Bih-ness is Bih-ness

There's a good chance I've already shared this exact story and just don't remember.  I blame motherhood for my horrific memory (even though my memory was fairly shotty prior to pregnancy. meh.)

While I was on maternity leave last summer, I received a phone call from Mr. Fluff saying he heard my department was closing down.  I immediately got on the phone to my manager and left her a message to call me stat.  I found out later that at that exact moment, my team was in a room being told that they would not have a job in a month.

When my manager called me, I was about 28 shades in to 50 Shades of Grey and honestly couldn't care less if I had a job in the month.  I was more concerned about what shenanigans were about to go down in the Red Room of Pain.  Oh Christian......

Anyways, I finished out my maternity leave and went back to work for eight days.  I was pretty much as worthless as it got.  Some may say I was "checked out" but truthfully, after being out for 12 weeks, I never really checked back IN.  I was the model employee and did everything I was supposed to.... bwahahaha.  I can't even finish that sentence.  I will be the first to admit that I didn't do jack shyt those last days.  The most productive things I did were surf the internet and start this blog.  My entire team hated me because I wasn't pulling my weight.  I knew they were all frustrated with me but I also knew that Zulilly had some really cute stuff that day that I NEEDED to buy.

It was decided that I would stay home with Fluffette and do my best not to eff her up so much that no amount of therapy could ever fix her.  Mr. Fluff has worked his azz off so that I could stay at home and watch all of our daughter's firsts.  He also wanted me to figure out what I want to be if when I grow up.  After a lot of self searching, I realized that I love finding old crappy items and giving them new life.

And so.....Dumpster Darlins was born.

I've worked pretty hard with my dad the last eight months trying to find items, fix them up, start an LLC and all the other paperwork that goes along with it.  All while doing my best to still be an above average mom to Fluffette. Hair Flip.  

All of our hard work came to fruition a few weeks ago at our very first show.  I know I seem cool, calm and collected (just play along) but I am one big ball of anxiety a lot of the times.  I was scared shytless to have my first show.  Are people gonna like my designs?  Are my prices too high?  Are my prices too low?  Is my outfit cute enough for sale day?  Why is everyone asking me if I'm pregnant?  Can't a girl just rub her protruding belly?  When do I get to eat again?  And so on and so on.

The first day came and went and I only sold 2 items.  I was pretty sad about that but decided that tomorrow was a new day and I was gonna KILL IT!  Well, Saturday came and went and I'd only sold a few more items.  I was feeling discouraged.  I received a ton of compliments but people just were buying like I thought they should be.  I wondered if this was the right choice for me and if I was even cut out for this. I doubted myself.  I doubted my self worth.

This is EGGGGGSACTLY why I always quit shyt that I start.  I.do.not.want.to.be.a.failure.

At the end of the show as my workers family started loading up the truck, I took the time to talk to other vendors and "feel them out".  After many discussions, I realized that I didn't do half bad!  Many of the other vendors barely broke even and some didn't even recover the fee they paid to be at the market.  I not only made back my fee but I also made a small but likeable profit which was great considering I saw something on Very Jane that I wanted to buy. 

In the past few weeks, I've realized that when something doesn't go my way I don't have to immediately start doubting myself.  Success isn't found overnight.  Not in business.  Not in weightloss.  Not in LIFE.  And just like every other time I've felt like I've fallen, I WILL stand back up, dust myself off and get back on that Junkin Truck.  

A new Fluffy has been born over the last year and that crazy and moderately skinny bytch refuses to sink.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
And now to touch on a few random things:

1. My grandmother was here for an entire week. She taught me how to make homemade bread, cinnamon rolls, pie crusts, cobbler and pretty much everything else I shouldn't put in my mouth.  The best part about the week is that my itty bitty Grandma had to stand on a stool to reach the counter....and she was STILL shorter than I am!  I'm 5'6" which means she is approximately 4 feet tall.

2.  Fluffette is gonna be the death of me.  She now climbs up in chairs.  Climbs on one toy to get to another toy to get to the top of the table to give me a heart attack. Refuses to stay still while I try to change her diaper on the floor since I still can't lift her. And also terrorizes our poor dogs.

3.  I'm weighing in at 161 pounds these days.  I'm 11 pounds from my goal.  You can bet your sweet azz that once I get released from the doc to workout, Ima get crazy about working out again.  I WILL REACH MY GOAL IN 2013, George Dammit!

4.  Almost every blog that I read this week talked about Miley and her horrific performance at the VMA's that left several people with an unplanned pregnancy.  I mean....it was awful but I shamefully still love her cheesy music and will try not to picture a foam finger while listening to 'We Can't Stop'.

 I'm a fairly positive girl and I like to find the good in all things and I've done just that with this picture of Miley that is all over the interwebs.

Twerkin ain't werkin.  I take solace in the fact that we ALL have some work to do and we can ALL be a better version of ourselves!  And....you know.....we won't stop....

"This is our house
This is our rules
And we can’t stop
And we won’t stop
Can’t you see it’s we who own the night
Can’t you see it we who bout’ that life
And we can’t stop
And we won’t stop
We run things
Things don’t run we
We don't take nothing from nobody"

Yep....That'll Leave a Scar

Last week was one swift kick to the balls.

A week ago Saturday, I started having back pain.  It got progressively worse throughout the day until I couldn't sit or stand up straight.  I originally suspected that it was either back spasms or kidney stones.

 I was beyond thankful when Fluffette decided it was time for bed almost an hour early.  Once she was down, I took a hydrocodone left over from my birthing baby days.  Once Mr. Fluff got home from golfing, he gave me a couple of muscle relaxers and a bite to eat. I ate about five french fries and took a bite of my jr cheeseburger then........the vomitting began.  I went back and forth to the bathroom...then to bed....then laid in the fetal position in the bottom of the shower with hot water pounding my back.....then back to the bathroom.  I've never been on the verge of death but if I had to assume...this is what it felt like.  At this point, I'd been in this pain for a good four hours.

The pain didn't go away so Mr. Fluff (unbeknownst to me) called my mom to come stay with Fluffette so he could take me to the ER.  No matter what position I was in, I couldn't get any relief (twss).  I tried every yoga move in the books...well except for the one where you put your legs on your elbows...I'm just not bendy enough for that shyt.

When we turned in to the hospital, Mr. Fluff went the wrong direction and I went bat shyt crazy.  You would've thought that he just told me that the Bravo Channel was getting cancelled.

He dropped me off at the ER door then went to park.  After he drove away, I realized it wasn't the effing emergency room door so I had to run down the street, hunched over, dragging my pillow and my purse to the ACTUAL ER door. Those few yards felt about 6 miles long.

"son of a bytch azz whore mutha fugga"

Not to quote myself exactly but that gives you the gist of it.

When I finally managed to enter the ER, I ran up to the desk, kindly laid my pillow on the desk and laid my head down and said, "um....I just need a minute".

 They got me in the room and asked me 125 questions.  None of which I remember.  They finally gave me some Morphine and the pain slowly started to fade.  I no longer had to pace back and forth with my hands on the hospital bed.  I could actually sit down.

Then the azzclown of a Dr. came in and checked my back.  Since there wasn't any pain there she began to press down on my stomach and the pain hit me like a ton of bricks of cocaine.  I can honestly say that there has never been a time in my life that I wanted to punch someone in the throat more than that moment.  She just kept pressing.....and I kept crying out, "yessssssssssss..it hurtsssssssss".

When the Bytch....err....Dr. finally stopped, she immediately ordered a CAT Scan and some anxiety and additional pain medication.  When the nurse came in to give me the meds, I was in full on Sailor mode.  I said every word in the book, turned and apologized to the nurse for my language....then proceeded to take the Lord's name in vain.  (Simmer down....me and the ol' JC talked about it later and he forgave me)  I was punching the bed and asking Mr. Fluff to make it stop.  The pain was truly indescribable.

That's honestly the last thing I remember.  I pretty much blacked out after that and only remember snippets.  I know there was a CAT scan, something about surgery, something about transporting me to another hospital, something about a recovery room.

When I woke up and halfway knew who I was, Mr. Fluff handed me my phone.  It had five millions of texts on it from friends checking on me.  I looked at Mr. Fluff and asked if he sent a mass text.  He said, "nope....you posted a picture on Instagram".

"oh God"

First of all, I'm super proud of him that he knows the word "Instagram".
B.  Why the hell would he take my picture then hand me my phone so I could post it places.

I have ZERO recollection of any of this.  I don't remember taking the picture, posting it, or hell....even being in an actual hospital room.   I'm just thankful it was a lame picture like this and not one of  lady lumps....justsayin.

The first 24 hours after my surgery were pretty blurry.  I would wake up for a minute, start talking, then fall back asleep. I'm pretty sure I was only awake for a total of 2 hours that day.  I had an IV, a drain tube through my nose and could only have ice chips.  When I had to go tinkle, I had to call the nurse so she could unplug me in three places (iv, drainage tube, and massager thingy's on my legs to avoid blood clots).

I allegedly asked someone to take my picture that day too (people.....stop effing taking my picture)

Needless to say...Fluffette was scared shytless when they brought her to see me and kept her distance. Nope, that's not heart wrenching for a mother AT.ALL.

After a day and a half, I could finally eat and drink!  Thank you sweet baby Jesus!  My throat was sooooo dry.  Chicken broth never tasted so good.

When the Dr. came by to release me from the hospital, I asked her to draw me a picture of what happened.  When the picture started looking like an Octopus, I decided I would never fully understand what happened (mostly because I'm too a.d.d. and started thinking about The Little Mermaid and how it'll be fun to watch that with Fluffette someday)

So, from what I understand, I had a hernia. Then my bowel and intestines twisted around themselves 3 times and were inside the hernia hole.  The blood supply was being cut off.  I had open surgery through my stomach and they said I was EXTREMELY lucky that I didn't lose any of my bowel or intestines.  "most people in your condition would've had to get some removed".  Wow.

They kept reminding me that this was major surgery.  I can't lift Fluffette for AT LEAST three weeks (my first checkup) but most likely 8 weeks.  I also can't workout for 8-10 weeks.  Ima get fat again, aren't I?  Deep sigh.

I finally got to head home on Tuesday.  I was still in quite a bit of pain and took Hydrocodone and Motrin every 6 hours.  The next few days I rarely got up.  I just laid in the recliner and drifted in and out of sleep while watching TV.

With each day I get a little better.  I'm only taking pain medicine at night and don't get tired nearly as often as I did at first.  The next several weeks are sure to test my patience and my will power!

I was dead set on still having my first sale for Dumpster Darlins on Friday and Saturday so I called in the troops to help.  I couldn't lift anything at all and it was BEYOND annoying because everyone was doing it wrong.  As I worked my first sale, (which i will talk about in a separate post) several people asked me if I was expecting.

"um no.....why?"

So, if you ever have surgery that leaves you with a swollen belly, don't rub it or walk around with your arms around it, people will get the wrong idea.  You will then find yourself over sharing your story with complete strangers.  The look of disgust on their faces when you start talking about your "twisted bowel" will not be worth it.  You will then just say, "yes, i'm due in the fall".

This Club Sucks

You know the one, bytches be gettin up to work on their fitness at 5 o'clock in the morning.  They post pictures on IG to make sure we all know they woke up before the sun to workout.  Then, we also get pictures during their workout with a life altering #flexbreak at the end.

I was never cool enough to be in a sorority in college because I didn't look like I just got my face put on at the MAC counter and I didn't know how to "bump it" or "tease it".  I still don't really know how to do any of these things so it's good to know that in the eleven years since I graduated college, I've pretty much learned NOTHING about being a lady.  Wuddayagonnado.

So, I decided that the 5am club should be the perfect thing for me.  I mean....I hate mornings and for the past year I've rarely gotten out of bed before 8am so this is completely doable, right?

Criteria for joining the 5am club:

1.  Set a fancy/witty alarm on your phone because we all know you take the time to actually read that shyt at 4:45 in the am.

Check

2.  Go to bed fully dressed for the morning workout so that the only thing you have to do is put on socks, shoes, deodorant and brush your teeth.

Check

3.  Ability to take a selfie.  (yes, this is recycled...deal with it)

Check

4.  Ability to #flexbreak

(um...yes that IS me.  You just don't recognize me because you've never seen me in spandex um...belted panties?? and my sports bra)

Check

Yes, it seems I'm the perfect candidate.  I gave myself a good talking to last night as I ate a bag of baked lays in bed at 10:30 pm.  I was gonna do this.  This would be my life defining moment that I finally got up to work out at the azz crack of dawn.  I was prepared in my mind, body, soul and alarm clock.  "Ultimate Conditioning" was gonna be my bytch in T minus 6 hours.

Then my alarm went off and it scared the begeezus out of me.  Much like the time a few weeks ago that my phone started making the most horrific sound ever and I sleepily looked to see that it was an amber alert.  I spent forever trying to figure out how the hell I could turn that feature off and later cursed the government because I assumed this was their doing.  I digress.

I UH-MEDIATELY hit the snooze button and went back to sleep for another blissful ten minutes knowing I would totes get up when my alarm sounded again.

Then, when it did......I hit snooze again.  Ok, fuh real doe, Ima get up the next time it goes off.

Ten minutes later, I was more committed than I'd ever been in my life.  I  was gonna get this over with and finally be a member of the most elite club of women in the blogging world.

So, with all my might, I sat up on the side of my bed, took a deep breath........then said "eff this shyt, I'll try again next week"