Parenting your children: the outsiders. 

For all those random bystanders that always have to open your mouth, this one’s for you.

This post is directed at those babysitters, family members, and even those complete randoms that try to parent your child/offer you half-cocked advice. 

It’s gonna be an offensive one, I’m sure, so buckle up.

So, I pondered this topic for quite sometime. There are various things that people say to you as a parent, and you just can’t find it in you to do anything but glare at them and think, what the fuck did you just say to me?

It happens. If you’re a parent, you know it does.

Sometimes, as a parent, you wish you could respond to these off the wall, fucked up remarks the way your mind responds to it, but unfortunately, some of us try to remain calm and answer as nicely as possible.

This post is not one of those things.

And if you happen to be one of those people, well, I’m not sorry.

So, here are some things that mothers alike have agreed need to fuckin… stop.

  1. We do not want your opinions on co-sleeping. Some people are for it, some people against it, whatever side you take, we don’t care. It’s our child, and we like to think we know them best. Co-sleeping in my opinion is great for both your child, and yourself. I know that personally, I sleep better with my small human snuggled between myself and the man’s. (I’m eight months pregnant, and im not bothered by waking up to feet in my face.) My daughter knows where her bed is, she takes her naps there, sometimes, she even sleeps there over night, but usually, my fiance and I lay in bed at night, and sometime around 12am, we’re asking the other if we can go steal her from her tiny princess castle of wonder. We sleep better sardine packed into bed. That’s just how it goes. As a baby, she slept on my chest. I didn’t sleep. Yes, you do hit a point with a new born where you haven’t slept in God knows how long, and at that point, I obviously don’t suggest trying to co-sleep. However, most women have this weird thing in their brain called a maternal instinct, where we usually wake up every five seconds anyhow to make sure our kid hasn’t rolled themselves away from us. Stop threatening us with SIDS, we know it exists. Stop telling us that we’re going to end up with a ten year old in our bed – that’s our baby, if you’re anything like me, you don’t really care anyhow. One of the most absurd things I’ve heard about co-sleeping is someone saying, “but when do you have sex or alone time?” The answer is simple: I had a child. I made a child, MORE THAN ONE ACTUALLY, and I’ll spare you the details of how babies are made, but I’ll tell you this – I’m young, and I’d like to think I’ve had my runs around the ball park a few times. If I want to have sex, (ladies and gentlemen, mostly my mother and father, please cover your eyes…) I will find a way to do so. Whether my love-making has to happen on my living room floor because my princess is cozy in our bed – my God it will happen. Why do you feel obligated to ask me about my intimate private life anyhow? Nosy ass.
  2. Comfort items and your opinions on them: shut up. If our child has a blanket, a pacifier, literally anything that they viably find comfort in, we recognize it. Stripping a child away from something they seek comfort in too soon has been scientifically proven to effect the things they find comfort in later in life. We don’t want to hear what age you took your kids pacifer away at. We don’t want to hear the damaging effects of a pacifier. We don’t want to hear your opinion on our child’s raggedy baby blanket, or the smell of it. (Have you tried to remove a blanket from the clutches of a sleeping toddler? It’s fucking hard.) Like most things in life, even as a child, if you have attachments to something, usually, you make the personal decision to cut it out of your routine. Children will kick it when they’re good and ready. I haven’t seen a 6 or 7 year old with a Bink in their mouth lately, have you? Most kids kick them well before 5 even, so don’t insert your advice or opinions down our throats. 
  3. The great ol’ car seat debates! (Aka the most annoying fucking thing mothers bitch about.) I am going to use my nephew as an example for this, partially because he was front faced before my daughter was (he’s two months younger than her) and partially because he was one of those kids that just needed to be front faced. (Mom’s, you know exactly what I’m talking about.) He hated car rides. I am also pretty sure he still hates them. However, he hates them less that he is front facing. Like previously mentioned, some children take viable comfort in things, and one of those things could just happen to be their mother. My nephew spent a majority of his beginning life stages with my sister-in-law all day long, so his comfort is his mommy, and that’s perfectly okay. Imagine being an adult, and having to sit in back seat facing the rear. Kids aren’t exactly adults, but some kids just don’t agree, and they do have functional brains, and they do understand things. And usually, they let you know when they’re ready to be reversed. Just Ike my nephew did. My daughter is naturally tall, (she has her father to thank for that.) So I decided to switch it to front facing when I realized she was now uncomfortable, and her legs were squished up. Her dad, surprisingly, was the first and only one to mention it to me that children can stay rear facing forever, and my response was, “if I’m rear ended, and our kids legs break, you can nurse her back to health.” He never said anything after that. With this being said, the front facing rear facing debate will never end, but as a parent, we really wish you could stop pointing it out. We aren’t dumb. While on topics of carseats, I also want to take about the seat belt placement argument mothers always have. Thankfully, I was disposed to a plethora of resources and village of people willing to explain and demonstrate all of the ins and outs of carseats to me. Some people, just aren’t that lucky – and despite what you think: some people just may not know where the chest clip goes. It happens. But, instead of being a bitch about it, take the time to explain to squandered young parent the importance in placement of the chest clip. (He/She may not actually know, and you could be helping him/her, wow, how nice. Go you.)
  4. AntiVaxers: this ones for you. First of all, fuck you. Number one, as young mothers, with babies that have susceptible immune systems, we hate you. We hate you because contrary to what you believe, vaccinations don’t cause autism or literally anything else except the prevention of deadly diseases. You know what not vaccinating your child does do though? (Besides endangering the welfare of other babies?) INCREASES THE RISK YOUR CHILD MIGHT DIE FROM POLIO. Stop researching false articles on the internet that have you readily convinced that vaccinating your child is bad. It’s not bad. What’s bad is burying your kid because they caught measles, and it wasnt caught by medical professionals fast enough. Don’t be ignorant, and if you choose to be ignorant about it, keep your opinions, and your infectious children away from me and mine. Thanks.
  5. Dressing our child, bed time for our child, what we feed our child, when we feed them, etc, etc … First of all, we don’t care what you did in 1990, when you had children. We don’t care what time you laid them down for bed, or what schedule they were on, or what they ate, or how you fed them. Like most things in life, not every one person is the same – including children. (Especially children) Some tiny creatures are blessed with unfortunate problems early on, like reflux, or constipation, and some kids just have bad gas, or worse: colic. It happens. If you’ve been exposed to multiple children, you know that some kids are different than others. My daughter, for example, is a blessing, because she was never colic, never gassy, and even now as toddler, is not a picky eater. However, using him as a reference again, my nephew was not nearly as simple, and I’m not really sure how my brother and sister-in-law made it through that phase of infancy where my nephew always cried, etc. He had to have a special formula, which is the case for a lot of babies, but his was a special kind of special, and every time I seen him, he was always a grump, and I just…. I give props to my brother and sister-in-law because I don’t think I could handle that shit if I wanted to. As parents, we have a hard enough time with feedings in the beginning, whether our babies are exclusively breast fed, or we have a colicky, gassy, formula fed baby. We don’t want to hear what age you gave your child rice cereal, or when you started feeding them solids, because despite what even a pediatric specialist tells you, some kids develope faster in the eating area than others, and some don’t. We don’t want to hear what we are feeding our children isn’t what you fed yours. Sometimes, it’s a miracle to get our children to eat literally anything. It’s also a miracle to get some children dressed. Because some kids like to let their freak flag fly and run around naked. My child, has a personal issue with her socks and shoes, and she hates them. As an outsider, I can hear you thinking “well she’s the child, you’re the parent.” But when it comes to raising children, you have to pick your battles. It’s not raining, it’s not snowing, she isn’t walking around, guess what? She isn’t wearing socks or shoes. Most of the time, they end up in her mouth anyhow. (Just like literally everything else.)
  6. Child baring women: this one’s for you. Stop asking us how many babies we have in our womb. Stop saying shit like, “twins?” No, you asshole, there is only one. We’ve had about three ultrasounds thus far, and it’s confirmed, there’s only one. Better questions, easier ones, are things like “Do you know what you’re having yet?” This is probably the only thing people can say that doesn’t make me want to stab their eyes out. Also try things that don’t make you seem like you’re calling a woman fat.
  7. Child baring women: this one is for you, part two: stop telling pregnant women how to live their lives. We know we aren’t going to sleep ever again, we know we are getting big, we know that being a parent is going to change our life. Mind my manners when I say this, but if we didn’t know it was going to completely change our lives, bodies, and sleeping habits, we would’ve aborted mission. (Sorry pro-lifers. Sensitive sentence.) Stop acting like pregnant women are incompetent. Yes, we are pregnant, but we are not helpless. We can lift things, we can do things, we can not do things – whatever the case, unless you see us every month for our OBGYN checkup, stop acting like we need you to lift our groceries, or carry our mail. We aren’t weak. We’re just pregnant, and it’s not a life sentence – please, stop treating us like it is.
  8. Your opinions on our parenting styles: this one is a personal favorite of mine. I am not with my daughter’s father, we co-parent. For some reason, people don’t really understand that couples sometimes just dont work out. This leads to those weird questions and remarks like, “does she understand why you guys aren’t together?” First of all, why the fuck does it matter? Her parents love her. It’s need to know. Just like any other person, my child is sparred the details. She has two parents that love her, and two step parents that have stepped up and also love her. She is loved. That’s all that matters. Second of all, she’s barely 2. She couldn’t understand the logistics of a breakup if she tried her damned hardest. All she needs to know is that at some point, her parents loved each other enough to MAKE HER. (And she knows, I promise.)
  9. Stop harassing mothers that breast feed in public, or not in public, or anywhere in general. Breast feeding, from all that I experienced, its fucking hard. Latching, tired nipples, tired bodies, the list of complicated things that go into it is never ending. We don’t need someone telling us to cover ourselves, or someone asking what’s going to happen when they grow teeth. Breast fed babies are little precious angels, stop turning it into a sin. It’s healthy for them, and us, so just… Do us a favor, shut the hell up about it.
  10. How we handle our unruly little children… This is one of those things that really blows my mind. How anyone can comfortably tell another parent how to counteract bad behavior is beyond me, but for the love of Christ, stop doing it. If our kid is crying in public, sure, you’re annoyed, but I promise, the person annoyed the most here is me. I’ve had to leave restaurants, and grcoeries stores, and all places in between because my child is acting a fool. When they lash out, when they tantrum, it usually spikes my already anxious mind through the damn roof. I didn’t ask for your opinions, or your advice on how to handle it. This goes for older kids and children alike. We don’t care how you chose to handle behavior when your kids were young, because my kid is a whole different poison from yours, almost every kid is different actually. They learn responsibility, and consequences, and all things in between at their own pace, and sometimes it means that they had to be popped in the mouth for talking back, and sometimes it means they need time out. Whatever the case may be, how I chose to correct the behavior is my discretion. Not yours. So, shut it Susan. I don’t wanna hear it.

    So, parents, I urge you, feel free to let your niceness disapate when it comes to the people who always have something to say. Or, if you wanna continue to be nice, just send them the link to this article. You’re welcome.

    Having children young. Yes, I said it.

    So you’re 20, and you have peed on far too many sticks, and you’re sick of starting back at that tiny pink plus sign.

    At some point in your life, the words “oh fuck”, are going to escape. It’s a given. Whether you woke up this morning and you have a flat tire, whether you were awoken by the smell of your toddlers shit in the next room, or… If you haven’t yet experienced it: pissing on a stick and seeing a plus sign for the first time.

    And seeing that plus sign for the first time as a newly 19, 20, 21 year old, sometimes, we can admit, it fucking scares us. Regardless of any situation: it’s fucking scary. But, worry not, that tiny plus sign isn’t the worst of it, especially when you’re young. (Trigger warning? If you’re a mom who planned your pregnancy, and you’re above 25, this probably won’t interest you to hear, but is a topic that some people struggle with, myself being one.)

    Let me start out by saying this: my daughter certainly wasn’t planned, but was also not truly protected against. However, even though I knew the possibility was there – seeing that plus sign made the entire scenario a little too fucking real for the both of us. Immediately, I knew my life was about to change. I was then followed by the thought of “what the fuck am I gonna tell my parents?” 

    Thankfully, I was an adult. I lived on my own, I was engaged, and I worked my ass off. I was also blessed with parents who had children young and I had already surpassed their time clocks of children, so they weren’t really all that upset. (Also, my brother had a child before me, so he kind of lessened the blow a little. Thanks, Deedee.) 

    However, the reality that all people have their shit together, and all people have parents excited to be made into “papas, granny’s,” all that jazz? It’s not always ringing true. 

    Some people have dictators for parents, even after they’ve moved out. (We all know it to be true, Nancy, don’t try to play and act like your kid isn’t 22 and you’re still making doctors appointments for them.) Some younger adults were blessed with high standards to succeed and go to college and blah blah, and for some reason, people assume there is a right/wrong time to have kids. This isn’t true. If you want a baby shit monster, there is no better time than the present. (Unless you’re 31 and you still live in your mom’s basement – please think about this before you spread the seed or fertilize the egg.)

    Also, let me just say that with becoming a fertile mertile, you also experience what’s called “excessive fucking backlash.” Some people, for whatever damn reason, cannot be happy for expecting parents. Whether they assume you’re going to turn your little sweet pea into a fun-sized Satanist, or whether they just aren’t getting enough play time; whatever the reason – they always have something to say. It’s like word vomit that you wish they would choke on. (Even more so if they say something completely awful and don’t even have children themselves.)

    Let’s be real though: those shows of women getting pregnant and never knowing? Yes boys, it happens. With my daughter, I was already 10 weeks pregnant before I even noticed I was late. (Sometimes, women’s cycles are so fucked up, we don’t even try to act like we know what our bodies are doing.) Some women never show symptoms, and if you’re one of those women, I have to say on behalf of all women who get stabbed in the fucking stomach by pregnancy: we hate you. (Only in the best ways, though.) 

    With all this being said, I haven’t even begun to explain how unjust everyone is if you catch the pregnant too soon in their eyes. I can’t begin to even touch on the many many changes we go through as human-harboring-she-bitches, or am I able to tell you just how much things change – partially, because I am still young, and partially because I’m still doing it. 

    One of my biggest concerns as a young mother when I am out in public is the amount of dirty looks I get. Like I’m the town whore, and I suck. That’s what people’s faces say to me. It’s rather annoying, and slightly judgey. If you are one of these negative nancies, or these judgey judies, I suggest you take back a notch, because young or not, I have no problem addressing why your face looks like you stepped in shit. What’s more annoying than the looks, is the looks I dont get when I am out with Brenden. I am not a single mother, but fuck man, Brenden does not validate my parental capability. He’s a dude. Half the time, he gets sick and thinks he’s dying from ebola. (No offense, Brendad, I love you, but you’re a puss when it comes to any sickness ever.) Damned if I do, and damned if I don’t.

    If you are one of the women or men who have caught the pregnant young, you know, as well as I do, that the remarks, and the poorly timed jokes… They never end. So buckle up, and enjoy what you can, because here’s what catching the parasite really means!

    Months 13: As previously mentioned in a different post, ladies, you are in the uncomfortable phases of “is she fat or just eating a shit load?” You are stuck with painful boobs, cramps that may actually be worse than having a period, and pants that are juuuuuuust a little too tight now. You are stuck crying over everything and anything, and fearing a large statistic of women who miscarry. And men, you are stuck with this crazy hormone raged bitch fest that cries if she can’t eat whatever the fuck crazy thing she is craving. Or, she cries because she has morning-afternoon-night sickness, and hasn’t been able to eat in weeks and essentially hates you every time you open a bag of chips or other assorted snacks directly in front of her. You are stuck with a girl who now spends almost every second of free time asleep, because in these beginning months, there is no exhaustion quite like the first trimester. Smalls pro is that baby kicks are neat. Cons are that sickness sucks, body expansion sucks, boobs hurting sucks, everything besides basically baby kicks, and hopefully your anatomy scan, are the two things that don’t.

    Months 4-7: I like to call the second trimester the calm before the storm. If you’re lucky, the sickness ends, your body usually adjusts to it’s second passenger, and raging backlash and rude remarks seem to settle down. Not everyone experiences this bliss, some women are blessed with hyperemesis gravidarum, which is morning sickness on fucking steroids, and they never understand what a good meal is for their entire pregnancy. You’re usually adjusted to the extra weight, so you’re able to sleep a little better, and typically, my favorite part was always the ability to eat literally anything set in front of you. (Being pregnant on Thanksgiving, Christmas, or easter is quite honestly the equivalent of being 16 again and being stoned and being able to eat everything at dinner including the table.) You also seem to be happier, less bitchy, which means: well, were all adults – sex becomes fun again. (Yay!) Some women say that the second trimester is the best one, and I’m sure husband’s and boyfriend’s alike can agree and jump on board with that statement.

    Months 8-10: yes. Contrary to beliefs, most women carry up to or past 40 weeks. This is the last stretch, and the longest one. It’s also the most exhausting, and even if you’re young, I’m sure we can all agree that the third trimester fucking sucks. Your boobs start leaking, your human parasite starts to run out of room, you get stretch marks, you become a bigger bitch than ever before, and no matter what you do… You don’t sleep worth shit. Essentially, your body starts to fall apart, and you cry so much you think you’re going to run out of tears. (But you don’t, no matter how many times you watch that same movie that makes you cry yourself to sleep.) Husband’s, boyfriend’s, dad figures: please understand we don’t mean to hate your existence, we just value your abilities to sleep, and eat, and function. (But yes, for the time being, fuck all of you.) At this point, we are sick of people asking if we had our children yet. It actually makes me want to punch people. There is no one anticipating the arrival more than us, so for the love of Christ, stop asking us. Stop offering advice and things to try to induce labor – odds are, we have tried it. All of it. Odds are that we also probably sick of trying it. We’ve become the human equivalent of monsters, and we know it. Don’t be mad if we attempt to sleep for the next 1,578 days until our water breaks or we have to be induced, or even get the dreaded C. We are extremely aware we are big, don’t tell us. We are aware we eat unhealthy, don’t tell us. We already fucking know. So just shut up and wait for the Facebook birth announcement. It’ll come when it’s good and ready.

    With this being said, may the odds be in your favor. May you not feel a single twitch of morning sickness, and may your vagina return to its original state after popping out your small miracle of life. Amen.

    Blended Families: Whether we are one, see one, or know one: they exist. (Part one)

    Is it really that hard to accept? We are in the 21st century after all…

    So, here goes: one of my longer posts, and something I feel extremely passionate about because, well,

    1. I came from a blended family, and
    2. I am a blended family.

    Let me first start off by saying, I tried my hardest to make things work with my daughter’s father. Sometimes, shit just doesn’t work. Whether your co-parent still has growing up to do, or in my case: your co-parent spent copious amounts of time while you were pregnant getting to know everyone else. Granted, I will never steer my daughter away from her father – as their relationship is important to me, but, she has two dad’s, and she knows it. I don’t discredit her father from being a father regardless of whatever bullshit him and I put each other through. We are both happy now, living separate lives, and we survive.

    Secondly, if your parents stayed together forever, and you know nothing about what it’s like to live in a broken home: let me give you a hint on what not to say to a mother who is just trying to do what’s best for not only herself, but her child too. Mom’s and dad’s alike, you know that if you aren’t happy – your child may not even string together sentences, but they know you aren’t happy. They know when you aren’t feeling well, when you’re sad, and even appropriate times to laugh, so why wouldnt they pick up on the fact you are unhappy in your relationship? (Hint: they fuckin do.) 

    Things to not say to a mother/father who is with someone other than the person they originally selected to reproduce with:

    1. Anything that pertains to their last names: it goes without saying that what name I chose to give my child, it does not fucking concern you. That’s all I’ll say about that.
    2. If you are me, you’ve chosen to mate with super humans, that have super human sperm, and your children have different father’s, because the first father couldn’t keep his peepee in the rabbit hole, and now you’re two under two, and you’ve got what people like to call, “multiple baby daddies”, not even sure what this means, because both prospect father’s in my children’s lives are father’s, not dead beats. However, like I stated above, shit happens. You aren’t obligated to stay with one person the rest of your life if you don’t want to. There is no right or wrong time to decide to have another child. So, if you aren’t me, please don’t badger me with the “your children are growing up with different dad’s”, bullshit. How disrespectful. I don’t point out your imperfections, and I’m sure you are awfully aware of them. I am a good mother, and I mind to myself, and my own. With that being said, keep your comments about how many children someone has or doesn’t have to yourself. (Wow, what a concept!) 
    3. I know this one is going to be a shocker to some of you: but some people just can’t have children. Whether it’s defective uteruses, defect sperm, or just defective dicks and vagina in general, some people can’t do it. (And this is for you too, my IVF warriors and my same sex married couples!) If someone is adopting a child, or fostering a child, they are choosing to love a child they didn’t slave nine months over. They are choosing to make the ultimate sacrifices, for the well being of another human! (Wow, yes, there are kind people. They do exist.) I applaud you and I give you praise, because bad habits in children can and have been known to start early. So, if you see a mother or father in public with a rowdy kid that doesn’t fit the picture: keep your mouth shut. It’s probably none of your business! And for those people who are happily married and can’t have children, stop asking them when they plan to! I’m sure it’s just as annoying to hear “when are you having kids?” As it is for me to hear, “I hope you’re not having anymore.” So, when it comes to reproducing and the frequency in which people do it: the answer is more than likely none of your business
    4. Some dad’s, and even mothers, they don’t stick around – it’s not anyone’s place to ask where the other co-parent is, and why they may or may not be present. Some people just fuckin’ suck, and truthfully, that’s their loss. If you’re lucky, like me, you’ve found a better human to spend your time with, and hopefully they love your children in the same respects you love your children. (Bonus points if the original parent is still apart of the child’s life like my daughter’s father is for her.) If anyone is hip enough to walk out on an innocent baby, they probably don’t deserve to be around that perfect human being anyhow, because that’s all children are: perfect little humans. (Or tiny Hitler’s if they hadn’t had a nap today.)
    5. If your child is as great as you think they are, odds are, everyone is going to love them anyhow, which makes blended families a topic no one should be judgemental towards. Everyone wins. (Unless of course, you are one of those horror stories of the step parent shoving a baby into a garbage can or something.)
    6. As children get older, having these extra family extendees is helpful. Having someone to talk to that won’t baby you, or act like you just murdered 72 people, or even for the little girls or boys hitting puberty. Sometimes, parents are great sources for advice, and sometimes, they aren’t. (Woah, shocker.) I don’t expect my daughter or son to wanna talk to me about everything, Lord knows I’m willing to listen, but sometimes that kind of shit is embarrassing for them, and even for you, and that’s okay. 


    Don’t ask people if their babies are adopted, unless they flaunt it around like a gold metal. Don’t assume people can have children, or that people want them. Don’t ask where the other parent is, ever. Don’t try to act like you know someone’s situation either, because odds are, you don’t. And lastly, don’t assume a child needs your help either. Sometimes, not talking about something, is the best way to not talk about something.


    Raising the next world leader, while working full time: Is it possible?

    Working hard, or hardly working?

    The answer is: yes.

    Is it fucking exhausting? Also yes. 

    There are zero things in life comparable to being 8 months pregnant, with a toddler, while working full time.

    Actually, there are zero things in life comparable to working and raising a toddler. Pregnancy doesn’t really change that, just makes you more tired and 100x more likely to tell someone to shut the fuck up.

    Often, parents work between 40-60 hours a week to provide for their children. These numbers only increase if you are doing it alone, or have more than one child. Let me just say that I would never accept a position as a stay at home mother, because well, I appreciate my sanity, and my ability to see other people besides my tiny burrito. (No offense to her, but it’s really nice to hear something else in the English language besides “Hi, bye,” or “mum.”) 

    Sometimes, working this many hours in a week is a little unrealistic for some people. If you’re one of those people making it through with a part time work week, all I have to say is: fuck you

    To those parents working like slave drivers: I commend you. I’m out here doing the same thing. (Well, I was, until I was put on bed rest.)

    To those people asking if we ever see our children: we do. And it makes us cherish all of those repetitive phrases, smelly shits, and those nights when our kids just don’t want to sleep.

    We work hard so or children never have to understand what it’s like to go without. We work hard so we can put food in their growing stomachs, a roof over their head, and be able to give them whatever fucking trendy toy hit the shelves at Walmart this week.

    The bottom line is this

    We arent perfect parents, but we sure try to be. The last thing I want my daughter to think is that I failed her – though, it does happen, she gets rather pissed if I don’t give her another cookie after she’s eaten 6. (In her eyes, I’m the worst mother alive.)

    No one gives those people who work their faces off to support themselves and their child nearly enough credit – being that I’m one of these people, I just want to say: we are trying.

    It’s incredibly difficult after working a 10, or 11 hour day, to come home and still have to function, because well, you’re a parent and you have no other choice. It’s hard to work day in and out and not want to plan your funeral on your days off. There are parks to visit, animals to pet, shopping to do – get it together, mom.

    Sometimes, I can almost feel the judgmental faces from people when they ask what’s on my agenda for my day off with tiny human creature, and all I can say is, “weve decided its a lazypajamaday“, not everyone is the fucking hulk, especially not me. So, don’t be pissed I plan to spend my day snuggling with my little girl, rewatching The Mother Goose Club Playhouse for the 89th time.

    Go somewhere else to brag about how you did 7 loads of laundry, cleaned your entire house, and cooked dinner, Sally, us mothers who worked and died all week: we prefer it this way. 

    Bodily fluids while pregnant: the good, the bad, and the ugly.

    That comes from where?

    So, a lot of my posts right now will be aimed towards pregnancy. Why? Because Im pregnant. (I know, shocker.) 

    I chose a topic that I believe isn’t talked about nearly enough.

    That topic is *buh dum tiss* fluids.

    You miss that 3-7 day red Sea for what seems like ages, but what they dont tell you is that you’re essentially swapping one disgusting fluid for another. You go from sticking a plug in there somewhere to keep from sailing the red seas – to letting it all … Well… Hang out. 

    Discharge being the first one that usually makes it’s appearance. Yes, I know, “ew gross, discharge.” It seems like a dirty word. It is a dirty word, but it also means your body is essentially doing what it’s supposed to. That discharge you are so grossed out by is keeping out infections, and helping your little womb-warrior in the mean time. Congrats!

    Mucus plug? Bloody show? No part of this is fun, or entertaining, or even interesting. Some women are never earned about it, go to flush the toilet, and immediately have an anxiety attack because they think something is wrong. This is a misconception. Calm yourself, overly pregnant one. Your mucus plug is a layer of … Well, mucus, that protects your cervix and keeps baby safely in utero for all of those soul-sucking months. It just means when you lose these things that labor is coming. (Pack those bags if you haven’t already!) Don’t be a sissy. This isn’t nearly the grossest thing you’ll encounter.

    Amniotic Fluid. This lovely passenger only makes it’s appearance once, and she’s usually over dramatic about it. Sometimes, women do not experience their water breaking on their own. (I am one of those women) BUT, for those of you women who have experienced that water fall, fun filled, wet pants party, my condolences. Contractions usually pick up after those dam gates burst open, and if they don’t… You usually have between 24-38 hours before infection sets in. You’re having your baby! It’s like all that time you just spent suffering was worth something! Yay! Amniotic fluid is usually clear, doesn’t usually have a smell, and is quite obnoxious. It’s also a very clear indication that you in labor. (As if you didn’t already fuckin know.)

    As if I couldn’t get anymore disgusting, the last nasty fluid you will experience as your tiny little creature enters the world is probably the worst one: the afterbirth. Oh yes. I am talking about the second small child you have to excrete out of you in the process of labor. The one your living being has been living through for the past nine months. The placenta. This little, or rather large, hunk of junk is quite honestly the nasiest part of labor. How some women turn this shit into pills, or eat it, no fuckin clue. It’s gross. However, from what I personally know, is that it comes out fairly quickly and rather painfully. No one ever tells you about it, so I figure, I should at least take part in ruining your day if I can help it. Some of the left over blood from the placenta is also pushed out of you in the course of your stay at the hospital. When I say I pushed out, I mean, a nurse waltzing in, saying something like “I know it hurts, but we have to make sure all of this fluid comes out”, she has probably never had a child, you probably want to stab her fuckin eyes out, and it hurts. Here’s my heads up to you.

    So, there’s the ins and outs of fluids, hopefully this helps you in your journey to becoming prepared for the up and coming months… But, probably not. Good luck.

    Relatable Post Numero Uno: My Top 10 Pregnancy Complaints.

    Pregnancy is sunshine and rainbows… Something like that.

    This is for the mom’s. 

    The ones who carry those 9 month, blood suckers around for what seems like entirely too long.

    For the women like me.

    So here goes!

    So you’ve missed your period, and you finally gather up enough balls to piss on a stick… Or twenty. 

    Or in my case, you go to the doctors for a physical, tell them it’s just a precaution, and you get 7 missed calls after leaving, only to find out your eggo is prego. (This is essentially how I found out I was carrying #2)

    Life, right? Sometimes, babies are planned. Women spend months, fuck, some women spend years trying to conceive, but some women, like myself, we fuck up. 

    Now, I’m not saying my beautiful daughter was a fuck up, but I was 19, and there should’ve been something more productive I could’ve been doing in my free time. Worry not, I do not regret my daughter for a moment. Except when she hasn’t had a nap, and crumbles up her cookies into the carpet. (Kidding of course, though, that does piss me off.)

    So, you’re pregnant. What now? Well, let me tell you!

    1.) Good luck ever finding a comfortable position to sleep in. (Bonus points if you have a toddler in your bed too, and still manage to catch a couple z’s.) Sleeping was a problem in the first trimester, and it’s even bigger one in the third.

    2.) The first three months, your body is stuck in that uncomfortable questionable state where people stare and think, “is she pregnant or just eating really good?” (If you’re anything like me, the answer is both. I was pregnant AND I ate good.)

    3.) Sometimes, morning sickness, isn’t fucking fun. Partially because it never usually happens in the morning, and also because macaroni and cheese doesn’t look nearly as satisfying the second time around.

    4.) Unwarranted touching – need I say more? For some reason, people of all shapes and sizes gather around to rub your belly and say things like, “twins?” No, it’s not fucking twins, I’m just GROWING A HUMAN. (Last time I checked, they take up a lot of space regardless.)  For whatever reason, people like to touch your stomach, even though, no sane person would do that if you weren’t pregnant… If you want to touch the Golden goose egg, atleast ask first, fuck.

    5.) Body changes. Now, I don’t mean stretch marks, or breast milk, or boob changes in general. I’m talking about the shit no one ever warns you of – like the fact you basically turn into a balding gorilla. You grow hair, and you seem to grow it literally everywhere. It’s annoying, it’s dark, and there’s nothing you can do about it. (Don’t shave it, I learned this lesson the hard way, it fucking sucks – just don’t do it.) You also may realize for some women, hair growth isn’t the only thing changing. With my daughter, my thighs grew twice the size. With my son, my feet grew. You just really never know, so don’t feel bad if you’re wearing the same sweat pants from three days ago because your hips spread and nothing else fits. (We get it, I promise.)

    6.) After you hit about week 25-35, you really start to fill out, and with that, usually comes swelling. It’s another one of those things you can’t really keep from happening, unless you’re a body builder and have spent your entire pregnancy praying to the flex God’s and getting hella swole. (But most of us are fat, lazy, and like to sleep as much as we possibly can… We are growing a human after all.)

    7.) Loss of the filter. I say this to all of the people who aren’t carrying a child at this current moment: if you know a woman who is well into her third trimester, and is obviously uncomfortable – expect that her entire demeanor has changed. For those moms who want to say pregnancy is beautiful and wonderful, and flowers, and rose pedals… Well, I think you’re a fuckin’ liar. One, because I am one of those women well into their third trimester. And two, because people really fucking annoy me. Expect that we, as hormonal narwhales, aren’t sleeping enough, no longer eating enough, and are praying to every god alive that our water breaks: we don’t want to hear you Nancy-with-no-kids, tell us how tired you are. Because making a human? It’s fucking exhausting.

    8.) Urinary incontinence… This goes without saying. Pregnant women pee, and then they pee after their pee, and then they wake up just to pee. The peeing never ends. We also pee when we sneeze, when we cough, or laugh, sometimes, even if we just exhale hard enough. It’s uncomfortable and embarrassing, but, we rock it. Truth is, this never goes away after birthing your tiny lil snot rocket. Atleast it didn’t for me. And, it sucks. It really fucking sucks. I thought at 15, starting my period in the middle of school was embarrassing. Turns out, its more embarrassing to piss yourself from laughing too long or too hard at a joke. 

    9.) Rude remarks are bound to happen. Especially if you are my age, on your second kid. God forbid, I am 34 weeks pregnant, if I go anywhere without my smaller half of me, the most common thing people ask me while I’m out is, “This your first?” The answer is no. He is not. The more annoying part about this is that after I respond accordingly, and explain I’m one of those batshit-insane people who have two under two, they look at me like I just took a shit in their oatmeal. Like something I had just said in the past fifteen seconds was more unjust then them asking me I frequently reproduce. They fail to realize that I am a fully functional adult, with a job, a fiance, a fiance has a job, and we are doing just fine. Adding another one into the mix didn’t scare us one bit. Stop with the judgmental looks, Susan, I don’t have time for your shit. The second annoying rude remark I hear is when I am with my smaller half of myself, and someone says to me “wow, you’re going to have your hands full.” You think I don’t already? Imagine being as pregnant as I am, and still chasing after my toddler. Imagine that carrying a human around all day long inside and outside of my utero, while wiping a small human butt 50 times day, isn’t completely overwhelming as is. I don’t remember the last time my hands weren’t full.

    10.) Impending labor. This is a topic that is vast, but is usually never talked about correctly. Sure, labor is painful, but so are all the moments before that lead up to it. That’s usually why women say the last month of pregnancy is approximately 1,486 days long. In the last stretch of pregnancy, things start happening that no one really tells you about, and unless you have friendship necklaces with your OBGYN and share daily cups of coffee with them, you don’t really know what to expect. Labor is scary. The month leading up to it, your baby drops down to what feels like they may just fall right out of you. You lose your mucus plug, and your bloody show. (Which are both fucking gross.) You usually have to piss every 5 seconds. Some women spend the last week before they have their babies sitting on the toilet because they always have to poop. If you’re lucky like me, you shoot into these transitional steps entirely too early, and you’re stuck on bed rest. Your boobs will leak, and bonus points if you hear a baby cry, because they turn into fire hoses. And everything pisses you off. (Especially those Facebook stalkers that are like, “HAVE YOU HAD YOUR BABY YET!?” The answer is no, we haven’t, and we are impatiently waiting for it, just like you. We promise, when we know, you’ll know.) Nesting is another huge thing, which we don’t like to admit we are even doing, but we do it. We will organize everything in the house by color if it means the house is clean. We will even do it twice if the first time wasn’t good enough. With my daughter, I washed the walls. 

    Women in the last stretch of pregnancy are about the closest thing to a complete nut job you’ve ever seen, and we know it, so don’t make it your job to point it out.

    With all this being said: these are my thoughts, you take them how you please, but they are my thoughts for a reason. 

    Welcome!

    Whine, whine, whine, bitch bitch bitch.

    First off,

    I would like to start by saying: if you’re offended easily, or you might whine about what I have to say – you should probably just scroll out of this little piece of bliss and go whine somewhere else.

    Secondly,

    This is for the mothers, or father’s, or parents in general who just… Aren’t perfect. (See what I did here? The blog name suits it very well, if I do say so myself.) This is for the parents who would like the world to know they are still on top of things, even if it means they’ve had to lose their mind a few times. Even if it means you’re my age, but somehow manage to look in the mirror and see you’ve gained your first grey hair… Or 12th. This is for the people who openly admit and are okay with the fact that parenthood isn’t just cute little Pinterest ideas and fun lunch time snacks. For the people who know parenthood is essentially crying because you lost the one and only binky your child wants. Or sitting on your bedroom floor contemplating if it would be okay to just sleep there for the rest of the night because your toddler spread lasagna all over the dining room blinds for the second or third time in a row, and you’ve just had enough.

    Lastly,

    This isn’t self help, this is just a comfort space of knowing you aren’t doing this shit alone. There will be some stories to be told, and some advice to be given, but for the most part, I plan to do what most parents do when they have free time: bitch and moan.
    You’re welcome.