Fact 1: I like eating raw cookie dough.
Fact 2: The TDs’ school collects box tops.
I was walking through Walmart when I found myself eye-to-eye with some sugar cookie dough. Somehow, the cookie dough ended up in my hand and I happened to notice a box top on it. It was at that moment that Fact 2 justified my indulgence in Fact 1. And as I ate the last square of raw cookie dough in the package, I was comforted knowing that my guilty pleasures are supporting a good cause.
One day not too long ago, the girls and I came home after running some errands. Before we could get settled, I noticed a HUGE flying black thing with a stinger. I quickly evacuated my apartment and texted T-Daddy. There’s a wasp hornet thing in the apt. The girls, my sister and I sat in the car while I waited for him to text back. After about 30 minutes and no reply text. I called him and it was decided that we’d just have to wait until he could come home and kill it. So, we all went to our favorite neighborhood bar and grill.
I ate pork tacos, the girls enjoyed kids’ meals complete with ice cream to-go and we were headed to the library when I heard those dreaded words: I have to goooooooooooo. Me toooooooooo.
T-Mommy: Can you hold it till we get home? We’re like 3 minutes away.
TD1: But what about the flying thing? Did Daddy kill it already?
Crap! I forgot about that. The whole reason we’re here in the first place.
And, it was at that very moment that I reached a new low in Mommydom – I contemplated letting the girls pee/poop in a pull-up. Then I realized I didn’t have any on me. Public restroom it is.
Never say I don’t love my kids…..
I just gave them the last of my pizza.
If that isn’t love, then I’m incapable of loving anyone.
Todd wants Tempess to sleep in her bed. I don’t mind.
Tempess wants to sleep with Mommy. I don’t mind that either.
As much as I like having a bed to myself (since 90% of the time someone falls asleep on the futon in front of the PS3), I also like that warm, fuzzy feeling I get when little arms wrap around my neck and giggle “I luh zhoo!”
Nothing says sweet dreams like a toddler who wants you to be a part of their every moment, both waking and sleeping.
But nothing says wine like a toddler who wants you to lay still while they reenact Five Monkeys and you got ish to do.
For now, I choose the former. It gets me through the long days and lets me know that even when I think I’m messing this Mommydom thing up, somebody thinks I’m doing it right.
As I write this, I’m sitting in bed with a heating pad on my left shoulder. I’m left-handed and right now it hurts to do anything with my arm. And I just wanna cry.
Cry because I feel damaged.
Cry because my body hurts and aches in places and ways I’ve never known before.
Cry because I can’t seem to catch a break.
Cry because I am incredibly stressed.
Cry because I need an outlet.
Cry because I feel as if I have none.
Cry because I feel all alone.
Cry because my f’n dominant arm f’in hurts all the time.
I just wanna smile. I just wanna be happy. Able to see the good in life. I want to be a positive person. But every time I resolve to be a better person, something happens, and I snap. My tolerance for anything is non-existent. And I hate it. So I cry.
I know things come with the territory of being a parent and I know that in life ish happens. But it seems like the two always team up and screw me over and right now I really need to set the reset button. Life’s downs and annoyances and trials and tribulations have beat the life outta me and I haven’t had a chance to recharge, resulting in a person I don’t particularly like or care for. I have less patience for things out of my control. I’m less tolerant of others and their flaws, especially those closest to me. And my ability to properly assess situations is ridiculously horrible – everything is a big friggin deal.
I need a change, a break. I need a solution. I know this ish ain’t cool. But what I don’t know is, what now?!?
As much as I love breastfeeding, I hate pumping. With. A. Passion.
As Tové gets older, it’s becoming harder and harder to stay committed. I would love to offer her only breastmilk after she’s one, but I can’t say that I’m not welcoming the opportunity to not have to worry about pumping enough milk.
Wal-Mart needs to start selling them….
This is what my desk looks like….wall full of Temi sprinkled with some Todd. What can I say? I’m mushy….