Parenting. Or in my case, surviving.

With baby FGD nearing 9 months on this planet, I figured it was time for an update.

Not that I have any readers left, but that’s ok.  I started this blog as a journal of my life…to have something look back on….filed with unimportant silly things and hopefully some fun photos.

And then I got knocked up and life took a much more serious turn than I expected and was prepared for.

Sometimes I think I’m not such a shitty parent.  I do everything I’m supposed to do.  I live my life by my child’s schedule.  4-5 bottles a day.  3 solid feedings a day.  A few torturous neck therapy sessions a day.  Tummy time.  Diaper changes.  Drool wipes.  Working full-time.  An hour commute each way to work.  I do all of it, and I stab balls if someone gets in the way of my schedule.

But I spend countless minutes daydreaming of my old life. 

I do love my child.  My favorite moments are in the morning when he first wakes up and he is just so….blissful.  He is calm and grinning.  I love that.  I wish for him that he will always wake up calm and happy.

But I get so….overwhelmed.

And then I live in constant fear that if I complain too much, even just to myself, that something terrible will happen to my child and I will live in regret of not appreciating what I had.  I fear posting stuff like this because people are so goddamn judgmental.  I brace myself for Mr. FGD’s constant anger about my lack of regard for the things that I say and post on social media.

It’s just all…so much.

I feel so often that I am not so much moving forward with life but just surviving the storm.  And I think that must be ok.  I take full responsibility for my life and try to always be kind to my child.  I don’t ever blame him for the way I feel.  It’s not his fault.  I try to find happiness in those peaceful morning moments with him, when just for a minute or two the clutter in my house doesn’t matter, my fat-ass and too tight clothes don’t matter, my stress level is bearable and there is nothing but an innocent, toofy smile in my vision.  And then the day begins and I just try not to unravel.  

The good, the bad, and the ugly nipples.

I survived my c-section.

I love everyone that says c-sections are so easy! (there's always an exclamation point at the end!)

Having your stomach ripped open is not easy in my world. It hurts like a mother fucking bitch. I don't do pain well. It was painful. So I didn't do it well.

I now have a real, live spawn. My husband sobbed when he saw (or maybe it was heard; I was behind a curtain with a mask on my face and was blissfully unaware of most of the activities) our kid. My first thought (and subsequent 23 thoughts) and spoken words were, THIS IS SO WEIRD. I just kept saying that. I admit that I was touched by Mr. FGD's raw emotional reaction to seeing (hearing?) the kid. But I just thought the whole thing was fucking weird! Spawn in my belly! Spawn out of my body and alive and screaming! That is weird!

I don't give a fuck about oh how wonderful and beautiful and healthy breast feeding is, but everyone said that it helps you lose weight, so with that, I was in. What a mistake. My nips are so fucked it's ridiculous. Every day is painful. Every day, at least once, I regret my decision to do this and wish I had just gone with formula feeding. Every day I just want to say FUCK THIS, and never shove my sore nips in the kid's face again.

And yet, I have issues (no shit), and I just keep hearing a little voice inside my head saying, "thinner thighs....thinner thighs" and so I keep on truckin'. 

Anyway, I just wanted to go on record as saying that I survived this, thanks to going back on the anti-crazy pills that in hindsight, why the fuck did I go off of them in the first place???

And, I have to say, I actually like the kid. He doesn't annoy me. Well, most of the time. When he screams endlessly in the middle of the night for no apparent reason, and I want nothing more in life but to go back to sleep, I admit that I do get annoyed. But overall, I think he's kinda cool. 

My nipples do not think he is cool. At all.

My life as I know it, is over.

I’m having an out of body experience. 

Some people say they’re having a bad day.  A bad week.  A bad month.  I’m having a bad year.

Earlier this year, I found out that I was pregnant.  I’m not sure if I’m 16 and in high school and feeling like my future is ruined and over, or if I’m a 32 year old in a stable marriage, good financial condition, with a 4-bedroom house with plenty of room.  Either way, this wasn’t supposed to happen.

I really thought that based on a health issue, I was guaranteed infertility.  I thought I could just placate my child-needing husband by giving-in and telling him, sure, I’ll go off birth control.  I never thought anything would happen, or if it did happen, it would take so long that I’d have finally warmed up to the idea. 

That didn’t happen.

After about 3 months of being off birth control, the worst thing happened.  I got pregnant.  I wasn’t ready.  I’m not ready.

I was in denial for my entire first trimester, thinking that surely if I wasn’t supposed to have kids (I’m not), this thing wouldn’t work out.  I’d read that for healthy chics, 1 in 4 pregnancies end in miscarriage.  That was a fraction that made me feel just a little bit safe.

I was never good at math.

So here I am, 23+ weeks into this thing, and every day it seems to get just a little bit worse.  The closer October gets, the more days of the week I spend crying all day. I don’t WANT a kid.  I liked my life.  A kid is going to ruin my life. 

I’ve never liked children.  I actually hate kids.  They bug the shit out of me.  They are selfish, money-sucking creatures that don’t give a shit about you.  They’re also filthy and disgusting. I see no redeeming qualities in a child.

So now, instead of my husband resenting me for refusing to have children, my husband resents me for not wanting the kid I already have.

I wish only good things for this kid.  I hope that it gets none of my extreme depression, my OCD, my bad skin, my eating/weight issues, my crooked teeth, my oily hair, or my poor eyesight.  But beyond that, I just can’t say that I care. 

I can’t say that I care an ounce if people think I’m cold and heartless.  I’ve never given any indication that I liked children.  I’ve always been forthright in my extreme distaste and loathing of children.

I also loathe people who can’t just suck up their situations and get on with their lives.  Shut the fuck up already.  So I will be responsible about this and get back on medication as soon as I can.  I’ll also continue going to therapy once a week to try and make it through this without a complete mental breakdown (if that hasn’t already happened yet).  But I don’t want to talk about it.  I don’t want to hear from you super happy people about how much you looove your kid(s).  I can’t relate.  No, my pregnancy isn’t going by super fast and omg you just won’t believe how quickly it’s going to be over.  Every day feels like a step closer to an imminent tragic ending.  Every day feels like I lose just a little bit of myself.  Every day I feel more and more alone.

And that’s fine.  I’ll get through this.  I’m an inherently super-responsible person.  I’ll step up and do what I need to do to make sure that this kid has a good life and that child services never needs to be called.

I’m not sure that my marriage will survive this, or that I’ll come out in one piece, but it is what it is.

Introducing.....

I thought today would be the perfect day to introduce you to my new bestie!  It was announced today that RHOBC has been picked up for a second season! Yayz!

My pals Grace and Angles and I recently ventured to the motherland, Beverly Hills, for a fun dinner at Villa Blanca, Lisa Vanderpump's (let's just call her Dame Vanderpump) restaurant that was featured frequently on Season 1. Guess who was our server? Pandora, the Dame's beautiful blonde daughter (who was also featured on Season 1, you knitwits)!


(photo from AccessHollywood.com)

Pandora's super-cute boyfriend (who I shouldn't mention that I initially thought was just another run of the mill superbly-hot West Hollywood gay actor/server) was also waiting tables that night. Eye candy!

Grace tackled Pandora immediately and asked if Dame Vanderpump would be at the restaurant that night. Pandora promised to bring her right over if she ended up coming in. Yes, Pandora won us over immediately.

The food was actually quite enjoyable, the atmosphere even better, and we were all enjoying ourselves immensely.





But things got even better. I'd like to introduce you, my friends, to my new bestie! Squeal!





My new bestie Lisa was just too lovely and stunning for words. I can't possibly give away the details of our intimate conversation, but yes, be jealous.

We ran into Martin (aka Lisa's husband's bestie and Kim's ill-fated blind date) at the valet where he was requesting that the valet bring him either the Ferrari or Lamborghini. At that point, I wet myself.

Fifteen

I just noticed that I am a "follower" of my own blog. Wtf? How vain.

Anyway, I have some super rad pics and fun stories from my trip black east to Snowmaggedon for Xmas, but I have yet to find the 90 mins it's inevitably going to take to sit down and go through the photos and do the blog post. So, until then, I'm stealing this great post from my pal Tameka. I even stole the title of this post from her. Please don't sue me for copyright infringement, Tameka. We're pals, right?

1. What would you pick to eat if you only had one meal left?

Pizza (cheese only and a pepperoni), french fries, baked manicotti, macaroni and cheese and, hmmm, a cheese quesadilla from Taco Bell with that yummy mystery sauce.

2. What quality is the most important to you in the opposite sex?

I don't really understand this question.  Does this mean the sex that you are attracted to?  Because how presumptuous to say the "opposite" sex.  So hell, if it's just what I look for in any random member of the opposite sex, I'm gonna go with some nice guns.  And I'm not talkin' about the ones that shoot.

3. If you could pick your birthday, when would you want it and why?

Does it really matter?  I'm sticking with January 31.  It's been pretty good to me this far.

4. What is your dream job?

Not having one.

5. What is your favorite thing to do on the weekends?

Sleep and shop.  And eat.  

6. What's the best book you have ever read?

Listen Up! Voices from the Next Feminist Generation.  I don't remember an ounce of it, but I remember it impacting me in some way in high school.  That's good enough, right?

7. Biggest Pet Peeve?

People who use religion/morals as an excuse for poor behavior.  Stolen word-for-word from Tameka, because I can't possibly think of anything more excruciating to me.

8. What show can you not miss?

Real fucking Housewives!!!  D.C., Beverly Hills, New York.  Don't care as much for Jersey (ick), Atlanta or OC.

9. What is your favorite holiday and why?

Christmas.  I love gifts.

10. Do you want a big family?

Yes.  Of dogs.

11. What is more important to you, love or money?

Don't you already know?

12. If you had to live in another country other than America, which would you choose?

England, Australia or Canada.  I am shit at speaking non-English languages.  And I can never understand what Irish or Scottish people are saying.  And South Africa kinda scares me.

13. What is your dream car?

Range Rover.  Typical rich suburban housewife car.  

14. Which is better, cats or dogs? Please explain why.

Doggies!  I'm insanely allergic to pussy.

15. If you had to live without either a cell phone or internet, which would you choose to give up?

Internet.  Because I have it on my cell phone!

Q4 In Review

My blog has gone to shit.

Which makes me sad, but apparently not sad enough to do anything about it.

Here's my problem.  Everyday, I go to work.  And then I go workout.  And then I go home, eat, shower, check my email, Facebook, Twitter, watch a little TV and go to bed.  Repeat.  Repeat.  Repeat.  Would you like to read about that?

Fuck no.

So let's just do a year-end recap and call it an evening.  First, the shocking news, I am working out regularly.  Why, you ask?  I have no idea.  I go to pilates twice a week because I absolutely adore my pilates instructor.  I can't stop staring at her amazing cans, and she's got a sparkling personality to boot.  So there's that.  Then, my husband came to the unfortunate conclusion that we really do absolutely nothing together except watch some TV while we eat dinner, and one of his pals happened to have recently opened a Cross Fit gym, so said (soon-to-be-ex) husband thought it would be a brilliant idea if we started going to Cross Fit together to both get in shape and have something to do together.

Dude, that Cross Fit shit is hardcore.

Do you KNOW me?  I am not fucking hardcore.  Maybe about sleeping and eating, but definitely not about working out.

But yes, this is what has become of me.











Total utter humiliation every time I go.  I'm pretty much always the slowest, weakest, and chubbiest.  It's done wonders for my self-esteem, as you can tell.  Ha.  But, Mr. FGD ((in case you've forgotten because it's been so long - that's me, Feminist Gold Digger, and the Mr. is my mister) is just thrilled to the gills that we have something to do together, so I keep going.  Even though I'd prefer to just stick my finger down my throat and call it a day.  So bad for the teeth though.

In happier news, I recently reunited with some former besties that I'd grown apart from over the years.  It's like the good old days, except some of us have knocked out some little ones (uh, not me), some of us have gotten married, and some of us have aged a little (definitely not me [guffaw!]).  Here's our recent romp in our old stomping ground of K-Town.








Yes, in Q4, Casper overtook my body.

The FGDs also sent out the annual holiday card and used yet another photo from the 2008 holiday shoot by our pal Nate in Laguna Beach.  Yep, that's 3 years in a row I've used a photo from that shoot.  Way to be economical, or something.
 


Oops, blurry scan.  Oh well, you get the idea.  JOY from the FGDs and all that holiday cheer.

Let's see, what else.  Oh yes, mini FGD got a new Halloween costume this year.  She was a frog, and hated every second of it.  Unfortunately, all of the photos I took were on my old Blackberry.  Sniffle.

I got a new phone, the Droid X, which I lubs lubs lubs.  And Mr. FGD got a new iPad which he lubs lubs lubs.  Not as much as me, of course.



The end!  Happy holidays!

When Gays and Gators Converge in the Bayou

You know I just can't get enough of the Deep South and unbearable humidity, so over Labor Day the FGDs trekked down to the beautiful(?) state of Louisiana. Mr. FGD's granny was turning 90, and it was a big ole Cajun family reunion in her honor. Try as I might, Mr. FGD just wasn't letting me get out of it.

We eased into our Deep South arrival with a quick overnight stay in New Orleans. Lucky for me, one of my best gays was with us, and....it was Southern Decadence! That's right, a big ole Gay Mardi Gras in one of the most homophobic parts of the country! Sign me up!

But first, we headed to Jacques-Imo's for an authentic taste of "Nawlns" and part one of several 10,000-calorie days.


(Poor photography this trip is compliments of Mr. FGD. I was too busy mopping the sweat from my nether regions.)

The blue-eyed brothers appearing to be a little in shock at having landed in this strange part of the world. (Read: they grew up visiting here and it's completely normal to them, but I was a fish out of water and this is my blog so I'll tell it how I want to tell it.)



Jason, still in shock. Me, just beginning the start of a 4-day humidity-inspired "glow."



This alligator was also told it would be a 45 minute wait for dinner, and as the clock turned past the one hour point, took things into his own hands. Or mouth.



After an hour and a half of waiting for a table, we finally got seated around 10 pm. This is me, in a humidity and hunger-inspired shock, before I started gnawing on the menu:



There are no photos of dinner. We were too fucking hungry.

Next, we went back to our hotel in the French Quarter to get ready for a big gay night out. I thought wearing my gay-for-the-night's shades would help me channel my inner Southern Decadence.



Good look, no? In fact, later in the trip, we also convinced Mr. FGD's mom that it would be a good look for her too.



Before we left the hotel, my fabulous gay-for-the-night asked me whether I thought he should wear the tank top or the t-shirt. I thought for a second, and said, well, how gay do you want to look?

Answer: he went with the tank.



I just went for the sweaty look.

But no, really, I was totes happy to be there.



In case you forgot already who was taking the photos this trip, I'll just remind you that it wasn't me or my gay brother in law:





The next morning, while I slept in, Mr. FGD got up early to walk over to his beloved Cafe du Monde for some world-famous beignets.









So you can probably imagine my surprise when Mr. FGD returned to the room empty handed.

Don't. even. speak. to. me. if. you. don't. have beignets.

Ugh.

With the morning off to a fabulous start, we headed further south for yes, a Louisiana Swamp Tour.






Fortunately, it was 97 degrees and 100% humidity, and I was in a *fabulous* mood.



Who knew the West LA (that's Los Angeles, not Louisiana) gay would feel right at home?



To further enhance my cheery mood, the bayou party got started with a startling splash of high-speed swamp water. Cheerio.



Good thing one of us was having fun.



Believe it or not, things started looking up when eyeballs started popping up all over the swamp.






What's not to love about swamp aliens who share my love of junk food?





I could totally snuggle right up to these puppies.



This poor chap was having a bad hair day.



And like me, this big guy was hungry!  (His partner must have come back empty-handed from the bayou beignet shop too.)





You may have thought Elvis was dead, but turns out he's swimmin along the swamps of south Louisiana:





Me, Elvis, and what a swamp tour does to your hair:



Elvis and his gay fan base:



Creepy. Would not want to be out here at night.



Who needs an expensive salon blowout when you can rock the swamp look?



For the rest of the trip, we ate fried food...



and more fried food...



and visited with 90-year old granny



and never, was I ever so happy to return to Orange County.

:)