Easter Break: Eggs


I am in the car a lot. I like the way the thoughts flow in the car, with the constant changing landscape and the cars and people passing by.

As I watch the cars pass me by, I can’t help but want to just enjoy the passing. Watching the cars pass is wonderful. If I give up my front space at Buck’s and pull into traffic I am part of the movement.

Today I am tired of movement. I don’t want to join the fuck in. Today is the seventh day of our Family School Vacation week Easter. My Husband, number three, is taking the kids to church. If I commit to the action of participation—then I am forced to change.

{I am afraid of the answer}

Why do so many women that push baby carriages assume they have the right of way?! I do feel sad for them. Stuck in babyhood—an awful place. At least it was for me.

I don’t like babies. There. I said it. Don’t like them. I have never been moved to coo, ooo and ahh over somebody else’s baby. Don’t get me wrong. My niece, my nephew and my cousin’s baby—yes, them I enjoyed. Aside from that, unless I’ve pushed them out of my own vagina, un-medicated and screaming—I don’t like them!

It’s probably more of the truth than people let on. I know people say, “ooh it’s so cute”; meanwhile the big-headed fucker already has a snaggle tooth and a million dollar price tag.

Lately, I am considering spending their college funds on myself and letting them learn the hard-knock lesson of taking out a Student Loan or working towards a scholarship in lieu of yet something else just being handed over to them.

Then there is the self-righteous parent, “well I have a baby”…. “I need that parking space”…. “I need that spot in line”…. “I need that bathroom” …. “Excuse me, can you please not smoke?

Hold on one minute. Marie smoked when I lived inside of her. I quit smoking when I was pregnant and nursing, and all that really did was cause resentment. I was pissed, depressed and fat. I am a much better parent smoking and drinking copious amounts of coffee.

I only recently started smoking with The Girl and The Boy in the car. I keep the windows open and rationalize to The Girl that, “atleast I didn’t smoke with her inside of me”. She glares at me—I am not sure if she is repulsed at my comment or that I don’t immediately put out my cigarette.

Recently I had an encounter on the beach with somebody’s baby.  The baby was a dog. Really. A canine, but they are delusional thinking it is a baby. They dress it and have all of the accoutrement that goes along with a small dog baby.

I was overly stoned and overly sunned and just trolling back and forth with Miss Carry when we ran into so-called “Mommy”. I immediately cause insult by saying, “is that a dog?” Remember we are talking about canines for real!  Anyway she proceeded to tell us about the “baby’s bronchitis and breathing issues”, when low and fucking behold she asks me to put out my cigarette!

{Outside.  At the beach, for the fucking dog. NOT a baby.}

Of course I laughed and said we needed to jet anyway.  Whatever-she’s clearly got issues and clinging to whatever she can, even if it pushes real people away.

As I remember my Baby Momma days, I was not happy. I loved my kids, but I was unhappy. It really was too much for me—sooo many needs and they can’t take care of any of those needs by themselves. I am starting to really like my kids more and more now. They are both in school full-time and I can write, smoke and take care of the household shit, alone! No one on my leg. No Clingy Mc Cling. No nagging. It’s good.

For the record: I love my dog and my two kids very much! Babies don’t like them. And if you see me stumbling down the beach sometime—don’t ask me to put out my cigarette.

{I won’t}

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