The Phantom Menace, indeed.
Sleep, that is. It is both phantom and a menace in this house.
And everyone's a critic. Why is it that as soon as you mention sleep issues everyone has a solution? Everyone's solution is to "Cry it Out". Well, that's lovely. But if Darth Spawn is not crying but flat out refusing to stay in bed or make any other gesture towards agreeing to at least leave you alone for an 8 (or more, please GOD, let it be more) hour stretch, what, pray tell, is the solution?
Answer: cry.
Second answer: wine.
Real answer: I don't know.
And, frankly, neither do any of the well meaning people who offer solutions. What you have is a flat out battle of wills. And I am old. Which means my will is old. And we all know old people fall asleep sometime between the early bird special and prime time. So by the time Bedtime for Bubba (look out for a children’s book. I will write it as soon as I clear 2 years of sleep deprivation from my brain. So sometime in roughly 2037...) rolls around, my will has hit the hay.
Darth Spawn, on the other hand is just getting his stubborn groove on.
Please, come, join me for a bedtime journey.
7:00 Bathtime. Usually goes off without a hitch. (Shampooing is never fun for either of us, but you know. It's fine. I SAID IT'S FINE.)
7:30 Time to go upstairs.
7:35 I said, "time to go upstairs"
7:36 "Ok, here we go. Momma's going to carry you up."
7:37 "Yes, momma carry you."
7:38 "Ok, do it yourself. Thank you."
7:39 Finally, upstairs. (After climbing each stair as slowly as humanly possible.)
7:40 "Do you want the pirate jammies or the striped jammies?"
7:41 "Do you want the pirate jammies or the striped jammies?"
7:42 "Do you want the pirate jammies or the striped jammies?"
7:43 "OK, striped jammies it is. Ok ok ok ok fine. Pirate jammies. Please come put them on."
7:44 "Bubba, please let momma help. Ok ok ok ok, do it yourself."
7:45 "Bubba, please let momma help. Ok ok ok ok, do it yourself."
7:46 "Bubba, please let momma help. Ok ok ok ok, do it yourself."
7:48 "Bubba, please let momma help. Ok ok ok ok, do it yourself."
7:49 "Yes, Bubba, momma would be happy to help you. Thank you for asking so nicely." (Unlike Elvis, Patience has not left the building yet.)
7:50 "Five minutes of trains, then it's time to chose a story." (commence countdown by minute...)
7:55 "Ok, chose a story, please."
7:56 "Bubba, please chose a story."
7:57 "Do you want Sneeches or George?"
7:58 "Ok, George it is. Oh, ok, we'll read Potty. Come here."
::Commence story reading::
8:15 "Shhh, Bubba, it's time for prayers."
8:16 "Shhh, Bubba, it's time for prayers."
8:17 "Shhh, Bubba, it's time for prayers."
8:18 "Ok, no prayers. Good night."
::place child in bed with lots of bedtime kisses:: (Hope, as it were, is still alive. He will sleep. He will sleep. He will sleep)
As recommended by at least 7 of the top 19874719 sleep experts, I stay in the room and silently place him back in bed every time he gets up.
He's on the floor. Back in bed.
Between the wall and his bed. Back in bed.
On the floor. Back in bed.
On the floor. Back in bed.
On the floor. Back in bed.
DID HE JUST ARMY CRAWL ACORSS THE FLOOR TO HIS TRAIN TABLE? OH NO HE D'INT. (yes, yes he did) Back in bed.
Between the wall and his bed. Back in bed.
Between the wall and his bed. Back in bed.
On the floor. Back in bed.
Seriously, child? The army crawl, again?! Do I look stupid!? (DON'T ANSWER THAT.) Back in bed.
Between the wall and his bed. Back in bed.
What are you doing? You're not seriously pushing your bed around the room? No. Seriously. You are. Really?! Back in bed. Push bed back to original position.
On the floor. Back in bed.
Pushing the bed around the room. Again. Back in bed.
...You get the point.
After an hour of this, patience has officially left the building. Time to call in troop reinforcements. The Force is strong with this one.
ObiWanDaddy steps up and takes over. After another hour, success is claimed! Victory is ours!
Or is it? He's sleeping on the floor.
Sleep experts need to offer real life solutions. Cry it out? Absolutely an option. If your kid cries. Then there are kids who, like mine, cry with such gusto they can't breathe. I suppose one could argue not breathing would stop the crying problem, but it seems a rather drastic approach. Toss in some asthma for good measure and you have a kid who can't be left to cry.
Ok, cross that off the list.
The above method was developed after reading up on some "no cry" solutions. ("No cry" by the way? A total and utter lie. Told by lying liars who lie. I cried. No cry. My ass.) Clearly we can cross that off the list.
What's next? I'm considering duct tape. But I hear CPS frowns on that.
That basically leaves prayer, hope that someday he'll sleep, and lots and lots of coffee.
Unless someone has Yoda on speed dial.
Friday, August 26, 2011
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
Not a great night.
I've started three different blog entries tonight. And abadoned each 1/2 way (or more) through. I seriously have little of interest to say. What I'd really like to do is give a big flying finger to the world right now.
Or rather, I'd like to give a big finger to my body and the Fertility gods.
I'm fat.
I'm infertile.
One does not help the other.
And vice versa.
And the remedy for both go hand in hand.
And so I'm just pissy. And mad. At myself. At the world. At everything.
Which sucks. Because I know it's all my own fault. That doesn't help my mood.
So there you go.
Night.
Or rather, I'd like to give a big finger to my body and the Fertility gods.
I'm fat.
I'm infertile.
One does not help the other.
And vice versa.
And the remedy for both go hand in hand.
And so I'm just pissy. And mad. At myself. At the world. At everything.
Which sucks. Because I know it's all my own fault. That doesn't help my mood.
So there you go.
Night.
Thursday, August 11, 2011
10, scratch that, 9 Things I Always Do
Let's be honest.
We all have the "list".
You know the list of stuff we swear we will never do as parents.
Know what happens to that list? It gets tossed out with the size newborn diapers. (Which, BTW, you never need as many of as you think.) If it even lasts that long. But we all compile the mental list.
Some even go so far as to put it in writing. BIG MISTAKE. Never put anything in writing. (Oh come on. The irony of that is amusing.) See?
Allow me to give you the same list through the eyes of an actual parent. And yes. I get that I only have one kid. And he's only two. But my lack of experience doesn't make me wrong (Please note: I'm not exactly known for my modesty.)
So here you go. In order:
1) Use a leash.
"Leash", in this case, refers to a safety harness. Like this.
Looks scary doesn't it? I'm personally terrified.
I have a lot to say on this particular topic. It's kind of my pet issue. (and by "issue", I mean, "One of many issues I'll expound on ad nauseam if given 1/2 a chance.") Yes, people call it lazy parenting. They say it's cruel. They accuse you of not being able to "control" your child. Whatever they say, I say to them. Why do you care? My kid loves his "Puppy Pack". He asks for it. It keeps him within arms reach at all times in crowded areas and there's no need for me to bring an obnoxious stroller. I'm allowing him to explore his world safely. With built in boundaries. Which is my job as a parent. So really. Simmer down. I don't think he's a dog. (Though he is pretty good at "sit/heal"...) But since you brought it up, let me just toss this out there. We put leashes on our dogs to keep them safe. I'm guessing you love your kid at least as much as your dog? Just a thought.
2) Give them a pacifier.
Ok. I have to be honest. My kid never liked the pacifier. (The Husband Guy disagrees. He says I never let him like it. Right. Cuz you can control that in an infant.) But I will say the pacifier is not about "plugging the mouth to get them to be quiet." It's about "making your poor screaming child who just wants to be comforted" happy. I know. It's the very personification of evil.
But you know what? Let's just put this particular conversation on hold when your little princess is 9 months old and will not sleep without it. Call me. I won't even laugh. Much.
3) Talk Baby Talk
I baby talk all the time. All the time. Why? It's a reflex. And it's actually :gasp: good for your baby! Homie say what?
Yup. You heard me. Baby talk is beneficial for your baby. Babies respond best to it. See? Even Parenting agrees with me. I used to think that baby talk would make your kid a moron. It for sure makes you sound like one. But, as we all know, I'm lazy. And once I had a baby, the moron talk just came naturally. (I'm pretty sure placenta is made up of brain cells...your kid gets 1/2. The other 1/2 goes... Um, where, exactly does it go? Let's not talk about that...) And, as the lazy mom I am, I was not inclined to fight it. My kid has a killer vocabulary. Score one for laziness!
4) Dress them in novelty onsies/tees
All I'm going to say is: You're the world's most boring human being. That's about it.
5)Tolerate Picky Eaters
Ah hahahahahahahaha
:breath:
hahahahahahahahaha
They're not "picky eaters". They're "toddlers". And you don't get to control this.
Bubba happily ate all things green. Then he turned 1. And suddenly he realized that all he had to do was...spit them out. Not eat them. Do a full body shudder and fall to the floor like he was shot from behind. (True Story. His Oscar is in the mail.)
And picky or not, Bubba had to eat. There's this pesky little thing called, "Failure to Thrive". It's not about him being picky. It's about him being alive. Judge me for feeding him chicken nuggets. I dare you.
6) Tip-Toe When They're Sleeping
Oh, this is cute. So darn cute.
Ok. In all fairness, I almost agree. In fact, I agree for the most part. Right up until you have a child who simply doesn't sleep. (You know. Like babies do. Or don't. You know what I mean.) As soon as that child is :finally: asleep the following words come out of your mouth: "If you wake that child, I will break you." It's like baby-talk. It's reflexive. Just cross this off your "list" now. It's easier.
7) Allow them to interrupt adult conversations
Ok. I'm in on this one. Once they're like, 4. Before that? When your kid wants a juice box, you have 2 choices. Give in. Or deal with a tantrum. Giving in allows you to continue talking to your dear college friend (who, by the way, isn't so dear when she plasters shit about you all over the internet, huh? Oopsie. Guess it's time to cut the Christmas card list by one...). The tantrum means the afternoon is over for everyone. So. Let's recap: Juice box=more chatting. No juice box=tantrum. Which seems like the better option?
Ok. Great. So now that Jr. has a juice box and we can talk like grownups, let me point out to you that you probably have no idea how the child is allowed to behave in a normal situation. And by probably, I mean, definitely. But, sometimes being a parent means picking your battles. Don't die on the Juice Box Cross. It's just not worth it. Save your martyrdom for the bigger battles. Like "no, Bubba, you cannot climb in the cage with the tigers. I promise they don't want you to pet them. Here. Have a juice box."
8)Buy the popular toy
She starts with "My parents never stood on line at Toys “R” Us at midnight to buy me a Cabbage Patch Kid." And all I have to say is, "Sorry your parents didn't love you."
Mine not only stood in line, they had neighbors standing line as well. And when a neighbor finally found two (one for me, one for my sister) of the illustrious dolls, she got in a fist fight with someone else over them. Man, I loved that doll.
I don't condone violence.
I don't condone always going with the popular choice.
But I think it's important to let your kids see that once in a while, it's good to feel special.
Sorry if your parents didn't love you enough. That's sad. :insert sad face here:
9) Stay Stroller Bound
Ok. I'm actually 100% on board for this one.
The only problem is that you don't necessarily know how old a kid is. You can guess, but chances are, there's a 50/50 you're wrong. So while I agree, I try not to judge. I have a 6'2" tall 13 year old girl hanging out with me right now. Trust me, people guess wrong about her all the time. And always have. I've learned not to be one of them.
10) Pull them out of school for a vacation
All I'm going to say is "never say never". Airfare is expensive. And if pulling them out of a non-significant grade saves us a bunch of cash? Well, I guess we can review Bubba's spelling words on the plane.
Here's the thing.
Agree with me.
Disagree with me.
I don't care.
But don't pretend to know what's it's going to be like before you have kids. And once you have kids, don't judge mothers who do the things you've deemed "bad" or "wrong". Chances are good, you don't know the whole story. You probably don't even know 1/2 the story.
In the end, we're all just trying to do what's best for our kids.
So, grab a juice box and calm down.
We all have the "list".
You know the list of stuff we swear we will never do as parents.
Know what happens to that list? It gets tossed out with the size newborn diapers. (Which, BTW, you never need as many of as you think.) If it even lasts that long. But we all compile the mental list.
Some even go so far as to put it in writing. BIG MISTAKE. Never put anything in writing. (Oh come on. The irony of that is amusing.) See?
Allow me to give you the same list through the eyes of an actual parent. And yes. I get that I only have one kid. And he's only two. But my lack of experience doesn't make me wrong (Please note: I'm not exactly known for my modesty.)
So here you go. In order:
1) Use a leash.
"Leash", in this case, refers to a safety harness. Like this.
Looks scary doesn't it? I'm personally terrified.
I have a lot to say on this particular topic. It's kind of my pet issue. (and by "issue", I mean, "One of many issues I'll expound on ad nauseam if given 1/2 a chance.") Yes, people call it lazy parenting. They say it's cruel. They accuse you of not being able to "control" your child. Whatever they say, I say to them. Why do you care? My kid loves his "Puppy Pack". He asks for it. It keeps him within arms reach at all times in crowded areas and there's no need for me to bring an obnoxious stroller. I'm allowing him to explore his world safely. With built in boundaries. Which is my job as a parent. So really. Simmer down. I don't think he's a dog. (Though he is pretty good at "sit/heal"...) But since you brought it up, let me just toss this out there. We put leashes on our dogs to keep them safe. I'm guessing you love your kid at least as much as your dog? Just a thought.
2) Give them a pacifier.
Ok. I have to be honest. My kid never liked the pacifier. (The Husband Guy disagrees. He says I never let him like it. Right. Cuz you can control that in an infant.) But I will say the pacifier is not about "plugging the mouth to get them to be quiet." It's about "making your poor screaming child who just wants to be comforted" happy. I know. It's the very personification of evil.
But you know what? Let's just put this particular conversation on hold when your little princess is 9 months old and will not sleep without it. Call me. I won't even laugh. Much.
3) Talk Baby Talk
I baby talk all the time. All the time. Why? It's a reflex. And it's actually :gasp: good for your baby! Homie say what?
Yup. You heard me. Baby talk is beneficial for your baby. Babies respond best to it. See? Even Parenting agrees with me. I used to think that baby talk would make your kid a moron. It for sure makes you sound like one. But, as we all know, I'm lazy. And once I had a baby, the moron talk just came naturally. (I'm pretty sure placenta is made up of brain cells...your kid gets 1/2. The other 1/2 goes... Um, where, exactly does it go? Let's not talk about that...) And, as the lazy mom I am, I was not inclined to fight it. My kid has a killer vocabulary. Score one for laziness!
4) Dress them in novelty onsies/tees
All I'm going to say is: You're the world's most boring human being. That's about it.
5)Tolerate Picky Eaters
Ah hahahahahahahaha
:breath:
hahahahahahahahaha
They're not "picky eaters". They're "toddlers". And you don't get to control this.
Bubba happily ate all things green. Then he turned 1. And suddenly he realized that all he had to do was...spit them out. Not eat them. Do a full body shudder and fall to the floor like he was shot from behind. (True Story. His Oscar is in the mail.)
And picky or not, Bubba had to eat. There's this pesky little thing called, "Failure to Thrive". It's not about him being picky. It's about him being alive. Judge me for feeding him chicken nuggets. I dare you.
6) Tip-Toe When They're Sleeping
Oh, this is cute. So darn cute.
Ok. In all fairness, I almost agree. In fact, I agree for the most part. Right up until you have a child who simply doesn't sleep. (You know. Like babies do. Or don't. You know what I mean.) As soon as that child is :finally: asleep the following words come out of your mouth: "If you wake that child, I will break you." It's like baby-talk. It's reflexive. Just cross this off your "list" now. It's easier.
7) Allow them to interrupt adult conversations
Ok. I'm in on this one. Once they're like, 4. Before that? When your kid wants a juice box, you have 2 choices. Give in. Or deal with a tantrum. Giving in allows you to continue talking to your dear college friend (who, by the way, isn't so dear when she plasters shit about you all over the internet, huh? Oopsie. Guess it's time to cut the Christmas card list by one...). The tantrum means the afternoon is over for everyone. So. Let's recap: Juice box=more chatting. No juice box=tantrum. Which seems like the better option?
Ok. Great. So now that Jr. has a juice box and we can talk like grownups, let me point out to you that you probably have no idea how the child is allowed to behave in a normal situation. And by probably, I mean, definitely. But, sometimes being a parent means picking your battles. Don't die on the Juice Box Cross. It's just not worth it. Save your martyrdom for the bigger battles. Like "no, Bubba, you cannot climb in the cage with the tigers. I promise they don't want you to pet them. Here. Have a juice box."
8)Buy the popular toy
She starts with "My parents never stood on line at Toys “R” Us at midnight to buy me a Cabbage Patch Kid." And all I have to say is, "Sorry your parents didn't love you."
Mine not only stood in line, they had neighbors standing line as well. And when a neighbor finally found two (one for me, one for my sister) of the illustrious dolls, she got in a fist fight with someone else over them. Man, I loved that doll.
I don't condone violence.
I don't condone always going with the popular choice.
But I think it's important to let your kids see that once in a while, it's good to feel special.
Sorry if your parents didn't love you enough. That's sad. :insert sad face here:
9) Stay Stroller Bound
Ok. I'm actually 100% on board for this one.
The only problem is that you don't necessarily know how old a kid is. You can guess, but chances are, there's a 50/50 you're wrong. So while I agree, I try not to judge. I have a 6'2" tall 13 year old girl hanging out with me right now. Trust me, people guess wrong about her all the time. And always have. I've learned not to be one of them.
10) Pull them out of school for a vacation
All I'm going to say is "never say never". Airfare is expensive. And if pulling them out of a non-significant grade saves us a bunch of cash? Well, I guess we can review Bubba's spelling words on the plane.
Here's the thing.
Agree with me.
Disagree with me.
I don't care.
But don't pretend to know what's it's going to be like before you have kids. And once you have kids, don't judge mothers who do the things you've deemed "bad" or "wrong". Chances are good, you don't know the whole story. You probably don't even know 1/2 the story.
In the end, we're all just trying to do what's best for our kids.
So, grab a juice box and calm down.
Monday, August 1, 2011
I love being a stay at home mom.
I truly love being a stay at home mom (SAHM for the internet uninformed. But if you're here, chances are you don't need my acronym help.) But I do. I truly, truly, truly love being a SAHM.
I love being with Bubba all day. (Mostly love. Sometimes try not to jump off a cliff. Always ignore the fact that whining is the most annoying sound in the world. Fact. ) We do all kinds of fun things. Some more fun for one of us (shopping) than the other (I'm sorry. I just can't love playing with trains. I try. It's just not there for me). But we have fun. We giggle. We laugh. We chase the dog.
Bubba knows all of his letters (I'd love to take credit. I'm pretty sure he learned while watching Leap Frog.) Can count to 20. (1, 2, 3, 4...14, 15, 16, thirty-teen, 18, 16, TWENTY! counts, right?) Knows his colors and shapes (that was all me!) and is starting to write.
I keep the house (mostly) clean. (Ok, it's cleaner than it was when I was "working".) We eat nice home cooked meals (except when I just :need: takeout). All in all, it's a pretty good deal for all of us. The Husband Guy prefers it. Bubba prefers it. The dog prefers it. The cats are indifferent.
And I, sure as hell, prefer it.
But let's discuss a dirty little secret.
I like it because I really, really, really hate working.
Whenever I talk to my mother about what I should be doing with my life (despite my current happiness, I feel like I should want more. We'll discuss this later), she says, "Well, what did you like to do when you were younger? What games did you play?" Um. House? Seriously. Every game I played as a child was house or a variation. Even mud pies. I baked killer mud pies. I built forts with kitchens and nurseries. I was born to be a SAHM.
People would ask, "What do you want to be when you grow up?" and I'd answer. "A writer. A lawyer. A teacher. A software engineer who writes educational programs. An ad exec." And even as I said those words, I knew I was only saying what people wanted to hear. I wanted to be a wife and mother. I want to be a wife and mother. I love my "job". It makes me happy.
And guilty. So guilty.
I feel like I should want more.
In some ways I'm glad I don't have a daughter. I don't have to be a powerful female role model.
You know what? Scratch that. I AM a powerful female role model.
The point of equality and the woman's movement was to provide us with a choice. I choose to be a wife and mother as my job. I don't have to do it. I am under no obligation. I had a career. A very successful one at that. But I didn't love it. I didn't even like it most of the time. Every moment, of every day, for as long as I can remember was dedicated to finding a mate with whom I could have children. And a house. And a dog. (Dog is rapidly becoming optional. Especially if the poopfest continues. A story for another day.) Does that sound sad? Probably to some. But if I had dedicated myself to being a doctor, lawyer, CEO, nobody would bat an eye. Why should this be different?
I just love my life. Especially the part about being able to stay up till 11, with my niece, watching bad TV and eating buttered popcorn. And blogging. And when I wake up, I can spend an hour rubbing sleep from my eyes, drinking coffee in my jammies, and playing with puzzles. Or watching Mickey Mouse Clubhouse. Why lie? There will be MMC while the coffee kicks in.
I'm sure someone out there is screaming that I'm a horrible person. A terrible mother. Giving SAHMs a bad name. Blah, blah, blah, blah, biddy, blah. Look, I'm just telling the truth. It's nice to be able to control my day. It's nice to be able to sit in my jammies till noon if I want. It's nice that most days, my biggest decision is which playground we should go to.
It's as nice as working mom's who say they can't do without their "adult interaction". Or feel they need to use their college degree (I went to college for my Mrs. I graduated with a BS and no Mrs...) Or like the opportunity to listen to Howard Stern on the radio without protecting little ears.
My point is there is nothing (there should be nothing) wrong with wanting to be, enjoying, and being proud of being a SAHM.
It doesn't make me less successful.
Since it's all I ever wanted and I worked my tail off to get here, I'm biggest success I know.
And I couldn't be happier about it.
Pass the bon bons.
I love being with Bubba all day. (Mostly love. Sometimes try not to jump off a cliff. Always ignore the fact that whining is the most annoying sound in the world. Fact. ) We do all kinds of fun things. Some more fun for one of us (shopping) than the other (I'm sorry. I just can't love playing with trains. I try. It's just not there for me). But we have fun. We giggle. We laugh. We chase the dog.
Bubba knows all of his letters (I'd love to take credit. I'm pretty sure he learned while watching Leap Frog.) Can count to 20. (1, 2, 3, 4...14, 15, 16, thirty-teen, 18, 16, TWENTY! counts, right?) Knows his colors and shapes (that was all me!) and is starting to write.
I keep the house (mostly) clean. (Ok, it's cleaner than it was when I was "working".) We eat nice home cooked meals (except when I just :need: takeout). All in all, it's a pretty good deal for all of us. The Husband Guy prefers it. Bubba prefers it. The dog prefers it. The cats are indifferent.
And I, sure as hell, prefer it.
But let's discuss a dirty little secret.
I like it because I really, really, really hate working.
Whenever I talk to my mother about what I should be doing with my life (despite my current happiness, I feel like I should want more. We'll discuss this later), she says, "Well, what did you like to do when you were younger? What games did you play?" Um. House? Seriously. Every game I played as a child was house or a variation. Even mud pies. I baked killer mud pies. I built forts with kitchens and nurseries. I was born to be a SAHM.
People would ask, "What do you want to be when you grow up?" and I'd answer. "A writer. A lawyer. A teacher. A software engineer who writes educational programs. An ad exec." And even as I said those words, I knew I was only saying what people wanted to hear. I wanted to be a wife and mother. I want to be a wife and mother. I love my "job". It makes me happy.
And guilty. So guilty.
I feel like I should want more.
In some ways I'm glad I don't have a daughter. I don't have to be a powerful female role model.
You know what? Scratch that. I AM a powerful female role model.
The point of equality and the woman's movement was to provide us with a choice. I choose to be a wife and mother as my job. I don't have to do it. I am under no obligation. I had a career. A very successful one at that. But I didn't love it. I didn't even like it most of the time. Every moment, of every day, for as long as I can remember was dedicated to finding a mate with whom I could have children. And a house. And a dog. (Dog is rapidly becoming optional. Especially if the poopfest continues. A story for another day.) Does that sound sad? Probably to some. But if I had dedicated myself to being a doctor, lawyer, CEO, nobody would bat an eye. Why should this be different?
I just love my life. Especially the part about being able to stay up till 11, with my niece, watching bad TV and eating buttered popcorn. And blogging. And when I wake up, I can spend an hour rubbing sleep from my eyes, drinking coffee in my jammies, and playing with puzzles. Or watching Mickey Mouse Clubhouse. Why lie? There will be MMC while the coffee kicks in.
I'm sure someone out there is screaming that I'm a horrible person. A terrible mother. Giving SAHMs a bad name. Blah, blah, blah, blah, biddy, blah. Look, I'm just telling the truth. It's nice to be able to control my day. It's nice to be able to sit in my jammies till noon if I want. It's nice that most days, my biggest decision is which playground we should go to.
It's as nice as working mom's who say they can't do without their "adult interaction". Or feel they need to use their college degree (I went to college for my Mrs. I graduated with a BS and no Mrs...) Or like the opportunity to listen to Howard Stern on the radio without protecting little ears.
My point is there is nothing (there should be nothing) wrong with wanting to be, enjoying, and being proud of being a SAHM.
It doesn't make me less successful.
Since it's all I ever wanted and I worked my tail off to get here, I'm biggest success I know.
And I couldn't be happier about it.
Pass the bon bons.
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