Mom-plaining is the name I like to give to what I do.
Its when I complain about the things I love the most in the world. And then people give me that look (you know the one), that says “if you hate it so much, then why do you do it?”.
The answer to that is twofold. First, I cant put either of them back in now. So, theres that.
The second is more complicated. Because this mom gig is alternately the best and the worst one Ive ever had.
There are mornings like today, when you couldnt ask for a better job. Im drinking pumpkin coffee, watching DVR’d Glee (DVR’d because HELLO - 9 pm? Do you have ANY idea how late NINE FUCKING PM is in mom world? You might as well be airing it alongside the infomercials in the middle of the night) .... (new moms would be able to watch though because thats when youre up ever hour on the hour), and watching John destroy everything in his direct path (he knows how to rawr too, which really adds something).
I look over, because hes been quiet for 2.5 seconds (do you know how long that is in baby world? I cant get off the couch in 2.5 seconds, an 11 month old can cover the dog in peanut butter, get himself wedged behind the desk, or reprogram your xbox to only Elmos World), and I see him sitting mesmerized at Glee. This is a win, win, and one more win for me. I can get a tiny bit of quiet, I can write a blog post, and I can catch up on my show instead of having to crack out with DJ Lance Rock.
(Has no one else wondered why they named her Foofa? And has no one else spent six months wondering why they named her FUPA and what kind of shit that was on a kids show? Just me?)
So these are the times when I understand why people this this is the greatest job in the world. Today things are warm, and pumpkin-y, and cute. We are basically in a Lifetime movie’s “before” picture.
The problem is, when the horror hits, it hits big. Its running on 3 hours sleep (because of COURSE we should have a dance party at 4 am - is there any other time?), while scooping poop out of the tub (there is no other place to potty apparently), with dogs that brought in fleas, and a teenager who brought home an F, and a husband thats not coming home for a week. Its checking Facebook to see your friends (who are still thin, those whores) springing from their 10 hour slumber to put on their jeans (that button!) and head to the mall - where they will shop for hours without anyone screaming, crying, or throwing up (unless they are hung over, in which case all bets are off). Then they will sip wine while getting ready to head somewhere fabulous for the night. Theyll take huggy-huggy pictures with their BFF’s and I will be green with envy when I see these at the 4th nighttime feeding.
In my head, I realize that its not this way all the time. The grass is ALWAYS greener on the other side, and I know that many people would give anything to be in my shoes .... no matter how small they are from my swollen feet.
Friday, September 14, 2012
Friday, August 17, 2012
Your child lives to make you look like an asshole.
I dont know if its just my baby, but I doubt it.
My kid loves to make me look like an asshole mom. He accomplishes this one of two ways.
First, he does the “bait and switch”. This is when hes either had a streak of three or four days that are really good. He naps around the same time, he doesnt throw a fit, or blow his diaper out the back of his pants, or act like he has absolutely no baby manners. He nurses an acceptable amount of times, predictably. And EVERY TIME I fall for it. I think, well this is great! We are finally in a “routine”. And I get really smug, and let my friends know that its absolutely no problem to leave the house and attend any sort of activity because my baby is ON A SCHEDULE.
And then, without fail, as soon as we get to wherever were going he will have an Olympic sized meltdown. He will scream, he will grab at my boobs, and he will call me names in his native baby language. He will act so horribly that we will be forced to leave where we are, no matter if weve eaten, shopped, or gotten our coffee.
And then I look like an asshole.
Second, he does the “just kidding”. This happens when I warn everyone around me how terrible my child is. I apologize profusely for his utter lack of compassion for all walks of life. I will explain that we are going on Maury in a few weeks to do a DNA test and figure out if John is actually Allens, or if some demon impregnated me when I wasnt looking. I will decline all of their invitations to anywhere until I cant possibly say no any further and still remain friends. I will walk into the store, or their home, with loud proclamations about how I PROMISE to remove my little troll doll from the premises the second he starts to misbehave. I will make sure everyone within a 6 mile radius knows how deeply sorry I am for what is about to happen.
And then John will act like an ANGEL baby.
And then I will look like a fucking asshole.
My kid loves to make me look like an asshole mom. He accomplishes this one of two ways.
First, he does the “bait and switch”. This is when hes either had a streak of three or four days that are really good. He naps around the same time, he doesnt throw a fit, or blow his diaper out the back of his pants, or act like he has absolutely no baby manners. He nurses an acceptable amount of times, predictably. And EVERY TIME I fall for it. I think, well this is great! We are finally in a “routine”. And I get really smug, and let my friends know that its absolutely no problem to leave the house and attend any sort of activity because my baby is ON A SCHEDULE.
And then, without fail, as soon as we get to wherever were going he will have an Olympic sized meltdown. He will scream, he will grab at my boobs, and he will call me names in his native baby language. He will act so horribly that we will be forced to leave where we are, no matter if weve eaten, shopped, or gotten our coffee.
And then I look like an asshole.
Second, he does the “just kidding”. This happens when I warn everyone around me how terrible my child is. I apologize profusely for his utter lack of compassion for all walks of life. I will explain that we are going on Maury in a few weeks to do a DNA test and figure out if John is actually Allens, or if some demon impregnated me when I wasnt looking. I will decline all of their invitations to anywhere until I cant possibly say no any further and still remain friends. I will walk into the store, or their home, with loud proclamations about how I PROMISE to remove my little troll doll from the premises the second he starts to misbehave. I will make sure everyone within a 6 mile radius knows how deeply sorry I am for what is about to happen.
And then John will act like an ANGEL baby.
And then I will look like a fucking asshole.
Thursday, August 16, 2012
Ive decided this deserved its own blog ...
The question is, will I use it? Time will tell.
Today we had a playdate to go in our splash pool off the back porch. With the recent addition of our privacy fence, Ive been allowing far more naked time outside than is possibly safe or necessary. However, you only have so many years to go “freeballin” and Id like the kid to be able to take advantage of that.
Anyhow, our playdate friend couldnt make it. She bakes delicious cakes (check her out if youre in the Fort Stewart Area @ Sugar Bunny Cupcakes on Facebook!) and had a last minute order to fill. So I let John take an extra long nap, then fed him lunch, and we went outside for a little splash time.
I should add that my child is obsessed with his “winkie”. I have no idea when he found it, or what he thinks it is, but I do know hes got his hands on it more than Charlie Sheen has his hands on cocaine. Every time I turn around hes got his diaper off and is pulling at his nether regions. He started doing it in the pool today and I didnt think much of it. After all, next to his stuffed Brobee it IS his second favorite toy.
Today, however, I suppose he decided hed like to see what this thing looked like. He squatted down (in the “poop position”) and kept trying to put his head down between his legs. He was confounded when he kept choking .... on the water .... that he was putting his face in.
Because I have faith in my gene pool, I figured hed get the hint and knock it off after a few times. Maybe hed make the connection that the winkie was guarded by some sort of Jesus Fortress of Water. Unfortunately, my children are not nearly as bright as they are stubborn. So we called it a day and retire inside where he proceeded to poop on the floor in the FIVE minutes he was naked.
But thats a blog for another day.
Today we had a playdate to go in our splash pool off the back porch. With the recent addition of our privacy fence, Ive been allowing far more naked time outside than is possibly safe or necessary. However, you only have so many years to go “freeballin” and Id like the kid to be able to take advantage of that.
Anyhow, our playdate friend couldnt make it. She bakes delicious cakes (check her out if youre in the Fort Stewart Area @ Sugar Bunny Cupcakes on Facebook!) and had a last minute order to fill. So I let John take an extra long nap, then fed him lunch, and we went outside for a little splash time.
I should add that my child is obsessed with his “winkie”. I have no idea when he found it, or what he thinks it is, but I do know hes got his hands on it more than Charlie Sheen has his hands on cocaine. Every time I turn around hes got his diaper off and is pulling at his nether regions. He started doing it in the pool today and I didnt think much of it. After all, next to his stuffed Brobee it IS his second favorite toy.
Today, however, I suppose he decided hed like to see what this thing looked like. He squatted down (in the “poop position”) and kept trying to put his head down between his legs. He was confounded when he kept choking .... on the water .... that he was putting his face in.
Because I have faith in my gene pool, I figured hed get the hint and knock it off after a few times. Maybe hed make the connection that the winkie was guarded by some sort of Jesus Fortress of Water. Unfortunately, my children are not nearly as bright as they are stubborn. So we called it a day and retire inside where he proceeded to poop on the floor in the FIVE minutes he was naked.
But thats a blog for another day.
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