The case for Martyrdom

1.     Going 3 days without a shower and on the 4^th day no longer asking my husband to watch the child so I could get 20 minutes to take one but instead telling him very sternly that I WILL be taking a shower, don’t bug me, I’ll be done when I’m done.

2.     Asking for my husband to play with our child in the other room for 30 minutes from 4:30 – 5:00 while I make our little man dinner since the boy's circling my legs and running around in the kitchen while there are hot pots boiling on the stove, hot oven doors, and sharp knives perching on the edges of counters, can maim him permanently, and getting a dramatic sign and a begrudging "Yah, okay."

3.     Trying to take my morning “Big Job” after I’ve had my coffee only to be interrupted by the tantrum unfolding outside my bathroom door because my husband couldn’t keep him out of the area for the whole 5 minutes this would have taken. (This one really gets to me as it happens almost every morning and if you read an earlier blog, this is a simple pleasure in my life that I long for.)

4.     Cleaning up after the kid all day and washing all his dishes, sweeping and mopping the sticky floor only to turn around and see that my husband has made himself a snack which has somehow utilized almost every utensil and bowl/plate/cup/knife/cutting board… everything, You name it and it is all piled in the sink and spread across the counters and crumbled all over the floors while he is relaxing with his feet up in front of the television after his long day.  Ps- Honey, I am NOT the maid! …Urrgggghhh!

5.     Leaving the boys at home together during a pissing winter rainstorm and trying to cram into two hours Christmas shopping, dropping off the dry cleaning, stopping by two banks, hitting Target, two kids stores, and barely buying a coffee to keep running this marathon before the phone rings, “Where are you?”

Yoga and the Barking Vagina

Yesterday morning I conquered my barking vagina, well, at the very least I avoided rousing her in yoga class. I had not been to yoga for 3 months. When I did go then it was about 10 months after giving birth and I was thrilled to be back in class.  I’m naturally a skinny bitch that has no shame so I was ready to show off my slender post-pregnancy body and make the other women in the class secretly jealous.  Initially, my narcissistic ego boosting was working perfectly and I was feeling like the shit.  I could feel their wicked stares stabbing my tight ass and flat stomach with this stretch and that bend. I was totally in it, breathing deep, keeping up with the instructor, and to be honest I am surprised that my giant ego head did not topple me over during warrior 3. Everything was great until we moved to inversions. Some jumped at the chance to try a handstand, I decided since I hadn’t done this in almost a year, to kept it simple and do a Half Shoulder-stand.  Most of the class scurried to the walls and flipped up side down, practicing a variety of head and handstands while a few others and I proceeded to remain on our mats in the middle of the room. 

On my back, I braced my lower back with my hands and raised my pelvis in the air for a perfect 45degree angle and then proceeded to kick my legs up one by one to achieve my inversion. This is where things went horrible wrong. As my first leg left the ground and was rising up to its perpendicular point, my vagina began gasping for air like a drowning swimmer. It did not make a noise but I felt the cavity where my womb was, expanding like a balloon. So with one leg up and my vagina full of air I decided to throw the other leg skyward and hope for the best.  I achieved success, a perfect Half Shoulder-stand. But very quickly it became apparent my strength is not what it used to be and my muscles began to quake. I realized, “Shit, I’ve got to get down but my vagina’s got a big bubble in it.”  Well, I was trying to figure this problem out still poised in my inversion when my body began giving out on me so fuck it I decided. I did my very best kegel and squeezed everything together in hopes I could come down with a soft landing. My vagina, having a mind of her own, began to bark like a seal while I descended back to my mat. Because most of the class was against the wall, there was no mistaking where these yelp were coming from. The only thing I could do was sit up aghast and give a dirty glair to the poor woman closest to me. Luckily, she was lying flat with her eyes closed so she didn’t see me but I don’t think I fooled anyone. 

I still finished the class. I had to. Getting up and leaving with tears streaming down my face  from embarrassment like I wanted to would be an admission of guilt. Once class ended, I did however scurry out and race to my car swearing I would never return.  It may have taken 3 months but I did go back to yoga. Although in a different class now, I learned a valuable lesson, try to avoid inversions shortly after giving birth because even skinny bitches can have a barking vagina.

Dumbass!!!

My husband can be such a DUMBASS. I swear my son and I do just fine. We have a rhythm. We should. I spend ALL day with him. We eat ALL our meals together. We go to the bathroom together. We get dressed together. Brush our teeth together. We have our own little language and I can understand his needs. I’m his best friend, the sun of his universe and he is mine. But when my husband pipes up and tries to tell me how to parent after he's been gone all day, I want to smack him. Kick his ass. Fuck, just give him a wedgie and throw a soda in his face. Now, I’m not violent and I only lash out at my husband, like a proper bickering wife, with words when my son is not around, but it would feel so nice to have at him in an incredibly immature way. This may be due to the fact that my days are spent with a toddler who has discovered the art of protest and doing an amazing job perfecting his performances. Ultimately I know I am an adult and it would never happen but good thing I still have a very active imagination.  I keep tight-lipped, chuckle to myself and smile at the thought of it. Ahhhh... Husband covered in a milkshake. Mmmm... Soothing.

A love left behind.

Ass, I miss how we used to be. Before I had my son, I was more than regular. 3 times a day. When I woke up, during my lunch break, and when I would get home from work. It was awesome, me and my ass were so in sync. No bit of fat ever stuck to my bones from indulging in my cravings. I swear I flushed out every particle of food. My body felt fantastic, like I had just finished a yoga class or even better, it was like having 3 mini orgasms a day.  I'd feel invigorated, relaxed and I even felt more flexible, easily reaching my toes. I had some pep in my step, feeling light as air. What happened to our beautiful relationship ass? You used to bring me such joy. Now, I get no love. I'm weighed down and dragging you around. Something as simple as bending over gives me a cramp and buttoning my pants can be challenging because I'm so bloated. No amount of fiber or stool softener helps. I can get backed up for a day or more and the whole time I’m grumpy and feel like shit, well because I AM carrying around like 3 pounds of it. Ugh, it was bad enough my kid ripped up my ass when he can flying out of my vagina and left me with dozens of stitches and bleeding hemorrhoids but does this really have to continue? I’m mad at you, ass. Boo hoo you suffered some trauma but that was over a year ago. Quit having your temper tantrum and get over it, okay. Realize that we are stuck together for the long run. It is time to just let it go. Literally… 

This is just the beginning.

Whether I am merging left, right, forward, or backwards in life, I am definitely verging on something…Insanity, Happiness, or possibly just plain Foolery. I have left my twenties behind and entered into my thirties, left my single life and entered into marriage, and left my sanity behind and entered into motherhood. I began all these life altering phases at once and it has left me a bit bewildered, overwhelmed, and sometimes lonely but often loved.  I have no idea who I am anymore, as everything by which I identified myself is now the past, even my name.

Three weeks after my son was born, I had maybe a total of 20hrs sleep, a friend asked me how it felt being a mother and the only answer I had for her was that, “I am more myself now than I ever was before. I’m not trying to be anyone. I’m just living and trying to get through each day.”  Now that may seem a bit bleak but until my son’s birth I didn’t even realize that I wasn’t being me. I found out more about myself in those early months of motherhood than I had the first 30 years of my life. Some of my discoveries so far are that I am far more capable of achieving and overcoming than I had ever given myself credit for in the past. I have much more compassion for others, seeing as I’ve always considered myself a bit of a stone cold black heart. I am more fearless and truly determined to be an example of success for my child rather than an excuse for his future bad behavior, and if he follows in his parent’s footsteps well then I’m just flat out fucked.

While I’ve tamed my antics a bit with my new role as mother and wife, my outspokenness, crude observation, and dark humor seem to have found themselves a new home here on the page. I am just going to play out my life’s ongoing saga for you. Enjoy! 

Now, dance little monkey, Dance!