This post is for Band Back Together’s Dose of Happy Monday. Feel free to join in by visiting over there, and sharing your dose of happy either in the link-up or the comments!
Last Sunday, we finally broke down and took the kids to Chuck E Cheese’s. For the first time. On a Sunday afternoon. Because we’re really good planners like that.
But it worked out okay in the end.
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Tags: band back together, BB2G, DOHM, dose of happy, family, kids, link up, links, parenting
Ex·tra·ne·ous, Mental, Parental | Thepsychobabble, February 20, 2012 10:10 AM | Comments (2)
Join us at Mushroomprinting.com for Shut Your Whore Mouth Monday. Who would you like to say, “Shut your whore mouth!” to?
Listen.
I don’t care how you choose to deliver your child.
You can choose to do it at home. You can choose to do it at a birthing center. You might want a hospital. You can choose to do it outside, underneath the stars. You might want to do it in a pool. You can do it with a doctor on hand, or all by yourself.
I don’t care.
You can choose to do it without pain medications, relying on hypnosis, music, breathing techniques or aligned chakras. Or you might choose to go all out and get every sort of pain relief that you can get your hands on.
I don’t care.
But if you think that the way your baby exited your body and entered the world somehow makes you a better person than someone who choose differently? You can just shut your whore mouth.
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Dear Daughter of Mine,
You will grow up seeing love all over the place. Television shows, romantic movies and books will have you convinced that love is this wonderful beautiful thing (and it is) that you just fall into one day, and then you live happily ever after with Prince (or Princess) Charming.
Baby girl, I hate the idea that some day that bubble will burst all over you…
To read the rest of my letter to Miss Q, click here and head over to Bandbacktogether.com
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Tags: band back together, BB2G, daughter, Letter, love, miss question, parent, relationships
Parental, Relational | Thepsychobabble, February 15, 2012 10:15 AM | Comments (0)
The kids aren’t home right this second, but their presence is all over the house.
There is a stray pair of underwear in the middle of the living room floor, a casualty of the rush to get out the door this morning. A cartoon still plays softly on the television. A stray pair of binoculars is under the coffee table, and the breakfast dishes are calling out to be washed.
I know I should get up and take care of these things, and I will. But right now, I am determined to enjoy my coffee before it gets cold. I have a blanket thrown around my shoulders and, come hell, high water or rising piles of laundry, I will relax for a bit.
I spent all day running around yesterday. That’s not an exaggeration. I spent over 4 hours behind the wheel. It was a combination of swim lessons and errands and cats needing neutering. You wouldn’t think that just driving, sitting down, would take that much out of you, but today I am sore and ready for a nap. (It’s not even 10am yet)
But duty calls. I’ve been promising myself, “Just five more minutes,” for the last half hour now.
I wrote this for the 22nd Just Write at the EO.
Slightly Similar Nonsense:
I was browsing the internet for breast pumps, and I remembered the first one I bought.
Or rather, the husband had gone out and bought it. It was just a little Evenflo battery powered/AC adapter deal. Nothing too fancy. I was about 4 days postpartum, and the girl child was breast feeding like a champ. Chris wanted to get in on this “Feed the baby!” thing, so he had gone to the local box store, and picked up this pump.
Did I mention I was 4 days postpartum? So still all puffy looking and highly hormonal?
So I plugged the pump in and sat on the bed to use it. It was loud. Apparently, cheap does not equal discrete. The pump was doing it’s thing, and Chris poked his head around the door. My mechanically inclined husband was apparently fascinated by this machinery attached to my breast.
“Wow. It’s just like you’re a cow.”
As soon as the words left his mouth, he got this “Oh, shit.” look on his face. As the blood rushed to my cheeks and the tears to my eyes, he started babbling, “That’s not what I meant, I just meant the machine. It’s like the ones on the dairy farm, that’s what I meant.”
He wasn’t really helping himself there, at all.
Obviously, I forgave him. Eventually.
Ah, memories.
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Tags: boobs, breast feeding, conversation, cow, marriage, parenting, relationships, stupid things
Boobies&Parts, Parental, Relational, The Past | Thepsychobabble, February 3, 2012 4:27 PM | Comments (7)
