Motherhood Uncensored

Seven swans a-snotting

Dear fucking fantastic fabulous blog readers to whom I'm forever indebted for lifting my head out of my ass yesterday with offers of alcohol and helping hands across America and Canada:

I know you've got nothing else to do, this the day before Christmas Eve, other than run to your feed reader to find out what the hell is going on with Quinlan's ear. Okay maybe not you Christian readers, but you Jewish folks. You've got time to spare, right?

Sorry, that was the tylenol and the sore throat talking.

Anyway, her ear is relatively fine - a little red with a little bit of fluid, but nothing worth acting upon. And honestly, she hadn't ever complained about it once until we noticed that she couldn't hear us and we kept asking her and then surprise! it was all about her ear all the time. "I can't clean up my toys, Mommy, it must be my ear."

Good one, kid. Way to manipulate your poor, tired, stressed out mother.

Things are evening out around here with some minutes decidedly better than others. But thanks to you, I'm treating myself to Chinese take-out tonight, which my husband is going to pick up, just as soon as he finishes painting the dining room.

fpdhfdfalkdjfkdjfkdjfldfopdfpdfjdlkfdjklfhdklhkdhfkdj!!!!!!!!!

 

I want my mommy.

I have nothing better to offer you than that.

I am feeling completely and utterly defeated.

World wins, Kristen loses. You can all move along and read about snow storms and Dooce's pregnancy because I give up.

I've been wiping noses, steaming coughs, and doing my best not to yell, scream, or drive 600 miles due North for the last month and a half. 

We figured out that Quinlan was not being indignant and four, but actually couldn't hear us. I'm on my way to the pediatrician tomorrow to hopefully figure out what's going on in those usually very healthy ears of hers. Then I read that an eye seeping with yellow mucus can actually indicate an ear infection (same bacteria for eye and ear, apparently), and so I feel like a real super champ mom for forcing milk in her eye when she probably needed that and something else in her ears.

And to top it off, my throat is now searing from the cold which is not surprising since I'm eating pecan pie for breakfast and snacking on bad chocolate and I'm tired because I'm sick but also because I'm tired and working and my husband is probably about to leave for a trip that will bring him home Christmas night and so do we have Christmas on the 26th and lie to the kids and then I've got to put all the toys together because we don't wrap them and then my in-laws are coming and they want to BUY tickets on another airline because they can't get their asses to the airport early enough to catch the free one but yet they complain about money all the time and then I have to cook Christmas dinner and Quinlan and I are going to see the Nutcracker on the 28th but the baby won't take a bottle so she'll probably scream the whole time so can I really enjoy it and I've got to find 10,000 more words for my book which I haven't heard back from the editor about and so do I keep writing or do I wait to see whether they think it's a piece of crap and then have to rewrite everything anyway and I'm sick of stuffing my floppy stomach into pants that are clearly too small just so I don't look like a total scrub every day and my husband is pissed at me because I'm controlling and bossy and have to do things my way and sure I was sort of always like that but now I've become a "just so" person and I hate "just so" people and I want to spend time with my kids and yet I sit and stare at my computer answering emails from people that want me to check out their dog contest when I should be working or doing taxes or folding 500 baby onesies that probably weren't dirty but since everyone just throws their shit in the hamper who the fuck knows anymore and my mom is having heart problems but she always tells me after she's in the hospital and I worry about her and the kids still haven't seen Santa but then my daughter asked me how come there are Santas at the mall all at the same time and I had no idea what to tell her and my fucking throat hurts and I want my mommy.

Like now. 

Orgasm for Peace - Make Moregasm not Wargasm (Tomorrow 7:04am EST, seriously)

As you may have read earlier today, I could use any excuse for alone time these days, so it wasn't hard for me to get behind orgasming to support world peace with Global Orgasm. Of course, considering all the running around and chasing after we do all day long, we should be able to get off by just drinking a cup of coffee in complete silence.

Okay, a strategically placed vibrating cup, perhaps.

Since it's rarely that simple, there is a two-hour window (6-8am EST), although if you're an overachiever, you should aim for the exact moment of the Winter Solstice -  7:04am EST.

But since we are parents, a little romp in the sack does take a little preparation. Decide tonight whether you're going to draw straws and let someone give the gift of orgasm to the other ('tis the season of giving, people), or if you're going to make a date for morning sex. Since it's still pretty dark out, you won't have to worry about your nakedness blinding your spouse under the bright lights (thank god), but if your kids are early risers, you might want to be ready with a dvd and waffles.

And just make sure you lock your door.

[Thanks to MochaMomma for the heads up. For more tips on how to get off fast, visit the Mominatrix]

Suffocating

I ran away today.

I needed to remember what it was like to live without having to repeat yourself 4 times before they actually acknowledge your existence, or wipe noses on tissues, towels, and even my own clothing.

I needed there to be just one other person on this planet that could hold the baby (sling or not) and keep her asleep for longer than 22 seconds.

I needed a break from the calls from my husband who after 30 minutes alone with the baby tell you that she's hungry and screaming and won't take a bottle and "just wanted you to know that."

There are no dishes yelling at me from the sink. There are no loads of laundry sending off "don't fold me signals" to anyone but me. There are no piles of shit everywhere screaming at only me to be put away.

And there is no tired, labile, anxious mom with a furrowed brow, grown out bangs held back with a toddler hair clip, and stomach that doesn't require industrial grade spandex to be held in.

It's just me. And you. And a bunch of other moms and dads escaping our own lives.

If only for a moment.

And then I turned off my computer.

Mother beast

I yelled at my daughter today. A loud, terrible, mean yell that was simultaneously cathartic and guilt-inducing.

"Why won't you just let me put breastmilk in your eye (with a spoon) so that I don't have to take you to the doctor?" I asked her, as she kicked, screamed, and fought her way out of my grasp. "WHY?"

She cowered through her tearful stare, as I raged like she'd probably never seen before.

The mother beast let loose - stress, exhaustion, frustration, and fear.

Oh how easy it was, when I held up her floppy head, and rocked her in my arms. Our conversations were about what an elephant says. Her questions were about snacks.

She was the only one. There were no deadlines, no sick siblings.

It has all changed.

I am still the parent, but my control is more transparent to both of us. As it should be. I am guiding a new person through this complicated world and steering her on a path that has yet to be created.

I am afraid to let her go and make her own choices. To possibly watch her fall. Maybe hard.

If she would only let me put the milk in her eye. If she would only listen. If she would only stay little.

She brought this letter to me today, and read it to me (in case you can't read Preschooler handwriting, the translation is below).

Dear Mommy, Quinlan loves you.
I know sometimes you get frustrated with me.
But I know you still love me.
Love, Quinlan

At least there's hope that whatever message I'm trying to send is being heard.