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Being Three: Who Pissed In Your Sippy Cup?

being-three

Being three. Holy shit. This was a tough age.

My kid would be so sweet one second and the next, had an attitude and looked at me like she was going to shoot lasers out of her eyes. I remember that it seemed impossible to make my 3 year-old happy.

It’s like me when I’m pms’ing and really want a snicker’s but all we have are peanut butter cups and I’m thinking fuck this, I want a snicker’s. That’s the attitude of a 3 year-old.

And the tantrums. Holy shit, the tantrums are epic. This is the age where vodka came into my life a little more frequently.

They really love to test the limits and figure out how to push your buttons.

But, there are the really cool things that balance it out. When they’re not throwing themselves on the ground screaming, they actually talk to where you can have conversations with them.

With my daughter and I, it was about poop because it made her laugh and my god, handling a 3 year-old is like handling a bomb so you love to hear a laugh from them. It’s much better than the ear-piercing screeching you have to deal with.

The hummingbird wasn’t a terror 24/7, like I’m making it sound. We got pretty lucky with her as she has a pretty even temperament. It could just feel like she was a devil on wheels through much of being three because when your kid acts like that, it feels like the moment is never-ending.

But then she would laugh at a poop joke and my sanity was restored for a short time.

*If You Ever Want To Be In Love

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Orange Gatorade Is Considered A Fruit

orange-gatorade-is-a-fruit

I’ve been feeling lazy uninspired in the kitchen lately, plus we’ve been going at full speed ahead with the hummingbird’s extracurricular activities. She recently auditioned for a children’s play and rehearsals are three nights a week. Plus, there’s gymnastics and to make things even more oh my god I’m going to pull my hair out crazy, she has her bi-weekly girl scout meetings.

Dinner has been pretty craptacular lately since I don’t have much time to cook and I’m tired from being a taxi driver all week. I still try to give the bird plenty of fruits and veggies but then there’s the whole thing of not being able to have time to go to the store and finding in the fruit and veggie bins that the cucumbers I was going to give my kid has liquified in the bag or the blueberries have turned to mush.

As we were eating dinner one night at the end of the week, I was wiped out and just plain being lazy with dinner. I made chicken strips and french fries and thought about microwaving a veggie. Yes, just thought about it but said fuck it because we’d have to wait five more minutes for dinner and I was just over the day. I spaced out, the oven timer beeped, and I served up dinner.

That’s when I realized I didn’t make any veggies and thought about at least getting up and grabbing a handful of grapes for her but my ass wasn’t moving out of the chair. Because lazy. And exhausted. And holy fuck, I don’t know how long I’m going to make it through these rehearsals three nights a week for the next two months.

The bird didn’t care either way or notice but I got mom guilt because OH MY STARS, I’M NOT GIVING MY CHILD A BALANCED MEAL. I felt like all the sanctimonious mommies knew there was a mom out there who was taking the easy way out and they were going to come after me with pitchforks and torches. I don’t know why I get the guilt, especially when I let her have junk food that I said I’d never let her have before I became a mom.

As I was staring at her plate, I was giving myself the mom guilt trip and was looking over her plate. That’s when I thought to myself “We’ll she is having ketchup so, check, there’s the veggie. But the fruit, omg, the fruit?!! I can’t take this mom guilt so she needs a fruit of some kind!!!

While I was mom guilting myself to death over something so lame that I don’t normally trip out about, I eyed her glass. She was drinking gatorade, which was left over from earlier that day. And it was orange flavored.

So, that’s when I told my mom guilt trip to chill the fuck out, deduced that orange gatorade qualifies as a fruit, and finished my dinner in peace and mom guilt free.

*A Legend

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The Mall Is A Place That Is Hell On Earth

carousel

I recently took my daughter to the mall and it reminded me why I hate the mall. The hummingbird loves it so I endure it after taking a xanax. Not only is the drive 40 minutes away, and I hate driving, but crowds just aren’t my thing either. But, there’s always queso at the mall so besides dealing with the mall bullshit, I eat my beloved tortilla chips and queso at a restaurant that’s in the mall.

That cheesy, delicious, creamy, spicy queso makes me do it.

Cheese has superpowers over me.

But, I’m getting off topic.

The mall fucking sucks and I hate it but I go because after spending half a day at home with a 7 year-old that’s bouncing off the walls and running me ragged, I need to get the hell out of the house. The library is usually our go to place in that situation but on those beautiful, glorious paydays, I have to buy shit I don’t need.

Enter the mall.

Straight away, I have to get my queso and tortilla chips. If I’m full of cheese, I won’t have as much desire to ram people with my body while walking through the mall. It’s the people who stand there talking and are completely oblivious to the fact that other people exist. This person is usually standing in the middle of the aisle so you can’t get past even though you’ve said excuse me twice. They can also be right in front of a store blocking the walkway but you can’t pass because a herd of people decide to come in the opposite direction.

My daughter usually rides the carousel twice and I stand there waving at my daughter every single time she comes my way and take a picture. And usually, half way through, she starts to ignore me while I continue to wave and take 30 pictures of her, none of which turn out.

Then, she’ll ask for a punching balloon thingamajig and each time, I’ll say no.

On we go to one of the stores but wait, what’s that ahead? It’s the fucking Build-A-Bear. That damn store. The hummingbird tries to drag me in while I drag her away and look at that, a small group of people or a family is standing in front of the store, talking, while in the opposite direction, a crowd of people come by like a swarm of bees so we have no choice but to stop and wait which is just enough time for my daughter to use her super strength to get a few feet into Build-A-Bear and just long enough for me to glance at the prices and think what the fuck, break into a cold sweat because an employee of the store eyes us and starts walking our way, and then over-riding my stuffed to the gills stomach full of queso to find my super strength to zoom out of there.

Finally, we’re a few stores down and safe. Or so I thought. There’s a kiosk that has these smushy balls that are sticky and splat on the table and that sounds perverted. For some unknown reason, there’s a magnetic pull that brings kids to this place. After navigating my way from the sticky balls, we head into one of the clothing stores and even though I say we’re just going to look, there’s a cha-ching of some of that payday money.

We start walking to the next store and things are all shiny and calling my name like Sephora or The Body Shop but my daughter’s whiny “MOM” voice that is so bad, dogs can hear, either gets me out of their quick or makes me avoid those places completely.

But wait.

There’s a lipstick I just have to get and that lip balm that I’ll lose in the next few days smells really good so I can’t leave without that.

“MOM!”

Around this time, my mind tunes the whiny voice out because there’s too many shiny, pretty things to look at. That’s when I do what I said I’d never do as a mom but have done since she’s understood it. Bribing is a beautiful thing when you’re in that kind of situation.

I promise her she can buy one thing at the other clothing store within a certain amount of money “if you give mommy a few minutes more.”

Cha-ching!

Oh, there’s the cocoa butter body butter. I must get that too!

Cha-ching!

Before going into the hummingbird’s clothing store, I remind her that we’re only getting ONE thing. That’s it. Just one thing.

Cha-ching! Cha-ching!

Finally, sweet freedom from hell on earth is just out the door but wait. I get the puppy dog eyes and “please, please, please mom, can I ride the carousel once more?”

Okaaay.

While I’m waiting, we’re by the food court and all the smells start making my stomach rumble. The queso has done it’s job in the beginning but now I’m starving and there’s pizza, and Chinese food, and burgers, oh my.

Once the hummingbird is done, we head to the frozen yogurt place in the food court because it’s so smart to sugar your kid up before our 40 minute drive back home. I’m smart like that.

After that, fresh air and freedom from food court smells, crowds, and spending lots of money, we head to the car.

Oh shit, where is the fucking car. I always make a mental note of where I parked but forget it in less than five seconds. Fortunately, my very hyper, sugared up 7 year-old sees our car and it’s home at last.

But what’s that sound? It’s my bank account gently weeping. If only it knew that if we were to get into the clutches of the Build-A-Bear employees, it would be doing the ugly cry from buying all the overpriced bear shit that the place involves.

So, I reassure my bank account that we won’t experience the mall again for another few months. I do leave out the fact that there’s plenty of stuff just sitting there waiting to be bought in my Amazon shopping cart.

Cha-ching!

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Being Two: Like A Puppy Who Had A Six Pack Of Red Bull

being-two

If humans ate their young, this would be the age that we’d do it. At this age, they’re fine one second and screaming on the floor the next second because you cut their fruit up the “wrong” way. This is the toddler pms stage and I barely survived. I was also in a deep depression so that made it even worse.

It sucks ass. But when you’re about to run from the house with plans to move to the Bahamas, they do something really cute and then I would feel like such an asshole. I’m certain that kids have some kind of radar for this and it alerts them to enter the cute mode.

They also love saying “NO” at this age all the fucking time. Everything is no with them. For instance, you know they’re tired and need a nap but those little monsters will say no and refuse. Since tying them to a bed is forbidden, you end up with a very cranky, toddler pms’ing 2 year-old on your hands.

On top of that, “the witching hour” comes and that’s when you feel like sprinting out of the house again. No matter how much you prepare for it and try to avoid it, there was always those 2 hours, between 3-5pm, when the hummingbird acted like a lunatic.

I would bribe and beg and bribe some more but nothing ever works with the witching hour.

Finally, my husband would come home from work and I’d hand him our daughter and take off running upstairs. Later on that night, I would tell him what a hell of a day I had and he’d make some remark that she seemed fine when he got home. And then, I smothered him with a pillow.

Kidding. Maybe. Of course.

*Use Somebody

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Meet My Kid, Bean And Cheese Burrito With Sour Cream

pregnancy-cravings

Mine would be:

Bean And Cheese Burrito With Sour Cream, DON’T FORGET THE SOUR CREAM Davis.

Orange Juice Davis

Don’t Fuck With My Apple Juice Davis

and

Grilled Cheese Davis

What are yours?

*Not Ready To Make Nice

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Being One: Drunk Baby Stage

The hummingbird is nearly seven. 7 YEARS-OLD!! So, I’ve been reminiscing on the years that seem to have gone by way too fast. That used to drive me crazy, when I would hear it goes by so fast. This was before babies though.

It would always be “take in everything, it goes by so fast” you won’t believe how fast it goes” “blink and you’ll miss it because they grow so fast”. But like everyone, I thought I will pay attention to everything my kid does so I don’t miss anything and time will slow to a crawl once I was a mom.

And now, my daughter is almost 7 years-old! Seven!! What the hell?

At the time that she was one, I didn’t realize how bad I had postpartum depression and anxiety. I look back now and want to hug that person. Despite not only having a really rough timeadjusting to being a mom but also embracing it, having a 1 year-old was pretty damn awesome. It’s the drunk baby stage. What’s not to love?

Having a one year old is like dealing with that drunk, unruly friend you used to have/currently have. They’re learning how to walk so they have that nice, little zig zag walking going on. I love the drunk baby walk.

They love doing sloppy things. Sloppy kisses, snotty noses, those lovely tantrums where they can go from happy as can be to pissed off toddler in 1.2 seconds.

They eat like they just came home from a drunk bender, stuff all over the floor, clothes, walls, up their nose. Everywhere.

Being one is filled with temperamental, sloppy, slobbery, drunk walking, I want to pull my hair out adventures.

What did you think when your baby was one? Did you love it? Want to run away from home?

*No One Knows

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Yes, I Will Pick Your Nose And Other Gross Stuff Parents Do

I have a very weak stomach. Very weak. My 6 year-old was recently telling me about a girl who threw up in her class that day and she got into details. I was starting to gag and dry heave while begging her to stop. But then I started thinking of all the gross crap I’ve done as a parent that I’ve done so often, I don’t even flinch anymore.

5. I never would have thought I’d do this before I became a mom but picking my kid’s nose doesn’t phase me. In the last few years, she’s capable of blowing her nose but I remember times she would have a snotty nose and I would just dig right in without a tissue.

4. Getting baby shit on your face is something I thought was only in sitcoms but it does happen. The first time, I gagged and wiped it off immediately. The other times because apparently I really suck at changing diapers, I didn’t give a shit about shit.

3. There’s nothing more glorious than holding your baby and having them puke down your back. It’s not until later that day you realize where that nasty smell is coming from.

2. Diaper blowout that go up the back. How does this happens? I’m amazed that something so small can shoot shit from their but all the way up to their back.

1. I can’t even clean up the hairballs from my two cats but don’t give it a second thought when catching my child’s vomit in my hands.

What’s the grossest thing you’ve had to do as a parent?

*Unwritten

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