I realized the other day when I went to the grocery store in my yoga pants and tank top all stinky from cleaning a house and un-showered from the day before, that I might actually look kind of scary … or homeless. I've been a stay at home mom for over 2 years now and I think the boys are finally getting to me. Sometimes I leave the house wearing slippers and a sweater in 95 degree weather and I have dreams about an octopus-bear hybrids that work at Starbucks part time for the benefits. That octopus-bear has it made.
Sometimes I just drive around in my car so that the ankle biters will fall asleep. Then I slip the Veggie Tales CD out of the player and insert Tori Amos or the Avett Brothers or anything but the fucking Veggie Tales.
My friend Rob, whom I used to work with at a fiber optics company which we affectionately nicknamed halitosis because of our deep seeded resentment of the place, called the other night. He told me that he was going to have a baby. I congratulated him in an exaggerated apathetic voice and then began to laugh the evil scientist laugh. He let me know that they are going to hire a nanny. I then cried myself to sleep. I cried because I just went to the Dr.’s office to get my medication adjusted so that my family can live another day. I also stole all the coupons out of the magazines in the waiting room because that’s how I roll. The Dr. asked my some basic questions:
Dr: Are you getting enough sleep?
Me: Not in 3 years (as my two toddler boys grab his post it notes and start wall papering the room).
Dr: Have you had a change in appetite?
Me: Well, since I no longer prepare meals for myself and eat the leftovers from my toddlers buffet, yes.
Dr: Are you having frequent anxiety or panic attacks (at this moment my 3 year old is smashing the keys on the Dr.’s laptop)?
Me: As a matter of fact, yes! Right at this moment, douche bag.
Dr: Do you no longer enjoy activities you used to find enjoyable?
Me: I no longer do activities I enjoy, ass hat.
Dr: Do you ever have thought about hurting yourself or other?
Me: (out loud) Nope. (in my head) are you fucking kidding me? There is a fine line between reality and fantasy. For example: at this moment I want to punch you in the throat and bury you next to my husband in the backyard and make a crude memorial to you out of tongue depressors which would be a really good distraction for the two kids about to ruin your office and cost me 2k for your cute little laptop they are about the throw off the table, mother fucker. Now give me stronger meds!
So, I leave the doctor’s office with both kids screaming because they didn't have any fucking lollipops and one of the kids decided he didn't have any legs so I had to drag him across the parking lot while the other one declared his hatred of me. I was pretty much homicidal by the time I left but I have to give myself a little credit. After all, I did wear a bra and shoes and I scored some great coupons in the lobby.