Because I only have five seconds and I’m covered in vomit. Actual vomit.
1) How do children instinctively know when their mother has plans?
I mean any level of plans. I make a plan to get housework done. They completely destroy every inch of our home. I make plans to take them out in public. They get every last bodily fluid on their clothes, faces and hair. I make plans to go to the bathroom. They storm the gates like the bathroom is their hill to conquer. I make plans to sit down and write. They all lose every single, solitary last fiber of their minds and all domestic hell breaks loose the very second my butt hits the chair.
They know. And their goal is destruction. Every time. Oh. And that last one? Yeah. It’s happening right now but I am 100% just looking the other way.
2) What’s up with delicious food being the devil’s handiwork?
I just had a baby and my body’s like, “Wtf, lady?!” So, I was looking up foods that boost estrogen. The site I was looking at listed some estrogen-y food and then basically said, “Hey. Everything you love is killing you slowly from the inside out. So, have fun with that.” So, I guess that giant pan of caramel apple cheesecake bars I just made was a bad choice. I feel like the internet (and probably, like, health and science and my body) just wants me to eat grass and tree bark forever. That totally sucks.
3) Every time a newborn screams in a car, an angel rips off it’s wings.
And then beats me with them. I was just telling friends the other day that, whenever Princess Lady cries in the car (and by “cries” I mean weeps and wails bitterly like I personally killed Bambi and Lassie AND Old Yeller right in front of her), I die on the inside. I want to rip off my skin and release my soul into a black hole forever. It’s the absolute worst. You can’t do anything to help in the moment and you’re sad for them but also, like, reeeeeaaaaalllll sad for yourself. And angels everywhere are ripping their wings off. #thanksbabies #thanksobama
4) I legitimately almost pooped my pants this week.
Like, out of nowhere. It wasn’t even an emergency. It was just a straight up regular poop but, like, one that couldn’t be contained because my children saw fit to ruin every square inch of my body. Once again, #thanksbabies. (Not thanking Obama on that one because, well, that would be weird.)
5) So, I’m selling Jamberry, now.
I mean, I’ve signed up to sell Jamberry. We’ll see about the whole “actually selling it” part. I really need to get my life together. The thought of having to speak to real humans IN PERSON alone is terrifying. Then, I have to ask them buy something from me?! Jesus. Hallelujah.
Well, I think I’ve looked the other way as long as I possibly can. We’re right at that threshold where playful wrestling turns into full on riot street beatings. I think that’s my cue to go. Say 75 prayers for me.