I Want My Epidural Back Read online

  Okay, don’t worry. I’m turning back into my normal cynical self now.

  AWWW SHIT,

  Whatta You Mean They Grow Up??

  WHOA WHOA WHOA, WTF JUST HAPPENED? Yesterday the nurses were wiping that gross cottage cheese stuff off my newborn and today she’s graduating from kindergarten. Like remember in Star Wars how Han Solo could press that crazy little button on his dashboard and his rocket ship would suddenly launch into warp speed and shoot through space narrowly missing asteroids and shit? That’s my life now. Constantly. One day I’m popping out babies and the next day my eggs are so rotten they smell like a sulfuric science experiment. Can someone pleeeease slow this ride down?!! And what really sucks is that there are people all over the world rubbing it in. Like whenever I walk down the street with my family, some random schmuckwad feels the need to tell me to appreciate my kids now because it goes by so quickly. I’m like, no shit, Sherlock. I feel how fast it’s going. Yesterday she was in diapers and today she’s wearing a thong. Not really, but she’s wearing her underwear backward on purpose and that’s very thong-like. Anyways, I’m stocking up on shitloads of alcohol for the day they leave me, which at this rate is going to be tomorrow.

  If you have a vajayjay and she has a vajayjay,you’re on the same team

  Dear Zoey,

  Here’s the thing. I don’t really give a shit what you are in life. You wanna be a prison guard? Awesome. You wanna be a drug dealer? As long as cannabis is legal in your state, deal away. You wanna be a proctologist? Gross, but whatever floats your boat.

  I don’t care WHAT you are, but I do care WHO you are. Especially when it comes to the way you treat other girls.

  Look in your pants. See that thing in there. That is your vajayjay. And anyone else that has one of those is on the same team. Capeesh? I know that life is hard right now, trying to decide important shit like should you watch PAW Patrol or Scooby-Doo, but believe it or not, life’s gonna get even more complicated as you get older. And here are a few guidelines to remember when you’re figuring out how to treat other girls:

  1. Never ever EVER step on another girl to climb higher socially. Girls are not rungs on a ladder. They are pillars. Pillars who will stand next to you and hopefully lend support when you desperately need it. And you will need it.

  2. Do NOT make fun of other girls for their body parts. If they’re too fat, if they’re too skinny, if they have a mustache, if they have Fred Flintstone toes, if they get boobs before anyone else in your class, etc., etc., etc. Because remember, if she’s the first girl to get boobs, that means you don’t have them yet. And you could be the last girl to get boobs, and that’s gonna suck even worse.

  3. Here are four words I NEVER want you to say in the school cafeteria: This seat is saved. Oh, and here are six MORE words I never want you to say: I’m sorry, this seat is saved. Because only a-holes save seats. And even if you say it nicely, you’re still just an a-hole saying it nicely.

  4. If you are in the bathroom and another girl needs a tampon, give it to her. That’s girl code. I don’t care if she’s your worst enemy and has a voodoo doll of you that she stabs every night. (a) Maybe she’ll stop stabbing the voodoo doll, and (b) if you mess with girl code, karma comes back to bite you in the ass with a vengeance.

  5. Girls are like totally good at saying bad shit behind each other’s backs. But friends are like totally good at ignoring that shit and staying out of those conversations. There is only one time it’s okay to talk behind a friend’s back: if you are planning a surprise party for her.

  6. Remember, the group of girls you go to prom with is just as important as the boy you go to prom with. Maybe even more so. Because there’s a good chance you aren’t gonna marry your date, but it’s quite possible you’ll keep those girl friends for the rest of your life.

  7. Speaking of boys, it’s not a competition to see which girl can win the boy. It’s a competition to see which girl can be the most kickass, awesome, self-confident girl, and then the right boy will come.

  8. If one of your girl friends gets super drunk and does lots of stupid stuff, don’t make fun of her. Be there for her. To hold back her hair, to get her home safely, to keep watch while she pees in an alley, to give her a glass of water, to stop her from giving BJs to the whole football team, to talk to her about it the next day, to never mention it again. She made a mistake. Your job as a friend is to keep her from making more mistakes.

  9. Don’t change to be like the other girls. Unless you’re being a douchebag and they’re being nice, in which case change to be like them.

  10. Usually I tell you that school is the most important thing, but this time I won’t. Girl friends are. You are more likely to retain your girl friends twenty years from now than any lesson you learned in history class, so treat them like gold.

  Damn straight. Anyone kums in my daughter’s room and we’re gonna have a serious problem.

  Dear lady I just saw breastfeeding at a restaurant

  Really? Do you seriously have to pick the table right in front of me so I have to stare at you the whole time you do THAT? I mean yeah, I guess I could pick up and move to a different table, but F that, I was here first.

  And now I have to sit here staring at you breastfeeding for God knows how long because you insist on doing it in public. And here’s why I think that is so wrong.

  Because now I have to listen to that cute little baby suckle away at you like you’re the best thing on earth. Now I have to stare at those adorable little hands reaching out from under your Hooter Hider or Boobie Blanket or Coconut Concealer or whatever all the new moms are wearing these days. And now I have to watch you kiss those itty-bitty toes that are like the size of Tic Tacs, and wahhh, I’ll never have toes like that to kiss again. You’re totally rubbing it in.

  I mean these days if I try to kiss my kiddos’ toes, I either get a giant whiff of nasty foot odor or they’re like, WTF, Mom, and kick me in the face. And besides, have you seen my kids’ feet? Helllllooo, toe cheese and sock lint and black dirt in every crevice. No, thank you.

  I know you have no idea I’m even watching you because you’re lost in your own little world with your brand-new perfect newborn, but quit being so selfish and think about other people for once. People like me who are positive we don’t want to have any more rugrats, until someone like you parks yourself and your porn-star tatas right in front of us. I mean I know we’re supposed to avert our eyes, but it’s hard not to sneak a peek when your little love muffin keeps making all those adorable cooing noises.

  To think there was a time in my life that I thought breast-feeding was a pain and wanted to be done with it. What was I thinking? Because you know what’s harder than breastfeeding? When your daughter doesn’t want to kiss you good-bye because her friends are watching. Or when your son won’t let you carry him anymore and insists on doing everything by himself. Or when both of your kids go to camp for the first time and suddenly you’re sitting there in the kitchen all alone and you’re like now what?

  Anyways, how dare you breastfeed in front of me and rub it in my face and make me wish my kiddos were babies again and make my uterus do the come-on-let’s-have-another-baby dance. Before you sat down, I was 100% sure I was done. And now I’m only 99% sure. And I know that doesn’t seem like a big amount, but that 1% makes all the difference.

  So yeah, I know there are all these crazy people out there who say breastfeeding in public should be outlawed because it’s ugly, but I think it should be outlawed because it’s beautiful.

  Next time, please be a little more considerate and take your breastfeeding somewhere else.

  Sincerely,

  A mom who didn’t want more kids . . . until you sat down

  HOLDEN: Look how big my belly is!!

  ME: Wow! Do you have a baby in your belly?

  (Oh shit, I shouldn’t have said that. Now he’s totally gonna think boys can get pregnant.)

  HOLDEN: Yeah, it’s a girl baby!!

  ME: That’s funn
y, buddy, but you know only women can get pregnant, right?

  HOLDEN: No, boys can too.

  ME: Nope, buddy, only a woman can have a baby in her belly.

  HOLDEN: No.

  ME: Yes.

  HOLDEN: No.

  ME: Yes.

  HOLDEN: No. What if a boy EATS a baby? Then he can have a baby in his belly.

  Touché, Holden. Of course, he’d also go to prison for cannibalism, but yes, he would have a baby in his belly.

  I couldn’t make this shit up if I tried.

  ZOEY: Mama, am I getting boobs?

  Well, this is just awesome. It’s only day three of the first grade and Zoey has learned soooo much already. At this rate I’ll be explaining doggy style to her before the holiday break.

  Twelve things I will always miss about being preggers

  YEAH, I KNOW WHAT YOU’RE THINKING. WHAT?!! Who the hell misses being pregnant? Well, I do. I mean no, I don’t miss the hemorrhoids and the sciatica and the constipation and the lack of sleep and the back pain and the night sweats and the inability to tie my shoelaces, etc., etc., etc., but other than a few thousand bad symptoms, I LOVED being pregnant. I mean, how cool is that? You’re growing a real live human being in your belly. It’s like science fiction! But alas, I’m forty-two, I have all the kiddos I want, and I’ll never do it again. So here goes. Twelve things I will always miss about being preggers:

  1. Feeling a tiny little baby moving around inside me. Wahhh, I’ll never feel that again. And then one day I get a little gas bubble and it feels just like I have a baby in there and for a moment I’m like, “Eeeeks, I just felt him kick!” and then I remember nope, I just had Chipotle for lunch.

  2. Having a ridiculously full head of awesome hair. Sure, it sucks balls when it all falls out after and my bathroom looks like I live with a long-haired orangutan, but for nine short months I walked around flipping my hair like I was in a Pantene commercial.

  3. My hubby doting on me. Because unless you’re Britney Spears, there is only one time in your life when you can tell someone to hurry up and pinch the loaf on the toilet because you need Cherry Garcia and you need it NOWWWW.

  4. Saying I’m eating for two. When I was preggers, I could literally wear a bag of Doritos like a feedbag around my neck and no one could judge me. Well, maybe they judged me but I didn’t give a rat’s ass because “the baby wanted it.”

  5. Seeing cool shit like a foot or an elbow moving around under my skin. I’m like, “Holy crap, honey, did you see that?!! Go grab the mini Vans so I can see if they’re gonna fit!”

  6. Ding! You’ve got mail. Your baby is now the size of a plumcot! And yeah, I have to google “plumcot” because I have no idea WTF that is, but I don’t care because I lovvvve getting that email from BabyCenter every week.

  7. Having a big awesome belly to rest shit on. My hands, my nachos, my can of soda that I shouldn’t be drinking, my iPad, the remote, etc., etc., etc. And then after I have my baby, I’m standing at a party going, “Where the hell do I put my hands now?” So I cross my arms but then I just look all closed off and bitchy. In my pockets? No, that’s weird. Fine, I’ll just let my arms dangle by my sides like two fat salamis hanging at the deli. Perfect.

  8. Having totally big awesome amazing porno boobs. Oh how I miss standing in front of the mirror topless and drooling and wondering whether I might be a narcissistic lesbian.

  9. Never feeling cold. Like seriously, the only time in my life that I didn’t have to carry a cardigan around with me wherever I go was when I was pregnant.

  10. Maternity pants!!!! Maternity pants F’ing rock because they are soooo comfy and now the only day that it’s acceptable for me to wear them is Thanksgiving. Grrrrr.

  11. Having the perfect excuse not to have sex. “But honey, if we have sex your penis is going to be poking the baby in the head over and over again. And you don’t want to have twins, do you?”

  12. The excitement of knowing that I am this close to meeting the tiny, adorable, wonderful, amazing human being that we just created. Seriously, you could tell me I’m going to meet the president of the United States, the Queen of England, God himself, John Lennon, and J. K. Rowling all in one day, and it still wouldn’t be as exciting as knowing I’m about to meet my new little baby.

  HOLDEN: Mom, maybe I can be a fairy when I grow up.

  WHAT I THINK: Oh noooo, you’re totally going to get picked on. Isn’t life hard enough already? Wouldn’t you rather play football? No wait, not football. Pick a less contact-y sport, like swimming or waterskiing. On second thought, nothing where you might drown or get eaten by a shark. What about the marching band? But not drums. I don’t want to listen to drums. And not the trombone. Or the flute. Shit, forget instruments. Wrestling? Cauliflower ear. Chess? Too nerdy. Golf? BO-ring. Oh I know, tennis! Tennis is awesome! Yes, you’ll be a great tennis player.

  WHAT I SAY: Kiddo, you can be whatever you want to be. And if that’s a fairy, you’re gonna be the best damn Tinker Bell there ever was.

  Just a little sumpin’ sumpin’ I had Zoey sign before she could read

  It is hereby agreed that this contract shall be entered into between the parents, Karen and Greg Alpert, and the child, Zoey Alpert, on the 24th day of February, 2015, and that this contract will bind the parties by law and may not be broken for the rest of eternity under penalty of death. I, Zoey Alpert, agree to the following:

  I agree to always let my parents hug and kiss me as much as they want and I will never wipe off their kisses no matter how wet they are.

  I agree to always spend my birthday with my mother because really it should be her who is celebrated on that day.

  I agree to never ever get a tattoo, unless of course it’s the words “I love Mom” in a location that only my mother will see.

  I agree to work ridiculously hard in high school so I can brag that I got into Harvard and Princeton but go to the amazing college down the street from my family.

  I agree to let my parents interview not just the person I want to marry but their whole entire family as well so they can decide whether they are acceptable in-laws and they will have full veto power. If they veto said marriage, I agree to not throw a shit fit and I will thank them profusely for saving me from total self-destruction.

  I agree never to look at the caller ID on my phone or wristwatch or ear microchip or whatever communication device people are using in that decade and let it go to voicemail if my parents are calling.

  I agree never to expose my chest to get cheap plastic beads. If I really want some cheap plastic beads, I will call my mom and ask her to buy me some at Michaels.

  I agree to always talk to my mom about boys or girls or whomever I’m into over a pint of ice cream with two spoons just like they do on TV.

  I agree to let my father walk me down the aisle with the under-standing that he is not “giving” me away, but rather loaning me out and can easily take me back if he deems it necessary.

  I agree to grow up and have lots of adorable little squishy babies who I will gladly let my mom squish anytime she wants.

  I agree to do my best to purchase a house that comes up for sale one day on my parents’ street. It doesn’t have to be visible from where they live, but walking distance would be ideal.

  If I ever win an Oscar or an Olympic medal or the Super Bowl or something else amazing, I agree to thank my parents before I thank anyone else. Yes, even God.

  I agree that the only naked pictures that will ever be taken of my bum are the ones my mom took when I was a baby.

  I agree to always come to my parents if I’m in trouble, even if it means I will be in more trouble.

  I agree to call my parents if I ever need to be bailed out of jail.

  I agree to never need to be bailed out of jail.

  I agree to love and cherish my mom and dad no matter what, even once I can read and understand this contract and realize what they had me sign.

  I agree to never sign another contract without reading it first.


  The last chapter

  Dear Friend,

  Yup, as far as I’m concerned anyone who reads my whole book is officially one of my friends. Like if you came up to me right now, I would put on a shirt that says “my friend” with an arrow pointing at you. And if two people came up to me and said they read my book, I would keep spinning around so the arrow would always be pointing at one of them. And if a whole crowd of people came up to me and said they read my book, I would probably jizz in my pants. But I digress.

  Anyways, thank you. Thanks for reading this. Thanks for telling other people to read it and not just loaning them your copy because you know you read some of it in the bathroom and then you would just be handing your friend a book that’s covered in poo particles. And most of all, thanks for being another kickass mediocre parent. I mean sometimes with all the Pinterest-y posts and Facebook brags I see out there, I feel like I must be the worst parent on earth. But then I look around and I see all of you guys hanging out in your elastic waistband pants and dirty minivans and greasy ponytails and I’m like, ohhhh, there are so many of us mediocre parents!! Which makes US the normal ones. Yayyyy!! Power in numbers!