Guest Post: Kids and Sex

Today's post comes from Emily, also known as The Mothership. I meant to post this this morning, but I had to get up at 3:30 am to be on the road by 5:00 am, and things like blog posts didn't enter my sleep deprived mind. (By the way, did I mention I'm in Tennessee this weekend? I am. I saw the house we'll be living in as of July. More on that next week. ) Enjoy, and I can't wait to read your comments!

I know Brandi's readers like to talk about sex and since she most likely hasn't been up to it right now, maybe a little levity about it is in order.

We're not exactly shy about the birds and the bees at our house. We are rather overt in our public displays of affection when we are at home. My husband and I are married, you see, and that's one of the major perks of marriage. Also, we've made a lot of kids together and each new pregnancy warrants new questions from now-older children. (When you have smart kids and try to answer questions as they come, the whole stork explanation doesn't work for long.)

We have fielded many questions. One, mid-pregnancy, after some apparent eavesdropping, was "Do you have to keep having sex to stay pregnant?"

Another questioner, on a Sunday afternoon, must have noticed mussed hair after our alone time because after I walked out of our room, I was asked, "Are you pregnant now, Mom?"

Sometimes, sitting in the living room, on opposites sides of the room, fully clothed, we'll tell the kids, "Go away, we're having sex," just so they'll leave us alone.

Is that bad?

So, the other day was my husband's birthday. I handed him his last present, after a succession of socks, sweatpants and his own Mountain Dew, and said, "Here's your big present." To which, my son said, "Yeah, Dad. It is your big present from Mom, 'Something special for when I meet you in bed later.'" Complete with knowing grin and raised eyebrows.

Luckily, I had the camera in my hand and was able to catch his instant blush and what-did-I-just-say expression.

(Please note The Book of Virtues in the background. Ahh, irony.)

Obviously my husband was rather let-down when it was just a backpacking stove and not anything special for anyone's bed.

What are your favorite stories?

Coming Home

So, this week The Pioneer Woman is having a special photography assignment. She's calling it "Coming Home," and the assignment is to submit a photo that portrays soldiers coming home to loved ones--however you decide to interpret that.



A lot of you who come here are military, so I encourage you to submit anything you might have. These do not need to be professional photos by any means!

And if you're not affiliated with the military, I'd encourage you to go and look at them. It might give you a small taste of what the end of a deployment is like--for better or worse.

(All photos here are credited on the Pioneer Woman Photography page)

P.S. Tomorrow will be the first of the guest bloggers!

I wish I had something to write.

I feel just like this, except the statue has better boobs.

I'm so tired, internets.

So, so tired.

I'm walking for 45 minutes to an hour every morning at the Y and it's wearing me out. It's...It's killing me. What's happened to me? It was only three short weeks ago that I would wake up and work out hard for an hour and then follow it with an hour walk and then I'd walk again for an hour around my neighborhood at night. This surgery has truly kicked my butt.

Plus I got very swollen on Sunday and it hasn't completely gone away. I feel like a sausage that's about to burst.

And I just have nothing to write that doesn't involve whining.

And my kids are possessed.

And I need another nap.

And I need to start packing my house.

Help me, Rhonda.

Anyone want to write a guest post for me? Let me know.

O.k., so...good night. 6:42 isn't too early for bed, right?

Freakin' Purgatory.

I don't know what to say about Lost, really.

I'm a little disappointed. I feel a little cheated. But I also feel like it resolved the story.

I'm tired and sore and can't think straight, so for now just go read THIS. It's a pretty good summary of how I feel about it right now.

And definitely post what you thought of the finale in the comments!

I promise, we'll be talking about this more later, but right now I need a nap.

By the way, told you that Juliet was David's mother.

Also? I read an official source today that confirmed that the Man in Black was named Samuel in the script, but then they decided to not reveal his name. Just a little fun trivia...

Oh, and raise your hand if you were sobbing when A) Sawyer and Juliet remembered and/or B) When Claire and Kate remembered.

Apparently I've been going about this the wrong way.

If only I'd known how easy it is to be cool.
Sigh.

Doesn't it make you really curious about what's
been scribbled out?
And don't you want to know who Steve is?

Things that are awesome for $200, Alex.

So, internets. We did it. Will and I emerged from the stone age and got real phones last night. Phones that do stuff. Awesome stuff. I could write this blog entry on it if I wanted, but it seems like a lot of unnecessary work since I've got my laptop right here. But I totally could do it if I wanted to!

I appreciate all the input from you guys. It was really helpful (honestly!), but we didn't go with any of your suggestions. We ended up going with Sprint and got these babies:

Samsung Moment with Android

They're pretty darn close to the Verizon Droid, but the Sprint plan was $50 a month cheaper for way more minutes.

In other awesome news, Liam graduated from Kindergarten today. That in itself isn't all that awesome. I mean, Kindergarten isn't even required in, like, 47 states. What was awesome about it was this:



The little dude was just getting down with his bad self. Did you see the robot dance at the end? He was doing it--elaborately--for a good 5 minutes before I started filming. I'd post a video of Liam, but apparently he suffers from severe stage fright. Every concert, every ceremony...any time he's in front of a crowd, he freezes up, gets that deer in the headlights look and crams all his fingers into his mouth while he stands mute and unmoving. Hopefully he'll outgrow it at some point, because how embarrassing would it be if he couldn't accept his high school diploma because eight out of his ten fingers are crammed in his mouth?

Also awesome? Our polygamist neighbors moved back to Saudi Arabia a few weeks ago, but a new Saudi polygamous family moved in a few houses away (and into four other houses in the neighborhood). And five of the nine kids were all in Liam's class. Mohammed, Bandar, Gabir, Fahd and Taja. Apparently Mr. Al Zarhani was busy in 2003.

And ...that's all the awesome I can take for today. My innards hurt. You'd think that they'd hurt right after the surgery, not nearly three weeks later. And it's not even tied to movement. Just every 20 minutes or so it feels like someone is using a roto-tiller on my abs. That's decidedly not awesome.

Blah.

(There would be a witty and/or relevant picture here,
but my computer is being douchy at the moment)

Sorry there was no post yesterday, internets.

I'm feeling crappy.

I hurt. I can't sleep. My head is in a constant state of ache and nothing seems to help. My clothes suddenly don't fit today (and unfortunately they're not too big). Even with my clothes off, it felt like I was wearing something two sizes too small.

I just feel yucky.

Ladies, have you ever worn a really uncomfortable pair of pantyhose and then experienced that rush of relief and comfort when you took them off? Well, I feel like I'm wearing uncomfortable pantyhose 24/7 . There is no relief. At least not for three and a half more weeks.

This surgery, though totally worth it, has kicked my butt.

I went to Ben's end of school award ceremony today and I'm worn out. I'm ready to sleep for five hours. {Bragging moment: He won a certificate, medallion and a stack of books for reading the most books--and scoring the highest on the tests for each book--in the history of the school. The school has been around for more than 50 years. He also got an award from President Obama for being freaky smart (which, really, is probably just Mr. Obama's way of getting on Ben's good side so that he doesn't use his evil genius powers against the government), an award for having one of the highest overall math scores in his grade, an award for having one of the highest standardized test scores in the county for his grade level and an award for being on the honor roll all four quarters.}

Anyway.

I should talk about Lost, but there's not much to say. I was torn about Ben Linus--happy that he was so good and kind and even having a flirty moment with Danielle in the alternate time line, yet also happy that he went back to being good ol' evil Ben on the island. And I'm pretty excited for the concert that will bring everyone into the same place in the finale. I'll for sure have a big, rambling Lost post on Monday (Don't forget!! The finale is this Sunday, NOT next Tuesday, and it's a four and a half hour ordeal--2 hours of retrospective, two and a half hours of finale).

I guess that's it for today. Later, peeps.

P.S. I'm totally going on this cruise in March. Who's coming? And who wants to keep my kids if Will is deployed?

Two tickets to paradise.

Internets, I hurt. Badly.

I got the remaining staples from my hips removed this morning, and holy crap on a pancake, I'm sore. I'm more sore than I was right after the surgery. I can barely walk.

Also? The place where the drain was on my right hip hasn't closed, so I have a gaping hole in my hip. No one seems to be concerned about it but me, so I'm trying not to worry.

Also, also? My new belly button hurts today for no good reason other than I think it deliberately wants to annoy me.

Anyway, to keep my mind off the pain, I'm trying to think of a good vacation for Will and I to take sans kids this fall. We should (hopefully) be making a few thousand dollars by moving ourselves rather than having the military do it. We could be responsible and pay off some of my student loan or something boring like that, but I'm thinking a vacation is more necessary.

A vacation without kids.

And Will doesn't seem to disagree.

At first I looked at going to Argentina. Will went there on his church mission and has talked about going back. But really, we could only afford Buenos Aires and Will wants to travel down to where his mission was and that takes it out of our price range.

So, last night when I couldn't sleep (and was out of Tylenol PM and didn't want to wake up with a Percocet hangover) I researched some other places.

I can think of a million places in Europe we'd love to go to, but I don't want to risk having my vacation screwed up by volcanic ash grounding my flight. So, Europe is out until someone sticks a cork in Iceland.

Renting an over-the-water bungalow at an all-inclusive resort in Bora Bora or Tahiti looked nice, but the airfare alone is more than we can spend (though, surprisingly, the resorts themselves were quite reasonable).

So, I started looking closer--in the Caribbean. Everything looks spectacular. And within our price range. Puerto Rico. Antigua. Turks-Caicos. Jamaica. Grand Cayman. St. Kitt. Dominican Republic. St. Lucia. I could go on... Oh, or we could go to the Riviera de Maya and see the Mayan ruins (which I would LOVE to do, but would feel guilty doing that without the kids, who--especially Ben-- would also love it).

Hawaii is also an option, but with Sawyer and Harmony gone, it seems kind of pointless.

And then there are cruises. I've wanted to go on a cruise, oh...for forever. But that's another vacation I kind of want to save for a family vacation (because we can pawn the kids off in the kid's club when we get tired of family time, which you can't do at an amusement park).

There are just too many fabulous choices. So, internets, I'm turning to you. Where should we go? Have you been anyplace you'd recommend? Help plan my escape.

(Oh, and on a sort of related note, I tried on a two piece swimsuit today and it didn't make me cry or want to vomit up my lunch, so that's progress from Sunday, I guess.)

Body Issues

So I had a moment this morning where I finally understood Michael Jackson (umm, but not the whole sharing his bed with little boys thing). I understood The crazy woman who made herself look like a cat. I understood anorexics who look in the mirror and see a fat person.

I understood because I looked in the mirror and didn't see reality.

I looked in the mirror this morning before I got in the shower and I saw a 300 pound woman looking back. I know rationally that I don't look like that anymore--even before the tummy tuck. But that's truly what I saw. It's hard to explain. It's not that I looked at my very swollen (even more so than the day after surgery) abdomen and felt chubby. I literally saw myself as I was 18 months ago. Even after I put the binder back on and got dressed, I felt fat. Not bloated or swollen or something temporary. I felt (and saw reflected back at me) morbid obesity.

In that moment I understood why someone would get plastic surgery after plastic surgery even if it made them look freakier and freakier. I completely understood how an anorexic could look at their skeletal frame and think they needed to drop a few more pounds.

Now don't get overly concerned, internets. I like food way too much to become anorexic. I was whining and complaining about not being able to eat for 24 hours when I had the tummy tuck. And I don't really see bulimia as an option because vomiting isn't my cup of tea. And finances preclude me from repeated plastic surgery.

But it scares me because I can see how people who do do those things start down that path.

I don't think I have Body Dysmorphic Disorder--I don't obsess for hours a day about it or hide out or any of the really crazy things listed on that link, and I know that what I saw in the mirror isn't reality. But I do constantly compare myself to others. If you know me in real life, you can pretty much be certain that I have checked you out. Scrutinized you. Tried to guess what size you might wear. Compared myself to you. Don't worry--99.9% of the people I compare myself to come out way ahead of me. And I don't do it because I'm looking for flaws in you. I do it because I see you as a "normal," attractive person and I want to see how "abnormal" I am in comparison.

So, umm, yeah...I think I have issues.

Yeesh.

Six days.

That's it. That's how many days left until school gets out.

Since when does school get out before Memorial day?

When I was a kid we were in school until mid-June (and that was in addition to walking uphill both ways).

On the bright side, in approximately two and a half months, all three kids will be in school. All day.

Sweet freedom, here I come.

I'm just ready for it to end.

That title could apply to lots of things right now.

• Not being able to sleep on my stomach.
• Wearing this stupid binder 24/7.
• Having to schedule my showers around Will being home so he can wrap me up in aforementioned binder.
• Having a filthy house I can't do anything about.
• The back talking from 11 year olds.
• The whining from 4 year olds.
• The disobedience from 5 year olds.
  

Really, I could keep going.

But the title refers to Lost in this case.



I've got two episodes I could talk about, but there's just no enthusiasm left for it. Maybe it was because I was looped up on Percocet, but I didn't even feel a twinge of sadness when we lost four big characters last week--three who were original cast members. This week had the potential to be really exciting, but it just left me pissed because there were still no big answers. That episode could have been full--full--of answers. But all we really got was who "Adam and Eve" were, that there really is something on the island that needs protecting, and Smokey may or may not actually be Jacob's brother.

I really, really just want to know what the island is. "A cork" just isn't quite cutting it for me. And at this point I'm afraid that that's all the answer we'll get. It is what it is and we just have to accept it without understanding it. And that makes me mad. I've been a loyal viewer for all six seasons and I feel like I, and those like me, are owed more than that.

There are two episodes left. They better not disappoint.

Take the last train to Clarksville

So, with all the wonky thyroid/tummy tuck craziness, I forgot to mention that we have a house to move into when we move in seven weeks.

Holy crap, I move in seven weeks.

We'll be living in Clarksville, Tennessee.

Save it. I've heard it. And I'm pretty much going to punch the next person who starts singing that song to me when they hear we're moving to Clarksville. Right in the face. Unless you're a former Monkee yourself (except Micky because Micky always annoyed me and I'd probably punch him anyway) or you're Marcia Brady and Davy Jones was your dreamy prom date, you are not allowed to sing Monkees songs to me. Ever.

ANYWAY.

There was a long waiting list for housing on the Army post, and it would have meant going back to multi-family living (And let's face it--I've been spoiled and I don't want to go back to sharing a wall with another family unless the trade off is living in a foreign country), and Amelia would not have been able to start kindergarten for another year. So we opted to live off post.

I'd been looking at houses but not seriously because we wouldn't be able to start the lease until July 1st and the houses I was looking at were all available now. But then I stumbled across one that isn't available until July 1st. And it's bigger than where we are now by a couple hundred square feet, but the same rent amount. And it's in a great neighborhood with the schools I was hoping for. It has an awesome play structure in the back yard that pretty much sealed the deal. And, O.K., the house--it's pretty.

We have a friend that lives in the area and she went and toured the home and took lots of pictures. There's a room covered in various Nintendo and cartoon character murals, which would be awesome for the boys, but it's the bedroom we'd need to put Amelia in. Call me a snob, but I'm not putting Amelia and her girly bedroom furnishings in a bedroom covered with Mario and Luigi. Also, there's hideous wall paper border in a couple of rooms. So, I talked to the owner and she gave the go ahead for us to paint and pull down the borders. So we took it!

As happy as I am to be getting anywhere North of Georgia, I will miss our house here. I love it. Every thing in it is new. We'll be downgrading appliances and fixtures slightly when we move. And my stuff just works in this house. I'm worried it won't look as nice in the new house. And I'm someone who watches HGTV 12 hours a day when confined to the house, so how my house looks is a big freakin' deal to me. I'm already driving Will crazy with my plans for the new house.

Half of the front of the house


The other half of the front of the house
(Just put them together in your mind)


The awesome back yard that will keep my kids out of my hair.
For at least a few minutes, anyway.


The lovely neighborhood.

So, internets, what do you think? Who wants to come help me move?

Conceited

First post-surgical outing.

So, I'm wearing size 4 low rise jeans today, and they're too big. And I keep looking at myself. Over and over. I'm drawn to the mirror like a fly to honey today.

Sure, my body is crap compared to a lot of people's, but compared to what it once was, I look freakin' awesome. Even in my frumpy undies and surgical binder.

Thoughts of a madwoman.

So, I'm on Day Six of my confinement. I'm sick of TV. I'm sick of books. I'm even sick of Netflix streaming on the Wii (which is pretty awesome otherwise). I even taught Amelia how to do laundry nearly on her own today just for something to do (and because I needed clean pajamas and Will just hasn't been very reliable on the laundry front).

Anyway. Here are the things that have been running through my brain as I lay on the couch.

"I wonder if any of Dr. Lopez's other patients laugh when they look at their Percocet bottle and see that it was prescribed by J. Lopez?"

"Where's the remote? Andrew Zimmern [of the Travel Channel's Bizarre Foods] is about to have another foodgasm over goat testicles." (Seriously, have you ever watched him? No matter what he eats, he moans and groans and nods his head wildly with pleasure as his eyes roll back into head. With Every. Single. Bite. And it's usually something involving brains or scrotum.)

"Is my waist normal yet? Please let my waist be normal." (Yesterday I noticed that one side of my waist is nice and tiny, swooping in deeply between my hips and ribs. The other side, not so much. I'm hoping that's not permanent or I'll be a freak.)

"Did my incision just bust open?" (Thought about 500 times a day.)

"Genevieve Gorder hasn't aged one bit in 10 years."

"Really, you're putting carpet in your bathroom?"

"Stop crying, Ty Pennington."

"Really, 5 more weeks of this binder?"

"I'm hot/cold/sore/tired/bored."

"I wonder if I have any new e-mail?"

"They're just jealous." (Thought today when watching people knock plastic surgery on Plastic Surgery Obsession on VH1.)

Happy Mother's Day

So, Liam was the only person in the family (including Will) to acknowledge the day with a gift of any kind. (Seriously, I didn't even get a card. But that's O.K. I'm comforted by the knowledge that I have a flat stomach.) Anyway, Liam brought home a cook book that his teacher compiled--filled with each child's favorite recipe that their mom makes. Here's a sampling:

Pancakes by Talasia C.

Cake
Pizza
Tacos
Bread
Egg

Put them together and stir them up. Cook them in a pan for 1 minute. Eat them.

Or, my favorite:

Corn Dogs by Kholten F.

Corn dogs
Ketchup

Buy a box of corn dogs at the store. Put them in the microwave for 59 minutes. When it beeps, take them out. Put them on a paper plate with ketchup. Eat them.

I'm pretty sure Kholten's mom and I have similar philosophies on cooking (and disposable plate usage).

This was Liam's:

Waffles by Liam D.

Eggs
Flour
Bread
Milk

Crack the eggs. Mix the flour and bread together. Pour the milk in with the other stuff. Cook them for 20 minutes and then eat them.

I'd like to point out that I've never, ever made waffles that were not frozen in a box.

At the end of the book there was a survey each kid filled out about their mom. Here's Liam's.

My mom's name is BRANDI
My mom has BROWN hair and BLUE eyes.
She is 20 feet tall and weighs 30 pounds. {I've taught him well.}
My mom likes to eat SWEETS.
My mom is happy when I AM GOOD.
But I know she is really angry when I AM NOT GOOD. {At least he didn't say "when she beats me."}
My mom's favorite TV show is ABOUT FURNITURE. {And this was before I started watching HGTV 12 hours a day.}
My mom is smart. She knows all about KIDS. {Poor, disillusioned child.}
If my mom could have one wish come true, it would be TO HAVE A BABY. {Wait, what??}
I love my mom because SHE IS SUPER SMART. {Again, I've brainwashed taught him well.}

Happy Mother's Day, internets! I hope you got a bigger haul than I did.

Really? Well, O.K.

So, lots and lots of you have begged me to post after pictures even though there's still swelling and drains. And of course there were also plenty of you who do not care to see them. If you fall under the latter group, now would be a good time to go.




O.K., so I tried to crop out as much of the drains as possible, but you still see a tube here and there. Also, keep in mind that there's still a lot of swelling and fluid build up. It will be months before it finally looks the way it's going to look. But even with all the swelling, it's still an improvement. My waist is a little larger at the moment, but I can live with that (because it's temporary).

So here it is.


You want to know what the weirdest thing is (besides that my innards are being held in by nothing but 1" steri-strips)? My skin still feels sensation as though it's where it used to be. For example, when the nurse was removing my staples yesterday, she was working right down the center of my abdomen. However, I was feeling the pinches about 8 inches to the right--because that's where that skin used to be. Also, the itching phase has started, and I find I need to scratch in an entirely different area than I feel the itch to get relief. It's very, very odd. But she said that in a week or two the nerves will figure out where they are and it'll go away.

At this point the pain is minimal. I only take narcotics at bedtime, and I barely even need Tylenol during the day. The biggest problem right now is boredom and frustration. I feel fine. However, I'm not allowed any activity except going to the bathroom and showering. I can sit up but I have to be still. I can lay down, but again, I have to be still and on my back. That's been rough. I'm a side sleeper. My back is killing me. And the restriction will be for at least another week. My house is a mess and I'm so bored. I'd blog more, but I'm pretty sure you don't want to hear about my day watching HGTV for 12 hours straight. Yesterday I mixed it up a little and watched Extreme Makeover: Home Edition for an hour.

Any ideas on how I can pass the time? I'm desperate. Entertain me, internets.

The results.

No, no pictures yet. Believe me, you don't want to see it right now. It's still swollen and bloody and full of staples and I have three drains hanging out of various parts (the most disturbing being the one coming directly out of the skin on top of my hoo ha). But next week when the swelling is a little better and the drains and staples are gone (staples will be gone when I see my surgeon in 2 hours. Drains...not so much) I'll post some after pictures.

But here's what I thought when I finally worked up the courage to remove the bandages (seriously, I was terrified. I don't know what I thought I'd find under there.)

It looks good. I'm still swollen, so some areas that were ribs and muscle on Monday look a little pudgy. That will subside over time.

At the very end of my incision on my left hip, there's a little "dog ear" of skin. The best way I can describe it is if you're wrapping a present and the corner doesn't lay right. He said that if I want to come back down in the fall he can fix it. Honestly, it's not very noticeable (at least now), so I'm not sure if it's worth a 7 hour drive each way to fix it. We'll see. Maybe once the swelling goes down it'll be more pronounced and I'll want it gone.

My new belly button is kind of cute. Compared to my old one, anything would be cute.

Because of the combination of swelling and skin pulled very tight, I look a little weird, shape wise, right now. It kind of emphasizes my tiny, flat boobs and also has made my hunch back come back, which is kind of weird. I'm hoping it's just because the pain is making me stand hunched over a little.

I'm happy with it. Even with the swelling and drains, I look 1000 times better than I did three days ago. My stomach and my pubic area are one continuous area--one continuous piece of skin. Most of you out there don't understand because that's all you know. I have NEVER in my memory had that. I always had a fat roll or skin hanging down like an apron over my pubic area. Having a fairly flat tummy is weird. But in a good way. I cannot wait until the drains are gone and I can wear a pair of jeans. Even with Spanx, I had a big tummy bulge from the skin.

Holy crap, internets--I could wear a shirt tucked in. I've never been able to do that. Ever.

Anyway, he estimated that he removed about five *update* seven pounds of skin. Five Seven pounds. I think it may have been even more. Even with the drains in and all the swelling, I'm 11 pounds lighter than I was Tuesday morning.

So, I guess that's it. I'm happy with it.

Got to run, internets. My first attempt at driving like this takes place in half an hour. If you're local, you may want to avoid the area between gate two and the hospital for the next little while. But at least I'm not on narcotics!

Blogging under the influence.

So, internets, I lived!

I'm really sore, although not as sore as I thought. I convinced myself I'd be in excruciating agony. But, I felt good enough that I refused a morphine shot. But I also hurt enough that I'm popping the Percocet as often as I'm allowed. Really, the worst part has been lingering nausea from the anesthesia.

I still don't know what I look like. The surgeon told me not to remove the binder (like a big velcro corset) or the bandages until around noon today--when I can shower for the first time (I look--and probably smell--like Claire from Lost).

Anyway, internets, I'm really scared to remove the bandages. I'm afraid that my pannus will still be there. Because, to be honest, with all the bandages and swelling, my gut sticks out just as much as before. I'm worried that I ditched the Spanx for nothing.

I'm realistic enough to not expect a flat, taut, supermodel belly--ever. Even once the scars have faded and the swelling subsides. And I've been told by others who've had it done to expect it to look a little crazy and deformed for awhile (like, months and months). So, I'm prepared for that. But I'm terrified of the thought of leftover pannus.

O.K., so the narcotics are kicking in and I can barely see the key board anymore. I'm going to go sleep for awhile. And then it'll be time to remove the bandages. Eeeek.

"I think they drugged me!"

Oh wait- that was five years ago. Brandi was freaking out on the operating table so someone sneaked over and injected some kind of milky white stuff into her IV tube, and she fell asleep. She woke up a few minutes later, saying the above.

You'd probably be freaking out too if you'd just had a C-section but then they let you see the baby for all of 2 seconds before they rushed him to a different room and didn't bring him back....

ANYWAY,
Brandi is okay- feeling woozy last time I saw her and kind of nauseous. She had a bandage which covered her entire abdomen, and lots of tubes. Staying overnight at the hospital, if all goes well she should be coming home tomorrow around noon.

Now that the kids are in bed I have a minute to catch up and miss her, Amelia took it the harderst, she wanted a hug before bed.

See you all later,
Will

You know the drill.

Pay attention. Directions to follow.

O.K. internets, I leave for the hospital in half an hour. First of all, I had a great post planned for today. I was going to stick googly eyes on my pannus and make it sing "So Long, Farewell" from The Sound of Music and post the video. Alas, time just didn't permit it. Just try imagining how awesome it would have been, though.

Anyway, you won't be hearing from me for a few days. I'll have Will post whether or not I died on the table in the comments of this post tonight.

Speaking of dying on the table, you've got my back, right? We've been over this before. Will wants to play dreary hymns at my funeral and bury me in freakin' Evanston, Wyoming. I need to know you won't let that happen.

So to remind you of my wishes:

• I want to be buried in my family plot in Georgetown, Maine.
• I want a pink casket.
• I want my friends to get up and tell dirty jokes and inappropriate stories at my funeral.
• I want Kathy Griffin to give my eulogy (and let her know she's totally welcome to film it for The D List).
• I want there to be a rollicking after party with pizza, a build your own sundae bar, nerd games and karaoke.

And now I have an addendum. If I'm going to die getting a tummy tuck, I want to get some use out of it. I want to be buried in the bathing suit pictured above, complete with heels. And of course, an open casket.

I know, I know. Good Mormons are buried in their temple clothes. But you know what? What I'm buried in will not affect my eternal salvation, and damn it all, I've waited 35 years for a tight tummy and I'm going to have a chance to flaunt the thing, even if only in death.

I can hear some of you saying, "But Brandi, don't you want to be resurrected in your temple clothes?" Umm, no. If I die before I get to see the results of the tummy tuck, then that's the first thing on my list on resurrection day. The kids and Will...eh, I've been looking at them for years. They can wait. I want wake up on that morning, emerge from the grave (or however it's going to work, because I have a hard time believing we'll all be clawing our way out of our graves zombie style) look down at my swim suit clad self and think, "Damn, Dr. Lopez did a good job! Too bad he killed me."

So there you have it, internets. I'm counting on you.

Here I go.

Oh c'mon. You knew this was coming.

You know what those kittens mean, right?

It's time for before shots of my pannus, and I don't want to punish those that have a picture preview on their blog roll.

O.K., so here it is for the last time in all its dangling, flabby glory:



Here's where they're going to cut. I'll no longer have a pannus, but I'll be left with some lovely scars. And a completely new belly button:



And through the magic of photo editing software, here's an approximation of what I may look like when all is said and done:

Don't worry. I won't try getting a job as a photo editor.

Wish me luck, and stop by tomorrow for a very special farewell to the pannus post.

What goes around comes around.

I didn't take this picture, but it's a common enough sight that I could have.

So guess what? I'm not going to talk about my pannus and its impending removal in this post. I know, about time, right?

Anyway, I had to go to Wal-Mart last night. And I had to go to the one across town. The one across town attracts some interesting clientele late on Saturday night (although not nearly as interesting as the Wal-Mart on the other side of the Army post. That one downright scares me).

So, I'm walking around totally being judgmental of the other shoppers. It was like stepping into the pages of People of Wal-Mart. It's times like those that I wish I had a camera in my phone.

There was an older lady in a shiny, silver jumpsuit. There was a guy with the mullet of all mullets (seriously, it was down past his big, shiny, belt buckle. And it was curly). There was the usual bevy of people wearing American flag/bald eagle/camouflage adorned clothes. It was hot out, so there were at least five 300+ pound women wearing spandex shorts and bra-like tops (Now, I'm not judging them for being 300 pounds. It happens. I was there myself. I'm judging them because spandex shorts and bikini tops look pretty horrific on most people, but add a few hundred excess pounds to the mix, and well, it ain't pretty).

There was one point while I was standing at the milk cooler, listening to the conversations going on around me, that the redneckery became overwhelming. I really felt like I had to get out and get out now.

Anyway.

I paid, loaded the van and got in. And that's when I realized that I was wearing bedroom slippers. And no bra.

Serves me right, I guess.