Welcome to my own source of personal therapy.
This blog is an outlet for the inner workings of my mind, but is also a story of how you can make anything out of your life regardless of your upbringing or circumstances. You have to persevere and want more.
I made this life I have today, with a loving and ridiculous family who makes every trip around the sun an interesting one. With each step taking me closer to the type of success I dream about. I shouldn’t have what I have, but I do because I wasn’t willing to take less.
My blog is to share some of how I got here and how I keep going places. It’s a place to share struggles and realness. A place to share the absurdity that is being a mom.
Sometimes I overshare in my posts. I curse and give gory details about vaginas and grossness that comes with men and raising kids. But I also talk about spirituality, dealing with your babies not being babies anymore.
In here, I talk about what real life really is.
I’m not writing this blog, Raising the Curtins, to be popular or make boatloads of cash. That would be wonderful, but this blog has other purposes. To give me therapy so I stay somewhat sane, to leave a digital legacy for my children, and to share what’s real in life so others feel a connection through real life, not filters.
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.
It was somewhat fitting that, on the day I promoted my post about trying for a boy, I found out I was actually pregnant. I kind of called it though. Right after my egg dropped in September, Scarlett’s guinea pig Hutson died. The very same day, a neighbor’s dog just collapsed and died as she was walking it home.
My inner voice, whom I call Nancy, said to me “Oh shit. You’re pregnant. Where’s there’s death, there’s life. Circle of life. Hakuna Matata.”
I will start with the assurance that I am not fucking crazy. Yet. Nancy is not a family member. Nancy is my inner voice. Yes, I named it. Why? That’s …
Being 37 and a mom of 2, I have the struggle of dressing my age and dressing my body. There are certain fashion choices that just look ridiculous on a woman my age. Like when it was a big thing to have words on pants that stretch across your butt. I don’t need a sign on my ass that says Juicy. Because chances are, that’s describing my farts and not the shape of my rear end.
I am 37 as I write this post. Not dead yet, but not at the ideal age for a 9 month sobriety challenge (aka pregnancy). Because, at this age, it’s considered “geriatric” and that’s plain ridiculous. I’m fucking 37 not 62. How is that geriatric? I don’t use a walker and I only wet my pants when I sneeze.
It needs another name. Like….seasoned pregnancy or I’m-a-mature-fucking-woman-who-took-my-time pregnancy.
If you love sarcasm, unfiltered motherhood stories, and the occasional chaos of my life (think: a mind that never stops over-analyzing everything. single. thing., parenting 4 daughters whose age ranges are ridiculous, and being married to an asshole)…you’re in luck.
Whether you're in the carline, folding laundry, or taking an extra long time on the toilet, throw on my audio files and pretend we're having a large glass of wine together and getting real. Because sometimes, you just need a voice in your ear telling you all the crazy shit about a middle aged woman and her family.
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