"I think the best situation is when your kids are around but someone else is in charge of them."
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By Annie I woke up at 5:30 a.m. to hammer out 25 minutes on the elliptical before showering and getting all three kids ready to leave the house. I roused the surly 7-year-old ("I want to punch you in the ear" were her first words to me this morning...), pampered the mildly feverish and mucusy 3-year-old, and held the wiggly baby's soiled rear under the stream of the sink after a particularly messy diaper blowout that merited a bath we just didn't have time for. Still, determined, I left on time for my hour commute with a coffee in one hand and a green smoothie in the other. I was pitching a big idea to my boss today. And not just my regular boss, but the Big Boss, the one whose name is in the logo. I was ready. What's a MOTY to do? Absolutely nothing! By the time I discovered my sweater's extra polka dot, it was far too late to remedy the situation. I held my head high and pitched the crap out of that concept. Pun intended.
By Mandy I don't know what your pre-preggo style was, mamas, but mine was pretty much a combination of cute yoga chick/slutty party girl. Subsequently, I have a bunch of old mini-dresses that barely cover my ass these days. However, I'm counting it as a win because they do still fit on my new post-partum body (unlike my pre-preggo jeans that no longer fit over my hips.) What's a MOTY to do? Wear them as a shirt, of course! I'm not going to let this over-priced American Apparel mini-dress go to waste! I'm going to throw it over top of yoga pants, cinch it up a bit, and work it! So, maybe it's time to dig through some of your pre-mommy clothes, ladies. Get creative! Embrace your new MILF shape! Disclaimer: If this beauty tip doesn't work for you, too bad! A true MOTY hardly has time to perfect her own look, let alone care about yours. By Scarlett.
OK Parents (yes, this is good for you dads, too!) Let's get real. Yoga is not just for blonde, skinny, rich, white girls in their 20s. Yoga can help you become a better parent! Seriously! Hear me out. I'm not here to try to "convert" you to the yogic lifestyle (although don't get mad at me if you decide to take your journey there...it's awesome). And I'm not here to try to convince you that implementing yoga into your daily life routine will make you a more patient and loving parent (it will, though). I am here to show you some poses that will help you in practical, day-to-day situations as a parent. Consider this scenario: you are flying alone with your baby for the first time. You arrive at the airport, everything packed away expertly, your necessary documents in hand, baby gear organized and within reach. You check in, attendant gives you your tickets, and you make your way to the security line with a bounce in your step. This is going so well, you think. I can't believe it, you say. And then they ask you, "Ma'am, can you please take your baby out of the carrier?" You stand there, mouth hanging open. "But, but..." You look around. A young man is behind you, wearing those enormous headphones and wearing shoes that cost more than everything you've packed for your trip. You blindly reach your arms behind you, trying to unclasp the mechanism that binds your baby to you. Sweat starts forming on your upper lip. Everyone is staring at you. You finally cave and ask the cool guy behind you to unclip you. You hang your head in shame. By Annie
Someone else's urine is going to be a part of your life -- and probably wardrobe -- for a long time, mamas. And feces. And vomit. And mucus. Work it! By Layah
11.25 p.m. My eyes are so heavy, and my heart is beating a little too fast. I should probably drink some more water. But I lie here, lost in my thoughts, my to-do list scrolling over and over through my tired brain, causing my heart to pound even harder. I have two days before we leave for Florida. I will never get everything done. I worry about the flight. I must be out of my mind to fly with all three kids by myself. I think about needing bottles for the boys. Wait. I'm supposed to be breastfeeding Little Hawk. But, I can't remember the last time I nursed him. What day was it? I know it hurt, I know he crawled up my body, yanking my nipple, desperately trying to get more milk. But, that last time? I don't know what day it was. I don't know when. I panic. I wasn't paying attention. Even when I knew this was going to be my last baby, I wasn't paying attention. Lying in the darkness, I want nothing more than to nurse him, caress his cheek, stroke the budding hairs that seemed to have bloomed out of nowhere on the top of his tiny round head. I want to kiss his forehead and tell him he is my sweet boy. I desperately try to think back, but my mind just scrambles pictures of the memories of the last couple weeks -- none that include that moment I need to find. None that can show me when exactly we were done. The tears well up. I squeeze my nipples in the darkness. I think I feel some wetness. Relief rushes over me like the touch of the wave on your burning feet when you finally reach the water after running through hot sand. I decide I will nurse him tomorrow, in the rocking chair. I will watch him and smile, and I won't go on IG or Pinterest or Facebook. I will make a point to remember. It only lasted a few minutes before he started pulling my nipple like a piece of beef jerky and climbing up my chest. No more milk. But now if this is the last time, I know we ended nursing right. Just the two of us...my last baby. By Mandy I know these things are hard to talk about, Mama, but nobody wants a rank smelling coochie. Things can change down there as we age, especially after a vaginal birth. But, there's no need to get all emo! This home girl is here to let you in on a classic showgirl secret: Use baby wipes on your cooch!!! They're inexpensive and they're super gentle so they won't irritate sensitive skin or cause infection. Put a travel pack of baby wipes in your yoga bag and also keep some in your bathroom. If you're in the mood for a quickie with your partner, consider freshening up down there first! Nobody wants that "not so fresh feeling" when they're getting it on. But make no mistake -- this is for YOU, mamas. You work hard. You don't take enough time for yourself. You deserve a clean, fresh-smelling vagina, for goodness sake! Disclaimer: If this beauty tip doesn't work for you, too bad! A true MOTY hardly has time to perfect her own look, let alone care about yours. "I secretly get great satisfaction when they hurt themselves when I told them not to do something. Like, 'That's what you get, little asshole, for not listening to Mommy.'"
By Scarlett.
Dear first-born, I wanted to take a moment to apologize to you on behalf of all moms and dads out there. You have definitely had it rough, sweet pea. You, a beautifully perfect being, were born, the first child to wildly inexperienced, overwhelmed, but good-intentioned parents. Hopefully, your birth was met with a joyful welcome; if it wasn’t, I want to apologize even more for something that wasn’t ever your fault. None of this was. None of the panic and stress-hormone-filled milk that you received from your mom who was woken up for the 6th time that first evening you were born. None of the angry jabs with the silicone nipple of the bottle your parents were trying to give you when you wouldn’t stop crying and hadn’t eaten for a few hours. None of the tightening of large hands on your incredibly tiny and fragile rib cage when you wouldn’t fall asleep after 2 hours of rocking, singing, and around and around the perimeter of the bedroom. Sweetheart, you deserved so much more than the incredibly high expectations your parents had for you. You deserved more than a schedule that you should have been eating/sleeping/shitting/performing by. You deserved more than the quiet moments of panic and doubts your parents had when other babies on the block were sitting on their own or sleeping on their own. You deserved more than having your parents look at you in anger and disgust for rubbing the all-organic food that they made for you all over your new outfit instead of into your mouth. You, my dear first-born child, were a perfect human being, in every sense of perfect. As adults, rarely are we ever given something so full of potential, something exclusively ours, that we can make into beings better than ourselves. Most of us try really hard and don’t get it right. We are human, after all, darling child, and what is human if not the very essence of fallibility? First-time parents want to know it all, they look for the very font of information on all things parenting so that they don’t screw up, so that you have the very best possible chance from the very first moment to be spectacular. But we do. We screw up and hurt you and scare you in the process. What we don’t realize is that by focusing on that one singular thing, to make you spectacular, we lose sight of the fact that you already inherently are. But we don’t know that at first, my sweet princes and princesses. You had to become our teachers. You had to teach us, through your patience and undying love and kindness, that we can’t let the fear of our failure as parents keep us from focusing on the brilliance of your perfection. If we go on to have more kids, to have seconds and thirds and fourths, they will have benefited from what YOU have taught us. So, I’m sorry for everything you went through in this mad laboratory experiment we conducted. And you know what? Despite your unknowing involvement, you have beaten the odds. You ARE spectacular, no matter how many times we have messed up. No matter how many times we made well-intentioned but shitty choices. You are a study in resilience, grit, forgiveness, and unconditional love. Again, I’m sorry. On second thought, I'm NOT sorry. You are perfect in every single way, darling first-born child, no matter who your parents are or what they did. You are a great gift. And for every decision we have ever made that has gotten you to this point in your life, we are forever grateful. "I was kneeling on her floor with my head on her bed, and I was having horrible stomach cramps but she was almost asleep. I realized I was about to have explosive diarrhea. And for like 20 seconds, I contemplated shitting my pants because I didn't want to wake her up and have to start all over again. Contemplated shitting my pants! That's when I knew we had a real sleep issue on our hands."
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We love our kids. They drive us crazy. We write about it instead of going insane. Archives
September 2017
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