It's been awhile.

Life has been a bit distracting here at the Bettner house. Ok, that's a lie. I am just too wrapped up in stupid reads to write anything I would want to read. I am really only writing this because I know that no one reads my blog and alot of people get my facebook update so I can't share this on facebook. I guess I could but I would hate to
turn anyone off thier breakfast. If someone in the world actually DOES stumble upon this blog, it's thier own damn fault and I will not pity them.
I do, however, pity my butt. I have been fairly lucky so far in this pregnancy. I only threw up about 25 times as opposed to the twice daily of Eloises gestation. I have only one visible stretch make, I have only gained 15 pounds. (to be fair, I am the same weight I was at this point in my last pregnancy, I just happened to start this one even fatter than I started the last one). I am 32 weeks now and I don't feel so bad. Except my ass. I have this pregnancy's first official hemroid. I know there are some women who have been getting hemroids since thier childhoods. Hell, I'm related to some of them. I had never been graced with one until my last pregnancy. It is back...with a vengance.
In other news, apparently my husband was on a plane back from San Fran with MC Hammer. Somehow he met him and the hammer asked for Pauls card. That's right. My husband is going to be on the cover of D magazine in June AND MC Hammer wanted his digits. I can't blame the Hammer, my husband is a hunk.

Seriously, I haven't been this embarrassed since high school.

So there I was, scrambling to find a swimsuit that in some way flatters my still fat ass. My mother and I went to TJ Maxx. Now, usually I can not discount shop for swimsuits, because I have ridiculously large breasts and must have maximum support, coverage and still some element for cuteness (read: I spend over a hundred). This year however, times are pretty tight. We have less than a month left in our savings and while that might dissuade some people from shopping, well... you can't keep a good card down.
Back to the Maxx. So, my mom is being a saint, playing with the munchkin at the entrance to the dressing rooms while I mad dash try on suits in hopes of a miracle for our annual trip to Florida to see Pauls parents. Let me lay the ground work for this by saying that I am 30, and was sealed to my husband less than a year ago, after about 10 years inactive. Needless to say, garments are new. I find an appropriate suit and throw my clothes back on grab the suit off the floor and truck out of the dressing room in hopes of getting Elle home in time for a nap. My mother looks at me and says, "Katy... your shirt?" I look down in horror, I had grabbed my suit AND my shirt off the floor and neglected to put the shirt on. I FELT fully clothed! Mortified, stunned and mortified I gasped and ran to the dressing room threw on my shirt and considered momentarily just setting up housekeeping there. I mean it is connected to a homegoods, I could live there for awhile right?

This one's for Mia, or the no holds barred ugly truth about my honeymoon

*WARNING* If you are male, not related to me and attend my church, you should refrain from reading this particular post in order to maintain the ability to say hello in the halls without an inappropriate and downright unappealing visual.

Paul and I married in a little chapel on Captiva Island in November of 2006. It was a brilliant wedding, thanks in no small part to my brilliant mother who pretty much gave herself hemorrhoids to get everything perfect for her last remaining single daughters impending nuptials. The weather was perfect, we were deliriously happy, my in-laws were sober and able to stand in the same room with each other. Like I said, BRILLIANT.
I had been a smokin' quasi mormon when I met Paul, and he encouraged me to go for the gold. Yes, ladies, the man actually WANTED to stop having sex with me 6 months into our relationship in order to facilitate my returning to full activity as I so desired. You can fawn over him, he is that amazing.
I digress, so, we were as newly weds should be... desperate to get back to our hotel. I demanded that we cut the cake and fast so we could return to our hotel and consummate our blessed union. Having no health insurance, I had recently visited planned parenthood to get birth control and because the pill turns me into a fatter lunatic, I decided to go with the nuva ring. IF you are not aware of this little contraption in is a ring that secretes hormones and that you insert up towards the cervix once a month. I was excited at the thought of not having to use condoms and not making my husband sorry he married me because of the horomone surges. (That would come later...thank you pregnancy)
We rushed back to the hotel and jumped into bed. Then it was, "OUCH!" Ahhh, hold on it hurts. Apparently I am allergic to the nuva ring. Wedding night, EPIC fail!
I immediately take the damn thing out and we buy condoms on the way to the airport to head for our amazingly romantic private island, overwater thatched hut in Bora Bora. We cuddle and kiss and make people nauseated in the airport. We arrive in Papeette and stay in a nice hotel that night before our short flight to the Bora Bora. We then are picked up by the boat to go to the island hotel.
People speak french and are golden brown and give us flowers. We sign in at the front desk and they serve us little tasty heart cakes and fresh squeezed juice. We head to the hut and are amazed! We go to the island beach restaurant for dinner and have oysters and sushi and sparkling water. We attempt a wedding night do over, but no luck. My vagina has jumped ship, closed up shop, locked the door and bolted the chain. We cuddle, I cry and my dear new husband comforts me and assures me that he does not regret marrying a frigid woman. We fall asleep smiling because barring this, we are smitten with each other and grateful to be married.
Somewhere around 3am I awake with a start. I have a stomach cramp. Thinking it is travel gas(come on, you KNOW you get off of the plane with the toots) I go to the bathroom and sit down marveling at the bidet. I mean really, a bidet? How do you even use one of those things? Anywhoo, I feel that oh so uncomfortable feeling that is diarrhea and I think, "Oh no, frigid and shitty? I am going to throw myself into the sea!" Little did I know that my embarrassment was about to be the least of my problems.
Within the hour I was laying in the bathtub trying to feel better when I started to feel nauseated. I know what you are thinking, you are thinking, well maybe it is just food poison and she will get over it by the morning. Dear reader, by the morning, I was writhing naked on the bathroom floor alternately vomiting and pooping, pooping and vomiting and even at least once vomiting into the bidet while pooping. For 56 hours I did this. There was no medicine on this paradise island, no pepto, no tylenol, not a thing to stop me up.
For his part, Shmoo was a dear. He took it in stride. He rubbed my back, got me fresh clothes, when I put them on, got the bed ready for me each time I tried to lay down. Inevitably I would end up back in the tub, or on the floor, the toilet or sitting in the shower (what can I say, I am a water baby, it cures all ills.) By the 56th hour thing were slowing down. I was finally able to cling to DH out to the water and watch him snorkel. Of course, I forgot in my delirium to put on sunscreen and so by sundown I was burned to a crisp on top of it all.
I made what would prove to be an 80 dollar 4 minute phone call to my mother and we set about getting emergency flights home as soon as possible.
We would have stayed after my stomach stopped its revolt, but by them, the smell of tahitian vanilla bean which permeated the island has become my own Eau de Hell. On the bright side? I lost ten pounds in 5 days. It was the most expensive colon cleanse in the history of colonics. I am going to try to talk the Bun into going to Disney world for her honeymoon. They have fully stocked pharmacies there.

Mothers Day

Had I been told that I would be desperately happy to receive the above pictured for my first mothers day even a year ago, I most likely would have snorted and sneered at he who dared to attempt to domesticate me, as if I were some kind of animal. Now? Now I am ecstatic. Being a mom means not really having anything visible to work and finish... Sure there is laundry, but it multiplies. There is cooking, but it just gets eaten and leaves a mess. There are diapers, sippy cups, baby food clean ups, grocery store visits, baths and every once in a while, I get to shave my legs. While all very time consuming and necessary, I used to have a job. I used to get praise, a raise, travel benefits, emergency phone calls with problems I could actually solve.
These things made me feel important in some way, acknowledged for something I could measure. Motherhood, well, there isn't really a measure now is there? It's not like the sims where I could feed, diaper, burp, cuddle and build up points that will net me a napping child when I need a moment. This is the hardest thing I have ever done, but I am loving every minute of it.
Back to my machine. I made a dress for Elle the other day on my moms machine. Simple, cute, easy. I loved having a project that was finishable. So, my husband, for mothers day, got me my own. I can now start and finish things for myself. I do not have to go to moms or borrow her machine. The question now is what to sew first? Thank you Paul, for the machine, for the baby, for love and happiness. You are the best. I lovey you.

The Missing Tree

My best friend from LA has started a blog. Well, one post does not a blog make, but she is moving in that direction. Let me tell you about my Tree. When I met her, she was a part-time stand up comic is an awkward relationship with an asshole actor/comic. He was married, she lived with her mother, ya know Hollywood. I was recently single, working at a Malibu rehab and running away from my dysfunctional apartment. We met for coffee in Venice after following each others myspace accounts. I thought she was dressed a bit slutty(I was right), she thought I could stand to lose a few pounds(she was right), we smoked and drank coffee and were soon inseparable.
This did not amuse my roomate at the time who was fairly jealous of her. Anywhoo, over the next year or 2, tree-pea got a job, moved out of the rents house, got another job, dated a couple of winners, a couple of losers, I lost weight, got my own place, dated a couple of winners, a couple of losers. Tree loved me, hated my dog. I loved tree, also hated my dog, but felt guilt for it and pretended that she was being rude.
Tree is now in a stable relationship, in college, drives a vespa and is still the funniest girl I have ever met. I have more stories of good times with her than I can recount, so I think I will start writing them every so often just for shits and giggles.
5 Facts about Tree:
She is a South American by birth.
She can charm anyone, anytime, anyplace.
When she is drunk, she always tries to get me to kiss her.
She is going to be a teacher (those boys are going to crap, a teacher who was once in FHM magazine?)
I miss her desperately, she is irreplacable.

i hate to cry

(Here is your daily Eloise.)
no really, like spent 4 years refusing to see a romantic comedy, any episodes of ER, or anything on TLC, kind of hate. The kind of hate that would drive a girl to disallow any and all music except Ani DiFranco (the angry years) and Fiona Apple. This string of overtly hostile years was finally crushed out of existence upon becoming pregnant. No longer could I avoid cry triggers, because the front porch could bring it on. I share this so that anyone who was not present during those years will understand how ridiculous it is that I keep watching the trailer for "My Sisters Keeper". I watch, I cry, I try to stay away, but it is almost as addictive as the trailer for "Funny People".
also of note, I hereby declare fresh ground honey roasted peanut butter from market street a trigger food. It is like the vodka* of peanut butters. I can no longer have it in my house.

*vodka was my beverage of choice back in the days of poor choices.

Lore

This is my stunning niece.  She was the inspiration for our kiddo.  Actually, I think she was the inspiration for my marriage.  When Paul and I were fairly early on in our relationship she was born.  We went on a road trip to Arkansas, where her father was finishing Law School.  Paul was nervous about it on the way up.  He was so concerned that people would think he was weird to want to kiss on a kid that wasn't his.  After several assurances that our family thinks nothing is weirder than a person who can keep their hands OFF a baby, he decided that it would be best if he took pictures of her and left the holding to us.  

That didn't work out so well.  He could not help himself.  She was head over heels in love.  I mean he LIKED me, but he LOVED her.  and I loved him lovin her! (at this moment I am spouting foul language at said husband for moving picture files all over the f(*&ing internet and leaving NO TRAIL as to how to find them.  He falls in love with a new site and poof, leaves all old pics on the old one and starts using the new one. )  I digress.  Anyway, as I encourage him to find those pictures for me to share with my vast readership of like 2 people (I love you guys, really) I will leave you with another picture of Eloise.