Things That Happened.

Last I left you, my dedicated @#%! friends, I was very pregnant and a little angry.

Rest assured, eight weeks later, I am no longer pregnant! Mini B

*throws confetti*

You may have already known that if you follow my instagram or facebook, and if you don’t, well you should be because then you wouldn’t have been waiting two months with bated breath for this press release.

Adding a tiny new member to the family was an easier transition than expected, although it helped immensely that Little A started part-time preschool so he’s out of the house three mornings a week.

*throws more confetti* holding

I also had a steady stream of help in the way of grandmas and paternity leave so I was rarely left unattended to deal with the two mini hell-raisers. But that’ll change next week

Please send bourbon.

The birth-by-induction was a wee bit harder than the first but I’ll tell you all about that someday. She’s here, she’s growing, she’s starting to smile for realsies and she’s pretty @$^$!@# awesome. I don’t even hate pink as much as I expected to.

I need to knock the dust of this old blog thing. Anything you’re interested in reading from me? I need ideas, otherwise you’ll get a whole lot of MY BABY IS CUTE SO SUCK ON THAT.

And I think I can be more interesting than that.

…….right?

 

 

Advertisements

That Time I Lied to You All.

I’m terrible. Last week, I flat out lied to you. I didn’t intend to, but I totally did. I spilled my guts on Valentine’s Day on Facebook so you may have already seen me expose myself. If you don’t follow me on Facebook, what the @#%@! is wrong with you?!

vdaylie

Allow me to explain myself further.

We cancelled our plans at the local meat house. It was Atlantic City’s fault.

We went to AC for a quick getaway romp, as a break from that literal snot-faced kid and to have a moment together before Big A leaves again. We love to gamble, we love Vegas, it’s a short drive away, it seemed like a good plan. We were just unprepared as to HOW good of a plan it was. Our only concern, really, was that we would be snowed in up there. And if we had, big flipping whoop, what’s one more night?! But we weren’t. It didn’t even snow enough to stick and my plans to make a snowman with the bartender at Hard Rock were disappointingly squashed. I did hit some lucky streaks and decided AC was my town.

ANYWAY. To the food and the abandonment of our plans. We had picked a few random places to try that were sort of off-Boardwalk and had amazing Yelp reviews. We opted for the Iron Room first because the place offered a ridic huge whiskey menu. That was all we needed, really. It took us each like ten minutes to browse the booze menu. I was not anticipating the experience to be my #2 dining experience OF ALL TIME. (The #1 being a stupid expensive Batali/Bastianich steak dinner in Vegas).

We each got a flight – three scotch for him, three bourbon for me. (and three beers for George Thorogood, am I right?!) And we selected few tapas-type plates to nom on. Steak Frites with pepper gravy. Good. Steak Tartare. Great, once I got over the texture and raw thing. (Big A ordered it well done. The kitchen didn’t listen.) And Sweet Fried Chicken on a duck fat and cheddar waffle with lavender velouté. @!#$%! AMAZING. I’m pretty sure Big A and I would have stabbed each other with forts had the portion been any smaller. We were thisclose to licking the plate clean. I’m drooling right now, just reliving it. 

Chicken and Waffle, Round 1. It's blurry because I just wanted to $%@# eat it.

Chicken and Waffle, Round 1, Iron Room. It’s blurry because I just wanted to $%@# eat it.

So for something completely different than raw steak and gourmet chicken and waffles, the next night we opted to go to a supper club called Kelsey’s for…chicken and waffles. Soul food chicken and waffles. With maple syrup. And mac and cheese. And cornbread. And the cutest older ladies rocking the karaoke night. Ughhhhhh. So much goodness.

Chicken and Waffle, Round 2. Pre-syruped.

Chicken and Waffle, Round 2, Kelsey’s. Pre-syruped.

Two dinners. All the chicken and waffles Atlantic City had.

Plus an amazing pulled pork sandwich, buffalo chicken strips, gas station cheese-stuffed pretzels, hot dogs and slightly hungover Panda Express. So much. Too much. We didn’t even wake up in time for breakfasts and still managed to cram in all the foods.

And that’s why we decided to forgo the Fogo. We just wouldn’t be able to give it the appreciation it deserves so we’re saving it for another day when the chicken and waffles are a distant memory and we dream once again of copious amounts of meat.

I’m sorry I disappointed you. Is there anyway I can make it up to you?

A photo of me and some delicious bourbon? Ok!

Basking in the goodness.

Basking in the goodness.

I SURVIVED SEPARATION.

I DID IT. I DIDN’T EVEN CRY.

Okay, that’s not totally the truth. I teared up twice. THANKS FOR NOTHING, LADY GAGA.

But actual tears. They never flowed. Not even one.

That either makes me totally awesome or a terrible mother. I’m gonna go with awesome.

Let me explain the Lady Gaga thing. Every night, we put that pink Johnson’s Baby Lotion on his face. I’m convinced it cleared up his baby acne in August so I’m afraid to stop using it. And with his body chemistry, it smells like Dr. Pepper. So instead of Poker Face I sing “Dr. Pepper Face” at him when I slather it on. It’s one of two songs that will put me over the edge. The other is “Moves Like Jagger” because the stupid tablet ad that used it was played all the time right after the kid was born and we would sub in his name. Because his moves are way cooler than a strung out 70 year old.

So I heard “Poker Face” twice, once while walking through Caesars and once during one of the Imperial Palace’s Dealertainer shows. I’m surprised I didn’t hear it more than that, actually, considering it was Vegas and, duh, POKER.

ALSO if you haven’t been to Imperial (soon to be The Quad), it’s kind of a dump and under construction right now, but it has been our favorite place to gamble for a long time. The table minimums are always less than other places and even though the odds totally blow in the Dealertainer pit thanks to the continuous shuffle thingamabob, it is SO MUCH !#%!# FUN to play there. Where else can you play blackjack until six am with Blondie, Prince, Ke$ha, Alanis Morissette and Bret Michaels.

Bret Michaels took all my money, that dirty bastard.

What, like you never drank Bourbon Cream Sauce straight from the vessel before. DON'T JUDGE ME.

What, like you never drank Bourbon Cream Sauce straight from the vessel before. DON’T JUDGE ME.

Anyways, where was I? OH RIGHT. Tearing up in public. I did it. I’m not ashamed. I’m shocked I didn’t do it more. Again, bad mom.

We had plenty to do – we gambled obviously all the time, I won $240 on penny slots to which we took directly over to the blackjack tables where we promptly lost it, we ate steak, we got free Serendipity frozen hot chocolate, went ice skating on the pool roof of the Cosmopolitan, did the table service VIP thing at Paris and barely slept. So, I can survive a trip away from the little bugger as long as there is plenty of entertainment, good food, great friends and copious amounts of booze. In other words, I need LOTS of distraction.

I’m convinced that the kid grew like five inches and gained ten pounds in my absence. HE LOOKED SO BIG when I got in the car. And now he’s been a giant fussbucket and drooling machine and doing crazy things with his tongue which leads me to believe a tooth is a’comin’. He still won’t roll over but he is getting damn close. It’s just that damn arm that gets in the way and he can’t figure out how to roll over it. I give him another four days*.

BUT I DID IT. BECAUSE I’M AWESOME.

.

.

* Less than 20 minutes after I posted this, that crazy face rolled over. Picked himself up and flung himself over the arm that got in the way. Mama would be proud of you, buddy, if you hadn’t just made her look foolish.

Thanks, You Turkeys.

So much has happened in the past year that it would be hard to be my pessimistic self and not be thankful today.

I am thankful that my pregnancy was easy, drama free and added something so key to my life it is hard to imagine a day without it. I am thankful for my family, both the little one here and the rest of it spread across the country. I am thankful that I’ve had the opportunity to stay home and hang out with the little dude. And watch TV. All day.

I am thankful for the bourbon and bacon that will soon cover my turkey.

And of course, I am thankful for you guys who continue to read my nonsense. I would probably still be here without you, but talking to myself, and I do that enough during the day to not need to do it all over the interwebz.

I hope you all have a wonderful Thanksgiving filled with all the %!$#^  things you like best.

HAPPY THANKSGIVING, YOU CRAZY TURKEYS!

Coming to Terms

I’ll be honest here. With Big A back home my blogging motivation has plummeted – hate to see what it’ll be like when Little A arrives! I am also trying not to freak out about the amount of things that need to be purchased, built, arranged, washed, cleaned, organized, prepped, made, packed, installed, hung, mowed, read, polished, kicked, pwned, sterilized, bleached, moved, etc before said arrival.

Speaking of the little parasite (EPIC SEGUE), he is full term today at 37 weeks! So, that’s neat. But keep that on the down low, because I don’t want him to know that he is technically able to make his move – I ain’t ready for that yet. I’m still hoping he’ll pop on the 4th…but I was pretty much told at my appointment on Tuesday to expect to go late. I THOUGHT THAT WAS A WIVES TALE. Which meant I had to change my submitted last day of work from “set in stone” to “tentative”. Not cool, man.

Here’s a terrible picture from this morning, with bonus cat.

Yes, even with someone in the house to take pictures now I still have to resort to mirror cell phone captures.

Fetal Fruit Comparison: Winter Melon. Again, much like the durian comparison, unhelpful. I only know winter melons exist because of my time with Farmville a long time ago, but that doesn’t help me with the size visual. All I see is a cartoon farmer and a field full of pixels.

Feeling…Large: This little bastard’s getting heavy. He’s starting to drop so the pressure is increasing in the front and I don’t like it. No, sir. I don’t like it. I’ve gained about 22 pounds overall which is good (really good, considering the amount of junk food I’ve had a penchant for), but man, that creeping scale is a scary thing sometimes.

Rude Awakenings: Lesson learned and then forgotten until learned again the next day – one should not, in my condition, wake up, stretch and flex ones feet. HOLY MOTHER OF CHARLIE HORSES DON’T F’IN DO THAT. But every morning, I do it. #%^@fw!

LIKE A CHAMP: I only woke up to pee once last night (my current standard is three) and I felt like Rocky. The boxer, not the squirrel.

Jagged Little Pills: My nightly medicinal cocktail is wondrous. Metamucil, Tylenol PM, pre-natal vitamin, DHA and Zantac. I may continue while beyond pregnancy with this one. Healthy, regular AND drowsy? SOLD.

Speaking of cocktails: I could really use one.

Booty Popper: Much like his mom, Little A apparently has a giant rear and knows how to use it. Often. He’s booty poppin’ and droppin’ it like it’s hot all the time.

At least he’ll have one of my assets.