My Dirty Little Secret

After all the "whi-rash" posts I've published on my blog as well as the confessions that prove me to be the stellar parent I am, it will be no surprise to any of you that I have again nominated myself for Mother of the Year.

About a month ago I was packing our home into boxes as we prepared to move.  I sorted through Rubbermaids and totes for weeks trying to "de-junk" and get rid of the non essentials.  But in doing so I came upon a box that still haunts me.  Now remember, I only tell you these stories so that you will feel better about yourselves.  With that being said, please don't judge me too harshly.  My blogging is purely an act of unselfish service to mothers everywhere.

I found a tote in our basement that was full of journals, diaries, and baby books.  I smiled as I fingered through each book, remembering my sweet little babies and the experiences we've had as a family over the years.  But then I noticed that there were only 3 baby books in the box, not four.  How odd, considering that I have four children and have had for nearly 6 years.  Weird!  So I looked harder and dug deeper.  Still......no 4th baby book.  Slowly reality set in. 

Holy crap!  I never made a baby book for my CJ!!!!!!!  Are you freaking kidding me?!!!! 

Son of a.......!

Nope.  Not kidding.  I really didn't do it.  And how it didn't even cross my mind for the past 6 years is mind boggling.  But it's true.  My little soon to be 6-year-old son does not have and has never had a baby book.  So what is my plan you ask?  How can I possibly fix this horrible crime so that my child doesn't grow up to feel completely neglected and forgotten?  No prob.  I'm full of solutions.  I got right online and ordered one on Amazon last week.  It should be here by Friday.  And don't you worry.  I ordered an extra one for the upcoming baby too.  That way I can fill them out together despite the 6 year age gap. 

Problem solved!  Catastrophe averted!

(standing ovation)

Go ahead.  Pat yourselves on the back.  You are a good mom.  Even if you don't cook or clean or volunteer for the PTA, you are a shining star compared to yours truly. 

And sadly, I'm okay with that.

Touche

News Flash! 

Lil G has declared that she is fat! 

Yes!  It is true! 

She is 9 years old, tall, bone thin, and FAT!  How did I not see the signs?  Why have I allowed sugary cereals and fruit snacks to this overweight child?  And why has Ricki Lake not contacted me to appear on her show to expose and humiliate overweight children and their horrible mothers? 

I tried to explain to Lil G that, "You are not fat!  You are skinny.  Almost too skinny!  And like I've said before, saying that you're fat is not allowed in my house.  In fact, nobody in our family is fat so not one person in our family is allowed to say that they're fat.  Got it?!" 

Ranger was standing there listening to our discussion to which his brow furrowed in thought and he said, while pointing to me, "Well, mom, you're...uh...kind of...umm....well....ya know...." 

I turned to see his expression only to find his index finger pointing straight at my big belly. 

Point taken, buddy.

Discussion adjourned.

You win.

Chicken Pox?

There are several things that factor into my level of self esteem from day to day.  One is how tight my pants fit.  Another is bra size, or rather the emptiness of my A cup after I've folded and poured my boobs into it.  A few more might include visible cellulite, hair color, hair style, facial hair, muffin top, saddle bags, back fat, yellow teeth, bad breath, and acne.  Yes, I know, I've rehashed this over and over before, but let me stop there and take a minute to dive into my love affair with adult acne once again. 

Yesterday my little CJ jumped on my back for a piggy back ride and upon seeing my neck and back he said, "Mom, you have chicken pox!"  I cringed and replied, "No, honey.  Those are zits.  Not chicken pox."  He groaned and said, "Ewwww.  Really?"  Unfortunately there was no kidding with my previous reply.  Yes, the world of adult acne combined with a vicious cycle of pregnancy hormones has created the "chicken pox" effect on my back and neck.  It's all I can do to keep the romance alive with Handsome after 12 years.  What can I say?

Now if that isn't bad enough, let's ask ourselves, why in the world do you, (meaning me), have pimples on the front of your neck?  Why?  Oh heaven help us, why?  Is my neck that greasy?  I can understand the back of the neck, but who in the world has a greasy Adam's apple?  Well, apparently I do.  Every now and then I touch my neck to see if it really is greasy.  It's not.  Yet I've been getting these huge bizarre mosquito bite looking zits on the front of my neck.  It's totally shameful.  Whoever said that pregnancy is beautiful and that people "glow" when they're expecting was full of crap.  I'll take off my shirt and prove it. 

At this point you're either embarrassed for me or feeling sorry for me.  Maybe a little of both.  But it is what it is.  And the reality of it is that if a 5-year-old can confuse chicken pox with my dermatological problem then there's no running away from it so I might as well broadcast it to the world and make a select few of you feel better about yourselves by declaring, I HAVE NECK ZITS!  But that brings me back to my original thought about self esteem.  Why does it seem that everything ugly that can possibly go ugly goes ugly at the same time?  It's rare, but occasionally when my skin is clear and slightly sun kissed and I'm having a good hair day and have a cute outfit on I can walk out the door thinking to myself, "Not bad, E-Dawg!  Not bad at all!"  But here I am today, 30 lbs heavier than my pre-pregancy weight with 10 weeks to go til calving.  Getting heavier even while pregnant is hard even though you know it's going to happen.  I always go into it with the attitude of "Go big or go home!" because during my last 4 pregnancies I've gained 45-50 lbs each time.  Why not just roll with it at this point?  Well, I'm trying.  But it's still hard on the old psyche.  Going hand in hand with weight gain is the inflation of my back fat and ginormica boobs that meet somewhere between my armpits and shoulder blades.  Oh, who am I kidding?  The boobs are fine.  The back fat I could do without.  Moving on....I would like to point out my cankles.  And last but not least let's not forget the extreme neck acne.  Who in their right mind decided that all of those things magnified by scary crazy lady hormones equalled "glowing"?  That person was most certainly deaf, dumb, and blind.  Well, either that or the light reflecting off of my greasy neck makes it appear as though I"m glowing!  That's it!  Mystery solved! 

I still don't feel any better.