Over sugared coffee and cheesecake for breakfast....
Because I can't have wine right now and don't have any cupcakes handy.
I have not updated as much as I was hoping I would when I fired up this old blog. I've been having lots of fun ideas for things to do with it - start putting up projects I'm working on or finished.... outfits posts again, because I do so love those.... makeup posts, because why else am I dropping hundreds of dollars I can't really afford on makeup if I'm not showing it off??.... house things as we get ready to have our third kiddo and still inhabit a 2 bedroom abode.... you know things like that.
Then I remember I look terrible in all my clothes right now, and I can't afford to buy cute maternity clothes because a) I hate the idea of maternity clothes, I prefer versatile clothes I can wear whether I'm pregnant or not, and b) I keep spending any extra money I manage to get ahold of on makeup and hair things.... or food.
And project wise, I have some things I could probably put up, but nearly all of my projects fall into the "unfinished" category at the moment because any time I start working on something again, I have these two adorable short people living in this house that become fully energized the second they see me sit down to do something that does not include: being their snack bitch, watching them do some kind of "trick" they just taught themselves that makes no sense to anyone but them, or doing anything that does not focus 300% of my attention on them. Connor has become the most intense advocate in this cause. He's figured out how to open the bathroom door even when I push it shut all the way (which makes it very hard to open), so I get an audience when I use the bathroom. Not the encouraging kind either. The kind that sees me "just sitting there" and begins demanding I turn on the sink so he can play "bubbles" or give him squares of toilet paper so that he can throw them in the bathtub, or just sit there with his face in his hands, elbows digging into my legs, going "mamaaaaaaa". If we're playing, or watching a movie, or doing anything that involves him being next to me, and I pause to take a drink, his favorite thing to do is tap on the water bottle/coffee cup/soda can right when I get it to my mouth so that it splashes all down the front of me. If I'm sitting at my laptop to do homework, he will crawl under the table and start tapping his fingers on my toenails, if no one has ever done this to you (it was a first for me too), it's a very unnerving sensation. If that doesn't work, he will start bringing every toy in the house under the table, and eventually I will see little fingers reach up against the wall to try and discreetly unplug my laptop from it's charger. He's very serious about his him time. There is no time for other things. His big sister is a little bit more passive aggressive in her attempts. She likes to stick to classics, like picking fights with her brother so that they both start yelling at each other which leads to him crying. Then when I investigate and she gets the spotlight, she gets to invent a 78 minutes long story over what happened. Or she will sit on the couch, her favorite sport, and begin humming some tune only she knows, which will progressively get louder and louder untill she's whisper-yelling lyrics that no one else can understand over and over again, and I holler at her to knock it off. Sometimes I win this endurance contest, and won't say anything (earbuds help), so she will walk up to me (and let me clarify here, the girl has no sense at all of personal space, so when I say walk up to me, imagine a 9 year old giraffe child, hanging off your head), and will ask if I want to hear her new song, like I haven't been listening to her whisper-yell it for the last 4 hours. One of her favorite maneuvers is to roll off the couch, or purposely trip over nothing while she's walking to and from the couch, and very loudly announce "OW" until someone inquires about her health status. It's rough being 9 I guess. She's pretty sure she's actually 19, but she has the attention span of a firefly and she still likes to be babied, so in between the attitudes and fits and proclamations of injustice when I expect her to brush her hair and change her underwear on a daily basis, she also wants to be allowed to play with the baby and toddler toys without being teased, expects me to pick up all of her messes for her, constantly mistakes me and the floors for trashcans, and likes to watch the same movie 569 times a day. Next to sitting on the couch, her second favorite sport is handing me things. It doesn't matter if there's a table or counter or any other viable surface nearby. She likes to hand things directly to me, and if my hands are unavailable for acceptance of these treasures, she will settle for tossing them at me and hoping for the best.
So... none of those things have happened for my blog yet. And now Fall classes start next week. So, who knows if they ever will happen, but I mom-promise* that I will try my damndest to be better about updating.
In baby related news, because I know I haven't been great at updating about that, there isn't really anything to update. Things are going fine. I'm huge. Apparently after a couple kids your body decides it already knows this whole song and dance and so you get big... fast. It helps when you are carrying around genetically giant spawn. My glucose test is next week, I feel like I got lucky with the first two and so this time around I'm going to end up with the dreaded bad news: "gestational diabetes", so that isn't so fun, but we will just have to wait and see what happens. I'm not quite as healthy this time around as I was for my last two. Perhaps I've been locked in the bathroom with the box of oreos trying to eat my feelings, instead of pulling out all of my eyebrow hairs and screaming at everything, one too many times. Speaking of bathrooms...
Moving along.
I've found myself to be very frustrated lately. There are apparently some strange misconceptions about my life, and I'm sure lots of other stay at home mom's have to deal with this too. I've discovered lately that there are people that seem to think my days are filled with whatever I want to do, like I have a ton of free time, and that my children just run wild, and are allowed to do whatever they want at all times. There are people that think I just sleep all day away after staying up all night long. There are people that think I don't have hard stressful days, because all I do is stay home with the kids, and if I do announce out loud that I am stressed, I am almost always met with the following response "well at least you don't have to go to a job." You're right. I don't have to GO to a job. I never fucking leave it. And don't get me wrong, I love and adore my kids. But they still stress me the fuck out. They are stressful beings. And I'm currently cooking a third. And on top of those awesome stressful little assholes that I love with all my heart, and am trying to keep alive and also raise to not be assholes while also still trying to have some occasional fun peppered in so that we don't all just want to hide from each other all day long, and even that, is not all I do with my days. It may not sound like much.
BUT - until you've tried to pretend to be a fully functioning, capable mom after only getting about two hours worth of sleep each night for the last god knows how many months, while you spend your days feeling like you say the exact same things over and over again and then still stand on the receiving end of blank stares and faces of children who look at you like you're a crazy lady because you're yelling again and they don't understand why, don't try and judge me.
Until you've tried to load up a toddler (who insists on wearing his shoes on the wrong feet no matter how many times I fix them), into his car seat that he doesn't want to be in because his big sister doesn't have to sit in one, while he tries to hold on to all 18 toys he's decided he can't live without that day - while also dealing with aforementioned big sister who doesn't want to go anywhere unless its a playground (and not just any playground but a very specific playground on a side of town you never hang out near or have any errands near), and will spend the next 3 hours reminding you of every mom-promise you ever made (as well as some that she just made up) throughout her entire 9 years on this planet, that you haven't yet fulfilled, and will then proceed to ask for and touch every single thing within her reach once you finally get to the store, where you realize, as big sister goes to great lengths to torture toddler brother because he's in the cart seat and she's not, and she can touch stuff and hand it to him and then blame him for grabbing things and snatch it away like a hero and think she's actually fooling you with any of this nonsense... that you forgot your list and don't even remember what you went there for in the first place.... just don't even try to judge my daily life.
They're my kids, and I love them, and I chose to have them, I chose to raise them, together my partner and I chose for me to stay home with them, (although for those that have never read my past blogs, that conclusion was reached largely because my paychecks didn't cover the cost of daycare, so it didn't make sense for me to keep trying to work just to keep the kids in a daycare we couldn't afford while I continued to not be able to contribute to our mortgage or any other bills...) but it doesn't mean that I'm just not allowed to feel stressed or that I'm any less entitled to feel stressed out or have a bad day than those that leave their houses and get a paycheck to go and interact with other people and can take smoke breaks and lunch breaks and have to put on their best fake smile and say have a nice day to some jerk that just yelled at them for something that was completely not their fault, or have to pick up phones to talk to shitty customers, or enter data about stuff they could care less about, or try and take vitals on some person that's terrified of doctors offices and wants to be anywhere else, or toss some meat on a grill and serve food to ungrateful assholes who just want them to hurry up. We are all dealing with our own stress, and for anyone to try and belittle mine or make me feel like I'm unjustified because for some reason me not getting an official paycheck for the jobs that I do every day, all day, and all night, means that I'm not living a validly stressful life in their opinion, is just ridiculous.
To everyone that sees me share a post on my facebook and then thinks "oh there she is just sitting around not doing anything, must be nice" or sees me put up a selfie where my hair and makeup are actually done and then thinks "oh it must be nice to have enough time to get dressed up," or "it must be awesome to not have anything else to do then play with makeup and take selfies" all I can really say is just fuck off. You honestly just have no clue.
I spend money on clothes, I spend money on makeup, I spend money to get my hair done on occasion (roughly twice a year), and there are other things that money should be spent on, for sure, but I spend nearly every waking minute of my life with short people that only act like they like me when they need or want something or see me walking into the bathroom, and niether of which have a comprehensive grasp on their language or communication skills. I hardly ever get to interact with my friends outside of my phone, I hardly ever get to be around people in my general height range and have fun and not worry about if one of my children is trying to put their dinosaurs tail in the dogs eyeball. I hardly ever get to eat my food while it's still hot, and I hardly ever get to have a rational, logical, or hell even amusing, adult converstation in person with another human for longer than 2 or 3 minutes before I hear "mamaaaaa..." so yes. I spend money on the occasional things that I shouldn't. I take pictures of myself when I've found a minute to do my makeup and hair. I take pictures of myself when I've managed to put on an outfit that makes me feel good even though I'm 200 pounds and look like I'm smuggling an extra large watermelon underneath everything I wear. I share them, a little bit less for people to hit the like button on (although admittedly it does make me feel good to see that people appreciate how I look because it's not something I get to hear a lot), but moreso because it reminds me that behind the smell, and awful complexion, and weeks old outfit, I still am capable of occasionally looking good and like an adult human being that might have their shit together, and even if I don't, at least my makeup was on point that day.
So that's that. I've had that bottled up for a while, but it seems like lately people are getting more and more comfortable saying some pretty asshole-ish things to me and making some pretty asshole-ish assumptions about my life based on what they piece together from my social media. And then my small circle of friends wonder why I'm not more social and why I don't seem to like going out or socializing or most people in general. I can't imagine.
Despite popular opinion, I miss my friends. I miss going out and having fun for a little while every once in a while. I get sad and butthurt when I start feeling like people forgot about me or moved on without me because I can't go out and do things like they can. I get pretty down on myself when I think that people didn't actually like me enough to feel like our friendship was worth sticking around for even if I can't go out or be physically present for things very often. The running joke is that I'm anti-social and hate everyone. And it's true to an extent, I can be very anti-social, but the few people that I've chosen to let in, and talk to, and form friendships with, are very important to me, so their disappearances, avoidances, judgements, etc. hit me very hard, and I don't often recover easily from it. True story. However insignificant you may think our interactions are, believe me when I say, they probably mean a lot more to me than you realize.
And that's that. It is Friday. It's my last weekend of freedom before my Fall classes start, and Kenzie goes back to school. It's my last chance to maybe get a project finished and try out something new with the blog, so we will see if I can make that happen this week. I hope everyone has a good weekend. Sorry for all the unexpected rants and feelings.
*mom-promise - a promise made with the best of intentions at seeing it through, but accompanied by the grim acknowledgment that there are slim to no odds of it actually coming to fruition.
I have not updated as much as I was hoping I would when I fired up this old blog. I've been having lots of fun ideas for things to do with it - start putting up projects I'm working on or finished.... outfits posts again, because I do so love those.... makeup posts, because why else am I dropping hundreds of dollars I can't really afford on makeup if I'm not showing it off??.... house things as we get ready to have our third kiddo and still inhabit a 2 bedroom abode.... you know things like that.
Then I remember I look terrible in all my clothes right now, and I can't afford to buy cute maternity clothes because a) I hate the idea of maternity clothes, I prefer versatile clothes I can wear whether I'm pregnant or not, and b) I keep spending any extra money I manage to get ahold of on makeup and hair things.... or food.
And project wise, I have some things I could probably put up, but nearly all of my projects fall into the "unfinished" category at the moment because any time I start working on something again, I have these two adorable short people living in this house that become fully energized the second they see me sit down to do something that does not include: being their snack bitch, watching them do some kind of "trick" they just taught themselves that makes no sense to anyone but them, or doing anything that does not focus 300% of my attention on them. Connor has become the most intense advocate in this cause. He's figured out how to open the bathroom door even when I push it shut all the way (which makes it very hard to open), so I get an audience when I use the bathroom. Not the encouraging kind either. The kind that sees me "just sitting there" and begins demanding I turn on the sink so he can play "bubbles" or give him squares of toilet paper so that he can throw them in the bathtub, or just sit there with his face in his hands, elbows digging into my legs, going "mamaaaaaaa". If we're playing, or watching a movie, or doing anything that involves him being next to me, and I pause to take a drink, his favorite thing to do is tap on the water bottle/coffee cup/soda can right when I get it to my mouth so that it splashes all down the front of me. If I'm sitting at my laptop to do homework, he will crawl under the table and start tapping his fingers on my toenails, if no one has ever done this to you (it was a first for me too), it's a very unnerving sensation. If that doesn't work, he will start bringing every toy in the house under the table, and eventually I will see little fingers reach up against the wall to try and discreetly unplug my laptop from it's charger. He's very serious about his him time. There is no time for other things. His big sister is a little bit more passive aggressive in her attempts. She likes to stick to classics, like picking fights with her brother so that they both start yelling at each other which leads to him crying. Then when I investigate and she gets the spotlight, she gets to invent a 78 minutes long story over what happened. Or she will sit on the couch, her favorite sport, and begin humming some tune only she knows, which will progressively get louder and louder untill she's whisper-yelling lyrics that no one else can understand over and over again, and I holler at her to knock it off. Sometimes I win this endurance contest, and won't say anything (earbuds help), so she will walk up to me (and let me clarify here, the girl has no sense at all of personal space, so when I say walk up to me, imagine a 9 year old giraffe child, hanging off your head), and will ask if I want to hear her new song, like I haven't been listening to her whisper-yell it for the last 4 hours. One of her favorite maneuvers is to roll off the couch, or purposely trip over nothing while she's walking to and from the couch, and very loudly announce "OW" until someone inquires about her health status. It's rough being 9 I guess. She's pretty sure she's actually 19, but she has the attention span of a firefly and she still likes to be babied, so in between the attitudes and fits and proclamations of injustice when I expect her to brush her hair and change her underwear on a daily basis, she also wants to be allowed to play with the baby and toddler toys without being teased, expects me to pick up all of her messes for her, constantly mistakes me and the floors for trashcans, and likes to watch the same movie 569 times a day. Next to sitting on the couch, her second favorite sport is handing me things. It doesn't matter if there's a table or counter or any other viable surface nearby. She likes to hand things directly to me, and if my hands are unavailable for acceptance of these treasures, she will settle for tossing them at me and hoping for the best.
So... none of those things have happened for my blog yet. And now Fall classes start next week. So, who knows if they ever will happen, but I mom-promise* that I will try my damndest to be better about updating.
In baby related news, because I know I haven't been great at updating about that, there isn't really anything to update. Things are going fine. I'm huge. Apparently after a couple kids your body decides it already knows this whole song and dance and so you get big... fast. It helps when you are carrying around genetically giant spawn. My glucose test is next week, I feel like I got lucky with the first two and so this time around I'm going to end up with the dreaded bad news: "gestational diabetes", so that isn't so fun, but we will just have to wait and see what happens. I'm not quite as healthy this time around as I was for my last two. Perhaps I've been locked in the bathroom with the box of oreos trying to eat my feelings, instead of pulling out all of my eyebrow hairs and screaming at everything, one too many times. Speaking of bathrooms...
!!!TMI AHEAD!!!
skip these two paragraphs if you wish not to be disillusioned about pregnancy, don't like to talk/hear/read about poo or urine, or just don't want this much information about me....
You know what does not get easier the third time around?? Using the mother effing bathroom. I'm convinced this is a plot nature has subjected pregnant women to, because all of the practice you get trying to force out a poo that you desperately need to evacuate but refuses to leave your body, makes the whole process of pushing a child out seem not nearly as daunting. And this is coming from a lady who's pushed out two children of varying weights and lengths. One of them was 2 feet long and over 10 pounds. And my ten pound 5 ounce boy was still easier to push out than a pebble sized poo every couple of days. And people want to know why pregnant women are so emotional and cranky. Blame the hormones, sure, but personally, 99% of the time when I am grumpy, it is because I haven't been able to use the bathroom in three days and I'm uncomfortable as fuck - and all I want in the whole world, is to be able to comfortably eat some food that I have no room for while I pop TUMS like skittles and keep hearing about what a joy pregnancy is. I'm not saying it's not a joy, but I am saying that that is not exactly my first thought when I'm begging for some relief while dealing with changing my underpants three times a day because my first two kids made it impossible for me to sneeze, laugh, cough, hiccup, jump, stand on my tippy toes, be vertical, be horizontal, breathe, or be alive without slightly peeing pants with any movement ever.
And for the record, anybody that argues the difference between pushing a poo and pushing a child, I'm aware of the differences. Handle the humor. And also accept that they are the same muscle groups. If you have had a child and are under the impression that you didn't poo while you were pushing that child out, then either your partner lied to you, or you were one of those people who gave themselves an enema or loaded up on softeners and probiotics the day before you went into the hospital and were denied food until you produced a child (or you had a c-section, but then none of this part really applies to you anyway). Because I promise, you totally did poo - and the nurses give no damns because it is 100% expected and normal. The only person that would care would be you, and you were too tired, numb, swollen, and relieved to notice it. So honestly, don't argue with me about it. Don't make the case about how you were the exception to the poo event. I'm sure you were dear. Whatever you need to tell yourself to keep your day special. That's not the part anyone cares about anyway.
!!!END TMI!!!
Don't worry, you're safe now.
Moving along.
BUT - until you've tried to pretend to be a fully functioning, capable mom after only getting about two hours worth of sleep each night for the last god knows how many months, while you spend your days feeling like you say the exact same things over and over again and then still stand on the receiving end of blank stares and faces of children who look at you like you're a crazy lady because you're yelling again and they don't understand why, don't try and judge me.
Until you've tried to load up a toddler (who insists on wearing his shoes on the wrong feet no matter how many times I fix them), into his car seat that he doesn't want to be in because his big sister doesn't have to sit in one, while he tries to hold on to all 18 toys he's decided he can't live without that day - while also dealing with aforementioned big sister who doesn't want to go anywhere unless its a playground (and not just any playground but a very specific playground on a side of town you never hang out near or have any errands near), and will spend the next 3 hours reminding you of every mom-promise you ever made (as well as some that she just made up) throughout her entire 9 years on this planet, that you haven't yet fulfilled, and will then proceed to ask for and touch every single thing within her reach once you finally get to the store, where you realize, as big sister goes to great lengths to torture toddler brother because he's in the cart seat and she's not, and she can touch stuff and hand it to him and then blame him for grabbing things and snatch it away like a hero and think she's actually fooling you with any of this nonsense... that you forgot your list and don't even remember what you went there for in the first place.... just don't even try to judge my daily life.
To everyone that sees me share a post on my facebook and then thinks "oh there she is just sitting around not doing anything, must be nice" or sees me put up a selfie where my hair and makeup are actually done and then thinks "oh it must be nice to have enough time to get dressed up," or "it must be awesome to not have anything else to do then play with makeup and take selfies" all I can really say is just fuck off. You honestly just have no clue.
I spend money on clothes, I spend money on makeup, I spend money to get my hair done on occasion (roughly twice a year), and there are other things that money should be spent on, for sure, but I spend nearly every waking minute of my life with short people that only act like they like me when they need or want something or see me walking into the bathroom, and niether of which have a comprehensive grasp on their language or communication skills. I hardly ever get to interact with my friends outside of my phone, I hardly ever get to be around people in my general height range and have fun and not worry about if one of my children is trying to put their dinosaurs tail in the dogs eyeball. I hardly ever get to eat my food while it's still hot, and I hardly ever get to have a rational, logical, or hell even amusing, adult converstation in person with another human for longer than 2 or 3 minutes before I hear "mamaaaaa..." so yes. I spend money on the occasional things that I shouldn't. I take pictures of myself when I've found a minute to do my makeup and hair. I take pictures of myself when I've managed to put on an outfit that makes me feel good even though I'm 200 pounds and look like I'm smuggling an extra large watermelon underneath everything I wear. I share them, a little bit less for people to hit the like button on (although admittedly it does make me feel good to see that people appreciate how I look because it's not something I get to hear a lot), but moreso because it reminds me that behind the smell, and awful complexion, and weeks old outfit, I still am capable of occasionally looking good and like an adult human being that might have their shit together, and even if I don't, at least my makeup was on point that day.
So that's that. I've had that bottled up for a while, but it seems like lately people are getting more and more comfortable saying some pretty asshole-ish things to me and making some pretty asshole-ish assumptions about my life based on what they piece together from my social media. And then my small circle of friends wonder why I'm not more social and why I don't seem to like going out or socializing or most people in general. I can't imagine.
Despite popular opinion, I miss my friends. I miss going out and having fun for a little while every once in a while. I get sad and butthurt when I start feeling like people forgot about me or moved on without me because I can't go out and do things like they can. I get pretty down on myself when I think that people didn't actually like me enough to feel like our friendship was worth sticking around for even if I can't go out or be physically present for things very often. The running joke is that I'm anti-social and hate everyone. And it's true to an extent, I can be very anti-social, but the few people that I've chosen to let in, and talk to, and form friendships with, are very important to me, so their disappearances, avoidances, judgements, etc. hit me very hard, and I don't often recover easily from it. True story. However insignificant you may think our interactions are, believe me when I say, they probably mean a lot more to me than you realize.
And that's that. It is Friday. It's my last weekend of freedom before my Fall classes start, and Kenzie goes back to school. It's my last chance to maybe get a project finished and try out something new with the blog, so we will see if I can make that happen this week. I hope everyone has a good weekend. Sorry for all the unexpected rants and feelings.
*mom-promise - a promise made with the best of intentions at seeing it through, but accompanied by the grim acknowledgment that there are slim to no odds of it actually coming to fruition.