The Big V and Surprise C. How a vasectomy and a c-section changed my family forever.

Friday morning….

I am crying.


In public.

The kind of cry that only increases as you try to stop it. The runny nose, gulping kind. The ’tissue pressed to the eyes to stop the flow’ kind. Dare I say it’s bordering on….

The ugly cry.

Thank goodness the crying is silent at the moment. Onlookers have not identified me as the emotionally unglued woman I am.

Yet. Continue reading

I NEED another baby……but instead I’m starting a blog.

“Morning is wonderful.  Its only drawback is that it comes at such an inconvenient time of day.” – Glen Cook

5:25 am on a Sunday.  Five. Twenty-five.

I know you early birds will disagree but this is a time of day that no one should be forced to see against their will. Especially on a weekend. Yet, here I am. Wide eyed and unable to return to my peaceful slumber after the dog awakened me.  I can’t be too angry with the dog, though. What he takes away in terms of sleep he generously gives back in piles of dog hair and occasional vomit on my floor  It’s a real win-win.

So, here I sit ready to begin the process of documenting my late thirties for the sake of my children. All because I can’t remember much of what occurred prior to the 5:25 am dog-twitching wake-up call.  And because I know they will treasure these sentiments in later years.  Cough, cough.

Mommy Brain.  It’s a legit condition.  Although I haven’t received any mailers lately asking me to donate to the cause.  Or to run in a fundraising marathon.  Sad, really.  Because I’d donate. Well, I would if I could remember……

With four kids under eight, I feel like I’ve become the unofficial spokesperson for scattered moms everywhere. Harried, hurried, frazzled, discombobulated.  And I’m just describing the Schwann man after I trap him at my door trying to decide which bag of chicken breasts to buy.  If that man exudes such mental erosion after five minutes of exposure to my crazy clan, can you imagine how addled my brain is after nearly 19 combined years with these neuron crushers?!

For the record, you really have to do combined year math (adding all the children’s ages together) to get the FULL effect when it comes to parenting. Really. Because my brain feels much closer to 19 years tortured than seven.

Before I go any further, let me be crystal clear.

I. Chose. This.

And I feel extremely, abundantly, overflowingly blessed to parent (I use that term loosely) these four creatures.  So much so that I readily admit I want another baby.  Or to use the exact terms of whining my husband is forced to hear regulary, “I NEEEEEEEED another baby.” Because we all know that what a full-time working, mother of four needs is ANOTHER BABY!!  Yet, I’d be lying if I said the urge wasn’t still there.  Like the tiny voice that tells you it’s okay to have a third dessert.

Or in my case a fifth.

Don’t judge.

But, take a breath, Mother…….it’s not going to happen.  As unhinged as I am, I’m not so impulsive that I act on every urge.  Were that the case, you’d be in the home already.

I kid, I kid.

Sort of.

Thus begins the process of writing down my scattered thoughts.  In an attempt to capture in black and white a little of my days. In the hopes that when/if the Mommy Brain fog lifts and I’m still able to read, I will one day recollect with fondness the insanity that was my 30’s.

My revealed chaos will likely leave you sitting in one of two camps.  The ‘Thank God I’m not living in that household’ or the ‘Is she peering through my windows and writing about me?’ camp.  Either way, I’d love it if you’d join me in my ‘God Save the Mommy Brains!’ endeavor.

You can remind me what I meant to do in the first place.

Wishing you sleep past 5:25am.