Motherhood Uncensored

For Susan

I'm not quite sure when or how I was virtually introduced to Susan. I met up with her friend (and now mine) Marty on my long drive from Philadelphia to Atlanta and she told me that they were both from Mississippi.

"And you read my blog?" I asked, which at the time was not full of high praise for the Southern state.

I joked that Susan was probably the best and smartest thing to ever come out of that state.

*****

A few years ago I wrote a post about my boobs (shocking, I know) whining about their post-partum state.

Little did I know how they'd be after a couple more kids.

And amidst the virtual nods of agreement, there was a comment from Susan.

"At least you have breasts," she said.

Admittedly, I was completely taken aback. She was right; I was lucky to even have breasts to complain about.

*****

I know she wasn't feeling well but Susan came out to my DC book signing a couple of years ago, at a pole dancing studio of all places.

We spun and fell. She watched and laughed.

We all did.

*****

I don't think it's possible to live every minute being reminded that we are lucky to have what we have, because we are human, after all. I believe it's fair to have those moments of self-pity and hopelessness because it's in those moments that we get the opportunity to rise up. Overcome.

We wouldn't be able to look at ourselves and say "I'm lucky to be standing here with my floppy post partum belly and uneven breasts."

To see our children, our lives and say "This life is hard. And redundant. And exhausting. But thank God I have it."

*****

To know Susan is a gift that makes me want to live more admirably, with a grateful, inquisitive spirit, as a parent. And a person.

I'm not perfect.

I still sometimes complain about my uneven boobs.

But then I toss them over my shoulder and go on my merry way.

Thankful.

Love to you and your family, Susan.

Note to self: This is why they invented the Internet

My husband and I smartened up for this recent visit from the in-laws and scheduled a much needed date night. And a few fancy drinks and an Irish car bomb later, we found ourselves scrambling around our bedroom for lube using an iPhone as a flash light and doing our best not to wake the baby who still sleeps in our closet.

Now my my drawers are usually overflowing with lube since many companies so generously offer up samples for me to try and write about on my sex column.

But apparently after the tragic foyer oil slick incident of 2011 caused by a nosy toddler and a not-so-toddler proof bottle of lube, I must have tossed them all.

Of course, that didn't occur to us when we were stumbling around in the dark, which we continued to do for long enough that if we didn't originally need lube, we did, in fact, desperately need it now.

So the next day, after waking up to a bathroom counter full of random massage oils, a sex candle (who knew?), and my long lost diva cup, I was determined to never find myself in such a desperate predicament. My solution: I'd stop at the grocery store after my dentist appointment to pick up a few things, including a bottle of lube.

A brilliant idea, in theory, except I quickly discovered that my store keeps them behind a locked glass cabinet, along with other dangerous items. Like ovulation kits. And pregnancy tests.

Now given the rarity of such debaucherous date nights, I could have probably just gone home, ordered all sorts of various lubes online, and saved myself the embarrassment of having to ask the young, attractive pharmacy tech to open up the glass cabinet.

Because if there's anything that says "I'm having THE SEX!" it's lube. I suppose it could also say "I have a masturbation habit!" or "I had four kids and it's like the Sahara down there!"

But I was hell bent on getting my lube, damnit, so much so that I boldly asked him if he had the key to the cabinet.

He nodded and headed my direction.

And then I sort of freaked out.

Do I pretend like I know what I want? Or do I peruse the various offerings?

Do I offset my purchase by grabbing a few ovulation kits?

Should I say something funny?

Damn, that KY tastes like crap. Blech.

Is that the biggest bottle you have?

It took me 2 days to get that one off my thighs.

What? No watermelon? Bummer.

I hear this one's great for anal!

Instead, I just grabbed the big bottle of Astroglide, mumbled something like "This one is water-based, right?" and walked quickly away, not looking back.

You never look back.

Then I headed straight for the self check-out line.

I may have willingly given one person a bit of entertainment at my expense, but hell if I was going to give that pleasure to yet another one.

{photo via}

January 19, 2047

His phone went right to voice mail so I called his house and she answered.

She always answers.

"Oh hi! It's..."

She cut me off.

"Hey! Sorry, no, he's on a trip again..."

She kept talking but I got distracted by the kids screaming in the background.

The phone beeped a few times.

"Oh God! Kids! Why do they always grab it when I'm talking on it?"

I smiled.

"Anyway, he got the gift. It's amazing. And I know he meant to..."

I know, I know. Call to say "thanks," and "how much he loved it."

"Oh I know he's busy. Just glad it arrived safely," I told her, sighing.

She must have heard.

"If it's any consolation, he couldn't put it down. He had to bat the kids away from it."

I laughed.

"Oh good, well, you know, I was just cleaning out and I found it. Thought he'd get a kick out of it."

"Well, he really..."

Kids again.

"I'm sorry, I have to run, but when he's back I'll..."

I cut her off.

"Sure thing. Just tell him I love..." 

She hung up.

My phone buzzed.

"Can't believe u saved my Rockets blanket. Mayb u'll sing me a little Stars Shining, 4 old times sake? Heh."

I texted back.

"Check your voice mail, son. Happy Birthday."

He's 5 today, 35 tomorrow. Love you, Drewboo.