Tag Archives: funny moms

You’ll Understand When You Have Kids One Day

27 Jan

“You’ll understand when you have kids one day”: A phrase that as a female with no kids (well, until May), has made me cringe deeply for most of my 20’s. At least since women I know started getting pregnant on purpose. I think that the only time it is acceptable to say this to another female is when you are saying it to your own child in response to, “but why, Mom?!”. A follow up to telling your kid “NO”, basically. Otherwise, what else are you trying to say? Any other time that I have heard a woman say this to someone, even in a light situation, it is just condescending bullshit meant to imply that what she is doing as a mother is more important than what a childless woman is doing. Or that the childless woman couldn’t possibly understand, because she doesn’t have children. Don’t get me wrong, there are some things I feel I shouldn’t speak on because my child is still cozy in the uterus where there is no peer pressure or meth, but that doesn’t mean I’m a complete moron either. Sounds harsh, and by no means am I negating the significance of being a mother, we don’t need to debate whether being a parent is a tough job, but think about it any time you have heard someone say it and give me any example of when it wasn’t even just mildly passive aggressive in a good-natured way.

I won’t get into the fact that some women have fertility issues, as I want to keep this light. But I do want to express my reasoning for being annoyed with this ridiculous statement we sometimes hear. For one thing, although I am kidless, I have been around kids enough to know that they are tiring. Have you ever played Barbies and gotten ANY say in the story line?! It’s exhausting to play make-believe with zero input while sober. I’d play with my niece when she was much smaller and I was always the Wicked Witch Barbie who was trying to steal Malibu Barbie’s husband by forcing her to dress like a slob (that wasn’t exactly what my niece verbalized to me, but that was the take-away as for why I was always the single one with mismatched heels). Or my personal favorite story line, “Make The Witch knock on the door to Barbie’s camper, then run away to your cave!”. For each time we repeated the scene, I took a year off the age I would get my tubes tied, until I was in the negative. Raising kids ain’t easy, no doubt about it. And I’m only talking about the Barbie age! Nevermind the high school, in some cases middle school, years when drugs and handies are introduced!

So yeah, I get it. I just spent a paragraph trying to convey how difficult it is for me to even play Barbies with a kid for 45 minutes, let alone every fucking day until they grow out of the Barbie stage. But just because one bitch is playing the most boring game of Barbies with Fruit Loops in her hair and a mountain of laundry to tackle, doesn’t mean we don’t have another bitch getting reamed with impossible deadlines at a stressful job day-in and day-out, who gets stuck on the T for an hour on the way home to make the day that much more aggrivating. I mean, we even have some crazy bitches who do both, the mom’ing and working (that will be my sorry ass in August – great!). But having been the tired working female who has worked hard to create a life she wanted for herself BEFORE having children, SHUT. UP. Part of adulting is being tired, with kids or not. Unless you’re rich. And even then the least of your problems is dodging a prescription drug situash, which is a pretty bad problem!

One thing I love is complaining. And I hate when people try to take my complaint card away. That is EXACTLY what is going on when women say that I will understand when I have kids some day. That statement is a direct attack on my right to complain. Just because you’re tired from being a mom, doesn’t mean I’m not tired. And while we are on the subject, just because you’re older than me doesn’t mean I’m not tired. You just tire more easily (kidding, I tire pretty easily for being under 30), but I digress. For real, just because you love something that you made in your own belly a whole lot (I admit now, it’s impressive), doesn’t mean that us kidless Wicked Witches are out there living unfulfilling, unimportant lives. Think before you say it, and if saying it is your way of venting away your misery, then add it to the Barbie storyline. Just don’t expect a Malibu Barbie role.

Me. Image courtesy of

Me. Image courtesy of


Mom of Four: Enjoys warm hugs (nope) and personal space (what’s that?)

20 Jan

It’s 2351, the kids are all finally asleep and I should be getting 5 (myself included) sets of clothes, shoes, lunches etc ready for tomorrow or going to bed.  Instead, I’m neglecting my responsibilities to introduce myself to you, because who doesn’t enjoy procrastination? Hey everyone, my name is Deanna and I like warm hugs (Frozen reference). I actually dislike hugs and would rather fist bump because I like my personal space.

I have 4 little bundles of joy (8,6,3, and 1) that keep me quite busy. I was pregnant with my first at 20! I delivered my 2nd child in April, graduated nursing school in May and moved to Virginia in July (my husband was active duty in the Air Force).  My 20’s consisted of a pattern that alternated between breastfeeding and pregnancy. Actually, I’m  just finishing this cycle of breastfeeding!

Besides keeping my spawn alive, I am also a labor and delivery nurse. I practice what I preach and I love every minute of it!  In fact, I am so excited to converse with other adults that when I go to work, I basically don’t shut up.We moved back to Massachusetts a few years ago, just in time for that record breaking winter. Thanks for the welcome back New England! Lots of roof shoveling, snowblowing and ice dams!  As first time homeowners, I never even knew ice dams existed until we had one large enough to kill a grizzly bear (or the UPS guy) above our front door. Clearly we weren’t shoveling the roof enough.

As I approach 30 (gasp) part of me is sad (freaking out), and the other part is thinking I’m going to get my 30’s right!  I have goals for 30, where my 20’s were just winging it most days. A whole lot of trial, error and bodily fluids… but more on that later.  I don’t usually do anything big for my birthday but since I was 9 months pregnant on my 21st, I never celebrated the way most people do. I want to go out and let loose but I can’t picture myself doing shots until I can’t stand. I’ll probably end up forgetting to plan something anyways because I’m very easily distracted with my 900 kids (wait, I thought she said she had 4)…

Anyways, nice to meet you all!  I hope I can entertain you as much as Molly has!  And wow, I feel super narcissistic after writing so much about myself. Off to change the laundry over before it smells, and the floor isn’t going to sweep itself!


Pregnancy Is Bullshit

15 Jan

So, I am just going to pick up right where I left off over a year ago. I will blame my hiatus on having nothing left to goddamn say. I knew that I would someday, once again, have some crap to spew. Then one day, that day being today, for the same no good reason that Forrest Gump’s run began, I just felt like blogging. Here we go…

It was a hot and sweaty Sunday evening in August, and I was in a drunken stupor stumbling into my house from the 98 Degrees concert. All in all, the show was as I  expected it to be: Ryan Cabrera was desperately pleading with the largely late-20’s female audience to PM him on Instagram about meeting up in his suite after the show (he ignored my condescending PM, rude), and then a washed-up boy band that wasn’t *NSYNC tried to put on a performance whilst sporting bullet proof vests with nothing underneath. Again, it was exactly as you would expect: shitty. So, got home, I think (hope) my husband was home, and boom, here I am in January 2017, 5.7 months pregnant and Arnold Schwarzenegger has replaced Donald Trump on The Apprentice. So yeah, the night of 98 Degrees I think. Regardless of when it happened, it feels a little more immature relying on Plan B when you’re three years into your marriage, so that is how I got into this predicament. I never knew the song On the Way Down to be an aphrodisiac, but there was alcohol involved, and alas, here I am, waiting for that familiar feeling of an involuntary twitch that reminds me my unborn son, who does not yet have flesh, is moving around in my uterus. And that last sentence brings me to my first point:

Pregnancy is weird and not very fun at all.

I will preface this with the fact that I am very grateful to be pregnant. I know that some women struggle with infertility and then there are assholes like me who get knocked-up the first time the pull-out method remotely fails. I am aware of how lucky I am to be be carrying this baby boy and words can’t express how excited I am to meet him in a few months. But regardless of all that, pregnancy kind’ve sucks and it’s also very weird sometimes. Weird because there is a creature with saggy skin and a white film covering stealing all of your nutrients. Sucky because your body is not yours to beat up anymore. So many moms out there who have had terrible pregnancies will probably hate me right now for complaining because I have had the easiest pregnancy EVER. No vomiting. No bloating. No food aversions. No weird cravings. Oh, and one thing other moms really hate hearing is that I have not gained a single pound (but, we all know it’s coming). Seriously, the disdain in the voices of post-pregnant women, “You’re so tiny”, they remark through gritted teeth, white knuckling whatever object is in reach. Listen, my metabolism has sucked since 05, and I am not tiny as a non-pregnant person so I DESERVE THIS!

Anyways, my main complaint about pregnancy is how mother effing bored I am ALL THE TIME. Well-meaning women advise me to read a book (no concentration), get a hobby (drinking – errr….). I can’t do any of the physical things that I pretend to do when I check into the gym. Can’t ice skate for the first time in 16 years. Can’t take mushrooms in a sauna at the Y. It’s a sobering, dull time.

My second complaint about pregnancy is that whenever I make that first complaint about boredom, veteran moms give me an evil cackling sort of laugh and exclaim, “JUST WAIT!!!!!”, before their witchy faces melt off in a weird fit of rageful bitterness and they shrink back into their Subaru hatchbacks (probably). Which leads me to my next point…

Other parents love to be negative to expectant moms.

One of the strangest things about being pregnant is how excited (some) current parents seem to be to tell expectant moms how much misery they are in for. Like, there is a twinkle in their eyes when they tell me that I am going to get peed on by another human (which in itself is a weird thing to be giddy about telling another person). When I’m not being told about my acceptance into the Golden Showers of America club, everyone loves to tell me how bored I won’t be ever again because “kids are a lot”. Oh. I didn’t know that. I thought I could just buckle the baby onto an uncomfortable wooden chair, give it some trail mix and run errands until lunchtime. I think this phenomenon of being absurdly negative to new moms is just a made-up rite of passage that some veteran moms partake in to make themselves feel better by way of venting. But jeez, guys, I’m sober and miserable enough! Also, if you’re so miserable with all of your kids, then why do you have like 17 of them?


Wedding registries are fun. Babies registries are not. 

Not much else to say other than during my wedding registry I was skipping through Macy’s with the scanner and visions of all the brunches I would be hosting with my new serve-ware. A baby registry just consists of me walking through Babies R Us, reminding my husband to pretend to care about nipples that are not human nipples, but nipples that go on top of a bottle, and stopping every four feet to Google things like, “will this Graco 5000xp 10 speed kill my baby?”, and “is this diaper bag going to kill my soul?”. It’s less fun to pick out gifts when a fetus is depending on you.

Anyways, that’s what I have been up to. Human growing. Or maybe alien growing (check out that ultrasound). Maybe it will inspire some writing?


The truth is out there…

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