I’m reporting live from Mommyhood in my 30s, completely un-blog saavy, but have been journaling for years on paper (yes, remember that stuff, made from trees?). Not very envrionmentally friendly considering my alternatives. I suppose my goal here is to follow my friend’s suggestion, write, write, write every day and see what comes of it. If nothing else except to practice.

I also need to vent about a few things in my life, and as a mommy, no one ever wants to hear anything but nice words coming out of my mouth. Why is that? Who said that mommies have to be nice all the time (to people besides their children, that is).

And I wasn’t always a mommy. This whole concept is fairly new to me. Before I was a mommy – I was cool, or at least close to it. Yep, it’s true. I rode a motorcycle, wore leathers, owned more than one pair of kinky boots, and died my hair multiple times and numerous lengths. I even went blonde once, but stopped doing it for two reasons. The first: a man (yawn, yes, I know). He didn’t like blonde as much as red, who knew a man like that existed? Of course, this is one of the reasons that I respect him. The second: it burned like you wouldn’t believe. The phrase they used was, “You may feel a little tingling”. That’s like telling a pregnant woman that birth will cause ‘some discomfort’.

My kids are toddlers now, so all that pain is behind me. Or so I thought. Then my oldest turned three-and-a-half years old. It’s like a living Freddie Krueger film. Everything we ask him to do, he challenges or does the opposite or goes completly bat-shit ballistic if you “make him” do something he doesn’t like. Gone are the sweet days of cuddling and “I love you Mommy” – here are the days of him hitting his sister in the car non-stop and then yelling out “JESUS” when I make a hard stop with the car. Imitation is a powerful thing. Bad, Mommy!

Supposedly, there’s a new wave of positive parenting. I’m all for that. I applaud positive parents. I support you. I wonder what kind of tranquilizers you must be taking and i’m terribly, terribly jealous. Who knew you could give Xanax to a 3-year old in their oatmeal? My kid doesn’t even seem to respond to anything but the scary mommy voice.

I suggest things to my toddler and he smiles knowingly. The kind of smile you’d expect from a seasoned con man, in his hip, armani suit, nuzzled up to some unsuspecting mark, “Well, Mommy. of course you know THAT’S not going to happen, but how about you get me some Cheddar bunnies, beeeeyatch …”

Mommyhood is challenging. And if the kids weren’t enough, there are in-laws, your own parents trying to (still!) tell you what to do and how to do it, and cross relations within the family (yes, my partner and my mother love each other, with weapons).

So let’s see how it all plays out. No real names will be used, in order to protect the angry or postal parties.

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