Time to reboot, recharge, and move locations!!!

I think one of the hardest challenges in life is finding out your were lied to, misinformed, and deceived from the very beginning. Told stories that were untrue, forced to develop judgments and misinterpretations of situations, and in the end, realizing that you can't go back to the beginning, fix the damage, and realize that none of it was true. The person that stole this past, who were deceptive for their own self gain, personal insecurities, inadequacy, and jealousy, was actually supposed to protect you, nurture you, make you a better person, but instead, took a part of your life you can never fully regain, and as an adult, leaves you wondering why you had to be the pawn in her hatred.

As a child I was extremely close to my father's side of the family...the Blizzard's could do not wrong in my eyes, I loved them all, spent as much time as I could with them, and dreaded leaving the warm loving arms of my grandparents, and into the loneliness that filled my childhood. I have very few memories of when I was no longer allowed over for sleepovers, when I was told I was no longer wanted, that my cousins were now the "favorites" and I was nothing. I do remember the timeline came soon after an argument between my mother and aunt--My mother is a gossip, a coward, and enjoys getting into everyone's business. When finally called on it, she did what she always does--defend, deny, and finally, make excuses. Her next move was purely out of spite and anger... It was a gradual separation, it didn't happen all at once..but, my weekend sleepovers went from every weekend to twice a month, then once, then, never again. I was filled with false information "they just don't love you the way they love your cousins, they don't want you over there"...I believed it, and for years, resented it.

I never understood why I was no longer wanted...and over 20 years later, I find out, that was not the truth. My grandfather passed almost 6 years ago, I can not go back and hear his stories, laugh at his jokes, or watch his "stories" nor can I go back to my grandmother making me oatmeal and turning on Sesame Street, and I can't go back to when I was in complete childhood bliss. I thank God I still have my grandmother, aunts, uncle, and father to help me reconnect with this lost part of my life, discover the misconceptions, and try to move past the time I lost and build the many more years ahead, but, there were so many years I lost at the hands of another.

It took a long time to ask questions, to reach out to the family I had been told didn't want me around...but after seeing my mother for what she really is, how quickly she turns, how quickly she lashes out, the false reality she has in her head---the hatred she has for my father, and for the last 14 years since their divorce, how she has forced me to choose sides. It wasn't until she became a heavy drinker that this person, this vile creature emerged, the way she was able to manipulate others, play the victim, and come up with the most outrageous stories and lies--she finally turned on me. I was now the outsider; she easily convinced others that I had betrayed her by trying to get her help for her alcoholism--brought up every moment in my life that she deemed unacceptable, and again, defended, denied, and made excuses. It was a bad flashback, how naturally it came to her to be this hateful person...the moments from my childhood when she told me she wished she had aborted me, when she forced me to grow up and fend for myself at a young age, when she would complain, argue, and push my father to breaking points. I finally asked the question I had never mentioned before....why did the Blizzard's suddenly remove themselves from my life? The situation was so similar...I had questioned her sincerity, called her on her inadequacies, told her to back off--and at the drop of a dime she turned... if she could turn on her daughter so quickly, had she done the same to others? The answer was hard to hear--because as it turned out, they had not removed themselves from my life, rather, they had been removed.

I wish I could say that all is well...but, it takes a long time to rebuild a life that was stolen. I vow to never be the mother that I had. I tell my children how much I love them every day, I admit my faults, I embrace my inadequacies, my mistakes, and I try to grow from each one. I will never deny things I have said or done, I will not make excuses--sure I've screwed up, I'm human! I am not perfect, I have made mistakes, hurt others, hit many rough spots, but, I have survived--I never chose sides during my parents divorce and have now grown much closer to my father as a result. I have reconnected with family members from the Blizzard family, confided, trusted, and begun new relationships as an adult. I will protect my boys from as much evil in the world as I can...including the woman that taught me how to hate, lie, deceive, and manipulate. I take her lessons and I throw them away, knowing that I can rise above what she is and what she has become. I am not a victim, I am a survivor....she will not destroy my spirit, my will, or my ability to know who I am, who I can be, and who I will be.

That being said, I it is time to move on to another chapter...meaning, it is time to throw away some of the old and come into the new. I will be creating another blog, I have already changed email addresses, and have filtered and blocked my social networks. I need to make my life accessible only to the people I would like to share it with. "Andi's Musings" will stay put, but,I don't find it necessary to add to it anymore--I will keep my friends and loved one's updated as to my next blog move and keep the subject MUCH more light hearted!!!

Until then..

Peace my bebes,

Andria

I hate when my mother is right....

"It's going to catch up with you someday--you can't eat like that forever, just wait till your twenties"...like most things, I'm starting to learn, my mother was right. I remember Sunday morning rituals with my high school best friend (I think combined we weighed 210 pounds)--ten piece chicken McNuggets, supersized, Dr Pepper--we figured since we didn't cave and have apple pies or desert, we would be fine. As unfair as life really is--my high school pal, although 9 months VERY pregnant, is still adorably dainty, petite, and although I'm almost positive she isn't pounding down those McDonald's nuggets, thin as a rail. I never struggled with my weight growing up, if anything, I was teased for being so skinny...my shoulder blades stuck out of my back, my collarbone poked out of my vnecks, and my jeans sagged, thankfully, that was "the style".

Welcome to college--and the freshman 50. I met my, now, ex husband, began working in a steakhouse, and enjoyed burger king whoppers almost daily. It didn't come on fast and furious, it was a gradual porking. I do know, however, the last time I wore a bikini with any confidence was the summer of '97....the same year I got a butterfly tattoo on my right hip. I think I cursed myself with the tattoo--those burly men should warn young girls "You may get fat...this could stretch, consider getting something on your ankle". Flash forward, four little boys later, and I have mothra growing on my right side--eventually I will get Godzilla on the opposite end, sell tickets, and have a fight of epic proportions on my stomach--the butterfly might win.

I think I've tried every diet--I've vacayed in South Beach, drank bacon fat with Atkins, joined Queen Latifah in Nutrisystem, paid mucho dinero to lose 30 pounds in 30 days, paid hundreds on personal trainers who forced me to eat chicken and broccoli daily and tank protein shakes and egg whites, started an "all natural" diet where I had to cleanse my body by going organic, drink this terrible shake, and after a month, start giving myself injections in my stomach--I even tried bulimia--I quickly realized that digestive pyrotechnics were not my thing. I tried it all--got some results with a few, then with as quickly as it came off, it came back ten fold (like pulling a grey hair). I guess I felt as long as I was trying I would be ok--I would get on the scale and quickly get off--see a pound or two fall off and think I'm ok. There is one thing that never lies...and those are the candid pictures that begin popping up on Myspace, Facebook, and those "friends" begin tagging you for ALL to see--I had always stuck to shoulder and up shots--quirked my head at an angle and smiled.

The final straw was after my pregnancy with my now, 4 month old. I spent every day tossing cookies, watched my body deteriorate, and realized, this was NOT the time to diet--I tried hard to maintain weight so my little one would thrive, reducing myself to chugging Sunny D daily concentrating on keeping the weight on and the juice DOWN. My lowest moment was a week before Sammy was born--at 260 pounds (should I mention I only gained 5 pounds my ENTIRE pregnancy...ya, do the math), I sat on my kitchen floor, I was reaching for the cutting board and I couldn't get back up...I was too heavy, my body hurt, my heart hurt, I was always short of breath, and I knew, it was all too much. I cried, it's all I could do...Michael rushed to my side and did damage control, but, he knew that I had hit rock bottom--the pregnancy had already been terrible enough and now, this. I resolved to never let this happen again--as soon as I had Sammy, it was time to change.

After all the years of crazy diets, work out sessions, gym memberships, and tears--I found something that worked. It's simple, doesn't cost money, and entails just changing life habits--some harder to change than others. I get emails on how I've lost the weight, and in actuality, there is not secret-I just gave up what was bad for me. There are no fast food restaurants, no alcohol, stopped eating red meat, stick to grilled chicken, fish, and ground turkey. I refuse to give up carbs, breads, pastas, etc. I still eat those in my diet, just not as much as before. I no longer eat processed foods, threw away the jarred spaghetti sauces, canned veggies, and stick with only fresh ingredients (yes, I learned how to make my own pasta sauces), I use sodium free chicken broth, fresh garlic and spices. I drink a lot of water, I took caffeine and sodas off my "like list" and stick with sugar free juices if I want something sweet-for those that hate to cook or do not consider themselves suave in the kitchen, this may not be too helpful for you--One thing I am thankful for is my love for cooking AND the fact I'm damn good at it. I do indulge in sweets if I feel like it--but, it's about limits, I don't eat candy like the days of yore. Since August, I have lost close to 50 pounds--I'm trying to lose 20 before Christmas--not only a small goal for me, but, it will be the first time in years I have been under 200 pounds.

I have battled my weight for almost 12 years...but it has been the last 5 that I let it get out of control. Having children, struggling with a bad marriage, going through an even worse divorce, going back to college, finishing my degree, working two sometimes three jobs just to get by--it takes its toll. Food was my friend, alcohol was my escape, and sweets were my forgiveness. If I stayed fat, I could continue to be the funny fat girl in class, as a teacher, with my group of friends, and in life. Eventually, you stop laughing at yourself and realize, you need to stop being the butt of all your own jokes and do something about it. I have four little boys I want to run with in the park, a husband I want to spend my life with, friends I want to go shopping with and NOT have to dig to the back of the rack, or know that nothing in that particular store will fit--I want to stop hiding from all the bad and start living for all the good my life has finally brought me.

I will never be Giselle thin, which is FINE with me--but I would like to look in the mirror and recognize who I am--I don't want to be the "pretty fat girl", I want to just be Andria--adorable, quirky, hilarious, dependable, and healthy.

album 09\19\09 (318 photos), by Andria Blizzard

I'd like to share my Snapfish photos with you. Once you have checked out my photos you can order prints and upload your own photos to share.

I am more awesomely amazing than you....just ask my mom

The minute you announce your pregnant, everyone is a child-bearing expert. It is like all of your relatives, friends, strangers, and Wal Mart employees have received their medical degree in obstetrics and cannot WAIT to share their expertise. I have gotten advice from the helpful to the "you seriously did that? How does your child not wear a helmet and run into walls--?" I generally take the opinions of others with as much seriousness as how to land a good job from a homeless man. Of course, these people, who mean well, are not half as bad as the one uppers---We all know these people and most of us, ARE these people.

Old men sit around telling "Big Fish" stories--"I caught myself a catfish that was 42 pounds--I swear". Women who have had a child emerge from their uterus brag about how much worse their morning sickness was, how much more weight they gained or how much less they gained, how much crazier their cravings were, how much longer, stronger, and more painful their labor was, and the worst, how much bigger their baby was. We scoff at those who had a c-section, they will never understand the true pain of childbirth since they did not pass a human through their vagina. To be fair, I have never been slit from ear to ear across my abdomen, I think I got the better end of the deal (and a scar unseen). My mother, she's a chronic one upper--the master in some sorts. Not only were all of her children huge, but, she held us all four years past her due date, experienced natural child birth (it wasn't by choice, she NEVER mentions that part), and I believe I was eating T-bones at 8 days old. I never realized my mother had the one upper disease until I started having children....I don't think I will ever be able to one up the one upper, I gave up trying (although, I now have 4 kids and she only had 3...HA!). Although, the funniest situation is when you get two one uppers in the same room together...get the pop corn, sit back, and enjoy (I did, minus the popcorn).

My mother and my mother in law were quite entertaining....both LOVE to tell stories (about themselves) and both are chronic one uppers. I sat and watched while both talked about their pregnancies, labors, deliveries, and rearing of their children. Michael and I were in a competition with each other in utero, the birth canal, and as newborns--I'm still not sure which one of us won. I was bigger at birth, but Michael ate more, my mom had the more painful labor (since I was bigger and again, the natural child birth), but, I believe Michael tore his mom a new anatomy part (that was way too much information). It went on for a short time...and to be fair, my mother eventually changed the subject. I believe I have acquired part of my mother's one upping sickness and have caught myself in a mental and verbal competition with friends and strangers. I'll admit, I have bragged about the fact I birthed an 8 pound preemie--feeling that I should win a prize for biggest baby born at 35 weeks. Mostly, I get a "that's crazy" and people go on with their lives. I guess the only people who really care are my mom and me.

If you can survive the child experts and the one uppers...you face one more type. The perfect mothers--they voluntarily experienced child birth (in their homes), they only eat and feed their families organic foods, clothe their children in name brands, limit or eliminate television and radio, are active in playgroups, reading clubs, la leche league or bottle feeders unite (although to be perfect, you would NEVER use a bottle...gfaw), they are members of the PTA, room mothers, sit sideline at all sport activities, dance recitals, their children are learning 7 languages, in college prep classes at 3, and will forever, remind you of how gifted their children are. I will NEVER be a perfect mom--I practically walked in backwards when I went into labor...better have that epidural waiting...labor is NO time to be a hero--if Cheetos will make Zachary stop eating glue, have at 'em--I love Target (Cisco is a name brand in my opinion), television and radio have helped me keep my sanity...although, hearing your 5 year old singing "hush girl, shut your lips, do the Helen Keller and talk with your hips" probably isn't my proudest moment--I've done the playgroup thing, but, this is where you run into the majority of one uppers and perfect mothers, I always feel inadequate and wonder if I should be the one buying my child a helmet for future use in wall running. I do enjoy reading--mostly it's US weekly, E! online, and PerezHilton.com, but, it still counts (and I am up to date on my John and Kate plus 8 gossip and the DJ AM overdose). I do nurse my kids (except the first, I'll get to that in a second), I was too impatient to wait in line to join PTA on parent night, I don't have patience (or the desire) to organize a Halloween party but WILL send brownies...fresh baked from HEB. Sean did t-ball when he was 4...essentially, I paid $100 to watch my kids play in the dirt and squish ants--never again. Hopefully NONE of them will ever be in dance classes. They sorta know English--although, I do question their terminology with some things. All three would love to go to college--but based on the school colors and mascot--not the actual educational benefits. Sean will be tested this year for GT--but, I'll be the first to admit...the kid can be a real moron.

The only debate and characteristic I have on being the perfect moms is my willingness and commitment to nurse my children (this also helps me with my one upping disease). I was 21 when I had Sean...I was told that if I chose to breastfeed, I would spend my days with a child attached to my boob, maybe get 2-3 hours of sleep a day, and my social life would be limited, since I couldn't eat or drink things I enjoyed. I'll admit, at 21, I was too selfish to dedicate my life to feeding with my boobs. I chose the bottle and have regretted that decision for years...Sean has been inundated with breathing problems, food allergies, ear infections, etc. At the age of 9, he suffers from asthma and has some hearing loss from an eardrum bursting when he was 4. When Ryan was born premature, I didn't think it would be possible to nurse, but, knowing that it may ward off the same issues Sean had, I was willing to try. It was a nightmare, Ryan never took to drinking straight from the tap--I ended up pumping for the better half of two months. I am proud to say, Ryan has hardly been ill and when he was 2, found out why he was never able to feed right--tongue thrust, which landed him in speech therapy, and made me realize I COULD nurse a child eventually.

When Zachary came along, I was bound and determined to nurse. It was terrible--it hurt like nothing I had ever experienced (even labor, yikes), but I wouldn't give up, I dealt with stripper boobs, painful boobs, shirts that didn't fit, pads that didn't contain the leaking, shirts with stains, and in the end, it was worth all of it. Zachary has been to the doctor once for an illness, it was stomach flu his brother brought home (and that was this past January). There was no question I would be successful once my 4th son, Sammy, was born. When he ended up in NICU, I was terrified I would have the same issues I had with Ryan. I had to spend the majority of his stay in the hospital hooked up to a pump (talk about feeling like bovine), and the day he got home, he was less than thrilled to have to work at getting his dinner (bottle is MUCH easier)--after four hours of tears (from both of us) and frustration, I gave in and let Michael give him a bottle of pumped milk. After a phone call to a good friend (who is a lactation goddess), she gave me some much needed advice and told me to be patient, it would happen--and it did, two days later :) I don't think Sammy would even know what to do with a bottle now, and it is wonderful.

For those that claim that it's "too hard", "I have inverted nipples", "I don't produce enough milk", "I'm not actually a mammal", whatever the millions of reasons I have heard--I say work at it, it will be the ONLY expert advice I will give, my true one upping moment I am proud of (and have real control over), and my perfect mom quality. I will not say that your bond with your child will be different (Sean and I are very close), your child will be smarter (Sean is EXTREMELY advanced, always has been), run faster (although, I should mention the wasted $100 on t-ball for Sean...not saying it's linked), or jump higher, but, I will say that it is the best gift you can give your child--and it's a hell of a lot cheaper (not only because I save on formula, but, prescriptions and doctor visits). The first week or two DOES suck--it hurts, you don't get all the sleep you want or desire, you will want to give up and switch to a bottle, shit, it's easier!! But, I have a one month old right now who has already doubled his birth weight, only wakes me up once in the middle of the night, smiles at me when he's done with the same satisfaction that Zachary once had. It doesn't get much better than that.

I know my mom will read this----I know you went through years of pregnancy with me, I weighed 47 lbs at birth, was 4ft in length, I ate steak the first week, and you felt "every inch of me"--but, look at what a prize I am today. You may be a one upper and a medical expert, but, you were NEVER the perfect mother--and for that, I say, Thank You. It has helped me realize I will never be, nor ever want to be perfect--I revel in the fact that through my mistakes I have learned to be a better parent as you did. For the rest of you, friends and loved ones--I'm probably speaking to most of you through this blog that are parents...admit it now, we have ALL been the victim and the bully with our stories and advice--I was just the first to write a blog about it.

Peace My Bebes,
Andria

Sammy's Arrival....

Here it is folks...the much anticipate "birth story" of my youngest little penis--Samuel Alexander Nichols. I had complained for WEEKS over my pregnancy...I was miserable, I was tired, and I wanted to NOT be pregnant very badly. Of course, not at the expense of my son and his health. For that reason, I only prayed for an easy and safe delivery...but seriously, he needed to come out of my body. My doctor kept measuring me as further along than I was and with a history of birthing toddlers, I had no reason to doubt him. For safety reasons, I was scheduled to see a specialist on August 4 for ultrasound confirmation. Didn't quite make it to that appointment...

On Sunday, August 2...I had a goal--I was 36 weeks pregnant, 1 1/2 cm dilated, and had about a week until I was considered "full term". With Zachary, I started walking, swimming, running, jumping, etc. at 36 weeks, the day I hit my 37th week, I was sent to L&D to birth my son, I had done enough work to make it go time. He was a healthy and thriving little boy...easy labor, easy delivery, time for it to happen with Sammy. Michael and I decided to go about our normal day...we went to the mall and did some window shopping, took the boys to Toys R Us, then on the way home, decided to stop by "The Domain" for some more window shopping and walking...kept the boys out of the house and all of us together as a family. We were sitting at Borders when all of a sudden...I had to go home NOW. Seems that my digestive track was not cooperating, and, I would personally like to return to that Borders some day. Once we got home, I was able to clear out, grab a book, lay down, and relax--Michael even made my dinner time favorite--PB&J with a side of Fritos--life was good. At 8:30pm, contractions...wtf?

I did what I was supposed to and started timing them...when they got to be about 2-3 minutes apart, I told Michael we needed to get ahold of our emergency babysitting contact (which happened to be one of my best buds, Tommye). We raced to get Tommye, who took us to the hospital and took the boys, my car, and herself back to our place. Once settled, the nurses went ahead and muppeted me--letting me know I was still, only 1 1/2 cm. Alright, I'm going home AGAIN--cool, I'm only 36 weeks, I know this can still go south if his little lungs aren't mature enough. My doc suggested I sit tight for an hour, get checked again, then go home--Michael and I sat tight and watched bad television for the hour...my contractions weren't too terrible, so, I assumed home was our only option and let Tommye know she would be heading back shortly.

The hour came and went, Michael and I were prepared to go home--until I was informed I was now 3 1/2 cm. WHAT? I was admitted, IVed, and prepared to have a baby--shit. Again, sleeping in a hospital is not something that is easy for me to do. If I turn one way with all the monitors on me, something is bound the slide off--which causes the nurses to come in and mess with me some more. I have learned to just lay there and do what I can to not move--labor is already exhausting enough without broken sleep. Every few hours my nurse would come in, poke at me anyway, and was forced to check my dialating process. Let me mention, for those that have not had the luxury of being checked because you have not had children or are male--these nurses and doctors basically fist you...they don't buy you dinner first, not even a compliment on your hospital gown or hair. Just a snap of the latex glove, (unless you have an allergy, then I assume they use some other kind of glove...I don't have that problem), tell you to spread 'em and "RELAX". First off--there is NO relaxing when one is getting that done to them...Secondly--if you CAN relax, there is no wonder you are pregnant...whore.

I hit the 5 cm mark and around 11am, things just kind of...stopped. I was still contracting, but, no more dialating, nothing. My doctor, who I absolutely love--seriously, if you're gonna have someone up in your vag, he really is a great doc--gave me two options: Go home and wait to go into labor OR stay, have my water broken, and wait for Sammy. I considered the first option...but, I remember my last doctor telling me that at 5cm, it is no longer safe to be up walking around. You run the risk of your water breaking, the cord falling through, and having an even bigger mess on your hands. Although I was terrified of Sammy being a bit undercooked, I felt like I didn't have any other option but to have my son...if I had gone home, water broke, I knew my history, which was, a baby within 2 hours of broken water. Could I risk getting stuck in I-35 traffic at rush hour? I was in a hospital, can't get much safer than that. I opted to stay...and at that point, only pray that Sammy was mature enough to handle the world a little early.

The rest of the labor went pretty quickly...my water broke around 2:30pm, I got my epidural at 2:45pm, and at 4:30pm, I knew that Sammy was coming....SOON. Sure enough, I got that "feeling", and told the nurse she better get Dr. Brown NOW--those 30 seconds felt like an eternity as the nurse had to literally hold Sammy in...he was coming, and he wasn't waiting. Dr. Brown got as far as a pair of gloves and saying "alright, go ahead and pu---nevermind". There was Sammy....but, not the screaming little piglet I was expecting...he was lifeless, pale, limp. As a mother, we all listen for the first cry--I didn't get that. Instead, I saw a room in panic, the doctor cut his cord, and him being pumped with oxygen. I kept asking why he wasn't crying...why isn't he crying?!?! I was given a generic answer, to put me at ease, then I heard a squeek come from my little Sammy--and he was taken away very shorty after. I didn't hold him, I didn't really even see him, I just knew he had arrived at 4:41pm on Monday, August 3rd.

It wasn't until later that evening when the NICU doctors let us know that Sammy had to be intubated and was going to be transferred to Dell Children's Hospital in Austin. I delivered at a new hospital in Round Rock, they did not have a 24 hour practitioner in the NICU and felt his care was best in a specialty hospital. When they rolled Sammy in before he was transferred--he was tiny, actually, only 5lbs 6oz... I saw him through an incubator in a mass of tubes, wires, and monitors. I touched his little hand and suddenly wondered what I could have done to prevent this. I asked to be released after 24 hours (the minimum limit), Michael and I went straight to the other hospital, and I was able to hold Sammy, who had made a miraculous turn around. He had been excabated that morning and was now only using a nasal canula, which he was being weened off of. The rest of that week is a blur...Michael and I spent as much time at the hospital we could--fortunate that there were child care facilities for the older boys...who were confused and concerned for their little brother. I can't remember ever being that exhausted, physically, mentally, or emotionally, but, also aware I had to stay strong for my 4 little boys. A mother will bare the guilt for things that are out of our control, it isn't logical, and no matter how many times I was told it wasn't my fault, I kept replaying my entire pregnancy over and over..."If I hadn't complained, if I hadn't gone swimming that Saturday, if we hadn't walked the Domain, if I had just stayed home". Fortunately, Sammy came home a week after his birth, healthy, happy, and other than his hard beginnings, a perfect little baby boy.

Two and a half weeks later...I look at my son and that week is a distant memory, hell, the whole pregnancy is a distant memory. The first few days after he came home I was trying to transition him from bottle to Mommy--that was not very much fun--but, essential (I'm an odd advocate for this...shocking to many, I know). Again, now I don't think the kid would even know what to do with a bottle...children really are resilient. Our lives have calmed down enough to where I'm back to cooking dinner, washing and folding laundry, scrubbing my kitchen, and whipping my older children. Sammy is a well mannered, sweet, and adorable baby--I always said he was getting it all out during my terrible pregnancy...but, he threw a whammy at us during his delivery. Michael is an AMAZING father...not that I ever questioned that. The boys think he's adorable and told Michael and me that we "did a good job". I love my little family...and before anyone else asks--NO, this isn't the last one, YES, we are crazy, and NO, we aren't trying for the girl...I like being a boy mom--hell, at this point, I wouldn't know what to do with a girl anyway :)

Peace my bebes,
Andria

it's been awhile...since I could sit my fat ass at a computer

I have reached full orca status...I have found sitting, laying, walking, and moving are completely uncomfortable but a necessary evil (like death and taxes). This child has made my life miserable for the last 35 weeks and my complaints are much like other women at this point in their pregnancy...except for the masochists who just LOOOOVE pregnancy--to them, I say, bite me. As much as I love having the children once they are out, I find the whole process a long, gruelling, and plain terrible experience--and mind you, I've had "good" pregnancies that I've loathed every second of.

As the inevitable approaches, I am supposed to have entered my nesting stages. To me, when I think of nesting, I imagine going around finding random pieces of sticks, poo, and other pliable and sticky items to build a bed that will be poked at by small children, knocked down, and oogled in a 3rd grade classroom. But, in pregnancy terms...it's this cute little term that means the mom is getting ready for baby (shouldn't they do this anyway...it's called being a prepared parent, I'm just sayin). Most women are assumed to be climbing on top of counters, dusting, scraping scum out of refridgerator tracks with toothbrushes, and rearranging furniture, all with a broom and/or mop shoved up their asses to catch anything that is left behind and whistling Dixie. I can't say I haven't nested...if my nesting includes washing and hanging up laundry, sweeping the floor, vaccuuming, dusting, cleaning bathrooms, and making my house livable, then, I guess it could be classified as nesting...to me, that's a daily routine I have had to do for the last 10 years...I've learned to enjoy living in a home that is not covered in filfth, but, if you want to give it a cute pregnancy related name, then, I've nested (minus the broom/mop/ass reference and I don't know how Dixie sounds).

Being in a home over-run by testosterone, understanding has been a bit complicated--wanting to stab Michael in the eye everytime he complains about not feeling well or being tired. I forget that the poor guy is human, but, I'm a fat, selfish, pregnant, miserable woman...it's all about me right now. If the man had just pulled out that fateful night--rather than being overrun by a vodka induced bad decision, I wouldn't even BE in this situation--it's all is fault, I was vulnerable. To be fair, my wonderful husband has held down the fort since the return of the penis posse--and as long as satellite tv and Wii are accessable, they can be amused for hours. I'm sure they are enjoying the mac & cheese, ramen, pizza, and fast food filled evenings...I'm usually found in my room reading or on the couch watching terrible reality television (can you believe Daisy picked London...ugh). I have read EVERY book in my household...I had to break out the brand new book I had bought for the hospital--desperate times call for desperate measures. Guess I'll have to buy another new one, oh well!!!

Speaking of the penis posse, and adding yet another dangler to the pack...can I mention the looks of pity I get when mentioning baby boy #4. It's almost like telling some women I have a terminal disease...I guess another wiener in the house could be considered similar, but, save the pity faces for when I tell you what my four year old does to the cat---THAT is what people should feel sorry for. After the looks of pity I generally get "Are you serious?"--I wonder, is this a joke people play on people "I'm having my 4th boy....NOT" and everyone holds their sides in hysteric laughter? Followed by "Were you trying for the girl?"...an orgasm, actually, but, I guess this outcome is suffice. FINALLY..."Are you going to try again?"--I didn't try for this one, I actually didn't try for 3 out of the 4--the one I did purposely make a hasty sexual decision for is the same one I would like to put back on a daily basis--I've learned that if you want to hear God laugh, make plans.

I've had another exciting hospital stay (this past Sunday/Monday)--I've been told I'm in labor, but, still early enough to only make me miserable, not have a baby within the next few hours. Which is good, considering I'm only 35 weeks. I was plugged into more devices than Johnny 5, tracked for an entire evening, didn't sleep, and came home feeling worse than when I went into the hospital. I wonder why celebrities always go to the medical centers for exhaustion, hell, this is NOT the place for rest!! I have had to slow down my already slow life and do more laying around (not a problem)....for now, I sit and gestate, knowing every day this little guy stays put, the bigger and healthier he gets.

The dryer just stopped...knowing half of the boys clothes are now ready to be folded and hung up. Guess I better get back to "nesting"--

Peace my bebes...
Andria

Face it...we all have the swine flu

For two months I have been shut in...to be fair, it has been by my own choice. Once I discovered I was not going to magically start feeling better one morning, I waved goodbye to my job and began trying to find my way through the world of staying at home. It has been a few months loaded with depression, doubt, finanancial woes, and fear. I shut off a lot of my friends--those who have been with me every step of the way, but, not wanting to bitch and complain, I've just kept it all in and tried dealing with it on my own. I've had Zachary home to help pass the days and my time. Then again, at 4, he has established his own routines and isn't the same little guy I stayed home with a few years ago who liked spending time with his mommy, crafts, and being adorable. Instead--he is addicted to "Wonder Pets", "Yo Gabba Gabba", listening to "Jonas Brothers", placing our cat Max in precarious situations (he fits perfectly in a Build a Bear box), and when I ask for a hug I generally get "Mommy, I'm busy"--I thought they weren't supposed to get too cool for their parents until they were teenagers.

So, I've had to find ways to amuse myself. I have scrapbooked, organized, cleaned, twittered, facebooked, myspaced, and pretty much anything to keep myself occupied until Michael gets home around 4:30. He is my saving grace, and unlike my children, doesn't mind hanging out with me in leiu of missing "Spiderman" cartoons. He has really been my sanity over the last few months and given me the reassuring "you're doing a good job, we'll make it through this, one day at a time...and killing the children is not worth going to prison over." We have since discovered the hateful fetus is ANOTHER boy--I thought I would cry when I got the news, but, I laughed--that hysterical "heeeeeeeeeres Johnny" kind of laugh (without the murdering). I have always been pegged the "Boys Mom", well, the title lives on with an extra penis thrown in the mix. We're curious as to how this little guy will fit into the mix--he'll be 5 years younger than Zachary, 7 years younger than Ryan, and 9 years younger than Sean. Not only that, he is my fourth, but, Michael's first, and the half brother of my older three. It will be an interesting mix to see how everyone adjusts. I do know, however, that Michael is not even in the same class of worthless man as the sperm donor of my older three. I have seen him take on the responsibility of my three boys with grace, I know that having a "biological" child will only deepen his bond with the other boys, and prove that he really is an amazing father.

Speaking of captain worthless...he of course, gets his court ordered, undeserved, visitation over the summer. It will officially be the longest I have ever been away from my boys--I am dreading it as each day draws closer. If I knew my children were being cared for, loved, and provided for adequately, it would be an easier pill to swallow. But the fact this man still owes me $200 for medical bills aquired over the last few months due to the boys various illnesses and has YET to pay, hasn't called his children in almost two weeks, and when he does speak to them, drills them on their life rather than speak to them about what is actually important to them. Their phone conversations usually last about 10 minutes, about 2-3 minutes per kid....Sean has had a few moments where he has completely broken down, he is at an age where he is starting to see what his dad truly is, and appreciate the man that is in their life as their father. He spent his recess last week making a "World's Greatest Dad" card for Michael--and confided in me that Michael is the father he wishes he had and that he just "doesn't know who his father is anymore...he just isn't a nice guy". A 9 year old should NOT feel this way....it breaks my heart. I wish their father would just go away, join the realm of so many other worthless men, and be nothing more than a child support check. Instead, he pops in and out of their lives like a cocktease, making them think that "maybe" he'll come through, only to be let down yet again. I had the swine flu for 11 years...and it still flairs up when that man shows his snout around my boys. Hell, maybe I should contact the National Health Association, protect everyone from the evil Swine Flu epidemic that is Andrew Kruk---he really is the infectious swine we should all fear!

So for 42 days, I will be childless (kinda)...I will spend most of my days dying on the couch, knowing that walking outdoors will hit me like a huge, hot, moist, towel. I assume I'll organize the boys rooms, get the baby's stuff organized, clean the house, and do the whole "nesting thing"....my boys will be back for about a month before baby Sammy arrives, maybe a little less. Just as they adjust to being home again, prepare for a new school, Zach starting kindergarden, their lives will be rocked again--hell, ALL of our lives will be rocked!!! One day at a time is our motto, and it's gotten us this far. We've learned in the last few months we really only have our little family of 5 to lean on...Michael has gotten me through the darkest days, the boys smiles have reassured me that we really are doing the best we can, and I will never fear that Michael will let us down. We may not have a lot of money, a big house, fancy cars, a big diamond wedding ring, but, I have Michael, 3 little boys, a 4th one on his way, two cats (one that I think has to be mentally retarded), and a lot of love. We know that as long as our little nucleous stays strong, we will prevail. Once I'm back at work, that money cloud will begin pouring on us again, and we will laugh at some of the trouble we have faced these last few months--and realize we did all of this on our own.