Charlie Hunnam And The Amazingly Wonderful Epidural

A few of my friends have had babies recently and it got me thinking back to when I gave birth to my little pride and joy. It was an interesting few days that we spent in the hospital and I'd like to share with you the hilarity and pure awesomeness of bringing my son into this world. Go back with me, if you will, to two years and some change ago:

My due date was suppose to be November 16th, 2009, which is my husband's birthday. Wonderful present for him huh? Good luck topping that gift! My mom had come to town to be there for the birth. And we had the rest of the family anxiously awaiting his arrival too. I was HUGE. I mean huge. Like I hadn't seen my feet in months, and I was pretty sure I forgot what they looked like.

See what I mean?? This was at exactly 40 weeks, on my due date. So anyway, my husband, mother, and myself all go to my 40 week appointment and are PRAYING that it was going to be good news and it was going to be baby time. They did that awful cervix check and guess what? Nothing. I was nowhere near ready to go. I thought I was going to cry. Actually, I'm pretty sure I did. I was just soooo tired of being pregnant. But never fear, super mom was there. She strong-armed the doctor into setting me up to be induced ASAP. I don't know if it was a moment of weakness, or if he was just terrified of my mom going postal on his ass, but he agreed and promptly came back in the room to ask if the following day worked for us. "Perfect," My mom purred. I love her. We went home and packed my bag and then went out for a birthday dinner for my husband. The next afternoon at 5PM we arrived at the hospital and they began the induction process by thinning my cervix, which took all night. They gave me a sleeping pill and I snored the night away. The next morning, November 18th, I was woken up bright and early to begin the next stage which was an IV of pitocen. I'm pretty sure that stuff was made by the devil, by the way. By about 10AM I was dialated enough for them to break my water. Single-handedly the nastiest feeling in the world. After that, the real fun began. Those contractions rocked my world. The were going off the charts and were not coming back down. And those breathing excercises you hear about? HA! I hated my husband and his little swimmers and everybody was the devil! I wasn't properly educated about the epidural, so I was under the impression it was a one-shot deal. I did not want that mess to wear off before the big reveal so they gave me a little demerol in my IV. I waited and then came the biggest contraction yet and I wanted to punch everybody in the kisser. FINALLY the nurse informed me that the epidural was an IV drip and all they had to do was refill the bag once it ran out. I looked at her and screamed, "Well what are you waiting for, bitch, hook me up NOW!!!!!" I've never seen a medical professional move so fast in my life. I was in so much pain I didn't even feel them stick that ungodly instrument into my spine. But my GOD was it heaven on earth once that bad boy was flowing. I was convinced I was the pretty princess on that planet Mars, ya'll, it was fantastic.

 

My husband popped in a DVD of my favorite show, Sons Of Anarchy, and it was like McDonald's son, I was LOVIN it! I was drooling over the lead, Charlie Hunnam, and in front of my inlaws, friends, and husband, I announced to them all that I would "fuck the shit out of that man if he looked my way." Yeah, I was that far gone, people. I had some complications a little while after that. My contractions (that I was sooo not feeling anymore) were coming harder than ever and they were constricting the umbilical cord. They put me on oxygen and lowered the pitocen and it helped for a bit. But not long after that, I developed a fever and things went nuts after that. Because my water had already broken there was no barrier to protect the baby so he was susseptible to the infection as well so they decided I was to have an emergency CSection. I was higher than Mt Kilanmanjaro but I knew that I was freaking the hell out. I was screaming at the nurse that she was not taking me anyway until my mom came back inside from a smoke break so she would know what was going on. They rushed my husband out of the room to get scrubbed up so he could be in the OR with me. And then they injected my IV with morphine. I thought I was on cloud 9 before, let me tell you buddy, I was looking down from the top of the universe now. They got me in the room and erected a tent over my belly faster than an Eagle Scout on crack and got to work cutting me open. Meanwhile I can't move my friggin head and a wave of nausea hits me like a bullet train. I tell the nurse I'm going to be sick and she skips away to add some anti-nasuea meds to my IV, meanwhile she's missed the show and I've already thrown up and I'm choking on it because I can turn my head to the side. She finally produces this tiiiiiny little bedpan and turns my head, and my god, it was like the exorcist. (I had green jello about 30 minutes before that, you do the math.) After that, I was back in la la land frolicking through the magical forest. In what seemed like no time, he was out. I heard his little whine and my heart melted. Even through the morphine-induced trip to magic mountain, his little cry broke through and I was in love. I was bawling, and my husband was running back and forth between me and the nurses that were cleaning my little bundle of joy off, just snapping pictures and showing me as quick as he could. I was getting so impatient, I just wanted to see him, but that stupid tent (I was laughing about this, saying it was my son's first camping trip.) was preventing me from seeing him. FINALLY the nurse brings him over to me and lays him down on my dead arm and wheeled me into my recovery room. Oh it was fantastic. I was so excited. The family filed in soon after and came to greet our little King. It's been happily ever after ever since :)

I can't remember what life was like before I became a mom. I couldn't be happier! Thanks for listening about the best day of my life :) And be totally jealous because he's a lady killer, ya'll.

The Running Of The Bullies

As we all know bullying is bad, m'kay. But I'm not referring the kind of bullying that has the media going stir crazy these days, I'm talking about bullying amongst the younger generation. I took my kid to McDonalds today so he could wear his little self out on the playground. At first he had the place to himself (we're not crazy enough to take him during the lunch rush), then this family came in and this little boy of about 5 or 6 started playing with Brody, my son. Now bear in mind, my son is very social, and he is used to playing with kids older than he is. His youngest cousin is getting ready to turn 5 so it's not like he isn't accustomed to playing with other children that size. No sooner had they climbed the stairs to the jungle gym do I hear this kid start to yell at my son. Now my kid doesn't just scream for the hell of it. He's not soft, as a matter of fact, he's quite the little tough guy. So I knew this kid was doing something he really shouldn't have been. I honestly would have been okay with the situation if his parents would have stopped him, but they didn't. They just sat there and let it happen. My son and the little boy went deeper into the little tunnel and got to a viewing area where I could finally see them and I about lost it. That kid was dragging my son by his foot through the tunnel laughing like some deranged lunatic. And the more my son screamed STOP the harder the kid laughed. I saw red. Folks, this is not good. I was furious. My mom saw this and she finally coaxed my son into coming down, while steadily yelling at the pint sized prick to leave my son alone. We made Brody sit with us for a while, and when the kid went back to his table, we allowed Brody to play on the little tiny slide that is made for the kids who can't even walk yet. And what does the little terror of a child do? He gets in my son's face AGAIN. He is in plain view this time tormenting my son, and his parents didn't move an inch. I could see my son getting really worked up and it got to the point where he was squaring off with this kid getting ready to deliver him a healthy knuckle sandwich, and these neglectful parents had still not done anything. We grabbed my son and took our leave. I was so angry that that child's parents let that go on, without lifting a finger, or making a protest to stop it from happening. How can someone do that? I understand not wanting to give your kid a spanking in public, but I got news for you: you look like a worse parent for sitting there doing nothing. Those are the kind of children that grow up to be the sort of bullies you hear about on the news. When these stories air, the parents of the bully try to get the sympathy vote saying they don't know where they went wrong, they don't see how their child could push someone so hard. Well hello! It starts early! You letting your children push other kids around on the playground is where it all starts! You have to educate kids at a young age about the difference between right and wrong. If not, they are going to turn out to be sorry pieces of crap that get their jollies messing with people who are smaller or different from them. The parents of these kids need to put on their grown-up panties and educate their children. If you can't do that, you are not worthy of even being a parent, and the blame for the future hate crimes your kid commits will be on your sorry shoulders.

That's Not Chocolate

If you are a parent or have young siblings say it with me: Children. Are. Disguisting. I'm not referring to the constant stream of drool they seem to produce, or even the dreaded diaper bombs. No, I'm talking about the seriously nasty stuff. My kid is one of the worst offenders. He has been guilty of dropping food onto a dog hair covered floor and picking it up and eating it. If he finds random french fries that have been sitting in his car seat for god knows how long, he will eat them. And today took the cake. We went to the movies today and I bought him buncha crunch. We came home and I was reading a book and didn't pay attention to what was going on when my son comes up to me and says really sweetly, "Here you go mommy." And he held out his hand and dropped something round and brown in my palm. Upon first glance it appeared to be a buncha crunch and I figured he had picked it up off the floor, but after further inspection, I realized he had just handed me a fun-sized version of Mr. Hanky. For those of you that don't watch South Park, it was shit. That's right, my child dug into his freshly made load and procured a turd just for mommy. I guess it was his creative way of telling me he needed a fresh diaper. I am just amazed that children have the capacity to be so dang gross. Like off the charts gross. I know that toddlers don't really grasp that what they're doing is nasty exactly, but sometimes I think in the back of my head they know exactly what they are doing and they find new ways to up the ante on the vomit inducer scale. I'm pretty sure I saw that tell-tale meschevious glint in his eye when he handed me his scavenged turd. Not that he would tell me. He's too busy acquainting his finger with his nose.

Babies Aren't Martinis...You Can't Shake Them

If you are reading this, and you're a parent, first let me say: you have my full sympathy. Second: Isn't parenting just grand? There are so many things I love about being a mom. I enjoy having a constant companion. (Most of the time. Except when you want to have whoopee with your man and your kids uncanny radar prevents that.) I love knowing that no matter what may happen in my marriage, I will always have one man in my life that will always love me. There is no better (or scarier) feeling in the world than being responsible for someone besides yourself. It's a very humbling experience being a parent. With that being said, it's not an easy road. At all. As I said, you are responsible for another human being. That means raising them and giving them the best guidance you can to make them ready to enter society functioning independently. That's a friggin terrifying feeling. Along this road to adult hood that you are taking your child on, you hit so many bumps. Or pot holes. Or you fall into man holes that were not properly labeled. My son is two and it seems like once he hit that age he lost his fucking mind. People are not kidding when they call it "terrible twos" because that shit is NO JOKE. It doesn't matter if you are like me, a first time mom, or like the Duggars and have 19 of those mothers running around, nothing can prepare you for the psychotic episode known as the second year. My son has proven that to me time and time again recently. It began innocently enough. Just the occasional tantrum in Wal-Mart. A little mayhem here and there. I was once cocky enough to believe that that was as bad as it was going to get. Rest assured my kid gave me a healthy dose of bone crushing reality and I will live in fear for the next year. At least. The main thing to remember when your child is having a full blown melt down that would put Courtney Love to shame is this: Walk. Away. Sound simple enough? It's not. You are angry that your kid just put batteries in the toaster, made artwork of your rental agreement, and smeared what appears to be shit on their bedroom wall, and this was all before 9AM. You are stuck. You have no idea where to go to from here. You finally have that ephiany that you understand why those horrible parents shake their children and you give them an ounce of sympathy. You don't do that of course. But you're so angry you can spit molten lava and spank your kid until they have a tattoo impression of your hand on their ass. And they've spent so much time in timeout that they're beginning to request conjugal visits. Like I said, the best thing you can do is to walk away. Leave them where they are standing, you know, once you've peeled them off the bookshelf they were trying to fly from, and just walk into the other room. Take some deep breaths. Let that blood pressure come down a few hundred notches, and go back in the snake pit to face your little cobra. I struggled doing this for a long time. I used to get so angry at my son and I just didn't know what to do. I would get so worked up that by the end of the day I would be curled in the fetal position on the living room floor mumbling to the voices in my head with an IV drip of sangria going on. Don't let it get to this point. You might feel guilty for leaving them there, but at least you won't be feeling guilty from a prison cell for shaking your kid harder than granny with parkinsons on boggle night. The fact of the matter is, the more you show how angry you are in front of your kids, the more power they feel over you. Being a toddler is all about pushing boundaries and seeing how far you will let them go before you tear them a new ass hole that could give the grand canyon a run for its money. As long as you keep a firm, but loving approach to discipline, you'll survive. They grow out of the stage eventually. You might come out of it with a few more gray hairs than what you started with, but at least you'll know that your kid is going to respect you for it. And you'll avoid being someone's prison bitch. Just keep that in mind. Well, if you'll excuse me, I've got to go wash food coloring out of the dog's hair. Wish me luck.

The Diaper Rodeo And Other Toddler Adventures

I am often asked, "What is the hardest part of parenting?" You would expect me to answer with something like, the long sleepless nights, or perhaps hemorraging money. No. The hardest part of being a parent is getting my child to calmly change his diaper and put on his clothes and shoes...and keep them on. My kid is a nudist, I'm sure I'm not the only one who has this problem. I dread going out in public with him. I sweat with frustration just thinking about it. This is a typical day of trying to get my son public-ready:
I try to covertly grab a diaper. (If he sees me doing this, he takes off, and I'll be damned if I can catch him.) Once the diaper is secure, I take him to the living room where his clothes are waiting. At this point I can't avoid it and he sees these things and knows it's time to become a pint sized bucking bronco. Was that a malicious glint I saw in his eye just now? For sure. I lay him down on the floor and ready the new diaper. This is when the kicking starts. I'm dodging feet and trying to keep his ass planted on the floor so he's not walking around with a crooked diaper. Sweat is pouring down my face and the end doesn't seem to be anywhere in sight. Finally the new diaper is secure and I throw my hands in the air victoriously looking around to see if anybody saw this accomplishment, greedily asking "What's my time?" This is short lived because now it's time to get his clothes on. It never fails I put both legs in one hole and have to start all over. Meanwhile he is just kicking and thrashing and laughing as manically as ever. I'm glad he's having fun. Pants are on. Socks are a breeze. Shirt over the head. Now for the shoes. Putting shoes on a toddler is like putting shoes on a comatose patient. They offer no help and of course, the damn things don't won't to go on without the back of the shoe folding inside when you are finally lucky enough to get the shoe on his foot. But eventually it happens. And then it's time for me to chage my clothes because I have sweat through mine worse than a menopausal woman in Mexico in the middle of July with no air conditioning. I'm changed in two seconds flat only to come back out and find my kid wearing nothing but a diaper and his shoes. Where is the rodeo clown when I need one?

Television And McDonalds Ruined America's Youth But Saved My Sanity

Today everybody is obsessed with educational games and learning tools for kids and pushing unprocessed, all natural organic food on them. America is dumb and obese, let's change the world blah blah blah. Let me tell you something, I don't have a picky child, but he is just like any other kid, he loves chicken. I don't always have time to cook and I will be damned if I'm going to pay 10 dollars for a bag of organic chicken nuggets at the grocery store. I got news for you buddy, there is no such thing as a nugget on a chicken so I'll go on about my merry way feeding my son the occasional McNugget when he is screaming for some damn chicken. You got a problem with that? Suck it. And as far as TV goes, I will shoot myself if I hear any more Little Einsteins. I am perfectly content letting my child watch The Simpsons, Rugrats, and Ahhh! Real Monsters like I used to watch as a child. It hasn't inhibited his ability to learn one little bit. He's two years old and can count to 20 and say his ABC's like a friggin champ. He knows colors and shapes and all that jazz. I am so sick of the media and all these community college certified researchers telling me how to raise my kid. As long as you aren't educating your child with the Charles Manson educational plan, you're golden. Now if you'll excuse me The Simpsons are on and these nuggets aren't going to eat themselves.

Children Of The Corn...In 3D

Thanks to today's horror movies, alot of seemingly normal things children do, are super duper creepy now. My son does creepy stuff on the daily basis and in my head I can't help but think, jesus is my kid a medium or something. These are just a few examples of some of the creeptacular things my son does on a daily basis:

1. The Whisper- This one has to spook me out the most. I've always found it disturbing when children whisper. They have such sing-song-y voices and that paired with the low octave of the whisper makes it uber weird. I always think of the children singing in Freddy Kruger movies "One, two, Freddy's coming for you...."

2. Random Talking- I can't stand when Brody mumbles to himself. He will have conversations, and include pauses as if some unseen person is talking back. I hope to god that's not the case.

3. The Stare- This makes me shudder. He gets this completely blank look on his face and stares off into dead air. Not moving. Not blinking. Not reacting. Just staring. And staring. And he will keep doing it until I make some kind of commotion to get his attention. He's two, he doesn't have a lot of need to stand still. Makes me wonder what he's looking at.

I may very well be overracting, but I spend alot of time alone with just me and him and I have grown to be utterly freaked out when he does this kind of stuff. Thanks, Paranormal Activity, you have done wonders for my psyche.

Crime And Punishment

So I am a mother to a two year old, and I fully sympathize with other mothers who have children who have their moments of insanity in public places, so naturally I expect other parents to give me the same sympathy, and if not, empathy. There is only so much you can do to contain a young child when they have seemingly lost their mind. It just pisses me the hell off when that is not the case and people get snotty and judgemental about it. For example: Obviously, I am a military wife. I live clear across the country from my family, so when we visit, we fly. I know everybody, (myself included, before children), has had that moment when you cringe at the thought of a kid on a plane. I was terrified the first time I flew with Brody, my son. He was only three months old on that trip. It was nothing like I expected. He slept the entire flight and every person I passed getting off the plane told me that he was just so good. I was pumped. Then we flew again when Brody was older. It wasn't as easy, but still, not as bad as I expected. Now he's two, and I have the mentality that basically if you have a problem with the way my kid is acting on this plane, blow it out of your ass. He's two, he doesn't want to sit still, and neither would you at that age. Well I just took another cross-country plane ride with Brody. This was the first time he was flying in his own seat instead of my lap. I was very excited because he would be in his car-seat all strapped in and I would be able to read a book instead of leaving the plane with sore arms from trying to contain him for six hours. This particular flight flew from California to Dallas, then from Dallas to Orlando. The trip to Dallas was horrifying. I have never seen my kid show his ass so bad. I was embarassed, tired, but grateful because the man's seat he chose to kick the entire time was so sympathic with me and didn't complain one little bit. The trip from Dallas to Orlando was a different story entirely. I sat in the middle behind a Soldier, and Brody sat behind the world's douchiest dirt bag. The guy gets on the plane and Brody kicked his seat ONE time (by accident, it wasn't even a full on kick, just stretching his legs) and this dumbass starts huffing and puffing like he's some guido version of the Big Bad Wolf. He turns around and glares at me and I apologetically say, "I apologize in advance, I'll do what I can to keep him from kicking your seat." The jerk off turns back around and starts mumbling to himself and I caught "fuck this" before he finally shut up. The soldier next to him looks at him with disguist and tells him, "Man the fuck up dude, he's a baby." I don't hear another peep out of the self-tanning bandit. Meanwhile, in the few minutes this has all taken place, Brody has fallen fast asleep and stays that way the entire flight. I was sad, really, I had hoped he would kick the shit out of that man's seat, because I sure as hell wouldn't have done anything to stop it. So we land, and we're waiting to get off the plane and the guy stands up and goes, "Well at least it wasn't as bad as I thought." I wanted to murder him, but instead I said, "It's just a damn shame he couldn't have beat the shit out of your seat the whole flight like I was hoping for." He didn't respond, but proceeded to hurry off the plane as fast as his juiced up orange legs would take him. I thanked the soldier and he thanked me for doing a good job with my son. I wish more people were like him. Back to my original point, what is it that people really want us to do with our children when they act like that in public? Beat the hell out of them? Ignore it? Use psychic super mom powers to get them to shut up, because mine have not come in the mail yet. We are in a predicament as parents because we are under constant scruitny about how we discipline our children. Heaven forbid you smack your kid on the ass, no matter how light, because sure enough the first time you do that in public someone yells child abuse. So I beg of you judgemental ass holes, before you decide to give me the stink eye for my screaming child, how about you give me a healthy alternative for ending the madness. If not, then take that shit somewhere else because I don't have time for it, I have a screaming kid here, dontcha see? ;)

If You Eat On The Toilet, You're Feeding The Devil

The title of this post is something my grandmother used to say to me when I was a kid. Silly, right? She just passed away on New Year's Day and since then I've been hearing things she used to tell me in my head. I didn't have a wonderful realtionship with her because I never saw her. She was onery and mean, but she was my grandma. She suffered from an array of different illnesses, most of which would have killed a normal person within a year, but held on strong for many years. I saw her for the first time in about six years when my son and myself took a trip to Florida for Christmas to spend with my family. She struggled with dementia and altzheimers for a long time and it finally reached a breaking point and she couldn't remember anybody around her. She got to meet my son for the first time and I was so grateful for that. My other grandmother passed away before she got that opportunity. Her seeing my son was the happiest anybody had seen her in a really long time. She didn't really know who he was but she just loved her grandbabies. We got the call right after the ball dropped on New Year's Eve, which was my birthday. I sat around the whole day just waiting on the news to come that she had passed. My Aunt had phoned earlier that morning with news that the doctor said she wouldn't make it through the night. My grandma waited until it wasn't my birthay anymore before she passed and I was so grateful for that. Since then I've been thinking about when I was little and some of the things she said to me back then and I can't help but laugh. I wasn't more than four or five when I was eating a sandwich at her house and had to go to the bathroom. I didn't want to stop eating my food so I just continued eating it on the toilet and my grandmother comes running in there to grab my sandwich screaming IF YOU EAT ON THE TOILET YOU'RE FEEDING THE DEVIL! YOU DON'T WANT TO FEED THAT SON OF A BITCH! Point taken and since then I haven't consumed anything sitting on a toilet. I also remember her getting into epic battles with my grandpa because he would let me eat plain ice. She was so worried about my teeth falling out, not even to remember the fact that those teeth were going to fall out anyway. She would just cringe when she heard me chewing on ice. She would call me fat all the time, and by god on her deathbed she had a moment of clairity and she sure enough called me fat, and sadly, that was comforting because I knew she knew who I was. I feel bad that I didn't have much of a relationship with her, partly because of our family moving so much, and partly because of the jagged relationship she had with my own mother. But I am glad that she isn't in pain anymore. My mother's boyfriend told my mom in between her tears that today is the first day in a decade that my grandmother is not in pain. He's right and her passing was for the better to put an end to her long time suffering. I almost took my glass of water in the bathroom with my this morning just to see if I could hear her voice telling me not to feed the devil.

Labels Mean Nothing But Ink And Plastic

What is the obsession people have with brand-name labels? I don't understand. You go into a grocery store and see a million different varieties of the same food, and usually the store brand is cheaper...and tastes exactly the same as its more expensive counter-part. It really irks me when I see women in California in their velour track suits (with heels, no less), bleach blonde coiffe, Fendi bag, and drinking Evian water. I'm not bitching about Fendi here, I'm talking about the water. The purest spring water blah blah blah they brag. I got news for you ladies, the fish still shit in that water. And it's run through a purifier just like any standard bottle of water, the only difference is you are paying three dollars more for that label. How about instead of spending that extra three dollars a day, why don't you use that money and put together a care package for those lonely troops that are out on deployment? Or you could donate to a chairity? I don't think that would kill anybody. I just can't fathom (especially living on military income with a toddler) paying all that extra money for a label. If you don't need to save those extra few bucks, I'm not mad at you, but how about putting it toward something that is worth a cause instead of flaunting your money in everyone's face with a six dollar bottle of water?

Sometimes You Just Have To Macgyver Shit

Let me paint a picture for you: You are in a department store with your screaming child. You have a cart full of shit and are ready to check out. Suddenly you smell that god awful scent and you know your kid has taken a healthy dump. No problem right? Just go to the bathroom and change them. So you drag your cart into the bathroom, completely unwilling to let it go because you don't want some over-acheiving sales associate to restock your shit the moment your hands leave the cart, and cram into the handi-capped stall to change the funk that has manifested in your kid's diaper. You pull your child out and turn around to pull down the changing table from the wall and notice there isn't one. You open the door searching for one in the open area and it is just not there. So what do you do? Well you're already in there and that shit isn't going to smell any better, so do what any normal person would do and grab a shirt from your cart to lay on the floor. You hunker down to change your kid and realize you forgot to pack diapers. Panic starts to settle in, because if you are anything like me, you have already removed the abomination from your kid's ass and thrown it away. Can't wrap them in paper towels because you know that child is going to pee right through it before you can get a real diaper on them just for spite. You begin cursing in your head that it would make more sense to have a diaper dispenser in there instead of one that sold condoms, tampons, and breath spray. Meanwhile your kid is rolling around and thrashing and has managed to get crap on this shirt you have every intention of paying for (and if you didn't, your mind is made up now). So the only option is to grab yet another shirt to act as a temporary diaper. Once all of this is done, and your kid is clean smelling with a very stylish diaper, you rush to the counter to pay for your stuff. You arrive home and unload your spoils, change your little one into an actual diaper and promptly wash your new, and quite dirty, clothes only to realize, you bought the wrong size. I'm pretty sure emergency diaper does not consitute a viable reason for return. This situation, my friends, is known as the Macgyver. Your situations may not be as dramatic, but I'm sure the parents out there have had their own Macgyver before. Whether it be using wet paper towels for wipes because you forgot to buy news ones, or using your own spit to wipe dirt off your child's face, it is most certainly a Macgyver. I may not always have the things I need at the time for me and my child, but give me a popscicle stick and some paperclips and I can get anything done.

Kids These Days...Or Should I Say Parents.

I just read a status update on my Facebook that a friend of mine posted about other parents criticizing what my friend feeds her children. Please tell me when did it become okay to open your mouth with any kind of open ridicule about how someone raises their child(ren)? Don't get me wrong, advice is okay between parents, but is only warranted when it's asked for. What the hell makes these self-righteous parents think they know better about raising someone else's kids, much less dictate what they put in their mouths? As long as the kids aren't living on a diet of vodka-cranberry and rat poision just shut the hell up. What may work for your kid isn't always going to work for another. I had an incident myself where someone gave me hell for giving my kid sprite zero. I caught so much hell, and finally I lost it. (It doesn't take much for that to happen when my kid is involved.) I promptly told this mother that I would give my kid what I damned well pleased, and informed her that, no, I do not regularly give my child soda, but I was out in public and had no spare juice so the sprite I had in my hand was all there was and I told this woman I would be forever grateful if she just blew her judgements up her ass if she didn't have anything better to offer me than snide comments about my child's diet. The simple fact is, folks, if something is not inheriently harming the child, keep out of their damn business. Obviously that kid's parent isn't doing such a shabby job if the kid is alive and well. Oh, and if you would like to offer input, how's about asking first? If they say no, then shove off. Not so hard is it?