The first question you may have is how did I get such a lovely nom de plum? Well, I got this lovely name because I have a whiny sad baby who I can't make feel better and who hasn't hardly slept a wink all day and that makes me feel crabby and bitchy.

Hi, my name is Celibate Guilty Wife.

The first question you may have is how did I get such an odd name? Well, I had a baby about 5.5 weeks ago and every time we've had sex, we've done so with condoms and frankly, it's just too fucking uncomfortable. I've thought I was interested and then found partway through things that I'd rather be having my nosehairs pulled out one by one. We've chalked it up to needing lubricant, but truthfully, I don't care if I ever have sex again. About the only time I care is if I'm showering with Mike for his benefit and then I only care for about 5-10 minutes. Soon after that time window I go back to not giving a shit about sex. And if I actually thought about it, I guess I'd say I was kind of horny, but my experiences of it lately, make me feel perfectly okay with a totally celibate future. That in turn, makes me feel very guilty because I know Mike is a horny sensual creature.

Tomorrow I'm getting my IUD installed. I feel like I should ask to get special woofers and amps, while I'm at it and would they pleeeeease give me one of those extra special car air fresheners? I feel like I'm getting it installed for Mike though. He's all excited to have sex and while I find it mildly intellectually stimulating to wonder if sex without condoms would be better, I can't say my libido cares. And I love him. I love holding him. I love kissing him. I just don't happen to care if I ever have sex with him again at the moment, especially because it has hurt so badly every time we've tried it.

Oh, and please don't write to reassure me this is normal. I know it is, but it's weird because it's been a long time since I had Russell and while I told Mike about my past desire for celibacy for 6 months post-partum, I was thinking it would be different this time. And it's a little different, but the other difference is that I'm still bleeding and that worries me some.

Hello, my name is Holy Shit, What Happened to the Budget?

You might ask me how I came by such a peculiar and profane name. Simply put, the baby came and the budget went straight out the window, so I've been fretting and worrying about money and have no idea how to get our books straight. I am just feeling nuts because I know I must be forgetting bills. Our gas card came today and while I was sure I paid it, for some reason, it arrived in our mailbox today and was marked late.

The good news is that we're not bouncing checks. Not yet, anyway.

Hello, my name is Bad Diabetic.

I came by this name because I rarely get all my snacks and I'm eating like shit. I mean how the fuck do I fit them in around a cranky crying baby who requires at least one arm to nurse, in order to keep the large booby off her nose. I generally try to keep to my food plan, but this weekend involved some jellybeans and oreos in a nasty incident of deviation from my food plan. And what was even more unbelievable, is that my sugars were fine and they should have been shit. Today was somewhat better, but I had to force myself to make myself an enormous salad for dinner, so I could keep my sanity. I did have veggies for lunch, too, but I am still rather appalled at myself for the oreos and jellybeans and fucking potato chips. Potato chips are bad bad no-no food for me and perfect for barbecues, which we've been having a lot of lately. What will piss people off more is that I'm continuing to lose weight and that a co-worker accused me of being half the woman I used to be.

Hello, my name is Disgusting Housekeeper.

If you can't figure out how I came into this name, then you need your head examined.

There's stuff in my livingroom, I can't figure out how to get rid of. I only know that it should be heading out the door and isn't. I ran a wet mop over the kitchen floor and there were large textured chunks of things under the cabinet overhang. I simply ignored them. I cleared the counter and the table. This, of course, after spending hours trying to comfort and coddle G and about 15 minutes before Mike came through the door from work.

I kept trying to put the laundry away and every time I got up off the bed, Genevieve started to cry pitifully. And I know after about the 5th time that I was well within my rights to "just let her cry" for 5 minutes, but I just couldn't do it.

Housework is simply beyond my scope at the moment.

And as I hear the Piggygirl waking up from her nap and am telling Russell how to spell words for his homework, my name is: Mommy, I need you now.