#notwinning

Bless the Baby, but Fuck All the Fluids

With a few weeks left in my first pregnancy, my bladder broke. Like, I literally couldn’t stop the pee.

Fortunately, I was sitting on the toilet when it happened. I’d just finished peeing for the thousandth time that day and started to wipe when more liquid shot out. I wiped again, and even more came out. As I sat there contemplating wearing an adult diaper for the next few weeks, I noticed the tissue was slightly pinkish, not yellow. I gave it a quick sniff (barf) and confirmed it wasn’t urine.

Relief at not facing incontinence led to the horror that my water bag was busted. Impossible! I just started maternity leave! I still have three-and-a-half weeks to go! I haven’t packed my hospital bag!

I called my husband multiple times. Unfortunately, he didn’t answer because he was in class so I called my friend, Carrie, who lived close by. She was thirty-four weeks pregnant with her third child. She would know what to do.

“Hang tight,” she said. “I’ll be right there.” I attached a ginormous maxi pad to my underwear, grabbed my keys, and waited by the door. Slowly dripping like an old faucet with a broken washer.

[Read more…]

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The Perfect Wife

By Foxy

The invitation to my husband’s company Christmas party could not have arrived at a better time. Like a summons from heaven, we were invited to don elegant clothing, dine amongst corporate elite, and spend the evening at an upscale hotel.

I wept tears of joy.

See, at the time, I had a three-year-old daughter, an infant son, two large dogs, and four cats under my round-the-clock care. (Take my advice: just have the baby; don’t pretend you’re not ready and adopt too many animals instead.) Still nursing my son, I was severely sleep deprived and generally ragged. Showers were infrequent (as was any basic hygiene), and milk, bodily fluids, and other mysterious substances constantly covered my skin and clothing. My best outfit included some capri maternity jeans from Old Navy and whatever machine-washable shirt didn’t have stains on it.

I was desperate for an adult night out without anyone clinging to me, needing to be comforted, fed, or changed. I was desperate to feel clean and beautiful. I was desperate for a full night’s sleep.

Oh yeah, I also wanted to support my husband, Mr. Foxy. Recently promoted, he wanted to make a good impression with the new VPs and the CEO. Arm candy couldn’t hurt. Operation “Be the Perfect Wife in Exchange for a Free Night on the Town” commenced.

[Read more…]

Follow Foxy Wine Pocket on Facebook and Twitter. You can also subscribe to my blog and never miss a new post. It’s quick and easy! (That’s what she said.)

I Do NOT Recommend This Diet Plan

By Foxy

When I was in the 4^th grade, I reenacted a Saturday Night Live skit in front of my entire class. It was one of the Doug and Wendy Whiner skits wherein they loudly and annoyingly proclaim, “We’ve got DI-VER-TICU-LII-TIS.” My classmates laughed, but it was almost certainly at me making an ass of myself rather than understanding any of the dialogue.

When I told that story to my friend Rabbit, she replied, “Of course you did.”

[Read more…]

Follow Foxy Wine Pocket on Facebook and Twitter. You can also subscribe to my blog and never miss a new post. It’s quick and easy! (That’s what she said.)

Things to Know Before Accidentally Exposing a Sex Abuse Scandal

By Foxy

Hello? *tap, tap, tap* Is this thing on?

Oh hey. Remember me? It’s Foxy. I used to tell you funny stories. Well, I’m still here, and I still like to write ridiculous shit. I’m still collecting phallic Cheetos, snuggling with my rescue puppies, and enjoying all things wine and bacon. Alas, I have a new hobby—apparently—which is to inadvertently uncover decades-long sexual misconduct scandals and make myself a public target for hate speech and victim shaming.

I wish I were kidding on that last one.

Follow Foxy Wine Pocket on Facebook and Twitter. You can also subscribe to my blog and never miss a new post. It’s quick and easy! (That’s what she said.)

Everybody Poops … Including the Neighbors

By Foxy

This is an embarrassing poop story. You know you want to read it. @foxywinepocket

I often hear my fellow moms say they just want to go to the bathroom alone—that they want some privacy when nature calls. Honestly, I can’t really relate to this predicament at all. I’ve never had that wish.

Because I’ve never gone to the bathroom alone. Not in my entire life.

Follow Foxy Wine Pocket on Facebook and Twitter. You can also subscribe to my blog and never miss a new post. It’s quick and easy! (That’s what she said.)

For Sale: My Husband’s Final Hopes and Dreams

By Foxy

I haven’t been camping in over a decade. Wanna know why? Because I hate it. I fucking hate it.

I guess I didn’t always find camping so detestable. I spent my summers in high school working as a counselor at a campground outside of Yosemite. Three full months of that camping shit. In college, I used to personally initiate camping trips on the weekends and during breaks—pitching a tent, hiking, fishing, cooking up my catch—all that crap. Even in my early married years, I actually enjoyed camping as a leisurely activity.

Me, as a camp counselor. Of course that dirty hippy loved camping. Of course she did.

But now? Camping is dead to me.

Follow Foxy Wine Pocket on Facebook and Twitter. You can also subscribe to my blog and never miss a new post. It’s quick and easy! (That’s what she said.)

Sometimes Anxiety Isn’t a Complete Asshole

By Foxy

When you live with anxiety, it can be difficult to distinguish between the symptoms of the condition and all of the bullshit going on around you. I ~~frequently~~ occasionally find myself asking, “Is this person being a jackass—or am I irritated because of my anxiety disorder?” (Sometimes it’s a tough call.)

Combine anxiety with depression, and those two jerks regularly have me paralyzed, wanting to complete a task but lacking the required energy. Unable to string together coherent thoughts. Unable to approach normal social situations with any grace (if I even make it out the door at all). Unable to function in the afternoon. Well, except binge-watching Netflix. I can always do that.

But sometimes, just sometimes, anxiety isn’t a complete asshole.

Follow Foxy Wine Pocket on Facebook and Twitter. You can also subscribe to my blog and never miss a new post. It’s quick and easy! (That’s what she said.)

The Problem with Multi-Colored Rugs

By Foxy

We recently adopted quite possibly the most adorable puppy ever. On doggy death row because of several birth defects, Scooter has a difficult time walking straight and frequently stumbles around like a drunk. (No comparisons to me, thankyouverymuch.) But he’s a total sweetie, not in any pain, and a lovely companion.

Multi-colored rugs and puppy poop created my worst nightmare.

And, OMG, LOOK AT THAT FACE.

Scooter keeps me company in the dining room where I write in a makeshift office space at the table. But the slippery wood floors are a bit tough for him to walk on. When he’s not on the area rug under the table, he often falls on his face. And his butt. And all over the place. (Again, no need for comparisons to yours truly.)

Anyhow, I decided to move my office downstairs to the basement, which is carpeted. The carpeting would make it easier for him to get around and to wrestle with our other dog, which would be great physical therapy.

So I gathered up my supplies from the dining room and brought the first load downstairs. I threw away moved my children’s art supplies from the desk-turned-craft-table, reclaimed it as my own, and started setting up my new writing station when I heard my husband’s frantic voice booming from upstairs, “YOU BETTER STAY OUT OF THE KITCHEN!”

Follow Foxy Wine Pocket on Facebook and Twitter. You can also subscribe to my blog and never miss a new post. It’s quick and easy! (That’s what she said.)

Rejected Bandages and Other Badges of Motherhood

By Foxy

“Bacon is my favorite long food!” At age three, my son gifted me one of my proudest mommy moments:

My child could properly categorize food, and he appreciated one of the most magical flavors in the world.

Not that I’m biased, but bacon really is the best long food. And flat food. And able-to-be-crumbled food. I’ve been known to mix it with nuts. Put it in pancakes. And create an entire dinner party menu in which every single dish—from appetizers to dessert—includes bacon.

To celebrate my son’s newfound enthusiasm for cured pork and to support his insatiable bandage habit (he goes through approximately 20,000 each week), I purchased a shit-ton of, you guessed it, bacon bandages.

Follow Foxy Wine Pocket on Facebook and Twitter. You can also subscribe to my blog and never miss a new post. It’s quick and easy! (That’s what she said.)

Food Fuck-ups and Other Party Disasters

By Foxy

I'm no Julia Childs. In fact, I have a long history of fucking up things. But the secret to happiness is creating something awesome out of your disaster. @foxywinepocket | humor

As much as I’d love to cook with the expertise of Julia Childs or throw a party with the casual ease of the Barefoot Contessa, I’ve resigned myself to the sad truth that I will never be a domestic goddess.

In fact, quite frankly, I have a long history of fucking up things. [Read more…] about Food Fuck-ups and Other Party Disasters

Follow Foxy Wine Pocket on Facebook and Twitter. You can also subscribe to my blog and never miss a new post. It’s quick and easy! (That’s what she said.)

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