Dared to break into my house, and the baby (hereafter known as Bee) and I happened to be sleeping? I would totally kick his ass. I mean, unless he didn't wake us up. In which case, it'd all be cool. But if Bee and I happened to be frolicking about as is not unusual for us in the early, early AM (Bee is TOTALLY a Zube, that boy can party late night with the best of them), I would most likely hand Bee and his bottle over to the would-be burglar, grab his big black sack and fill it with the metric ton of SHIT that is bursting through the seams of my house. I'd even offer our garage up for his use to have himself a little garage sale bonanza. And I'd make lemonade. Spiked with vodka. So people would get drunk enough to buy our crap. He might want to leave his ninja suit at home and dress all civilian-like so as not to scare potential buyers away. He can put the suit on once everyone gets good and tipsy and things get really wild and people are whooping it up, swirling my incongruos collection of soup spoons through the air, though. I think once spoon in air swirling begins, all bets on attire are off. It's ninja time. I mean, if he happens to be into that sort of thing. Which, well, seeing as that's how we met...or would meet. If, you know, such a thing ever happened.
I've come to the conclusion that having teeny kids is not conducive to writing. Yeah. What can I say? I'm a little slower than you all who've had that shit figured out for, oh, I don't know, two and a half years now? I've decided to be okay with it. I mean, the fact that I don't have the kind of time I need to write doesn't change the fact that I like to write. There is so much manual labor involved with Zee and Bee right now that I'll merely have to take out my penchant for writing by making interesting grocery lists. And badgering innocent bystanders. "Um, excuse me grocery store man, but would you kindly tell me where I can find pacifier screws? Oh yes, you know, the ones that fit in the little holes of the pacifier so you can screw them to the baby's mouth? I can't seem to find them. And also, do you happen to know any pediatric surgeons? I still can't seem to locate the screw holes on the baby. It's entirely possible that I've missed them as I'm usually looking whilst in a sleep-deprived state at 2AM, but..."
Anyway, you can rest assured that while I'm decidedly NOT busy letting you know about every tiny hair that grows out of my chin here, I will be screwing around somewhere in the world.
Not that she's told you but Zube had a PRECIOUS little boy on July 30th.
Please welcome the newest member of the Zube Family...
IT'S A BOY!!!
I've tried to find the relevant details on Zube's Facebook page for his weight, height, head size, etc. but I have failed. What we do know is that he is absolutely perfect and he'd really like those damn kids to get of his effing lawn.
Congratulations Zube Family!!
***Update by Zube***
Have I ever mention just how much I lurve P-Chef? Anywho, yes, Keenan Michael was born on July 30th at 8:18 AM weighing 5lb 15 oz. Sounds like a bit of a squirt, but he's a good size considering the altitude and lack of oxygen in the air round these parts. We're all smitten, Zee is thrilled with her little brother (and was particularly thrilled with the Lincoln Logs he brought her from within mah belly). Things around here are sleepless and wonderful. I can't believe I did it again. Thanks to all who are still paying attention.
Well folks, let me just take off my imaginary bobo and put on this blue sweater and say, "Hi Stranger! Er, I mean, neighbor!"
Firstly things first. If you are interested in keeping tabs on me and the second kid I'm cooking up in there, might I suggest that you can find me, FAR MORE OFTEN, here. Feel free to friend me, just give me a clue that you know me from this here blog because believe it or not, I can be a little discerning about who I befriend on Facebook.
Ahem, now that that is out of the way. Things are progressing fantastically in mah belly. I'm almost 32 weeks along and the repeat c-section has been scheduled for August 7. We'll have to see if this one makes it that far or if s/he will decide to come earlier like her/his sister! I've had such a normal pregnancy that I've even ceased to anticipate the other shoe dropping. It's fucking nuts, yo.
Anyway, I've received a few e-mails asking after me and wanted to update those of you who kindly still care. :-) Things are fan-friggin-tastic. I'm just mostly wiped-out.
I'll be idly sitting on the pot, minding my own business, checking out the view, when, BAM! It'll hit me like a freight train. A happy freight train, mind you, carrying puppies and clowns and oodles of bubbles. Wait, nevermind the clowns. They're scary. Just imagine Amtrak on a deliriously happy acid trip. I have a baby. A real live baby. And she's more wonderful than I could ever imagine. Sometimes when I'm smack in the middle of parenting and tying shoes and picking up strewn crumbs I don't have the headspace to remember. But when I'm doing my business on the throne, well, I really can't thinking of anything else.
And it might just be happening all over again.
All's clear in the baby #2 department. Not near the drama I'd experienced up until now with Zee. It's a little eerie. I'm just knocked up. All normal-style. No bleeding or funkiness. I have to admit I miss the twelve thousand ultrasounds a little bit, but I'll settle for hearing a thumpa-thumping heartbeat now and again if it means I don't have to worry about the welfare of the little frog.
I'm also dealing with the mother of all writing blocks. I'm working on it. In an active way, which feels good. I'm writing my ass off, just not here. I have so much cluttering my brain that I'm just not ready to share with god and everybody. I need to quiet my inner critic before I'm ready for the spotlight again. Sorry 'bout that. Really, I'm sorrier for me 'bout that. I miss it here. But I'll be back.
First things first. I am incubating a masterpiece. Duh, you might be thinking. Of course she is incubating a masterpiece. It's that Zube blood. But I bet you weren't thinking that I was LITERALLY carrying The Scream in my womb. Don't believe me? Check it out...
You might have to click and biggify the picture to see the resemblence. All joking aside, I really don't have a freakin' clue what is what. Not even my imagination is that vivid. What I did find out is that there is a little heartbeat in there flickering away and that's all I need to know. Well, that and the ultrasound tech calmed my fear that my Scream does NOT, in fact, have an arm growing out of her/his head. I'm relieved.
I am eleven weeks now and we have a heartbeat. Just a week shy of the second trimester, I've decided to be happy and maybe a little excited. Pass the O'Douls! It's time to celebrate.
And, just in case you didn't know, if you're a little fucked up in the head? And you have a kid? You're still going to be a little fucked up in the head. Apparently having a kid doesn't de-fuck up you. Who knew? Not me. I kinda thought once I had a kid everything would fall into place and I'd be all perfectly awesome in my headspace. Not so much. Deliriously happy? Most times. Scared and confused and self-conscious? Once in a while.
So, I'm in counseling again. And I feel a little stupid about it, to be honest. How many times am I going to have to go to counseling before I'm, you know, done? Fixed? Just a smidge outside of normal? That's all I'm aiming for. I don't know. I'm coming to realize that I'm one of those people who needs a little guidancenow and again when it comes to keeping my head straight. That seems reasonable. People visit the dentist twice a year, get a physical once a year, a pap smear once a year. I go to counseling once every two years. Keeps me healthily insane. And I feel better for it.
PS - Yesterday was the thirteen year anniversary. THIRTEEN YEARS! Wow. The day actually passed with nary a thought about its significance. I just realized it today.
Ha! Betcha thought I was going to say uterus, eh? Not a chance. Well, yet anyway. Sorry my update was delayed but our wireless internet is sucking it so right now I'm stealing a very distant and very slow connection to let you know...
We have a heartbeat. 120 beats per minute.
Party hats are unwarranted as of yet, but feel free to do a mini-Happy Dance.
Five more weeks and I'll be feeling a little more okay.
Z-Boy: Yeah, and one of you is smaller than a grain of rice.
Zube: Whatever. Sleeping for two. Give me more blanket.
Z-Boy: Are you nagging for two, too?
Zube: *YANK* Good night.
This Friday I have an ultrasound. I'll hopefully be reporting the presence of a heartbeat shortly thereafter. I was telling an old high school friend that I was beginning to feel a bit more confident because all of my miscarriages had happened/started happening by now. She responded that she believed all would be fine because Zee Baby fixed my ute while she took up residence there. I think that's an awesome visual, little Zee hammering away, beautifying my innards. I like the sounds of that.
Well, I'm Zube Girl. Bermuda born, Jersey bred, and Colorado bound. Not 'bound' in the sense that that's where I'm headed. Bound in the sense that I'm bound here by an undying love for my husband and the mountains. I will always and forever be a Jersey Girl, though. While most importantly, I'm me, I also happen to be Zee Baby's Mom. She somehow managed to stick around my hostile uterus after three miscarriages. For that I am in awe of her. I don't leave much about my life to the imagination. Laying it all down doesn't really scare me. I muse about the good, the bad, and the ugly. I was raped in college and terminated the resulting pregnancy. I try to at least make the experience useful by sharing my story in support of Choice. You've been warned. Oh yeah, if you're not fond of sentences ending in prepositions, the F-Bomb, and random and chaotic use of ellipses, stop here...This blog is not for you.
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