You know that %^$&%* Murphy? The one with all the laws that basically say that anything can go wrong, will go wrong? I think he clearly has it out for us moms. Don’t believe me? Check out the evidence:
1. Last Monday, I showered, blew out my hair, put on make-up, dressed in something other than yoga pants and a t-shirt and was wearing cute boots. In twelve hours of running errands, I ran into no one that I knew. Last Thursday, after battling a stomach flu for two days, I ran into the grocery store to pick up three lousy items sporting a greasy ponytail, unwashed face, sweats I had been wearing for two days and, in the interests of full disclosure, I admit I wasn’t smelling April fresh. I ran into six people in 15 minutes.
2. On school days, most moms I know struggle to get the kids out of bed on time. They beg, they bribe and they watch the bowl of Cheerios get soggy as they try to get these layabouts to move their lazy little fannies out of bed so these uncooperative minions can get to school on time. Come the weekend, when no one has to be anywhere and the exhausted moms are looking forward to sleeping in until the decadent hour of 8:00am, these same kids are up before dawn, demanding food and entertainment and clean diapers. It’s the school-aged version of an infant who has their days and nights mixed up. And it is. Not. Fair.
3. Am I the only one whose kids only wet the bed the night after I change the sheets? Please tell me I’m not the only one whose kids only wet the bed the night after I change the sheets. Even if you have to lie to me. I just need to know I’m not alone.
4. Whatever you do, don’t make any plans to get away for the weekend with your husband. Nothing signals a kid to start puking like the second coming of Linda Blair in “The Exorcist” more than the thought that Mom and Dad might be making them a brother or sister at the Holiday Inn. Bonus points to Murphy if the kid miraculously recovers as soon as you get home.
5. Never tell anyone that your baby sleeps through the night, is completely potty-trained or eats anything you put in front of them. Doing so will only ensure that your child suddenly goes on a sleep strike, starts having daily accidents and begins refusing to eat anything that isn’t beige and/or shaped like a dinosaur. Trust me. I’ve been there.
I guess all we can do to combat that %&$(#) Murphy is roll with the punches. And eat chocolate. And drink wine. And scroll through Pinterest looking for new ways to incorporate more Nutella into our diets.
I just hope that Murphy was nicer to his mother than he is to the rest of us.