I remember when I had Brandon I was reading Jenny McCarthy’s book I particularly remember her talking about stroller envy.

 

"Psh, this lady is wacko." I thought to myself.  Shortly thereafter I discovered stroller envy.  I coveted every other stroller but mine.  It could have been the exact same model as mine but with a pattern two weeks newer.  Suddenly the baby product makers were coming out with super fancy models of strollers (ahem, Buggaboo, I’m looking at you), strollers that most of us couldn’t even afford.  But that didn’t stop me from drooling over their features, the detachable cradle mabob, the handle that flipped forward and backward, the insulated cushioned massaging handle to push (okay I made that one up, but these strollers were getting ridiculous).  While I understood I could never have one of these that didn’t stop me from REALLY REALLY REALLY wanting to see one.  Our podunk little Babies R Us didn’t carry it here.  No one in Reno seemed rich enough for one, and alas it’s been 3 years and I still haven’t seen that mythical stroller in real life, which means I haven’t gotten to touch it and play with all of it’s features.  Moms are crazy!

Envy doesn’t just stop with strollers.  I was talking to my friend the other day, she was looking for a baby sitter and I suggested someone I knew.  She asked me if she was a good mom.  My reply, "she’s kind of like Martha fucking Stewart!"  I explained to my friend about the time this girl showed me her kids Halloween costumes.  Hand made little scare crow outfits.  The crowning glory was that she had sewn real hay into the cuffs of the pants and arms.  REAL GODDAMN HAY.  I never would have thought of that, man were they cute.  I found myself wanting to donkey punch this friend of mine just because she was more crafty then me with her fucking real hay. This is the same mom who baked a beach cake for her kids party and had blue gel food decoration stuff as water, and crushed graham crackers as sand and the sweetest little side dishes served in buckets, with shovels used to scoop out your potato salad.  All the while I was busy special ordering a $75.00 birthday cake for Brandon, this woman was creating an entire fucking beach, in her house, A BEACH.  Bitch!  Moms are crazy.

Other things I envied, the high chair that came out 6 months after mine with fancy new patterns, and cream colored trays, and THREE levels of recline, instead of just two.  Or the Pack N Play that matched my living room instead of the ugly green one.  Or how my Babies R Us brought in high end really awesome designers exactly 2 weeks after I had purchased everything for Codi.  Assholes.  I still get angry thinking about it.  Why do the big baby corporations have to fuck with us moms, don’t they know we are sensitive, and a little rattled and slightly nuts, and that we my smash a display baby carriers because NOW THE FUCKING STORY SELLS THE PEANUT SHELL AND HOT SLINGS.  I’ve never wanted to ram my shopping cart into a display as much as I did the day the stores stopped selling the Johnsons Naturals wash and lotion.  I need that.  That is my childs smell.  What kind of sickos would take away a little boys smell?  BASTARDS.  Yes, moms are crazy.

This leads me to a discussion I’ve been having a lot lately.  You know the one where I have two boys.  Boys….you know with boy parts, parts they will discover some day, and apparently I’m just supposed to not notice, and also, on the advice of a male friend of mine I am to NEVER EVER EVER open the bedroom door if I hear my son "vacuuming," they are not vacuuming. WHAT THE HELL!  This is traumatizing me.  Especially since I was kind of naive and thought boys didn’t do that until they were like 15 or something.  Not, you know, like FIVE!  As I am thinking about this my three year old is sitting on the couch next to me "reading" his second issue of Maxim for the morning.  He really likes the articles about Transformers, yet he calls them the, "Girl picture magazines."  This entire topic is making me crazy.  I mean, God forbid I walk in on that, I am pretty sure it would traumatize me more then them, so at what point in their lives to you have to knock first then enter?  I realize I still have a few years before this happens, but since I like to overthink things, I figured I would ask all of you, at what age do I knock first?  Am I really supposed to believe they are eating all of that fruit in their room?  Seriously. I am mortified.  My little boys are NOT supposed to grow up, they are NOT supposed to discover that stuff…well, not until they are 17 or 18. Boys make moms crazy!

At the park one day some kid was bullying Brandon.  The kids mom was there ignoring the situation.  I kept LOUDLY telling Brandon to just go somewhere else and stay away from the MEAN BOY, while glaring at the mom.  Brandon would move, mean boy would follow, and finally I had enough and said, "Hey, can you please be nicer to him, he is only two.  The kid laughed and ran away and came back to continue being a jerk.  At this point it took maximum restraint not to knock this bitch out.  If your kid is being a little bully asshole at the park STOP THEM.  At least make an effort to look like you care and talk to them.  If they keep being a little prick take their fucking ass home.  But don’t just sit there on your ass acting like your child is some fucking saint.  If your kid is the bully son of a bitch at the park, chances are I want to kick your ass, my kid is just here to play on the fucking slides in peace.  I haven’t figured out how to handle these women yet, because my way of handling involves being a huge asshole.  Other moms make this mom totally fucking crazy.

 So tell me, what has made you totally crazy as a mom?  Stroller envy, diaper bag envy (don’t even get me started), that mom who bakes cupcakes that look like spiders on Halloween for your kids class.  What mommy thing totally chaps your ass?