Diagnosis: Mother.

Today I realized that my 3-year-old isn’t as attached to his special blanket anymore. I realized that I have never rocked my 21-month-old to sleep, because she is the third child and in this house, the third child gets a bedtime kiss and dumped into her crib without ceremony.

Now that my oldest eschews rocking and my middle only lets me do it sometimes, I WANT TO ROCK SOMEONE BEFORE BED, DAMN IT.

Motherhood makes me feel like a crazy person. In fact, I am a crazy person.

To prove my point, I have created a visual aid using a family picture of us from October 2012, two months after The Great Negotiation.

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Because everything about this picture screams “WE NEED MORE CHILDREN!”

What’s The Great Negotiation? That was the time I spent months trying to convince my poor husband that I wasn’t done having children and we needed more, despite the fact that we were struggling on one income and had two very challenging boys — one of whom was not quite a year old. I felt like we totally needed to throw one more baby into the mix. That made sense to me.

This is how I know that mothers have something deeply, psychologically wrong with them.

The Great Negotiation took place during date night at Outback Steakhouse. My husband eventually wore down and said “FINE. But I have to get a vasectomy before the baby is born.” And I said, “FINE. I’m ordering a beer.”

Less than a year later, our daughter was born.

Less than a year after that, I regretted allowing the vasectomy. Because I have a mental illness.

It’s called Mother.

#prayforRobbie

Last night at midnight my husband turned to me and said, “I’m nervous because I’ve never had sex with a 35-year-old before.”

I replied, “Don’t worry, you won’t.”

This is from someecards.com and my cousin Karen posted it on my Facebook wall. Gotta give credit where credit is due.

This is from someecards.com and my cousin Karen posted it on my Facebook wall. Gotta give credit where credit is due.

Just kidding … I didn’t say that. Even though somehow, in a series of strange events I still don’t quite understand, no one woke me up in time and I totally missed Christmas morning.

Oh yes. That. 

All the gifts wrangled, the stockings stuffed, the thought put in, and I didn’t get to see their faces when they saw it. Because I wasn’t there. Because I was asleep.

I was *ENRAGED at my husband, but not enraged enough to ban him from sex with a 35-year-old. I can’t go a year without sex. That’s just ridiculous. But you know what’s not ridiculous? The insane way that I will be wrapping presents from now on.

After I calmed down, I announced that I will henceforth be wrapping things the way Grandma wraps them. Everyone’s eyes widened with fear. Grandma uses a lot of ribbony knots and industrial-strength tape. People need help to open things from Grandma. And so it shall now be in our house, because I shall not ever miss a gift opened again. EVER.

I was freaking out over turning 35 today. I don’t know why. The fear has no logic behind it, aside from the feeling that my life is slipping by and I need to carpe all the diems before it’s too late. I’ve spent much of my life doing things that I’d rather not be doing, which is fine, but there is a time and a place for that and I like to think that at least a portion of it is behind me.

The next 35 years will be spent carpe-ing my diems in whatever way I damn well please, and loving my family, because even though I already have more than enough stories to tell, they just keep giving me more.

You can stop now, people. Seriously.

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*All of my mom friends told the story of How Harmony Missed Christmas to their spouses as a cautionary tale. Apparently a husband started a new hashtag on Twitter called #prayforRobbie. Just thinking about that made me feel much better … spread the word.

This.

10411049_10155134689510508_3921452117681142756_nThis.

This is why I fell in love with my husband, and why, despite all the things he does that irk the SHIT out of me, I still fall in love with him every day.

We don’t agree on every issue. We bicker. A lot. There’s a lot of eye-rolling. Even so, sometimes I step back and look at what we have been through in the past few years, and I’m really proud of what we have managed to overcome without completely falling apart.

According to the Meyers-Briggs personality test, we are opposites in every way (except that we’re both extroverts).  The things I may have found fascinating about him in the beginning of our relationship, before kids, now sometimes make me want to rip his face off.

But … this.

Back when I thought tanning beds were a good idea and we met while working at the grocery store on the corner of Perkins and Essen, I saw glimmers of what you see in this picture and I just knew. What makes us work, with all our individual and joint flaws, is the love that underscores everything we do.

Obviously there are things that make living with another person easier, like compatibility, disposable income, lack of family drama and overall health. But my belief is, when you strip away all the fancy words and put away the self-help books, LOVE IS REALLY ALL YOU NEED.

I can’t wait until I have the time and emotional energy to write about the long and painful road I traveled on my quest to find a husband, which ended when I finally gave up and said eff this shit.

And then, I found him.

I didn’t marry this man for money or power or because we were raised in the same religion and that is what you’re supposed to do.

I married him for love, and I’d do it again and again.

Overwhelmed.

Sometimes, like now, I find myself completely overwhelmed with my life and I wonder if something is wrong with me. Why can’t I just chill out and not care about the mountain of laundry shoved in my closet or the toothpaste that got squeezed all over the kid’s bathroom?

I have piles of paperwork-slash-multiple writing projects accumulating all over the house, and just when I get started on one, someone comes along and pushes the papers to the floor, poops their pants, or starts yanking on the cord of my laptop.

Robbie will look at me curiously and throw out comments like, why are you so grumpy? He says that he makes these statements hoping that it will, and I quote, “snap me out of my mood.” I’ll let you draw your own conclusion about how well that works.

 

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Today we all got dressed for church and the children sat nicely on the couch in a row and definitely did not smack each other in the face while they waited for me to take their picture. Asher also did not get upset because his shirt was touching him. He was calm and completely rational.

Maverick listened to all of my instructions and did not squeeze his little sister until she started screaming. And she most certainly did not jerk the bow out of her hair multiple times.

So yes, excellent question, Robbie. Why AM I so grumpy?! Certainly not from tiredness. Since you’re home to watch the kids, maybe I’ll take a little walk and think it over … I’ll come back when I have it all figured out.

I may be gone awhile.

All About That Bass.

I am so over the self-hate. SO OVER IT.

My body is not perfect. It will never be perfect. I’ve had three children, and I wasn’t exactly bikini-ready before I starting having them. Honestly it’s surprising to me that I can fit into some of the outdated fashions of my pre-pregnancy years, but the clothes don’t look the same. I have to stuff my muffin top down and hoist the girls up and some things don’t zip. Which is fine, because if I wore that thing from 2005 I would look like a mom who just managed to squeeze herself back into her favorite pair of wide-legged jeans, and is that really a good look? I submit no.

I’m active. I can chase kids down. I can pick them up. I can load and unload children, laundry, and groceries. In ways I’m fairly certain that I’m stronger now than I have ever been.

I exercise because it makes me feel better — because when I don’t do it, I start feeling like I need to be medicated. I can drop my kids off for two hours at the gym nursery and be alone with my thoughts in a brightly-lit gym with clanking weights and sweaty strangers, and for now, that’s enough.

Recently I stripped down and informed Robbie to take a good long look, because short of spending a large portion of my day consumed with diet and exercise (unwilling) or getting plastic surgery (unable), it’s not going to get any better than THIS RIGHT HERE. 

I was half-drunk when I made this proclamation and also half-kidding, but it was so empowering that I’ve been telling all my girlfriends they should do it. Like, today. Not when they lose 5 more pounds. Not when their period is over and they aren’t so bloated.

TODAY.

To my surprise (Which kind of makes me sad, because why is it so surprising?) my husband is more than happy with THIS. And then I had this thought: Maybe if I strip down every single day from now until we’re 65, he won’t notice the subtle changes. Maybe he will think I look exactly the same as I did in my early twenties.

Maybe I, along with every musician who ever sang about big butts, am an effing genius.

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source: amazon.com