Monday, September 24, 2012

Voodoo, Zombies, and Getting Groovy

When I was pregnant with my first kid I was so super excited and everything was going to be wonderful and there was sunshine and rainbows and mother fucking unicorns with glitter and all kinds of happy shit.

Then, I went into labor. 

So, Lamaze is a bunch of voodoo bullshit.  For real.  8 weeks of Lamaze classes and breathing and holding onto little bags of ice to experience the pain of labor and “don’t take the drugs, it will harm the baby”.  Really?  Freaks.  Let me tell you something you natural-ass stinky mother fuckers;  if I were alive during the middle ages and had to go thru 24 hours of what I went thru with my first born, I would have died and so would my child and fuck you all and your delusional hippie ways.  Fuck you.  As I went into my sixth hour of contractions I grabbed the attending nurses’ hand and with tears streaming down my face I looked into her eyes and said, “I don’t wanna be a hero, give me the fucking drugs”.  The drugs don’t even work that well either, but at least it’s something. 

Then the baby is born.  Babies are really creepy and look like zombies when they are born. My baby was sucked out of my vagina by a vacuum so looked like a zombie gumby.  His head was, and still is in the shape of the exact pattern bowling pins should be placed.  We thought it would morph back to a “normal” shape.  Nope!  Don’t get me wrong, he is beautiful and I love him to pieces, but his skull is really messed up.

I didn't even know what planet I was on in this picture.  
Look at the shape of that kids head!  Whoa.

I went through all the cliché new parent crap about everything must be sterile and blarg bloop blarg.  So, our cats killed a mouse and left it on the porch.  Dead animal removal is not on my household chore list so I told Mike to take care of it.  He didn’t.  I asked him over and over and over again to remove the mouse from the porch.  Eventually it was on the porch so long that the mouse was now flat and petrified and still on the mother fucking porch.  It must have gotten stuck to the bottom of someone’s shoe and tracked into the house because the flat dead mouse ended up in my infant’s mouth.  WHAT THE FUCK!  Seriously, my baby boy was sucking on a mouse carcass.  I have never wanted to kill someone as badly as that moment when I pulled the decaying rodent from my baby’s mouth.

Now I have to deal with 2 toddlers who like to mimic everything.  It’s not just the swearing and I do a lot of that.  You know when you’re in Target and your kid starts chanting, “FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK”?  I do.  I keep telling Mike to stop trying to be all sexy in the house.  You know, like when I’m bent over loading dishes into the dishwasher and Mike thinks it’s time to do some club dancing in the kitchen and he comes up behind me because for some reason he thinks that I’m going to be turned on while I’m doing household chores because he is a fucking dumb ass and all he’s really doing is coming closer to getting his eye gouged out with the ice cream scoop because it’s the only weapon I have available to fight off his advances.  The toddlers think it’s funny and so they do the same thing to me.  Do you get that?  Yeah?  Because Mike doesn’t seem to get it when I tell him that the kids mimic every single fucking thing we do and that includes getting groovy with mom. 

Now that I’m thinking about it, here is a list of *activities that are not sexy nor are they in anyway intended to be flirtatious or a sexual advance:

Doing the dishes
Loading the washer and/or dryer
Folding laundry
Shaving legs, armpits, etc
Changing dirty diapers
Cleaning ceiling fan blades
Mopping the floor
Putting groceries away
Mowing the lawn
Decorating the Christmas tree
Scrubbing the toilet
*The above list IS IN FACT sexy if a MAN is doing it.  I repeat… A MAN 


  1. OMG I can't breathe.

    When Molly was 2 and Anna was a baby and I was pregnant, I was taking my visiting mother-in-law in the car with all the kids and we were going somewhere. Who cares?

    As I came out of our neighborhood I had to pull around a large UPS delivery truck. And my precious, adorable, angelic 2 year old says loud and clear

    "Look, mommy, it's a fucking truck!"

    Yeah. Loud and clear.