I used to wear perfume everyday. And now, I don’t even know where it is or if I even have any?

My new scent is more like an odor…..mommy odor. I adopted it the day I gave birth to my first son, and I realized that I would have a little person living on my chest, and prettyin’ up with heavy perfume was no longer going to be an option for me. The fragrance is hard to describe, and changes everyday, based on what’s on the menu, but always contains a hint of sleep deprivation, desperation, baby powder, bourbon, and burnt hair.

But, it must smell awesome, because I got pregnant with number two almost six weeks after I popped the first one out.

I am the lone female member of the all boys club. Facing new frontiers on a daily basis. And it’s…interesting.


I stare at wieners all day, and the boys can’t keep their little hands off of them. It’s like a race every time I change their diapers. But they ALWAYS get a hold of it, and they pull SO hard. How does this not hurt?! And better yet, now that they know something’s down there, what the hell do I call it? Everything has a label. Nose, cheeks, eyes, knees…tallywacker? That’s what my mom taught my brother when he was little, but there is no fucking way I am going to call it a tallywacker.

Cars. We just can’t get enough of them. Much to Andy’s delight, my oldest is obsessed with the movie Cars. He collects the toys, eats with a Cars fork, will only willingly put on Cars pajamas, if the Disney trademark isn’t on it, he isn’t buying it. We watch Cars a minimum of 2 times a day. It’s pretty bad.   And, since we are trying to be good parents and censor our language, hubby and I have to resort to archaically spelling to each other….If I have to watch C*A*R*S again I will S*H*O*O*T myself in the face.

The desperate hunt for boy clothes with out boats, fire engines, dogs or the words “Little Leaguer” on the front blows. Call me no fun, but I just want normal boy clothes. I am over dreamily walking past the girl’s section full of pink sear sucker and denim patchwork jumpers. I have found peace that I won’t be fighting with a teenager desperate to look like a street walking Bratz doll. But, I just want normal, non cartoon clothes in shades other than light blue and mint green. I’m the parent, overbearing mother in law, he is NOT missing out on any childhood fun because I won’t dress him in your tacky shirts with Nemo on the front. Just indulge me for a bit, because I know someday soon, I will be walking around with rowdy a four year old wearing a super hero cape and cowboy boots, who won’t quit tugging on his tallywacker in public.

Judge me then.

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