I Want My Epidural Back (5 page)

OMG, SO THE OTHER DAY
I waxed my mustache and it took off a little skin and then I spent the rest of the morning cleaning semi-dry throw-up out of the cracks in Holden's floor, so I was feeling a little depressed. I have no idea why—my life is like totally glamorous. Anyways, I had approximately thirteen minutes until carpool pickup and I said to myself, “I'm gonna relax for those thirteen minutes and just surf Facebook and catch up with my virtual friends who I haven't talked to in decades but we think we're still friends because we spy on each other through social media.” Ennnnnh. Bad move.

Because here's what you should NOT do when you are depressed. Go on Facebook. Facebook is basically a cesspool of perfect people showing off their perfect lives and their perfect children.

Do you have people like that in your newsfeed? Oooooh, look at my big house. Oooooh, look at the fabulous vacation we're on. Oooooh, look at my perfect kids who are so well behaved. Oooooh, look at the group of women who I went out with tonight and you
weren't invited. I mean no, they don't just come right out and say, “Look how amazing my child is!!!” But they'll say something like, “Does anyone know what the best kind of shoes are for my eight-month-old who's already walking?” Some people call this a “humble brag.” But I call it “you'd have to be an idiot not to know this person is showing off.”

Do you know the Facebook posts I'm talking about? Here are some examples. Oh, and just for shits and giggles (and because it'll make me feel better), I'm gonna add what I wish I had the balls to write in the comments section.

Megan:
Sorry to post another picture of my boys today. They're just so cute, I can't resist.

My comment:
Thank God you did. I was just thinking that eleven pictures in one day is not enough.

Lisa:
The teacher just called to tell me Madison is the only one in her class who can write her letters!

My comment:
She's bullshitting you. My kid can write
F
and
U
.

Jessica:
Oh nooo, today Cambria went on a playdate and the mom took the girls to McDonald's and Cambria called it an UN-Happy Meal and refused to taste it because I taught her that McDonald's is really unhealthy. My bad!

My comment:
WTF kind of name is Cambria? Did you steal that from a Pottery Barn Kids catalog?

Bree:
My husband and I are arguing and we need some advice. Do you think it's okay to fly with little kids in first class, or does one of us need to sit in coach with them?

My comment:
I think he should take me since we're sleeping together.

My second comment a minute or two later:
Just kidding.

My third comment:
One of you probably needs to sit back with the peasants. Wear brown burlap so you don't stand out.

Emily:
Oh noooo, baby Hudson is crawling at seven months and he's getting into everything!! If your child isn't crawling yet, don't feel bad. Feel lucky!

My comment:
Studies show that babies who crawl first are often first to do other things. Like smoke pot and lose their virginity.

Abigail:
I'm super proud of myself for being so crafty! I went on Pinterest and picked out all the things I wanted to do for Whitlington's birthday and then I sent them to the party planner.

My comment:
Who should I give my RSVP to? You or the party planner? Ennh, I'll just put it here: No F'ing way.

Rachel:
Totally bummed. I made homemade chocolate chip cookies, but Eloise wouldn't stop eating my homemade kale chips and now she's too full for dessert. Ping me if you want the recipe.

My comment:
F the recipe. Just drop the chocolate mouthgasms off at my house.

Melanie:
Ugggh, the maid taught Reginald all this Spanish and I can't understand a word he's saying. Now I totally know what it's like to have a child with a speech problem.

My comment:
Can you please ask him how to say the word
douchebag
in Spanish?

Pamela:
I'm so jealous of all these moms who wear pajamas to drop the kids off at school. I wear little nighties to bed, so I have to put on real clothes every morning.

My comment:
Do you pull that stick out of your ass every morning too?

Jenny:
Wahhh, I want a funny school picture like everyone else is posting, but my little Mattelyne just can't seem to take a bad picture. See?

My comment:
You spelled her name wrong.

Lauren:
I made little goodie bags for all the people sitting around us on the airplane in case my kids misbehaved, but of course they acted like total angels the whole flight. Murphy's Law. Oh well, guess they'll have to find another reason to use the earplugs!

My comment:
Surely there was someone else they wanted to stop listening to.

Anyways, maybe you're thinking I'm just jealous of all these people and their perfect lives. Well, yes, if their lives
really
are this perfect, I'm absolutely jealous. But I don't believe it for a sec. Because when a mom has to brag this much, you just kinda know something's missing from her life. Like maybe her husband is missing because he's on a “business trip” diddling his coworker. Or maybe a stick is missing from the garden because it's stuck up her butt. But here's the thing. My life is pretty damn good. Not perfect, but good enough. I just don't feel the need to constantly broadcast it.

Once upon a time there was this woman who stabbed someone to death and then the police were after her, so she grabbed her kids, hot-wired a car, and took off for Mexico, and as soon as they crossed the border she pulled over for a pee break and before they got back in the car she said, “Say cheese,” and she took an adorable picture of them on the beach and then posted it to Facebook with the caption “Beautiful sunset tonight!!” and everyone who saw it just assumed they were having the most wonderful vacation in Mexico.

See, Facebook lies.

SO LET ME GET THIS
straight. I pushed an eight-pound bowling ball out my hooha and
who
gets to celebrate every year on that date? The F'ing bowling ball??? Yeahhh, that makes sense. Not.

There are some moms who are practically jizzing in their pants, they're so F'ing excited to plan their kid's birthday. They're like, “Eeeeks, I only have three hundred sixty-four days to plan little Poopiebottom's birthday party!! Must go to Pinterest NOWWW.” Which is the complete opposite of me. I'm like, “Seriously? Seeeriously? We are going to drop how many hundreds of dollars on a party that's going to last one-and-three-quarter hours and literally be forgotten the next day?” For moms like me who are busy and lazy and not rich, there is nothing more torturous on this planet than planning a birthday party. Maybe waterboarding. Nahh, I'm gonna say it's a tie.

Anyways, every year I DREAD the conversation. I mean when Zoey was little, I got to pick where we were doing it.

Age 1:
Backyard

Age 2:
Skipped this year because the last thing you want to celebrate is your kid turning two

Age 3:
This cute gerbil tube place where the kids are locked inside clear tubes so the moms can sit and chat without interruption

Age 4:
I can't remember

Age 5:
The bounce house place (the first year she got to choose it herself)

So about six months before her sixth birthday (because that's how early you have to book shit), I had the dreaded conversation.

ME:
Hey, Zoey, what kind of birthday party do you want this year?

ZOEY:
A bounce house party.

ME:
Or what about a princess party? Or a pirate party? Or a cooking party? Or a yoga party? Or a mini-golf party? Or an ice-skating party? Or a roller-skating party? Or a costume party? Or a Lego party? Or a painting party? Or a Build-A-Bear party? Or a nature place party? Or a cake decorating party? Or a pizza party? Or a superhero party? Or pretty much any other party you can think of in the whole entire world because I don't want to have ANOTHER F'ing bounce house party like we had last year?

ZOEY:
No, I want a bounce house party.

Really? SERIOUSLY?!! I mean (a) it's expensive as shit, and (b) I have a heart attack every five seconds while I watch kids almost break their necks and stomp on each other's heads and WTF am I going to say to little Timmy's mom when she comes to pick him up?

ME:
Thanks for coming, Timmy!! Don't forget to grab a party favor from the table and your brains from the bounce house where that big kid jumped on your head.

Anyways, I say no to my kids alllllll the time. Like seriously, one day I counted to see how many times I say no in a day and I lost count after 147. I wish I were kidding. But birthdays are like super important to kids, so I pretty much never say no.

ZOEY:
Can I get my nails painted on my birthday?

ME:
Sure.

ZOEY:
Can I go to McDonald's on my birthday?

ME:
We can do that.

ZOEY:
Can I get a dog on my birthday?

ME:
A stuffed one.

ZOEY:
Can you call me Princess Zoey on my birthday?

ME:
If that's what you want.

ZOEY:
I want that.

ME:
Sure thing, Your Highness.

So when it comes to her choosing the birthday party location, I always say yes. Correction: So far I've always said yes. Maybe not this year. Because last year she asked for the bounce house place and here's how it went down.

ZOEY:
We're here, we're here!! It's my birthday party!!!

BOUNCE HOUSE LADY:
Okay, Mom, just sign this waiver form and we can get started.

Hmmm, lemme read it first:

Please sign this to indicate that there is absolutely no way you can ever sue our asses, no matter WTF happens. Because here's some of the shit that might happen here: Your kid might get bruised, break a limb, break a neck, get smothered in a bounce house that deflates, or someone might jump on her head and her head might pop open like a Cadbury Creme Egg and all the filling might pour out. Oh yeah, and she might die.

ME:
So lemme get this straight before I sign this waiver. If you guys pour baby oil all over the bounce houses and a kid slips and falls and dies, I can't sue you?

HER:
(super smiley)
That's right. Just sign it.

ME:
Wait, what if you guys don't pay your electric bill and the lights go out and all the kids are trapped inside the collapsing bounce houses—

HER:
(perma-grin)
You can't do a thing. Just sign it.

ME:
But what if—

HER:
(through a gritted smile)
Sign the motherfucking document, lady.

ME:
Well, that seems fair. Do you have a pen?

And then one by one the parents all show up and sign their kids' lives away and drop them off so they can escape as quickly as possible to go run some random errand because there's not enough time to run to the grocery store because it's too long to leave your cold shit in the car but too short to go to the store you really need to go to because these bounce house places are always located in these weird industrial parks. Grrrrr.

Wheeeeeeee!!! They're bouncing!!!!! And their faces are getting super red and sweaty and they're running around like maniacs and, awwww shit, here comes another party. I totally forgot we might not be the only people in here. Yup, there's another birthday party going on at the same time, and these kids are older and they're all boys and they look like they're sumo wrestlers and they're mowing down our kids like giant John Deere tractors. Like there's this one man-child who looks like the dude who does a cannonball into a pool and literally all the water splashes out. Only in this scenario, the pool is a bounce house and the water is the kids from our party and when he jumps into the house all our kids fly out and land on their heads and break their necks and pretty much die. Wheeee, this is fun!!!

ZOEY:
Mommmmmmmm!!!!!!

I see Zoey running toward me and she has a look of terror on her face and I wonder if someone has died and, holy shit, is that blood dripping from her hair? OMG yes, something red is dripping from her hair. OMG OMG OMG.

ME:
(totally panicked and not cool and collected like I should be)
Zoey, what happened?!!!

ZOEY:
Jasmine threw up in the bounce house!!!

And yup, now I can see that it is not in fact blood, it is red vomit and it is all in her hair and on her shirt and there are kids running around with red vomit all over them now. Because even if YOU don't serve the cake until after the bouncing part, that doesn't mean someone else in your kid's class didn't have a party earlier that day and serve cake with red frosting and pizza with red sauce like an hour before this party. Awesome. And I stand there wondering WTF to do and then I come up with a brilliant plan.

ME:
TIME FOR CAKKKKE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

And it looks like someone just fired the starter pistol at the marathon and kids of all sizes come running toward me at full speed, including all the sumo wrestlers, so I try to fix my mistake.

ME:
Only for Zoey's party!!!!!!

Which is the stupidest thing I could yell because then all the sumo wrestlers do a one-eighty and start running in the other direction back to the bounce houses against the flow of traffic and there are collisions everywhere.

Bam! Bam! Bam! Bam! Bam!!!!

EVERY KID IN THE PLACE:
Wahhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!

And it looks like a scene after a bomb went off because people are lying all over the ground crying with red stains all over them.

Fifteen minutes later, the kids from Zoey's party are all sitting in complete silence wolfing down cake and you would never know anything bad just happened except for the pungent smell of puke that fills the room.

So this year, when Zoey asks me to have another bounce house party, I'm a total a-hole and I say no this time.

ME:
No.

ZOEY:
Please.

ME:
No.

ZOEY:
Pleeeeease.

ME:
Nooooo. Ask again and you won't get a party at all.

ZOEY:
(silence)

ME:
How about a nice tea party?

ZOEY:
Fiiiine.

End of story.

Oooooh, I just spent like 9,000 minutes on Pinterest looking at allllllll the adorable goodie bags I can do for my kid's birthday party!! And at the end of it, all I could think was that if I had just gone to the Dollar Store in the first place, this would be done by now.