So many crazy things come to mind, but, time being what it is with a four year old, here is my brief list:
I can no longer....
1. Swear like a sailor, I love swearing... it's like punctuation of the spoken word, unfortunately my daughters first recognisable phrase was "naughty damnit" which put my favourite phrases into hibernation faster than a good zip.
2. Finish a sentence, sorry...where was I?
3. Wander around naked with my husband... "mommy, why does your boob have an earring?" tends to lead directly to "nana, mommy's boobs have earrings"
4. Swing dance like a confident orangutang, barbie dolls, bicycles, doll houses and rollerskates create the most fascinating bruise patterns, its the mommy version of relating cloud forms to common shapes... One day I will complete my study of parenting bruises and win a nobel prize, that is, if I can complete a sentence.
5. Wear a bikini, one word "C- Section"
6. Go to festivals, no signal - no hope.
7. Blog, slacker slacker slacker....
I could extend it, but it seems I need to save a princess from a dragon...
Showing posts with label The AlterPenguin Superdork. Show all posts
Showing posts with label The AlterPenguin Superdork. Show all posts
Thursday, July 17, 2008
Monday, June 9, 2008
Some homework from me at last...
Hello Ladies,
I am emerging from my lovely vomit hued cocoon of work and readjusting to married life to fill everyone in on the daily soap opera. I can't remember when last my life felt "normal", can't remember my last unmedicated day, can't figure out where bliss became chaos and I became a slightly shorter and less attractive version of the incredible hulk. Running the risk of offending pretty much everyone else on the planet, how is it that my "new mother" friend can complain constantly about how hard her 9 month old is, how difficult her life is since having him and how she is run ragged? She hasn't worked in just over a year, she isn't studying, she has a maid and a wealthy husband, she laughs about how incensed she is when some audacious moron visits her before 15:00 and expects her to answer the door... Yes, I am PMSing, but is she absolutely insane?
I know its all relative, or at least, the reasonable garden gnome buried deep in my concious brain does, but the selfish bad day gremlin wants to rip her head off and stab out her eyes with a highlighter.
One...Two...Three...Four...Five...Six...Seven...Eight...Nine...Ten.
Still not calm.
Rinse, Repeat?
We recently got to four, and, after giving myself a healthy pat on the back for surviving working [and as close to single as one can get while wearing a wedding ring] motherhood thus far, I had a great moment a few weeks back where I realised that we had finally escaped from the fire eating goblin known as the "terrible two's", she may still be cheeky as hell but this is about as close to human as she has gotten to date. I can have a conversation with her now, and "why" actually has a purpose beyond switching on the smoke button hidden behind mommy's ears. The darling husband has arrived home, for good this time. She is still wetting the bed, still climbing into my arms in soaked pyjamas at 3 am for snuggles. I still get pee'd on four nights out of five, she still has nightmares, she still has abandonment issues, the scientologist raised husband is still refusing to consider medication even though she bounces off the walls, sleeps 4 hours a night and literally grits her teeth so hard she has begun to grind them down out of focus frustration, but you know what? Four is fantastic, the little pyjama clad monster who begs for seven bedtime stories also sings to me on Saturday mornings to get me up, sits on my lap while I go through article ideas, tells me my label samples are beautiful, and begs me to print Marilyn Monroe Benday Dot designs on all her old clothes before I make charity drops "so the things are beautiful for those other kids"
Little miss "new mother" can have her issues, she can have her maid to take her new baby so she can sleep all day, and a husband to sleep in the spare room with snookums all night, I have a child who knows that everything I do is for her, that when mommy is a little too tired for round eight of Peter Rabbit, it's real, and all round - I think I do okay.
I am emerging from my lovely vomit hued cocoon of work and readjusting to married life to fill everyone in on the daily soap opera. I can't remember when last my life felt "normal", can't remember my last unmedicated day, can't figure out where bliss became chaos and I became a slightly shorter and less attractive version of the incredible hulk. Running the risk of offending pretty much everyone else on the planet, how is it that my "new mother" friend can complain constantly about how hard her 9 month old is, how difficult her life is since having him and how she is run ragged? She hasn't worked in just over a year, she isn't studying, she has a maid and a wealthy husband, she laughs about how incensed she is when some audacious moron visits her before 15:00 and expects her to answer the door... Yes, I am PMSing, but is she absolutely insane?
I know its all relative, or at least, the reasonable garden gnome buried deep in my concious brain does, but the selfish bad day gremlin wants to rip her head off and stab out her eyes with a highlighter.
One...Two...Three...Four...Five...Six...Seven...Eight...Nine...Ten.
Still not calm.
Rinse, Repeat?
We recently got to four, and, after giving myself a healthy pat on the back for surviving working [and as close to single as one can get while wearing a wedding ring] motherhood thus far, I had a great moment a few weeks back where I realised that we had finally escaped from the fire eating goblin known as the "terrible two's", she may still be cheeky as hell but this is about as close to human as she has gotten to date. I can have a conversation with her now, and "why" actually has a purpose beyond switching on the smoke button hidden behind mommy's ears. The darling husband has arrived home, for good this time. She is still wetting the bed, still climbing into my arms in soaked pyjamas at 3 am for snuggles. I still get pee'd on four nights out of five, she still has nightmares, she still has abandonment issues, the scientologist raised husband is still refusing to consider medication even though she bounces off the walls, sleeps 4 hours a night and literally grits her teeth so hard she has begun to grind them down out of focus frustration, but you know what? Four is fantastic, the little pyjama clad monster who begs for seven bedtime stories also sings to me on Saturday mornings to get me up, sits on my lap while I go through article ideas, tells me my label samples are beautiful, and begs me to print Marilyn Monroe Benday Dot designs on all her old clothes before I make charity drops "so the things are beautiful for those other kids"
Little miss "new mother" can have her issues, she can have her maid to take her new baby so she can sleep all day, and a husband to sleep in the spare room with snookums all night, I have a child who knows that everything I do is for her, that when mommy is a little too tired for round eight of Peter Rabbit, it's real, and all round - I think I do okay.
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