Hello dear friends. I'm sorry I haven't written in a while. I guess I've been busy living life, ie working full time and being a mom. I really need to feel the inspiration (I know, lame) before I write a blog. And, I guess we could say tonight something got me thinking. I ended up in a back-and-forth exchange on facebook with another mama. She had posted about how hard it is to be a single mom when both you and your little one are sick. She semi-vented and then ended with "I envy those who have help on hand in times like this. Don't take it for granted if you do." A few individuals commented.. one of which who seemed to feel it necessary to one-up her as she was a single mom of 4 kids. Really, this mama is already down and out - feeling like crap (literally) and caring for her little girl who also feels like crap. Does she need to be reminded that it could be worse? No, I don't think so.
Now, this is not to start a mommy war. If you read my blog at all you know I'm not about mommy wars, but rather about complaining. Complaining is necessary. Especially when you're a mom. Now, I'm not saying to go around all day whining and saying woe is me. But, g-damnit, if you're a single mom and sick and so is your kid - then I say complain on! I say scream. Cry. Shout. Vent. Watch a movie. Stick your kid in front of the tv. Put them to bed early. Then, get a huge bowl of [insert favorite dessert here] and enjoy. Like seriously, if you can't complain to your friends on facebook, then who can you complain to? And if you can't complain when you're a mama, then what's the point of having kids?
Again, I obviously love my daughter. Yes, I love her more than life itself (I think I've already said this in a past post). I love her to the point of freakness. I define a freak as me: someone who saves their kid's dried up belly button, someone who cries at the thought of cutting their daughter's hair, someone who thinks processed food will poison my baby... but then someone who will give their said 16 month old a chocolate covered pretzel. So, basically. I'm a freak. I'm a freak who loves their kid so much they can cry on the spot. Someone who obsessively checks that their baby is breathing. Still. At 16 months old. Obsessively. And can't go to bed unless I've checked on her because I tell myself that the one night I trust she's okay and just go to bed.. that's the night something awful will happen. I know, I told you I'm a freak. I'm a freak because all moms are kind of freaks. We all have our little nuances. Our soft spots. The things that hit home. The things we'd never do and the things we always do. What would I never do? I honestly can't think of anything when it comes to Cora. Because really, if she needed me to I'd bite her toenails (oh wait, I do that anyway). If it'd help, I'd eat her boogers. I share my drink with her even with all the drool, I let her slobber on my face, I even examine her poop. Yes, I check her poop to make sure it's okay. I told you, I'm a freak. And you know what? I'm proud. Because to me being a freak isn't a bad thing. It's those who think they aren't crazy (but really are) that are the ones you have to watch out for.
So when Cora is 16 and looks at me in disgust and asks me what the heck is she supposed to do with her dried up baby belly button and her hair from her first haircut, I will tell her that I have no clue what she is supposed to do. I will proudly let her know that I'm a crazy freak and that she can do what she wants with them, but that I love her so much I can't imagine throwing any part of her away. Except her poop and toenails.. If I start saving those call the psych ward on me. And if you save those...? Well, then you're nuts. And being nuts is totally different than being a crazy freak.
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