Starbucks took over the world. He liked every bit of music under the sun and performed a mean impersonation of Morrissey (my favorite at the time – although now, I recognize he was just making fun of me). He was dreamy – a regular Jordan Catalano (apologies for the random 90’s reference). I was smitten and managed to feign “damsel in distress” to get him to open my locker for me on a regular basis just so I would have a reason to talk to him. All the girls in my pseudo hippy/stoner crowd loved to love him. They all fought over the rights to talk to him – claiming him as their own. Little squabbles would break out between BFF over these claims. (Side Note: Apparently, he was totally clueless to his dreamy factor and would have dropped dead right there had he known how into him we all were. He loves now to hear about how all the girls were swooning over him. Sometimes, I indulge him with such stories for a kick)

That was at 16.

As we grew up, we had mutual friends. He kept on popping into my life at weird moments and in weird ways over the years. I went on to such success as becoming an Administrative Assistant and marrying/divorcing a drug addict while he played serial monogamist with various young ladies (engaged to every single one). He bounced around between various useless retail jobs just as often. There was heart ache and struggle ad infinitum.

Fast forward to 25.

About a year after I left the previously mentioned drug addict, I ran into my High School crush at a Starbucks. He was wearing a white A-Line (and takes umbrage to calling it a wife beater) and a pair of Dickeys. He was scruffy (as he is) and looking fabulous. He now had tattoos lining his arms. He told me he had heard some nasty rumor I had gotten married. I corrected him on the past tense nature of the marriage and we started talking. That was it; I was a fish (of the Hook Line & Sinker sort).

That was 6 years ago on April 21. We were married a year later on April 27. I am so glad I could never open my damn locker and even happier he was there to open it. He still has no clue when women flirt with him. He is sort of stupid that way. He is still sort of dark and brooding but he is sweet and thoughtful too. He is wicked smart and even though he is impressed with his own eloquence, he is interesting to talk to and makes my world go round. I should mention, he is also a fabulous Father to our little one and makes a mean German pancake.

My Love/Hate Relationship with Spring April 2, 2007

10 Things I just Love, Love about Spring

1. Cool sunny days (right in the middle – not too hot, not too cold)

2. Purty spring flowers in bloom, even on the side of the freeway.

3. The chaparral on the San Diego hills magically turns from dingy brown to vv green with hints of yellow and it is just so purty.

4. Birdies – I know they have birdies year round but they are somehow louder and sweeter in the spring.

5. Little girls in Pastel flowery dresses & hats (specifically mine).

6. Bunnies that cluck and the chocolate eggs they lay. (oh, and Marshmallow Peeps too)

7. The Earth Day Fair in Balboa Park

8. Unitarian Universalist Flower Communion (really a v sweet tradition)

9. The Maypole at Church for the kiddos

10. My anniversary (4/27)

10 Things I cannot stand about Spring

1. Sneezes – my allergies are going haywire because of all the purty flowers in bloom

2. The effects of Easter candy on my four year old, in combination with no nap (vv scary).

3. Bees (I know they serve their purpose but I hate them and their prickly butts)

4. Birdies – Damn those birdies are loud and they dive bomb you if you walk by their nests.

5. Easter egg hunts – No kid is ever satisfied with what they get, they always want an egg someone else found. It is anarchy.

6. Parents of kids hunting Easter eggs… who ever told these parents that an Easter egg hunt (or life for that matter) is fair, eh?

7. Pink (or blue, or yellow) stuffed bunnies (or chicks, or chicks inside of eggs) She has enough already – no more stuffed animals – thank you very much.

8. People who think it is a good idea to give live bunnies (or chicks, or small woodland creatures) as Easter presents.

9. Spring Cleaning (I don’t much like cleaning no matter the season though)

10. Having surgery 4 days before my 5^th Wedding Anniversary – Grrr.