I always wait until the last possible minute to write my blog. If you ever feel like it sounds rushed or there is run-on sentences—that is because I am a master of procrastination. Embrace my scatter brain, poorly written paragraphs because this is when I do my funniest work. While putting off my blog, and thinking of ideas on how to laugh about everyone’s new year’s resolutions, I found myself looking at pictures of my babies, when they were very young. Missing their fat little legs, the smell of baby powder and fists curled around your fingers. I held my big kids tight while we looked at memories of when they were small. While I look back on those times as so precious, so sweet—they are all of that and more—but there was also existing on 3 hours of sleep, changing diapers filled with toxic waste, constantly cutting up food into little pieces and endless streams of snot. Ew. But man do I miss it.
Breast feed, bottle feed, who gives a shit? Honestly, why is there a single damn person in the world who cares how another woman feeds her child? I think everyone should just be happy you are feeding your child and mind their own business. Nobody worries about whether or not I feed my kids, why should I worry about how or what you feed yours. My opinion is the same for all moms, feed your kid and stop making it a big deal. If you use your fun bags to provide tasty meals for your kiddo that doesn’t make you a saint. And if you feed your baby formula, I promise they won’t grow up and have crappy taste in music because of it. I will warn you though, breastfeeding may or may not cause your boobs to take on the shape of pieces of fruit.
Did you really just post a picture of your child’s dookie on the internet so we can all be so proud that he used the potty? Oh no. No you didn’t. You have been unfriended because I am scared of the rest of the things you want to over share in the future. What is next, his first armpit hairs? His first hickey? I don’t think so. No one gives me a high-five every time I make a deposit in royal throne. Your kid doesn’t get one either.
Aww, how old is your daughter? She is 49 and half months! No bitch, your kid is 4. Once your baby is two or over, you no longer get to refer to them in months. And while we are at it, the only two people in America that want to know what weight and height percentile your kid is in, is your mother and oh wait, no—your mother is the only one.
Why is your kids face dirty? Do you walk around with food crusted all over your face? Or your clothing? What about dirt? I didn’t think so. Why do you think it is ok or comfortable for your child to look like they are auditioning to be in a national geographic magazine ad for third world countries? For the love of pete, keep your kid clean, I’ll even buy you the wipes.
In all seriousness folks, I am the mom with a thousand pics and stories about my kids. I still tell people how much my youngest weighs, and I breastfed AND bottle fed. I am a real Maverick. And of course, my kids are genius’ and the next “LeBron James” phenomenon’s. All of these things I joke about are just part of being a mom and having the right to brag about everything your child does—even when it’s what comes out of their bodies. You are their moms, their heros and the one person in life that is there to brag and champion for your babies. Keep on keepin’ on.
There is never an excuse for your kid to have dirty face. I stand by that one.
I want to thank the THREE people who participated in my blog challenge, Vickie Freeman, Erica Matteson and Sandra from the Charmed Crown Blog. Helen BananaBoobs appreciates your time and loyalty. I already love Erica’s guest feature blog about fitness and can’t wait to check out Sandra’s Blog. I was originally going to pick a winner out of all the comments but instead I am going to pull an Oprah and give you ALL gift cards to Trend Addictions! To all my other readers, please step up your game or I will start blogging about YOU!
Love, Helen.Tags: guest blogger series, helen banana boobs