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hippie stuff, Innapropriate, Preg Stuff, Sharing, Vom stuff, You think you know but you have no idea

I say “vag” 30 times in this post and “Olsen twin” 4 times. Also I mspainted private parts. You’re warned.

November 7, 2012

I definitely took for granted last time that I didn’t have to go through the waitandsee bullshit of pregnancy. My water broke early and we were off. No, I don’t want that again, but this waiting and seeing is nonsense.

So today I had a midwife appointment and I let her “check me”. I originally said that is something I wouldn’t do. It’s not a reliable means of finding out if or when you are in labor. Or even if it will happen soon. But my situation is different. If my cervix doesn’t get off it’s lazy asshole and do SOMETHING soon, it’s c section time. So we checked.

And I didn’t sleep last night because of it. And I couldn’t eat breakfast. Because holycervixface, this is a big deal. And I was like B, are you nervous? And he’s like, about what? And I’m like, punch in your neck.

The poor midwife is like straight up *nervous* to stick her hand in my vag because I’m in tears and B is staring her down like, you better say something good or my life will be misery for 2 weeks. This was also the very first time her and my vagina met. So there were pleasantries exchanged like, nice to meet you, I’ve heard so much about you, etc.

So she checks.

And she’s making faces.

And she’s digging around.

And she’s like What’s that?


And she’s like, oh it’s nothing.

And she’s like ok. You’re 80% effaced but not dilated.

And she’s trying desperately to stick a finger in the cervix hole but it’s closed up tight.

So for those of you who don’t know (I didn’t). Effaced means that your cervix is getting thinner and softer. Dilation is when the tiny hole in your cervix starts to open up shop. I read that in pregnant women your cervix looks and feels like lips.

So this is what I picture my cervix to look like now. Warning, this is very graphic and accurate.

You know, like Olsen twin duck face lips. NOT opening.

What we need is this:

So that’s what we’re working on. Visualization of blow up dolls and the like. I read it or something.

The super good news is that worse case scenario, I will be induced on the 19th. But my midwife is confident that I will go into labor before then on my own. But she said “don’t quote me on the blog”. So I’m not quoting her on the blog. I’m just quoting her saying don’t quote me. Which I think is ok and allowed. Also yes, she reads the blog. I know….

But I’m feeling more positive and trying to stay that way for these reasons:

1) My water so far has not spontaneously ruptured. I’m a beaver dam for waters. Literally.

2) Effacement is good. It means stuff is happening and it makes me feel like I’m not broken.

3) I don’t have this looming imminent c-section threat hanging over my head anymore. No I don’t WANT to be induced, but I’ll take it if I have to.

4) I have an Olsen twin in my vag.

It’s getting close and I’m excited. I’m nervous. I’m ready. Also a snow storm is coming. So Yoshe was probably waiting for that. Just to make things interesting.

Also my doula muscle tested me for baby names. Oh you don’t know what this is? It’s when you hold stuff and they see how your muscles respond. I held paper with baby names written on them. Apparently she HATES 2 of the names, LOVES 2 and won’t murder us in our sleep over 1 of them. Hippies are the best.

Ok there you go friends.

I will keep you posted. Almost go time.

Love to you and your Olsen.


PS Please start calling your vag an Olsen.




I definitely took for granted last time that I didn’t have to go through the waitandsee bullshit of pregnancy.…

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babies, I hate everyone, Innapropriate, Preg Stuff, You think you know but you have no idea

My unborn child is a reckless bad ass with blue tooth and an attitude. And I’m in no mood.

September 30, 2012

Hello friends. It’s been a spell, hasn’t it? I however can no longer take responsibility for my body or it’s actions. I declare that this 3rd trimester will somehow, someway get me onto at least the local news, if not Watch What Happens Live with Andy Cohen. Let me explain.

Lest you not forget (I ALWAYS WANTED TO USE LEST), I have had a baby before. But hear me now women, it doesn’t matter even one tiny shit bit. You’d think I’d know what I was in for. You’d think I would know what I signed up for. But you know what? I didn’t. I just didn’t. And I take 97% responsibility off my shoulders. Because non first babies get into your lady parts and are like, “aw shit, this place is a mess. It’s all  lived in and foul. Guess I can trash the place and it doesn’t matter”. Because baby 2 does.not.give.a.shit. Baby 2 is like I WILL MAKE YOU GAIN 60 LBS. I WILL MAKE YOU FALL ASLEEP AT THE STOVE. I WILL THEN LET THAT BE THE ONLY SLEEP YOU GET FOR 3 DAYS AND NIGHTS. I WILL USE YOUR BLADDER AS A TRAMPOLINE. I WILL OWN YOU.

(my baby also uses one of those lame blue tooth ear pieces.)

And you are totally helpless to their rude behavior. They signed the lease fair and square. They paid first and last month’s rent. All you can do is hold their security deposit when they leave. But they are babies and don’t even have wallets. So what the hell do they care? And this is my point women: THEY DON’T CARE.

So what I’m trying to tell you all, is this: I have a full 6 weeks left (possibly 7). I am definitely bigger than I was at delivery with G. I’m assuming that I’m either growing a mutated watermelon with feet or a 15lb baby inside of me. Both I truly feel are real possibilities. Either way, I’m planning on calling the good people at Guinness (not the beer, the book) and inviting them to my delivery (although the beer people may be more appreciated). But I believe shit will get real in there. I believe that whatever comes out of me will drop jaws.

G says to me daily, “Mommy biiiiig”. Yes, mommy is big. He continues “Belly sooooo big”. Yeah dude, I get it, but way to rub it in. And in yoga class tonight a new girl shows up. I hear her chatting in the back as I pass out on my mat. She says she has only 10 weeks left. I’m like, thank god another big girl in my spot. She walks in and looks like she maaaaybe ate 2 hamburgers. And it looks like I’m actually her surrogate. I said, “hi, I hate you”. And those were the only words that I spoke to her. I need an intervention.

I do not know how I’m psychically, mentally or emotionally going to make it SIX MORE WEEKS. I literally can not cry at one more Honey Boo Boo commercial. And no, I can not explain that. I can’t walk up the stairs one more time and I can not sleep one more night until 4am and then just “hang out” until it’s time to get up. But like I said, we both signed this lease and we’re in this till the end.

I do not know how much I’ll be around here from now until November 11th or 12th or millionth. I don’t know if I can physically hold my body up in this poop chair any longer. But I’ll try and check in so you know I didn’t float myself down a river never to be found again.

And if one single one of you leave me a comment about how ungrateful I am for my pregnancy and baby and I am offending beer drinking babies everywhere, I will literally squeeze a hemorrhoid out of you with my bare hands. I will love the shit out of the baby WHEN IT’S OUT OF MY BODY. For now, we’re just working through our issues.

help me rhonda,

the 3rd MODGmester




Hello friends. It’s been a spell, hasn’t it? I however can no longer take responsibility for my body or…

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Innapropriate, Preg Stuff, Stuff I like

This type of thing is DEFINITELY illegal in like 40 countries. Maternity swimwear glory.

June 29, 2012

This post is payback. Except it’s payback to myself. Which is like just pay. But  not money pay. Whatever. It’s something.

I decided to do some toilet pics in my own swimwear. In all my pregnant glory. And it was surprising. In a lot of ways. Like, Surprise! I am way too lazy to even move my butt nutt meds from the top of the toilet before I share photos with the world. But this is all about self exploration and learning.

We have a few disclaimers before we begin the fetish show.

Yes, I am pregnant. As I’ve said before, yes this gives me sort of a free pass to let it all hang out. In real life, my problem area is my tummy. I’ve never been a girl with “abs” or whatever you kids call those things. So I relish pregnant time to just be comfortable and have people tell me how “cute” my belly is. Little do they know, if I didn’t suck in in regular life, it would look mostly the same.

My self conscious area is my thighs. Since being pregnant, they decided they wanted to get in on the growing game. This also may be 30% due to the fact that I used to go to the gym often to do such things as run and elliptical. I don’t do that anymore. No. I don’t.

But one thing that we don’t do at the MODG blog with me or anyone else is criticize. That goes for saying someone is a gross lard or also saying that someone is skinny and they should shut their bulimia hole. Not nice. Remember, everyone has their own issues. As we go through the pictures. We will all learn a few lessons about swimwear and also about my nipples.

And finally, these are not photoshopped. Well, except for my armpit stubble that I didn’t shave. Also my trash on the floor. Oh stop, I’m too busy with photoshoots to pick up trash. Thank you.


We’re going to start with most kiddie pool appropriate, to least.

Yes yes yes. Do you believe it? I FOUND THE SUIT. Well actually one of you found it and mailed it to me. Having a blog is amazing. I also got it in blue as my facebook fans have already seen. I really do love it. I bought it in a size medium when I would normally be a small and I’m glad I did. It’s an awesome one piece and I feel super comfortable in it. As a reminders, it’s from Old Navy and they are sold out on the website, but check your store.

Oy… This is also from Old Navy and not my favorite. I feel like it’s a thigh showcase. BUT I’m trying to remember my insecurities and get over them. This is totally fine for the kiddie pool. But the lesson I’m learning through this inappropriate photo shoot, is that maybe less IS more?

THIS people, THIS is why I hate a tankini. Do you see how unflattering this is? WHY? Why do this to yourself? Just to bare a bit of mid drift? It’s not 2001 at the frat house my friends. Mid drift is stupid. And I look horsey housey. Ok, the stripes prob don’t help but this suit from Top Shop maternity is lame face and I hope you all learn from this, preg or not. Now let’s fix it.

So much better. No, I don’t love my pastey legs any more, but at least I look my age and confident. Even though I’m not totally confident but remember, I’m faking it and you don’t know it. Also, meet my 1999 belly button ring hole and appendix scar.

So this is just a top that I had from J.Crew already that I threw on with the bottoms. I do however HAVE to remember to put some damn cups in the suit before my  nipples poke everyone out. Also, this top is great though. It’s is bra sized with underwire. Great for pregs and nursing and just big boobies.

Ok. things are getting a little sexier in here. You know, how everyone talks about how sexy pregnant girls are like all the time. No. They don’t. But I will say that this is the only actual maternity suit that I bought and it’s way comfortable and awesome. B and I are going on a little mini vacation to Miami before YoSHE comes and where better to be naked? This suit however also needs cups and is totally unlined. I have some that I just switch from suit to suit. I also like the bandaid color. It’s so sterile. From Seraphine.

This is another suit that I already had from J.Crew with a mixed top and bottom. These foldover bottoms are the best for the wides. If you have hate handles, these bottoms are great and cover your ass. Also bra top with good support. Do you still love looking at my box of Tucks? That’s what she said.

Same bottoms, different top. All stuff I had. All J.Crew. Do any of you work for J.Crew? Please pay me. Or just tell me to stop.

And the grand -almost see my c-section scar- finale. The ONLY place this is appropriate is outside of the continental US. This is totally a pre-preg bikini that I thought I’d give a shot. It’s from like 5 years ago and I have no idea where I got it. And guess what TLC fans? I found a sarong that I didn’t hate and I think it works. SO many of you told me that non of my swimsuit options were good for thighs. Well, try and sarong. I guess. I was opposed before but I think it’s kind of cute and opens up lots of options. Here’s a hint: just use a wider scarf.


Ok, now that I’m totally exposed yet faceless (I didn’t include my face for fear that these would actually end up on a fetish website but also because my face in these usually looks like this:)

Cute right?


But what I also learned through this whole thing was that in my head, I looked way worse than I thought. Sure there’s some parts that I wish were less party, but that’s ok. In my head, I was Falcor from The Neverending Story. In real life, I’m just preg. And the people who sent me their swim pics said the same thing. So maybe try this exercise for yourself. No you don’t have to be a complete moron and publish them to the internet (what asshole would do that?) but just look at them. Really look and realize that you are hotter than you think.

So, tell me what you like, what you don’t like and what you can recreate. But be nice. Please. I’m scared. Except about the nipple and the Tucks. You can be mean about that.

This post is payback. Except it’s payback to myself. Which is like just pay. But  not money pay. Whatever.…

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Eating Innapropriately, I hate everyone, Innapropriate, Not Pleased, pregnant stuff, Sharing, You think you know but you have no idea

This post is really just a means of revenge against B. But it’s also about poop. And cinnamon rolls.

June 13, 2012

B ate the last cinnamon roll. Do you know what kind of crime that is against pregnancy and the female population as a whole? Do you know the anger and resentment I feel burning inside of my Yoshi? It’s not MY fault that Yoshi NEEDS cinnamon buns to grow. But it’s your fault B for withholding food from your unborn child.

Now I sit here at my computer stewing with rage and furiously scouring pinterest for a suitable bake-able option that doesn’t require eggs or milk or anything else that we don’t have in our house. Oh, it can’t include LEFTOVER CINNAMON BUNS EITHER. In case you weren’t sure.

But as I sit here, I remember something that I’ve been meaning to tell the world about now for 3 years. So it’s clearly important. This could change your life.

I’m going to tell it via story.

One day I sat at my computer, at my desk, in my chair. 5 minutes later I pooped. Not ON the chair. That was a different day. The next day I sat at my computer and 5 minutes later I pooped. Later that same night, I sat at my computer and then I pooped. Interesting.

The next day, B used my computer and then I heard him in the bathroom. Oh I heard him alright.

I kicked him out of the computer. It’s mine. Before I knew it. I was pooping.

Fast forward 1 month.

Me: B, I have to tell you something weird.

B: Oh god, does it involve wigs on cats again?

Me: No, not this time. But definitely next time.

B: Ok what is it.

Me: I think we have a poop chair.

B: Go on….(B is very interested in talking about poop. More than I am)

Me: Ok, I know this is weird, but every time I sit at the computer, I have to poop. I think it’s the chair.

B: I wasn’t going to say anything but me too!

(ok STOP EVERYTHING. You need to know that B has majah poop problems. Like there are tales of him with enemas in his frat house. And I don’t feel bad telling you since he ATE MY LAST CINNAMON BUN)

Me: Are you serious?! B, do you realize the goldmine we are sitting on. PUN INTENDED BUT ALSO NOT BECAUSE THIS IS A SERIOUS POOP CHAIR!

B: Definitely. Don’t tell anyone.

Me: Ok. (all bets are off when the baked goods go missing B. I’m telling everyone)

So as you all know with my current pregnant with a Yoshi and also pregnant with butt nut triplets, pooping is high on my list now of super things. And the easier it goes, the better my life. Well friends, 3 years later and the poop chair is still in business.

I know, you’re dying to see the chair.

Ok ready?

Here it is

It’s from Ikea and it’s the Gilbert Chair. I really really hope people google search Gilbert Chair and find this post. So I think the secret is in the little dip you see in the back of the seat. I think it’s a poopular angle.

Now I know what you’re saying. MODG, don’t be dim, it’s just sitting in a hard chair. WRONG friends. wrong.

These are our other chairs:

We sit in these to eat dinner every night. And other sitable times. No poop.

And there you have it friends. The most important post that I have ever written. Actually, it’s not. I really just needed an excuse to talk about B pooping on the internet to get back at him for cinnamonbungate.

I leave you with this.

B ate the last cinnamon roll. Do you know what kind of crime that is against pregnancy and the…

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Innapropriate, Mom Stuff

Teenagers can’t be babysitters. They can’t even drink booze yet.

March 30, 2012

I have one of those relationships with my child that has a 40% probability of turning into some scene with me waving a gun around a future college campus screaming “NONE OF YOU WHORES ARE GOOD ENOUGH. NONE OF YOU”. Or something equally normal.

Yes, I admit it. I’m pretty overprotective. I just sort of believe that anyone else who would ever babysit G would be like “ok I’m going to watch porn now and throw the baby in the trash can…just for fun”. But that’s how my brain works. It also does some other weird stuff that for legal reasons, I won’t discuss.

But this all changes. Because I have (in the upcoming days, specifically, which, I won’t reveal for all of the robbers and murders who read this blog) a babysitter coming. Not just any babysitter. A TEENAGER. And not just any teenager, a strange-ager (stranger teenager). She was recommended to me by a friend and after I choked on my own tongue after I heard that she is only 16. I sucked it up.

Yeah, 16. I could have given birth to her. Sort of. I know nothing of 16 year olds. I know that MTV tells me that they are all pregnant. Also what I think I know is that they make out with their boyfriends on your couch and steal your booze and dance to MTV music videos while your kid spreads peanut butter in his hair and on the walls. Ok, that’s probably a scene from “Don’t Tell Mom the Babysitter’s Dead”. But this is what I’m working with people. But what I DO know about teenagers is that they text. So I was instructed by my friend, that I couldn’t just “call her” or “email her” like old people do. You have to text them before you can get to the next level of grown up conversation styles of speaking. Ok, it’s cool, I can run with the kids.

So I texted her

“Hi. I’m Amanda. LOL. I am hoping you can babysit for us :-) :-) Can you call me later to chat? OK TTYL THX. :-)”

(I hoped that was cool enough)

She texted me back

“I’m at school. Can I call you around 3?”

…oh right. School. Teenagers go to school. And apparently they can have their cell phones in school???

I texted her back

“Sure, thanks”

And then as my mind wandered, I went to text my friend and sent this

“Hey did I leave a box of tampons at your house?”

And OF COURSE, I didn’t send it to my friend. OF COURSE I SENT IT TO THE DAMN BABYSITTER.


“um sorry! meant to send that to someone else!”


And she said

LOL. No problem.

(see? I told you they say LOL).

I’m an asshole. Anyway back to the babysitting. Here’s why this doesn’t even deserve a second thought on my part:

1) G will be asleep when she gets here. He won’t even know a babysitter is here. She will literally be on 911 duty and that’s about it. My farts could do that.

2) She is a church girl. I’m normally not down with church girls for drinking buddies, prank phone call friends or anything else super cool. But babysitters? YES bring on the church.

3) We’re going literally down the street to a restaurant and back. I could get here in 7 minutes if forgets the number to 911.

So no need for panic. Everything is cool. Right? I mean what’s the worst that can happen. Should I padlock G’s door? Should I padlock the booze? I DEFINITELY need to lock my DVR. ok, I need to stop.

Also, what do you pay a babysitter these days? If you say like 20 bucks and hour I will punch you.

also, nanny cam?

ok I’m done.




This irrational post was brought to you by one of my favorite sponsors that I’ve ever had on MODG: Adorn 512. They have the cutest best jewelry ever. I ordered the vintage name bracelet for myself. I chose the name Gigi because why NOT choose the name Gigi? I’ve pinned to pinterest almost all of their stuff. And the best best news is that they are giving away a free gold and red dainty bracelet (which I die for). All you have to do is leave a comment on this post mentioning which item is your favorite on their site. You also  have to leave a relevant comment to the post or I’ll call you a greedy whore. But really, check them out. They are my new fave.

I have one of those relationships with my child that has a 40% probability of turning into some scene…

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I hate everyone, Innapropriate, Mom Stuff, Not Pleased

Declaring war on all children everywhere? Not my finest moment.

March 7, 2012

Attention internet: Everything I am about to say can’t and won’t be held against me in the court of blogs. Why? Because I’m about to say some shit.

There are 2 general rules of saying stuff and not saying stuff that most of society follows:

1) Don’t say bad stuff about babies and kids. For example : “Man, I wish that small child would trip on his dumb ass elmo shoes and fall on his face”.

2) Don’t say the bad stuff TO the child. For example :”Go trip on your dumb ass elmo shoes, small child, and fall on your face”.

I’m here to say that for the foreseeable future as a mother, I am not sure if I can rightfully abide by these societal rules. But, I don’t think #2 counts if you whisper it in their ear all creepy like.

So I’m at the playground with G today. And hold on to your Lululemon ladies, we went to the RICH PEOPLE playground. You know the one with 4 levels, a concierge and hot tub. That one.

I had never been there before but B tipped me off to it. So I went with G in my jeans and t-shirt. What B did not tell me was there was a straight up uniform requirement of flare black yoga pants, pink tops and aviators. I saw one mom in a Juicy Sweatsuit and she was SHUNNED. Poor thing never stood a chance.

So it’s like the first really warm day in Philadelphia in eons. Every child was there west of the Atlantic. And it wasn’t just regular kids. It was  the dreaded “BIG KIDS”. We moms of toddlers say BIG KIDS like it’s a troupe of Nazis. “Oh we had to leave, there were BIG KIDS there”. “Yeah, I hid with my family and some rations under the floor boards because there were BIG KIDS coming”. You get it. But G was so excited so I was ready to take them on.


G is still such a little chunk. He’s pushing 30 lbs at 15 months and waddles like Frankenstein in a cloth diaper. It’s a mess and adorable. But he’s not fast and he will trip over his shadow. So I am still right next to him as he attempts to climb the 8 foot rock wall (I told you, rich people playground). All of the other kids are sans parents. I mean the parents are there, but they are on a bench talking to each other about Real Housewives of the Playground (moderately jealous). Regardless, it’s BIG KIDS, G and me.

That’s when it starts. The BIG KIDS swarm. It’s like they are a 70% blind and deaf species. They just GO. They don’t care who or what is in their way. They push and shove and fall and keep going. At one point a gaggle of them all went down a slide together, crushing another child who just wasn’t up to BIG KID standards. He was also in a sweater vest. I think  his mom was the Juicy Sweatsuit (yeah).

But then THEN they catch G in their tunnel vision. Little G is playing nicely with the X’s and O’s that spin around. When out of no where BIG KID in pink pushes my SWEET ANGEL MONKEY BABY to the ground. This is so BIG KID can play. She also says MOVE.

I stop breathing. I clench my fists. Never in my life have I wanted to throw a child off of a 6 foot landing before. Never have I saw such a child as my mortal enemy put on this earth to create fiery evil and all that is bad.

But I don’t do anything. Obviously. I’m not a monster (like her). I pick up G and brush him off and we move on.

The rage is still burning in me. You should know that I actually happen to like kids more than most people. I was an elementary education major. Me and kids are cool. So this was a whole new sort of illegal feeling.

And as G played nicely somewhere else, BIG KID in pink tapped me on the shoulder. OH NO SHE DIDN’T. SHE’S GOING TO START WITH ME. OK I’M READY. I CAN TAKE HER. I MEAN, SHE’S 6. SHIT, BUT I STOPPED WORKING OUT. I MEAN…

“miss? do you know how to tie shoes?”

(…oh maaaaaaaaan. i’m an asshole from another planet.)

“Yes sweetheart, let me help you. ”

“thank you!”

And off she went.

And I wondered what on earth is happening to me? She’s just a little girl. She doesn’t even know who Andy Cohen is yet. I’m an adult and I need to use my GD head. I also have to teach G how to not act a fool in his life.

Also one day G will be a BIG KID. And he’ll be an asshole to someone other than me. And I hope that mom will see G as just a kid who is learning to not be an asshole. Because that’s all that kids are. Mini assholes who are just learning to be regular. It’s hard work. I’m still working on it.

Then I hear it.




I’m going to get arrested in the next 10 years.

Is this just me? Do all moms hate other kids? Not hate I guess, loathe? Are we all giant assholes who stand no chance in teaching our kids to shed their asshole layer?

speak to me people. preferably before I’m in prison.







Attention internet: Everything I am about to say can’t and won’t be held against me in the court of…

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