So, like every other woman on the face of the planet, I constantly face the question: kids?  I mean, sure, I’ve got the one.. and sort of loan-in an older version as a preview.. but.. more?

MORE sleepless nights?  MORE fights over food?  MORE melt-downs over THE WIND CHANGING DIRECTIONS WITHOUT WARNING?  Yeah, so, we are definitely in the Terrible Twos, which arrived with not a whimper but a slight tsunami of shit, and I’m considering the black market of child slavery. (I KID.)(.. how much do blonde haired, blue eyed children GO for nowadays, anyways?)

I always said (and stand firmly by) not having another one until this one is successfully out of diapers.  And we’re coming up on two (HOLY TODDLER JESUS) and not even broaching the P—y Tr—-ng discussion because, um, we’re just NOW back to sleeping through the night after the 18 month sleep regression.  Also?  I hear that there are daycamps that you ship your Huggies-wearing child off to and then they come back, eight hours later, in glorious cotton underthings.  THAT IS WHAT I’M TALKING ABOUT.  There are REASONS I got a second job.

And there are many, many, MAH-NEE days (lately) where I just am so exhausted and can’t IMAGINE having two of these things around.  Like, two?  Are you kidding me?  People INTENTIONALLY do that shit?  Oh, sweet Lord in a hockey mask, kill me now.

My child chunked a full Gerber Graduate pasta bowl at my head one night this week.  I would love to say that I handled it with grace and laughed at the humor of it all (BWAH.HA.), but instead, I MAY have lost my shit and yelled and then he cried and the dogs crept outside with their tails tucked INSTEAD of eating the spaghetti-os which may indicate the volume and terror in my yelling.  That night, after only eleventy whopper-bazillion more meltdowns over ANY THING FOR CRISSAKES, I sat down at my computer.. to log back on and do MORE work.. and cried.

Not because I was frustrated.  Not because I was tired.  Not because I was at the end of my rope.

I mean, I WAS.  I was all of those things.

But I cried because some random click of my mouse brought me to a forgotten folder on my desktop.

And I saw these:

(The first video of the baby.  You’ll note that the child has a head shaped like a baguette; a result of TWO AND A HALF HOURS OF PUSHING.  Peeps who tout natural birth?  Can eat my epidural.)

(Tony waking up within his first month of life.  Look at how tiny and fragile he is!  That lasted, like, three weeks.)

(Bryan always had the overnight feeding. Listen to the loud KAAATHUD in 0:26. It was a PAMPER SIZED LOAD OF DEATH.)

(Sorry. I have nothing to say here because I am in shock that he is only four months old in this video.)

(We still play this game.)

(This still makes me cry. Sob, actually.)

(Typical Saturday at our house.)

So I said all of that to say this: I’ve been blessed with such an amazing child and an even more amazing experience. If I got even a sliver of a do-over with another one? I’d be lucky beyond words.

Okay, um, first of all.. I was really sad I couldn’t go to BlogHer this year.  Not because I really understood what it was about, but because a lot of my blog friends were going and I thought it would be a cool place to meet them.

So when they unveiled the location of BlogHer 2010 as NYC, I was doubly psyched.  I’VE NEVER BEEN TO NEW YORK BEFORE.  And my coworker grew up there, so she’s already feeding me great hints of stuff to do while I’m there.

Um.. but I guess somehow, in my utter naivete, I missed the whole part where the registration fee was, like, two hundred bucks?  I mean, you know, a year to save up $200 is not that big a deal, but I guess I was kinda gobsmacked at how expensive that is. 

SO, having that said, I am going to be on the lookout for roomies at BlogHer 2010.  I figure planning 12 months ahead should be a reasonable amount of time to find someone just right.  And before you think, “Oh, she’s just so awesome and beautiful and amazing that I want to be her roommate!”, let me give you some background info about me and my living situations.

• I am not an overly peppy person.  Seriously.  I don’t even really smile that often.  And I’m very suspicious that there are always ninjas lurking in corners ready to kill me.
• I am always ALWAYS hot.  I imagine I will be doubly so in NYC.  In August.  I prefer my room to be 68 degrees or colder, and you can bite me with the global warming stuff. 
• I also eat meat, I wear leather, and I rarely recycle.  But I am a treehugger at heart.
• While I love the idea of cool sessions and workshops and all, I will (WILL) be taking a midday nap every.gawddamn.day.  Because I NEVER EVER GET TO DO THAT, and whether we call it BlogHer or NYC or whatever, it all spells V-A-C-A-T-I-O-N.
• I don’t poop in the room I sleep in.  Which means I will tear up the bathroom lobby instead. (Sorry, Hilton NYC.)
• I’m not a night owl.  Or an early bird.  I prefer to think of myself as a Mocking Bird.  We sleep.  A lot.  And mock.
• I don’t have a nice camera, so my roommate is required to have one.
• I also will only be photographed from above because it minimizes my nose and maximizes my cleavage.  So they should be taller than me as well.
• I am not picky about food and I don’t really like people who are.  I mean, I may LIKE you, but I’m going to talk about your weird aversion to raw fish the minute you’re out of earshot.
• I like room service. 
• I will flirt with the staff at the hotel to score free stuff.  I expect the same in a roommate.
• I’m a virgo.
• Not a virgin.
• I don’t really have a preference for either of those things in a roommate.
• I don’t expect my roommate to stick to my side and do everything that I want to do.  Mainly because I don’t really like LARGE crowds and I’m kind of a loner.  Also, I expect people to NOT like me so I just spare them the satisfaction by not really talking to anyone.
• I’m not entirely kidding about the last bullet.
• I have a tendency to be drunk in hotels.

So, ladies, don’t push or shove to get in line to room with me!  Who’s up for the joy that is Sarah Lena at BlogHer 2010?

Edited to Add: I’ve added a shameless “Donate” button to my sidebar.  I’m just the little guy in the blogging community, so I don’t expect much.. but I’d feel so much better about spending money to go if I was, like, a charity case!  Kinda like Make-a-Wish but not nearly as deserving.  For reals.

When I was 21, I discovered a lump the size of a golf ball in my left breast. Everyone told me not to worry, not to worry, it was menstrual, it was normal, it was cyclical, but I knew that it wasn’t. My doctor quickly arranged a removal. Biopsy to follow; removal immediately.

The fear of waiting for those results is only trumped by the joy of having it come back benign.

This week on SYTYCD, Tyce D’Orio choreographed a piece about breast cancer and a friend.. or a spirit.. or a hope.. that gets the woman through it.

Coincidentally, this song had just hit the airwaves in a big way when I had my tumor removed.

To say I was moved is an understatement.

Enjoy.