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Oddly Comfortable With Myself..

25 Apr

I have spent the last 11 years or so trying to lose weight or “fix” my body in one way or another. Every year, I’d look at pictures of myself from the year before and I’d wish I still looked like that. In 2010, I was wishing I looked like I had in 2009. In 2011, I was wishing I looked like I had in 2010. I’d spend so much time on my scale and wishing I looked different, that I never appreciated how I looked at that time. I was never happy with myself.

I currently weigh about 10-15 lbs more than I did last summer; however, I weigh about 15 lbs less than I did 6 months ago. I started Abilify at the end of last summer and gained 30 lbs from mid-July til the end of October (when I quit taking the Abilify). Last year, when I first reached this weight–on my way UP in weight–I cried. This time–as my weight dropped back down to this weight, I am happy. I am comfortable.

I finally feel perfectly happy in the clothes that I wear. I know I could stand to lose a few pounds, but I don’t care. I am heavier than I have ever been naturally (meaning, not postpartum or due to medication), but I’m okay with that. My clothes fit fine, my husband thinks I look great (he’s an ass man, my weight gain works in his favor), and I don’t feel stressed. If my new medication makes me lose weight (common side effect), great. If I stay the same weight, great.

I still wear a bikini and don’t give a shit if some random person thinks I need to cover up. Too bad! I still wear shorts and dresses, and I have always hated my legs. It feels good to not hate them so much anymore.

One thing I do want to change, is my health. I eat crap food and should really start eating healthier. I’ll work on it. But, my focus is on getting healthy and gaining energy …maybe relieve myself of some of this constant brain fog. If I don’t lose an ounce, though, I won’t shed any tears.

I feel happier now and less stressed. My husband is happy with me and I’m happy with me, and that’s all that matters, right? Life is too short to stress about what everyone else thinks.

P.S.
I like Oreos.

P.S.S.
Abilify can suck it.

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If Money Could Buy Love..

8 Mar

He’d have just bought himself at least another 10 years or so..

Image

Hubby bought me this emerald 3 years ago while deployed in Afghanistan.  I’ve been telling him since the day he brought it home that I would like it set for a gift on the next big holiday (Anniversary, Christmas, Birthday..). I finally got it today. I initially just wanted a simple setting, but there is nothing simple about it! It is replacing my old wedding rings since they were damaged a few months ago. I am almost as in love with it, as I am with Hubby. 😉

I bitch about him, but I love that man!

Bless His Heart

6 Mar

If you are from the south, you know that “Bless your/his/her heart” is usually just a way for Southerners to say something negative about someone without feeling guilty. It’s like saying “no offense” when you say something offensive or a way of saying that you pity someone. For example:

“She is so naive, bless her heart.”

“She’s a homely looking child, bless her heart.”

“He’s a dumbshit, bless his heart.”

In this case, regarding my husband, it means, “It’s your birthday. I pity you because, if you don’t stop being a douchebag, it might be your LAST birthday.”

Because of the fact that I have no means of transportation right now, my plans to go get a cake and a sweet card–went out the window. Instead, I decided to deep clean the worst room in our house: The Bedroom. Listen, y’all, that room seriously gets neglected–I admit it. Whenever we are in the other rooms cleaning, one of us asks, “Hey, where does this go?”, and the other almost always responds, “Hell, I don’t know. Throw it in the bedroom and shut the door!!” It’s the catch-all. We also have a serious problem with coming home from vacation and, rather than unpacking, living out of our suitcase until..well..until we go on vacation again. Don’t judge me!

Anyway, so, I decide to deep clean it. Hubby is always bitching about not being able to find anything and we are always kicking suitcases in the middle of the night, so I thought it would be nice. I worked my ass off. I actually broke a sweat. I know, gross, right? Luckily, I found my super strong muscle relaxers while I was digging through things. I needed those after tackling that mess. My back was, no, is throbbing and I am exhausted. I phone Hubby to see if he wants me to order some Outback Steakhouse to-go. It’s one of his favorites, so I figured it was a win-win for all of us. He says that, no, he doesn’t want it. He doesn’t feel like having to stop to pick it up on the way home on his birthday. I explain that I am about dead and, since he needs help with his resume tonight, it would benefit us all. In comes the bitching…”Well, I don’t feel like stopping. I guess I will just come home and cook by myself on MY BIRTHDAY!” I’m all, “Dude, STFU. I didn’t ask you to come home and cook.” He bitches some more about me “whining” about my back aching (I’ve mentioned my bulging discs and arthritis, right?). I didn’t tell him about the bedroom initially– because I wanted to surprise him. However, at this point..I wanted to go sling shit around everywhere, completely destroying it, then yell, “Surprise, mutha fucka! Happy Birthday!” when he walked in, but decided against it.

Hubby gets home and starts moping around. I run out the door to get cake and come back as quickly as possible. When I return, the kids are telling me about how Daddy said he doesn’t even want cake. The fuck? The kids were so excited about getting him a cake and seeing him be excited. Jerk. Since his mood hadn’t improved and the bedroom door was still shut, I assumed he hadn’t been in there. I walk in the bedroom to put my purse down (I used his car key, by the way..because mine is still missing) and he walks in behind me. Finally! Maybe he will see what I have been doing all day, realize that I wasn’t bullshitting about being exhausted and in pain, and cheer up. He walks through the bedroom and goes into the bathroom without saying a word. I just sat there until he came out, thinking he would be all, “Wow!” on his way out. Nope. Not a single word. He just walked out. Just WALKED OUT.

The rest of the evening didn’t go any better. He continued to mope and wouldn’t eat dinner with us. I had to force him to come sit and let us sing Happy Birthday to him. My eyes had daggers shooting out of them at him. I wanted to yell, “Ever heard the song It’s My Party And I Can Be A Big Bitchy Baby If I Want To?! No? ME EITHER!”

Bless his heart, he might not make it through the night.

Remind Me To Never Put Things Where I Can Easily Find Them

6 Mar

It happens Every. Single. Time. And, please, tell me it happens to you too… I came home, put my purse down, and walked around for a bit while holding onto my keys. Realizing that my keys were still in my hand, I decided I should put them up before I accidentally lost them. My purse was too far away for me to bother walking, so I just stuck them in the first easy-to-remember-but-out-of-children’s-reach place I saw. Bad idea.

I woke up early this morning for my appointment. I was proud of myself–I was going to be able to get myself and the kids ready, then have time to kill before having to leave to get there 10 minutes early. I get ready, feed the kids, then head to grab something from my car…it’s locked. I walk into my bedroom, open my drawer–where I’m certain I left the keys, but the keys aren’t there. That’s right, I put them on top of the fridge. Hmm, not there either. Oh! My bedside organizer thing! Duh! Nope. On the shelf in the living room, by the door? Nah-uh.

WRONG! THEY AREN'T THERE!!!!

On top of the microwave?

On the coffee table?

In the bathroom, where I’ll see them while getting ready?

In my make-up bag?

In the laundry room?

Under my bed?!

Down under the couch cushions?!

In the box my new camera came in?!?!

Dear God, WHERE ARE THEY?!

My car is push-to-start and, I swear, I even carried the trash bag out to my car and held it up to the door while pressing the button and praying the door unlocked (I was not about to dig through the trash without being sure they were in there..). An hour of searching, and I still have no clue where they are. I finally called and rescheduled my appointment. It’s also Hubby’s birthday and I was supposed to go get his cake before he gets home from work. Now, he will likely come home to a completely destroyed house and find me stuck upside down in the big trash can…desperately searching for the keys. /WIFEFAIL

It’s just like when I hide things from the kids. I hide the thing I do not want them to find and–go figure—I’ve hidden it from myself, too. Why does this happen?

Why, God, WHY?!

It’s not just me, right? …..RIGHT?!?

Love Always, Your Concerned Wife

28 Feb

Last night, Undermedicated Housewife (my crazy side) came out during an argument. It started out as a discussion, but quickly escalated. Discussion to Argument Progression went something like this:

Political Story –> Politics In General –> Rick Sanctimoron –> Birth Control –> Vasectomies –> Undermedicated Housewife

Now, let me give you some back-story (in as few words as possible):

About 5 years and 3.5ish months ago, I was in a hospital bed thinking I was about to die. I was pregnant with my daughter and suffering from severe pre-eclampsia. I was being induced at 34 weeks because my blood pressure was through the roof. I can’t remember exact numbers, but on a scale of Kate Moss to Chris Farley, I was pretty close to a John Candy. Between the magnesium, blood pressure induced migraine, pitocin, and failed epidural…I was in the most severe pain of my life, and that is considering that I have had 2 spinal surgeries, 3 abdominal surgeries, 3 eye surgeries, and a couple of other surgeries. Seriously, I had never felt such pain…until it happened again.

Pregnancy number 2 was a disaster. My chances of having another run-in with pre-e were fairly low, but–you know–I am always one to beat the odds! Around 25-26 weeks (my due date was questionable), I woke up so swollen that I fell down when the swelling prevented my feet from bending enough to stand flat. Four days later, I’m in the hospital about to go back for my urgent cesarean. I had a huge team of doctors at the foot of my bed explaining the risks of the surgery, the risks to my unborn son, and the risks of ever getting pregnant again. After being told that my son only had a 50/50 chance of survival and, if he survived, he would have a 50/50 chance of having CP..my brain went fuzzy. I do, however, remember hearing them tell me that, because of the fact that I had gotten pre-e again–more severe and at an earlier gestation, another pregnancy had a high risk of being even worse..potentially fatal for me and the unborn. They all nodded in agreement at the suggestion of permanent birth control. Because of my blood pressure, staying in longer than necessary in order to tie my tubes was another risk. Hubby agreed to getting a vasectomy, instead.

About 6 months later, we are discussing the vasectomy and Hubby starts backing out. When researching the risks of a vasectomy compared to the risks of tubal ligation, he managed to find a website dedicated to reasons why men should NEVER have a vasectomy. I’m fairly sure he found it on Google search pg 1,247, because everything I found on the first several pages stated that the vasectomy was far, far easier and less risky. After my family, his family, and I continued to urge him to do it, he was finally convinced.

The whole procedure lasted about 10 minutes. I was so grateful that I had a husband who was willing to give up 10 minutes of his life, take on a minimal risk, and live with a tiny scar on the underside of his scrotum..just to prevent any chance of me getting pregnant and, you know, dying.

Now, lets review:

  • Pregnancy and childbirth almost killed me–twice
  • The pre-e also nearly caused the death of our son
  • The pain was the worst I have ever felt, worse than the broken back and hole ripped in my stomach–which I have also experienced
  • I had one child vaginally with no help from an epidural
  • I had one child via major abdominal surgery
  • Future pregnancy will likely kill the unborn and, possibly, me
  • Hubby had an easy, low risk procedure as a method of birth control for us

So, last night, we get on the subject of birth control and vasectomies. Hubby suddenly declares that no man should ever have a vasectomy. Um, WHAT? He goes on to explain that, when we do that thing that used to lead to babies, it HURTS. Bad. This is really confusing news to me. Why does he always WANT to inflict pain on himself, then? Anyway, because of this pain he so often feels, if he could go back, he would have never gotten it done. In comes the outraged Undermedicated Housewife with a response:

You know what else hurts, asshole?!?! DYING!!

I really wasn’t fair, to be honest. I have no idea what dying actually feels like. He suffers from real pain and I should have been more considerate.

To express my regret for acting so psycho over his innocent statement, I wrote him a letter:

Dear Hubby,

I am sorry I freaked out on you last night. You expressed that certain activities caused you pain and I was cold about it. I was selfishly only thinking of myself, the trauma pregnancy causes, and that pesky death risk. Judging by the level of pain you said you feel and the frequency of your requests to inflict such pain upon yourself, you must really love me. Clearly, you are only encouraging these activities for my benefit. That makes me feel really awful. Since you made such a huge sacrifice for me, I am going to do the same for you. I will make it my priority to ENSURE that you never feel that pain again. I just can’t handle having that guilt on my conscious…or vagina.

Love Always,
Your Concerned Wife

Another random thought: Sometimes, a little sexism is okay with me!

10 Aug


This is regarding me, and me alone. Whatever you want to do with your life, I support your right to do it regardless of whether it’s a stereotypical man-thing, or stereotypical woman-thing.

Just now, while on my way to pick up my daughter from school, I drove past some road construction workers. I thought, “What a miserable job! It is too damned hot for all that!” Then, there were the guys working on the power lines. Again, miserable job. I understand that, while men hold the majority of these jobs, women do these jobs as well! What I don’t understand is..why? Why would ANYONE want to work in a profession that requires subjecting oneself to extreme weather?? I know people don’t always us choose it, it’s necessary. I’m referring specifically to those that are wanting to ensure that they have the right to burst into flames while working on a power line. Right now, I’m sitting in the pick-up line, air conditioner on, trying to type this before I melt. People want to work hard, doing manual labor in this stuff?

You know what other stereotypical man things I don’t like doing? Taking out the trash. Killing bugs (I’ve blogged about these twice now, I really hate them!). I even try to push the “but driving is the MAN’s job” on to my husband sometimes. That never works..instead, the non-driver is the one that makes it to the liquor cabinet first. This is why women should always go first in things, too..like ordering at restaurants first. “I’ll have a margarita on the rocks..double. Oh, by the way, husband, you are driving home tonight, right?”

Anyway, back on track..plumbing–another male dominated field. I’d like to meet the woman that complains about losing out on that job to a man. I’d shake her and ask, “Woman! What is wrong with you?! Have you ever smelled SHIT?!” I can use a plunger when my children have had too much milk or tossed a toy in the toilet, but that’s MY toilet. Others’ toilets? Um, gross.


I dream of a day where washing dishes is “a MAN’s job!”

Another thing..I like being prettied up and dressing like a typical female. I’m not trying to be a man. Facial hair is going to be enough of a bitch when I get older, I’m sure–considering my black hair and all.

I guess what I’m saying is..I don’t fight for the right to stab my eyes out of my head or slam my fingers in the car door repeatedly. I don’t get how it even crosses one’s mind to fight for certain rights. The day I start fighting for my right to use a urinal..is the day you can punch me in the face and call me a douchebag. Sometimes, a little sexism is okay with me!

I don’t kiss his ass..

10 Aug

I’m writing this really late. Forgive typos, run-ons, or shit that just doesn’t make sense. I’ll clean it up tomorrow!

Today, I have decided to address some things regarding military wives. I don’t say too much about being a military wife..because I am my own person. I know, I know–my name refers to me being a housewife, so why not military wife? Because, overall, I mostly write about being a housewife. And that brings me to the first thing Id like to address!

**These may be true for many, but I doubt it’s true for most. I’m speaking for those of us that are quietly loving military men.**

  • Military wives sit at home on their asses all day.

Well, I do..sometimes. Most times these days, I am up and doing something from 6am until 11pm. Yeah, so..um.. you can F off if you think I sit on my ass all day, everyday. I could get a job if I wanted to, but being home with my children as long as possible is more important to me. Besides, I intend on starting school again in January. Plenty of non-mil wives stay at home with their children too. It isn’t exclusive to a specific group of women. Also, many women stay home because they move a lot. It is hard to move up very high on the totem pole when you move every few years.

  • We are all fat, lazy slobs.

Speak for yourself. I am within my healthy weight range, I have big and fake boobs, and I only go to Wal-Mart in sweat pants every other time I go. Yeah, suck on that. I haven’t even seen many fat wives around here. I’m sure there are plenty, but–at this base at least–there aren’t anymore than there are in other groups.

  • We also dress up to go to the commissary and judge those who don’t. We are representing our husbands out there!!

Wait.. what?!? I thought we were fat, lazy slobs? Now, I admit that I have seen plenty of these types out and about. They are typically rank wearers & I’ll get to those later..

  • We are popping out kids left and right.

I don’t know about the majority of the military couples, but we have 2 kids. I thought that was pretty much the norm? We did consider the benefits of Tricare when it came to our decision about more children. Tricare doesn’t just cover birth, it also covers VASECTOMIES..and female birth control. I am done, done. We have insurance.. I do NOT have a death wish. Even if another pregnancy wouldn’t kill me, I’d still be done. The cost of birth is not the only factor in the decision to have a child. All of the couples I know have a normal amount of children.

  • I want a trophy for being a military wife. After all, it is the toughest job EV-AR.

I mean, if you really want to give me one..but, I’d prefer a crown. You could actually just give me the cash. Really though, no, we do not all expect people to kiss our asses for being military wives. It is not the toughest job in the world. It isn’t a job. Sure, I support my husband in his work. Isn’t that what spouses do? Support each other? Do you get sad when your spouse is gone? I do! It isn’t because he is military, it is because he is my husband. He is also put in dangerous situations. However, I am not in a dangerous situation, not that kind anyway. He is the one who has it HARD. I have it.. sad. Also, not all of us get irritable when people complain about missing their spouses because they are working a little late. It isn’t a competition. I spent the majority of the first 2 years of my marriage away from my husband, and I still get sad when he comes home from work too late. Other people’s problems do not become petty to me.

  • Military wives kiss their husbands’ asses, because they have the second hardest job in the whole wide world!!

My husband is awesome. He goes to work everyday and bitches about it only at a reasonable level. He provides for his family because he loves us. Still, he has responsibilities at home, too. Being a member of the USAF doesn’t mean you are excluded from lifting a finger at home. I don’t kiss his ass… I’m not that freaky. Hubby washes his own uniform, he cooks sometimes, he even cleans up after himself on rare occasions. Bug needs killed? Hubby kills it. Trash day? Hubby takes it out. Nine times out of 10, I’m the one needing a massage. And I get that massage.

  • Our husbands’ ranks are how we define ourselves and others.

What?! No! I do not wear my husband’s rank. I didn’t earn it and, to the bitches who think you are special because your husband is a what-the-f-ever he is, you didn’t do anything to earn that rank either. Blowing him doesn’t count.

  • We all screw our husbands’ best friends during long deployments. All the good wives do. The friends are just being GOOD friends & helping us out, like our husbands asked.

Nah, not all of us. But, uh, thanks for that, Hollywood…and whores!

Some afterthoughts:

No, it isn’t hard to be married to a military man. It’s hard to be married to me. Really though, it’s marriage. It all takes work.

Sure, the lack of..ahem..”intimacy” during deployments, TDYs, and whatnot is a bummer, but it doesn’t ruin a marriage. I didn’t need to “get down to bidness” to fall in love & don’t need to in order to stay in love. The women who cheat on their deployed husbands and husbands who cheat on their deployed wives (or spouses that cheat while they are the ones deployed) are shitty people. They are the same people who would be sluttin’ it up outside the marriage with the pool boy or “working late” if they had/had spouses with civilian jobs. Deployments do not drive people to cheat. Whorie’ness does.

I’m not downplaying the role of the military spouse. We go through a lot of heartache and pain..and we sacrifice a lot. However, I guarantee that 99% of us make those sacrifices for love, not a trophy. Not all of us feel some sense of entitlement for dealing with long separations.

I do appreciate the gratitude others express, but no one has to thank me for loving my husband.

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