Dear Volkswagen Passat Seat Reclining Mechanism,

I know that this isn’t really your fault.

I knew that I would hate you.

I knew it from the moment I test drove you.

I have had a horrible back for years and I knew that I needed to adjust the position of my car seat often to alleviate the pain that can happen while driving.

I knew that the sheer WEIRDNESS of having a FREAKING WHEEL THAT YOU HAVE TO PAINFULLY CRANK FOR AGES BY HAND TO GET YOUR SEAT TO RECLINE EVEN A TINY BIT instead of a lever was one of the most asinine things that I have ever seen in a vehicle in my 34 years.

And yet?

I purchased you.

This is what happens when you go against your inner instincts and give in to the pushing and judgment of a bearded guy who goes around with the title of “husband”.

My bad.

Still.

I want you to know that I suffered mightily because of you today.

By the end of my hours of being trapped in you with that medieval torture device that passes for seat reclining, my back was in spasms. It didn’t help that the fetus I am gestating mistook my awkward shifting to get comfortable as a sign that he was being crushed to death and he flailed, twisted, turned and punched out every organ and pulled muscle in my abdomen in protest of my positioning.

At one point I think my cervix fell out.

I made it home, but remain disgruntled.

And when I am disgruntled I write letters of protest! Angst!! Indignation!!! (I also call aforementioned bearded guy with the title of “husband” and remind him in no uncertain terms what a totally NOT RAD choice he pushed for in car purchasing.)

So there you are, Volkswagen Passat.

I hope you’re happy.

Because I?

AM NOT.

Kisses,

The chick who was stupid enough to buy you

P.S. Whoever DESIGNED that freaking stupid wheel system? Should be drug into the streets and beaten.

P.P.P.S. And shot.

P.P.P.P.S. And run over by a tractor.

P.P.P.P.P.S Then peed on by the guy driving the tractor.

P.P.P.P.P.P.S. And subjected to a slow and bumpy ambulance ride to the hospital on a one lane dirt road.

P.P.P.P.P.P.P.S. That is full of pot holes.

P.P.P.P.P.P.P.P.S. And then be forced to use A WHEEL to adjust their damn hospital bed while they are laying in full body traction.

P.P.P.P.P.P.P.P.P.S Karma can be a real bitch but sometimes using her as a key player in violent day dreams can be awesome.

P.P.P.P.P.P.P.P.P.P.S. If you see my cervix, could you send it back please? I probably need it.

Sometimes it seems like all you see on the news is the byproduct of the world’s leathal amount of suckit. It’s like a big “Bad news bear” came and crapped all over your head, for wont of more delicate expression. I used to be a news FIEND but after Matthew died, I really, really lost my stomach for it.  I am much better at handling the news now but it is still nowhere near the consumption levels I used to be capable of.

Enter a fabulous solution:

HAPPY NEWS.

The news site that is all positive, all the time.

Would I use it as my only news site? NO. But it is nice to know that there is a big sunbeam out there to penetrate through the layers of “OMG. THE WORLD IS TOO DAMN DEPRESSING TO GO ON!!!!”

DIg it.

Waking up at 6 a.m. to the feeling that a white hot poker is piercing your boob isn’t fun.

Talking to your father-in-law ABOUT your white hot poker pierced boob at 6 a.m. is even LESS fun.

Yet, that is exactly how I started my Saturday.

All breast augmentations are not equal.

(Dude, just ask Tara Reed.)

There are many different ways breast augmentation can be done and different surgeons have different methods. When I got my breasts “surgically reclaimed” 3.5 years ago, I also had a breast lift done which meant my incisions had to be placed around my aureole. As my surgery healed, the stitches used dissolved and some made their way to the surface of the skin.

That was normal and expected.

I also had two circular stitches that were permanent and put in by my surgeon to provide additional support. As far as I knew, THEY WERE SUPPOSED TO STAY THERE.

As I have gotten more and more pregnant, I have noticed some big changes in my breasts. For one, they are getting freaking huge. As one reader pointed out, they will probably be like WalMart and take over the universe one day. I’m hoping by the time this kid is delivered I’ll still be able to see and breathe. The other thing I’ve noticed is that the girls hurt more than I thought they would.

Breast pain in pregnancy is normal, but I was getting sharp pains in one of my breasts that concerned me.

In the wee hours of the morning, I found out WHY.

One of the permanent stitches broke through my skin.  I woke up to a sharp, blue synthetic string poking out of my breast tissue.

FUN!

I moved and it started to go back into my skin. NU-UH! I wasn’t about to go through that whole “working through to the surface and hurting like hell in the process” thing again, so I grabbed hold of it and woke up Jonathan.

The stitch did not seem like it would just “come out”. If I pulled, it created a drawstring effect which hurt and was FUNKY LOOKING.  It seemed like we were stuck either letting it go back in (which was a NO, IMO), Forcing it out (which seemed like it could cause a lot of damage), or paying a minimum of $500 just to walk through the door of the ER since it was Saturday and doctor’s offices are closed.

“Why do these things always happen to you on a weekend?”

The answer to my husband’s question is obviously that I am not adhering to the rules of “The Secret” well enough.  I should have put a photo of magical boobies that DIDN’T HAVE BLUE SYNTHETIC STITCHING POKING THROUGH THE SKIN on my vision board.

My bad.

However, he did have a point. I really didn’t want to go into an ER about this, but…but…THEY ARE ALSO MEH BEWBS!! AND I LOVES THEM!!! MY PRECIOUSSSS!!!!!

So, we talked and talked about options but we weren’t sure what to do. I really wanted more input over something so important.

So?

We called Jonathan’s dad.

I know, I know.

Not what one would expect.

However, I think my father-in-law has forgotten more about emergency medical treatments than most people know in a lifetime. It’s his hobby and passion. You could perform surgery with one of his many medical kits.

It was highly embarrassing, though.

He didn’t pick up the phone when we first called because HELLO, IT WAS FREAKING EARLY.

So? What does an internet fiend do while waiting for a call back and trying to focus on something other than the pain of boob-suckage?

TWITTER ABOUT IT, OF COURSE!

Luckily, my father-in-law called back and started asking me necessary, but embarrassing questions. Suddenly, I felt a sharp tug and pain and looked down.

The stitch had pulled free and was almost out.

So?

I finished the job.

It was weird because I could see it as it moved through my skin, but after the initial “ouch” it really didn’t hurt anymore.

The size of it freaked me out, though.

Wouldn’t you be IF THIS CAME OUT OF YOUR BOOB?

I did call and leave a message with the surgeon that did my surgery and he was lovely to call me back on the weekend. He said where it was so long afterward, I would be fine. It was most likely caused by growth due to my pregnancy. The strength of the pressure basically caused the stitch to explode and come to the surface.

Great.

So, my boobs are not only like WalMart and growing to take over the universe but now they are also like Lou Ferrigno as The Incredible Hulk and they will be ripping my t-shirts apart with freakish strength, turning green and growling at everyone in the process of doing so.

The plus side of “The Great Boobie Gate Caper of ’09″ is that I was up early and full of adrenaline and ENERGY.

So?

My in-law’s and my parents (who ask me daily if they can help me. I decline because I don’t usually believe in people working on my stuff when I can’t pitch in) came over and we TACKLED my house. Full on nesting took effect and I spent almost a solid 12 hours microscopically cleaning, rearranging and organizing every room in my house and getting started on my nursery.  I’ll post photos of the progress on the baby’s room later. I also have to answer “The Great Mormon Questions” post at some point.  I’m behind, I know.

There doesn’t seem to be any negative effects to my little breast escapade, which is good. Hopefully after this kid is delivered “the girls” will stop being weird and Hulk-like and can go back to being like Doctor David Banner-Awesome, but harmless.

Until then, I wait.

And pine.

(Cue“Sad Hulk Walking Away Hitchhiking Music”)

P.S.  Yes. I know how weird I am.

**After entering all the tweets, linkbacks, eliminating my comments and putting it in a number generator, the winner of the Amazon gift certificate giveaway is Cindy! (Cindy-I emailed you to double check where to send the certificate, but it came back. Can you either send me an email or recomment with the email address you want it to go to?) Thanks for entering, everyone!