So my generous mother came over to watch the twins so I could sort through my clothes to get ready to go back to work (this means I can permanently kiss my draining ass maternity leave GOODBYE!!!!!! Hip, hip hoo-fuckin’-ray!).  You may ask yourself why my mother would need to come over just so I can sort through some clothes.  Let me explain.

I have not sorted through my clothes since 2009 and I have at least 10 bags of clothes to donate to prove it!  I have moved several times, got married, been pregnant 9x (see previous blog posts), had 3 babies, etc.  In 2009 I was a skinny, toned-ass chick.  I was a damn triathlete.  I KNEW even then that my cute ass little physique would be temporary so I enjoyed it.  I rocked tight ass pants (classy tight, not slut tight), mini skirts, and whatever else I could wear that showed my flat stomach, after all, I worked hard for it and looked FAR better than I did in my 20s.

In 2009 I was single and looking.  Yes, I was on the manhunt – okay, husband-hunt.  My wardrobe reflected this.  I have never done the slut look well (except on Halloween – think cat woman, French maid, etc…and I looked GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOODDDDDDDDDDDDDD too!) but I have done classy slut well.

Anyway, given my multiple moves over the past several years as well as my pack-ratism habits, going through all of these clothes was like a journey though the time warp of my past.  Each outfit reminded me of a bygone era (probably because each was from a different time period in my life! Damn! As I looked through (and finally donated) all those clothes I was reminded of several things.

1) Dating for husbands absolutely sucked! I was 28 when I started what a girlfriend calls “husband hunting.”  I lied to myself and said that I was “dating for fun” but I wasn’t.  I was dating as a means to an end and I treated that shit like a job and I interviewed candidates.  Perhaps that’s why it took almost 8 years to find the right guy! I worked at that shit and told everyone (including the guys I was dating)  that I wasn’t in a hurry  (because that was the socially acceptable, non-scaring off guys thing to do – but of course this was an absolutely lie.  I have no patience and am always in a hurry.  Plus that bio-clock was getting annoying.  At 28 it was annoying – at 35 it was terrifying and screamed at me on a daily basis! Guys would ask if I was looking for anything “serious” and thus we would begin the dance and I would say dumb shit like “if it happens it happens” or “yes, I would like a family some day but I’m not in a hurry.” OF COURSE I’m IN A FREAKING HURRY! WTF I’m 28, 30, 32, 34, 36……My EGGS ARE GETTING OLDER. CAN YOU NOT HEAR THEM CRYING OUT TO BE FERTILIZED???????  But of course I was also very picky.  I didn’t want just any man’s fertilizer – I mean really! One day I will write about all the crazy dates I’ve had but not now.

2) After my daughter was born, I had body image issues because NONE of it was the same.  I knew that other women had a hard time losing their baby weight but I just KNEW that wouldn’t be me as I like to exercise.  Shit, I also like to eat and I do love my red wine.  There is nothing wrong with french fries and jerk chicken.  Really, there isn’t.  Also, I actually wanted to spend time with my daughter (ah, the dilemma of motherhood – you often want to spend time with your children) so exercise became intermittent then non-existent.  Oh, yes then there were those multiple pregnancies and unexplained miscarriages which made me afraid to exercise.  If I would have known then that the diagnosis was “old ass, dried up, useless eggs” I just would’ve exercised my ass off.  Damn!

3)  Did I tell you that back in 2009-2010 I was TOO Cute!!!  I really was.  My question now is can you still be cute if you jiggle? I am not concerned with “being cute” anymore I just don’t want the mom uniform (elasticized pants, no make up, and a weary exhausted look) to be a permanent thing, though I completely get it and wear it.  It’s best to be comfortable so when twin one and twin two spit up on you and diva-toddler-girl wipes play doh on you, you don’t care because you are in the mom uniform.  So, now 8 weeks post twin boys birth and my weight is below what I was pre-pregnancy (EXCITING) but I jiggle everywhere.  That shit is NOT cute!!!!! If I jumped up and down, my rolls would keep going a few rounds even when I stopped.  That is so not cool.  This time, I have more realistic expectations.  I have 3 kids now and a husband so I cannot spend 2 hours, 5 days a week in the gym – plus I refuse to give up jerk chicken and red wine – plus gravity does a number in middle age!

So – back to my question- can you still be cute if you jiggle? Can you rock the jiggle-wiggle with confidence like “Yeah bitches, I jiggle but no one can do it like me. Don’t hate…appreciate!”

I think you can still be cute with a jiggle-wiggle – just a different kind of cute.  I am not flaunting it but I am working on acceptance of my body’s changes.  It has served me well and done some amazing thing like produced 3 kids.  I’m now mom/wife cute as opposed to single/young cute.  Just don’t look too hard at my jiggle.

Signing off –

K

Today, the wonderful woman who takes care of my smart ass diva toddler took all 3 kids – toddler + twins.  It was a rehearsal for her taking all 3 of the stinkers when I FINALLY go back to work (more on this later – maternity leave sucks!!!). We agreed that she would “practice” taking them for 4 hours.  I tried not to skip out of the house when she gave me the “okay” to go.  Ok – I did run the fuck out of the house but I tried not to trip over the toddler on the way out.

Before she could change her mind, I jumped into the mini van.  Now, let me digress a moment.  Before the birth of my twin sons, I was hoping like hell that I could get 3 car seats into my nearly-paid-for Honda CRV.  I liked the CRV just fine and I did NOT want a mini van.  Not only is it absolutely not cool (though my husband said – what part of 3 kids did you think was cool – TRUE) but it was nearly paid for and I did NOT want another car!  My brother broke the news to be (pre-twins) that the CRV would not fit 3 car seats no matter how hard he tried to put the fuckers in there.  DAMN!!!!!  So, I bought a fuckin’ mini van.  I AM now officially another STEREOTYPE (as I Black chick I am an unwilling stereotype anyway – but I bought and paid for the latest one).  I AM a suburban mom driving a fucking mini van – I cannot just say “mini van” I have to say “fuckin’ mini van” because….REALLY? I actually had an attitude problem at the dealership.  They congratulated me on my purchase and I growled at them.  Maybe it’s because I was about to have no car payment and I just inherited a new one.  Maybe it’s because there is no part of this car that is for me. Maybe it’s because the mini van is the station wagon of my childhood and I hated that shitty car too.  So NOT cool!  The things we do for our children.

Anyway, when that sainted woman who takes care of my child – soon to be 3 children after maternity leave (aka jail) took all 3 of them, I left skid marks on the floor trying to get out of the damn house to the fuckin’ mini van.  I got in the car/van, screeched out of the driveway, and played Aretha Franklin’s song “Think” – especially the chorus talking about “Freedom” because that is how I felt.  Free.  I actually had a dance party in the fuckin’ mini van.  I was dancing like I was still in college at a frat party trying to look cute – except you can’t look cute in a fuckin’ mini van because there is nothing cute about that shit.

I love my kids.  Each of them is an amazing miracle.  We worked hard to get each of them here but going from 1 to 3 has been culture shock.  It’s like parental boot camp.  Also, I am a workaholic.  I enjoy working – lots, so maternity leave was sexist jail to me.  I sneered at my husband as he walked out the door to go to work because I was pissed that I couldn’t go too.  My world immediately shrunk to laundry, bottles (naw I didn’t breast feed heffers – get over it and I don’t feel guilty either!), sleepless night, screaming infants, and the diva toddler I have already told you about.  Add on top of that  the 3 weeks of active labor and a 2 week hospital stay prior to the birth of one colicky, fussy, screaming infant and one silent, well-behaved one and you get a recipe for post-partum crazy.  I have experienced plenty of post-partum crazy.

To be fair, my husband would have stayed home with the kids if he could have but our sexist-ass society doesn’t support this because we glorify the role of mother and diminish the role of father.  My husband is a European Negro (yes, they exist) so he does not understand why he can’t have paternity leave.  Some women have a difficult time leaving their newborns to go back to work.  I really empathize here but that ain’t me.  Work somehow balances me and allows me to think critically and connect to a whole other type of bullshit.  I need multiple types of bullshit in my life so I can have more to complain about.

Remember here that I bitch and complain about everything so when I FINALLY get to go back to work I will complain about that shit too (“Gosh, I am so overwhelmed”) but it sure will be nice to be the fuck out of the house away from all little people under the age of 3 so that when I return, I am excited (or at least happy) to see them.

Society is unkind to women truth-tellers – especially truths about motherhood.  We are supposed to exault motherhood and never talk about how difficult it is.  I know that I am a lucky bitch.  We have resources that enable us to get help – both emotionally and physically but it’s still hard.  HUGE fist bumps to single moms.  May you get a EXPENSIVE ass mom’s day present every year as well as problem-free kids (ok – the 2nd part doesn’t exist)

Anyway that dance party in the mini van allowed me to reconnect with the silly side of myself.  As I danced away and sang loudly to Aretha I felt free to be fun.  Something so simple. And after my 6 hours away from the diva toddler + twins (because the sainted woman gave me 2 more hours of away time at her request so she could “practice” more with the 3 of them) I came home happy to see each little person and enjoyed them upon my return.  Absence – or just time away and a dance party in a fuckin’ mini van – really does make the heart grow fonder.

K

I am a sleep-deprived, irritable, dazed bitch! It might have something to do with having 6 week old twin boys and a diva- toddler who is 2.5 years old and think she knows shit.  I am not an avid Facebook user and I can tell you why.  Every time I peruse people’s FB posts they say dumb shit like “My sweetie is the most wonderful man” or “Motherhood is the best job in the world!”

Like hell it is?!!! Are you serious? If my 2.5 year old tells me “no” one more time! Why do people feel the need to project the image of fantasy fiction? Sometimes relationships are wonderful, often times they are shitty.  Parenthood can be amazing, sometimes it’s excruciating.  Why can’t we speak the truth?

I decided to write a Blog for myself.  A truth-telling blog that let’s all my shit hang out there because let’s face it, this shit is absolutely crazy.  I have called it “uvegot2bekidding” because, as one of the twins projectile shit all over me at 3 in the morning, I thought to myself, “Are you fucking kidding me right now?: and so many of my current experience beg this very caustic question.

Let me provide some context here.  I am a middle-aged Black chick who simply died to be a wife and mom in addition to my many professional roles.  In my mid-30s I actively despaired that I had not yet met the right guy (met him now, married him….sometimes want to kill him too!) and my bio clock was CLANGING loudly in my ears.  I kept thinking how glorious life would be if I could just meet the right guy, marry him, and have kids.  Funny how I told myself the same bullshit to get through college, graduate school, and just about every other stressful and painful experience.  You think I would know that I was LYING to myself by now. WTF – K! (I will refer to myself as K as I talk to myself often).

The “right guy” was from another country.  In 6 short years, we met, got him to the US, he got a job in another state, we got married, got him a job in the same city I was, and then began our painful journey of infertility and correlated relationships issues as we learned how to be a couple in the midst of painful, crazy-ass shit.  We are still working on this and sometimes it ain’t pretty.

In our journey, we have had 9 pregnancies (multiple miscarriages) and we now have 3 kids.  Infertility absolutely sucked and somehow you convince yourself that getting to the other side (after you have the glorious child/children), means “happily ever after.”  We have 3 healthy kids which is an amazing blessing but I ain’t met happily ever after yet.  That bitch is elusive as hell and if I ever meet her, I am actually going to kick her ass for being mythical fiction.  I guess what exists is fulfillment through the struggle? BULLSHIT!

What’s my point here? No one can really tell us shit.  We want the things we want regardless of reason or logic. Our dreams and heart’s desires won’t be quieted through logic or reason and we often have to follow our dreams because they will not let us be still.  As for my own dream of being a mom, I often ask myself besides some crazy-ass biological drive to reproduce, who would do this  shit? Extreme sleep deprivation, complete denial of your own needs, smart ass toddlers who have only been on earth for 2.5 years giving you their opinion on shit and then making rude ass demands (mamma get me some water…WHAT?!?) – who would knowingly sign on for such foolishness? Yet, I signed on the dotted line and pushed people out of the way to be as far ahead in line as I could be.

So, if it’s not about happily ever after, WTF is it about? I guess I’ll let you know when I figure the shit out.

Signing off for now…

K