What I Wish For Today

When I was a little girl I use to wish for all sorts of things.  Magical powers.  Ice cream.  The ability to fly.  A little sister.  A big brother.  Long hair.  "Guess" jeans.  To be a boy. 

It's true that I thought that being a boy would be so much better than being a girl.  I wasn't much into frills and lace and girly things.  I preferred sports and video games and hated dresses.  As I got older I realized that along with not having to wear dresses, curl their hair, and shave their legs, boys had other things that I envied like the lack of a monthly cycle and the ability to pee wherever they wanted.  When my brothers would take a leak outside or talk about peeing on the campfire at Scout camp, I thought, "That has got to be the raddest thing ever!"  As I have grown into adulthood I have realized that men don't grow out of their infatuation with their man parts or the curiosity of making pee circles in the middle of the street.  It's still just as magical for them at 30 as it was when they were 7. 

I kind of grew out of wanting to be a boy.  There are still days that I resent the fact that I couldn't have been the first girl football player.  Nobody adored Steve Young or Jerry Rice quite like I did.  But for the most part, I'm over it.  And being a woman isn't so bad.  I'm glad I get to experience the pain of child birth.  It's incredible and it sucks.  But it's more incredible.  I'd hand over the monthly cycles and shaving my legs anyday, but the pros of womanhood far outweigh the cons. 

Yesterday, for just a moment, I reverted back to my childhood and found myself wishing to be a boy again. I was at the doctor's office for a regular pregnancy checkup. After the routine of vital signs and standing on the scale, I instinctively headed for the bathroom to pee in a cup. After all, by your fifth pregnancy you've got this down to an art. Or so I thought. I might know what is expected of me without having to be told, but after all this time I have yet to master the peeing in the cup portion of the OBGYN experience. Six months ago I could've easily completed this bizarre task. But the bigger my belly gets, the less pee actually makes it into the cup. I feel like I'm peeing into a bottle cap! My sight is totally obstructed. My bladder and woman parts are most certainly not within normal limits at this point. And my balance is less than stellar. The only shining star in that restroom is the water in the toilet and the fact that my hearing is intact. The sound of water splashing is a sure sign that the cup is not filling up. And warmth and wetness on your hand is a definite red flag with sirens blaring!

I have thought on more than one occasion that we women deserve better than this. If we are expected to regularly pee in a cup, at the very least we deserve a funnel. Right? Is that really asking too much? I asked the doctor if he had ever tried to pee in a cup. Of course he laughed and said it had never been a problem for him. I thought better of telling him to try it with his eyes closed and minus a penis. Then we'd talk!

I motion to reinvent the art of female urination.  It's time to funnelize!  It's bad enough that we put our feet in stirrups once a year and bare ourselves to the world dressed in a hideous floral print gown while laying on butcher paper.  We deserve respect and are entitled to our dignity.  If we can accomplish that respect and dignity by avoiding the occasional tinkle on our hand, is that really too much to ask? 

Another Day in the Life of ME!

I stopped at the Sinclair today to purchase an ice cold beverage and accidentally locked my keys in my car. 

No worries.  I'll call for help.

Nope.  My phone is also in my car.  (peeking through the windows)  Yep.  There it is sitting comfortably on the passenger seat.  Hmmmm....now what?

I'll go inside the gas station and ask to use the phone.  Wait a minute!  I don't know anyone's phone number!  They are all recorded in my phone!  Damn!  Stupid technology has made me soft and dependant!

Hmmmmm.....I know Handsome's number!  He'll come help me! 

I turned and walked into the gas station with $2.50 in change in my hand and asked the cashier if I could make a call.  I quickly explained my predicament.  She smiled and handed me the receiver.  I called Mr. Handsome, trying to predict what his reaction would be.  All I got was his voicemail.  I immediately called again.  Voicemail.  And again.  Voicemail.  The cashier looked at me as I redialed over and over and over.  I laughed and said, "I bet he's not picking up because he doesn't recognize the number."  She smiled and agreed. 

Finally I gave up. 

Slightly discouraged and without a plan, I figured if I was going to be stuck somewhere the least I could do was enjoy the ice cold beverage I had stopped for in the first place.  Mmmmmm....bubbly caffeinated deliciousness.  I helped myself to a 44 oz Dew and set it on the counter to pay for it.  The cashier looked at me and asked if I got ahold of someone.  I replied, no, but I'll just walk to my sister's house. 

And I was off.

Scene:  Morning.  About 9:30 AM.  Pregnant woman 33 weeks along walking down the street wearing a skirt and t-shirt and flip flops.  She walked with a slight right-sided limp due to a sore groin muscle and carried a 44 oz Mt. Dew in her left hand.

I walked just over a half mile.  People in their yards stared on.  I waved and sipped my Dew.  Cars drove by with questioning puzzled expressions.  I waved and walked on, sipping my Dew.  I kept thinking to myself, people sure are weird about me walking down the street.  I couldn't figure if it was my belly, my limp, or the ginormica drink that was causing all the attention.  At that point I was glad that I had decided not to buy donuts.  After all, I was quite hungry and had really wanted a snack.  But to add donuts to the picture would've really caused a stir.  Good thing I had thought twice about that!  Whoosh!  Embarrassing moment averted!

As I walked down the lane to my sister's house I heard a car coming up behind me.  I didn't bother turning to see who it was until it stopped right next to me.  It was Handsome.  I excitedly said, "You came!"  He smiled and shook his head with a "What the hell?!"  I laughed and asked, "How did you know?  Did you call the number on your phone?"  He said that he had and that the cashier at the Sinclair had answered and explained what had happened.  He asked her if I was still there to which she replied, "No.  She said she was walking to her sister's house."  At that point he pooped his pants a little, stopped what he was doing, and drove to my sister's house, only to find me at the end of her driveway.  He asked what my plan was.  I coolly explained that I had it all under control.  I was going to call a locksmith.  He might as well go back to work.  I was fine and would fix my own mess.  Then we both laughed and I kissed him and said, "I'm so sorry you're married to me!"  He laughed harder and drove away still shaking his head. 

My sister answered her front door to find me standing there with my Dew in hand.  She looked around wondering where my car was.  I told her the whole story.  She laughed hysterically.  Her husband joined in and asked, "Could you have gotten a bigger drink?"  We laughed some more until our stomachs hurt and we had tears in our eyes.  The only thing that would've made it more picture perfect would've been alcohol in my cup, a cigarette on my lip, and barefoot feet.  We laughed harder.

Then when I caught my breath from all the laughter, I asked for a snack. 

After all, I was famished.      

Ah-Ha! We All Suck!

After my last post about my parental neglect and failure to compile and produce a baby book for one of my children, I was pleasantly surprised to read the few comments posted that made me realize that I am not the only bad mom.  Many of you didn't do baby books for your children either.  And some of you never even considered it!  We all suck!  I feel so normal!  Thank you!  We can deprive our children of their earliest accomplishments and feats together.  And the best part about that is that if none of our children have Super Mom's who make them baby books, then they won't even know that it was an option!  Win-Win!  Genius!

The funny thing about that whole self driven guilt trip I created for myself about the stupid baby book is that I stopped and thought for a minute about why I even cared.  After all, it's just a book.  Is it life altering if CJ knows how old he was when he first slept through the night or when he learned to play Patty-Cake?  No!  So I came to the conclusion that I felt guilty because I had a Super Mom who made me a baby book so I just thought that it was what I was suppose to do.  In my mind it was the mom's job to keep track of and document their baby's life.  But why?  Why does this responsibility get stuck with the mother?  Well, who else cares about us and loves us enough to write down things like, when we took our first steps or what songs we sang as a 2-year-old or how old we were when we finally went pee-pee in the potty?  Nobody!  And who besides a mother would find it sentimentally necessary to keep a chunk of hair from our first haircut and tape it into our baby book so that someday, 30 years down the road, we could look back and see our baby hair?  As I write that down it sounds not only creepy but a bit unsanitary.  And yet I have chunks of hair floating around in boxes that I saved from my own kids.  Weird!  It's a morbid twisted kind of love I guess.

With Mother's Day coming up shortly I guess I just want to give a shout out to all moms.  Regardless of whether you keep baby books for your kids or save their nasty haircuts, or whether your a working mom or a stay-at-home mom, you're a mom!  And that in itself is amazing!  Every mom shines at something and every mom sucks at something.  So why are we so hard on ourselves?  Being a mom is hard.  I wish I could find a way to disconnect the motherly guilt that comes with parenthood.  Can't they just cut that loose when they cut the umbilical cord?

Either way, whether you're feeling like a good mom today or a mean old witch, have a very Happy Mother's Day this weekend.  I love being a mom and wouldn't trade it for the world.  It is the most torturous, hilarious, frustrating, exhausting, rewarding job I could ever imagine.  I raise my Dew to women and mothers everywhere.  Here's to you and the fact that you suck at your job as much as I do. 

Cheers!