Okay, that’s not totally the truth. I teared up twice. THANKS FOR NOTHING, LADY GAGA.

But actual tears. They never flowed. Not even one.

That either makes me totally awesome or a terrible mother. I’m gonna go with awesome.

Let me explain the Lady Gaga thing. Every night, we put that pink Johnson’s Baby Lotion on his face. I’m convinced it cleared up his baby acne in August so I’m afraid to stop using it. And with his body chemistry, it smells like Dr. Pepper. So instead of Poker Face I sing “Dr. Pepper Face” at him when I slather it on. It’s one of two songs that will put me over the edge. The other is “Moves Like Jagger” because the stupid tablet ad that used it was played all the time right after the kid was born and we would sub in his name. Because his moves are way cooler than a strung out 70 year old.

So I heard “Poker Face” twice, once while walking through Caesars and once during one of the Imperial Palace’s Dealertainer shows. I’m surprised I didn’t hear it more than that, actually, considering it was Vegas and, duh, POKER.

ALSO if you haven’t been to Imperial (soon to be The Quad), it’s kind of a dump and under construction right now, but it has been our favorite place to gamble for a long time. The table minimums are always less than other places and even though the odds totally blow in the Dealertainer pit thanks to the continuous shuffle thingamabob, it is SO MUCH !#%!# FUN to play there. Where else can you play blackjack until six am with Blondie, Prince, Ke$ha, Alanis Morissette and Bret Michaels.

Bret Michaels took all my money, that dirty bastard.

What, like you never drank Bourbon Cream Sauce straight from the vessel before. DON'T JUDGE ME.

What, like you never drank Bourbon Cream Sauce straight from the vessel before. DON’T JUDGE ME.

Anyways, where was I? OH RIGHT. Tearing up in public. I did it. I’m not ashamed. I’m shocked I didn’t do it more. Again, bad mom.

We had plenty to do – we gambled obviously all the time, I won $240 on penny slots to which we took directly over to the blackjack tables where we promptly lost it, we ate steak, we got free Serendipity frozen hot chocolate, went ice skating on the pool roof of the Cosmopolitan, did the table service VIP thing at Paris and barely slept. So, I can survive a trip away from the little bugger as long as there is plenty of entertainment, good food, great friends and copious amounts of booze. In other words, I need LOTS of distraction.

I’m convinced that the kid grew like five inches and gained ten pounds in my absence. HE LOOKED SO BIG when I got in the car. And now he’s been a giant fussbucket and drooling machine and doing crazy things with his tongue which leads me to believe a tooth is a’comin’. He still won’t roll over but he is getting damn close. It’s just that damn arm that gets in the way and he can’t figure out how to roll over it. I give him another four days*.




* Less than 20 minutes after I posted this, that crazy face rolled over. Picked himself up and flung himself over the arm that got in the way. Mama would be proud of you, buddy, if you hadn’t just made her look foolish.


Abandonment Issues

I’m having a problem.

Big A and I are headed to Vegas soon. And we love Vegas. LOVE. We’ve been four times together. I’ve been three other times without  him.

Fake Bride for a Fake Wedding.

Two Spring Breaks. My 21st Birthday. His “goodbye” trip before he enlisted. We “pretend” got married Valentine’s Day 2011 to see if we could get free shit (we didn’t). We know how to celebrate. We %$&@# love this place.

This trip, though? Mehhhhhhh.

I already left the kid behind once, in September when we went to Pittsburgh for a Steelers game. But that wasn’t even two days. And I felt bad, but the kid wasn’t really doing much yet and I wasn’t concerned.

But this trip is longer.

And the kid? HE DOES STUFF NOW! I feel like in the days we’re gone, he’s going to roll over to his stomach (totally possible), say a “word” (slightly possible), sit up by himself (probably not possible) or start walking on his own (totally not possible).

He learns something new every day. Interacts a little more. Makes a new noise. Makes crazy faces.


I can’t even get behind the mommy-needs-a-break mindset because I really don’t. I like my “job” and I don’t need a day off yet.

And I’m not nervous about leaving him with someone else; he’ll be in good hands.

It doesn’t help that the trip snuck up on me and I never got my lazy ass to stop watching Full House long enough to go running so I didn’t lose ten pounds and I have nothing to wear.

I’m trying not to freak out.

I just don’t want someone else giving him a bath. Is that weird? That’s weird, isn’t it. And I probably shouldn’t ask her to not bathe him for the duration.

Absolute rule, though? NO NEW FOODS. Under no @!$%! circumstance will I miss anything like Bananagate.

At least we will be busy enough (read: drunk) that I probably (hopefully) won’t think about it too much.


2011 Happened Like This

Dear @#%! Baby:

In the year we made you, the following events happened.

We went to Vegas over Valentine’s Day and “got married” and went all VIP with some friends and bottle service.


My cousin and I won the coveted rib cook-off trophy. Neither of us had cooked ribs before. Several family members were not happy.

I turned 30. Yikes. I drank a lot of bourbon and Grain Belt that weekend.

I met Mr. Belding at a Minor League baseball game.

Big A deployed again. But not before we had a Jorts party, during which I saw more of our friends than I ever wanted to.

Our basement turned into a water park during Hurricanes Irene and Lee. Then it was jackhammered and rebuilt. If I never shop-vac again I will be a happy camper. The basement has been dubbed The Danger Zone.

I got to visit Big A – in Africa! It was just okay. Lolololololol J/K it was amazeballs.

We discovered a fetus. YOU. So I started a blog.

I won Skivver Fest 2011 – second year in a row I beat my brother at making Christmas breakfast. Because I’m awesome.

All told, aside from a few major highlights (I mean, HELLO, Africa + Baby), a fairly mundane year – not that I’m complaining. Danger Zone was enough stress on its own. And Lord knows next year is going to be a cluster@^$& of who knows what so I will look back on 2011 with wistful eyes and sigh.

Always remember that year we were Ballers.