warning: this post contains swears and egregious misuse of quotation marks

Our office’s resident people pleaser brought in a batch of her “famous brownies” today. I could smell the Crisco from the parking lot. She walked around from cubicle to cubicle passing them out. I politely took one. I’m not much of a sweet tooth, and besides, this is the last thing my pregnant body wants me to ingest right now. It is T minus 2 hours until the nausea officially begins for the day.

Anyway. As usual all the women in the office went ape shit. What’s really annoying is that before taking a brownie they all have to say: “Oh I really shouldn’t…” or “Maybe just one…”

Ladies, lets not pretend that you don’t stuff your fat faces with hoagies and fries at lunch. All anyone ever does in this freaking office is eat crap. All day long. The majority of people in this office look like the customers in an American Cosco. By this I mean, morbidly obese.

I hate the fact that women have to preface eating by uttering these meaningless, shallow and totally bullshit lines. As I stuffed some of the trans fat-laden brownie into my face, one of the publishers walked by.

“Oh those must be good, everyone is eating them!”

I nodded and widened my eyes in an “Oh you know it sister!” kind of a way. I hate when I do that. I am being totally sarcastic but totally pandering to the idiocy at the same time.

“Good thing bathing suit season is almost over!” she laughed.

This is one of those moments when I want to do one of two things:

Laugh maniacally until she feels stupid for saying such a clichéd and unfunny thing, or, roll my eyes and say “Oh my god, just get over it already. Eat your fucking brownie and shut up.”

Instead I “laugh” along with her and hate myself a little.

Bathing suit season. Go fuck yourself. I have an IQ over 85. I don’t bother myself with such trivial matters.

This morning the Husband was telling me that one of the guys at work was complaining because his wife spent hundreds of dollars on some new bras. He told the guys how he “freaked out” when she told him - that is until he saw her in the bras. He went on to talk about how breastfeeding their 2 children had ruined his wife’s breasts. How they used to be like the breasts of a teenager. But these new bras made them look great. ‘Buy more!’ he told her.

What a fucking asshole. Can you imagine his wife finding out that her husband was standing around telling a bunch of firefighters how bad her tits were? She carried, birthed and nursed your DAUGHTERS you fucktard. DAUGHTERS that you are going to turn into bulimic little self-obsessed twats because of your retarded attitude about women. I hope your dick rots off.

Ahh, that was cathartic.

Now back to my brownie.

from the depths...blah, blah, blah

I did intend on posting on Avery's 1st birthday (July 15th), but everyone in the house was sick. I did write her a really nice letter which I may post if I get time. For now, enjoy the picture. I am battling menstrual cramps and a flooded basement (2nd thunderstorm of the day) and husband is at work.





More later.

confession

Okay, so maybe I'm not feeling as well as I thought I was.

I have really been trying to think positively about things and to take better care of myself (ie. stop cutting a few centimetres off of my hair before each shower and go to the fucking hairdresser already), but I seem to be having a hard time doing either. I feel really overwhelmed these days. Avery is taking a long time to recover from the chronic constipation, and as a result, is not eating very much in the way of solid foods and is still breastfeeding before each nap and 3-4 times a night when she wakes up from the gas pains. I'm exhausted. Every night after her 3am wake-up, I cannot fall back asleep until at least 5am- ish. My thoughts start racing and the anxiety comes creeping back in. Mostly I am DREADING going back to work and leaving Avery. The thought of having to wean her and get her to start napping without the boob before I go back seems like such a monstrous task that it tires me out even to think about it.

If I complain to the husband that I am overwhelmed I get the same response each time. He either says "This is your job (stay at home mum), can't you handle it?" or suggests that maybe we shouldn't have any more babies if it is so hard on me. I don't even want to complain to him anymore. I love Avery and she makes me happier than anything. Motherhood is not the problem.

I don't know what to do to feel better. I don't feel like changing out of the yoga pants and trying to dress myself up once in awhile because I really don't like how I look anymore.

If there was some way for me to stay home with Avery and make some money I would jump at the chance. Is it like this for all mothers?

Anyway, I'm at a loss for anymore words on this subject. Perhaps things will start to get better soon.

self-esteem

Today is the first really warm sunny day in the last however many months. We had a long, cold, stormy winter and when I woke up this morning I thought to myself: shave legs (lower half at least), find capri pants from last year, put them on and take Avery outside for a nice long walk.

When Avery went down for her morning nap I grabbed my electric razor only to find that the battery was dead. Then I realized that my charger was missing, most likely lost in a pile in the spare bedroom/office/garbage dump. I recalled asking the husband if he had seen it around last week and he said he wouldn't have remembered something like that. Translation: he was attempting to clean up the spare room and threw my charger in the garbage. He did this a few weeks ago with my hair roller holders. I still have the hot rollers, but I have nothing to hold them in my hair <>.

I decided to use a regular razor and, because I can't run the shower in the upstairs bathroom while Avery is sleeping because it sounds like a jet engine taking off, I dry-shaved. Not only did I miss a number of very long hairs, I caused my skin to break out in a rash.

When I went to try on last summer's wardrobe (and by this I mean the large-sized Old Navy capri yoga pants I bought so I could stretch them over my massive pregnant belly) I realized that I was looking pretty sloppy. And I have nothing else to wear, and oh yeah, I hate my body and I feel like a fat slob.

Because husband is on days this week, it is very hard for me to fit in a shower. Can't do it during Avery's nap time (jet engine), and my child will not allow me to leave her in a playpen to watch a baby video and play by herself so that I can clean myself when she is awake.

So now I am fat, sloppy and greasy-haired. Oh, and my eyebrows haven't been plucked in like, 3 months. I stood in front of the mirror and thought to myself: holy shit, how long have you been allowing yourself to leave the house like this?

I actually felt like crying.

And then I went to the bathroom and found that my period had started. And I am out of tampons and now I really do have to leave the fucking house looking like this.

I stepped outside my front door and was greeted by the sight of a new neighbour, all 300 plus pounds of her, standing on her driveway with a smoke hanging out of her mouth while she yelled at her kids to get off of the other neighbour's lawn. She was braless, and covering her corpulent waist and breasts that hung like burlap sacks full of half-filled water balloons, was a t-shirt that read: This is WHY I'm Hot.

And you know what? I still feel like crap about myself. What the hell is wrong with me?