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Pasty skin? Blood-shot eyes? Just rolled out of bed fashion statement? I thought I had that look going for me pre-child. I realize it was only the beginning. I officially understand what they mean when people say they “lose themselves” when they have kids. I have a whole new admiration for the likes of Nancy Finnegan with her 9 children. I have one and I feel rockstar if I manage to get moisturizer on and text a friend all in one day!

 

I feel bad for those people that do lose themselves. I totally get how it happens. Yes, I may be in total denial, but I feel I haven’t really lost myself so much as hid her away for a few years until she’s allowed out to play again. And I admit it has happened. I know sometimes people don’t realize it’s happening to them. I realized. I just couldn’t stop it. I know they say you shouldn’t let it happen, but well, they either have a lot more money than I do to pay for a manny or they were kinda boring and didn’t have much of a life to begin with. That’s the conclusion I have come to.

 

Here’s the thing: I know you are supposed to keep some of your hobbies and your girls’ nights out and your “me” time reading 50 Shades of Grey on the side. I get it. What I don’t get is how you make that happen. There’s just not enough time in the day to write a blog, take some pictures, read a book, call my friend, check facebook, and still make breakfast, lunch, dinner, do laundry, pick up the 5000 wrappers my daughter took out of the trashcan, read her books, play airplane with her, and do our daily neighborhood watch from the top of the couch. Just sayin’. I admit defeat. And when it comes to whether I screw her up for life or give up my chapter of smut, I ere on the side of a non-messed up child. Now, I can’t make any promises, but at least I’m trying.

 

Everyone tells me it will get easier. And maybe it will. If nothing else, I’m sure there will be practices that I can sit in Baa Baa Black Sheep (our black Honda Pilot) and check Facebook on my phone. In the meantime, I am sad that I can’t bring you a regularly scheduled blog and the ratio of diaper-changes to strawberry daiquiris is pretty one-sided,  but when she pats me on the cheek and gives me a hug, well, I remember that I’ve made worse mistakes along the way.

 

Should you do what I have done? No. Not if you can help it. If you can’t help it and you know it’s happening, well, join the club. We don’t actually meet because we don’t have time, but we do feel sympathy for those in the sinking ship with us.

 

Oh, P.S. – if you’re feeling bad for me, feel free to offer to be a free babysitter. I won’t say no. ☺

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