Ode to the Man Cold

005CCBA5-5E15-47B5-B659-BB40393CA291I am pretty sure the worst thing to hear from your husband are the words that string this dreadful sentence together; I think I am sick. The moment I hear that I want to scream and run. Literally take the kids and run for the fucking hills. Not in fear of getting his illness. No, not for that reason at all. Simply because my 32 year old husband now turns in to my third child roughly age 6.

I am not sure what happens to their bodies when they get a cold. Does it go straight to their brain as well and they forget how to manage every day life? Perhaps. Whatever it is, the struggle is real. The realest of real.

Getting typical housework done while operating at 100% is difficult, forget while the man cold hits! My advice? Just use all of your finest paper goods so you don’t have to add more stress in your life by cleaning all of the mugs. Because you know; tea. We must have tea in 68 different mugs because why we can’t drink the same flavor tea out of the same mug is beyond me. I’m also starting to rethink why I have so many mugs in the first place. On a positive note, I have found that scalding hot tea holds up relatively fine in a paper cup for the most part.

In our house, we also mime during the man cold. Well, I don’t because I know how to use my words like an adult. Let me walk you through a little miming routine at our house. Pointing to body parts such as your throat symbolizes my throat hurts so badly. Holding your hand up to your mouth pretending to sip something symbolizes I really need some tea because, you know, my throat hurts so badly. And moaning simply means I’m dying. Straight up dying. All the while my active bitch face says I am fresh out of fucks.

Let’s talk about medicine for the man cold. Once it has hit our household, he will check the medicine cabinet and will never find anything. Why? Because the last time he had his man cold he finished the whole bottle. We all know there really isn’t much you take with a cold because, why? Say it with me now, because it is JUST a cold. I will then get asked, “can you go to CVS and get the orange stuff”. Boy do I wish he meant Sunny D, but no, just dayquil. That shit was so good. Anyway, I digress. Why his brain can’t remember simple words like dayquil is also something to ponder but in case your strapped for time, just blame it on the man cold brain.

I guess I shouldn’t stereotype ALL men and lump them in to this man cold bunch. But let’s face it, it is most. And by most, a lot. And by a lot, basically all.

Just so the record shows, I know I have made fun of my husband and most men but I do make the tea, I do get the orange stuff, I do get the sugar free cough drops (yes they need to be sugar free) and I do tuck him in at night. Sometimes a little too tight because I lost my patience with the man cold when I started dating men. I do all of this because I love him but I want him better for my own sanity, obviously.

I am looking forward to his vasectomy said no wife ever who has dealt with a man cold. Good thing this is waiting on deck for him.


Good Old Days

image1 (1)So I turned 35 today. In my spare time between diaper changes, laundry, and feeding two small children; I decided to ponder the meaning of life. I know, not really a small feat! To be a little more clear, I’m not saying that I started to think about evolution and Darwinism or crazy thoughts like that. It was more about being 35 and where I am in my life. Think Baz Luhrmann’s song “Everybody’s Free (to Wear Sunscreen)”. If you haven’t ever listened to that song, you should. It’s a good one.

So with my infinite wisdom (because that’s what you get when you turn 35), here it goes…

I’m going to eat that cake! Notice how I didn’t say slice of cake, I said cake. I mean it. If I want a cake, I’m going to eat the whole damn thing. Most likely after I do I will feel pretty shitty but that doesn’t matter. What matters is the joy I encountered when eating said cake.

If I want that purse or those shoes, I’m going to buy them. As long as it is not near the cost of my mortgage and I can somehow hide it from my husband, I will buy it and not feel bad. Most guys I know won’t even notice anything new. And on the off chance they do, feel free to adopt my favorite line; “oh this old thing?! Nah, I found it in the back of my closet when I was cleaning”. Works like a charm.

Give back. Even if it is in your own little way, do it. If it is buying some cans to give at a can drive or buying one toy for a child in need for the holiday, it will make you feel good. Whatever you can do, no matter how big or small, every bit counts!

Don’t just tell your kids how beautiful or handsome they are. Give them something else, something concrete that they can work with. Tell them how smart or funny they are. How creative or kind they are. We (as a culture) are too beauty obsessed. I have spent too much of my life worrying about my weight or the way I look. Yes, the irony isn’t lost on me since I just said I’d eat a whole fucking cake. That aside, I have so many other qualities to offer besides the way I look. I used to always tell Harper she was beautiful or gorgeous. Two years ago she put on an outfit and in her little broken toddler English said, “I gorgeous, Momma?” and that was all because of me. I followed it up with, “of course you are and do you want to know what else? You are smart, kind and hilarious” and I still do that to this day. It is important to rely on other traits in life rather than worry about how small your figure is (or isn’t).

Laugh often. While you’re at it, laugh at yourself often. Nothing feels better than a belly laugh so hard it hurts, especially when you share that belly laugh with your kid. Or when you are in a meeting and can’t stop laughing at something your knucklehead coworker said. Life is too short to be serious all of the time.

Take pictures; lots and lots of pictures. I have lost many family and friends on facebook by being blocked because of how many pictures/posts I put up. Do I care? Of course not! Every morning I wake up and look at my social media timehop and look back at all of the memories and things I did “on this day” however many years ago. I love it and I won’t stop doing it. While we are on the picture subject, one thing my Nana taught me was to always write dates on pictures. You think you will remember but you won’t, trust me. Not only do I write the date and year, I write the age. My simple math skills are really quite sad.

And oh ya, definitely wear sunscreen. That shit is extremely important.

For me, these are the good old days. These moments right here and right now. Speaking of right now; I’m off to enjoy my birthday CAKE…not slice!

The whole truth and nothing but the truth: after childbirth edition

I decided to write this blog for all of my soon to be mommy friends. In a few months, I have coworkers and other friends that will be first time mommies. They will continue to take classes about breastfeeding, infant cpr, and basically how not to kill your newborn in 10 easy steps. What they won’t be focused on is what happens after childbirth. For me, I figured once the baby was out I had to keep it alive and I would be golden. And while that being said was true, I knew nothing of the shitshow that I was forced to deal with regarding myself and my body.

The Nile River…
…of blood. Since you couldn’t see all of the blood you lost while you were actively pushing your beloved watermelon out of your hoo-ha, you will make up for it for up to 6 weeks later. Sometimes even longer! Sadly, they don’t make pads the size of the Nile but if you combine three of them that should do the trick until you go to move (or sneeze) and then you need to change your supplies again. Fun, right?

When Jack dies in the movie Titanic..
And what does Jack dying have anything to do with postpartum? Only the direct correlation of how much you sobbed as his body gets swept away passed an iceberg to how much you will cry during postpartum. It will be over random things like the first and last piece of toast as you wonder why it doesn’t look like all of the others in the loaf. Or when your baby smiles for the first time because it is THAT overwhelming your heart just burst open and now you are ugly crying, everywhere.

Your first shadoobie…
Whoever you want to give credit to for coining the phrase in context, Chelsea Handler or the Stones; your first shadoobie is potentially greater pain than delivering a baby. Between the anticipation it’s going to hurt like a sonofabitch and it actually hurting like a sonofabitch, you’re simply screwed either way you look at it. Because IT HURTS! And oh, the hemorrhoids! Not everyone is so lucky to get hemorrhoids. If you are part of the lucky bunch, make sure to use all of the witch hazel in the world. Take all that you can from the hospital. Seriously, all.of.the.witch.hazel.

You will hate your husband…
Maybe hate is too strong of a word. Loathe perhaps? You basically just sit most days and think about the pregnancy process, the birthing process, the nursing process, and the keeping your newborn baby alive process while he is working. Sure, sure someone needs to make money so you can live but it just doesn’t seem right to be doing so much on your own. The baby grew inside of YOU for 9 months, YOU nourish them morning, noon, and night and basically YOU do most of the work. You are instantly awoken by a twitch, a sound, a breath, and some nights inconsolable cries which he is literally sleeping through. That always did amaze me. You know, they didn’t change the saying from “I slept like a baby” to “I slept like a husband” for nothing. Be prepared for that. I used to kick him in the back in the middle of the night and pretend he just woke up on his own. Yup, it’s fucked up but I was fine with it.

High end hospital fashion…
Two words for you: mesh underwear. I am not sure if I am the only person who did this but I took more from the hospital to wear when I got home. I had a deep obsession for those amazing things. They were not only comfy but you just pitched them when you were done with them. No laundry required. As another tip, grab an extra perineal bottle. There is something to be said for squirting your lady parts with that incredible small plastic bottle filled with lukewarm water after the torture that is labor.

Your sense of style can best be described as…
NAKED. Yes, naked. If not fully naked than pretty much close to it. You are constantly being spit up on, shit on, peed on and will have some form of mucus on you at all times. AND THE LAUNDRY?! Dear lord, it is like you gave birth to 18 children with all of the laundry you now do. Embrace your stretch marks, your stitches or scars and just get a towel. Life was much easier for me when I did that. And for the record, visitors may or may not be creeped out. Depending on who you invite over.

You lose handfuls of hair…
Don’t worry, you won’t end up looking like a hairless cat. Although it is frightening when you roll your fingers through your gorgeous greasy locks (because who the fuck has time for a shower) to see it fall out in clumps. Like giant tumbleweeds drifting away with the wind. Don’t worry, they will just sit in the corner until you clean. Which you won’t do because you won’t have time. Just pretend you live in the wild wild west, that’s what I did.

You will still look pregnant…
I recently ran into my ex-husband who came over to say hi and after a few pleasantries asked if I was still pregnant. Yes, that did happen. Was I still pregnant?! Hey asshole, I’m not and she is three months old but thanks for taking an interest, you clown. Instead of flinging insults to his face (because I am an adult), I shall do it in a blog he will never read (mature, I know). As I stared at his ridiculously unmanicured and gray beard, I looked down at my body and smiled. I actually showered, had makeup on and looked fantastic. It was one of those days you WANT to run in to an ex. I work full-time, I own a home, I have a four year old and a young infant. If I get to the gym twice a week those are weeks to be celebrated. Unless you are Beyonce and have endless money to spend on trainers and chefs, you won’t bounce back overnight. And that is okay! You take care of that baby and eat your extra calories while nursing and get your ass to the gym when you are good and ready. Or get the stomach flu like I did and lose 10 pounds overnight. Whatever works.

Find your tribe…
Adopt any and all mom friends. (Dad friends count too). They are your saving grace, always. Whether it is comparing stories, commiserating, playdates, winedates, whatever! Find them and when you do, love them hard. They will always know how to make you feel better.

Well new mommies; now that I scared the ever living shit out of you…welcome to the best and most kick ass group out there!

Maternity Leave

0064My maternity leave with Harper was so very different from Camryn’s. With Harper, she was my first. I had no idea how to be a parent. I didn’t have a clue how much time and energy went in to keeping a small 7 pound 5 ounce human alive round the clock. You pretend to know leading up to it, but you have absolutely no idea. Balancing myself and a baby over a toilet was a daily occurence. Walking and talking like a zombie (or mombie) was something of the norm, especially in those first few weeks. Forget about showers! What are those? Forget about eating because honestly, who has time for that?

For the most part, you are a hermit. I remember making visitors wash their hands and fully sanitize each time they would come near my precious little one. Changing diaper after diaper, nursing for what seemed like all day, trying to squeeze what’s left of your milk supply by pumping, and then oh ya, all of those chores you need to do around the house. Speaking of chores, have I mentioned baby laundry? That is at least 3 hours out of your day. They spit up and shit on virtually everything.

I remember the dreaded two question combo Scott asked me each day when he came home. How was your day and what did you do all day was the one-two combo punch leaving me on the floor before I even started my fight. Even though I am writing about this experience four years later, I remember those days vividly. Some days when he asked all I saw was red and other days I would just cry for what seemed like forever. What did I do all day? Well, um, let me tell you what I did all day. No, but really, what DID I do all day? Then the tears would stream down my face. I didn’t know what I did all day to be honest. Well I mean, I did but I didn’t even know where to start or how to describe the toll it took on my mental and physical state. So instead of giving a recap of: changed a few hundred diapers, kept her upright after every feeding so she didn’t spit up everywhere, stressed about what articles of clothing she should wear temperature wise, and constantly nursed her; I would pass her off for a 5 minute shower before she screamed her head off that she needed me again.

My maternity show of choice was Friday Night Lights and it was glorious. Except for of course the most ridiculous storyline of season 2 when Landry became a murderer. That was just weird. In any case, I digress.

So with that being said my maternity leave with Camryn was different from the start. I left the hospital as fast as I could, whereas with Harper if I could have stayed forever I may have. I wasn’t a first time parent anymore when Camryn came in to the world. So I was a pro, sort of. I didn’t stay up throughout all hours of the night watching her breathe. She was sleeping through the night a little before she was three weeks old. I know right?! Yes, and would even snore! A lot!

Camryn had to be in a routine early on since Harper still had to get to school each day and continue her other activities. Although, Harper was never on time for anything. I couldn’t manage two kids properly for the first month. I mean don’t get me wrong, everyone was fed and bathed and happy but it felt like I was doing everything while stuck in molasses. The most giant damn tub of molasses. It was either molasses land or I would be on such a roll and ready to be out the door and then Camryn would shit herself. I accepted I would never be on time for anything during my maternity leave.

When I had to go back to work after I had Harper, I was a mess. I didn’t want to go back to work and pleaded with Scott to figure out a way to pay for everything himself so I could stay home. I know, how nice of me! I remember crying all day and night the Sunday before I had to go back. Well, the time has come to head back to work after I had Camryn. I thought the time with Harper went by fast! No way! I blinked and 12 weeks flew by. I won’t lie and say that I am not sad to leave Camryn but I am ready to go back. I finished 5 seasons of House of Cards and I’m ready.

As the great Sasha Fierce once said, ‘strong enough to bear the children then get back to business.’ That is what I shall do tomorrow, get back to business.

Photo cred: PureStyle Photography

Two Years Ago Today

This morning I woke up at 4am and fed Camryn. I opened up facebook as I do every morning and looked at the “on this day” feature. I love reminiscing about what happened years ago and enjoy that feature immensely. I scrolled down about halfway and then had an instant pit in my stomach. I had to take a couple of deep breaths before I kept reading.

Two years ago today after my swimming lesson for my nephew, I started to get changed like I normally did and instantly felt my heart beating out of my chest. I couldn’t control it and my heart rate was going higher and higher. I could feel it so heavily in my neck too. My sister is a nurse and thankfully she happened to be with me. I remember her trying to calm me down and then she took my pulse. In that moment when I saw the look on her face, I knew something was wrong. I tried to remain as calm as possible and instantly my boss called 911.

When the ambulance got there they took me right away. I remember laying in the ambulance by myself staring at the giant red letters that said AMBULANCE while thinking of my family. I was crying and could not stop thinking about my family and baby girl. My heart rate was at 230 bpm and the EMT said he had to give me a dose of something that instantly was going to make me vomit but it would hopefully slow down my heart. I was administered the medicine and nothing. I didn’t vomit or get nauseous. I was in the exact same state. They did it a second time and the same thing happened. Nothing. Nothing was working. The EMT kept asking the driver how far out we were to Newton Wellesley Hospital and I was a fucking wreck of a human.

My heart rate kept getting higher because I was so anxious and nervous. When I got to the ER they were able to get it to slow down after several hours. After lots of ekg’s and other tests, I was finally released 7 hours later when everything went back to normal. To this day they don’t really know what the actual cause was.

The post that I read this morning said, “After the longest and one of the scariest days of my life, I was able to thankfully put everything in to perspective. Family is everything and stressing over things isn’t worth it. I am so thankful I have my own personal nurse in the family because she is a damn good one! I am very lucky to have an awesome support system!” It went on to thank my husband, sisters, brother in law and my parents. I don’t talk about this story much or ever at all really. It induces fear and panic all over again. When I read that this morning, I thought, wow, two years have gone by and what the hell have I done to make things better?

Truth is, I didn’t make things better initially. I didn’t work out more or eat healthier like I should have. I just decided to live in my own small world of fear. It wasn’t until I was pregnant with Cam that I admitted I needed help. I had a really rough pregnancy (blog about that to come soon) and decided I needed some more guidance with how to cope with my new onset of severe anxiety and panic attacks. We dove right in to our sessions and weeks went by before I told her what had happened to me two years ago. We connected everything that was happening with the pregnancy with Cam to my issue that happened two years ago and started my treatment plan.

During my super early yoga class this morning we were towards the end of our practice and the instructor was talking about erasing our thoughts and just being in the moment. I couldn’t. No matter what I did I kept thinking about what happened two years ago. So I decided to think of all of my progress within the last six months. I am grateful that I found an amazing therapist to help guide me through my new normal. I lost all of my baby weight from Camryn and have 18 pounds to go from the weight that was left over with Harper. And yes, I know she is four. (Thanks for the reminder). I have been able to manage my anxiety and panic attacks without ever going on medication. (That has not been easy, let me tell you!) I have been eating healthier and working out 2-4 times a week. Some weeks I make it to the gym more than others and I am okay with that. Life happens.

So when I ask myself the question again, I have made huge strides since two years ago. Today I went to yoga. Today I refused to have a panic or anxiety attack. Today I lived more in the moment and was thankful for my health and all of my loved ones surrounding me.

Attitude of Gratitude

Let’s talk support systems, shall we?

I am very lucky to have my family living close by. What’s even more unique is that when you go to visit one family member you can basically (should you choose) visit all of them since they live on the same street. Just think Everybody Loves Raymond!

I honestly don’t know what I would do if I didn’t have my support system. My tribe of people made up of family and friends who just get me. They understand your insecurities and all that you come with.

I have been wanting to highlight the people in my life who have been my support system through the years. This is in no particular order. I have two sisters so seriously in no particular order, you two!

Scott-My husband who knows when I just say the words “ya, I’m fine” or “mmhm”; I am really not okay. He makes me laugh on a daily basis with the things that come out of his mouth. In addition to all of the funny things he says, he matches it with hilarious antics. I mean, who dumps an entire unbrewed Kcup into his already made coffee and then says it doesn’t seem right? Scott does.

He is so laid back which is helpful for our lives since I am the more intense partner in our marriage. He brings a sense of balance and calmness to our home. He is so good with our kids and even though he really wanted a boy, I think he is quite suited to be a daddy of two girls. He is one of the hardest workers I know and supports his girls always.

Dad-My dad is known as Grumpy to the grandkids. Why?, because he is just that; grumpy. But don’t let the name fool you. He will pretend he doesn’t enjoy all of us and the grandkids coming over because we eat all of his food and ice cream, or move his security cameras (it is like Fort Knox over their side of Everybody Loves Raymondville). Deep down, we know he wouldn’t want it any other way. He is insanely handy and helps all of us out whenever we need it. We just have to get through the first initial stage of him bitching and then we are good to go! Dad is our clutch player who always knows were everyone is and when needed he always comes through. Always.

Sorry I outed your soft side to my 92 blog followers, Daddio.

Kerin-She is our family nurse (whether she likes it or not) and tends to get all of those amazing questions like, “is this rash anything you’ve seen before?” or “does this look infected to you?” You can tell when she gets annoyed with my irrational and obsessive questions because she just goes radio silent via text (and claims she fell asleep). I’m on to you, girl. Kerin and I didn’t get along much when we were growing up. Who the hell am I kidding? Didn’t get along is a nice way of putting it. We basically loathed one another. I am so thankful (and blessed) that we found more things in common and are able to connect about the amazing journey of motherhood. I look up to her as a mother and love how she takes care of my kids as if they were her own.

Kaley-The bond I have with Kal has always been strong since her birth.  She was the baby of the family and I was always super protective over her (and still am). We have crazy esp and share the same love for trashy tv and ridiculous movies like Drop Dead Fred. Kaley tells it like it is. You can always turn to her when you need help or an honest opinion.

She is the fun aunt. You know, the one who buys your kids drum sets for the holidays. Exactly, THAT aunt. Her nieces and nephews get so excited when they hang out with her. She is the one running after them, teaching them crazy phrases and silly noises, and giving them piggy back rides everywhere.

Nick-My brother in law is a quiet member. So quiet that sometimes I don’t even know he is in the room. The poor guy never has his house to himself. One of us tends to be over all the damn time.  We often call him Switzerland. He never wants to get in the middle of our crazy drama when there is such. Believe me, there is always some form of drama happening between all of us but he is the one that just tells us to stop the madness and just get along.

Amy-She is my person. She’s the one that leaves work and goes grocery shopping for her friend who can’t manage to leave the house with a newborn. (And if her partners at work are reading this, she definitely didn’t leave work in the above noted scenario. She did all of that on the weekend). She has always been on my side. Always. With no hesitation. However, she will tell me when I’m in the wrong. Our friendship knows no limits and I am so very lucky to have her in my life.

Mom-She is the person you call when you are having a panic attack in the middle of the night. Even though she has to get up to go to work in 3 hours she sits with you on the phone diverting your attention to make it go away. She is the one standing beside you when both of your children are born. She is the one who challenges you when you are wrong. She is the one who makes you a better person. “A mother is she who can take the place of all others but whose place no one else can take”.

The “it takes a village saying” is around for a reason. Especially when referring to raising children. You want to open your circle wide especially to those who will put your children first above anything else. Above is my village of people and I wouldn’t have it any other way. We aren’t able to pick our family, but I am forever grateful for the one that was picked for me.

Inadequate Parenting

IMG_9641.JPGDo you know what can knock you down so quickly as a parent? For me, it is a trip to our pediatrician for a routine physical. One would think that by getting them there to make sure that they are healthy and are vaccinated is enough. But no, the judging factor by a pediatrician is unreal. I know that I am not the only one who feels this way about their pediatrician because I hear that it happens all of the time. Now don’t get me wrong, I like our pediatrician. She is extremely knowledgeable and is great with my kids. So why on earth do I leave there feeling like an inadequate parent?

Today I had Camryn’s one month checkup and then a well-visit for my four year old. I thought I was a genius in scheduling two appointments back to back because it would be easier to just get them over with on the same day. While sitting in the room waiting for our doctor to come in, I was wondering what I was thinking. In that moment, I blamed it on the postpartum baby brain and added in some kind words from my inner voice that said ‘hey Korrinn, way to go asshole. Let’s file this in the NEVER do this again category you mother of two amateur’.

Harper was first on the chopping block and everything was going well. She nailed her eye test and her ‘show me how well you can walk to the door and turn around’ exam. Next up was the routine check of weight, height, eyes, and ears. This part of the physical never bothers me. It is what happens directly after that gets to me. Now we move on to the part of how your kid sizes up (quite literally) in percentiles.  Great, we are already comparing our children to what “normal” should be and look like. Why are we talking about BMI’s with a four year old? She is “overweight” by three pounds. Three stupid pounds. Her doctor then says that she is really muscular, strong, and built wider and that she isn’t too worried. Then she stares at me for a moment. Yes, Dr. McJudgington, you are correct in your assumption that she has my body type. No wonder why individuals have issues with body image. We introduce it at such an early age. Now that we have that all squared away, here come the questions because I can’t just say that she is three pounds heavier than the average child and expect that to be it now can I?

Basically it is a full blown interrogation at this point about my child and my child’s daily routines.  I would imagine it being very different from a real interrogation since you don’t have a bat shit crazy preschooler who would like to do her own damn thing (like touch every medical instrument, ask to use gloves every four seconds, and of course ask to borrow the stethoscope so she can play doctor while your ass is in the hot seat) since she was just poked and prodded for a solid half hour. In between you reminding your child to ‘stop touching the medical equipment’ or to ‘not touch the bio-hazard container filled with fucking sharps’ you are expected to carefully answer the barrage of questions being launched at you.  Because if you answer in any sort of way that isn’t the norm or that she doesn’t like, you are judged. Most times it isn’t silent judgment either. Questions like; how many fruits and vegetables is your daughter eating per day? How is her appetite? Are you solely breastfeeding the baby or supplementing? What does she do for activities and exercise? How long does she sleep at night for? Have you gone to the dentist? Can she share? How is she acting now that she has a new sister? Is she wetting the bed? How much screen time is she allowed to have? How many books do you read together? I know that she is asking these questions to make sure that my kids are reaching their developmental milestones and behaving in age-appropriate ways, however, I find myself almost fibbing or making excuses often during this interrogation period.  Umm, how many vegetables did she eat? I think to myself for a minute. The real answer is ‘not a whole lot’ but I found myself saying what my pediatrician wanted to hear because I felt uncomfortable from the sideways glance I got after the last question I answered.  So this is what this has turned in to? I am lying to the doctor to make myself feel better and feel like I am not a terrible parent to my two children. With one question I even stuttered because I was so baffled on how to answer her honestly. The mom guilt is often too much for me to bear on a daily basis and now I have someone else making me feel like a piece of shit. Super.

After about three solid minutes of me answering questions that I was half listening to because I now am being given a physical by my four year old; I gave up. I know that I am a good parent.  Scratch that, a GREAT parent! I do everything for my two girls and sacrifice almost everything else that I need because those two small humans matter the most to me. I looked at our doctor and said, “You know what? This is hard.  All of this (as I point to my two kids) is hard.  Does Harper eat vegetables at every meal? No, she doesn’t. It’s not because I don’t want her to be healthy. It’s because I don’t want to have a fight about a pea or a carrot being on her plate just for once during a meal. Screen time? I used to be strict on screen time but now I am nursing and pumping around the clock for my one month old and then I need to wash all of those lovely parts so ya, she gets more screen time these days. How is she acting with her sister? Some days like a complete asshole to be honest. She thinks her sisters head is a fucking grape most days and wants to squeeze the life out of her like Agnes’ it’s so fluffy scene from Despicable Me. Other days she acts like the most amazing big sister you will ever see. It honestly is a crap shoot and I don’t know what will happen from minute to minute. At least I got them here to this doctors appointments to get their vaccines to make sure they are healthy.” She eased up a tiny bit after my crazy rant but not by much. I chalked it up to one of those moments of me agreeing to disagree before I started shouting ‘fed is best and it doesn’t matter if it’s by a boob or formula or a fucking chocolate bar’. Ease up!

So moms (and dads), let’s give ourselves a pat on the back, a break and perhaps a giant glass of wine because parenting small humans is real hard. Some days you will feel like you hit a grand slam and other days like you barely made it out of the dugout. And because every story needs a fabulous ending involving karma (or mine do anyway); my one month old pissed all over our pediatrician during her checkup. And just like that, justice was served! Now if you’d excuse me, I am going to go eat a chocolate bar because I deserve one!