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As a parent of two tiny minions, I sometimes find my mind wandering in odd directions.

Sometimes, when I should be concentrating on a task, such as filing our taxes or folding laundry, I will start thinking random thoughts. The majority of them are kid related, but a lot of them are not.

I decided to jot down all my random thoughts from a day and share them with you.

Why?

Because I need to know if this is normal.

I need justification that I’m not the only mom who legitimately ponders where their kid should go to preschool and if I should go ahead and place him on a waiting list.

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Never say never. For real.

And if you do say never, wait for it to bite you in the ass.

Why? Because karma is a bitch.

I should have known better.

I used to view co-sleeping as the worst. I am a woman that likes my sleep. I need a solid eight hours to function in the morning and sleeping with a tiny human in the bed is not relaxing.

I would say that up until about six months ago, I was anti-co-sleeping. Okay, I was extremely anti-co-sleeping.

It was uncomfortable, crowded and overall miserable to me. Kid feet in my face, flipping and flopping, and attempting to tug an inch of bedspread from my oldest minion wasn’t my idea of good sleep.

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Disclaimer: I really don’t like to start my posts with a disclaimer but I want to get this one out of the way. I love my children so much. They are the loves of my life, along with my husband and Netflix. But they do have the innate ability to annoy me at times. Yes, I am lucky and blessed to be a mom. But that doesn’t mean I’m not allowed to want to do something for me. In this case, that is working outside of the home.

Now that we have that out of the way, I will say it loud and proud.

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Oh spray tans. I do love you. When I am starting to look like Casper, you can make me look like I took an overnight trip to Barbados.

Yes, you smell horrible and make my sheets orange, but you make me feel so much better about life. Everyone looks better with a tan, right?

So let’s flash back to approximately four and a half years ago. I had just had a nine pound, two ounce baby boy cut out of my uterus. The doctors stitched me up and sent me on my way.

I did not realize that when you leave the hospital, you still look pregnant.

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I feel like self-care has become such a buzzword lately. It’s everywhere, mostly in parenting blogs, like mine – HA.

“Moms need to take care of themselves! You have to practice self-care to be a balanced human and a good parent and spouse. Blah blah blah.”

But seriously, who has time for self-care? To me, it feels like just another task that has to be completed, and if it’s between me doing the laundry and going to see a movie by myself, I’m going to do the laundry.

I know, the laundry will wait for me. It’s not moving.

No shit, my laundry hasn’t moved without my help over the last ten years.

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Right after I had my now 18-month old son, Simon, I wrote a post about all the things I had learned from being a mom to two children. I wrote it TWO WEEKS after I had Simon. He couldn’t even smile yet. Of course it was easy. All I had to do was feed him and change his diapers.

Below is the link to the said post. It was picked up by Motherly and they still use it on a regular basis.

https://www.mother.ly/life/two-weeks-with-two-kids-8-things-ive-learned-about-having-a-second-child

Now that I have two mobile children, I thought I should write a little follow up. So the world can know how I am currently handling my mom life.

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To be 100% honest, I don’t know how to start this post. I have been writing about my past issues with depression lately, but today I want to talk about an episode I had with depression just about six months ago.

I am not a doctor. I am not a specialist. But I have experienced depression. And if I can help someone by sharing my story and being real and open, I am all for it.

And to be totally honest, this is not something that is easy to talk about. The only people who really knew I was suffering from depression at the time were my husband and possibly my mom.

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Every year, I write a post about baseball season. Not because I love baseball, or because I am the truest of all fans, but because I am the wife of a baseball coach.

On February 15th each year, baseball season officially begins. Tryouts started yesterday. And I won’t see my husband for more than approximately 47 minutes each day until late May/early June.

Now don’t get me wrong, I love that my husband coaches. He loves it and I support him doing what he loves. Just like he supports me writing this blog and continuously napping on the weekends.

But I do admit that each year that he coaches, it gets a little bit harder for me.

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Dear 24-year old me,

I know that you are having a hard time with life right now. You are battling depression and anxiety and sometimes you literally don’t know how you are going to make it through the day. Your mind is full of doubt and racing with worry to the point of having panic attacks.

So you self-medicate and drink. And drink. And drink. You still make it to your 8-5 job with a smile on your face and manage to somehow make it through each day. But you are hiding the fact that you are so hungover from last night’s bar crawl that you have to run to the bathroom to vomit a few times.

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