More Drawings, A Little Less Talk, and a Whole Lot of Poo’

Hello Readers! Are you still there? It has been a while. I’m happy to report that I have not abandoned this blog.

I’ve been meaning to do a blog post since September, but then I got ridiculously pregnant, and everything I was writing and drawing was a total pile of crap. Normally I am pro-crap piles, but only if it’s intentional (if you know me at all, you know how much I love a nice steaming pile of poo’).


No kidding though, I really have been busy these last few months. I have good reason for not posting a new blog entry…and yes, I do believe in the art of presenting believable excuses for not getting jack shit done.

Back in September, we went on our first “vacation” as a family, to Florida. I’d like to say that all my planning really paid off, but nothing could resolve the fact that we were traveling with a toddler.

The fun began at the airport…I made Ben carry the car seat in a special car seat carrying backpack, which I had read on some mommy blog is absolutely necessary for travel. This picture doesn’t even come close to accurately depicting how awkwardly huge it was (I was too lazy to redraw it). It looked like the backpack was wearing him. Ben’s whole body was lurching forward, and he never stopped sweating.

I highly recommend it!


Liam nursed the entire plane ride there and back. He’s off the charts for his height. In the world of mommy blogs, he’d be described as “absolutely thriving,” which is great and all, but it looked like I was nursing an eleven year old.


We did not purchase a seat for Liam, so we had the joy of being crushed by his large body for the duration of the flight. He had a great time harassing fellow passengers and repeatedly opening and closing the window shade and tray table. I know the bald gentleman in front of us loved it, because he kept peeking back at us between the seats, obviously yearning to join in on the fun.


When we got to Florida, Liam decided to stop sleeping. We quickly realized that a vacation with a toddler is not really a vacation, but rather a constant reminder as to why you should never leave your house again, and instead,  just live vicariously through travel magazines.

So you may be thinking, “Wow, really? You’ve been too busy to write a blog post because you went on a vacation back in September?”

NOOOOOO, obviously not. I’ve got plenty more excuses!

I also spent an ample amount of time looking for programs to watch on Hulu. I watched a documentary about the horrors of cow’s milk (bear with me)… which led to a documentary about slaughter houses (seriously, I’ll get to the validity of this excuse)…which led to my husband, our toddler (Liam), and I all going vegetarian. You might not think that’s a viable excuse, but I’m telling you, it is. Changing our diet was incredibly time consuming because I had to spend a lot of mental energy worrying about our protein intake and making sure my husband wasn’t gonna grow man boobs from eating too much tofu. Here’s a fun drawing about being vegetarian (so you don’t hate me too much for it).


I’d like to point out that the vegetarian guy drawing is not a drawing of my husband. He saw this picture and was concerned that I thought he had tofu man boobs. For the record, he does NOT have tofu man boobs.

We also survived the holidays – Thanksgiving, Halloween, Christmas, and even a family reunion, all while not eating meat, which is downright humiliating in the company of family, who looked at me like I had just tucked my skirt into my underpants. We’re talking looks of disgust, as if not only my underpants were showing, but that they were also covered in prominent poop stains.

The thing that has kept us the busiest, though, was the fact that we moved across the country to Pittsburgh, PA. Yep! We packed for a month, put all our crap into moving pods, and got the heck out of Los Angeles.

Everyone knows moving is unpleasant, so I’m not going to go into the details, but let’s just say that there were a lot of panic attacks, tears, sleepless nights, early labor signs, bed-rest, toddler tantrums, vomiting, and fights with family members about a cat who shit and peed on a bed (true story not worth reliving).

Anyway, we made it out alive.

I was 9 months pregnant when we got to Pittsburgh, and spent a good part of each day feeling sorry for myself, which was a lot of fun for the whole family. I think my husband enjoyed it the most. This pretty much sums up that last month of pregnancy:


On Friday, January 22nd, I finally popped out a baby. We named him Henry.

I would go into all the details of the labor, but honestly, I reeeeeeallly don’t want to.

Instead, I pledge to post a drawing of the moment Henry’s little head popped out of my vagina. Don’t worry, you won’t have to see anything too obscene. Maybe just a little bush…

Okaaaay, probably a lot of bush.

In the meantime, here’s a crappy baby drawing I did in one of my earlier posts, Failed Drawings Part 1: Scary Babies:

creepy baby grocery cart





I’ve Got a Blabber Mouth


So, I haven’t been posting lately for a couple of reasons. The first reason is that I feel like everything I’ve been writing has been one long bitchy rant, which is really not what this blog is meant to be. The second reason is that I was feeling really depressed, which was really at the root of my bitchiness. I just felt negative about everything and I was feeling self conscious about it.

I actually felt so depressed that I started to dread my future as a mother and as a human – having to go grocery shopping, drive in traffic, do laundry, shower regularly, brush my teeth, clean up Liam’s messes, wipe Liam’s butt, wipe my butt, etc.

I realized something…I wasn’t suddenly clinically depressed, I was experiencing a major case of pregnancy hormones.

Oh yeah, by the way, I’m pregnant.

I AM PREGNANT with baby NUMBER 2…BABIES Part Deux. That’s right! I am officially nursing a baby and pregnant with another. I actually wrote about getting pregnant while still nursing in a post a few months ago…not thinking it’d happen so soon. But, I guess that’s what happens when you “do it” and don’t pull out.

A friend of mine recently wrote a blog post about her severe postpartum depression, which is also connected to the hormonal changes from making babies. Reading it helped me figure out how to handle my own depression. Check it out here. When I read it, I started sobbing…and I don’t mean dainty, little, quiet tears from a lady kind of sobbing. We’re talking loud, snot running down the nose, child like sobbing – where you lose all control and can’t catch your breathe or use your words; The kind of crying you did back in first grade.

I don’t know if it was a good cry I needed, or if the hormones were leveling off as I approached the second trimester, but just as I was about to seek professional help, life seemed to get a little less gloomy. I finally felt some excitement about being pregnant again. I was able to go grocery shopping without crying over little things like Trader Joe’s running out of the medium bodied peaberry coffee beans (I’m actually still a little annoyed about that). I was able to cook without having a melt down over a pot of water taking too long to boil. Having to live out the rest of my life as a mother and wife stopped seeming like a death sentence, and started feeling like something I wanted to do again. Phew! Just in time, because I really wasn’t in the mood to have a nervous breakdown.

Things are looking up, but I’m not quite out of the first trimester yet. In fact, I’m not really supposed to go public with this news, but I’m a big blabber mouth. I’ve already told a bunch of moms I don’t know at the park, and all the little old ladies who like to say hi to Liam when we go to Trader Joe’s…aaaand a bunch of close friends…aaaand our entire family…aaaand some acquaintances…aaaand an online Mommy group…but you know what? I didn’t make a public post about it on Facebook, so that’s pretty good. Although I’m going to post this on Facebook now so I guess that would mean I’ve officially completely failed at keeping this quiet. Let’s just hope all goes according to plan and that I am in fact pregnant with a human child.

Before I go on, I need to preface the rest of this blog post by saying that I am STILL very hormonal. I fear that no matter what I do, the tone I write with now is a little on the bitchy/ungrateful/depressed side, and there is not much I can do about it. Even though things are definitely better, my emotions are still a little unpredictable. Okay, A LOT unpredictable. This morning, on the way to see my midwife, my husband was playing drums on the steering wheel, and I told him I wasn’t in the mood. Who ISN’T in the mood for air drums?! He’s really good at it too!

This pregnancy is like the first in that all food smells bad. It has been pretty rough, but compared to a lot of other moms, I’ve got it easy (that’s me trying to be positive and not feel sorry for myself, but I actually totally feel sorry for myself). I hear horror stories of pregnant ladies throwing up so much that they need to be put on medication just so they don’t starve to death. I can’t believe these same women go on to get pregnant again! If it was that bad the first time, I might have considered adoption or a surrogate, no kidding. I really don’t appreciate throwing up.

Sometimes I lose sleep when I think about the day I’ll have to clean Liam’s throw up off the floor. Every kid does it…you just have to pray it doesn’t happen on you, or worse…on a jute rug (yep, barf on a jute rug is my worst nightmare), which if you don’t know, is not meant to be washed. I once spilled an entire cup of coffee on our jute rug. I called a professional carpet cleaning company and they said the rug was fucked. I’m still considering dipping the rest of the rug in a warm coffee bath, to even things out.

I’ve dealt with massive amounts of spit up, but barf has that special smell. I might have to enforce a law that makes cleaning our kids barf off the floor part of my loving husband’s duties (I know, I’m so sweet and thoughtful). I’ll take care of pee accidents, and maybe share poop clean up duties, but he’ll have to do the barf. It’s all in his best interests! If I have to do it, I’ll barf too, and he’ll never hear the end of it.

Now that I’m pregnant for a second time, I’ve noticed a lot of differences from when I was pregnant with Liam.

Firstly, no one cares. I mean, I’m sure some people do, but I think everyone assumes since you’ve done it before, that you don’t need to talk about it. The surprises of pregnancy are not anything new, but going through it with a toddler is quite a shock. Try grocery shopping with your toddler while he tugs at your bra strap because he wants to suck your boobs dry, while you desperately search for appetizing food that all seems to smell like deli meat that has been sitting in a hot car for a month, while you simultaneously dry heave and let out a little trickle of pee right into your maternity shorts.

That’s right, I’m wearing maternity shorts. I’m only 12 weeks pregnant, and I actually look pregnant. The second time you get pregnant, your body knows exactly what to do, and your tummy immediately starts busting out of your big girl fat jeans.

I thought because I had done it before, that the outcome of giving birth and what that means for our family wouldn’t be this great unknown – I honestly thought we would know exactly what to expect. So not true. I have never had two kids. It’s just as abstract a concept as it was the first time. The fact that we will have one newborn and a toddler is difficult to imagine. Mostly because it just seems like an impossible thing to manage. I know people do it all the time, but guess what, when you ask those people what it’s like to have two kids both under the age of two, all of them say, “Don’t worry, it gets easier after a couple of years.” A couple of YEARS?! Jesus! Is that supposed to be comforting?! I was just looking for a few pointers!

Ive noticed that because I’ve been feeling like people aren’t as excited about this second baby, I have adopted the same attitude. I’m not doing it on purpose, but I guess I’m avoiding talking about it too much with people for fear they’ll say, “But, haven’t you already done this?” I suspect that this fear is directly connected to my hormones, which make me feel insecure, unloved, irrational, unappreciated, sad, fat, and very very lonely.

I’m gonna start allowing myself to be excited about this though, and stop worrying about whether or not people will think I’m being overly enthusiastic. I want to be just as excited as the first time, because this is my first time…my first time being pregnant with a second child. Allowing a pregnant lady to get excited about a pregnancy is kind of the only joy there is in being pregnant. It takes the edge off of the constipation, hemorrhoids, insomnia, dry-heaving, barfing, constant hunger, constant thirst, back aches, neck aches, sciatica, vaginal discharge, sore nipples, worry, fear, exhaustion, etc. Aaaaaand I’m sure you have a really attractive image of me in your mind right now.

Here’s what I want to know… how the F@$% are ladies having 5+ kids?! HOW?! Even just 3! That’s when everything really changes. You no longer drive your family around in a car, you quickly become a bonafide bus driver.

It’s not fun to be a bus driver. Think back to when you used to ride the bus. Remember that sour look on your bus driver’s face? Every bus driver I’ve ever met as a kid looked like an alcoholic who hadn’t slept in days. You could see their face the entire trip to and from school in that giant mirror above them.

There was one exception – Mr. Gilligan! He was my favorite bus driver of all time. He always seemed to be happy. Most people thought he was genuinely happy about being a bus driver, but I knew better. I liked to sit up front like the dork that I was, and watch his face closely in that big mirror. I observed Mr. Gilligan’s full fledged facial tick. His mouth rapidly alternated from his lips pursing into a tight wrinkled ring (something I like to refer to as “cat butthole lips”), then switching back to a wide, closed-mouth grin. He switched back and forth between those two expressions a hundred times a minute. I’m certain it was due to transporting one too many rotten kids. Sadly, I eventually joined the rotten crowd and graduated to sitting at the back of the bus with all the other “cool” kids who skipped gym class to smoke cigarettes. Poor Mr. Gilligan.

So, that’s what’s been going on here. I’ve just been laying around being pregnant, and watching episodes of The Bachelorette, which in my skewed hormonal state of mind, is the greatest show ever made. Now that the season finale has come and gone, I need to stop pretending to be an invalid, and get back to my art.