...Take My Breath Away

I'm an 80's baby and the movie Top Gun was probably one of my favorite movies. After watching it as an adult, I am not quite sure if my mother made an appropriate choice. Giggle. I also memorized every word to every Prince song at a very early age. I don't judge her though. She was 16 when she had me. She was a flower child, free spirited, and gracious woman with a raunchy sense of humor and the mouth of a sailor. I know everyday she looks down and laughs her ass off at me. Karma is a bitch.

Anyway, the song Take my Breath Away on Top Gun, was my shit!!! I would sit and sing that song and dream of the day when my man would come and "Take My Breath Away". Today, I would like to announce that I want my "breath" back. I did not know the SBF fella would come into my life with his good looks and killer smile, impregnate me, and leave me with a small army of "breath takers". Somehow, I have allowed this little family of mine to believe that my only job in life is to be there for them at all times. The sick twisted bipolar part of this agreement is that I want them to know that I am here at all times no matter what...just not if I am taking a shit, putting make up on, taking a  shower, watching an adult movie, napping, driving the car, talking to a friend, answering emails, surfing the web, reading a book, painting, or eating. During those few and far between times listed above, I would like the ability to do so in peace.

My bedroom is my favorite part of this house. It is the reason we bought this house. I envisioned long days of peace and solitude. Well the SBF has opened up his office in our master bedroom and brought a bookshelf, desk, and futon with him. The three Divas have started this new game called "I'm going to flip off the couch onto the futon and do a triple hand spring onto the ground until mom loses her shit." They have so many rooms created in this house just for their pleasure. Right now, a gigantic Barbie doll house is sitting in our bedroom. I guess the playroom was just not the place for it anymore. WTF don't they play in the other rooms. Instead, they all pile in our bed and watch TV, play games, read books, and just f___k with me. Miss B rubs my arm until I begin to hyperventilate. Then the fighting starts. There is not enough room in the bed for all of us. So the "Stop touching me. Get your feet off of me. I'm hot. Stop farting. Don't lick me." game begins. I patiently suggest they move over and be nice to each other and to please stop jumping because mommy is going to vomit, but they don't listen. After one hour, I go complete ape shit.

The shit that comes out of my mouth makes no sense either. All they can make out is "shit........licking......stop.......hell......why.......go..........where's your daddy........get out." They then have the nerve to turn around and look at me like I have lost my mind. I know whatever just came out of my mouth did not make any sense, but at that point I CAN'T BREATHE. I wish I had a panic button in my room that I could hit that would literally scare the hell out of them and cause them to go running for cover. Better yet (for you True Blood lovers), I wish I could rescind my invitation to my bedroom. They are always breathing my air. I swear I get so hot and sweaty because so many individuals are around me breathing on me all of the time. After my "episode", I sit and think about the damage I have probably caused to their beautiful souls. The guilt takes over and I get up and decide to go check on them. I step out of bed and DAMNIT to hell...I don't know which pain is worse a LEGGO or a Barbie doll shoe. I proceed to whisper profanities and go get the vacuum. The joy I have sucking up their toys that I beg them to put away brings me great delight. My middle one runs to our bedroom door and just stands there with a weird smile like "holy hell...mommy is crazy." Miss B decides to join her and as soon as I cut the vacuum off she says "Can we come back now?" My oldest may be the smartest one ,even though, she has walked into many of walls. She retreats and finds something else to do. It never fails that 45 minutes after my "episode" and I have cleaned our room, cut the TV off,  made the bed, and decided to jump in the shower...I open the bathroom doors and there they sit like f_____g puppies. They are wrestling, giggling, rolling around on the floor, and the TV is back on. I walk to my closet without making eye contact and sit there with the door closed.

Did this happen today? Yes. Did this happen yesterday? Yes. I have the leading role in the movie Groundhog Day. And guess who's birthday is in fact on Groundhog Day???????? Ding. Ding. Ding. Pick me. Pick me. Isn't that ironic? Don't you think? I have seriously contemplated putting on my snorkel mask when I am trying to hang out in our bedroom in hopes that I will be able to get some air. They would just think it's a game and beg me to go find their masks and I would end up sitting in a bed with three kids and crying with a damn snorkel mask.

I know the end of summer is approaching and school will start. I will get back some of my free time. Lately, when the SBF comes home, he asks "What did y'all do all day?" I quickly answer "I tried not to suffocate." I know he secretly thinks this is all my fault. They don't do this to him. So, I must be encouraging this kind of behavior. Maybe I am. At this point, I don't know what the hell is going on. I do know that when school starts and he comes home and asks me what did I do on the three days I don't "work"...I will remember these moments and instead of making up something like I cleaned or reorganized the closets. I will loudly respond "NOT SHIT!"

....Wife Duties

I was loafing around on Pinterest the other day and came across a friend's pin. This is an article supposedly from an Econ book in the 1950s. I literally almost shit my pants from laughter and shock. I swear the mother smiling in the picture looks like she is baked and secretly telling her husband to go f____ himself. The children look like they are playing the game "I'll show you mine, if you show me yours." The photo itself screams dysfunction. The words typed below scream borderline human trafficking. I would pay money to bitch slap the author of this piece of work. Even if this article is fake, there is a hidden message that I feel has been passed down from generation to generation. The message being surrender yourself to becoming someone else's bitch for the rest of your life and love doing it because it is your job.

After I wiped the tears away from laughing and choking, I started to think about my home life. The three days I am with the Divas all day are pretty scary. The fighting, screaming, crying, and whining can be brutal to my mental health. How many times can you plead with them to sit down and stop it? Some days, I totally understand what may drive someone to try Meth. Don't judge me....I have a four year old whose only speed is "hard". She screams hard. She hits hard. She laughs hard. She scratches hard. She bites hard. She talks hard. She loves hard. She has no middle. She is either full throttle or sick. By the time the SBF comes home, I'm speaking softly alright. I am whispering that he can go to hell if he leaves me one more day with his children. As he tosses them around on a bed that I just made, I try not to scream as I watch my pillows get tossed on the floor. The sheet from my once perfectly made bed has become a parachute. The children are filthy and I grimace as their dirty ass feet prance around the bed as he sings with them. There is no food cooked because they have eaten shit all day. The dishes are dirty. The washing machine is rocking back and forth like a space ship because I am washing the 12 towels used to clean up spills that day. The only thing fresh on my body is the booger that Brooklyn wiped on my shirt. I stand there at the bedroom door and I just look at them. Every once in a while, I see the beauty in the moment. They love their daddy so, but most of the time I stand there toying with the definition of abandonment or how bad is a place with padded walls. I wait for my turn to be interesting for him alright. I inform him that his daughter must have a tape worm because she digs in her ass all the time. The other daughter walks into walls on a regular basis. And his third daughter refuses to embrace the importance of deodorant.

I am pretty sure this guide lead to a constant sense of failure and lack of fulfillment because it's unattainable. There are not enough brainwashing techniques out there to convince a mother/wife this is their destiny in life. So, I started thinking of a guide for the mother/wives of the 21 century.

1. Prepare yourself by having a cocktail at 4 pm & again at 5 pm. Drink the cocktails very fast. This will cause you to feel refreshed and gay. The stronger the cocktail, the easier it will be to pretend to listen to him talk about his day. He will sound like the Charlie Brown teacher and eventually mute.
2. Grab all of the toys, leggos, crayons, paper, clothes, dolls, cars, and shoes and toss them in the backyard. If he decides he would like to retire on the patio and relax, he will have the most beautiful display of chaos in the backyard.
3. You are not crazy no matter what they say or how they look at you when you start slinging pots in the kitchen. So, while cooking make sure to slam enough doors to scare the shit out of them. This will hopefully give you a couple minutes of silence.
4. When he walks in the door, punch him in the throat immediately. This will allow him to feel the choking sensation you were succumbed to all day because your children won't listen.
5. If he comes home late or suggests that he is going to meet the fellas after work, light a fire and line up all of his shit in the living room.
6. Be so interesting when he comes home that he will wonder if you drank more than just a bottle this time. Note: hide the bottles. The less he knows the better.
7. Wait outside with the children when it's time for him to come home. As soon as he pulls in the drive way, return to the house and deadbolt the door.
8. Hide the remote before he comes home. When he settles down to zone out to 5 recorded episodes of PTI, he will get the exercise he needs searching for the remote. Remember you need a healthy provider.
9. When he falls asleep before the children are bathed and the dishes are washed, pick up his phone and change his ringtone, text message alerts, and email alerts to every Disney Princess theme song. This will keep him alert and on his toes.
10. Know your place....you are the glue that holds all of the shit together. The good shit and the bad shit and for this you deserve the world.

I know many will read this and think "she wouldn't....". Well if I had to pick between the two guides, pretty sure the last one meshes with my domestic capabilities. 

...birthday party rehab

In five days, I prepared an American Girl slumber party for my middle child. For five days, I secretly felt like I had fallen off the wagon. I could feel the demon growing inside of me. She had been bound and chained for too long. She was free and she wanted to show her ASS. Luckily, medication would mute her sometimes and keep her from going out asking a friend to please come dressed as the American Girl Doll of the Year...Saige. Wtf....really??? What happened to our generation? I remember just having cake and ice cream at parties...no theme, no party food, no games really, and definitely no party favors. I vividly remember sitting and watching my friends open their gifts and hoping that I would be able to stay long enough to play with their shit. I am not quite sure when and why things changed. Cards are no longer written in blank invitations. They have beautiful fonts, pictures, instructions, and rhymes. I know all of this because I am a former Birthdayzilla. Never did I do it to show up other mothers. Something inside of me drove my imagination to act a damn fool and go way beyond what was necessary.

So this week, as I prepared for the party, there was a constant internal struggle on whether the shit was really necessary. Visions of the party popped into my head like I had partaken in a mushroom binge. I have a condition called "I like to make my shit". "Could I build a stage in five days?" "No, wait...what about a photo booth?". Could I make 6 doll sleeping bags in 5 days with no damn sewing machine? What about a table for the dolls they were asked to bring? Wouldn't it be cute to find small party food for them? By the third day, I had visited 4 different stores. The irritation grew and finally I said "get your shit together". I threw tons of parties in the past and never once enjoyed them. I was so exhausted and drained from gluing, building, baking, and painting. I was never really present at these parties either. I was a robot. I had expectations, plans, an agenda, and a schedule. I didn't get to hear the laughter. I didn't see the smiles. I was glued to a camera trying to take pictures. They were never fun for me because I was not THERE...the birthdayzilla was. So, I politely told the beast to get the hell on and I planned a party for my sweet Farryn.....

Despite what you may be thinking, the decorations took less than 3 hours. Paper plates and plastic table cloths can do wonders. As I put up the decorations, I ignored Miss B telling me that "this party better be good". I shocked the SBF by telling him the menu consisted of grilled hot dogs, chips, and Hawain Punch. Our local bakery, Emileighs, did a beautiful job on the cake. They did such a great job that Miss B decided to lick it when I was greeting one of the parents. I quickly fought back the urge to pop her with a rubber band and just smoothed the sides out. The games consisted of a photo booth and writing a wish on a piece of paper and attaching it to a balloon to release in the front yard. I bought 8 balloons. Funny how the balloons for the sexy bald fella and me popped before we got out the door. I guess you can call that f____g reality for you. Overall, Farryn was happy. She didn't see a mother tired, exhausted, stressed with clinched teeth. She saw a mother playing and having fun this time.

My only "muck up" consisted of eating 5 slices of the most delicious cake ever. Yes, I said 5!! I woke up early to get breakfast ready for the girls. I kept it simple cinnamon rolls and strawberries. I was feeling relaxed and sipped my coffee. As I opened the first can of dough, my stomach began to sound like waves crashing in the ocean. Shit!!! The next two hours I spent in the bathroom sweating and cursing the SBF who could not stop laughing at the state I was in. I found the energy to text the parents telling them to take their time because "we were having so much fun!" The SBF finished breakfast for me and got the girls up 30 minutes before pick up time. I cursed myself for a night of over indulgence. WTH was I thinking, but that cake spoke to my soul. I am a sugar whore.

One mother showed up right on time. I apologized for not being ready. Dehydrated and delusional, I confessed that I had diarrhea all morning in front of everyone. By that time, I literally didn't give a shit. She laughed thank goodness. The SBF stood in shock. I staggered back to bed and the doorbell rang again. I mustered up enough strength and answered the door. There stood two Jehovah's Witnesses. Damnit...really? What a coincidence one of the ladies is my "kroger friend". My "kroger friend" works at Kroger and felt we were close enough one time to tell me my haircut was ugly...BITCH! I admit I was getting ready to tell them that I couldn't talk because I had the shits. Of course, I am surrounded by my daughters and their friends. Right when I was going to say "not today"....Miss B holds out her hands and yells "They are just black girls. They are not your mothers." WTF did she just say???? Really???? I took the Watchtowers, gave them a weak smile, and slammed the door. In Miss B's defense, she knows the mothers of all of the girls. Unfortunately, the easiest way for her to explain how she knew for sure these strangers were not coming to pick up our friends was by describing them by race.

Overall, the party was great. One little girl felt very special on her day and that was enough for me. I didn't have to go out and spend a fortune. There was no big production. It was just right for her and where we are in our life right now. I will not be forced to enter rehab...in the words of Amy Winehouse (RIP)..."No! No! No!". For those mothers who are still in the stages of going all out, I applaud you and give you a "do you, boo!!" shout out. I think whether the party is simple or extravagant that we must remember it's a celebration. Celebrations are suppose to be fun and it's okay for the host to have fun too!!! Mom the f_____ on!!!

...Eating my words

Aging and my last child have taught me to be very cautious with the words I say, the judgments I make, and the advice I give. In this stage of my life, I am the mother and friend who says "Do you boo!" because I have eaten so many of my words. Everything I said I wouldn't do...I have done. Every event I said I would not participate in...I have been front row center cheering with pom poms and shit. So, payback is a bitch in my life. Miss B is everything I said I would not tolerate. My home décor is slowly fading and being replaced by toys, books, dolls, and crayons. I have lost myself in motherhood. I don't know my favorite color anymore. I know my oldest likes purple, my middle child likes pink, and my youngest likes pink. I have no desire to learn or grow in my career. I bribe my children. I whisper sweet negotiations in their ears to avoid public meltdowns. I am everything I thought I would not be....giggle!

Karma, exhaustion, and mental anguish have taught me to keep my mouth SHUT. The "I would never...." statement has been erased from my vocabulary. I have also learned to thine own self be true and that lying takes too much energy and my version of "my life" is much better told by me. So, I strive to not "fake the funk". What you see is what you get and boy oh boy is it all kinds of crazy (note a consistent crazy). Anyway, I try to call myself out on my shit and TODAY IS THAT DAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 

What brought on this self evaluation/reflection today? A damn birthday party......

I confess that I was that mother. I would pick a theme for birthday parties and spend weeks making shit. I didn't do it for some Great Mom Award. I did it because I love crafts and I have some serious OCD tendencies. 

It took years of 3rd degree burns from my glue gun, fights with the SBF, not sleeping for days, crying over failed craft ideas, screwing up recipes, and a dysfunctional family to finally say the hell with it and let's just take a trip instead. Check out the evidence before I decided to stop the madness!!

Exhibit A

 Exhibit B

 Exhibit C

All I possess now is a strong dislike towards birthday parties. Confession: I hate them. I'm over them. I am burnt out. Many of these feelings are my own doing. I didn't have to make 20 pinwheels out of construction paper. No one asked me to soak stationary in tea and burn the edges, so that; the princess invitations looked authentic. I did all of this before the luxury of Pinterest...thank goodness. It was a fun madness that would consume me for weeks. Now, I don't judge those that go all out for birthday parties because I used to do it. I don't judge parents who show up with all of their kids at a birthday party because I have 3....sometimes they are package deal. I don't judge the parents that drop their kids off and leave because I do that also.

Well, the buying of a new car cancelled a birthday trip for my Farryn, my middle child, my "her heart is so giving that I will kill someone if they hurt her" child. She is truly golden, but she has some serious middle child issues. So, when she asked me last night if she would ever have a party again. Shit...the guilt emergency lights started going off!!! Holy hell, what have I done to her??? I must give this child a birthday party.

So guess who is having an American Girl Slumber Birthday Party in less than 5 days?? I could bitch slap myself. I vowed to never look at another American Girl Doll after my incident in Atlanta. So again...wth?? I am praying that this very small impromptu slumber party does not bring out the demons inside of me. I am praying that I will not visit Pinterest for ideas. I pray that I can indeed keep it simple. This will be a challenge. I feel like I have been through rehab and I am about to fall off the wagon....but wouldn't it look so cute to have a cake made like an American Girl shopping bag?? Maybe, I can make Farryn the "Doll of the Year"....wouldn't that be a cute poster???

Sugar Honey Iced Tea. What the hell is wrong with me? 

...home sweet hell

After traveling 55 mph for 2.5 hours because my vehicle decided to get stuck in 3rd gear, I could not help but to run to our kitchen door upon our arrival home. The SBF and I had gone from laughing uncontrollably to cursing each other out under our breath. It was bound to happen. You put a family of five in a car for 8 hrs and all of the ugliness starts to show. The real ugly. He wanted me to apologize for saying he was acting like Miss B. I wanted him to lick the crack of my ass. Funny how marriage can go from good to bad in a matter of seconds. Just Monday, we were sitting on the beach and laughing. Today, I contemplated staking him like a vampire on True Blood. Only because I love him so much am I able to feel comfortable with such violent thoughts.

Having all girls means that I am stuck on bathroom duty and it sucks ass royally. I don't know how many times I have had to threaten "If you touch something in this bathroom, you hands will rot off. So every time someone has to piss or shit, I am responsible for dragging them into sketchy bathrooms. The last stop was an emergency because Miss B announced she had "die-a-rhea". I run to a bathroom while holding her heavy ass and pleading "try to hold it for mommy" and praying "Dear God, please don't let her shit on me...not today....not on my twerk tank top". I knock on the door and a woman comes out immediately. Startled, I say thank you thinking she must sense the urgency. This bitch had the nerve to say "I don't know why you are thanking me. I am just using the bathroom." I was completely shocked. As I stood over Miss B listening to her once again give me a play by play of what she was dropping in the toilet, I was fighting back the tears. I wanted to go beat the hell out of this lady. I wanted to literally shake the shit out of her. I wanted a slap off contest with this cold heartless bitch that did not sense a mommy on the verge of having a nervous breakdown. Did she know how many bathrooms I have had to carry a kid in? How many times I have had to say the hell with it and take my daughters into the men's restroom? In 20 seconds, I had cursed her entire family (past, present, and future). I admit I was searching for her evil ass when we left the bathroom. I wanted to take my "thank you" back. Luckily, I did not find her.

So, we arrive home. Immediately, the girls want to watch TV and we realize that will be the best entertainment to keep them busy while we unpacked. Holy hell.........you have got to be f______g kidding me? What is wrong with the television? After trying to break the remote and a couple of cable boxes, DIRECTV informed me that something happened to a box in my house that will not allow the satellite to send a signal. The lady then informed me that the first date they could get someone out would be July 15th. Now here is where I lost my shit a little. Life flashed before my eyes. 10 days with no TV...no way, no how, not today or any day. I don't let my children veg out in front of the television, but when I need to take a piss the TV helps. I tried to calmly explain that we


had just returned from a rainy vacation and that my sanity depended upon my children being able to watch TV. I ignored the awkward silence that followed. I then went on to tell her about my car trouble. Of course Miss B walks in and asks me "When will you fix the TV mommy?" at which time I yell "I'm trying to. I can't do everything. Mommy does not know magic." I hear more silence and then I hear "Ma'am, do you want to go ahead and schedule a visit for the 15th?". By now the tears are falling and I don't give a shit. I manage to get out a "yes" and asked that she put us on an emergency list in case someone should cancel. I hang up the phone and sit in the middle of the floor. The SBF was out grocery shopping and I'm in the floor crying over not having live TV. I'm crying because he's out grocery shopping and I'm in hell. How dare he? He should be here? Selfish SOB...giggle. Thankfully, the Davis Divas do have access to recorded shows and that's it. 

As I wipe my face and head to the other side of the house, my middle child, comes up to me with a card. My heart melts. Shit...she's so sweet and pure and innocent. Her mom, dad, and sisters are crazy as hell and she accepts us and still loves us. She is the most thoughtful one out of the group. She always says "please" and "thank you". She is known for giving random strangers compliments. Her soul is so pure. I hug the hell out of her and try my best to look like I have it together. She takes on so much and aims to please everyone. I can't let this be her burden to carry. She loves to get money in cards just like her mama and that makes me giggle. I hug her again and make a silent vow to kill anyone that ever hurts her.

The SBF arrives home with the groceries and tries to make light of the television situation. At this point, I am on a roll of I don't give a shit, damn all of y'all, kiss my ass, I quit, and even I want my mama!!! Yep, the gates of hell hath opened up. The sad part is I did the majority of this "bat shit crazy" behavior in hiding. I remember a couple of times when my mom fully lost her shit and some of those times did scar me for life. So, I summoned myself to the closet. I finally manage to get myself together and climb into my bed. Miss B crawls up and decides to ask me for the 100th time "When are you going to get another toe?"....REALLY!!! RIGHT NOW!!! THE SBF walks into the bedroom and she asks him "Are we brown or black?" Holy hell...is she trying to send me off into the abyss?? I start reciting scriptures in my head...the few I know by heart. I even tell myself "you is kind. you is smart. you is important." Nothing is working. The SBF decides to sit next to me and loudly crunch on his salad. Normally, I would be able to ignore the noise coming from his direction, but my senses are heightened. I giggle to myself at the thought of knocking the salad out of his hand. How many damn croutons did he put on his salad? When will the madness ends? He picks up a book from his nightstand and starts f_____g talking to me:

SBF: Ha!! Look at this.
ME: (dear God make him be silent)
SBF: Look what chapter I am on...Beatitude: Lucky are the unlucky.
ME: (dear God forgive me, but I can't do devotional time with him right now.)
SBF: This is not a coincidence.
ME: (why don't you replace that "L" with and "F"...OMG, what is wrong with me. I'm going to hell!)

I muster up enough strength to roll over and stare at the wall. I don't want him to see the red beams that are coming out of my eyes right now. The beams that want to set the book he is holding on fire. And I realize it's that time...."burn party". It is time for me to take my issues to the fire pit on our patio. Judge me if you want, but it is very therapeutic to burn some shit....giggle. Ask my friends, we have had a couple of "burn parties" that involved an ex's t-shirt. I laugh with excitement of what I will toss into the pit. Maybe the beach toys, maybe the atlas, maybe the DIRECTV remotes, maybe my owner's manual to my car...right now my options are endless.

....Beach Body Mama Still Got It

I know we are all guilty of this. Please click on the picture!!

Getting ready for a vacation to Destin tomorrow, I began the process of pulling out my bikinis, tankinis, one pieces and cover ups. I could not help but to think about an article a close friend shared about the messages mothers send to their daughters. Basically, the article discussed a daughter who was raised by a mother with body image issues. In the daughter's eyes, she thought her mother to be the definition of beauty. Unfortunately, the mother did not agree. The mom found herself to be fat. Her mother's insecurities were fed to the daughter and absorbed. Shit, I thought. We can really mess these broads up for LIFE!!! Seriously though, my mind wandered..."Did I hug them enough today? Did I tell them I loved them? Did I tell them they were beautiful? I swear I will punch the first SOB that tells them differently square in the throat? I watch my girls frolic around in their swimsuits all day without a care in the world. How can I protect that spirit?

So many ideas and concerns surfaced about what am I saying to my children about their body when I speak of my body. I have discussed with many moms about how they wished they had just lost those last 15 lbs before the summer. I am guilty. Hell, just the other day I contemplated going on a thirty mile bike ride to "tone up" for my upcoming vacation. I have been squatting and I am pleased with the results so far. Anyway...back to swimwear. For years, I rocked tankini's and one pieces. Please note that I see nothing wrong with them. I just felt like I did not have the body for a bikini. I am comfortable with saying I don't have a Pamela Anderson body. It would be physically impossible being that she has 10 toes and all...giggle. But when did thin become so sexy? Marilyn Monroe was the epitome of sexiness and she was not a size 0.

Well,it took some great friends to tell me "Bitch, rock a two piece because you look hot". So, I went out in search for a couple of bikini's. I grabbed them and ran nervously to the dressing room at which time I am sure I entertained other customers while trying them on with my commentary.."wtf...look at my ass? Is that my ass? Damn breastfeeding! Holy hell, what am I doing with my life?" Then the picture taking started with my iphone. I sent images of myself to my Bikini Support Group...luckily not the ones with me bent over while looking at the cellulite dimples on the back of my ass. Their responses warmed my heart. This group is not the type to sugar coat shit. They were all "Bitch, we told you!" and I loved them even more at that point. All this time, I was thinking "mama still got it" with a disclosure on the end. I bought the damn things and asked the sales girl if I could return them if I should go home and my husband burst into laughter. She gave me a blank stare and said yes.

On the way home, I thought I was going to vomit. Was I stepping out of my comfort zone?  Was I ready to show the world my "lovely lady lumps"? Was I trying to be someone I am not? I ran into the house with what felt like an illegal substance. I put one on and walked my ass into our front yard while the SBF was cutting the grass. Let's just say this was the first time ever that he did not mind me bothering him while he was doing yard work. His "Damnnnnnn" response was comforting. As, I came back into the house feeling a little better about  my decision. I ran into the three divas and they squealed. "Mama, you look awesome! Mama you are hot!" Instead of saying "Are you sure?" I responded..."Thanks, I really like them too."

Okay, I was lying to them. I didn't feel it just yet. I retreated back to my safe house and examined myself thoroughly. We can be our harshest critics. I have come to terms with the breastfeeding boobs, dimpled thighs, my lymph node removal scar in my groin area, my nine toes, and my kangaroo pouch. They are my war wounds and who the hell does not want to be seen as a warrior.

So, I wore them on a girls trip and even posted pics  on FB. And guess what.....I started to like the damn things and realized all of this time I was hiding my imperfections because I did not look like those Victoria Secret models or post baby celebrities with trainers. I had secretly drank the kool aid and didn't even know it. My body has imperfections, but "MAMA STILL GOT IT". I was hiding behind one pieces and cover ups because I didn't look like the bikini models. Shit!!! Those bikini models can go to hell. They have not lived my life despite the fact that they may have children, they may have breastfed, and may even be my age.

Last night as I began to fill up my bikini bag for a trip to the beach, I felt a little discomfort creep up. Do I really want to go to the beach with a two piece and three children? There's going to be a lot of bending over. So, I tried on a recently purchased bikini and followed in the footsteps of "Miss B". I wore that damn thing all night long while folding clothes, loading the dishwasher, and cleaning our house. The Divas followed me around showering me with wonderful statements of how beautiful I looked. This time, I responded differently. I told them..."Thanks, I know!! I really love some bikini's". And to be a little melodramatic I swear I could hear "Born free....as free as the wind blows....." playing in the background.

Hopefully, this will start the foundation of my girls feeling comfortable with the bodies they have. I was comfortable in the bikini. I just was not comfortable with not looking like the images in the magazines.

Never do I want these Divas to not love their forever changing bodies. I will be their biggest fan and their biggest cheerleader because I am their mom. I will also be my biggest fan and my biggest cheerleader. If I am willing to do it for them, I can do it for myself.

 

So ladies...the summer is going by fast. Life is going by fast. Don't waste your time hiding your body because it does not add up to the expectations of society. My advice: "Do you boo! Cause if you like it. I love it" You rock whatever the hell you want whether it's a bikini, tankini, or one piece because you love your body. So, let's show our girls pride, confidence, and self love.

Say it with me and say it like you mean it...."MAMA STILL GOT IT"