Speaking of..well...ummm, CRAP, we might as well BRIEFLY continue. I cherish those beloved moments where our cherubs announce every bodily function. My kids need to walk THROUGH their adjoining bathroom in the middle of the night to tell me that they, well...have to go to the bathroom. They don't require help, just an audience apparently. I am the opposite. I relish in the 3 seconds of quiet I get before they hunt me down and either pound on the door until they wear me down or pick the lock. Same goes with the noisy release...which my husband still shrugs and without apology and states in a GET OVER YOURSELF manner "It's natural". I am sorry. Nothing about an adult pooping in their pants in the middle of the living room is "natural". My kids have inherited this lovely trait. Just in case you didn't hear the reverberation from their little bodies and see the cartoon-like green fog envelope them, they feel the need to announce in their outside voice "I JUST FARTED" while you are quietly handing your insurance card over to the receptionist at the quiet dental office. At that point, all you can do is flash a sheepish smile while trying to hide the flop sweat that just overtook your whole body and PRAY that this kind soul (as well as the 5 other patients) staring at you in that "Are you going to repsond to your impolite barnyard spawn?" is also a mother. So you take what psychologists now call this "teaching moment" and kindly say "You just need to excuse yourself when that happens". To which your freckle-faced angel matter-of-factly states "I didn't sneeze, I farted." THIS very moment is why I realize that I carry a purse the size of Connecticut...so I can crawl inside and hide. And perhaps find some year-old saltines and maybe a fossilized fruit snack or two.
It is moments like this when you realize why animals eat their young.....
So at this point, you get the idea of our blog. And hopefully you have enjoyed it. Keep in mind that this is new and this week's topic was so NOT planned, it just happened. And we usually are not this graphic and gross. We save that talk for the Thanksgiving table, etc. We have also gotten a few questions. And here are some answers.
1) Do you find these stories and post them? No. We write these stories and they are true accounts of what has happened, which is why we started this blog as a form of therapy.
2) What do you do besides write this blog? We are real-life sisters who are lucky enough (that is today's feeling anyway) to be stay-at-home moms. We have both worked, worked from home, and now we stay at home. We have done it all, so we feel we can relate with all types of moms out there. God bless us, every one.
3)Where do you see this blog going? These questions alone are a good start. We are still going to share our crazy "Why does this stuff only seem to happen to me" stories. But we are also going to expand and want you to share your stories. So many of you have said "YES! I have so been there." and that is what we wanted. We will also have a Q/A section. We are by no means parenting experts, but we have learned a lot from other great moms and up to this point our kids have not been taken away by CPS, so I feel that alone is a success and reason to answer a few simple parenting questions. We will also have recipes on here eventually...as soon as we find something our kids will actually eat.
Here is a question for you all: Where would YOU like to see this blog going? Send us a message and give us your feedback and ideas
Thanks for following! I hope your epidural lasts through the weekend.....
Did you see that Oprah episode???
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Carrie's story about taking the kids out for a bit after the birth of her third child reminded me of an "encounter" I had whilst shopping with my preschooler and infant one day...
While my oldest enjoyed a much needed playdate with some friends, I decided to take my other two to the mall to kill some time (mistake #1...you don't need to keep track, I'll take care of that for ya) Anyone who has been to Orange County CA knows the kind of people who live in Orange County CA (think Desperate Housewives of Orange County...yep, those people) Fake everything, bling weighing down every appendage, tottering around the mall in skinny jeans and Manolo Blahniks...yep, those are the clientele I'm referring to. So you can only imagine how ridiculous I often felt going into that mall decked out from head to toe in my finest Old Navy attire topped off by flip flops with a pedicure that had seen much better days (and odds are a fruit snack stuck to my ass) Anyway...I wheel my gigantic behemoth double stroller into the mall (mistake #2) and so far so good. We make our way through a few stores unscathed and child #2 asks for something to drink. Not wanting to try and traverse the food court with my Graco stretch limo, I opt for a bottle of Gatorade at a vending machine (mistake #3 as the child then proceeded to chug the entire friggin bottle) As I finish paying homage at Old Navy, we briskly made our way over to Gymboree where I immediately run over several small OC children with my big ass stroller in my attempts to get to the clearance racks. Feeling quite proud of myself that our shopping trip has thus far been a success, I become even bolder. "The hell with Old Navy and clearance racks...I deserve something better, I'm going to Saks" Yes, it rhymes, catchy isn't it? Off we go to Saks (mistake #4) I promptly realize that not only am I not 60, I cannot afford anything there. How the hell was I supposed to know? I grew up seeking out red clearance tags like a hunting dog...I'd never even set foot in a Saks until that very moment. I turn my bus around, trying desperately not to knock over the geriatric mannequin when child #2 announces "I have to go potty" Crap. Said child hadn't been potty trained for very long so I couldn't use the "can you just wait?" line on him...I'm lucky he even TOLD me he had to go. I figured when you're in a mall, the best place for a pit stop is often a department store restroom so off we go in search of the nearest facility. As I lumber through the store, I instantly begin digging out wipes and Purell as I hate, detest, loathe public restrooms of any kind. I push my massive beast with one hand while my other hand fumbles around in the diaper bag frantically to retrieve my bathroom arsenal. As a new mom of 3, I realized that this was a good chance to be as efficient as possible so this turned into a pit stop for all 3, bathroom for 2 of us, new diaper for #3. I steer us into the restroom where I promptly shmuck the front end of the stroller into the door frame (sorry buddy!) and as soon as I finally make my way into the restroom my massive bitch blocked some lady from getting out of her stall. Thankfully there was an unoccupied handicapped stall at the far end beckoning to me, bright lights shining down, angels singing (yes, I'm that mom that comandeers the handicapped stall...get over it) He is now bouncing up and down in his seat with his hand in his crotch so I get that stupid ass stroller in as quickly and as gracefully as possible (read: without running anyone else over) and he does his thing, one down, one to go...I take my sweet angel out of her seat and lay her down gently upon the changing table (which has been fully prepared with about 17 layers of paper towels, a blanket, a cloth diaper, and a few toilet seat covers just for good measure) Now, anyone who has taken over a handicapped stall with small children and a giant bitch of a stroller knows how quickly that space can become cramped. I was on one side with the baby while #2 began his investigation of the area, just pleased to be out of the stroller for a few minutes (I now know I should have put him back in...mistake #5) I'm trying to change the baby while turning my head every few seconds to make sure he isn't trying to unscrew any plumbing or licking the handle of the toilet, so far so good. I get the dirty diaper off and am about to put on the new one when I turn again...HOLY MARY MOTHER OF GOD...
"OH MY GOD GET OFF THE FLOOR GET OFF THE FLOOR GET OFF THE FLOOR!!!! DIDN'T YOU WATCH THAT OPRAH EPISODE WITH MOMMY WHERE SHE TALKED ABOUT THE AMOUNT OF FECES ON A PUBLIC RESTROOM FLOOR??? GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" Unfortunately since I was occupied with a now naked, diaperless baby #3 on the changing table I couldn't grab #2 from off the floor. I was beginning to sweat, I had one hand on the baby while I threw wipes at him with my other hand. He was still on all fours on the floor, clearly oblivious to the fact that I was about to call for a HazMat team and then pass out. I was trying to remain calm and convince him to PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS GOOD AND HOLY GET OFF THE DAMN FLOOR. Slowly make your way to mommy so I can scrub you down with a brillo pad, douse you in Purell, and burn your clothes...then I'll give you some fruit snacks... Still on all fours staring at me while wipes rained down on his head. And just when I thought it couldn't get any worse, it did...The stall door next to us closes and locks, his blonde little head whips around and in that horrible slow motion moment that little blonde head ducked UNDER the stall and I hear his voice "Hey lady, ya poopin?" HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT...now I'm in full blown panic mode, not only is my child probably covered in lethal amounts of fecal bacteria and other communicable diseases, he is now going to get kicked in the head by a pair of Manolo's. Baby #3 has now quietly peed all over herself while waiting for me to extract #2 off of the floor so while she lays there in a puddle I do the deeper-voice-like-daddy-in-the-hopes-of-scaring-you-while-clenching-my-teeth "GET OFF THE FLOOR NOW!" So with one hand on baby #3, I launch myself Elasti-Girl style over the friggin stroller to yank #2 off the floor by his arm. I quickly clean up the baby while trying to explain to my son that we don't investigate what other ladies are doing in the potty. "But mom I just wanted to tell her good job and give her some m&m's" Sweet Jesus. I couldn't get out of there fast enough, so with a newly changed baby, #2 all but duct taped back into the stroller, and the trash overflowing with what had been a brand new package of wipes I begin to back the behemoth monstrosity out of the stall as quickly as I can. Easier said than done with what is possibly the largest, most ungainly stroller ever put on the market by the assholes at Graco who designed this contraption from hell without attempting to do what I was trying at that very moment...get the hell out of dodge before the Manolo's came out. Of course that would be TOO easy. Out she came in her perfectly made-up-put-together glory. She swept her MAC covered eyes up and down my frumpy Old Navy clad self, then switched her gaze down to #2, back over to me with a raised plucked brow and look that was one of pure disgust for my frumpy Old Navy clad self and my demon spawn. I gave a small sheepish smile, apologized and got the hell out of her way but not before my son could yell back "HEY LADY, DON'T FORGET TO WASH YOUR HANDS!"
While my oldest enjoyed a much needed playdate with some friends, I decided to take my other two to the mall to kill some time (mistake #1...you don't need to keep track, I'll take care of that for ya) Anyone who has been to Orange County CA knows the kind of people who live in Orange County CA (think Desperate Housewives of Orange County...yep, those people) Fake everything, bling weighing down every appendage, tottering around the mall in skinny jeans and Manolo Blahniks...yep, those are the clientele I'm referring to. So you can only imagine how ridiculous I often felt going into that mall decked out from head to toe in my finest Old Navy attire topped off by flip flops with a pedicure that had seen much better days (and odds are a fruit snack stuck to my ass) Anyway...I wheel my gigantic behemoth double stroller into the mall (mistake #2) and so far so good. We make our way through a few stores unscathed and child #2 asks for something to drink. Not wanting to try and traverse the food court with my Graco stretch limo, I opt for a bottle of Gatorade at a vending machine (mistake #3 as the child then proceeded to chug the entire friggin bottle) As I finish paying homage at Old Navy, we briskly made our way over to Gymboree where I immediately run over several small OC children with my big ass stroller in my attempts to get to the clearance racks. Feeling quite proud of myself that our shopping trip has thus far been a success, I become even bolder. "The hell with Old Navy and clearance racks...I deserve something better, I'm going to Saks" Yes, it rhymes, catchy isn't it? Off we go to Saks (mistake #4) I promptly realize that not only am I not 60, I cannot afford anything there. How the hell was I supposed to know? I grew up seeking out red clearance tags like a hunting dog...I'd never even set foot in a Saks until that very moment. I turn my bus around, trying desperately not to knock over the geriatric mannequin when child #2 announces "I have to go potty" Crap. Said child hadn't been potty trained for very long so I couldn't use the "can you just wait?" line on him...I'm lucky he even TOLD me he had to go. I figured when you're in a mall, the best place for a pit stop is often a department store restroom so off we go in search of the nearest facility. As I lumber through the store, I instantly begin digging out wipes and Purell as I hate, detest, loathe public restrooms of any kind. I push my massive beast with one hand while my other hand fumbles around in the diaper bag frantically to retrieve my bathroom arsenal. As a new mom of 3, I realized that this was a good chance to be as efficient as possible so this turned into a pit stop for all 3, bathroom for 2 of us, new diaper for #3. I steer us into the restroom where I promptly shmuck the front end of the stroller into the door frame (sorry buddy!) and as soon as I finally make my way into the restroom my massive bitch blocked some lady from getting out of her stall. Thankfully there was an unoccupied handicapped stall at the far end beckoning to me, bright lights shining down, angels singing (yes, I'm that mom that comandeers the handicapped stall...get over it) He is now bouncing up and down in his seat with his hand in his crotch so I get that stupid ass stroller in as quickly and as gracefully as possible (read: without running anyone else over) and he does his thing, one down, one to go...I take my sweet angel out of her seat and lay her down gently upon the changing table (which has been fully prepared with about 17 layers of paper towels, a blanket, a cloth diaper, and a few toilet seat covers just for good measure) Now, anyone who has taken over a handicapped stall with small children and a giant bitch of a stroller knows how quickly that space can become cramped. I was on one side with the baby while #2 began his investigation of the area, just pleased to be out of the stroller for a few minutes (I now know I should have put him back in...mistake #5) I'm trying to change the baby while turning my head every few seconds to make sure he isn't trying to unscrew any plumbing or licking the handle of the toilet, so far so good. I get the dirty diaper off and am about to put on the new one when I turn again...HOLY MARY MOTHER OF GOD...
"OH MY GOD GET OFF THE FLOOR GET OFF THE FLOOR GET OFF THE FLOOR!!!! DIDN'T YOU WATCH THAT OPRAH EPISODE WITH MOMMY WHERE SHE TALKED ABOUT THE AMOUNT OF FECES ON A PUBLIC RESTROOM FLOOR??? GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" Unfortunately since I was occupied with a now naked, diaperless baby #3 on the changing table I couldn't grab #2 from off the floor. I was beginning to sweat, I had one hand on the baby while I threw wipes at him with my other hand. He was still on all fours on the floor, clearly oblivious to the fact that I was about to call for a HazMat team and then pass out. I was trying to remain calm and convince him to PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS GOOD AND HOLY GET OFF THE DAMN FLOOR. Slowly make your way to mommy so I can scrub you down with a brillo pad, douse you in Purell, and burn your clothes...then I'll give you some fruit snacks... Still on all fours staring at me while wipes rained down on his head. And just when I thought it couldn't get any worse, it did...The stall door next to us closes and locks, his blonde little head whips around and in that horrible slow motion moment that little blonde head ducked UNDER the stall and I hear his voice "Hey lady, ya poopin?" HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT...now I'm in full blown panic mode, not only is my child probably covered in lethal amounts of fecal bacteria and other communicable diseases, he is now going to get kicked in the head by a pair of Manolo's. Baby #3 has now quietly peed all over herself while waiting for me to extract #2 off of the floor so while she lays there in a puddle I do the deeper-voice-like-daddy-in-the-hopes-of-scaring-you-while-clenching-my-teeth "GET OFF THE FLOOR NOW!" So with one hand on baby #3, I launch myself Elasti-Girl style over the friggin stroller to yank #2 off the floor by his arm. I quickly clean up the baby while trying to explain to my son that we don't investigate what other ladies are doing in the potty. "But mom I just wanted to tell her good job and give her some m&m's" Sweet Jesus. I couldn't get out of there fast enough, so with a newly changed baby, #2 all but duct taped back into the stroller, and the trash overflowing with what had been a brand new package of wipes I begin to back the behemoth monstrosity out of the stall as quickly as I can. Easier said than done with what is possibly the largest, most ungainly stroller ever put on the market by the assholes at Graco who designed this contraption from hell without attempting to do what I was trying at that very moment...get the hell out of dodge before the Manolo's came out. Of course that would be TOO easy. Out she came in her perfectly made-up-put-together glory. She swept her MAC covered eyes up and down my frumpy Old Navy clad self, then switched her gaze down to #2, back over to me with a raised plucked brow and look that was one of pure disgust for my frumpy Old Navy clad self and my demon spawn. I gave a small sheepish smile, apologized and got the hell out of her way but not before my son could yell back "HEY LADY, DON'T FORGET TO WASH YOUR HANDS!"
Burger King: Have it your way....or run away crying...
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Speaking of crap.......
The unintentional "topic" of the week made me recall and feel the need to tell why my family is banned from every Burger King playland in the tri-state area. Shortly after giving birth to my third child, the "wonder mom" in me decided to get the other two kids out for some fresh air...so we headed out on that December day to the local BK playland for lunch and pre-naptime activity. Now looking back, I question the intelligence of this idea mainly because if any of you have ever been to one of these indoor playgrounds (aka ecoli breeding grounds) this DOES NOT qualify as "fresh air".
In any case, in my post-partum state, I thought it would be fun for my 5 and 2.5 year olds. And it was. Until I was sitting there quietly enjoying my diet coke, sleeping bundle in the carseat and remainder of my preschoolers french fries when kids started shrieking and coming out of every orifice of the maze of tubes and slides. It was like kiddie Armageddon. And you know that feeling...that pit in your stomach that grows into this internal burning fear that you just KNOW that one of your offspring is responsible for the screaming, crying mayhem? So the tubes and slides have all but cleared out when I see my 5 year old slowly coming out of the maze of plastic climbing steps...and then I see it. The bare bottom of my two year old coming down backwards. OH SWEET JESUS! He is carrying his pants. He is not potty trained. I turn white. Nope, I turn gray. I have lost all feeling in my face, brain and I am sure my heart is going to explode. I briefly consider gathering up the baby and leaving the other two behind pretending that I don't know them. But my slow actions give them enough time to reach me thereby implicating me to the rest of the patrons that these heathens do in fact have a mother. "I pooped" announced the 2 year old. I felt like saying "No shit"...but that might not have had the humorous effect I was looking for. The 5 year old announced "He took his diaper off in the blue tube" pointing skyward. "At least he didn't take the slide," I said out loud, addressing the other moms. I thought a joke would break the tension. I thought wrong. At this point the BK manager has already descended upon me. The other mothers (who ratted me out...what ever happened to some good old fashioned sisterhood?) are hovering over their children as if to protect them from the Feces Family. "You're going to have to go get it" says the manager. So I follow the rules (not as if we haven't broken the #1 unwritten rule at this point) and take off my shoes and begin the lonely, treacherous climb into the plastic nightmare. I am a claustrophobic germaphobe. I have reached the gates of hell. My 5 year old offers to come with me. But I decline, mainly so he can make sure that his brother isn't stoned by the patrons whose afternoon we have clearly ruined. I found out that I can effectively crawl and hold my breath for 3 minutes. If you have never been in a mangled tunnel of plastic and rope ladders, DON'T. This is a breeding ground for communicable diseases not yet discovered by the CDC. And it smells like french fries and hot urine. I am sure that smell was there even before this incident. I quickly reach the "package", bundle it up and begin my retreat. Now the burning question...the alternating labyrinth of plastic "stairs" or the slide? I pocket what pride I have left and decide on the stairs, although the slide would be much easier. The slide in hindsight would have been the safer choice because after a very ungraceful negotiation of the stairs, I was almost certain that the BK manager that was watching the whole debaucle would need to call for the Jaws of Life to free me. The rest is sort of a blur. My 5 year old, in all of his advanced intelligence plainly stated "We're not staying are we?" I hear the manager announce to the rest of the customers that the playland would have to be closed for sanitizing and I quickly gathered my gear, and against my better judgment, my children too and got out of there as quickly as I could. As we left I could feel the evil stares boring a hole into my forehead, the unintelligible whispers...I think I even saw one mother pouring her purse-sized hand sanitizer over her toddler. This is when I learned that mothers shouldn't judge. I have good kids (who apparently don't like messy pants). So when I see you at the park squatting with your kid by the bushes because the PortOPotty is just too far away, or you turn the bottom of their shirt inside out to wipe their nose, because that it the best you can do at that time, just remember, I'm on your team. Because we've all been there a time or two. And shit happens.
The unintentional "topic" of the week made me recall and feel the need to tell why my family is banned from every Burger King playland in the tri-state area. Shortly after giving birth to my third child, the "wonder mom" in me decided to get the other two kids out for some fresh air...so we headed out on that December day to the local BK playland for lunch and pre-naptime activity. Now looking back, I question the intelligence of this idea mainly because if any of you have ever been to one of these indoor playgrounds (aka ecoli breeding grounds) this DOES NOT qualify as "fresh air".
In any case, in my post-partum state, I thought it would be fun for my 5 and 2.5 year olds. And it was. Until I was sitting there quietly enjoying my diet coke, sleeping bundle in the carseat and remainder of my preschoolers french fries when kids started shrieking and coming out of every orifice of the maze of tubes and slides. It was like kiddie Armageddon. And you know that feeling...that pit in your stomach that grows into this internal burning fear that you just KNOW that one of your offspring is responsible for the screaming, crying mayhem? So the tubes and slides have all but cleared out when I see my 5 year old slowly coming out of the maze of plastic climbing steps...and then I see it. The bare bottom of my two year old coming down backwards. OH SWEET JESUS! He is carrying his pants. He is not potty trained. I turn white. Nope, I turn gray. I have lost all feeling in my face, brain and I am sure my heart is going to explode. I briefly consider gathering up the baby and leaving the other two behind pretending that I don't know them. But my slow actions give them enough time to reach me thereby implicating me to the rest of the patrons that these heathens do in fact have a mother. "I pooped" announced the 2 year old. I felt like saying "No shit"...but that might not have had the humorous effect I was looking for. The 5 year old announced "He took his diaper off in the blue tube" pointing skyward. "At least he didn't take the slide," I said out loud, addressing the other moms. I thought a joke would break the tension. I thought wrong. At this point the BK manager has already descended upon me. The other mothers (who ratted me out...what ever happened to some good old fashioned sisterhood?) are hovering over their children as if to protect them from the Feces Family. "You're going to have to go get it" says the manager. So I follow the rules (not as if we haven't broken the #1 unwritten rule at this point) and take off my shoes and begin the lonely, treacherous climb into the plastic nightmare. I am a claustrophobic germaphobe. I have reached the gates of hell. My 5 year old offers to come with me. But I decline, mainly so he can make sure that his brother isn't stoned by the patrons whose afternoon we have clearly ruined. I found out that I can effectively crawl and hold my breath for 3 minutes. If you have never been in a mangled tunnel of plastic and rope ladders, DON'T. This is a breeding ground for communicable diseases not yet discovered by the CDC. And it smells like french fries and hot urine. I am sure that smell was there even before this incident. I quickly reach the "package", bundle it up and begin my retreat. Now the burning question...the alternating labyrinth of plastic "stairs" or the slide? I pocket what pride I have left and decide on the stairs, although the slide would be much easier. The slide in hindsight would have been the safer choice because after a very ungraceful negotiation of the stairs, I was almost certain that the BK manager that was watching the whole debaucle would need to call for the Jaws of Life to free me. The rest is sort of a blur. My 5 year old, in all of his advanced intelligence plainly stated "We're not staying are we?" I hear the manager announce to the rest of the customers that the playland would have to be closed for sanitizing and I quickly gathered my gear, and against my better judgment, my children too and got out of there as quickly as I could. As we left I could feel the evil stares boring a hole into my forehead, the unintelligible whispers...I think I even saw one mother pouring her purse-sized hand sanitizer over her toddler. This is when I learned that mothers shouldn't judge. I have good kids (who apparently don't like messy pants). So when I see you at the park squatting with your kid by the bushes because the PortOPotty is just too far away, or you turn the bottom of their shirt inside out to wipe their nose, because that it the best you can do at that time, just remember, I'm on your team. Because we've all been there a time or two. And shit happens.
And then she sh*t in my hand...
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The punch line is always the best part of the joke, right? Well...depends on whose idea of a joke it is!
My husband and I were giving our first baby her first real bath...super exciting, right? We had her yummy lavender soap ready, a soft, fluffy hooded towel, a little washcloth shaped like a duck, and nice, warm water to soothe her. Yeah, not so much. She completely flipped the second her big toe touched the water. We put her all the way in thinking the shock would wear off and she would soon calm down. Yeah, not so much. She got worse...and worse...and worse. We're actually still surprised to this day that neighbors didn't call authorities, for our sweet little angel was making noises that one would think originated in the bowels of hell. Her first bath quickly turned into our first parenting nightmare, my husband was in a panic, I was soaking wet, she was gasping for air she was crying so hard, and I had to attempt to convince my husband that he did not need to call a priest to come and perform an exorcism. We got her out, bundled her up in aforementioned fluffy hooded towel, thinking she would calm down...yeah, not so much. The gasping, growling, and screeching continued...for just a moment; just as quickly as it started, it stopped.
Long enough for her to projectile vomit all over all 3 of us, and then she shit in my hand....
My husband and I were giving our first baby her first real bath...super exciting, right? We had her yummy lavender soap ready, a soft, fluffy hooded towel, a little washcloth shaped like a duck, and nice, warm water to soothe her. Yeah, not so much. She completely flipped the second her big toe touched the water. We put her all the way in thinking the shock would wear off and she would soon calm down. Yeah, not so much. She got worse...and worse...and worse. We're actually still surprised to this day that neighbors didn't call authorities, for our sweet little angel was making noises that one would think originated in the bowels of hell. Her first bath quickly turned into our first parenting nightmare, my husband was in a panic, I was soaking wet, she was gasping for air she was crying so hard, and I had to attempt to convince my husband that he did not need to call a priest to come and perform an exorcism. We got her out, bundled her up in aforementioned fluffy hooded towel, thinking she would calm down...yeah, not so much. The gasping, growling, and screeching continued...for just a moment; just as quickly as it started, it stopped.
Long enough for her to projectile vomit all over all 3 of us, and then she shit in my hand....
Have you had YOUR epidural today?
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When I was in labor with my third child, a chilling, haunting memory came rushing back to me; fast and furious labor with my second child had resulted in missing the "epidural window". So I gave birth sans pain relief. Not the end of the world, but I was not going to let that happen again. So here I was with baby #3 and I yelled "Epidural NOW PLEASE!!". Little did I know at that time, that I would rather have an epidural everyday for the next 15 years.....
So here we are, two sisters and six kids later.......
We have spent the past several years of motherhood commisserating about the many nuances of being a mom and all that it entails. Some moments are sunshine streaming through the window casting a glowing silhouette around your precious sleeping bundle; others are you pulling Cheerios out of your hair, spilling coffee down your bathrobe, chasing a half naked toddler through the house, all while trying to hold a conversation with the customer service representative you've waited 45 minutes to talk to. We've been there...done that.
This is a blog meant to bring a fun spin on the daily trials, triumphs,tantrums, and slightly more painful moments that go along with being a mom. We are just two sisters that chat daily about why does it take the kids 10 minutes to brush their teeth only to find them having a "squirt" gun fight in the bathroom with medicine syringes? Or, why does my 7 year old insist on wearing camouflage everyday and making any inanimate object into a gun? And a favorite....am I the only one still training my 38 year old to pick up underwear off of the floor? So this is our attempt at creating a nationwide "sisterhood". A big group hug, if you will, stating "MOMS!! You are not alone! It is ok to get frustrated! It is ok to have a tantrum yourself!" And most importantly "It is ok to laugh!" And hopefully we can help you with that...have you had YOUR epidural today??
So here we are, two sisters and six kids later.......
We have spent the past several years of motherhood commisserating about the many nuances of being a mom and all that it entails. Some moments are sunshine streaming through the window casting a glowing silhouette around your precious sleeping bundle; others are you pulling Cheerios out of your hair, spilling coffee down your bathrobe, chasing a half naked toddler through the house, all while trying to hold a conversation with the customer service representative you've waited 45 minutes to talk to. We've been there...done that.
This is a blog meant to bring a fun spin on the daily trials, triumphs,tantrums, and slightly more painful moments that go along with being a mom. We are just two sisters that chat daily about why does it take the kids 10 minutes to brush their teeth only to find them having a "squirt" gun fight in the bathroom with medicine syringes? Or, why does my 7 year old insist on wearing camouflage everyday and making any inanimate object into a gun? And a favorite....am I the only one still training my 38 year old to pick up underwear off of the floor? So this is our attempt at creating a nationwide "sisterhood". A big group hug, if you will, stating "MOMS!! You are not alone! It is ok to get frustrated! It is ok to have a tantrum yourself!" And most importantly "It is ok to laugh!" And hopefully we can help you with that...have you had YOUR epidural today??
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