Life As I Know It… tales from a crazy, blonde mom

This week, I wanted to take the opportunity to let my Doppler readers know a little bit more about me. It is my hope that one day I can contribute a regular column on my life as a crazy mom (or do I mean my crazy life as a mom?) I wasn’t sure where to begin, but when I write from the heart it just feels right…

I’m serious. Here’s the thing. No one is ever going to tell you the truth. The crazy, mind-altering, hard-to-come-by truth. Being a parent is some seriously crazy shit.

So here I am. Thirty-four years old with two beautiful kids, a sexy-as-hell man, a house – pretty much a solid foundation for total contentment – and I’m scratching my head wondering what the hell happened. I was just 22. Like, it seems the other day. I was so free and unbound and willing to do anything, anytime, anywhere. Now, I would kill just to be able to go to the bathroom without one of my kids coming in to tell me they need a snack. Sleeping in? Are you kidding me? I haven’t slept in over five years. And it looks like it. Sometimes I stride past my living room mirror, usually on my way out somewhere, and have to do a double take. Who is that? That’s a tired mom, my conscience replies. It’s the eyes. They’re totally exhausted. A bit too sunken in. And the dark circles under them say it all. They want to close and my brain wants to shut off. I want to hang up my mom apron for three months so I can sleep. There’s a few motels in town. I’ll take my pick. I’ll get into my room. It’s so clean and quiet. I’m really excited. I could probably go to the bathroom without someone coming in to ask me for a snack. This is sometimes a dream of mine. I just want to go somewhere alone and cop out. Even if it’s for a few minutes…

(Left) Emrys is a handful but has a big heart and loves to cuddle. Archer is obsessed with dinosaurs and can’t sleep without my pink sweater.

I distinctly remember the horror of giving birth to my first son. I was the tender age of 29. You can read and hear every birthing story there is, but nothing can prepare you for when you actually have to push a seven pound watermelon out of something the size of a lemon. I screamed, wailed like a dying animal and even vomited while pushing. I still quiver thinking about it. It’s bringing back some pretty traumatic memories just writing this. And after the hysteria subsided (which was, I must note, replaced by a euphoric high; after all I had just given birth, and god knows how but apparently your brain releases some much-needed uplifting chemicals afterward), I had one question to ask my mom. Why didn’t she tell me it was going to be like that? She hadn’t really said much about labour at all when I thought about it. She failed to mention that it was going to be like getting hit by the biggest Mack truck in the world and having to endure it while it runs over your body over and over and over again. Needless to say, I was a bit mad at her. Sure, the truth hurts but a heads-up would have been nice.

When my partner and I decided to have a second child it might have been foolish to think that we were doing it just so our first-born would have a sibling. You know, like a buddy for life. To this day we are still wondering if maybe it was the right choice. Life is certainly full and our wallets are empty. If one kid is an adjustment then two will turn your life completely upside down. Four or five and you’re certifiably insane. Plus, it’s seriously expensive. Have you ever thought about the fact that it costs you every time your baby has a bowel movement? Someone once told me if you can get a box of diapers on sale that works out to them being 10 cents each then that’s a good deal. So say your newborn has five or six runny explosions a day, which is not uncommon, that works out to approximately $24 a week. And that’s just the beginning. Never mind having to feed them when they’re fussy toddlers where you end up throwing everything out or growing tweens when you might as well either a) take out a second job to feed them or b) simply invest in a farm.

They can scream and hit and fight over who gets the blue spoon but deep down these two love each other. Boys will be boys…

The thing about being a parent is that once you become one, there’s no turning back. It’s all on you and serving and cleaning up breakfast for four on a Sunday morning while nursing a bad hangover suddenly loses its appeal. Things get too messy and the laundry piles up. Somehow, I became too old for that shit. I’m a mom now. Two little lives (and a bigger one that’s 6’2 and 180 pounds) depend on me. My life will never be like it was when I was 22.

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