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Tag: toddlers

Take Your Theory On “Crying It Out” and Suck It

Human-Male-White-Newborn-Baby-Crying

As I continue to accept the fact that we are not having anymore babies, I can also celebrate the fact that I don’t have to deal with figuring out how to put a new baby to bed.  I don’t have to do the wake up every two hours and feed the baby thing.  I don’t have to rock any babies to sleep or pray anyone naps or whatever.

Don’t get me wrong.  I fucking HATE bedtime.  Bedtime is easily the hardest part of the day…so close to a bit of adult time, yet still having to negotiate my way through storytime, brushing their teeth, terrified of the dark almost five year olds, and snuggling while they fall asleep.

In fact, bedtime can just suck it.

Unless you’re Bestie.  Bestie always manages to get them to go to sleep at like 7pm and makes it look all easy.  I’ve tried so hard to get her to move in.  SO HARD.

Anyway, despite the fact that I can possibly see a light at the end of the tunnel, I keep bumping into all these articles about “Crying It Out”

All this “research” telling us how much we fucked up our children.  Oh…..wait……there’s new “research” saying that it’s really not that bad…….just kidding again……you have ruined your child’s brain chemistry and not only will they be an eternal asshole, they will suffer brain damage and forever live in your house…..wait, no……

AND SO ON.

First of all, who the hell is funding all these “studies”  and why do we feel it is necessary to continue to research what we already know will be the result?

The result being, of course, that every baby has different needs and exhausted moms will continue to do whatever works in order to survive no matter what your fucking research says.

The other result being, of course, that a whole new generation of burnt out, self doubting moms will feel like total shit about what they tried to do to help themselves and their child get a decent nights rest.  That each new study serves to do one thing at the end of the day.  To undermine the already waning confidence that each new parent has about whether or not they are doing what’s best for their family.

And no matter what your fucking “research” says, moms will continue to beat each other up on both sides of the argument and shame each other for their choices.  They will each reference a different article supporting their assault on one another.

And you know what?

It doesn’t actually matter what the experts say.  Because you  know who is the expert when it comes to my child?

Me.

So you go ahead and decide whether or not it’s ok for your baby to cry it out or not.  You go ahead and decide how your life is going to play out and stop trying to influence me into doing things your way.

I just wish that researchers would stop spending money doing these fucking “You Suck At Parenting” studies and actually research something worthwhile.   Like how to cure childhood cancer.  Or cystic fibrosis.  Or maybe just fund projects that help moms realize that they are doing the best job they can and give them a place where they can go to share their frustrations or get a break if they are feeling worn out.

Why don’t we take all this money from these useless, shame inducing “studies” and build some goddamn villages around ourselves?

Rant over.

 

Why Do Little Boys Have No Sense Of Self Preservation?

Is it just me, or do little boys have almost ZERO sense of self preservation?

Yesterday I spent the afternoon plucking my son off of everything.  Off the table, off the counter, off the roof of his playhouse, off of the goddamn fence that he climbing liked a caged wild animal.

UP UP UP.  All fucking day.

And then came La creme de la creme.

Right before my students show up, I am getting my violin out and just warming up for about 3 minutes when I hear a piercing scream from Buddy’s bedroom.  I figure he tried to climb on something to reach an off limits item on the top shelf again and has fallen off.

So I get up and start walking towards the stairs and out comes Buddy, holding his ear.

What the fuck?

He decided that he had boogers in his ears that needed cleaning and shoved a Q-tip in there so far that he made himself bleed. Seriously Buddy?  Da Fuck is wrong with you?

And of course I phone the nurses hot line where they are so nice but also really thorough and good at freaking you out about worse case scenario.  Hearing loss, perforated eardrum, infection.

Jesus help me.  From a Q-tip?  And apparently, you shouldn’t even use a Q-Tip to clean your ears out in the first place.  I am always the last to know all the grown up parenting things.

I decided in the end that taken him to the ER when he wasn’t even crying anymore seemed excessive, but will follow up with his doctor today.

And hopefully, in the meantime Buddy won’t try to see what happens if he cuts off a finger or plucks out an eye or something.

 

 

Don’t Be An Asshole To Your Kids Either: What Monday Taught Me

Yesterday, Bitches, my kids were complete assholes.

From the start of the day until the moment we lay down to go to sleep they whined and fought and cried and bitched and moaned and I came so close to putting them both up for sale.

It was seriously a shitty day.

But I think I learned something new.

After the one millionth time I yelled at them, and honestly I can’t even remember what it was this time, I’d finally had enough of the shit they were dealing.  I was trying to just get a couple things done around the house.  You know, so there was food to eat and clean clothes to wear…the glamorous stuff. Anyway, Buddy was on a major freak out. Over a broken cracker.  And if you’ve never been stuck in a house with a 2 year old who is busy having a fucking shit fit about everything in the universe for 3 hours straight all while your poor husband is trying to sleep after a night shift, be thankful.

So I finally completely lost all patience and plucked him out of his chair, half dragged him up to his room and left him there to work out his fit.

5 minutes later he’s still screaming.  Except hes not screaming. He’s sobbing.

And Bitches, that’s my Buddy. 

I was still so fucking frustrated  and mad but he was sobbing.  So I went up to him and ask what his problem is and all he says is “nuggle you”.  Which in Buddy talk means “I need to snuggle you.”

So all this time he’s losing his shit all over the place, and even after I am a super asshole mom, all he really needs is that?

All that time he’s following me around whining and complaining while I try to load the dishwasher and throw some laundry in, he just wanted to snuggle?

So I sit on his bed and he crawls in my lap and immediately calms down.

And you what else happened?  I did too.  I felt all the mad and frustration go away as soon as I “nuggled” my Buddy.  It’s funny how what he needed seemed to be the same as what I needed.

So what did I learn?  I learned that I need to just let go of my agenda sometimes.  I learned that I can’t always expect things to go as planned.  I learned that it is ok if the dishes sit on the counter today if what my kids need is just a little more attention.

No wonder they get so excited about babysitters coming over.  They don’t have to worry about cleaning or cooking or working when they’re here.  They only have to focus on hanging out with the kids and the kids don’t have to compete with anything for their attention.

I learned that sometimes, having a productive day means that we had a happy one where I paid attention. I learned that sometimes, my job doesn’t have to be to do all the things.  It can be to do just the one thing.

I learned that a hug can cure most things.

And I learned that being an asshole because my kids are being assholes doesn’t help.

Less assholery.  More love. Don’t be an asshole.

 

 

 

 

This Mom Guilt Thing Is A Real Asshole

For all of you who are parents to more than one child, do you remember what it was like to have to say “goodbye” to your only child when your second was about to arrive?  How did it change your relationship with your oldest?  How do you cope with being two places or everywhere at the same time?

I came across a series of photos online yesterday of moms last moments alone with their firstborns shortly before they birthed their second baby.  I remember that moment so vividly, and I wish so badly that I had a birth photographer to capture it for me.

I remember that I had been in labour for 22 hours already and awake since the day before.  I remember Husband’s mum was there to take care of her while we left to bring our Buddy Earthside  And I remember her standing in her little sundress on the steps and looking at her with the saddest heart ever.

It wasn’t like I wouldn’t see her the next day.  It wasn’t like we were going away for a long time or not coming back.  But we kind of were.

I had to say goodbye to who she was at that moment and embrace a new role for her.  She was no longer going to be my whole world, she was only going to be a part of it.  And I felt like how can I do this to her?  How can I takeaway her job of being the single most important thing in my life and make her share it?  I felt terrible and sad  and selfish for leaving.

In that moment I had to mourn my only child and replace her with a big sister, and as dumb as that sounds it broke my heart into a million pieces.

And of course Buddy was and still is the clingiest, snuggliest, most sensitive little guy ever and is in constant demand of my attention.  He’s almost three and still needs his Mommy fiercely.  So I wonder how my Twee Destroyer of Hearts feels about that.

I wonder if she remembers the almost two years we had alone together or if she just accepts what is.  I wonder if I sometimes ignore her needs because her brother is younger and his needs are more immediate and usually a lot louder.  I wonder if she feels like I love her less because she has a little brother.

Which of course I don’t.  I just feel like I am always out of time, you know?  Like by the time I am done work and dinner and laundry and tending to all the things that need tending, that I have so little time left at the end of the day to just hang out with her and listen to what she wants to tell me.

I feel like the end of everyday is crammed into those final moments on the steps before I left for the hospital.  Like I want nothing more than just to sit there with her but there is always something pulling me away.  And I worry that she thinks I don’t care enough.

I have a lot of guilt lately.  I feel like I am never enough.  To anyone, but especially my babies, and even more especially to her.

The mom guilt is brutal lately, Bitches.  How do you pick yourself up?

 

I Used To Be Dirrrty, But Now I’m Just Gross.

Being the creator and manager of two tiny humans sure is a nice gig.  Most of the time.  They are hilarious and adorable and really interesting individuals.

They are also surprisingly gross.  And yeah, I get it.  Childhood is about exploration and experimentation and discovery.  It’s how they learn.

Trust me, I am one of those parents who doesn’t get get all worked up when my kids gets filthy outside by playing in the mud or splashing in puddles.  I put paint out and let them paint their hair and arms and whatever.

But seriously, they do the grossest shit.

  1. Yesterday Buddy, who is currently a snot factory, came running over to me.  “MOMMA! MOMMA!”  Arms out, clearly needing me.  So I reach my hands out to him and he dodges me, grabs my dress in his sticky little hands and wipes his snot fountain booger face all over it.  Dude.  There is a box of Kleenex on the counter and boxes of baby wipes every 10 feet in this house.   Take your gross-a-thon somewhere else.
  2. While playing outside, the kids set up a tea party and while I think they are pretending, someone has collected the dirty meltwater from one area or another in the backyard and they are actually fucking drinking it.
  3. After dropping his freezie on the floor, Buddy picks up the pieces and tries to shove them back in the wrapper.  For like 5 minutes, while the sticky juice is melting down his arms, until he finally gives up and starts sucking on it again.  I mean, he didn’t even attempt to pick any dog hair off.
  4. While changing a shit-splosian diaper, Buddy jumps up and runs away from me.  Because running away is extra fun when you have a shitty ass that you can press up against the walls in the bathroom.
  5. Seriously.  The dog food eating has to stop.

And this was just in the last two days.

I can only imagine what disgusting things they did behind my back and are plotting for today.

Back when Destroyer was about 18 months old, and I was pregnant with Buddy, she was still a real puker.  That baby puked at the drop of a hat.  She puked when she cried.  She puked when she got too full. She puked when she accidentally stuck a cheesecake lollipop down her throat too far while Bestie and I were trying to watch the Oscars.

And you know how I knew that I was definitely a “In It To Win It Parent”?

As she started puking over my freshly shampooed carpet ( thank you pregnancy nesting habits) I ran towards the puke and tried to catch it in my fucking hands.  I would rather be covered in a tiny human’s vomit than have to scrub it out of a carpet.

So, I also am a filthy person.  And not for the reasons you all wish.  Those years are waaaayyyyy behind me.  The only filthy thing that happens around here these days involves an bucket of soapy water and a puke stain on the carpet.  There is nothing sexy left after having children.

Only Grossness. Tiny snot faucets and hairy popsicles and murky drinking water.

Can You Take Time Away From Your Self Righteous Judgements And Just Pray For This Little Guy?

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Royal Canadian Mounted Police in Manitoba           This little guy is missing. Other than praying for him and his family just close your mouth.

 

 

Yesterday I came across one of those “please share” posts on Facebook.  A two year old boy went missing in rural Manitoba, and despite a huge search effort including dog teams and 300 volunteers, he is still missing.

The child was playing outside and then suddenly was gone.  Fucking gone. There weren’t any more specifics than that.

And you know what, Bitches?

People are such heartless pieces of shit.  Instead of simply offering their prayers or thoughts or good vibes or whatever they believe in, they are taking time out of their day to call the parents out.

Yes. You read that right.

The little boy is Aboriginal, so clearly his parents were negligent and this is all their fault.  How irresponsible of them to leave their child unattended.  How could they not watch him?

Or so many of the comments say.  What a bunch of self righteous assholes.

Last fall, I was at the mall play area with both kids.  I had the stroller for Buddy and Destroyer was on foot.  When it came time to leave I put Buddy in the stroller and told my Twee D it was time to go.  So obviously, she pitches a giant fit and ran away from me, into a store.

The store was one of those ones that was open on all sides, with no specific door in or out.  It happened to be a card and gift shop with four aisles and a bunch of fucking displays in the middle.  So as we pursued my Twee Destroyer, we got stuck because the stroller wouldn’t fit around one of the mid aisle displays.  I fucking hate those things.  Even more so now.

By the time I got the stroller turned around and went to catch her, she was literally gone.  Vanished into thin air.

Now some of you may have heard this story before.  I’m wondering…..did you think I was a shitty parent?  Irresponsible?  Not watching my kid?

The fact is that I was none of those things.  It just literally can happen in the blink of an eye. And by the way, I am not Aboriginal either so you can’t blame it on that.  I am white as snow and still managed to lose my kid in a shopping mall.

And the thing I remember most is this horrible feeling that someone had literally ripped my heart out of my chest and was sucking the air out of my lungs for those 30 minutes that she was lost.  A feeling like my whole reason for existing was in jeopardy.

And so when I read about a child going missing, regardless of the circumstances or their fucking race, all I can feel is empathy and sickness and sadness for the family and the child.  All I can do is beg God to return this baby to their mom.  And THEN, when I read ignorant comments from judgy know it all assholes who likely aren’t even parents themselves I just want to punch them in the vagina.

Get a grip people.  There is no such thing as a perfect parent.  And kids make it super hard to do things perfectly anyway.  They are always getting in the way of your perfect shit by accident and making you look bad. And since you can’t be perfect, can you at least be nice?  Have empathy?  Not be an asshole?  Because one day, it will be you who has something tragic happen, and you will need the support of your community without all the judgemental commentary.

Remember when  I asked you all to be nice humans yesterday?  You still have a shit ton of work to do.

Will I Ever Stop Being Tired?

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pixabay.com

I am so fucking tired today.

Have you ever slept in the same bed as two tiny humans?  Except they are so tiny anymore and I’m not exactly sure they’re human.  How is it that children are allowed to be awake half the night and then get up the next morning as if nothing happened?  And then you ask them what their problem was the night before and they have no idea what you’re talking about?

Ugh.  This co-sleeping thing is starting to super irritate me.  It’s not bad if Husband takes Destroyer and I take Buddy in different rooms.  But both of them in bed with me when Husband is on night shift is becoming the bane of my mommyhood.

We have a king size bed and yet all of a sudden small children turn into hairy little octopuses with extra long limbs to kick you and tickle you and pull your hair.  It quickly morphs into a twin size bed in the middle of the night and the blankets become too small to cover us.

Every imaginary problem from monsters to ailments to crying for no reason starts to manifest and we get to stay up ALL NIGHT LONG.

Maybe I should just put on some Lionel Richie and give into the party.

Maybe Lionel is the answer.  Maybe if I blast him loud enough and fight them with some new ammunition besides yelling and threats they will get the hint and go the fuck to sleep.  And stay asleep.  And not wake me up every 20 minutes.  And stop monitoring my every move.

If I dare to step one foot out of the bed to use the can in the middle of the night her little four year old sixth sense jolts her awake and I hear “where are you going” before I even get one step out the door.

What is this, grade school?   Do I need to ask permission to go to the fucking bathroom?

I feel like I will never ever ever stop being tired.  Ever.

Parents, is there a time where you stop being tired?

“Top Ten” Lists That Would ACTUALLY Change My Life

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tugta.com

In my news reading this morning, I came upon this delightful piece of crap.

It’s entitled “Things you’ve been doing wrong all your life”.

I didn’t even read through all of it because you know what?  If I think about all the things I fucked up in the last two days, I would already feel like such a loser and I didn’t need any more help.

I didn’t feel the need to read one more article about all these tricks that I can do around the house which will make my life easier.  Because you know what?  THEY WON’T.

So no, msn.com, I don’t want to know what else I’ve been doing wrong my whole life.  And no, I don’t want to know how to get icing in my mouth in every single bit of my cupcake.  It’s not life changing and I don’t give a fuck.

You know what WILL change my life and make things easier?

  1. Lifetime supply of wine.  Cupcakes got nothing over wine.
  2. A robot or a midget that follows the children around the house and puts back all the shit they touch and leave lying in the middle of the floor.
  3. Winning the lottery. DUH
  4. Sleep.
  5. Nobody puking on the stairs for a whole day.  ( this has now happened three days in a row)
  6. Somebody doing as they’re told the first time I ask them to do it.  HAHAHAHHAHAHA!
  7. A whine free zone.  (NOT a wine free zone.  omg.  I can’t even)
  8. Zombie Apocalypse.  For reals.
  9. If Global Warming could go ahead and hurry the fuck up, it would make parenting in this god forsaken frozen wasteland a lot easier.
  10. Death.

I mean, does anybody ever really do these things that all these “Top Ten” lists recommend?  Who has time for this shit?

Honestly, I just want to get through a whole day where all the things that need to be taken care of get done.  Where I don’t spend half the time yelling at everyone to get their shit together or stop killing each other or at the very least stop screaming at the top of their goddamn lungs.

Is there a  list for that?

How about a list for “Top Ten Ways To Be Drunk All The Time Without Becoming An Alcoholic”?

Or “Ten Ways To Not Die Of Exhaustion By The Time Your Child Starts Kindergarten”?

Or “How To Live In A Bigger House Without Having To Clean It.”

Or “Ten Reasons your Toddler Can Survive On Chocolate Milk Alone”

Or “Ten Best Swears To Use When Yelling At Your Kids”

Or “Ten Ways To Pretend Like Your Pre-pregnancy Clothes Still Look Good On You”

And my personal favourite:

Or “10 Best Ways To Not Suck At Life”

Any of you Bitches want to guest blog for me on any of the above lists?  You’re in.

 

 

Just When Things Are Looking Up, Someone Always Shits In The Tub.

look_its_sonic_on_the_toilet_by_shadowrobotnik

ryanechidnaseal.deviantart.com

I’m not gonna lie, Bitches, most of this weekend was no better than where we left off last week.

I’m pretty sure I have the plague.  Or Cement Lung Disease.  Or Lungs On Fire Disease. Or some other horrible sickness I made up to describe how absolutely shitty I feel.

And since I already feel shitty, why don’t I torture myself further by trying to take Buddy’s interest in potty training to the next level?  Why don’t I put him in underpants, and when I run out of those after he pisses his pants 5 times in 2 hours then I’ll just start using shorts?  Because I clearly love to do laundry and I also hate losing.

But lose I did.

I don’t get it.  This was HIS IDEA.  I was happy to leave him in diapers until summer, when I could give it the proper attention and consistency it needs and deserves.

And then yesterday, just an absolute refusal to cooperate. So fuck it.  We put a pull up back on because I got tired of all the puddles.  And I have the plague to deal with so don’t judge me.

So at bath time I offer the fancy bath bomb to the kids to try and keep the mood happy and the kids excitedly strip down as fast as they can to get in the tub.  A bath bomb, if you’re not familiar is a little ball of joy.  You put it in the tub and it explodes sparkles and sometimes rose petals.And it makes the water pretty and soft and wonderful.

Anyway, Buddy gets undressed and in the water faster than lightning.  And I look down and think, that’s weird…why is his foot brown?

Well his foot was brown because he had taken a ginormous shit in his pull up and stepped in it while taking it off.  Also his hand was brown because he had to touch the shit to make sure that it was, in fact, shit.  And now the shit was happily floating around the filling tub, because that’s the way my life has been this week.  Shit floating around in the tub pretty much sums up the last few days.  It’s so annoying and stupid and gross, and you’re not sure if you should be angry or laugh hysterically.

Because why is there always shit in the tub?

There isn’t really.  But it just feels like there is.

Potty training is for the birds.  And so is the plague.

I Forgot to Get The Flu Shot And My Toddler Is Starving Himself To Death

picky-eater-image

Oh my Gawd.

We are all dying in this house.  Dying.

And I think it’s my fault.  Me, the queen advocate for vaccinations, got myself a real nice batch of the flu last week.  It’s been 10 days and this morning is the first morning I don’t feel like I might suffocate on the sea of snot and phlegm that’s been ruining my life since last Monday.

I was just trying to remember before I got sick if we had gotten our flu shots when were at the kids checkup, and I guess the answer is no. A Big.Fat.NO.

FUCK.

Could you imagine if I forgot to get the kids polio vaccination?  Whoops!  Sorry you’re paralyzed now, Mommy’s a bit of a forgetful asshole.

Anyway, that’s not the real point of this.

My poor Buddy is so sick and congested that he snores and slurps and drools and sounds like he’s drowning.  Which he probably is.  Because the flu sucks donkey balls, Bitches.  It super does.

So last night I am rubbing Vicks Vaporub all over him to try to give him some relief, and I realize that my child is skin and bones.  Skin and bones.  I mean, he looks thin but it wasn’t until I was literally rubbing up his whole back and chest that I realized it just felt like there was no meat on him at all.

He is going through this picky phase the last few months or so and I can not for the life of me figure out how to get him to eat.  He eats a lot of fruit and some veggies, I’m thankful for that, but I can’t get anything of substance into him.  He can’t survive on chocolate milk and apple juice alone, although that also seems to be part of his evil plan.

So Bitches, I am asking you.  How the hell do I fatten up my super active two year old?  Any tricks to sneaking protein into things?  Or fat, without it being just junk food?

Seriously.  Kids have no sense of self preservation.  How are some of them even alive?

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