I’m hoping that I’m one of those people who likes to work and have a family. I can’t personally name any off the top of my head but I swear – I’ve heard some women say that they needed to go right back to work after having a baby because they didn’t like being at home.

Right now I don’t feel that way but maybe I will get to work and go, “Damn, I am so glad to be here!” I hope so.

The main thing I’m sad about it not being with Bean during the day. I love playing with her and feeding her and all of that good stuff. Sniffing her…Man, I love to sniff her and stare at her. I’d like to put her in a giant paper sack and huff her.

I’m also worried about what I’ll be coming home to every day. Being home, I’ve kind of been able to keep the house from looking like a pig sty and keep everyone in order. I’m imagining coming home at 8 p.m. to a crying baby, a wreck of a house, dirty dishes everywhere, homework to help with and a stressed out Sweety. He has done nothing to indicate that this is how things will be but we’ve never had a tiny human to tend to.

I’m also worried that I’m not going to be able to pump enough milk during the day to feed her. I have been hoarding milk the past week or so to give me a headstart. Of course, my tits have done nothing to indicate that they might not put out but I like to worry.

I’m also concerned that a tiny asteroid will hit the neighbor’s house while I’m at work and annihilate Bean. (Just kidding. I think.)

To get me and Bean used to being separated, this week I’ve been taking her over to the neighbor’s house for a few hours in the morning and even though I don’t go back to work until next Thursday, the plan is to take her over there all day on Monday and Tuesday as a dry run. Sweety thinks I am going to lose my shit the first day that I’m away from her and thinks I’d prefer to do it alone instead of at work. He told me to, “Go watch a movie..visit someone…out to eat…whatever and come home at 8 p.m.” I will need to find a suitable place to do these things where I can plug in a breast pump. Maybe I’ll just hide in the bedroom and not come out until 8 p.m.

This is a sign that Oliver is not the same psychotic dog we rescued from the shelter two years ago. He is a broken man. But, a very good boy.

In his eyes I think I see a silent plea for help.

“I was researching Brazilian waxes and found something about some chick who got her labia ripped!” and “Did you know you can have nipple hair waxed?”

He said that I totally lost him at “labia ripped”.

I’ve decided to have all the hair yanked off my coochie and surrounding area. I tried to groom it myself a couple of weeks ago and it looks scary mangy now. Well, I assume it looks mangy because I can’t see the thing and I’ve instructed Sweety to not look at it.

This is my favorite part of the house being redone.

A doggy door in the wall! We had to replace the wall and when Sweety was putting the sheetrock up, Oliver kept walking in and out. Sweety’s going to make a door for it and he said that I can paint a flaming hoop or something around it so the hounds can make grand entrances. I’m really excited about having some movable art on the living room wall.

Here is a video I took of Tiny Dog a few weeks ago. She likes to sit just far enough away that I can’t reach her and then grouch at me to pick her up.

She is a spoiled little hussy. I do not pick her up. She can sit with me but I’ll be damned if I’m going to walk across the room for her. It’s interesting that if I’m eating something then she is able to jump effortlessly onto the couch with me but other times she needs me to unseat myself and fetch her.

How weird is it that we have two kids in high school and you’re pregnant now?

Well, at least this way, when the Bean is going to school – the boys will already be out! We won’t have to tote her to one school and them to another.

Oh, I know. I’m not complaining. This is one of the reasons we planned it this way. That’s why they call it family planning.

I suppose.

Seriously. It shouldn’t be like opening up a box of Cracker Jack where you don’t know what the surprise is every time you fuck that hole.

Yes, people. He not only compared my coochie to Cracker Jack…he referred to it as fucking a hole. Nice.

In other news…

I thought Oliver had a giant streak of asshole but he has surpassed my initial impression. When we give the dogs rib bones they have to eat them on the back porch. We tossed a couple of bones out the other day and they both started chowing down on them. Oliver ate his then sauntered over and stole Tiny Dog’s.

But he did not eat it.

He trotted through the porch door and proceeded to drop it into the pool.

WTF, dude? Really? It wasn’t enough to take her shit you had to drown it too?

Tiny Dog got a new bone. Oliver had to come inside.

On Wednesday I went to have a weird looking mole checked. The doctor agreed that it was weird looking and asked if I wanted it off now or after the baby was born. I asked if I could have anesthesia if it came off now and he said I could but it was injected not something that was rubbed on. Or I could just have them slice it off without anesthesia.

So, how long will it take you to whack it off.

Not long. Maybe a minute.

Thinking to myself….A minute? I’m probably going to live at least another 45 years…what’s a minute in the scheme of 45 years? That’s nothing! I can do this!
Okay! Let’s take it off now!

The doctor took a needle full of saline and injected it under the mole to make it raise off of my belly (and that part hurt like hell, thank you very much) and then proceeded to slice it off. Holy shit, batman. It was like fire. I was telling myself to be calm so the Bean wouldn’t think we were being tortured or something. It’s hard to keep your heart from racing when something is cutting on you. I am glad it is gone.

The boys were with me and when I came out of the office, they remarked that I looked a little pale. I had to wait for the shaking to stop before I could drive us away. I can handle pain in a dignified manner but I sure don’t like it.

Our house is still a giant mess. We’re walking around on concrete with furniture crammed into odd places while we wait for the insurance check from the water damage to arrive. Sweety has everything prepped to start replacing things once we have the money for it. I look around at the disarray and want to pull my hair out. It’s no secret that I’m not the most organized person but it appears that I do have limits to the clutter that I can stand.

Here’s what we’ve been doing for fun while watching television….

Tiny Dog really loves to hump the living shit out of Oliver but he’s not really a fan. She can usually only get a couple of good thrusts in before he dismounts her. We’ve discovered that Oliver is a big enough slut for our attention though that he’ll let her ride away as long as we’re petting him. I find it hilarious and they both get something they want. It’s a win-win situation!

The hole in the carpet? That’s where Sweety upchucked during the great pukefest of 2011 and I made him cut the carpet out. That vomit actually soaked through the carpet and into the concrete. That’s the disgusting discolored patch up top. I’m going to clean it with a blowtorch before we put down new carpet.

Oliver is a teetotaler. To the point that he will run if Sweety walks towards him with an empty beer bottle at his level.

Tiny Dog will bite your hand off to sniff that same bottle.

I’m so broken out that Sweety said that touching me was like reading braille.

If I would have known that Sweety would get a window unit air conditioner for our bedroom because he wants his “baby mama” (as he so lovingly calls me) to sleep comfortably? We’d have a third-grader already. I love sleeping in a cooler!

When Oliver passes gas now, while I’m gagging I say thanks for the fact that his guts are working and he’s not bloated. I never thought I’d be glad to smell something so bad that it makes me gag.

BB’s first date went well. There was an issue where he didn’t contact us when we told him to but Sweety had a “come to Jesus” meeting and that shouldn’t happen in the future. And if it does, I’m going to smash his cell phone into eleventy billion pieces and he will never leave the house again.

LB went to his first school dance Friday night. We didn’t realize he was planning on going until Thursday. He’d refused to go to any of the other dances during the school year and we were very surprised to learn that he purchased a ticket to go to this one. He said he wanted to so since it was the last dance of the year. It was only for 8th graders. He wore his nice clothes (slacks, long-sleeved shirt & tie) and didn’t call us to come get him until it was all over. When he got in the car, he had a string of Mardi Gras type beads around his neck. It took everything in me to not ask him if he showed his tits for them. He was pretty embarrassed that Sweety was asking him about dancing with girls. I didn’t want to make it worse.