children

Happy (Not a) Mother’s Day!

I feel as though Mother’s Day is not only a time to give thanks to all the women in our lives who sacrifice for their progeny, but also a time for reflection.

As a single woman in her late twenties, my desire for children increases steadily with every new grey hair and heavy menstrual flow (seriously 9 months without a period sounds divine).

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Even though I hope to become a mother someday, I have to say, with each passing Mother’s Day, I breathe a huge sigh of relief that I’ve managed to go another 365 days without giving birth.

I’d like to thank God, first and foremost for not bestowing me with any gifts this year.

To the makers of the morning after pill/Plan B

Shit gets a little out of hand sometimes.  I’ll gladly endure three minutes of judgement from a pharmacist when purchasing your product if it means I can maintain a strong pelvic floor.

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To the men who insist on practicing safe sex

You’re all gems and someday (presumably after marriage) I hope you get to enjoy the wonders of unprotected sex to make oodles and oodles of babies.

To the Canadian government

Thank you for protecting my right to a safe and legal abortion. It’s good to know you’re there for me in case I ever have to make those tough decisions. So far so good.

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To Ryan Gosling movies and adult bedroom accessories

Thank you for making those lonely nights bearable. Without you, I would definitely be making some seriously big errors in judgement when times were tough.

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Lastly, I’d like to thank my own Mother, for constantly reminding me that being a mother means I would have to give up my obscene online shopping habit and after-work naps. I can think of no greater motivation to not get pregnant. That and you constantly saying to me, “Thank god you’re not someone’s mother,” really does the trick in closing this womb to the public.

Happy Not a Mother’s Day, everyone!

Bring on the mimosas!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

*This post is purely for entertainment. Babies are a blessing, and for women everywhere who are struggling with infertility, I empathize with you on your difficult journey into motherhood. Have faith xo

 

 

 

 

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What were you like as a kid?

When I was three years old I fractured my skull. I had to wear a hockey helmet at all times for six weeks. Doctors were worried the injury would have long lasting effects on my behavior and motor skills.

This basically explains everything.

As a kid I was incredibly dramatic and outgoing. I was small for my age with an unnatural amount of body hair. This lead to my parents  “affectionately” calling me Mowgli for the first five years of my life.

Mowgli (from the Jungle Book):

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Me:

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Haters gonna hate, Mowgli’s gonna Mowg

I like to think from a young age I really worked on developing my negotiating skills through several trips to the emergency room. I can remember after a particularly nasty fall off our porch while trying to catch bubbles, I tried to convince the attending physician that I didn’t need stitches for my split chin which had ruined several tea towels and stained my parents clothes with blood.

“Let’s just talk about this,” I cried in vain. “You don’t have to do this, we can figure something out!”

One week later I was back in the hospital for stitches on my eyebrow.

“She did it again,” My parents told our neighbours who agreed to watch my sister while we went back to the ER to be treated by the same doctor.

How Child Protective Services weren’t immediately notified of my existence is beyond me. A sign of the times, I guess. I was a late 80’s baby where a Rubbermaid container and a blanket was considered a sufficient car seat. Everyone was a lot more relaxed back then.

My parents encouraged my sister and me to be imaginative and express ourselves from a very young age. This explains why I wore a bathing suit at all times, even in the dead of winter. When I insisted I call my sister Dorothy for a solid six months, they went along with it. Everything was make believe and magical, and my sister, Carrera, was the mastermind behind it all.

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Carrera (left) and Me

My older sister, was a very shy and quiet child; a stark contrast to me who demanded attention at all times. Carrera would write plays for us to perform in front of our family and she happily let me step into the spotlight.

“Say this!” She would say. “Now do this, Lib!” If anything weren’t to her Spielberg-like standards, she would make me run scenes again until they were perfect.

Our relationship was balanced. For as sensitive as she was, I was a complete brute. I did whatever I could to protect her, even if that meant punching a neighbourhood bully of his bike for making her cry, or yelling at our dance teacher for trying to separate us during class.

“If your daughter can’t take my direction, I don’t know if she should be in this class.” The instructor, Anita, told my Mom after the incident.

But my Mom never believed in silencing my wild heart. She always encouraged me to stand my ground and march to the beat of my own drum. On my first day of kindergarten she received a call from the school saying I wasn’t cooperating and needed to be taken home. She found me sitting in the rocking chair of my classroom, arms crossed, pouting and pissed as Hell.

“What did you say to Mrs. Dennison?” she asked when we were in the car.

“She told me to stop painting,” I replied, “And I told her she wasn’t my Mommy, so I didn’t have to do what she said.”

I think we stopped at McDonald’s that night.

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First day of Kindergarten photoshoot

As I grew up I became very shy and reserved, only opening up to close friends and family. Teenage years? Forget about it. I hated the world but loved everything Volcom. I have a theory that we all eventually return to who we were in Kindergarten, and even now my little defiant and dramatic self makes her presence known.

This piece was inspired by Martina at A Splash of Mimosa and Taylor from The Daily Tay, who commissioned bloggers to talk about their childhoods and share with the blogging community a little about themselves.

What were you like as a child?

Take a walk down memory lane and tell me all about it!

But you don’t have to listen to me- I’m not your Mom.

Daily dose of adorable

Children’s movies are ridiculously sad.

Dumbo? Bambi? The Fox and the Hound? Traumatizing.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen the end of Old Yeller. I can’t. I can’t even.

I found this adorable video of a toddler feeling all the feelings in the world while watching the Chipmunk Adventure and had a second hand breakdown.

Isn’t that movie depressing?

Why would anyone show this movie to their CHILD?!

Look at her little lip quiver!

This video stirred something deep within the tunnels of my lady cave. An avalanche of unfertilized eggs almost took me out. This child is too ridiculously cute with her Aryan looks but a heart of gold.

I need something to cuddle. Someone give me their child. Don’t make me go outside and find one myself, because I will. Kids like strangers with candy, right?

Have an adorable day, y’all.

 

Source. Youtube, Bustle