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Category: Humor

Guess What? I F*cking Speak French Too, Lady.

Longtime no post.   I KNOW.

But seriously, having contact with other parents in a public setting and their entitled, stuck up little brats have inspired me to pick up my keyboard.

Twice in the last week I have witnessed other peoples children acting like total douchebags at a playground.  Twice in the last week I have had to speak to someone else’s child about their behavior in a public place.   Once, because the parent’s pre-teenish girls were nowhere to be found and their actions were putting the welfare of some wee ones in danger.  Fair enough.  Those kids backed off and despite being totally obnoxious on the swing set realized when they had pushed too far and an adult was taking back the authority on the goddamn playground.  The thing that killed me about that is that the mom of the little one in danger of getting hit with shit being thrown up the slide stood by and was too fucking afraid to say something to a 10 or 12 year old kid.   She thanked me for coming across the playground to fix it but Jesus Christ are we so afraid to be grownups?   Do the kids have all the power?

Well, it would appear as though yes.

Today, while at an indoor play area, this woman showed up with her two kids who were a few years older than mine.  I’d say about 8-10.

She was busy on her phone, trying to book dance classes for her daughter, and shot me an annoyed look because my kids were being noisy.  In a children’s play area and she had to go outside the glass to finish her conversation.   I was already less than enchanted.   It’s a playground lady.   I fuck around on my phone while my kids play too, as long as there is no bullshit and nothing needs my attention, but I don’t try to deal with any business where I have to hear what a human on the other end of the phone is saying.   I’m not a glutton for punishment.

Anyway.

This is a high indoor structure that has netting to hold the kids in should they fall.   It also has netting along the side on a high, double bump slide that goes hella fast.

Well, her kid decided to pull the netting away from beside the slide so that he could get in behind and underneath the slide part of the structure.

And of course, my three year old copied him.

I have a few problems with this.   First, the netting is now not doing its job.   So if a kid gets air and flies to the side, they now literally have no safety net because it is not secured properly.  Second, the staff clearly do not want kids behind there.  Part of the reason it is in place is to keep the kids out.  Third, monkey see, monkey fucking do.  What might be a “safe” behavior for a 10 year old, is not necessarily safe for a 3 year old.

And fourth, and adult just politely asked you to come out from there, and you told her you don’t have to because your mom lets you do it.

So when Ms. Twatwaddle, whose attention I tried to get because I wrongly assumed that she would be interested in asking her child to follow the same rules as every one else FINALLY came back in, she proceeded to not give a shit, because she felt it was “safe”.

When I pointed out that while he might be “safe” but had created a potentially unsafe situation for other kids she also didn’t give a shit.   When I pointed out that her son completely disregarded the request of an adult in the area she also didn’t give a shit.   And then she proceeded to patronize me in French to her child, right in front of me.

Well guess what?   I fucking speak French, and you, ma’am, are everything that’s wrong with the next generation of kids and the way they behave.

I actually don’t give that much of a shit about what happened at the playground.   Kids act like assholes there all the time and it’s part of how they sort out some social skills.

But I felt like she is one of those self entitled bitches who teach their kids that the rules apply to everyone else except for them.  And as a parent, a teacher, and a fellow human being, it makes me really angry.  It’s just another blaring example of how there are never any consequences for anything because the kids are holding all the damn cards.

Sometimes I wish that beating people upside the head with their own genitals was a reasonable reaction to their stupidity.  Until then, I’ll continue to just beat my head against the wall and curse on the internet about it.

 

 

To All The Sancti-Mommies Out There: Just Don’t.

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Pinterest

So last week I got caught up in an online discussion about ill behaved children in the grocery store.

A super observant, knowledgeable, and childless woman made all sorts of comments about how inappropriate it was for the parents to have tried to control their child’s tantruming by offering a bribe.   Or whatever.  She watched.  She judged.  And then she proclaimed her disapproval on social media like a total cow.

Anyway, the exchange pissed me off.  I am so tired of trying so hard to do right by my kids.  And having what feels like an army of Sancti-Mommies always screaming about how wrong I am for doing/thinking/feeling/trying/asking/wondering the things I am.  Or posting the “how you’ve fucked up your kids for good” article of the day.

And then there’s this new breed of Sancti-Non-Mommies who also want to weigh in on the discussion?   Because they took a few behaviour management courses that one time in University?

No thanks.

Also, fuck you.

So in order to deal with some of my feelings (don’t tell anybody I have feelings or I will cut you) , I have been trolling some of the mommy blogging sites in order to tell some of these bitches to suck it.

Does that make me a terrible person?

Maybe.

Probably.

But here’s the thing:  With the exception of the vaccination debate, where your choice does actually affect those around you I don’t actually give a fuck how you parent your child.

Like, not even a little bit.

What I’m interested in is hearing you share what works for you so that we parents can use each other as a resource when we are out of answers and patience.   Isn’t that what those sites were invented for?

Instead, everybody is Judgy-Judgering one a another and pointing fingers and making all sorts of assumptions about other people.   Throwing out accusations of violence and child abuse if you’ve resorted to spanking or chosen to circumcise your son.   The irreversable psychological damage you’ve done to your child by yelling at them.  How you’ve brain damaged them by allowing them to eat sugar.  Or how your kid will be smarter/healthier/better because you were able to breastfeed and I was just too lazy/selfish/stupid to do the same.

God.  We even get up in one anothers business for what kind of birth they had.

And my problem is not with what choices you make for your child.  My problem is with the choices you make about how you treat other people.  You may always speak to your child in a calm, respectful tone that explains your point of view and outlines your expectations.   You never raise your voice to them and certainly not your hand.   You are parent of the year in every way whose kid eats what’s on their plate, always follows the rules, never cries or tantrums, loves to grocery shop, goes to bed on time, puts their shoes on the first time you ask, cleans the house, walks the dog, all due to your awesomeness as a human being and in spite of the rest of us fuck ups down the street or linked to you on social media.  But when it comes to discussions about managing life as a working parent or disciplining your kids, we are all guilty of being class A bitches to one another.

This is such utter bullshit.  We all work our asses off to make our kids have the best lives possible.   And at some point we have decided that because something in our circumstance works or does not, it suddenly applies to every other human being out there.

IT DOESN”T.

So, to all the Sancti-Mommies out there:

Share your shit, but be realistic.   Be raw.  We can smell your entitled talk and insecurities a mile and a mouse click away.   You are not any better than the rest of us, you are just better at parenting YOUR OWN CHILD than the rest of us.  Stop acting like you have all the answers for everyone.   Stop making ridiculously overly dramatic statements about what another parent has chosen or tried or failed at.  Step off that high horse and let him go and graze in the pasture for a while.  Your burden of arrogance and judgement are too heavy for him to bear.

We. Are. All Doing.The Best.We.Can.

 

 

 

 

Madonna’s Daughter Has Hairy Armpits

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TV3

Omg.

So yesterday, on MSN news, there was an article about Madonna’s daughter, Lourdes looking smashing in a bikini.

Until she has the audacity to flash her unshaven armpits.  I mean, how dare she?   Doesn’t she know that she was being photographed?   Even if the photography was unsolicited, doesn’t she have any self respect?

I mean seriously, how does this fucking bitch live with herself?   How does she sleep at night, knowing what horror she has bestowed upon us, the public who needs to know?   A public who has a fundamental right to know what is going on in the world.

Listen, I get that she was at a beach with her friends, but she is a public figure whether she asked for it or not.   And to blatantly just leave her armpits unshaven for such a long time that we can see it from so far away with a telescopic lens is just not acceptable.   I can’t even believe she did this.

Doesn’t she care about what people think of her?   Doesn’t she care about the example she is leaving for young girls everywhere?   That it is ok for a girl to disrespect her body so much to have hairy armpits and flaunt them in public? HOW DOES SHE GET UP IN THE MORNING?

I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with people today.   Can’t we just live in a reasonable world where people are considerate of others and cover up their offensive body hair?  I can’t even watch the news anymore.  This is absurd.

 

This post brought to you by the most amount of sarcasm a person can hold in their hearts without exploding.

We have children being attacked with chemical weapons, a scary, complicated, no end in sight conflict in the middle east that seems to be escalating by the day.   An idiotic President of the US.  People constantly harming one another.   A divide between rich and poor that continues to get wider and wider.

Humanitarian crisis ALL OVER the world and THIS is the shit that MSN has deemed newsworthy.   Priorities.   Jesus Fuck.

 

 

Mariah, Nobody Cares About Your Feelings

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Miami Herald

As I flipped through the news this morning, there was YET ANOTHER article about Mariah Carey and her stupid performance on New Year’s Eve.

This time she is going on and on about how her feelings are hurt.  She’s humiliated. 

Boo fucking hoo.

Can you please just get over yourself, Miss Thang?

Everyone else would just pleasantly forget about it and never talk about it again if you would just shut up and move on.   We get it.  You’re a professional performer who had the unfortunate experience of a technical malfunction at a live televised performance.

It sucked.  You sucked.   But it isn’t indicative of your overall abilities.

What it is appearing to be indicative of is your character.   The more you go on about it, the more I consider you a narcissistic cry baby asshole.   And I don’t want to think that about you because you used to be kinda amazing.

Everybody has a shitty day at the office, you know?  You’re not exempt from that.  You can’t change the past, so just move forward, okay?

What you can change however, is that horrible one piece sparkly bathing suit with feathers you had on and the stupid cheesy non dancing dance moves.   And fire your choreographer.  You looked liked a washed up Barbie whos limbs don’t bend all the way.   You know, those old school ones from the 80’s that only bent like 30 degrees at the knees but who’s arms were stuck at the awkward angle?

Please.  New Year’s Eve was 8 days ago.   Get over it.

 

The Double Sink Life

If there is any silver lining to the past few days while I have lied in a fever induced near death state, or at least a wish for death state, it is that this is the time of year where tv channels have marathons of all the things.

First it was The Walking Dead.  That on was harder to follow as I made trips back and forth to the bathroom during my stomach flu.  But also “Untold Stories of the ER” in which I got to see a man fall off a roof and land his face on a crowbar.   It made my gastro thing not seem so bad.

BUT, luckily for me, one day after recovering from my annual New Year’s Vomit Fest ( no it wasn’t from drinking, it started before I could even have one glass of wine) I succumbed to a lovely case of strep throat.

And with my new death spiral firmly settled, there was a new marathon:

House Hunters/House Hunters International

And if I learned one thing from watching this show, it’s this:

Americans are completely fucking obsessed with double sinks in the ensuite bathroom.

Why is that, exactly?

I mean, every other person on that show who isn’t from the states could give a single fuck about how many sinks are in the ensuite bathroom.

“Oh that’s just not going to work with both of us getting ready in the morning”

I mean, seriously.   What in the hell are you two doing in the sink in the morning that you can’t wait your fucking turn?  Are you bathing in the goddamn sink? Brushing your teeth lasts 2 minutes.    You can’t go find a pair of socks or start the coffee while your husband gargles some Listerine and wait a minute?   Your life will be ruined?

I mean, what a dealbreaker.

How would you feel if you knew that we are a family of four that has the horrible tribulation of one full bathroom with one sink?  With NO ENSUITE off the “master bedroom”.  With just a half bath off the rec room that also only has one sink.

How did we get here, folks?  How did we become that spoiled and ridiculous and in need of such immediate gratifications that we can’t figure out how to share one fucking sink in the bathroom?

Get a grip.  First World problems, assholes of the universe.   Figure your shit out.

What Kind Of Mom Are You At The Playground?

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Pixabay

Yesterday I decided to do the dumbest thing in the world and take both of my tiny humans to the mall in the post Christmas sales blitz.

But the mall has a play area you see.   And we were on the second day after a blizzard, it was fucking cold outside and Husband was sleeping after a night shift.

The mall was my only hope.

So we went.  I found some fabulous boots on sale, the monsters didn’t monster too bad in the shoe stores and I rewarded them with a lengthy run in the overcrowded, germ infested insanity of the mall play area.

It was ridiculously busy, so I didn’t dare even take a “mom-out” to look at my phone for fear that Buddy would fuck off on me just for a special Christmastime treat.

Instead, I watched.  And I found it super interesting to watch the other parents out there.  Their style.   Their involvement.  The way they speak to their kids.

There’s a lot of different types of moms out there.

Myself, I’m a stay out of it but watching the whole time kind of mom.  I like to see the kids play and figure out how to interact with other personalities without much coaching from me.  I like to see them react or not react to what the other kids do, and especially love to see how kids just play with other kids without hesitation.  I am always ready to jump in if they can’t figure something out, but I figure they won’t learn how to push their boundaries and physical limitations if I always step in.   I like to let kids be kids, so to speak.

Also, I like to sit the fuck down for a few minutes sometimes, and let my children be entertained by other children.

There was this one mom who actually called her child over and told him not to play with my child because Buddy at one point had his finger up his nose.  “Don’t go over there and touch where he touched”.  

Lady, while I appreciate your effort to rid the world of communicable diseases, I can assure you that every surface in a crowded mall play area contain some type of booger or spit or tears or something equally gross.   He’s three.  He pretty much has a finger in his nose or down his pants 75% of the time, regardless of efforts on my part to get him to leave his orifices alone. Give it up.

There was another poor mom who had a baby on her hip, and spent the entire time chasing her two-ish year old back into the playground.  She was the mom who was constantly redirecting her kid, and got no rest at all.

God I remember those days.  Mall people:  Can you get a brain and put a gate across the exit so this poor woman can sit down and have a coffee while her kid runs free for a few minutes?

Then there’s the dads.  They tend to not ever say anything to their kids.  No nagging, no calling for them, no baby talking them.  They just physically alter their kid’s course by picking them up, twirling them upside down a few times, and setting them down in a different place.  An ultimate disorientation and redirection plan.  I like it.  I like it A LOT.

Then there’s the regular parents that just sit there.  Sometimes they chat with you.  These are my favourite kind.  Nobody trying to out-parent you.  Not trying to tell you how to do a better job.  Just normal parents.

What kind of Mom are you at the mall, Bitches?

 

 

Motherhood Isn’t For Everyone, And That’s Ok.

I read this article over tea this morning and I have to say it struck a bit of a nerve.  It’s a bit long, but it describes how many moms ( and dads too) secretly resent and hate motherhood.

And I don’t blame them one little bit.

Here’s the raw truth, no Facebook filters or sneak peeks into how amazing our days are.

Motherhood is the shits a lot of the time.

It actually really fucking sucks a good chunk of the time.

I can see how so many women are just not interested in participating in something that literally sucks the life force out of you and spits you back out in an effort to still be a moderately well functioning member of society.

Your whole life now revolves around managing unreasonable, moody, nonsensical tiny humans and keeping them alive every day.   You are blessed with the task of trying to take these maniacal little dictators who push you to the very limit of your humanity every 90 seconds and turn them into someone who will not end up contributing to the general assholery of the world.

It complicates everything.   You can’t just take a class, or go back to school, or volunteer your time, or make yourself a better human in any way without having to figure out who is going to step in and do your mom job for you while you are out making yourself less of a shit.

All while not sleeping, managing household tasks, cleaning, managing what’s left of your career and generally just trying not to fucking explode into one of the 17 directions you are being pulled in on a daily basis.

It’s not for everyone.

And like anything else, sometimes you don’t know that until it’s too late.  And I can understand why some women just can’t.

Some days I feel like that too.

And yes.   I know I wanted this.   I know that I CHOSE this.   I know that so many women can’t have children and probably hate everything about what I am saying.   But Bitches.

Motherhood is really hard.   And just because it was my decision to make this my life doesn’t make it go away and doesn’t take away my right to say so.

BUT.

There is this nagging thing for me that makes it all ok.   And that nagging thing is a love so strong that not only would I step in front of oncoming traffic to save my babies, but I would do so repeatedly, every goddamn day  for the rest of my existence.   I would sacrifice my own growth for them a thousand times over so that they can become twice the person I am.

And yeah.   Sometimes it’s hard to see women around me doing all these amazing things professionally and socially and fucking just generally while I am at home trying to convince my three year old to eat his lunch and that licking ketchup off his fingers doesn’t count.

But I don’t care.   I count my successes in smiles and hugs and successful trips to the potty.  I can’t do it all and won’t try to anymore.

But for some of you out there that feel like you’re drowning and you wish that your life was something other than what it is……I see you.   I get you.   I could be you.

It’s not for everyone.   But hang on if you can, and hopefully one day that will change.

And for the rest of us……find your people.   Support your people.   Don’t mom alone….there is strength in numbers!

 

 

I’m Pretty Sure I Invented Mom Guilt, But You Can Share

A good friend of mine posted a little video about mom guilt on Facebook this morning. A bunch of mom’s talking about the things they could take back from the day, lies they told their kids, things they wish they hadn’t said.

And here I thought I invented Mom Guilt.  Turns out that deep down, a lot of you Bitches feel like you suck balls at this gig too.

I suffer from this guilt thing a lot.  Husband works long days, and by the end of his rotation I usually feel ready to either sell my children to anyone who likes repeating themselves over and over again with no results, or literally filling the bathtub up with tequila in hopes that is a pleasant way for me to drown.

In this stupid day and age of being hopelessly busy and being pulled in 5000 directions at once, I simply cannot deal with the amount of time it takes my children to accomplish one task. Why is it SO HARD to put your fucking shoes on?   Why is that always the wrong hat?  Why can they not pay attention for long enough to put on their jacket and for GOD”S SAKE how come nobody can stand straight and face me when I try to zip it up?

Sometimes I cannot handle the random crying and drama that occurs seemingly every second without justification.  The fights about nothing.  The tattle-taling.  The whining.  The constant needing.  The mess making.

The pants shitting.

And so I do what every mother out there has done for generations.

I yell.  I threaten.  I punish.

And.I.Get.Nowhere.

Besides feeling horrible and making them feel horrible, that is.  I also get one step closer to needing therapy and detox and a new liver.  But that’s a whole other post.

And then I put them to bed and think “Tomorrow is a new day.  A better day.  I will be more patient and try to spend more time just hanging out with them.  All they really want is more attention.  I can do this.”

And then, the next day happens and I am so busy feeding them and cleaning up after them and doing laundry and working that time runs out again and I left with the mom guilt for another day. I never, ever, ever, feel like it’s enough.  Like I’m enough.

Thankfully, every now and again, we have a day where everything goes just right.  I put all my bullshit aside and focus just on them.  I say “yes” more often.  I let the schedule go.  I let the dishes sit.  I make all the things that are usually such a big ass deal no big deal, and just fucking let it stay where it is. We stay up past bedtime.  We get dirty and eat junk food and just never mind about all the things that really aren’t that important after all.

And it’s all ok.  Everybody is still alive the next day.

So far.

And then I feel guilty that I don’t do all that more often.

But you see Bitches.  Mom guilt is just this thing that happens when you love something so much that you set up this impossible standard for yourself.  It’s when you love something so much you can’t possibly ever do enough because there is no action that could ever possibly declare just how much you actually love it.

We will always have mom guilt because we won’t ever be done trying to give our children every single thing they need to be nice humans and smart humans and happy humans.  We have the mom guilt because even though children need to be corrected, and moms are allowed to get frustrated, we don’t want our kids to ever for one second think we aren’t on their side.

We feel guilt because we want more for them than is possible to give.  So we never feel like it’s enough.

So, chin up Bitches.  Tell a few lies that helps to avoid a temper tantrum.  Yell at them when they are assholes, because sometimes love involves teaching them that being an asshole is not a desirable endeavour. Drink the wine and vow to love them JUST AS MUCH TOMOROW  as you do today.  Not more, because that’s hardly possible.

And have a “free day” sometimes where you just lower your expectations and give yourselves a goddamn break.

 

 

 

 

 

In The Old Days….Kids Still Shit Their Pants At 3 Too.

In the Old Days, and by that I mean before there was such a thing as social media, how did you do it, Bitches?

And by IT I mean, how did you raise your children without:

  • having a heart attack
  • feeling judged
  • getting SOME decent advice
  • complaining to the universe
  • venting
  • hating better moms than you
  • being told how you’re doing it wrong

Because honestly, I love social media.  Sometimes I hate it when women are being total cunts about all the things I am doing to raise my kids, but usually it’s pretty helpful.

I was just having a free for all rant/advice thread on my Facebook page about the frustrations of potty training, and really, everyone kept it helpful and nice and nobody made me feel like an asshole at all.  Which was kinda cool because I already feel like that anyway.

But THEN, I had a lovely private conversation with an awesome girl about her struggles, and she made a comment about how she wonders if all the people with late pottiers ( is that a word?) are just not saying anything because they feel embarrassed.

YES.

For sure they are.

Whenever I go out to some thing with kids, there is always some woman talking about how they started potty training at 8 months and how wonderfully easy it was.  It’s like some sort of sign of brilliant parenting.

But what if it isn’t?  What if you read all the books and go to all the playgroups and learn from these great moms and try so hard with stickers and candy and praise and dedication?

And the truth is that you kid just really still is more comfortable shitting their pants than going on the toilet?  What if the truth is that the age your kid learns to piss on the pot is NOT indicative of your ability as a parent or the future career path of your little genius?

I wonder if you took a class of Harvard graduates and asked them each what age they stopped shitting their pants if their answers would vary?

I don’t know.  I know that potty training is annoying and frustrating and that I appreciate all the things that people offered in order to help me.  But honestly, the thing that helped me the most were the moms and dads who were just honest about how it really is, and shared things with me openly.  It’s nice to know that if you suck at something, there are others in your village who suck just as bad.

And lived to tell about it.

 

 

 

You’re So Pretty.

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Sorry I’ve been kinda absentee lately, Bitches.

I’ve been at the beach.

Literally.  We have spent the summer in and out of the city and hanging out as a family.  We are super lucky to have a family cottage where we can just escape from all the people and all the things and just decompress.

In theory anyway.  It’s not completely stress free spending 24 hours a day with your children with no work or grocery store or girls nights to escape to.

But that’s another post.

Do you know how many bathing suits I own?

7.

Of the seven, five are bikinis, and 2 are one pieces.

The one pieces I hardly ever wear and actually bought for doing the baby swimming lessons when I was still pretty post partum.  Like they hid something.  Like anybody cared.  I just felt like a one piece was a little more appropriate for that environment.

But once outside?  Fuck it.  I am not spending a day peeling a one piece bathing suit on and off to use the bathroom.  And anybody who’s had a baby knows how often that happens once you have kids, right?  Let’s just say that if I lived in the US, I could probably sue them for the damage they did to my bladder. And that’s not even including the whole “cross your legs when you sneeze” thing.

And of the 5 bikinis, 3 of them are cheap suits that look good, but are starting to get a little stretched out or see through, but are good enough for a private beach.  Because nobody gives a fuck out there.

I bought one ridiculously expensive suit two years ago that helped to “disguise” the wreck that was my lower abdomen after Buddy was born.  It’s one of those ones with a little skirt.  Beautiful, but sometimes the extra material on the skirt is fucking aggravating.

And the last one was a suit I bought years ago, before my breast reduction and way before we had kids.  I’ve kept the bottoms all these years because they were really good quality, fit well and were black, but the top was useless. So yesterday, I went on a quest to find a beautiful, high end top that I could pair with the bottoms.  Think of those cute mismatched suits.

I found one at the specialty store. The place with the fancy French lingerie and bathing suits where the saleslady can’t wait to get in that change room with you and wrestle your titties into a fancy bathing suit top or bra.  They also love to shatter your dreams when they look at you and just by eyeballing your tits through a sundress, guess your bra size and it was nothing like what you thought it was.

Did you know that titties can grow back after you have a breast reduction?  Because babies?

Because always babies.

They ruin everything.  Even your titties.  Sigh.

So anyway.

I bought this beautiful top to pair with the bottoms I had and came home to try the ensemble on together.

The pre baby bottoms with the post baby top.

And Bitches, a little self doubt crept in.

And then you know what happened?

My little Buddy came over to me and said “You’re so pretty Mama.”

“Your hair is pretty. And your eyes are pretty. And your arms are pretty.  And your tummy is pretty. And your lips are pretty. And your legs are pretty. “

So the three year old teaches the lesson we should all remember today.  If only we could see ourselves through the eyes of our children.  Their perception is so innocent, but it is also uncensored and truthful.

I can’t tell you how much it meant to me to hear his little voice say those words to me.  It was the purest, most untarnished compliment I have ever received. He doesn’t care if there is a lump or a bump somewhere, or if my tummy jiggles in places or if my thighs touch.

He just sees me through eyes of love…..and so should I .

And so should you.

 

 

 

AfterOtis

Written by Natalie Oldham

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Archon's Den

The Rants & Rambles of A Grumpy Old Dude

Mind Of An In-Depth Woman

My thoughts about life, relationships, love, music and random topics in between

The Bede Update

He may be small but he is mighty

Ends and Beginnings

"The World is round and the place which may seem like the end may also be the beginning."-Ivy Baker Priest

Musings of An Insomniac

Late night thoughts of a fool.

Virtual Vomit

Sometimes its easier than others

Surviving Grief

How to embrace grief and heal

dwaineevanssr

This WordPress.com site is the cat’s pajamas

Young OFW

Working Abroad While Traveling!

Deep Breaths

Apparently I am too angry and judgemental and I'm trying to change that

bizarrelovetriangleblog

Two guys, a girl, and a choice.

BigAndPinkyToes

A blog about family, food, and other good stuff.

Mums diary blog

MOTHERHOOD ~ FASHION ~ FAMILY LIFESTYLE #mumsdiaryblog

This Mommy's Adventures of Autism, Special Needs, and Everything in Between

My family. Our stories. Parent and Creative Explorer

Breaking Sarah - Bruised, Not Broken

One woman's raw journey through incest, teen pregnancy, trauma, death, and family estrangement.

Not the Average Mama

Taking the Step out of step Parent

brickhousechick

Letting it all hang out

lifebeyondmommy

A stay at home mothers guide to self discovery

The Shameful Sheep

shit storms, shame, and stories that make you cringe

Luminous Blue

a mother's and daughter's journey with transformation, cancer, death and LOVE

The Secret Life of Emily Maine

a place to shout my secrets

Dramatic Momologue

The juggle is real.

andrea shawcross

comedy writer & maker of filmstuffs.

Ben's Bitter Blog

"We make bitter better."

David McVety

A Spiritual Shepherd's Thoughts on Faith and Family

Beating Myself Into a Dress

First a wedding dress, then a maternity dress, now I'm just trying to fit into ANY dress.

The Fat Chick Memoirs

Dealing with my Weight-Loss One Funny Story at a Time

Stephanie Bernaba

Writer | Photographer

The Science of Mom

The Heart and Science of Parenting

The Fat Bottom Bard

Waxing Poetic and Penning Tall Tales

Jeneral Musings

A personal potpourri of thoughts

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