Oh Heck Yes, Cystic Acne Be Gone!

If there was one thing I was looking forward to about getting older, it was not having to deal with acne anymore. Well, Mother Nature dealt me a huge "screw you" a few years ago when I was about 33. Not only was I just starting to notice the beginnings of fine lines--SUDDENLY CYSTIC ACNE FROM HELL APPEARED!

First of all, I should mention that I've suffered on and off from acne since puberty. Then, in my early 20's, I was granted a reprieve from it. For close to 10 years, my face was beautifully smooth and flawless and I'm sad to say that I took it for granted. An occasional blemish popped up here and there during that time, but it was usually just a small surface spot that was barely noticeable, especially under make-up.

Never in my life have I experienced any blemish like the cystic zit, however. Almost always appearing on my chin, I can feel the damn things coming before they are even visible. A cystic blemish begins as a dull, aching itch deep in the tissue and over a period of about 3 days, the area grows red and swollen. Sometimes I get lucky and it comes all the way to the surface where it turns into a whitehead that I can pop, thereby relieving the awful pressure (I know, I know--many experts say not to pop them, but I always do it very carefully with a safety pin cleaned with rubbing alcohol). Most of the time, however, my cystic zits just turn into huge puffy red spots that can be seen from miles away. Some get so painful that I'll take a couple Motrin and apply ice packs to the area. After about maybe a week and a half, one cystic blemish finally disappears almost entirely, only for another to take its place nearby. Uuuugh!

I have been to the dermatologist many times over the last few years. Nothing they prescribe helps. I have even tried glycolic peels and injections. I've tried many over-the-counter things as well, like products containing benzoyl peroxide and salicylic acid. I have been in misery for quite awhile over these things. Indeed it is embarrassing to be older and have such an obvious acne problem. Mostly, though, it's the pain of a cystic zit that makes me crazy. Only one other thing helped until recently, and that was the birth control pill Ortho Tri-Cyclen. However, the pill made the rest of my body crazy (a whole other story)  and I had to quit taking it. Within a week of quitting it, the cystic acne came back with a vengeance.

A couple months ago, I started saying to myself, There's got to be something else! Something that doesn't involve hormones or nine yards of chemicals. I was feeling pretty cheated by Mother Nature. Surely she must be confused. She should NOT be bothering someone MY age with this horrible crap--I'd had my turn with acne! Find a teenage boy to bestow this "gift" upon!

So, while dealing with yet another incoming cystic zit, I got on the internet and started doing some research. I wanted to find something more "homeopathic" and/or "homemade", even though that's not usually my thing. And hopefully, something cheap as well.

I was desperate. And there's tons of info to sift through in the huge wide world of the internets. Surely, this blog will only be adding to all of the info out there. Maybe some desperate person will find this and what I came up with will help them as well!

I saw on more than a few websites that a regular aspirin crushed up and mixed with a little water to make a paste can be rubbed onto pimples to bring the redness down. I also found a couple websites stating that baking soda is particularly helpful for cystic acne. I've always known about the therapeutic effects of aloe vera for skin conditions and I just happened to have some in my cupboard.

So, try this out, my fellow acne sufferers!

• 1 finely crushed aspirin tablet
• 1/2 teaspoon of baking soda
• a drop or 2 of aloe vera gel

I used a spoon to crush the aspirin on a paper plate, then mixed it with the baking soda. I then added just enough aloe vera gel to make a paste. Please be aware that it does fizz up like a weird science experiment. I then applied the fizzy paste to where I could feel a cystic blemish coming up on my chin and let it sit there for about 10 minutes. I looked like I had rabies, hahah! Also, it created an odd sensation, like the feeling you get on your tongue when you dump Pop Rocks candy in your mouth. Except it was on my chin, of course, and it kind of stung! I thought, "No way is this going to work!"

When I washed it off, my skin looked a little irritated so I was even more skeptical. I went to bed and by morning, lo and behold, the redness was mostly gone, including the redness that was forming around the cystic zit! The pain was a lot less as well! So, I kept putting my new concoction on my chin over the next few nights. To my delight, the cystic blemish never even came close to the surface. It didn't stick around for even half the amount of time of its predecessors, which would linger for a week or more, aching and stinging deep in the tissue. With this new treatment, it was undetectable within a couple of days. I thought it was a fluke, but I've since tried it on a few more would-be cystic blemishes with the same results.

So, maybe I could've patented this but if ya wanna know the truth, I'm too busy to look into all that. I'm just happy that I might have found a simple cure for my own cystic acne, and that maybe I can help others as well! So by all means, spread the word!

The Once-A-Month Poltergeist

I am retroactively jealous of my high school girl self. Not for her innocence, high metabolism or endless energy. Not for her perky boobs or youthful face free of fine lines, either. I am jealous of the relationship she had with my uterus.

You see, my uterus and I used to have a great relationship. She first made her presence known when I was about 12 years old. I can't say I was exactly thrilled about the unexpected reddish spotting in my favorite teal blue satiny underwear, but I came to appreciate that she was just introducing me to my biological clock. She was all like, "Hey, girl. You are a woman now. You have the ability to procreate. You know, just FYI and all that."

Throughout high school and college, my uterus was pretty mild-mannered. She would give me some mild cramping and bloating now and then before my cycle (which came every 28 days like clockwork), just to remind me she was there. Nothing more than a friendly, tentative tap-on-the-shoulder kind of thing. Sometimes during times of extreme stress, she would leave me alone and not bleed at all for a month or so. It was almost as if she didn't want to burden me with her troubles on top of whatever else was going on in my life.

In 2005, my uterus graciously accepted the new life created by my then husband and I. For nine months, she nourished my baby girl while keeping her safe and warm. Then, she became the portal that transported that baby into the world. I was very delighted and happy with the job she did for me. As a baby gift, she even gave me a break from my periods for about 10 months while I breastfed my daughter and adjusted to life as a new mother. When she did give me back my cycle, I was like, "Oh, hi, uterus!" I had started to wonder when she would make her presence known again.

But then....Things started to change between us for reasons I am unsure of.

About 2 years after my daughter's birth, my uterus started to do some new and rather unpleasant things. Instead of the cramping I would get just the day before my flow started, I was starting to get cramps 3 or 4 days ahead of time. And these cramps were decidedly worse than any I'd had before. Gone were the days of my periods coming with very little warning.

I didn't really make a big deal out of it at first. My flow was still relatively light and I was thankful I wasn't one of those girls who bleed so heavily, they get anemic. However, my symptoms became more and more difficult to ignore. In the span of a few months, my uterus started cramping about a week before my flow and these cramps were accompanied by excruciating body aches, exhaustion, dizziness and sometimes a low-grade fever. During my flow, it was as if I was being stabbed continuously from the inside with a rusty, dull dagger. Other times it felt like I had a bunch of little samurais in there throwing around little ninja stars. I couldn't believe how miserable an organ the size of a grape was making me feel. To top it all off, the week following my flow was also hell. I had migraines and felt weak and drained. I literally had only two weeks, if that, out of the entire month where I was free from the torturing grip of my uterus.

It was the rectal pain that finally made me go to my Ob-Gyn. As if the bleeding and cramping weren't enough, it was all now accompanied by stabbing rectal pain anytime I sat on the toilet. The pain was so crazily excruciating that I would black out, then have to crawl to bed and rest for awhile.

My Ob-Gyn ended up taking me to surgery about a week after that appointment. She performed an exploratory laparotomy, probing around inside my abdominal cavity with a little camera to see if she could find out what the hell was going on. Well, my uterus was all smug in there, and had made a bit of a mess of my insides by flinging some endometriosis all over the place. Endometriosis is a messed up condition where tissue that lines the inside of the uterus somehow ends up outside of the damn uterus for no apparently rational reason. Then, during "that time of the month", that outside tissue also swells up and bleeds just like the tissue that remains inside the uterus. As I had found out, this can be a pretty painful condition.

My doc removed as much of the endometriotic tissue as she could. It was mostly my bladder, intestines and colon that were affected. But there was also some endometriosis that couldn't be removed; it was too deep within the tissue of some of my organs. In addition to that, some scarring had formed abnormal connections between my colon and uterus and had to be snipped and cauterized.

After the surgery, the rectal pain was significantly reduced, and my periods were more tolerable. For a few months, I thought all was well, but my uterus wasn't done with me. Next, she enlisted my ovaries in on her scheme. I'm guessing it's because she had been subdued and figured she'd use the talents of my ovaries to change things up a bit and watch me burn some more.

This new pain--the ovarian cyst--was like no other. One particularly harrowing bout of cyst fun landed me in the ER, writhing loudly in pain. Even morphine brought me no relief. The only thing that got me through the pain was anger. What the ever-living fuck, Uterus?! I hissed as I hobbled out of the ER hours later; weak, shaking and sweaty.

It was then that I began to see my uterus as a sort of otherworldly entity. Like a ghost. No, more like a poltergeist. According to a lot of those experts who study hauntings, ghosts cannot interact with their environment. Poltergeists, on the other hand, are able to wreak havoc on their environment. They smash things, throw things, hurl objects around, slam people into walls or try to suffocate them in their beds and crap like that. The experts will often say that ghosts and poltergeists are angry because they are distraught over "unfinished business". Once you figure out what it is that these entities want and give it to them, they will become satisfied and go away.

"Okay, uterus," I say every month when she starts getting pissy. "What do you want from me?! Why are you mad? Is it because you enjoyed being pregnant, so you're punishing me every month for not being pregnant? Or did you not like being pregnant and you're still acting out on that grudge? It's been over seven years, let it go!...Wait, I know....You're still pissed about the C-section, aren't you? Because they cut, pummeled and squeezed you to get the baby out. Or maybe it's the IUDs? First the copper one that made you bleed more than normal, or maybe the Mirena one that made you be quiet for about a year? Damn, that was a good year. I wore lots of thongs, didn't have to buy pads or tampons the entire time. You know, I'm sorry I had to do that, but you were really pissing me off. Maybe you're just bitter, but why? Are you sick of being poked by tampons and squished by snug-fitting jeans? I'm sorry. I like them a little snug! Or are you sick of being prodded and scraped once a year for a pap smear, is that it? Then probed by an ultrasound transducer whenever you give me trouble, is that what it is? Uterus??"

I have even considered getting out a Ouija board and asking it to help me communicate with my uterus.

"Ouija board, what does my uterus want to tell me?"

"C-O-M-E....A-T....M-E...., B-R-O-!"

What?!! 

Well, I am still trying to get to the bottom of what is going on with my uterus. I'm still searching for the root cause of the breakdown in our relationship. I  pop Motrin like candy until the stupid little grape-sized organ releases me from its grip at the end of my cycle. I have to take Zantac to counteract the stomach-eroding effects of the Motrin. In addition, I try my damnedest to make sure I've got nothing going on when my period starts because it renders me completely useless in every way to everyone in my life.

I am hoping that my uterus and I will make amends before she is due to retire in about 20 years. 

Because twenty years is a long time to be in such a miserable relationship, is it not?

Next, maybe I will try exorcising my uterus. Like, of the demonic variety-type exorcism. Yes, I am that kind of desperate.

Be Profane and Your Kids Will Refrain..Maybe

“Merlin, I’m gonna beat your ass!”

That is how I talk to my dogs. Usually right before I give them a swift, firm smack on the rump for doing something bad. Like stealing food right off our plates or rolling on dead worm carcasses in the backyard after a good rain. Disclaimer: I don’t actually beat the dogs. I mostly just like to sound tough when I make threats. I have been known to occasionally have a taste for dramatics.

I never thought much about all the swearing I do until Colleen was about 3 years old. Because that quote you see up above….Those were her words. Mimicking my own words, of course. She must have heard me say them to Merlin the day before when he wouldn't stop barking about something. But those words sounded so odd coming out of her mouth. Just the nature of the sentence together with her innocent, high-pitched baby girl voice had a crazy dichotomous ring to it.

I know some of you are probably thinking what a terrible mother I am. Cussing and swearing in front of children is often considered a pretty serious offense. So right after she made that threat to Merlin, I did what any responsible parent would do....

I turned around, walked quickly away from her, and laughed my ass off in the other room for a minute. Then, after I was sure I’d be able to look at her with a straight face, I approached her and chided, "Colleen, no-no. Little girls don't talk like that.” She peered up at me and replied, "Okay."

For the record, when I was growing up, one of the worst things I could do was use profanity. The shame that would ensue if I happened to be caught by my mother was astronomical.

My parents very rarely swore in front of my siblings and me. When they did let loose and swear in front of us, it was when they were having one of their relatively rare fights that involved screaming. We always knew some serious shit was going down when it happened. My brother and I would whisper to each other, wondering if our parents were soon going to divorce.

Ours weren't overly prudent parents, just so you know. They were actually pretty laid back about a lot of things. They didn't hover much. They usually stood back a bit, watching us make various screw-ups in life without intercepting too much so that we could truly learn from our mistakes. But refraining from profane speech was a strict family value. My parents would even chide extended family members at get-togethers if they slipped up in the presence of children. Needless to say, my mom did not really approve of the bumper sticker my uncle had on his car that read, "Shitfuckdamnpisshell!" I think he may have ended up taking it off because of her, but the memory is hazy for me.

When it comes to the F word, I learned about it from other kids sometime in the mid 80's when I was in the 4th grade. That's pretty old to first learn about the good ol’ F bomb, in my opinion!

In the South Park movie, Eric Cartman gets in trouble for saying the F word. He says, "What's the big deal? It doesn't hurt anyone. Fuck fuckity fuck fuck fuck!"

Colleen learned about the F word from....well....me. And much earlier than I did. But if she hadn't learned it from me first, she'd have learned it from this naughty little girl in her first grade class who wrote the entire word out on a piece of construction paper for the whole class to see. Hell, I didn't have the luxury of that kind of blatancy when I was young. I had to seek clarification and fill in the blanks on my own. Here's how it happened for me:

I was walking to my grandma's house after school when these two little boys walked past me. They were talking to each other and when they got within earshot, one said to the other,"Oooo, you said the F word!" My curiosity was piqued. When I got to my grandma's, I asked her what the F word was. She was getting ready to make a phone call and paused with her hand on the receiver. Appearing a little nervous, she uttered, "You'd better ask your Uncle Jesse." Looking back now, I realize that she just didn't want to be responsible for my newly acquired vocabulary word.

My Uncle Jesse was a teenager at the time (this was a few years before he got that vulgar bumper sticker for his car). I located him in the family room watching MTV. He too looked a little nervous when I made my inquiry. His eyes darted around.

"Grammie told me I could ask you," I assured him.

He got a clever smile on his face and snickered. "It rhymes with 'duck'," he said smugly. This way, he wasn't technically telling me, either.

I stood there for a moment while the wheels spun in my head, then I grinned. Quietly, tentatively, I replied, "Fuck??"

I went up to my grandma and informed her that I now knew the F word. When my mom arrived later on to pick me up, I said, "Hey, Mom, guess what? Fuck!" And she wasn't very happy. And I was ashamed because it was only after I saw the look of utter disdain on her face that I realized I had just said what's often considered the absolute worst profane word in all of human existence.

I'm not one that goes around cussing and swearing loudly in public. Very rarely will I engage in profane speech in mixed company. And I still refrain when I'm around my parents, especially my mom. But in the comfort of my own home, I let it all hang out. Yes, even in front of my child....Hearing her mimic me that day with the dog was really the first time I considered just what kind of effect my careless rantings were having. So I made a point not to do it anymore....Well, for  a time, anyways.

After a couple years, my tongue got sore from me always biting it. I finally decided that I would rather Colleen hear profanity sometimes than never at all. So, I try to tone it down a little when she's with me, but I don't go out of my way not to swear, either. With all due respect, my parents were doing what they thought was right by their kids. Every family has values that it adheres to, which is good, and I'm thankful for the values my parents bestowed upon me. But I have made the personal choice to go about the whole swearing thing a little differently with my own child.

I never refrain when there's pain!

I want Colleen to know that there's a time and a place for swear words. Think of me what you will, but they can be very effective if used “right” (I will get to that). They are a part of our society. They're not going away, and they'll probably never go out of style. Things like skinny jeans, Justin Bieber, and dubstep music will all go out of style eventually (hopefully!), but not swear words.  The emphasis that they provide is just too convenient and expressive. I was so sheltered from swear words as a kid that I became intrigued by them. For teenage me, swear words developed into tasty, forbidden fruits. I liked using them just a little too much and in situations and places where I shouldn't have. My parents had no way of knowing how I'd be. I didn't misbehave excessively, I wasn't that kind of kid, but I had a slight naughty streak in me with a taste for deviant little indiscretions. For me, using profanity was one of those indiscretions. If that was the worst indiscretion a kid could commit, most of today's parents would be a lot happier than they are with their kids’ behavior.

I feel I must mention that there are some bad words that I refuse to use, so if Colleen knows them, she didn't hear them from me. Racial slurs are a good example. As far as I know, Colleen has never even heard the N word. She's never asked about it, and she is usually very curious when she hears a term or word she doesn't know. She will often wait and come to her dad or I and ask about it. I suppose I should educate her about what the N word means before she learns it from someone else, then possibly uses it, not truly understanding the atrocity of it. Then there are the three derogatory words for the female anatomy that I rarely use: p_ssy, tw_t, and c_nt....See, I can't even type them! She knows the female anatomy simply as "girl parts". As far as male anatomy, I rarely say the word "dick" in front of her, either. It would really confuse her if she heard me refer to someone as a "dick" and then I had to explain to her what it means; she had an old, beloved Uncle Dick that passed away a few years ago.

So is it wrong of me to be so laissez-faire about the whole profanity thing with my own daughter? Perhaps it is a bit of a gray area. I suppose that eventually, it could end up backfiring and she could become a little cussbucket for awhile like I was. I'll deal with that if it happens. But I got over that stage quickly and am perfectly capable of knowing when I shouldn't swear. As for how Colleen is turning out so far, I can’t complain. In fact, ever since that day I heard her threaten Merlin with bodily harm, she hasn't uttered a single swear word. Even if she is quoting someone else, she won't say the actual word. She doesn't even like to say the words that are "not-quite-swear-words", like "crap". I said it once in place of "shit", trying to be a little less cussy, and she inquired, "Mommy, is that a bad word?" I told her it wasn't a swear word, just not a very nice word. She uses it sparingly. Same thing with "sucks".

There are other factors to consider in this as well, the major one being the child as an individual with their own thought processes and values. For example, when Colleen's dad was a kid, all his parents had to do was tell him not to do something, and he wouldn't do it. No arguing, no resistance. I, on the other hand, wasn't afraid to question things, test the waters, and get a little defiant. Plus, I went through that stage some kids go through for awhile where they consider their parents to be way uncool.. So, things my parents liked, I made a point to not like. And things they didn't like, well, those things were cool, ya know?  My dad didn't like it when I listened to heavy metal; therefore, heavy metal was cool. But he also was a smoker, and because of that, smoking was stupid. That worked out well, because I still think smoking is uncool....though, who knows how much I actually have my dad to thank for that. Maybe I just don't like smoking because it gives people stinky breath and causes cancer.

Hell, with the whole "uncool parent" thing in mind, I guess at the very least, I could claim the whole reverse psychology thing! As in, swearing in front of your kids will make them think it's uncool and so they won't do it! Right? Heh, fat chance I suppose.....

In the end, I don't think I'll have to worry about Colleen not being able to get her point across to someone when "nicer" words would fall short....

If someday she were to catch her husband cheating on her with her best friend, is he really going to understand just how she feels if she says, "You jerk, how could you?! This really hurts me, I am so upset!! I never want to see you again!!"

No. It'll come across a LOT more clearly if she says, "You fucking asshole bastard motherfucker! God dammit! How the fuck could you do this to me?! I hope you die and go to hell and get skullfucked by satan! You'd better get the fuck out of my house, you dirty son-of-a-bitch!" And if I were to be there when it happened, I would wholeheartedly approve! That’s my girl! Give him hell!

Oh, just as an aside....I don't use the word skullfuck in front of Colleen. That one is just a tad too gauche and barbaric yet for my girl. See? I have my priorities set straight. Dammit.

Exactly my point.

Babies: The Best People

When you ask someone why they decided to become a nurse, you probably expect them to say certain things. Things like: "I care about people".... "It's steady work and pays halfway decent"...."Nurses are always going to be needed", and even "Well, somebody has to do it."

When I get asked, I usually give some sort of version of all of those reasons.

I have found that when people discover I am a NICU nurse, their questions become more specific. In fact, their whole demeanor changes to something bordering on captivation. With wide eyes, they ask things like: "Oh my God, how do you do that?" and "Isn't it sad?" and "How can you stand to see all those babies suffering?" I answer those questions as best I can. How do I do that? Well, I just do it. Is it sad? Hell, yes, it can be horrifyingly sad, but it can also be very happy. How can I stand to see the babies suffer? Well, it's a difficult thing to see, but I try my best to relieve them of that suffering. I can't count how many times those answers have been followed by the compliment, "Wow, you must be a special person."

Well, I don't know about that. It certainly takes a strong stomach and the ability to do your job well despite how emotionally exhausting it can be. However, one of the main reasons I am a NICU nurse is simply this: I love babies.

Many people love babies so there's really nothing original about that. Still, I want to delve into explanation. I'm sure many people share my reasons, whether they've ever really tried to put words to their feelings or not.

Babies are the best kind of people. I find them delightfully simple and yet fascinating. It's not just that they are the epitome of innocence and purity. It is also because their basic human needs are so utterly direct. They never exaggerate or under-emphasize anything. They don't play mind games or work under a passive-aggressive agenda. I'm only half-joking when I say how awesome it is that they can't talk back and be snotty like older kids and adults. Babies don't have to resort to that vindictive bullshit. They play on our instincts to get their point across. The lines of communication with them are always live with clear, consistent signals. For the most part, you just have to be willing and able to listen to them.

This little baby is alert and possibly ready for some cuddles!

The way I see it, babies are often somewhat set aside from the rest of the world. They aren't seen as "subhuman", but almost like a "subset" of humanity. Like, they are "pre-human" or something. Most people instinctively find themselves feeling protective and nurturing toward babies, so we do what is expected of us as adults when it comes to raising them. Of course there's the basics: food, shelter, love, protection. Then there's the ancillary activities that come along with those. We speculate about how they're going to be when they grow up. We watch their milestones and analyze their every move. We make plans for their futures. The baby stage seems to slip by so fast. As parents, many of us start preparing for these things before the baby is even born, which is good! But babies also need to be enjoyed in their current state. Even if we are truly taking the time to enjoy them as they are, we still are always preparing them for something. For the "start-up" of the rhythm of life. For me, my job is to eventually get them to that "start-up" point. To the "baby" point they're supposed to be at but can't be at because something went wrong and they got sick. Illness can happen to people of all ages, but when it happens to babies, it places them in a strange type of limbo. They haven't even gotten into the earliest rhythm of life and they are already taking a detour.

Let's face it. There is really nothing natural about  medical care. It is one of the things that we, as humans, came up with to ensure the continuance of our species. Medical care is often a beautiful, necessary thing and I'm thankful for the discoveries and advancements that diagnose, treat and cure people every day. But medical care does nothing for the "people side" of us. It is a hollow activity if we let it be. Sadly, sometimes that's all it can be. When a baby is critically ill, many developmental needs have to be ignored. There's no playing, no touching, no thinking about anything else about the baby if it doesn't concern their medical situation. Our only goal as professionals is keep the baby alive until they recover or are deemed unable to survive. If it comes to that, it's just about being merciful and palliative.

This premature baby is in no shape for interaction. The best thing to do is make sure he is positioned comfortably and receiving pain and sedation medications, if needed.

When I am at work, one of my main goals is to provide equilibrium to my small patients. To me, that initially means as little pain and stress as possible. If a patient has recently had surgery or has a pain-inductive condition, I watch them carefully for signs of discomfort. Sometimes, it is blatantly obvious--crying and thrashing about are dead giveaways of pain. Sometimes, though, it is more implicit due to the baby's weak state. Things like a facial grimace, tense muscles, a rapid pulse rate or high blood pressure often means pain or agitation. I give pain and sedation medications as needed, try to reduce the amount of noise and activity around the baby, and continue to assess them. I can often tell when a baby feels sick or is falling victim to infection. A change in behavior, glossy eyes, a low groan in their throat. Antibiotics can help with infections, and help return babies to a neutral state. As they recover, and when they are ready, I gradually incorporate developmentally appropriate activities. Holding, cuddling, talking softly, and even introducing toys. After being so sick, these things often have to be introduced slowly to prevent stress in the baby.

This baby is not as critically ill and appears to be receptive for some sort of positive interaction; it is important to watch for these cues.

When stable enough, light touch can be introduced.

This baby can barely be seen through all of this medical equipment. This baby is on maximum life support, heavily sedated, and should be touched as little as possible.

There is nothing as satisfying as seeing a baby through their medical ordeal and then being able to do normal "baby stuff" with them. For example, I always try to make time to cuddle with my patients that "ask" for cuddling. There is nothing like picking up a baby and having him or her just melt into your chest with contentment and relief. I love getting them to that state where their true basic baby needs come first. When they can clearly indicate what they want with a certain "style" of cry or facial expression. They can tell you they're hungry, bored, dirty, tired or uncomfortable. Yes, occasionally there are babies that I can't quite "figure" out, that seem to cry no matter what I do. Frankly, that's pretty unusual. I have been taking care of infants for over 12 years now and, like most seasoned NICU nurses, I have grown pretty adept at "reading" them.

So, there it is. A long explanation for why I am a NICU nurse. Babies are simply the best people. Not that adults aren't good; they have just lost that simple idyllic nature. It is an expected response to growing up. With babies, though, every want and need, every enjoyable thing is in its most sheer, pristine form. Like, a hug is purely for comfort and reassurance. If only we as adults could be soothed and all of our problems alleviated with just a hug! Perhaps one of the best things about babies, though, are their smiles. A smile of pure joy and appreciation for the interaction you are having with them is simply divine. Babies are the only people we can smile at without having to worry about any kind of pretext or misinterpretation. Smile at an adult, and they may think you are flirting with them even when you are not. Or they may think that you are trying to hide something, or you are just acting out of obligatory politeness, or maybe you are  just one of those weird people that smiles at everyone just because you are friendly. The point is, adults are trained to be skeptical. When it comes to smiles, only babies truly recognize the simple purity and joy buried deep within the adult soul of each of us.

Lobe Faps?

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I Didn't Do That Wrong Enough!: A Parody

At any given time in life, every single one of us can probably think of a bazillion things we should've done better. We might say things like, "I wish I'd been a better parent/sibling/employee/spouse." Or we might think about good, helpful things that we should've done but didn't...."I wish I would've confessed to my parents that I stole that candy bar from the gas station when I was 10," or, "I wish I would've told my friend's cousin before she got pregnant that her husband was cheating on her wih his half-brother's cousin's wife." What?!

Well, let me ask this: What about the things that we shouldn't have done that we never did but should've? After you've thought about that question (I had to say it out loud a couple times to make it make sense to myself), read about some of the things I wish I'd done when I was younger:

1. Cheat on all my boyfriends: When I was way too young to be making any kind of serious commitment to a guy, I was doing it anyways. I was barely 14 when I believed myself to be in my first "committed" relationship. Really? I mean, come on what the fuck?! To make it worse, the guys I chose to devote myself to were all sneaky, arrogant manchildren with at least several co-morbid life conditions or severe mental hang-ups. For example, my first two loverboys had bitch-ass drunks for mothers who called me names and talked shit about me as if I wasn't standing right there. One boyfriend suffered a brain injury when he was 8, which affected his mental capacity for sure, but was largely used as an excuse to be a combative, abusive asshat. Another guy had a huge moral chip on his shoulder, looking down on anyone who smoked or so much as took a sip of alcohol, even on special occasions. After he graduated from college, he became a renowned chain-smoking alcoholic. What the actual fuck, dude? I know for a fact that most of those shit-for-brain fucksticks cheated on me. So I shouldn't have made a big deal out of it. I should've just done it too! Right back at them! Sounds immature, yes. But why did those dickheads get to have all the fun? There were several cuties I turned down because I was in a "serious" relationship. Meanwhile, the morons I dated would immediately jump in the sack with anything that made googly eyes at them and had a decent pair of tits. If unfaithfulness were a blade, I would've totally shanked those dumbass guys with it!
2. Party too much: I've never in my life been completely shit-faced drunk. For a few reasons. For one, I had a rabid drive to succeed in life as soon as possible, and partying was a distraction. I hung out with a lot of party-type people and didn't usually judge their actions, but it was just not on my agenda. Secondly, I was with the "moral-chip-on-his-shoulder" guy from the time I was 17 until I was almost 23. Thems are some of the best partying years gone, right there! Young, full of energy, and a hot, perky body still unaffected by age and gravity! But nope. Moral-chip-on-his-shoulder guy didn't approve. He was like the "NO." meme face. For realz. Thirdly, and kind of sadly, I hate feeling sick. I will drink to the point where I feel like I kinda sorta might be just starting to feel the very beginning of shit-face syndrome and then I will stop. I'm perfectly content to be buzzed and happy. I hate nausea. I hate dizziness. But when I was younger, I may have not cared as much. I'm not saying I would've drove under the influence or anything like that, but I should've partied at least a little more and a little harder and have just not given a single fuck about any of it. And I've never smoked a joint. How many people out there have never at least taken a puff of a good 'ol roach? Not many.
3. Have one-night stands: This is something no doubt brought on by numbers 1 and 2 above....But also, maybe if I hadn't jumped from one serious relationship to another when I was younger, I would've had some time to engage in this recreational activity. And no fucks would've been given if people thought I was a slut. Let them! Let them think whatever the fuck!
4. Get in some fights: When I was younger, I let myself get trampled upon by many people. Hell, I still do sometimes. Back in my teens and early 20s, however, I let it get a bit out of control. There were some people that really could've used a good pimp hand bitchslap. I wouldn't have beat anyone into a bloody pulp or anything, just throw them around a little.  When I was about 18, there was this nasty bitch who barely knew me but didn't like me because of something she thought I did to a mutual friend of ours. I went out of my way to avoid places where she hung out. What I should've done is witchhunted that bitch down and, without fear or qualm, smacked her upside her fugly-ass head!
5. Walk out on the job: I have always had strong work ethics, even when I was a kid, no matter how "lowly" the job was. Before I became a nurse, I had a couple of typical "get-through-it" jobs so I could buy clothes and pay for my car insurance, gas and cellphone. I worked for a fast food joint for a couple years, then a movie theater for a couple more. At the fast food place, there were these two pricks who harassed me constantly. They were both guys that could've used a good bitch slap (a la #4, above).  Then, at the theater one day, I started feeling sick as a dog. I was in the bathroom every 15 minutes nursing a headache and dry-heaving when one of the asshat managers got all pissy. I'd told him a few hours earlier in the day that I was feeling shitty and he told me I couldn't leave. He came and opened the bathroom door at one point and started lecturing me about trying to pull through so I could get back to collecting tickets. I should've been like, "Bitch, leave me the fuck alone before I go puke in the ticket stub canister. No one's life is on the line here. This is a movie theater." I know that in his mind, he probably thought he was being a hardcore professional, which is fine, but it's still just a movie theater. An entertainment venue. He was all butthurt because he knew he'd have to take over collecting tickets for me, which would require that he'd have to stand all day and not be able to escape to the manager's office on a regular basis and do manager "work" (read: sit on his ass). Eventually, I meekly reiterated that I felt like shit and he finally let me leave. The next day, I went to the doctor and was diagnosed with a pretty severe case of mononucleosis and had to take a week off school and work. I fantasized about telling him off: "My spleen could've burst, you shit-for-brains!"

And that concludes my list of should've-been screw-ups! Let me just mention that none of these are things I'd ever consider doing now. No desire whatsoever. In the end, none of it would've changed who I am today. It's just a list of 5 things that are really nothing more than mental masturbation. Things I probably still would've never done but like to think about the shock and entertainment value each would've caused.

Come on....You know you have your own guilty little list of things you "should've" done wrong....

Every Dog's Mom Will Have Her Day

My dogs, Merlin and Pandora, used to be my lifeblood. I was the ultimate crazy-ass “Dog Mom”. I doted on them almost maniacally. I took them everywhere with me, fed them the best dog food I could afford, bathed and groomed them at least twice weekly, dressed them in little doggy sweaters, let them sleep cuddled up to me in bed, walked them daily, bought medical insurance for them, got their pictures taken professionally, talked about them incessantly and even made scrapbooks about them. 

It all started soon after I graduated from college in June 2001. I dove head first into my nursing career, then started what I thought was a new life together with my boyfriend of five years. We bought a house and he and I moved out of my mom's, where we'd been living during my last couple years of college. Only one thing was obviously missing—a furry companion to share our new life with! So, we got a Jack Russell Terrier puppy and I dubbed him Merlin.

Just a month later, however, my boyfriend and I had a terrible break-up and then it was just me and Merlin. I was horrified over the break-up, and suffered some of the darkest days of my life after that. Merlin kept me sane by loving me unconditionally. Sometimes, he was the only thing motivating me to carry on with any semblance of normalcy. I became dangerously thin and was exhausted mentally and emotionally. Everything in my life had changed in what seemed like a heartbeat, and Merlin was my only source of comfort for quite awhile. Because of this, we developed a special bond. I was twenty-three years old, and it was me and my dog against the world!

A couple years later, shortly after Merlin and I had moved in with my fiancé, we adopted another Jack Russell Terrier. I named her Pandora. I was in heaven!

My daily routine often revolved around what I was going to do with my dogs. I loved them so much. I freaked out any time they had to endure the pain of vaccinations, or got hurt or sick. When my husband and I were planning our honeymoon, I made sure I found THE best kennel in the area. It had heated floors and I paid a premium for them to be walked and played with in the yard twice daily. During the honeymoon, I called the kennel a few times a day, nearly in tears. I missed them like mad, and even cut our honeymoon short by one day so I could be reunited with them….Yes, I was that kind of insane.

Then I got pregnant. I was excited, but also torn. I remember saying to my husband one day, as I squeezed Merlin’s furry body against me, “I’m afraid I won’t be able to love the baby ‘enough’….I just can’t imagine loving anything more than I love Merlin!” And I was quite honestly making myself neurotic over the whole thing.

After nine tumultuous months (I've never known a time in my life so filled with torture and joy at the same time), the day came when we brought our precious newborn baby girl Colleen home. I was prepared for a little jealousy, especially from Merlin. But what I was not prepared for was the snarling he did at her, lunging toward her with teeth bared, hackles raised. I was both relieved and horrified when I immediately realized that I would kill Merlin if he hurt my baby girl. Without forethought. With my bare hands. With absolutely no regret.

So now I start my point. On Mother’s Day every year while browsing Facebook, I notice a lot of women celebrating as “mothers” of “furry kids”. Most of them are women who don’t have children and dote on their animals just as I used to with Merlin and Pandora. Trust me, I understand the sentiment of being a parent to an animal. I was there.

While I suspect that some of these women are just being cutesy and not entirely serious, I know that others are entirely committed to the belief that they are, indeed, mothers to their pets. And I can’t help but feel a little put off. Then I get mad at myself for feeling that way and do a mental facepalm because I know that I was the exact same way. I’m pretty sure I saw myself as a full-fledged mother, and so I have no right to judge. But maybe that’s why I can’t help feeling embarrassed on behalf of those women.

Before I had Colleen, I would listen to groups of mothers talking about their kids. It wasn't usually because I was interested in what they were saying. I was probably sitting with them in the break room at work, or overhearing them at a party. I took notice that some mothers would become disinterested or even a tad miffed when women without kids would bring up their pets (usually dogs) and then expect to remain included in the conversation. Well, at the time, I didn't fully understand the disgruntlement of the mothers.

Now I do. I’m sorry, but if I’m talking to other women about the frustrations of raising a child, I don’t want to hear about the struggles of pet ownership. Like, when we’re talking about the relentless torture of having to get up every two hours during the night to feed a colicky baby while dealing with postpartum hormones, grotesquely swollen, aching breasts and cracked, bleeding nipples, I don’t want to hear a story about how Princess whines for two hours straight when she gets put in her little crate at night because she’s not fully house-trained yet, and how terrible it is to have to do that to her. When we’re talking about the sheer joy of watching our toddlers take their first step, I don’t want it to be compared to the first time Fido returned a ball during a game of fetch. I’m not the savviest person when it comes to social interaction. I have found myself committing many a conversational faux pas. I’m glad this wasn't one of them, because even if I hadn't seen it as much of one before, I do now.

The realization that the love for my pets pales in comparison to the love for my child hit me like lightening that day when I brought Colleen home. There’s really not a whole lot I can say to fully illustrate or make it blatant enough when I say that loving your child is so much more visceral than loving your pet. For the record, the dogs adjusted to Colleen's presence. For quite awhile, Pandora thought Colleen was her baby and is in nearly all of Colleen's earliest baby pictures. Merlin's nasty snarling faded into a deliberate disregard for Colleen. Once she reached toddlerhood, Colleen and Merlin became closer when he realized she could play with him. Then, he turned into one of those kinds of dogs that lets his human "siblings" do whatever they want to him. He never complained about or tried to remove the little barrettes Colleen started putting on his ears....

 Our love for our pets is phenomenal in its own right. I’m not saying it is an insignificant love. In fact, it is probably very intense and special to women who are not ready for or are unable to have children. I can attest to that. Hell, there are times when I prefer the company of Merlin over Colleen. 

He never complains or questions anything. He will ride quietly in the passenger seat of my car and alternate between sticking his head out the window and staring at me lovingly. Colleen, of course, needs constant interaction or she’ll get bored and fall asleep in the backseat, then be a total grouchy brat the rest of the day after I wake her up. I’m just saying that there’s a time and a place to bring up pets, and it’s not during conversations about children. The grounds for comparison just don’t exist.

If it were feasible and not so pretentious, I’d challenge every childless woman out there who claims she loves her pet as much as a mother loves her child to actually have a baby. Whether it be to push it out of her vagina, have it surgically extracted from her womb, or go through the harrowing adoption process to achieve motherhood. Then take that baby—a part of her very self—and then say her love for her pet compares in even the slightest way. Look into that baby’s eyes, smell that baby scent, nuzzle that baby, feel the smooth skin of that baby as she holds its tiny warm body to her chest and nourishes it with her own breasts. Then say it’s all one in the same. I dare you! 

So, yeah. There you have my little soapbox of the day. Don’t pretend you have any clue what it feels like to love a child because you have a pet that you love soooo much! It. Is. Not. The. Same. Please don’t insult mothers by saying it is.

Well. Maybe there needs to be a “special day” for “furry kid moms” (who is in charge of creating days of recognition anyways?). Because the one in May is for moms of human children!