This is not a post about vaginas.
Unlike…a third of my other posts. Yes, I am cordially inviting you to read about my vagina.
It’s been a long day.
I walked three miles to campus through the snow. I put on six layers on my torso and three on my inferior appendages. Yes, I’m taking anatomy this semester. I made it to class with a minute to spare, stripping off my layers.
You know that sting behind your eyes when you wake up early? And it burns to close your eyes? Story of my life, bruh. As much as we try to be comfortable and cozy, life has a tricky way of infiltrating your system. The second I walk in the door, Ty freaks out and has an existential crisis, realizing how empty and dreary his life is without my boobs..
He’s currently pinching the crap outta my boobs right now as he suckles. We’ve officially reached the age of “twerking”, where the baby decides that they want to latch and put on a show. Ohmygosh..I thought that was banana in his hair. Nope! It’s snot. Dearheavenhelpmeplease. No, I didn’t taste it. Gross. THIS IS MY LIFE, PEOPLE!
Damon and I feel like we’re being torn in different directions all of the time. Want a conundrum? I’ll give you a brain-teaser called “What I Do Every Damn Day”. Please solve it. No, really. Shoot me an email with your findings.
Which items should you do first? Arrange in order of priority from 1-5
- Baby is screaming his friggin head off. He hasn’t seen his mom all day and feels like life itself is simply not worth living without a boob in his mouth. Also, he’s decided that naps are beneath him and refuses to take them for the sake of his dignity.
- Husband needs to do his homework because he’s been stuck with unsupportive children, and babies hate your goals and dreams of aspiring to something more than a broke college student.
- Baby has crapped his diaper
- You need to pee
- Toddler has decided that she needs to pee as well and can’t reach the dang sink to wash her hands by herself yet
- You haven’t eaten all day
- Husband hasn’t eaten all day
- You have homework and studying to do because you decided that take 14 credit hours was a rad idea
- Laundry is scattered all over the house
- Oh, and your kitchen is a disaster
- Haha…just kidding. Your whole HOUSE is a disaster!!
Any thoughts, people? Is there some formula where I can plug in these variables? Can someone calculate what the best course of action is here?!?!
I don’t have a clue.
The solution is usually taking care of bodily fluids first. Followed by nursing the baby and trying to do homework with him twerking on my lap. Husband goes and completes as much homework as the toddler will allow. Food can come later. Unless it’s toddler demanding oatmeal again. Don’t get me wrong. I love that she’s all about dat fiber. But when she doesn’t eat it all, it makes me mad. Anyhoo, husband is nice about making us both food. Something about eating food prepared by the man who loves you is endearing.
On the upside…I did get into the university that I’ve been wanting to attend since the start of college! Okay, maybe not the start. I didn’t know crap four years ago. I’ve transferred to a bunch of different schools each time that we’ve moved. Hopefully, I won’t have to transfer again. They have the anthropology program that I’ve been dying to get into.
Somehow, even though things suck a good portion of the time, they manage to work out. Things will look up. Things are going to be okay. Life comes in waves. Not tryna be all deep and garbage, but it’s true. And you can make all of the analogies in the world about it.
Things get better. Pushing through the sting-y burn-y has its upsides.
Damon and I communicate very differently than we did while dating. We’re a lot more honest than we used to be. We’re less likely to hide what we’re feeling for the sake of the other person. We’re a lot more likely to just come out and say “You’re being a dick today. Cut it out.” than to just retreat. We let the dumb things go too, although being with someone for long periods of time makes the dumb things much more noticeable. Push through it.
We’ll push through pregnancy, birthing babies, diapers, cranky spouses, studying till late at night, wading our way through our dang living room.
Somewhere it ends. Maybe. One day, my boobs will be sad balloons. I’ll have grey hairs, grumble a lot, and hate Democrats or teenagers. Actually, my generation will prolly be one of the first ones to have more tattoos than residents with children in the resting homes. Huh. Won’t that be a sight?
Oh! Oh! I have a slogan, people!
Make like a uterus and push through it!!!