My Fat Ass

Seeing as how I have been very remiss the past couple of years in maintaining and posting on my blog, it's time to get off my fat ass and fucking get to it.  So what has happened over the past two years?  Aside from moving to Germany, dealing with a husband who might as well be in fucking Afghanistan, contending with evil asshole teenagers, watching the seven year old grow and learn, and chasing the three year old (who has finally given up finger-pooping) and attempting to keep him from killing himself, not a fucking lot. . .  The latest and greatest news is that on July 12 we are expecting the imminent arrival of Thornburg baby #5!  What the fuck was I thinking?  Another baby?  God, just shoot me now.  I swear that if Germany had more lax gun laws, I'd be suck starting a pistol about now.  Needless to say, when I say that it was time to get off my "fat ass" and blog again, I quite frankly have an actual fat ass to get off of.  And that bitch had better bid a hasty retreat once I endure yet again the "joys" of childbirth.  Fuck.  

 

As far as #5 goes, everything looks good and the little man is healthy.   Yes, it's another boy.  Thank God for small favors.  If I am destined to have another kid, at least it's a boy.  The one girl I do have makes me insane.  What was my mom's saying about girls??  "Girls are bitches from the moment they are born."  Well, she has that one right.  V will be off to college in another year so I will be the only bitch in this house and that's the way I like it.  One bitch in the place is more than enough and I'm pretty fucking happy to be able to reclaim my status as the HBIC once she's gone.  (I love my daughter, but damn. . . ) 

 

With number 5 kicking the shit out of me, I've been lucky thus far to avoid the usual stupid questions that I was bombarded with when #4 was en route.  So before anyone has some stupid fucking question or comment to make, allow me to regale you with the facts.

 

1. Please do NOT congratulate me. If you pay any attention at all to my FB, you know that E (number 4, the finger-pooping, fearless, graceless disaster that he is) lives and breathes so if you must say something, wish me luck!!  I'm going to fucking need it!

 2. Yes, I know where babies come from. And I honestly thought we were done. I just have shit luck, because no, this was not planned. Apparently, for me, infrequency in fucking increases fertility.   Cases in point--number 3 arrived while the hubby was on the trail.  So that one random night where he wasn't falling asleep in his dinner plate after an 18 hour day dealing with stupid privates and hello!!  B arrives 9 months later.  Damn it.  Then OIF whatever-the-fuck-number-it-was, and all the wives are "We're going to try to have a baby when he gets home.  Are you going to have another one, Kate?" and I just had to open my fucking mouth and say "Fuck NO!!!"  So 14 months of no sex, he gets off the plane and I'm the first one in the company to get pregnant.  9 months to the day of his redeployment and here comes the fingerpooper!  Double fuck.  So now the hubby has a staff job, works 15-18 hours a day, 7 days a week and I end up pregnant again!  Hence my conclusion regarding frequency and fertility.

 

3. If you are really that concerned about whether or not we can afford ANOTHER ONE, I will happily accept donations. Big ones.  Especially since we will once again be forgoing WIC and the other assistance available.  Yes, maybe it's fucking stupid not to take what you can get from the government, but we've always managed without it and will continue to do so as long as possible and through however many kids we end up with.  Why?  Pride is part of.  Another part is that I take issue with some idiot doctor telling me what I can and cannot feed my child and that my kid is too fucking small or whatever.  So unless you are going to send me a big fat fucking check, let me fucking worry about it.  We may not be rich, but all the kids are still alive, OK?    

 4. No, we are not having any more. The hubby will be enduring the dreaded surgery to prevent anymore "oops"es. He is not particularly thrilled at the prospect of having his balls cut open, tubes ripped out and then cut burned and tied off, but I'm getting to old for this shit and his convalescence will be a hell of a lot shorter than mine would be.  Also, unless the doctor is going to fucking gut me (which they won't fucking do unless something is wrong and apparently not wanting more kids is NOT an actual ailment), I'm still going to bleed like a stuck pig every month, so really what's the fucking point??

 

5.  For all my childhood friends, no, I am not Amish.  Never have been.  Never will be.  I like electricity and cars and jeans and all the gadgets and gizmoes that are a part of Yankee life.  

 

6.  No, I will not be posting belly pics on FB or anywhere else and if you come near me with a camera before I have this baby, I will fucking gut you like a fish!!  I look like a bowling ball with arms and legs.  A walking stomach.  I hate that bullshit about how "beautiful" pregnant women are.  Give me a break.  I have boobs now, which I despise with passion I cannot properly express.  They are in the way and need to go the fuck away.  And let's not forget my giant distended belly that moves of its own accord and also gets in the way.  How children are born NOT covered head to toe in bruises is beyond me, because all my kids have been smacked by doors, furniture, and every other fucking thing within a 10 foot radius of my belly more times than I care to count well before they ever made their grand entrances.  

 

7.  The only drug present at the birth of this one will be the same as the others-pitosin.  Get the damn thing out of me NOW!!!!   An epidural is out of the question because there is no way in hell anyone is sticking a needle in me in a place where I cannot watch them do it.  And yes, it fucking hurts to give birth, but you get over it.  I'd rather go through 9 months of labor pains than be pregnant.  Other women may disagree, but being pregnant and kicked and punched and having someone squeezing your lungs and bladder and stomach for 9 months is 1000x worse than a few hours of pain.  Fuck you very much.  

 8. Yes, I am insane.  If I wasn't insane before kids, they drove me to it and I cannot be held legally responsible for my actions.