Yesterday in the cafe, I pulled the chest, and removed back forgotten. The views of the incomplete visitors I proudly attributed a curly baby on my hands. And only paying and going out on the street, I discovered my shame. But naked chest, the nest on the head and sneakers on different legs is not the worst.
The worst thing is the song from the cartoon "Mom for Mammoth". This is where the current weapon is massive. It is necessary to hear her introductory loss, how tears begin to pour out of the eyes completely uncontrollably.
But besides the mammoth there are other serious events to fuck. The life of a nursing woman consists of solving serious reasons. My husband hoped that the Wakhanalia of the senses would end with the birth of a child, but, unfortunately, after birth, she only increased. However, my guilt is not here. The hormone prolactin is to blame. I am so talking to everyone, having broken off for a short on the vulgarity of kitchen stools and ecstatic sobs: "All questions to prolactin!"
My mother is calling every day and advises me to relax more. In response to my complaints about sleepless nights, she says that he does not sleep, because he thinks about the tragedy of the apostle Peter. Then she asks how Syisi-Pustica, and asks her photos. After all, to get from Sukharevskaya to "China-Cities" to look at Pusa-Fuschka, for my mom is comparable to overcoming intergalactic space in two million light years. It is from the category of modern grandmothers - young, free and unfounded grandchildren.
I will say honestly, I'm the most far from perfect motherhood. We carefully hinted at the courses that the baby in the day was about twenty "Popisov" and "Pokolkov". But the fact that they happen undisigned, no one even gone. And tightening at all turned out to be a pleasant surprise. If it is still here to add feeding, wearing a column, a tech and combat with colic, then only a few hours for sleep remains. And that's not mine, but baby. Once we walked with my husband, I saw a triple stroller and, mentally folding the number of "Pops" and "Punches", was horrified: "Look what a grief in people - at once!"
However, my life would not be so painful and obsessed if it were not for a Verochka, my friend on Facebook. The drill is also a nursing mother, but its prolactin behaves intelligently, and only the aromas of fresh baking and love fluids fly according to perfectly clean kitchen. Her family photos in the ribbon can easily drive into the most severe depression even the British royal family.
What to say about such victims prolactin like me. Of course, the windows have any nest. Her hair is always laid, and on the face of light makeup. And she drops tears only from happiness, receiving the next diamond bauble as a gift.
Verochka - my idol. Every evening I go to bed with a solid intention to do in the morning: wash your head and cut the nails. But after a couple of weeks, my determination slowly comes off. Babes are cut into teeth, and she hangs all the time on SISE as a bull terrier. As a result, I adapt. Nails, it turns out, in a couple of months heard themselves. And the shower can be covered for a few seconds daily. Every morning I quickly rinse some part of the body, and by the end of the month it is clean.
At the windows, clear Pavlik, no "cissy" and no one hangs on them. Her bust is pride and the subject of Fetish. It is leisurely and is sensually fell in the shower. And even if she has to be imprisoned, she does it so sexually that the breastsos in her hand covered with an embryo. I am also covered with an exemplary, but not from eroticism, but from the fact that the baby, having decided to eat, tears on me a sweater at a rush hour in the subway, and I fight her under the angry views of the metropolitan passengers. Alas, this part of the body no longer belongs, but is a family treasure, like a refrigerator, a car or mortgage.
A couple of years ago I was easier for me to imagine myself a member of the Al-Qaida group than the "Happy Taks" community. However, life makes its own adjustments. After giving birth, I got into all the grave and, in addition to the "tummy", joined two more groups: "My Shilopop" and "Sweet Malyshchik".
Now I'm stupid by clock in Facebook, considering children's diameters, and argues to scattering with other moms, which is the first to introduce as an apple or carrot. Being a supporter of a carrot, I am midnight I am writing ulcerative comments to the apple fans and continue to swear with them, even closing your eyes. Husband is glad that our vegetable battles are virtual, or even says, it would come to stabbing.
If a whole library lived in my head, now there is only "Tili-Bom, Tili-Bom, Cats of Koshkin" and "I love my horse, having a wool smoothly." I forgot all smart words, Schopenhauer is hopelessly messed up with Heidegger, but now I am impeccable imitating the cat, a rooster and a cow.
Recently, in one state institution I was asked to write me and put the date, and I suddenly understood with horror that I remember only the surname of the district pediatrician, and I completely forgot (not to mention what the number today and the month). I drew a cross and smiled cute.
"Nothing terrible," husband reassured me at home, "you feed!" Be patient a year old.
- Year?! Well, I do not! I'm over it!
I strongly stated that from now on my chest is an exceptionally erogenous zone, well, or in the extreme case a symbol of fertility! But closer to the dinner, the baby clung to the symbol of fertility and rolled such a roar, which had to be accidentally returning to the former image of Sisi on two legs. My mom-artist said that it is unofficing and that the breast is given to a woman to draw it on the great canvases, and for banal saturation of babies there is a "cheerful milkman". Then I thought that in general, it is not bad that there is two million light years between the Suharevskaya and China-City, but nothing said out loud.
However, if I still have a hope with a viper - at least in liters of bothered milk, then with her one and a half-year son Balthazar - no. Balthazar is a dumb ukore for the whole of our family. First, he eats porridge, like a small Lord Fauntler. Secondly, he knows the "Muhu-Cocotuhu", while we are still fighting over a complex philosophical question: how does a dog say? - And so far, alas, he was not allowed. But the most important thing is that Balthazar from birth is managed with a pot even better than we and my husband, taken together. It feels like this amazing boy on him was born.
Having done the case, Balthazar proudly exclude guests, demonstrating the contents of the pot. On etiquette, it is supposed to look there and praise. Veroral admits more than anyone. She asks Balthazar to escort guests in the second circle and at the same time makes another brilliant photo report for Facebook and Instagram. I do not put "like" a pot, as it just dying from envy. My family will not brag about the guests completely. Our pot is still extremely clear. And once again finding that the baby was missing, I understand that the Balthazar is never to know.
Of course, we grind a single tooth for a whole year with tears and screams, while Balthazar teeth appear as mushrooms after the rain: woke up - and the teeth are already in three rows. In his year and two months, he already eats a bifstex with blood with a knife and fork, while we are trying to cope with a liquid zucchini puree. After lunch, the entire zucchini turns out to be on our babes.
And for some reason, on the head of our dad, which all feeding nervously smokes on the balcony. Maybe zucchini - is it contagious and is transmitted by air-droplet? Having met me on the street, the neighbor suddenly praises my laying. I'm surprised to touch your hair and red to the "nest" - I forgot to wash off the zucchini! But he was in the menu last week!
Most of all, a saturated sex life is striking me. Every evening, they with her husband drink sparkling wine, watching Tinto Brasse and kiss while Balthazar, Groach, is sitting on the notorious pot, and then goes to a children's fairy tale on the night. Since our daughter was born, we and my husband had only a short splash of sexual activity: we crawled out a few weeks after the kid, fearing that she would hit the floor of the chin. But then her handles were strengthened, she crawled more confident, and with active sexual life we knit.
I shared sidura with the back, that the sweetest sex now happens to me with the chearakeh sausage, when I shamefully eaten her at night at the refrigerator. Deciding to try to try our intimate life, she advised an erotic film, which, according to her, and the dead beside the dead. Two months later, it became clear that the dead was much later than nursing. Every morning I swore my husband that today we will arrange a video view and a sex party.
But closer to the night, the determination was evaporated, in the dream Klonili hellish. I even offered to put alarm clock and at least a watch to take a closer before org. But the alarm clock, apparently, was faulty, because we found ourselves in the morning - in the morning with children and dogs - in bizarre poses, what Tinto Brass did not dream.
Then we decided to familiarize themselves with the film at least on a fast rewind, while in turns, we dare the daughter on the night's sleep. It was so funny that we walked it several times with our laughter. But then I'm tired of the mining figures on the screen and continuous moans, as if the heroes of the film are tormented by terrible colic. I woke up only at the final Gundan "Ltd." and hardly smashed the eyes - the mouth of the heroine was smeared with something white.
"Jumping", "I thought and stretched out on the machine with napkins. But then I realized that this was a movie, I became funny, and I jerked my husband for a sleeve. He did not even respond. Sat, reptile, in a sweet stupor, hung through the eyes in the screen, and did not even turn the heads into my direction. I pushed him rigorous, he squeezed and fell on his side.
After a couple of years I will give my baby to the garden. There, she will surely learn to eat snot, spit, idiotic to mock and, slightly, shouting with scattered eyes: "Get out!" We, of course, will visit all types of ARVI and ORZ, as well as Vershi, ticks and worms, and we will drive them through the whole family and even the neighbors to which they will be overwhelmed. My mother will say that my nose sticks out from I feel too much and I look like Gogol, but, alas, not talent, and that the skinny cow is not yet a gazelle. And after another sleepless night, after the next sleepless night, it will be sad: "When will it end?!" Never! First colic, then teeth, and then puberty.
I am sure that I am only in one: the Verochka will be shining a serene smile with a Blue Facebook tape, my unattainable ideal and a guide star in the world of insane maternity.
Illustrations: shutterstock