I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus In Exchange For An Hour Alone With a Cheesecake


Dear Santa,

I know I haven’t been a good girl ALL year. I lied to the kids about what really happened to the Oreos at nap time. Taught my little ones a few choice words during some particularly stressful mealtime preps. I may have even tricked them into an early bedtime once or twice to catch some alone time with the hubs. But I’ve been trying really hard to be the best wife/mother/friend I can be, and overall, I think I’ve come out on top — at least B-plus range! The hospital bill we just got in the mail says all I’m getting for Christmas this year is last month’s epidural, but if you’re feeling generous and my name comes up on the “good” list, I hope you’ll take my wish list into consideration:

1. A bottle of Eau de Newborn. I’ve caught friends and family members sneaking whiffs of my sweet daughter’s neck rolls this month, and it’s only a matter of time before that intoxicating aroma wears off. I can’t quite put my finger on what makes it so alluring. It seems to be a mix of pee, spit and angel dust — like a Phish concert, but more adorable. Bottle it up so I can drink it in forever and one day be the old lady who can huff a spot of youth without having to accost someone else’s baby.

2. An intern. I’d like to have a person who will do exactly what I do, but maybe better, and will work alongside me as an extra set of hands. Actually, if you could send someone to do nothing but load and unload the dishwasher and laundry machine all day, that would also be acceptable. Bonus points for finding someone willing to step in the line of fire when my toddler lets her plastic cell phone “slip” in the direction of my sleeping infant’s head. Also, if he/she could do this all for college credit, that’d be great, because remember the epidural.

3. A magic beach vacation that requires absolutely zero travel time and is full of people who don’t notice stretch marks, pregnancy weight gain, or impossibly un-tanned skin.  No hauling three small children through an airport or hours of apologies on a plane, no planning for hours of entertainment in a cramped car, no pulling over every two hours by the side of the highway to nurse an infant. Additionally, please erase all the irrational fears social media has embedded in my already-anxious mind of secondary drowning. (If they can secondarily drown in beach water, what about bath water? Choked milk?? APPLESAUCE? There’s no end to my mom-panic.)

4. A membership to a liquor delivery service. Once upon a time there was a beautiful mother who decided to brave a trip to the wine store with her gangsquad of small children. She reminded them that the wine store is a grownup place, and that it’s important to keep their hands to themselves because although the well-meaning employees stock their pretty bottles of vino on kid-level shelves, they are not there for bouncing. She attempted several awkward jokes to judgy strangers, trying to temper their concern at what must have looked like a walking pregnant hurricane with thrashing limbs and $12 wine flying out of her death grip, but left feeling pretty sure they assumed she was already drunk/negligent/not funny. The moral of the story: Wine stores should deliver.

5. Child-safe sleeping aids. It’s come to my attention that the use of whiskey/cages/chloroform is frowned upon in the game of getting a small child to stay in his bed and go to sleep. I don’t care if it comes in the form of a coupon that can be redeemed at any time (“You can’t go to sleep because of owls? Your pajamas magically unsnapped themselves for the 87th time tonight? You have the dexterity to open all my makeup and apply it to Curious George, but can’t pull the blanket over your own tiny body? FALSE, SLEEPYTIME NOW”), or perhaps just a glimpse into the future to a time when he will be begging to sleep until 10 a.m.  I’m not picky — any old Christmas miracle will do if it means fewer trips between my children’s bedrooms and my late-night Homeland marathon.

6. A few shots of 16-hour energy. Some days, there aren’t enough cups of coffee in the world for this job. For all the sleepless nights and endless rounds of “Ring Around the Rosy,” I wish for an energy source that is safe for use while breastfeeding and will give me the pep of a thousand preschoolers. No, wait. I’ll just have what Jessie Spano’s having.

7. More zippers in my life because AIN’T NO ONE GOT TIME FOR THIS:


Thank you, Santa! Merry Christmas!


PS:  My three-year-old keeps telling people he’s going to get “reindeer poop” for Christmas if he’s bad, which was cute until I realized I practically wrangle other people’s turds for a living so I hope you keep in mind the dues I’ve already paid and factor that in to your gift selection this year ❤ ❤

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