I miss this blog and I miss writing. More on that later. For now, here are a few snippets from my life….
40 is right around the corner for me and I am having some SERIOUS baby fever. A few weeks ago I was (bottle) feeding a friend’s sweet baby girl, and I felt my milk let down. I haven’t nursed anything in almost 6 years. Six years! Stupid, evil, hormones. I asked my friend if she would call and scream demands at me through the phone every time her kids got up in the middle of the night. She mumbled something about having her hands full and said, “maybe there’s an Ap for that…”
I miss the babies my big boys used to be…
I hate you, stupid hormones. You have crappy timing and we are never on the same page about which mood to swing on next. Arrgg! Didn’t you get the memo?? I am recently divorced, broke-as-a-joke, and already have two boys who aren’t exactly raising themselves. My life isn’t what I’d call “together.” I don’t even have health insurance. (I canceled it to save up for new tires ‘cuz that’s how single moms “make it happen.”) Is this renewed urge to spawn some kind of peri-menopausal pre-party? Well if it is, then I think it needs a lot less baby fever and WAY more booze.
This goofball is 8 years old now. Waahhhh! At least he still makes this face…
In other news…
I’m beginning to wonder if my kids shit rocks. Seriously. Unclogging toilets is now a regular part of my household chore routine. This very blog post is in fact, an avoidance of a clogged toilet. Last week we had a situation that forced me to buy a toilet pipe snake from the hardware store. There’s a really cute guy at the hardware store who I hoped wouldn’t be working that day. He was. He explained the toilet snaking procedure in great detail without ever mentioning what might actually be in the toilet. It was remarkable and humiliating.
Somehow this image best depicts how I felt at the hardware store…
And finally…
A couple of weeks ago I suggested that a friend DIY her husbands vasectomy with an exacto knife and a rubber band. I fully acknowledge and embrace both my unresolved anger towards men, as well as my thrifty nature. By the way, I DIY my bikini waxing and nobody hands me pain pills or an ice pack when I’m done. Men are such babies.
Oh, hey… I think we’ve come full circle! 
Peace out,
Jennifer
Poop in My Hair 