Who needs an oven and a washer anyhow?
Two or three days ago (time having become relative to the last feeding), the washer broke. Just great when you have an infant in the house and laundry coming out your ears. Every time we set it to wash warm or hot, it would just turn off. Now, our washer is new, a ginormous gift from my parents when we moved into this house, broke after plunking our savings and graduation gifts and grandma gifts into a down payment. Seriously, thing should not break. And, in fact, it didn't, the washer repair guy was just here, flipped a few switches back and forth (just turn it off and on real fast!) and it is fixed. But that's a different story that didn't end in tears, only extreme frustration and, oh, okay, a few tears at having to shell out 80 bucks for something we'd TRIED doing ourselves multiple times. Gar.
So, anyhow, at first I called Sears, since that's where it came from, and even though I have my mom's receipts for the dang thing, Sears has NO RECORD OF IT EVER BEING PURCHASED. Which translates to: We can't help you. No, seriously. I finally, after speaking to three people and crying, literally, on the phone to the third, got a service appointment set, when they hit me with the payment options. Minimum $109 charge just to have the repairman come out, on top of any fees s/he might charge for a service call, plus parts and labor. I guess this is Sears' fee for the "service" they render over the phone. Some service. I cried again. Then, they offered me a DEAL, the bastards: Pay $214 now and we'll cover all service for the next year. What a deal, especially considering that, as I said before, the washer is new as of 18 months ago. Likely, we won't need any service on it for another ten years. So I did what any woman with crazy just-pushed-a-nine-pound-baby-out-her-you-know-what would do. I cried and passed the decision to Tony. He wisely said "up yours, Sears" and made a service appointment with the local appliance company that outfitted our entire kitchen.
Then the oven broke. Only the oven is really broken, not just flip-switches-back-and-forth-to-miraculously-fix-it broken. All those meals I prepared and froze for "when the baby comes"? Useless to me now. The repairman comes for that on Tuesday. At least it is solidly under warranty. There were tears involved in the discovery that we had no working oven, as well.
Then, on Thursday, we took Charles to his c-i-r-c-you-fill-in-the-rest appointment (there are crazies out there who have that term on permanent Google Search just so they can leave blog comments about how hundreds of American men - is that even statistically relevant? - try to reverse theirs every year with disgusting weights and tape. My thought is that they obviously need something to blame for their stupid lives, and looking to their actions or morals just seems too difficult, so they focus on some physical ridiculous-ness that all men I have talked to, Tony included, say isn't even a choice. It's just what you do with sons). I didn't stay in the room for the procedure, I made Tony do it, but I was thoroughly traumatized by the bloody aftermath. I now understand, I think, what it is to be a mother: wanting, wishing, praying to do anything to take away all suffering of your child. That and a bunch of other stuff. Anyhow, that whole thing ended in tears for me as well. Aren't hormones awesome?
My folks are here this weekend, which has helped me to be a bit more sane today (funny what taking a shower and brushing your teeth will do for a girl... now if only I could find time to eat) and my mother-in-law comes on Monday to help out. Such a blessing. In the immortal words of Britney Spears, "Parenting is hard, y'all." It has taken me hours just to finish this post.
The little chomper is doing well and eating lots (my porn-star-sized breasts are sore as all get-out), mostly sleeping well, too. I am so in love, I can't even describe it. Here are some of the latest photos:
That's a big yawn for such a little face :-)
Yes, that's me on the left, complete with PBR Tall (that my friend Sheran drank for me) and AC/DC tattoo. As you can see, Tony did not let me go out of the house alone in this getup, but he also refused to go with me. Hmm. I know you can't tell from the photo, but I have enough makeup on to give me a five o'clock shadow and a happy trail up my exposed belly. I had more strangers take photos of me than ever before on Halloween and lots of compliments. Really, it comes down to working with what you've got, and what I've got is a large belly. So, I guess you could say that for Halloween, I was a hick and the baby was a beer gut. Good thing the Boobs of Fury are prominent enough that no one actually mistook me for a dude ;-)
