Do you love your kids? I mean really love your kids? I mean enough to forgive a Sharpie incident? I do. Yep, I'm a saint. I don't overreact at all. AT ALL!!! My secret??? Happy pills. That's right, mama's medicine.
Say it with me, PROZAC!
Now before you judge, I was a mother of 3 kids under the age of 2 1/2 who desperately wanted to be a good mother. Not the kind of mother who put her kids in their room, goes in her closet, curls up in the fetal position, and starts rocking back and forth, only for her husband to come home and hear her say, "I can't do this! I can't do this!" (not me of course, I've just heard stories) Cue Prozac.
Life was breezing along and we were all happy.
"Let's have another kid!" we said.
"What's one more?" we said.
And than came #4.
#4 was a delight.
#4 was joyful.
#4 was a blessing.
We were in the honeymoon period...
As any mother of 4, I was exhausted. I was prone to take naps anywhere. The couch, the chair, standing up... I mean ANYWHERE. Until that fateful day when I was awoken by someone
I'd fallen asleep.
She'd been on the loose.
Free to wander aimlessly from room to room.
I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes and looked down at her adorable cute pudgy hand. She was offering something to me. How sweet! It was only then I realized what it was.
I swear I heard her say, "You might want to take one of these."
When she handed it to me, I noticed a red mark on that same adorable cute pudgy hand.
Reality started to sink in as I walked down the hall. Maybe she isn't so perfect. After all, the other 3 had been trying to convince me of that since day one.
I opened our bedroom door slowly and saw what can only be described as a massacre. A massacre on my room! There were red lines everywhere.
I mean EVERYWHERE!!!
Across the wood floor leading to the bed. Up the comforter. Down the comforter. Back across the floor. Up my dresser. Down my dresser.
I sat down and looked at the bottle in my hand. Hmmm, wonder if I can take one early?