Archive for the 'Bad Family' Category

This is so much harder than it looks.

Happy Easter and all that crap.

Today was hard.  Really really hard.  I went to my parents this weekend for the holiday and everyone today asked me:  “Hey where is Mark”.  To which I replied:  “O he’s sick”.  Which I pride myself on being honest about because frankly, he is sick.  In the head.  My grandma pushed further and wanted to know if it was related to his hand, and if he was ok, and if I had talked to him this morning, and if I was bringing home some of the food for him, and if I was worried about him.  Ouch.  That hurt.  I’m barely holding it together as it is.

Then while we were all sitting around the table, the whopper of a stabbing hit me right between the eyes when I wasn’t expecting it.  And from a source that I would never have guessed.  Favorite Aunt.

Somehow the topic of there being more boys than girls at the table came up.  Why?  Hell if I know, my family talks about all kinds of strange crap.  Fav Aunt got really loud and said to my sister, “Now sister, there are too many boys here.  You need to get to work and make some girls.”  <cue dead silence and confusing stares>  Sister replies: “Umm, why don’t you bug someone else about that.  This baby house is closed.  But I’m not the only woman of fertile age at the table.”  <cue more confusion, more awkward silence and a lot more uncomfortableness from fav Aunt, Mom and Dad…o and me>

No matter how much my sister and grandmother pushed, nobody would say it to me.  Nobody.  It was way fucking worse than just letting it go and laughing it off.  I actually felt myself become a white elephant.  I even think my nose got longer right there at the table.  My sister and grandmother have no idea about Mark being gone or my infertility.  So they did what made sense.  But fav aunt never should have brought this up.  Just reminded me that I am now alone, baron, and sad.  And it doesn’t even matter if they felt awkward because Mark left me, or if its because I can’t have babies.  Both fucking suck.  And both make me want to check out cutting, or crack.  Or both.

I left early.  I really miss Mark.


Hello world. O how I’ve missed you so.

O so much to say so much to say.  I fear this post could be disgustingly long so rather than hurt myself typing it out, I’m going to resort to bullets.  Bullets are the new black.

  • Grandpa is out of ICU, moved to a rehab facility and doing better.
  • Mom still thinks this is the end.
  • Nobody else thinks this is the end.
  • Therapy with my sister took a turn last week.  A good turn?  Not sure yet but I hope so.
  • Mark’s hand has a scar the size of a moderate cat scratch and I’m sad about it.  Can’t tell a war story without a war scar.  Boo!
  • Mark’s family is visiting us for a week.
  • Mark’s crazy family is visiting us for a week.
  • Mark’s fucking insane crazy family that I can’t stand is visiting us for a week.
  • Mark’s family leaves tomorrow.
  • BabyBound needs a drink.
  • BabyBound gave up alcohol for lent.
  • BabyBound is an idiot.
  • Mark and BabyBound planned a lil vacation to Hawaii for June.  (Yay for us!)
  • Need to lose weight so that the whales don’t try to jump me when I get there.
  • Also need to figure out a way to make my skin and t-shirt contrast that doesn’t involve: sun, blisters, beds with lights or a bathing suit.
  • Why would I give up alcohol at a time like this?  I really am an idiot.
  • Mark and I are going to start walking Sandy every night now that its light out.
  • Mark’s family leaves tomorrow.
  • Breath….

A week of crap and poop. O and the dog is sick too.

Who me?  Where have I been you ask?  Uhh.  We got stuck in traffic?  We ran out of gas?  I woulda called, but my cell phone died?  I’ll be better next time.  Promise.

Truth be told, its been a rough week around here.  Work had layoffs.  Sandy had a competition with herself to see which one grossed Mommy out more, sick runny crap on the white rug or barf on the jute rug.  Barf won btw.

Monday sucked donkey testicles and I haven’t been able to perk up since.  Layoffs suck the life out of everyone.  If you get let go, you’re obviously screwed (and have it worse.  Yes.  You definitely have plenty to complain about and I wont take that away from you).  If you don’t, there’s a lovely combination of “what if there are more” and “why did I get spared”.  Joyous fun for all.  Since I regularly partake in the experience of freaking the fuck out about losing my job, this hasn’t dampened my spirits.  No no.  I’m still whole heartedly involved in full fledged freak out at all times.

I do have one lil funny story to tell about my weekend at band camp with my mom.  We went to Napa this weekend (which I will report on later).  On Sunday morning when we were getting ready, I took out my bcp.  My mom, looking rather puzzled, said “why are you on birth control?”  to which I said with a sense of condescension and disgust “well duh.  I’m trying to have a baby??  Did you forget that??  I suppose you think Mark and I have sex too.  Silly normal person.”.  Ahhh sigh.  I’m just downright Hi Larious aren’t I?

Some things that have happened recently

  1. My fuckwit cousin that has no sense in her head and is most likely a drug addict pretended to be pregnant to get money from my family only to “lose” the baby when it didn’t work.  And no this isn’t a joke, speculation, or guess.  It. Really. Happened.
  2. I started therapy with Mark to try to rebuild our relationship so that we can be happy again.  You’d be surprised how 4 years of infertility, addiction, and bi polar disorder can put a strain on a relationship.  I know.  Shocked the hell out of me too.
  3. I had my very first cavity filled and acted like the biggest baby about it.  That’s right folks.  I’m no longer perfect.  My tooth has a flaw.  But just my tooth.  Let’s not make too much of it.  Take it down a notch.
  4. I made myself a birthday cake just because I really really really wanted a piece of cake and well?  To have a piece you need a whole one.  It was lovely.  Almond cake with raspberry filling and an almond butter cream frosting.  It totally looked like a wedding cake, so frankly, I’d like to think of this as me making myself a fancy dessert usually shared with 100+ guests.  NOT my own birthday cake.  And no, I didn’t cut the first piece while yielding a shared knife with Mark.  And to the best of my knowledge there were no photographers present.  Although I can’t quite be certain of that.
  5. O.  One last thing.  I told my mom about my infertility, miscarriages, my blog all of it.

Am I too emotional? Umm fuck you?

Let me just talk here.  My turn.

My cousin is pregnant.  Accidentally pregnant.  Wait let me start over.  My fuckwit of a cousin with not a sense in her head, no job, no responsibility, no accountability, and no sense of reality is pregnant with some dude twice her age’s kid.  Fair?  No.

I dont even know where to begin with this one.  My family has somehow convinced themselves that she is faking it to get money and attention.  Is she?  Perhaps.  I guess we wont ever really know will we?   I mean obviously if she’s faking there will be no birth.  I mean this isn’t Days of our Lives here.  She can’t call in a look alike that just so happens to look identical to her and just so happens to be pregnant the exact same amount of time and needs like a place to live and $10.

She’d obviously have to fake a miscarriage as well.  And well?  That is pretty much the worst thing I think anyone can do to me – indirectly of course as I am not so self centered as to believe that her financial misfortune and stupid decisions have anything to do with me.  Accept that they fucking do when you fake baby killing for a buck.  Fuck you Sarah.  Fuck. You.

But is it possible that she’s not faking it?  Well.  I guess so.  Although I saw her on Thanksgiving while she bathed in 2 bottles of wine and smoked her ciggies.  At what is now known as her being 6 weeks preggers.  I obviously know enough about the miracle of pregnancy to know that its possible she didn’t know then.  But its also not exactly a clear cut case. If she’s not faking, OMG how terrible that everyone thinks she’s faking?  Wow.

I am pretty sure I will never know either way.  Frankly, I don’t really want to.  I’m mad enough as it is.  Mad that she fucked a grandpa with sperm older than my dad and got one to stick.  Mad that someone I’m related to would even consider such a ridiculous scheme to get money.  Mad that everyone would rather assume she’s faking it then actually try to deal with how this is going to go down.  Mad that its not mine.  Mad I didn’t fuck the grandpa with supersperm.  Wait.  Do you think I still have a chance with him?

So there’s that…

I’m also freaking the fuck out.  Mark and I are fully invested into our IVF cycle and now that I’m nicely suited up with hormones for my special journey, I’m panicking.  Not because of the cycle.  Not because of the likelihood it will work.  No I’m panicking because of my job.  The economy is fucked y’all.  Anyone notice?  Doesn’t this seem like the worst time to plop all your savings down on a chance?  Even if this chance is literally what I want more than anything, if I lose my job, we’re completely screwed.  And what if Mark loses his job?  If it happened to either one of us, we’d be in some serious trouble.  And then where would that leave us?  Under a bridge that’s where.

Nobody is safe right now.  I don’t feel safe.  As much as I want to feel good about things, I can’t stop myself from planning for my inevitable layoff.    If we continue with this IVF, we’ll be ba-roke.  OMG if something happened to my job I’d be terrified.  And it doesn’t help to be plump full of crazy juice does it?  That’s not going to help a damn thing.  And stress isn’t going to keep me pregnant.  I certainly didn’t last time.

So there you have it.  BabyBound is a big ass stressball of crap.  Got a pregnant fuckwit cousin, a scary job, no babies, and stress to fill everyone’s stockings and then some.

Have I mentioned that I’m emotional?

O Merry Christmas.


I don’t know what to say.  Just got this from bad sister:


I feel enough is enough.  I love you as my sister and I hope you feel the same about me.

I am truly sorry if I hurt you.  I hope you know I would never intentionally hurt you.

If you are interested in working out our differences together, let me know.

Your sister

I am not sure how genuine this is.  Or frankly, where it came from.

Let’s recap for a moment shall we?  Its been a year and a half since our last encounter.  It was at this lovely encounter that she told me I had let myself go and really needed to lose weight.  It was also during this encounter that I was ooozing a baby out of my vagina.  As you can probably put together, I was kinda preoccupied with that and not really in to hearing how awesomely fat and gross I looked.  Rather then let it go, she badgered for a week about it and would not let it go.

That was that.  And here we are.


Cleaning out a puss filled boil with salt

I don’t feel as good about our therapeutic progress as I did a few days ago.  Not because I think there is anything wrong with the therapist.  I don’t.  I think the improvement that we were experiencing so quickly was due to some misguided conversations about anything but the white elephant in the room.  My mother.

I realized that the only time my mother is actually listening or participating in therapy is when we are talking about other people.  My sister.  My aunts and uncles.  My Grandparents. Mark.   Anyone but her and my father.  This week, we did just that and mental mumsy actually threw her hands up, said “I’m not talking about this anymore” and checked out.  She was done. Not a word was uttered.  And hasn’t been since.

Why?  What caused this outrageous reaction?  Well?  Because I was able to prove with pictures that some of the things she claims I have done to her never happened.  That she made it completely up embellished her memory.  She was caught.  Red handed.  Blaming me for crap that was absolute rubbish.  For the first time, someone other than just me actually called her out on it and she was trapped.  Sadly, the pictures themselves haven’t actually caused her to see a damn thing differently.  They’ve been mentioned before.  She just claims they aren’t real.  But Dr. Feel Good was – for the first time – an impartial witness that questioned her fucking insane excuse reasoning.

My mother has spent the last 4 years telling anyone that will listen that I have been a horrible daughter.  That my wedding day was the “worst day of her life”.  I was so cold and mean on my wedding day that she spent the whole day crying and almost walked out.  And the worst of it?  O that was when I left without even saying goodbye to her like a cold unappreciative bitch.  Its not anything new in her heart.  She has felt this way my whole life.  But something about this lovely event gave her permission to actually admit it.

This week, Sr. Feel Good actually finally addressed this.  The picture was front and center.  A picture of her and I at the end of the night saying goodbye.  Her smiling.  Me smiling.

She didn’t want to hear it.  She can’t.  It makes her wrong.  It makes her a pretty horrible person. It kinda makes her look like a wack job for disputing photographic evidence but more importantly, its a pretty obvious example of at least 4 years of completely unnecessary ridicule.  So with that, we’ve at least uncovered 4 years.  We still have 29 to go.

Where does that leave me though?  Right back where we started.  It only scratches the surface of horrible nonsense like this.  Its not a one time thing.  Its my life.  And she still can’t here it.

I’m not all that different from many people out there.  There are plenty of adults out there with mother’s that just simply weren’t ready to have children and didn’t want them.  That resent them for representing the life they didn’t get to have.  And I’m sure some of those mothers love rewriting history to make them the victim and their child the horrible spawn of satin that caused them a lifetime of heartache.  My mother is just one of them.

So we haven’t really made any progress.  Kinda feel crappy about it.

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