I Want My Epidural Back Read online

  2. You want someone who can carry a SHITLOAD of crap. So when you’re traveling somewhere, he can carry the suitcase, the car seat, the stroller, the backpacks, the diaper bag, the lunches, and the coats. You know, while you’re busy chasing your little douchenugget through the airport to catch him before he boards a plane to Syria.

  3. Find someone who’s handy and can put shit together. Because yeah, it’s awesome that your crib from IKEA only costs $12 and comes in a shoebox, but when the hubby unfolds the instructions and they’re in 270 different languages and come with a baggie filled with 7,000 screws, the last thing you need is for him to have a heart attack. Because if he’s in the hospital, then guess who’s putting that shit together? You.

  4. Find a guy who likes to ride amusement park rides, especially the kind that spin around and around and around. That way you can stand off to the side taking beautiful blurry pictures of your hubby and kiddos instead of riding it yourself and projectile vomiting, after which the vomit will sit there in midair until you spin around and it slams you in the face.

  5. Pick a guy who’s taller than you. Then you can store lots of stuff up high in the house and use it as an excuse to make him do shit that you don’t want to do. “Oh honey, I’d totally change his urine-soaked sheets at 3 a.m., but I can’t reach his clean bedding, and it doesn’t make sense for both of us to get up. Guess I’ll have to keep lying here all snug in this comforter while you do it.”

  6. But seriously, who gives a shit who you fall in love with? If he doesn’t come with good parents, ditch him. Because good in-laws are great for all sorts of things. Like buying shoes and underwear for your kids when they grow out of them every week, and babysitting, and leaving right after babysitting so you don’t have to stand there and chitchat at the end of the night pretending like you’re sober.

  7. Look for a guy who’s kinda dirty. That’s right, if you walk into his super-fugly bachelor pad and you squat over the toilet because you’re afraid, you just found yourself a winner. Because guess who’s NOT going to bitch at you for leaving the macaroni and cheese pot soaking in the sink for three days. Mr. McGrossy.

  8. Find a total pussy. Nahhh, I don’t mean become a lesbian. Well, unless you want to become a lesbian. Then become a lesbian. But if you’re looking for a dude, find a dude who’s a total pussy. Because macho dudes won’t change diapers. And macho dudes won’t drive a minivan. And macho dudes won’t hold your purse when you go into a porta-potty.

  9. Find a guy who can blow his load in less than three minutes. Because when you’re trying to get preggers again and he’s jackhammering away at you while your firstborn is body-slamming your bedroom door trying to break it down screaming, “WHY IS IT LOCKED??!!!” you just want to get shit done as fast as possible.

  10. Find someone who’s gonna make you laugh. ’Cause you will never need a sense of humor more than you do once you have kids.

  ZOEY: Mommy, my bagina itches.

  ME: Your what?

  ZOEY: My bagina.

  ME: Your VAgina. Va. Va.

  ZOEY: My VAgina.

  ME: Yes, and actually it’s your vulva.

  ZOEY: I have a vulda?

  ME: A vulVA. Va. Va.

  HUBBY: (interrupting) What the HELL is a vulva?

  ME: It’s like that whole area down there.

  HUBBY: All I know is the clit.

  Sometimes I feel like I’m the only parent in this house. Ya know?

  Men are from Mars, where apparently they don’t make PB&Js

  SO THIS MORNING I HAD TO MAKE an important phone call, so I asked my hubby to get the kiddos dressed and to pack the PB&Js for our day at the zoo. Forty minutes later, I came into the kitchen and the kids were still in their jammies and my hubby was STILL making the sandwiches. I’m like WTF have you been doing all this time? And then I saw.

  This is how a mom makes six PB&Js:

  Take out twelve pieces of bread

  Quickly spread peanut butter on six of them

  Quickly spread jelly on the other six

  Slap them together and shove them into bags

  And this is how a dad does it:

  Take out one piece of bread

  Put peanut butter on it

  Make sure the peanut butter is evenly spread all the way to the edges

  Take out another piece of bread

  Wipe the knife off

  Put jelly on the bread

  Close the sandwich

  Wipe the knife off

  Cut the sandwich in half

  Go get a baggie

  Carefully put the sandwich into the baggie

  Take out one piece of bread

  Put peanut butter on it

  Make sure the peanut butter is evenly spread all the way to the edges

  Take out another piece of bread

  Wipe the knife off

  Put jelly on the bread

  Close the sandwich

  Wipe the knife off

  Cut the sandwich in half

  Go get a baggie

  Carefully put the sandwich into the baggie

  Take out one piece of bread

  Put peanut butter on it

  Make sure the peanut butter is evenly spread all the way to the edges

  Take out another piece of bread

  Wipe the knife off

  Put jelly on the bread

  Close the sandwich

  Wipe the knife off

  Cut the sandwich in half

  Go get a baggie

  Carefully put the sandwich into the baggie

  Take out one piece of bread

  Put peanut butter on it

  Make sure the peanut butter is evenly spread all the way to the edges

  Take out another piece of bread

  Wipe the knife off

  Put jelly on the bread

  Close the sandwich

  Wipe the knife off

  Cut the sandwich in half

  Go get a baggie

  Carefully put the sandwich into the baggie

  Take out one piece of bread

  Put peanut butter on it

  Make sure the peanut butter is evenly spread all the way to the edges

  Take out another piece of bread

  Wipe the knife off

  Put jelly on the bread

  Close the sandwich

  Wipe the knife off

  Cut the sandwich in half

  Go get a baggie

  Carefully put the sandwich into the baggie

  Take out one piece of bread

  Put peanut butter on it

  Make sure the peanut butter is evenly spread all the way to the edges

  Take out another piece of bread

  Wipe the knife off

  Put jelly on the bread

  Close the sandwich

  Wipe the knife off

  Cut the sandwich in half

  Go get a baggie

  Carefully put the sandwich into the baggie

  So by all means, if you are not eating lunch until 6 p.m., ask your husband to make it.

  HOLDEN: Where is Daddy?

  ME: Where do you think Daddy is?

  HOLDEN: Him died.

  (I call my husband on my cell phone.)

  DADDY: Hey, what’s up?

  ME: Just checking. See you at dinner tonight.

  (click)

  A bunch of shit my hubby does better than me

  YO GOD, LEMME GET THIS STRAIGHT. If I want to make a baby, I need a man. Like if I want to make a real live human being with organs and a brain and a central nervous system and complicated shit like that, I need a guy to do it. But if I want to make something super simple, like a sandwich or a bed, having a guy there to help me is actually a liability. How does that make sense? Like the other day I asked my hubby to make Zoey’s bed and he tucked the blanket like four feet under the foot of the bed so now if she wants covers she has to sleep halfway down her mattress every night. I mean sure, I could remake it and pull the blanket up higher, but I’m lazy, so
I’ll just fix it when I change the sheets in a few weeks, uhhh, I mean days. Someone please explain to me why men cannot complete some of the simplest tasks on this planet.

  Yup, I rag on my hubby all the time for the shit he can’t do as well as me. Bwhahahaha, you call THAT a ponytail?!!! Bwhahahaha, all of your white socks are pink now! Bwhahahaha, is this a hamburger or a hockey puck? Of course, I’m sure there’s a bunch of shit he could make fun of me for, but he doesn’t because he’s way more mature than I am. And because he knows I’ll kick his ass if he does. Like how I can’t catch a ball to save my life. Or how I would have no idea how to clean the gutters. Or how I can’t reach the vitamins in our cabinets because I’m short and since I’m usually too lazy to drag a chair over, I end up jumping and missing and jumping and missing and jumping and missing until I finally manage to knock the bottle over with my finger and it rolls out and I catch it and then I turn around and he’s staring at me like I’m a crazy person.

  Anyways, the truth is, we both suck at lots of shit and we’re both awesome at lots of shit. But the good news is that it’s different shit. Which is why we work so well together. He’s my better half and I’m his better half, so together we make one decent human being. Which leads me to my point. Yes, I actually have a point.

  Dear Hubby,

  Here’s a list of stuff you do better than me. And no, I was not abducted by aliens, and yes, this is actually me typing this.

  1. You don’t multitask. Now I know what you’re thinking. WTF kind of backhanded compliment is that? But seriously, this is a good thing. You know how I’m constantly doing two things at once? Playing with the kids and checking my email, doing an art project with the kids and making dinner, watching a movie with the kids and folding laundry. I am never fully there with them. You, on the other hand, can’t do two things at once so if you’re hanging out with the kids, you are hanging out with the kids. And they have 100% of your attention and they love you for it.

  2. Okay, here’s how I give the kids a bath.

  ME: Honeyyy, can you give the kids a bath?!!!

  Seriously. You give the kids a bath every night so when I try to do it, Zoey screams and yells like her eyes are on fire when I wash the shampoo out because apparently I can’t shield her face from the water like you do. Or I get them out of the tub and they yell at me because I don’t wrap them up like burritos the same way you do. Ooooh, excuuuse me for doing it all Chipotle-style and not Taco Bell–style or however the hell Daddy does it.

  3. If one of the kids jumps on my back, I’m like, “Yo douchenugget, if you EVER jump on me like that again, I am going to elbow you in the face and ground you forever.” But you, dear hubby, actually get on all fours and beg them to climb aboard. And then you gallop across the playroom and let them kick you over and over again in the nuts and jump on your head and shit.

  4. HUBBY: Holden, put your shoes on. Holden, please put your shoes on. Holden, put your shoes on. Holden, can you put your shoes on, please? Holden, it’s time for your shoes. Holden, your shoes. Holden, put your shoes on.

  Times like a million until he finally stops whatever he’s doing and comes over to put his shoes on. You have the patience of an F’ing statue getting shat on by a pigeon. Unlike me, who has this little tiny switch that flips whenever I have to tell the kids more than three times to put their shoes on, at which time I go BALLISTIC and turn into a verbally abusive Tasmanian devil.

  5. And, of course, last but not least, taking out the trash, cleaning the gutters, telling me to quit buying shit we don’t need, getting dingleberries off the cat, paying the utility bills, giving me cash because I never have any, standing in line at the cash register so I can keep shopping, carrying shit down to the basement, setting mousetraps, coming quickly when I’m screaming, emptying mousetraps, being our airport pack mule, moving the car seat because I have no F’ing clue how to, etc., etc., etc., etc.

  Love,

  The woman who acts like she could do it all without you, even though there’s no F’ing way she could

  P.S. FYI, there are way more than five things I can put on this list, but I’m lazy and if I write too many I’m afraid it will go to your head.

  HUSBAND: Why do we always have to do it in the dark now?

  ME: Not true, I can see you in the glow of the video monitor.

  Et ee um a-er owls

  HOLDEN: Mommy?

  DADDY: Holden, go back to bed.

  HOLDEN: No, Daddy, I don’t want youuuu. I want Mommm-mmmy.

  ME: Holden, listen to your dad. It’s only 5:20, go back to bed.

  HOLDEN: Nooooooo. I wanna sleep with you.

  ME: Fine, but you have to really sleep and you can’t talk.

  HOLDEN: Mommy, face me.

  ME: No, I’m facing this way right now.

  HOLDEN: No, Mommmmmy, FACE me!!!

  ME: Fine.

  So I roll over so we’re lying on our sides and our heads are on the same pillow, face-to-face.

  HOLDEN: Mommy.

  ME: No talking. Sleep.

  HOLDEN: But Mommy.

  ME: WHAT Holden?

  HOLDEN: BARRRRRRFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF!!!!!!

  I shit you not. It was like he stopped at the all-you-can-eat buffet on the way to our bedroom and then decided my face was the all-you-can-vomit receptacle.

  DADDY: Oh my God.

  ME: (through gritted teeth) Et ee um a-er owls.

  DADDY: What?

  ME: (through gritted teeth) Et ee um a-er owls.

  TRANSLATION: Get me some paper towels.

  REAL TRANSLATION: Why the F are you still standing there? You better sprint as fast as humanly possible to the kitchen and get me some F’ing paper towels in the next two seconds or puke is going to seep into my mouth and then I’m gonna throw up too and you’re gonna be up to your elbows in Pukesville cleaning this shit up without me and then we are getting divorced.

  Seriously, this is the shit they mean when they say in sickness and in health.

  DADDY: Oh, buddy, are you okay? Is it your tummy?

  Are you kidding me? Is HE okay?!!! He’s fine. He just threw up so he probably feels a little better now. I’ll tell you who is NOT okay. The woman who was literally 6 inches away from his mouth when it decided to turn into an explosive cannon and projectile vomit at 60 miles per hour into five of her open orifices.

  DADDY: Do you want a sip of water, buddy?

  ME: AGGGHHHHHHH!!!

  Only it comes out as “MMMMGGGHHHHHH!!!” because I still can’t open my mouth because it’s basically wired shut until someone gets me some F’ing paper towels. He finally gets the message and heads out of the room and God help him if he comes back with Holden’s toothbrush and toothpaste and doesn’t come back with something to clean me off.

  Luckily for him, he returns holding some paper towels. TWO of them. Are you shitting me? I mean it takes more effort to tear off two paper towels than it does to bring the whole roll.

  DADDY: I grabbed them as fast as I could.

  He hands me them, I wipe off my face, and as soon as I’m 200% sure that no throw-up is going to leak into my mouth, I speak.

  ME: I will now be getting into the shower and standing under scalding-hot water for the next 30 minutes. And then I will be headed to Atlanta to go to the CDC to get decontaminated. Take care of everything without me. I’ll be back in time for dinner. Not to cook it. To eat it.

  Look, my hubby wrapped a present for me! Eeeeeks, I wonder what it is!! Do you think it’s the bracelet I asked for from Tiffany?!

  Why I stopped liking sex (Grandma, please don’t read this chapter)

  I DON’T LIKE SEX. Not anymore. I mean I used to lovvvve sex but it’s kind of impossible to like it after you’ve been forced to have it for eight months straight over and over and over again. You see, after I was kidnapped by a ring of whip-yielding pimps, nahhhh, just kidding. Sorry. Seriously, sorrrrry. I totally shouldn’t joke about pimps and sex slavery and shit. That stuff is real and horrible and no one should be for
ced to share their body with anyone, so that was a bad joke. But I’m not joking about sex.