A Desperately Needed Update

As You can see, it's been seven-count them-seven months since I last posted...and I think it's time for a desperately needed update.

Well, here's the skinny.

A little over two weeks ago I had surgery to have my gallbladder removed. Apparently I had a nasty little gallstone and the word on those puppies is that they USUALLY just keep coming back if you get rid of the stone. So, bye-bye gallbladder, I wasn't interested in it's lousy stones. Unfortunately, the quick recovery I was supposed to have...I didn't have. My surgeon said that recovery would probably be a 3 to 10 day thing, most likely closer to 3 because I'm young and SUPPOSED to recover fast. I'm just not that lucky I guess. It's been 12 days and I'm still having some little issues. Can't bend, can't eat fatty foods without getting sick (which is to be expected, but still sucks), get nauseous after eating or drinking almost anything, and the glue around all 4 of my incision...yeah. Not coming off. And itching like the biggest pest on the planet. Luckily, I'm finally feeling better then I had been, and I haven't needed to go to the ER or anything. YAY!

Jude, my handsome little trooper, is a bit of a brat. Despite the fact that we have tried everything--and I do mean EVERYTHING--to get him to eat solids...he refuses. It's not that he doesn't like the taste, because when he DOES eat the baby food he ENJOYS it. He's just a stubborn little stinker. He's almost started walking, which is simply amazing. It was shocking when he rolled over, and I nearly died when he started to crawl (a little late, but better late than never). But walking?! Can you believe that he's going to WALK?! Even more astounding is the fact that he'll be ONE WHOLE YEAR old in less than two months. My little man is growing so fast I just don't know what to do with him.

You may remember (or you may read at some point) from one of my last posts that I was getting an IUD. Well, I got that IUD and I had it for about three months before something dreadful happened. I started getting ovarian cysts. Now, if you've ever had ovarian cysts you know that they are particularly painful and can really interfere with your every day life. If you've gotten them while using the Mirena IUD, you may also know that only 10% of women get cysts while using it. Lucky me, I was in that 10%. My doctor convinced me that if I waited a few months the cysts would go away on their own. It didn't seem like such a terrible request at first, but after three or four more months I'd had enough. It was time for that dreadful thing to come out of my womb, and for something new to be used to prevent a baby from making my vacant womb its home. I decided that the Implanon was to be my next form of birthcontrol, and I didn't psyche myself out by looking up implantation stories like I had with the Mirena. Having the Implanon shoved into my arm via a big needle actually wasn't as bad as I had expected it to be, in fact, the worst part was when my OBGYN numbed my arm. Lidocaine stings at first folks, it's kind of silly, but it's true. The little plastic rod was inserted and I walked out of that office feeling right as rain...well, a little nauseous from the nerves--but other than that, right as rain! I sported a great big purple, black and green bruise for a few days that was quite tender and then TADA! Totally fine. And the best part: not having to reach up my vajayjay to check those pesky strings.

Recently I decided that, despite my desperate want for a high school diploma, a GED would have to suffice. Frankly, I'm supposed to graduate this year and I don't have an infinite amount of time to sit in high school waiting for my opportunity to graduate. No sir, it's going to be time for college in the fall, which means I need to get my GED and start applying for scholarships. My financial situation and the fact that I'm a young mom guarantees me some pretty great scholarships, and I'll need them. My current career hope is neonatal nursing, and medical school is difficult no matter what medical profession you choose. My main reason for making this decision is that I have a family to support and I can't do that with some crummy part-time job at McDonald's (which I don't even have, no one will hire me for some reason).

My three year anniversary (one year engagement anniversary) was in November. It wasn't very exciting and I was very disappointed when I realised the following day that I hadn't even kissed Derek. Things have been a little rocky for us, but they seem to be getting back on track. We don't seem to be fighting as often as we had been, but our sex life has yet to improve. I'm pretty sure it's been over a month since we last did the nasty, and the weird thing is: I don't even really want to have sex. I know, how terrible. I'm not sure if I'm simply content with our relationship now, there are still issues that haven't been resoloved or I just haven't had sex in SO long that I don't care...but well. I just don't care. Weird.

Derek, Jude and I are still living in my mother's house. We'll move the INSTANT we have the money to, but for now we're kind of stuck. Derek hasn't had any luck finding work and mom is hell-bent on me staying at home with Jude (though that doesn't stop me from applying for jobs). It's gotten to be almost unbearable living with my mother, who is convinced that she is the greatest parent in the world (which she is not) and that I should listen to and act upon every little bit of advice that she shoves down my throat. She honestly kicked us out a month ago and when we were packed and prepared to leave she started to cry and begged us to stay. You may want to know why she kicked us out...well, let me tell you the story. It all started when I refused to put my son down on the livingroom floor. The dirty-covered in cat hair and filth-livingroom floor. For whatever reason the fact that I would not let him play on the floor upset her so much that she began to get snippy, saying that I never put my son down to play, I always hold him. This was simply not true, which I told her, and then tried to explain my dilema about the dirty floor. She would have none of it. And proceeded to tell me that if I could not live in her house as she wanted me to that I could leave. Knowing my mother I assumed that after she stormed upstairs and considered what she had told me that she would change my mind, but she didn't. In fact, as I was sitting in the loft, playing with Jude ON THE FLOOR she asked why we were still in her house and told me that I needed to call my father and let him know that we were moving in. You know the rest of the story. We packed. She cried. We stayed. The rest, as they say, is history.

I'm trying to lose weight again. Somewhere along the line I lost sight of my personal weight goal, and then surgery and my families diet got in the way of my plan. I faltered and gained back the 13lbs that I had lost, much to my dismay. So, after an over two month absense, I have started playing Wii Fit again. And thanks to my new low-fat diet restrictions, the entire house has to eat what I eat (especially because I cook ALL of the meals). I'm hoping that this will jump-start my weight loss, and when it's nice and warm I'll start taking walks with Jude--maybe we'll even go on some runs!

In January I lost my grandfather, tragically and traumatically. He had been battling a rare form of cancer for five year, and with cancer there are often surgeries to remove tumors, etc. He went in for a surgery to remove a mass that was blocking his intestines and the surgery went well. Unfortunately, while he was recovering he was neglected by the doctors and nursing staff and got an staff infection which then turned to necrotiizing fasciitis, a flesh eating disease that a very low percent of HEALTHY people survive, let alone compromised people. So, he was taken for surgery again (the doctors claimed it was exploratory bowel surgery, which was untrue) and peeled off layers of skin and removed organs that could be used as evidence against them when my grandfather died (this was the night before he passed and they were aware of the fact that they were in deep shit.) The following day we were on our way to the hospital to say our goodbyes when my grandmother called and said the two most tear-jerking words I have ever heard in my entire life: "He died." My dumbstruck mother could only stammer her reply: "what?" to which my grandmother repeated those terrible words. Perhaps it's wrong, morbid, macabre--whatever you want to call it--but we still went to the hospital that day. And we stayed in the hospital room with my grandfather saying goodbye for four hours. We held is hands, we touched his face, and it was oddly very peaceful. We held a wake a week or so later and my grandfather looked completely different. I was glad that I had been able to say goodbye to him after he had died because I didn't feel like the body laying in the casket was my grandfather. How could it have been? It was a bloated, wax-looking version of him to me, and the funeral home hadn't even put makeup on him that matched his skin color. After that was a funeral, our last chance to say goodbye to the shell of the greatest man I had ever known, and then we had the inurnment. Each of the female family members in attendance kissed the bronze case that held my grandfather's ashes, leaving stains from our lipglosses and lipsticks. I feel kind of...happy? knowing that his is behind that cement wall covered in kisses, because that's how he would have wanted it.

Anyways, enough of all that depressing gunk. The blog has been updated. Hopefully it won't be so long next time.