A Few (Sleepy) Observations

I have a couple of observations about my life as a new parent that I feel like sharing with you fine folks:

Sleep. It's the holy grail for new parents. It's the thing that every person who doesn't have a baby is sick of hearing about (tough shit). When it's good, you feel like you're floating in a pool of angel tears. When it's bad, you feel like you're floating in a pool of angel turds. Some people are blessed with babies who just naturally snooze and the rest of us have kids who run their fingernails across the sides of their pack n' plays at 3am, like some kind of fucking horror movie.

Well-meaning old ladies at the grocery store make you feel like if you don't "train" your kid to sleep through the night, they are going to end up being a 47-year-old man who sucks his thumb and collects women's hair. And yet, when you think about letting your kid cry it out, it's easy to be flooded with thoughts of them in their adulthood, lacking empathy because you stole their precious attachment and thus resorting to registering as a Republican and exhibiting extreme road rage.

I feel like I might offend someone here, so my apologies in advance, but sleep training makes me want to punch someone in the tit. Sure, I get it. In fact, every other night I tell Josh, "That's it. Tomorrow night we start teaching this kid to go to sleep on his own." I might even do it eventually. Side note: For those of you with no kids, reading this in bed at 11am (I hate you), sleep training is when you 'teach' your kid to go to sleep on their own and sleep through the night without relying on you because they are tiny babies who can't fucking figure it out on their own. But really, I think sleep training is a way to make money off of terrified, sleep-deprived new parents. OF COURSE I will buy and read your book that promises if I do steps one through eighty-seven my kid will sleep through the night. Who wouldn't buy that shit? But here's the thing: If it was that simple, there wouldn't be 900 fucking books on the topic. Babies are different from each other just like you and I are different. While masturbation and a hot cup of tea puts me right to sleep, for you that shit might just make you feel all uptight and give you heartburn.

Maybe I'm just cranky 'cause I'm tired.

Anyway, here are some other, less-ranty parental observations:

I sometimes wonder if my kid is going to speak only in sing-song. I find myself looking at him sometimes, thinking, "I can't have a conversation with you if you don't talk back to me. Fuck." So instead, I sing everything at him. "You got a load in your pants that smells like sweet bread. If we were rednecks then your name would be Jed."

No one checks me out anymore. It might be the extra 30lbs I'm carrying or the fact that I haven't brushed my hair since 2013, but I don't think so. I think it's because once a kid comes out of your vagina, people can tell that the last thing you want to do is fuck a stranger.

That's all I got for now. I tried to write a whole paragraph about baby poop, but it turned out shitty. 

Cheers!

For Hire

There was a point in my life where I thought, "You know what would be really sweet?! If someone paid me to write a blog." But that would only work if said person wanted someone who wrote in their blog every six months. Fuck.

You know, the problem is, I keep trying to think of blog material that doesn't have to do with being a mom, giving birth, having a kid, etc. But I CAN'T. It's like it is physically and mentally impossible now to be funny without talking about my kid. Believe me, I want to write a quirky, hilarious blog about sucking dick or something but whenever I start, all that comes out is:

So, the thing about sucking dick is my kid might partake some day. Fuck. Let me try this again. So, the thing about sucking dick is, it's surprisingly not as pleasurable with a baby in the room. Shit. OK, I got this. So, the thing about sucking dick is, it's best when youasdjaknsajsdkjfnaasdnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn. I just fell asleep at my keyboard.

The good news for you is that I'm quitting my job next week so (hypothetically) I'll have more time to make your day. Yep, I'm quitting. My kid gets sick every other day and sometimes one of the ladies at daycare looks like she smokes a bunch of crack and stays up all night eating Frito pies and watching infomercials before coming work. In all honesty, I just can't cope with the guilt anymore. I realize I'm just going to find something else to feel guilty about, but for now this feels like the best thing to do for my kid.

Part of me feels like I need to find some kind of mom-friendly job. I mean, I'm not going to start selling candles or some other shit, but it would be nice to find something I can do from home. I'd even settle for something I can bring my kid to. I was thinking I'd make a great sex-education instructor. Sure, Scared Straight doesn't work for reprobate teens, but I think with some real-talk, Georgia style, kids would definitely be slipping on the jimmy hats before awkwardly doing it. I imagine it going something like this:
"Class, I'm not going to bullshit you. Let's have a real talk about sex. It's awesome, right? And you all know that if you don't use protection when you have sex, you could end up getting pregnant. But let's talk about having sex AFTER you have a kid. I mean, are there women who actually do the deed after the momentous occasion of stretching their vaginas so wide they tear all the way up to their anus? Seriously. If I'm going to be honest, the closest thing I've come to getting any since I gave birth is when the midwife checked me to see if my uterus has shrunk. I'd try a different door, but I can't get into the feeling of pooping out a penis over and over - I don't know how those Evangelical pastors do it! Wait! Why are you escorting me outside?! You're hurting my arm. Are you a gym teacher? How did I know? I can see the outline of your wiener through your short shorts. I think I hear the kids cheering for me ...."

I don't know. I think being a mom is the hardest job I've ever had (and I worked at Walgreens in college for three days where the cashier would always whisper to me, "You gotta get out of this place while you still can, honey. It'll bury you."). So, for now I should probably just focus on my kid and making sure his first word isn't cock-sucker.

A Baby Came Out of My Vagina

If you're looking for a way to lose all modesty, may I suggest squeezing a child out of your vagina? Bonus loss of modesty if you do it without pain medication. I shit, pissed, and puked in front of numerous people (and on my husband) and I could care less! Go me!

I feel now that I've gone through pregnancy, childbirth, and a whole whopping 20-something days of being a mother, I have something I'd like to say about the experience:

Fuck you.

There's a couple of specific people/things that this statement is directed towards:

My Bradley Method Teacher
I love the Bradley Method. It's an awesome way to approach childbirth that includes the partner in the labor process and focuses on natural, non-medicated ways to progress through labor. But man, my Bradley Teacher was a real bitch. I can't tell you how many times she said shit like, "If I could have all of your babies I would! That's how much I love giving birth! I had three totally painless births!"
Goddamn you and your false hope, lady. When I had my baby, I spent 30-some hours in PAIN wondering how the fuck I could kill you and have it hurt worse than natural labor.

Women Who Only Say Shit Like "Motherhood is the most beautiful thing you will ever experience!"
I bet you bitches also never poop or swear. Seriously. Why do women refuse to talk about how hard it is to be a mother? Are we in some sort of competition? Does it make us feel like failures to come right out and say, "I understand why some animals eat their young." Sure, being a mother is the most beautiful thing I have ever experienced, but you won't catch me saying that last thing without also adding that if my kid chomps my nipple with his razor-blade gumline one more time I might make him grow a rattail.

Josh At Night
I love my husband. And he is the best father. But at night, when I'm nursing and he's fast asleep, it takes everything I have not to smother him.

My Breasts
I remember when I got breasts. Shit was amazing. My email in high school was kajungas69@hotmail.com, so yeah, I was pretty pleased with myself. I never thought I would cry over giant pornstar tits. Seriously, they give new meaning to the term "chesticles". These fucking things are gigantic and they hurt. If it weren't for the sweet, sweet life-juice they give my kid, I might cut them off myself.

My Milk
It's kind of awesome that I can say "my milk" and now that we're a couple of weeks in, I am finally starting to enjoy breastfeeding. Also, I realize that having a lot of milk is a far better problem than having too little. But holy shit, I have enough milk to feed the entire US men's swimteam and those fucking guys eat like 9000 calories a day (holler if you're into that sort of thing, Phelps). My kid gets BLASTED with milk every time he eats - it's crazy. I just walk around with a towel in my shirt all day. I joked with my mom that maybe there's some weird breastmilk fetish and I could strip at a club to "My milkshake brings all the boys to the yard!" while squirting milk out of my breasts .... Oh, you don't talk about that kind of shit with your mom? Weird.

Men Who Stare At Me When I Breastfeed
I have quickly found that some men could give a shit less if there's a baby hanging off your tit. As long as there's a tit involved, they're happy to give a good, creepy, prolonged stare. And that's fucking weird and it pisses me off.  Also, it's never hot dudes.



Having a kid is pretty fucking rad. It's also been the hardest thing I've ever done. Just when I think I have something down, my kid sneezes and spits up at the same time and I convince myself he's dying. It is crazy. I cry a lot. I swear a ton. And I laugh even more. I highly recommend you try it.

Growing a Tallywhacker - Large and In Charge

To think there are people out there who write in their blogs every fucking day. Makes me feel like I'm the shittiest blogger ever. But let's be real - those people might be good and punctual at blogging, but they're shitty at LIFE. I'm just trying to find a happy medium.

Here's the latest:

Unless our baby takes after its mother and has a giant labia, we're having a boy!! A tiny penis is going to come out of me!

That's what she said?

Josh and I had no preference for the sex of our baby. We just wanted it to be healthy. So, hearing it was a boy was exciting. And then it was terrifying. I have to clean a penis?!

I've quickly gathered that people react in a very specific way when they hear you're having a boy.  The ultrasound tech took at least 19 pictures of our little guy's penis and printed them out for us. I have a sneaking suspicion that the same is not done for a female fetus (am I wrong?!). Do you parents of girls have a fetal vagina album?! And to add to it, everyone makes comments about his penis size. Like, "Oh man!! He's ALL boy! That thing is unmistakable!" Yes, because everyone wants a baby with a giant dick - that's not weird at all.

Anyway, I'm going to have to teach my kid about boners. And probably find his crusty socks on the floor. I'm going to try really hard not to make boner jokes when he reaches puberty.

Is my kid going to hate me?

In other news, being pregnant is a trip, man! You are going through this totally amazing, spiritual experience - loving your body and the way it acts and reacts to support another life. Then some asshole goes running their mouth and ruins it for you:
The other day I was in the gym and this acquaintance of ours called me over. Let me paint you a picture. This lady is in shape. She's all fucking tan. She has a nice set of fake tits. She was SPRINTING on the treadmill while talking to me. Anyway, she gave me the up and down look, asked me what I have been eating, and then exclaimed that I must be having a girl because I'm carrying wide. In true Georgia fashion I tried to crack a 'wide-load coming through' joke and she said, "You know, when people say the baby craves something unhealthy they are just being selfish." I almost ate her but silicone makes my tongue itchy.

Some days it doesn't even take a crazy gym whore to bring up my insecurities. The other day at my monthly check-up I was getting on the scale and heard the nursing assistant say, "Do you feel the earthquake?" I was like, "Oh helllll no. Is this chick really making earthquake jokes while I get on the scale?!" It took me about 7 minutes of pure rage to realize that there had been an actual earthquake earlier in the morning and she asked, "Did you feel the earthquake?" *Sigh*

I have gained more than the 'suggested' amount of weight. Quite a bit more. But I feel great! I can still play tennis (sort of - I get three bounces before I have to get to the ball) and I do kegels like a motherfucker. I don't want to feel bad about my body - not ever, but especially not while I'm pregnant. I just want to grow huge and have people tell me I look fucking beautiful. Is that too much to ask?! Luckily, I have a husband who tells me this daily.

Annnd, I just puked in my mouth a little bit :)

So, yeah. I'm pregnant. I am growing this amazing little guy inside of me. He kicks me all day and night and I think he's the coolest person in the world.  That makes the fact that my vagina is fucking crazy looking and I keep getting skin tags on my nipples totally worth it.

Success!

Coincidentally, the date of my last blog post was also the first day of my last period (or the start of my pregnancy count-down).  I apologize to anyone who gets squeemish at the word 'period'.  I'd hate to offend you by conjuring up graphic images of my bleeding vagina.

So, back to the good stuff.  I'm pregnant!

Are you back from celebrating? Drink something heavily alcoholic while you read this. For me. Please.

I've been waiting for something monumental to happen in my life in order to kickstart the ole sarcastic, creative juices! It was either this or murder Josh and give you funny clues in order to find his body.

Because I know this blog post, and many future posts, are going to be FULL of inappropriate shenanigans, I feel the need for a disclaimer:

Pregnancy is a beautiful thing. I feel extremely lucky to be able to go through this process and think everyday about the health and well-being of our baby. Josh and I couldn't be more excited to bring a life into this world and realize the weight of this amazing responsibility. I know that this can be a heavy and emotional topic - and I think about this a lot.  Life seems (and is) so fragile when you're waiting for your pregnancy to progress. I have spent many a night worried about losing this little life. I'm sure the worry is in preparation for the worry I will now experience for the rest of my life as a parent. So, I just want to put it out there that if you are easily hurt or offended by pregnancy-related jokes, it might be better if you didn't read this.  If you think women should go through their pregnancies with grace and without complaining, you DEFINITELY shouldn't read this. Cool. Back to it!

Holy shit. There's a human being growing inside of my body. INSIDE OF MY BODY.  And man, I feel like shit.  Like a naive moron, I imagined pregnancy as this time where I would gloriously fluctuate between feeling spiritual and gluttonous - doing prenatal yoga and drinking wheat-grass and craving kale for every meal.  Nope!  First of all, I've lost weight because everything sounds fucking DISGUSTING and I usually yack up at least one meal a day right after I eat it. Cravings?!  Fuck. The only things I can eat consistently are watermelon, plain toast, and Chick-fil-A.  Yes, you heard that right. I have compromised my morals for this kid already.  One day, after not eating for well over 24-hours and feeling like death, this bigoted chicken popped in my head and literally sounded like the only thing appetizing to me.  So, I sheepishly drove through the Chick-fil-A drivethru with my equal rights sticker on the back of my car.  I feel fucking bad about it, OK?!  Pregnant Georgia is not the same Georgia that we all used to know and love.

The new, pregnant Georgia (and her body) looks something like this:
-Josh was trying to calm down one of my many tantrums with a sweet hug and I started screaming, "I'm a wild stallion! I can't be tamed!"
-I can now put 'puking so hard I pissed my pants' on my Life-Achievements list.
-If you're wondering about my bowel movements, they usually fall somewhere between feeling like pooping my pants and never pooping again for the rest of my life.
-I worry that my kid might turn out to be a serial killer because of all the Criminal Minds and Law and Order I watch.
-Josh was trying to calm down another one of my many tantrums when I yelled, "I have Restless Leg Syndrome coursing through my veins!!"
-My nipples have taken on a life of their own. Maybe I just never really looked at them, but holy shit! It's like my nipples have nipples.
-People have started asking me, "Do you have any inkling about gender?! Are you dreaming that it's a girl or a boy?!" Usually I just smile politely and reply, "Not sure!" But what I want to tell them is that most of my dreams these days are either full of kinky sex or about me sneaking behind our house to smoke cigarettes and drink vodka.
-Did you know when you have a kid, you have to name the fucking thing?! Shit is hard. Josh is not jiving with my hippie names and usually this wouldn't be a big deal, but on certain days I find myself thinking homicidal thoughts about him. ("Hey fucker! You can't veto River if you're dead!") I realize this is the second reference in this post to murdering my husband ... I love you Josh! I promise I won't murder you!
-I get heartburn after I eat granola bars. FUCKING GRANOLA BARS.
-During the first visit with our midwife, she was doing a vaginal exam and asked me some question about our house or some shit. I looked over to Josh and he answered.  She kind of giggled and asked why I looked to Josh. I responded, "Well, it's hard to answer when your hand is in my vagina." She laughed. I like her.  (She has pictures of hot models above her examination table. Hilarious!)
-My butthole hurts. Not like, "Oh shit! It's 8:30 and I'm late for work, last night was crraaazzzyyy!" hurts. More like, "I think my poop is made of shards of glass." hurts.



I know what you're all thinking.  All this sickness and craziness is worth it, because I am bringing a gorgeous, fucking genius into the world. And you're right. It's like I'm sacrificing my happiness and body for YOUR benefit. Lucky fuckers.

I guess we're pretty lucky too. :)

Cheers!

Thinking About Procreating

Well, the title says it all.  Josh and I have been conversing about whether we should start trying to have a baby.  Our discussions consist of adult things like, "Is our financial situation stable enough to support THREE of us? ... especially considering one of us won't be fucking contributing at all?!  Lazy fuck." Or, "What if we can't get pregnant? I kinda feel like a few slipped/swam in there back in my ho days with anti-climactic results."  Pun intended.

Thinking about having a kid is also exciting.  Even though Josh has already forbid me from using our child as a sounding-board for my humor, I still fantasize about dressing it in onesies with cute little sayings like, "My brain is the size of a walnut and even I know Mitt Romney is a fucking sleezebag."  And let's just be honest. I am SUPER excited to pull my tit out in public and tell anyone who complains about it to go fuck themselves (I could do this now, but I might not have as much clout).

I gotta tell you, though. Even thinking about having kids has resulted in some serious mind-fucking. Some nights I lie in bed for HOURS thinking, "Sure, shitting is perfectly natural. I still don't want to do it in front of a room full of people!"  I also spend a lot of time thinking about the gender of possible future child.  To take from an epic Louis CK stand-up, I'm a little nervous to have a girl because I don't know how I feel about spending my days cleaning shit out of a tiny vagina.  Conversely, I'm not exactly stoked about frequenting the phrase, "Make sure you pull your skin back to wash your penis!".  Also, I don't know very many people who think, "Man, my fucking parents were perfect! They did everything right! I am so healthy and well-adjusted!"  So, I'm trying to come to terms with having this little person that will swell my heart (and vagina) to unimagined size, who thinks I'm a total neurotic, foul-mouthed, weirdo.  I've also had several sleepless nights over thoughts of quitting sushi and trampoline-jumping.

If we are able and fortunate enough to get pregnant, I feel nervous about the world I'm bringing a child into.  A world where people put cheese all over their vegetables and wear socks with sandals.  But let's just be real. I think we can all agree that I should procreate. The world needs more toddlers who call their teachers "fucking boners" in preschool and get their mom into trouble.

Penis Envy.

The other night Josh and I were lying in bed.  Naturally, I was thinking about penises and exclaimed, "Man, if I had a dick!"

I followed this up by chatting about all the things I would do if I had a penis: Play with myself, pee outside, slap people with it (willing participants), etc.  Josh is used to this type of talk, so he just patiently waited for me to exhaust the subject.  When he was sure I was finished, he said, .... wait for it .....

"If you had a dick, it'd be really small."

Initially, I found this hilarious. We both laughed. But then I had this terrible urge to defend myself - to say insecurely, in a small voice, "Do you really think I'd have a small dick??" or, "Size doesn't matter!!"

This really got me thinking about male penis insecurities.  If a dickless female can feel insecure about her pretend penis, surely men are sitting around measuring their worth based on the size of their ding-a-ling.

I know a lot of men read this blog, sitting on the edge of their seats waiting for me to reassure them about their penises .... No, but really.  There is a lot of shit about your dicks that make women jealous - this woman, at least!

Here goes:

• Your penis is mysterious, with its wrinkly ability to go from looking cute to looking terrifying in merely 4 seconds.
• You can wave it around and make it flop in circles just by gyrating! The closest us vagina-havers get to that shit is when we have tassels on our nipples!
• You can easily pee on your partner in the shower.  When we try to do that, we inevitably end of peeing all over ourselves instead.
• You get to put it in stuff! Your hand, an anus, a vagina, a bowl of warm pudding ... the possibilities are endless!!
• When you get excited, you shoot stuff out of it. That's just awesome.
• If you wanted to jerk off in the bathroom of Arby's, it wouldn't be a huge ordeal.
• You could dress your boner up like a bird and it would look like you're riding it! 
• You can piss outside without the fearful troll-squat-shimmy we have to do when the puddle starts to run frighteningly close to our shoes. 
• When you wipe your ass, you don't give a shit what direction you do it in. 
• You can sit on your hand until it's numb and then pretend a stranger is jerking you off.  
• You can rest, hang, place, balance, etc. things on your boner! It's even better when it happens accidentally (dropping a towel in an attempt to look sexy, but it gets caught on your boner. Classic!).

In conclusion, if you're into chicks**, most of them don't care about your penis size.  Seriously. Do you have nimble fingers? Can you lick the shit out of a popsicle? You're good. 

**I cannot speak for dudes.