Chronic Ama

 I guess I was meant to open Blogger today and see the blog my daughter left for me last April, at the beginning of the pandemic. I must have had a flare up at the time. It was probably stress about the world being on fire.  That actually is a great opener for why I'm back. It's been on my mind so much lately to keep blogging about being a chronically ill mother. Mom is a tough job in itself, but there are so many more variations when it comes the Chronically Ill Mom job. I'll just take things day by day here and see where we end up at.  I've been feeling down today because I got a migraine yesterday morning that started with pain in my neck. I think my nerves have regenerated rather quickly following the ablation I had done in April. My migraines had started 2021 with an intensity only matched by my uncontrolled fibromyalgia flares. I had cervical medial lateral nerve ablations done starting at C3 and then going up and down to burn off all the nerves that were the culp

I read an article recently about "unicorn moms." No, really. Someone wrote that shit. Because some twit out there thinks I want to be compared to a horse with a horn growing out of its fucking head. OK, I'll bite the click bait because I'm curious if a mom with a subcutaneous hunk of keratin protruding form her fucking forehead is anything like the one with the giant cystic zit on her chin from all the stress in her life. Unicorn moms drink and curse and don't care of their precious little brat gets a skinned knee once in a while. Oh Em Gee! So fucking eye opening, right? Why is there such a pretentious desire to squeeze women who have popped out a little crotch demon into these ridiculous categories. Fuck it, I want to be an asshole mom. Does that make it any better? No it doesn't. Here's why. Today I rocked the fuck outta my khaki linen plazzo pants from Old Navy, clean hair for the week, and my messenger bag with a giant fucking goat head pentag

Lately I'm super drawn to all these "mom" shows and I had no clue why. Then it hit me tonight while watching the new Christina Applegate Netflix joint. I like that I'm part of this eclectic generation of moms. You know the metal head moms, the goth moms, the crafty moms, the wine moms, the soccer moms, the working moms, the stay home moms, the 5k running moms, the love to bake moms, career moms, and every and all combos of such groupings. We are so far removed from wearing pearls to vacuum, but some of us still do and that's pretty cool too. Let's just leave all those wierd Jell-o dishes alone and reorganize our "ain't fucking cooking tonight" menus.  I like that moms are into having mom friends. You know, that other mom you can text about needing to hit that parent teacher conference with a shot of Baileys in your iced coffee. Not because your kid is being a jerk or because the teacher is reminiscent of a turn of the century school marm, bu

Greetings from the pool that I have all to myself today. Music is going, got my delicious vanilla and cranberry iced tea. I should have brought a book too. It's ok, I can work on blog content while I work on my tan. That in itself is comical, because if you know me at all, I'm quite happy being pale. And I bathe in sunscreen. I keep it next to the pool too.  I'm also trying to decide what else to do today. I took off my stiletto nails this morning and I feel a little naked now. Might just leave them natural for a few days and then use the last of my UofA wraps since it's that season. You know, I start getting a little lonely when I have the house to myself. It's the social butterfly in me that needs the company. I wish my brain would just let me enjoy the break. Oh! I see a new doctor this week. My "regular" OBGYN was doubtful I still had endometriosis. I even explained that I had photos and a pathology report that proved otherwise. She also

I'm stuck in a crowded room with the roar of laughter, conversation and a promising Friday night unfolding in waves of short skirts and polished hair all around me. The only thing missing is the crowded room. Because I realize I'm alone in my head and the promising Friday night is everything I wish I had instead of the deafening roar of responsibility and a over filled buffet plate in my hands that I keep trying to empty. In one corner you have my ultimate disgust for other parents. Well, not every single one of you. Just those that cannot carve out a few minutes to send a text, check and email or even give a shit about your kids' school work. You see, I'm battling my feat of parental failure enough while trying to explain to my daughter that I cannot make another parent pick up a phone to send a text (because phone calls are a thing of the past, right?) nor can I make them take interest in a science fair project that they opted to group together to tackle. I get it,