Mommy confession.. I have faked a poop so that I could lock myself in the bathroom to get a few minutes away from my toddler and husband. I'm not proud, but you reach a point that survival mode kicks in. Sometimes you just need... five... minutes... please... where there isn't anyone asking you for anything.Don't get me wrong. My hubby helps out a lot with our Lil Man. Truly, he does. But Lil Man responds differently to him than me. Hubby can literally sit on the couch all day while Lil Man is usually content - not asking him for ANYTHING....more
Before I was somebody’s mother, I used to cover up the gray. I used to get my hair blown out. My make-up saw the light of day. Happy hour wasn’t my daughter’s nightly nap. Putting on lotion wasn’t a luxury. My heels and skirts weren’t considered vintage.
Saturday, my single-for-a-day alter ego, Dirty Martini, came out to play. She only makes rare appearances, once every six months to a year. She knows when I really need her to appear.
Gentlemen avert your eyes, if you get squeamish when words like “maxi”, “flow”, and “cramps” are used in the same sentence. This post is all about going with the flow or, in my case, going against it. It’s basically an all out bitch session about the curse and catch-22 of being a woman.
My daughter still likes to give me hugs in public, really tight like she means it. The kind where her arms fold over and around my neck, like they were meant to meet there. She still yells out my name, when I pick her up from school, like I’m Santa with a bag full of toys for her. She jumps up and down and yells “Mommy! Mommy!”
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