I'm not crazy....I'm a mom

So, I was talking to a friend of a friend this weekend when she mentioned my blog and the stories about the kids.  My response to her was "thanks - god I hope everyone reading it realizes that this is my attempt at humor."

I realize that my friends and anyone who knows me will already know this fact.  For the people who just happen on this blog or for my own kids when they're printing off their baby book:  RELAX!  Chill the fuck out and just laugh with me!!

All of the stories are in fact 100% true, but the decision to take tantrums and near death experiences with a grain of salt and lots of laughter is my choice and my way of maintaining my own sanity.  Yes, I call my kids names (terrorists & assholes) but not to their face.  That would be a really UN-mommy like thing to do.  Besides they'd just call the kids at school assholes and I'd be out yet another babysitter.

Anyway, I was thinking of this when I landed on a blog post form another site.  It's about all of the dark shit that comes with being a mother  (I know some of you guys were just made to be moms and it's been pure bliss and everything you ever expected...well fuck you that's not how it happened for me) I won't paraphrase it, but here is the link - it's a really good read.  ScaryMommy Blog - New Mommy Misery.

So in addition to my humor disclaimer I felt like this might be a good time let it all hang out in terms of being a mom and what I've experienced.  After reading the link above I realized that I agree; the not so pretty shit just isn't shared...or at least not enough.  Maybe I'm a little less insane than I thought.  Maybe some of you feel/felt the same way too.

See, I wasn't going to be a mother - ever.  Like never ever.  I was just looking forward to living on my own and not having rules.  I never dreamed of white weddings and babies.  (I've had 3 of each - what can I say I'm a fucking over achiever....)

Clearly that didn't pan out.  Big was totally unplanned, Boy Terrorist was a different story - he was anticipated just not planned, Tiny terrorist was also totally unplanned and mad me cry for weeks...

I didn't have a rough time with Big really.  She was a novelty at first and I had a lot of help.  Both sets of grandparents were less that 10 minutes from me and she was the first grand-baby on both sides.  Needless to say I had a lot of free time while she went to visit the grandparents.  I was 22 when I had her so I did miss out on some "going out"  but I still got a lot of good times in. On top of that she was an amazing baby.  Never fussy, not needy.  Really she was less work than a puppy.  But I was done.  It was challenging and just fulfilling enough.  No need to have another one... I didn't need to empress anyone with my ultra capable uterus.

Eight Years later came new husband with no kids of his own.  He was upfront and honest about the desire for his own child (never once has he treated Big any different than his own but he wanted to experience a baby.  Also, Big was 8 and has her own daddy.)  With that in mind we decided to "let nature take it's course"  I was prepared for a good 2-3 year practice time.  About 42 seconds after we made this decision I became pregnant.

He wasn't super happy to see me....

I was excited and happy and scared as hell.   I had an 8 year old.  She made her own breakfasts and didn't crap her pants. I was going back for another 3 years of cleaning someone else's ass and being up all freaking night at the whim of a tiny dictator.  I had a career this time, a job that I needed to be present for and a paycheck that we as a family depended on.  AND I WAS 30!!!  30 year olds can't stay up all night like 21 year olds. To top this off Hubby was working out of town after Boy terrorist was born.  He'd be gone  Mon-Thursday of every week and I went back to work when BT was 6 weeks old.

I worked all day, came home and cared for Big and boy Terrorist all night and did it again the next day.  In the back of my mind I wanted to scream and throw things.  This wasn't how I expected it to be.  I thought we'd be happy and all share in the baby stuff and ALL be home to share in the responsibilities.  A million times I actually thought to myself  "I didn't want another baby! Why am I stuck raising it while the husband gets to sleep in peace and quiet in a hotel room all week.  HE wanted this!  NOT me!"
I wanted to be the one away in a hotel.  Not the one cleaning up vomit and wiping runny noses.

To make things even more confusing when I looked at my new little one he melted my heart I knew that I loved him unconditionally. When I dropped him off at daycare I'd want to turn around and go back and get him.  I missed him that much.  Given the choice I wouldn't actually leave him and go stay in a hotel.  I would have quit my job if that were the price. 

But who do you tell that kind of shit to?  No one, for fear of looking like a whack job or even worse someone dismissing it as hormones.

Boy Terrorist & Tiny Terrorist

Along came baby 3 - Tiny terrorist was all that and then some.  I knew that we were done after boy terrorist.  Absolutely no need for a 3 - it didn't even occur to me.  Well, until that one night/morning.  Had a bit to drink...didn't check the "calendar".  I have a #3 so I'm sure we can all surmise what went down.

Take all of the feelings I had with #2 multiply that by 2, throw in the fact that daddy was still working out of town, add in that I now look like Rosie-fucking-O'Donnell from the neck down and don't forget the fact that these two are 15 months apart.

 I really, honestly thought I was going to lose my shit.  I fantasized about up and moving to the Bahamas  (alone).  I wanted to scream at my husband for doing this to me.  I wanted to scream at the babies for just being there.  I just wanted my own space and 5 minutes to myself.  Some days I just wanted my old life back.  Some days when both of the babies were happy and napping I figured - fuck it we might as well go for 4 or 5.  Just kidding - I wasn't that bat shit crazy.

So, I cried in the bathtub at night about what a fucked predicament  I was in and I pulled it together during the days and evenings for work and the kids.  (On the days that I wanted to sell 'em I faked it and played with them anyway.)

We're 3 years into this whole baby shit and a lot has changed while some things are exactly the same.  Daddy is now home and gets to share in the misery.  The babies have necks and attitudes and aren't always as cute and loveable as the were back then.  They are forming their own personalities and opinions now and while not always cute it is absolutely amazing to watch them grow together.  I rarely cry in the tub about my "situation" anymore.  I just don't have that luxury...if you have kids you know you're NEVER alone in the bathroom ever again anyway.  I do still think about running away.  I do still wonder what it would have been like had I not had kids and got to chase those dreams.  But I  also realize all of the things that I would have never experienced.

I have a husband that would go to the ends of the earth to make me happy and feel loved. Who loves all 3 of the mini's with a ferocity that  makes me fall in love with him all over again.  A partner to commiserate with when it's rough.  I have a Big that is turning into  remarkable young lady who actually enjoys helping with the terrorists.  I have 2 tiny dictators who are maddening but keep us all laughing and grounded.

I'm lucky beyond words but I still dream of that 20 year old girl that I was.  I wonder what it would have been like... 

And it doesn't make me crazy or unappreciative  - It makes me human.
It makes me a mom.


(by the way...daddy is fixed.  I put a stop to that shit)