Motherhood Uncensored

Turbo nesting and other goodies

So I made the mistake of purchasing my Halloween candy a month early, telling myself that I was just being uber prepared. Except I bought everything I love and surprise... I've been eating 100 Grands for breakfast.

However, my house is super organized, though I'm afraid that's due more to the super duper pregnant hormones and less to the 976 calorie chocolate bars I'm consuming.

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If you read my blog regularly and haven't stumbled here looking for tips on nipple piercing (oh wait, that's this site that's tops for that search), you know my girl can draw. Well, she's come a loooong way (as in, about 400 times better than me), and you have to see her fashion designs.

She can also sew. (Remember those cool appliqued underpants? Well, Deb has a sewing lounge and Quinlan takes lessons).

 

[Can you tell I took this before breakfast? And yes, she sewed that].

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Give me some advice about my labor and delivery dilemma, courtesy of my husband's rad work schedule.

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And I'm not sure if it's bad luck, karma, or that asshole Murphy's law, but I sort of annoyed that I publish a tech blog for moms and currently all my computers are about to bite the dust. And it really sucks to try to do anything more than check email on a netbook. Meanwhile, this also means I can't set up my iPad. Um, for work. Ahem.

Now off to decorate, organize, and dust off my breast pump. Wheeeee!

Tag! You're it!

It's amazing what a little rabble-rousing at the midwife's office will get you - a vaginal AND anal swab!!!!!!

I've had that damn Group Strep B test four times now and I do not remember that extra bonus part.

Maybe I blocked it out.

Or maybe I'm just very confused.

Everything seems to sort of run together down there these days.

But just as I was about to pop my feet out of the stirrups, my midwife mentioned something about a skin tag.

On my vagina.

Now I've heard of skin tags, which are quite common on pregnant women, and maybe I've just been so smug about not really getting them because apparently I just made up for all the ones I've been missing out on.

Then she tried to pull it off. And I squawked. So she told me she'd "fix me up later."

And then I started to wonder - "fix me up?" I mean what the hell is going on down there? It's a skin tag - not an extra limb hanging off my vulva.

Then later on I decided to look.

I gasped.

Then thanked the high heavens I didn't show my husband.

I tugged.

Then ripped it off.

I screamed nasty words.

Then nearly died in a pool of my own blood.

Why in the hell didn't I wait and just let her rip it off and bill me some ridiculous amount later on, you might ask.

Well, after three seconds of intense deliberation before I rolled it up and put it back into my underpants, I realized that I wouldn't want the baby to get tangled in anything on her way out.

Although based on the size of that thing, she could have used it as a rope to pull herself out on her very own.

Mama needs some brand new underpants

A few weeks back when my former neighbor was doing my "so you can find my baby" courtesy wax at another neighbor's house, she apologized for not having those paper panties because she didn't want to ruin my own gorgeous expensive panties, to which I laughed because I'm 37 weeks pregnant and hell if I'm wearing anything but gigantic cotton parachutes.

[Yes, my neighbor waxes my bush at a neighbor's house. Welcome to suburbia].

If I were to put a pair of sexy underwear on, I do believe they'd get eaten by my growing backside and dropping belly.

But that doesn't mean I won't ever need some cute undies, so when Atlanta-based mom of four, seamstress extraordinaire, and new author Deborah Moebes asked me if I would host a stop on her blogging book tour, I knew just the perfect thing for her to share with you.

You might think that sewing and Motherhood Uncensored (and the Mominatrix, for that matter) do not go hand in hand, but leave it to Deb's genius to put together an awesome online applique tutorial, or what she has called "The Great Panty Project."

The mustache is the new landing strip.You heard it here first. 

Not to be confused with my own current "The Great BIG Panty Project."

I won't bore you too long with how I actually know Deb, which is through a gorgeous dress for Margot that was gifted to me awhile back and then her husband, a dad blogger who is a Reserves guy, who emailed me asking about my husband (a National Guard guy) and then I told him exactly where I lived (because apparently I got a non-stalker vibe from him) and he said "Oh we were going to move there" and I was like "WTF?" and then I realized that he was married to Deb.

Small world, huh?

And now my daughter takes sewing classes at her Atlanta shop, and she has a fantastic sewing book out, which is sold out almost everywhere, and I'm more than pleased to tell you all about how fabulous it is.  

Yes, apparently it's not sex that sells. It's sewing. Who knew?

So, with all that out of the way, Deb has written an amazing sewing book that includes a ton of awesome projects for crafty mavens and those of you who didn't think people still actually sewed stuff, plus easy to follow tutorials (pictures!) and a bunch of patterns on a handy PDF.

While I do joke about being a domestic zero, as well as someone missing the Martha Stewart gene, I'm actually pretty crafty when I want to be. And with Quinlan enjoying her sewing camp and classes, it's gotten me more motivated to put my foot back on the pedal and take machine for a whirl.

And first up, aside from the blanket I made for the new baby that Margot found and will not sleep without, I'm starting with these adorable and pretty hilarious applique - made especially for you (and me) by Deb.

 

Fig leaf! Get it? 

So, if you're crafty and you want to give these a whirl, head over to Deb's blog for the full tutorial. And even if you don't want to make some cute, sexy underpants (what is wrong with you?), you should head over to her place anyway because she posts all sorts of interesting tidbits. Plus, the tutorial is great for applique on anything, not just underpants.

And if you could give two shits about sewing, then you might want to try to win these. Yep, Deb has graciously offered this set of 4 never been worn (we promise, so help us God or whoever is in charge) hand appliqued set of underwear.

Meanwhile, who ELSE on the internet would give away appliqued underpants, people?

Just leave a comment on this post and tell me what brand of underwear you're wearing right now. Extra points (that will not give you extra entries but will make me laugh) for those of you who aren't wearing any underpants. You have until midnight EST tonight to enter - US residents only please. Only one entry per person.

Mommy's little one-upper

I was all ready to write an enthusiastic post about Margot peeing on the potty this morning but then my internet (and cable and phone service) was out for the entire day and I was forced, by the universe no doubt (or at least as interpreted by my BFF) to take a little internet vacation.

And I should have known better than to plan a post about success in potty training because apparently the peeing in the potty because Mommy was doing it at the same time was a one-time thing.

But earlier this evening, she handed me piece of her crap.

And she's right. That is much more interesting to hear about than a little piss in a tiny plastic potty.

Don't cry over missed midwife appointments

Yesterday marked my second missed midwife appointment in the past two weeks.

Last week, it was my own damn fault, or really, my husband's, since he decided to change his battery and not reset his car clock, so I rolled up to my daughter's sewing lesson thinking I was early when really, I was almost exactly a half hour late.

So I rescheduled my visit for this week. And really, unless there are major issues, these now weekly visits are actually sort of boring and even slightly depressing. 

Yes, I feel like I have to poop all the time. Yes, I just gained 6 lbs in 3 weeks. No, I don't have a yeast infection, it's um, usually, uh, like that.

(Oh whoops, so that's not your typical occurrence, but see what you get after having three kids! So glad I shared that tidbit with you!).

But this week, I was ready - armed with gobs of preregistration paperwork that I had printed out on scrap paper and packed in a used folder (hey, I'm eco-friendly!) and determined to actually pee in the cup the first time without fumbling around because damnit I may not be able to tie my own shoes but I know where my urethra is.

Seriously, I have a Master's degree and cannot pee in a cup to save my life.

And indeed, I arrived early, got my weight, blood pressure, and hemoglobin taken, and stripped down to get my Group Strep B test.

Then I sat for 40 minutes, catching up on Elin Woods' side of the divorce and all the Teen Mom drama that I know way too much about with my ass not so snuggly tucked under a paper blanket, and still no midwife. Her trusty assistant promised me that she'd send her in before the woman waiting for an annual, but alas, I heard the door slam next to me and I knew I was shit out of luck.

Now for the past nine months, I've sat, usually for at least this long, usually longer, but today I had to pick up my daughter from her sewing lesson and I just couldn't wait. And while I love my midwife and midwives in general, who are known to take much longer with their patients than most gynecological professionals, it's a little annoying to have to schedule an entire morning for a visit that should take about ten minutes, if that.

So I put my pants back on and skipped out of there, informing the assistant with my best pissed off pregnant etiquette that I couldn't wait any longer, and no I couldn't come back tomorrow and spend another $5 in parking just to do the same damn thing.

And after nearly chewing out a nice, well-meaning woman in the elevator who asked me "what I had under my shirt, oh is that a watermelon?" Yeah, a 50 fucking pound watermelon, lady I cried all the way to get my daughter. Sobbing, weeping cries.

Because apparently I really really wanted that vaginal swab.