My blog was recently visited by the Fairy Hobmother. For those of you who don't know who that is...

She travels across the blogsphere spreading joy to the authors of blogs. The Fairy Hobmother wants to recognize all the hard work we put into blogging and awards bloggers with a token of appreciation.

Shawn: So babe…

Me: Not tonight.

Shawn: Come on.

Me: I don’t feel good.

Shawn: You never feel good. I’ll make your gallbladder feel better.

Me: Nope. I think you’re going to have to make do with a pig in a blanket.

Shawn: You’re not fat.

Me: What?

Shawn: You’re not fat.

Me: ….

Shawn: What are you talking about.

Me: A pig in a blanket. The one you eat.

Shawn: ….

Me: Google it.

 Source

Shawn: The hell? I still don’t get it.

Me: Wiener meet hand.

Shawn: Ohhhh. I thought you were referring to yourself cause you’re in a blanket.

Me: ….

You can read more of my ridiculousness at All Work And No Play Makes Mommy Go Something Something

The nurse directed me back to a small room in the ER where Dr. B, my psychiatrist, was waiting.

I flashed a nervous smile, pulled my sleeves over the self-inflicted cuts on my arm and said, “I’m not doing good.”

He motioned to the chair and I sat.

“I think we need to change our plans Kim. I’m going to put you on a mood stabilizer and an anti-psychotic, ones that we use to treat people with bipolar disorder.”

“What?”

“Kim, you are bipolar.”

The magnitude of the diagnosis forcefully shook the smooth path of life that I was desperately trying to get back on.

I watched as it bent and curved and crumbled.

It grew hills and jagged mountains.

The path, once full of promise, now looked vapid; felt hauntingly uninviting.

It was too loud and too quiet.

It was too bright and too dark.

It felt too euphoric and too depressed and too angry.

It was too peaceful and too whimsical.

All at the same time.

You can read more of my guest post at Butterfly Confessions

Sometimes, you just need to hear three little words.

You know those days when your kid “accidentally” emptied the box of Lucky Charms on the counter because “I had to get the green marshmellow hats”….

Then you had no idea that you signed up for “entertainment” while eating breakfast when you catch a glimpse of your dog’s b-hole of fury explode on your lawn…

And it gets stuck in his fur…

Then you have to give him a bath…

Then your kid demands watching Tom and Jerry…

And you can’t find the T.V remote…

And you seriously debate whether or not this is deemed as one of those “This better be life-threatening” phone calls to your husband’s work…

Then you figure it out only to get confused by how to actually change the channel…

And you start jacking up the tint, brightness, contrast and whatever else is in the menu button…

Then you give up and start on laundry instead and find your husband’s boxers (that have holes in the crotch so big that you begin to question if his farts are contributing to global warming) gets wrapped around the washer drums.

And then you spend roughly 10 minutes trying to detangle them…

And then you throw them out…

Only to find them in the laundry basket again in a few days…

Because your husband fished them out…

They are his “favourites” you know…

Then your Dad calls to talk to you about insignificant things like going to the graveyard to visit your dead grandparents and constipation…

You can read more at All Work And No Play Makes Mommy Go Something Something

Reaching out my weary hand from the darkness that enveloped me was the most difficult part on my road to recovery from postpartum depression and postpartum anxiety.

But it was necessary.

I couldn’t start my fight without asking for help, for leaning upon the tremendous support of my husband, family, friends and my awesome psychiatrist.

It didn’t mean that I was a failure.

It didn’t mean that I was a bad Mom.

It didn’t mean that I was weak.

It meant that I was human with a real medical illness.

Today I have the honour of writing for the very beautiful Susan at her blog Ava Grace’s Closet.

Please come join me there.

Bellies here.

Bellies there.

Babies growing in bellies everywhere.

Is it just me or is the world’s population ready to explode with babies?

Every time I open my reader, there is another announcement of a pregnancy…

It’s like I’m surrounded by hormonal words and ice cream hogger.  

But it’s very exciting.

I was looking on Etsy (I may have an addiction) for some fun clothes to adorn a baby boy that’s about to make his appearance sometime soon, when I came across Grasshopper Kidz.

Hilariously adorable right?

I love numerous things about Grasshopper Kidz.

They’re handmade.

You can read more at All Work And No Play Makes Mommy Go Something Something

Dinner used to be a glorious time of day when we would sit down together as a family…

And enjoyed my fantastic cooking of course…

But now it is a thing of torture…

Because of this kid.

What did spaghetti ever do to you?

He used to be such a good eater.

You can read more and link up your very own confession at All Work And No Play Makes Mommy Go Something Something

No matter how deep my mind is lost in a labyrinth of dreams, one ear always remains keenly alert to the noises in the room adjacent to ours.

The wrangling of blankets or a soft voice calling will ground me immediately from slumber.

Today at 6:35 am, Chunky is awake.

I could hear him stretching out his drowsiness and his overly dramatic yawns.

His feet hit the hardwood floors with an energy I envy.

“I’m not ready yet,” I pleaded faintly to myself.

Since becoming a Mom, I’ve lost the luxury of repeated taps at the snooze button and a cup of coffee to give my sleepy body a jolt.

Prepared or not, when he is awake, so am I.

Sometimes I like to pretend that I am dead in hopes that he’d give up trying to wake me up and just go back to his own bed.

But he’s like that fucking choo choo train that teaches children to keep trying their hardest.

You know the one. The Little Engine That Could.

“I think I can. I think I can.”

The kid won’t quit.

And I give him credit for that.

You can read more at All Work And No Play Makes Mommy Go Something Something

Because hair doesn’t grow on steel.

Obviously.

It’s a well known fact that I would drop Shawn in a heartbeat if Chuck Norris said:

“Hey Kim, there’s an open spot on my beard. It has your name on it.”

Don't question our awesomeness or my photoshop skills. We will kill you for a cookie.

I love the shit out of that man.

Want to know how the obsession came about?

You’ll just have to head on over to Alison’s blog Mama Wants This to find out.

I know that you’re dying to know.

I bawled my eyes out while handing in Chunky’s Junior Kindergarten registration forms.

“Are you ready?” Shawn asked when the car came to a halt in the parking lot.

I looked down at my hands that had a firm hold on the forms I procrastinated to fill then gave Shawn a nod.

“I don’t want to go in there!” Chunky shouted from the backseat.

“But it’ll be so much fun,” Shawn reassured him.

He huffed as his feet hit the wet pavement and Shawn grabbed his hand tightly.

I just stood there watching them walk to the big blue doors that held a new world for Chunky.

My boy.

My baby.

My little shadow.

Is growing up.

You can read more at All Work And No Play Makes Mommy Go Something Something