Anniversary Poem

Tougher than leather

Love worn by design

I’m happy to have you

So grateful you’re mine.

In the years that will follow

The seas will be rough

But creatures like us

We’re strong and we’re tough.

Through chaos and calmness

Our love cannot sink

Our hearts beat together

Forever in sync.

It took me about ten minutes to scribble this on the back of his card after work; I picked the baby up late from daycare. I’m not sure he thought too much about it, or the love note I added thanking for being a kind and strong man. But he liked the belt.


Confessions of a Shitty Wife; T Minus 2 Days

Difficult as it is to admit, I forgot about our wedding anniversary last year. As much as that day was deeply etched into my heart, the fact that we had a baby almost 10 months to the day of getting married threw me off; I seriously thought I had an extra day. I’m sure he got me something nice, or at least a card that’s probably still buried under a pile of stuff somewhere in the Hoard upstairs. Maybe I got him a card, too; I can’t remember what I did yesterday morning let alone a year ago. All I know is that I can’t fuck this one up too; he’s a good man and I’m grateful that he loves me.

To be fair I’m not a completely shitty wife, it’s more of a part time thing. For example, I bought him his favorite beer for Easter and turned his 12 pack into an Easter Beer hunt around the house; watching him & the baby look for their respective items was adorable (although Mommy also purchased herself some beer, and had Daddy hide it as well).

For his birthday? Homemade card, complete with hand drawn pictures and a scavenger hunt for his presents.

It was badass, and I dropped a stupid amount for his gifts, which were a mix of fun (real life scavenger hunt, concert tickets) and practical (new sneakers, work shirts). I’ve been trying to cut down on general nagging and nitpicking as well, which I feel like should count for a lot too.

Last week when I realized that our third anniversary was quickly approaching (whoops), I had not planned to be out doing door knocking for a union campaign in a neighboring county the two days prior (double whoops), so I thought I had more time to work with. But it is what it is, that’s where I’m going after work, and I get stuff done under pressure.

According to Dr. Google, the third anniversary is the “leather anniversary”. It sounded gross until I read a bit more about it: “The 3rd wedding anniversary is often when a couple is aware of their durability of their relationship. That is why leather is the traditional gift for this celebration.” So what the hell do you get somebody that’s made out of leather? He already has a wallet, doesn’t wear jewelry, and honestly doesn’t need any more stuff. Despite some suggestions from my girlfriends, I am not getting him a whip. But a belt? It’s something useful and still symbolizes the strength of our relationship. Perfect!

Wish me luck!

The Great Budget Experiment

One of my goals for 2017 has been to be able to effectively budget my money and get a better idea of how our household is really running.  This has been difficult to do since, until a couple days ago, I only had cooperation of half of our household (ME).  

It was super frustrating not having RB on board, and this has been an ongoing point of contention for the last 2 years.  It began when I, a pregnant newlywed, discovered that my groom had thousands of dollars in undisclosed debt.  It’s something we’ve really struggled with and hasn’t gotten any better.  

But hey, new year!  We’re planning on having our kitchen and dining rooms remodeled as well as adding a half bath downstairs, which would make potty training (coming in the foreseeable future) a million times easier.  Because of this (and my keen ability to get super shitty about all sorts of unpleasantries at midnight when he’s trying to fall asleep in an unpredictable, domesticated “airing of the grievances”) we actually had the talk.  He agreed to try to set a limit for his “miscellaneous expenses” during the week, throw more money onto his credit cards with the highest interest, and contribute more directly to our house account.  My contribution will also include more money to cover bills (I just paid my student loans off after over 15 years, woohoo!) and trying to maintain and navigate this “budget” thing, which has been difficult in part because RB doesn’t have online banking, and until last night didn’t pay much attention to how much he spent.  So if he pays for pizza, gas, or groceries I have no way to track it.  

I can see you shaking your head, and I get it. 

 You’re asking, “Who the hell makes it to their 30s without having to budget their money?”  Or perhaps starting your sentence with, “What kind of privedeged asshole…” I see where you’re coming from, and I am embarrassed about it.  Honestly, the key word there was priveledge.  We’re both from middle class families who were poor back in the day, but we don’t remember much, if anything, about those days since we were little and our parents shielded us from it.  We’ve both had living wage jobs for the better part of a decade (longer for him, since he’s older) and we’re used to swiping our debit cards and not having to worry about it being declined at this point.  It’s a shitty excuse but it’s the truth.  

So now, in my mid 30s and with a toddler, I’m trying to learn shit that I really should have figured out sooner.  We’ve also found ourselves shorted by about $3,000 on our tax return this year, which is where a good chunk of our home renovations were supposed to come from.  Surprise, bitch!  We’ve got about a month and a half to come up with some serious cash so we can move forward with our home improvement plans…..  If you don’t hate me yet for this post, wish us luck!  

Mommy’s Night In

In typical fashion we waited until the last minute to try to get a sitter on Saturday night and found ourselves stuck.  It was RB’s friend Weezy’s 40th birthday bash, and although it was being held in a North Buffalo bar near her home (those of us from the South have an ingrained reluctance to leave our hood, and a twenty odd minute ride on Saturday night is a huge deterrent.  No really, it’s a thing) I felt like he really should go to represent our clan for several reasons:

  • It had been brought up as a point of contention during a fight recently that he never got to go out with his friends.  My response?  Fucking go!  Find something to do and I’d be happy to let you.  Please.
  • RB had been out on comp for two months, and had literally just went back to work the day before.  It was a nice chance for him to catch up with his buddies in a fun way, not at work.
  • I wanted the house to myself.  Yes, the “But I want to go out with you” and “It’s not fair you should stay home while I go out”s were very sweet, but see number one: I love you, now get the fuck out.  I see you all the time. 
  • After quietly leaving the third LuLaRoe party I had been invited to this month, my girlfriend texted me Saturday afternoon to let me know she wasn’t sure if I had seen her Facebook posts (oh yes, I did) but I was more than welcome to swing by her parents’ house for some snacks and a drink.  No obligation to buy anything!  Just an opportunity to hang out.  As sweet as my girlfriend is and as good as I’m sure her intentions were I have been avoiding this shit for a reason and currently do not have extra $25 to buy – as I’ve been told by literally everyone in the world  the most comfortable leggings ever.  I don’t even wear leggings.  (Or use Pampered Chef, Jamberry, or whatever else is being slung.  I just can’t.)  
  • Weezy (who is now his supervisor) was the one who pointed out to RB one magical night four years ago that, after ingesting several glasses of liquid courage over several hours, I was hitting on him and he should probably stay out later than he had planned (my subtleties were going over his head). 

After some time I convinced him to go without me, which he did begrudgingly, and proceeded to have an awesome time by myself!  Here are some things I didn’t do:

  • Switch over the laundry
  • Fold any of the 3 loads already done and sitting in various rooms around the house
  • Sweep, steam or scrub any floors
  • Do any housework whatsoever
  • Blog (this I actually did want to do)
  • Give a fuck about any of the above, except maybe the blogging since it’s been weeks since I last posted anything

Instead, here are the things I did do:

  • Literally kicked my feet up and sprawled out on the couch.  It was unusually comfortable without a second person sitting there, taking up precious couch space.  
  • Started watching Amy Schumer’s HBO special (again) and actually laughed out loud.  When was the last time you did that?
  • Paused the show, got up, and poured myself a tall cherry vodka and soda.  Took a couple of cold sips and peered into the freezer, feeling both defiant and brave
  • Found a frozen garlic bread pizza and silently declared tonight would be a night I shamelessly devoured carbs!  And did I.  I later regretted eating the entire thing by myself, but what the hell?  Woohoo Saturday night! 
  • Calmed the babe down, gave him Tylenol, sucked out some snot and passed out with him in our rocker for a little bit
  • Continued getting in touch with my dirty feminist side and finished watching Amy’s show, stuffing my face and laughing loudly.  I then proceeded to watch whatever else I wanted to for the next hour and a half.  It was amazing
  • Answered the phone when my mom called and stayed on the phone with her for about 45 minutes.  Even though she kinda ruined my buzz and was questioning every choice we made about our upcoming home renovations it was nice to catch up with her. 
  • Sent RB a text advising him if he happened to bring any candy home I would definitely eat it, but I didn’t want him to go out of his way.  
  • Ate two candy bars after he got home and didn’t feel guilty abiut it (until the next morning)

I’d say the weekend was a success, and I hope yours was too.  Cheers! 

The second test

Was taken this morning.  It was positively positive.  My doctor’s appointment is on 9/1/16….  

I don’t even know how to tell my husband.  


My husband apparently announced to a party of friends/his parents that I’m not outside now because I’m pumping.


It’s true, but really?!  Is discretion really that much of a lost art form?!

Side note: I pumped 60 ml holy shit.  He hadn’t eaten from me in over 9 hours. My stash is gone, I’ll cry about that later.

Case of the missing boob juice

Tonight RB & I celebrated our 1 year wedding anniversary (it’s technically tomorrow).  Nice restaurant in the area, phenomenal food; had a glass of wine so I was feeling groovy.  We were gone from 6:43pm to 8:35pm.  Took the Prince a little longer to go to sleep & he wasn’t eating like normal but didn’t think twice until I put our connoli in the fridge and then… Horror.  Sheer panic set in. 

A bag was missing.

BB’s godmother gave him another bottle. Dear God. There is one bag left in the fridge (3oz), plus if i can pump out another 20 ml tonight that’s one more. He ate like a half hour before we left, only on one side though so we had a bottle ready… Then he had another. Six precious ounces of boob juice lost and gone forever. That took probably almost three days to pump.


I seriously shed a tear.  The stash is dwindling, and instead of watching a movie outside with our friends (I can hear him laughing in the backyard)…  Here I am.  Pumping away (hopefully).

Happy anniversary, Darling.

Not too wine-y…

I won a basket with a big bottle of wine at National Night Out last night (one that i put together, as 2nd in command of the basket raffle, actually). I had a glass after the Babe went down, plus a half glass to kill a bottle of Reisling that had been open for a couple months. Wasn’t more than a teeny bit buzzed, but just enough to open can of worms with the husband. I feel like sometimes it’s easier to be unhappy and sober because I am more likely to keep it to myself. To be fair this is only the third time I’ve drank since BB’s been born, although it is the third time in 2 weeks. Yes, I understand communication is pivotal in any successful relationship. Do we do that? No. Am I horrible at this? Yes. Am I making up problems? Maybe. Do I feel it’s entirely my fault? No. Do I feel guilty? Absolutely. Could we both try harder? I think so.

Side note: I just pumped almost 15 ml. Maybe feelings make my milk come out. Weird.

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