Why You Shouldn’t Expect Me to Visit.

I often feel incredibly guilty about not visiting my friends more. They often make the long trek south to visit us which makes the guilt even worse. So I feel I should explain, to my friends without children or friends with older children who may have forgotten, why it is that you should not expect to see me anytime soon on your door step. I promise it’s not you.

  1. I don’t have the time. Remember prom? We spent hours upon hours getting ready and wished we could do it everyday? Lucky me, I do get to do that everyday! I spend hours upon hours getting my little bunch ready to leave. Only now I look more like the hungover morning after prom when I finally get out the door. Only took 4 hours, but you can bet I have enough gear to survive in the wild a few days!
  2. You live too far away. I use to measure distance in things like miles, minutes, songs, or cigarettes. I now measure distance in bottles. If you live more than one bottle away, I am NOT coming. Here’s what will happen. My toddler will be lulled to sleep by the gentle hum of the car. My youngest will finish his bottle in roughly 10-15 minutes. He will then realize he has been swallowed by a loud roaring robot monster, he can’t see mom from his rear facing seat which means she is gone forever, and he’s strapped down in an obvious torture device. I will have sung every lullaby in the English language and be on the verge of tears when I arrive. Now I will have to wake my sleeping toddler. I love you, but no friend is worth what is about to go down right here in this driveway.
  3. Your house isn’t kid safe. I’m flattered that you lit all your lovely scented candles in preparation for my arrival. Your home truly smells like a majestic unicorn fart, but did I mention my 3 year old caught my table on fire last month? I would love to drink coffee on your lovely deck, but that wood doesn’t look treated and is a splinter catastrophe waiting to happen. My, what a lovely pool! Can we go in now? I’ll just lock every door and window, and block them all with furniture now.
  4. Your house isn’t kid/mom accessible. My youngest can not sit unassisted, which means I will be holding him this ENTIRE visit. You have no bumbo, swing, bouncer, play saucer, or even a high chair. You know what you have? A blanket in the floor. Let’s just hope he developed a sudden love of tummy time on the ride over here. The toddler can’t work your remote, but he is trying. I hope you have your rentals locked because I’m sure he just ordered pay-per-view.
  5. I’m not going to have fun. Believe me, you won’t either. While you are telling me about the fun weekend away you had and the interesting people you have met, I am only thinking about how much I am dreading that drive home. It will be very obvious to you that I am only half listening to what you say. I am constantly interrupting you mid sentence to calm a crying baby or get my toddler out of your refrigerator. By time we say good bye I am both mentally and physically exhausted. I am going to ride home worried about how badly I must look to you with my dirty hair, spit up on my clothes, no makeup on my face, chasing tiny people around your house.

So no, it is not you. I love you. I miss you. If you expect me to visit though, you have lost your mind. Let’s give it a few years. Then I’ll be there, watching you wrestle your kids. Don’t worry; I won’t expect you to come to me, I’ll give you home field advantage.

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Dear Breasts

Dear Breasts,

Why? What happened to us, or more importantly what happened to you? I held up my end of the deal. I have loved you, held you, played with you, flaunted you, fondled you, put you a hypothetical pedestal for as long as I can remember. I have spent more money on providing you with a warm supportive embrace than on any other items in my wardrobe.

I have lathered you in coco butter to keep you smooth and supple. During that short clubbing phased, I even let you wear glitter! I have proudly exclaimed you as my favorite attribute, sacrificing the feelings of my eyes and smile. Pushing you high above the appropriate necklines, I allowed you to become my defining feature in the teen years.

Remember our first Mardi Gras? We had so much fun. I let you girls take center stage. I gave you both your moment in the spotlight and boy how you shined. Remember high school? I kept grimy perverse hands from you; reserving you for only those I thought worthy of your awe inspiring fullness…. at least it seemed that way at the time.

When you showed up overnight at the tender age of 12, I did not get angry. I welcomed you with open arms, and it took both of them to keep you up. I forgave you, left boob, when you decided to make a surprise appearance at my wedding reception. I forgave you both of growing so out of control that I can never own lingerie or a store bought bikini. I have always forgiven you!

We were best friends. You were my wing women, helping me to snag up my husband. You helped me to excel in tip earning jobs. You made up for all the things I didn’t like about myself. You gave me self esteem I so desperately needed. I have always loved you, but now….. why have you failed me?

I have pampered, primped, and primed you for the day you would fulfill your one true purpose, your destiny, your meaning in life. I have been the Merlin to you, my King Authurs. I have been preparing you for an important role, unbeknownst you. You know what though breast? Authur pulled the freaking sword out of the stone and united a whole freaking kingdom!

All you had to do?……. Produce milk.

Your one purpose! The one thing you were born, bred, built, created for… milk. Generations of biology and subconscious chemical attraction has led you to me. You had ONE job, ONE J-O-B! I poured my love and devotion into you. Even after every suggestion from others, I never once even considered having you reduced. I supported you and your overwhelming neediness knowing that one day you would return the favor. Lies!

You even let me believe my failure at breast feeding 4 years ago was MY fault! After massaging, supplementing, changing my diet, drinking herbal teas, trying every wives tale and doctor’s suggestion, I learned it was you all along. You made me look weak, embarrassed even, when pro-milk moms would ask why I didn’t breast feed, they would assume I was making excuses or just lazy.

So now I go, to prepare bottles for the $20 can of formula I had to go out and get after midnight. Preparing bottles for my son, OUR son, which you helped bring into this world with your seductive bouncing only to ignore him like a useless baby daddy once he arrived. This is your fault breasts. I did my part. I leave you with this, you deserve every inch of saggage coming your way, TRAITORS!

Sincerely,

One disappointed formula feeding mother with a useless rack.