A Holiday Buyers Guide that Won't End in Divorce

With the holiday season quickly approaching many of us are begining our shopping preparations for all those special someone's in our lives. I don't know about you, but I've received some really remarkable gifts over the years. Because of these little gems I have created a holiday shopping guide. Feel free to print this out and tape to your husband's forehead, because husbands learn through osmosis. Also, he is more likely to read it if you tape it over his mouth and eyes. You know he won't be missing any football or snacks so this increases the chances he will remove it and possibly glance down(disclaimer, no husbands were hurt in the pursuit of better gifts this year.)


A list of things NOT to buy me for Christmas:

1. Any sort of cleaning supply or device.  On the day we celebrate sweet baby Jesus being evicted from his mother's uterus, I do NOT need to be reminded that I am surrounded by play dough encrusted carpet or that my counters seem to be covered in hardened maple syrup. If you buy me clorox wipes your day will not be merry or bright. You've been warned.

2. Kitchen supplies. I do not care if my pans are from 1982. I do not care that my baking sheets look like they've been in a hail storm. My thighs look like that too, are you going to replace those as well? Because that would be a better present. You know what I do all day? Feed people. All day. I dole out more snacks than your local food truck. Except I don't get paid, and it is usually smeared in my kids hair or thrown back at me like a weapon. So please no utensils that will serve as weapons for my small rug rats to threaten me with when I don't cut their sandwiches correctly. I fail them often.

3. Linens. Listen I know that I probably need them. Audrey enjoys pooping on the floor so we've had to toss out a few too many towels. We've also had to begin therapy because motherhood is traumatizing.  We could probably also use some dish towels and sheets, but I'm sorry nothing says you don't really matter more than a pack of wash cloths. "Abby I really value your selfless service to this family. This is why I bought you this lovely assortment of wash cloths. I know you don't bathe, but you can use these when you're slaving away washing your kids butts or cleaning up their vomit."

4. Any sort of organizational tool. Listen I do not have my shit together. I will never have my shit together. You can buy me 3 planners, 2 address books, a shoe rack, 28 storage bins, a desk organizer, and a mail sorter. I will still lose my children. I will still lock the keys in the car while the car is running. I will still put my pants on backwards once a week. Do not waste your money. This is a lost cause.  Accept it. Move on. We will all be happier for it. 

Now that I've crushed your shopping hopes and dreams let me build you up a bit. 

Here are some treasures I would like to receive:

1. A cleaning lady. Please sweet, baby Jesus buy me a good house scrub, but make sure it isn't a cleaning lady who runs her mouth. I don't want it to get around how many snacks my kids shove in the couch cushions or that I sometimes hide trash under the rug. 

2.  A baby sitter. As much as I love these beautiful little sweet potatoes I've taken one too many diapers to the face lately. Several of them are so attached to me I'm beginning to think they are going to attempt to re-enter my uterus soon. Momma needs a break. Although I'm sure even if I got one, the echos of their piercing cries would still reverberate in my ears.  Buy me a baby sitter and you win for life. I would even consider gifting you my first born. She has a bit of an attitude and does poop her pants occasionally, but other than that I really think she could be going places one day.

3. Food. Good food. Food that doesn't have cartoon characters on the box. Food that I don't have to share. Food that isn't in the shape of extinct animals. Food that isnt eaten off a disney princess plate. Buy me a good meal that isn't stolen or slobbered on by my kids and you will be my favorite.

4. New work out clothes. I haven't worked out since 2012 but I'm considering getting into acting, so I thought I'd practice by pretending to be Mia Hamm everyday for 3 years. But seriously I'm 5 years behind in laundry and the only pair of yoga pants I have left have a hole in the crotch. I mean, I still wear them but I'm worried I may get pregnant again if I keep it up, so some new pants would be appreciated.

I could continue but if you follow these basic guidelines for that special lady in your life I think you'll be pleasantly surprised, or at least not sleeping on the couch for a week and being sent notarized divorce paperwork. I can't promise anything though, I don't know how often you unload the dishwasher. Unloading the dishwasher has been statistically proven to lower ones couch sleeping days.

Love and light from another momma in the struggle ♡

Famous Last Words: Stop Saying This Stuff!

Mommas we need to talk: heart to heart, nursing bra to nursing bra. Let's let our desperate tears and cheeto fingers intermingle as we get real.  I repeatedly hear phrases that I just don't agree with. And if I don't agree with them they must be wrong, because I'm always right. Just ask my husband. So here is a small list of phrases we all need to cut out of our vernacular.

Shit we all need to stop saying:

1. "Can I take a shower?"

Um are we under a water restriction? Did I marry the shower fairy? Last I checked my husband was the co owner of these little hoodlums and therefore shares equal responsibility for them. Did motherhood rob me of an equal right for a clean butt? I missed that memo.

 We should instead say "hey watch the fruit of your loins, while I practice my daily right to not smell like my children's defecation."

2. "Oh it was no big deal"

 Um actually it was a big deal. It took a lot of time and effort. Or, yeah it was an inconvenience but I dealt. Instead us idiots are baking 62 minion cookies for our 6th cousin's birthday and hosting 3 exchange students. Do you happen to speak french?! Me either, but I think that kid either asked for a bagel or has some phlegm in their throat. Luckily we have another six months to work on the language barrier.

  Instead we should acknowledge the bad asses that we actually are: " yeah it was a big deal but I'm an amazing multi tasker who poops glitter and sweats sparkles. I'm glad I was able to gift you with my awesomeness"

3. "Sorry about the mess"

No. Just no. First off, the mess is an indication that actual people live here. Why do we feel the need to justify the biproducts that inherently come from living? These biproducts sometimes include dirty underwear on the ceiling fan. It happens. If you're doing parenting right more than likely there is play dough embedded into your ear drums and walking across the carpet is similar to walking barefoot across fire. Have you ever stepped on Legos before? I have a friend who lost two toes to the transformers Lego set. Not the transformation she expected. Second, if I'm apologizing for my mess that usually means I did not have a heads up to your arrival. Had I had a heads up I would've been stuffing toys and children under the couch cushions while eating all the crackers off the carpet. I'm a conservationist. Just because I'm at home knee deep in rug rats does not mean you can just come over willy nilly to observe my naked, peanut butter covered children.

Instead we should say: " I'm not even slightly sorry about the mess but if you'd like to clean it the vaccum is in the hall closet. I'll be in the kitchen with a beer."

3. "Sorry I am such a mess."

First, why are we even acknowledging our disheveled appearance. They have eyes, no need for a discussion. Second, ladies we brought life into this world. Now we are in charge of making sure that life doesn't kill itself or its siblings by eating glue or jumping off the bunk bed. I don't know about you, but trying to make sure my kids don't meet an untimely end is a full time job. This full time job doesn't involve hair curlers or mascara. 

Instead we should say " sorry if my appearance makes you uncomfortable.  My boob sweat is currently making me uncomfortable as well, but I had to sprint to stop my toddler from eating a snail, so we both are going to have to learn to deal."

4. "I'm really sorry to ask but..."

Why and when did asking for help become such a crime. Where the hell did our village go? I tried to do it all once. I caught my house on fire. True story.  If Who Wants to be a Millionaire has the phone a friend option, why shouldn't I?

Instead we should say: "I've caught the kitchen on fire. My children are wearing their pants as hats, and I have string cheese in my hair. Can I come over?!"
And there shouldn't be shame to that. The response should be, "as long as you bring wine."

5. "Yes."
I know I'm not alone here in this, I swear the second your child is born the yes monster is born as well. You find yourself agreeing to groom the neighbors dog (you don't own scissors) and bake a cake for your best friend's aunt' 4th wedding (your cake baking abilities do not extend beyond purchasing the pre made kind the day of at Wal mart.) Motherhood is inherently selfless and we all tend to extend that natural tendency to other areas of our lives.

Instead, what you should say mommas, what is OK to say is: "No."
Just this. No explanation, no justification. Give yourself the grace to accept your sacrifices are many and, sometimes it's ok to give to yourself the gift of being a priority.

Take these words of wisdom from a

An Open Apology Letter to My Husband

Once upon a time, two lovely individuals threw back a few too many and ended up pregnant at the courthouse. Classy I know, but go big or go home is our motto.  And by "our" I mean mine. My husband is face palming me and dreaming of disinfecting the counters as I type (he is a clean freak. Lord help me).

I cannot pretend to be an expert at marriage. I am knee deep in crayons, broken dreams, dirty diapers, and dirtier children. There are times when my husband, God love him, is second on a good day, and fourth on a bad day. This is the life of a mom with 3 small children. Is it right? Probably not. But in my defense when he is fourth I promise you I am fifth.

So this is my open apology letter to my husband.

1. I'm sorry you come home and the house looked like 58 flying spider monkeys were trapped inside. It was really only a half dozen children under the age of three, but they get angry when they're hungry. And when they're angry I get real scared and start tossing crackers out like I am the star of the Macy's Day Parade. So, basically this is why there are 68 crushed crackers and 4 twizzlers in our air conditioning unit.

2. Speaking of appearance. I'm very, very sorry my underwear are 2 days old, I'm wearing dirty yoga pants, and a shower is just a twinkle in my eye. I know this isn't the woman you married. That woman was clean, stylish, and didn't have a 1 year old assisting in wiping her butt. If you happen to find her pass on this message: run. 

3. I'm sorry when you come home I hand you a child and suddenly become Carmen San Diego. Let's hope I am as successful in my hiding techniques as that girl. I don't have a sweet coat or hat, but I am at least currently wearing a bra and semi clean yoga pants.

4. I'm sorry I turn everything into a crock pot meal. I know you never planned to eat 48 meals straight out of a large ceramic bowl. I never planned to loose my sanity or ask a human being to remove crayons from their bottom. So yeah, I can totally cook that filet in the crock pot. Lets toss some ranch dressing on it to be safe though.

5. I'm sorry the "do I have any clean underwear" conversation happens so frequently in our house. I'm trying to save the planet so I make mine last, but I understand your materialistic desire for a fresh pair daily. My heart hurts for your nether region, Therefore, I would like to introduce you to a magical place. It's called the laundry room, and it has more snacks than our pantry.

6. I'm sorry I've turned into such a hermit. I know you love people and being out in world. You are a 6'1 social butterfly. Lately I've really started loving fuzzy socks, frozen pizzas, and my bed a lot more.  Here is the thing though: there are SO many kids in my bed, so next time you go out to meet your legitimate human need for basic interaction with other adults could you please take one or two of these tiny humans? They're eating my snacks.

7. I am sorry I loose every single item necessary for basic survival. I know it can be confusing  when I call you on my cell phone crying about how I lost my cell phone. I know you get frustrated when I call you and ask you where 35 different kitchen utensils are. Since you have never cooked a meal you may not be my best source of information, but desperate times call for desperate measures. Also, about that time it took me twenty minutes to return home from the store in a town that is five miles long- you see I misplaced the car. The positive thing was I had a cart full of snacks to meet my caloric needs as I wandered around aimlessly while avoiding direct contact with the other customers in the parking lot.

8. I know you do some of your best thinking on the toilet. We have very few boundaries left, but I am sorry I refuse to work on a budget, vacation plan, or go over our cleaning schedule, while you are working on cleaning out your colon. I know this is a point of frustration for you so let's meet in the middle. Once I locate my phone give me a ring next time you find yourself on the porcelain throne and we can make one heck of a grocery list. 
Hell I am even open to face timing.

There are more things I can address here but time is short and I've misplaced one of my children.

Love and light from another momma in the struggle ♡ 

You Aren't Getting Your Body Back

I see the meme on Facebook a lot showing a woman's post baby belly with the caption talking about a tiger earning it's stripes. The response is always overwhelming. All of a sudden all of us ladies are serious cat lovers. 

Meow. 

But in all seriousness it is an image and quote that clearly hits a nerve with us mommas. Because pregnancy puts your body through the ringer. Motherhood puts your body through the ringer. From the second you see those 2 positive lines you are beautifully secondary. You've given your body to someone else. And you'll never get it back. 

Yes I said it. Moms you aren't getting your body back. Ever.

I don't mean that in the sense that you won't loose the weight, or return to your "normal" because you very well will be rocking your old jeans in no time. I am saying this because your body will never be fully your own again. It will be a resting place for sleepy heads, a jungle gym, a launching point for inhuman gymnastic moves, a safe place in sickness, a wonderful corner for story time. Even when they're grown and gone you still won't fully "get your body back". For you see, you lost a bit of your heart. You can't get that back. 

I'm nursing my third baby as I write this.  His little hand is flexing into me, as his eyes flutter asleep. That sweet hand is flexing into impossible stretched skin. Skin that has housed 3 perfectly imperfect humans. His hand grazes my stretch marks, and belly button that has deflated like a sad old ballon.  I am still rocking the lovely line some of us woman get in pregnancy that divides our stomachs in half. Except like everything I do, mine is totally crooked. I can't keep anything straight.

And you know what, that's ok. Because like that line, my path has not been linear.  And as I look at this little human snuggled into what most people consider clear imperfections. I don't feel imperfect. 

I feel beautiful.

We need to have a serious conversation mommas. About the cost of motherhood: because you'll pay a price. You'll pay in sleepless nights, grey hairs, stretch marks, sagging skin. I come to you a different woman than I was. My hips have widened, my stomach bears the marks of my children, I have a worry line between my eye brow, and bags under eyes. I've gained weight. By societies standards I've paid a price.

I'm so glad I bought in. I have 6 hands that reach for me every single morning, 6 feet that I have the privilege of listening to patter down the hall in their next adventures, three heads that snuggle into this imperfect body at the end of the day, 30 toes I get to squeeze during bath time, 3 children who think I hung the moon. I paid a price. A price in my body, a price in my sanity, a price in my self identity. 

And it was the best deal I ever got.
And this girl loves a good coupon.

So you see mommas, you aren't getting your body back. 

I can't speak for you all, but I can say I don't want it. I want the body that created life. I want the body that knows the perfect figure 8 rythm to get a fussy baby to sleep. I want the body that knows the exact way to toss her toddler in the air that results in immediate squeals. I want the body that attends impromptu dance parties, the body that is an expert in hide and seek. I want the body that knows sleepless nights, that knows the weight of responsibility that comes with parenthood, that knows the equally overwhelming weight of love that comes with being a mother.  I'm not getting my body back. And I don't want it.

Best purchase ever.

Love and light from another momma in the struggle ♡

Notice Them

Life with 3 kids ages 3 and under is messy. It's stressful. It's hard. 

Really hard.

You have five million things to juggle and you missed the juggling class. Not to mention your toddler just threw all the balls in the street anyways, So basically you're sol. Welcome to parenthood in a nutshell.

My house is a mess, my kids are a mess, and honestly I'm the biggest mess of them all. Meara requested I please take a shower last night: from the mouth of babes.

But today mommas I'm going to be that super annoying mom you want to punch and ask you to notice the little things. 

Notice you're almost 2 year old uneven gait as she runs to her next adventure. She's covered in dirt and dreams. She drives you crazy half the time. One day her stride will be even. One day she won't be running towards you but away. And that's ok because If we do this job right she should run away. She should chase her dreams. She should be running after life without a backwards glance. But right now she is running towards you, her lopsided gait often interrupted by a yell or fall. Right now you are her world. Right now your arms are the landing zone for her flight. So mommas notice her. Soak her in. She won't be little for more than a blink of an eye.

Meara asks me "what it is" at least 20 times a day. The questions are incessant. Basically I'm like Webster except I don't know what I'm talking about, and lie a lot. The constant questions can be really wearing. I feel like I'm on Oprah, except it isn't Oprah's favorite thing episode, more like when Oprah interviews serial killers. But today mommas notice those questions and take a minute to answer them genuinely.  Right now that 3 year old thinks you hung the moon. They think you have the answer to every question. You are all knowing. Soon she won't come to me with every question. Soon she will figure it out on her own. And after that one day she will realize I don't have all the answers. She will realize I too, can be wrong and uncertain. But right now that little girl thinks I know everything and she wants me to take the time to tell her about it. So mommas, listen. Listen to the questions. Listen to the chatter. Listen to the mispronounced words. Even listen to the cries. Listen to them while you have the privilege of being their greatest audience.

My youngest is 2 months old today. He decided to celebrate by absolutely refusing to be put down. It would be comical from an outside standpoint. I mean the second he is put down waterworks start and the second I come into his blurry range of vision it immediately stops. And momma's I am tired.  I'm hungry. We've already established I need a shower due to the advice of my 3 year old. I want a minute to myself. I want a minute to remember what it was like before my identity became irrevocably entangled with the existance of my children's lives. A minute to remember what my heart felt like before it beat for someone elses. But right now I am soaking him in. I'm noticing his sweet little wrist rolls, and the way he kicks his legs out when he is mad. I'm noticing how his little eyes light up when he sees me, how he snuggles into me after he nurses, milky smiles and contended sighs, like he doesn't have a care in the world. I am going to take a second to notice his ten tiny toes and how perfectly his body fits into mine as we pace. Because if there's anything motherhood has taught me it is that it's all so fleeting. He will be this small for another 2 seconds before it is his little face asking me "what it is."

So today mommas soak them up. Put down the phone, turn off the tv. Chase them, answer their questions, fill their sippy cups 10 million times, help them get their shoes on another 20 million times. Take a second to soak it in.

Because this is just a season. It gives way to other seasons, other lessons, other adventures together. But they won't stay little for long. So notice them.

Love and light from another momma in the struggle ♡

My New Budget

I know some of us moms mayyyyyy  occasionally spend frivolously at locations such as target, Walmart, Amazon prime: 2 day shipping?! Well yes, maybe I actually do need 4 pair of panty hose, 3 can openers, and a can of aqua spray by Tuesday, thank you very much, and occasionally a trip to the liquor store. Can we talk about the emotional turmoil toddlers inflict? Sometimes momma needs a glass of red wine to dull the pain. And memories.

But I'm here to stop the madness. We do not need a meat dehydrator or 12 packs of sticky buns. I don't care if you have a coupon!!! And the only thing you've dehydrated lately is yourself as you cried into your wine. We are already doing the jobs of these products. We need to save our money for important things, like therapy and botox for the wrinkles our children cause! 

So mommas, here are some things we can STOP purchasing!

1. A vacuum. I personally,  this week alone have eaten off the floor 45 goldfish crackers, half a hot dog bun, and some smooshed carpet cheese. My toddler has eaten all the dirt particles she can locate, some dryer lint, and some old canned corn. The dog has taken care of the rest. Vaccuming clearly is for the childless. Snack as needed and let your blessings from heaven, and the dog take care of the rest.

2. Soap. Now I know I'm losing some of you on this one. You glance over at your child. They're covered in dog hair encrusted play dough, broken dreams,  and string cheese. You think to yourself, but my kid smells of old socks and urine. I say to you, within 4 minutes of being awake your child will be covered in peanut butter and riding the guinea pig. Lets just accept our losing battles. Soap is for childless people ages 18 and older. End of story.

3. All clothing. Because I personally go through like 3 outfits minimum per child by 8:30am and by 9 I glance over to catch sight of a butt cheek leaping off the furniture with what sounds like someone shouting war cries for their home land. Why are we spending money on this?! Clearly our children appreciate a good breeze on their bottoms and sand in their orifices. Who are we to deny them this joy?

4. All fruits and vegetables. I see you have baked a lovely vegetable quiche with a side of quione and organic stewed beets. I don't know if you noticed your children crying in the corner, eating the dry wall, and requesting a hot dog, but they clearly seem to be in some sort of medical distress. I really hope you are cpr certified. Lets let this battle go for now and go ahead and just slide that toddler a nugget under the table. Bonus points if you wink. Next time you consider spending 10 dollars on organic edame remember the joy on your child's face when you handed then a pack of Scooby snacks. Just saying.

5. All of the ridiculously expensive toys. Listen I think it's fabulous your kid has a $200.00 doll who has a more impressive passport and wardrobe than I do, but is it really necessary?  My kids are currently eating mud and playing with some dirty socks: just as happy and much cheaper. 

6. The five million classes you enroll your little nugget of love in. I'm not knocking activities. They're awesome. My little nugget is attending dance. We are praying she doesn't get the ax after her last Shakira impression, but so far so good.  I'm talking about the kids who are enrolled in dance, gymnastics, french, public speaking, basket weaving, and masonry at the age of 2. You know who has a baby genius?  Probably not you. So save your money, and have some fun with your kiddo while they still believe you when you tell them you have no idea where their beautiful, bedazzled, talking, doll from hell went.

Now these are just some small money saving ideas. It might be wiser to coupon, cut the wine, and stop buying children's programs in desperation from Netflix.

Either way you choose to budget, this momma has your back.

Love and light from another momma in the struggle ♡

Here is to Not Killing Each Other!

Happy Anniversary, husband of mine!

Here is to 4 years of marriage. I wish someone had snapped a classy picture of us at the courthouse(by classy I mean I was pregnant and already developing my love of stretchy clothing), but I guess we will survive without that precious moment in time captured. We have survived a hell of a lot more.

In 4 years we have moved cross country leaving everything and everyone we knew behind, had major career changes, bought houses and cars, had a lot of kids: I can't make a pot roast for the life of me, and you tried to fry rice without cooking it that one time, but kids we can do. 

And by do, I mean winging it. 

We have no village. We are our own. I'm no pocahontas but I do what I can.

It has not been easy. It's been very, very hard.

Remember that one time I caught the house on fire?  My bad.

Oh my Lord has it been messy.  You and I have ridden the waves, created the waves, and full on drowned in the waves together. You have seen me at best, and seen my at my absolute and total worst. (Contrary to popular belief I am not always as classy as I was back in the pregnant courthouse wedding days.)

Throughout it all we've stubbornly ridden the tide that is our ever transitioning life. You are my better half. You are my worse half. You are my anchor. But at the end of the day you are my Andrew.  

So here is to us: messy, imperfect, tired, committed.  I loved the man you were 6 years ago, but I love the man you are today so much more.

We are not perfect people, I won't even say the cliche that we are perfect for each other either, because we screw it up sometimes too. I will say we have been worth the fight. You're my best friend. You always will be. Thanks for loving me just the way I am.

Ps. You're on your own for dinner tonight. Ain't nobody got time for that. And there is a pretty high statistical chance at this point in the week you have no clean underwear.

Xoxo

My What Pretty Teeth You Have

Once upon a time I made the fateful decision to attempt a dental check up. This decision will more than likely cost me at least 3 more years of therapy bills. For me, not her, after that performance kid clearly has a future in acting. She can pay for her own therapy.  Join me for this little adventure friends.  A good time was not had by anyone.

*I would like to preface this by saying this is NOT a slam against the dentist or dental workers who were very, very nice. When life gives you lemons you cannot use them to construct a 3 story condominium.  You can however use these lemons to clean and disinfect the tears, and the remains of my 3 year old daughters bladder which have both been shed on their once clean floor.  And the boogers.  Because shrieking also produces boogers.

There have been many times I've looked like an idiot.  There have been many times my kids have melted down and caused strangers to question whether I was related to Jerry Springer.  There have been many times I have slowly taken two steps back from my children and glanced pointedly at whatever other adult was the closest so as to make it appear they were the owner of said child.

Yeah, that kid screaming her head off.  Not mine.  Not it.  Do not claim.  Do not pass go.  But girl, collect the  $200.00 and RUN. 

Today I pretended to be responsible and attempted to take my 3 year old to the dentist.  It was a short lived trip that ended in me requesting laughing gas and a prescription for pain relievers.  I may not have been physically injured but I have pain.  I have pain in my heart, pain in my head, and pain in my shins from a vicious toddler kick. 

It began innocently enough.  Meara knew we were on to big things because I put a bra on.  I dusted off my finest pair of stretchy pants and busted out my dry shampoo.  These 2 girls were about to hit the town: or about to head a block away in our minivan headed for despair with a side dose of betrayal, either way. 

The waiting room went well enough.  I filled out paperwork incorrectly.  Meara complimented me on my pink pen.  It was blue.  This was clearly the foreshadowing of future events, but when you're about to be hit by the freight train that is a full blown toddler melt down it's best to be ignorant.

Then the fateful words were said: Meara, it's your turn. Turn for what you ask? A simple dental check up, or your turn to travel into the depraved depths of hell?

B. THE ANSWER IS B.

We made it through the door.  I let out a sigh. Maybe this won't be so bad I thought to myself. Look at me adulting my small child, I thought to myself. Look at our matching boots, how cute are we, I thought to myself.

Cue the beginnings of inhuman screams.       I repeat inhuman shrieks.

So, at this point I begin nervously laughing. And sweating.  A lot.  The dental hygentist were extremely nice. They tried to calm her nerves, give her toys, talked patiently to her.  But listen when you're facing down death, a stuffed teddy bear is no consolation prize.   I didn't raise a fool. Just someone who acts like it.

At this point I'm dragging her limp and lifeless body down the hall. She's basically at deaths door. Her only functioning organ is her lungs, which she is using to screech NOOOOOOO. We make it to the x ray room.

Cue what can only be compared to as the apocalypse. 

My nervous laughter has turned to pants and avoiding direct eye contact, which is mutual.  No one wants to be a part of our current train wreck. 

At this point the very nice dentist pokes his head out the door. Meara has now gone into convulsions. Mamas I'm CPR trained but I was too busy eying the laughing gas to adequately remember the steps. Not to mention due to the gasping of breath, I may have  needed to start with the Heimlich.  Clearly she had an airway obstruction. (Upon further inspection the only obstruction she had was a fierce sense of betrayal in her broken heart.)

The very nice dentist suggests we try again in 6 months. We make eye contact for .03 seconds before my crazy mama stare makes him uncomfortable and he has to glance away.

I glance down at my first born. She seems to be in a death roll with an unseen attacker.
I laugh nervously, sweat drips down my nose.  Or tears.  Maybe both.

We very slowly,  lets's be honest here for a minute, we both run to the door.  It was a very short jog since we had only made it 5 feet into the exam area before the Dr ever so kindly suggested we come back another day.

As we reach the waiting room, I draw my courage and look up. Cue the crickets and horrified stares of all the other waiting patients. Meara kindly looks at the closest waiting patient and wisely advises "don't do it"

Um yeah don't do it. It will end in tears and broken dreams. It will end in embarrassment and wet pants. It will end in a CPS visit and rotting teeth.

It will not end well.

Love and light from another mom in the struggle.

Is it beer:30?!