Today, I hate being a mother.

This has been one of those mornings where I just want to bang my head on something, beat the crap out of a tree with a baseball bat, stuff my kids in a box and mail them to Timbuktu and then crawl back in bed and get 8 hours of sleep.
Ds was up and ready to play at 5:15. Yawn. I don't like mornings. I think 7am is early. I hate waking up before the sun is up. Not only that, but he wakes up in the most annoying way. Anywhere from 5 to 30 minutes before he actually wakes up, he starts tossing and turning and squirming and "talking" in his sleep. It's impossible to sleep through all that, which means that I'm awake long before he actually opens his eyes.

Then El was up about 5:50. I made her get in my bed and at least pretend to sleep until the sun was up.

And of course I can't take a crap or a bath in peace. I forget what Em wanted while I was trying to use the bathroom, but whatever it was, she wanted it RIGHT NOW. Then they wanted in the bathtub with me. Now, believe me when I say that there is no way in hell I am going to miss this part of their childhoods. No way. Having two kids standing over you alternatly demanding to get in with you, leaning over and playing in the water (read, getting themselves wet) or asking what you are doing is not my idea of a fun bath.

Whacha doing Mommy? No! You need to leave the air under your arms, just like daddy (yeah, I bet daddy would love that). Why are you taking the hair off your legs? What's that? What's wrong with you!?!?

This last comment leads to me looking around in bewilderment as they point to some nonexistent flaw on some part of my body. It's enough to make a person feel a bit paranoid.

And next we had the temper tantrum over clothes. I seriously wonder what the hell we are doing wrong with Em. She has the worst temper, which is not a bad thing, but apparently we are failing utterly in teaching her how to control it. This morning it was because she didn't want to wear a sweater and it 20 degrees out. Kicking, screaming and crying over it. I ended up letting her pick out a shirt because the sweater I wanted her to wear was too small.

I try to avoid these fights by letter her pick out her own clothes, but t-shirts when it's freezing out don't cut it.

And the baby was screaming the entire time this was going on, making my stress level go through the roof.

So, I was very glad to pack them off the preschool. But of course ds isn't wanting to nap, so I still don't have any peace and quite.

What a way to start the holidays.

We have the pukies going around. Fun times, I tell you. I started it yesterday. Then El puked on me bed. Why do children always pick the worst possible place to puke? Why my bed and not hers?
Now, dh is puking. So, he gets to stay home from work tomorrow and be underfoot.

I'm sure Em will be puking by tomorrow, too. The only saving grace in this is that ds doesn't seem to be catching it. Hopefully the ol' titstuffing will keep him well.


On other notes, my parents went to a family wedding this weekend. They said it was quite the suprise when the bride came down the aisle wearing a Christmas red gown. It takes chutzpuh to wear bright red to your own wedding (unless of course you are Chinese).

I think for the average white chick, though, a red gown either signifies a daring, yet classy woman, or a classless ho. Not that I've ever seen anyone wearing a red wedding gown, so what the hell do I know? Mother said this bride definatly fit the first description. Said she was very beautiful and elegant.


One good thing about illness running amok here. Dh sleeps in the guest room. lol Seriously, sharing a bed is supposed to be one of the benefits to marriage (or shacking up). But honestly, at times, you just want the bed to yourself. Adults really need their own rooms.

I think this is especially true with a baby in the house. We co-sleep with our babies, so he's in the bed with us most of the night. He starts off in a co-sleeper by the bed. So, there are 3 of us in the bed. And dh snores. Loudly. Even laying flat on his face he snores. Do you know how annoying snoring is? When you are trying to sleep, or doze back off and all you can hear is your spouse sounding like he is trying to imitate a chainsaw. And poking him doesn't work, and you can't yell "Would you shut the fuck up?!?" at him because you'll wake the baby up.
But, I digress. We're talking about bedsharing here.

So, adults need their own rooms. That way, you can politely just go to your own room without inviting the other person in when you aren't in the mood. You know which mood I'm talking about. SEX. Around here, that's most of the time. Between the hormone shift caused by breastfeeding, the lack of decent sleep and the fatigue generated by dealing with 3 kids all day, sex is the last thing I want come bedtime. Sure there are times I think about it. At 9am, when I'm not tired, but dh is at work, or on the weekends, the kids are underfoot. Daytime sex is great but not practical when you have kids.

So, poor dh thinks he's deprived and will often start rubbing my back or something and promptly start rubbing his willy up against my leg. Why do men think that is a turn on? I know it's there. I can tell you are feeling randy without rubbing it on me. If I wanted to get laid, I wouldn't need you rubbing your dick on me to get me turned on. If I'm not in the mood, no amount of dick rubbing is going to do it for me.

I am much more likely to find a clean kitchen, vacuumed floors, they toys put away and the laundry put away as a turn on, especially when someone else did at least a few of those tasks. That way, I have a little more energy to spare for thinking about making whoopie, instead of changing diapers.

So, we've only had sex 4 times in the 51/2 months since ds was born. It will get better, I promise. And it's not like I don't love him. I still do. Very much. (in case he ever reads this lol) But sex requires energy and I'd rather sleep. Speaking of, I'm going to bed.

Emotional eating.

So, I'm fat. Don't go picturing me as some sweaty, 400 lb, can't get out of the bed lardass. I'm not that bad. But, at 211 and a size 16/18, I'm pretty fat for being 5'2.

I've always thought I was fat, even when I weighed 115 lbs in high school. Having a best friend who weighed 90 lbs soaking wet and wearing combat boots made for a totally distorted view of what healthy was. So, now I look rather like I thought I did then.

I've actually lost some weight. I topped out at about 234, not pregnant. Obviously I weighed more when I was pregnant. But, oddly enough, I seem to loose pregnant weight quickly. The first time I basically came home from the hospital at my pre-pregnant weight. The last time, I lost all 45 or so lbs by my 6 week check up. (Gotta love breastfeeding!)

So, you would think that would be motivation to get off my ass and lose some more weight, but it isn't. And after pigging out over Thanksgiving, well, I feel like a total lardass.

My biggest problem seems to be that I don't know when to stop eating. Why is this such a hard concept? When the tummy gets full, put down the fork. It isn't rocket science. Yet, here I sit, over full from supper. And, I let my hubby talk me into ordering pizza. I wasn't hard to convince, either.

I know it wouldn't be so bad if I would just stop when I got full, but no, I have to go for the extra slice.

And I know that the more stressed I am, the more I want to sooth or reward myself with food. So, I'm trying to figure out why I do this. I know when I was a child, we went through some really hard financial times. There was one time when my mother says we had nothing in the house to eat except a bag of beans and she knew we didn't like them, and no money to buy something else, when daddy came home from work (he was a restaurant manager at the time) with a big taco salad that got made incorrectly or something. (As I sit here thinking about it, I wonder why the hell my grandparents didn't help out. They lived right next door. Surely to fuck they realized how bad off my parents were? But, my grandmother's cluelessness and my step-g'father's assholishness are a whole, entire blog unto themselves.)

I don't remember anything except being excited that he brought us a "treat" home. And I remember all the times we would visit daddy at work at the various restaurants he worked in and always being disappointed we couldn't eat there. We must have been pretty broke that we couldn't afford something from Taco Bell.


Maybe in my psyche, more food is connected to happy times.
Seems stupid that I would still need to overeat to be happy, though. But, the psyche isn't the smart part of one's brain. lol

So, if food means happiness, or maybe security or being well off, then I need to find something else to make me, not feel happy, but maybe to appreciate how happy I am? Appreciate my financial security? Something like that. Definatly need to find something besides food to reward myself.

Convincing myself that I am worth spending the money on new clothes for would be a start. I need some new clothes anyway, so I could reward myself for loosing weight with new clothes.


Whatever the cause, emotional issues with food can start young. My nephew is about to turn 10 and weighs almost as much as I do. It breaks my heart to see him, and my brother and sister in law don't seem concerned about it. They are both overweight, too. Their oldest son is 16 and has actually slimmed down quite a bit, and the youngest is 8 and is a normal weight. But C has so many problems with food. He has admitted to eating something he didn't want just so his brothers couldn't have it.

I absolutely want to get my weight under control and my food issues under control so my children don't grow up with such messed up notions. My girls are slim and active and so strong and healthy, and I want them to stay that way. My son is a baby still, so roly poly, but I want him to grow up healthy, too.

If I could get my husband on this bandwagon, now. He's as overweight as I am, and has his head totally buried in the sand about it. I know it's not my responsibilty to get him to lose weight, but I do worry about him.

And now he wants over here so he can work from home. Whee.

First Post

My first post. Punctuated in the background by happy squeels from the baby and tears from one of my twin daughters. She's in time out for kicking her sister's block tower. She needs daddy, wah wah wah. Now the baby is unhappy because he needs to take a bloody nap and is fighting it Of course, who could sleep with two 3 year olds running around and creating bedlam?


So, this is going to be short. More later when chaos has ended. lol