Vaginas, missing penises, and little boys questions, oh my!

My husband deploys on a regular basis. Every other year we are left to fend for ourselves and take care of each other. My son takes this to heart, does every thing in his power to be helpful and please me. While this is wonderful bonding time, it is also a bit disconcerting, you see my son is curious. Wants to know everything about everything. This can be a great thing, but as I said, some questions it would be nice if daddy was to answer. 

The first time this happened my son came in while I was showering to ask me a question. These pop ins don’t bother me. I am not ashamed, nor do I want him to be so I don’t make a big deal of it. Plus with his dad being gone, an me needing to wash my lovely lady lumps within an acceptable amount of time, I figure he is going to pop in sometimes. 

He looks at me and says, “Now, where is your penis?” 

So I tell him, “I am a girl and we don’t have a penis. We have a vagina.” 

I’m sure many of you have had this conversation. It is fairly normal. 

He looks at me perplexed and asks, “Well how do you pee then?” 

I tell him that that is what my vagina is for. He accepts this, prattles on about the movie preview he just saw and thinks we should go see. I tell him fine and off he goes.

Fast forward two years, basically same scenario, I’m getting out of the bath and he comes in. This time he just stands there and stares at me. Now, this makes me a bit uncomfortable. Normally he gets right to what he wants or needs and goes off to play.

 So I ask him, “Why are you staring at me like that? Do you need something?” I’m fairly sure my nose is turned up and my face is looking at him like he is crazy.

“Well,” he says, “I was just checking to see if your penis grew yet. I thought it has been awhile since I checked, so it should be here by now.”

WTH??? He has been checking me for a penis? What does that mean? Does he sneak peaks at me in the shower? Come in at night and look under the covers? WHAT!?!?! I try so hard not to bust out laughing because he is totally serious. Apparently, I didn’t explain to him thoroughly enough the difference between boys and girls. 

So I try again. I un wrinkle my face, return my nose to its normal position, and say, “I am a girl, I will never, ever, grow a penis. I have a vagina. Now. Always. And forever. And if I did grow a penis the Dr’s. would come and do experiments on me because I would be a freak. You are born with one or the other and that is what you have.”

 His little eyes light up, “You mean like the freaks we saw in the Ripely Museum?” 

“Yes,” I tell him, “exactly like that.” 

“Wow,” he says, “ok.” And off he goes. 

Ahhh but the best questions are yet to come. Daddy is of course deployed, and I am pregnant. The boy and I are sitting at the table having dinner. 

“So, I guess you finally got the special hug, huh Mom?”  

This is how people get pregnant in my house. The special hug. He used to ask for a baby brother or sister all the time, but his dad would be deployed. So I told him I needed a special hug from his daddy to get pregnant.

I smile at him, “Yep, I did.” And boy was it ever special!! Absence definitely makes the heart grow fonder if not hornier!

“So, where do the babies come out?”

My stomach flops. I think, oh shit, oh shit, what do I say?! My face gets warmer. I curse my husband. He is never home for this! Why do I get all the hard questions?

I settle on, “Where do you think babies come from?” 

It is safe. Maybe he already knows and is just looking for confirmation. I am pleased with myself...until I hear his answer. 

“Well, babies come out of your butt, and they get milk from your vagina.”

WTF!!! Are you serious??? I don’t understand. This is not what happened in my mind when I asked him what he thought. His little face is, once again, completely serious. He truely believes he is right. Hooolllleee shit!!! My face is on fire, and I can’t help but bust out laughing. I am laughing so hard I am gonna pee myself. And anyone who has been pregnant knows this isn’t hard to do.

When I am finished laughing hysterically, I say, “What would give you that idea?”

“I saw it on Animal Planet, the show about lions,” he says very matter of factly. “The baby lion came out the mom’s butt and then it drank milk from her vagina. So, if that isn’t true, then where do they really come from?” he asks.

“Are you sure you want to know? It’s gross.” I reply. Totally trying to contain my laughter. He nods. 

Although he won’t be in the delivery room, I will be breast feeding, so I figure now is as good a time as any to tell the truth. 

“Babies come out of your vagina. And they get milk from your breast.” I tell him.

His eyes got as round as saucers. His face the color of a turnip. It was the funniest thing I have ever seen. Oh, to have had a camera and catch that face. Absolutely priceless.

“That sounds terrible,” he says. “I am so glad I have a penis.” 

There is a man statement if I have ever heard one. Out of the mouth of babes.

And here I thought Animal Planet was a safe channel for him to watch on his own.

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What irritates the hell out of me today...

All this hoopla following Whitney Houston’s death. The blame placed on Bobby Brown. If I see one more post on FB talking about how BB is the devil and it is because of him that WH was a crack head and dead at 47, I am going to flip shit. 

Let me point out a few things I find obvious. First off, she was a grown ass woman. Responsible for making her own choices. Was BB a bad influence? Possibly. However, that being said, let me repeat, she was grown. She chose to succumb to the influence of those around her instead of being the leader she was. She had a great talent and she squandered it. For that you should be cursing her and not who she chose to marry.

Understand that death is sad. All death. I hope her family deals with it well. But as far as her dying. I don’t care. She wan’t my friend. I never met her. She never had any bearing on any decision I made in my life. Those are the people that I lose sleep over when they die.

This goes for all celebrities. Amy Weinhouse, Heavy D, Ryan Dunn. I just don’t care.

What I do care about is how all of the celebrities are doted on in death. Article on top of article. Awards, tributes, etc. It is bullshit. How many soldiers died yesterday? Do you know their names? What about their families left behind? Does that even register....it sure doesn’t seem like it. You are lucky if you catch the news once a week stating at this point we have lost whatever the count is this week. But I have yet to hear them named. I’m sure if you search you may be able to find a site. But I don’t hear them celebrated or have tributes made out to them. Like I said, bullshit.

If this pisses you off too bad. Once again, so you aren’t butt hurt, I do feel bad for WH’s family. Death is sad. But do I care? No. Am I sad? No.

What it teaches me is that you never know when you will lose someone you love. So love them like everyday is your last day with them. Make them feel special, and important, make sure they know you care.

Peace out biatches! Hug someone you love today! And don't forget to check us on FB Citybia.


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It's a JUNGLE in here...

So we have three gyms in this town and I have been a member at all of them during my stay here. 

Anytime fitness which has no frills. It is fairly cheap, and very small. If you don’t need much it is great. If you have time to sit around waiting on equipment, it is great.

Next we have Golds. I’m sure you have all heard of it. It is basically Bally’s from back in the day. It is where you go when you want to be a creeper or you need some assurance and want someone to creep on you. Don’t act like you don’t know what I am talking about. The women go with full on hair and make up - pants so tight that their ass looks like it is having a meal. If you look as pretty when you leave as you did when you came in, you aren’t here for the work out, you looking for some sausage. Then you have the dudes in their tiny, tiny Under Armor shirt begging for attention by grunting and yelling, throwing weights around. I mean really, if they are so heavy that you have to throw them down, maybe you shouldn’t pick them up. Where do I fit in here you ask? Creeper or creepee....neither. It was cheaper than my original gym and it had child care. 

And then we have ACAC, the creme de la creme, Rolls Royce, Louis Vuitton of gyms. Why, you ask? Because, of the classes, the three different pools, warm water, lap, and activities. There is child care, and top notch child care too, as in, we feed, and sing, and have activities for your kids kind of child care. There is a cafe with free internet, a sauna, and most importantly, occasionally, Dwayne Johnson (you may know him as The Rock) shows up there. And that in its self, makes it all worth the ridiculous amount of money paid to go there. Just to stand near him and have his sweat drip on me {I kid honey, I kid. You know I love your dirty drawers and only want your sweat dripping on me (:} Seriously thought, he does show up occasionally and he is one of the nicest, most gracious, famous people I have met. 

But anyway....now I will share with you the worst things about ACAC. People with money feel they are exempt from certain common courtesy. Such as, wiping down equipment when finished. I don’t want my ass sweat mingling with yours. Ummm gross!They also have the need to use multiple lockers - seriously, are you moving into the gym? Three lockers? WTH? But the worst is the ones who walk around the locker room like it is their own personal bathroom. Aboriginal titties that hang to the end of their rib cage, belly buttons like wells small children could fall into and need to be rescued from, like little Timmy. But the absolute worst is the Hairydimplepala Beast. I walked into locker room to find a locker, look to my left, a bit too crowded. So I turn to the right and there it was in all of its glory. I was dismayed, I was disturbed, I was distressed. I would never get this awful sight out of my mind. In that one millisecond that I saw it, it was forever burned into my brain. No amount of scrubbing my eyes with bleach or having a bird with talons claw at them would make this go away. She was bent over blowdrying her hair. Her huge pale dimpled ass facing the entryway. But wait, it gets worse, far far worse. Not only was her ass staring at me but so was her fat ass twat, a very hairy twat at that. I mean seriously, can you imagine, it was so hairy that the hair is coming out by her ass. WTF??!! And in this day age of being fresh and smelling clean. Landscaping, waxing, making your bush into cute little shapes and what not. No, not her,not the Hairydimplepala Beast. She was au natural and apparently it has been growing since her birth. I wanted to kick her right in her fat twat and ask her if she was fucktarded! I mean really? You can’t put on some granny panties or wrap a towel around that. At least face the other way so that is not what people walk into. Good lawd woman that is nasty! 

So, the lesson I learned is to never ever walk into the locker room with my eyes up because when you have money, you lose common sense. Please for the love of god if you are a Hairydimplepala Beast or you know one, cover up, suggest that they cover up, better yet shave that nasty shit. FYI, you aren’t in a 70’s porn. Do it for your own good, your sanitariness, so your husband doesn’t get hair in his eye. Do it for us, the innocent bystanders who just want a locker.


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Peace out.  Citybia

The week from hell...

I must have really pissed off the Karma Gods (if you believe in that sort of stuff). I don’t really. I am nice to most every one. Sure I may blog about you or laugh at you to my friends but you don’t know so it doesn’t hurt your feelings. Apparently someone overheard me talking about them though because like I said. The Karma Gods are PISSED!

So my husband deployed. Not the first time, but definitely his last. It doesn’t matter how many times you go through it, it never gets any easier. Let me give you a break down of my first week alone.

Friday (the night before my husband leaves): My son comes home from school with diarrhea and throwing up. So much for our fun dinner out and Kinect family night.

Saturday: Son is sick and in bed and baby is napping so I have to call my neighbor to come stay with the kids while I drop my beloved at the airport. Some 3 hours later, beloved calls, “my ATM card doesn’t work. Can you bring me some money?” So I call a different neighbor to come sit with the kids again. Run to Walgreen’s because here in Bumpkinville it was easier than going to the bank and having to go all the way down the one way road to have to U-turn and come back up. Stupid ass one way streets in Bumpkinville. Sooo here we are in Walgreen’s. I ask the ATM for $300. It gives me $60. WTF?!?! Are you serious??? I thought, “Wow, I’m a jack ass and did something wrong.” So I ask for another $200. Smart. I know right!? Then $320 comes out. You can’t be serious. So after shoving a back scratcher in the machine and pulling out my money that is jammed I am still $40 short. Oh, well, I’ll call the bank later. I take the money to my love and go home.

Sunday: My son starts feeling better and the baby starts having diarrhea. Nice. I can’t catch a break.

Monday: Baby still has diarrhea but my son goes to school. So not an awful day.

Tuesday: Baby wakes up throwing up. Poor little sweet thing, it breaks my heart. I call the Dr.s office at 8 a.m. and leave a message for a nurse. No call back. I call back at 10 a.m. and finally get to speak to someone. No, no pee diapers. No, she can’t keep anything down. After following the advice of the nurse and giving 2 tsp. of milk every 20 minutes, we end up at the Dr.s office. If there are no wet diapers by 5-6 p.m. to the off to the ER I should go. So here comes 5 p.m.still no pee, and still not holding anything down. I make arrangements for the boy to stay at the neighbors and off the baby and I go. I ask for a pediatric Dr. or nurse. They tell me there are none and all of the Dr.s and nurses are qualified to take care of my baby. BULLSHIT! There is a complete and total difference between and ER Dr. and a Pediatric Dr. The first thing the ER Dr. says to me...”um, your daughter has boobs. I think she will have premature puberty. You need to speak to your Dr. about it.”  Are you fucking serious? She is a baby. Babies have tiny baby boobies, but none the less, now I am freaked out about something I had no issue with before I got to the ER. Nice. I took eight hours, five nurses, and seven tries before they could get and IV in my sweet babies hand. It was absolutely awful. If it wasn’t for a wonderful friend who came to sit with me I would have been in a padded room or taken away in cuffs for kicking someones ass. On top of all this I can’t get ahold of my baby’s Dr. because some jackass flipped a switch and made the phone number the fax number. At 2:45 a.m. we finally get admitted. After eight hours on the IV and more blood work we are told she will be fine and we can go home. I am soo happy!

Wednesday: We come home and the baby plays a bit. She still has a bit of diarrhea and a small throw up here and there but a big improvement The boy comes home and had a good day. Maybe things are looking up. 

Thursday: I wake up at 2 in the morning with diarrhea and throwing up. Can’t catch a fucking break. So my son gets a day off school to help me take care of the baby. Before you judge me...A) I have a limited network and my network consists of people who all have kids my sons age and younger so I can’t expect them to take my sick baby, and B) Screw you if you don’t like it. I didn’t ask what you thought. I mean that in the nicest fashion. 

Friday: 12:40 the baby wakes up throwing up. Thank goodness I went to bed at 8. I can handle this. So I change her and snuggle her and put her back to bed. I lay in mine and listen to her babble and kick. Finally she quiets down and I get up to check on her. As I get closer to my door I smell a stench so appalling I am convinced something is dead outside and the smell is wafting inside. I get to the baby’s room and the smell hangs in the air like death. I am convinced that her insides are rotting. I change her while holding my breath and trying not to vomit. It is the worst smell I have ever endured. I finally get to go back to my bed. Peaceful sleep. I feel better at 7a.m. when the boy gets up for school so off he goes. And the baby wakes throwing up and covered in snot...

So that was my week, like I said, if I believed in Karma, I would think that I had done something horrible. But in all honesty, I think it happened to make me grateful for all of the days I had when we weren’t sick, to show me that through all my anger at my husband leaving me during this, I am fully capable of dealing with it and everything else life throws my way during this deployment. But I can only hope it gets better....

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