Confessions of an Obsessive Compulsive Mom

Okay, tell me please - why, if you like to clean, are you labeled as having OCD? Twenty years ago SAHMs who kept a tidy abode were not asked if they needed anxiety pills. But these days you have some type of disorder if you show any "strange" personality trait. As far as I can tell, I should be on a multitude of perscription meds. I bounce my legs a lot, so I must have Restless Leg Syndrome (or a newborn). I like to keep things clean, so I must have OCD (or two kids, a husband, five birds, and a dog to pick up after), I have many interests, therefore I MUST have ADHD (or simply a multitude of interests), I am concerned for my children's health and well-being, Bitch you have anxiety issues (or just trying to stay on top of things)... Yeah. Oh, also, I am paranoid (because I feel like the media is trying to diagnose my kid on some kind of autism spectrum with every new medical update).

So what do you want from us, Society? Just a pack of people on pills with no creative thoughts, no free thinking at all? Don't misunderstand me, I KNOW there are folks out there with honest-to-goodness medical issues that require the use of very helpful solutions in pill form. I applaud people for being honest and brave enough to seek help.
But man, all of these LABELS. My children are going to grow up in a society where they will constantly be evaluated for something wrong and that scares the hell out of me.
It bothers me, what can I say. I question a lot of things, so I must be a blemish on the face of America.
I'm sure there is a medical term for it and a pill I can pop for it.

I've Been to Paradise, but I've Never Been To Me...

So lately I have heard this a lot, "I think you need a break". A break? A BREAK? What is this word you speak of, break? A break from what, may I ask? A break from being pregnant for the past two years? A break from having two boys still in diapers? Or do I need a break from lack of sleep, could that be it? Perhaps I need a break from having nothing in my closet now but maternity clothes? I don't know, maybe I need a break from not being the only one in the bathroom while I pee. Oh wait, I know what it is, I need a break from having a proper meal, right?
No, no, no, I need a break from all the vacations I take. Damn, Mexico is getting so mundane. You know what, it must be a break from all the heavy diamonds I wear - geesh these things bring me down, eh?
I think, in reality, what I need a break from is other people thinking my time is not as valuable as theirs. You know what I am talking about. People who come and go as they please in your life because well, you don't have crap going on anyway... Those who are under the impression that a SAHM sits around eating bon-bons and watching her "stories" all day. The fine folks, whether they be friends or relatives that make plans with you and TOTALLY FORGET ABOUT THEM after you have gotten up at 5am (after going to bed at 3) to clean your house, clean your children, clean the dogs, make sure angry children have eaten, beaten them into submission (kidding) so they don't embarrass you, tried to comb your hair and USE A HAIR DRYER because only your kids are used to seeing what a scary creature you resemble. Look, I do not have a maid or a nanny, and I do all of this alone for over eight hours. I have a newborn and a 19 month old - this is WORK, people. If you are coming over to my home that's great, superb, fine, lovely, dandy, can't wait to see you. But if you cancel on me TWICE, I may have to reconsider the next time you "plan" to see me and I get up at the crack of dawn to accomodate your visit. I actually went to the trouble of trimming my bush (stop it, Lotus, uh-huh I KNOW you) outside so you would not get whacked in the face by a rogue tree branch. And let me tell you something, I received quite a nasty wound from this gardening I did. Yeah! And you know what else, the time I spent cleaning the damn house is time I could have spent with my kids, because, well, I have to stash them somewhere so I can actually get something accomplished, and, yeah, I was going somewhere with this but I've lost it. The sun is about to come up.
I think I need a break.

To Poop or Not to Poop, That Is the Question...

I had great fantasies about creating this blog. In the back of my mind I kept hoping someone of relative importance would fall upon it and kind of throw a Pulitzer my way, or at least I could snag a segment on the Today show.
Alas, I doubt any of that will happen. Plan B was kind of a "celebrity-based" blog. Just kind of posting about famous people and gossip. Nah, overdone. And I most definitely did not want it to become a "mommy blog" because believe it or not, I am more than a mommy. Although it may not seem like it these days...
In reality I guess it will just be a "me" blog. Random posting about things that interest me, annoy me, or happen to me - as if anyone gives a crap, huh?
This rambling all leads up to what I will attempt to compose today. A little diddy about pooping. Or shitting. Making #2. Lovely, right?
I am not a big pooper. I was not blessed with a regular constitution, as they say. Sometimes it would be a couple of days before I would visit the toilet for anything more than a relieving urination session. And when I'm pregnant? Well you can forget it honey because I barely see any action from my colon. And I do not discuss the act of pooping if I can help it. Now my mother on the other hand will raise the window and shout to whomever is listening when she has had a successful bowel movement. Nothing pleases the woman more. And knowing how much it disturbs my father just encourages her to be as vulgar and graphic as possible, and she includes a soundtrack. So don't ask her, because she WILL tell you, in great detail, about her poop. To her it's like an Olympic (see how I just made this relevant to current news?) event. I also do not expell gas if at all possible. Especially not in front of people. I would rather have my head chopped off. I live with three men. Two of them find it highly amusing to make noisy bodily functions (and don't EVEN get me started on my dog). The third has no control over it yet, and I'm not hanging that over a 5 week old's head. Anyhoo... My point is, I go through a lot of effort sometimes, and have suffered through many horrible stomach pains to spare my male family any knowledge that I do in fact have to poop at times. I go to great lengths to disguise the act of shitting. I used to rely on the bathroom fan to block out any (God forbid) noises that emerged from behind the closed door. Because with the size of my house, I may as well drop trou in the living room - yeah, it's small up on this bus. Now my beloved fan has died. A scary burning smell wafts down from the fan when I turn it on now, so I leave it off for fear of lighting up the house in a firey blaze. My mother has suggested a radio. Well with the lack of space to put anything, I would have to suspend the damn thing from the ceiling. I could run the water, which I do, but then I feel horrible about wasting water just so I can throw off my suspicious husband who is probably just glad I have left the room and doesn't care what the reason is. But it is the sheer AGONY and MENTAL ANGUISH I deal with when I even suspect a poop is coming on. Is it worth it? I don't know.
So I ask myself, is it safe to poop or not to poop? THAT is the question.
And now I bid you good-night.

The Bloodletting...

In a solid effort to distract myself from recent issues, I have taken a course of action. This would be vigorously scratching the numerous mosquito bites I have accumulated over the past several days. My arms and legs are virtually covered with wounds from vicious insects. I found I have given in to the incessant itching they have caused and I scratch with great abundance. I scratch and scratch until I have big red marks and I bleed. *I can go off on a profound sidenote here about how my bleeding is a release of anger and vitrol that is inside of me but I shall skip it for now*
Anyway... I looked in the mirror after my shower and was astounded to see the injuries I have caused myself. Not to mention shaving my legs was purely out of the question. And as I sit here furiously typing away to finish this post before my children wake up, I continue to scratch. Where is my self control? Have I lost that along with my mind, my identity, and my good sense?

To Quote Darth Vader...

..."Now his failure is complete".
End quote.
Has someone you love ever hurt you so badly that you feel it in your core, your soul? Someone you foolishly thought had your back and would stick by you through all the bullshit Life throws your way? Someone you considered to be your partner and best friend? And the hurt is so exquisite, so deep that you cannot even cry? But the betrayal is so evident it may as well be tattooed right on your forehead (or fivehead as the case may be).
Yeah, I thought so. It was only a matter of time.

What Annoys Me...

This annoys me - when people act happy all the time. I mean, how can you be happy ALL of the time? Are you on drugs? Are you faking it? Or are you so completely miserable that all you have in your life is the facade of making other people think you are perfect?
Not judging, just wondering.