Pregnancy Tip #547: For the LOVE OF GOD Shave Your Ferocious Bush. Learn From My Mistakes.

Pregnancy Tip #547: For the LOVE OF GOD Shave Your Ferocious Bush. Learn From My Mistakes. | mrsmommymack.com

I decided to take a trip down memory lane today. I wanted to write something that will captivate my audience. If I know anything about my audience, you want to laugh and most of the time at my expense. I dug deep into my brain for some of the most embarrassing times I have endured. Surprisingly enough, most of these memories involve feces — and after writing about my daughter eating poop, I figured I would spare you for a bit.

Being a mom isn’t easy. It’s always full of hysterics, tears and heart-bursting happiness. When my daughter was about to be born, however, life just wasn’t ready for the Lifetime movie moments I had dreamed of.

My daughter’s birth was a planned c-section. After having a terrifying three-day horror show of a birth with my son that ended up in an emergency c-section, I opted to cut to the chase. I wasn’t thrilled about being gutted like a fish again, but I was thrilled about immediate pain relief.

My husband and I met my mother at the hospital before my daughter was born. We were all glowing with anticipation to meet this little girl. My husband lugged paisley u-shaped pillows, piles of polka-dotted blankets and more than one tutu into our hospital room. We were ready.

I laid on the bed in my starchy gown ready to get this over with. During my first c-section, the time between the announcement of necessary c-section and the moment I heard my son’s first cry was less than 10 minutes. I was expecting this type of urgency during round two and was sadly mistaken.

The elderly nurse that would be preparing me for surgery waltzed in immediately and cut to the chase.

“Did you shave?” She croaked, no doubt just stepping in from a cigarette break.

“Huh?” I said, quickly glimpsing at my loved ones’ bright red faces seated next to me hoping she was talking about my armpits.

“Your bikini area, did you shave it?” She asked again, this time with much more vigor in her turkey neck.

“I was not told this was necessary…” I whispered, hoping I could avoid what was certain to be mortifying.

“No problem. I will take care of it,” she said and with the whirl of one liver-spotted hand she had a hedgetrimmer between my thighs.

Did I mention my mother is still sitting right next to me?

“Holy hell!” I squealed as I watched the scene before me unravel.

“The Packers play tonight, eh?” My mom quickly questioned my husband at ten higher octaves than normal to be heard over the landscaping that was taking place in the room. I’m not sure my husband ever answered her as he was vomiting up giggles so hard he couldn’t function.

While I stared at the ceiling, pinching the fat of my thighs willing this moment to be over, I heard the trimmers stop. The room grew silent with happiness as the awkward cloud began to dissolve. Before I could let out the pained breath that was gripping inside my rib cage, I heard ol’ Turkey Neck screech.

“We need another clippers in here!” She bellowed out the open door of my room to apparently catch the attention of every on-looker in a 30 mile radius.

My lack of a beauty regime in the prior nine months was wielding a monster that could not be tamed by one go-round with a trimmer. My mother’s face was puce as she looked on from her rocking chair. A chair she, no doubt, envisioned holding her granddaughter in for the first time, but instead watches an Afro pile at the feet of a nurse who should have retired during the Clinton Administration.

My lower half burned while this woman wrenched, tugged and buzzed every inch of my bits. We could have eaten dinner off my loins that evening. She didn’t give up though, not until 30 MINUTES passed and I whimpered in pain. Pain for both my bikini area and shriveling pride.

If it wasn’t for the distraction of the surgery and soon-to-be newborn, I am sure I would have died more than once of embarrassment that afternoon. Moral of the story is: even if you can’t see your va-jay-jay for six months, it still needs to be at-the-ready no matter what the circumstance.

Family Cross-Country Move: The Shit You Don’t Think About

Family Cross-Country Move: The Shit You Don't Think About | mrsmommymack.com

Last week, my family made the trek from Northeastern Wisconsin to the Portland, Oregon area. This said family included: me, a husband, a two-year old, a one-year old, two cats and a dog. If you’re like everyone I have ever talked to, you’re thinking that I need a brain transplant to do something so masochistic. Truthfully, you might be right. However, I am here and everyone made it alive and relatively unscarred.

With that being said, there were a few bumps along the way. I did my best while planning to Google as many helpful checklists as possible and most stated the obvious like, “bring water for your dog.” If you need that kind of a tip, you have a long way to go before you’re ready to move. These tips are for those who want to expect the unexpected. You already know all of the living beings in your care need sustenance and sleep, yet you feel “underprepared.” That’s why I am here. But, take it from me, you’ll never be ready.

1. Sell Your Shit: I am serious. Throw it on Facebook, a rummage sale or the curb. Once you research the difference between a Uhaul trailer and a truck or moving company you’ll see what I mean. Moving across country does not give you the $19.99 trailer rates. Look at that drill team flag from high school and ask yourself, “Is this worth $1500?” The answer, hopefully, is fuck no.

Also, you will probably need the money. Whatever you think it’s going to cost during the move, double it. Triple it, even. Right now, your brain is clear and logical, but at 9 pm at the last town before the Rockies when your kids are pulling at their car seat restraints like hostages you WILL stop at Walmart to let them pick out anything from the store to shut their little pie holes. Tablet? Sure. Dollhouse? Sure. Electric can opener? Have at it.

2. The Cats:
Don’t be an absolute boob and carry the cats from the house to the kennel that is already packed in the car. For the love of God, please remember this. Otherwise, you will be bleeding from your eyeballs while wrenching your beloved Fluffy out of your bushes, in the dark, at 6 am.

Also, put them in a crate big enough to hold the litterbox. If you think for one hot second your cat is going to poop on a harness like your dog, you’ve got another thing coming.

You’ll want to find Motel 6 locations along the way for the dog, but if the weather permits, the cats will be just fine in the car for a few hours with food and water while you sleep. That is, unless you want to lug a giant kennel with a litterbox full of shit and two screaming cats into a hotel at 10 pm with two children and a lunatic dog at once. I didn’t think so…

3. PAY ATTENTION: You aren’t in Kansas anymore, Dorothy. What do I mean? Well, on day two of the journey, we stopped at the Painted Canyons rest area. I took loads of gorgeous pictures and was so ecstatic about the view that while carrying my two-year old to the restroom I almost walked right into the ass of a buffalo. Literally. It was just sitting there in line like a gentleman. It doesn’t end there either, at rest stop two I let my son run around in the grassy area to burn some energy off and didn’t notice until pulling out of the stop that there was “Rattlesnake Warning” sign posted about every three feet. Mother of the Year?

4. Entertainment: If you’re like me, you’ll think you deserve a Purple Heart for downloading Despicable Me 2 onto your newly purchased iPad as a treat for your toddler. Well, after three days of hearing the squeak of Minions incessantly until your ears burn, you’ll have wished you downloaded every animated film ever created in hopes for some variety. We both know that won’t matter, though. He’ll still pick the Minions every. fucking. time.

Side note: Don’t be an imbecile and leave your iPad off airplane mode. Otherwise, your head will explode when you realize he has somehow managed to be watching YouTube videos of Yo Gabba Gabba on the network simultaneously draining your data usage and bank account.

5. Cheer Up! Yes, this is going to be more stressful than the delivery room. But, there are so many amazing experiences along the way. When your kids see mountains for the first time in their short, precious lives and yell, “Mama, this is AMAZING!” It will be worth every hour of smelling the cats’ latest hot shit piles. Your heart will smile and you will know it was all worth it.

photo credit: <a href=”http://www.flickr.com/photos/130552842@N04/17265266842″>Garage and Moving Van</a> via <a href=”http://photopin.com”>photopin</a&gt; <a href=”https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/”>(license)</a&gt;

You Can’t Choose Your Family.


Well, tomorrow is my family reunion…

This isn’t a typical family reunion in which there’s perhaps a caterer or even a meal in a park with an awning. Perhaps, a quick game of volleyball if you’re that crazy of a family. But at the end of the afternoon everyone normally bids each other adieu and waits again until next year.

Nope.

This is a camping reunion. A two day long camping reunion. I, however, am exempt from the first day since I have to work but that’s only valid for one day, then I had to ask off.

But it gets worse.

There will not only be t-shirt painting (because printing would be, like, easy?) but there will be campers, tents, dogs of every shape size and breed oh, and did I mention some of my family are bringing their ice shacks to sleep in??? Yep, that’s a little nugget for your nervous system.

But, I mean, all in all it makes me smile. I don’t get embarrassed that we will more than likely look like an episode of the reunion episode of Married With Children because it’s just my way of life.

I’ll just pack my Styrofoam Budweiser cooler with my booze and ice, whip out my folding lawn chair with half the support straps broken (not those fancy bag ones), plop myself into the water with my jean shorts on and make a scene for the city-folk that plan on playing volleyball and bidding each other adieu.

To be continued…