Ugly babies do exist.

My kids say I’m mean and judgmental. Mini-Me tells me that I’m horrible for even broaching this subject.  I don’t understand because I only speak the truth.  If speaking the truth is cruel, then fine, I’m Cruella De Vil.

Since we’re embracing the truth, let’s agree that ugly babies exist.  Who invented the rule that just because you’re a baby, you’re automatically cute? My kids believe this rule and I want to speak to the person who fed them such a lie. And because they believe this rule, I’m forced to smile at ugly babies while my face betrays me to the unfortunate parents.

There is only ONE allowable criterion for the mantle of automatic cuteness to babies.  If you are assigned automatic baby cuteness, then you must be a soft, fluffy, baby animal OR you are Ryan Gosling.  He qualifies because he is, in fact, a gosling.  WARNING!  CUTENESS ALERT!

image           image

I know of which I speak (not of Ryan Gosling but I hope to correct this soon as I’m sure he’d love my blog if he read it and he would fall madly in love with me). I am, however, an expert in assigning cuteness to babies. I was born a cute baby. I had 3 absolutely freaking, beautiful babies. Sadly, my dear, poor sister (Mogie) was not so fortunate to be a pretty baby. Don’t believe me?  Just ask our mom. She still talks about how Mogie was an ugly baby and Mogie is now 37! Thank heavens-to-betsy Mogie grew out of her ugly.  As a matter of fact, she was so pretty in high school that I had to relentlessly tease her just to keep her humble.  It was for her own good really.

To recap, not all babies are cute.  If that were a false statement, then I would not have been able to find tons of websites and images all dedicated to ugly babies.  There are even websites on proper etiquette for when you are face to face with an ugly baby.  There are even sites that teach you what to do if you give birth to an ugly baby.  I will admit some of the images were of babies making funny faces; therefore, they do NOT qualify as ugly babies. They are actually cute but were caught in a bad moment.  There are even some babies that are so ugly that they are cute, like my dog. Those babies get a pass too.

Please note, while researching ugly babies, Mini-Me gave in and laughed at some ugly baby pictures. I win. 😉

For those that are challenged in the cutesy department, I offer my sincerest prayers for a prompt growth spurt to correct this unfortunate circumstance.

Now go hug your ugly baby because, HEY, even ugly babies need love.

Dear friends & family – All of y’all’s babies are G.O.R.G.E.O.U.S.  I’m not even talking about your baby, so unwad your panties.

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The Fur Children (Part 1).

My kids ask me all the time if I love our dogs more than I love them.

<crickets chirping>

After diligently thinking this through, I confidently answer “No”. If our stupid dogs act like my kids, I’d have given them the boot a long time ago. The fact that all of my children have survived thus far, despite all the drama they bring to my life, is PROOF that I love them more. God only knows why.

The dogs are Bert & Max a/k/a Dumb & Dumber a/k/a POS1 & POS2, respectively. We got Max first. Mini-Me was 5 at the time. She wanted to name him “Angel”. Um, no. Two years later we got Bert.

Max was the original POS1 (Piece of Sh–), but he was demoted because I like Bert better.

We have many names for Max: Grumpy Old Man, Ankle Biter, Maxi Pad, Ewok, Demon Dog, Rat and Cat. (To be clear, we only call him Rat after he’s freshly groomed and he actually looks like a rat.) Mini-Me’s friend calls him Sausage, but she’s the only one who calls him that. It’s appropriate because he does look like an overstuffed sausage.

Max thinks he’s a cat trapped in a dog’s body. He perches like a cat. He gives me unbelievable attitude like a cat, or a teenager. He also likes to hide under things. He’ll even bat at feet as they pass him by. And, he meows. Yes, meows.

Here’s a picture of Max perching on our sofa.

Max Perching

Here’s a picture of why he is called Demon Dog/Ewok, but he does look more like a gremlin in the second picture.

Ewok

For all the grief this dog gives me for acting like a cat, he’s pretty entertaining. He’s also so ugly that he’s cute. He keeps the kids out of my hair so I can enjoy my wine which is MOST important and why I love him.

I don’t like kids, especially my own.

After having 3 kids, I realize that I don’t really like children.  Of course, I love the fruit of my loins but UGH!  They get on my last nerve, daily.  A few months back, Mini-Me broke up with her boyfriend (don’t worry, they’re back together so you can relax).  Since I’m the mom, I have to hug her all the while, she’s blowing her disgusting snot on my shoulder and down my back.  She’s old enough to blow her own nose, but no, I’m the mom so I’m the perfect substitute for a tissue.  What is up with that?!?

They have an expectation that my world revolves around them.  From where do they get this idea?  It doesn’t matter how many times I say, “don’t disturb mom during Dr. Phil”, one of them inevitably trips down the stairs and we end up in the emergency room.  For this reason alone, I now wait until Dr. Phil is over to have a glass of wine.  Seriously!  You don’t want to go to the ER with wine on your breath.  The looks are not nice.  My kids are so inconsiderate.

You know what else? My kids have this incredible ability to wake me at THE. EXACT. MOMENT. I fall asleep.  It’s like they have radar.  It’s because of them, napping has eluded me.  Gone are the days of enjoying mimosas at brunch and then napping afterwards.  Oh what a luxury. Now, I wake a 6:15AM on Saturdays (yes, I said Saturdays) and listen to those ungracious leeches sleeping in past noon. Rude. Rude. Rude.

So, as I type this, Mini-Me, The Weez and I are in the car.  I think I’ll embarrass them.  Wine is not available so this will have to do.  Let’s blast the music, roll down the windows and dance.  Yeah!  Perfect idea.  How’s that song go?  “I’m sexy and I know it!  Wiggle, wiggle, wiggle, wiggle.”  They’re begging me, “please, mom, no!”  I’m sorry girls, it’s now an obligation.  I love you.