When you stop to think about it, the process of getting a baby out of your body is amazing. There’s the old-fashioned “natural” method which, in terms of physics, is about like Andre the Giant pulling on a turtleneck sweater. That fucking ($0.25) thing will never be the same again. I missed out on that little miracle of geometry, as all five of my children were surgically removed by C-section. In either case, read on, because I’m about to make you feel better either about your to’ up from the flo’ up vagine (vah-jeen), or your undeniable need to fart. Maybe both.
I started the week with an overwhelming feeling of insecurity. At first I thought it was because my blog numbers – which had been much higher the week before – were in the toilet because I hadn’t kept up the momentum from My Fat Ass ($0.25). Then I realized, I didn’t let the momentum wither and die. Rather, life dictated a shift in priorities. I was stuck between wanting to write and meeting the increasing demands of my family. Continue reading
People peruse my blog or my Facebook page, see the gaggle of children that call me mom, and seem genuinely befuddled as to how I manage such pandemonium. When I leave the house, kids in tow, folks always want to know “Are they all yours?”, “How do you do it?” and “Where is the man who got you into this mess?”.
It was Sunday morning and I had spent nearly all day Saturday doing shit and mostly ignoring my kids so the guilt hit me square in the nose the second I woke up. I thought a grand gesture was in order and – you know – I’m not really sure why because no where in my “How To Raise Kids” rule book does it say anything about my obligation to entertain them with fun and interesting things twenty-four-seven. I blame Facebook, Pinterest and my kids’ precious little faces for the ever-present mom-guilt that plagues me. Continue reading