Have kids they said, it’ll be fun they said….Someone should cunt punch you.

Shout out to all the parents out there. This shit is hard. Especially when you’re 1 person trying to play a 2 player game.

I’ve been doing this mom thing for 7 years now. Mainly all by myself. Dad shows up whenever he feels like it for play dates and rude comments to mama bear. I still think it’s kind of scary that I am left in charge of making sure a tiny human stays alive. So far, so good. Only a few trips to the emergency room have been made and she still has all 10 fingers. Being a mom has changed me. I no longer only drink on the weekends, its more like every day after 9pm. The alcohol content and quality has made a dramatic increase.  Partying doesn’t involve kegs and bands anymore, now its pointy cardboard hats and a room full of uptight other mothers. I can’t live off a box of pizza for a week, I actually have to cook a 5 course meal every night, and yes sometimes 3 of those courses are the 3 components that make up a snack pack. Meat(protein), cheese(dairy) and crackers(grains). It’s justified.

I like to pretend that I’ve got my shit together. But normally all of that falls to pieces somewhere around 7am and I spend the rest of the day trying to piece everything together. My God is my kid such a hateful morning person. I have to physically dress her while she sleeps because she wont move. I wake up an hour early just so I can spend an hour telling her to get her ass up before I dump cold water all over her. When she is finally up she has the attitude of a 17 year old who thinks the world revolves around them. 6am is way too early to have a yelling match with a sassy 7 year old. I tell you what, stuff some food in her face and get her moving for a good 30 minutes, it’s like she is a completely different child. Then the guilt sets in that you just grounded for the rest of her life because she refused to put socks on with her tennis shoes.

This morning my child went to school with a giant bird nest in her hair because  I was too focused on making sure she had pants on before walking out the door for the school bus. Now I have been sitting here at work with the feeling of embarrassment because my kid has walked around all day looking like a homeless street child. It’s all good, tomorrow I will dress she like a runway model and show the teachers that mom just couldn’t get her life together that day.

One morning I was literally 30 seconds late making it to the car rider drop off line which meant I then had to park my car and walk my child in, all the way to her classroom. Do you know what I normally look like that early in the morning when I have no intentions of getting out of the car? Well visualize a greasy, grungy homeless women, living in dumpster behind a Chinese restaurant, and that’s pretty much it. I walked my child to her classroom with no shoes, holey leggings, a cutup RUN DMC t-shirt, no bra, and my own bird’s nest hanging out in my hair. I was a complete mess. What made it even worse was the other parents I passed in the hallway. I swear they looked like they were all dressed to meet the freaking president! Who in the hell has the time and effort to put on a ironed suit and a full face of makeup before 8am? Freaking psychos, that’s who. I worked night shift, if I could stay awake long enough to feed myself, I feel like I accomplished a lot that day.

You know what the crazy thing about that whole situation was? I was more worried about what all the other grownups thought, but in the end, I held the hand of a super happy little girl all the way down that long hallway. She wasn’t embarrassed by the way I looked. She was thrilled that her favorite person was walking her to class. These are those moments when being a parent is worth a complete chaotic life change.

It’s always been just my child and I. I think that’s why we fight so hard. We’ve literally been held hostage in a house for 7 years being forced to survive off each other.  She doesn’t listen to shit I say and she thinks she makes the rules in certain rooms of the house that she is convinced belong to her. I think a big issue is that seeing me be angry isn’t scary, it’s more funny than anything. We do everything together. I take her to reggae concerts with me, she likes to dance around and ask why everyone looks so sleepy. We like to walk around the downtown area with root beers in glass bottles while strangers stare at us because they think I’ve turned my child over to public alcoholism. Saturday’s are spent at the animal shelter, wanting to take every poor animal home. Then we cry all the way home because we don’t have the big house on 100 acres of land to rescue all the sad animals. We go on road trips and fight about what to listen on the radio and when it’s ok to have the windows down. She tells the cute dads at the park that “that’s my pretty mama over there but she cries a lot because she’s scared she’s going to have a lot of cats one day.” She knows all my buttons and that the perfect time to push them is in a crowded public area.

There’s good times and there’s times where you just want to tie a brick to your ankle and throw yourself off the nearest bridge. I’d do it all over again. Well as long as I can keep the daddy issues to a minimum and keep her off the stripper pole in her later years.

She will forever be my always. I will always be the mean mama that does things for her best interest at heart. I will never stop being a giant goof ball and making her laugh. For ever grey hair that she has given me equals one horribly embarrassing story I will tell in front of her friends when she gets older. Like how she use to pull the poop out of her diaper and try to paint the walls with it. My life has brought me down this path for a reason. I may be winging it the whole time and living with the motto “I’ve got this, if not there’s wine.”


Don’t forget to breath and stay classy assholes.


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