Poop at ikea

(Spoiler Alert)

Obviously, this post is about poop.

Motherhood is mainly about shit.  Did they poop?  How big?  Did it get on you?!

So we go to ikea… The monstrous place that I always get lost in…

She poops.

I know, shocking… As the blog is called “poop at ikea”

So I walk 15 miles to the exit…  go to the car…  sweat through my blow dried hair and makeup… and go back in to find husband.

Yes, makeup… I literally do it twice a week (Saturday and Sunday). This way I look decent for the majority of the day around the man of the house.

I find my way back through the haunted warehouse of household goods… Back to husband…

No progress has been made on choosing an appropriate wall unit for our home.

Tiny human begins tantrum.

Honestly, what does she want?  We are in a magical place where she can touch just about everything.  I don’t see the issue, but she has one.

Husband removes her from me and takes her on a walk, so I can design the wall unit.

After aging 10years at the design computer, we print out the paper needed to buy each individual piece and we are on our way.

Again, I make our way through the maze of never-ending household goods… to the warehouse..

Wouldn’t you know it?  She shits again! UHHHHH again?!? Why?  Why? WHY???

I make my way out to the car, so I can again wipe shit off a tiny ass.  Husband gathers parts that will later be an 8hr project.  (No joke, it was literally 8hrs).

Once more, I make my way back through the warehouse.  I find husband, and he proceeds to tell me that he can’t find the legs for the unit.  There are none in the section.

I find Ikea man… it is now well into the afternoon and Ikea is hopping like South Beach during a music festival.  He looks up the part and they will not have it again for 2 weeks… “But, Miami Ikea has a ton”.

FUCK

How do you build a wall unit without feet?  Fuck FUCK FuCK FUCK.

I find husband and break the bad news… he has 1/2 a ton sitting on the flat bed cart ready to purchase.

Looks like we are going to Miami. FML.

 

Why being a stay-at-home mom blows

I know what all of you “non” stay-at-home moms are thinking.

This lucky bitch is home with her kid, and she has the nerve to complain about it.

Let me be real, it is rediculously hard to work full-time with children and I will never take that away from anyone… BUT now that I am full-time in the house…

SO…

Here is my top 10 reasons why being a stay-at-home mom blows

  1. No one thinks you work
  2. You never get any praise for doing anything… anything
  3. You sometimes go almost a whole day without food or water
  4. When was the last time you did anything for yourself?
  5. Husband begins to expect more things, because you must have time
  6. You never ever ever get time away from “work”
  7. You have wiped up more shit then you ever hoped to do in a lifetime
  8. People frown on drinking during the day
  9. You have to hear “well, I worked all day” from husband
  10. Nap time is never long enough

 

Going out to eat…

(as a mom)

Let’s be honest…

It blows!  Unless, you’ve left all your children at home with someone else to watch… Going out to eat is such a waste.

Why people WANT to go out to eat?

1. They want to be served

I can’t get served when I have a tiny human clawing at me like the jaws of life.

Going out to dinner is fun for everyone else.  They get to coo and play with the baby. Then food comes… and now she now belongs to me.

I just want to eat my food using both fucking hands.  One hand to hold the fork and one hand for the knife.

Is this a lot to expect?

Will I forever be cocking my head to the side to shove a random bite into my gaping wide mouth?  I look like an idiot that doesn’t know how to eat properly.  I always pray no one watches me “attempt” to eat and hold the baby.

I suppose eventually the little heathens feed themselves and sit alone.  I will have to learn how to eat like a grownup whilst teaching her.

For now, I suffer in silence and pretend it is an enjoyable experience.

WAITER??!?

We need alcohol at the table.

Party like a parent

You guessed it.  Obviously, this is obviously a post about sleep.

Sleep.

Sleep.

Sleep.

Sleep.

Don’t get too excited.  Sleep is not the party.

Ok, I admit…  I can be a bit much.  In the past couple of weeks I have partied like a rockstar… Like a rockstar that came close to demise (both times).  I have done some things that I’m not proud enough to disclose just yet… Stay tuned for future rants.

Anyways, it happened Friday.  I went out with my sisters… Yes, plural.  You think I’m nuts?  You should meet them.  Together we are like a mixed fruit cup.  The juice in this case is alcohol.

So, we know I was obviously hungover Saturday.  I had to fulfill morning obligations, and then I came home to care for my nugget while daddy got to go out to a football game.

I know you’re thinking “get to the fuckin’ point”

Where is the sleep I so desperately need?

I will get there… Eventually

I was dead by 10pm Saturday night.  In bed with Law & Order playing (just so I would have a soft glow across my worn out face), and let’s face it.. I love that show!

Husband came home, and tried with all his might to wake me from my slumber… He couldn’t believe I was so tired.  Normally, I’m tired.  This night…

Hangover + obligations + baby = coma sleep

Fastforward.

I’m getting to the point, I promise.

Saturday night, he got “turnt” as the kids call it, and  I fed him the remedy to cure hangovers.  This morning he washed cars, and played with the baby….

Tonight… 8:15pmsnoring from the big couch.

I tell husband to get up and go to bed, and ask if he now understands why I was so tired the night after I partied like a parent?

he says “I guess, but I washed the cars and played on the playground with the baby”

😆😂

I just can’t.

Admit that we are the same.  Old people that can’t hang… Old people that need days for alcohol recovery.  WHY?

Because we are parents.  We so rarely get the occasion to cut loose, and pretend there isn’t a needy human at home.  “Partying like a parent” is the new “partying like it’s 1999”

RIP Prince

Tonight, I’m know I’m fucked.  I can hear him snoring from the bedroom… down the hall… Over the baby’s sound machine.

Like I said before..

Sleep I never liked you anyway (tear)