I recently hung out with my Mama Role Model. This is a woman who embodies everything I want to be as a wife and mother. I have never seen her lose her temper, even when her kids "misbehave" (mild episodes to most of us mortals). Her kids are darling, always so well put together, watch very little TV, and they have been brilliant sleepers since birth. She has an immaculate home that is not only functional, but beautiful. Plus it smells nice because she bakes delicious things in her modern kitchen. She is so effing hospitable. I have never once heard this woman swear, seen her get food stuck in her teeth, pick her nose, scratch her butt, or smell her armpits in public. (I regularly do most all of these things.) On top of it all, she always looks so beautiful. Her hair is like Pocahontas's. She is never late for stuff. She eats fruit for dessert. I don't think she even sweats.
My Mama Role Model should annoy me for being so damn perfect, but instead, she mystifies me. I do.not.get.it. How the hell does she do it? I never believed it possible to "have it all". Does she secretly hate her husband? Put speed in her (delicious) brownies? How is it that she has never lost her mind amidst the chaos of parenting littles? Does she experience stress or anxiety over finances? Wonder when or how the skin above her knees started to look old? Meanwhile, I'm scratching myself, eating whipped cream out of the tub, and trying to teach my kids how to breakdance (a skill I do not possess) because Ummi is more fun during happy hour.
OK, I may be exaggerating that last part a bit but, honestly, I wish that we would be more real with people. I'm not just talking about moms, or even parents...I'm talking about all of us. Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and so much of social media have got us believing that every single person out there -except for us- has his/her shit together. I submit: that friend from high school who ended up with my dream job; that college acquaintance whose life is full of excitement and creativity; the girl who lived on my floor who is much more "successful" than I; my Mama Role Model.
Despite their appearances of perfection, I guarantee that each of these truly wonderful, successful, and intelligent women has a vice. Each one has a weakness or an insecurity. Each one is imperfect. And each one is beautiful because of her imperfections. But this has been a long enough introduction...
Welcome to the first edition of Raw, Rude, Real, a TMI series with the aim of banishing social media phoniness and sharing my experiences, successes, and failures as a modern woman, wife, mother, and professional. Instead of posting photos of my adorable children and beautiful DIY projects that I've completed to impress you, I will be grossing you out with the realities of my existence. Most everything will be an overshare. You may be offended. You will be uncomfortable. You will probably beg me to stop. But you're in my house now, suckas! (Plus, you could always stop reading.) The one thing I promise not to do is sugarcoat any aspect of my life, because I am as real as you. Personally, I've grown tired of feeling inadequate as a human, and I refuse to be a vehicle to make my brothers or sisters feel "less than"...though I find it damn near impossible to believe that I ever could.
Allow me begin this series right by talking about my uterus. (GROSS!!! First post of the series and already it's turning into The literal Vagina Monologues...) This past April, I got an IUD. For those of you who don't know what an IUD is, ask your mother. She probably regrets not getting one. Now, before my Jedi (read: Catholic) friends get upset with me, hang on...mama's got some 'splaining to do.
When I got my surgery last year, I knew that biological kids were no longer an option for our family. They couldn't be, because my body can no longer house them. It would -no exaggeration- tear me apart. Come to think of it, didn't it already? For that reason, Habibi got neutered last year so that I wouldn't have to grow a mustache or endure premature menopause on top of everything else because the doctors stole my babymaker. But get this: Did you know that a man's junk can heal itself after a vasectomy? I did not. And I didn't want to take any chances because my reproductive life has already proven to be enigmatic enough.
Speaking of enigmas, I don't know about all you other mamas out there, but my monthly reminder that I am a woman changed BIG TIME after kids. It's not just a nuisance these days. It can be downright debilitating. Flo comes with a vengeance each month and knocks me on my ass. It sucks. Clinically speaking, they call it a menstrual bitchuation. So, my lady doc suggested an intrauterine device (IUD).
Most of you who know me are fully aware of where I stand on women's reproductive rights. I identify as a New Wave Feminist, and am adamantly pro-life. This extends to birth control. In fact, when it comes to this topic, I rather consider myself a "diet Catholic" (if such a thing were to exist). I believe that life begins at conception and any deliberate disturbance that follows is abortifacient. However, I don't so much have a problem with so-called "barrier methods" that block one part of the baby cocktail from meeting the other: condoms, the ancient Chinese art of "pulling out", etc. So let me say this once: I got an IUD to manage my periods. My husband is shooting blanks, so the likelihood of us even conceiving another baby would be borderline immaculate. Furthermore, the Mirena IUD is designed to inhibit the sperm from even entering the uterus, thus preventing fertilization. This is something I researched prior to getting an IUD, because I believe that you must live the way you tell others to live. Bottom line: If God wants me pregnant at this point, He will make it happen. No amount of birth control could prevent that.
Before I trip on my soapbox, let me shout this from the rooftops: getting an IUD sucks. It sucks balls. Have you gotten one? So the procedure itself isn't much, but the immediate (well, maybe an hour or so later) aftermath was miserable. I curled up in bed with a clammy face and some nasty ass cramps that were reminiscent of a few of my lesser labor contractions. But, I put on my big girl pants and hoofed it to work that night, because that is what grown-ups do.
After almost three months of my mechanical upgrades, I am no closer to being a super hero. However, some of my period symptoms have changed and are beginning to mellow out. Fingers crossed, we will continue this trend.
Of course, none of this is any of your business... But my hope is that you have found it not only raw, rude, and real, but also refreshing. Either way, I do so enjoy making you feel uncomfortable with vulgar talk.
| My friend, waking up in the morning |
 |
| Me, on a good hair day |
OK, I may be exaggerating that last part a bit but, honestly, I wish that we would be more real with people. I'm not just talking about moms, or even parents...I'm talking about all of us. Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and so much of social media have got us believing that every single person out there -except for us- has his/her shit together. I submit: that friend from high school who ended up with my dream job; that college acquaintance whose life is full of excitement and creativity; the girl who lived on my floor who is much more "successful" than I; my Mama Role Model.
Despite their appearances of perfection, I guarantee that each of these truly wonderful, successful, and intelligent women has a vice. Each one has a weakness or an insecurity. Each one is imperfect. And each one is beautiful because of her imperfections. But this has been a long enough introduction...
Welcome to the first edition of Raw, Rude, Real, a TMI series with the aim of banishing social media phoniness and sharing my experiences, successes, and failures as a modern woman, wife, mother, and professional. Instead of posting photos of my adorable children and beautiful DIY projects that I've completed to impress you, I will be grossing you out with the realities of my existence. Most everything will be an overshare. You may be offended. You will be uncomfortable. You will probably beg me to stop. But you're in my house now, suckas! (Plus, you could always stop reading.) The one thing I promise not to do is sugarcoat any aspect of my life, because I am as real as you. Personally, I've grown tired of feeling inadequate as a human, and I refuse to be a vehicle to make my brothers or sisters feel "less than"...though I find it damn near impossible to believe that I ever could.
Allow me begin this series right by talking about my uterus. (GROSS!!! First post of the series and already it's turning into The literal Vagina Monologues...) This past April, I got an IUD. For those of you who don't know what an IUD is, ask your mother. She probably regrets not getting one. Now, before my Jedi (read: Catholic) friends get upset with me, hang on...mama's got some 'splaining to do.
When I got my surgery last year, I knew that biological kids were no longer an option for our family. They couldn't be, because my body can no longer house them. It would -no exaggeration- tear me apart. Come to think of it, didn't it already? For that reason, Habibi got neutered last year so that I wouldn't have to grow a mustache or endure premature menopause on top of everything else because the doctors stole my babymaker. But get this: Did you know that a man's junk can heal itself after a vasectomy? I did not. And I didn't want to take any chances because my reproductive life has already proven to be enigmatic enough.
Speaking of enigmas, I don't know about all you other mamas out there, but my monthly reminder that I am a woman changed BIG TIME after kids. It's not just a nuisance these days. It can be downright debilitating. Flo comes with a vengeance each month and knocks me on my ass. It sucks. Clinically speaking, they call it a menstrual bitchuation. So, my lady doc suggested an intrauterine device (IUD).
Most of you who know me are fully aware of where I stand on women's reproductive rights. I identify as a New Wave Feminist, and am adamantly pro-life. This extends to birth control. In fact, when it comes to this topic, I rather consider myself a "diet Catholic" (if such a thing were to exist). I believe that life begins at conception and any deliberate disturbance that follows is abortifacient. However, I don't so much have a problem with so-called "barrier methods" that block one part of the baby cocktail from meeting the other: condoms, the ancient Chinese art of "pulling out", etc. So let me say this once: I got an IUD to manage my periods. My husband is shooting blanks, so the likelihood of us even conceiving another baby would be borderline immaculate. Furthermore, the Mirena IUD is designed to inhibit the sperm from even entering the uterus, thus preventing fertilization. This is something I researched prior to getting an IUD, because I believe that you must live the way you tell others to live. Bottom line: If God wants me pregnant at this point, He will make it happen. No amount of birth control could prevent that.
After almost three months of my mechanical upgrades, I am no closer to being a super hero. However, some of my period symptoms have changed and are beginning to mellow out. Fingers crossed, we will continue this trend.
Of course, none of this is any of your business... But my hope is that you have found it not only raw, rude, and real, but also refreshing. Either way, I do so enjoy making you feel uncomfortable with vulgar talk.
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