Tranny Head Rawks ... and Is Hawter Than You

She's ALIVE!

2009-12-12T11:16:00.005-05:00

Holy lack of blogging, Batman. I suck. But I have a very good excuse.

*ahem*

Introducing The Hoss:

Born 2 weeks early on December 1, 2009 at 7:07 am weighing in at a whopping 9 lbs., 12 oz. and 21 and some change inches long. Thank Jehovah the Hoss didn't keep cooking any longer.

I happen to be one of those people who loathes birth stories, but I'll give you a quick, abbreviated version because it's so insane.

At 1:00 am on December 1, I woke up to pee (of course, as I had been doing every 45 minutes for the past two months) and my water had broken. "Holy shiz!" I thought. You see, I had planned on a C-Section on 12/8. My husband had scheduled paternity leave for then and my parents were going to come up to take care of Sumo while I was in the hospital. Everything was scheduled. But. When my water broke at 1:00 am? I had nobody to take care of Sumo but my husband ... so I told him, "Look, you stay here with Sumo and I'm not feeling any contractions, yet, so I'm just going to drive to the hospital. I'll meet up with you in a few hours."

Good thing I left when I did.

By the time I got to the hospital at about 2:00, I was in full-on labor at 4 cm and by 4:00 am, I was 7 cm. They were going to try to wait on the C-Section until after I'd had food out of my stomach for 8 hours (yeah, I eat pop tarts in the middle of the night - so sue me), but they couldn't wait. I was rushed in for anesthesia and prep and I delivered The Hoss at 7:07 am.

That means I drove myself to the hospital, labored to 7 cm, and delivered all alone! It was complete insanity. My husband and 2 year old arrived just as I was being schlepped into my room after the surgery.

Anyway, we're all home now and doing well. Can I just say I feel about 10000000000000 times better than I did after I squeezed Sumo through my hoo-ha? Thank Jehovah for modern medicine and surgery, homies. There's no way in hell The Hoss would have fit. Moreover, unlike after I had Sumo, I've been up and out and doing things. We took The Boys for a holiday photo, yesterday, in fact. After I had Sumo, I was totally incapacitated for a solid 6 weeks.

For those of you who are curious, Sumo is very much in love with his baby brother. He calls him, "MY baby" or "my favorite baby" and tries to soothe him when he's upset (see above).

I'm officially dying of hawtness in my house. Boo-ya, biotches!

Slacker, Thy Name Is Trannyhead

2009-10-06T18:30:00.010-04:00

I have a confession. I've become the worst blogger ever. Not only have I failed to update my own blog, but I've failed to read other people's blogs.

I don't know why, but I've been busier than ever despite the fact that my kid is in preschool two mornings a week and I'm not working right now. I've been running around like a madwoman schlepping to OB appointments, preparing for our vacation next week to Disney World, and browsing baby stores (to buy the MOADS, or mother of all double strollers ... you guys will die when I post a photo of this thing). Hopefully I'll be back with more blogging soon.

Anyway, things are crazy. Why am I trying to get ready for this baby so soon? Well ... while I may only be 30 weeks pregnant, I'm apparently measuring 3.5 weeks ahead of that. And no, the due date isn't wrong. And no, I don't have gestational diabetes. I have feet under my right ribs. I'm birthing a child who makes the Sumo look like a frail. I'm not making it to December 15, that's for damn sure. Helloooooo C-Section.

*ahem*

Despite all the insanity, I have managed to haul my pumpkin-like body around enough to let my kid partake in some fall festivities. We went to the pumpkin patch and Sumo took part in a variety of fall activities, including a corn maze, hay ride, and super slide. Hawt, right?

Behold!

Happy fall, biotches.

Top 10 Ways You Know You're Pregnant With a Toddler at Home

2009-09-29T08:02:00.002-04:00

1. You spend a significant portion of your day protecting your bulging abdomen from overly enthusiastic hugs from your toddler.

2. You are awakened in the morning by both internal and external kicks; one to the bladder, one to the spleen. You aren't sure which is worse.

3. You plan to spend your birthday morning going to an OB appointment because that's when your toddler is in preschool and you're ok with spending your birthday learning exactly how fat you've become.

4. You hear the phrase "Mommy's belly is round" and aren't offended, especially when it's accompanied by a kiss on the belly by a person who is 3 feet and one inch tall.

5. You spend a good portion of your day on the floor playing despite the fact that it's uncomfortable due to the varicose veins sprouting in your leg. Moreover, when you try to get off the floor, you look like an upside-down turtle.

6. You are advised to help avoid swelling and exacerbation of the aforementioned varicose veins by sitting with your feet elevated, and you laugh when you hear this advice. Maniacally.

7. You also laugh when you see people clearly pregnant with their first child who act all entitled as though they're the first woman ever to become pregnant. You try to convince yourself you never acted that lame when you were pregnant the first time. You hope it's true.

8. You routinely lift a 40 lbs person throughout the day despite the pregnancy and don't even think twice about doing so.

9. Men don't check you out and you're happy about it. (Exception: men with pregnancy fetishes. Eww.)

10. When you run out of prenantal vitamins, you happily take two gummy Flinstones instead.

He's Not Perfect

2009-09-19T09:15:00.005-04:00

I know my kid isn't perfect. No kid is. They all have their moments.

Sumo has one behavioral issue and it stems from his .... Sumoness. How do I describe it? It comes from his joie de vive. His enthusiasm and excitement. His social butterfly sensibilities. All of those things that make him who he is and make him so (in my Mommy opinion) spectacular.

What's the issue? He is too rough with other kids. Sure, when they're 2, they all occasionally hit or push or grab toys or whatever. But Sumo doesn't really do those things. No, his issue is tougher. He hugs other children and frequently gets so excited to see other kids that he tackles them to the ground. He grabs them in euphoria. He thinks they are ALL playing with him all the time, and doesn't understand why they start crying when he has thrown them to the ground. He always says "sorry, friend" and looks sad, but doesn't seem to be able to connect the behavior he's done to the crying. It's sad to see.

It's also impossible to get him to stop since he doesn't seem to get why they're upset. HE doesn't care if HE gets shoved/hit/tackled/pinched/kicked/etc. so he doesn't understand why other kids cry when he hug/tackles them to the ground. He thinks it's play. He thinks it's play when they kick him. He thinks it's play when he tackles them. THEY don't think it's play when he tackles them, and they start crying. He just doesn't get it.

It's posing an issue at preschool. Sumo goes two mornings a week, 3 hours each day. He LOVES it. He loves to be around other kids. Unfortunately, his ... Sumoness ... means that he takes out a lot of smaller, weaker kids. He is, after all, significantly bigger than even the oldest kids in his class. His teacher and I are both struggling.

If I had a penny for every time I say, "Calm down/be gentle" on a given day ... I'd be a rich woman.

Time out just doesn't work. He IS sorry when he does it, but doesn't seem to understand why the kids cry so he generally gets right back out of time out and does it again. He's unable to connect HIS behavior to THEIR response, in other words. If it were malicious I think it would be one thing, but his behavior really isn't malicious. It's just ... excitement. And Sumoness.

Talking to him about it doesn't work, either. "Look, honey, he's sad because you tackled him. You have to be gentle with people." He doesn't seem to understand. He goes and says, "Sorry," tries to give them a kiss on their boo-boo, and then does it again.

The closest thing I've found is trying to run the energy out of him. But, of course, when you take him to the playground, there are other kids that he tries to hug/tackle, so this isn't a perfect method. His dad is the one who tries to run the energy out of him with horseplay, but alas, this pregnant mama can't do horseplay right now and I'm the one here with him all day.

There's no tackle football for 2 year olds.

I'm sure that eventually, he'll understand the concept. He's a bright kid, and very verbal. In the mean time, I try to protect myself from Sumo beatdown by curling into the fetal position and protecting my ... well ... fetus in my abdomen from the euphoria. I sincerely hope Version 2.0 is as tough as Version 1.0 ... I imagine he will be.

In the mean time, I'm grateful for the Sumoness of my kid. I'm so glad he doesn't whine and snivel when other kids hit/punch/kick/beat/throw him to the ground. I hate wimpy kids. I also hate the ones who say, "I don't want to play with him." Eff you, you 3 year old biotch! And the ones who whine, "He hit me." My kid had the verbal skills to say both of those things, but he doesn't. My kid will play with anybody ... whether they want him to or not. I'm grateful that he's not mean-spirited and that he loves everybody and will give anybody (big, small, black, white, or polka dot) a hug.

I'm An Idiot And Other News Flashes

2009-09-13T08:16:00.015-04:00

Because I'm an idiot, we're going to Disney World in October. Yes, I'll be 32 weeks pregnant. Let that sink in for a minute. I'll be waddling around Disney World the size of Dumbo ... with swollen feet. I think some small children might think I'm a lost Disney character. You know, Tranny Head from the little-known Disney movie "There Are Fat Trannies Among Us?"

Anyway it was the only time we could take our 2-year old before we move overseas. It'll be our last trip as a 3-person family, and it'll be totally hawt.

This past weekend, we did a dry run at Busch Gardens. And I am happy to report that I made a certain Sumo-sized 2 year old's dream come true. He met Elmo.

See Sumo giving Elmo a hug.

We sprung for the Elmo photo, but I refused to pay for the Big Bird background picture.

See Sumo ride random boat thingie with his dad.

See Sumo eat ice cream. (As an aside - eating the ice cream in this manner was HIS idea, not mine.)

See Sumo swim at the water park.

See Sumo cheat at arcade games.
See Sumo play mini golf.
See Sumo cheat at mini golf.

See Sumo give up on mini golf and play with the elaborate pirate-themed set instead.

See an exhausted tranny head 26 weeks pregnant.
Yes, I'm already that huge. If I hear one more person say "Woah - and you've got a looong way to go" I swear I'll use a golf club on them. And not the blue plastic one, either.

Bigfoot is Real ... and He Lives in My House

2009-09-03T07:55:00.004-04:00

The weather change has begun. It's been downright lovely here in Metropolis, and fall is in the air. Football season is starting. My 2 year old, Sumo, went to his preschool orientation yesterday. He's going to attend school 2 mornings a week.

All of this got me thinking. I need to do the fall toddler clothes shopping.

But this year, I've run into a snafu.

I cannot find shoes to fit my biiiiig 2 year old.

You see, my kid needs a 9. Maybe even a 9.5. Extra Extra wide.

Sounds simple, right? Wrong. Stride Rite doesn't sell shoes that long that are also that wide. Hell, even CROCS are too narrow for my kid's feet.

Up until now, he's worn See Kai Run shoes. I have loved them. Unfortunately, they only go up to a 9 and many of the styles are no longer wide enough for his feet. The bigger See Kai Run shoes are also narrower. I'm screwed.

What am I supposed to do? Let him wear sandals in the snow?

I have been to shoes.com, zappos.com, endless.com, and others. I cannot find a single pair. Surely I'm not the first person to have this problem? What do I do, find a cobbler? I need some elves up in here. The ones that sit in a tree with little mallets and manufacture little wooden Dutch shoes.

Amazingly, the kid's feet don't look that big. They are perfectly proportional to the rest of his body which is ... well ... also big. 37 inches and 39 lbs. to be exact. He can wear my husband's hat ... that's how big his head is. His hands look like a 5 year old's. Hell, HE sort of looks like a 5 year old.

I guess I should just grateful that Bigfoot here isn't hairy yet and doesn't leave his leg hairs all over the bathroom floor ....

Yes! We're Alive - and in a Fried Shrimp Coma

2009-08-30T07:22:00.013-04:00

I know you've been on pins and needles wondering where the hell your trannyhead has been. (If you haven't been wondering, pretend like you have.)

The Sumo and I went on a 2 week vacation to my parents' house Down South. My husband didn't have any vacation time, so he didn't come along. It was just the two of us. Round-trip solo flights while 6 months preggo with a 2 year old, one of which was an hour late? I don't recommend to anybody. Anyhoo, I thought you might like visual aids to see we were up to.

We went to the beach ...

For those of you who are wondering. Yes, I really did grow up in paradise. The Garden of Eden with fried shrimp.
And landscapes that look like this ...

And occasionally, you get magnificent natural lighting. But your 2 year old cooperates by making this face:

We also goofed off with the garden hose ...

And goofed off in general ...

And did about a thousand other things I just don't have time to include right now. I'm sure you missed me ... but now we're baa-aaack!

Yes, You Heard Me Correctly.

2009-08-12T09:05:00.004-04:00

A couple of years ago, my husband and I were unloading groceries from my bumper-sticker-laden car and a neighbor approached us. "So you went to [insert big-name, snooty-assed university here]?" he asked my husband. "You know your football team sucks, right?"

"Actually," my husband answered. "My wife went there. I went to [insert lesser-known school here."

"Oh," the guy looked shocked. "Well your football team still sucks." He looked at me sheepishly.

"Yeah, well. Maybe, but our basketball team doesn't." I answered.

He had nothing. He was still in shock.

********************

Fast forward to yesterday.

I had to have blood drawn at a military health facility. "So what does your husband do?" the phlebotomist asked.

"He's a JAG," I said.

"Uh-oh," he said. "A lawyer's wife! I'd better be careful."

"Actually," I said. "I'm also a lawyer."

His jaw almost hit the floor. He was stunned. "Really?!" he said.

I find this phenomenon interesting. I'm not sure what's so shocking about my background. Is it because I'm a chick? Is it because I have blonde hair and huge tatas? I'd guess it was just because I was pregnant, but it's happened before when I wasn't pregnant. I'd guess it was just because I'm a JAG wife, but it's happened when I wasn't a JAG wife.

I asked the phlebotomist, "Why do people always look shocked when I say that?"

He thought for a minute. "I don't know," he said. "You just don't see a lot of lawyers married to other lawyers?"

I know that's a load of crap. I know plenty of lawyers married to other lawyers.

It has to have something to do with my appearance. Or maybe my gender. Is it some sort of subtle sexism? You know, like that riddle about the kid who gets into the car accident with his father. The father is killed, but the kid is rushed to the hospital. When he arrives the surgeon says, "I can't operate on this boy, he is my son!" How is this possible? Well, the answer, of course, is that the surgeon is his mother.

Whatever it is, I admit I take a certain pleasure in the shock and awe. I'm a nasty biotch like that.

Water Parks, Rodents, and Popsicles

2009-08-10T07:48:00.011-04:00

So summer finally decided to show up here in the northeast. At least for a weekend. Besides the fact that my extremities are starting to swell, we've been having a pretty good time here in the Trannyhead house. I thought you might like to see what we've been up to.

We've been outside as much as possible. Popsicles, of course, make any heat bearable. So do water parks. We took the big man to his very first water park. He thought it was totally hawt.

On a personal note, I'm pretty sure that when I got in the water, there was enough water displacement to wash everybody else out of the pool. Moreover, the sight of me in a maternity bathing suit is clearly sufficient to ensure that 16 year old boys use condoms.

Believe it or not, I only went into a hormonal rage once despite the heat. Some old crone said, "I hope you put sunscreen on that child." My response? "No, actually, I like to take my blonde-haired, blue-eyed, fair-skinned child out and watch him burn like a vampire." Ok, maybe it was overkill, but I'm knocked up. At least I have an excuse for ripping people a new one when they meddle in my affairs. Moving right along.

Dude - those curlies are totally in his eyes when they're wet. Maybe he needs a swimming headband. Moving right along.

Of course, when it was just too hot to be outside, we took Sumo to the rodent. Yes, the rodent. You know the one. The overpriced disease factory where people take their poorly behaved children and let them run around unsupervised, pushing small toddlers to the ground? Yeah, that one. My kid loves the place. Oh, and PS - he cheats at skee ball.

Don't worry. He doesn't actually get any tickets for his cheating. You see, the skee ball got smart on us and has a big "error" message when you pull a Sumo and refuses to dispence tickets. My kid doesn't care - it's just how he rolls. Or ... er ... throws into the buckets while bellowing "1,2,3,4,5,6,7,,9,10!" (I'm not sure why he counts, except that there are numbers on the buckets.) When you're 2, you can get away with pretty much anything.

On Love and Forgiveness

2009-08-07T07:35:00.005-04:00

Whom do you credit for raising you besides your parents? Maybe it's a grandparent. Maybe it's a teacher at your school who took special interest. Maybe it's an older sibling.

For me? It was our maid, Betty. (Name changed for privacy.) Of course, Down South where I come from, she probably was referred to as "help." She came to our house several days a week (it was past the era in which it was PC to have help every day), and cleaned up while I followed her around and listened to her sing hymns and pray. She used a rug comb to comb down the fringes on my mother's Oriental rugs and I'd deliberately mess them up just so I could help her do it again. I'm sure it drove her nuts, but she would smile and half-scold me without really meaning it.

The closer I get to delivering my second child, the more I think about her. She was beautiful. Her skin was dark and her gray hair smooth on top, with little curls on the sides of her face. She always wore a dress and an apron. She had childhood polio, and one of her arms was crippled, but she could do anything a person with two arms could do. I adored her.

I knew even as a little kid that she wasn't an equal with the rest of my mom's friends because I was supposed to call her by her first name. (In the South, children NEVER call an adult by their first name unless it's preceded by the word "Aunt" or is a maid or similar worker.) Betty was traditional, and always referred to my mom as "Miss [first name]" despite my mom's efforts to stop her from doing so. Children pick up on subtle differences like these. It embarrasses me to even think about it now. I hope she can forgive us. She deserved so much better. A title of nobility, even.

She took care of us in every sense of the word. She baked the most magnificent sweet potato pies. She'd always bring me one and my dad would always eat most of it before I could even get a piece. They were best served warm. I asked her for the recipe, but she didn't have one. She just eyeballed stuff and threw it in together.

We had a particularly bad hurricane, once. Betty lived way out in the country and she had power and water restored long before we did closer to the beach. I'll never forget that she invited us out to her house in the country to take showers, wash our clothes, and eat delicious slabs of sweet potato pie.

Eventually, she retired from taking care of us. She still lives in her house in the country. I took my son out to visit her and was struck by how far away she lives. I couldn't believe she drove all that way just to clean up our mess. She seemed very happy that I brought him to visit and showered him with hugs and sent us home with home-grown produce, bread, and, of course, sweet potato pie.

Betty is very peaceful. Her house is quiet and filled with Bibles and pictures of her many smiling grandchildren. She told me they come over almost every day. I hope they can become doctors and lawyers and presidents (paths that simply weren't available to African American women when Betty was growing up). I hope they don't ever call a white woman "Miss" preceded by their first name. I hope they know their grandmother is a saint.

I don't know how she really felt about her relationship with our family. I'm sure it's complex. I know she cared about us. I don't know if she was angry that she had a career of cleaning up after white families. I don't know if she felt insulted that white children called her by her first name. I can only guess that she did. When I went to see her, Obama had just been elected. She told me that the election of a black man gave her great hope for the country. I told her it gave me great hope, too.

I hope her grandchildren have just as bright a future as my children.

And I hope she can forgive us.

Bellies, Bears, and the Color Blue

2009-08-04T10:17:00.005-04:00

Let's take a break from all of the self-eyeball-lickers over on my last post to indulge in a little cuteness, shall we?

I bought my very first thing for the new baby boy who will arrive in December so that his ride home from the hospital won't be so chilly. I bought the newborn size, though I am not entirely sure it'll fit. I remember Sumo was able to squeeze into newborn-sized clothes for the first two weeks even though he was born well above the weight limit of them. The 3 month looked way too big for a newborn, though.

Buying something makes the pregnancy seem much more real. Otherwise, there's just the unsettling feeling that I look like an orca for no reason. Well, except for the whole hic-cup baby thing and the whole kicking in the spleen thing and the whole peeing every 5 minutes thing.

I find that I'm coping much better with this pregnancy than I was with the last one. I'm not in my 3rd trimester of hell yet, but thus far, the discomforts seem more bearable this time. Part of it is that I know how wonderful Kid #1 is so I am even more excited since I know what to expect. Part of it is that I know the weight gain DOES go away and that I won't look like an orca forever. Part of it is that I'm not in law school and am not suffering through mind-numbing boredom every day. Whatever it is, I'm finding that this pregnancy is going by a lot faster and a lot more pleasantly than the first.

Bring on December!

Why Are Other Parents So Deranged?

2009-08-01T09:24:00.007-04:00

Parenting is a freak show.

No, I'm not talking about the KIDS part. I'm talking about dealing with other parents.

Look, I have seen a lot of freaks in my time. I went to a high-level girls' prep school full of anorexics and crazed overachievers. I went to a Big Name, top 10 university. I've worked at Big Law firms. I have been to law school.

And yet nothing could have adequately prepared me for the freak show that is other parents.

There is so much insanity that this post could go a thousand different directions, but I'm going to try to hone it down to the "I know what's best for your baby" parents. In my experience, the three worst offenders are:

1. The militant breastfeeders.

Look, I'm all about the bewb. My kid had bewb for 18 months before I had to rip it from his greedy little mouth. Unfortunately, despite my best efforts, I couldn't make enough milk to keep my gigantic baby filled up and from the very first day, he had to be supplemented with formula. The hospital's deranged lactation ~~consultant~~ insultant was convinced that I wasn't trying hard enough. Yeah - well - when my son became lethargic and stopped pooping because he wasn't getting enough nutrition, I went for the formula. Sorry. They make formula for a reason. Nobody should be belittled if they have to (or want to) use it. Mind your own business regarding new mothers' bewbs, damnit.

2. The deranged anti-C-Section contingent.

So - as I've mentioned, I'm having a C-Section with Baby Boy #2. My first son came out the same way he came in (all 9 and a half lbs of him). To make a long and gory story short, there was a lot of epidural fail, pain, vacuum, and injury that took a whole year to heal. Baby Boy #2 is looking even bigger than my first kid. Slice me open, doc.

There are a bunch of jackasses out there who are convinced that how I choose to have a baby matters to them. Why? I don't understand. The only people this effects are the Trannyhead and the baby. Why do these people care? In my opinion, birth is simply a momentary event in the life of the baby. Who cares how it happens as long as you get a healthy baby out of it? And why would you think it is ok to tell somebody not to have a C-Section when she and the doctor have decided it's in the mom and baby's best interest?

I think these people are too busy trying to lick their own eyeballs to think about these questions, frankly.

3. The anti-circumcision "you're performing male genital mutilation" parents.

This last group is one that only parents of boys have to cope with.

For the record, I am pro-circumcision ever since (recent) studies have shown that HIV rates are significantly reduced in circumcised men. To me, it's no different than giving your daughter the HPV vaccine. Not that you want to encourage promiscuous sex, but to try to protect your kids from themselves. But I understand and accept that not everybody feels that way.

Apparently, some people don't understand that there is a rational choice to circumcise or not to circumcise. That is, they reject the idea that there are valid reasons for wanting circumcision. They are convinced that there is never any reason to circumcise and that if you do it, you're a sick, twisted mofo. It really doesn't bother me that they're anti-circumcision. I respect that. It's the fact that they have to tell you their opinion and how you're wrong to do it that pisses me off.

If you think I'm a sick, twisted mofo? Fine. That's cool. I don't care. All I ask is that you just keep your insanity to yourself.

Please lick your own eyeball quietly in the corner. Thank you for your attention to this matter.

There's a Reason I Look Like an Orca

2009-07-31T07:35:00.004-04:00

I'm giving birth to Babyzilla.

Hubby and I went in for our big 20 week ultrasound last Friday, and learned a few things.

1. Never be the last appointment of the week at an ultrasound place. Trust me - you'll regret it. This woman was so annoyed that the baby wasn't cooperative she made me lie on a tilted exam table with my head down and feet up to try to get him to move into position. Yeah, like the thing at the chiropractor's office. This is not a position I recommend for a pregnant woman. It's like a sexual deviant position with none of the fun. Besides the fact that blood rushes to your head, there's the oh-so-savory sensation of your organs being crushed by your uterus. I am familiar with that sensation, and prefer not to have it until the 3rd trimester, thankyouverymuch.

2. I'm measuring a full 2 weeks ahead, this time. That's bigger than Sumo at 20 weeks, who was measuring around 5 days ahead at that point. Baby Boy #2 is a hoss.

If there had been any lingering doubts in my mind about my planned C-Section, those doubts are totally eradicated with that knowledge. The doc wants to schedule me for a week ahead of my due date.

He may look like Skeletor, now, but he's guaranteed to be a beast.

It Was Like a Small Pile of Poo on a Cookie Cake

2009-07-28T07:29:00.004-04:00

I could write a sappy post about my son's 2nd birthday. I could talk about how it's amazing that he's a running, talking, laughing toddler instead of a little baby. I could talk about how much fun he had with his new tricycle or how much he enjoyed his Mickey Mouse-themed party.

Instead?

I'm going to show you a pile of poo on a cookie.

On a cookie cake worthy of Cakewrecks, I would like to demonstrate our good friend Mickey Mouse. Or at least that's what it's supposed to be.

I'm going with deformed panda. Or bad Japanime.

Hey! Maybe it's like one of those ink blot tests! There IS no right answer! You're just supposed to say the first thing that you see!

I wonder what it says about me that I first saw a pile of poo?

The Best Two Years of my Life in Photos

2009-07-21T08:01:00.078-04:00

I simply cannot help myself. The big man turns 2 on Saturday, July 25. I have thus created the Mother Of All Photo Posts. The MOAPP.

I know it's a ton of photos. I have no idea if anybody is going to stick it out and look through all of them, but I sure enjoyed putting them on here because it gave me an excuse to look back over the past two years.

If you DO look through them, you'll notice a few things. First, the quality of photography improves A LOT towards the end. Sorry, Sumo, about those pictures of the first year of your life. I'll do better from now on. Promise. Second, there are new 2 year old portraits of the Sumo down at the bottom. Third? We used to have a really fugly sofa. (Don't blame me - we got it for free. Fourth? You're going to see pictures of the best two years of my life.

Happy birthday, hoss.

Baby Doll Fail

2009-07-14T08:07:00.008-04:00

We're just about halfway through with the pregnancy, now, and it's time to start preparing Sumo for his new (85% likelihood of male) sibling. (We'll know for sure what the gender is next week.)

We've talked to Sumo about the new baby. Though at 23 months, who knows how much is sinking in? I noticed he took some minor interest in a little boy's (we saw him at the pool) baby doll and had an idea. What if I got Sumo a baby brother doll to help him learn how to be gentle with the baby, how we're going to feed the baby, and how to hold the baby? I'm an effing genius, I thought.

Until I went to Toys R Us to procure a male baby doll.

Total fail.

I know other bloggers have discussed the freakiness of baby dolls in previous posts, but nothing can prepare you for the true horror when you go down that pink aisle. There are so many options. Besides the fact that almost all of the dolls look dead, they do weird things. There are no basic dolls, anymore. They all laugh, pee, cry, or move. Or all of the above.

In fact, when you walk down the aisle, these plastic babies begin to crawl, wiggle, and laugh demonically as you approach.

And really, do you want something that looks like this to move? Aren't its turtle-like face and its splayed fingers terrifying enough without motion?

(Source)

I don't want a doll that does freaky things. I just want a basic doll. A basic, male doll.

I found this:

(Source)

Is it just me or does that child have a mushroom-shaped toupee? I don't think that the mushroom hair makes this kid male. Nor do the son-of-Damien looking eyes. He's androgynous at best. Moreover, he looks nothing like a baby.

I continued my search.

Finally, I discovered that they did have one male baby doll.

He's even anatomically correct! Well, that means he has boy parts. I'm not sure how anatomically correct the giant, gaping hole in his lips is.

(Source)

I'm ok with the fact that he has boy parts, actually. I can imagine the hilarity that will ensue when Sumo explains to his easily-traumatized grandmother, Granilla, that his baby doll brother has a "peenish." In fact, that mental image alone is almost enough to make me go back to Toys-R-Us and buy him right now.

The only reason I didn't procure him was that he pees. I figured with two actual male children who pee, I didn't need to spend money on a plastic one who does so, as well.

And so, I went to Toys-R-Us searching for a baby doll, and left with this instead.
(Source)

While I'm sure my kid will like this much, much better than a doll, it has nothing to do with baby brothers.

Unless you count the fact that Sumo can now bludgeon the new baby in the head with the plastic hammer ....

MILF Roundup Number 106: The International Law ... Er .... European Edition

2009-07-13T09:16:00.004-04:00

I have once again been asked to guest host the MILP (Moms in the Legal Profession) weekly blog roundup. Because I like the word MILF better and am the guest host so I get to decide, we're going to call this the Moms in the Legal Field roundup. This is a weekly post done on a rotating basis between a few hawt bloggers and is supposed to appear on Sunday. I suck, so I'm doing it on Monday. But I'm pregnant. So I figure that in some way, that has to provide an excuse.

I've decided to make this week's theme the International Law edition ... because I'm moving abroad, and I'm self-centered like that. (SQUEEEE!!!!!!)

Over at Starting to Melt, Cee teaches her kid the joys of a good Oktoberfest. Who am I kidding? This week's theme has nothing to do whatsoever with international law, but it DOES have to do with Europe! (Insert major Trannyhead ego fest here.) Screw it, it's the European edition.

Over at Adventures of Out Law Mama, Dakota learns that the American ideal of working hard just plain sucks, and the European ideal of drinking instead is superior.

Butterflyfish decides to ditch the British stiff upper lip in favor of a major gnashing of teeth session.

LagLiv discusses the benefits of a la carte style dining.

JD Wannabe learns that there are worse fashion faux pas than wearing socks with your Teva sandals. (I realize that this is technically a post from last week, but it's hilarious so I'm using it anyway. And I'm the host, so I get to be insane like that.)

Magic Cookie teaches us that pretending to be European royalty is just plain wrong.

Proto Attorney really loathes the Bar Exam and feels that her state's attempts to make it about going on a lovely holiday while bass-fishing are just plain wrong. This is America. We don't take holidays, damnit.

Googiebaba tells us how the peon wants to address his feudal oppressor in front of a judge.

And Leo shows us that her beverage of choice while studying for the Bar is Italian sparkling water.

(Check back later for PTLawMom's update. It seems that her website is experiencing technical difficulties.)

********************

On another note, there is a sad passing to note. You readers may want to know that:

A friend of mine, who is also a blogger, recently deleted her entire blog. This blogger (let's just call her "ND") is a single mother and a public interest lawyer, and a few weeks ago she was forced to take her blog down suddenly. She wasn't allowed to say goodbye to her readers or offer any explanation as to why she deleted her blog, and I know that she feels really awful about this. Please don't mention the name of her blog in any of the comments to this post, but if you wish to say goodbye to her, she is most likely reading and would love to hear from you.

This blog was witty, inspiring, and the source of much latent lesbian fantasizing on my part. I'm sad, as I know you other readers must be, to see it go. It will be missed.

Boo-YA!

2009-07-10T09:31:00.004-04:00

The Trannyhead is one seriously excited woman, today.

So ... you regular readers will know that my husband is going back on active duty as a JAG, right? Well ... we got our orders!

We get to stay here in Metropolis for a year (hubby will be on active duty in the local area) to finish out the pregnancy with my current doctor. SO excited about not switching doctors in the middle of pregnancy. And then?

We're going to Europe.

YEE-HAW!

I like to string you guys along a little, so I'm not going to tell you where, exactly. But suffice it to say that my tall, blonde child (and what will likely be another tall, blonde child) is going to fit right in where we're going ....

And we're UBER *ahem* excited!

Thing Not To Do # 3456: Take Toddler to OBGYN

2009-07-07T07:44:00.000-04:00

I knew it was going to suck.

I always schedule my OB appointments for as late in the day as possible so that my husband can come home from work early to take over toddler duty while I go to the doctor. Unfortunately, for last week's 16 week appointment, hubby couldn't get away from work early enough. I was left with no choice but to take the toddler with me. And yes, I knew it was going to be unpleasant.

It would have been ok, really. You know how I said that I always take the last appointment? Yeah, well. That means that if they've been running behind all day, I'm screwed. If the appointment had been on time, we would have been in and out of there in 10 minutes. The 16 week appointment is an easy weigh/listen to baby stop in. Unfortunately, they had patients before me with major complications. We had to wait for over an hour in the waiting room to be seen.

OVER AN HOUR. WITH A 23 MONTH OLD.

Within 15 minutes, we exhausted the small supply of toddler toys in the waiting room. Within 20 minutes, we had consumed the bribery goldfish crackers I had brought along. Within 30, I wanted to peel out my eye with a spoon.

The thing I didn't understand was that all the preggos in the waiting room with me were giving me the stink eye. WTF? "I guess this is your first pregnancy. Just you WAIT, biotch," I thought to myself. "One day this will be you."

They decided after 45 minutes that at least I could go do a blood draw. I waddled back in there with the stroller. My kid took one look at the needles and commenced major bellow session. First, he thought they were going to hurt him. Then, he thought they were going to hurt me. Both resulted in epic hearing loss for anybody within a 4 mile radius.

"Should they stay back here in an exam room or go back to the waiting room?" I heard the tech ask.

"TAKE THEM BACK TO THE WAITING ROOM!" I heard a nurse bellow.

There was no way in hell they wanted us to sit back there a second longer than necessary. Though I must admit, I think we would have been seen faster if we'd stayed back in an exam room. More noise = faster service. But back to the waiting room we went. Insert more dirty looks from fellow patients here. Insert more squirmy toddler frustration.

Finally, we were ushered back to an actual exam room where we got to listen to the baby's heart. My toddler liked this. He thought this was great fun. Until he determined he couldn't hold the medical equipment.

*sigh*

At least he's cute.

How to Enjoy July 4

2009-07-05T11:44:00.006-04:00

Like most dogs, most toddlers are terrified by fireworks.

Most. NOT my kid.

My kid cried when the fireworks were over.

My kid said, "fireworks again? More fireworks please? More?"

Because really, what's more American than using an ancient Chinese technology to blow shiz up?

(As an aside, I have no idea who the hell this woman is holding my child, but her hair is totally hawt. It was hard for me to see the fireworks seeing as I had a big white box over my head. People behind me kept screaming, "You with the box on your head! We can't see!" I gave them the finger.)

Happy 4th, biotches.

Made From Scratch

2009-07-02T07:44:00.006-04:00

There are things I never thought in a million years I'd be doing.

If you had told me when I was in high school that I would be an Army wife, I would have laughed in your face. If you'd told me I would have loved being at home with my son? I would have snorted. Hell, if you had told me two years ago that I would be pregnant again already, I would have peed myself (due to hysteria and lack of bladder control post-delivering a 9 and a half lbs. baby).

But one thing trumps all.

A few weeks ago, I made birthday invitations for my son's second birthday. I MADE THEM.

I know there are lots of crafty moms out there. The ones who like to scrapbook, make hand-made Halloween costumes, and bake cookies. I'm all about outsourcing. My scrapbooks? Are done at Shutterfly. My Halloween costumes will ALWAYS be store-bought. I can't even hem. And cookies? I might bake them if I can get my hands on some pre-made Otis Spunkmeyer dough. Well, if I don't eat all the dough raw first, of course.

But I MADE BIRTHDAY INVITATIONS. I'd show them to you, but there was so much personal info on there that needed to be redacted that you couldn't even see the damn thing when I was done with it. Just trust me when I say they were Mickey Mouse shaped, covered in crafty hawtness, and decidedly out of trannyhead character.

I was disturbed. I had looked at the Mickey Mouse-themed invitations in the store, decided they were unworthy, and summarily dismissed them. WTF? Since when do I think homemade is better? I'm having an identity crisis, readers.

Equally disturbing, I'm not whining too much about being pregnant, yet. Granted, I'm only 16 weeks, so I'm not uncomfortable. BUT. I have been much more tolerant of the various symptoms this time. I know the weight gain will go away. The sinus headaches due not to congestion, but to swollen sinus tissue, are making me insane. Especially since everything I've tried (and believe me, I've tried it all) does jack. However, I know that they will eventually pass. The kicking I can now feel in my lower abdomen hasn't lost its charm, yet. I'm even tolerating the fact that Baby #2 is already measuring big.

I'm FREAKING OUT HERE, people. I began to doubt myself. Am I losing my inner tranny head?!

No.

One thing is continuous.

The tranny rage.

While I might be more tolerant this time of kicks to my bladder, I'm decidedly intolerant of everybody and everything else. My hormonal rage knows no bounds.

Now please excuse me while I go rip somebody a new one for parking in the "pregnant" spot when they aren't pregnant. It's therapeutic, really.

I must counteract my craft-making by practicing my craft.

23 Months

2009-06-25T00:00:00.001-04:00

Twenty three months. How is this possible?

A year ago, he looked like this:
A chubby little baby.

Now? He spends his time doing this:

And we're only a month away from 2.

In honor of 23 months, I'm going to provide you with 10 fun facts about the Sumo.

1. He can now sing the alphabet song. He can also point to and identify letters correctly 95% of the time.

2. He is a total mama's boy. I realize that some of this is his age, but some of it I think may have to do with his dad's deployment. I've been the only constant caregiver in his life, and he's very distressed when I leave for any reason. In fact, he apparently cried for an hour when I left him with my husband for a grocery store excursion this past weekend. It's frustrating, but I'm sure he'll grow out of it.

3. He wants a dog. He tells me this 11,000 times a day. "Mama, I want a dog/puppy." Seeing as we're moving soon, I think the dog wish is a ways off. But soon, perhaps.

4. He's still a total daredevil. Afraid of nothing and no one.

5. Related to #4, he lives in a perpetual state of bruises and scrapes. Thankfully, he's not a wimp. I frequently have people tell me, "Wow - he's tough. He didn't react to that? That's amazing."

6. He likes to watch Ninja Warrior.

7. He likes to eat fried okra.

8. He now says, "I love you, mama."

9. His hair remains fantastic, though it's getting annoying that he's basically a one man band wherever we go. People point and stare and want to touch it, which irritates me to no end.

10. He's totally hawt. Duh.

Family Festivities

2009-06-22T07:42:00.002-04:00

You readers know my parents, the Vanillas (so named because of their preferences for bland food). You don't know the extended fam. Until now. DUN DUN DUNH!!!!!

Ok, well, at least you're going to get to know their parties. This weekend, a relative on my dad's side had a big festivity and Granilla ~~guilt tripped~~ strongly encouraged us to attend, so we decided to take the road trip. Now, there's something you ought to know about my relatives' parties. They're always awesomely bad.

Take, for example, the wednic on my dad's side. Yes, that's right. A wednic. It's a picnic wedding in which guests are asked to bring their own food, stay to clean up, and arrive early for an optional 5k run in the morning.

Or perhaps I should bring up the "hitchin'" on my mom's side. This is a wedding invitation which comes in the mail with his and her cowboy boots on the front of it and takes place in the yard behind the trailer.

Or there was the function (again on Dad's side) at a Golden Corral type place in which we were supposed to pay for our own food.

Ah, the memories.

For those of you who are familiar with Granilla, you'll now understand her horror level. You see, for most of us, such social faux pas are entertaining. My mother is a Southern high society blue blood. She can't stand anything that's tacky, and tacky entertaining? Well, that's just the ultimate in horrors for her. This is a woman who is traumatized when people put in a card with the wedding invitation that gives the address of the wedding website with the registry information on it. Hell, she's horrified when people use a wedding invitation other than traditional white or ecru with engraved script. This is a woman who uses words like "crass." And she was set to attend this weekend's party. *snort*

Well, we showed up for the party with our 22 month old. I figured it would be a fairly unstructured event at 4:00 pm with maybe some appetizers, lemonade, and socializing with people I hadn't seen in forever.

Instead, it was a sit down dinner. At 4:00 pm. wtf?

After this dinner, we were asked to take our plastic plates, bang them on the trash can to dump out the contents, and recycle them. This was a detail particularly disturbing to Granilla, who also witnessed a big, fat woman licking her fingers. Oh, the horrors!

But the real disaster? Three hours of slide show interspersed with commentary from each of this relative's children. For unknown reasons, the children took this as an opportunity for a confessional. It was rather like a cathartic AA meeting as each kid got up there and talked about how he or she had been on the wrong track and yet had reformed and was a born again Christian. THREE HOURS. I wanted to shoot myself.

Why do people think that anybody wants to see their family photographs for that long? I can understand maybe putting 20 pictures up there. But really - THREE HOURS?! Three hours.

My 22 month old, of course, couldn't stay in the room for all of this insanity and my husband and I spent the entire party chasing him around outside until we deemed we'd struggled long enough, and left.

Three hours of slides. THREE HOURS OF SLIDES.

Just thinking about it makes me shudder involuntarily. I would have rather been at the wednic or the hitchin' any day than at a 3 hour slideshow.

Please, gentle readers, if you are considering planning a large anniversary or birthday party, do NOT inflict such horrors on your guests. Just let them show up, mingle, and go home. Don't make them suffer. If they have a toddler, the car trip to get to your function was enough suffering.

Low Riders

2009-06-17T07:00:00.001-04:00

So we're really lucky, this summer. We have lots of local pools to choose from in my area, including one with a hawt sand pit where kids can dig, get filthy, and generally enjoy themselves.

While at the sand pit, I noticed a shocking phenomenon.

Do you see it?

That's right. My kid has thinned out enough that his pants don't stay up. *gasp*

There's still some chub and whatnot, but it ain't what it used to be.

There is still, of course, total hawtness.

The best part about digging in the sand when you're a toddler is the little foot shower thingie to clean off before you get back in the pool.

Er ... if you can get it to work, that is.

Keep at it, hoss.

Ah, there you go.

I've heard of drinking from the fire hose, but this? Is hawtness. Enjoy.

I'm A Real Lawyer And Stuff

2009-06-16T15:58:00.005-04:00

Today was a day about four years in the making.

It began with sitting for the LSAT one cold winter morning. It continued with starting law school as a part time student (I was working at a firm at the time). It went ahead on during a pregnancy, a birth, my husband's deployment to Iraq, and full-time student status. I kept going until graduation. Then I studied 6 weeks for the bar. Then I sat for the big test and waited for my results.

It's now over. Today I was sworn in.

I wish I could tell you it was a romantic and wonderful experience where I instantly became Perry Mason. But it wasn't.

Actually, I had to be at a courthouse at 8:00 am. The courthouse was so far from my house that I had to spend the night in a hotel, and because there was no childcare, my husband had to stay home with Kid #1 so I went alone. When I got there, I discovered the parking lot was well over a mile from the courthouse. I then schlepped that distance in my heels while my feet screamed in agony. I discovered that apparently, my feet are already growing with this pregnancy because my shoes no longer fit. By the time I finally arrived at the courthouse, I had blisters and I was sweating profusely.

I waited around for about 45 minutes before I was escorted into a small, sweaty courtroom. The chairs were apparently designed for 6 year olds as not a single adult fit into their allotted seat. The only way we could fit was by crossing our arms across our chests and cramming our knees together. Even then, we had to alternate with one lawyer leaning forward while the next one leaned back against the seat. That's how small it was. As a pregnant woman, there wasn't a lot of cramming I could do. Our thighs touched. I was still sweating profusely and my hair was a hawt mess. When I had to stand up and say the oath, I almost passed out.

Yes, I wish I could say it was a romantic experience, though I suppose it was more fitting this way. Much like the legal profession is often not what it appears to be, my swearing in didn't turn out the way I thought it would. Unlike my husband's swearing in, there were no cheering family members or pictures taken at my swearing in. (I did bring one of my kids to the swearing in, though, even if he couldn't see very much of the ceremony.) Similarly, not every lawyer is Perry Mason, rich, or argues cases in court. Because I worked in the legal field for several years before I went to law school, I had more perspective than most lawyer wannabes who show up for their first day of law school having never seen the inside of a courtroom. But I have still been surprised. Today, I was surprised when some of the newly minted lawyers forgot to stand up when the panel of judges left the room. Yes, they (and I) still have much to learn.

But I'll admit it. It feels pretty damn good for this long journey to be over. I can add that "Esq." to my name, now. It's finally over, and yet it's only just beginning.