Now I Know...

I now know why Hollywood starlets do not have stretch marks.

One would assume that they'd have terrible stretch marks, considering they're so itty-bitty, and like any other woman, stretches to the size of a house when pregnant.  I got some gnarly stretch marks, and I'm not a small girl.

So, why do Hollywood starlets not have stretch marks?  One little words... air brushing!

Check it out:  http://theberry.com/2009/12/16/airbrush-much/

For all the moms... "A mark for every breath you took, every blink, every sleepy yawn. One for every time you sucked your thumb, waved hello, closed your eyes and slept in the most perfect darkness. One for every time you had the hiccups. One for every dream you dreamed within me. It isn't very pretty anymore. Some may even think it ugly. That's OK. It was your home. It's where I first grew to love you, where I lay my hand as I dreamed about who you were and who you would be. It held you until my arms could, and for that, I will always find something beautiful in it."                     by Cassie aka LeFoxy

Something Borrowed...

Apparently that was my friendship with Chela (not her real name).

I'd read the book "Something Borrowed" and just saw the movie today.  LOVED the movie, but it kind of opened up some festering wounds.

You see, the book is about Darcy and Rachel, who are BFFs. Rachel introduces Darcy to her classmate Dex, even though Rachel loves him. Fast-forward to Darcy and Dex's impending wedding and Rachel and Dex's secret burgeoning relationship that has been lurking under the surface for years. Even though Darcy cheated on Dex, she still felt the utter betrayal of her friend Rachel on the eve of her wedding (which was called off). There's hypocrisy and betrayal and raw feelings.

My story:  Chela and I met on my first day of Grade 9. I'd moved to a new high school 3 weeks into the year. Chela was chosen by the teacher to be my escort for the day. She begrudgingly obliged (she let me in on that secret years and years later). Chela and I became inseparable. We were a package deal with everyone and everything.  I lived entire weekends at her house. She was my maid of honour in my wedding. She was my person. But I always had to tip-toe around her. I couldn't be happier than her, I couldn't be more successful than her, I couldn't be better than her, I couldn't be in first place with her.  She was my Darcy.

Chela and I "divorced" once for less than a year when I got my first serious boyfriend (at 18).  She was pissed that I had a boyfriend, was growing up, was drinking, was sexually active, was happy without her.

I could tell she was secretly jealous when I got engaged.  Her boyfriend did not ever want to get married.

As I said, she was the maid of honour in my wedding.  My destination wedding.  I flew her and her boyfriend to Mexico. Put them up in a hotel room. All they had to pay for was incidentals.  She picked out her bridesmaid dress and I had to work around it.  Her dress was about $100.  Her shoes, were about $20 or less.  She could pick her own jewelry. I paid for her make-up, hair, mani/pedi.

Summer 2009, Chela finally suckered her boyfriend into proposing. Their wedding was scheduled for August 2010. I was pregnant when she became engaged. I had my baby in February 2010.  Her other bridesmaid was 9 months pregnant at the wedding (which she was kicked out of... yes, kicked out of).  After I had my baby, I developed severe post-partum depression and anxiety.  Chela expected me to leave my 6 month old for 10 days for the wedding (which was across country from where I lived). This I vehemently would not do. Negotiating less time away was like trying to buy Apple Inc from Steve Jobs for $15.00. So, the only other option was to bring baby with me.  This PETRIFIED me! Baby wasn't on a fantastic schedule and at that point would only sleep with me. So, if I was out at rehearsals, bachelorette parties and weddings, baby would be exhausted and unable to sleep, and in the care of my mum.  Chela's only offer to me, was to fly me and baby out (baby wouldn't cost anything extra). I was able to stay at Chela's house, which is full of pets (2 cats, 2 dogs and a rabbit).  I'd have to cart a million baby things onto a plane (at my expense), find my way from the airport to her house (about $200), stay at her house a few nights and a few nights in a hotel (at my expense), pay $50 for shoes, $300 for a dress, $90 for alterations (because she ordered the dress 3 sizes too big), $60 for jewelry, $45.00 for hair, do my own make-up, do my own mani/pedi, pay for my own incidentals.  (Remember what I paid for her?).

I ended up nearly having a nervous breakdown over the stress of deciding what to do.  My doctor even recommended that I stay home.  He told me that I was not healthy enough to travel. I ended up cancelling a week before the wedding. Yes, it was shitty to wait so long before cancelling, but I thought that I could will myself onto that plane.  Chela had every right to be mad at the situation, but she had no right to be mad at me.  It's not like I didn't want to be there, it's that I couldn't be there.  I couldn't afford the monetary expense, I couldn't afford to be away from my family (especially baby), I couldn't afford the emotional toll.  And, after being my BFF for 17 years not a single ounce of her understood.

I felt a deep connection with "Something Borrowed".  I didn't cheat on my BFF with her Fiance, but I did chose my family over her.  It was at her expense.  Apparently to her, because of that, our friendship was easily tossed aside like none of it mattered.  I didn't come to my decision to back out of her wedding lightly  (as you can tell).

Her MOMMY sent me an email telling me how horrible of a human being I am (making my fragile mental state all-the-more delicate).  After 17 years, Chela, herself couldn't tell me to go fuck myself.  THAT shows me there how much she truly valued me.

Being the bigger person and trying to extend an olive branch (because, silly me, I just couldn't toss aside a 17 year friendship without a second thought) I sent Chela a one-liner email a few times.

"Congratulations on your wedding"

"Happy Birthday"

"Merry Christmas"

And that's where I left it.

There's been a year of silence from her.  She just recently unfriended me from Facebook (that pissed me off, I wanted to unfriend her!)

Even though, our friendship was sometimes toxic, she still was a LARGE part of my life.  A huge chunk.

As much as I'd like to, I can't just say "whatever" and leave it at that.  I'm just hoping that one day it won't hurt so much to think back on those years we spent as each other's shadow.  And, I hope that one day, I can look at my wedding album with happiness again.

It's taken me a year to write this, to get my feelings out.  I can honestly say, I don't fell any better.

Hard work in hard copy!

I recently started working again after having my baby.  I got a job as an office assistant at the local newspaper.  I LOVE the job!

I was just reading the latest edition and had an over-whelming sense of accomplishment!  Ads that I had constructed have been published!  An obituary that I typed up and submitted has been published!  It's really amazing to see my hard work in hard copy!  It's not often that you get to see the outcome of your effort!  I know it's only obits and items for sale, but it still gives me that warm fuzzy feeling of accomplishment.

Why Wouldn't It Be Clean?

I went through the Tim Hortons drive-thru on my way to work this morning.  Being the one who likes hot coffee (not necessarily being earth conscious), I bring my own travel mug -- ironically purchased at Starbucks.

I handed Tim (seriously, that's his name) my mug and upon opening the lid he quipped to me "Hey!  You're in the Clean Cup Club!"  I asked him what he meant and he clarified that I had a clean cup.  My slightly incredulous response was "Why wouldn't it be clean?"  Tim said that I'd be surprised at how nasty some of the travel mugs are.

There have been:
-sludge (of varying heights)
-rank milk
-leftover coffee
-mould
-crawly things
-science experiments

Gross.

I can't even drink out of the same water cup twice.

Nasty.

F U Skinny Cow!

I love coupons.

I found a coupon for a free Skinny Cow single serve ice cream.  My mum said that Skinny Cow is really great, so I thought "Fantastic!  I can try it for free!"   Wrong choice.

I got the Chocolate Fudge Brownie single serve.  Don't get me wrong, it tasted great!  But now, I'm regretting every. single. bite.

I am itchy head to toe.  My lips are swollen.  I'm on the verge of sneezing my face off.  I've taken a Benedryl, but I'm not sure that it's working.  My lips have reduced about 2%, but I am itchier!

I read the list of ingredients,  but as far as I can tell there is no Yellow no. 5 or Tartrazine in it.  But I'm obviously having an allergic reaction to something in it.

I want to peel my skin off!  ARGH!

Death of the hair pigment!

So, I was plucking some grey hairs last night.  I know, I know, you pluck one and two grow back.  Blah, blah, blah.

Whilst plucking, I realized two things:

1) Unless I intended to stay up all night, this was a futile effort.

2) If I did stay up all night, I'd be bald by morning.

I remember the first grey hair I found.  I was 28 years old. I cried.  Kids truly do give you grey hair.  E was just starting to become more of a teenager, rather than a child; and now that I've had H, my grey hair count has doubled.

They grey hairs used to just congregate around my ears, like lightening bolts.  Now, though, they're attacking my hairline in the middle of my forehead.  The tides are turning.  I'm not admitting defeat just yet, but I am certainly losing the battle against the grey hairs!

Tomorrow, I'm going to buy hair dye.

My Stupid Phone Number

At the beginning of May, M and I switched cell phone providers.  We got to choose our new phone numbers.  We picked numbers that were close to each others.

Ever since then, day and night, without fail, I've gotten a zillion and one phone calls for Kim.  I am not, nor have I ever been Kim.  I swear that she had her cell phone number (my new number) as recently as the day before I picked it!  I've received calls for her from Alberta, down south, locally, from Ontario and even from Vietnam! (I had to Google that one!). She has more friends than me.

Finally, after juggling a thousand things at once and getting yet another phone call for Kim, I broke down and called Telus.  They gave me a new phone number and even "graciously" waived the change fee of $25.00 (I'd have "politely" insisted that they waive the fee anyway).

The next day, I got a phone call for Hazel.

A couple of days later, I got a text for Adam.

Oh the irony!!!

25 Random Facts About Me!

1.  I love making mashed potatoes.  I can make gourmet, pillowy, creamy, whipped mashed potatoes.  I hate mashed potatoes.  They make me gag.

2.  Dish cloths and towels gross me out.  The can just feel the germs crawling all over them.  I am a paper towel hor, as a result.

3.  I have an unbridled fear of ladybugs.  Even sparkly stickered and cartoon ladybugs give me the heebie jeebies.

4.  I have double-jointed elbows.  They can bend backwards about 30degrees.  Makes it really easy to reach under things and around corners.

5.  I grind and gnash my teeth.  I wear a night guard when I sleep.  I have literally ground a hole in my left vampire-fang tooth.

6.  My eyes are three different colours: grey, blue and green.

7.  I suck at lying.  I cannot keep a secret, I cannot keep a straight face, I do not have a poker face, I can't play a practical joke or plan a surprise party.

8.  When I was a kid, I wanted to own a convenience store, so I could eat candy whenever I wanted.  In 6th grade I wanted to be a photographer.  After that I wanted to be a writer and a starving artist in Paris.

9.  I may have eaten a whole bag of Chewy Chips Ahoy in one sitting whilst pregnant.

10.  I love cookies so much, that I try to not have any in the house.

11.  I'm obsessed with Christian Louboutin shoes.

12.  When it comes to movies, I have the memory of a goldfish.  When I go to watch a movie for the second time, it's like I've never watched it before... complete blank.

13.  I am allergic to yellow.  Yes, the colour.  Specifically I am allergic to Yellow dye no. 5 (aka Tartrazine).  It's pretty much in everything.  I have to read every label on everything that I buy.  It makes my mouth and gums itchy and my tongue and throat swell if I consume something with yellow in it.  I thought I was lactose intolerant for about 15 years until I found out that tartrazine is in skim milk, and cheese is not actually orange... it's dyed that way!  Who knew?!

14.  Speaking of milk... I think it tastes like ass and feet.  I do not like milk.  BLEH!

15.  I just recently learned how to spell sauce.  I always used to spell it S-A-U-S-E.

16.  I have never smoked a single cigarette in my entire life.  I could probably even count on one hand every time I've ever held a cigarette (not lit, of course).

17.  I get panicky if I spend over $30 in on transaction.

18.  Ice tastes funny.

19.  If I ever met Paul Walker I would do dirty, nasty, unmentionable, X-rated things to him.  YUM!

20.  I read US Weekly every week.  Religiously.

21.  I blow bubbles in my sleep.  These tiny little air bubbles pop out of my slightly open mouth.  This has actually woken me up on several occasions.

22.  My big toes crack.  I cannot sneak anywhere.

23.  I prefer to be barefoot.  If snow wasn't so cold, I'd be barefoot year round.

24.  I could eat pizza all day, every day.

25.  This has taken me two weeks to write. Procrastinate, much?

A Real Gem from me...

So, M is looking at a shipping supplies catalogue.  He shows me a picture of a MASSIVE bin!  What comes out of my mouth?  "I don't know why they measure bin size by litres.  It should be measured by body count."  Then we proceeded to expand on this theory... 2 adults, or 5 midgets, or 6 Asian hookers.  We decided that bin size should be specifically calculated by Asian hooker body count.

Yep, I'll be the one who greets you when you go to hell, because you know you chuckled even a little bit at this post.

Ghost Cat

I swear we have a ghost cat in our house.

Last week when I was taking a nap, I felt the bed shake as if a cat had jumped on the bed.  I say cat, because I used to have a cat, and it felt like that.  Then, I could feel the ghost cat walking up the bed towards my head.  I could feel the blankets sink under the weight of the ghost cat's paws.  About when it got to my shoulder, I woke up.

Then the other day, while I was sleeping at night, I felt a clawed paw touch the middle of my back on my bare skin (I was wearing a tank top).

M says I'm crazy.  I saw we have a ghost cat.

I feel like I'm cheating...

on Christian Louboutin.

I am also in love with Neil Lane.  He gives me lady wood just as much as Mr. Loubi.

Seriously... how can you deny this:

Simply stunning.  Diamonds are a girls best friend!  And even more awesome... My birthstone is a DIAMOND!!!

Did I Really Have to Look Up?!

Why can't I just be in a pissy mood?  Just leave me be!

I asked M to do one thing today.  One thing.  I'd washed 3/4 of the dishes and asked M to wash the pans.  Of course this did not happen.  The sink is still full of water, except now it's cold and the bubbles have faded away.

E, M and I are bored and decided to watch a movie.  I made some selections, as always, based on what they'd love to watch and what I'd slightly like to watch.  All choices were shot down and everyone gets pissy at me when I suddenly don't give a rip anymore.

Do I know if Smallville plays today?  Nope.  Don't really give a shit either.  Oh look, it's on!  Is it new? Dunno, does the scene look familiar as you make silly noises to cover up the dialogue.  Can't hear me over your "la la la's"?  Well, shut it and listen to me.  So, it's my problem that I didn't want to look up at the date listed on the synopsis because M doesn't know the date.  He should at least know it's the 20-something, since my birthday was on the 19th and that was several days ago.  But you know, I'm the only one in this house blessed with deductive knowledge.

I always have to follow after M or E to look for whatever they're looking for.  If it's not on the surface, it's lost forever... whatever it may be.

GUH!  I'm so tired of this.

I need a panic room!  Just so I can get away and be alone in the quiet.

Happy Birthday to me!

I was quite miserable yesterday and most of today, because of my impending aging.  I still cannot believe that I'm 32 today.  Thirty-frickin-two!

I spent a great day with my girls and M.  It was low-key.  We just had pizza and are watching some movies.  M and I went on a date on Friday, which is all I really wanted for my birthday.  I'm just not excited this year.

M made me feel so much better when it was time to have cake (chocolate truffle!).  Instead of 32 candles or a 3 and a 2 candle, M put a 2 and a 0 candle on the cake.  Yep. Today is my 20th birthday!  The cake said so!

Where is the off switch?

I'm always on.  I'm never off.

I've always been this way.  I'm certain it is the reason why I am a life-long insomniac.

Sadly, people expect me to be on.  And when I'm off?  The world crumbles around me and everyone is looking at me, with hands in the air, going "What happened here?"

I've come to the stark realization that I cannot even take a quiet shower without having to be on!  I am now expected to check all of the shampoo bottles in the shower to see if there is enough left before everyone begins using mine (we all use different shampoo).

Now where do I escape to for 10 minutes?

This Is How It All Went Down

Wednesday, April 13 - 7 pm-ish:  M smells rain in the air.  I agree and am not surprised when it does indeed start to drizzle a short while later.

Thursday, April 14 - 1:30 am:  Power goes out.  H wakes up because her sound/light machine goes off and she's plunged into darkness.  I go into her room with my little lantern and comfort her.  M gets the battery box and plugs in her sound/light machine and baby monitor.  M informs me that pancake-sized snow flakes are falling. I'm flabbergasted!  I feed H a bottle and she goes back to sleep.

Thursday, April 14 - 2 am: Back in bed.  Lay down for no longer than 16 seconds when I realize that I did not put my dog-in-law inside the house.  My in-laws live down the street, and had asked that I put the dog in sometime in the evening, while they were out of town.

I get dressed, put on my toque, winter jacket and M's boots.  I trudge down the road.  The snow is already up past my ankles.  It's snowing so fast that the snow builds up on my shoulders and head and occasionally sloughs off, although I'm walking.

Dog-in-law is huddled under the low branches of a tree in her front yard.  This is the one time that my in-laws decide to lock up their house and car.  I un-chain the dog and we walk back to my house so that I can get the car key.  Dog and I walk back to her house.  Snow is getting worse.  I'm cold and wet and can barely see out my glasses.  It's friggin' dark, too; my flashlight lights the path in front of me for about 5 feet.

I unlock in-laws' car and push the garage door opener, only to realize in my half-asleep stupor that (DUH!) the power is out and I cannot open the garage door.  Walk back to my house with the dog.

Set up a make-shift dog bed in the kitchen, give her a bowl of water and a bowl of dog treats (the only dog food that we have).

Thursday, April 14 - 2:30 am: Go back to bed.  I'm cold.  Wet. Exhausted.

Thursday, April 14 - 2:30 - 3:30 am: Toss and turn in bed.  Can't sleep, despite exhaustion.

Thursday, April 14 - 3:30 am: Power goes back on.  Dog proceeds to bark.  Don't want her to wake up baby, so I get out of bed, get dressed, and walk her back to her house.  Use car key to gain access through garage door.  Trudge back home.  Snow has lessened.  Lights are on, but I'm more freaked out because I can see the shadows now.  I'm convinced that a bear or a demon is following me as I walk home.

Thursday, April 14 - 4:30 am:  Finally back in bed.  Cannot sleep.

Thursday, April 14 - Afternoon: take a shitty nap.

Note: I completed this adventure with a brain-splitting migraine.

MY DOG-IN-LAW.  

My Knee facking HURTS!

I hate my knee.  The left one is pretty cool, but my right one is a piece of crap.

Sometime during Christmas week, I had to lunge to reach H.  She had just learned to climb, and had gotten onto the love seat and was scaling the back.  She was one step away from going over the ledge (she was lightening quick!) and I lunged.  Mid-lunge, all I could hear was ::snap:: ::crackle:: ::pop::  There went my knee.

I've had knee pain all my life, so it didn't bother me too much.  Over the next few weeks, the swelling in my knee would come and go.  Nothing new.  Sometimes it would pop and crack again, but it wasn't overly unusual for my knee to sound like bubble wrap being joyfully snapped one bubble at a time.

In recent weeks, my knee has started to feel like I was tearing every ligament in my knee (I've done this before) whenever I straightened it out.  This was particularly bothersome whilst sleeping.  The searing, burning flames in my knee was not a very pleasant way to wake up.

Last Friday, I knew it was finally time to call the doctor when I tried to straighten out my leg and my knee cap stayed in place.  It's quite nauseating to have to push my own knee cap back into place.  It was about a million times worse than seeing your nail bent backwards at a 90-degree angle after you've knocked it, and having to push it back.

After I pushed my knee cap back in place, I promised myself that I would call the doctor first thing Monday.  Last weekend was survived by copious amounts of Robaxecet and Advil.

Monday, I went to the doctor.  She thankfully gave me some Tramacet (sp?) for the pain, and scheduled me for a CT scan in a town 2.5 hours away (the joys of small-town life).   So, in 4-6 weeks I'll be in a hospital in the next big town having a massive needle jammed into my knee injecting me with radio-active crap, so that they can see my glow-in-the-dark soft tissue, muscles, ligaments and cartilage.

Something to look forward to???

My Mission Tomorrow...

My life has just been shattered.  I just found out that Shamrock Shakes are not minty.  They are in fact just green-dyed vanilla shakes.  WTF?!!?!  How many years have I been jaded?
M says that there's a placebo effect from Shamrock Shakes.  People, like myself, assume that it is minty flavoured, so when consuming said Shamrock Shake, they taste mint.

^

|

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See!  There's even mint leaves in the picture!!!

So, tomorrow, I shall procure a Shamrock Shake from our little bitty McDonalds, and test the placebo mint theory.

My Ego is Bruised

H said her first word when she was 5 months old.  "DADA".  It was all she said for the next 3 months.  Naturally, I was a wee bit upset, considering that I was the one who carried her for 40 weeks.  It was cute though, that H would sing-song "dada", she'd squeal it, laugh it, cry it, and say it over and over while playing.

FINALLY, at nearly 8 months old, she said "mama".  I'd left the room for a second, and came back in and she said "mama" like 'hey, you're back!'.  It was sweet.  I even cried a little.

Now, the only time H says "mama" is when she's sad, mad, upset, pissed off, hungry, hurt or tired.  Sometimes she'll say it when she's eating, but it will come out "mum mum mum mum mum".  I'm completely okay with the "mum" because that's what I call my mum.  And she doesn't really say "mama", it's more like "mem mem".  Which is fine also.

Lately, though, it's all about "dad" "dada" or "daddy".  If she doesn't see him, she says his name non-stop.  She'll crane her neck to see him.  She'll push me aside to get to him.  She'll step on my face to get closer to him.  I'm happy that she loves her daddy, but where's my props?  I'm the one who carried her for 40 weeks, I'm the one who hasn't slept in a year and a half, I'm the one with the stretch marks, I'm the one with the flabby belly, I'm the one who had Post-partum Depression, I'm the one who laboured for 31 hours, I'm the one who pushed her out my vag in 20 minutes and got a 3rd degree tear...  I'm the one.  But she only has eyes for daddy.

Jealous much?!

Yes.

Parenting FAIL!

I am having a real hard time being responsible and being the parent right now.

Yesterday, I took E to get a haircut.  About 1/2 way through her haircut, the stylist stopped.  She and E rounded the corner -- E completely embarrassed and close to tears, the stylist giving me the most degrading stink eye.  The stylist informed me that E had lice... "like bad".  She showed me, and indeed, there was a large infestation.  I was utterly mortified.  I have no idea where she got it from!  But the look that stylist's face!  She looked at me like I was the lowest form of trash that crawled out of the trailer park to get my kid's "herrr did".

I immediately started panicking inside.  That musical movie montage from the movie "The Switch", where Jason Bateman has to delouse his son flashed through my mind.  I started praying for a musical movie montage instead of facing the weeks of crap ahead of me.  E thought it was a simple as taking a shower.  ::facepalm::

I went to the pharmacy and asked the lovely pharmacist to school me and to hook me up.  With $37.00 lice shampoo in hand, I drove home, calling M on the way.  By the time I got home with E, M had started putting E's things in garbage bags and was Googling how to get rid of these tiny fuckers.

So, here comes my fail.  I couldn't do the combing thing.  I had to call my MIL in to pinch hit.  She's dealt with it before.  I applied the shampoo and rinsed, but MIL had to re-rinse and pick.  She made me touch one, just so I knew how it felt on the hair.  She really had to convince me to touch it.  I nearly crapped myself, which did exactly instil any confidence in E.  I flipped after I left the bathroom.  I confided in M that I just couldn't do it.  I cannot pick.

I have about 16 years of laundry ahead of me, which I'm really not relishing.  The house has been vacuumed and cleaned top to bottom, and our main bathroom smells like an indoor pool, because M cleaned it "hospital clean" with bleach.

Here's some more parenting fail.  I cannot handle the stress that this is bringing on.  I had a stress-induced migraine all weekend long.  It keeps coming back every time my stress level skyrockets.  I just want to check out.  If the house fell down around me, I'd cry tears of joy!  I just wouldn't give a FUCK.

AAAAAANNNNDDDDD... to top it all off... E has an epic cold!  She is, as M lovingly put it, our little germ bomb.

Luckily, M, H nor I seem to have lice.  The pharmacist told me that since H has so little hair, that if she got lice, the best thing for her, treatment-wise, would be to shave her head.  I nearly burst into tears on the spot!

Yesterday, after we were able to "call it a day" all I wanted to know was if it was possible to shoot myself in the head without dying.  My migraine was epic, my stress was palpable, and my limit had been reached.  I wasn't sure I'd had a limit; yesterday I found out that I did.

Where I found this hilarious Sims pic

I am CRAZY!

Oh my god!  PMS and anxiety just do not mix!

Yesterday I literally felt crazy.  Every fibre of me was nutso!  On top of my daily 40mg of Celexa, I had to take a Clonazepam.  I was shaking, irrational, crazy, manic, all over the page, sensory overload... bonkers.  Thank goodness for prescription drugs!

I suffered from Post-partum depression.  At 2 months post-partum, I finally went to my doctor for help.  He started me off on 10mg of Celexa.  We eventually worked our way up to 40mg.  It was a long road to find a happy medium.  I would still have some situational anxiety, so he prescribed me some Clonazepam.  Some days Celexa is just not enough.  Some times I will take 2 Clonazepam.  I get totally fucked up for about an hour and then I crash.  The high is awesome... the come-down, not so much.

My doctor, whom I generally dislike professionally, told me that he would put me on Celexa longer than the generally prescribed 2 months for post-partum depression.  Yeah, he knew I was nuts and should have been on it way prior to having a baby.

I was on Celexa once around 2005-2007.  I was experiencing major anxiety and depression over WhoreFace!  She was ruining my life (but that's a whole other post).  I decided to go off of it, because I hated being numb.  Now... I welcome the numbness!

All I wanted yesterday to be numb!  I could feel the craziness in every cell of my body.  I just did not know how to deal.  Finally, sometime after a 1 am bottle feeding, I calmed down.

Today was a new day.

The Irony of Smashed Potatoes

BLEH!

I think mashed potatoes are disgusting.  They make me gag and want to vomit.  But surprisingly, I can make the most heavenly mashed potatoes.  Maybe it's because I'm so completely unbiased?

I've been with M for nearly 11.5 years and he's never had my mashed potatoes.  Subsequently, neither has E.

Tonight, E wanted mashed potatoes for supper.  I reminded her to use the homo milk, rather than the skim. She looked at me funny and told me that she didn't plan to use milk at all.  Me, being the mashed potatoe connoisseur, I was shocked!  She asked me if I would finish making her mashed potatoes.  I obliged, with much enthusiasm.

I boiled them until falling apart.  I crushed them a bit with the mixer, poured in homo milk, added a wad of butter and salt & peppered to visual pleasure.  Then I whipped them with the electric mixer, until they were visually pleasing.  I scooped them out of the pot into a big red bowl.  I stupidly tasted them on the way to delivering them to E.  Now it's all I can taste in my mouth, and I completely want to gag!  Gross.
E, on the other hand, is in heaven with her whipped/smashed/creamed/mashed potatoes!