Married with Children, momlife, parenting, The Daddys, Why We're Salty

Day to Day Operations

I run this house.

This isn’t a bold statement, it’s just really honest. My husband participates, he helps whenever I ask, he fills in where and when necessary. He thinks that he’s super vital in the day to day ops, but the real truth of the matter is that he changes the kitty litter and pays the bills. Of course there’s much more than that as far as his overall role in our lives. We love him dearly, he’s a great Dad, and I don’t say any of this to diminish his status around here. It’s not meant to be as harsh as it comes off.

Basically he’s a moderately hands off CEO that rolls up his sleeves when his employees are really in the weeds.

Until the weekend hits. Or he’s on vacation. Then he’s like the guy that buys the company and starts to make all kinds of changes before he asks any questions. He doesn’t know how things work, but that doesn’t mean he won’t give you all his GREAT ideas of how to make things better.

I didn’t realize Chad was this kind of Dad until recently when a few conversations made me realize he just doesn’t understand how things get done around here. A few weeks ago he suggested that we change breads:

Chad: That bread Joy had the other day was really good! We should start using that!

Me: Yeah, it was. I checked though and it’s like twice as much as the bread we buy….

Chad: Well that’s no big deal. What do we use? Like a loaf every few weeks?

Me: Uh, no bro. We use two loaves. A week. Every week.

Sure, it’s just bread, but did he really not notice that I make at least three people toast every morning? And a sandwich for our son to take to school three days a week? And I can’t blame him for not knowing how often Evie and I eat sandwiches for lunch during the week while he’s off eating Chipotle or something glamorous. But a loaf every three weeks?? At this my radar went up that he was REALLY out of the loop.

Then on the drive home from vacation:

Chad: What should we do for dinner tonight?

Me: I probably have something in the freezer I could throw together.

Chad: Awesome. And like a salad?

Me: Well, I’d have to run to the store real quick, but that’s doable.

Chad: Oh, we don’t already have salad stuff?

Me: I mean, we’ve been out of town for a week. I don’t usually stock the house with fresh produce before we go out of town.

Poor kid was incredibly disappointed. Because he really was thinking there would be fruits and vegetables and a bounty of salad awaiting him when we arrived home. Like, does he not know how grocery stores work? Or the shelf-life of lettuce? I swear it was only a few years ago that he was living on his own, responsible for his own groceries, but apparently that info in his brain also has a short shelf-life!

Then one day I realized I needed to harness this lack of household intelligence…

Chad: *checking spending on Mint* Hey, big trip to Target today, huh?

Me: Dude, we needed a lot of diapers…

Chad: Like $167 worth of diapers?

Me: Well I needed regular diapers for Evie and Izzie, and Pull-Ups for Evie cause she’s going to need a lot when potty training at school and [his eyes start to glaze over] and then I needed swim diapers for the girls, we’ve been swimming SO much that we’re burning through those and…

Chad: Got it. Diapers.

Did I spend $167 on diapers? No, I did not. But he has no clue how much diapers actually cost. Or bread. Or how produce works. Or basically anything about our day to day operations. And if it drives me crazy all the other times, I might as well get to cash in once in a while.

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Effing Four Year Olds, momlife, Terrible Twos, The Salties, Why We're Salty

Terror at Trader Joe’s

Apparently I was feeling brave. Apparently I was feeling confident. Apparently I was a fool.

Because for some reason, I thought it was a good idea to load up my kids and go to the grocery store. But not just any grocery store, Trader Joes. Now, let me be clear. I LOVE Trader Joe’s. If you don’t have on near you it’s a wonderful neighborhood grocery store with amazing food and drink from around the globe and around the corner. When my kids were little – wait, they’re still little, but like, really little, cart bound “little” – TJ’s was the best. We’d walk into the store and there was always a beautiful buffet of bananas welcoming us. We’d toss a half dozen or so in the cart and then I’d hand each of my kids one. I mean, I always paid for the bananas later, but I think the produce lady at Ralph’s doesn’t trust that I’m actually going to pay….No such problem at Trader Joe’s. No one there threw us shade for sampling the product as we strolled through the produce section.

The banana usually lasted through produce and fresh meat, and then we rounded the corner and it was time to start looking for the Bixby Beagle. Now, I won’t tell you how long it took me to realize that the Bixby Beagle isn’t a fixture at all locations, despite it being named after my neighborhood, so I don’t know what the dog is called where you live – or if it even IS a dog – because I just learned it could be any animal, but I love that dog. Because it gives my kids something to DO for the next little bit. As I meander through the frozen foods, my kids have their eyes peeled for that beagle. Because when we find it? They get a lollipop! A nice fresh, not-covered-in-lint-because-I-found-it-at-the-bottom-of-my-purse-while-hunting-for-something-to-calm-the-storm-brewing-in-my-cart lollipop.

We can usually make the lolly last until checkout at which point my kids get to try to entertain the checker, who then HANDS THEM A MILLION STICKERS. It’s like Willy Wonka’s factory over here when they start unraveling the giant roll of seasonal stickers. Sometimes, they’re even scratch ‘n’ sniff. My kids think every day is Christmas at Trader Joe’s.

But then my kids got older. And they got wise to the fact that there are ADORABLE tiny little carts that are just their size! First the bananas, then the lollipops, then stickers – clearly Trader Joe’s was catering to their VERY specific needs. So it should have come as no surprise to me when Cole told me that “Uncle Robert” got him his very own cart too! This will teach me to pretend that the manager of the grocery store is related to us.

For a while, things were okay. Cole was the biggest and somehow Evie just accepted that she still had to ride in the cart and Cole was allowed to push his own. And he did surprisingly well. He took his new responsibility seriously and I think he could smell the fear on me and knew he was one bruised shin away from having his rights revoked.

Then I started getting wise. I started getting organized. And for the love of God I started going to the store while Cole was in preschool. Going to a store with a 2 year old and a baby only feels easy when you’re used to having a 4 year old there too. I had gotten so used to the chaos of all three that two felt like a breeze! It was like old times! And that’s when you start to make mistakes. You get sloppy. You decide to let the two year old give this whole tiny cart thing a try. You think this is your new normal, not remembering that there will come a time when you will have to go to the store again with all three kids, but by then, it’s too late. By then, you’ve created monsters.

Which is how I ended up as the caboose in a crazy choo choo train of tiny cart insanity. To those we ran down, I apologize. To those that looked at me like I’m crazy, yeah, you’re probably right. To those that muttered something under your breath like I couldn’t hear you, I could. I’m not even saying I disagree with what you said, but I heard you bitches, okay? To those that seemed entertained by us, thank you. And to those that gave me a look of, “Hell yeah, mama, you got this!,” a huge, huge, thank you. It was because of you that we made it. Because of you that I didn’t give up in the pasta aisle, just lay down on the floor and cry, and just GIVE. UP.

Instead we pushed on. Ate a banana. Found the beagle. Got our lollipops. Grabbed some stickers for the road. And got the F OUT OF TRADER JOES.   trader joes

Effing Four Year Olds, koefoe party of 5, Terrible Twos, vacation, Why We're Salty

How to Have a Successful Day at Disneyland

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As I sit here in our staycation suite, thanking the little baby Jesus that I somehow – finally – MIRACULOUSLY got all three of my spawn to nap at the same time I can’t help but reflect on the past couple of days…and how freaking good they went. Sorry, this is going to be a straight up BRAGFEST up in here. Because my husband and I just spend three days at “The Happiest Place on Earth” and it was actually the Happiest Place on Earth. At least most of the time. Which got me thinking – why???

What did we do to deserve this? Was karma just on our side? Had we had enough shit shows at Disneyland that we were simply due? I felt like I HAD to pin down the reason – hopefully to replicate it! As I reflected on our day, it came down to three things:

  1. Attitude
  2. Parenting
  3. LUCK

Attitude. Yesterday we were in line to meet Mickey and behind us was the grumpiest 20624061_10214214203175362_318810456_nperson in Disneyland. Yes, Grumpier than Grumpy himself. She grumbled all through the line to see the Mouse about how terrible the day had been. Someone asked her if it was the people? The crowds? No, it was EVERYTHING. Well listen, we go to Disneyland a lot. And yes, it was hot as hell and it was crowded and I’ll give you that it ain’t cheap. But it surely couldn’t be that everything is terrible. Take a minute to enjoy something. That place is CLEAN. Like, a first time Mom that’s a germaphobe could probably let a baby eat a cracker off the floor kind of clean. And there is such a meticulous attention to detail there’s lots for your eyes to enjoy everywhere you go. Chad could spend hours just checking out the plantlife – but he’s a nerd like that, so I cede that isn’t everyone’s jam. I just don’t know how someone could HATE absolutely EVERYTHING about Disneyland. So I’ve got to assume this chick needed an attitude adjustment. If you’re grumpy and miserable, nothing’s going to make you happy – not even a corn dog or a pineapple Dole whip!

Parenting. Okay, this may be controversial. But YES, parenting CAN have an influence on how your kids behave. It would be lovely to think that it was all a crapshoot and we were never responsible for our kids bad behavior, but tragically, it’s not true.

Side story: My husband does storytime with the Bigs before bed while I’m dressing/diapering/feeding the baby for her bedtime. Recently, I’ve overheard him reading “The Berenstein Bears Get the Gimmies” and talking to them about the Gimmies (“gimme this toy” and “gimme that candy” type of stuff). I was always like, “Hell yeah! Teach the kids to knock it off with the Gimmies!” Then one day my kids asked me to read the book. And, spoiler alert, it’s totally the parents fault that Brother and Sister Bear have the Gimmies in the first place! SO, moral of the story: Parenting. Dang it.

Back to Disneyland…The most commonly used four words to end a sentence at Disneyland? “….Or we’re going home!” As in, “knock it of or….” and “stay in the stroller or…” and “stop licking your sister or…..” And guess what? The kids know that it’s all BS! Cause you’re not gonna do it. So your threats mean nothing. Find a threat you can stick to. There with multiple adults? How about “….or you can’t go on X ride.” Yep, cause let me tell you, you only need to make Evie sit aside and NOT ride The Little Mermaid about once before she realizes you’re not playing. My kids will never remember where they left their shoes, but they will never forget that time their siblings got to ride without them.

Luck. Look, it may have seemed like I talk a big game back there in the ol’ “Parenting” section. But let’s be clear. I don’t actually know what the F I’m doing.  I also know that you can be a black belt ninja in parenting and still have the world go against you. Good parenting cannot make sure you get the exact color Teacup your son will die without getting. Good parenting does not prevent your daughter from spilling her brand new popcorn all over the place. Good parenting does not help when your 2 year old is to small to go on all the “good rides” her 4 year old brother is going on and the ONLY thing in the world that will make it better is riding on The Little Mermaid ride – again – and it breaks right before she gets on. In that case? You’re just screwed.

Use all your tricks, bribes, food, distractions and pray you can turn that juju around, because luck is definitely the most critical component for success.

But, if you have a great attitude and you find your inner parenting blackbelt and karma is on your side, maybe just maybe you can get a great day at Disneyland.

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Mama Mojo, momlife, Why We're Salty

Going Gray, Gracefully

Aging Gracefully...No Thanks
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I’ve known for a while that I’m (not so) slowly going gray. My first grey hairs started popping up at 24 or 25, and have hurried on at a rapid pace. It went from finding a few short, spiky little grays at the top of my head at first, and now there are gray hairs that are as long as any other hairs on my head. I could pick up a little handful of hair and find three or four grays mixed in, easily. It’s happening, and I’ve known it’s happening.

I shouldn’t be surprised, considering my mom started going gray in her mid to late twenties. I have fond memories of laying on a blanket in our backyard, and my mom paying me a quarter a piece to pluck them from her head. I could have gotten rich there, if my mom hadn’t decided to start dyeing her hair, putting an end to my money-making scheme.

But as my own hair started to fade, I decided I would take a different tactic. I was going to embrace the silver in my hair. I would see it as a badge of honor and a signal of wisdom and experience. When my daughter asked why there were hairs on my head with no color, I pointed out how they shimmered in the light, and said how proud I was that I was old enough now to have sparkly hair. The grays were coming in at a manageable rate and I was ready to start the slow slide into silver.

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And then I got a sunburn on the part in my hair. Has that ever happened to you? You know, first it’s red and achy, and then it PEELS, and it looks like you have an unbearable amount of dandruff, and it’s date night, and you’re like, “Of course my scalp has to peel off on date night.” So you say, “no biggie, I’ll part my hair on the other side.”

And then I saw it.

My entire- well not ENTIRE, but darn near entire- head of hair on that side is GRAY. Like, there’s no hiding it, more gray-hair-than-brown-hair, straight up old-lady-status gray. I’ve been walking around thinking I’m at like 10% grayness, and then all it takes is one shift of the hairline to discover that I am RACING towards complete salt-and-pepper status. I feel like I’ve been tricked. I had no idea that old age was as close as the other side of my head.

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So here I am, trying to decide what to do about my impending doom. All those beautiful euphemisms are heading RIGHT out the door. That complete nonsense about my beautiful sparkles?? EFF. THAT. Pass me the Clairol. I ain’t going down without a fight.

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momlife, Salty Mama Lists, The Daddys, The Salties, Why We're Salty

Texts You Should Never Have to Send

oatmeal cookies

The Salty Mamas send each other a LOT of texts, because we value our sanity and sometimes you just HAVE to share your day with someone else that’s in the trenches. Then at some point you need to go look for something and when you see it all together like that you think, “Dear God, my life is a shit show! Literally!”

But the best way to feel better about the weird stuff you’re texting about is to send it out there in the world and see what comes back to you. (Or at least that’s what we’re hoping…) So here, dear friends, are our 25 Texts You Should Never Have to Send from July. Please make us feel better by adding yours.

  1. Best case scenario it’s food poisoning
  2. There’s a pursuit headed your way!
  3. No vomit yet, but the day is still young. I’ll keep you posted.
  4. Are we still friends or is it all over?
  5. URGENT: Corny (the stuffed corn) has gone missing. Do you know where it is??? This might be a matter of life and death.
  6. I’m listing my mom as my life partner on my membership.
  7. Eff. Oh, EFF. We can pay the extra $150 if we have to.
  8. She hasn’t had the firmest of poops…
  9. I almost dropped Abram putting him in the Ergo. People legit screamed. Out loud. I am the shame of Pretend City.
  10. Dude, your baby has the leakiest butt.
  11. Hey, so I’m getting a red light camera ticket.
  12. We took a ride on the hot mess express today. Keep your expectations for this evening low.
  13. Guess which of your children had a massive blowout. You’ll be wrong.
  14. She’s watching TV half naked, surround by books, eating stolen sugar.
  15. My son stole food from a homeless person today, so I’m pretty sure you’re a better Mom than me.
  16. Sorry, typing slow. Booger fingers.
  17. There’s a bird in our yard that sounds like bells jingling and I’m gonna murder it.
  18. He came home with a man cold. FML.
  19. He was like, “Why am I peeing out of my butt????”
  20. We survived. Ish.
  21. It’s better than a brain tumor, which is what Google told me it was.
  22. Jk regarding naps. Everyone suddenly awake. Three hours to go 😭
  23. I just drove through McDonald’s with my boob out.
  24. How many times do you think your kid has to throw up at Souplantation before you’re banned?
  25. We are COMPLETELY out of coffee.

I definitely hope I don’t have to send any of those again. Now it’s your turn! GO!

Bouncing Babies, koefoe party of 5, momlife, parenting, They Said WHAT?, vacation, Why We're Salty

Panic at Panera

Road trips are always a huge endeavor, especially when you’re traveling with a bunch of little ones. You spend more time prepping for the trip than you’ll probably spend at your final  destination, making sure you have everything you could possibly need for every possible scenario: illness, peed pants, owies of all shapes and sizes, snacks – OH GOD THE SNACKS. Every possible book that will be required to get the kids to sleep at the end of the night and every toy that might be needed to get someone to stop crying/fighting/fussing/etc. I started getting ready on a Friday and a year and a half later we were packed, loaded and on the road.

Later that day, we found ourselves in the middle of what we thought was a seven hour drive – which ended up being over eleven hours – and were all in pretty good spirits. My husband and Dad were in the front row, chatting away, seemingly oblivious to the chaos of the back two rows. The kids were mostly singing songs from the major motion picture Moana and playing games they made up like “Guess the Animal,” where Evie gave charming clues like, “The animal I’m thinking of is a mouse.” It was cute, but freaking A man, was it LOUD.  We had strategically positioned the carseats so that no one could touch each other, so at least there was that. But even cute wears off after a few hours.

Then something happens and cute is a distant memory.

And when you’re trapped in the third row of a Ford Explorer with your very talkative20503897_10214160697637757_1520894625_n three year old sitting right next to you and your very hungry 7 month old screaming as she stares you down from her second row spot, the Panera off the highway might just look a little like heaven.

The second we parked the car I started yelling to the Daddies in the front row, “Please, please get the kids out so I can get out of the car, PLEASE!!” I scrambled over seats and literally fell into the parking lot, the black pavement scalding hot, but I was on LAND. And there was going to be food.

We went in, ordered and that’s when the fun began.

If you know anything about eating with kids, it’s that seat selection can make or break your meal. When in doubt DO NOT SIT NEXT TO THE NICE LOOKING OLD LADIES IN PANERA. This may have been a one off,  but just in case. Heed this warning.

We all sat down and started to eat. The baby – a staunch refuser of all things pureed – was sitting in her high chair enjoying one of a baby’s major food groups: the Mum Mum. Yes, it looks like I’m feeding my baby a bird treat but she loves it, so I’ll keep ripping open package after package as long as she likes. Being a baby though, she drops food. All the time. In quick succession she dropped not one, but TWO of the coveted Mum Mums. I chastised her playfully saying, “Silly baby, you’ve got to stop dropping your food!”

It was at this point that Lil Biddy #1 decided to mumble, “Of course she’s dropping it, it’s WAY too big for a baby….how can she possibly eat it….ugh….grumble grumble.” Uh, excuse me? I shot over a look, equal parts, “I’m sure I just heard you wrong” and “Nosy bitch says what??” Okay,  maybe not quite equal parts.

Resume meal.

At some point, Izzie ran out of Mum Mums and it was time to bust out the canister of Puffs. Both food AND fine motor skill enhancer, Puffs are pretty much the perfect food for a baby on the go. Sure, she can spill them EVERYWHERE, but the cleanup is pretty easy. What could someone not like about PUFFS????

Enter Lil Biddy stage left! This pushed her straight over the edge. “That’s it. I can’t stay here and watch this anymore. Those are too small! That baby is going to choke and die and it’s all that Mother’s fault!!!”

She, no joke, STORMED OUT OF PANERA. Lil Biddy #2 chased behind her crying, “I mean, I think those are actually made for babies….” but it was too late. She was dust.

In the moment, I actually thought it was funny. Me, feeding my baby food, that was made for a baby, was such terrible parenting that it drove two ladies from a restaurant. Are we in the twilight zone? It was honest to God laughable. In fact, my whole table laughed. But the more I thought about it, the more it chapped my ass. Who do these people think they are that it’s okay to just comment on every parent that comes in their wake? Because make no mistake. This was not unique to that day, to that Panera. Chad thought it was funny as well, and commented on how random it was which is when I realized that it doesn’t happen to him. It happens to the Moms. Our jobs are open to feedback and criticism and judgement, from anyone, anywhere.

Whether you’re in the grocery store, or an amusement park, or Panera.

And it’s BS.

So we won’t even get started on what happened at the next rest stop where….but Evie looked like this. So use your imagination…18697898_10213434533244101_1156915492_o

momlife, parenting, The Daddys, They Said WHAT?, Why We're Salty

No, Husband, I Did Not Poop in the Tub

My husband comes out of the bathroom, fresh from a shower, still with dripping wet hair, and looks at me with utter disdain.

“Babe. Did you seriously poop in the shower?”

I mean, I’m not sure how I’m supposed to respond to this, because clearly, I did not. Like, I’m not sure how to even justify this with an answer. We live with a four year old and a one year old. How, of all the Torrezes, is the 31 year old devoted wife and mother nominated as Most Likely to Poop in the Shower?!?
Me: “No! I didn’t poop in the shower!”

Mike: “Well you were the last one in there, and there was a little poop nugget in the drain”

Me: “WHY WOULD I EVER EVEN DO THAT?!?”

Mike: “I don’t know, why do you do anything you do?”
Me: Head explodes.

As EVERYONE ELSE BUT MY HUSBAND has probably already figured out, a few hours earlier, our one year old did, in fact, poop in the tub. Because that’s kind of a thing for Torrez babies, apparently. And I did my best to clean it up, evacuating both kids from the tub, scooping up the poop (well, most of it anyways I guess), and spraying the whole thing down with Lysol. And I did all this without even sending out a Spousal SOS, for which I probably deserve some kind of medal. At the least, gratitude. But certainly not accusations of some form of shit-related vandalism.

And that got me to thinking about some other “reminders” my husband has given me.

Me: Oh shoot, I just threw out some balsamic vinegar this morning and now I need it for this recipe.

Mike: Don’t dig it out of there, it’s too late.

Me: …

Like, obviously, hon. I’m not gonna use trash-vinegar on this salad I was planning to serve to company. CLEARLY.

 

My Husband: Standing Next to My Child, who is sitting precariously in a bike seat attached to a grown-up-sized bike, “You’ve got to watch him when he’s in there, Jaymes. You can’t walk away and just leave him in there.”

WELL YEAH I KNOW, BOO. I didn’t intend to leave my wibbly, wobbly one year old strapped into a fifty-pound piece of metal by himself. Who do you think I am?!?

The baby’s graham cracker falls in the dog’s water bowl.

My Husband: “Don’t give that back to him.”

Good idea, buddy! Thank God you said that, cause I was just about to hand this soggy, dog-water cracker back to our precious fifteen month old. I mean, if it was an apple slice or something I would, but a graham cracker?? Just think of what a mess he would make with it.

On second thought, maybe I get why he thinks I need this kind of advice now. But pooping in the shower?? That just goes too far.

Tub

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They Said WHAT?, Why We're Salty

High Comedy at the Post Office

I am not good at being sick. I am terrible at taking time to recover. So I’m that nutjob in Labor & Delivery asking if I can leave early. Which is how I was checked out of the hospital 23 hours after our third baby was born. All that sitting around was making me ancy. I wanted to sleep in my own bed and eat my own food (or at least Chipotle’s food but in my own house) and I was sure my Target checkers were starting to worry. Basically, I had shit to do.

And so it was that a day after we were discharged, I found myself running errands with 15025161_10211442850133268_1808075476829088992_othe family. We visited my Nana, so she could meet the baby. We went to the grocery store because even though I was fine with eating ALL THE TAKEOUT my kids still wanted milk and fruit and all that “growing food” we apparently had spent too much time focusing on. Oh! And the post office, I definitely had to go to the post office! DO NOT FORGET TO GO TO THE POST OFFICE! A day before the baby had been born – SIX DAYS LATE, THANK YOU BABY #3 YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO BE EARLIER THAN THE OTHER TWO, but I digress – I had been selling some LuLaRoe on some Buy/Sell/Trade sites because I can’t just sit and do nothing waiting for baby’s arrival! But it wasn’t going to mail itself, so I told my husband to take me to the slightly out of the way Post Office that was never busy and has the lovely old lady that’s so friendly and works on Wednesdays.

I left Chad and the kids in the car – I may be running errands 43 hours post partem but I’m not insane! – and popped into the post office. As predicted there was only one person waiting in line. He was a cute old man, wearing a hat signifying that he was a Veteran and I warmed to him immediately because he reminded me of my Papa.

I smiled at him as he turned to me and exclaimed, “Oh! You’re having a baby! When are you due?” I took ZERO offense because, let’s face it, I DID look pregnant. I had that weird, mushy, misshapen I-just-had-a-baby belly thing happening, and if you don’t KNOW I just had a baby, expecting a baby seems like a pretty good explanation. I kindly responded, “Oh, no, I had a baby two days ago actually.” The woman now in line behind me squealed and offered congratulations, commenting on how impressive it was that I was already out and about. I smiled and thanked her and assumed that would be the end of that.

I was wrong. This is where the cute little neighborhood post office feel good story takes a turn.

My sweet, old Vet turned back to me and grumbled, “What, did they leave one or two in there???”

Uhhhhh, excuse me?? I did a double take trying to rectify this new development with the aforementioned assumption that this was my new grandfather figure. The nice lady behind me tried to take over asking the usual just-had-a-baby questions.

“Did you have a boy or a girl?”

“Girl”

“Your first?”

“My third actually.”

“Hey!” – Joy, he returns – “Did you hear there’s something in the air that keeps getting girls pregnant.”

I REALLY just want to mail my stuff and leave, but he was just as adamant that I hear the punchline of his joke, so he came up quite close, right to my face and says, “THEIR LEGS!”

At this point I was too shocked to respond with anything other than an absolutely stunned expression on my face. As I’m contemplating picking my jaw up off the floor, he sensed the disapproval from me and my companions in line and proceeds to respond the way so many offensive men do: “Oh, I’m only joking, don’t get mad.”

Because, of course, it’s MY problem that I’m insulted when someone makes uninvited comments about my weight and getting pregnant – not that he’s a douche…..

And so it was that I was reminded of how awesome it is when men think it’s appropriate to say whatever they want to women, about women. I left more than a little bit pissed off. Fired up. Sad for my daughters that will be growing up with crap like this happening in their lives. Adamant that my son be kind and respectful. Disheartened to see that douchbaggery has no age limit.

But he didn’t make me feel bad about the way I looked. Cause I had just made a person. And then gone to the post office. And that’s pretty badass.