Confessions of a Professional Mom

Confessions of a Professional Mom

Professional mom seeking clarity, balance and a well deserved glass of wine.

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Hormone Hell: It’s Not You, It’s Me

November 20, 2012 , ,

Hormone Hell: It's Not You, It's MeFirst there’s you. Then there’s you and someone else. Then there’s you and someone else and a dog. Then there’s you and someone else and a dog and a baby. Then there’s you and someone else and a dog and a kid and another baby. (this is where I stop adding)

Where there once was one, now there are five.

All this multiplication is wonderful. Don’t get me wrong. But, sometimes I need to divide by 5 and then take the 1 that’s left and enter a cone of silence, or a good pinot or maybe an institution.

It’s not the days when you’re thrilled to be a mom and a wife and everything is in balance and perfect harmony. Not the days when you watch them sleep and can’t imagine life without them. Not the days when they’re running across a finish line or home plate.

It’s the days when there’s you and two kids and a dog all in the bathroom at once because, apparently, every time you enter the “john” a silent alert is emitted to all children, pets and paparazzi within a .25 mile radius. Mom’s in the bathroom–everyone crowd in and start talking and asking questions all at once!

Or the days when hormones are trying to choke out your very existence and you’re sweating and red and frustrated with everyone and everything and you’re kids rooms resemble a pigsty and laundry looks like the Great Wall and you’re mate might as well stop sucking up the good air around you and you’re too fat and you’re just sure that your house is going to appear on the next episode of Hoarders and, wait, isnt’ that Super Nanny at the door to tell you what a horrible mom you are?

Aaaahhhh!

On those days don’t touch me, look at me, whine to me, cry for me or ask me to drive your ass to the mall after I just picked up your pigsty. Just give me some space to work my shit out. Space to take a breath and have a thought. Time to remember who I am and what I like and remember why I’m actually the luckiest woman in the world.

Give me a little space. I promise I’ll play nice and I will stop threatening to kill you and you’re little dog too.

Believe me when I say, “It’s not you, it’s me!” (Now, someone please exercise this demon out of me)

Stay sane, my friends.

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comments

Great things come out of those days! Those is my house quickly realize when they’ve pushed too far….of course they can’t really miss it when the “F bombs” start dropping on them and around them. Suddenly they all turn into little laundry and cleaning elves! And then I feel guilty….Not!!!

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pigtailsandsunshine

November 21, 2012

Allison, you spill out on these pages what urks so many of us…so often. And the images you find….SPEC-TAC-U-LAR!

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cherylsavala

November 30, 2012

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