Wednesday, April 29, 2009

Tomorrow is Thursday. THE Thursday.

Tomorrow we are finally taking Taylor to the urologist to find out what can be done for her urinary reflux. I'm nervous. This whole week has been tough. I had a monsterous meltdown on Sunday. I had reached the breaking point that I hope all moms do at some point and not just me and I just let it all out. Unfortunately, it all went flying right at my poor, unsuspecting husband. It turned into a huge tit-for-tat argument over who has it worse and who gets more time for themselves and whether or not everything is 'equal' or 'fair'. HA! In the end, I came to the conclusion that it was probably that dumbassed balloon we all carry around with us and it popped. I was told by a friend of a friend who is a pysch major that the analogy for this phenomenom is we all carry around a balloon and when something happens that stresses us out or bothers us in some way, we take and blow a little into the balloon. Eventually the balloon gets fuller and fuller and fuller until it eventually pops. And most of the time it pops right in the face of someone you love. My poor husband. I still for the life of me don't understand why he sticks around. In my meltdown I ACTUALLY said "I can completely understand why people wait until their kids hit 18 and move out to get divorced!". Yeah. Ouch. In my defense, I was feeling like I gave up a lot of my freedoms when we had kids and that my husband doesn't notice let alone care. I later apologized. Anyway, this meltdown brought me to one conclusion: I need to realize that it's nobody else's fault that I can't organize my own life and manage my time a little better. So, my week started out with all this motivation and strive to 'get it together' and now, I'm stressing about Thursday. Tomorrow. The funny thing, I don't think anyone cares. Not even my husband. I think I'm the only one who is finding this all very significant and stressful. Oh well, that's my perogotive as a mother I suppose. I'm out.

Saturday, April 4, 2009

This isn't a freaking race

Why are parents so damned competitive? I don't give a flying crap when your kids starts walking or how many words they can say. No wait, I care, but don't compare them to my child when that was the original subject to begin with. I took my youngest daughter to the ER the other night and another baby that was two days younger was there and they asked it Taylor was walking yet. I said she was with help and they responded "oh wow, Gabe has been walking for a while now. He does really well at it." Whatever. I know my kids are amazing and I don't need to tell a stranger to make myself feel better. I was doing a pedicure on a woman raising her granddaughter and she was sitting there telling me her 5 month old was saying 'mama' 'dada' 'up' 'no' and numerous others as well as crawling and pulling herself up and walking along furniture. Up until this point I was going along with it and doing the stupid congrats shit to feed her ridiculous ego. UNTIL she tells me that she also took a ball point pen apart AND put it back together. I wanted to slap her. So, I just looked up and calmly asked "you sure she doesn't have autism?". It may have been rude, but I was irritated. I couldn't stand the "well MY daughter can...blah blah blah." I don't give a flying rats ass. Trust me, if rats asses could fly, I wouldn't give them. None.