Tag Archives: parenting

Being a Mom: Living the Oxymoron

Colt’s arrival was somewhat traumatic.

An emergency C-section followed by a morphine reaction that left me hysterical and itching like a heroin addict.

I felt accomplished that we’d both made it out alive. I also felt completely insecure as a new mother.

It was my first “oxymoron” experience as a parent.

In the year that followed, a cloud of postpartum depression loomed over me. I didn’t sleep. I didn’t laugh. I lost the pep in my step, and I cried. A lot.

When the storm passed, I was feeling much more confident in my new role.

Being a mom is about balancing the “confidence” with the “bat-sh&t crazy” that also comes with the job, and I had finally found the balance.

I didn’t want to ruin it with another child, so I decided we were One And Done.

But then Mother Nature (and my husband) tapped me on the shoulder and whispered in my ear. Convincing me I was ready for one more.

I thought it would be as easy to get pregnant as it was the first time.

But more than a year later, the only thing rolling around my womb were tumbleweeds.

(When you’re trying to get pregnant, everyone but you is pregnant. Old ladies, teenagers, dogs.)

Babies and Bellys. Babies and Bellys. Bellys and babies.

I was so distracted by the loud ticking of my biological clock, it became harder and harder to do every day things like deciphering work emails…

“Julie, I need you to pee on the stick.”

Huh?

Julie, I need you to input the specs.”

“Well that’s just not how I ovulate.”

“I mean operate.”

Ughhhhhhh.

For more than a year, my life revolved around egg production.

But my eggs were free-range and not cooperating.

Meanwhile, it seemed like all the women around me were “accidentally” getting pregnant.

“I don’t know HOW this happened. I mean, we weren’t even trying.”

You don’t know HOW it happened?

You don’t know HOWWWWWWW it happened?

I was angry and bitter and sad.

I couldn’t even buy Prego spaghetti sauce. (Clearly some inconsiderate prick had chosen that name to torture infertile women the world over!)

But with a little hope and some help from modern pharmaceuticals…it happened.

Now as I write this, dry heaving over the trash can, I am reminded of how much I wanted to be pregnant.

I know there are women out there who are desperate to feel nauseas because it  means there is new life thriving inside!

Feeling like complete sh&t, and yet also euphoric, is good practice for the tossed salad of emotions that comes with parenting.

Sadness, anxiety, exhaustion, fear, resentment, joy, accomplishment, confidence….and love.

Usually some painfully weird combination thereof.

Forget Jumbo Shrimp, in the dictionary under “oxymoron”, it should just say:

Being a Mother.

Pregnancy is the only time in a woman’s life when it’s possible to feel like you’re going to lose your cookies, and also like you might devour an entire package of cookies, simultaneously.

Watching your newborn sleep can induce tears of joy… and sheer terror. (What AM I supposed to DO with this thing????!!!!)

With a 2-year old, it’s common to want to strangle him, and yet also to strangle anyone that were to harm him.

We watch our kids graduate from kindergarten, high school, college, and it is both pride and fear that plague us.

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So for women everywhere surviving the oxymoron of motherhood…

Cheers to you on Mother’s Day! May you remain sane despite it all.

I’ll be here dreaming of my new baby’s future. And thinking of all the things that might go wrong…and right!

And gagging. Somebody get me some pickles!

 

 

 

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Potty Words Belong in the Potty

My husband is an elementary school teacher and has grown accustomed to kids saying naughty things.

Today was no exception.

Except.

Today he heard the naughtiest thing he’d ever heard.

A second grader told a female classmate to…ahem…

“Suck his nuts.”

Now, I write a blog called,”Potty Mouth in a Sweater Set” but…

Whoa.

This kid is how old…8?

When I was 8, if a classmate told me to suck his nuts, I would have thought he was offering me some almonds from his school lunch sack.

I’d like to give this child the benefit of the doubt – maybe he didn’t even know what he was saying?

Like the time Colt started singing Blake Shelton’s “Your Lips Taste Like Sangria” at the top of his lungs at the airport gate while we waited for our plane.

Yes, my child is singing about French kissing and alcoholic beverages.

I realize that boys will be boys, but I won’t tolerate Colt using foul language in public.

Which is why I instituted a new rule.

(It’s actually a rule I stole from a friend of a friend of a friend, but I’ll go ahead and take credit for it.)

Potty words are only allowed in the potty (at least until you’re old enough to start your own blog.)

Colt can say whatever he wants – alone in the bathroom.

Just get it all out, I say.

And flush it down the toilet.

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One evening, Todd heard him singing loudly, “I got my TOES in the water, ASS in the sand.”

Another country-western favorite.

Maybe we should switch radio stations?

“You can’t say that word, son!” Todd yelled from the bedroom.

“I can say whatever I want, because I’m alone in the bathroom! Mom said so!” Colt yelled in reply.

Soooooooo we might have to modify the rules a bit.

I’d like to pretend he doesn’t hear any of this from us.

Like when Ralphie’s mom, from A Christmas Story, asks him where ON EARTH he had heard the F-word.

“Now, I had heard that word at least ten times a day from my old man. He worked in profanity the way other artists might work in oils or clay.”

But we do try to limit our cursing, arguing, etc. to very little around Colt.

Nevertheless, I know that even if we were running this home like a convent, he’d be exposed to obscenities on the bus, in the cafeteria, at soccer practice.

I’d like to build a 100 ft wall around him (and make him pay for it.)

But that’s just not realistic.

And it wouldn’t matter, because now kids learn everything on the Internet anyway.

When I was a kid, we learned bad words and inappropriate dance moves from MTV and Vh1 (does MTV even still exist?)

My parents forbade me to watch both of those stations, as well as The Simpsons and Roseanne because the children were disrespectful to their parents.

It seems so much harder to shelter our children these days, since they all have their own iPhones and iPads and VTech computers and laser beams.

So for now, it’s parental controls, potty words on the potty, and lots and lots of praying.

 

 

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Captain Koozie

Captain Koozie

Lately Colt has been wearing this red beer koozie on his arm because it gives him “super powers.”
Funny, that koozie gives mommy super powers too.

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