A picky nose.

I’m having sinus surgery earlier than I expected so the past week has consisted of a lot of worry and panic attacks because I’m so nervous.

I was in major freak out mode a few weeks ago since I’ve been in so much pain and I couldn’t get ahold of my awesome ENT doctor for 2 days despite leaving several messages. All I’ve been taking is ibuprofen and that hasn’t done anything. At the time, his status was downgraded to mothertrucker but now it’s back up to awesome. It doesn’t hurt that he gave me a big bottle of pain meds.

When I went to see him last Friday, he showed me my CT scan and I couldn’t believe it. My sinuses on the left side are completely blocked with nearly half an inch of scar tissue and there’s also a polyp. Dr. Cool didn’t seem too concerned about the polyp and said he thinks once he opens up my sinuses, the polyp will clear up within six months.

While sitting there discussing the surgery with him, my daughter, who would go from racing around the room to sitting on my lap, had to show him where her nose was…..by sticking her finger up it and leaving it there. I tried to keep a straight face and would casually lower her hand but as soon as I would do that, her finger went right back into her nose.

I couldn’t help but laugh and at the same time be embarrassed but then my doctor was telling her that her finger is the perfect size for her nose so why not stick it up there. He called himself a professional nose picker. Dr. Cool indeed.


For the past 14 months I knew that something wasn’t right with my sinuses but the doctors I had previously (military Dr.’s in D.C.) would just brush it off. I had two CT scans when I was seeing these doctors and all they said was that it looked like there was some mucous in my nose and I just needed to blow it. For reals?!

I’ve been in this agonizing pain and so stressed because of it but they just told me to blow my nose! What a bunch of fu$k%ng ass#&%$s.

normal sinuses.

mine, ouch.






It feels like my head is a balloon and someone keeps blowing it up to the point where it’s going to pop. The pressure and pain I have in my face is unreal. I’m counting down the days until I’ll finally have relief. In the meantime, I’ve been a raging, sleep-deprived bitch.

My surgery is scheduled for Tuesday and I’m so nervous. Dr. Cool assured me that it’s a simple procedure and there’s only 3 or 4 days of recovery but it has me in such a panic. I have a really low tolerance for pain and think of the worst case scenarios in these situations, like not waking up from the anesthesia.

My hubby just started teaching so he won’t be able to take time off except for the day of the surgery. We’re in the process of looking for a babysitter since we don’t live near any family. I’m not allowed to pick up my daughter the first couple of days after surgery and I’m the worst at taking it easy when I don’t feel well.

I was starting to feel desperate and thought I might need to have my mother-in-law come out to “help” instead, even though I know that would be a disaster. When I mentioned this to my mom, she said “Your cat would be more helpful and take better care of your little girl” than my MIL. Truer words have never been spoken.

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Maybe duct tape would help.

It’s past midnight and I’m sitting in bed wide awake. My husband on the other hand is sleeping and doing this; snore, snore, twitch leg, grind teeth, scratch butt/crotch/stomach, snooorrrre.

He did a sleep study on December 16th and we’re still waiting for the results. He had an appointment with his doctor last week for the results and I felt so relieved but then he found out they still haven’t turned the results in. It’s pretty obvious to me that he has sleep apnea and is going to need one of those Luke Skywalker masks when he sleeps.

I can never remember what they’re really called but they remind me of the mask that Luke wears when fighting the bad guys in a Star Wars battle when he’s in his space plane thingamajig.

As you can see, I’m totally with it when it comes to my Star Wars lingo. *snort* Or any lingo for that matter when I’m exhausted and can’t sleep.

Besides my husband’s snoring keeping me awake, it’s been impossible to sleep since my sinuses are flared up and my head feels like it’s ready to pop. No matter how I lay down, it’s so uncomfortable. Kind of like the last two months of pregnancy except I don’t have to pee every 5 minutes.

Oh wait, hold on…..


Ugh! I am now hopping up and down on my bum, hoping that will shake the bed enough to get him to stop snoring. Pretty soon I’m going to have to smack him in the arm.

Then he’ll wake up, sit straight up in bed, say wha? huh? wha? and I’ll just sit here acting all innocent and ask him what’s wrong.

As always, I’ll tell him that “You must have had a bad dream”. heh.

Pomplamoose – Mister Sandman

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What I thought would be a sweet children’s book has turned into a zombie nightmare.

I bought my daughter several books for Christmas but one of the books wasn’t what I was expecting. Since I avoided doing my holiday shopping in stores, I got these books online.

Deciding on a book for her isn’t based on reviews, it’s more from the plot and illustrations, but I still like reading the reviews because some of them can be pretty ridiculous.

There will be someone who says a book about a bunny traumatized their child or something along those lines and I always get a laugh from it. But one of the books I got for her was creepy. So, I am now one of those people who writes about a children’s book that traumatizes me, although I’m writing it here and not on the site where I got it.


I’ve always had a wild imagination and to this day, I’m afraid of the dark. *whispers* I still sleep with a nightlight on. By the time I go to sleep, my hubby will have been asleep for a few hours. As soon as I turn off the lamp, I think of every scary movie I’ve seen and my imagination runs wild by thinking there’s probably a serial killer under the bed.

The most common thing I think about as soon as I turn out the light is that some zombie is going to crawl on his hands and knees across the bedroom floor, come over to my side of the bed, reach up and grab me, and will then proceed to eat my face off.

I know, I know, that would be impossible….because of simple zombie facts. First off, zombies are heavy breathers and growl. I would hear it before it even got to me. Also, my hubby is the one who sleeps closest to the bedroom door. Everyone knows that a zombie would attack the first person he sees.

While the zombie would be eating the brains of my husband or going for his jugular, that would give me a chance to hop out of bed, grab my daughter from her room, and run out of the house. The cat is on her own but I’ve never seen a zombie eat a cat so I think she would be safe anyway.

It’s not like I’ve given this scenario much thought though. *coughcough*


After I got the books for my daughter, I read each one before I wrapped them. When I read “the book that shall remain nameless”, I turned to the first page and thought it was very sweet. After I read the second page, I could totally relate. Then I turned to the third page and almost peed myself with fear.

The mom crawls on her hands and knees across the bedroom floor to look at her son. If he’s asleep, she picks him up and sings a lullaby. All of my irrational zombie fears came to the surface and I freaked. The illustration of her peering at him in his bed while she’s on her hands and knees is burned into my brain.

I usually check on my daughter a billion times a night before I go to bed and there are times when I’ve been in her room watching her sleep and she’ll start opening her eyes. I hit the floor as fast as I can and quickly crawl out. So, I get that part of this book but I still find it damn creepy.

Like when her son grows up and moves into his own place. She drives across town in the middle of the night, uses a ladder to climb up to his bedroom window (this guy really needs to get a security system and fast), then picks him up and rocks him while he sleeps as she sings a lullaby.

I don’t get warm fuzzies from this book, rather the heebie jeebies. At the end, it shows him rocking his own child while singing the same lullaby. So that means the creepiness continues.

Not only that, how is he even supposed to have sex with his wife so they can have a kid when his mother always pops up in the middle of the night. If I was that guy’s wife, I’d have mommy dearest charged with breaking and entering and get her some much-needed therapy for her boundary issues.

That reminds me, I need to call my mother-in-law and thank her for my daughter’s Christmas presents.


*Blog of the week: Temerity Jane. She’s awesome with a side of awesome and expecting her first child, a little girl she calls Garlic Bread. Whenever I read her blog or tweets, I start craving garlic bread and that’s all I want to eat. Actual garlic bread, not her baby because that would just be wrong. @TemerityJane

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My hubby wanted to top the worst Christmas card by getting me the worst Birthday card ever.

When I was writing a post last month about a Christmas card my hubby gave me, he took that as a challenge to find a card that was just as bad. So, on my birthday yesterday, he gave me this card. Apparently, he never wants to have sex again.

My birthday card.

Yep, my hubby includes our cat when signing my cards. Her name isn't meow meow though.

Lucky for him, he handed me my real birthday card right after so he still has his balls.
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The weight of the matter.

When my daughter was born, she weighed 7 pounds 9 ounces. With every well baby check-up, she would only gain a little weight with each visit.  At 14 months, she was in the 3rd percentile. When she had her check-up at 18 months, she weighed a little over 21 pounds.

I can never remember how tall she is because by the time the nurse checks her height, my daughter is usually screaming which makes my brain melt.

I was a preemie and weighed 4 pounds 4 ounces when I was born. I was always tiny throughout my childhood and I’m only 5’2.

When my daughter was about 9 months old, we took her to a different pediatrician for her check-up because her normal doctor wasn’t available. This doctor really ticked me off because she spent most of the appointment telling us that we have to fatten up our daughter. Seriously?!

She’s perfectly proportioned and I just think she’s going to be petite like me. The regular doctor she had at the time told us she’s thriving and we have nothing to worry about.

For some reason, people think it’s okay to tell us that the little hummingbird is too small for her age. I know that some parents are on the other side of it and have people mentioning how big there child is.

Just today we were on our way inside the grocery store and a woman stopped us to tell us how cute our little girl was. She mentioned that she had a 15 month old daughter at home. When we told her our girl was 20 months old, she said “Really! Wow, she’s so small!”. Grrrr. I wouldn’t make a big deal out of it except it happens frequently.

My daughter is going to spend her lifetime dealing with people that are critical of her hair, her height, her voice, her looks, her weight……

“She’s pretty short.” “Does she even talk?” Total strangers will say this and they do it in front of her. I know she’s young but I also know she understands a lot more than we think.

I thought it would be several years before people would be so critical, not before she was even two years old.

It would never cross my mind to tell a parent that their child is tiny for their age, nor would I ever say “damn, your baby is huge!” I’ve come to the conclusion that some people are just idiots.

I know I'm biased but I think she's perfect.

*Blog of the week: The Domestication of the (Once) Single Girl. Michelle has a daughter, The Cute, and is expecting a baby boy. She is so funny and I love talking with her on Twitter. @ShellDSmith

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My nose knows it doesn’t want surgery but my nose is screwed. I just hope my mother-in-law won’t have to come out to “help” afterwards.

*I’m currently in the middle of a sinus flare-up so if there’s a lot more writing mistakes than usual, it’s because I didn’t really bother to proofread this post since my face feels like it’s going to explode. But I’m sure none of you are as critical as my douchey brother-in-law. ;)

I had sinus surgery in September 2009 but I’ll spare you the boring and bloody details. Two months later, I felt like my face was going to explode and it was mostly on the left side of my nose. When I went to see the ENT doctor, he said that there were scar bands that he needed to clip. *shivers*

It felt like an ice pick was being scraped up my nose and I wanted to knee his assistant in the balls. The assistant wasn’t doing the clipping but my doctor, lets call him Dr. Suave, was too damn cute for a ball smashing. Plus he was really sweet to my daughter.

He put me on antibiotics, which didn’t help, and some pain meds. It gradually went away. Then it flared up again in January. Same thing with the ice pick up the nose but this time I didn’t care that Dr. Suave was so cute. I wanted his damn balls in a vise grip.

I’ve had six or seven of these awful sinus flare-ups since and went to a new ENT doctor where we now live. The ENT doctor I have is awesome. I couldn’t have asked for better. What’s really cool was when he put the numbing spray up my nose, he actually waited for it to take effect before using the scope, unlike the other Dr.’s I’ve seen. Wow! What a concept. heh

Dr. Cool told me that while the right side had only a few scar bands, there was a “significant amount” on the left side and I will need to have surgery. Crap!

He said that I could have it done in his office but with all that I’ve been through these past few years (I’ve had several medical nightmares when dealing with doctors while in D.C. and these doctors were the cause of most of them) he thinks it would be better for me to be put under because he wants me to be as comfortable as possible.

A doctor wants me to be as comfortable as possible? I haven’t heard one say that in a loooong time, if ever.

I was beginning to believe that they took pleasure in torturing me by a misdiagnosis, an unnecessary surgery caused by the misdiagnosis that kept me in the hospital for a week when my little girl was only 14 weeks old that turned me into a basketcase since I had to be away from my babeh, being bullied by a douchebag doctor because of his misdiagnosis that would have caused another unneccessary surgery that I refused, and on and on. But that’s for another post.

I had a CT scan a few days before Christmas and dealt with a bitchy woman who looked like Uncle Eddie’s wife from the National Lampoon Vacation movies and had on a Christmas scarf. Like that would cover her crazy.

She took me back into a second waiting room so I could wait even longer for my scan. It’s like they think you won’t notice how much time suckage they’re causing you by putting you into a second waiting room.

I was waiting so long that I started to think they forgot about me. So I went roaming through the halls trying to find someone. The bitchy lady appeared and asked me what I was doing. I told her I thought they forgot about me and she just scowled and said someone will be with me shortly. Uh huh. She said that 40 minutes earlier.

While I waited, she was awful to this woman in a wheelchair. Her husband was with her and needed to help her get into a gown. Miss See you next Tuesday wouldn’t let him. We were the only people in the second waiting room and there were separate changing areas. Finally, she said okay to letting this woman’s hubby help his wife after they had to put up a fight with this horrible woman.

So, I got the CT scan because Dr. Cool wants to know if there’s anything else wrong. Now I’m just waiting to hear back from him and find out when the surgery is. I’ll probably call him today though since I’m in agony. I hope it’s a very quick recovery.

Last March, I had to have abdominal surgery to correct five freaking hernias that were caused from the surgeons who did my c-section. The recovery time was longer than we expected so my mother-in-law had to come out to “help” since we were desperate.

I wasn’t allowed to pick up my daughter and that made it really difficult to care for her. When I went against Dr.’s orders a few days later and picked her up, I felt this painful tear in my stomach. It was so bad that I had to see the doctor the next day. Luckily, everything was fine but he scolded me and said I really needed to take it easy, rest, and under no circumstances should I pick up my daughter for the next two weeks or else I might cause some real damage.

My mother-in-law ended up making everything worse and had me working my ass off since not only did I have to look after my daughter, even though that’s why she was supposed to be there, but I also had to babysit her since she seems to have forgotten or has never known how to take care of kids (which is what my hubby thinks).

Case in point: letting my daughter play with a big plastic band (it held her sippy cup to her high chair) that my daughter would put around her neck while in her playpen (Oy!), putting her hot tea close to the edge of the coffee table (double Oy!), letting my daughter play with writing pens, and putting her 20 or so vitamins and meds on the coffee table where my daughter could get to them (grrrr).

I tried to be as nice as possible, I was heavily medicated after all, when asking my mother-in-law if she could find a different place to keep her vitamins and meds. I told her that it really made me nervous since the little hummingbird could easily get to them.

She turned to my then 11 month old daughter and said “Your mommy doesn’t like where I put my medication so *sigh* I guess I’ll have to move them since she’s overreacting”.

She didn’t though and I would have to rush downstairs every morning so I could put them on the kitchen counter, out of the way of little hands. It was more like a very slooow walk since I felt like I had the stomach muscles of Gumby.

Another thing she did was wash my daughter’s bottles and sippy cups with dirty dish water. *gag* At that point she had been with us only a few days and I was already pulling my hair out. I hobbled my way downstairs to the kitchen. That’s when I saw her “washing” my daughter’s sippy cups and bottles.

She had an egg for breakfast everyday and she would put the pan in the sink with a little water in it. When I came down to see her “washing” my daughter’s things, she was dipping a sponge into the greasy, dirty water in the frying pan that had bits of leftover egg floating in it and then proceeded to “clean” my daughter’s sippy cups. *gag*

I stood there waiting for her to use a not so new invention called soap but she never did. She just put the cups on the bottle rack. I knew I had to say something and fast because I could only stand for a few minutes at a time or else I would have just waited until she left the kitchen and washed them myself.

It felt so awkward having to tell a woman in her 50′s that when cleaning the little hummingbird’s things, we use soap. Her response? She said a lot of things sure have changed since she had kids. What the what?! I know they had soap in the 1970′s. I just want to knock on my MIL’s head and ask “Helloooo, is anyone home?”

A few days later, she put potato peels down the garbage disposal after I told her not to. She said “I didn’t put all of them down there, just a few to see what would happen”. Guess who had to fix the sink and unclog the disposal? Yep, me and only a week post-op when I was supposed to be in bed, resting. I told her we just need to wait until the hubby came home but she insisted we had to do it right then.

At that time, I couldn’t even get out of bed by myself, but there I was using a plunger for what seemed like forever while she went off to do who knows what. After I fixed it, she came back into the kitchen and said “See, I knew we could fix it ourselves”.

And guess who had to fix the dishwasher when a certain someone broke that? Yep. I was bending down, trying to turn off the water under the sink and moving everything so it wouldn’t get wet from a leak and she went off again, leaving me to do it all. The pain from doing that was so bad, I thought I would die. This abdominal surgery was more painful than the botched c-section I had.

She stayed with us for 12 days and it was 12 days of hell. I was so drained and in more pain than ever by the time she left because she ran me ragged. Not even 2 weeks later, she flew back on her broom with my father-in-law for my daughter’s first birthday. It took all I had not to strangle her.

I could spend all day writing a list of dumb shit she did and how crazy I went from her complete lack of common sense. Let’s hope my hubby and I don’t get desperate and have her come out to “help” this time around.

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Dear toy companies…really?!

I didn’t have much experience with you until my daughter’s first Christmas last year. I wanted to take her toys out of the packaging before putting them under the tree so we wouldn’t have to worry about doing it after she got her presents.

I ended up having to perform what I consider “toy brain surgery”.

Because of that, I hope you come down with a million painful hemorrhoids and have to sit on a pointy block of ice for the rest of your days.

One of the toys I got her was an airplane and I thought I would have it out of the box in just a few short minutes.

I was in the living room with my daughter, trying to get this toy out of the box. She was 8 months old at the time and was crawling on the floor, drooling buckets, and babbling away.

Just like David Hasselhoff minus the hamburger. I should have had her chew through that box. I know one drop of her super drool would have set the toy free.

The toy was attached to cardboard by 7 twist ties, 2 plastic straps that were screwed into the box AND impenetrable tape. Really?!

I had to get the scissors out, untwist those industrial strength twist ties that left my hands raw, rip through the cardboard while cursing a lot, and hunt down a screwdriver.

It got so heated that I felt like I needed make-up sex and a glass of wine afterwards. What I really needed was a chainsaw.

Another thing I don’t get is when some of those twist ties are placed in teeny tiny holes in the toy. Once you get them untwisted, you have to manipulate the twisty just right so you can pull it out of the toy. Really?!

This year my little girl only had a few toys that were like that since I mostly got her books. I hope she enjoys playing with these toys while they’re imprisoned in your crazy packaging. Although the remote control car might be a little tricky.

*Blog of the week: Cake and Tea Blog. I recently came across this blog and I love it. She started blogging in December, is very relatable, and her son is such a cutie. Make sure to check out her site.

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