What I Didn’t Expect When I Was Expecting. *WARNING: do not read if you’re squeamish and/or an in-law*

I’m not naive…let’s just get that out of the way right out of the box, but there is some funky business going down over here at No. 7 and, for once, it’s not of my doing. Since making the move to WordPress, I’ve discovered this magical place called Site Stats. It’s a far more magical place than Sitemeter ever was because within Site Stats exists the most magical realm of all. Its name is “Search Engine Terms”. Getting the picture? I can see what people are searching for when their proverbial ship comes to ground here on the beautiful yet slightly schizophrenic island of Narragansett No. 7.

I can’t stop myself. I love logging on and while my stats are loading, my level of anticipation builds to a frightening level.

Oh, please, oh, please, oh, please let there be just one more bizarre or filthy sounding search term in that queue!

I have started sharing the previous day’s weirdest and/or most offensive search terms on the Narragansett No. 7 Facebook wall. I own it, so I can do whatever I want to and, well…I want to. On Saturday morning I shared Friday’s winning search term which was as follows: “mom washing my penis”.


Well, I’m not entirely sure how that particular search landed Mr. McIssues at No. 7, but I want to thank him for the laugh.

As I pondered these strange and border-line repulsive searches conducted by people unknown to me, I recalled a time back before I was a mommy. Actually, I was technically very close to becoming a mommy for the first time. My stomach was freakishly large and I was enduring a heat wave in Boston which, for some odd reason, caused me to sit on the floor in front of a fan for an usually long period of time. I don’t know why. Maybe the hardwood floor felt cool, I don’t remember. Nonetheless, after lying around like a giant sow for what seemed like hours, I hoisted my grotesquely deformed self off the floor and began my pitiful end-of-pregnancy waddle toward the kitchen. Mid-waddle, it struck me that things weren’t quite right down below. Something was really out of place. I’d never had a baby before so you’ll understand that I was slightly alarmed when I realized that my entire crotch was swollen.

Yes, that’s right, I said my crotch was swollen.

Believe me…I had the same disgusted and horrified reaction except I actually grabbed a mirror and looked at it! After emitting a piercing scream, I ran-waddled to my laptop and began furiously searching Medline and OB/GYN sites for the cause of ‘giant swollen crotches in the 9th month of pregnancy.’

Evidently I wasn’t the first woman on the face of the Internet to suffer the malady because I immediately found a discussion board about the very subject. I know…what are the chances? Yet, it was on that very informative (and slightly off-putting) discussion board that I found a link for “Cheeseburger Crotch”. By that time I had determined I wouldn’t suffer death by swollen vaghooha and my swelling was likely due to the fact that I’d sat my big, fat pregnant ass on a hardwood floor while my baby’s head pressed on some nerve or something…yadda yadda and totally boring. BUT… Cheeseburger Crotch intrigued me. It might have even made me giggle just a little bit, so I clicked the link. Today, as I wrote about what is probably my most intimate and mortifying moment ever, I found myself Googling “Cheeseburger Crotch” again. Nearly seven years have passed since my brush with The Burger, and it appears that Cheeseburger Crotch is much more widely discussed in these enlightened times. WebMD has even dedicated an article discussing embarrassing pregnancy symptoms, one of which, as you can probably guess, being Cheeseburger Crotch.

Well, back there in 2004, I laughed really hard – at myself and my crotch. Then I did what any woman with freakishly swollen vagina would do. I called my sister.


Hey…so, I have Cheeseburger Crotch.


Yeah, Cheeseburger Crotch.

Ummm…(followed by some nervous laughter)

I got up and couldn’t walk right because my crotch got in the way.


Seriously. My crotch swelled so much I couldn’t walk, so I walked to the bathroom and looked at it because I thought maybe the baby’s head was coming out or something, but it was just REALLY swollen. So I did a web search and it turns out that I have Cheeseburger Crotch. [pause as I popped a salt & vinegar chip into my mouth] But don’t worry…it’s going away now.


I’ve gotta tell ya’…Cheeseburger Crotch is exactly the right description for what was going on down there.

I don’t really know what my sister said because she was laughing so hard. Until this very moment…right now…as I type…I have never discussed my run in with The Burger with anyone other than my sister simply because of all people on the face of this earth, she was the only one I knew who would laugh as hard I did.

 Yeah…I went there. Click the flashing box if you like fries with your burger.

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Werewolves and Cheezits and Sticks…OH MY!

I have to say, we have lucked out in the tantrum department. Mostly because we’re likely to laugh at the kids as we step over them should they resort kicking and screaming. There really is nothing more effective in squashing temper tantrums than ridicule. What can I say; we’re a tough crowd here at Chez Faherty. Unfortunately, luck runs out and on occasion, one of the kids acts…well, like a kid. Usually, I’m very lucky to have just one of the children having an “off” day. Yet, sometimes the stars seem to align perfectly…and during a full moon. When this happens, all three lose their minds and become “THOSE” kids. Last week the stars and/or moon were perfectly aligned for the Faherty clan.

I have a theory about the cycle of the moon and it’s effects on the adorable little humans residing in my house. You see, during the full moon, the adorable little humans morph into Crazed Fanged Beasts. Did you hear the echo when you read that? Here, let me say it again. CRAZED FANGED BEASTS! Beasts…Beasts….beasts…

No, I’m not suggesting that lycanthropy (turning into a werewolf) is rampant in my household during a full moon. My children don’t become extra hairy, sprout fangs or howl at the moon. However, they do scream, exhibit short-tempers, and the smaller two have been known to bite when provoked. It all got me wondering, and after the last moon I felt compelled to do a bit of research. Do you know what I found? I found that The Bradford Royal Infirmary conducted a study about behavior and the moon that was published in the British Medical Journal in December 2000. The Bradford Royal Infirmary reported that dog bite admissions to hospitals in England were twice as common during a full moon. Interesting, but I’m not worried about my dog. So far, I can find no conclusive evidence that the behavior of my children is influenced by the moon. Yet, read on and maybe you’ll begin to see my point.

August 10th: New Moon. This has absolutely no bearing at all on my “study” except for the fact that it made me think of shirtless Jacob. Sink your eyes into this:


Where was I? Oh..right..
August 13th: The planets are in Triple Conjunction with the Moon. Now mind you, I have no real understanding of astronomy, but this sounds like a good explanation for crazed children, no?

It all started innocently enough with a trip to the beach. In fact, it was a promising outing. There weren’t any obnoxious/weirdo tourists in our vicinity, yet oodles of well behaved kids who were willing to share beach toys. Joe and Gwen hit it off immediately with some new buddies, the weather was perfect, the tide was out…enter Kate and a box of Cheezits. It took precisely 30 minutes for the older couple sitting next to us to go from admiring the “adorable” baby to cringing in fear as she screamed and flung her body in the sand at their feet because her Cheezits were soggy.
There I was, faced with the dilemma of a quiet exit, yet one that said ‘I know that my child is being a complete a-hole so we’re leaving and you are all welcome’ or, I could have stayed and made the entire beach endure Kate’s terror filled Cheezit rampage. Yes, I just used the word a-hole when referring to my toddler. I’m honest and I’d never say it to her face. (Refer to my blog entry, Some Parents Eat Their Young). By the way, I opted for the quiet exit which turned out to be really loud since Gwen was so ticked off that we were leaving.

Let’s jump to our evening foray to soccer camp. I’m thinking that it was right around this time that those planets were getting closer to their “conjunction” with the moon because Hell was about to break loose on the soccer field.

We were all napped up and ready to go. There I was, wrangling Kate and our chairs, water bottles and soccer balls. Suddenly I realized that I had lost sight of Joe. Upon scanning the park, I located Joe on a hill waving a giant stick next to another kid. You know that slow-motion tunnel effect in movies? I can only describe it as a kind of out of body experience. One where the character foresees impending doom then suddenly gets sucked back into her body in time to save the day. Yeah. That’s exactly what I was feeling as from what seemed like miles away, I told (screeched at) Joe to, “PUT THE STICK DOWN! PUT….THE…STICK…DOWWWWWN!”

Of course, he couldn’t hear *ignored* me and continued waving the stick around until he whacked the kid’s glasses off his face. The kid’s mom went running up the hill while what seemed like the entire town stared at me and/or my kid. THAT kid…my failure. What to Expect When You’re Expecting never mentioned what I should do when my kid beats another kid with a giant stick. Did I wait too long to have children? What’s the etiquette for this situation? I’m almost 40 and I’m not equipped for this! As I stood glued to the soccer field questioning my skills as a mother, I watched the other mommy glare at my son, who for her, had become “that” kid.

Maybe I’m too hard on myself and expect too much of my tiny people. I mean, just because we waited until we were on the verge of AARP to reproduce didn’t mean that our children were required to pop out with the ability to attend wine tastings and admire fine art, right?

My research has shown that there is no conclusive proof that the cycle of the moon has any effect on human behavior. However, soul searching has brought me to the following realization. I do not understand 6 year old boys at all. Bitchy three year old? Got it. Tantrum throwing toddler? I’ll tolerate that. As long as no one turns into a werewolf, we’re going to be just fine.

Have any of you had these moments, or is it just me?