Wrap your head with this material...

ChompSki's had horrendously bad gas lately. Like, what the fuck did that dog eat? Tires, skunks, and bear shit. Has to be. Then he puked it up and ate it and NOW he's farting. I've been joking that he should have the decency to at least finish it off with a vanilla candle chaser. So then Magnus decides to take the advice instead. I catch him in time. He's only licked a little bit of flavory wax off his fingers when I stop him. My house is getting taller and taller by the minute. The high shelves are in demand and getting fuller and more crammed. And damned if I can ever find my beer. I remark on having caught him in time when Rob shares with me not to worry: the candles aren't toxic. He knows from calling poison control. He was wise not to mention this to me. I've turned into some what of a fretter, in a way I'm not especially proud of. I'm afraid I may raise a mama's boy. A short time later, Rob shares how he spent 20 minutes driving a...

I'm a big fan of an escape route. Imaginarily mostly. Its my out- my way of dealing when I get frustrated. In college I was going to quit and become a truck driver. Well, until I started having seizures and stopped being allowed to drive. That was kinda sucky. Today I lost my first piano student before it even started. She just found another teacher closer to her house. Nothing I should take personally. But I'm just about out of patience with not know what the fuck I'm doing. So I took it kinda hard. My escape was to Borneo this time. To be totally honest, I don't even know that I could find Borneo on a map. Well, with some time, I'm sure I could. Pacific somewhere, right? See. Anyway, I told my mom I was quitting life and moving to Borneo and she told me the following: My grandfather was stationed in Borneo. He didn't like it. Said that pigs were very important to the family there. So much so that he'd once seen a human woman nurse a pig. Its...

I knew a couple in high school who claimed to still be virgins because they were only having anal sex. Every time I see a picture of her posted on FB, that's what I think of. I think my child is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. I stare and stare at him and I could kiss my own lips right off on that forehead of his. I also think he looks just like me. BUT, I do not look at myself in a mirror with an achy lovey heart and think how beautiful I am. My neighbors shoveled a line in the snow dividing our two lawns yesterday. They're so fucking bizarre. I quit my job. I'm getting my house in order. Literally and figuratively. And I even use literally correct in sentences. It should result in more writing. And skiing. And feeling more like myself again. Which is good because I kind of lost me in a deep pit of self-doubt. I'm climbing out now though. Which involves being very poor, and hopefully, very happy.

You ever just feel like you don't have anything interesting to say? Like the whimsy and clever are gone and you're just going through cobwebs? Like your life has taken a turn for the irritating if not mundane? Gray minutia. The good stuff is so good I don't know how to describe it. The curve of Magnus's mouth as he whispers his new consonent secrets. The kicking when he's excited. The giggles. Soooo good. But who wants to read about my vast love for my child and his every new move. (with the exception of this new screaming, shrieking noise he's making. T hat I could really live without.) Then there's the hard stuff. Adjusting to my mom living across the street and how busy life has gotten with her moving. She's had pneumonia lately, so that's been unpleasant. She's on the mend now but its a long road. There's the neighbors. Its horrible sharing walls with people who are violent. Who want to hurt each other. Who want to hurt you. Want bad ...

Got 2 messages from a client on my voicemail today. One said he thought I was back from "maturity leave." The other said he was glad I was back from "maternity labor." I love my job. Sometimes anyway. (but not as much as I love my kid. Its hard to be back at work. The silver lining is funny messages.)

I was having this beautiful moment with Magnus last night. I was rocking him to sleep, humming in his ear, and periodically kissing the fuzzy hairs that rub my chin when he relaxes against my chest. It was one of those moments that made me go "this is why people do this. its all worth it." The stitches, the new stitches, the stretch marks, the crying, the never sleeping all night again...all worth it. Then I realized what I was humming was this: Even when life is beautifully touching, its funny too. P.S. I love being a mommy and humming and talking gibberish and making faces and singing off key and dancing it out in the living room. Its rad. Hope you're rad today too.

Today ChompSki, our boxer dog, was especially annoying. He just kept wanting to go outside. Our yard's not fenced. But ChompSki usually sticks close by. He stays to the back yard, does his business maybe visits the creek behind our house for some mountain spring water, then heads back to the sliding glass door. Today though, he kept going in front. He's not allowed to do that. He knows he's not allowed to do that. He normally behaves pretty well. Not today. So when I got the baby all packed up to go to a lunch date, I notice a skeleton on the driveway. I should mention that I've been watching way too much Bones. What? Its what I've been doing while breast feeding. You can't read while breast feeding. So when I see the carcass in the driveway, I think its a body. And then I realize what a spaz I am. And what a gross dog I have. No kisses for ChompSki today.

I think my kid has already learned to objectify women's boobs. Seriously. I bent over to put the pacifier back in his mouth for the thousandth time and I saw that look in his eyes. Ladies, you knwo the one. I'm pretty sure he looked straight at the boobs and his eyes glazed over and it was like seeing the future. In grosser baby news, I picked his nose this morning and holy shit! It was the biggest booger. Like, grown person sized. He must've been constructing that thing since birth. He seemed none too pleased that I removed his masterpiece either. And this is confirmation that I have become a mom. I pick noses. Other people's. And blog about it. Wow. What is this blog coming to?

I went to a training the other day about driver safety. I'd be lying if I said part of the reason I'm into a homebirth is how afraid I am of driving and death by vehicle. I detest the idea of putting a few moments old child into a car and driving anywhere. And you know what? I'm right. Statistically, you're more likely to die in a car than a fire. And people buy insurance and have fears of dying in fires and no one bothers them, so I'm perfectly within rational here. Right? Right? RIGHT? Anyway, there was this lunatic woman in the class who kept talking the whole time. I hate myself when I'm that person. It usually means the pace of the class is WAY too slow for me and I'm tangentially entertaining myself at everyone elses' expense. So if you've ever sat in a training with me where I talked too much, I'm sorry. Although no one's ever actually complained to me because I'm pretty sure I toss in enough smartass/clever/random that...

Know what's awesome about birthdays? Um, everything. I went for a morning swim today. For my birthday, I allowed myself to be late to work and staff meeting so that I could be weightless and wonderful for a half an hour. It was worth it. I thought about all the birthdays I've swam on. Which is most of them. (My birthday's at the end of freakin July. Its hot. And I love swimming.) The year I swam hard and fast laps in St. Louis before I ended up getting drunk enough to ask my husband out. Before he was my husband I mean. Before he was anything but my friend. And being my friend was huge. But friend crushes are scary. I remember I heard a song in the gym pool that morning that made me think of him. I had planned to out myself and my crush and the morning swim helped me fortify myself in my plan. Or the years when I was a kid and would go to the town pool. I remembered the year I went with girlfriends to a water park. Its been a lot of good birthdays. I have s...

Ever lay on the couch and watch crap for so long that when you stand up, your perception is all off and it makes your eyeballs feel funny? Like they're on sideways. I was at the police station today watching an interrogation and it was kinda like that. Only with more nausea involved. On account of the angle of the cameras and the weird way the digital images didn't flow but jerked. And the echo. En espanol. It was a little surreal. And nauseating. But I mentioned that. The deal is the guy was accused of touching a four year old. Which is why I was watching the interrogation. He denied it of course. Its no fair being four. Or three or two. You can't tell a story with a beginning, middle, and end. Its like your stories have their eyes on sideways and can't get out the whole in your throat. And none of us can be sure of your story when its all Alice-in-wonderlandy. The story's true, its just hard to see how the parts fit together. Cops want me to have t...

Last night my husband decided it would be funny to call me a snuggle whore. I was all, "Did you just call me a whore?" And he was like "A snuggle whore." "So, you're seriously calling your 6 month pregnant wife a whore?" Then he looked even more pleased with himself and has now decided to call me a "pregnant, snuggle whore." Speaking of whores, when I was a kid they were everywhere. Gypsy whores specifically. I don't know where my mother and grandmother's obsession with gypsy whores came from, but it was the reason to tone down your fashion a lot. As in, you can't wear dangly earrings (my favorite to this day) because those are for Gypsy whores. As in, little girls shouldn't have red nailish polish because they'll look like Gypsy whores. As in, red and pink or red and purple don't match and if you wear that outfit you'll look like a gypsy whore. As in, Gypsy whore bath, which is where you take a bird bath in the s...

Ever make soup and then get a cold and think, "dang, what a good thing I made soup!" That happened to me this week. Did you know hemorrhoids are actual vericose veins in your ass? That's your gross and generally unimportant information for the day. Thank you pregnancy websites for teaching me all I simply must know to have a baby. Ever poop green? Of course you do. I always want to tell someone when it happens. Why is that? I never do though. Which is weird because I tend to say everything I think. Or as it turns out, almost everything. I don't want to talk about the baby thing lately. Someone very close to me had a miscarriage. Almost exact same story as mine. Same no symptoms/concerns. Almost the same date. 12 weeks instead of 11. I can't stop thinking about her. I'm terrified for her to go through everything I did. I hate thinking that she might be sobbing uncontrollably and unexpectedly at a time when she should get to be happy. I hate thinking how I spe...

I think its really funny when people fart in their sleep. I woke myself up the other night snoring. I didn't used to snore. Its like my body held onto that flaw until I got married. I'd lived with someone before too. But it never started until I was married. Like somewhere in my psyche I thought I wouldn't be marriage material with snoring. But now, fuck it, I guess. There's no point caring if you snore. But when I was 18, I bet I would've been embarrassed about snoring. You get embarrassed about weird shit when you're 18. Or 21. One of my friends had her first baby when she was 21. She was really concerned about getting waxed before the birth because she didn't want anyone to see her yoni all gnarly and hairy. I thought that was funny. It just wouldn't have occurred to me that anyone would pay any attention to that during birth. I mean, I don't want things getting all george-of-the-jungle down there, but if they do, again, fuck it. Wh...

My hommie Dean called me and left a message once with another friend of ours singing "Let's go surfin' now." I still have it saved. This weekend he turned 30. He left me a message saying "Karin. Its Dean. I'm turning old this weekend. Yeah, 30. I'm gonna need to see you this weekend and throw water baloons at you. I've got goals, Karin. Goals." I met up with him on Sunday. We saw Pato Banton (see also kickass Reggae,) for free in the beautiful sunshine. Pato dedicated a song to the preggos. And I stood next to some deaf folks and got to thinking how they must experience the vibrations of a concert. Made me really feel connected to the parasite. I started thinking about that song dedicated to shim and how it was all bouncing around in fluid to the vibrations of reggae and it just felt so good. Next thing you know the show's over and Dean's running around in the snow trying to fly a kite. Afterwards a bunch of friends played...

My mom got in a motorcycle accident. She was driving. Taking lessons. My mom married this really awesome man. She talked him into doing all kinds of things for himself that he never would have before knowing her. When they met, for example, he drove an old sedan and started it with a wrench and because he's that mechanical type, he could've kept it running forever. And he would have. Even if he had the money. I'm not sure he believed he deserved nice things. But she talked him into buying himself a really nice truck. She also talked him into buying himself a really nice Harley. He'd always wanted one. And they went for rides quite a bit. They loved it. But then this awesome man died. And every time my mom thought about selling the Harley, she cried. Finally she sold the truck instead. And with the money, she bought a sidecar for the Harley in order to be able to drive it herself. So she was taking lessons. But she's over 60. Learning the balance, and ha...

My husband has taken to calling me DJ Pregnant-C. I think it is perfectly reasonable for me to respond by calling him V.I. Penis. P.S. I'm pregnant (for anyone who didn't already know.) 13 weeks that is. Which should explain why the blog's been a little quieter and more seriouser lately. I was kind scared about the whole thing and well, just not ready to tell. But now we're all clear. So there's good things and bad things: My boobs are HUGE! Like 2 sizes bigger. They bounce now. And touch. Its wild. I don't appreciate it when I'm skiing. But the rest of the time I like it. I spent about 8 weeks sick to my stomach almost constantly. That is fucking clown shoes . I saw the baby's heartbeat. Its amazing. It didn't even look like a baby the first time I saw its little heart blurp on the monitor. Now it looks like a baby. A fuzzy, gray, TV baby, but a baby. I thought I lost an ultrasound picture for a while there, (which in all honesty c...

This dad called me recently with concerns about his daughters. They're twins. His wife found them standing on a wet bathroom floor giggling. Sounds like normal twin girl stuff, right? The wet bathroom floor and the giggling was apparently because they were peeing on each other and thought it was hysterical. He did not think it was funny.

I bought my dad a robe for Christmas. It was the softest, warmest, snuggliest robe I could find. My dad lives in his robe. He just retired. He'll be living in his robe even more. Not in a crazy, don't-do-anything-but-crosswords-and-yell-at-the-neighborkids sort of a way. Just in a finally-have-some-time-at-home-after-travelling-nonstop-for-the-last-15-years way. As a little girl, I remember my dad would always make dinner, clean up, and change into his robe. We'd all go downstairs to play or draw or whatever and my dad would settle in to watch TV. Some nights, he'd make popcorn and I'd snuggle into the side of him. It was the best feeling in the whole world. It didn't matter what we watched. (Except the news. Or football. Those were not snuggling up programs. Those were stay-out-of-dad's-way-while-he-yells-at-the-TV shows.) I'm a little hyphen-happy in this post-for-some-reason. So anyway, I found this super snuggly robe and bought it for my dad. I w...

My pelvis is instable. Doesn't that make it sound like it has a mood disorder? Like I might hip check you one day and hump you the next? That's not what it means. I'm having problems with my SI joint. Thank god. Because I thought it was going to be a disc thing. And my brother had a disc thing that resulted in 3 surgeries and a significant hospital stay. I'll take my bitchy girdle (pelvic girdle that is.) So yesterday I started physical therapy. I told the PT about how if I do a Kegel, I can pop my lower back. Fucked up right? Sounds like I have an unstable and tempestuous pelvis. Like it can roar. She actually said its not all that uncommon. So there's apparently a bunch of roaring, snapping, moody lady hips out there. Be aware. So later in the appointment she's going over the exercises she wants me to do to help keep my hips aligned (one hip was an inch and a half higher than the other until she yanked it into place.) She's explaining how I need to tighten...