There are a million reasons to hate Valentine’s day. Expectations run high, parenting energy runs low. Restaurants are overbooked and babysitters are hard to come by. It has become a Hallmark holiday. Single people have their face rubbed in their singleness. Etc, etc, and on and on. I never really cared much one way or another. Now that I’m a mom I have found it to be another exhausting holiday and one that happens to come right on the heels of the 100th day of school. It shows up just as we have recovered from the winter holidays. And we don’t even get a day off work.
Dear Lazy Mother in the Grocery Store,
I saw you.
I heard your kid whining for popsicles. I saw you reach into the freezer and ask which type.
6:15am: My alarm goes off.
I slowly and carefully extract myself from the bed, careful not to wake the toddler who has almost certainly ended up velcroed to my nipple at some point in the night. I tiptoe out of the room, stepping gingerly over the sleeping dog, who is blessedly deaf and does not notice what she does not feel.
The close race between Hillary Clinton and Donald Trump defies all logic. How could a human cheese doodle with anger issues possibly be this close to the presidency?
Seven years ago today, the second line showed up on a pregnancy test that I really did not think was going to be positive. I had been Googling all sorts of possible reasons I could have ovulated when I did, but not gotten my period. I alternated those searches with searching to see if every twinge or feeling could be a sign of early pregnancy. Pro tip: Everything can be a sign of early pregnancy if you search Dr. Google enough. Who knows if my ear ache, sore finger, or flaking nail polish were indications that I was pregnant, but I was.
I have been a full-time work-out-of-the-home mother for almost six years, so you would think I have it all under control by now.