Venting Into My Venti

Anyone else tired of parents always posting about how much they need coffee?

Okay, it took me two cups of coffee just to write that down, but, seriously, we get it stupid moms and dads, you need your fix, uppers and downers are things of yesteryear.

Seven years ago, if I was up at four in the morning, it had to do with a pile of empty beers, some recreational drugs, and the comforts of a girl I hoped wouldn’t be there come sunrise. Now, I sit there at four in the morning with a baby whose spirit animal must be the rooster.

He is struttin’ and hollerin’, folks.

Life changes. So. Freakin’. Drastically after children. If you are one of the parents blessed with a support system, I cheer for you. You enjoy those nights you still get out. A lot of us don’t have that though. Last night I got out, away from my children for the night, was because we LIED.

Oh man, good thing Mama Rosie doesn’t read my blog, because she would be pissed to find out that instead of working on Friday night, we had steak, a hotel room and BOOZE! It had been awhile since I pushed the button on the ice machine and filled the trash can with ice to keep my beers cold.

Before my kids could walk, talk back, and refuse to eat dinner because it wasn’t Mac and Cheese, parenting was a lot easier. Hell, before baby number three I found parenting to be easier. Now, I have three kids that run in opposite directions and I lack the limberness of my youth when I could swing kids around all day.

“Not today kids, you threw my back out yesterday and I think if we wrestle today I will need to ask for a new hip with my tax returns. Now, leave me alone so I can post coffee memes.”

Two Threenagers and a teething toddler who refuses to walk. Oh, and acid reflux. I am one receding hairline from a midlife crisis. Excuse me as I run to the mirror and ask myself if my forehead has always been this long.

“Ground Control to Major Tom, these kids are breaking me down.”

I miss the days when we could watch South Park and they didn’t begin to quote the characters.

It isn’t funny when your kid tells someone to “Suck my balls!”

(Note: It hasn’t happened, thank god, but I imagine that is where we were headed.)

Mama Rosie swears by her Rosary that they say “Fuck”. Either my ears deceive me or I am living in comfortable ignorance that my little angels are actually just saying “Truck” with a cute toddler flair to it.

I used to be able to sneak naps in here and there. Just close my eyes for a few minutes. Well, my kids ended that when they decided to go on a field trip to the neighbor’s as I just rested my eyes for a moment. How I didn’t hear the door is still a mystery to this day. Now, everything is child locked to the point I don’t leave the house because I can’t get out. Oh, and I owe my neighbor a gift card to Dunkin Donuts for escorting my adventurous tykes home.

Also, one of the most traumatizing things. Ever.

Want to feel like a shitty parent? Lose you kid in your own home. We have amped up security here though and I am proud to say no escapes have happened since.

There are days my kids break out of the house and I think, “These boys are geniuses. No other three year old could engineer the great escape with such prowess.”.

Then there are days I find them sticking crayons in their ears, trying to color their brains.

I didn’t realize the words “I am pregnant” signed me up for indentured servitude. I am holding it together though. I did a Pinterest project the other day. It was titled, “A great learning activity for toddlers.”.

It kept me busy for a good hour while my kids decided to do everything but the craft project. I am pretty proud of my Pinterest project and hung it on the fridge anyways. Even put my name on it.

In Greek Mythology, Toddler roughly translates to, “little spawn of Satan that looks eerily similar to you and also has a way of lulling you into a false sense of security that they will use to drop your cell phone into the toilet.”

Or at least it should, because that is the most accurate description of toddler in the history of definitions. These are not adorable children. We went to the grocery store, my kids ran wild and free amongst the aisles. A lady looked at me, wrinkled her nose and asked, “Are those YOUR children?”

Lady, we haven’t had nap time in three fucking weeks. We aren’t even grocery shopping, we just want these little Tasmanian Devils to wear themselves out and sleep past six in the morning. Take your gaudy pearls and shove it to the chip aisle!

Oh, fuck, is that a wrinkle to accompany the eye twitch I got from watching my kid have a meltdown over the fifteen second delay between episodes of Clifford? Netflix, please just stream instantly like you promised.

I am running on caffeine and promises of preschool starting in the fall.

I am not even going to begin discussing the fact every wall in my house has been peed upon. Potty training is GREAT.

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