Friday, August 11, 2017

I Guess if THAT Happens I'll Just Name Him John

I'd totally forgotten about this, but once upon a time, back when she was probably younger than the Bo, P. decided to tell me what her future will be like.

She was going to be a mother.

Mama to three girls, in fact: Elsa, the eldest. Pearl, the middle child. And Lily, the littlest.

How sweet (and specific) is that?

Then she said, "I wonder what my husband will be like."

So you think you'll get married? was the next obvious question. Not everyone does, I explained.

Well, of course I'll get married, she said...

"Otherwise who would watch the babies while I was at work?"

"Makes sense," I said.

Then I asked her what would happen if she had a boy instead of the sweet three girls she was imagining. After all, I admitted, it happened to me. P. stared at me, confused by the question or maybe caught off guard by my admission.

I explained that I'd always assumed I'd have two girls, close in age, but you never do know exactly what you're going to get. One baby or none. Happy accidents or not at all what you planned for. Not everyone gets to be a mother in the traditional way or in the way they hoped for.

I asked again: "So if you have a boy?" 

She thought about it for a bit and answered, "I guess if THAT happens I'll just name him John."


Wednesday, August 9, 2017

Clonazepam Makes Me a Better Mom (Because Parenting + Anxiety Sucks)


Lately I've been feeling like I have to begin each day reminding myself not to blow my top at my children.

Mostly because sometimes it seems like they don't appreciate anything. Like, aaaaaaaanything. I know this is some parental-level cliched shit right here but would it be too much to ask to have them acknowledge that I clean up after them and that life's little treats are in fact treats and not life sustaining must-haves.

Like today on a hot summer day when I went out of my way to get lemonade and a box of the sort of popsicles P. actually likes because, hey, it's summertime and popsicles are nice, I didn't get so much as a thanks (until I got mad).

And then when H. heard there was lemonade he must have made some kind of assumption about it being a single-serving bottle because went off on a whine-fest about how I didn't buy him anything.

My bad mom response was to look him right in the eye and holler, "I got you LEMONADE!"

Not my finest moment, but hey, most of us have been there, right?

(Before you ask, yes, they have daily chores they do around the house and no they don't get a lot of toys or big ticket treats. I can only imagine how spoiled they be if that was the case given how spoiled they seem to be lately!)

Lately I have also been trying and failing to calm the frig down because I really don't want to reinforce my children's let's-yell-about-it habit by doing a lot of yelling myself. Truthfully, grownup yelling actually scares the shit out of me as an adult on some visceral level so I can only imagine how terrifying it is for my kids to see my grown-ass adult self raging. 

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