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Next Life, NO Kids: February 2013

February 24, 2013

There's Human Shit On My Couch. Beat That, Single Friend.


I was chatting with one of my best friends from high school yesterday afternoon. She was feeling guilty for sitting on her couch eating a whole chicken cutlet sub from our favorite sandwich shop, and I was cleaning human shit off my couch. Needless to say, I was a bit envious of my friend's biggest problem as it compared to my own, but it got me thinking and missing a simpler time in my life.

Like, remember when human shit on the couch was a non-issue? There was a time in my life that I never thought about shit, especially someone else's. If by some strange chance anyone had ever shit on my couch, I would have made them leave and I NEVER would have spoken to them EVER again. Today I clean all kinds of disgusting things off my couch while the person responsible yells at me to get him a glass of water. What's worse? Not only can I not ask him to leave, I have to get the water. I started thinking about other things that are just memories now.

I remember when I could eat an entire cup of yogurt without someone taking a dump in front of me.  Yogurt was so much better without the mix of shit smell and grunting. This is common practice in our house. Especially during potty training, someone poops in my living room at least once a day.


I remember personal space. Man, it. was. awesome. My body was a shrine, and not a jungle gym to climb and hang all over. Back when my clothes did not second for tissues. I really wish I'd enjoyed those moments more in projection of their total annihilation. These days, I can't even get half way through an apple before it becomes community property.


I remember when "co-sleeping" was an extracurricular activity. Why do they even call it that when the only one sleeping is the baby?  It would make way more sense to call it "no-sleeping".


I remember when the flashing of my boobs occurred only where there was cash or beads involved. Okay, I made that up, but seriously. I have no idea how my husband can sexualize me after seeing the way my boobs are treated these days. Nursing is not as glamorous as I expected it to be.


I'm not complaining, really. I'm just flashing some awareness onto the fact that life before kids was terrific.  It was a time when I wasn't violated by boogers or mounted by midgets on the daily. Maybe I sat on the couch feeling guilty about eating food. Who knows, maybe my couch was a place I wanted to eat food.  I think I took hot baths and went to the bathroom all by myself. I'm pretty sure I experienced long phone conversations without any screaming or crying (unless it was me). Honestly, I can't remember a time before poop because... those days are over.


I have traded in my "me" time and clean curtains for the joys of motherhood. I haven't shaved my legs in a month. Not because I don't like having soft, hairless legs, but because it's difficult and dangerous to use sharp objects two inches away from a toddler in a slippery shower.


So, I'm hairy, half showered, and tired. I'm frumpy, and I wear wrinkled yoga pants. My hair is never done and my make-up, if ever applied is usually running because I'm sweating profusely.  I can't remember the last time I enjoyed a sub by myself, without someone else's saliva on it.


But guess what?


Strangely enough, I wouldn't trade any of these moments, not even the shitty ones, for anything in the world. I'm trying to enjoy them all, in projection of their passing, because I know that some day, I will miss them. Years from now, when the kids have moved out, and it's all too quiet in the house, I will sit on my couch, staring at my clean curtains, and I will miss this....


Okay, maybe not the shit part... but you get the idea.








 http://www.nextlifenokids.com/2016/04/9-reasons-i-want-to-drink-after-almost.html 

 http://www.nextlifenokids.com/2013/01/10-reasons-why-potty-training-is.html







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February 18, 2013

Take this, PPD. I make a fool of myself for free.

Here I am, making a complete fool of myself for Valentine's Day, better late than never. I'm honored to join these funny ladies in humor. Nicholas Jr. and I had a blast making our "movie," and for a little while I wasn't sad.

I may not be able to leave my house, but I can still shake my booty.

Big thanks to Kim @Let Me Start By Saying for the inspiration....and push. Click here to visit Kerry @HouseTalkN and see more bloggers cut loose. 

Everybody Dance Now!!

                                   
                     






         

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February 16, 2013

Happy Valentine's Day, Teenaged Daughter

I had the HARDEST time finding an appropriate Valentine's Day card for my teenaged daughter. They were all too mushy and inappropriate for our rocky mother/daughter relationship. So, I made my own.




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February 14, 2013

Hey, that's sexual harassment..., but I'll take it.

Alright, let's be really clear that sexual harassment is a terrible thing. I thank God that I have never been in a 'Coke can with a pubic hair on it' kind of situation like poor Anita Hill, but I think we've all had our fair share of light to moderate harassment. According to Merriam-Webster (smart lady), the definition of sexual harassment is "unwanted or unsolicited...sexually motivated behavior considered offensive by the recipient" so yeah, we've all felt it at some point.

It is important that I inform you that I am currently 40+ pounds overweight and on days I do not blow dry my hair (every day), it is thrown on the top of my head in some sort of bun-type thing. I have also been known on occasion (every day) to wear yoga pants and one of my husband's baggy sweatshirts...because I'm fat. So, unless I'm driving, and men can only see me from the shoulders up, I haven't gotten much play in the sexual anything department. This could be considered fantastic because I am, after all, a very happily married women.


As I've stated in previous posts, I used to be hot. Before I looked and dressed like a middle aged butch lesbian (not that there is anything wrong with that), I got my share of stares and whistles.  "Unsolicited" attention like this is something that I didn't appreciate and possibly despised until it disappeared.  These days I'd be lucky if someone beeped at me while I walked into oncoming traffic. So you'll join me in my surprise when I got a little harassment at CVS the other day.

My friend Melissa and I make a date to do some couponing together. My power goes out an hour before she arrives to get me, so I get to pretend that I didn't have a chance to blow dry my hair. I'm wearing sweatpants, a sweatshirt, and my hair atop my head. Basically, I am the exact opposite of sexy, you get it. So, off we go to our secret CVS that takes expired store coupons. 

Couponing makes me extremely nervous because I am constantly worried about the people behind me, judging, and burning a hole in the back of my head for taking so long to separate transactions. I sweat like a PIG and fumble through, but I usually do pretty well. This particular store is supportive of horrible, money saving people like me, so I felt a little better. 

While we browse the make up isle (LOL) enter Ted, CVS associate. Melissa starts up a conversation about whether something is considered a beauty item and he states that he will consider it so when he rings her up. I shoot a warning that he will have to open a register just for me when I get up there because I'm a complete mess and already sweating. Yup, over-sharing once again, I say "I'm sweating like a pig, and going to take forever with my million coupons." He laughs and breaks into a story about the storm and his wife and a hotel and blah blah blah, who cares. After he bores us to death with stories of his life, he says he'll take care of us at check out. Please note: Ted is a 55 year old man with missing teeth, bad skin, and polyester pants. There is NOTHING esthetically pleasing about him.  He has a hairy mole and resembles a sketchy creeper one might see on a Law & Order SVU episode driving slowly by a school with candy. 

I get up to the counter with all of my stuff and make a joke about how he's going to be sorry he set aside time to help me. He makes some comment about enjoying it because I'm pretty. Okay, whatever. While he's scanning, Melissa makes a comment referencing his previous story about a hotel. Ted says that he'll get one if it's with me.... CUE RECORD SKIP

For some reason I find it much easier to "accept" this stuff from a super unattractive man. Like it's less offensive due to an unspoken, obvious, and mutual understanding that I would NEVER have sex with you EVER, so it's okay if you joke about it. YOU POOR BASTARD. I glaze over the invitation by mentioning again that I'm a sweaty pig. Ted proceeds to take an additional $20 off my purchase and then hands me $10 in Extra Care Bucks that I did not earn. I paid $5.20 for well over $100 worth of stuff. My outside voice says, "Thank you so much!" On the inside, 'Hey, that's sexual harassment..., but I'll take it.' What? Money's tight!

We have plans to go back next week and Melissa suggests that I really make an effort to blow dry my hair this time. Maybe I'll even wear pants. 

It's amazing what I'll put up with to save a few bucks. 

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February 07, 2013

What's Appropriate??


I was speaking to my good friend Stacy yesterday about whether there is a line between the postpartum normalcies and outright "not okay," after witnessing a woman yelling "I hate you" at her five year old daughter in the parking lot of the preschool. We filed this under "maybe not okay." 

During the conversation, entered the word "appropriate." I believe the question to me was, "Is it appropriate to sit on the toilet wearing my child in the Baby Bjorn?" 


It occurs to me as I write this, that the question might have been a hypothetical or in jest, but I could not resist answering. (I have always been an avid over-sharer. Be careful what you ask me).
"Hells yes," I replied, mostly because I am guilty. When you gotta go, you gotta go... and baby's need rest.  
After I hung up, I marinated in the word "appropriate" for a bit. Does its meaning depend on the situation, or is it just a word that Donna Reed and her friends passed down to us? Is it just a word used to make us think we're weird or horrible? 


I began to think about how much its meaning has changed for me over the years and after the birth of each child. 

For instance, scenario one: 
Someone is about to throw up. Appropriate response?

High school party: QUICKLY MOVE OUT OF THE WAY.

After first baby: Call for back up. "Ahhhh!! She's throwing up!!! Someone (anyone), HALLLP!"

After second baby: Make a cup with your hands and place it under the sick child's mouth. Be grossed out, but let it be cool because it's your kid and it limits the amount of vomit you'll have to clean off the sofa.

After third child: Form a makeshift bowl with the front of your shirt and hold it open under any sick person until the vomiting stops. This method keeps the hands and sofa clean, and can also be used as a tool while shopping at Home Depot (don't ask). 

Not once since becoming a mother have I stopped to actually prepare a response to this scenario. It's been more of a natural progression via trial and error. I have adapted and evolved. What was appropriate when I was young has changed over the years to meet circumstance. 

At this juncture, the word "appropriate" most likely means- whatever I can say or do without getting thrown out of playgroup. 

Yes, I'm the woman who during a harmless conversation about breastfeeding, casually mentions that instead of wasting time sanitizing my pump I sometimes milk myself into a bowl of baby cereal.  

You're welcome.


The words "appropriate" and "normal" may have had their place at some point, but that time has way passed. What is "normal" for me (ie. milking myself into a bowl of rice cereal) may be in fact the exact opposite in your house and vice versa.

Maybe we should just get rid of those words all together when it comes to parenting. I had an old friend that used to say "Don't 'should' on my day," and I have grown to love it. Let's not 'should' on each other, but instead encourage our differences and, for God's sake, laugh a little!! 

Like you never thought about cutting out the middle man and milking yourself into a bowl... come on.

Fuck "appropriate."





Whether you love what you just read or hated everything about it, let's connect and talk about it! I'm always open to honest feedback. Come be social with me!



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February 06, 2013

What I Won't Tell You


Comic created @ www.bitstrips.com

I've dealt with a lot in life and have survived a ton in 35 years. I have faced all sorts of things head on and held on, some times with my knuckles, until these things have worked themselves out in time. I like to think of myself as a strong person and I like to help other people to a fault and often give until the well is dry.

For some reason I suck at asking for help and accepting it on the off chance that I do. If I see you out and about I will reply with my standard "I'm well, and you?" mostly because I'm aware that most people say "How are you?" to be polite and aren't really invested in the response. The other reason for the standard yada yada is that I am terrified to tell you the truth.

I will chat you up about the weather and about the latest story in the news or reality tv, but what I won't tell you is that the weather hasn't affected me much lately because I haven't been out of the house a whole lot. I won't tell you that watching the news some days is the most interaction I have with the world outside of dropping Nicholas off at preschool or picking Corinne up from practice. I will keep this to myself out of fear that you will judge, or even worse, try to help me.

I will tell you that I will call you and then I'll shoot a text instead. I will send you to voicemail when you call me. If I do answer, it will be accidental, but I won't tell you that. I will fake inflection in my voice or listen in hopes that you'll have a problem we can talk about. I will not tell you that I'm suffocating over here and wishing that I wanted to talk to or see you. I won't tell you that if it weren't for a relationship with God and my amazing husband, I might be sitting in a rubber room somewhere, rocking back and forth, drooling.

I've done so much work on myself over the years, and I feel embarrassed that I am struggling like this with all of the tools I have at my feet. I feel pathetic. Don't worry, I won't tell you that. I'm much too vulnerable to risk it. Being hyper-vulnerable is awesome.

If we talk, I will joke with you about the "joys of motherhood" and the lack of sleep I'm getting due to nursing through Jordan's growth spurts or teething. What I won't tell you is that my postpartum depression is causing terrible insomnia and I'm having trouble sleeping through the night anyway. I won't tell you this because I don't want you to think I don't have my shit together.

I will make plans with you and then act surprised when something suddenly comes up and I can't show. What I won't tell you is that my postpartum depression has turned me into someone I wouldn't want to be friends with if I was you. Bringing this chic along to our date is out of the question because she's a mess and full of fear. This girl takes so long to get ready to leave the house that sometimes we decide it will be easier to just stay home; so I do.

Postpartum depression is a bitch and some days, most days, I feel trapped. I won't tell you how often I choke down tears or bawl my eyes out on the floor of the shower. I won't tell you how overwhelmed I feel every day by the most mundane and simple tasks like laundry, or God forbid... shopping. When I fail to do everything, I feel like a terrible wife and mother and the guilt feeds the depression, which leads to more isolation etc, etc, blah-blah-blah.

I am doing my best, I know that, and I know that you will understand. I know that if I called you right now and let it out that you would listen and I would feel better for a moment. I just won't. For some reason I can't bring myself to. I'm dragging myself to therapy every week and sometimes it helps. Other times I just feel worse and it makes the day after (Wednesdays) even more unbearable.

I'm blogging, which seems to help a lot. It allows me to reach out without actually having to, which is awesome. It makes me feel connected to you without fear of being immediately rejected, which is also awesome. Everything is process and I know that this is no different. I know that this too shall pass and that someday I will look back and feel grateful that I got through this too.

Until then...

Poo on depression.

P.S. One more thing I won't tell you is how long it took me to work up the courage to actually post this.



Whether you love what you just read or hated everything about it, let's connect and talk about it! I'm always open to honest feedback. Come be social with me!

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