I became a Mom later in life than most of my closest friends, and it’s been interesting to say the least.  From day 1, Bells has given me challenge after challenge, and it’s finally now that I can sit down and write about it- and she’s six, entering first grade!

I live with Bells, and two crazy cats.  Turdy was first Snuggles, and it became apparent quite quickly that she was not just snuggly, but what those who work in the field call an “asshole” cat.  So instead of calling her Shitty, or Shithead, it became Turdy, Turds, or Turdsy.  Houdini is new to the crazy house.  He’s (I think he’s a boy… it’s hard to tell) only about 14 weeks old right now and has been interesting.  He’s a bit more shy, but has come around to snuggle as much as FKA (formerly known as) Snuggles.

I’ve seen the movie Bad Moms twice.  I laughed just as hard the second time around.  I am a bad Mom, and have been struggling with the guilt of it since before my kid was released from the hospital.

This isn’t going to be some amazingly awful bullshit that parenting is all roses and happiness, like glitter and unicorns, but I do celebrate small accomplishments from time to time.  I don’t like to be any different than who I actually am, so I don’t expect everyone to like me.  I am who I am, and to be anything else is an insult to myself.  Since I’ve had enough insults in my life, I’m not about to do it to myself, unless I truly deserve it.

Real life is raw, emotional (from the girl who doesn’t cry), scary, and real.  Did I mention I don’t sugar coat shit? Yeah.  Forget that noise.  I’ll try to keep the f-bombs to a minimum, but FFS, if I run out of fucks to give, I’ll let you know.