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Since having a baby I’ve been privy to some of the most horrendous birth stories there are. We mothers do that to one another, we terrorize each other with stories of endless labour, epidurals gone wrong, episiotomies that wouldn’t heal, and doctors with no bedside manner.

We try to out do our friends with tales of popped blood vessels in our eyes, loss of bowel control, pulling arms off in the delivery room, and squeezing out 20lb babies.

Women see a pregnant woman and the gloves come off.

So when it was my turn I was prepared for the worst.

I was ready for my head to swell with each contraction, for the pits of hell to open up and the devil himself to appear and offer me a pain-free delivery in exchange for my soul.

None of this happened.

*I’d like to give a shout out to the drugs!

The first time I gave birth (and the only time so far) I relished in the vacation that was the hospital stay!

My delivery was uneventful, I mean, there was a baby and she was/is perfect in every way. We created a miracle so that was pretty awesome! But other than the miracle part – uneventful.

But after…sigh.

I laid in a bed, a bed that was all mine, and cuddled with my new baby. She only asked that I feed her, cuddle her, and stare at her.

Nurses came in and changed her, bathed her, and cooed at her. They let me sleep and woke me up when it was time to feed her each time.

My meals were brought to me, the TV was set on the station I wanted, and I had someone to help me go to the bathroom and shower me.

It was heaven.

Heaven at the hospital.

I miss it and I think about it, probably more often than I should.

If only they sold time shares.

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Say What?

My daughter is 14 months now and developing into a person, someone with a unique personality, quirks, a sense of humour, and a tiny itty bitty attitude.

I have no idea where she gets that from.

Recently I’ve noticed that I’ve been saying things to her that I never thought I would hear myself say.

Things that only others parents can relate to.

Sigh.

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“Stop waving the spatula at the cat! That’s not how you make friends!”

“Just let me pick your nose and then you can watch Mickey Mouse.”

“Please stop mashing banana into your hair.”

“The chair is not to be chewed on, nor is the deck, go find something else to put in your mouth.”

“Really? Are you that hungry? Do we starve you? Please stop eating the deck.”

“You don’t have to scream and pull on your hair like a lunatic, I will take you pig tails out, even though they look super cute and without them you look like you’ve been through a windstorm.”

“Please don’t lick the garbage can.”

“Any and all cat food that is in your mouth should be put into mommy’s hands immediately!”

“No thank you, I’m stuffed and half chewed hot dog isn’t really that appealing.”

“Hands out of your poop!!”

“Mommy’s going to have a bath alone tonight because you pee in the water.”

“Hey! Face OUT of the Cat dish!”

“No, we don’t eat ants, dirt, or rocks!”

“Whatever, eat the dandelion, yaaaahhh, mmmmm.”

“I’ve asked you twice today to stay out of that cat food! Show me how many pieces you have in your mouth!”

—————————-

I know you’ve all said these or a variation of these things to your children!

What ones were your best or most shocking?

Let us know and we’ll vote on Friday!! Winner to be announced Monday June 27!!

What do you win?? Well there’s a postal strike in Canada right now so you don’t win any goodies through the mail, BUT you do win your blog button on my site for a whole 2 weeks!! ACK!

ADDITION: The winner will also receive a very useful and totally hot giveaway! Don’t miss out!!

THATS AWESOME!

It’s no secret that I was bullied.

That I endured more than just friendly classroom humour.

That I dreaded going to school and facing the ridicule and teasing.

Despite the memories I would not change a thing.

Today I’m guest posting over at Kelly K’s new blog.

I Survived The Mean Girls.

Please visit me there.

 

Let's BEE Friends

*SLAM*

"I HATE YOU!"

My bedroom door hit its frame so hard I can see where the wood has split with my anger.

My blood boils.

Stupid house. Stupid rules.

I hate it here.

Throwing my body face first into my pillow I let out my frustration, my confusion, and my teenage angst. I cry because I can't go to the party I so badly want to attend and because my parents don't understand me. I scream because they don't care.

My tears choke me, they're fast and hard.

My head hurts.

Then I hear a knock.

"Go away!"

My voice is cracked, hoarse from screaming and I'm still angry.

I feel my dad's weight beside me on the bed.

"Don't get wound up."

Is all he says.

And then he puts his hand in mine and gives a tug.

I spring up and wrap my arms around him, close my eyes and bury my head in the comfort that is my father, and cry.

And we sit that way, together, father and daughter, a quiet understanding; a forgiveness, until I am calm.

Pet Peeves?

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Another Tuesday.

Another Vlog.

Today I’m talking about Pet Peeves.

Sigh.

The Fever

This meme came at the perfect time!

19 Weeks

Why?

Because I have the fever!

The baby fever!

Oh Lawd.

After I had my daughter I was certain I wasn’t having anymore babies and I couldn’t figure out how the parents of more than one got to the place where they wanted more.

The weight of being a new mother, breastfeeding, sleepless nights, and attempting to wrap my head around the incredible responsibility in front of me had me swearing off all future children.

And then I found out I was drowning from Post Pardum Depression.

So I fought.

Hard.

And I won.

I found out what it’s like to be a mother without PPD dragging me down.

29 Weeks

Light, relaxing, and enjoyable.

There’s a future.

And I want to do it again.

Leighann

Note: I am not pregnant nor am I trying to get pregnant at this time.

I have a wedding to plan people!!

But I will hold your baby, rock your baby, smell your baby, buy your baby

clothes, and look at pictures of your baby.

Today I’m linking up with one of the funniest bloggers I know, Kim from Mom go Something Something.

She’s also one of the bravest!

I heart her.

I’m also providing you with a guest post!

Two for one! Crazy right!

Enjoy.

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I know you’ve all heard of me. Leighann has talked about me on the twitter, she’s mentioned me casually in conversations, but she doesn’t really give credit where credit is due.

I was a huge part of her life.

We were together every day for a minimum of an hour. A minimum.

Singing together, enjoying coffee, and eating delicious treats eagerly before we reached our destination so we wouldn’t have to share.

Creating memories.

Road trips on a whim, shopping endlessly on weekends, and making the transition from a childless woman to a mother.

People change.

Priorities change.

I wasn’t her priority anymore.

My once shiny paint began to chip and rust and the car wash visits became further and further apart.

Trips to the mechanic for an oil change became scattered, unscheduled and then not at all.

I begged her to take me.

I coughed, sputtered, stalled.

Her mind was elsewhere.

I wanted her attention badly, I missed her and the time we spent together, her hands gliding over the wheel, the sound of her voice filling the car with the song that played on the radio, my engine purring along.

So I dropped my muffler.

I needed her to care.

She fixed me.

Because she did care.

But it wasn’t the same. Her touch wasn’t the same, her voice was irritated, and my once clean floor was now littered with toys, cups, and sticky liquids that I couldn’t identify.

I was growing tired of trying.

She was tired of fixing me.

Of fixing us.

So I did the only thing I could think of.

I ended it.

There you have it.

A guest post by my car.

I’m still waiting to find out from the insurance company if they are fixing it or just writing it off.

It’s a 2004 with 300,000 km on it.

It was a sad car.

But.

I loved it.