WTNTM: PFS - Prologue

PROLOGUE: PARENTING IS A DUMPSTER FIRE (BUT YOU GET BETTER AT NAVIGATING IT)

Let’s just get this out of the way right now—parenting fucking sucks.

There. I said it. And if that sentence makes you clutch your pearls and clench your butt cheeks, slam this book shut immediately...do NOT read on; search frantically for the “unfollow” button. I'll save you some time right now—this book is not for you. I don't pretend to have any socially acceptable level of decorum or couth, nor do I care to. True honesty is raw, brutal, and unforgiving. If you enjoy fairytales, move on...I release you from the obligation of going any further....you're welcome.

I’m not here to sell you some fairy tale about how having kids is a magical, life-fulfilling experience that completes you as a person. If that’s what you want, go find a mommy blog where everyone wears matching pajamas and pretends their toddlers don’t scream like banshees when you give them the “wrong” spoon. That is not this book.

But if you’ve ever sat in your car, staring blankly into the abyss, wondering how the fuck you’re going to make it through another day of wiping butts, breaking up fights, wondering if it's pudding or poop, and stepping on Legos while screaming cuss words that haven't been invented yet—welcome home. You’ve found your people. Me...I am your people. There's enough of us rattling around up here to be a village anyway.

This book isn’t about how to “cherish every moment.” It’s about surviving the absolute chaos of parenting without losing what little sanity you have left. It’s about laughing through the bullshit, finding solidarity in the absurdity, and admitting that sometimes, you don’t even like your own kids—and that’s okay.

WHO THE HELL AM I TO TALK ABOUT PARENTING?

Let’s get one thing straight before we go any further: I have never given birth.

I’ve been pregnant—twice. I’ve gone through IUI, IVF, and the soul-crushing pain of losing both pregnancies. I have felt what it’s like to be told I may never be able to have children. And have truthfully accepted the loss of an experience I wasn't even sure I wanted until I was told I couldn't have it. So if you've popped out seven little 'miracles' and think I have no place speaking of such things, again, you are free to go. Do not make the mistake of thinking that because I have NOT pushed a human being out of my nether regions nor had one cut from my stomach means I don't know a thing about pregnancies, birthing, or all the other shit that comes with it. I am a mom...I told God no, He told me "fuck you" and handed me three ACTUAL miracles. Again...do not read tentatively hoping or assuming it will get lighter or better from here. This is me, my perceptions, my reality, and my personal bullshit. I know way too many have felt this too. So I'm writing and speaking for those of you who don't have the words or are too worried about what someone might think about you. Luckily for me, I have never cared what anyone thought of me...Autism is great like that.

But here’s what else I’ve done: I’ve adopted and raised three kids...on my own; for REALS on my own. No family. No real friends. No spouse. My partner left when I chose to save the babies. My 'friends' told me they couldn't understand what I was doing and therefore could not hear anymore about it. I have cut an umbilical cord, been the first to hold my child, breathed life into my middle baby, held my youngest when she quit breathing, kept her alive until medical personnel took over, fought with schools, doctors, parents, other toddlers, and have lived through every single phase of parenting (mom, dad, grandparents, aunts/uncles, etc.)—from birth to teenagers who think they know everything and quickly approaching parenting adults...SCARY AF!!

I have been the one up all night with a screaming infant, the one dodging projectile vomit in public (OMG Red Robin was never the same after us), the one figuring out how to make therapy appointments, school meetings, and meltdowns all fit into a single day while working full time and caring for my ailing parent. There is no one but me for all aspects. I don't say that for sympathy...I'm not wired that way. I say that so you understand that I 100% get IT...whatever the fuck 'it' is for you, I get IT.

So before anyone tries to gatekeep my experience, let me be clear—I have done every single part of parenting, and I’m still here, barely holding it together like the rest of you. I drown my exhaustion in whatever open alcoholic situation I can find in my house or I Uber Eats that shit to my door during bathtime. This is as real as it gets folks.

Bullshit PARENTING LIES

You’ve heard them before:

• “Parenting is the best thing that will ever happen to you.” (LIE.)

• “The baby years are the hardest.” (LIE.)

• “If you just follow the right strategies, your kids will be well-behaved angels.” (LIE. AND ALSO, WHAT DRUGS ARE YOU ON? And why aren't you sharing?)

The truth is, nothing prepares you for the sheer level of bodily fluids, existential exhaustion, and psychological warfare involved in raising tiny humans. And if you want to do the unthinkable, like raise decent tiny humans, may God have mercy on your soul. Ok not your soul...your sofa, your clothes, your car, your shoes, anything of value.

One day, they are sweet and loving, whispering “I love you, Mommy” in your ear. The next day, they are butt-naked in front of the heater screaming “FREEDOM” like they’re leading a rebellion—happened more than once.

There is no logic. There are no guarantees. And the moment you think you have this shit figured out, they switch tactics. They band together...they outnumber me and regenerate faster than me.

SO WHY THE HELL DID I WRITE THIS?

Because I spent way too long wondering if I was doing this wrong.

Because I have ugly cried in the bathtub when no one could hear me and screamed in my car at no one who would listen.

Because the world is full of Pinterest-perfect bullshit that makes parents feel like failures if they aren’t loving every second of this goddamn circus.

And because, despite all of it—despite the exhaustion, the chaos, and the fact that my house smells like pee at all times and there's always vomit somewhere I just can't find yet—parenting is still my favorite worst thing I’ve ever done.

Not the best thing.Not the most fulfilling thing.Not the thing that makes me whole.

But the thing I chose, and the thing I will keep choosing every single day, even when it makes me want to run away and join a cult where no one says “Mom” every five seconds. I literally forgot my name a few years back.

So, if you’re looking for parenting strategies that actually work (until they don’t), the ridiculous shit kids say, the weird AF stuff that comes out of my mouth, and the cold, hard truth about this never-ending shitshow—buckle the fuck up. This is my no-holds-barred account of life with tiny terrorists.

This is parenting, unfiltered.This is survival of the least put-together.

Parenting changes you in ways you never expected. Some good, some bad, and some that leave you wondering where the fuck you went in all of it.

If any of this resonates with you on ANY level, then this book? This book is for you....and I share it with my condolences to your lost life pre-children.

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