Tuesday, September 3, 2013

I May Be Losing It Folks: 2nd babies and Talking Uteruses

I've come to realize I'm not really in control of my uterus. It was just a couple of months ago even the thought of adding another baby would send me into cold sweats. 

Pregnancy? No thanks. I'm enjoying drinking right now. And full control of my bladder. 

Toddler and a newborn? Haha. I maybe slightly off my rocker, but not masochistic. I'm not even sure the logistics of that combination are even possible. Seriously, when do you sleep? 
I'm pretty sure it's never. 

So adding another child to our little corner of crazy wasn't even on my radar. I would snort derisively at those who'd ask if we were planning on a second baby yet. You, people. You silly, silly people. 

Then my uterus decided it was time. It needed to show me who was actually in charge of this decision. And believe me. It isn't me. 

The thought of having another one suddenly wasn't nausea inducing. I started oohing and awwing over newborns instead of thanking the good lawd above it wasn't mine. Then I actually felt a twinge of jealously over a pregnant lady at the store. It was as if I didn't even know who I was anymore. 

After a couple drinks the other night, I heard myself trying to convince (read: bribe) the husband to have another one. It was an out of body experience y'all. Like when someone describes a near death experience, you know? They're all like, I was floating above my body and heard everyone in the room talking and then I saw a bright light and Jesus himself spoke to me. And you just smile and nod and think...you're a flipping nutcase. 

That's exactly how it was. Except my uterus was Jesus. My uterus was speaking for me. 

I still haven't quite convinced darling husband that another child is the greatest idea mankind has ever had. He's still just smiling and nodding and thinking I'm a flipping nutcase. In time I'll bring him over to the dark side though. 

Friday, August 30, 2013

And the Envelope Please...

So I took nearly a year off of this blogging thing. Again. I could be one of the worst bloggers in history, but have you perused some of the inanity out there lately? If you have a few hours you don't mind wasting and want to feel a whole lot better about your life or IQ, I highly recommend just reading random blogs or anonymous comments on HuffPost articles.  

It just cements my argument that we live amongst a nation of idiots. I'm quite certain I'm not the worst, but my extended absences make for a pretty good case against me. 

Let's just pretend I'm actually trying to win the worst blogger in history award. I gotta say guys I'm doing a pretty damn fine job of it. I may just win this thing. And I can't say I won't be all that disappointed. I mean, it is an award. And I've never actually won anything in my life. And I hear that maybe winners have to wear tiaras during their year long reign as Worst Blogger? What? No? Maybe I made that last thing up.  

In reality I'm just like any other mom. I really do love writing. It's my passion and when I'm away from her, I feel lost. She's my favorite mistress. But my ever present mom guilt keeps me from her 99% of the time. If I'm writing, I'm not spending time with my son and husband. I'm not tending to my family's needs. I'm neglecting some other portion of my life that outweighs my own desires.  

So, my mistress gets tossed aside. Left to be forgotten amongst the millions of other words on the internet. Pushed down in the dark corners of my brain filed with the rest of my pre-motherhood life. Tucked somewhere between weekend trips with the girls and sleeping in on Saturdays. 

She always pulls me back though. I always promise her this time it'll be different. This time I'll spend more time with you. This time I'll pick you first. 

But we both know that isn't the truth. My son will wake up from his nap. My laundry basket will fill up again. My body will win the fight to sleep. And she will be left alone again. Half written and half forgotten. 

I'm not unusual in that regard. Most of the mothers I know rarely take time for themselves. We are our families' backbone. We run this bitch and if mama ain't around this entire world we've worked so hard to build and maintain goes to shit. 

Well, at least, that's what we all think will happen. 

During the rare times I've actually made a concerted effort to take me time, to my utter horror all hell has not broken loose. My child has not been severely traumatized. My house has not been irrevocably destroyed. And my world which I spend so many hours of planning and worry and manpower to ensure is in perfect working order is still as I left it. Horrifying, I know. 

Yes, we moms, are the backbone of our family. We are superheroes smeared in baby poop. We are our family's CEOs. We are constant crisis negotiators. We are skilled event planners. We're janitors. We're personal chefs. We're nurses. We're pretend pirates and princesses. We're counselors. We're teachers. We're all these things at the same time. 

And yet we're still human. We're still women. We still need to refresh our spirits, remember our own needs and make ourselves a priority.

So, here I am today trying to follow my own advice. Trying to get back to me. 

So maybe I won't win mom of the year, but bet you I won't win worst blogger of the year either.