Are you getting sick so I don’t go out again?

I may be losing it (debatable), but I swear every time I get to have a girls night, at least one of my 2 children gets sick!

As you may have already discovered from previous posts, I don’t get out much.

We don’t have family close by to watch our babies if we go out and we don’t have much help in the evenings so my husband and I never get date nights (we’ve had 3 in 3 years, literally) which means it’s either one of us or the other who gets to go out (it’s always him).

On the very rare occasion that I get to have a girls night, my babies get sick!

It’s like an intentionally postponed illness to rear it’s ugly head only when Mommy is on her 2nd glass of a mediocre red blend.

Why is this happening??

I get home with the slightest glimpse of a happy buzz, only to be wakened in the night by a fever bearing baby.

They can sense my freedom and they’re not having it.

It’s like stepping outside into a whole new world where shoppers congregate at Target after dinner and drinks to try on the latest romper and buy it only because this is the only time they’re confidence is boosted.

You make new friends with other moms in the dressing room and tell each other “that looks great!” (And you mean it! But it does not!)

The next day you remember your conversation and that hideous floral jumper and you want to find that woman and tell her to return the jumper but we should be friends!

My children don’t like this, they can sense that I’m gone, (even though they’re asleep) and decide to manifest a virus just to spite me.

Then you feel guilty for leaving in the first place and also realize you’re never going to get to go out ever again and you resent your husband who gets to play corn hole on Thursday nights because even though you hate corn hole, you can appreciate an early evening of freedom and a little buzz.

Your future trips to Target will be accompanied by your babies and there will be no half-drunken fashion shows with strangers or random bubble bath purchases. Baby wipes and gold fish are all you’re going to get.

At least they have a wine isle.

My husband sleeps in a zoo so I sleep on the living room floor

My husband and I are incompatible sleepers.

I don’t know how we’ve made it this far.

I don’t think I’ve ever wanted to punch somebody in the face as badly as I did when he once told me to “just sleep!” when I couldn’t nap one day after our 1st baby was born. “Just figure it out!” I wanted to knock his teeth out.

I’m not a napper. Never have been. Even in pre-school and kindergarten, when everyone else was curled up in their sleeping bags on their little cots, I was tossing and turning.

The Barbie world I had created in my bedroom kept my anxiety levels up during “quiet time”. That one Barbie’s hair I hacked off to double as one of the boys had gone all wrong and now she looked like Ellen DeGeneres instead of Ken (I love her, btw).

If you’ve read some of my previous posts, you might have learned that I need a dark room, box fan turned up high enough to mask a freight train blowing on my face, a glass of water in arms reach and no one touching me in order to sleep.

My husband, on the other hand, needs the t.v. on.

It gets worse.

We had Christmas pictures taken (the first family photos with our baby girl included) to use as our Christmas cards this past year. I decided to get the family matching Christmas pajamas and I strung garland and white Christmas lights on our headboard and the 4 of us snuggled up together in our bed for the photos.

So basic.

Wouldn’t you know that my husband loved the “cozy atmosphere” this created so much so that he insisted on leaving those decorations up!

It gets worse.

He leaves the damn lights on right above our heads. All. Night. Long.

Picture “Bad Boys II” on the flat screen (Will Smith is so sexy), Christmas lights above your head and an alarm clock circa 1998 playing “We Are Family…I got all my sisters with me!” On repeat at 6:45 AM, only to be silenced when you KICK said husband in the shin.

He sleeps in a fucking zoo.

All of which led me to my inevitable move into the living room. On a mattress. On the floor. That I have to lift and lean up against the railing that leads down to our basement.

“Why don’t you just send him into the living room?? Surely he can watch t.v. In there!”

Yes I could.

And then he’d come into our bedroom in the morning, go into the bathroom and turn on the damn bright light without closing the door first because that’s too hard.

Then he’d open and close the drawers like he was trying to lock up a loose snake because that’s the only level of noise and force he understands.

Then the baby would be crying in her room and before I could reach the monitor to check her status, he’d come over and ask “Do you hear the baby? Should you go make her a bottle? What time did she fall asleep last night? Did she sleep through the night? What’s the temperature supposed to be today? Is there frost on the table on the back deck? Because that means I have to start the car. Did you buy more sugar? I need light cream for my coffee, did you get some at the store yesterday? It’s not half and half, is it? It really does taste different. Why is there only one grocery store that sells light cream, anyway? Isn’t Bad Boys II so funny? Did you see the part where Mike and Marcus interrogate the daughters boyfriend?? That’s gonna be me! I’m gonna do that! He drives a sick Escalade in the movie. Do you know how much gas those things burn? That’s why I got the Pilot. Have you had the Pilot maintenanced yet? You know it needs an oil change, right? Have you had that done? You need to call Honda. Did you use the car vacuum I gave you? You shouldn’t let the kids snack in the car! Those Puffs are all over the place! I find them everywhere! The pollen is crazy right now, it’s covering the cars. My allergies are killing me. Don’t open the windows today! I know you do it when I’m not here. I can tell when you do it! Have you opened them lately?”

And then I knock his teeth out.

The end.

Tonight I looked at her hands.

Every day seems like a race against the clock.

You wake up too early and once your feet hit the floor, it seems like you’re running.

I’m not a morning person, so when we do leave the house, I usually look like Charlize Theron….in Monster.

While other moms take the time to do their hair, makeup and attempt to look presentable, (even just to run errands and go to doctors appointments), I am usually loading the dishwasher and washing bottles because I was too tired to do it after dinner the night before and let’s face it, last night was a shit show of baths, crying, juggling diapers and then we all flopped into our respective beds or cribs one by one.

I’m not great at time management, so even if I have a couple hours to prepare for our exit, I seem to run around the house searching for keys, phone and stuffing our oversized diaper bag with unnecessary portions of formula and snacks until the very last second. And we’re still late.

So it’s of no surprise that by the end of the day I’m using borrowed time to return emails, reply to clients and set up appointments.

More often than not, these last minute responses are done in the dark using one hand to type and the other to balance a bottle and baby in the other.

I try to play catch up during the quiet moments.

But tonight, I just rocked her.

I purposefully left my phone behind so that when the moment came that I remembered to finally answer that text, I couldn’t.

I just fed my baby girl.

I admired her.

Her little chubby hand was holding one side of the bottle while I held the other.

She has little dimples where her knuckles will one day be, and then I started to wonder at what point my sons little finger dimples turned into knuckles.

I watched her drink her Bubba with her eyes closed. She was so peaceful and comfortable.

I could tell she felt safe and warm in my arms as her little head rested in between my elbow and chest.

Her little belly stuck out just a bit and her knees bent, curling into me.

I stroked her silky soft hair with its little cowlick in front (just like her brother and daddy have) and wondered if it would turn more blonde like mine as a baby or dark like my husband’s was (before he started shaving it all off).

If I weren’t such an anxious person, I swear I could’ve slept right there in that rocking chair with her all night long (or until she woke up again at 12:00 or 3:00, depending on her mood).

Those 20 minutes were priceless and they don’t last forever. My toddler requests his daddy at nighttime now, which leaves me free to not load the dishwasher and also feels a little like getting punched in the gut.

I cherish any time to rock my babies, especially when all else is quiet and I can put the recurring list of worries in my mind on hold for a moment.

I’ll have to remember to forget my phone in the living room again tomorrow.

I licked garlic mayonnaise off of my microwave (and other embarrassing admissions)

I’d like to say it’s not as bad as it sounds…but it is. I licked garlic mayonnaise off of my microwave.

My dad gives the best gifts. He’s usually at least 6 months late, but they’re always worth it. The latest birthday present was 5 weeks of meals from HelloFresh (if you’re unfamiliar, they send pre-packaged, pre-measured ingredients with a recipe for each and you make the meals yourself).

It was that time of night: I was attempting to make dinner (jalapeño cheddar burgers that my toddler would not touch and my 6 month old might not let me sit to eat). I had read only pieces of the recipe (I have never been good at following direction) and I skipped steps and somehow added others, yet everything came out delicious (or was I just starving?)

With a cranky baby on my hip that wouldn’t let me put her down and my toddler running around the kitchen island asking me to play “shake your bum song” (aka Time Of Our Lives by Pitbul, featuring Neo) for the 16th consecutive time, I grabbed a sweet potato wedge and dunked it into the homemade garlic mayo. I stuffed it in my mouth and went back for more only this time trying to start the microwave to 5 minutes to sterilize the baby bottles. As I hit “start” with my pinky, a glob of garlic mayo smeared across the “cancel” button. I instinctively put the remaining wedge in my mouth and without hesitation, LICKED THE MAYO OFF OF THE MICROWAVE!

My toddler stopped running and even the baby shook her head at me. It needed it!! The potato was SO much better with the sauce and I didn’t want to waste it! Sigh.

I get my son to come downstairs with me to switch the laundry with a promise of skittles. I keep a jar downstairs in my spa (my home business) for clients. I always give him 2 and tell him that that’s all there is, but it’s enough to keep him happy. I usually hide the rest behind a picture or somewhere nearby.

I went to do laundry by myself recently and found one of the “hidden” opened bags under some clothes on the counter. Were they clean clothes? Questionable. Was there lint on the skittles? Yes. Did I eat them? Yes. Do I remember when I hid them there? No.

More often than not there is a piece of cereal (or some other stale snack) on the living room rug or playroom mat. Sometimes they get vacuumed, sometimes they are hand-picked up and thrown away and sometimes….they get eaten…by me. The trash is too far and my mouth is too convenient. My husband witnessed one of these events, looked at me and said “you’ve really just given up, huh?” Yes. Yes I have.

I left an opened bag of my favorite Trader Joe’s tail mix in my coat pocket and forgot about it months ago. The mix inevitably spilled out and my pocket was filled with loose cashews, almonds and craisins. I knew it was there but instead of throwing it away, I thought: “yay, a healthy future snack!” And it was. A month later, healthy, future snack. I wonder what I looked like picking nuts out of my pocket and throwing them in my mouth as I walked through Target toting 2 small children?

I have to hand it to the moms I see with actual clothes on (i.e. not yoga pants and a hoodie) and makeup! Are my babies just that demanding or do you put them in front of the tv so you can apply foundation and concealer? (Not that there’s anything wrong with that, Lord knows I do it too but it’s just so I don’t go a 2nd day without a shower).

Have you seen the remake of the Stepford Wives? The one with Nicole Kidman? I’m Bette Midler’s character

I might never be put together again. Once a decade when we actually get a date night, I’ll remind my husband that he isn’t married to a Neanderthal and I can be sexy (the sexiest version of myself I can be at this point) but I don’t foresee myself dusting off these hot nursing bras anytime soon! (I stopped breastfeeding 2 months ago).