Sometimes I take a critical look at myself and wonder…was I meant to be a woman? Not that I identify as a male or want a penis. Penises are ugly, dangly things. I’m pretty comfortable with my lady bits even though they aren’t tucked in as nice and neat as they were 15 years ago. Kids will do that to you.

I wanted to be a writer. As a child, books became somewhat of an outlet for me. I didn’t have the best home life – with parents that really weren’t equipped to handle a spirit like mine. My father was an abusive alcoholic and my mother was a verbal abuser who suffered from Bipolar Disorder. Together, they didn’t make the strongest parental pair. As an adult, I fully understand this. As a child, I did not.

Stuff. It’s everywhere. We buy or receive things constantly and then, before you know it, the house is filled and you need to buy extra space to store all the stuff that doesn’t fit. Things you just accumulate because you can. Knickknacks, word plaques, figurines, kid’s artwork, souvenirs from vacations, or mother-fucking stuffed animals.

A lot of parents give you a rosy look on what raising children is like. How much they absolutely love their kids and how perfect they are. Kids being the best thing on earth basically.

People don’t usually give you an honest look at some of literal and figurative shit you have to deal with. Parents don’t warn other parents.

And so, I give you the 4 things I wasn’t prepared to deal with as a parent. Consider yourself informed.

I always try to title my posts in a somewhat clever way. It’s hard because I don’t want to be boring and call it “6 Weeks Pregnant – My Experience”. Or, “Here’s What’s New”. Ew. I like to sum up the message somehow,  use alliteration, or a play on words. If the title ever seems odd to you, that’s probably why.

“Blah, I’ll take a B-cup of Tea” covers my mood, my boobs, and my drinking status…all recapping my 5-6 weeks status of pregnancy.

Having two kids, along with one in the oven, I get reminded here and there of what I lacked growing up. I’m not talking about vacations or material things. I’m talking about the shit that really matters. Like the feelings of love, acceptance, and safety that a family should surround their children with.

For the time in my life that I lived with my parents, I was surrounded by abuse. Don’t worry, this isn’t a pity party. I hate parties.