It’s been a while since I last blogged. A long while. It’s not for not having anything to blog about. There are plenty of things to blog about when you’re a parent. I have an endless library of stories to tell people filed away in my brain library. At any given time I can rattle off a story of Pheobe claiming, explaining, and demonstrating how she has 3 butts. Or how Theo is convinced he’s going to swallow his newest loose tooth while sleeping despite my constant attempt at easing his mind by telling him if he does, we can search his poop if we have to. hey now, desperate times call for desperate measures. I could tell you about how the daycare probably thinks I’m a horrible mom because I usually end up in hysterics when they call to tell me one or the other has a new black eye or a splinter.

I could tell you about BF and I finally cut the support boards for our double box springs thus resulting in making se next to impossible due to the deafening noises coming from the now non sagging yet noisy bed frame with the $3 yard sale sticker still on it. Or maybe something about my inability to actually finish and follow through on just about every aspect of my life including weight loss and electric bills.

This morning I even had the inevitable instance where I discovered Pheobe had used her sticky fingers for bad rather than good when I found a scared little herd of plastic daycare animals in the bottom of her nap bag. My child. My evil dear precious child, had *gasp* stolen something other than her brother’s pack of gum.

So as I said, I’m at no lack of stories to over-share with tell you. I’ve just been…well…busy. So let this be a preview of what’s to come for all you who have been waiting anxiously for the next installment of Mommy Undressed. The best is yet to come my friends. I promise. Mommy is about to drop it like its hot…or something like that.

I remember panicking when the doctors at the hospital told me I could bring my brand new bouncing baby boy home. I didn’t want to. I wanted to stay in the hospital forever where nurses and doctors could monitor what I was doing and tell me I was doing everything right. Despite all the research I did on what babies eat and what to do if this or that happens, I was NOT ready to raise a child. Shocking, I know. I suddenly realized I had no idea what-so-ever what I had gotten myself into. This is the same realization I have EVERY damn day.

Although I no longer panic when my kids get sick and I’ve raised vegetable lovers by some stroke of unicorn magic I really have no idea what I’m doing. These creechers throw me side balls every day. With them the sky is green and the ocean is pink. Cats don’t have skin and dinosaurs don’t eat other dinosaurs. All things the common persons knows obviously.

Lately most dinner conversations have turned to the human anatomy and its functions. Where does your food go after you swallow it? How does your body make poop? Where exactly is your heart? What is the bone in your thigh called? Side note, I’m not a science person. Fun with corn starch and baking soda volcanos are about as far into it as I get, yet both kids have eagerly sat through numerous anatomy drawings of the digestive and vascular systems. Reaching deep into my brain for whatever I can remember from my last college biology and nutrition classes I’ve come up with an elementary explanations of evolution and nutrient absorption. I’m not sure how much this has actually sunk in to their little brains seeing as how they are only 6 and 3, but they do enjoy saying words like microvilli and mastication. We’ve really been getting into this science stuff…….and then last night happened.

In the middle of eating just the corn and chicken out of the chilli, Theo looked up at me as if he knew something about science that would in fact stump and baffle me. His eyes were right. He did, in fact, stump and baffle me with the part human anatomy I didn’t think we would cover for a few more years at first. “Mommy, did you know there are balls in my penis?” *grins and eye sparkle*

Like I said, curve balls and I have absolutely no idea how to raise children.

“Yes Theo, I did know you have balls in your penis,” clears throat “but they are actually under your penis not in it.”

“Ok, but did you know that my pee comes from my balls?”

“No, your pee comes from your bladder.”

“Which is in your balls right?”

At this point in time I want to crawl under the table and join Pheobe and her teddy bear picnic. She left the conversation after the word penis as it has nothing to do with her “fagina”. I was not, nor will I ever be, ready to have a discussion with my son about his twig and berries.

“No, your bladder is right here,” pokes him in his lower abdomen. He lifts up his shirt and looks, and then pulls the front of his pants out…..and looks. This might have actually made sense to him.

“Then what’s in my balls?” Crickets are now chirping loudly in my kitchen. In January.

“Babies are made from the stuff in your balls,” the best I could come up with on such short notice.

“Babies come from my balls?!?!” Shit.

“Kind of. When you’re a lot older.” Fuck.

“How?”

“When you drink things like milk and water it goes into your belly and intestines and bladder. when it’s in your bladder it fills up and tells you when you have to pee. That’s why I don’t let you drink a lot after dinner. So your bladder doesn’t get full while you’re sleeping.”

Crisis averted. Mommy wins this one but probably not the next one. No baby talks. No sex talks. For now we will stick to the knowledge that babies grow in mommy’s bellies and they come out of her butt.

Fuck it.

A term I need to remember to use on a daily basis. The donor used to call me and probably still does the Connecticut Killjoy. He said I sucked the fun out of everything because I was too serious. And there are times but don’t tell him that I agree. I often find myself milling something over and over and over again in my head, unable to let it go. It sits there and brews and stews for hours and days and months until my head is quite literally about to explode.

Everything gets processed through y crazy little brain and sits there to ferment. And by everything I mean EVERYTHING! I worry about what I’m eating, how big my ass looks, if I look as horrible as that lady across the room, will my kids gets sent home early today, do I have enough time to go to the grocery store, will the daycare look at me weird if I send Pheobe with a ‘collective’ lunch, will I make it through the week on just one tank of gas, will anyone be upset if I didn’t do house work again, did I pack BF enough for lunch, will Theo’s bus actually drop him off, will my boobs actually take over my entire body, do I have cancer, do i have a fatty liver…..the list goes on and on and on and on…and on…and….on…..and…..you get the picture.

I know you’re sitting there saying, “But we all worry about those things,” but the truth is I’m border line OCD about it all. It frustrates me and then consumes me until I come to rocking in a corner with a mason jar of vodka an a bag of chips. Every day is a struggle. Fighting with my brain like it’s a bitter ex husband. Back and forth. Back and forth. I’ve missed out on so much because of it. So many laughs. So many smiles. So many happy tears…..all because my brain doesn’t want to shut up and just say ‘Fuck It!”

So this is what I plan to do. Every day I’m going to say “Ah, fuck it” to at least one thing other than housework and just live a little. I really have no reason not to. I have to amazingly wonderful  minions who make me want to scream, a fantastic BF who for seem unknown reason chose me, and an addition of two littles who add the flare of ‘super girly’ and frustration. All 4 kids gets along famously except when they’re threatening to tie each other up. BF gets me, like really gets me or pretends to so I’ll feel better and we have mind blowing amazing sex. I really do have everything a mommy and GF could ask for. I love all 5 people who surround me daily with love and support.

So here I go, ready to say ‘Fuck It’ and start enjoying my life a little more before my brain explodes and I end up in a mental institution. I challenge you all to do the same for we never know when our last day will be here and its best for others to remember us with a smile not a frown.