I love you triangled

Two years ago we made it all official and tied the knot. And more or less two years ago is when I last posted here.

Shit's been busy, yo.

We didn't move into that other flat because the landlords turned out to be douchecanoes. Which turned out for the best since a year ago we found a much larger flat with a garden all to ourselves. Brand spanking new renovations andnot the   cheap ass kind either. The landlord is awesome. It even has a lemon tree. Woot.

Peanut hit the toddler years with a vengeance. She was accepted at the municipal  Asilo nido last year (state run nursery school) and all her teachers were like, "Woah, does she ever stand still?" Answer: No. This year she's at the state run pre-school. 

This summer she got four stitches to her head after tripping against the stairs to our vacation flat. It took just as many people to hold her down to get them. She started vomiting later that night and we rushed back to the ER. Long story short, she had also gotten the gastro bug going around that area, and Daddy and Mommy got it too. 2 days of travel, 3 in the hospital, 1 at the beach. We're the only ones to return from a beach holiday paler than before we left. Oy vey.

Mon Amour's family never cease to amaze with their level of batshitsanity. And the less said about them, the better.

We also added another Peanut to the Nuthouse. Gwendolyn Grace joined us last February. She took much less time arriving than her big sister. Like they barely got the epidural in before I was SPROING!! FULLY DIALATED!! and ready to push. Mon Amour almost didn't make it up to the birthing room. It was a totally different experience than with Peanut the First. 

I think my favorite part was when one of the nurses assisting the obstetrician glanced at my spread eagled crotch in between contractions and chirpily informed us Peanut the Second was a blondie.

That pregnancy was not as much fun as the  first; since Peanut the First was getting every cold that went around her preschool, I spent the last two months of my pregnancy practically attached to a nebulizer to stop the never-ending bronchitis from turning into pneumonia. I will take swollen cankles over being unable to breathe properly any day.

Peanut the Second had a mild teeny tiny heart murmur at birth, which they discovered right as we were supposed to be sent home. 3 days of nicu fucking sucked and I don't know how those with more serious problems handle it. She's fine now and has the cutest fattest thighs you will ever want to gnam on. She is showing signs of skipping the while crawling thing and going straight to walking. Oy vey.

I will also cop to having a mild case of Postpartum depression this time around. That too sucked but my hormones finally straightened themselves out after a few months. Just when I was about to go back to the doc and say "yeah it's not getting better", it got a teensy bit better. And Mon Amour checking with me constantly helped. He's had some depressive episodes and while he couldn't understand the hormonal aspect, he was definitely my empathetic rock to lean on when I was feeling pretty shitty. Again, those who have had more extensive difficulties with PPD, I salute you brave biznitches who have made it out the other side. 

Peanut the First is in love with her little sister and in fact it's been 9 months of telling her to stop kissing and hugging the baby so much. The love is reciprocal and I will find the two of them laughing it up in the crib or the play yard.

And though there are days when I want to strangle him (usually when one or both of our progeny have kept me up all night - 3 years of sleep deprivation will do that to a person ), I am still madly in love with Mon Amour. We are both greyer and lacking a bit in the sleep and sex departments (because getting both of the progeny to sleep at the same time is a feat of Herculean strength and Athenian cunning and even then the moon has to be in the right position.) but my life is infinitely richer with him next to me. I am so damn lucky.

Mwah. Love you triangled, zozz. Sei mio e io sono tua. Per sempre. Evviva!

Fuck you Poste Italiane

Today I got a package from my mother with dresses for Peanut.

She sent it in June.

Obviously none of the summer jumpsuits will fit her for this summer nor do they even fit her now.

I hate the Italian postal system with a white hot seething rage. When I sent my wedding invitations, my elderly aunt's and my grandmother's invites never showed up, amongst others. I also discovered at that same time that a bunch of the baby gift thank you cards I had sent months before also never made it.

*rage face*

Gonna resend them when we go stateside in January; USPS is far more reliable.

In other news, we have recovered from the wedding madness only to plunge into moving madness. Having initially hate the area we live in, it's grown on me and we found a larger apartment on the street behind where we are currently. Unfurnished though, so I've been vintage hunting the classifieds. We start moving stuff in today, and move officially at the start of January. Then onto the aforementioned and much needed visit/honeymoon stateside.

Toodles...

Tiffany Ginestra & Claudio Luca got married

During the walk through of the marriage rites with Padre Affably Cranky SpaceCake, he had us practice by reading the vows from an old program he had. Mon Amour never missing a chance to faff around, read in all seriousness

"I, Mon Amour, take you Ginestra..."

"No you have to say her name instead of Ginestra"

"Well you just said to read this."

Here I am already getting giggly. Then it was my turn

"You have to say Mon Amour instead of Luca"

*snicker snicker giggle* "Got it."

"Ahem. I, Resident Dictator, take you..."

And as I read the word "Luca", Reader, I lost it. A five minute hysterical semi-nervous stress-induced tears running down my face giggle fest ensued, with a bewildered Padre, my amused but equally bewildered mother, and a bemused Mon Amour looking on.

Fast forward to the wedding. One of the many things that fell to the wayside due to lack of time was printing our own programs. I had briefed my two sisters as to their roles in the mass as my testimone. But Padre Affably Cranky SpaceCake threw a couple of surprises in there. For the "Lord Hear Our Prayers" call and response, he had Middle Sis read out a line from his program.

"May The Lord bless Tiffany and Claudio in...excuse me? Oh. OH. May The Lord bless Resident Dictator and Mon Amour..."

I confess I didn't hear the rest. I already fucked up my eye makeup getting teary eyed during the homily and pronouncing my vows earlier (and let's me tell you trying to surruptiously wipe my accompanying runny nose sans hanky while the photographer is making me feel like there's 40 Papparazzi around is just not possible)  Now the last of it was about to smear as well because I fucking lost it again, this time in a church full of people behind me watching my shoulders shake and Padre CrankyPanta glaring at me balefully. Trying to count cherubs on the cieling was of no use; I snorted and sputtered and deep breathed my way through the next 5 minutes until I got it under control.

It was the perfect wedding.

We are almost recovered from the planning and organizing and visits and whatnot.

Now I just have to figure out who has the video of my bitch mother in law throwing rice directly into my eyes with obvious saccharin malice not once but twice... but that's a story for another day :)

(Wedding) Culture Clash

Having decided to make my own dress, I'm discovering that, upon prompting for dress details, revealing my sartorial decision is garnering horrified reactions from my Italian female friends. It's apparently bad luck for the bride to be involved in the making of her dress.

I'm having to bite my tongue to stop from saying something inappropriate like "Fuck that noise"

Mon Amour is not exempt from these superstitions. When discussing who's arriving when and sleeping arrangements:

"Your mom and sister can sleep at our place."

"That's going to be a little crowded don't you think?"

"No it won't. I'll be at my parents' house for three days before the wedding."

"Um. What?"

"It's bad luck for us to see each other for three days before the wedding."

"Um. What?!"

"Yeah."

"Are you serious?"

"Yeah."

"Let me rephrase that. Do you seriously think that we aren't going to see each other for three days before the wedding considering there's our daughters first birthday and everything to organize in our very very DIY wedding on a shoestring in those days?"

"Um.."

"Fuck that noise."

Flower Girl WTF

So am really hating this wedding planning stuff. It takes my champagne tastes on a beer budget, melds with my OCD tendencies and pits them directly against my proclivities towards penny pinching. All  of which begets (begats? begatten? whatever) a persistent throb in my temples, not aided by Peanut teething and running us ragged with the walking every second she is awake (and then some - I find her in the crib sometimes squalling with her eyes still shut standing without the help of the rails. Already a sleep walker, I see...)

Anywho, seeing as Peanut has this walking thing down cold, she'll be bringing our rings down the aisle *snerk* I think that's going to be like herding cats, to be honest. As such she needs a dress and I have been online shopping since Grammy is insisting on buying it. I would delegate, but if I leave it up to my mom, Peanut ends up wearing a lot more ruffles than Mommy's tastes can handle.

But duuuuuuude. Here is another racket. $200 for an infant/toddler flowergirl dress? Are you fucking kidding? And I'd say about 85% are just monster puffs of tulle, which despite my past in the world of pointe shoes and tutus...[sticks finger down throat, makes retching noise] Um, no. Why would I want my daughter to look like a shower puff with legs?

I have yet to go look on Regretsy, but I leave you with this:



THE ORIGINAL Mini Audrey Hepburn Tutu Dress by Atutudes!

You too can dress your toddler like a shower puff of a fictional high class escort. * facepalm*