Motherhood Uncensored

Manscaping - It's what all the cool kids are doing these days

I'm headed South and West this morning to meet up with some of my favorite peeps at Mom 2.0, which means crazed debauchery and in depth dildo discussions.

That was the actual title for our session but "It's the end of PR as we know, and we feel fine."

But apparently SOMEONE is a huge fan of REM.

Whatever.

So if you need a little something to start your morning, check out my "Morning Sex with Mominatrix" podcast (10:30am EST). We're talking about manscaping - hot or not? You'd be surprised how many dudes freaked out over the whole "Shave the Date" thing. So chicks gotta go bald but dudes need to sport the Amazon jungle in their underpants?

Listen to the show, and then vote over at Imperfect Parent.

And you'll get the results of last week's burning question. I know you've been dying to know what the public thinks about sex toys on Valentine's Day.

And if you missed it, click that button in my right side bar after 10:45am EST and you can listen to the whole thing. Or subscribe via iTunes and you'll never miss another show.

[If you're headed to Mom 2.0, leave me a comment and come find me. I'll be the one with the sweeeet baby attached to my boob].

V is for Vasectomy

I have decided that I am no longer responsible for the birth control situation in our household. For the most part, I pay the bills on time and I make sure the kids have clean underpants in their drawers.

But seeing as I've had three "surprises" over the last four years, I'm clearly irresponsible when it comes to birth prevention.

The counting method? Please. I'm lucky if I can correctly add two numbers together.

Birth control pills make me nuts, and based on some mixed reviews, and um, babies, I'm not so keen on the IUD.

So I told the huz that if he wants to have sex with me, he needs to figure out a way to do it safely.

"I could stick it in your ass," he said.

Smartypants.

I figure that since I'm the one who carried, birthed, and nursed these three lovely children, the least he can do is take care of the birth control. Hell, I've got about 400 Motherhood Uncensored condom lollipops still lying around.

But oh the whining about the condom.

"I feel...stifled." Like he's an actor with an overbearing director.

Can you hear the tiny violins?

And considering we're probably, almost definitely, maybe, we'll see, done with having kids, I innocently suggested a vasectomy.

He screeched like a girl.

"I can't risk that. My job requires me to be healthy."

Bwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwaaaaahahaha.

I mean. Honestly. I pushed three 8 lb kids out of my crotch with no drugs and he's going to whine about a vasectomy?

I know plenty of good men who have gotten the little snip and lived to tell. And screw valiantly once again.

So what gives?

Repetition is the key to every mother's insanity

I was prepared for the hemorrhoids, even though no one warned me. And then the temper tantrums, mostly because everyone told me about those.

But I can honestly say I was not ready to have to answer the same question 40 times in one hour and not completely lose my shit.

And if it's not that, it's repeating something over and over until I acknowledge. Except "yes" doesn't cut it and "uh-huh" just seems to make him say it more.

Quinlan never did much of this when she was younger. She created her own rituals of mastery, but they never really involved driving me completely insane.

But Drew has all the fairly typical toddler behaviors, like requesting the same fucking song over and over again, particularly at bedtime, and asking the same question (which always has the same answer) until I threaten to put him in his crib if he asks me again.

That's almost as bad as being asked a question to which he already knows the answer because I've told him every single night in a row.

"What's he do?" he says, pointing at the garbage truck. "Same thing as last night [and every night for the last oh 48 days and counting]," I reply. "He empties the trash."

And God Almighty do not watch a movie with him, say "Kung-fu Panda," because he will ask you where that damn Kung-fu Panda is the second he leaves the screen to use the potty or take a nap.

I know he's not doing that but it's the only thing that seems to ease his mind.

At some level, my daughter didn't have to do much repeating because she was the only one I was tending to at the time. Now I've got a couple of other mouths to feed and answer, so it takes me a few more seconds to get the milk down his gullet and reply to his questions about tow trucks and big rigs.

But regardless of how fast I move, I'm just never fast enough, and like a little jack hammer, pounding the concrete until it breaks apart, he reminds me that he needs more grapes and juice and "snacks mama, more snacks mama."

Thankfully, I discovered the switch that usually works to turn him off.

"I don't know, kid. Go ask your father."

If I'm gonna go nuts thanks to this parenting gig, you better bet I'm taking him down with me.

[I'm giving away a MilkBank breastmilk storage and bottle system - even if you don't breastfeed, it's worth checking out]

Drew - The Open Mouth Series

[Fake toddler surprise 1]



[Look at my teeth 1]



[Look at my teeth 2]

[Gargle 1]

 

[Home Alone 1]

A Redneck Mommy Makeover

1. Free cosmetics, found on the ground of your *grocery store parking lot.

2. Apply generously. And show your boobies.

[I can't compete with Tanis, my favorite redneck mommy, who just added a gorgeous little boy to her family. We're celebrating her awesomeness this weekend. Share your redneck mommy moments and be entered to win some amazing redneck prizes. And if you'd like to contribute to her gift, then you can do that too!]

*The Cover Girl lip stain was fully sealed, of course. I'm not a complete redneck. And if you saw it up close and personal, then you'd know why someone left it on the ground.