Wednesday, October 23, 2013

Is There A Failing Olympics?

6 COOOOOOMMENTS! Now you speak up!
I know we've already discussed my efficiency and mastering of napping. Well, at least the old me.

But I have another issue on my mind. Is there a failing Olympics?

A real, true, gathering of the failing minds and bodies of all of us souls out in the world who seem to suck at all they do?

Because, I hate to say it again and rub your noses in it... but... I'd OWN that shit.

My newest (and wonderful) Mommy friends (who may or may not read this) seem to have it together. And while we talk about this and they do explain that isn't the case, I still feel like what the f_ck is wrong with me?!?

I don't make my hubby dinner.
Like... ever.

I got all nesty and tried a few recipes back in mid-pregnancy. I gave the poor bastard hope. Then dashed it all every day since then.

I don't even grocery shop any more. I am always with the kiddo. I have started to sort of accomplish laundry (two full flights of stairs while putting the baby somewhere away from my nutty dogs). You know, if carrying the hamper downstairs counts for one day. And maybe sorting it on the basement floor two days later. And then MAYBE remembering to put a load in the washing machine a day or two after that. And it's a damn miracle if I switch that sweet load over into the dryer on the same day. (hehehe "sweet load" made me giggle.)

Actually returning it upstairs and folding it is just going to cause me a panic attack, so let's just say laundry takes about a week to get done. I'm pretty sure we have lots of floor space in our bedroom for the sole purpose of clean laundry storage. Right? Uh.. yeah.

So, yeah, I'm a domestic hero/goddess. OBVIOUSLY.

But my friends... my friends bake cookies. And homemade numminess. And large family dinners. And they knit and/or sew and/or crochet and/or win at life. And they go to the store. And they shop for things. And drive places without (I assume) having a scream-filled SUV of unhappy teething baby misery.

I bought a cross-stitch starter kit geared to eight year olds to bring to our Mommy crafts day tomorrow. (Shut up, don't judge, that frog will GLOW IN THE MOTHERF_CKING DARK, YO). These ladies can sew gorgeous blankets and I have a sneaking suspicion that this frog is going to own me and I will throw it out before the afternoon is done. You know, assuming all goes well.

I know I'm too hard on myself. I just thought this life-is-crazy-there-is-no-order business was supposed to end after the insane newborn stage. But we didn't get that memo, me and Baby D (name withheld).

Other moms apply nicely done make-up. They dry their hair and their babies don't seem to want to rip it out like mine ALWAYS does. They look FANTASTIC and rock bikinis to mom and baby swimming (which they damn well should! Good for them!). They don't seem chained to their nurseries like I do. They vacuum. They might even DUST. (I heard that's a thing?)

And you know what? They don't seem to judge me. They don't say "wow, you really DO suck!". They encourage and laugh alongside and speculate that things will get easier for me and it will happen. I need to stop being so mean to myself. Ah well.


I'm just always so serious.

Ooooh oooh eeee eeeee aaaah aaaah aaaah. You going to eat that flea or shall I help myself?


Clearly.

What do the people around you do that make you doubt your fit-ness for things? What event would you win gold at in the FAIL Olympics?

_________
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Saturday, September 14, 2013

Insomnia Breeds Insomnia

5 COOOOOOMMENTS! Now you speak up!
In the days of my youth, had there been a napping Olympics, I'd have owned that shit hands down. I mean, epic levels of Michael Phelps gold-age. A 20 minute nap was a joke; you'd best give me a minimum of three hours or I could possibly throat punch you.

Ah, the good ole days.

The days of yore.

The days I could sleep.

Now, you all know I am a new mom. But this seems to be entirely independent of that.

Kiddo is sleeping and here I sit. Awake. Staring at the ceiling.

Okay, that's a lie. I'm almost always on my side or my tummy, so it's usually staring at the wall or the goddamn mocking/glaring numbers on the alarm clock.

Deep breathing just makes me dizzy.
I can't keep my mind focused enough to count down from 500.
If I count sheep, I inevitably start thinking about farms and factory farming and vegetarianism and blah blah blah.

Progressive muscle relaxation almost always leaves me with a kink in my neck, or the need to get up and stretch.

I really, REALLY suck at putting myself to bed.

.... and "if the baby doesn't need to eat for another ____ hours"


I do a list of things I need to get done the next day, then toss in the stress of knowing that I won't remember what those tasks are, and that even if I *do* remember, I probably won't have the time/energy/fortitude to get.that.shit.done.

And on the nights when I have the luxury of a dinner out, you bet your ass I am taking in a fountain Coke or Pepsi, and making good use of a free refill policy. You know, because I heard that copious amounts of caffeinated sugar do a body good.

Amirite?

So. Here I sit at 2am. My uterus hurts. My body is tired. My mind won't shut the f_ck up.

I suppose I will take comfort in the fact that I've managed to purchase a Halloween costume, lumbar pillow, Christmas present, milk cooler bag and cell phone cover online today. That is some type of lame ass accomplishment, right? (Hubby - if you are reading this, no, I have no idea what those charges are from ebay and that deal site. Nope. No idea. Carry on as you were).

How do you fall asleep when your mind is as active as Miley Cyrus' butt?

_________
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Tuesday, September 3, 2013

That Moment: Feta

3 COOOOOOMMENTS! Now you speak up!
That moment when you are eating pizza, you look down and see some crumbled feta that you pop into your mouth... only to quickly discover it is, in fact, a chunk of your strawberry scented Lady Speed Stick deodorant.

Clutch.


_______________
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