Adultery... Again

I know I shouldn't flaunt my scarlet letter so recklessly, but I've posted two more blogs on VSoM. Here's one on Family and another on Gay Marriage.

I'm Having an Affair

I'm having an affair... with another blog. And I won't be ending things anytime soon. For the next couple of months I'll be writing for VSoM on Wednesdays. The topic this week is Moms.

Deutsch on the Gehirn

In honor of Erich’s Swiss & German roots, we’ve decided to try to raise him “auf Deutsch.” I’ve been learning to speak German through Post-it's around the house, Marc’s diligent tutoring, and the language learning software Rosetta Stone. I was studying almost daily until I started working again 3 weeks ago. Since then it’s been going… okay. Marc used to bug me to study constantly, but soon realized life would be too busy until he’s done with school. Just yesterday he informed me that he would be a "German studying Nazi" once finals are over. I knew he was only joking that he would be strict, like Seinfield’s "Soup Nazi" (“No soup for you!”), so I took joy in pointing out the undertones of what he'd just said. He’s so cute when he blushes.

In some of my Rosetta Stone lessons I have to match phrases with pictures. My most recent lesson was about size. Fat is “dick”, thin is “dünn”, and very is “sehr.” The sentence below reads:

“The women are very fat.”

I call THAT a German lesson. I’m glad I’m learning the important things first!
Now... do you think those women know they’re in that picture?

Erich - 14 weeks

I love him.

Happy Conception Day

Happy Conception Day!

We're pretty sure we conceived our son exactly one year ago today.

awwwwww!!!

I told Marc that for his gift I would wait a day to tell him that I'm pregnant again. hahaha....

The Great Debate

To G or not to G? That is the question.

I’ve decided to ditch Erich’s landfill cloggers and live a little greener. That’s right friends, the Bohns are going cloth. I used to think cloth diapers would be a lot of work but many friends have convinced me otherwise. No more pins and plastic covers, diapers of the old days are Pintos compared to what’s out there now. And although I’d really like to be creative and resourceful like some people I know, I’m just not that dedicated. So I’m ready with my credit card, but there are options galore and I simply can’t decide between the Mercedes and the BMW.

I’ve narrowed it down to two brands:

gdiapers & bumGenius

.

Both have their advantages and disadvantages; however, I won’t bore anyone with the details. Frankly I don’t feel like typing it all out. But it’s the funniest thing; I’m really excited to be more “hands on” with my child’s puddles and squirts (that’s what we call poo & pee in our house). It will feel good to help the environment in my own little way. (Man, I’m such a liberal.)

So there I was tonight, researching my new obsession with my little angel cuddled in my lap, playing with his own latest obsession, his hands. I was reading up on the Stacinator, a diaper cover that’s supposedly a “great way to stop day and nighttime diaper leaks,” when Erich suddenly became squirmy. I lifted him up to find brown leakage all over us and his blanket. Oh, the irony just kills me. That Stacinator thing sounds pretty fabulous.

Various Stages of Mormondom

I just made a guest post on a blog called Various Stages of Mormondom. It’s a site devoted to discussing issues from the perspectives of people in various stages of Mormonism, ranging from fully active to atheist. A weekly topic is assigned and each person has their day to shine, while a guest blogger is invited to post every Sunday. I was invited to participate as today on the topic of Resurrection.

You can check it out here:

Various Stages of Mormondom

If nothing else, make sure to tune in to the site next Sunday. Marc will be bringing the house down.

Propagating the Species

God has a plan for new mothers. It’s called memory loss. By overloading our systems, eventually all the pain and turbulence morphs into bliss and becomes one big blur. This is how the human race continues to thrive.

My final week of pregnancy I could have run a marathon to force thiat child out. Then while I was in labor, the pain was so bad ahat a shovel to the head would have felt better. I opted for the epidural over the shovel, but I waited long enough to guarantee the contractions were a pain I’ll always remember, not only to rub it in my son’s face one day, but so I don’t fool myself into thinking that a natural birth might actually be a good idea. (It’s not.)

The hospital stay was traumatic in its own right. Dozens of strangers shoving their way in my room at all hours to fill out forms (those were Marc’s guests), to poke and prod Erich and me, to throw off the sheets and examine how things are going “down there” and ask when my last “pee pee” and “poo poo” was (like, they do know I’m not the baby, right?). Don’t even get me started on the Nazi lactation nurses fondling me every two hours while smashing Erich’s face into my breasts. The only person that didn’t wake me up was the food lady, and she was the only one I waited up for.

It didn’t take long after settling in at home to have my first emotional/mental/physical breakdown. I lasted 24 hours before I sent Marc out in a blizzard to fill my prescriptions. I stayed home with a body that wouldn’t function, a baby that wouldn’t nurse, and breasts that wouldn’t stop growing. (Normally I wouldn’t complain about the last one, but I wasn’t thinking rationally at the time.) Another epidural would’ve been welcome, but I settled for an ocean of tears and the beloved Percoset my darling husband brought home. Ice packs, heating pads and oxycodone saved my life. I spent the next month healing, sleeping, nursing and trying not to poop. At least my kid is freakin’ adorable.

Now that my 13 week old sack of potatoes is sleeping through the night (10 hours last night!), babbling through his huge gummy grin and keeping his once 2 hour feeds at less than 40 minutes now, I’m starting to forget. My higher power is putting His Magic Eraser to work, obliterating traumatic portions of the past few months. Forever recording my experience in the blogosphere wasn’t likely part of God’s plan for new mothers, but He has a special plan for me. I’m beginning to forget what it felt like, but I hope by writing this, I don’t forget what happened. I propagate the species by accidental fertilization. It’s happened once, and it could happen again. At least next time I’ll know what to expect.

Don't Know Whatcha Got 'Til it's Gone

Toning up a post-pregnancy body is like reassembling a cake that’s fallen on the floor. Some pieces fit back where they belong but there are ultimately chunks leftover, and you really end up wishing you had swept the dog hair from the floor before baking. Right now my stomach looks like I pushed my thumb into a ball of playdough (thumb print = belly button). I’m hoping I can get at least some definition back, but I’ll have to accept the fact that some of my cake/playdough might be forever laced with last nights stuffing: Lumpy. Discolored. And maybe a little salty.

The realization came last month, about a week after giving birth to my little baby boy. Looking in the mirror, I noticed several red marks across the top of my bum. These mysterious painless “scratches” came out of nowhere. Jäger hadn’t jumped me from behind any time recently, and they definitely weren’t Marc's handiwork (for as beaten up as I was, I wasn’t letting that poor guy anywhere near my booty.)We had been dealing with a bit of a mouse problem at the time, but I think I’d remember a giant rodent clawing at my ass. That left only one dreaded explanation for these unsightly blemishes: stretch marks. I had survived my entire pregnancy without a single one... or so I thought. Truth is, while in my “enlarged” state, I purposely avoided checking out my bare backside out of sheer terror. Well, that and I didn’t have enough mirrors to look at it anyway; twisting in any direction certainly wasn’t a feat I could manage without assistance. In any case, I’m told these lines too shall pass, or at least fade into “flat silvery streaks.” Great. With any luck I’ll have a tinsel butt by next Christmas. Though be it a rock hard tinsel butt! Bounce a quarter off that, Santa.

Why I give my money to NPR

I'd like to make a shout out to my sister and brother-in-law in La Crosse. I heard this on NPR this morning and now I know why your kinky little 3rd congressional district covers the southwestern border of the state - because you cheeseheads like it HOT. Ohh yeah.

"Forget Las Vegas and New York! La Crosse, Wisconsin has to be America's next Super Sex Capital, and the 3rd district's congressman, Democrat Ron Kind, is apparently the Larry Flint of congress."

Just what is THIS about, you ask? Well, you can see the ad for yourself right here.

Don't worry though, because "for the record, Ron Kind is about as straight laced as a Mormon Missionary. (And the money he allegedly funneled to the sex industry was a bipartisan measure to fund the National Institutes of Health)."

Whew!! You can hear the whole story on All Things Considered (it's about 4 minutes long). It's about YouTube being used as a vessel for the evil campaigning of twisted politicians. Good stuff, NPR! Way to keep my afternoon commute spicy!