Log in

No account? Create an account
July 2018   01 02 03 04 05 06 07 08 09 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31
4 kittens

Fly-swatter because I hate bugs, vegetables because I love vegetables

Posted on 2015.05.10 at 09:07

omg check it out:

They replaced the sign. Mere weeks after I blogged it. WHOA, MERE WEEKS.


Happy third birthday! Or Mother's Day. Before Jammies, I got diddly-squat for my birthday or Christmas. But when I became part of his family, all of a sudden I got actual presents for Christmas, my birthday, and Mother's Day (because Hawaii coincided with all of that), and so it is my third birthday.

Here is the haul I got:

All the artwork is by Hawaiian Punch. There are six pennies from her, in the rainbow envelope, so that I could spend money. The flyswatter and dress are from Hokey Pokey, who had firm ideas about what to get me for Mother's Day. A flyswatter because I hate bugs, a dress because I'm not sure, but he gave me the biggest hug when I put it on, and vegetables because I love vegetables.

I haven't actually recieved the vegetables yet. "Not for dinner," they said of course, "because then we'd have to eat them, too. Just vegetables."

I made a fourth bear cub for this picture:

My friend gave it to me after Ace was born, and I love it but found it distressing that there were three bear cubs. Now there are four.

My hair is very, very long right now, and I've taken to wearing it in a bun every day, sometimes with dangly earrings. I feel like a senorita on those occasions.

I met with a different breast surgeon this week. I got checked in to the hospital - they put a wristband on me and the waiting room was filled with visibly sick cancer patients. There was a display case of assorted wigs and turbans.

First I was shunted to meet with a financial assistant, who sits at a desk and goes over your insurance with you. She was helpful and gave me her card (and of course it's depressing that we need such a service.)

Second they took my vitals. They measured my height. I've gotten my vitals checked plenty of times over the past six years, but never has anyone measured my height. It was horrifying because I am 5 feet, 4 and 1/2 inches tall, but they measured me as being 5 feet, 3 and 1/4 inches tall.  What on earth bullshit is that.

This breast surgeon gave me a hard time about not having reconstructive surgery, in a very nice way. "I've just literally never had a patient as young as you want to forgo reconstructive surgery," he said, "and of our patients who aren't good candidates for reconstructive surgery, a lot of them are unhappy about it."  He said he'd had only one patient who had chosen to forgo surgery, and she was older than me, but very happy with her decision. He was very nice, but statistically questioning my decision.

As a result of that meeting, I did double-check my thinking. (Yet again.) Fifteen years ago, reconstructive surgery was pretty choppy, and it was easy for me to reject it, hypothetically, in the future. Now reconstructive surgery produces pretty realistic breasts. Am I just being stubborn and ornery by rejecting it? That is the kind of conversation that I have with myself.

The gut-check still comes back the same - nope, not for me. But one thing is true: I will look like a dumpy toddler, with Ace's dumpy toddler belly. That part is unfortunate. It'd be nice to look like a skinny Tig Notaro androgyne.  But that is not how I'm built. I have to brace myself for the reality of my dumpy toddler body to come.

This is coming back around to the long hair - I am keeping my hair long for a while, in order to offset the dumpy toddler body. It seems like a safety net. Maybe next year, when I'm used to myself, I'll go get a fetching bob, instead.


A Study In Aces:


Our friend that ran for school board crushed the election. Our little group of friends is now a force in this little town. It's pretty great.

Previous Entry  Next Entry