I woke up this morning on my own. Not at 6:30, not to the sounds of a toddler, or the Backyardians, but on my own at 8:30. I got up and walked through a quite, clean living room. I made my coffee. There was no cartoons on, only the news. I didn’t ask anyone a million times if they were hungry, I didn’t fry any bacon. I sat on the couch drinking my coffee, watching the news and typing this. It was nice, it was heaven, it was weird.
Right as I was looking around my silent living room like a lost little kid I received a text from my mom that said, “Enjoy your time Kasey, all is well we love you.” She must have known I was started to miss the chaos. The precious chaos that only an insane toddler could cause.
Saturday mornings without those little
fuckers are really kind of well, boring. There’s no momma, momma, there’s no Legos scattered all over the floor, there’s no stuffed angry bird flying across the living room hitting me upside the head, no one screaming I gotta poop, I gotta poop!! (because doesn’t everyone scream that when they have to shit) I mean hello world, I got to drink my coffee while it was hot!
Every time the crazy ass is gone I realize just how much mommyhood has changed me and my life, I realize just how much excitement and joy it’s brought. I don’t know what the Officer and I will do today normally it’s a trip to the park, or that bloody Chuck E Cheese or Bounce USA—today there will be none of that.
Instead today we’ll be headed to Davids Bridal to pick up my bride’s maid dress for my brothers wedding. I’m not looking forward to this y’all, not the wedding, but picking up the dress. There’s no fucking way my fat ass is going to be able to fit into that thing. I’ve gained weight since my original sizing and fear I’ll have to have it taken out. Just who the fuck has to have a dress taken out—most people have to have them taken in, but NOOOOO, thanks to my fucking crazy pill my ass has put on the lb’s.
I’m going to look like a huge, over flowing pink fucking cupcake! Why is it us woman always have to worry about our weight and the way we look. It seems we can ever be happy, like we’re never good enough. I”m tired of that shit. We have it hard enough raising the children and trying not to screw them up to be worrying over superficial shit such as the fact we’ve gained a little weight.
A woman’s work, a womans worry is never done. Never.
Happy Saturday my fellow perfectly imperfect mommies!