When Are You Due?

“When are you due?”  “Are you pregnant?” “Take care of that little baby of ours!” (Ours??) “How far along are you?” **rubs my belly**  Or the worst of all – “Please tell me you’re getting fat and not pregnant!”

If I had a dollar for every time I’ve been asked that by a patient since I started working out of the home, I would be at least halfway to my new tattoo (it’ll be of Audrey Hepburn, by the way, by the one and only Sarah Miller!  But I digress…).

Not a week, NOT ONE, has gone by, without someone asking about my “pregnancy”.  I had 7 people in 4 days straight say it in one way or another.  Do you know what it’s like to say LOUDLY, in a room full of patients, that you’re not pregnant; that you’re just fat???  Do you?????  Do you know how hard it is to laugh it off too?????   Yes, I imagine that there might be a reader or two out there with similar situations, but not the whole lot of you.

I had two kids.  I got lazy.  I ate a lot.  But, on the brighter side, I’ve lost 15 lbs in the last couple of months.  I’m not down to my goal weight yet, but I’ll get there.  You can bet your ass, I will.  Will my stomach ever get back to “normal”?  You can bet your ass, it won’t.  But I’m still going to lose it anyway, because I’m tired of these….these….motherfuckers (YES.  I fucking said it.) saying this shit to me all the time.

There are clothes that I bought that I love to wear.  They happen to accentuate my misshapen body.  It’s not going to stop me from wearing them.  And if you’re sitting there saying “Wear looser clothes, then.” – fine.  You go out and buy them for me.  These are the clothes that I like.  And one day, I’ll fit even better into them.

No matter what they say, I still get compliments, winks and different types of proposals too.  Granted, I’m married – no harm, no foul though.  All of these people don’t know when to keep their mouths shut, no matter what it’s saying.

Until I do lose the weight that I want, go ahead and say something to my face.  I’ve been wanting to throat-punch a bitch so bad these days.  And like I said before, I’m Flawless…

Mommy Dearest (Well, not quite….)

I’m not cut out for this motherhood shit.  My kids would be much better off with another mother.  Just hear me out.  I love my kids.  I really do.  I love seeing them achieve new things and reach new milestones.  I love seeing them happy and hearing them laugh.  But the day-to-day stuff doesn’t seem to fit with me.  I’m a terrible teacher.  I get priorities wrong.  I actually opted to give my oldest one grapes for breakfast this morning instead of making eggs, just because I didn’t want to.  How fucked up is that?  Then, I begrudgingly made her 3 pieces of toast because she was still hungry and on my ass about it.

Moms aren’t supposed to talk or act like this.  They’re supposed to be nurturing, caring, ready and willing.  And then there’s me.  What seems to be the “just there” mom, or whatever media-based term that someone would stick on me nowadays.  Was I not born with that particular gene?  It doesn’t seem like it.  I suck at this.  I don’t make 3 square meals every day –  that should not imply that my kids are not fed, because they are.  And thankfully, they like fruits and vegetables and such, instead of junk food and McDonald’s (not that they don’t like that from time to time).  I make an actual dinner, like, once a week and it’s always pasta.  (That’s exactly what I’m doing right now as I’m writing this.)

I’m hardly ever in the mood to play Candyland.  Seriously.  I’d rather work on a photo book or a blog post (another thing I’m actually doing at this time).  I hate bath time, although the little one makes it easy for me.  For now.  (My husband, not so much.  Poor guy.)   And just how in the hell do you get a Mott’s fruit gummy stuck in your hair as if it were chewing gum?  Looks like someone’s in need of a little haircut….

Children’s television is my go-to for entertainment but it is the stuff that nightmares are made of, at least to me anyway.  Dora – you’re killing me.  Yo Gabba Gabba, what the hell are you?  Don’t even get me started on Caillou.  Whiny, little bitch…

And the laundry.  It’s like I blink and the hampers are full of chalk-covered pants and poop-stained onesies.  So not fun.  Oh, the laundry gets washed, but only on a really good day will it get folded and put away.  (I even have a collection of one-off socks on my dresser.  And I know the dryer isn’t eating them.)  Otherwise, it’s take your pick from the baskets every morning.

Did I mention I’m not a good housewife in general?  Because I’m not.  I used to be real OCD about things, especially with cleaning.  And then something happened, although I’m not exactly sure what that “something” was.  Like I said, my priorities aren’t always straight.

At the end of the day though, the house is still standing.  The kids are clothed, fed and clean.  I hear nothing but good things about them from their teacher or babysitter.  My husband always manages to find the good in me, no matter how hard it may be to do so.  And the dogs, even the “Barking Buddha”, are asleep comfortably on their respective couches (which my dad hated for them to be on, by the by).  I love all of my kids, furry or not so.  Could they do better?  Hell, yeah.  But I guess we’re stuck with each other for the long haul.  On to the next, I guess….

Den of Irritable Bowels

So, I’ve spent my day getting pulled in 4 different directions by all my “kids”, human and furry.  Let’s take a step into my world…

One dog, who has been resting for over a week now because of hind pain and a roller coaster diet, had finally “exploded” in the house overnight.  This, we surmise, is due to the fact that he hasn’t been able to lift his tail properly to go in a normal manner.  It did not end with that episode, for it continued throughout the day, in and out of the house, rain or shine.  And apparently, wiping asses is not limited to the human children in this house.  Nor is it limited to asses, for the tail got involved at one point.  Maybe he was trying to help clean up.  Tip:  Bounty is doggie toilet paper…

My other dog has taken a cue – or some kind of germ – from the first, because she has had me jumping up (when I could sit down) to run her outside for some “runs” of her own.  At one point, she was doing her post-movement-cover-up with grass and mud and shot clumps far and hard enough to hit the house (she was rather excited because a dog was walking by the house).  I think she needs to go out again.  She’s staring at me…

My youngest is having her own bathroom troubles from I don’t know what, on top of having an ulcerated, bleeding rash again.  That she wants to scratch.  It takes some acquired skill to keep a hand and 2 feet out of that mess.  And because of her cleanse, her growing, her being a 7 month old, she’s hungry a lot.  Of course, I’m going to feed her.  Just got to get settled in aaaaannnnddd…

The 4th direction, I mean, the 3-year-old wants – no, NEEDS “piggy cow moo and milk”.  That’s chocolate milk in our house.   Or she’s really hungry but can’t make up her mind about what she wants to eat and shoots down every one of my suggestions.  Or she has to go to the bathroom – or has already gone in her pull-up.  Every damn time one of the other three needs my help.  Not a minute before.  At least any sign of IBS from her has not been seen.  Thankfully.  Still have a few hours though…

~ S

What to Write?

My goal, as of now, is to blog about something every day.  But why do I feel like I’m short on topics?  This would surprise people who know me, because I never shut up.  Do I “mommy blog”?  That’s not me.  Yet, it is.  I’m a mom.  It’s what I do.  Hell, I’m bottle-feeding my youngest while typing this post with one hand while keeping an eye on my oldest, who insists on licking her arm for reasons unknown to me.  (Once a mom, always a mom…right, mum?)  May seem a bit careless, but these two are under my watch and they’re still here, so I must be doing something right.  Guess I should repeat that to myself every day, because most of the time, I feel like a lousy mother.  Well, I do.

This is my life now.  Has been for over 3 years.  Before this, I used to go out all the time.  Wouldn’t go anywhere before 9 because places were only starting to pick up around then.  Now, I’m lucky if I can stay up until the kids are in bed.   Do I miss that lifestyle?  Not really.  Every once in a while, I’ll “indulge” and go out with my friends.  We’ll have fun, but it’s just not the same.  That doesn’t mean I don’t want a Jack on the rocks, even at 10 in the morning.  (No.  I don’t do that.  I just have water on the rocks instead.)  The least I can say about that is I’ve had my experiences, so I’ll be on to these 2 little chickies when they get older and try to sneak one by me.  Thankfully, I still have some time before that happens.

~ S