A guest post from my sister, Alotta Fagina: Things I never thought I would say or do when I became a parent.

*I’ve had a rough week and have been throwing myself a pity party again. Having a miscarriage and dealing with the emotions of it have been really difficult for me. More than I ever thought.

I’ve been throwing myself into our new group site, Motherhood Uncovered, because if I’m alone with my thoughts for even a few minutes, I can’t take it. I call MU “our” new site because not only is it for the writers, it’s for you too and we will officially be running on Monday. I will do a post on both sites so I can introduce you to everyone.

I will also go back to writing more here. I just needed some time to try and heal from the loss although I know I have a long way to go. Thank you everyone, including all of the amazing guest bloggers, for the support you’ve given me through all of this. xoxo


If you’re a regular reader, you may have read the post I wrote about how my in-laws invited themselves to my younger sister’s wedding. Before I even wrote it, I asked my sister if it was okay and she said of course. When I asked her what alias she wants me to use for her, she said Alotta Fagina. You totally can’t tell we’re related can you? heh!

We were talking a few weeks ago about things we never thought we would say when we became parents. A few of mine were having to tell the hummingbird to stop eating the coffee table. Another one just last week was asking her to stop using our cat, Maisy, as a drum.

My sister has some great ones and since she lives in the stone age and doesn’t have a computer, I told her to write down some of the things she never thought she would have to say and mail it to me. My sis, Alotta Fagina, has a 5-year-old daughter, R, and a 3-year-old son, A.


    • Is that pee in my shoe?!
    • It’s okay, just throw up in my hands.
    • R walked in on me and the hubby having sex. She slammed the door and took off running yelling “A, mommy is beating up daddy”.
    • You know you’re tired when you walked both of your children into two separate schools and never realized your shirt had been inside out.
    • A, don’t pee on the sidewalk. Go over to the bush.
    • Did you really just pee in the trash can?
    • Alotta: Why do have chocolate on your hands? A: I didn’t eat chocolate. Alotta: Well, honey, there’s brown stuff on your hands. A: I don’t know. Alotta: Come here. Let me….oh my God! Go wash your hands!
    • Mommy, I need to blow my nose. Baby, I don’t have a tissue. But it’s running down my lip. My God, here use my sleeve.
    • Okay, who put the diaper in the washer?
    • I’m still lactating when in the bath R saw me squeezing it out. She said “what’s that?” I told her it was milk. You used to drink it as a baby. From the hall A piped up and asked “Do you have chocolate milk?”


Inquiring minds want to know. What are some of the things you never thought you would say or do once you became a parent?

Comments { 4 }

The life of a military wife.

This guest post is from Sarah M. Like me, she’s a Navy wife but something else we have in common is we were both in the same grade and grew up in the small town of Footloose, USA. She’s one of my few former classmates who knows about my blog besides Sarah K. who we also grew up with.

Below is a picture of me and Sarah in a yearly Christmas play our grammar school had. We were in the 1st grade and seeing as how we grew up in the town of Footloose, there were several spottings of Kevin Bacon. He joined us on stage for a kick ass rockin’ rendition of The First Noel.


To be honest, Kevin Bacon could be kind of a pain in the ass since he would always pop up whenever a camera was around. Here’s me and Sarah in our 2nd grade class photo. Yes, I know I have some kind of mullet thing going on and I’m wearing red overalls which makes me look like a giant tampon but I’ll just blame it on my mom.

She picked out my clothes when I was younger and loved to keep my hair super short. Even back then I would say if I ever have a daughter, I will always keep her hair long. That’s pretty much the only promise I’ve kept when it comes to having kids.


From Elle~ I’ve been married to my husband for over 16 years and have been a military wife for 15 of those years. I’m not gonna lie, being a military wife can be very difficult. I think we’ve moved about 9 times in the past 15 years and it has been so hard to keep in contact with the friends I’ve made wherever we’ve lived.

One thing I noticed from the beginning was that I’m not really considered the “typical” military spouse. Sarah M. started an amazing Facebook group called Unconventional Military Spouse as well as a Facebook page of the same name. Since I’ve usually felt out of place with the other wives, UMS has made me see that I’m not alone in the way I think about things. If you’re a military spouse and would like to join, the group page, which is the first one I listed, is more active if you’re looking for interaction among the spouses.

I promised myself that I would never talk about religion or politics on this here blog but one thing I will say is that I want our troops home, safe and sound. In January 2003, my husband was stationed in Bremerton, WA but we were living in Seattle since we knew he would be gone so much. When he left in January for a 6 month deployment to go the Middle East, I was terrified.

He was never in the line of fire but you just never know what can happen. The war in Iraq started that March and it tore me up. While there’s absolutely no doubt whatsoever that I support the troops, I didn’t support the war or the administration at the time. My husband’s deployment was extended for over 9 months and it was so hard.

While I had the other wives to turn to, I didn’t really because of my thoughts about the war. I would get emails from the Ombudsman that would say we (officer wives) need to stand strong against the people who didn’t support what was happening in Iraq. I felt completely alone in my feelings and didn’t have any family near me.

When I was 8 months pregnant and we were living in D.C., my husband came home from work and told me there’s a good chance that he was going to be sent to Afghanistan by the end of the month. You can only imagine my reaction.

I was in shock because by this time he was no longer being deployed and had a desk job. He ended up not going because he broke his foot 6 years ago and was still having problems with it so they sent one of his coworkers over there 2 weeks later.

We have a really good friend, Jay, who was sent there a few months ago and my heart jumps into my throat whenever I hear news that something has happened with any of the troops in Afghanistan. His wife is the sweetest and they have a 3-year-old son. I’m always thinking of Jay and his family every day and hope he comes home soon.


Sarah’s post

A few days ago, I heard some news that kept me awake most of the night. It brought back all the emotion I felt 4 years ago while my husband was deployed to Iraq for the second time. By all accounts, that one was supposed to be a less intense deployment than the first, and for him it was. 

He was serving at a small base on the coast; a quiet assignment compared to his first tour when he was assigned to the Green Zone in 2003. That trip was full of daily evacuations to the bunkers and frequent trips “outside the wire” into the most dangerous part of Iraq during a time that saw some of the heaviest street fighting of the war. 

This deployment in 2007 was more like a cushy desk job in comparison, so although I worried, it wasn’t the low-lying terror that spouses feel when they know their loved one’s life is in constant jeopardy.

My husband called me during his second deployment to tell me that 3 of his fellow agents had been killed by an IED in Balad. One of the agents, Dave Wieger, was assigned to the same base that we were and my husband knew him well. I had never met him but because my husband wasn’t able to, it seemed right that I attend the memorial service.

At this point, you’re probably more clued into how heavy this was going to be than I was at the time. In the days leading up to it I gave little thought to what Dave’s memorial service would mean to me. I didn’t know the guy. I was there to represent my husband. Who was away. At war.

I suppose you can imagine what I was headed into, and maybe I got an inkling as I walked from my house on base with my friend and fellow milspouse, Jennifer, to the chapel where the service was being held. We walked because we knew it would be well attended, and as we came around the corner to see the busy parking lot and the uniformed honor guard members at the door, I was surprised to feel a nervous flutter in my belly. I said so to Jennifer and she said she was a little nervous too.

I think that when I was signing the guest book, surrounded by unfamiliar uniformed military members and law enforcement officers, full on anxiety set in. I really don’t remember a lot about the service for this great guy who I’d never met. I was pretty focused the whole time on the poster sized photo that was sitting on an easel in the front of the sanctuary.

It was a picture of Dave in his desert gear-sand colored helmet, shades, beard
growing in and a desert-camo pack strapped over his tan shirt. He looked like my husband. He looked like every one of our friends who had ever sent a picture of themselves back from Iraq.

The service was heartfelt and tragic; it introduced Dave to me as someone who was cut down in his prime and as a person who would have gone on to make the world a better place to live in. And then the video started. You can watch it here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7hFaQ7LmZkI

I think it was the music that really got me. I bawled like a little baby. Like my heart was broken. Like I knew him. Of course we all know I wasn’t crying over him. I probably hadn’t cried since my husband left. I was crying because I was worrying about my husband’s safety, and I was tired of being a single mom, and I was just really fucking angry that I was unwillingly being a part of a war that I didn’t support.

When it was time to leave the chapel and go into the reception, I had to walk past the giant poster-sized picture of Dave, and I felt like a kid. I really didn’t want to get close to it. Suddenly I was 7 years old and I was afraid to walk past a dark room for fear that something inside it might spring to life. So, I did what every kid learns to do when they’re scared but they don’t want to give in to sheer terror. I just didn’t look at the scary thing.

And that’s when I saw the boots sitting at the base of the easel. Yup, THOSE boots. The sand colored combat boots. The same ones that a few months ago were lined up against the wall in my hallway, ready to be packed into deployment bags. Shit. And there went the waterworks all over again. 

I thought I’d straightened myself up enough to at least offer my condolences to the family. Sigh. As it was I never even managed to offer my condolences to them. Jennifer and I took a short cut to the courtyard to give me time to get myself back together, and by the time we made it back into the reception the family had made their own escape into the fresh air.

We meandered through the reception; I mainly had my red and puffy eyes on the
exit. Finding none of Dave’s family’s hands to shake, Jennifer and I decided that it was probably time for us to walk back to my house. Between us and the door was the detachment commander. He wasn’t a guy who was well-known for eloquence, but what he said to me snapped me right back to reality.

His wife gave me a hug and the “I know what you’re crying about” look, and then she probably wished she could melt into the floor as her husband shook my hand and told me his story…about when he got the phone call that Dave was dead. He started off by saying that when he got the phone call, he thought of me. Because, he said, they didn’t tell him who was dead. He thought of me and of all the other families of all of his troops that were over there. Well. There you go. 

I didn’t know what to say then and frankly, I don’t know what to say about that now. He was clearly, awkwardly, trying to identify with what I could be experiencing. I thought it was ridiculous and insulting at the time, but the years have softened my perspective and I can acknowledge that he really was, in all likelihood, just trying to be nice.

In the months and years that followed, my husband returned safely from Iraq, the detachment named a street on Travis AFB after Dave; it’s called “Wiege Way”, and until we moved from there, I put flowers and flags next to the sign. Especially on November 1st, when he died, and on May 15, Dave’s birthday. Memorial day, Veteran’s day, and I think on the first year I put something out for Christmas.

I’m really not sure why I took on this sort of personal tribute for this guy. He had people in the office who were helping to memorialize him. It made me feel like I was doing something to remind people that he was gone. Somehow, by putting out nice new flags after the old ones had become worn, I guess I hoped the people driving by noticed and knew that he was still gone. Just like all the other troops who have been killed in Iraq.

Which brings me to what kept me awake the other night:

From Mrs. Wieger (Dave’s Mom),

We just received the most amazing call from OSI at Andrews AFB ~the
man that planned the IED attack on the hummer that killed David, Nate and Tom was caught and sitting in an Iraqi jail! They found him and special forces went in to get him! OSI never gave up looking for him! I wanted family and friends to know…..

And there it is. This brings the whole war close to home for me in a way that even sending my husband off with his deployment bags stuffed full of hand written notes and toys that our daughter smuggled in while his back was turned never did. I was lucky. My husband came back safe. 

I thought about what could happen while he was gone, but I didn’t dwell on it. Ultimately, my family has been lucky. My husband, his brother, and their dad have all had careers in the military and everyone is OK. Everyone has come back safe.

But Dave didn’t. My first reaction was that I was thrilled that the perpetrator was caught! I have to admit that I can see why people WANT to see a punishment given that is as vicious as the crime. I WANT to know that the person responsible suffers the way that the families who lost a loved one suffered that day and every day since. He planned the attack and he killed my husband’s fellow agents and he’s going to PAY…

But really, those thoughts and feelings are new to me.  I’ve never felt this kind of anger and the desire for justice like this and I really don’t know what to do with it. For now, I suppose I just wait and see. This experience has pushed me out of my comfort zone and made me think about what revenge could look like. 

I still don’t know what I feel about this. I feel different nearly every time I think about it, and I imagine that it could take another 4 years for me to really understand what this means for me and my own perception of war. For now, though, it’s enough to know that Dave’s mom feels some relief knowing that the person who was responsible for her son’s death will be held accountable.

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Oooh that smell. Can’t you smell that smell? The smell of stinky feet that surrounds you.

This embarrassing moment comes from Teri who blogs at Diary of a Mad Hatter and is also one of the editor’s and a writer for our new site, Motherhood Uncovered, which will officially open its doors on the 26th. Yay!

I’ve been stalking reading Teri’s blog for a year now and it’s one of my favorites. It’s so hard to just pick some of the posts I like because I love them all, no matter what she writes about.

So, you should just go to her site and read everything. Need to make dinner tonight? Three words. Order a pizza. That will give you more reading time. If cleaning up will take away from that, just let your family stand around the pizza box and refuse to give them plates.

Baby Bird is the. greatest. post. ever.

What happens at Barbie’s house stays at Barbie’s house ~ You have to see it for yourself. This made me laugh so hard.

Teri has an 11-year-old daughter and is currently going through infertility. After reading her blog for so long and now with us working together on the new site, I’ve felt crushed since she first said that she has PCOS and infertility. I have so much ladder love for her.


Q and A with Teri.

Elle: If the zombie apocalypse happened tomorrow, which weapon would you want to have to fight these brain eaters?

A. a flame thrower.

B. an unlimited supply of ninja throwing stars.

C. a chainsaw.

D. a shoelace because you’re bad ass.

E. other and what would it be?

F. none of the above, I want to be a damn zombie!

Teri: E – My hands because I’m a badass.

Elle: If you could be stuck in an elevator with anyone who would it be?

Teri: A person who can make the elevator not be stuck anymore because OMG I am claustrophobic and I’m going to die just thinking about being stuck in an elevator. Thanks, Elle.

Elle: If you could drop everything and go anywhere (real or fantasy) in the world, where would it be?

Teri: Hogwarts.

Elle: Favorite guilty pleasure?

Teri: *Wink*wink*  Also, The Real Housewives of New Jersey.

Elle: If you could send any celebrity/reality star into space so you’d never had to hear about them again, who would it be?

Teri: This is tough…so many to choose from…the pressure…I can’t do it…Celine Dion.

Elle: Which would you rather win? An Oscar, a Grammy, or a Tony.

Teri: Oscar. (So I could say “Have you touched my Oscar Meyer Weiner?”)

Elle: What’s one of your favorite books?

Teri: What is it with all of these questions? I have so many! I’ll go with The Red Tent. No, The Bell Jar. No, Catcher in the Rye. No, Harry Potter. No, Beloved.

Elle: What song(s) makes you want to dance around your house and/or brings you back to your teen years?

Teri: Anything by NKOTB.

Elle: A favorite non-mommy activity?

Teri: *wink*wink*

Elle: What’s a favorite book that you like to read to your kids?

Teri: Love You Forever, OBVIOUSLY.

Elle: What kids cartoon or character makes you want to bang your head against a spike?

Teri: Pokemon. Pokemon. Pokemon.

Elle: What’s one of your favorite movies?

Teri: Steel Magnolias.


I don’t really have a witty title for this. 

by Teri

I had to go to the doctor unexpectedly to have my lady parts examined.

Because it was unexpected that means that I didn’t prepare ifyouknowwhatImeanandIthinkyoudo.

If you don’t it means that I didn’t shave or bring socks.

My biggest problem was the shoes I wore that should have been thrown out months ago because they stink to high heaven when I take them off but I haven’t been able to throw them out yet because they are cute. This is the same reason God makes babies cute so when they stink you don’t throw them away. It’s basic instinct, people.

I realized I was wearing my cute stinky shoes about halfway to my appointment. Given that I was already 10 minutes late I decided I would give my feet a good body spraying before I got out of the car and hope for the best.

The reason this is a big deal? If you don’t know then you are probably not a lady. Because if you were then you would know that when you get your lady parts looked at they make you take EVERYTHING off. They don’t explicitly say “take off your shoes” and I considered not taking them off but I thought it would be a little awkward for the doctor to examine me, completely naked, wearing a pair of snake skin pumps.

When I took off my shoes the stench was overwhelming. The body spray did not work. So I did what any respectable woman would do in that situation.

I washed my feet with the disposable wet wipes they have so you can freshen your lady parts.

I never wanted a pap smear to be over so quickly in my entire life. I kept thinking that she knew that I washed my feet with vagina wipes. I did my best to stuff the evidence as far down in the trash can as I could but it was hard because I didn’t really want to stick my hand in too deep and risk touching something that would give me herpes.

My doctor came in the room and washed her hands.

She did her thing.

I was cautiously optimistic that I had been successful.

Until she washed her hands for the second time and kind of did a double take in the trash can.

That’s when I realized that she probably uses this room all day and didn’t have many other patients today being that it is a holiday week so it was pretty obvious that I
was the only one who used all of the vagina wipes. I’m sure she was thinking that I didn’t look that clean down there. Or perhaps my flowery smelling feet now made sense. I don’t know. I don’t care.

I don’t want to think about it.

Stop making me talk about it already!

I normally don’t have a hard time looking the gyno in the eye after she has examined my nether regions but this time?

I stared at the diagram on the wall.

The one I usually avoid.

The one of the pretty vagina.

I came home and washed the shame off of me by putting on my yoga pants and t-shirt.

I tossed the whole outfit in the trash.

Burning day is tomorrow.

Metaphorically speaking.

Comments { 14 }

Frankie says relax…but not too much.

This embarrassing moment comes from Wombat Central who blogs at Postcards From Oblivion. She will also be a contributor to Motherhood Uncovered. Here are some must read posts from Wombat Central.

Realistic Stick Families is one of the funniest posts I’ve seen. I read it a year ago and still laugh to myself when I think about it. Sometimes I’ll think about this post at some really random moments and I’ll be laughing out loud like a crazy person. When I spot the family stickers on the back of someone’s car, forget about it, I’ll be in hysterics.

Catalog Crap ~ I nearly peed myself when reading this post. One of the things is a food tray to put in your car and I about died laughing when I read this from WC…”Eating on the go? Why struggle with that fast-food bag and awkward beverage when you can dine in style at 70 mph?”. You also can’t miss the toilet-shaped coffee mug.

Celery Banded Boot Wearing Mom Seeks Same ~ She’s like the MacGyver of boots.

While I Was Out Shopping ~ I can see the little hummingbird taking that big ass corn on the cobb and using it as a toddler weapon.

Q and A with Wombat Central

Elle: If you could send any celebrity/reality star into space so
you’d never had to hear about them again, who would it be?

WC: Paris What’s-Her-Name. Ugh. So NOT hot. And all the Kardashians. I don’t even know who the hell they are.

Elle: A favorite non-mommy activity?

WC: I’m easy to amuse in the non-mommy moments. I’ll even take cruising the supermarket aisles while jamming to Muzak when I really need a few hours minutes to myself.

Elle: What kids cartoon or character makes you want to bang
your head against a spike?

WC: Much like you, I would like to see Caillou get hit by a big bus. Or die some kind of
horrible, fiery death (erm, was that too graphic?).


When Elle asked for people to guest post with an account of their most embarrassing moment, I had to join in. My life has basically been an ongoing awkward or embarrassing adventure, so I dug deep into my past for one that wasn’t quite as fresh as my most recent blunder.

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Total Recall Sunday: The weight of the matter.

This is a post I wrote out of frustration when it comes to how pediatricians and others judge the growth of children. My daughter was born a “normal” weight but she’s a small girl, petite, compared to most kids her age.

I know it can also be frustrating for parents on the other side of it. Just a few weeks ago when we were in the waiting room at my daughter’s pediatrician, there was an adorable 11 month old boy. A woman in the waiting room told the mother “It doesn’t look like he misses any meals”.

I think our kids already have so much pressure to deal with, more so than we did, and having people commenting about their weight shouldn’t be one of them.

The weight of the matter.

January 6, 2011

When my daughter was born, she weighed 7 pounds 9 ounces. With every well baby check-up, she would only gain a little weight with each visit.  At 14 months, she was in the 3rd percentile. When she had her check-up at 18 months, she weighed a little over 21 pounds.

I can never remember how tall she is because by the time the nurse checks her height, my daughter is usually screaming which makes my brain melt.

I was a preemie and weighed 4 pounds 4 ounces when I was born. I was always tiny throughout my childhood and I’m only 5’2.

When my daughter was about 9 months old, we took her to a different pediatrician for her check-up because her normal doctor wasn’t available. This doctor really ticked me off because she spent most of the appointment telling us that we have to fatten up our daughter. Seriously?!

She’s perfectly proportioned and I just think she’s going to be petite like me. The regular doctor she had at the time told us she’s thriving and we have nothing to worry about.

For some reason, people think it’s okay to tell us that the little hummingbird is too small for her age. I know that some parents are on the other side of it and have people mentioning how big there child is.

Just today we were on our way inside the grocery store and a woman stopped us to tell us how cute our little girl was. She mentioned that she had a 15 month old daughter at home. When we told her our girl was 20 months old, she said “Really! Wow, she’s so small!”. Grrrr. I wouldn’t make a big deal out of it except it happens frequently.

My daughter is going to spend her lifetime dealing with people that are critical of her hair, her height, her voice, her looks, her weight……

“She’s pretty short.” “Does she even talk?” Total strangers will say this and they do it in front of her. I know she’s young but I also know she understands a lot more than we think.

I thought it would be several years before people would be so critical, not before she was even two years old.

It would never cross my mind to tell a parent that their child is tiny for their age, nor would I ever say “damn, your baby is huge!” I’ve come to the conclusion that some people are just idiots.

The hummingbird at 19 months old.


Join in on Total Recall Sunday and link up. It could be a post you wrote last year or last week. The linky will take you to a new window but I will link you to the front page.

1. Truth Mama ~ What NOT to say to a pregnant woman.

2. Spill The Beans ~ Couch Wars.

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Fuck this shit, today I’m an owl.

Normally I try to watch my language on this here blog even though in real life fuck is one of my favorite words. This week I was looking at the search engine terms to see how people are finding my site and the title above was one of them.

That has got to be one of the most awesome search engine terms I’ve seen for my blog. I’m still scratching my head and wondering how they found my site with that though.

Since I’m on the subject of owls, there is one in my neighborhood that drives me crazy almost every night. It’s not like I’m an owl hater but this particular owl seems to wait until I’m finally about to drift off to sleep and starts with his Who Who…..Who Who.

What the hell owl? I have enough trouble trying to fall asleep without your annoying ass keeping me up. Your who who-ing doesn’t help the situation. This owl must be male. heehee

So, whoever searched this and found my blog, thank you. You’ve inspired me to do one of my not at all awesome cartoons that probably doesn’t make any sense.




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Because moms are only human.

There’s obviously no doubt that my daughter means the world to me and as I slowly crawl out of the depression I’ve been in, I feel even closer to her. The little hummingbird isn’t just getting half of her mom like she has been since anxiety and depression hit me full force. She’s getting all of me, all sides of me.

Since moms are only human, there are times I show my irritation. In the past, I would do my best to hide it or take a few deep breaths and then deal with her acting out. That’s not to say I’ve been perfect, just that I’ve done my best.

There are occasions when she’s being a typical 2-year-old and I raise my voice (okay, more like yelled while saying her full name) and gets into something she knows she shouldn’t be getting into, like taking the cats food and water dish and then dumping it all over the floor. Or when she gets angry and throws something in defiance. She has been testing boundaries more and more.

When I scold her she’ll get this look on her face like wtf mommy or start crying. This always makes me feel like shit but the killer is when she lowers her head and walks out of the room.

As soon as those incidents happen, I instantly wish I could take them back since I feel such guilt but I know that she has been fine tuning her little toddler manipulation. I know she needs discipline but I also know I could approach some situations in a more gentle way.

We moved her to her big girl bed last Sunday and it’s been rocky to say the least. We tried to do it a few weeks ago but she just didn’t seem ready which is why we waited a few more weeks.

A few nights ago she was in her bed, well mostly out of her bed, and yelling for us while having tantrums. Me and the hubby actually waited to have dinner until after she went to bed because he had to go back to the base to oversee flag duty that he has twice a month.

Anyway, while hearing her yelling, screaming, and acting out I felt my patience wear thin. Even when she’s tantrumy and a typical 2-year-old I still feel bad when I hear her cry and I swear it actually hurts my heart. On this night though I just couldn’t take it.

After dinner I went into my bedroom and shut the door. My hubby and I took turns putting her back into bed when she kept on getting out of her bed eleventy billion times. She would go to the security gate we placed in her bedroom door frame and start kicking and shaking it really hard.

Normally we let her get out of her bed but if she starts doing something like that, we go to her room, pick her up, and lay her back down in her big girl bed and tell her she need to go to sleep.

With all the screaming and crying she was doing on this particular night, it was at that point when I seriously contemplated getting in my car and driving to the nice hotel down the street. I had thoughts of ordering room service and being able to watch some trash television in peace and quiet while wering a nice fluffy white robe.

Instead of doing that I walked into the master bathroom with my iPod and just sat on the floor for about 20 minutes so I didn’t have to hear my daughter throw a fit. I reluctantly made my way back into the “battle zone” where my husband was so I could give him a break.

The hummingbird eventually calmed down and finally wore herself out and fell asleep. Of course by this time it was too late for me and the hubby to spend some much-needed time together.

Even though I doubt myself on a daily basis when it comes to me being a mom, I do know I’m a great mama to my little hummingbird. I’ve learned that just because I am a mom doesn’t mean that I have to give up some simple pleasures like reading a book or just finding time to sit down and write this.

I used to think it was bad when I would want some time for myself and I would feel so relieved when my husband would take our little girl out for a few hours on the weekend so I can have some peace. But now I know after being at home with her all week, those few hours that I do have time to myself have me be a much better mother because while it’s taken me these past two years to figure this out, moms are only human.

It’s okay if I don’t spend every single waking moment with my daughter. I still want my own identity and while being the hummingbird’s mom is a huge part of that, I don’t want it to be the only part. As much as I cherish the time I do have to myself, when she is out with my husband, I miss her every second.

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