I love Facebook.
I’m on that shit all the time. I mean, like, a lot. I should probably see someone about it, like, a Facebook therapist. I’m ridiculous and I know it. After all, it’s Facebook where I get to see shit like this:
C’mon. That’s awesome.
But truth is, it keeps me sane. It’s a place, as a mom, that I can scream to the world when I go into the bathroom and there isn’t anymore toilet paper and the cardboard roll is just sitting there taunting my shit rimmed ass, or when the trash is full, and they find various ways to put more IN without actually having to change it. It’s like a physics lesson for all. Who doesn’t love an overflowing trash bag? It’s like f**k perfume for raccoons. By the time it does get changed, there are 5 little raccoon shit babies in it.
And then there is that time I stepped on a Lego in the middle of the night. Or, you know, 5 f***ing thousand of them. My toes have seen more than they should, and I pray for their innocence. It’s gotten so bad I think I need to see a toe -rape therapist.
I need to vent over that stuff. Because, essentially, it’s the un-relenting shit tornado that is motherhood. I need to throw caution to the wind at 544 friends who can’t see my face right now, or the shit stains on my underwear because I couldn’t wipe. I need to not be judged aloud, but in the quietness of their own kid infested shit show of a house. Judge me quietly, please. That’s what Facebook is about.
Now, I love my kids. Crazy and madly. They drive me up a wall, but I do, and I unabashedly adore them. I post sentimental things too, share those “This time last year” photos and cry over the lost chubbiness of their cheeks and the innocence long since given to the XBOX One. I miss when they were small. You know, when I wasn’t sleeping, was eating left over mac and cheese, and dropping an hours worth of grocery shopping in a full cart because the cheerio I gave him had hair on it.
That was HARD, and truth be told, it’s still hard. No matter what age they get to, you are faced with a whole myriad of new issues. Lying, trust, social media and the struggles of middle school is my life now. And while I’m actually sleeping at night, and i’m no longer keeping diaper and formula companies in business, I am still, in fact, a tired ass mom who is simply trying to keep her head up.
So here is where I get to the gist of my post. Many times, as I am venting, there is always one or two ninnyhammers who insist on telling me how sad it’s going to be when they are gone. That I need to cherish my tears, lost baby moments and umbilical cord stumps for these precious times are coming to a close.
And here, I have sometime to tell you,
I’m not new at this, nor is this my first time at the rodeo. I miss it already. I miss them being one, two, sometimes even three. (No one misses that whole year) I miss the chubby cheeks, the baby smells, the cooing and sweet talking. I do. I always will. And I will miss wisecracking 7th graders who smell like sandwiches. I will miss high school, the crazy practice schedule, the grounding over curfew. I will miss it all. I know this is a blinking exercise. I know this is a flash in the pan and I get one chance.
Most parents know this.
It still doesn’t mean I’m not tired, and trying to just get through.
Truth is, parenting is like a Greek tragedy, minus the whole sex with relatives, thing (I hope so, anyway).
None of this is easy and it never will be. It will be hard when they leave. When they get married. When they have kids of their own and you become the one teaching them how to cradle a babies fragile head. And while I will miss this, all of this, I am still currently a tired, sleep deprived, toe-raped mom.
Let me vent.
After all, I’m sure one day, I’ll miss that, too.
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