There are so many things people will tell my daughter about motherhood. But these are things I hope no one tells her.At 4 years old, she has her father’s adventurous spirit, courage, and sense of independence. She started diving under water at 2 and knows all of the Star Wars characters. She once ate an entire raw onion slice off of my hamburger and told us it was “yummy.” She will tackle any roller coaster without hesitation and refuses to let me kiss her boo-boos. But for all the parts of her that she inherited from Daddy, she is just like Mommy too. She has no less than 5 “babies” emerge from her tummy per day. They are often dragons or frogs or turtles or cats. She names them, feeds them, puts them to bed, and cares for them when they are sick. Like I was at 4, she is a little mommy.

And 20-something years from now, when she is ready to truly fulfill her role as a mother, other mothers will probably tell her many things. They may warn her of how painful labor will be. They may tell her that she will never sleep again and that she’ll bid farewell to her pre-baby body and free time. They may tell her that her marriage will change forever and that she will not enjoy sushi happy hour for years to come.

But sweet girl of mine, there are so many things that I hope nobody tells you about motherhood.

I hope nobody tells you that you will feel like a failure, because, you will. You might feel it more than you feel success. Continue Reading

Hey Big Boobed Berthas, life isn't so rosy for us AA-Alices over here either.

She actually makes the gaping hole look pretty good.

Okay, you big-breasted Berthas, you are right — looks like you do have it rough, with your fruitless quests for over-the-shoulder boulder holders and creepy stares from men (and women) at your below-the-neck region. But what about those of us on the other end of the spectrum? Yeah, us women over here who could pass for Bobby Brady on Halloween without really trying? It’s not too fun over here, either. I promise. The world expects women to have breasts. Clothes are shaped to curve around them. Men’s hands are shaped in a cup-like curvature by nature, in the hopes of grasping one at any time. Victoria has made no secret of her multi-billion dollar empire, based almost entirely covering (and not covering), supporting, and showing off the female bosom and all its glory. Therefore, those of us less-endowed females often find ourselves left out to dry with you, Double-D Debbie, as we AA-Alices, too, have our share of pain.

Did it start in 7th grade for you, too? Continue Reading

 

The butterfly stencil

Where my kids think we live, some days…

At 7:30 in the morning, a 4-year old little girl asks her Mommy to help her with a butterfly stencil. Mommy is getting breakfast ready for the 2-year old, trying to take maybe one sip of the coffee she perked 45 minutes ago, and unloading the dishwasher to make room for the sink full of dirty dishes that sat there all night (and most of yesterday).

“Okay, in a minute, sweetie.”

At 9:00 a.m., Mommy and the kids load into the car to run errands. The toddler is flailing his arms in frustration because she tried to buckle his belt for him. Her 6-year old son is describing his new IPad app in explicit step-by-step detail, asking every 7 seconds if Mommy is paying attention.

She asks again, “Mommy, when we get home, can we please do my butterfly stencil?”

“Yes, we will do it when we get home.”

12:00. Three sweaty kids climb out of the car. Mommy makes 92 trips to and from the car to unload the Costco groceries, dry-cleaning, snack cups, drink cups, a dirty diaper, and a half inflated balloon. The kids “help” by getting under Mommy’s feet and carrying one tiny item in one hand on each trip. The toddler takes off and runs toward the street. Finally, once everything is piled all over the kitchen counters and the boys are begging for lunch, Mommy spots the full cup of coffee she never drank this morning.

“Mommy, can we do my butterfly stencil now?”

“Just let me put everything away and make lunch. Then we will. I promise.”

Half-way through lunch, the 2-year old expresses his strong dislike for the eggs Mommy made and chucks his plate across the room. Mommy sees the exhaustion in his face and realizes that lunch is over and nap time is now. She carries a screaming 34-lb toddler upstairs against his will because he is “no tired! no nap!” and spends the next 20 minutes convincing him that yes, in fact, it is. Continue Reading