Harvey D: Douche Detector

I've gotten seriously mixed reviews whenever I tell someone we're considering the name Harvey for the he-tus.

Some people love it and say they love grandparent names and can totally see me with a Harvey.  Some people just politely say, "Oh, cool" when it's obvious they don't really like it but don't want to be rude, because it's not their kid.

Then there's the people who tell me, "You realize he's going to get made fun, right?"...  Really?  Who exactly is going to make fun of him?  Douches like you?

You're a kid for exactly 18 years.  During that time, other kids will make fun of you for something.  Anything.  I was fat - EASY.  This one kid in elementary school constantly smelled like piss - EASY.  One boy cried all the time - EASY.  There were a buncha kids that got made fun of for eating boogers or not brushing their hair or wearing sweatpants every day - EASY!  If Harvey gets made fun of for his name, I'll be glad because that means I've managed to save him from the role of Smelly/Fat/Ugly/Gross/Poor/Wimpy Kid.  If he makes it out of high school still alive and not completely battered by all those mean kids making fun of his old man name, then he'll be an adult, with an adult name, for the majority of his life.  Imagine that!

Secondly, being made fun of for his name will give Harvey a good gauge for douchery.  If we end up definitely naming him that, I'll be sure to tell him who made fun of him in utero!  Because when I hear an adult say "He'll get made fun of", I hear "I'm making fun of him!".  Six year olds can't possibly know that the last time Harvey was a popular name was 1940, but if they do and they tease him then I'll remind him that's not the type of person you want to be friends with anyway.

And last, let's take a look at who Harvey's classmates will be anyway.  There will be the Same Name group over in one corner - Aiden, Caden, Jayden, Brayden.  There will be the ever popular Biblical Names - Levi, Eli, Noah, Jacob, James, David.  The X's - Max, Xavier, Felix, Jaxon, Xander, Dexter.  And at the lunch same table with them will be all the Hipster Kids - Sebastian, Oliver, Milo, Kingston, Asher, Hugo, Rufus, Elvis, Hudson.  And smelling each other's farts in the bathroom will be the Creative Spellings and the Made Up Names - Ethen, Kamren, Konner, Ulises, Izayah, Van, Kohen, Brecken, Jagger, Hendrix, Nixon, Kash. These are all from the Top 1000 list from 2011!  I'm hardly worried about Harvey being the worst name out there.

So there, all you naysayers.  Stop acting like you care about my kid being made fun of and just admit you're either really boring, really narrow-minded, or just really immature and like to make fun of infants.

Birth ain't beautiful.

As I'm gearing up to birth a baby at the end of this summer, I'm giving extra attention to the many pictures on the Facebook announcing my friends' new babies!  It's exciting, except some ladies post a lot of naked gooey newborns and exhausted sweaty mom pictures with comments like "So beautiful!  The miracle of life!  Look at the beautiful momma!"  I even watched a live birth last week and the chatters exclaimed how beautiful the process was and how she looked like a Lotus Queen Earth Mother, or some hippie shit, I dunno.

No.

As a concept, making life is a positive, awe-inspiring, yes.  But I believe "beautiful" is far from the correct adjective.  Let me remind you of this process, ladies and gentlemen.

First, two humans engage in the most awkward, sweaty, animalistic and hilarious act (seriously, think about sex objectively and try not to laugh at the image), which results in the man shooting some viscous love liquid into a moist tunnel of skin folds, bacteria, and mucus.  Delightful.

The result shortly thereafter is Zygote Cheese.  Remember that?  The beginning of life that looks eerily like a mold spore?  Breath-taking.

Zygote Cheese.

Then the fetus goes through several stages of ugly before looking even remotely cuddly and baby-like.  The 8 week "ET jelly bean".  The 11 week "Big-headed Shrimp".  The 14 week "Lou Ferrigno Head on Nicole Richie Body".  Charming.

Hug me Mommy!  Love, Platopotamus Alien Baby.

Meanwhile, Mom's body is going through ungodly disgusting changes.  Any mucus-making orifice she owns has become a slip-and-slide - but not in a fun way, in a I think something foreign just slipped out of me way. Parts of the body become wider - the hips, the rib cage, the nose.  Nothing says "beautiful" like a 4 foot wide nose on a pizza face.  The boobs grow also.  Awesome, right?  Except so do the nipples.  The big sexy dark teacup nipples.  Stretchmarks everywhere.  Cellulite everywhere.  Veins everywhere.  Hair everywhere.  Yes, personal hygiene does become a challenge at some point (but to be fair, we put up with with you stinky men for our entire lives).  Heavenly.

Finally comes the big day.  Somehow a microscopic single sperm and an egg have developed into an 8 pound being floating in water inside of a woman's torso, peeing in it and drinking it too!  When the fetus has finished development, it shoots out hormones through the placenta into mom's body through some creepy mom-fetus language, and it says "Hey!  I'm ready to come out of your vagina now!"

Here I will admit, some women manage to not look atrocious during labor.  Hypnobabies helps some apparently.  An epidural helps a lot.  Most laborous ladies though, are struggling with the pain of their insides simultaneously imploding and exploding, and so they make some very not beautiful faces, gestures, and body movements.  Not to mention the grunts and groans suggesting they're pooping out a St. Bernard.

At some point, if it didn't happen days earlier, the mucus plug will make an appearance.  It's like a poorly mixed raspberry Jello shot.  This suggests the cervix is dilating.  What's a cervix?  It's a zip tie at the meeting place of the vagina and the uterus to keep all the baby mess in and all the Daddy mess out (zing!).

Even a heart-shaped mucus plug still had to fall from a vagina.

At the completion of dilation, the zip tie has expanded enough to fit a bagel through it, if you're into that sort of thing (or just a baby I guess).  The baby then begins its descent down through the very love tunnel that it and its siblings and its fallen comrades originally entered, lubricated by pee-water fluid, blood, and a white Cheez Whiz coating called vernix.

Somehow, the vagina pulls off the greatest magic trick known to mankind, and expels a baby.  Sometimes, due to the magician's miscalculations, it rips.  Yup, just tears right open.  Then some lady with some gloves and a mask and a spotlight gets all up in it with some needle and thread and says, "Do you want to keep the old model or should I give you the upgrade?"

So then you have this Cheez Whiz baby there looking like a wet old man in his birthday suit, still connected to you by a curly fry flesh hose and the lovely raw-beef-and-butthole organ known as the placenta.  That eventually makes its way out, and then all Mom is left with is her tiger-striped mud flap belly, and her exploding boobs.  HELLO picture opportunity!  Ravishing.

They say beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and I admit I don't mind at all seeing those intimate pictures, but I'll be damned if this is not gross!

In today's news, NC confirmed it's a backward redneck craphole. With beautiful beaches!

Yesterday, people sat at home praying for God to end hunger and homelessness and suffering in the world.

Today, people actually got up and did something in the name of God!  Hallelujah!  

Dem gays was already banned from marriage, but let's make it a constitutional A-MENdment so they know we means business!  

Get it?  It's a picture of a cherry being picked? 

I needed something to take up space.

Hey asshole Warehouse shoppers. Fuck you.

It's the annual "Annoy The Warehouse Members By Asking Them To Donate One Whole Dollar to Children's Miracle Network" time at The Warehouse that employs me.  These assholes come in here and blow $400 on cheesecakes and shoes and fancy colored ceramic serving bowls with fancy fucking lids, and use their $35 worth of coupons, and then I ask them if they'd like to donate a dollar to help the children and they look at me as if to say "You think I can afford to just give money away?  I have children of my own and a mortgage and a 4 pack of beach chairs to support."

My favorite responses:

I already gave last time.  Well, you can give this time too.  Give some little cancer kid a pack of crayons or a second of chemo or some hope or something.  Thanks a lot for your one time one dollar donation, douche.

I'd rather donate to something else, like breast cancer.  My mother died of breast cancer.  That's sad and I'm sorry to hear that, but did you know your mother was a child once?  Yup!  I bet she even got sick once or twice.  Good thing she didn't get too sick though or else she wouldn't have had the chance to spawn generous you from her loins and you wouldn't have had the chance to stand in front of me and explain why you're the biggest cheapskate ever.

I already donate enough to them, I work there.  Oh, you're right.  I won't ask you to donate a single dollar of your doctor salary every again.  Oh and one more thing, IT'S A DOLLAR.  You don't even have to sign the stupid balloon if you don't want to.

Do I get anything?  Ok, valid question I guess.  Some stores give scratch-offs with coupons in exchange for your dollar donation.  That's hardly a donation though.  That's just buying a coupon.  Where's the feel-good in that?  Do people even know how to be kind?  By sharing ONE GODDAMN DOLLAR with a sick child?


Seriously people, it's just a dollar.  If every person that came into The Warehouse donated a dollar today, it'd be like $1500.  If the people who "donated last time" donated every time they came into The Warehouse, it'd be like $4 a month.  People really can't give that?

I'm just going to keep having babies forever.

I'm currently impregnable, yet the thought consuming my mind most is birth control.  What's up with that?  Oh, it's because I'm tired of being pregnant all the time god damnit.

Pills are a no go.  I did a happy dance tonight because I remembered to take my prenatal three whole nights in a row!  Of course, the time varied by hours each time though.  I'm just no good with pills, and seeing as I am apparently very fertile and get pregnant every time Joe sneezes, I'd likely end up a birth control pill statistic.

NuvaRing is an option.  I have a sensitive girly part environment though, and I've heard the Ring can cause things to go nuts and start congealing down there.  I'm also not great on hormones, and the timing thing may be an issue, though I'm sure the weekly ring is more tolerant of my forgetfulness.  I find this option the least scary right now, so it may be worth a try for a few cycles.

The Patch.  Its #1 function is pretty much to cause blood clots and strokes or something right?  I'll pass.

The Depo Shot.  Convenient and effective, but I've heard it makes people fat, and well, that's already an issue for me.  And actually when I think about it, it's not really that convenient to have to go to the doctor with three children every three months.  Shot: officially off the table.

Hormonal IUD (Mirena) seems appealing.  I like the idea of being covered for 5 years and not having to feel bad about forgetting to insert something into some orifice.  I'm creeped out by the hormones though.  How the hell do they get hormones into a little stick of plastic?  Also, I'm probably a freak for this, but I do not like the idea of not getting my period at all.  I like things to keep their natural ebb and flow throughout my body.

And then there's the copper IUD (Paragard) that has no hormones, so that's extremely appealing.  And the fact that it's effective for up to 10 years makes me want to just stick a roll of pennies up myself right this second.  But then there's the possible side effect of a heavier period.  And when I'm thinking about it, it's really weird to use my uterus as a storage unit for metal.  And the concept of insertion.  And will I have a constant paranoid urge to violate myself to make sure my strings are in place?  Probably.  IUDs are just really weird to me, but the long-lasting convenience just may be worth it.

Barrier methods (sponge, diaphragm, condoms) are probably the perfect option for me because of their lack of hormones and lack of coziness all up in my uterus, but I'm just so lazy.  I'm tired from all this baby-making and don't feel like performing my wifely duties half the time as it is, and the thought of one more chore kills the mood in advance.  Plus, tell me I'm not the only one who hates how their crotch smells after a condom's been for a visit.

Lastly, POP.  Pull Out and Pray.  Honestly, this is my favorite method and it really has worked every time we've used it.  But the one time Joe didn't listen to my instructions, we ended up with little Harvey.  I just don't know that I want to risk leaving things up to Joe's feral manhood again.  I'm really ready to be through this phase of youngins and on with my life of cool family vacations they'll all remember.  And not having to carry anydamnone, in or outside of my body.  POP: out.

Basically what it comes down to is am I more concerned with being lazy and not having to remember to use something daily or weekly or as needed, or do I want to keep my body as free from foreign substance as possible?  It's a toughy because both of those things are really important to me.

In conclusion, typing my thoughts out has done absolutely nothing to help me make a decision.  I'm probably going to be writing this same damn entry 2 years from now when I'm knocked up with #4 like clockwork.







I had to add this bonus from my Facebook discussion on birth control, because I make myself laugh.

Irrational fears of mine

I want to get myself back in the habit of multi-weekly typings but I have nothing of value to say, so here's a list that doesn't require any brainwaves to type up:

Someone breaking into my house while I'm pooping

Someone pulling up to me at a stop light and shooting me in the head

Driving next to a big rig and being smooshed under a

Dangling half of my arm over the bed when I'm laying down and someone or something randomly falling and breaking my arm back the wrong direction at the elbow

Being pantsed in public while wearing period underwear

A bus driver swerving to avoid a squirrel and subsequently rolling his bus through my living room

The steel collapsing at Costco while I'm bent over underneath it and beheading or bebodying me

Randomly tripping anywhere and breaking my lower leg bone so the sole of my foot is facing up

Bugs crawling into my crotch.  Forever my greatest fear.

Year-round Elf on the Shelf-type fun for twisted parents

Alternatively titled: How to Fuck With Your Husband 101


Step 1:  Purchase life-size Barbie.

Step 2:  Give it to a 3 year old to adore.

Step 3:  Almost shit your pants when, multiple times a day, you find the doll laying face down like a dead little person in random places throughout your house.

Step 4:  Realize you could make your husband also almost shit his pants!

Step 5:  After Husband goes to bed, strategically position life-size Barbie where he will least suspect her.  Also, put a big ass knife in her hand.  Barbie's out for blood.  Or at least a little pee in his pants.

Step 6:  Rinse and repeat.

(Sorry Joe, but this is going to be a running gag.)

Grab your guns Whitey, we got some hoodlums

This hoodlum was found prepping her "Skittles" for a break-in near the community rec center.  The bulge in her crotch region was later identified as a loaded diaper gun.

This photo was taken showing the hoodlum attempting to conceal her "Skittles".  It is suspected her other hand was reaching for her "can of Ice-T".

A hoodie pulled down from the head is typically a signal for Temporary Hoodlum Inactivity, but do not be fooled.  Note the menacing look on the hoodlum's face.

Sometimes hoodlums will swallow their "Skittles" quickly to get rid of evidence.  Note: Duck hoods are to be taken as seriously and suspiciously as sweater hoods.

Hoodlum subject is clearly on drugs.  Also note: Bunny hoods are no joke.

Here we have a gang of hoodlums.  The sunglasses and nose piercings indicate they are especially lethal.

Pregnancy 1 vs. 3

I obsessed over my pregnancy with Violet so much that I felt her fingernails growing.  At any given second I could tell you exactly how far along I was, what symptoms were normal for my current gestational week, what organs were forming inside fetus Violet, and what super exciting milestone she was hitting (Hiccups, you say?  Wow, what a prodigy!).

Fetus-making is old news now.  It's still the most interesting thing going on with me though, so I made some boring comics to illustrate exactly how I feel about Pregnancy #1 vs. Pregnancy #3.

On gestational age:

This actually happened last week.  My mother-in-law asked how far along I was and I had no clue.  It doesn't help that my midwife never gave me a straight answer for an EDD, but I've been too lazy to sign up for those daily/weekly pregnancy update emails, so I have to make a conscious effort to find out how far along I am.  And effort is not my thing.

On baby books:

I read the shit out of some books with Violet.  This time I couldn't even tell you where or if I have one located.  I do check out The Bump occasionally to see what produce I'm gestating (currently a sweet potato or a mango?) but otherwise I haven't been concerned with whether it has arms or knows how to burp yet.

On preparing for baby:

I was apparently going through chemotherapy and lost all my hair for this comic.  I'm too lazy to change it though.  Bite me.

On birth:

I could not come to terms with the fact that Violet was to exit my body the same way she entered.  I spent the whole 10 months cringing and clenching my legs closed at the thought.  This time, if anything I'm looking forward to it.  Let's get this shit done with!

Am I even pregnant?

Hi, like how I have these month long hiatuses and then come back and swear I'll never go that long without blogging again?  Well this time I'm not even going to bother pretending.  I wish I could say this is going to be an exciting post to cherish for the next month that I'll probably be off sitting on the couch and picking my butt, but it's just some rambling about my parasite.

One of the disadvantages of being a big broad is I take forevs to show when I'm pregnant.  I think I was like 7 months pregnant before Violet was detectable by anyone but me and maybe 6 with Leela.  Woo!  If the pattern continues I'll only have to wait half my pregnancy for a bump this time!

Anyway, I'm at that awkward phase now where I'm not morning sick, I'm not feeling distinct kicks, I'm not showing, I'm not in pain, I'm not swollen, I'm not even really that hormonal.  I'm not even sure I'm pregnant to be honest.

I've only had one midwife appointment at about 13 weeks and I heard its heart beat back then, but that was back then!  It could have kicked the bucket the next day and is just hanging out for all I know.  I go 6 weeks between appointments so for those 6 weeks I kinda just pretend I'm not pregnant.

I think this baby's placenta might be in the front of my belly this time because I was undeniably feeling Violet by now, and I actually owned a set of abs back then.  Not toned or pretty abs, but abs nonetheless.  This one, I've been feeling, uh, maybe something, for a week-week-and-a-half.  Maybe.  I'm just really not sure.

It's not helping my pregnancy psychosis and paranoia one bit.  I always spend the first 20 weeks convinced I'm growing a squitten or a mutant rabbit human hybrid a la Frank.  Or a colony of cyclopes morphed into a single baby thing.  Or a human baby with no head or skin.  Or sometimes I let my mind settle with just a plain human baby with some tragic heart defect or lung malformation.  I've been especially paranoid this pregnancy for some reason because of the lack of movement and showing and possibly because I'm still very much in denial that I ever saw a positive test.

Could I be gestating this?

I have no idea where I was going with any of that but now I'm thinking about how much I would love to birth a squitten.  Or a unicorn!  Random fact:  A unicorn's horn does not begin forming until around 6 months of age.  Lucky for momma unicorn's innards, right?!

Oh yeah, so my only real symptom, that isn't even really that apparent now because I've been sick for 3 damn weeks, is this damn runny nose.  I always get so snotty during pregnancy.  It blows (nyuk nyuk)!  I have a midwife appointment next week and the ultrasound two weeks after that, so hopefully I'll hear a heartbeat and see a healthy baby, rather than finding a rapidly growing tumor and finding out I'm suddenly immunodeficient like I suspect.

A squitten, for your enjoyment.