When Your Daughter Becomes You

 

 

 

I always knew I wasn’t what society would refer to as the ‘typical mom’ but little did I realize just how far off I was. I am at a current state of confusion, anxiousness and desperation as my children slowly are turning into me. We all want the best for our kids and be the best examples for your kids, but what happens when your kids pick up your not so delightful habits because you can’t change everything that you are when you become a mom.

Don’t get me wrong, I am an insanely awesome human being and an even better mother but some of what I think is funny the ‘typical mom’ may not find so entertaining. I’m the mom that on a school field trip blurts out ‘who’s got the flask?’ I’m also the mom who screams while driving my 3 year old to pre-school, ‘mother-fucker get out of the way we’re late.’ So it should have been no surprise that when a car cut me off and grandpa in front of me was going 20 in a 45 my 3 year old in the back seat shouted ‘mother fucker.’ When questioned, my daughter’s response was ‘ mommy if you don’t say it then I have too!’

Yet, what really got me and made me realize my daughter has become me, was when she asked to play the song ‘and I’m stressed, yo Biggie let me get the vest.’ If you don’t listen to good music then you aren’t aware what I am referring too, but that is the Notorious B.I.G  song ‘Gimme the Loot’ in which my daughter requests.

Trust me, all of this is in so much innocence, because during a play date while watching a cartoon and I really wanna say ‘Bubble Guppies’ the cartoon asks, ‘what can we use when someone is bleeding?’ My daughter looks at her little friend and says, ‘my mommy uses a tampon!’

As much as a try to be a ‘typical mom’, I’m not a typical mom. I still hear from people from the past ‘OMG YOU’RE A MOM, HOW IS THAT POSSIBLE?!’ I laugh at inappropriate things, I scream mother-fucker in traffic and I tell my kids when other kids are being little assholes. But I am also teaching them real-life lessons.

It was at this exact moment that although my daughter may have picked up on my rambunctious flaws, I realized this isn’t such a baaaaad thing.

At a weekly birthday party (I can’t figure out if it’s me that is so popular or if it’s my kids that are so popular, that we get invited too a birthday party a week) a little boy was picking on my son; now my son is quiet, polite, gentle and sweet (the complete opposite of me and my daughter). As this little boy picked on my son, whom not to mention is older than my daughter, as I was about to intervene, I watched my daughter almost as if in slow-mo.. my daughter run and tackle the bully and scream in a high-pitched 3 year old little girl voice ‘ don’t touch my brother, as she tackled him to the ground.’

Never have I been so proud.

I’m Only Friends with Mom’s that Serve Wine at Birthday Parties

Birthday parties are huge celebrations, especially for moms. I’m one of those obnoxious people that get overly excited when it’s someone’s birthday. I mean come on! Another year you’re alive wtf else is there to celebrate. And for a mom it’s a celebration of the day you gave birth to an actual human being. My birthday’s in June, and for the entire month of June tis’ a ‘celebration’ and before kids it was a month long drunken fest. Trust me, I’m not one for cheap thrills, but what’s a party without a little added fun.. Isn’t that what makes it a party. I mean how else are you going to cheer someone up with an outdoor birthday party on a chance of a rainy day without the encouraging quote ‘well if it rains at least we’ve got champagne.’ (Hallmark should totally hire me)

Like I said before, I’m birthday excessive. I love when it’s my birthday but I love even more when it’s my friends and families birthdays. They are getting Facebook photo collages, Instagram, Twitter, mass texts to the hobbits not on social media with long passionate, full of inside jokes and tons of emojis quotes. Yeah, I’ve lost a lot of social media friends in my day. So, if I’m so passionate about the basic friend or family member you can only imagine my over zealousness when it comes to my children’s day of birth. The exact date I gave birth to a human being; whom I grew, nurtured and sheltered inside my body for 9 months and then who was cut out of my abdomen (csection survivor✊🏼), who I then cared for and who became the center of my universe. Yeah. I take my kids birthdays pretty seriously. Two cakes always. Day of birth and day of party. I go all out for my kids birthday parties down to the theme/costumes/precise detailing. They are typically diy (84% Pinterest failures) and pretty affordable. I spend hours searching for the perfect invitation, cake designing, do all nighters making center pieces and props and search the internet vigorously for the right place to hold my fuckin banger. I put all this work into the parties and by the day of the party,I’m ready to just fucking party. Naturally, since I did everything my husband is the host of the party while I linger around the open bar. It’s a celebration of my babes but also of looking at all my awesome fuckin work. So, I celebrate… And boy do I celebrate hard.

However, I can’t say it is just birthdays that I celebrate. I find a reason to party for ANYTHING. Special events, holidays, religious holidays (again, I went to catholic school for 14 years I’m allowed) anniversaries, momentous life events, minor life events …you name it. It’s super dope that I can find a party in anything, yet it’s not always super dope to party for everything. Trust me, before even blogging about my shenanigans I have come to terms, moved past and grown… Yet they still make me cringe like the word slacks (in reference to dress pants).

AND HERE *circus ring master voice* the top 5 most embarrassing drunken fiascos during important event:

5) Rounding out the top most embarrassing and shameful moments is Christmas 2007- ‘Santa, all I want for Christmas is for my parents not to realize I’m drunk’. 17 years old and just pouring cup after cup of home made wine. Well apparently no one ever told me home made red wine is stronger than Donald trump’s toupee glue because before I knew I it was fucking hammered. Trying to pretend I wasn’t, hiding away from my entire family. My give away was my cousin running out saying ‘she’s acting funny’ but I really can’t blame him considering I fell off the bed and fireman rolled into a nap. That’s the last thing I remember. That, and lots and lots of yelling.

4) New Years Eve, 2 years back… My husband and I threw a little party. Well alpha Milf is not the alpha drinking game opponent and therefore lost miserably at shot roulette, I was passed out on the couch 40 minutes into the party, never made it too midnight.

3) This past New Years was my husband and I’s first New Years since having kids able to go out. I was fucking pumped !!! Yeah.. A little too pumped. We got there at 8pm by 10:05pm I was puking and then sleeping. Again, didn’t make it too midnight.

2) For my first child’s 1st birthday party I went all out. The theme was all about him. 12 cakes each representing a picture of him, life size photos placed into a lit up frame assortment, tropical fish centerpieces, laser projector photo show, sushi, (probably not the wisest choice now thinking back to the fish being centerpieces). Well after a year of breastfeeding and not drinking since before I was pregnant…I drank. I drank so much I not only convinced the owner of the venue to hire me for job position but so drunk that I got pregnant with my daughter that night.

1) By the time my daughters first birthday came around I was already a vet at throwing parties. Her 1st birthday party was Alice and Wonderland themed. For a month I searched every thrift store, antique shoppe, online and yard sales for the perfect teacups and plates then I pulled 4 all nighters creating topsy turvy teacup centerpieces. They came out fucking perfect. (Thank you Pinterest) Minus the 14 that shattered on the floor. I found the perfect outfits for my husband, son, daughter and I (me, being the queen of hearts of course). This party took everything out of me and everything came out perfect! … From what I hear. I put so much into this party and I can’t even remember it because of how much I ‘enjoyed’ it. Apparently I made a speech… I also welcomed everyone there…oh and I requested biggie and danced with all the kids. I know all of this because of pictures… Thank God I at least made it to the end of the party. And made it by the end of the party I mean, I was so graciously carried out like the royalty that I am and tucked away into my bed. Right after puking all over my dads new car.

 

Baby Fat

*THIS IS IN NO WAY A BODY SHAMING POST, IT IS FROM MY OWN EXPERIENCES*

 

 

Ever since I was a little girl,I guess you could say I was pretty chubby. At first, it was cute baby fat, but by 9-10 years old I really began gaining no height and strictly just width. By 12 I started hitting puberty, and well you know how that goes. My hips got wider, my flat tire got flatter ( not in the front of my abdomen, it was literally a flat tire under my shirt falling over my jeans. You can imagine the complex from the teenage boys and their stupid comments. This one time I was at a friends house and rumor got out that I ate 7 cupcakes in one sitting (it may or may not have been an actual rumor), the bully boys loved this story and my not so nice nickname became ‘cupcake’.  By high school, I grew like 2’inches so I thinned out by the tiniest bit but that only lasted for sophomore year. Then I got a little cocky, ate a little too much and gained some weight. Then it was time for college. Naturally, you would assume the freshman 15 was in my near future but a miracle happened and the Graces of God blessed me with a new passion for going to the gym. The gym was free and when everyone was going of course I was going. The weird thing was after a while, I really began enjoying it and started going alone and more often. I finally was getting my goal body. And this time I was not going to put the weight back on.

By the age of 19-20 my goal weight was finally made. I was loving it. For my 21st birthday I wore a tiny little white dress size small. 2 weeks later, I take a pregnancy test. Pregnant. 2 months later, I weighed more than the heaviest I’ve ever been. 2. Months. Later. Pregnant women should be gaining like 3-4ish pounds by the 26th week. I had already gaining 20. Let’s just say I was one of those pregnant women, who just totally indulged in the fact that I was pregnant and had an excuse to eat. And eat and eat and eat and eat. I craved a lot of birthday cake. A LOT of birthday cake. Gave birth at 198 pounds. My son was born at 6 pounds. Do you understand and how large I was. Thank God for breastfeeding and my mom’s soup or else I would have never gotten my body back.

By the time my son was about 13 months old I was back to a comfortable weight. 10 pounds heavier than my original weight but it was okay, I wasn’t having a complex. Then, what do you know. Feeling a little sick, take a pregnancy test, pregnant.

This time I did not indulge in my ridiculous pregnancy habits and I was chasing a toddler around, so I didn’t gain toooo much weight. But I did gain more than average.

After my daughter was about 4 months old I began going to the gym, then I started hitting the gym really hard. Not only was I peak body weight but I had muscles and was stronger than I’d ever been in my life. *fun fact: when I would run on the treadmill, ( I HATE RUNNING) I would imagine it was the apocalypse and I had to carry my children on my back but ran as fast as I could, I also used this method whole squatting. It is very effective*. Then I began hitting the gym with my best friend. Only problem there was she had to be in work at 8 am so going to the gym was only possible at 6am. 6 fucking am. All while waking up in the night with my daughter. Whatever, it was worth it and so gratifying by then end. Then I got really addicted and started doing 2 a days and going in the morning and at night. My body muscles were really starting to grow and I was losing weight. Peak goal weight.

Now I know you want me to end this with, I reached my goal weight so ya know the P word. But no worries, I didn’t jinx myself made sure before I wrote this blog. The truth is I’m not at peak weight anymore because I began going to the gym less and eating more. Don’t get me wrong I’m very comfortable just not goals.

if you made it this far into the oh sooo interesting anecdote of my fat girl complex; moral of the story is never hit goal weight, you will get pregnant.

 

P.S: My new goal has become to encourage my daughter, and son to love their bodies regardless of what society or what any body says. We’re all beautiful. Corny, yet true.

 

 

 

Teenagers.

It wasn’t until I became a mother did I truly appreciate and feel the guilt of the worry and anguish I must have caused my parents as a teenager. As previously stated in other blogs; I was not a well behaved person from the ages of 13-19. Don’t get me wrong I wasn’t THAT bad, but I was a rebellious, sheltered private school kid who just wanted to have some fun. And unfortunately for my karma as a parent now, having fun meant defying my parents. It was literally for no reason, my parents were strict but they were your average strict; ‘don’t do drugs,’ ‘don’t get pregnant,’ (whoops) ‘don’t give into peer pressure, etc. They still very much allowed me to be a teenager, with the typical teenage enforced rules. I just had to break every rule set. It wasn’t that I was intentionally trying to piss my parents off, it was just that I didn’t like to hear the word no. So I found my way around it. That’s still one of my biggest personality characteristic. I also grew up as the youngest child, I was always trying to act older than I was. My parents favorite comeback line was ‘stop trying to act older than you are.’ Funny how, 10 years later I’m only 25 with a husband, 2 kids, a dog and a happy home. I’m already ahead of my time.

I didn’t truly comprehend the extent of my rebelliousness until after I had children. It almost seemed like the lifestyle was normal. I mean I’m just naturally a good time and that means I’m always trying to have fun. Between the ages of 13-19, I did everything I wasn’t supposed to do. Minus drugs. Drugs aren’t cool; hugs not drugs kids. Anyways, even as a teenager I was always trying to have a good time, even if my parents tried to turn down my party. It wasn’t just with my parents that I was rebellious and refused the word no. It was in school, sports, society…  The usual places for defiance.

I must have repressed my bad behaviors and really fun teenage days when I had my son, most likely to try and convince myself that I have always been the good, well behaved person I always wanted him to see me as. It wasn’t until I reminisced with my childhood best friends about our teenage days did I understand the fact that I am going to be royally titty fucked by karma when my kids become teenagers. I always knew the saying ‘your kid will be 10 times as bad as you were’ but I didn’t believe it. My son is sweet, shy, quiet and polite. It was when my daughter began talking and showing her personality that I realized… This was it, it was her. Two years old and she’s broken more rules in a day than some kids have at the age of 5. I’m scared. I’m very, very scared.

For your enjoyment and reading pleasure; I give to you 10 teenage anecdotes. I would say ‘top 10’ but they’re really just the first 10 I could think of.

1. Dad buys me new car… Gives me rules ‘don’t go over the speed limit’, ‘no boys in the car’ ‘don’t drive in bad weather’ ‘don’t drive past curfew.’ The first night I drove my beloved first car to party at a friends house in January. It wasn’t baaaad weather, but it was icy, i guess. I left the party after at 11pm (you know my actual curfew), drove a male friend home and upon leaving the party accidentally slid on ice and hit a friends car (whom was driving his father’s car)
2. Sophomore year of high school… Go to a local college party, cops show up, have to jump out a 2 story window.. And drive home past curfew.
3. For some weird reason like every teenager who grew up in the early 2000s I went through a strange emo stage. Because of the sheltered private school girl that I was, I really could never perfect this look. Overly dramatic side bangs, that my mother actually forbid me to cut were just not a good look on me.The only good part about this stage in my life was the awesome music I discovered. Taking Back Sunday is still one of my favorite bands. Anyways, being the wannabe emo kid that I was, 2 girlfriends and I find out about a Say Anything concert I believe it was, about an hour away. Naturally, my mother said no for me to go. Naturally, I lied and said I was staying at a friends. But really I just extended the truth because I did stay at her house that night. Never, ever, ever thought she’d find out I went. She talks to my friends mom… And there ya go… I now get why having mom friends is so great.
4. 13 years old get the coolest Nokia cell phone. ‘Emergency only’, ‘NO TEXT MESSAGING’… First month with the phone $350 of texting message fees.
5. I was blessed and privileged enough to go to Europe my junior year of high school with my class. ‘No drinking’ was the number one rule. Guess who got drunk off of a blue mystery drink, a Mario and luigi in the face Italian waiter made me.
6. Lucky for the hormones enraged teenager that I was one of my best friends had a twin brother, they both had friends sleep over. The older we got, the more fun it got. For obvious reasons, my parents were against the idea of me attending a sleepover birthday party where boys would be in the vicinity. For obvious reasons, I still went.
7. 7th grade I really wanted to wax my eyebrows. My mother said I was too young. Coincidentally and very, very luckily one of my best friends had an ‘at home wax kit.’ Walked in her house with 2 eyebrows , walked out with 1.
8. 17 years old, begged my dad to let me get my nose pierced, yeah… He said no, still got it. I held my hand in a fist over my nose before he noticed.
9. Room was on the second floor, moms was on the first… I learned at a young age how to Magyver my way down 2 floors.
10. ‘Don’t talk to strangers on MySpace’ *approves everyone that adds me*

Scheming at 13 does not ease my anxious thoughts of my two children becoming teenagers especially when I see so much of my personality in my daughter. Good thing, I’ve mastered how to play the game.

 

Mom…Dad: I get it; I’m sorry.

 

 

Shit Males Say

Disclaimer:* Phrases said in post are not direct quotes of my husband but males in general.*

 

Typically, I blog about being a mom; but today I’m going to blog about being a wife. Not really, just from a wife’s perspective. My husband is awesome, it really is like having a sleep over with your best friend every night. But like every pair of best friends… Conversations get weird and sometimes I’m almost astonished at the things that come out of his mouth. But it’s not just him. It’s like guys all say the same things.  Guys are always saying women use the same phrases and are all the same. ‘I’m fine,’ ‘I don’t feel good,’ ‘I just think it’s funny how…,’ ‘do whatever you want.’ You get it. But no ones ever discussing the shit guys say.

1. ‘You’re crazy.’
2. ‘No’
3. ‘Can you make me a sandwich?’
4. ‘I hate when you drive’
5. ‘let me get some tongue’
6. *talks for hours about whatever fucking sport is in season at the time*
7. ‘Youre crazy’
8. *Doesnt speak because vigilantly staring into the television playing madden*
9. *3am..sleeping peacefully, back starts getting rubbed ‘baby, you awake’, accidentally gets poked in the rear end.
10. ‘You’re crazy.’

 

Like my 5 favorite girls infamously said ‘girl power’ !

True Life: I Really Am a Cool Mom

Recently, several people have told me to ‘stop trying to be the cool mom’ but the truth is I’m not trying to be some cool mom. I’m just being my usual self but with my kids, I am sincerely just a better version of myself. Now, I’m no Kris Jenner or Mrs. George, Regina George’s mom (if you don’t know who that is we can’t be friends) I do have morals and values, specifically family values but at the same time I am pretty fucking cool; and I’m a damn good mom.

Although I want to say that being a young mother has helped me keep my fun personality while parenting two children; but recently I have met some older moms who are pretty damn cool, themselves. I guess it’s just who you are as a person; what your personal characteristics consist of. I can’t say I’ve stayed the same ‘fun’ as I have since having my children; but I can say that I have kept a lot of my youth all while maturing and becoming a more conscientious and hmmm let’s say a not so reckless me.

It really isn’t that I am intentionally trying to be such a cool mom, I’m just doing me. I dress my kids in skull shirts, Rasta hats, chuck Taylor’s, my sons hair is down to his shoulders and ridiculously curly, am I going to cut it? Sure, when he wants too. I’m not some crazy hippie; his hair just looks fucking awesome long. I let my kids write on the walls because I like the stories they make up while they draw. I secretly think it’s funny when my daughter puts her hand on her hip, points her finger and says ‘no, you stop.’ Or when my son screams he loves boobs while grabbing mine in the middle of the supermarket. I have a great sense of humor (clearly) but I know when to reprimand my children. Recently, my aunt from another country who doesn’t speak English was playing with my two year old daughter. Whatever my aunt was doing to my daughter, was pissing my daughter off. My daughter, as always, puts hand on waist, points fingers and says ‘you go home!’ We weren’t even at our house. Although very humorous… Also very rude and I refuse to raise a rude little biotch. So she was reprimanded for her behavior. I sit and play with my kids and have ridiculous dance parties. My kids love tiesto. We play hockey in the house and a trampoline plus a Thomas the Train roller coaster is currently taking over my living room. I bump Biggie and French Montana while driving my kids to karate and dance class; no not loud you judge mental bastards. But I also will sit and play patty-cake, the itsy bitsy spider and ring a round the rosy. I’ll play with play doh with my kids and make mustaches and big eye brows to put on their faces, and find it hilarious. Enough examples and scenarios, you get the point.

Every now and then my baby daddy (we’re married, I just think it’s funny to call him that)  go for a night out on the town; rarely do we make it a low key night, not quite sure why, since neither of us can make it past midnight. *(side note: second year in a row I didn’t make it to midnight on New Years Eve)*. Not sure why we always try and turn our night outs like we’re in fucking Vegas, but I’m assuming it has to do with the fact that neither of us really got to enjoy our early 20s the way our friends did. *(another fun side note: a friend once told me I am like Vegas in a bottle! Best compliment ever.)* Point is, we try and stay young and be fun but in the back of our minds we still have that ultra sense of responsibility. Like, instead of taking 19 shots at the bar we will only take like 10. Joking. Sort of.

My order of ideas of a fun good time have obviously been altered; for instance laying on my couch with my husband and kids watching a cute funny movie will beat in any boxing match k.o a night out, even if it’s Vegas.

One day, I’ll be in my 40s at a bar wishing I was at home snuggling with my once little babies. Trying not to blink my eyes too fast. Time really does fly.    }|{ <~– butterfly.

Pinterest, it’s a hell of a drug

Although, all 8 of you who read this are probably well aware of what ‘Pinterest’ is; I will still gladly define it in some lay men terms. Basically, Pinterest is the place where your dreams go to die. I’d be under estimating if I even attempted to give a number to the amount of hours I have spent on Pinterest, eagerly pinning away my future, my wedding, my closet, my diet plan, my excercise regime and even sometimes an uplifting friend with it’s humor category. It’s a sick addiction. The kids go to bed; 9pm you open up your Pinterest app…2am you frantically close it in hopes you can squeeze a few hours in before the kids wake up. Now, I say this is a place where dreams go to die because in the end all you are doing is creating virtual boards of your dreams that most likely are never bought, made or done. I have an entire Pinterest board on ‘crepes’, I’ve eaten a crepe once in my life and I don’t even own a crepe machine. I have over 35 pins of crepe recipes on this board in hopes and dreams that I will one day become a crepe connoisseur. However, there are very rare times (most likely after wine) where I have attempted a few diy projects that I had previously pinned. These projects have either failed miserably, MISERABLY or have been actually pretty successful. Once the high of succeeding in a Pinterest project ensued, I had to keep going.

I came across Pinterest a few years ago when I was pregnant with my first child and that’s I think when the addiction really began to takeover. I’d spend countless nights searching and pinning, searching and pinning, the perfect nursery, the perfect outfits and of course the perfect meals. While home alone I decided to recreate one of those infamous Pinterest cake mugs. Because, 9 months pregnant, 10 o’clock at night why the fuck would I not want a cake made in a microwave, IN A MUG. This was my first true taste of Pinterest failure. To put the predictable story short, there was an explosion, the fire alarm went off and a new microwave was purchased the following day. My next true Pinterest failure was that time I thought I was a fashion designer, boycotted all stores for 7 hours and took up making all of my kids clothes. My first attempt was a beanie hat for my son. In the midst of the project I thought I was doing a damn good job; the final product was a lop sided square beanie that had a  circumference of a Pomeranian’s head. Much to my surprise, I decided to try again; this time a pair of leopard print leggings for my daughter. My first mistake was that I never thoroughly read the entirety of the article that I had pinned. Ya know,I skimmed through it, got the gist of it and jumped right in. Apparently I missed that day in elementary school when they taught you to always read the full instructions first because I bought fabric that is used for a couch. Used the rough, tough barely bendable fabric anyways. Not only was one leg the size of a newborn and the other leg equivalent to that of a preschooler but I made the middle stitch crooked which made it look like my toddlers crotch was a leopard printed Harry potters forehead. Yes, I was well aware of all of the leggings defects, yes I still tried them on my daughter to get a selfie of our matching leopard leggings. Selfie never happened… Obvious reasons.

Naturally, after the legging fiasco I was a little more precise with my search engine wording and clarified ‘easy diy legging tutorial.’ Who would have thought, but I actually got a legit pin, that I used, that worked. I wish I could remember who it was that wrote the article to shout them out, but whoever you are .. You the real MVP.

Finally, I MADE WEARABLE CLOTHES. I did it. And then I did it again. And then I moved onto other things like scarves, skirts and dresses. I was addicted. I couldn’t stop. I was pinning through out the whole day, instead of just at night. If my phone died I would pin on someone else’s phone. My phone was gorilla glued to my hands. All I could think about all day was pinning and then doing that pin. I regretted all those pins I never saved and all those pins I never did.

Then the unthinkable happened. My dad took away my data. (Yeah, fuck off I’m still on my dads phone plan, half you fellow millennials chances are, most likely are too.) It was like the Pinterest intervention I knew I needed. Now I could only pin on wifi. 85% of the time the wifi would give out or an asshole establishment wouldn’t give out their wifi passwords. I couldn’t pin as often and without the motivation of brand new pins I wasn’t even physically accomplishing any pins. Finally, I was able to slowly stop. And now I’m down to pinning only about twice a day.

The moral of the story is too much of something is always a bad thing.

 

Every Parent’s Guilty Pleasure

As much as we all claim to be the utmost perfect parents…let’s be real; we’re not. We all make mistakes and sometimes these “mistakes” are perhaps at times done purposely; e.g “throwing away the pack of playdoh your kid has been getting all.over.the.fucking.place by ‘mistake’.” Another example , “I’m so sorry I passed toys r us, it was a mistake!” Yeah, do you think I wanted to stop in fucking toys r us with my 2 cranky, whiny, sleepy toddlers. No, the answer is no. Along with these “mistakes”, I know I am not the only one who has parental guilty pleasures. And NO it’s not what you think it is, perverts.

MY (even though I know all of you have these too) PARENTAL GUILTY PLEASURES:

1. I am a pretty petite woman I would say… even though you’ll hear me say 8 thousand times that “i’m fat.” Anyways, I have a serious guilty pleasure of ‘mistakenly’ putting on my almost 4 year old’s t-shirts and pairing them with high waisted pants. I have been told it does not look good, I beg to differ.
2. I ate all of my kid’s Halloween candy.
3. When a toy is really pissing me off, I take the batteries out and tell my kids that it is broken.
4. Stealing my sons nike socks because they are extra comfortable.
5. Eating ice-cream after my kids to sleep and telling them the ice-cream in the fridge is medicine.
6. I don’t let my kids drink soda, but I drink captain morgan with ginger ale and rum and coke.
7. Watching my kids defend themselves somewhere; even if it includes pushing.
8. Telling my kids I have to get Swiper out of the bathroom, in order for me to have some peace.

OK so my guilty pleasures don’t make me a completely awful person, but they sure do feel good. And you know what they say, if it feels good, you’re most likely doing something bad. Yeah, I’m pretty sure I just made that up.

The Adventures of MILF & DILF

Being a young, unprepared, surprised parent is exhilirating and it will make you feel every emotion possible, even emotions you didn’t think existed. Having my first child was a roller coaster ride; 21 hours of labor to only end in a c-section, then the climax, meeting my baby, going downhill- post partum hormones going crazy feeling good; nurses take care of baby, any question I have I just ask the nurse, the nurse bathes the baby, the nurse changes the babies diaper, the nurse changes my diaper, breakfast in bed, flat screen tv… And my co-creator next to me. It was good, really really good.

Then the hospital sends you home. And all hell breaks lose.

When my first child was born, I had absolutely no idea what I was doing. I could barely prepare my registry, my teenage cousin at the time had to help me. I mean naturally, all I could think about was Old Country Buffet; a pregnant woman’s paradise. Anyways, thank God for my mom and people around me because me and co-creator were like rich sheltered teenage girls getting stuck in the ghetto. Neither of us had a clue. Not to mention, post partum made me so anxious the top of my hair started to turn grey (I was 21).

Through the journey of parenthood my husband and I have been through the craziest of situations plus the craziest of reactions. Here is a compiled list of some of the adventures of MILF & DILF.

1. When my baby was a few hours old the baby sneezed, I cried  I had an anxiety attack thinking the baby was sick. *for those that don’t know: sneezing is very normal for newborn babies to clear out their noses*
2. For the first 7 weeks of my child’s life I slept with my hand on the baby’s chest to make sure the baby was breathing.
3. For the first few months I called the pediatrician’s office 4 times a week, left messages with the off hours message relay lady, emailed pictures to the office and have shown up without an appointment. The entire office thinks I’m a maniac.
4. For the first few weeks, anybody that wanted to hold my baby had to wash their hands and wear medical cover ups that I took from the hospital. (I asked to take them) (maybe)
5. I kept a hat, gloves, socks, long sleeves and pants on the baby everyday for 6 months in fear of the baby getting sick. The first time my baby wore short sleeves the baby couldn’t stop touching its arms. And to this day my first born LOVES hats and refuses to leave the house without one.
6. Waited an entire month to take the baby out of the house… In once again fear of the baby getting sick. Took the baby to the mall (Out of all fucking places) and got his ‘newborn’ pictures done. A month later. There was one pose where he laid on a pillow, the ‘photographer’ insisted he do it without a diaper on. I lay him down, takes picture , go to pick him up… What does he do? Piss all over the pillow.
7. Christmas Eve- my baby wakes up in the middle of the night with a fever… First fever ever. What do me and co creator do? Rush him to the ER. 3 am. Christmas Eve. He was fine.. He was teething.
8. My first born is learning how to sit up … Falls forward and bumps head, barely touches the ground before the smother in me grabbed the baby. So, I get on the same height level as the baby and fall forward to see how badly the baby hit the head.
9. I breastfed until the day my second child was born… In fear of my child getting sick.
10. My second child is born… No anxiety. Off brand diapers were okay, a bottle that fell on the ground didn’t have to be washed right away, a slide could be slid down without being wiped down first, a little crying before getting picked up really isn’t so so bad and on the plus side I’m starting to lose my reputation as the manic mom at the doctors office.

to be or not to be?

“Your kids don’t need to know who you were before you had them , they need to know who you wish you were, and they need to try to live up to that person. They’re gonna fall short, but it’s better they fall short of the fake you than the real you. “

Now, it may come to no surprise that I was the rebellious type pre-kids. I did a lot of things, that I am in no way proud of and I pray to God that my children never do the same. My mother always said “one day you will have a daughter that behaves ten times worse than you” and now I. Am. Terrified. My children are pretty rambunctious but my daughter is the definition of a wild child. And I am a bit concerned that she may follow in my badgal foot steps. Oh, Jesus take the wheel.

Quite honestly I am torn between the be honest with your kids so they don’t make the same mistakes you do or pretend like you were someone you weren’t and you ignore the fact that you made your parents stay up all night worrying about you. I finally comprehend the ‘when you have your own kids you’ll understand”, I get it… I totally get it.

So, naturally the person that I am I tend to be pretty real with my kids. But they look at me with so much love and admiration I can’t help but think that, maybe I don’t want them to know the mistakes I’ve made in the past. They look at me like I’m royalty (and I am sure that will all change once they hit puberty) and I don’t want them to see me in any other way. But, as the kids get older they will begin to question certain situations and if I don’t pre think my response, I will say something stupid.  So, do I be honest and tell them the mistakes I have made? or do I pretend I was a good kid that never got into trouble? I’m thinking that I just want to avoid the entire scenario of dealing with bad kids/teens, so I feel the older they become I should enforce some rules.

RULES OF THE CASTLE

1. Don’t do meth. (I’m assuming by the time they are teenagers I will have spent thousands of dollars on their teeth) and if they fuck up their teeth because of meth I will be livid.
2. Don’t bring home a boyfriend of a week that you ‘love.’
3. If I find out you are bullying anyone, I will embarrass the shit out of you.
4. Make sure to shower and you’re not the smelly kid in class.
5. Don’t smoke cigarettes, it’s not worth it.
6. If someone hits you… Fuck them up.
7. If you stay out past curfew, I will embarrass the shit out of you.
8. Don’t tell me how to dress, you are lucky I am a good looking mother (refuse to say MILF to my children).
9. You must honor your family! ( I got that one from mulan)
10. Just be fucking good kids, I have anxiety.

~good vibes only~

L&L4L

TGIP