The Stitch

In the grocery store this week:

Older Lady (acknowledging my pregnancy): “When are you due, dear?”

Me: “Sometime in July.”

Older Lady: “Oh you don’t want to tell me an exact date? I understand- you can never be too careful.”

Me: “Oh, no M’am, it’s not that- I’m just not exactly sure. It’ll be a c-section and will be scheduled, I’m just not sure of when in July, really.”

Older Lady: “A c-section- will this be your first one of those?”

Me: “No, it’ll be the seventh.”

Older Lady: “Oh so you never got the benefit of the ‘extra stitch?'”

Me: “I guess not…what’s that?”

Older lady: “Well, after I delivered my son, and this was 40-odd years ago, the doctor turned to my husband and asked “Do you want me to tighten ‘er up for ya?” My husband wasn’t sure what he was asking so he said “What do you mean, doc?” And the doctor says “I can put an extra stitch in here- she’ll be just like a virgin again.” So my husband says “Stitch away, doc!” And I’ll tell ya- I never once regretted getting my cooch tightened up. It really spiced things up for us. Yours should still be nice and tight, though.”

Me (slow blinking): “Yes M’am…uh….I’ve had no complaints, I guess.”

Older Lady: “I hope everything goes well for you, dear.”

Me: “Thank you! This conversation was the highlight of my day!”

Older Lady: “Me too, dear.(Smiles and winks) Brought back some good memories.”

Two things: I pray that old people never stop sharing their stories with me AND I’ll be reminding Garrett what a gift all of these c-sections have been to him. You’re welcome, Garrett.


It Was Not My Favorite Way to Start the Day

Being six months pregnant now, sometimes I pee a little bit when I sneeze. It’s just one of the attractive and uncontrollable side effects of growing a human being all up in your uterus. Piss happens.

There is the occasion, though, when out of the clear blue, while your hands are full carrying a robot lunchbox, a sippy cup (actively dripping chocolate almond milk down your knuckles), a threadbare kitten stuffed animal and a toddler on your hip, that a lizard might fall from a great height and land in your hair.

You’ll likely find yourself rapidly dropping everything that you were just holding- including your toddler who doesn’t want to be put down so she holds on tightly to the collar of your shirt, exposing your boob to the world all around you, but you can’t really do anything about that right now because that lizard is stuck in your hair and is struggling mightily to find a way out but as it kicks and wiggles, it winds itself into a cocoon-like structure made out of human hair-YOUR human hair!

And then, holy shit, you can FEEL its wee legs against your neck and your boob is still hanging out of the neck of your shirt and your toddler has no idea that there’s a lizard in a desperate fight for its life in a tangle of YOUR hair and so continues to wail and flail and you don’t want her get a concussion because you’ve got shit to do today oh, and you’d be sad if she got hurt, of course, so you hold onto her all sideways-like so she doesn’t crank her head on the driveway which leaves one hand free to try to get the asshole lizard out of YOUR hair and then suddenly he’s released from his hair prison and off he goes, into the jungle of your front yard and just like that, the entire, traumatic 15 second event is over and you stand up, situate your boob back into your shirt, trek back inside to change your undies, drop off your kids at preschool and then run your damn errands- shaken and running late, but no lizard attack will keep you from Target.

Anyway, something like that might make you pee a little bit too. Just a heads up.

Ass in the Air

As parents, we sometimes have to do some dirty work and incredibly unappealing acts.

Wiping asses and snotty noses. Combing lice nits or washing barf out of hair. Scooping a poorly timed turd out of the bathtub while trying to keep it all in one solid piece so that it doesn’t break up into several smaller turds forcing you into a desperate struggle of getting the baby turds to somehow squeeze through the drain while you retch and then have retch induced tears fall from your eyes and into the bath water that is now basically turd soup.

You know, nasty-ass parent stuff.

Let me tell you, my friends, I have very recently experienced something that tops all that. All of it.

Do you know how it is suggested that one check their child for pinworms? You can skip Google and I’ll tell you:

If your kid is complaining of anal itching (mostly at night) and barnacle butt has been omitted as the cause of this anal itching, you’re to grab a flashlight and check your child’s anus for signs of teeny, tiny white pinworms waving at you from your child’s asshole.

In order to do this, the kid needs to be on their back, their knees close to their ears with anus fully exposed. It is uncomfortable and undignified and I’m sure the kid feels pretty ambivalent about this situation as well. The pinworms are supposedly attracted to the light of the flashlight (or miner’s hat if you have one lying about) and will come out to greet you. Once you’ve visually established the presence of these little parasites in your precious child’s bunghole, there’s an inexpensive over the counter medication to treat the nastiness. You might want to buy it from a store that also sells a lot wine and or beer so that you can try to drink away the memory of what you just had to do as a parent. How did this become your life, you’ll wonder. You never imagined this scenario as you held your wee little baby in your arms for the first time- that you’d be asking them to try to fart but not actually fart because you need their anus to open up a bit but you don’t want the added insult of having intestinal gas all up in your face while you already have asshole all up in your face so that you can diagnose an active freaking worm infestation.

This has been my story of the most horrifying experience in the history of my role as a parent.

Can you top it? Please leave your upsetting story in the comments.

You’ll feel better… or at least I will.

It’s My Gift To You

I suppose it was when I witnessed our daughter crack open an egg by squeezing it into submission that I realized I’m wholly responsible for widening the line that separates my children from the likes of the caveman or the velociraptor or The Hulk.

This weekend, I’ll be lecturing on a wide array of subjects including “Playing with matches = bad”, “Wiping front to back- it’s all in the wrist”, “Green teeth will not get you married”, and, of course, “It’s really simple, dumbass or how to crack an egg.”

Send your kids over. There’s no charge. It’s my gift to humanity.

You’re welcome, civilized society, you’re welcome.

Insert Your Concern Directly Into Your Ass

Just a little friendly banter in the check-out line:

The woman in front of me was surveying my grocery cart filled with $350 worth of stuff.

Lady: “I hope you’ve got coupons for all that!”

Me: “No- I’m not smart enough to figure out the coupon game.”

Lady: “What’s all this for?”

Me: “My family.”

Lady: “My word! Will this last you several weeks?”

Me: “No- this will last most of the week but then I’ll have to come back to pick up a few things that we’re sure to run out of.”

Lady: “You have a bunch of kids?”

Me: “Yes, M’am- we have six kids.”

Lady (clutching her chest): “Good heavens! And you’re pregnant again?!”

Me: “I am!”

Lady: “Well haven’t you learned what causes that by now?”

Me: “I’m guessing it’s because we have a lot of sex and don’t use birth control. Am I right?”

Lady: “Well, yes, I suppose you know. I just hope you can afford them all.”

Seriously, guys, she said “I hope you can afford them all.”

What I WANTED to say is “You can take that douche you’re buying and your opinion and stick them both right up your ass you rude, presumptuous twit.”

But I’m a lady and said “We get along okay. Thank you, though.”

Sheesh. Balls much?

Magic Man

It was only a matter of time….

Leo: “So you’ve got, like, a real baby in your belly?”

Me: “I do, yes.”

Leo: “How long ’til we meet it?”

Me: “Well, it takes 9 months to grow so you’ve got about 6 more months to wait.”

Leo: “How did you get it in there?”

Me: “Mmmmmmm… oh God. What?”

Leo: “The baby- how’d you, like, get it in there?”

Me: “Uhhhhhh….magic?.”

Leo: “That’s so cool. How did you learn magic?”

Me: “It’s your Dad. He has a magic wand but only his wife can see it.”

Leo: “And you’re his wife?”

Me: “That’s right.”

Leo: “Gotcha.”

You’d think that I’d have a better explanation for a 6-year-old but since they seem not to question magic or ninjas, I went the magic route. He’d never believe that his Dad’s a ninja- ninjas don’t nap.

Like a Light Bulb

File this under “Sometimes Kids Can Teach Us Stuff”:

Leo: “You know what Christmas song I don’t like?”

Me: “Which one?”

Leo: “Rudolph. Somebody shoulda stood up for him. You can’t not play with someone ’cause they’re different and you shouldn’t call them names. Where were his ‘real’ friends? Why did Santa not notice that the other reindeers was being mean to him?”

Me: “Well…”

Leo: “Oh God, is this going to be one of your (doing air quotes) “teaching moments”?”

Me: “Nope- sounds like you have it all figured out. I think it’s awesome that you noticed Rudolph needed someone to stand up for him.”

Leo: “And that Santa kinda sucks at taking care of his reindeers…but don’t tell him I said that. I still want presents.”

Dear Santa-

There’s a 6-year-old in Georgia who thinks you need to step up your sensitivity training. This should be taken as constructive criticism and in the most loving way possible. Kid is just looking out for the marginalized among your herd and definitely still deserves that RC car.


A Proud Mom