What Babies Are Not

I know a few people that are always going on about wanting children, how they’re going to have a baby in a year when things “settle down”, how they think they’d make great parents, how they’re going to do everything right when they have a little one of their own. And in nearly every single fucking instance, I think to myself, “You are the exact type of person who should not have a baby right now.”

And it’s because they really have no concept of what a baby is. What it means to have a child. They do not comprehend that once you decide to have a kid, the life you have led for however many years is gone. You have a new life now. In many ways, it will be better, and in more ways it will be harder, and that is due in no small part to the fact that parenting is one of the few things in life that you pretty much have to completely fucking improvise. There is no manual, no two week training period, no documentary. You just kinda have to, you know, do it, and hope like hell no one dies.

So. For those of you who think you can like, omigosh, so totally handle having a kid cuz maybe you’ve babysat a few times and your nieces and nephews seem to like you – read on. This is for you.

1. A baby is not a doll. You’re having a human, not a Barbie. And if you knew shit about kids, you’d know that the last thing you need is a plethora of cutesy little goddamn outfits, since a baby will just shit and puke all over them, then promptly get too big to wear any of it.

2. A baby is not a relationship Band-aid. Your marriage/partnership will not improve by bringing a human life in to the mix. My guess is it’s probably going to get worse because babies are stressful and exhausting. If your relationship is on the rocks, work that shit out before you drag an innocent child in to it.

3. A baby is not proof of your maturity. If you think it is, you’re not mature enough to have a baby.

4. A baby is not fun. Yeah, there are parts of parenthood that are fun. But in those early, formative months, it’s a lot of craziness, trial and error, questions, stress, confusion, worry, and sleepless nights. You aren’t going to have fun for a while, champ.

5. A baby is not temporary. Your life is changed now. You can’t just dump the kid off with someone and go about your pre-kid existence. You can’t party every weekend. You can’t party in the middle of the week. You don’t get to sleep 12 hours a day anymore. Your shitty minimum wage job will no longer cut it. Your child deserves all of you, they require the absolute best that you have to give.

6. A baby is not a dog. I shouldn’t even have to fucking say this. I don’t care how much you love your dog. I don’t care that your dog has pet insurance and is doted on and worshipped. I don’t care that you think dog owners have it harder because they don’t qualify for government assistance (yeah, I’ve actually heard these words come out of someone’s mouth). YOUR DOG IS NOT A FUCKING HUMAN BEING. PERIOD. IT IS NOT THE SAME. 

To help put this in perspective: Let’s say your apartment building is on fire. A baby is trapped inside. So is your dog. Now let’s say your best friend comes along. When given the choice between rescuing YOUR DOG and a STRANGER’S BABY most people are going to pick the baby. Yes, the fact that you take such good care of your pet is a good indicator that you’ll be good with a child. But if you think caring for a dog and caring for a baby are basically the same thing, you’re a fucking idiot.

7. A baby is not leverage. Pregnancy is not how you keep a man in a relationship. A child is not a pawn for use in your divorce/break up. If you think a child is a good way to manipulate people, you are a shitty person.

8. A baby will not grow up to be your best friend. It’s your child, not your buddy. You did not give birth to a minime. You gave birth to a goddamn individual. If you are still operating under the assumption that you won’t be like your parents, that you’ll let them wear what they want and talk how they want and do what they want, you are delusional. My kids’ grandmother put it best: “if your teenager doesn’t hate you at some point, you’re not doing your job as a parent.”

9. A baby is not a trophy. You are going to fuck up this kid. No matter what you do, you will do something wrong. And chances are, your kid is still going to be okay. If you have this grand idea in your head that feeding a kid only organic food and never letting them watch TV and making sure every hard surface in their life is covered in foam, you are totally missing the point of being a parent. A baby is not something you parade around and show off so everyone knows what a stellar person you are. You aren’t perfect. Your kid won’t be either. And that’s okay.


Please breed responsibly.


Parentspeak – Because You Can’t Tell A Preschooler to Go Fuck Themselves

You may not have picked up on this, but I tend to be pretty blunt.

I’ve also heard the words “asshole” and “fiery bitch-demon” used to describe me, but those just seem rude.

But you can’t really be blunt with kids, at least not in most regards, because you risk pissing on their childhood, destroying their dreams, or tip-toeing in to the realm of verbal abuse. But you can certainly think those things, and those without kids will be none the wiser.

I’ve compiled a list of the most common parental statements and their literal meanings. Because lol, that’s why.


What We Say: Are you sure that’s a good idea?

What We Mean: That is literally the stupidest fucking thing I’ve ever heard.


What We Say: Please don’t make me ask you again.

What We Mean: By all means, make me ask you again. It’s about time you learn what crippling fear feels like.

What We Say: You can’t just eat cookies all day. It’s not good for you.

What We Mean: You’re going to get fat. Like, super fat. Like, grease the doorways fat.


What We Say: I don’t know. Ask your father/mother

What We Mean: GO. AWAY.


What We Say: What are you doing?

What We Mean:  What are you fucking up?


What We Say: You’re so beautiful.

What We Mean: Thank god I don’t have ugly kids.


What We Say: What a pretty picture!

What We Mean: Is that a chipmunk in a poncho punching William Shatner? What the fuck did you draw?


What We Say: It’s time to start calming down.

What We Mean: Shut the fuck up.


What We Say: Time to get ready for bed!



What We Say: That kid just isn’t very nice.

What We Mean: I should punch that little fucker in the face for hurting your feelings.


What We Say: You can’t do that – it’s not safe.

What We Mean: Jesus Christ, will you please stop trying to die?!


What We Say: I am very upset with you right now.

What We Mean: You have made me so furious that I might literally shit a ball of fire.

Dating Someone With Kids: What You Should Know

I think it’s a fair assessment to say the stigma of single motherhood as far as the dating pool goes has decreased drastically. More men seem to be open to the idea – especially since we’re seeing more single fathers. But if you’ve never dated someone with children you probably have no idea what you’re getting in to – and you should, because kids are kind of a big deal what with them being tiny human beings with delicate little brains and all.

So here’s a heads up that will, with any luck, enable you to make an informed decision as to whether or not you’re equipped to handle it.

1. No one is more important than the kids.

This should be a no-brainer, but when you’ve exclusively dated the childless, you get accustomed to being numero uno in your partner’s life. And it’s not like you have kids, so you don’t really know what it’s like to be in a relationship where there is a mutual understanding that the kids have top billing in this show. But it’s true. Don’t take it personally. Or go right the fuck ahead and take it personally – there are other fish in the sea.

2. There are “kid snacks” in the house, and you don’t fucking touch them.

This isn’t a college dorm, where a box of cookies is fair game. No, bitch. Those go in lunch bags and are used as negotiation tools to persuade the little bastards to leave the room for ten minutes so you can finish this week’s episode of The Wire. If it’s a food item advertised on Nickelodeon, you better grab a fucking apple and hit the bricks, son. (The one exception is if there is a disproportionate amount of goodies to children. Three bottles of apple juice, two kids? Well, you have to drink the third one. That’s just family politics.)

3. Shit gets loud.

If someone is a normal parent and not a goddamn Nazi, they don’t subscribe to the belief that children should be seen and not heard. Kids are going to run, jump, shout, sing, yell at each other, cry, bitch, moan, nag, laugh, and be generally obnoxious – but it’s all in good fun (usually). Even if you’re inside and they’re outside in the yard, they’re going to come in the house every five minutes with a question, a request, a complaint, or to get something that they absolutely need right this very minute. They will accidentally slam doors, drop things, fall down, and cry dramatically to get their sibling in more trouble than they deserve. Parenting is a constant struggle between getting them to the shut the fuck up and letting them be kids. Get some earplugs, some patience, and remember how sweet they are when they laugh.

4. Shit gets messy.

The reality is that the house is not going to look like a magazine 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. Shit happens, and it’s happening constantly. And sometimes it’s not even the kids. My girls clean their rooms every day, and are responsible for putting their toys away. But there are days where I’ve worked nine hours, driven home in shitty traffic, stopped to grab groceries, came home, made dinner, given them a bath, and gotten them in pajamas and in to bed at 9:15, do you actually think I’m going to vacuum the floor right now? Do you think I give a shit about the toothpaste smiley face they drew on the bathroom mirror at this very second? Fuck off or clean it yourself.

5. Sometimes we’re boring.

I’m not old, you guys. I’m 29 for Chrissakes. But my idea of fun has changed dramatically, and even men my age without kids don’t understand why I think spending the day at the river having a picnic and walking along the shore is a great time – especially since there’s no liquor involved.

I’m not saying I don’t still enjoy the occasional party, that I don’t go to the occasional bar, that I don’t stay out until two having dinner and drinks with friends. But those times are few and far between, and I like it that way. I like that my weekends are spent at parks or science museums or taking road trips up to the Redwoods. And I cherish those weekends that are spent doing abso-fucking-lutely nothing at all.

6. Sometimes we’re tired.

Don’t get insulted if we don’t want to stay awake after to kids go to bed and watch a movie. We aren’t avoiding you. We are fucking exhausted. Wake us up in an hour. Maybe then we’ll be rested enough for sexy time.

7. We don’t need you to play mommy/daddy.

In situations where the other parent is an active, positive role in the kid’s life, we do not, in any way, expect, require, or even want you to step in. Don’t spank my kid. Don’t ask my kid to call you daddy. Work out with the person you’re dating where the line for discipline needs to be drawn so you are both perfectly clear as to what that entails. Obviously, you should be someone the kid can depend on, who can fix boo-boos and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. But if you want a kid…make your own. 

8. Domestication isn’t so bad.

It’s kind of cool, having clean laundry all folded and put away huh? Clean dishes? House smells nice? Holy shit, are these linen napkins?!

There’s a whole new level of adult-type-shit that goes along with having kids. It’s the difference between having color-safe bleach and fabric softener and, well, not having those things. It’s having every size and shape of bandage in an organized First Aid kit. It’s always having a pen, always having snacks in your glove compartment, having dinner at 6PM every night at an actual table. It’s a porch light always being left on for you. It’s coming home from a night out to someone who fell asleep watching Investigation Discovery on the couch so they could kiss you hello, no matter how late it is. There’s a sort of comforting normalcy that goes along with the hectic-yet-structured schedule of having kids.

9. You will never be on time for anything again, ever.

We try, dude, I swear to god we do, but all it takes is one lost shoe, one broken toy, one stumble down the steps, one little asshole kid who refuses to turn the fuck around in his carseat because he’s mad at you for not letting him have another popsicle. Then BAM the whole fucking trip is set back half an hour. We even attempt to build time in for these little snafus – how many parents have said “I’ll say I’ll be there at 4:30, even though I should be able to make it by 4:00, that way I’m covered”? Except what happens? There’s a fucking gas leak and your garage explodes and oh shit, you just ran over your neighbor’s cat OH FUCK YOU FORGOT TO GET THE KIDS IN THE CAR IN THE FIRST PLACE.

But I swear, we try.

10. There will be times that we are lazy parents, and we don’t give a shit what you think.

Wouldn’t we all love to say we never let our kid watch cartoons, eat candy, or talk back? That’s the fuckin’ dream, isn’t it?

Yeah, well, that doesn’t happen.

Sometimes a Dora marathon is the only way I can clean and reorganize the closet, or finish a chapter I’m writing. Sometimes a lollipop is the only way I can get them to shut up so I can have an uninterrupted conversation with my banker. Sometimes my kid will get smart with me and I will get so pissed off that I literally cannot speak, because the only words I can think to say are “go fuck yourself, you little shit.”

We love our kids, don’t we? We love them madly. But sometimes cutting them a break means cutting ourselves a break, and if you want to get all judgey for that, well…just wait until it’s your turn.


Truths I’ve Told My Children

1. Why did Aunt Cassy marry a girl and a not a boy?

Because girls can love girls, and boys can love boys, and if you love someone and wanna marry them then that’s what you do.

2. There’s a girl in my class whose face looks different. How come?

Some kids are born different. All kids are born special. Treat her just like you would anyone else – that’s all she really wants anyway.

3. Why are your boobs so much bigger than mine?

Because Mommy uses her boobs to feed babies and to fill out V-neck sweaters.

4. How come our puppy had to die?

Things don’t die, they just become a different kind of energy. You can’t see it, but everything will eventually float back up to the stars so the universe can decide what they’ll become next. There are no endings – only infinite beginnings.

5. Do I have to grow up?

On the outside, yes. On the inside? That’s up to you.

6. Can I just live with you and daddy forever?

Let me put it this way: when you graduate high school, your graduation gift will be luggage and moving boxes.


Also, check out https://drivingmisty.wordpress.com/2014/05/22/lies-ive-told-my-children/

Lies I’ve Told My Children

1. Eat your vegetables.
I was watching a show on TV where they changed the voice of a person they were interviewing. Guin came into the room and asked why his voice sounded like that.
Kyle replied, “That’s what happens when you don’t eat your vegetables.”

2. Where do babies come from?
I managed to incorporate my own beliefs by telling them that all babies start as a star. Then they pick a mommy, turn into a shooting star, and fly into the mommy’s tummy while she’s sleeping.

3. What happened to my pet fish?
We accidentally bought the wrong fish at the store. We got a Seussfish, and those kinds of fish sometimes
grow wings, then fly out of the bowl and back to the ocean.

4. Did you drink my chocolate milk?
“Did too.”
“I did not.”
“You still have milk on your face, Mommy.”

5. Why can’t I sleep during the day and stay awake at night?
Because you’ll turn into a vampire.

6. (While stalling at bedtime) Daddy, what’s your favorite dinosaur?
A gotosleepasaurus.

Being Pregnant Sucks and You Know It

I am in the middle of growing my third human right now, and I must say I’m pretty goddamn good at it. Shit, I’m so good at it that the first time I did it, I grew TWO of them. AT THE SAME TIME. *high fives self*

But I’m not going to bullshit you around like some of these other pregnant broads and tell you it’s a joyous and beautiful and fulfilling experience. It fucking blows, ya’ll.

I mean, it’s joyous and beautiful and shit, too, totally. But oh my GOD, it is rough.

Which is why I can’t help but roll my eyes at these chicks who feel compelled to act like pregnancy is this glorious experience and everything with them is perfect, wonderful, maaarvelous.

Bitch, you LIE.

Here’s why.

1. You’re fat.

Whether you gain it everywhere or just in your belly, you will reach a point where you are basically a rounded vessel of baby-growing. And it. Is. HORSESHIT.

Suddenly, dropping a pen on the floor from a standing position is enough to ruin your goddamn day. Can’t find the remote? Fuck it, guess we’re watching this teeth whitening infomercial. And that little black dress? Yeah. That’s now a plaid bathrobe covered in remnants of Haagan Das and tears.

2. You’re not sure why you’re crying.

It might be because you stubbed your toe, or remembered the goldfish that died when you were six, or maybe your husband sneezed and it scared you a little. Either way, you’re sad goddamnit, and someone needs to bring you a fucking cupcake and some tissue. Immediately.

3. Goodbye, things that are awesome.

Sushi? Nope! Martini?You’ll have a glass of water. Passing around a joint? Bitch, please.

Hey, remember staying up until 1AM and playing Skyrim? Of course not. Your bedtime is 8:30 now.


Dude. I just want to shave my fucking legs, okay? Like, without heaving and grunting and running out of breath. Or, hey, you know what else would be cool? Taking off my bra without pain radiating through my swollen boobies. Jesus fuck, that is awful. I will also accept getting up off the couch on my own, wearing high heels down a flight of stairs, and, you know, standing up for extended periods of time.

5. Why, I’d love to discuss my lady parts with you, perfect stranger!

I’m not sure when my cervix become so goddamn interesting to people, but I am pretty much done being questioned about any and all parts of my vagina. I also do not care about YOUR vagina. I am not interested in anything that has come out of it, how long it took you to push it out, or how big the placenta was. I don’t care. Just leave me alone and let me finish this entire cheese platter.

6. That’s not glow, that’s sweat.


7. Pee.

I can’t even think of any clever title for this bit. Just…pee. So much. Constant pee. I pee before and after I pee. If I see a faucet, I have to pee. If I think of the letter P, I have to pee. That is my life. Eat, sleep, pee.

8. I don’t want your stupid advice.

Please shut up. I’ve done this before. Even if I hadn’t done this before, why in the hell would I take advice from a stranger I met checking out at Target? How do I know your kid isn’t a serial killer, or worse, really fucking stupid?

Out With the New, In With the Old

While there are countless reasons that I am lucky to be a mother of twins – or maybe they are perfectly countable but I just don’t wish to count that high – there is one reason in particular that has spared me a huge amount of stress and kept me from crying in a dark closet drinking wine out of a sippy cup as Kyle bangs on the door and yells at me to come out. I’m usually outta that closet way before he even notices I’m gone, usually with a pretty good buzz.

Just like so many other expecting couples, we were determined to be the best possible parents we could be. When we learned that there were two of them, were we terrified? Fuck yeah! Were we still going to rock the shit out of child-rearing? You bet your sweet ass! Bring it on, babies! We’re about to parent the shit outta you. Times two!

Except we were both in our early twenties and the pregnancy was completely unplanned. We had just gotten accustomed to the idea that we were going to have one baby – what the fuck were we supposed to do with two?

We learned, and quickly, that you do the same thing with two babies as you do with one: you love the hell out of him and hope to hell you don’t fuck him up too much.

As for the rest?

DiaperGenies, a baby wipe warmer, an $800 Eddie Bauer stroller that absorbs any type of shock and can deflect UV rays and cruise missiles…these are great to receive at a baby shower but are otherwise unnecessary. If you can’t afford it, you don’t need it. And if you think you can afford it, you’re either wealthy or delusional. Whichever it is, you should put that money in a goddamn college fund instead.

Your infant does not need clothes from the Gap. He is shitting in them. Like, right now, he is probably just taking a big old stinky shit all up in those ridiculous khaki cargo shorts. And since you dropped so much cash making sure your kid looks like a miniaturized douchebag, you probably had to buy the cheap-ass diapers made from wax paper wound around recycled tampons and held together by Scotch tape – which means there is poop oozing onto his $35 onesie. Idiot.

The kid is going to hurt himself. There is literally nothing you can do about it unless you’re going to wrap him up in bubble paper, and I’m pretty sure that’s child abuse. There’s no need for everything in your house to be made of soft rubber or for you to put a helmet on him while he’s in the tub. The fuck is wrong with you?

For some parents, it usually takes either a couple years or a second kid for them to finally say, “FUCK IT! WHY ARE WE DOING THIS TO OURSELVES?!”

But hey, New Mom and Dad, if you really think your way is so much better, here’s an idea of what most of you sound like now and what you’ll probably sound like once you get some sense about you.

NEW PARENT: Ooo look at this toy! It reads stories and sings the alphabet and teaches them colors!

PRO PARENT: The next person to buy my kid a toy that makes noise is getting punched right in the fucking face.


NEW PARENT: Where’s that other pink sock with the ruffles? No, not that one, that one has duckies on it. Do you have the purple polka dotted socks? Wait, these aren’t polka-dots, these are Easter eggs. Of course it matters; I can’t have everyone at the gas station thinking she’s a hobo!

PRO PARENT: Here are your socks. Matching is not a concern because ALL of your socks are white, and if they are not of the same style, cut, length, or size, I genuinely don’t give a shit because most people have better things to do than scrutinize the socks of a child grocery shopping with their mother. As for the ones that don’t have anything better to do, they can fuck off and die.


NEW PARENT: She just does not want to nap today! Okay, first let’s try her little vibrating chair, then the rocking chair, then walking around with her and patting her back, and if none of that works, usually driving around the block a couple times in her carseat does the trick, but she always wakes up when we try to move her back to her crib!

OLD PARENT: Hey, you know what always works? Driving her around the block a few times. What do you mean how are we gonna move her once we get home? We’re gonna bring her inside in the carseat and fucking leave her in the carseat. The fuck would we move her for?


NEW PARENT: Just be careful feeding her. I’ve already had to change her cute little outfit three times today! Who knew something so small could make such a big mess?

PRO PARENT: What’s that? You spilled an entire jar of mashed beets on her shirt? Luckily I have baby wipes strategically placed all over the house, such as in the cabinet behind you. You wipe that up while I grab one of the 50 thrift store onesies I bought specifically to feed her and keep separate from the brand new onesies, which she wears when the risk of getting dirty has decreased significantly. Oh, the 9 month onesies are a bit small now? That’s okay; I bought all of her clothing up to age two and diapers up to 18 months. We’re good.


NEW PARENT: K, so, this box is for bath toys, this one is for pool toys. Then we have a box for stuffed animals and one for stuffed dolls, okay, that’s really important so we can teach him the difference between animals and people. Now, all of the animal toys are further sub-categorized by species, and then the people are separated in to groups of kids and adults. Then we have the craft box, the rainy day box, the every other Tuesday box…

PRO PARENT: Here is a box. Put your shit in it. If you appear to be accumulating too much shit or are not taking good care of your shit, I will get rid of your shit. Because technically, since I bought it, it is not your shit, it is my shit, and I’m being nice enough to loan it to you.


NEW PARENT: Of course we don’t let him watch television! I learned Spanish just so I can teach him the same things Dora does because it is solely my responsibility to teach my child. Besides, prolonged exposure to television could lead to seizures and pregnancy and drug use and a poor credit rating!

PRO PARENT: Okay kid, you have literally run  me ragged since 8AM. Mama needs a break. You can either take a nap or watch Bubble Guppies – it makes no difference to me, as long as you’re quiet for half an hour, comprende?


NEW PARENT: Did you just let her try that cake batter? THERE ARE RAW EGGS IN THERE; SHE COULD DIE! Or what if she’s allergic to chocolate? And oh my God, chocolate?! Why didn’t you just stick a funnel down her throat and pour in some bacon grease and cotton candy? Now I have to call her pediatrician so I can make sure she doesn’t get fat, develop hives, or die.

PRO PARENT: Here’s a beater for you, and one for you. So help me God, child, if you lay so much as a finger on this mixing bowl of chocolatey deliciousness, you will need a surgical team to remove my foot from your ass.


NEW PARENT: Oh my gosh, the ladies on this parenting forum are so sweet and so helpful!

PRO PARENT: Yup. One year later and you’re all still a bunch of backbiting bitches. I knew retrieving my password was a waste of time.


NEW PARENT: I know I should be using his naptime to take a nap of my own, but this house is such a mess! If I don’t clean it now, I’ll never get it done!

PRO PARENT: Take five minutes to tidy up quickly before I take my own nap, or spend the entirety of his naptime exhausting myself even further by cleaning a house I will just have to clean again after he’s been awake for an hour? Wait, am I actually asking myself this question? I just wasted 45 seconds of perfectly good nap time! Go, woman, go!


NEW PARENT: We need to find more friends that have kids, too. We can have playdates, and other parents are so much more understanding! And I just love all kids so much!

PRO PARENT: That’s the third goddamn birthday party I’ve been to this week. Who’s fucking kid was that anyway? What a little asshole. Do we even know them? You know what, I don’t care. My mom’s watching the kids tonight so I’m gonna call my slutty, single friend from college and you can be damn sure the only juice I drink tonight will have vodka in it.


NEW PARENT: Sweetheart, please, I’m begging you, just put on the dress for mommy, we’re running so late and I just want you to look cute. Yes, yes, I know you want to wear your Halloween costume, but it’s from last year so it’ll be too short, and then you’ll have to wear something underneath and that would look silly. Honey, please.

PRO PARENT: Why yes, I did notice that she’s wearing a ballerina tutu and a pajama shirt underneath her dress and yes, those are indeed two binder clips holding her hair back – she even decorated them with My Little Pony stickers. But, you know, since this is a goddamned playground at a city park instead and not a black tie affair at the Waldorf, I didn’t think there’d be a dress code. By the way, if that horrible smell is associated with the crying child running toward you as he yells mommy, then I’m pretty sure he just crapped in his tiny little designer jeans. I’ll just leave you to it.


NEW PARENT: Here’s the diaper bag checklist; make sure you go through it twice so we know we haven’t forgotten anything. Yes, I know it’s three pages long but she’s going to be at the babysitter’s for two hours, who knows what she might need? That’s why we have two diaper bags, silly!

PRO PARENT: K, this Wal-mart bag has clothes, this one has toys, and this one he packed himself so who the hell knows what’s in it. I’m sure I forgot something that will prove to be of vital importance at some point in the next 24-hours, so here’s fifty bucks. You can use it to replace whatever it is, or to bribe him. Dealer’s choice.


NEW PARENT: We got these pictures taken the day she smiled for the very first time, and this one here we had done on her six month birthday, and next to that we just thought it’d be fun if we all dressed up like rubber duckies and had our pictures done. Then these are the ones they took at the hospital the day she was born, here’s her first day of preschool; you wouldn’t believe how hard it was to find a photographer who’d come out at 6AM…

PRO PARENT: Of course I have pictures of her. They’re on my phone. Oh, that? No, that’s not a picture of my daughter, that came with the frame. Eventually we’ll put a picture of her in it, we’re just waiting for a school picture that doesn’t make her look like she’s got a mullet and a lazy eye.


NEW PARENT: This is going to be such a great date night! Dinner and a movie and a walk by the river under the moonlight. I’m just going to miss my baby sooo much! I almost feel guilty, having all this fun without him!

PRO PARENT:  All right, your mom just pulled out of the driveway. We’ve got two hours to nap, have sex, or both. Hey! Hey, are you already asleep? Oh thank god, cuz I’ve really only got enough in me for a nap.


NEW PARENT: Here you go: heart shaped pancakes, strawberry flowers with fresh whipped cream, and look – I cut up your egg so it looks like a sunshine with a happy face I made out of grated cheese! I’ve been up since five!

PRO PARENT: Cereal. Just be glad I remembered milk.


NEW PARENT: No, honey, I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to try salsa. It’s spicy and you’re only four and you could get an upset tummy or develop acid reflux.

PRO PARENT: You wanna try salsa? All right. Here’s a tiny bit on a chip and here’s a glass of water. This should be hilarious.


NEW PARENT: Awww, look at that, you got a gold ribbon for getting a C in math! Let’s put that on your shelf of participation trophies you got from t-ball.

PRO PARENT: You know what the team who loses the Super Bowl gets? Nothing. You know what a kid in this house gets for being average? Apparently, he gets a goddamned gold ribbon from his school. He also gets to spend an hour a day after his homework is done going over flashcards with his mommy until I’m convinced he’s trying as hard as he can and not as hard as he’s required to.


NEW PARENT: Don’t run so fast on the gravel honey, you could fall! And only go down the short slide, okay? No, no, no monkey bars! Don’t jump up on that! Don’t jump off of it either! Sweetie, if you keep running in a circle you’re going to get dizzy and fall down! Oh my gosh, okay, honey, instead of playing outside on this beautiful spring day with other children, why don’t we go to the library and listen to a frizzy-haired hippie named Moonbeam play a guitar as she reads Clifford the Big Red Dog?

PRO PARENT: Yes. Yes, that’s it children. Run. Run aaaall that energy out of you, for tonight, I shall make bedtime my bitch.


NEW PARENT: Okay sweetie, we’re going in the store now and if you promise to be super good for me, I’ll let you pick out a brand new toy which you will love for no more than 24 hours before tossing it aside so you can bang on my tupperware with your shoe. And if you don’t behave, I’ll scold you in a calm voice which you will not be able to hear over the sound of your tantrum, but at least I will reduce the chance of being harshly judged by strangers who are of no importance to me.

OLD PARENT: We are not here for you, we are here for me. Do not ask me for shit. You will behave because I raised you to be a civilized human being, and if you choose not to behave, be advised that I will not hesitate for a moment to discipline you as I see fit in front of perfect strangers, and that the only person who will walk away from the situation feeling embarrassed will be you.


NEW PARENT: So Tuesday after work I have that PTA meeting and then I have to come right home to make cupcakes for a classmate’s birthday on Wednesday. Oh, and on Thursday I have to go up and talk to his teacher about that detention he got; it’s just so unlike him to act up at all so I’d like to hear directly from her what happened, plus I already try to touch base with her at least once a week. And pretty much all of Saturday I’ll be setting up the fundraiser for the zoo field trip, which I signed up to chaperone. Gotta run, my turn to carpool for soccer!

PRO PARENT: Dear Teacher,

I don’t know what possessed my kid to volunteer me to bake cupcakes for 30 frickin’ people by tomorrow, but that is clearly not going to happen. I’m sure this bag of Twizzlers will be an adequate substitute.If it isn’t, it looks like a certain lucky teacher just scored some free Twizzlers.

Enclosed is a check for $50 for the zoo trip; I realize the cost is only $20, but I’m hoping the additional $30 will be enough to get your events coordinator to stop asking me to join the FUNky FUNraising Committee, a name that is almost as stupid as the question “Would you like to wander around a smelly zoo for 6 hours making sure that children you aren’t legally responsible for aren’t eaten by a tiger?” She knows it’s spelled funDraising, right?

Also, I understand that during yesterday’s recess my son sat on a little girl’s face then farted in her mouth and was given detention. Upon receiving notice of that detention, his father and I agreed he should be punished at home as well. My husband made sure to ingest large amounts of frozen burritos and boiled eggs that evening and, under the pretense of tucking my son in to bed, I instead pinned his body from the neck down beneath the covers while his father released the most noxious gas I have ever smelled mere inches from our son’s face. Although I can’t be sure if the tears in my son’s eyes were a direct cause of the smell, his embarrassment over being punished, or a combination of both, I feel confident that he has learned his lesson.

In the unlikely event that my child should do such a thing again, please advise the little girl that tickling his underarms will not only paralyze him with laughter and enable her to get free, but that laughter will probably be higher and more girlish than her own.

In conclusion, the only time I am okay with having my car full of people who won’t stop screaming or annoying me is when those people are totally trashed and their lives depend on it. Otherwise, I must respectfully say ‘fuuuuck that.’

***NOTE*** If you are in fact a seasoned parent and stumble across something that you still do which I have categorized as the behavior of a new parent, just laugh it off rather than get offended and be proud of yourself for being able to keep a toy box organized for that long, or to juggle your work and personal life while being super involved in your kid’s school, or still having the patience to keep track of a hundred cute little outfits as well as the skill to get your kid to wear them. When it comes time to pick our battles, we all have a different perspective when it comes to saying which ones are hard and which ones are easy. The point, really, is that when we start out as parents we make EVERY battle hard, even when it doesn’t have to be. Some of them get easier as we gain the experience, and some of them go away entirely because we choose to save our energy to fight the ones that matter. In the end, none of us will be perfect parents…but as long as our children think we’re the BEST parents, then who really gives a shit about perfect?