The Weight Thing...


   It's really complicated actually. I have 2 female children and I am a feminist in every sense of the word. However, I find myself grabbing my stomach and thighs and being extremely critical of myself, in front of my daughters. As I write this, my oldest is resting on my shoulder (repeating the word "twinkle" over and over again, ugh) and her hand is on my belly. My soft and squishy belly. She doesn't care what I look like or if I lose weight. She doesn't think any less of me because my pre pregannacy body is long gone. My youngest is just staring at my tits completely unaware that my face even exists. Yet, I still can't help but feel self concious. I know it's insane. I know I'm being way too hard on myself and in the grand scheme of things, I look pretty decent for having a baby 3 months ago. I know that while I breastfeed, my body won't lose that extra belly fat. I know that dieting and exercsing too much this soon after I gave birth is not ideal. I KNOW that it doesn't matter what I look like as long as I'm healthy. I KNOW ALL OF THESE THINGS!!...So why can't I just accept the way I look with pride?

   I gained 30lbs during my first pregnacy. We went to Mexico 5 months after I had my first daughter and I looked pretty good. I was never down to my pre pregnancy weight and shape before I got pregnant again but I didn't think anything of it. I felt so confident in my bikini in Mexico. Like "LOOK AT ME WORLD!! I BIRTHED A HUMAN BEING! CHECK OUT MY BATTLE SCARS!!!". I felt sexy. I felt good. I figured that because I was (am?) an athlete, the weight would come off after my second pregnancy no problem. And then when I puked for 8 months straight, I thought to myself that "at least I'm not gaining any weight!". Looking back, I realize how crazy those thoughts were. I guess I was trying to find a silver lining in an otherwise exhausting and debilitating situation. I hate admitting it, but I was actually kind of excited that I didn't show until late into month five. I hated being sick, but I loved being small. I was even more excited that I hadn't gained any weight until month 9. I knew baby was fine and that's all that mattered, but did you see how small I was? The compliments about how great I looked and how petite I was while that pregnant were pretty flattering. It's awful really, thoughts like that. It's thoughts like that that have me feeling the way I do now...

   I work out twice a week. I try and eat healthy but I also love to snack. These things have never been a problem for me in the past. I've always been able to lose weight pretty quick. Except, now I can't. I don't know what happens to your body after baby #2, but it's as if it decides that it's just going to hold on to whatever fat you have. Kind of like a "you keep getting pregnant woman, I'm just going to wait for the next baby so there's not point in getting smaller". It's hard. It's fucking depressing. I hate the way I feel and I hate that I feel that way. I am a logical person and I am proud of why my body looks this way, but I just can't get over it. I go into a spiral of self pity and self loathing every time I have a cookie or more than one coffee. I have nightmares about not fitting into my wedding dress next summer and looking awful in it. I feel guilty for thinking these things because I have two beautiful daughters. I want them to always feel comfortable in their own bodies and be confident no matter what shape they're in.

   It's weird really. I look at other moms, my friends. I think they're all so stunning even though they claim they have 20lbs to lose. I look at pictures of their bodies before kids and after and I think about how much more beautiful they are now that they have had children. Ya, maybe they're bigger than they were before, but to me they're perfect. I don't see weight or stretch marks, deflated breasts or bags under their eyes. I don't see unwashed hair and spit up on their shirts; I see amazing mothers who are the most glorious human beings I could ever be around. Yet, I don't see those things in myself.

  I think I'm learning from this. I definitely see the problem and I know it's me. I'm working on it, I am. Im trying my hardest to just accept that it's ok if I never have a flat stomach again. It's ok if my arms are flabby and my one boob is bigger than the other. It's okay if I don't manage to look put together EVERY SINGLE TIME I leave the house. And it's definitely okay to see myself in the mirror and wish I looked different.

   To all the moms out there who have managed to get back into shape after having kids, good for you. I think you're amazing and a hard worker and I look up to you. And to all the moms that feel the way I do right now, we're amazing too. Maybe we'll get there one day, and maybe we wont. But it's okay to feel this way. Being a woman, a mother, is a strange thing. We're champions for each other, but hardest on ourselves.

   I promise to work on my self confidence if you do.

My Birth Story...Plug your ears...

How Baby A came into this world...

 April 15th, 2015

   3:30am - I wake up with uncomfortable pains in my stomach. At this point I've been getting random and annoying pains since Saturday. I really hope this is the real deal. I haven't slept in days and the day before at my prenatal appointment my midwife told me I was 3cm dilated; there's hope. 

   5:00am - I have yet to wake the hubby out. I'm still in denial that I'm in labour because even though I'm having contractions, they're all over the place. I'm breathing through them and to be honest they're really not that bad. The first time I gave birth it took me 30 hours to get to 4cm and I was practically dying until that point. 

   5:45am - Playing solitaire for the last 2 hours apparently wakes a person up eventually. The hubby is up and I've let him know I'm in labour. He's asking me if we should go to the hospital and I say no and that it's still pretty early. 

   8:00am - Somehow I managed to get some sleep. I wake up pretty pissed off though because my contractions are almost non existent. Looks like I need to sexually assault my hubs. He doesn't seem to complain (obviously). 

   9:30am - I'm dead to the world. Im exhausted and the contractions are back. Not any stronger but more frequent. I text my doula. She texts back the usual "rest, eat, let me know if they get closer and stronger." Ya ya ya. I figure I might as well start walking around to get something going...so I lay in bed playing bingo for the next 2 hours. 

   12:00pm - Hubby and I talk about if he should go to work. What if he leaves and all of a sudden my water breaks and I have a super fast labour? A woman in my birth club had to have her husband catch the baby because it happened so fast. Another woman delivered her baby in the car!!! Don't worry, I wouldn't be so lucky. Hubby goes to work and I decide that maybe I should pay attention to my other child. It doesn't go well because you know, I'm in labour and in quite a decent amount of pain. I have lunch with her but then I hand her off to the nanny again because that's what housewives do. I go and get my hair and makeup done and do an interview about the latest episode of my reality show I just filmed. I'm kidding. We're not the Kardashians. But I do have a nanny, and for that, I am eternally grateful, especially on this day when my uterus is literally having a full blown war with my placenta. 

   1:30pm - At this point I have to actually breathe deep through the pain. I start sweating every time I have a contraction and I'm not sure if it's because the heat in our house is still set to 24C or because I'm actually in a lot of pain. 

   3:30pm -  I tell the hubby that it's time to come home. This is no joke. Shit is getting real and I'm not sure if I can handle this alone anymore. I'm starting to get nervous because I'm anticipating what is going to happen next. Will my water break soon? Will the pain get worse and closer together soon? I'm not ready. The laundry isn't done. 

   5:00pm - I tell my doula that it's serious now. I'm in tons of pain. I'm going to go for a walk with the hubs and see what happens.

   6:00pm - Not good. Not good. Not good. The walk was short but I thought I was going to cry through the contractions I had while walking. They're 5 min apart and I'm starting to get scared. I'm scared of my own body. I'm scared of the shit storm brewing inside of me. I tell my doula and she says to call my midwife. I tell my midwife what's going on and she tells me she's going to come check me. Since my goal is to deliver at the hospital, she wants to check me now instead of 1am (understandably).

   7:00pm (ish?) - My midwife tells me I'm 6cm and that we should go to the hospital now. Again, for some reason, I feel like I'm not ready. Do we have everything? We should bring a pillow. We finally make our way into the car and have an obligatory stressed out argument. It's over the garage door opener. Hubby asks me to close the garage and I tell him to go fuck himself. I'm in labour, jesus christ. Swearing at him was probably unnecessary and he's kind of pissed because I'm being a psycho for no reason. Luckily, he's actually a sweetheart and holds my hand the entire way to the hospital. Good thing because I have 4 super strong contractions and the last one sends me over the edge. I have my first mental breakdown and start crying. So of course he starts crying. 

See, the thing is, when someone you love is scared and in a lot of pain, you get scared too. He wants to help me, but of course he can't. 

   8:00pm - We're in the hospital room at this point. The contractions are strong. I'm moaning through them like all the women you see in all of those weird birthing videos that you've watched for whatever reason. But seriously, why have you been watching birthing videos???? 

   9:00pm - The room now has the hubby, two midwives, a midwifery student, and one of my best friends. I can't believe she actually came to watch this. I figure she'll probably want to sew her vagina shut after this. I get checked and I'm only 7cm. My water hasn't broken and they decide that it's time to break it. Cue second mental breakdown. - For the record I have 3 mental breakdowns - I start crying because I know that once my water breaks things are going to change...for the worse. My friend, K, assures me that it'll go super fast once my water breaks and I'll get to meet my princess soon. Too bad she doesn't know how stubborn my cervix is. Then again, no one could have predicted what was about to happen to my body, more importantly, what was about to come out of my mouth. 

   Maybe 10:00pm? Maybe this isn't real life... -  I can't breathe. Holy shit. I'm not ok. NOTHING IS HELPING THESE CONTRACTIONS. WHY IS THIS HAPPENING TO ME RIGHT NOW? What did I do to deserve this...My contractions are about 3 min apart. I think. Maybe they've never gone away. Maybe this is just one giant contraction. Maybe this is how I'm going to die...

   Sometime around 11:00pm - I'm in the shower screaming bloody murder. No, like, I'm screaming. I can't get past 9.5 cm dilated. My midwife has attempted to move my cervix out of the way once already and it didn't work. I've had to push for the last hour and all I can think about is how my hemmorhoids (oh ya ladies, those happen) are going to be insane because my ass has been on fire this whole time. The urge to push feels like you have to take a massive shit, so basically use your imagination...or don't. I'm now in a down spin of emotion. The things coming out of my mouth include "PLEASE HELP ME!!!!", "GET HER OUT OF ME!!!", "WHY IS NO ONE HELPING ME???". Everyone begins to assure me that this baby is coming. I'm not so sure. "YOU'RE ALL LIARS!!! YOU KEEP SAYING SHE'S COMING AND SHE'S NOT!!!". I've become a little insane at this point. "INAUDIBLE SCREAMING!!!". Apparently a nurse had come in to ask if everything was ok. Probably because I've scared everyone on the floor. Somehow she heard me and I'm in room 21, which is about 100 feet away from the nurse's station, maybe more. Somehow...Did I mention I'm completely naked on all fours screaming all of these things at everyone? It's super cute, I wish someone took a picture. 

   11:36pm (I would assume) - The midwife decides it's time. They're going to push the last bit of my cervix out of the way and I'm going to push this baby out. This was by far the worst pain I've ever felt in my life. I saw the white light. I thought I was going to die.

 Just imagine being in the worst pain of your life and someone shoves their hand inside of you and starts moving shit around in there. WHAT THE FUCK?!?! 

   11:37pm - I bear down. It's fucking time. If I don't do this now, I will die. I mean probably not, but according to K, she thought my head was about to start spinning like the exorcist. I give two really strong pushes...

   11:38pm - My midwife asks if I want to feel the head, I say no, K tells me to smarten up and that I actually do want to feel the head coming out of me, she's right. I touch my baby's head, it's all the way out. It's happening! One more push...POP, the shoulder comes out and then...BAM!!! Baby is on top of me. I pushed for exactly one minute. I pushed her out so fast her face is covered in red dots because her capillaries (or whatever) popped with the force of my uterus squeezing her out. I'm happy. Wait what? I'm happy!! It's over! I did it. Oh. My. God. I did it!!! Drug free, just like I wanted. I did it. She's so small. She's definitely smaller than my first baby. She smells so good. Am I crying? What day is it? Who won the baby pool? Am I ok? Who is all here? What do we name her? 

I did it...

   I won't lie. I really didn't think I could do it for a bit there. I kept saying I couldn't and then I started thinking it. The mind is a powerful thing. I made it to 7cm all by myself without screaming because I knew I could do it. I knew my body was made for this and that I owed it to my mother and her mother and her mother before her to do this. There is not shame in taking pain meds while in labour, but I'll tell you, there is something so satisfactory doing it on your own. Not to say it was all completely on my own. I could cry right now thinking about how amazing my support team was. My doula is an absolute angel who held my hands and sat in that shower with me while I cried. K is a friend who I've only grown closer with due to this experience. I'm so glad she got to be a part of this. I don't remember much, but I remember that she was there. She put wet cloths on my head. I heard her voice encouraging me and for that, I will always be thankful to her for. My midwives are amazing women. They're the definition of empowerment and I'm so glad that they chose the profession they did. My hubby...as much as he drives me insane and we argue and we dual...he is my rock. He is one of the strongest human beings I've ever met in my life and he was there right beside me through it all. He was the first person I looked to for help and he never let me down. I owe him so much. He is half of my children and has become my other half over the time we've been together. I don't define myself as a human being and woman by who I am with, but if I did, he would be the only definition I needed. 

   Birthing a child is hard. It doesn't matter how you do it, it's hard. There is so much pain after, but, so much love and happiness too. Being a mom is the greatest thing I've done in my life. I have grown as person because of my children. I am stronger, more humble, and in general, just better because I am a mom. I wouldn't trade each of my birth stories for anything. All the pain, all the blood, sweat, and tears, all of it, was so so so worth it. 

The Lazy mom post...(the stay at home mom reality)

   Well, here it is ladies and gentlemen...the whole truth and nothing but the truth so help me God. Being a mom, takes some serious laziness. What's that you say? Blasphemy?!?! No no no, you understood me all wrong. Being a mom is exhausting and thankless, but it also takes a special kind of person to raise a child and also put laundry off for 5 days. I never realized how lazy I would all of a sudden become until I pushed a baby out of my vagina. I know what you're thinking though. You're thinking, "no, you're not lazy, you're just tired". I mean, ya,  I'm fucking dying over here trying to survive on coffee and leftover oatmeal from my kid's breakfast, but that isn't the reason I'm lazy. Plain and simple, I just DON'T GIVE A FUCK. But seriously, I don't. I look around me right now and my dog is laying beside me in a position that can only be described as acrobatic. There is so much shit (not real shit, although it wouldn't surprise me) all over my bedroom floor that the poor guy has to maneuver his body around to lay down. By the way, that's how much of a wench I am that he knows not to lay on top of the dirty clothes because you know, it pisses me off. Which reminds me, after I give birth, I should really ask my doctor to prescribe me something to keep me from being such a miserable cow...fucking dog smells so bad. I digress...

   Currently, my kitchen smells like the scallops I cooked (burned) last night. The dishes are poking out of the sink as if to remind me that the dishwasher is empty and that I'm a lazy piece of shit. The living room floor is covered in dog hair and toys and my daughter's room has clothes everywhere. For the record, I've been trying to organize her room for two weeks now but she's kind of an asshole and won't let me. I used to, and still do sometimes, get serious anxiety over going to bed knowing my house is messy. Now I just push the clothes off of my bed and pull the covers over my eyes and pretend that a magical fairy is going to come clean up my house in the middle of the night. I've even gone as far as to schedule what parts of the house I'll clean on certain days. Every time I do this though, a little piece of me just dies. I know that I could write down "clean master bedroom" as much as I want and that even when I finally do clean it, the next week, my calendar is once again going to have that same thing written down on any given day. 

   Women spend the majority of their pregnancies agonizing over every little detail about what it will be like once the baby is here. "I'm going to feed my child only organic food" a delusional mom might say. Or, "my house will never be cluttered in toys because I'll be able to entertain my child without the use of props and television" an even more delusional and border line psychotic mom would say. The truth is, once the baby comes, every plan, every decision, every idea of motherhood you ever had, flies out the window. Even the most organized person will find themselves winging it from time to time (if you don't, you seriously need to take a pill and calm the fuck down). There are no schedules or rules when  it comes to children. Some days I can do do the dishes in peace because my little angel is playing with her dollhouse in the living room. Then there's other days that I can't even pee because my child is practicing for her audition for Jackass. But it doesn't matter, because dishes done or not, she's still having a blast. This is why being a lazy mom is the better way to go; trust me ladies!!!

   I love that I'm a lazy mom. It means that I put my child's well being ahead of the stupid dishes, and laundry, and toilets, and oh my god the dog shit in the backyard...I don't need to have a pristine house every day of my life. I don't care anymore, I just don't. The simple energy it would take to even care is not worth it. I don't feel guilty anymore either. I used to feel like such a failure for not keeping the house in order, and myself in order, and bla bla bla bla bla. But I don't anymore. So what if my dishes sit in the sink for two days? So what if I haven't vacuumed in a week? And so fucking what if my dog can't find anywhere to lay down because I've been "organizing" my bedroom for the last three months. My child is fed, and healthy, and happy, and I am surprisingly a little bit more rested than usual. 

  If you come to my house and my cleaning lady hasn't been around for a while, expect a mess. Expect food, juice, and dog hair to be some of the few things you may encounter on the floor. Expect that there will be piles of laundry that aren't put away because ain't nobody got time for that! Expect that my child is exploring the world around her and creating a story in her mind with the 26 stuffed animals that are sprawled on the floor. Expect that I will be sitting back enjoying my 18th coffee and doing absolutely nothing other than watching my child grow. I will be taking in the beauty of my surroundings. That dirty floor is covered in the food that I barely got my child to eat, but guess what, she finally ate some fruit for the first time in two weeks. Those dishes are there because the hubby didn't do them, and that's ok, because instead of doing dishes we spent some quality time together. The piles of clothes are easy to put away, but they also make me sad. Part of me just doesn't want to put them in a bin and say goodbye because that would mean I would have to accept that my daughter has once again outgrown her clothes and that she is growing faster than I can handle. I may be a lazy mom and you may think that I do nothing every day while I'm at home, but in reality, I do so much more than you could every imagine. I think by now you've figured out that the word "lazy" isn't the right word to describe a stay at home mom, or any mom for that matter. I hope you have read this and understood that when you call a mom lazy and her house is a mess and her hair isn't brushed, you are so wrong. But it doesn't matter. I will be proud to be a lazy mom any day of the week until the day I die if it means I get to spend just one extra minute a day with my baby instead of vacuuming the stupid house. Lazy moms unite!!!

Breastfeeding in public...

   It took me a solid two days to think about how I wanted to write this post. I'll start off by telling you what sparked the urge to write this. 

   Not that I haven't, especially since having a baby, always had an issue with how the majority of society feels about breastfeeding etc in public, but two days ago I was at the Phoenix airport and was almost moved to tears. 

   Here I was, with my giant carry on bag, my diaper bag, and my overly loud 10 month old trying to navigate myself to a stall in the bathroom because my bladder was about to explode. (Oh coffee, you're so good to drink yet so mean to my bladder). Anyway, I was making my way around the incredibly nice people who refused to move out of the way, when I saw the big stall at the back was open. Bonus! Now my kid can watch me pee, it's like a dream come true. I made my way to the stall when I noticed a woman huddled in the corner with half her back showing. Strange. The closer I got though, I realized that this woman, or should I say mother, was pumping. SHE WAS FUCKING PUMPING BREASTMILK! Holy shit, someone needs to get this woman a serious drink and a medal because that is some serious dedication right there. As I manoeuvred around her to get into the stall this poor mom started APOLOGIZING to me. She was apologizing to a fellow mom because she was in the corner of a disgusting airport bathroom pumping milk for her baby because I'm sure she didn't want to have to deal with breastfeeding on the plane; we all know the looks that can get you. 

   When I came out of the stall I could see closer the way she was going about doing this. She had the double breast pump going and had the black cover/holder for it so essentially all you could see was a little bit of booby skin. Yet this woman was in the corner, trying to still cover herself from OTHER WOMEN!!!. She then apologized to me again, to which I responded that it was of course completely fine. She proceeded to apologize to me again and I let her know that if it was me I would be sitting outside in plain sight and doing this shit. She of course responded with "ya, right" and "that would be nice". That concluded our exchange. 

   When I came out of the bathroom the hubby could tell I was annoyed with something. I had to explain to him that I was actually fucking livid that this poor woman had to resort to this to just feed her baby. He agreed and we continued to our gate. However, I felt some serious anger building up inside of me. If you've read my previous post you will know that I wasn't able to breastfeed my daughter past three months and so I switched to formula real quick! Regardless though, I would defend a breastfeeding mother any day of the week. In case you've been living under a rock here's what boobs are for: producing milk for a baby so that baby can eat. Or they're used for gawking at by men, and women. I personally love boobs. Just kidding about the gawking, a little bit. The point is that they are used for a completely natural purpose. Next to childbirth, breastfeeding is pretty fucking amazing if you ask me. Like here is this woman, she pushes a watermelon out of a tiny hole (or has her stomach cut open, how fun), she then has a little human suck on her nipples until they bleed, then she rubs lanolin on them like it's going out of style, and then if she's lucky (I was not), the pain goes away and the booby juice starts flowing. How fucking cool is that? 

   Even though you and I can agree that this is all awesome, women still feel the need to cover up while breastfeeding or hide in a corner of a bathroom to pump. We now have "nursing rooms" because how fucking gross is feeding your kid when they're hungry? Ew. I mean, it's SO much easier to run around the mall until you find a nursing room, squeeze yourself, the baby, the stroller, and any other children with you into a shitty dimly lit room with horrendous "peaceful" music playing so you can breastfeed. Not to mention, your baby is probably screaming at this point so that adds an element of adventure to the whole thing. Seriously though, how stupid is this?!

   I felt physically ill after I left that bathroom. I felt sorry for that woman and any other woman  that feels embarrassed to feed her child in public because of what someone might say or the way they might look at her. I understand that not everyone is like me. I had a hard time breastfeeding so when my baby wanted to eat I was whipping that booby out wherever and whenever; I didn't give a shit. I wish more moms didn't give a shit. Maybe that's how we could change society's opinion on this topic. I get it though, it's hard. You're exhausted, your body aches, your kid is screaming, and the last thing you want is some degenerate asking you to cover up or take your titties elsewhere. 

   I hope that eventually the views on breastfeeding in public will change. I'm sure they will. I think enough moms will get sick of covering up and being ashamed that they'll just have one giant hormonal meltdown and tell everyone to fuck the fuck off. At least that's what I envision will happen. 

Judgemental Moms

...Not too long ago, I posted on my Facebook about my choice to stop breastfeeding and formula feed my daughter. The jist of it was that I didn't have enough milk, no matter what I tried, so finally at 3 months I decided to exclusively formula feed. I think what may have pissed some people off was that I also mentioned how I plan on bottle feeding (breastmilk or formula or both) with my second baby. A lot of moms I know agreed with me and felt the same way because they formula fed their babies. However, one or two gave me the "breast is best" or "I used to judge moms who formula fed but now it's ok". Ummmm pardon the fuck me?

I seriously don't know how any mom or WHY any mom would judge another mom. Are you fucking kidding me? We're all exhausted, we all gave birth through some way or another, we've all felt that joy of seeing our precious shit heads for the first time, and we all have moments of happiness, joy, disappointment, anger, and sheer I don't give a fuck-ism. So how can you sit there and tell me that you or anyone you know have judged another mom for formula feeding. You know who I judge? The moms who are degenerate crack heads that sell their babies for a hoot off a pipe. Those are the kind of moms I judge. I mean let's be honest, we all judge, but at least make it realistic. If you're going to judge me for feeding my baby in the only way I can, for sleep training, for using a certain type of diaper, for painting my infant's toenails (I can't wait), for losing my patience and raising my voice, for letting her hit her head accidentally, for almost letting her fall off the bed (shit that scared me), for being the only mom that I know how to be and for doing as good of a job as I can, if you judge me or any mom because of any of those reasons or anything else of the sort, you can go fuck yourself.

Women are so terrible to each other already, let's not find more reasons to hate each other.

Sleep talking 101...

...You know, I almost don't know why I named the blog what I did because I feel like the majority of the blog will about the hilarious and stupid things my boyfriend says, especially in his sleep. So here are the top 5 things he has said in the last month that actually put me in a fit of laughter while he continued to snore away.

1. "I'm Ironman"... Oh are you? I didn't know that babe. Good for you.

2. "I'm the prettiest girl"... At this point, I realize he is a very, very confused man.

3. (This one is more of an action followed by an explanation). I woke up when he elbowed me in the chest as hard as he could. I opened my eyes to him above me saying "OH MY GOD! I'M SO SORRY". I was too shocked to really do anything, so I went back to sleep, which is clearly a completely fucking normal thing to do... The next morning I obviously had to investigate, so i asked him what he was dreaming about. He said he was dreaming about defending me while we got chased by thugs. Do me a favour babe, don't fucking protect me anymore.

4. "Just stop"... I don't even know where to begin with this one... I'm not sure i even want to know.

5. "They're catholic"... HAHAHAHHAHAHA...he fucking hates religion so this was the best thing Ive heard in a while. I don't know who is catholic and why he was dreaming about catholics but I can't wait to find out...

Did  I mention that when he says these things and I'm like "What???" he responds to me IN HIS SLEEP and has no recollection in the morning. Amazing really. The male mind is so simple...

The Beginning.

The First Post...

...Ah, the first of hopefully many. And I say "hopefully many" because I've attempted to start blogging, oh I don't know, THREE TIMES now. Which will make you all very happy to hear that I have now started being a SAHWM or "stay at home working mom". Maybe this will be something I can actually stick to. Well, the mom part I sort of have to, but the working part we'll see. I've started working from home selling something amazing and also I am about to learn how to do eyelash extensions. I'm really hoping I don't suck terribly at the eyelash thing because it seems to be quite the cash cow. I'm actually really excited about finally working again because I'm kind of a lazy piece of shit who is extremely lucky in the sense that I stopped working at 9 weeks pregnant; mainly because my boss was a huge fucking bitch, but also because, well, I'm lucky. I sound like such a stupid asshole right now. 

Anyway, my goal is to document my super exciting life working from home with a baby who is full of sass, and I'm not even fucking joking, a 100lb dog who is needy as fuck, and my grown ass 32 year old boyfriend, aka toddler. I'll probably write about him the most because he is the basis of a lot annoying and hilarious situations in my life. 

I live in a small town in Alberta, Canada, but before you feel sorry for me, because I feel sorry for you if you live somewhere with a population of less than 50,000, I'm 10 min away from a metropolis so basically I don't live in a small town. This is just some background on me because I really don't want to have to explain myself if I offend somebody. That would mean that somebody would actually have to read this blog other than my mom. And what does it say about me as a person that I want you to know I live in a small town but not really?

As you can tell,  I swear, a lot. I've been told that it means I'm intelligent and I know I am so basically that ecard was accurate. I'm also extremely vulgar so if that's not something you can handle, you need to get a sense of humour. 

I can't wait for something extremely stupid to come out of my hubby's mouth so I can write about it. Give it a day, he's in Vegas (that's a whole different post for a totally different time and I think I need to start on some serious meds before I can even graze that topic). 

You can follow me on instagram @sansanjovs and twitter @Sanja_Jovanovic. I'm really funny, I swear.