One thing I learned early on, if you call in sick, always say it’s with diarrhea, because nobody ever questions you when you say you have diarrhea.
Same thing with parenting.
The baby is fussy, the boys are screaming and asking for, I don’t know, stuff, ANY STUFFS WILL DO, and Andy is playing Xbox, and I haven’t had a shower long enough to shave my bikini area into a shape other than crop circle in, like, two weeks.
So, I rub my stomach, and make a gassy face, and be all, here, take the baby, I need to go to the bathroom, my tummy hurts.
Which is the phrase we use when we have to poop, and yet, for some reason, don’t feel like we are mature enough to admit to each other that we do, in fact, poop.
So, I grab my Blackberry and sneak off to the bathroom so I have time to lock the door before the boys realize where I am headed and insist on joining me, because if labor prepares you for anything, it’s that you will never be in a room alone with your pants off, ever again.
I check twitter. I read Perez Hilton. When I hear footsteps in the hallway, I groan uncomfortably.
This is how I function with three kids.
I thought it would be a bit more Mary Poppins, and a little less Survivor, but I’m adjusting.
It’s a process…that I will most likely grasp by the time my midlife crisis rolls around, which will be perfect, because I will need help getting up and around while I am recovery from my breast implants and tummy tuck. I watch Dr. 90210, and there is no way I am going to be able to empty my body fluid drains without barfing.
Until the day comes that I don’t have to sweat my ass of in full body Spanx and jeans in the dead of summer, I will put on my martyr hat and shlep around in my full figure bra and my high briefs, and spend my days shuttling and tickling and bedtime reading and wiping and piggy counting and time outing and crying and eye bag treating and bathing and secret whispering and fart joking and wine drinking.
Which is infinitely easier when I have things like this crawling about.
I know, right?!
It’s been almost a year.
I didn’t know what to expect.
I didn’t expect to fall for her so fast.
I didn’t expect to already worry about boys breaking her heart or the colors of her wedding.
I didn’t expect the boys to be so gentle with her, or for Andy to swoon so much.
I will fuck them up, for reals.
And sure, I’ve had to explain why Jesus made her wiener fall off about 900 times, BECAUSE OMG HOW DOES SHE PEE WE SHOULD PUT ARMY GUYS IN THERE WHERE’S HER WEEEEEEEENNNNEEERRRRRR MAAAWWWWWMMMMM.
But, overall, she has made our family of five a whole, with very little interruption.
Cutest. Thing. Ever.
I mean, my body isn’t bouncing back this time.
And, I have hemorrhoids that aren’t going anywhere, any time soon.
But, on the plus side, this gets me out of anal sex for, like, the rest of my life.
Which is way better than not having blood in your stool.
This is probably why Michelle Duggar has 19 kids.
Jim Bob loves to plow the backfield.
*All photos courtesy the amazing Heather Durdil of Heather Durdil Photography, high five!