Browsing Tag

mother

love bites

What men really want

The husband sent me this pic with a giant header that says “This has to appear in your blog”, so I’ve decided to be all nice and obliging since Superdad has been saving my ass the whole of this week. And who doesn’t just LOVE a life-sized remote control with all the buttons for dudes to control women.

I’m all done with my bra-burning days, so hello, Stepford Mom.

what-men-want
I love that all the needs of a man can be filtered down to 3 simple words – sex, food and beer (in that order). All the others are inconsequential.

Take work for example. The whole point of working is to earn a bunch of dough so that they can buy food and beer and a fancypants sports car, which will lead to some smoking hot sex in the sports car. Or outside the sports car so the fancy upholstery wouldn’t be all ruined which would mean the end of all future prospective hot sex, cos the only sex they’ll be getting with a crummy, beat-up junk is from a toothless transvestite who just had a hair transplant.

And married men (especially fathers) need the remote more than their bachelor friends, since their only hope of having any food or hot sex (forget the beer) is if they cleaned up the house, fed the kids, bought some diamonds, gave me a bubble bath and a nice massage, by which time I’d be sleeping like a baby, except on good days where I’m not pregnant, or having PMS or feeling too fat.

I say it’s tough to be a dude. Problem is, most guys who don’t get the sex end up eating more food and guzzling down more beer to try to fill that giant void in their lives. But then they (i’m still referring to men here) end up looking like they’re 7 months pregnant and that also eliminates all hope they have for getting any sex in the foreseeable future. Vicious cycle.

Men are, in fact, the weaker sex. Hey, read the news.

So take it from a chick. It’s far easier to do the housework and run the bubble bath. At least there’s a chance (however slim) it might just be your lucky day.

motherhood

Sleep-giggles

There is a defining moment in every parent’s life where everything suddenly clicks. Like an epiphany. For the most part, being a parent does not make any sense. I’ve traded my nice, quiet evenings for scream fests, romantic dinners for mush-slinging food fights and my dancing shoes for bedroom slippers. These days, my idea of a nightcap is a shot of valium and not vodka.

Inevitably, it begs the question, “Is it all worth it?”

And just when I thought its all downhill from here, the pieces falls into place.

As usual, Tru was out cold after his late evening feed last night. It’s like clockwork. He’ll yank the bottle out of his mouth with a flourish and flip over to his side, which is his trademark “Do Not Disturb” signal. Normally, we’d put him back in his crib, but last night his dad decided to have some fun at his expense, which involved some tickling and pseudo-chopping of his limbs. I was half expecting an irritated swat, but instead he broke out into hysterical sleep-giggles.

If you haven’t seen a sleep-giggle (kinda like a step up from a sleep-smile), you don’t know what you’re missing out on. He was too tired to even open his eyes, but the grin was almost involuntary. It definitely topped my list of 10 things to experience before you die. That right there was my defining moment, and I knew I was doing something right.

So it’s a truckload of sacrifice. But I’d trade all the movies and dinners in the world for some sleep-giggles.