the smell of my desperation has become a stench

This one was written on adrenaline

Monday morning when I met my trainer at the gym she pointed at my face and asked what had happened to my right cheek, right there under my eye. I explained that my whole face sort of swells when I cry, and I had cried myself to sleep so fiercely the night before that when I woke up my eyes were swollen shut. It took an hour of icing to make them look a little more normal and less like two horizontal vaginas.

Oh, man. Sorry, Dad. Should have warned you about that one.

Why all the crying, she asked, and then I told her about the exhaustion of watching a sick, inconsolable baby for four days. And my reaction to that kind of fatigue is to, one, sob uncontrollably, and two, take everything personally. My brain starts to scan every event in the last year that I can bring up and cry about: that one time Jon asked if I had packed a coat for an upcoming trip AS IF I’M A BABY AND CAN’T PACK MY OWN CLOTHES, why are you picking on me?!

Because he wanted me to be warm OH WHATEVER.

Marlo is finally starting to feel better, but she’s got it in her head that even though she doesn’t feel anywhere near as bad as she did over the weekend, it’s still really fun to wake up at 4 AM. Every single morning. And she won’t go back to sleep. Instead, she’ll lie still next to one of us for several minutes in an attempt to fool us into thinking she’s finally settled, and then she’ll whip her head up and yell MOOOOO!

What the hell? No, seriously. Moo? It’s five o’clock in the morning and she’s imitating a cow? Should I be happy that she didn’t choose a more annoying animal? Thank you, Marlo, for saving your hyena impersonation for daylight.

So this morning I showed up to the Wednesday morning spin class that is taught by my trainer, and as everyone was gathering and adjusting their bikes she asked me if I’ve been able to get any rest. I shook my head and said no, she’s still waking up at 4 AM even though she’s not as miserable as she was and the only explanation for this behavior is that she’s evil.

Okay. A few things.

This has to be said out loud: I cannot stand it when the people in class ignore the instructor! DRIVES ME NUTS. The instructor is there for a reason! When she says, “Out of the saddle!” your butt had better be in the air! Otherwise, why are you there? TO TORTURE ME, OBVIOUSLY.

ALSO. Many of us who routinely take this class like to ride the same bike in the same spot. And when we show up and someone has taken our bike we have to resist an overwhelming urge to throw a tantrum. I know, it’s a totally juvenile reaction, but when you become addicted to spin class you sort of lose all sense of reason.

That’s what happened this morning, I showed up and one of the people who doesn’t really pay any attention to the instructor had stolen my bike. Yes, STOLEN. There’s no other word for that type of crime. So, that’s… five… ten… MINUS FIFTY POINTS FOR HER.

And then. THEN. While I was adjusting some other foreign bike in another part of the room, explaining to the instructor why I haven’t slept in ten days, the woman who stole my bike turned to me and said, “I really hope you’re talking about a dog.”

And I was like, a dog? HA HA! HELL NO! I’m talking about my daughter!

And I think her brain exploded. The shock on her face. And then the very concerned, low whisper of outrage, “I cannot believe you just called your daughter evil.”

I know, right?

Bless her heart, I really hope that woman has taken a valium when she finds this website.

Heather B. Armstrong

Hi. I’m Heather B. Armstrong, and this used to be called mommy blogging. But then they started calling it Influencer Marketing: hashtag ad, hashtag sponsored, hashtag you know you want me to slap your product on my kid and exploit her for millions and millions of dollars. That’s how this shit works. Now? Well… sit back, buckle up, and enjoy the ride.

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