"Don't Judge Me"

So, I had sex last night. Obviously, I failed at following doctor's orders. If I waited the full 6 weeks, the only type of sex I'd be having is with my vibrator since Christopher would be gone. So, sorry doc!

I felt like a horrible mother. The first time having sex with a new baby sharing the same roof was just kind of weird. I know, I'll get over it. It just kind of freaked me out a little. So, we rushed it. And rushing it was probably a horrible idea. They really aren't lying when they say that breastfeeding dries you out. Apparently in the last four weeks, the fucking Sahara Desert has taken up residence in my underpants. Of course we didn't have lube because this normally is a non-issue for us. Combine that with having to get used to Christopher again after 4 weeks and it was like losing my virginity. And really, how fucking fun was that the first time around? Afterwards, I went to get Isabella and she had at some point thrown up all over herself. As I picked up my baby with throw up all over her head, I was convinced that CPS was going to break down my door and whisk her away.

I was determined to make tonight better. Before leaving the house, I informed Christopher that we needed to buy lube and condoms. His response? "The commissary has self check out right?" So off we went to the commissary. As he got ready to get out of the car I told him to grab some bread. He laughs and says, "Lube, condoms, and bread. Great combination!"

A little while later I see him walking back to the car shaking his head. He had gone through a regular line and two teenage girls were the cashier and bagger. All he could say when they rang him up was "Don't judge me."

It would have made my day to check out a guy who purchased those items. I would have come up with all sorts of sick shit he would be using the bread for instead of actually making sandwiches.

Oh, and tonight was better. The grilled cheese sandwiches were also good.

Time. I gots none.

Deployment is quickly approaching. I knew it was coming but it just didn't seem real until now.

My parents are flying in a week before he leaves so that I don't have to drive to the airport with Isabella by myself. That would be an absolute nightmare. They'll be in charge of Operation Psycho Watch after he deploys. I don't think I'll turn into a total nut job but I'm not on any anti-depressants, I'm still only 3 weeks postpartum, and this is our first deployment so it's better safe than sorry.

Having my parents here during his last week is obviously not an ideal situation. Our already limited family time and his limited daddy-daughter time is going to be somewhat divided between two first time grandparents. For my sanity however, it's necessary. I'm not worried about my dad. He's my best friend, he's extremely laid back, and he is prior military so he knows the deal and he knows what we're facing. My psychotic Korean mother on the other hand... I already want to murder. I've asked my dad to leave her at home but I don't think it's going to happen. I am positive that she will ruin Christopher's last week with us. I want to tear my hair out when I'm Skyping with my dad and she butts into our conversations. I get that she wants to give "advice" but you'd have to know my mother to know that any advice she has, you don't fucking want it. She's Korean, she's superstitious, she grew up in the boonies (no, seriously), logic and common sense mean absolutely nothing to her, medical advancements and technology also don't mean dick to her, and unless she heard it on the Korean news or from another Korean, it just isn't true.

Want an example of the ridiculousness I have to deal with?
- Upon seeing Isabella in her Fisher Price swing, "It's too fast! That's not good for the baby! Ask the doctor!"
- My cat died of pneumonia brought on by the Feline Leukemia Virus in 2007. In 2008, I developed asthma (I've always had allergies). My mom's conclusion? I got asthma from my cat. Seriously...
- Shooting Isabella's newborn photos, we cranked up the heat in the entire house because we knew she was going to be naked. Seeing this on Skype (even though we're in tank tops and shorts) my mom starts in on me about how the baby is cold and we need to put clothes on her. She says this at least 5 times within a 15 minute span.

I get that it's a different culture. I've been dealing with this shit my entire life. I just don't want to deal with this shit during my last week with Christopher... or the couple of weeks that they'll be here after he leaves. Seriously... one of us is going to end up dead.

So, even though we know that this bullshit is going to be rough.... Christopher decides that he wants his mom here before he deploys too. So guess what? His mom is flying in a week before he deploys too... and coming in a couple of days before my parents.

Fucking... KILL ME.

I love his mom. I really do. She's really nice. She's SUPER excited. And there's the problem. I have to be this super nice person when she's around. Translation - I cannot in any way shape or form, act like myself. So, trying to balance my hormonal bouts of anger and frustration, the fact that Christopher is deploying, and knowing my mom is coming to test the limits of my sanity, the last thing I want to do is worry about pretending to be a nice person... and having one more person in my house during the last week I have with my husband.

I am not ready for her to come in and swoop in on my child. I am feeling very protective of Isabella and Christopher and our time together as it is and now I have to deal with this woman who is so excited about this baby she could be shitting rainbows and butterflies. She already Skypes us like EVERY day.

I mean EVERY day. WTF.

Jesus, now I want a fucking valium.

I feel like a marshmallow

Why do I feel like I have pillows where my arms used to be? Seriously, whose arms are these?!

I'm having a poor me day. My poor body... Before you get all preachy on me and tell me how horrible I am for being vain and caring about my body while I'm creating the miracle of life, let me just say... bite me. I miss my nice flat tummy and I'm scared that I will never get it back. So far, I haven't gotten any stretch marks. If I could knock on wood 24/7 to prevent them, I would. I'm scared I'll have a butt where my stomach used to be. I showed postpartum pics to PB and he made it a point to look very unaffected by them. I know what he was thinking though and I want to cry. I am now more determined than ever to kill myself in the gym after this baby makes her grand entrance.

But being the idiot that I am, instead of eating a healthy snack, I just ate a gourmet cupcake. I fucking suck. Seriously, I want to punch myself in the face.