My Diagnosis. Also? I think I have a mustache.

Had you told the girl in this picture that in ten years' time she'd be sitting in the bathroom putting Rogaine on her head with hair remover on her lip and an estrogen patch on her butt, I'd wager she'd keel over. Either that or punch you. Probably punch you. I use to be really bitchy. Never in my wildest dreams would I have thought that at the age of 32 I'd be dealing with the body of a 55 year old. The official diagnosis is estrogen deficiency. My body thinks it's in menopause. I've lost at least 50% of my hair, my ovaries have shut down, and for the past 6 years I've honestly thought I was losing my mind. The anxiety, depression, memory loss, COMPLETE emotional instability: ALL symptoms of estrogen deficiency. How did it take so long to figure out? Well, since I've been pregnant or breastfeeding since 2006, it was kind of hard to tell what was what. Certifiable problem or hormonal pregnant girl? Your guess. It wasn't until my body really started shutting down and I really started getting scared that I actually had dementia did I get full bloodwork. What's next? For the time being while we wait for Zofia to wean I'm on an estrogen patch. I shed my tears about the hormone replacement therapy drying up my milk and bringing an end to this stage of Zofia's life, but if left untreated, estrogen deficiency leads to osteoporosis, stroke, and heart disease. As my mom pointed out, Zofia would rather drink out of a cup than have me die of heart disease. Touche, mom. I'm not going to cut her off cold turkey though, so they aren't going to test for the cause of this deficiency just yet, such as tumors, as breastfeeding would skew the findings in lab work. (For now I'm going to pretend like there's never been any mention of tumors as I MIGHT FREAK THE FREAK OUT!!!!!!)

So, that's where I am. Estrogen patch firmly on my butt and a lot of fixing and healing to do. The toll that it has taken on my body, marriage, kids, career, and relationships is hard to put into words. The task of rebuilding everything makes me feel like an asthmatic acrophobic about to scale Mt. Everest. Impossible. I'm scared y'all. Real scared.

If you're the praying type, send me a prayer. If you're the hugging type, send me one of those. If you're the forgiving type, well thank the Good Lord for you.

Next up? Dance Clubs for 5 Year Olds

This weekend has been the weekend of mama and Athena. Of course, sweet Athena Bee does not mind that our lives have changed so that Zofia is now in the mix. To Athena, bless her heart, it's always been "the more the merrier." No jealousy from that fine girl. Oh no. She's too proper for that. So to reward her for her ongoing patience with her sister, her love for school, and her perfect progress report, Athena and I partied it up this weekend.

First we went to my mom's work Christmas party. She works for UTMC and we partied hard with the doctors. (Side note: They are the doctors for our entire family, immediate and extended and they're WONDERFUL.) Athena got her first taste of a dance floor, a DJ, and little boys she could ask to dance. Here is her face all night long:

I bought her her first pair of high heels and girlfriend WORKED IT. Walked up and said "Hey boy! I'm ATHENA!"

The following morning, we continued to be debutantes and we brunched with some of my lovely family. I couldn't possibly recommend the brunch at Manhattan's in downtown Toledo more. The food was amazing, the chef was a joy, and the service was perfection. They catered to my sweet girl and she got her first virgin mimosa.

Look at her face. Look at how happy she is. My heart bursts over the weekend I had with my first born and my wonderful mother, Aunts, and cousins.

'Tis the season to be jolly, am I right?

I've never actually wished death upon someone...

I've never come right out and said, "I wish he would die" before, but for the first time yesterday I said it would be better if he did... or if any of the three did.

Bad things come in threes, right? My dad, my stepdad, and my brother. *They all have their own sweet little clickable links. They've all had some sort of purpose to serve but that purpose is long gone and now all they give to this world is danger and pain.

Like I said, I won't come right out and wish it, but dammit all if it wouldn't be better.

I've written extensively about the Dickface Trifecta on BlogHer and how they've affected me and tortured my mom, and many have enquired about her view of it all. After all, it all began with her long before I was born.

She's finally had enough and is stepping out into the light to see what she can find here. BlogHer has given me a voice that I wouldn't have had otherwise and I've suggested using that space for her journal. I'm hoping the large community of abuse victims there will embrace her, encourage her, and lead her further out of the dark.

Please visit her. Support her. Share her. Let's build her a virtual village.

Is My Spouse Verbally Abusive and Controlling?

Our Answer to DogShame: Rooster Shame

I can fall down the Dog Shame Tumblr rabbit hole for HOURS and just laugh and laugh and laugh. My mom, her coworkers and I share our favorites via email.

Recently though, we realized that we could shame a variety of animals. Why let dog owners have all the fun? You see, roosters are assholes. I mean real deal shits. This is why the word "cock" is a swear word. Whenever my mom gets some real dicks, they wind up in my crock pot and everyone wins. Recently she has  had a pair of potential crock potters. They're not mean to her, so she's resisting letting me cook them, but they are hen rapists.

I give you Mike and Andy:

As soon as she breaks and let's me crock pot them, I'll give you a new recipe.

Down the rabbit hole of my brain.

It's easy for me to get lost within myself. A comment uttered, a story read, and I'm stuck deep within the recesses of my brain. I'm dark and emo like that. I've fallen down the rabbit hole. I'm spinning and falling past pictures of me smiling. Pictures of me with lighter hair and one brown eye and one blue. Pictures of me, my mom, and a happy, regular family

Recently a beloved Twitter friend and her daughter went through a surgery to have a G-tube removed from the wee lass. I inquired as to why this was happening and it turns out her sweet girl was born at only 23 weeks.

23 weeks. Let that sink in a moment. Maybe go read up on their stories.

This affected me. It kicked me right in my subconscious. I read everything about them and cried for their loss. I then cried for the loss my mom endured and the brother I never got to know. At the tender age of 19 my dear mother was happy, pregnant, and engaged to a gentleman named Ken. They were just about to start their American dream when September 10, 1971 Ken died. He was involved in a car crash leaving his bachelor party, driving to the home they were going to rent. Months later, December 14, 1971 baby Ken was born at 23 weeks. He lived for 12 hours.

What if these events never happened? What if Ken stayed home with my mom? What if my mom was allowed a normal, stress free pregnancy and baby Ken was born and survived? Where would that put me? Would I still be me but 50% different? Would I still have severe Obsessive Compulsive Disorder had I never encountered my biological or step dads? The life I think my mom and I could have had but didn't get to makes me sad. She deserves more.

What do I do with these feelings?      

VERY IMPORTANT BIRTHDAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Happy Birthday Mom!

"A mother's love for her child is like nothing else in the world. It knows no law, no pity, it dares all things and crushes down remorselessly all that stands in its path."-- Agatha Christie

You Are Totally Like Your Mom

You and your mom are practically clones. You think alike, and you even seem to read each other's minds. And while you get along well now, you probably fought when you were a teenager. You're definitely you're mother's child... and that's just fine with you.

Are You Like Your Mom?

I'm Concerned for my Mother's Eternal Well Being

My mom called me from her lunch break. She was sitting outside MCO and noticed a small plane with a banner circling the campus. She wondered "Why would there be a plane circling MCO with a large picture of Jesus on its banner?... oh my gosh it's a Geico ad with the caveman on it."

And God frowned with disapproval...

Here is a random fact in her honor:
"Think that being called a Neanderthal is an insult? Neanderthal man, the first human being in the true sense, had a brain capacity 100 cubic centimeters larger than modern man’s (or woman’s)."

More Craig's List Fun

This is a job that my mom found for my dad and was laughing so hard she had to send it to me.:

United Association Local is looking for certified pipe welders. Must be able to stick and TIG weld. 6g test will be given to qualified welders. MIG welders need not apply unless you are skilled in stick and TIG on open butt pipe welding in all positions. Drug testing for all jobs. Please call business agent ...

What I'm concerned about:
1. How much time my mom spends on Craig's List either buying chickens or finding pervy stuff.
2. My dad can butt pipe weld.
3. She was in charge of raising me.

What about you?

My mom and Athena

So, my SIL Jill Marie and I were talking about parenting styles used on us as very young children, how we parent OUR children and how it can affect the way the child behaves later in life, especially the teen years.

My mom was VERY open with me, but not to the inappropriate point. There wasn't a single question she didn't answer, there wasn't a single life story/experience she didn't share (even if she wasn't proud of what she did) and therefore I was never ashamed to tell her anything I did (even if I knew she wasn't going to be happy with me). Now, this isn't to say I never got into trouble. That would be a fairytale. She grounded me every time she caught me smoking or when I stole something from Kohl's once, but I never lied to her and she never lied to me. I wasn't kept in the dark about anything and was always encouraged to ask "Why?". She was HEAVILY criticized by almost everyone in her life for being too open with me and too close to me, but she continued to do what she felt was right. Now fast-forward 10 years later and they were the ones that had the rebellious kids. I never felt the need to rebel because honestly, I didn't have anything to rebel against. She followed the philosophy of "Choose your battles" and that's something that I use today. She didn't ban things like TV from me because someone might make a fart joke on the cartoon. Now, she didn't let me watch something like "Silence of the Lambs" when I was little, but she told me why I needed to wait to watch it.

I could go on and on, but I shan't. Do you feel that this style of parenting will produce a less-apt to rebel child or did my mom just totally luck out?