the angry sarcastic post

Well, stuff around here was all sunshine and roses (no it wasn’t) (and by stuff, I mean my stuff, as in, say, my mental health) until it wasn’t (again–never was) and basically I’ve hit my wall.

Ah, the proverbial wall. I thought I had sailed right over it, but as it turned out, I wasn’t watching where I was going and I ran smack into it at 200 mph. And my wall is 700 feet tall and made of ice and broken dreams.

People, stuff went south so fast that I don’t even know if it actually went south or if it faked and raced northwest and took out a restraining order against me.

I’ve officially reached the point in the babies’ first year called “Eff you, Patricia.” I accomplished a weight gain of no less than 10 pounds in the span of one month, thanks to being physically immobilized by three little ones in my arms, lap, and hanging off my back (and stress-drinking caffeinated beverages). I’ve lost patience with literally everyone. Not even my neighbor’s dog is safe. (I hardly ever see it or hear it, but I guarantee I’ve lost patience with it.)

I’m unimpressed by mom stories and platitudes. “They won’t be little for long!” NO DIP SHERLOCK, did you figure that out when the oldest of your two kids turned the big 1-2? I’ve heard this effectively 83 bajillion times since my firstborn arrived, and it is as helpful now as it was back in 1996, so take that smiley-faced emoji–the one with the squinty eyes and pink cheeks–and shove. it.

What I need to know is: at what point does coffee pose an immediate threat to my health, and how much Benadryl can I add to the brownies I’m making for my kids?

(Everyone calm down, I don’t actually have time to bake freakin’ brownies.)

But can we all agree to stop spouting ridiculous advice to new mothers?

I can’t hear another “Hardy har har, looks like you got your hands full!”

(Seriously, who says that to a woman whose babies are screaming in a grocery cart while her toddler yanks at her hair and another kid throws a dadgum fit out of nowhere for candy in the checkout line? THE ANSWER IS OF COURSE EVERYONE.)

I cannot listen to another thing from anyone, not even mothers of twins. “Oh you had twins? That’s cool I guess but have you ever tried twins plus a demanding toddler and a 4-year-old who I’m pretty sure is part of the Insane Clown Posse and two sad-eyed older kids whose emotional needs are never met and who have 3 zillion activities that you get to drag all four little ones around to?

Y’all sometimes I just smile and nod and go straight back to doing whatever works for me which is nothing on most days. I need to call in the even bigger big guns but I only know medium guns.

I’m almost done (not really) but let me clarify before I wrap up: Caleb helps. Caleb helps like no other. Caleb helps more than your husband or her husband or all the husbands combined. He’s a bonafide daddy-on-the spot and has been known to drop everything in the middle of the day and rush home to hold a baby/wash dishes/take Arbor and Lucy to the store/change a blowout diaper one-handed with his eyes closed. I am not doing anything that he won’t also partake in when he’s not working at his actual job that feeds and houses our family. And he’s 81% hotter than me while he does it all, too.

Mia and Merrick are incredible as well; they leap into action when they see me struggling, and don’t complain when I do ask for help. I try not to rely on them too much though, because they are still young’uns themselves, and I for sure won’t ask them to do anything that brings me, the mother of all these dragons, to tears (so watching all four at once for more than five minutes is pretty much ruled out, y’all.)

So, family life in this house is loud, and crazy, and exhausting, and not for the faint nor the mildly strong of heart. Anyone coming over between the hours of 8 am and 10 pm will instantly regret it, unless they like the smell of dog hair and dirty diapers, and the sound of tornado sirens going off in their ears every five minutes. (I am so serious. A thing I just said to my 22-month old: “Please stop screaming! It is so loud and it hurts my ears and my heart! I’m going to have a heart attack and die from your screaming!”)

I did this to myself.

I created this circus, which is me on fire surrounded by constantly pooping lions and tigers who can scream. It’s wild, and it’s tew much.

(end rant.) (deep cleansing breath.) (2nd cup of coffee.)

About Toni

Mom. Wife. Artist. I take care of the kids and pretend to clean sometimes. I can cook spagetti and I have never been arrested. View all posts by Toni

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