An update of sorts.

So I guess the writing has been a little spotty for the past year. What can I say. I’m kind of an all-or-nothing girl, which is something I need to change — for a lot of reasons (food being one of them). It’s good for my well-being to write. So I’m going to write when I can. That may mean once a week… or once every three weeks. We’ll see. Seeing that some of you are still out there, waiting for some sign of untitledlife is humbling as well. I am amazed that anyone is still out there. So thanks for pulling me back into the fray.

I have a lot to update you on. Let’s see. I’ve lost 108 pounds and now weigh 255 pounds. It’s a lot, but it could be more. That makes me a size 22, and a 20 sometimes. I’m tall and curvy, so I think it looks better than it sounds. I think. I’ll post some pictures here soon. I’m just happy to not be the fattest person in the room anymore. There I go with my lofty goals. But really, I’m quite happy with my weight loss. I hope it continues. I’ll get into it more in a future post.

We’re also trying to get pregnant, but it’s not going so well. My eggs are follicly challenged. Or follicly collicky, as I like to say. I have PCOS, so I have plenty of eggs, but they’re all duds. I’m taking Metformin to control the cysts, and I’ll start Clomid next month. If that doesn’t work, we’ll move on to shots, with a dash of intra-uterine insemination thrown in for kicks. After all, it’s not a party until someone jacks off in the closet. In a sterile specimen container. With four nurses in latex gloves outside the door. If that doesn’t work, we’ll move on to in-vitro. Good times. Expensive times.

I get a little crazy about this whole infertility thing. It really pisses me off that I have no control over this. Surely there must be something I can do to make this happen. I have way too much love for one child to bear. I can’t possibly expect untitledson to shoulder all these kisses, hugs and ear nibbles. They will destroy him, or at the very least, turn him into one of those boys who sits home with his mother to watch “Dancing with the Stars” and knit cat berets. The boy needs a relief pitcher. Or someone smaller and weaker than him to endure the occasional noogie. And if mommy has to endure the bi-weekly transvaginal ultrasound to make it happen, so be it.

Mother of the year.

I think we’re long overdue for a flaming post about untitledmother. She makes it so easy, continually providing material for me. How thoughtful of her. This past week, she did something that was by far the most hurtful and infuriating thing she has ever done.

For an entire year before I had my weight loss surgery, I contemplated whether or not I should tell her about it. She is notorious for not being able to keep a secret. Not sure whether it’s due to laziness, vindictiveness or stupidity (methinks it’s a combination). I don’t tell her a whole lot anymore, for I clearly remember when she told everyone I was pregnant with untitledson – AFTER I told her not to tell (it was five weeks out, and I had just fallen down a flight of stairs and as a result, had to have ankle surgery). I told her not to tell anyone – I just wasn’t ready to share, and it was quite risky, given what I had just gone through. Of course, she told. Fucking whore. I mean, is nothing sacred?

So this time around, I thought for an entire year about whether I should share my weight loss surgery with her. For 11.5 months, I decided that no, she should not know. She is not to be trusted. As surgery neared, I thought, “What if something happens to me? She needs to know. What kind of child would not tell her mother that she was about to undergo major surgery?” I also thought how heartbroken I’d be if my own child could not trust me with such news. If untitledson had kept this from me, wouldn’t that mean that I had pretty much failed as a mother? I think so.

So I took a leap of faith. I put my balls in the blender. But first, I swore her to secrecy. I must’ve prepped her for 10 minutes before telling her. “You must, under NO circumstances, EVER share this with anyone. ANYONE. Especially vindictive and jealous untitledsister-in-law. If you ever do tell, know that I will confiscate all those bottles of unused fat burning pills of yours – the ones you spent my college fund on – crush them and make you snort them like Keith Richards at his father’s funeral. Do you understand? DO. YOU. UNDERSTAND?”

She said yes, of course. OF COURSE SHE COULD KEEP A SECRET. Then I told her what I had told only five other people in my life (untitledhusband, boss, untitledmother-in-law, and untitledbrother-in-law and wife). These other people, I trust completely. Every conversation about the surgery since then, I have told her, “Remember, you cannot tell anyone. Even if they wedge your maxed-out credit cards under your toenails.” Yes yes, she assured me. She would under no circumstances tell.

So here we are, three months later. And guess what – she has told. Not just anyone – untitledsister-in-law. The one person who most did not need to know. She left me a voicemail about it on Mother’s Day (after I had traveled home for the weekend, given her a gift, and paid for her lunch, no less). “I screwed up! I told her about your surgery. It just slipped!” Notice there was no apology in there.

I’ve spent the last week thinking about how I want to deal with this. I have not talked to her yet (we normally talk at least every other day). I am upset that she told, but I am more upset that she has showed zero contrition for her actions. No apology note. No flowers. Nothing.

What kind of mother does this to her child? She knew how serious this was to me. How do you let something like that just slip? She said it came up in conversation.

untitledmother: “Oh, I saw her last weekend. She looks so good.”

untitledsister-in-law: “What do you mean, she looks good?”

untitledmother: “Oh, you know, she had the SURGERY.”

I feel so completely betrayed. I cannot trust untitledmother with anything, whether it’s a secret, watching untitledson for the day or bringing a dish to pass at untitled-mother-in-law’s holiday potluck (that’s right, she just shows up to eat). A true class act. At every turn, she disappoints. In lieu of helping us unpack after the move, she gave me a jar of jelly and a jar of salsa. I had to literally beg for her to work with untitledsister-in-law to give me a baby shower (first child, and probably only child for me, no less). Imagine having to beg for your own first and only baby shower. The only reason I haven’t cut ties to her is that I would never do that to untitledson. He needs to know his grandmother, even if she is a louse.

I suppose she is waiting for me to call, thinking, “Oh, she’s probably mad about this, too. She’s always overreacting.” I don’t think I am. I mean, I just want my mother to have my back every once in a while. I need to know she’s still looking out for me – and not just to find me so she can stab me. I know for sure that I will never tell her anything again. I don’t plan on calling her so often, if at all, anymore. I thought about telling HER dark secret – that she has a son she adopted out before my brother and I were born (my brother does not know). Do you have any thoughts on how I should handle this?

A big weight lifted.

After over 5 hours of surgery on Monday, I’m happy to report that untitled is doing very well post-bariatric surgery. She can slowly sip down a shot-size cup of water/milk/broth every fifteen minutes. This is considered to be a good amount at this point. The nurses and doctors are pleased with her progress, so she should be coming home on Wednesday.

Before I left tonight we went on a walk around the hospital floor. I thought we’d do one lap. After untitled announced that we’d be doing three, I said “are ya sure?” Her reply was a simple, “I know you can do it.” Her stomach may be the size of a golf ball, but thankfully her sarcasm is still larger than life.

I’ve passed on all of your kind words and thoughts to untitled. It means the world to her that you care.