The Motherhood Is An Evil Bitch

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I don’t take good care of myself. I mean I shower, brush my teeth, keep my hemroids at bay, and wear clean clothing…so don’t start looking at me cross eyed and be thankful the internet doesn’t have a “smell” option. I don’t stink and I can’t imagine kissing me is a horrible experience I keep my halotosis at bay.

I drink out of sheer boredom and I have the occasional cigarette because I was overly bored ; *ducks to avoid a shoe flying at my head* so my liver and lungs obviously hate me. I’ve let my midsection start to resemble bread dough and last month my mother accused me of now having her calves that match so nicely with my thighs. My back fat is starting to resemble fairy wings my daughter might actually be amused with this if she noticed, my boobs threaten to smother me in my sleep, and my ass have formed a close connection with the backs of my legs. I have caterpillars growing above my upper lip and eyebrows, and little volcano sprouts growing from my moles. My grey hair is coming in so fast it glimmers like silver thread in the sun people are actually noticing it from a distance. I have to admit that I wasn’t overly concerned about all the physical appearance stuff with the exception of the bread dough belly until last week. Last week when I went to the nail salon.

Know this, I have a deep fear of nail salons. The way too many men feel about spiders is how I feel about nail salons. Let me explain, nail salons are typically run by Asians. There is a reason the cities throughout Asia are large, bustling, and progressive. The reason is that those people don’t back down. they know what they want, how to get it, and make money doing it. Put that into the world of nail salons. Women hate themselves, truly. We bash our bodies, starve ourselves, and cry to our friends about how our nipples don’t point straight ahead anymore. The people running these salons know this, they exploit it! You go in for a simple manicure or pedicure and end up with gel nails, french tipped toes, eye brow waxing, and on a bad day a Brazilian. They get into your head, manipulate you, and make you feel as if your life will be shit if they can’t change every possible thing about your outward appearance that they can. If they could perform lypo in the back room…..they would.

With that being said, I’m not sure what came over me the other day and caused me to go inside. Maybe it was the sudden quest for the perfect running shoes because I’m obviously a runner *coughs* or maybe it was the sudden realization that there really is no such thing as the perfect running shoe for me. As I found myself leaving the store of shoes, I looked to my right and there it was…calling me… Luxury Nails! “I’m getting a pedicure!” <= famous last words. It was almost as if my deep laden fear of nails salons was magically whisked away in the 95 degree summer heat or perhaps I was delusional due to dehydration. All memory of the beaten ego, vanished. I was strong. I was brave. I could take on these nail salon people, and come out a whole person! I had confidence, damn it!

Through the strip mall door I walk, “I want a pedicure!”

“Pick a color. Sit. Wait,” and so it began…the downward spiral.

I started questioning myself. Is this the right color? Is it trendy? Shit! Am I going to look like every other set of toes on the street? Fuck! My feet look horrendous! They’re filthy! My heals are cracked!

These people are going to HATE me!

If I were the type to hyperventilate, this is when I would have done so. Just as I was about to get up and walk out the door I was called the a chair. I sat and immediately felt the need to announce, like a sinner at confession, that it had been almost three years since my last pedicure….to the entire salon. Then I realized just how hairy my legs were, reminding myself that I hadn’t shaved anything else for a few days either…and I was wearing a skirt. What’s happened to me??? Hair, bread dough belly, homicidal boobs, fairy winged back fat, more grey hair than your average 34 year old? Why on Earth would anyone, especially Steve, want to be with me? In another month or two, chances are, there was a slight possibility I could easily be twice the size of Steve and looking more like side show attraction! I actually let  motherhood get the better of me! Shit! These people were going to eat me alive in here! I was going to come out looking like a skinned cat with pretty nails. My life was over.

I tried to contain my fear as the poor woman at my feet tore filed off layers of callus and dead skin. The calf massage didn’t even feel good due to the sharp barbs of hair protruding out of my legs. As she finished I waited. Waited for her to start sucking me into her vortex of “beauty refinement”. Then it happened, she looked up at me with her evil eyes and asked if I wanted a manicure to go with it. “No, thank you.” I said.

To my surprise that was the end of her inquiry. She didn’t add on the usual questions and statements. Are you sure? Your nails look horrible. When was the last time you cut your cuticles? How about your eye brows? Men don’t like hairy eyebrows that big, and your mustache, it needs to go. No third degree. No feeling like a tarnished garden statue. Just a look of disappointment. Those I can handle. I’m a mom, my kids give me that look every day. Somehow I ended up walking out of the nail salon with only a pedicure and a bruised ego pertaining to my split heals, leg hair, and talon toe nails.

All this, however, did make me realize that I had let the Motherhood get the better of me. I had stumbled into the rabbit hole, and had been chasing the white rabbit to imminent doom. The Motherhood can be an evil bitch, and will take control of your life. It will turn you into something you don’t even recognize, a crumbled shell of what you used to be before children. As your kids beat you down from the outside, the Motherhood eats away at you from the inside. Just because you’re a mom doesn’t mean you can’t look nice and have nice things. In fact, it means you should try even harder to look nice and have nice things. We’re not raising unkempt grub worms who don’t know what a button up shirt looks like, we’re raising the future pillars of our society! They are looking to US for guidance! Ok, so maybe we and our kids don’t have to dress like something straight out of NY Fashion week, or send our kids to school looking like their name should be Chancy, but we also can’t let the Motherhood get the better of us.

I went home that night, shaved my legs, shaved my lady bits special gift for Steve, waxed my eyebrows, tamed the mustache, and dyed the hair on my head. I even trimmed the mole hair special gift for myself. I went through my wardrobe and tossed anything that didn’t fit right, and made myself promise to do better at taking care of myself. Making myself a better person means that I am making myself a better mother for my children. I’m saying fuck you to the Motherhood, and headed down a one way road to MILF-dom with a few pitstops and wrong way turns along the way!!!

Psychotic Bitch:The Driving Force of the American Economy

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Ok, here’s the deal. I don’t really give a shit what kind of woman you claim to be, or the ‘pedigree’ you come from. The fact of the matter is, at least one time in your life, you have become a psychotic bitch. By saying “at least one time in your life” what I really mean is during times such as menopause, menstruation, divorce, breakups, PPD, deaths of friends and family, the series finale of Desperate Housewives, and vodka driven nights….you know “those” times.

It’s these times where we, as women, find ourselves thinking we’re acting completely rational when in fact the word “rational” is so far from what we have become the word “irrational” can’t even begin to describe us. Some of us turn into blubbering idiots *points at self* while others would be better off in a straight jacket. Hundreds of men’s vehicles have met the ends of car keys and thousands of women’s belly pooch have been grabbed and shaken in the horrified eyes of their partners during these times. We lash out at the closest person to us preferably those of the opposite sex and spurt off all the ways they have been fucking up because its obvious we are perfect or all the ways our bodies can’t compare to the size zero woman you saw on the street earlier who hasn’t come face to face with a cheese burger in 5 years and cries herself to sleep each night because of it.

For those of you who are sitting there reading this saying to yourself, “oh, that’s never been me”, fuck off. You’re lying, please walk away from this blog immediately. It’s part of our nature. We HAVE to turn into psychotic bitches every now and then. This isn’t only to keep men and lesbians on their toes. No, its purpose is much greater than that. If we didn’t have these breakdowns on a regular basis at least once a month men and lesbians would think they’re doing something wrong. This would most likely result in numerous calls to Homeland Security about suspicious behavior in the general vicinity of your house.

The world as we know it would indeed stop. Flower shops across the country would go out of business and greeting card companies would suddenly lose their market in the “I’m Sorry” section. Gift card sales to day spas would plummet and children would be left wondering why mommy is actually laughing all the time. This is the cycle of life. Forget birth and death and that whole mother nature blah blah blah thing. THIS is what drives society. THIS is what keeps card and chocolate shops in business. THIS is why there is such a high demand for spas, nail salons, and $6.99/dozen roses at the gas station down the street.

So ladies, the next time you feel the urge to completely lose your shit…..go for it! Break down. Sob like a banshee and throw a dish or 2 just not directly at people so as to avoid jail time. You deserve it! And the American economy is counting on YOU to guilt encourage your significant other into buying you gifts you wouldn’t necessarily need otherwise. This is why you have such a collection of knick knacks and shoes. Go. Do it. Break down. You deserve it! Going through menopause? Why do you think designer handbag companies and high end jewelry stores do so well during the non holiday season? That’s right my friend, you and your random acts of psychotic bitchiness.

So go ahead ladies, let the tears and dishes fly! If your significant other doesn’t like it, just tell them the American economy and child laborers in third world countries are relying on you to keep food on the table and a roof over their heads. You’re an American, this is your duty.

Childbirth Survival Guide: His and Hers

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I have 2 friends expected to give birth quite early in the New Year so I feel that I have to follow up my Pregnancy Survival Guide . Those of you who have been through it know, it sucks. Honestly, even those ‘in touch with themselves’ hippy types (referring to myself) will tell you that there are certain parts of childbirth that flat out suck. Yes, you just made a tiny human in your own little incubator and then pushed it out with every last bit of energy. Yes you just made a new life with the man you love…or hate…or don’t even know…or at a party…or through other means so that you and your partner can enjoy the love of parenting..or whatever. The fact is, you’re about to give birth to a tiny human who will end up calling you mommy and demand every last bit of patience you built up in your entire lifetime.

So here’s what I feel you need to know before you push that tiny human out.

*DISCLAIMER: I know that everyone’s childbirth experience is different. If you are upset, offended, pissed off that mine was so short, or disagree with my experience please feel free to write your own blog about it and I will gladly let you guest blog here for my friends to see.*

For her:

  • I’m a naturalist…well almost. I typically stay away from processed food, artificial colorings, blah blah blah. I tried to stay active throughout both of my pregnancies which is probably why both minions came screaming out 3 weeks early. This meant NO EPIDURAL!!! No pain meds, before or after. Let me tell you this, constipation which I have often, broken bones, and cigarette burns have nothing on the pain of child birth. Ouch.
  • When your water breaks, especially if its your first time, don’t rush to the hospital….but don’t sit down and have a turkey sub with horseradish sauce and bacon either. You’ve got time. My water broke with Theo 5 hours before he arrived. After eating that turkey sub, which I’ll get back to later, I went and took a nice long shower then did my hair and makeup. <=good suggestion. *WARNING: Doing your hair and makeup immediately before childbirth does nothing in the long run. You still end up looking like a soggy dish towel that’s been used to clean your car’s wheel wells.*
  • After your water break…..DON’T EAT ANYTHING!!! With Theo I had that fucking turkey sub. With Pheobe I had peanut butter and crackers. A word to the wise, horseradish sauce and peanut butter feel about the same coming up while you’re trying to push out a tiny human, do NOT eat them!!! My suggestion, water….and maybe jello. Just not red jello. I’m not going into any more detail about red jello, you’ll have to use your imagination for that. It’s red, enough said.
  • If your doctor tells you that you have to stay in bed with every damn machine the hospital has to offer,unless its for high risk out of the ordinary stuff obviously…or a c-section tell them to go to hell. Walk it out! Go ahead, they have railings on the walls in the maternity ward for a reason, for you to try to rib off while having a contraction! Duh! Just don’t have the baby in the hallway.<=another good suggestion
  • If you think that you’re going to be all about getting up and walking to the hospital nursery which is nothing like the ones in the movies, think again. With Pheobe I had 23 stitches vaginally. I didn’t want to sit upright. Even with the 7 I got with Theo, walking around anywhere was not at thetop of my list. They make the hospital bissinets with wheels for a reason, let them wheel that sucker in to see you. It’ll be one of the last times anyone will be more than willing to wait on you.


For him:

  • Whatever you do, don’t take an obscene amount of pictures while your woman is pushing the tiny human out…unless of course you like the feeling of a camera shoved down your throat.
  • While mommy is in labor is NOT a good time to call your entire family and all your friends to tell them that she is labor. Unless of course you like the feeling of your cell phone shoved down your throat.
  • Yes…she will poop while pushing. My advise, don’t tell her immediately afterwards. Honestly, at that point in time she couldn’t give a shit less.<=good suggestion
  • The placenta is gross. Look away and pretend its not there.
  • Remember, the hand you usually use to hold her hand on romantic walks? Do NOT let her hold it!!! Unless of course you were wondering what its like to shake Superman’s hand.
  • Stay calm. We all understand that the tougher you guys are the harder you fall, but this is the one time you need to prove her wrong. No fainting, no vomiting, and no leaving the room for air.
  • You can cry. It’s allowed. Cry all you want dude. You helped make this baby too…or not…maybe you just put up with the pregnancy hormones which can be horrible. Even if you’re the toughest guy on the planet you’re allowed to cry. Let it out. No one is going to make fun of you.

So that’s about it. The rest you’ll have to learn on your own. It’s such an amazing experience and, like you losing your virginity, the first time only ever happens once. It’s hard to believe while its happening that you’ll ever love the actual act of giving birth, but you’ll see. Every time you look into the eyes of that beautiful baby you’ll be forever grateful for everything you just went through because it was 100% worth it.

Please remember that if you experience postpartum depression, you are not alone. Countless numbers of us have been through the same thing. Some of us twice. It’s not easy looking at your baby and feeling the feelings you feel with PPD. Just know that those of us who have been through it are here to help you and that there are support groups for it. Talk to your doctor and get help as soon as possible. Your baby deserves 100% of you. And to the other halves, you don’t nessesarily need to ‘understand’ PPD but you do need to support her through it. Just remember that this too shall pass. Your perfectly planned family is right there waiting for you.

Good luck to all the new mommys and daddys this year!

The Reset Button

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The Reset Button

All of the electronics in your house have one.

Most cars have one.

And believe it or not, you have one too.

And when someone presses it, you feel AMAZING! It’s like you have a new leash on the madness going on around you. It’s better than coffee damn it! It’s what you need, you crave it. More than sex? Eh, doubtful.

I dare say that despite the absolute craziness that goes on around BF and I we have a pretty good life. Those of you that know us personally are thinking to yourselves, really? “I wouldn’t trade my life for theirs even if they offered it on a silver platter!” Our exs give us problems daily and we are both complete lunatics. I OVER think everything and he UNDER thinks everything. He farts on me, and I burp in his face. I want life to revolve around comical satire while he wants life to revolve around patriotism. He’s Garth Brookes to my Miranda Lambert. And that’s how we go about our days. Our friend Nicole even dared to say that we are “The most real couple she knows.” Oh Nicole, if only you knew sweetheart, if only you knew!

How does this happen? How do BF and I continue life in our happy little bubble, as we call it, with all our differences and craziness? Two words: Reset Button. Somehow, despite some of our extreme differences, we ended up with the same button. It’s called Pemaquid, Maine, also known as my hometown. It’s nestled up in John’s Bay about halfway up the coast. When we’re up there we are surrounded by water and trees, as well as a no-longer-working demolition derby car and enough lobster traps to build a small house.

View From My Parent's House

And we’re lucky enough to have a free place to stay benefit of staying with my parents that also comes with babysitters another benefit of my parents. Not that going out is top of our list while we’re there. I mean, who needs to go out when you can sit and have a beer with a view like that? Not to mention the ‘open air’ bathroom at the opposite end of the deck, aka: where no one can see you pee. On our visits BF is usually put to work clamming, lobstering yes on an actual boat, or weed wacking.

BF & My Dad Digging Clams

All the while BF has a huge shit eating grin on his face as he intently goes about whatever task is thrown at him because he knows that at the end of the day, whatever he is doing is going to have great reward at the end. Maybe it means the freshest steamed clams you’ve ever tasted, or as much lobster as your belly can hold. Or maybe even something as simple as sitting by the water in the early evening with an ice cold beer watching the sun set over the tree tops.

The Fruits Of BF's Labor

And this is where BF and I press our reset buttons and rediscover the wonders of life and each other. Where our worries melt away as our minds are refreshed with the scent of the salt air and bug spray and the mouth watering taste of fresh off the boat seafood.

BF standing in the front yard talking With My Dad...Who's on the boat.

This morning at 8am, as we drove up Rt 27 listening to the local Ford dealership on the radio encourage people to come trade in their old manure spreaders for a brand new F150,  our reset buttons were pressed. We laughed until we cried as BF did his best Main-ah impression. We were officially in Maine. Vacationland: ‘The Way Life Should Be’. And now, as we sit on the deck watching the tide roll out and dodging humming birds we were sitting too close to their feeder I say to you this: If you don’t yet have a reset button, go find one. And reset it often; because beneath all the chaos and drama of life is harmony, and it’s closer than you think. Cheers.

Cheers to the Reset Button!

Pregnancy Survival Guide: His and Hers

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Today I found out that some friends *we will call them M and J* are expecting their first critter baby in January. As I stood there looking at the excitement and horror on M’s face I couldn’t control myself and blurted out, “I see my birth control blog didn’t work for you.” And I said it to J as well when she called not too long after. She laughed…she’s obviously so overcome with pregnancy hormones that she has no idea what I really said.

I should clue you in to the fact that J is an avid reader of this blog. I thought that by now I would have scared her away from ever procreating, I guess I was wrong. Maybe what I should have been blogging about was all the fun and exciting things that happen during that make you want to gouge your eyes out and have your baby daddy imprisoned for trickery do it over and over again! However, its a little too late. Instead I have decided to make a bit of a survival guide for M and J. So sit back and relax you two crazy kids, you’re in for the ride of your life!

So J, here are some things your mother didn’t tell you:

  1. Pregnancy to 10 months long. The ass hat who told the world it was 9 months was probably paid by Russian spies to completely disrupt the flow of a happy marriage. Or it could just be some politician trying to gain votes. Either way, that person should be hunted down and tried for perjury.
  2. You know that gooy little snail trail you get when you’re ovulating? Be prepared to have it the ENTIRE time you’re pregnant! And twice as bad. But don’t worry, no matter how bad it gets, there is not a colony of snails living in your knickers…it is totally normal.
  3. At some point in time you are going to be walking down the street and its going to feel like Chuck Norris side kicked you in the ass…it is not, however, Chuck Norris gracing you with his mad karate skills, its actually that little snot buddle of joy taking up prime real estate on your sciatic nerve. *Warning: there is no amount of manipulation that will get that baby to move. Many have tried, all have failed.*
  4. Your boobs are going to get massive! Not just a size or two, more like 3 or 4 sizes. The Titty Fairy is very generous when it comes to size, but a miserable bitch when it comes to sensitivity. They are going to hurt in ways you never imagined. It’ll wake you up in the middle of the night. And to top it all off, you’re going to pass a crying baby, feel your boobs get warm, look down, and notice that the entire front of your shirt is now soaking wet. Congratulations, you are lactating.
  5. Stay away from comedy clubs. Although laughing is good for your health and improves your life expectancy, it will make you pee. Right there. In your pants. There is no amount of kegals that can prevent this once there is a 2 pound human using your bladder as a bean bag chair. *side note: They do not make adult diapers in maternity sizes*
  6. I’m sure you have great ankles, and they probably look amazing in heals. Say good bye to them for the last few months of your pregnancy. Not that you’ll be able to see them anyway. They will soon disappear into the wonderment known as kankles.
  7. You were always taught to lift with your legs, not with your back. You have no idea just how true this rule of thumb is. Not only are you not going to be able to bend down to pick anything up, but squatting down isn’t going to be an option either. You’ll soon have to learn moves that would make world class hacky sack players jealous. It’s amazing just how many things you are actually able to pick up ‘with’ your legs and pass on to your hands without ever having to put your hands near the ground. Start practicing now, you’re gonna need it.
  8. Sex. All those fun positions you got to play with while making a baby, forget about them. There are now only 2; on your side and doggy style. I should add that as your belly and breasts get bigger, you will have to nest your belly in a pile of pillows and wear a sports bra when engaging in any sex act with the exception of trips down south to avoid knocking yourself out or over from the sheer momentum. *think of a swinging penjulum…that’s your belly and boobs*
  9. “While pregnant it is best to sleep on your left side to improve circulation to you and the baby”…….horse shit. First of all you won’t be sleeping. You’ll be convinced that you are not about to give birth to a perfect little baby but some nocturnal animal that enjoys gnawing on your internal organs. Secondly, if you can figure out how to sleep on your left side and be comfortable, please write a book so that future mothers may do so. I hope you have a comfortable couch or arm chair, you’ll be sleeping sitting up for a while.
  10. Finally, there will be times when you will want to tie hubs up in a dark closet with big hairy spiders and scorpions so that he may get a taste of the discomfort and misery you feel, or assist him in taking a long walk off a short pier for ever agreeing to do this whole baby thing. Both of these are not recommended and, depending on the state, be considered illegal. Remember, these feelings will pass and you will be very happy you kept him around come the 4th diaper change in the middle of the night.

Now for you M! Please pay close attention and make sure J does NOT read past this sentence…..

Seriously J, you need to go feed the cats or something. It’s not that I don’t love you, but M and I need to have a little chat.

Is she gone yet? Good.

M, you only have to remember one thing, and one thing only:

Right now she is completely bat shit crazy!!! Her body has been hijacked by an alien that will come out disguised as your baby in January. There is absolutely nothing you can say that will make anything better or make her feel good. You need to start a savings account that will only go towards ‘I’m Sorry Flowers’ even though you know you were right and whatever food she is craving that week. Now, more than ever, when she says jump you say ‘How high….and for how long?” I promise you that you will have your wonderful sweet wife back in about a year (after the pregnancy and post partum  hormones wear off). Please hang on and know you are not the only man to experience the poltergeist version of their wife. You have a masters degree… can do this!

(She can come back into the room now)

So that’s it my friends. Life as you know it has only just begun. Your hearts are about to grow 5 times bigger, your cheeks are going to hurt from smiling, and your eyes will hurt from crying. It’s the best and worst of times, and the first baby only happens once. J, enjoy how your body grows and changes with each day and how beautiful every pregnant woman is. Remember, you are BOTH pregnant, it is a wild ride for both of you. I can’t imagine a baby more blessed than this one to get 2 amazing people as parents. I wish you both the best of luck, joy, and happiness. So amazingly happy for you both. Congratulations.