Growing up, my mother had a sign hanging in her kitchen. It was a simply painted tile sized sign that read Raising Kids Is Like Being Pecked to Death by a Chicken. I was so offended. I wasn't a terrible child. We could argue that my brothers were, but still...pecked? My vision of motherhood as an adolescent was of baby powder scented nurseries, cherub cheeked toddlers and smiling perfect blond childen who would respect me for no other reason than my unconditional love. In these visions of motherhood we snuggled into an overstuffed chair and read books, held hands at the playground and sat down nightly to balanced meals lovingly prepared and served on wedding china.
Well, it didn't work out that way for me. There was no wedding china for starters. The chicken came before the egg so to speak. The wedding came before the baby, but only by a few weeks. My visions of perfection were shattered by a colicky squalling newborn that never slept. Fastforward a few years and now there are two kids. My house smells like urine, there's a minivan where the jeep used to be, my sanity is arguable, and I'm as happy and proud as any mom can be.
Welcome to my blog. I'm going to share some of the parenting moments that have made me laugh, cry and want to hide under a rock.
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