Oh My Adulthood

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Wow.  Life.  It's gotten a little intense.

It has me asking all these questions like:

Am I a bad mom because I am only truly content when my kids are sleeping?

How can I lose 15 pounds while also drinking all the wine and eating only carbs?

When will I ever actually have a good nights sleep again?

How the FUCK do people have more than 2 kids?

You know, sweet stuff like that.

Adulthood is a tricky little bitch.  Adulthood is a series of lame victories like saving $400 on car insurance, only to then receive a $500 bill for medical expenses from your husbands vasectomy the very same day.  Adulthood is being totally ok with that damn unexpected bill because $500 is way less scary than having a 3rd child.  Plus I would spend way more than that on the wine I would have to drink to survive having another child.

And if adulthood is a tricky bitch, than parenthood is it's slutty little mistress.  So fun, so exciting, so new, but sooooo much baggage.

And by baggage I meant literal bags of human excrement.  All day every day.  The day I get to toss one of my diaper pails is going to be a good day.  It means I will be hauling 50% less human feces to the garbage every week!  Yay!  But I am far from that day.  The only progress I have had potty training Jack so far is when he wanted to go potty AFTER pooping in his diaper (unbeknownst to me) twice.  Which was messy.  And then saying, "I need treat" 4,fucking,000,000 times after that.

Parenthood also means thinking you are going to save money to buy a bigger house soon because your kids' shit is absoutely exploding from everywhere and your in laws have to sleep on the couch when they visit, but then realizing that spending your money on entertaining your kids and unloading them at preschool three days a week is WAY more life changing than more square footage, or even groceries for that matter.

The crazy thing about having two kids is that there is no such thing as down time anymore.  You can't pawn the one kid off on your spouse to be free because now there is always, always this OTHER kid that needs things.  And she can't walk or talk or eat sandwiches, despite how much she wants to, so you always have to hold her or make sure she doesn't swallow more than the safe amount of Play Doh and it's just absolutely exhausting.

So when your husband comes home, has a beer, then says he has a dry throat, then has a glass of wine, then says he needs to go to bed at 7pm without helping put the kids to bed, it isn't the best.  But then when he reappears when the kids go to bed to say that he thinks he has enough energy to eat half of a brownie, it's kind of the worst.  But it also means that you get the rest of the bottle of wine and to be alone for the rest of the night.  Which, if you are anything like me, is the closest you will get to paradise for the next decade.  So you sit back, drink that damn wine, watch that beautiful TV, and never forget that there is a half of a brownie somewhere in the kitchen.

And for today, that's enough.