Guess who took her barely contained rage to the pharmacy at 1 a.m. because she thought she’d been shorted a prescription after she’d already been shorted on it earlier in the day only to realize that she couldn’t count to three after forcing the pharmacist to count out her packages?
Picked up my birth control earlier & realized there was only one package instead of three. Went back to the pharmacy, gave my bag back, and the pharmacist said he put two more in there.
Getting ready to take a pill before bed and saw there were two foil covered packets and one (what I thought was) pill cover.
Went stomping back to the pharmacy and growled at the pharmacist that he’d “fixed” it incorrectly. He insisted all three were in there so I hand him the bag to count them. What I thought was the pill cover contained another packet of pills.
Crow! Tasty, tasty, crow!
I’m taking my angry ass to bed.
But first! A gallery of Bean’s whap to the forehead! She was sitting on the bed between BB and Sweety and they didn’t catch her when she leaned forcefully into the headboard. (Leaned forcefully is my nice way of saying “toppled over & knocked the shit out of”)
I was at work and Sweety texted those to me. He put the headband on her so he couldn’t see the mark.
Here she is this morning. It’s a faint bruise. This is her “why the hell do you have me awake so early, woman?!” face.
Ok. Really going to bed now to huff my bruised baby.
Sweety and I got up super early, loaded Bean up and hit the road at around 4:30 a.m. to visit a friend who is in prison.
I’d stayed up late the night before packing things because I know that you can only take certain things into the visiting yard and I knew that if Bean got hungry that I couldn’t breastfeed her there, I’d need to go into the bathroom. To avoid that, I thought I’d pack some bottles of milk for the trip and take the breastpump. My plan was to give her bottled milk and pump and dump milk out so I didn’t get uncomfortable.
The place is about 5 hours away and about halfway there we stopped for a bit (Bean had slept this whole time) and fed Bean and took off again. We stopped again for a drive-thru breakfast when we were about 30 minutes from the destination and Sweety found a quiet spot to park so I could feed Bean. Bean wasn’t hungry. Okay. I’ll just pump milk! Except during my methodical packing? I’d forgotten one of the parts to the pump. I figured that it would be okay. Bean would get good and hungry and I’d just tote her into the bathroom there and feed her.
Apparently, when you are a prison visitor they search you very carefully. The guard had me go into a room and said that I needed to “shake out your bra”. I didn’t know what the fuck she meant. Was I supposed to take it off and shake it out like there were breadcrumbs in it that were itching me and I was evicting them? So, I very respectfully told her that I didn’t quite understand what I should do and she advised me to grab the bottom of my bra and pull it away from my body and then shake so if anything was in there it would fall out. The only thing that fell out was my boobs which I hurriedly tucked back as she told me I could leave the room. I’ve gotta say, the guards and staff there were really nice. I think they could tell that Sweety and I didn’t have any visiting experience and they were all very non-dickish.
We were visiting our friend and Bean had started chewing on my face so I took her into the bathroom instead of giving her the bottle. Oh, hell to the no. She got pissed off that I’d taken her away from people-watching and just lost her shit in the bathroom. I decided that the last place I needed someone overhearing my baby scream her fool head off and questioning my parenting skills was a prison bathroom so I took her out and poked the bottle in her mouth. Problem solved. Well, problem solved for her. My tits were starting to feel explosive.
We left about ninety minutes after this and Bean fell asleep as soon as she was tucked into the car. She started waking up and we stopped at a rest area and I tried to feed her. Nope. Not happening. I swear, she chewed on my lumpy, hurting, milk infested nip and smiled around it. I knew damn good and well that she was hungry because it had been a good bit of time since she’d eaten but she just wasn’t having it.
We stopped again a little later and she ate for maybe two minutes before the lure of watching cars zoom past became too much to bear and her attention was diverted. At this point, if I had a Terror Alert label? It would have been flaming red.
Sweety suggested I locate the nearest Wallyworld and he would go in and get the part I needed. He goes into the store and comes out and hands me the bag. I’m excitedly digging into the bag as he zooms back onto the interstate, ready to cry tears of happiness when I realize that the part he purchased didn’t fit the pump. Those tears quickly turned to tears of “OMGthisshithurtsandI’mfucked” Two hours later we made it home without my titties splitting open from the fire ant feeling that was inside and I was able to take care of business.
A conversation with Sweety during this.
You know…I could go into a bathroom and hand express this out but I’ll only get a little bit in 30 minutes. You should suck it out.
Dude. Seriously. Think about it. I suck your dick and swallow that shit for fun. At the very least, you could eat something I produce that’s actually made for eating!
He offered to in the end but I declined. He likes his cow’s milk on ice and I was afraid he’d vomit if he had to have warm stuff in his mouth and wouldn’t finish the job and I’d have to kick him in the head out of fury.
Shit I learned:
Don’t forget any parts to the breast-pump and depend on Bean to do her job of eating because traveling might throw her off schedule and into a hunger strike.
How to make a sandwich using Ramen noodles for bread if I’m ever incarcerated.
I’ll just keep on being a law-abiding citizen because I have zero desire to eat a Ramen sandwich.
Here. More pleasant things.
Some mad toe-sucking action.
She fell asleep sucking them the other day and I about died laughing.
Here she is in a new romper. I just discovered these little stretchy rompers and I am resisting the urge to get her one for every day of the week. This photo was taken after I’d gotten home one night and found it in the mail. I couldn’t stand to wait until she was clean and rested to put it on – that’s why she’s got little tired black eyes.
Don’t eat wasabi coated peas if your lips are chapped. It’s a fiery disaster. Like hemorrhoids on your face. And certainly do not rub your watery eyes with the fingers that you have just used to pluck up the wasabi peas. That will lead you into the bathroom at work where you will cry while washing your hands.
I like to use the back door into work when I’m entering and exiting. Less likely to run into people clogging up the sidewalk. When I left yesterday night, I noticed that the sprinklers were on. I carefully navigated through them without getting soaked. Just as I was patting myself on the back for not getting wet – I got soaked. On the sidewalk under a tree. There wasn’t even any grass around and it was super dark there so I didn’t see the spray. I despise getting wet. The sound I made as I was drenched from head to toe was probably very similar to the sound Tiny Dog would make if I gave her a pet with a blowtorch.
Check it out!
Someone had it sitting at the curb and I grabbed it up a few weeks ago. It was pretty scuffed up but it’s made from solid wood so Sweety sanded it and painted it with paint we had leftover after painting Bean’s room. Her closet is the hot pink color and her room is the light pink. I know the dresser is rather blinding but it’s going to be inside her closet and will match perfectly in there.
We needed a dresser for Sylvie to use. Right now, she’s stacking her clothes in an old bookshelf but will move into the dresser tomorrow. I think she’s excited to have a place to cram her clothes where I won’t be able to see them and grouch at her to fold them nicely.
Here. More cute baby.
That’s a pirate sock monkey with a mohawk hat. Sylvie said we all need one. I think the world would be a happier place if everybody plopped one of those on their head before leaving the house. See that little tongue poking out? She’s just discovered that and spends most of her time sticking it out at us and squealing.
My sleeping peeps. It sucks royally to get out of bed in the morning.
Dining and pulling the hair and then passed out after dinner.
I’m trying to keep her from snatching herself bald-headed.
Have you ever heard of where a hair can get wrapped around a baby’s toe and cut off the circulation? That shit is no joke. The Bean got one on her toe and it left a cut. I had her with me at the grocery store today (with no socks on) and someone was admiring her and shrieked, “Oh my gawd! What happened to her poor toe?!” Holy hell. The one off spot on her and it stuck out like a sore thumb.
Speaking of feet…
The Bean has some sweaty feet. You know how baby feet are supposed to be all nice and smell good? Hers do about 90 percent of the time. The other 10 percent? They actually stink like feet. (I will admit that I huff her stinky feet. Since it’s a rarity to sniff them and they’re stinky – I consider it good luck when I catch them smelling like tiny dirty sweatsocks.) Even if she hasn’t had socks on. I’m starting to leave socks off of her more often than not in an effort to dry them out. You can sometimes swipe your finger across the sole and it actually comes away wet.
At approximately 9:30 p.m. Eastern Standard Time last night, you may have felt a sudden heat wave. No worries. That was only my cheeks burning.
We went to the VFW last night after I got off of work to meet a friend. When I suggested the outing to Sweety a few weeks ago he was not very excited.
A little backstory – the friend I wanted to go meet is someone I met because she briefly dated someone who Sweety bowled with. She and I only met in person once and then became better acquainted through Facebook and Twitter. When I told Sweety who I wanted to meet, his first reaction was, “Geez…why can’t you find friends that won’t be awkward? She dated So-and-So. You’re weird.” I reminded him that he had asked me just a few days before why couldn’t I make more “real life friends” after making plans to meet an “online friend” and that if it made him feel any better that he could pretend that I met her online. (no, we aren’t delusional, are we?)
I promised him that if he had a complete craptastic time that I would never ask him to go again. I told him to use our safeword of “appaloosa” if he felt that we needed to flee the scene.
I am a longtime fan of VFWs. As far as I’m concerned – they have the best suppers and you can’t beat bingo there. Last night I discovered that you also can’t beat the incredibly cheap drinks. And the old more life experienced folks. I love them. Really. On Friday and Saturday nights they have karaoke and dollar beer (and $3 well drinks! woot!). I do not sing. Ever. (I sang “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star” to my niece when she was 4 and she asked me to please stop.) But I do love to drink and watch people butcher songs. In a trainwrecky sort of way.
Surprisingly, most everybody that sang was good. Maybe I danced a little in my chair. Such a tiny bit that you would think I was just spasming a small bit. Nothing rhythmic. And I was really excited to see my friend. So excited that when there was a break in the karaoke so some announcements about upcoming VFW events could be made that I paid no attention and did. not. shut. up.
We were sitting at the table closest to the stage. As the announcer was announcing I was talking loudly (because we were sitting next to the music speakers) so my friend could hear me. It did not occur to my mildly beer-addled mind that everyone else could hear me too. Until the man with the microphone shushed me. The elderly gentleman sitting at the far end of our table shushed me then as well.