A Snyder In The Sun

A Snyder In The Sun

I Remember A Thing Called Privacy.

A few years ago my sister asked me what I thought the hardest part of being a mom was. Without hesitation I answered mom guilt.  There isn't a day that goes by that I, as a parent of two young children (soon to be THREE!!! young children), don't feel like I fucked up in some monumental way that is going to forever impact and scar my kids.  No, I'm not being dramatic. I wish.  This is my reality.  And probably the reality of many others mothers (and fathers) out there. We want what's best for our kids and some days we lose our shit and scream and yell and feel like total jerkoffs after our meltdowns.  I can't tell you how many times I have tried to fall asleep at night only to over analyze all the shitty parenting I did that day.  

As time has passed I have learned to give myself a little bit more of a break.  Sure I still feel guilty about not being a perfect Pinterest mom, but I also try to be realistic.  Most days I am doing the best I can to keep my patience in check and my kids happy.  Most days my kids eat healthy enough.  Most days they aren't in front of the TV for 8 hours straight.  Most days they are well adjusted human beings and just kids being kids.  But you know what else they are? They are little shits that test me every single day.  They know what buttons to push.  They know that after enough begging and whining and crying that they will wear me down, albeit not without a total scream fest from me.  So now I don't feel as guilty.  Most days.

The thing that kills me lately as a parent is the complete lack of privacy I have. I literally cannot leave the room to take a poop without my youngest appearing seconds later to chat me up whilst I am on the toilet. I ask nicely for a little privacy and reassure her that I will not be living in the bathroom and will join her in a minute, but she doesn't care.  As far as she is concerned I am now moving into the bathroom forever so she might as well take up residence on the floor in front of my legs and tell me all about whatever random craziness is going through her brain. But it isn't just my youngest that does this to me.  No sooner than I sit down to relieve myself does my 8 year old  yell for me and appear in the doorway.  Jesus Christ, get out!!!  I have been in here for less than 2 fucking minutes!  Let me poop without a gd audience!!!  

And sex?  Ughhhhhhhh.  I never thought I would have to be so stealthy just to have a little romance with my husband.  Unfortunately for all parties involved, my husband and I have been interrupted during sex a few times and thus we now lock our door and stack as much furniture in front of it as possible to keep the chitlins out.  I kid, I kid.  But of course we do have to lock the door.  Oh, and we have to be super quiet if we have sex when the kids are awake.  Which is total bullshit and not nearly as fun but I guess that's the price parents have to pay so as not to scar the children.  Lame.  So we either act as quiet as mice or have sex when the kids are sleeping.  Thanks for that, kiddos.  

There's also the eavesdropping.  The older kids get the more they absorb what you're saying. They love to hear their parents gossip about that asshole at work that you hate or that friend that pissed you off the other day.  They take all your secrets and store them in some crazy compartment in their brains and bring it up at the most inconvenient (and usually embarrassing) time.  You can't remember where you put your fucking sneakers but you remember that I called Susan a giant bitch 3 years ago?!  Explain to me how that works. So I have to constantly be on the lookout for children creeping around when I'm trying to have private conversations with my husband.  

None of this will be getting better anytime soon.  In less than two months we will be welcoming another little into our home who will ensure our privacy remains non-existant.  Maybe in like 20 years I'll be able to poop without an audience, have sex without inhibitions, and talk shit about whomever I want.  I doubt it.  By then I'm sure I'll have a grandchild lurking someone just waiting for me to start walking to the bathroom.  WHERE ARE YOU GOING, GRANDMA?!!  I HAVE TO TELL YOU SOMETHING REALLY IMPORTANT THAT CAN'T POSSIBLY WAIT UNTIL YOU ARE OFF OF THE TOILET!!! Kids, amiright?

The Chaos Of Co-Sleeping

Typically I don't allow the girls to sleep in my bed.  I am an incredibly light sleeper and any tiny movement will wake me up and probably make me silently rage which causes stress and therefore makes it impossible for me to fall back to sleep.  Sure enough once I'm juuussssttttt about asleep a child will move or even breathe loudly and I'm right back at square one.  No bueno.  Also there's the fact that my bed is queen size.  At the moment I am queen size as well. Add to this a husband who enjoys sleeping in his own bed, and let's just say there isn't much room for a child.  So unless it's necessary, I don't co-sleep with my kids.  

I'm making an exception to the rule this week.  My husband and oldest little left for Pennsylvania for a week so it's just me and the little little holding the fort down.  It was too expensive for all of us to go, plus I'm like 700 years pregnant, plus I just had surgery, plus someone has to take care of our mutts and house.  Total bummer I won't see PA this summer but I guess someone has to be responsible.  Fuck.  Sooooo, since it's only me and my youngest here I decided that if she wanted to sleep in bed with me, she could.  I figured she would be happy about it since she shares a room with her sister now.  I would imagine it would be lonely and possibly a little scary for her to sleep in there by herself. 

So about last night.  We're both cozy in my bed but of course my child wouldn't stop talking. I tell her to shhhhh and close her eyes.  She begins to whine and tells me she wants to sleep in her room.  The fuck?!  Well too bad, sweetheart, mama is comfy now and I'm not getting up and you're just going to have to suck it up and go to sleep!  She whined a little more and passed out.  Okay, bedtime for mom.  NOT!!

All night long she kicked me.  Not only did she kick, she somehow managed to trace her tiny foot up and down my back ever-so-slowly.  Then she stuck her foot directly in my underwear. At that point I just quietly laughed to myself because it was so absurd.  My sweet little lady basically spooned me and beat the shit out of me all night long.  This, folks, is why I don't co-sleep.

There was a plus to all of this.  My rambunctious little turd of a child didn't wake up until after 10:00!  That's the stuff right there.  Shortly after waking up she mentioned that she wanted to sleep in her room tonight.  Translation: I want you to put me to bed in my room, then I'm going to come into your room approximately 4 times before you get so pissed off that you force me to sleep in your bed so you don't have to keep dragging your fat ass out of bed just to put me back in bed another 7 times until I'm too tired to get up again and eventually pass out.

Oh well, there are worst things...right?

Gallbladder Stones And Lazy Days

In a few hours it will be a week since my gallbladder was ripped out of me.  I'm not a baby when it comes to pain.  I've never cried during labor and I may whine a little when I have a cold, but for the most part I keep my shit together and press on.  But this?  Sweet lordy jeezus, this shit hurt!

It started in March, the gallbladder attacks.  One night I was laying in bed watching Ru Paul's Drag Race, content as a clam, and the next minute I was struggling with pain for two hours that I thought might just be gas.  By the time we were on our way to the ER the weird pain had subsided.  I almost didn't go to the hospital at all but Jon said it was better safe than sorry and that we needed to make sure the baby was alright.

Whilst in the ER I got some IV saline solution and an ultrasound was performed.  Thankfully the baby was just fine but the docs suspected my gallbladder was causing the problem and they told me to go on a low-fat diet. And I did....for like a week.

For 2 months I had an attack here and there but nothing too extreme until the end of May. It was the night before Memorial Day when one hit that lasted 9 hours.  It was truly much more painful than any labor I've gone through, mostly because the attacks don't subside like contractions do and I didn't have a strong ass epidural to numb me.  I rode the attack out and thought I better start taking the diet thing seriously or my fucking gallbladder would probably explode.  So I was really good about what I ate.  A few days later I had another attack.  And the next day I had two!  The second one lasted 8 hours before I woke Jon up and said we needed to go back to the ER.  

I was given pain meds and eventually admitted so they could monitor my situation and the baby.  Basically my situation was that my precious gallbladder was chock full of stones and swollen.  At 29 weeks pregnant the doctors were afraid my gallbladder would get infected and they would have to do emergency surgery.  On the other hand, being almost 30 weeks along, the surgery to remove it via laparoscopic incisions could be difficult because my uterus is high up in my belly.  Also, any type of surgery presents risks to the fetus because of the anesthesia. So they monitored me for two more days and saw that the pain wasn't going away.  There was no way I could go through 10 more weeks of pregnancy dealing with the attacks I was having daily.  My baby would come out addicted to pain medication if they sent me home with meds and a rotten gallbladder.  As much as I was freaked out to have surgery, I pushed for it anyway.

Finally my OB, the other docs, and surgeon all agreed to take the worthless organ out.  I was prepped, wheeled into the OR, and shot up with something that promptly knocked me the fuck out.  When I woke up I was being wheeled to recovery and in more pain than I've ever felt in my life.  Holy hell it was bad.  They pushed a few doses of miracle drugs through my veins a few times and I had to wait for the shit to kick in.  They said 10 minutes and the relief would come.  It felt more like 10 hours.  

Once I was back in my room they monitored the baby and after about an hour he was as lively as ever.  Such a relief.  The pain was tremendous once the meds wore off, and that's kind of how it went for the next few days.  I was allowed to come home the day after surgery, which was nice because I'd been living at the hospital for 4 days at that point.  It was lovely to have a break from screaming kids, but being prodded by needles and talked to by 300 different doctors and nurses at all hours of the day and night is more exhausting than having an army of children yelling and demanding snacks all day.

So here I am a week later and finally feeling semi-human again.  Today is the first day I haven't had to take anything for the pain.  Yay!!  Don't get me wrong, I'm still sore as can be, but I'm powering through and taking it as easy as possible, which includes eating extremely healthy and resting a whole bunch when I start feeling icky.  Fuck the dishes, mama needs to relax!


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