Worst Job In the World

He did a gorgeous job in our kitchen but he just the worst boss ever. And I suck at photography.
He did a gorgeous job in our kitchen but he’s just the worst boss ever. And I suck at photography.

This week’s writing prompt from Mama Kat’s Writing Workshop is to tell you about the worst job I ever had.  I did not have to think long or hard about this one.  I know exactly, hands down, what was the absolute worst job I have worked at in my entire 46 years of being on this planet.

It was about 2 years ago.  It was a job that I landed by chance.  I was looking for a little something part-time that was local but which also allowed me to use my administrative skills.  You know, skills that were rustier than a bike left out during every hurricane of 2005 (13 — I looked it up).  It was the perfect opportunity to brush up on those skills and stay in the game.

I was going to be working for a small, local granite business.  The owner was adorable.  A little firecracker of a guy from Brazil.  When I say little, I mean it.  I’ll give him a couple of inches and be nice by saying he was 5’4″.  He talked quickly, walked even quicker and had an accent that made him sound like the sweetest man in the world. (Never judge a person by their voice.  Take my word on this.)

I am a true believer in signs.  I ask God for them all the time.  Well, God threw about a million signs at me.  To which I ignored every single one.  Let’s just say, I learned my lesson.

It didn’t take me long to realize that I made a huge mistake.  I have so much to say about my little experience, but for now I will have to give you the Reader’s Digest version in 10 bullet points or less.

  1. According to him, it doesn’t matter if it was roadkill, it still makes for a good meal.  Just picture pheasant blood dripping through the showroom to the back where they were (yes, plural) feathered and boiled on site.  He asked me if I wanted to join his family for dinner that evening.  As tempting as it was, I just had to decline.  I think I was going home to wash my hair or something to those lines.
  2. His mattress in the attic and his many complaints of how his wife kicked him out of the house, yet again, was really quite disconcerting.
  3. Mid-afternoon was the perfect time of day to get preached to.  Bible and all.  Hey, at least I was paid for my Bible lesson.  I know because I asked.
  4. He was good about making sure he only came to work with a hangover twice a week.
  5. The toilet was filled with sludge half the time.  He felt it was quite necessary that I should be the one to clean it.  I was pretty sure I was hired to be the admin, not the cleaning service.  Actually, I’m pretty positive.
  6. His usage of the “f” word was about every 14 seconds.  Oh wait, I think every 12 seconds is probably more accurate.
  7. The guy begged me to take a part-time job at a rival company down the street so that I could be his spy.  Seriously.  Does this even happen?
  8. His temper rivaled that of Ivan The Terrible.  Anything from a dirty toilet to me not closing a deal after working there for a week would set him off.
  9. The Pièce de résistance:  “You american women are such prudes.   My wife gives me sex daily.  How many times do you have sex with your husband?”
  10. He mentioned something about hookers.  But I covered my ears.  I think it was during the Pièce de résistance conversation he thought he was having with me.

NOTE:  I’m not the type of person to walk out on a job.  I never have in my life.  I guess there is a first time for everything, right?

When I went in to pick up my last check, his wife was there.  She was very unhappy with how unprofessional I was.  Because I often try to take the high road, I kept my mouth from spewing out all the reasons why I walked out.  I did make a comment to the effect of “your husband is unprofessional and I felt very uncomfortable working here.  You can ask him why I left.”  I know, I know.  I could have totally thrown him under the bus.  Maybe I earned my wings?  Nah, probably not.

Mama’s Losin’ It

Spoiled Rotten

A few weeks ago the top news story in the Northeast was about a teenage girl who was suing her parents for money.  From all accounts, it looks like she is just a spoiled little brat who was devising a plan to get all that she wanted (including keeping a degenerate boyfriend and staying out as late as 3am if she so chose to) while her parents pay for her education.

I believe the judge denied the teenager’s request and the girl went back home.  It ended well for all of us parents.  Could you imagine if she had won?  I shudder at the thought.  I was going to write this big post about how I felt about the situation.  And then this morning I had a conversation with a friend about kids today and how spoiled they are and how badly we hover.  Which could possibly be partly what happened to this child.

We live in the age of The Helicopter Parent.  We all do it.  Ok, excuse me.  Most of us do it.  There is the exception.  I have a friend who is the parent of 4 kids and she’s got these kids doing what they need to do, when they need to do it without a complaint from them.  I am in awe of her.  Still, at the end of the day, there is some overprotecting going on.  What, with all the crap we hear in the media about kids going missing, etc. how can you blame us?

But there is a price to be paid.  My generation figured it out.  My parents didn’t do it for me.  We had street smarts.  Hell, when I was 11 years old I had to walk to and from school where we lived in Yonkers.  Alone.  I lived in 7 different places in 12 years.  I had to suck it up.  I would become close with other kids, then BOOM.  The Army moved us again.  Too bad.  I had to pick myself up, brush it off and move along.  There was no time to mope and cry.  Besides I wasn’t allowed to.  Seems rough, right?  No.  It’s called life.  And quite honestly, I’m grateful to my parents for the way I was raised.

So if I was raised that way, as I’m sure most of us were, why is there so much coddling?  “Oh, let me clean your room because you have too much homework.  Oh, why don’t you take the day off of school, you need a breather.  Oh, no, you can’t walk down the street to Diane’s house, you might get stolen.”  Everything from doing their homework to calling Abercrombie to see if there is a size 1 in the faded skinny jean they just “have to have.”

I do it all the time.  Actually, I don’t do the homework.  I don’t believe in that.  Besides, my kid would fail.  Anyway, guess what?  We aren’t helping our children.  Not at all.  We make it too easy for them.

The Kid and I toured a college last week.  A college that is at the top of her list.  When we got there, I was expecting a show of extreme excitement from her.  Because she is, by nature, an easily excitable person.  She will deny this for the rest of her life, but I could tell by the look on her face that she was completely freaked out.

I’m hearing a lot of stories of kids dropping out of college lately.  Kids just not able to take the pressure.  They don’t know how to take care of themselves.  They can’t keep up with the work.  They miss mommy.  It’s scary.  What do I do to prevent this from happening to my kid?

Suddenly, we are on the final stretch of our parenting journey.  And it dawned on me that we have about 2 years to get her ready.  Because as much as I will miss her and will probably cry my eyes out for a good week after she leaves, I do not want her coming back home.  Not under those circumstances.

Oh God, I have to go.  This helicopter just ran out of gas and is plummeting to the earth.  Which is good, but I have some repairing to do.  It’s going to be a long 2 years.  Wish me luck.

Linking up with Shell

And the Nominee Is….Mo!


I was nominated for the Liebster Award!  What is the Liebster Award, you ask?   It’s an award that is given to up-and-coming bloggers to motivate them to continue their work.  It’s such an honor to receive this award.  Thank you, Sarah Day of Parent Your Business.  You are awesome!

There are some requirements that I must complete if I would like to accept this award.  One of them is to share 11 random facts about myself.  So, here you go:

  1. My head over-produces wax.  If you just met me, you would think that I was going deaf.  This drives my family crazy and sometimes I will go months without going for a proper cleaning just to make them even crazier.  I’m sorry.  Did you say something?
  2. I jumped Rob Lowe once.  No, seriously.  I literally jumped him.  He was kinda drugged up though so I’m pretty sure he doesn’t remember.  (When I say “jump”, I mean fully clothed, crazy, lunatic fan kind of jump.  There were no bodily fluids exchanged.  Eww.)
  3. I lived in 5 states and Germany by the time I was 12.  Because I come from a very rich family and we were total jet-setters.  Just kidding.  I was an Army brat.
  4. I was so debilitatingly shy when I was a child that I would pee my pants instead of ask my teacher if I could go to the bathroom.
  5. I hated the final book of the 50 Shades of Gray trilogy so much that I never finished it.  This just means that I have to go see the movie because I never found out how it ended.  Oh shucks.
  6. I also abhor pedicures.  Yuck.  So, I guess I am a hater of 50 Shades of Gray Toenails 3.  Ok, that was stupid.  Sorry.
  7. I worked as a dental assistant for 5 days when I was 19 because I was asked to fill in while my dentist’s assistant was on vacation.  I had no idea what I was doing and had diarrhea for a week.
  8. I love the smell of gasoline, mothballs and rubber cement.  No, I don’t go around sniffing all that stuff.  Does anyone have any Elmer’s?  You know, for my friend.
  9. My guilty pleasure is The Real Housewives of NYC.  No one bother me while the bitches are on or someone will get hurt.
  10. My first concert ever was Ann Murray.  My second was Menudo.  It’s a long story.
  11. My great-grandfather invented Fiberglass and the backing for mirrors.  Most interesting fact here and it isn’t even mine.

Another requirement is to answer 11 questions posed by Sarah:

  1. If you could be any celebrity, who would you be?  Hello???  Umm, Kristen Wiig, of course.  That is one funny chick.  She has funny down to a science.
  2. If you could be any profession, what would you be?  Archeologist.  Because I love to dig in the dirt in the hopes of finding dinosaur bones.  Or money.
  3. What’s the most exotic place you’ve traveled?  Does Myrtle Beach count?  Oh wait.  I went to Tortola once.
  4. Do you come from a big family, or a small one?  I’m Irish Catholic.  That pretty much sums it up.
  5. How long have you been blogging?  I started blogging in January 2013 and loving every minute of it (even though Sarah didn’t ask me if I love it or not, I’m telling you anyway.)
  6. Do you still blog the same sort of content that you did when you started out?  Yes.  I have always blogged humor from the get go.  Once in a while, you will find something serious.  But that’s usually when I’m ovulating (yes, I still ovulate…sometimes).
  7. Do you write anything else besides your blog?  I kinda sorta started a book.  Actually, 2 books.  After almost 47 years, I suddenly have stuff in my head.  I don’t know where it came from.
  8. Where did you last vacation?  The un-exotic Myrtle Beach, SC.  Oh wait.  Last summer we had a stay-cation and I tanned on the back deck.  I had a margarita, too.
  9. Do you have pets? What kind?  No.  The Kid had one of those crazy fighting fish for about a minute.  RIP James Pond.
  10. What’s your favorite ethnic food?  Is sushi ethnic?  If not, mexican.
  11. If you had a free afternoon, would you prefer to go to a museum or a movie?  Museum.  I love history so much it’s crazy.  It’s kinda weird considering where it’s coming from (if you know me, you get it).

Now I have to pass this honor on to some very deserving bloggers.  I nominate, in no particular order, the following:

Miriam at Miriam Gomberg.  Miriam is crazy awesome.  I feel strangely connected to her.  Could it be because she’s a mermaid?  Perhaps.

Lara at Just Lara.  Lara is frikin’ amazing.  She is real and has a genuine talent for writing.  She’s totally cool.

Rhonda at Bitch and Whine.  Hello?  How can you resist someone who has a “Douchebag of the Week” post?  Seriously.  I don’t know why I didn’t think of this myself.

Jenn at I Make Myself the Queen.  Jenn is funny, quirky and funny.  She’s a chick after my own heart.  I think she is my sista’ from anotha’ motha’, I swear it must be true.  I totally get her.

Kim at Kim Ulmanis.  I literally just met her and I am in love.  ‘Nuf said.

If you accept, please complete the following.  It could take some time but it’s a great way to connect with other bloggers (and don’t forget more fans…where would we be without our fans?)!  I was nominated at the beginning of the month…well, I am a bit of a procrastinator so,  you know…anyway, here are the questions I came up with for you to answer:

  1. What genre book do you prefer (thriller, horror, romance, etc)?
  2. What is your favorite smell/scent?
  3. Do you have a nickname?  If so, what is it?
  4. What is your favorite all time movie?
  5. If you could pick one place to go in the entire world, where would it be?
  6. Why did you start blogging?
  7. What is your biggest pet peeve?
  8. If you could choose anyone, dead or alive, to have dinner with, who would it be?
  9. What is your absolute dream job in the whole entire world?
  10. If there was a movie about your life, who would play you?
  11. What kind of music will I find on your playlist?

Nominees who accept are to write a blog post that includes the following:

  • Thank the person who has nominated you and link back to their blog (by posting a link on yours).
  • Copy and display the award in your blogpost (save the pink image above and upload it to your own post).
  • Answer the 11 questions about yourself, which are given to you by the person who nominated you.
  • Write 11 random facts about yourself.
  • Nominate 5 – 11 blogs/bloggers that you feel deserve the award. They need to have less than 1000 followers.
  • Think of 11 new questions for the bloggers you have nominated and write them in your post.
  • Inform the selected bloggers that they have been nominated for the Liebster award and link back to your own post so that they can learn about it (if they don’t already know about it) and so that they know what questions to answer.

Grammar Nazi Part III’ish


There are some out there who think it’s crazy to get crazy over grammar.  There are some pretty great writers and bloggers who I follow who think Grammar Nazis shouldn’t get their panties in a bundle.  They even hate the term “Grammar Nazi.”  That’s fine.  It’s their opinion.  It’s cool.  I respect that.

I’ve tried to take their words to heart.  I’ve mulled it over.  Tried to climb on board with their thinking.  I’ve tried to not be so uptight about it.  But I can’t help it.  No, I’m sorry.  Every time I see or hear someone misuse this part of the English language, my thoughts take me back to 1986 and dear Mrs. Schneider.  Even worse, I hear the proverbial nails on a chalkboard in the recesses of my brain.  My fingers itching on my keyboard to correct these grammar deviants.  But I don’t.  I suffer in my own private grammar hell.  And let them go about their lives in their cute little oblivious way.

Every gosh darn day I go onto my Facebook feed, I see the incorrect use of these pronouns, adjectives, adverbs, prepositions and nouns (yes, nouns).  These are great words.  We need them.  But I’m sorry.  Unless you have been living in a cave, raised by wolves or quit school at the age of 10 to work the fields because Pa got The Plague, therefore leaving you to care for your 7 brothers and sisters, there is no reason why you should be using these guys in an incorrect form.

Hey, I didn’t have the best education.  Okay, let me rephrase that before my parents get angry with me and start in with the “your education was fine, it was you who made the conscious choice to not care much about it.”  They would be correct anyway.  I didn’t go to college.  But somehow I know that you cannot, absolutely CANNOT go to funny.  Unless, funny is a town.  In which case, it would be a proper noun and spelled with a capital “F.”  So, you would be wrong either way.

I’m sorry if I am offending you.  You are people I know and love.  Some of you are acquaintances.  Some are total and complete strangers.  I apologize ahead of time for any hurt I may be bestowing upon you.  But I have to get this off my chest yet again (third time’s a charm, no?).  If I help even one lost grammar soul, then my job is done.

Here’s my short little lesson on what bugs me most.  It will take less than 5 minutes.

Your – Possessive.  “Is that your ball I saw at the baseball field?”  You wouldn’t say, “is that you are ball I saw at the baseball field,” would you?  No.  Because that doesn’t make sense.

You’re – Here are two words slammed together into one. YOU and ARE.  Making a contraction.  “You’re awesome.”  You are awesome.  If you said “your awesome” that wouldn’t make sense because you don’t own awesome, do you?  You can be awesome and “own” it in slang terms, but you can’t have awesome.  Understand?

Too –  As in also.  “She came to the movies with us too.”  If you said, “she came to the movies with us to” it leaves the sentence unfinished.  To what?  To buy popcorn?  Did your friend go to the movies with you to buy popcorn?  No, she didn’t.  How do I know?  Because you didn’t say so.  Unless you got interrupted by something like a flash flood.  Then I forgive you.

To – Aah, here we go. “She came to the movies with us to buy popcorn.”  I know, it seems silly that she would just go to the movies to buy popcorn.  But damn, where else can you get movie theater popcorn?  All that artery clogging, delicious, buttery goodness.  Yum.  The above sentence would be correctly stated.

Their – Possessive.  “It is their television set.”  I understand that their, there and they’re can be confusing.  You can’t use they’re because this is a contraction.  THEY and ARE are mashed together.  You wouldn’t say “it is they are television set” because that’s silly.  You also wouldn’t say, “it is there television set” because it would sound like you are trying to say something like “That there television set.  You know, over there. Over yonder.”  No.  Just don’t.

They’re – Contraction.  THEY ARE.  “They’re going to see a play today.”  The theme seems to be entertainment, doesn’t it?  Yup.  This is quite entertaining, that’s for sure.

Look, I’m not perfect and I never said I was.  I use run-on sentences (on purpose because I love them), I will start a sentence with but & and.  That’s my style and it may not be correct for the purpose of proper form, but it’s not altogether wrong either.  I’ve made the occasional typo (insert cringe here).  I am kind of bad with commas.  Yes, I understand this may be a problem I have.  I’m working on it.

You can unfriend me if you want.  Just when you do, remember to use your grammar properly.  Because I’ll be watching.  Somewhere.  Somehow.  You’re awesome (See that?  You are.  Got it?  Good).

Linking up with Shell

Procrastination Is Making Me Late

I was born of a mother who has a Type A personality.  I would even venture to say she is Type A+.  Even though it probably doesn’t exist.  But it has to exist because she is one.  I swear it.  Me on the other hand?  Type B—.  Triple negative.  My Type B is so Type B I’m almost dead.  Well, not really.   Because that’s a little morbid.  But you get my point.

After I quit My Retail Job, I thought it was a great time to catch up on all that I let slide because I just didn’t have the time.  I started by making a list.  These lists have lists.  Then I took a calendar, a beautiful calendar that a good friend made, and wrote what I will do every single day.  Good start, right?

Two words:  Major Fail.  Why is this happening to me?  Then I remembered what my good friend who made the calendar said to me once.  “You are not a list type of person.”  And she’s right.  I hate structure.  I hate organization.  I like to fly by the seat of my pants.  I could have a full day of cleaning and organizing planned out and if a friend calls to meet for lunch?  I’m out the door before she can even finish her sentence.

This is my list of things-to-do. I got 2 things kinda done.  As you can see.  Oh, wait.  Maybe 3.

Does this just flat out mean I’m a procrastinator?  Because I will put off and put off and put off until the cows come home.  Even longer than that because the cows come home eventually.  I have procrastinated so long that my projects have projects.

Now I am in a place where my brain is so over-whelmed that I think it has shut down to save itself from being fried.  You know, short circuiting.

I don’t know where to start.  I want to start.  I do.  So I can finish.  And so I can turn my brain back on because I kind of need it.  But I’m not a list person and I don’t know how to do it without one.  See my problem?

I seriously feel like a dog chasing its tail.  Call me Spot.  “See Spot Run.  Oh wait, what is Spot doing?  He is chasing his tail.  But, that is not how the story goes.  Spot is ruining this story.  We need a new Spot.”  See?  I told you my brain has shut off.  I don’t make sense.  How did Spot even get in my story?

revelI know.  Like the Nike commercial says:  “Just Do It.”  Okay.  Here I go.  Oh heck.  I’ll start next Monday.  I’m just going to do what the calendar says to do.  “Revel in my messiness.”  I didn’t even notice that until yesterday.  Looks like I wasted my time and ruined a perfectly good February.

All this procrastinating is making me sleepy.  I’m going to take a nap.  If you need me, flip the ON switch.  It’s to the right of my … oh damn, where did I put that thing?  Wait.  This was supposed to be about procrastination.  Not short term memory problems.  I’m going back to bed.  See you Monday.

Advice My Mother Gave Me

What she should have told me was, "bad things can happen if you eat too many carbs."
What she should have told me was, “bad things can happen if you eat too many carbs.”

People will talk periodically about some knowledge that a parent bestowed upon them.  You especially see these little snippets of wisdom come out of an actor’s mouth as he is accepting his Oscar.  And I immediately wonder if I bestow enough wisdom on my own child.  What would my daughter say she learned from me?  “Don’t buy anything that isn’t on sale?”  Probably.

My parents were young parents.  My mom was 25 when she was done birthing her three children.  She seemed to be preoccupied with keeping us all alive.  You know, keeping me from tossing my baby brother off the balcony, remembering to take me in from the snow, figuring out ways to prevent my youngest brother from cracking his head open (long stories).  Truth be told, I don’t remember much in the way of wisdom.

Except this:  “It Builds Character.”  This is what I remember most.  It builds character.  I used to get so frustrated.  “Mom, Danny said I’m flat chested.”  “Well, it builds character.  “Mom, Maria wants to beat me up.”  “It builds character.”  “Mom, I dropped out of high school and want to join the Peace Corps.”  “It builds character.”  (I actually did not do this last one, but you get the picture.)

What the hell did she mean?  “It builds character?”  This is what it meant, to me anyway:  Life is rough at times.  There isn’t going to always be someone there to pick you up.  You really need to figure crap out for yourself.  These difficult experiences toughen you up.  Give you confidence.  Teach you to be strong and forge ahead.

Did it work for me?  I think so.  Well, mostly.  During those moments when I’m fighting the Blue Haired Brigade during Can Can week at Shop Rite, her words come to me.  And I forge ahead.  Every Monday morning, like clockwork.

As for The Kid?  Seriously, don’t buy anything if it’s not on the sale rack.  Saving money builds character.  Or, at the very least, your bank account.

Mama’s Losin’ It

Cold vs. Hot

COLD HOTPart 3 of My Reader’s Suggestions.  This one is about Cold vs. Hot.  And what I prefer.  Well, I like my wine room temperature…oh wait.  I don’t think that’s what she meant.

I know this is a really dumb time for me to bring this up because everyone from Timbuktu to the North Pole are freezing their asses off, but what is best?  Being hot or being cold?

Personally, you know, for me?  I’ve always thought hot.  I have had this conversation with myself before.  For years, I’ve been having this conversation.  And even though it can get pretty damn hot around here in August, I feel like there is some way to cool off.

You can take off your clothes and run through a sprinkler.  Jump in the lake and blow a fan on yourself (well, I wouldn’t recommend doing them together because you can electrocute yourself and probably die).  You can take a cold shower and run an ice cube on your face (this you can do together – you will not probably die).  Sleep on the basement floor and sit under a shady tree drinking soda pop (that’s what I do, don’t you?).

I don't know.  I look kinda miserable cold.  Don't you think?
I don’t know. I look kinda miserable when I’m cold. Don’t you think?

When it’s super cold out?  Well, you can stay inside and hide under a down comforter all winter.  You know, hibernate?  But when it’s super cold outside and you have to actually go outside?  I don’t care if you are an eskimo, there is no trick short of duct taping every inch of whatever to keep the dang cold out.

I can put on three layers of wool socks and my snow boots that promise to keep my feet warm in below freezing temps and my toes will still feel like they are suffering from hypothermia after 10 minutes.  My parka is awesome, but on those freaking bone chilling days, even that doesn’t work.  Forget about gloves.  Those mothers are just useless.

The cold permeates through every window.  Under every door.  When I’m in my car and I lower the temperature a smidge, and I mean a smidge, my car feels like the inside of an ice ball after 3 minutes.  Of course, if you know what the inside of an ice ball feels like.  I happen to know because I LIVE IN ONE!!!

I'm feeling pretty damn hot here.  Phew.  But sure do look happier than when I'm cold.
I’m feeling pretty damn hot here. Phew. But sure do look happier than when I’m cold.

So, I guess I like being hot better.  Five months until August.  Let’s have this conversation then, shall we?  If my memory serves me right, I’m pretty sure I was cursing up the sun and wishing for winter.  I may have even done the Winter Dance.

Oh sorry, my bad.  Don’t worry, I can start doing the Summer Dance.  Oh wait.  Look where that got us.  Never mind.  I’ll just sit here with my room temperature wine, down comforter and cable TV until the sun comes out and melts all the snow.  See you in June.

I Beg Your Postpartum?

“Holy crap.  I just pushed a human being out of my vagina, my nether area, my unmentionables.  A freaking living, breathing human being.”  That was my thought after I gave birth to my 8 pound sweet baby girl.

I ripped stuff that doesn’t seem natural to rip (when I was in my way early twenties, a woman told me about this happening and I walked around with my rectum clenched for a year.  It traumatized me so much that I prayed to the birthing gods for 9 months for this to NOT happen to me, but alas).

What happened next?  Nothing.  As soon as that last bit of after-birth fell onto the hospital floor, my feelings were as cold as one of those sub-zero freezers.  I assume (I never was professionally diagnosed) I had what the experts would call Postpartum Depression.

I pretty much self-diagnosed myself.  But not until months later, after I felt better.  How do I know I was suffering from this condition?  It was really just a guess but here you go:

  1. After they handed her to me, I nearly dropped her on the ground.  As if she were a piece of luggage that I carried across the country and just couldn’t go another step with.  I actually hallucinated “Samsonite” written across her forehead.

    See her forehead? I knew it.
  2. When the nurses wheeled her in my room at 2am, I ripped their heads off.  It’s true because they were nice and round and rolled like a couple of bowling balls.  Strike!
  3. I would cry on my sitz-bath while speaking to my pediatrician every day for 2 weeks.  Yes, my pediatrician.  Hey, it saved me a hell of a lot of money on therapy bills — I highly recommend it.
  4. During middle-of-the-night feedings I feared that her head was going to spin on her shoulders like Regan in The Exorcist.  That’s normal, right?
  5. Besides breastfeeding, I didn’t have a desire to hold her.  I had a full out temper tantrum when DH went back to work.  Seriously.  I behaved more like a baby than my baby did.
  6. I had The Kid in June.  It was a hot summer so I rarely left the house.  For nearly 3 months.  It was hot.  Besides it meant I would have had to have gotten dressed.  And clearly that wasn’t happening.
  7. I wore the same clothes for 6 weeks.  Except my underwear.  I changed them at least weekly.  Well, someone did anyway.

    This is what I wore for weeks.  No lie.  Notice the attractive milk stain?
    This is what I wore for weeks. No lie. And my boobs were always leaking.

No one seemed to notice, especially me.  DH thought I was a little off, but no one told us about this possibility so it didn’t enter our minds.  Maybe we thought it was normal?  Well, I remember thinking it was normal.  I felt sad.  But don’t all new mothers feel sad?  I mean, our bodies were practically ripped in half and we had to take care of these people.

Luckily, after about 3 months, I got the spring back in my step.  They really should tell you about this stuff in Lamaze class.  Or somewhere along the line.  I mean, geez.  I was pregnant for 9 months.  There was plenty of time for a warning.  Although, I do have an extremely short attention span so maybe they did and I missed it?

I doubt it.  Anyway, my sweet baby girl is pushing the ripe old age of 16 and all is well.  I fell head-over-heels in love with her in spite of it all.  But I stopped there, at one child.

Would I have done it again?  Sure.  If you take out the blood, ass ripping, blood curdling pain and Cruella de Vil emotions.  Maybe.  But no one could promise me anything so it didn’t happen.  And I’m a better person because of it.  I’m sure.