Sunday, April 13, 2014

The undeserved nervous-breakdown: anxieties of a SAHM with a perfect life*

Today I woke up at 10:00 a.m. (that's really fucking late). I feel guilty when I wake up so late because my husband gets up at 6:00 a.m. and it’s not fair for me to get so much more sleep than he does. When I sleep in I feel like I’m slapping him in the face. So my whole day starts really late, and I have to go grocery shopping but we end up going when my husband normally comes home for lunch, so the kids don’t get to see him and that makes me feel doubly guilty. (I'm crying as I write this am I seriously crying???) I have to deny Lucas a cookie at the grocery store because I’ve been a lazy parent and his behavior has gotten out of control. Get it together, momma. Discipline that kid. Be consistent. His little sister rubs it in his face that she got a cookie and he didn’t. She’s such a little kiss-ass. He cries this sad, quiet cry and I almost go back and get him a cookie. (He really wasn’t that bad… He can’t help it; he has ADHD. Stop making excuses for him, Kristen.) Shit. Maybe I could make banana pudding for him. I would do that, as a ridiculous consolation for not getting the stupid cookie, but… I’m too goddamn tired. And plus, then I might eat it. And my hair is really greasy. I dumped baby powder on my head and slicked it into a ponytail to go to the grocery store. I should shower. It’s been so long that I’m embarrassed to say how long it’s been. I should shower. I already said that. But I want, no, need to exercise. If I shower I won’t exercise. I HAVE TO EXERCISE. If I don’t, it’ll be the start of a slippery slope to gaining all my weight back. I ate like a fucking pig over the weekend. Cookies, ice cream, macaroni and cheese. I HATE those things. They are not even food!!! GAH!!! And my phone has been blowing up all day. LEAVE ME ALONE, PHONE!!! I can’t deal with people right now… and Candy Crush, you’re a life-sucking asshole! I’m going to delete you as soon as I finish this level! And my people… they’re all such nice people, the very best people in the world, I love them. But go away, people that I love. Happy birthday, sister. Sing Happy Birthday to the phone, kids, while mommy’s heart pounds against her ribcage, at the edge of an undeserved break-down. The air in the car is set to ‘arctic’ and I’m still sweating like a motherfucking horse (I have to say "horse" and not "pig" because pigs don’t sweat you know – WHY DON’T PIGS SWEAT THAT IS SO WEIRD). So I'm sweating and it's dripping down my butt-crack. Why am I sweating like this? Why do I feel this way? I don’t deserve to feel this way; I’m not allowed. I’m in the top five percent! After sleeping in till 10:00 a.m. I take a nap on the floor from 1:00 to 2:00. I just lay down on the carpet and fall asleep, with the kids screaming bloody murder while they make a blanket fort. Who does that? My to-do list is soooo long. I have a lump in my neck that I need to get checked out but the dog needs a vet appointment. Hey, I know; how ‘bout if I don’t call on either one of them! I almost burned the beans. Because today is the kind of day where I will put something to cook on the stove and I will completely forget about it. I need to chop a bunch of vegetables to put in the beans so they’ll be extra-healthy, because I care so damn much about healthy eating. Oh who cares, the kids won’t even eat them anyway. My husband won’t care. He’ll fart a whole fucking lot tonight, though, fucking beans. The plan is to cook dinner early, and when my husband gets home, leave for a nice, long, six-mile run. But it’s about to storm. It’s pitch-black outside. Of course. God I need to exercise (these demons). What is that smell? Is that me? I think I can smell myself. If I knew it wouldn’t lightning, I’d run in the rain. That’d be good therapy. I could use a little therapy right now. Except that I don’t deserve to feel like this. My life is perfect.


*I wrote this last August and never published it because I felt like I was being whiny. Looking back, I realize how much I was struggling. I might have sent a text to my husband telling him I felt like crying and didn't know why, but I never told anyone else how I felt. I think isolating myself made me feel even worse. It seemed like the right thing to do to share this now to let other women who experience these kinds of feelings know they are not alone. Need to vent? That’s what the comments are for…

Monday, April 7, 2014

Holy Crap My Kid is Awesome: conversations with Lucas

*He's brushing my hair* Mom, how did life begin?

Wow, babe - that's a really big question. What do you think?

*thinks for a while* I'm not really sure... but I think it has something to do with the God particle.

Thursday, April 3, 2014

Sleepless Insanity: The ugly truth about the first few months of parenthood...

Once, before we were married, my husband pulled an all-nighter driving from Cincinnati, Ohio to Orlando, Florida. That’s a 13-hour drive. I was thoroughly awed at the man’s ability to dispense with sleep. In fact, my reverence of his mental fortitude during that trip was one of the reasons I married him.
So when my husband spent the entire first night of our son’s life pacing the hospital room with a sleepless infant, neither one of us was very surprised that he’d managed to stay awake the whole night. Impressed, maybe – but not surprised. I thought smugly, Golly, he’s going to be such a laid-back daddy. My shmoopsy-woopsies is the BEST. My husband banged on his chest like a proud caveman and declared, “Pfft! That wasn’t bad! I could do that every night!” And thanks to my post-childbirth fatigue, combined with the powerful pain killers I’d been given for my blown-to-smithereens-and-sewn-back-up vagina, I was addle-brained enough to find my husband’s suggestion to be perfectly reasonable, and not insane in the least.

Sunday, March 30, 2014

Bibbity Bobbity Boobs Be Gone

I don’t understand boobs.
They start out innocently enough, with their perky, come-hither perch and slight, unobtrusive nipples (<<< Really? “nipples”? Could we have called them something slightly less creepy maybe?), and they do provide life-sustaining nourishment to our kiddos for a time. But once all that magic is done with, boobs become useless dangling appendages, like an appendix, but on the outside, and therefore much easier to accidentally catch in a zipper.
Dear evolution: I am not impressed. 

Sadly, I feel I might be alone in this sentiment. Once, when I was about 13, I attended a slumber party with a few friends. At one point they all went topless, showing off their freshly-minted boobies, jumping around in front of the mirror like giggling lunatics, smashing them together to see who could make the most cleavage, something they unquestionably did not possess one year prior. I was the only one who kept my shirt on, and instead sat on the edge of the bed pretending I wasn’t completely mortified. Was every girl but me obsessed with her boobs?

Saturday, March 22, 2014

Participating in the Leibster Award Out of Loyalty (or Fear)

Silence of the Mom was my roommate in college and knows incriminating things about me; it would not be wise to incur her wrath. Hence, I am participating in this blog-award chain-mail thingy at her request. (Shes funny and honest too, so definitely go see what shes about.)

Okay lets do this. 11 random facts, 10 questions to answer, and 10 questions for my 3 nominees.
11 random facts about me:
1. I’m eating popcorn right now and getting grease all over the keyboard.
2. I’m also drinking half a blender’s worth of strawberry daiquiri, but I keep forgetting about it, so it has melted into spiked strawberry-water. 
3. I can't sleep with the windows open because I'm afraid I'll get abducted by aliens. My husband thinks this is hilarious. So you think that a civilization capable of traveling light-years across space and time wouldn't be able to figure out a window? 

Tuesday, March 18, 2014

Ten Things Not to Tell Me Not to Say to My Kid.

Recently, a slew of internet articles have popped up declaring many standard parenting phrases now to be wrong. I’m sure you’ve seen the articles; they’re usually in list-form, containing 9-11 phrases that you’re never supposed to say… phrases I use with quasi-regularity.
So naturally, I found myself wondering: Am I a bad parent? I mean, I'm just a mom doing her best to raise a couple of decent human beings. I'm not an expert; I'm a nobody. What do I know? Perhaps you read some of the same articles and nursed similar concerns about your own parenting.
Well I’ve done some thinking about these lists, and I’m calling bull. The following is a list of the top ten most-common things experts tell us we shouldn't say to our kids, and why I think they're wrong:

Thursday, March 13, 2014

The Time I Shaved My Hoo-Ha

If you have even the faintest anticipation that what you’re about to read is going to be sexy in any way whatsoever, you are about to be thoroughly disappointed. Save yourself the frustration and close your browser window right this second. Buh-bye.
For the rest of you: remember when Sex and the City was all the rage? And how half the show was vagina talk? And how they frequently discussed maintenance “down there?” There was this one episode where Carrie went for a Brazilian wax and ended up completely bald. Sarah Jessica Parker declared the word “BALD” in such memorable, exclamatory fashion that henceforth and forevermore, when I hear the word “bald,” I immediately think of vaginas. Thanks a ton, Sarah.
Well, one day during my graduate studies, I was doing some routine hoo-ha maintenance (trimming the hedges) when I suddenly recalled Carrie and her bald vajajay. And I thought, Meh… why not?