This classic Matt Damon SNL skit is so real, we feel attacked
Christmas is a magical time, but making all that magic happen isn’t exactly a walk in the park for parents. At some point after you’ve dressed your (unwilling) kids in holiday outfits for photos but before you fake-smile about the one and only gift you received (surprise! It’s a robe), parents have a jam-packed day of fun… starting at around 5:41 a.m.
In this classic “Best Christmas Ever” SNL skit, guest host Matt Damon and Cecily Strong play parents reminiscing about how truly awesome their day was—and giving some behind-the-scenes peeks into what spreading yuletide cheer really looks like for moms and dads.
There’s the child-present-attacking ritual long before the coffee hits, a flashback to Dad struggling to assemble a giant playhouse in the wee hours of the night, and kids fighting and shouting over their newfound spoils.
But that doesn’t even come close to the madness of hosting the family. Relatives who complain upon arrival? Check! Those who can’t stop spouting off about their political views? Check! So just how does one cope with so much delight? Mom claims, “I guess I was just full of Christmas cheer!” when shots clearly show she was fueling up with something else: wine and the occasional hidden cigarette.
Hands up if you can relate! A dad of four himself, Damon is probably no stranger to the joys of putting together impossible-to-assemble toys on Christmas Eve and being awakened before the sun rises to the screams of over-excited kids on Christmas morning.
Here’s to all the exhausted moms and dads making this Christmas the best Christmas ever, too.
Party like it’s midnight—even when it’s really only 8 p.m
Those excited faces as your kids shout “Five! Four! Three! Two! One!” as the midnight ball drop are adorable—but there’s nothing cute about the next day when they’re exhausted. Thankfully Netflix’s New Year’s countdowns for kids are back and better than ever to help you welcome 2024 without sacrificing bedtime. For even more fun, check out our favorite ideas for celebrating New Year’s Eve at home.
The Netflix New Year’s countdown offerings include a whopping 13 different countdowns featuring some of Netflix’s most popular shows, like Skylanders Academy,Super Monsters, and Boss Baby. The new countdowns also include several tailored for tweens.
To check out what Netflix’s New Year’s countdown might look like, check out the promo for 2019.
Each of the on-demand countdowns will be available to stream starting soon, so you can even pre-screen them to decide which one will make for the best New Year’s Eve bash. All you have to do is search “countdowns.” Easy peezy!
It’s a job that requires unending patience and fortitude
When it comes to being a stay-at-home parent, there are always those (the former co-worker, the couple next door who doesn’t have kids, your own mom) who might see it more like a glamorous lifestyle and less the real-life mess that it can oftentimes be. In truth, it’s a job that requires unending patience and fortitude, and35% of you are choosing to do it. In honor of the crumbs and carpool lines, we came up with a few words of encouragement for stay-at-home moms everywhere.
It’s okay to be exhausted, and admit that you’re exhausted.
Being a stay-at-home mom isn’t a walk in the park; in fact, there are a lot of things you just don’t know until you know. Chasing a toddler, walking the dog, cooking the meals, folding the hundredth towel for the hundredth time, being a positive influence, and doing it all with a smile—it’s exhausting! This isn’t the kind of job that lets you sit down often, and sometimes, at the end of the day, it’s all you can do to keep your eyes open. You know what? That’s okay. You are a superhero to your family, but IRL, you’re only human. It’s time you learn to be okay with admitting that you’re tired. And what goes along with admitting you’re exhausted? Making yourself rest. So put those feet up now and then, and let your partner put the kids to bed, or let that lovely person who delivers the takeout from your favorite restaurant bring dinner tonight. You’re allowed to be tired, but only if you promise to rest.
You’re still allowed to have things that are just for you.
Sharing is one of the first things we are taught as children, and it’s probably something you try to instill in your own as well. Share the blocks, share the popcorn, share the backseat. With all that ‘share’ mentality you’re putting out there for your kids, it’s easy to forget that some things can be just for you. Many two-year-olds’ favorite word is “mine,” and while it can be excessive, there’s nothing wrong with letting a few things be “mine” when it comes to yourself. Maybe it’s a Substack that you write, or a dream of one day opening a bakery, or Workin’ Moms that you binge-watch at night when the kids are in bed. You’re still an individual, and it’s okay to have things just for you.
You’re priceless (and should make $180,000 a year).
There’s nothing more frustrating/annoying/rage-inducing than a partner that believes that “they make the money” that supports the family or that a stay-at-home parent’s monetary value isn’t as contributory to the family. On the contrary, a recent study found that given everything that a stay-at-home parent does, their annual salary would be $184,820. Imagine paying for a nanny, coach, housekeeper, groundskeeper, dog walker/pet sitter, interior designer, laundry manager, plumber, photographer, tailor, nutritionist/chef, accountant, art director… the list goes on and on. And, put on top of that someone that provides romantic company? You get the idea. Your value is immeasurable, so never doubt for a second how much you truly contribute to your family.
It’s okay to fantasize about your life before kids.
Staying out until two, enjoying long, leisurely brunches, going on last-minute getaways, having a clean car, flying with just a carry-on, having extra money, sleeping until you wake up, riding in the car with the windows down listening to anything but Baby Shark on repeat… these are all things we temporarily kiss goodbye when we have kids. Those good old days when life was just about what we wanted are over. But that doesn’t mean you can’t think about them while you’re washing spit-up out of your hair for the fifth time or picking cereal out from in between the seats of the car. You had a different kind of life before the kids arrived, and there’s no shame in reminiscing about those times.
You’re allowed to love your life just exactly as it is.
Doesn’t it always seem that when people are unhappy, they want you to be unhappy too? It’s like people want you to feel bad about not feeling bad. Well, brush off those haters. There’s nothing like being a parent, and there’s nothing wrong with liking your life exactly as it is. Nothing cuter to you than matching up teeny, tiny little socks? Embrace it! Love being there to pick them up from school and hear about every moment of their day at school? Savor it. It’s true what they say about time moving quickly, and this is the only time in your life when you’ll get to have these special times with your kids. So slow down and appreciate your lifestyle. There’s nothing wrong with loving it exactly as it is.
A little screen time isn’t going to kill them.
When was the last time you used the bathroom by yourself? Or read something that wasn’t on the back of a cereal box? Or had an adult conversation with your partner that wasn’t interrupted by a chorus of “I’m hungry” from the peanut gallery? Sometimes you need a moment to yourself, and there’s nothing wrong with letting your kids indulge in a distractive activity while you do so. So pull up their favorite TV shows or put on a movie just for them, and don’t feel guilty for a moment.
It’s okay to take a break.
Do you know how the flight attendants on the plane remind you to put on your oxygen mask before assisting others? This is a simple concept—if you can’t breathe, you can’t help anyone else. The same goes for your everyday life—if you haven’t taken a moment to take care of yourself, how can you take care of anyone else? Take a break, and add a little self-care to your day. Sign up for a weekly yoga or spin class, plan a lunch out with a good friend, or heck, just walk around the grocery store by yourself for a change. There’s nothing wrong with asking for help from Grandma or Grandpa, hiring a sitter, or looking into Mom’s Day Out programs so you can take a moment for yourself. You’ve earned it, and it’s more important than you think.
You don’t have to be supermom.
You food-prepped for the week with only organic goodies, great job! Everything is labeled and stocked in the fridge… but you hit the drive-thru on the way home from school because you Just. Can’t. With dinner tonight. Guess what? There’s no shame in your game. Some stay-at-home parents plan art projects with all the bells and whistles, some come up with ideas on the fly, and some don’t do it all. Stop comparing yourself to others. The kids will be happy either way. You don’t have to be a supermom, just a mom or dad who’s there for your kids.
Even if they forget to say it, they do love and appreciate you.
If you’re an employee of a big company and you have a great year, you might receive a nice bonus payment. If you’re a fundraiser and you throw a big event that raises lots of money for your charity, you might receive a big pat on the back. If you’re a chef and you create a wonderful meal, the patrons may leave a glowing review that you can proudly read. But moms rarely get any accolades or words of encouragement for the jobs that they are doing. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if Mother’s Day or Father’s Day came every month to remind you that you are valued and appreciated and that everyone is truly grateful for your help/time/patience/love? Well, even if they forget to say it, your family does love and appreciate you. Try to remember that.
We feel you.
Sure, sometimes it feels like stay-at-home-mom survival, just making it from naptime to bedtime, but know this: we feel you. There are moms everywhere that are going through what you’re going through, the good and the bad. The smiles and the meltdowns, the poop diapers and the PTA meetings, the carpool lines and the after-school snacks, and the hugs and the bedtime stories. Hang in there, you’re doing an amazing job!
It happened just today. I woke up fine. It was a beautiful day and I was ready to conquer it!
Breakfast. Check. Water flowers. Check. Get out deck furniture. Check. Laundry washed. Check. Check. Check. Make lunch. Check. Shower and get ready. Check. Read a self-help book. Check. And then the paralysis snuck in.
Somewhere between being exhausted and overwhelmed with all I “should” be doing was me—pinned between the two emotions so suddenly I couldn’t move. I was angry. Frustrated. And as time passed, the shame settled in.
The kids were watching a movie on a beautiful summer day. Bad Mom.
I have a million things that need to be organized and cleaned. Lazy.
I could be reading or writing or learning something. Weak. Apply something you’ve learned! I kept shouting in my head. But I wasn’t sure what I had learned. Have I learned anything to help me deal with this? What is this? Anxiety? The depression? Did I let the bad thoughts in? I was supposed to control those. Should I call someone? How could I bother anyone? Who would I call? Everyone is working. Everyone is busy. And I’m not. I’m lying here—pinned.
I’m doing nothing. Lazy. Weak. Bad. And here I am. Beginning. All. Over. Again. I was reminded of how fragile I am. It was OK to be fragile a couple of months ago when I finally started seeing a therapist after episodes that included suicidal thoughts and self-harm. I was fighting for my life then; I was fighting for my family. I had to be gentle with myself. Forgiving.
It was OK that I didn’t cook dinner, that I did nothing but breathe all day long. It was OK to take a nap and let the kids watch too much TV. It was OK that we ate Hot Pockets too often and spent money we didn’t have on fast food. It was OK that the house was a constant mess. It was OK.
But somehow since then, as I slowly started to clean more, slowly began to make meals instead of heating them up, slowly started to do a little more than just breathe, I fell back into being a perfectionist. I began expecting more of myself. I began thinking I was OK because I was doing more.
But Brene Brown emphasizes that perfectionism isn’t the same thing as striving for excellence. “Perfectionism is not about healthy achievement and growth. Perfectionism is a defensive move. It’s the belief that if we do things perfectly and look perfect, we can minimize or avoid the pain of blame, judgment, and shame,” she says. “Perfectionism is a 20-ton shield that we lug around, thinking it will protect us, when in fact it’s the thing that’s really preventing us from being seen.”
I can’t even express how well this describes me! I don’t want to be weak, lazy or bad, not to mention all the other unkind shaming thoughts that race through my mind. So I use the little strength I have left to lift that giant shield up to cover the fragile me. The shield of having a perfectly clean house. The shield of making breakfast, lunch and dinner all in one day. The shield of having the laundry done and put away. The shield of devouring self-help books that give an illusion of healing. The shield of being organized. On and on. The shield is heavy. No wonder I become exhausted so quickly.
No wonder I am pinned down and frustrated with my own weakness and fragility.
I can’t hold it up for long anymore. And trying to has made me weaker and weaker. You see, I have been on this journey of growth for over a year now. I started writing almost every day and I read books by the best on becoming whole, better, happier. I became more organized with Marie Kondo and started a bullet journal to track and remember everything. I set goals and accomplished them. I spent time serving, being with family and with friends.
My journey and the understanding I gained are documented through these beautiful books and methods and habits, but I was missing something vital. I had unknowingly used all the wonderful things I had learned and added them to my shield. And oh, how it grew.
My shield was big, shiny, and clean. Witty and nice. It was helpful and willing. It showed up for everything, said yes, agreed, allowed. Performed. Damn. It was like Captain Freaking America’s shield. And oh how well I carried that shield. But under it was me. Just me. Amy. And Amy, although master at yielding fancy shields, was deeply tired. She was small.
The shield did its job well. She wasn’t seen; she wasn’t heard. People admired that shield. They enjoyed it. They loved it. So she believed she needed it, that they wouldn’t love and admire her without it. She had put so much work into creating it, but one day she was so exhausted that it came down. And frightened, fragile Amy couldn’t lift it back up.
There was nowhere to go. Nowhere to hide. And the shame and the pain swarmed. And there I was, beginning, again. And today, as I set that pretty shield back down on the ground, I am beginning, again. It is time for me—not my shield—to grow.
*If you think you may hurt yourself or attempt suicide, get help right away by calling your mental health specialist or by calling the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 800-273-TALK (800-273-8255) to reach a trained counselor.
Originally published June 2020. This post originally appeared on My Peace Project.
Amy is a creator and believes everyone else is too. She strives to be artistic in all areas of life but writing is her passion and her family is her masterpiece. She uses her blog to address the joys and struggles of motherhood and is currently writing her first novel.
Please stop judging me for leaving the office at exactly 5 p.m.; my kids are waiting to be picked up from the sitter.
I know I’m missing this meeting, but my kid’s preschool graduation is more important.
I know I was late today, but I can’t drop the baby off at daycare until 7:45 a.m.
I know that I seem distracted because I am distracted. I have a sick toddler and I am waiting to find out when I can get him into the pediatrician.
I don’t want to look exhausted when I show up at the office, but I have been awake since 4:30 a.m. with an inconsolable kid.
I know that my eyes look glazed over, but I spent the last twelve hours trying to soothe a baby to sleep.
I didn’t mean for my email to seem snippy, but I have a five-year-old that cried this morning because he didn’t want to go to school, and I am worried about him.
Yes, I just banged my head against my desk. I received a text message that my kid has pink eye and I have to leave to get him even though this report is almost due.
I know my eyes are very swollen right now. I spent last night crying because I am exhausted, never get to be alone and haven’t taken a hot shower in five years.
Sorry that I was short with you, but I spent the last hour arguing with a toddler over the necessity of wearing pants to the babysitter.
I know I am supposed to leave my personal life at the door when I come to the office, but when you are a mom to two small kids, that is hard to do.
So thank you to everyone that has given me grace over the last five years.
I could probably stand to give myself a little.
Being a full-time working mom with young kids is not easy.
Thank you to every boss that has let me leave for doctor’s appointments, unexpected sicknesses, preschool graduations, and school lunches.
Thank you to all the people that turned their heads when I was pregnant and had to run out of a meeting to go puke.
Thank you to everyone that has let me know they also had a hard time juggling their work/life/kid balance.
Thank you to the people that ignored my swollen eyes, exhausted face and the spit-up on my blouse.
Thank you to all the other moms that slay it each and every day and motivate me to keep going.
Thank you to the people that encourage me to keep going even though I can feel defeated at times.
Thank you to all the co-workers that have picked up slack for me because I had to make a quick exit to solve a kid emergency.
I know that I am not the only working mom in the world, but I am a working mom and I totally understand what you are going through.
I understand that you feel like you need to overcompensate because you get to work just on time and leave the minute the clock strikes five.
I understand when you eat your lunch at your desk because you have to leave early to get a kid from the sitter to the doctor then back to the sitter and then get yourself back to the office in time for your 2 p.m. meeting.
I understand that sometimes you show up to work looking like you were attacked by a flock of geese because the kids couldn’t find their shoes, you gave someone the wrong color bowl and then forgot to take Sleepy Bear to the babysitter.
I understand that you are tired. Exhausted probably.
But I also understand that you are capable and worthy of so much more than you realize sometimes.
You don’t have to choose between two worlds that you love. You can have them both. You can have a family and a career. It’s not easy, but it is possible.
Yes, the worlds might collide sometimes and make life much more complicated, but it’s worth it.
So don’t stop. Don’t give up. You’ve got this.
And P.S. Not everyone is going to understand. And that’s okay.
I am a full time working mom with two little boys, Henry and Simon. I write about real life and real life gets messy. Contributor for Motherly, HuffPost Parents, Scary Mommy, Today Parents, Love What Matters and Her View From Home.
Parenting is hard. If I had to go back and tell my pre-parent self anything about parenting it would be that it is so freaking hard. It’s also incredibly gross and unbelievably exhausting. I’ve been a parent for over 17 years and I’ve definitely had my share of “OMG did that really just happen?” parenting moments.
Here are my top three:
1. The time my entire family had a stomach virus.
One winter my oldest daughter (who was about 18 months old) started vomiting. I’ve been through several stages of parenting and the worst time to have a child vomit is when she’s a toddler. They always cry, vomit right where they may be standing, and get it all over every piece of clothing and strand of hair they may have, every time. By day two, my husband had begun to vomit as well. This of course sent him straight to bed moaning that he was going to die. I, of course, kept managing our little one, trying to keep her fever down as well as any fluids.
On day three I began get sick. I was violently ill and I had a very sick toddler. She would vomit, I would vomit right along with her and then I would clean it all up. By day four I decided that she needed to be seen by a doctor. It was Sunday so I was told to take her to the ER at our local children’s hospital. My husband was functional by this point and he drove us. My poor little baby was so hot with fever and so limp from dehydration I barely acknowledged my own sickness at this point. They took one look at her and pulled her into triage to give her an IV and get the fluids going. After what seemed like hours, our pediatrician found us. After checking on my improving baby she took a hard look at me. “Have you talked to your OB this week?” Um, no. Why?. “Well, you’re pregnant, have a fever, and I doubt you’ve eaten or drank much of anything for a few days.” Oh yeah, I thought. I’m pregnant. I truly and honestly had forgotten.
2. The time we got “The Lice.”
Yes, a case of lice is as awful as you can imagine. Yep, I never thought it could happen to me. I have three daughters with long hair. Enough said, right? After several weeks of constant laundry, combing, and crying I finally admitted defeat to the little jerks and dragged us all into one of those places that looks like a hair salon but is actually filled with lovely people picking dozens of bugs and eggs out of children’s hair at the cost of hundreds of dollars. It’s worth every cent. Take away? Hugs spread bugs (and little girls LOVE to hug each other). Also, keep your kids a little dirty because lice LOVE clean hair. It’s been several years and I still don’t have the emotional strength to rehash any more of this particular saga. Maybe someday…once the involuntary shivers at the sight of anything brown on my kids’ scalps stop.
3. The time my daughter threw up chicken nuggets in the car 30 minutes into a five-hour drive.
One weekend, my family decided to head to Washington, DC for a long weekend. We decided to leave Friday night hoping the kids would sleep for most of the trip. After my husband got home from work we packed the car, put the kids in pajamas, grabbed fast food for dinner, and got on the road. It quickly got dark as the kids happily munched on their dinners. Then we hit a part of the highway that winds around extreme curves. Now imagine my children in the back of my car, in the pitch dark (no lights on this highway) as the car rocks back and forth on these curves. Disaster. My youngest daughter quietly said, “Mommy…I don’t feel well” before enacting a scene from the exorcist all over herself, her beloved Elmo doll, her carseat, and the floor around her carseat.
My husband took the nearest exit which happened to be a rest area. I then spent the next twenty minutes cleaning up my kid, her items, and her entire side of the car with the very few napkins we happened to find in the glove compartment because this rest area was “green” and there was not one freaking paper towel or napkin in the entire place. Not one. I ended up washing Elmo off in the sink and then dried him under the hand dryer. I did the same with my daughter’s clothes since the back of the car was packed so tightly I couldn’t get to the suitcase with her spare clothes in it. I dumped her back into her carseat and we got back on the road. Oh…the smell. With every mile we traveled that night the smell of the vomit seemed to get stronger. Since it was February, opening the windows for any length of time froze us solid. My older kids gagged and whined. The baby slept soundly. We finally arrived at our hotel around midnight and neither my husband nor I wanted to even think about dealing with the residual vomit in the car. I’ll let you imagine what we faced (and smelled) in our car come morning. Our first stop on our lovely weekend away was a local grocery store to purchase Lysol wipes and air freshener. I also had to hunt down the hotel’s laundry room to deal with her vomit encrusted coat.
So there you have it. Parenting is messy, exhausting, and filled with unexpected mishaps. I’ve realized that finding a way to laugh through some of it is the best way to manage. In the end I think I’m stronger for it (at least my stomach is) and they are most definitely worth it.
I am a certified speech-language pathologist working with teenagers by day, a mother to three daughters (two teenagers and one almost teen) day and night, and a writer sharing my thoughts, fears, wishes, and experiences any spare moment I can find. I love my children, my husband, and the ocean.
Pay attention to your father. Yes of course I mean listen to what he says. But more importantly, carefully observe what he does. You’ll learn, probably at a very young age, that people don’t always do what they say. You’ll learn that talk can often be cheap if actions don’t back it up.
See how he clears the dinner plates and loads the dishwasher without being asked? Do you know why he does that? Because he lives here too. Because I made dinner, and he ate it. It’s not a favor to me or to you. It’s just what Dad does.
Hey, where did Dad go, you wonder, as we play with your blocks? Hear that sound coming from upstairs? He’s running your bath. He’s carefully making sure the temperature is warm enough for you, but not the scalding hot that I prefer when I occasionally get in the tub. He’s dumping your bath toys in the bubbles and picking out your pajamas. He’s filling the humidifier with water and testing out your ceiling light that will project stars and moons while you drift off to sleep. It’s pretty cool that he does that, right? He doesn’t get a badge for it though, nor has he ever sought one. It’s just what your Dad does.
Here comes the delivery man again! What’s in that box? It looks like the next shipment of the formula that Dad carefully researched when I couldn’t produce enough breastmilk in those first deliriously exhausting weeks of your life. I vaguely remember the spreadsheets and charts Dad made to compare and contrast formulas, both domestic and European. He took the lead and not only ordered the first shipment but tracks when we run low to place new orders. To be honest, I wouldn’t even know where to turn if he weren’t here and I needed to order more. Sure, I’d figure it out. But this is really Dad’s department because this is what he does.
Do you remember your first Navy football game? Of course not, because you were 10 weeks old and slept through the whole thing. Except of course when it was time to eat. There’s your Dad, sitting in the end zone, cheering for Navy’s touchdown while shaking up a bottle for you. He didn’t pass you to me, and he didn’t stop yelling. He cradled you and fed you when it was time. If he noticed the confused looks on peoples’ faces at what they were witnessing, he didn’t let on. It was time for you to eat, and he fed you. Because that is what Dad does.
We took you to see your Grandpa when you turned five months old. It was your first plane trip. Just two hours to Tampa, but my anxiety was at peak performance and I could barely handle the anticipation of a plane ride with an infant. No sooner did the plane take off, you did what babies do at inconvenient times: you pooped yourself. Once we hit a cruising altitude, daddy unbuckled his seatbelt and stood up. Then he took you out of my arms, grabbed the diaper bag and headed off to the bathroom. I couldn’t believe my eyes, and those around us were equally dumbfounded when they realized what was going on. I’m certain that most thought it was odd for the Dad to change a baby in the plane bathroom. It shouldn’t be odd though. It should be completely normal, just like there should be changing tables in men’s restrooms. I was just curious how he did it at all because Dad’s not a small man. But he did it, and he brought me back a clean baby who slept the rest of the way to see Grandpa. Because that’s the kind of thing your Dad does.
I was all thumbs when you were born. Not only did I have several complications from birth that I was trying to heal from, but I had no idea what to simultaneously do with a baby. Your instruction book was lost somewhere between where you came from and where you landed. I had this notion before you were born that my role was to take care of you and Daddy’s role was to take care of me. As it turned out, Daddy took care of us both, and he hasn’t stopped. He forces me straight to bed when I’ve had a rough day at work; he insists on take-out when he knows I don’t feel much like cooking; he dances with you in your room until you squeal; he’s been spotted on the monitor app singing Bob Marley songs to you while you two flip through books; he goes to every single one of your doctor’s appointments with his list of questions; dances in the circle with all of the moms at your My Gym classes, and whips you up Belgian waffles on the weekends. That Dad of yours; it’s just what he does.
I never heard him say he was “afraid he’d break you” as a reason for not holding you when you were tiny. He never said he couldn’t change your diaper because it made him gag, (which it probably did). He never babysits you, because there’s no such thing as babysitting your own child; Never feigns “cluelessness” because he knows just as much as I do that it’s nothing more than a cop-out and deliberate attempt to shirk parenting duties. And he’s never expected me to do the lion’s share of the work because I’m the woman. We both work full time. We both parent you. We are both exhausted. We do it together. We are a team.
One day you may decide you want a meaningful relationship or to be married. Until that day comes, keep an eye on your Dad and make notes of how he treats me, you, your doggies and all else with respect. It’s how we hope you’ll choose to be too.
Political affairs pro, freelance writer, Philly native, dog and human mom, Key West obsessed, former Capitol Hill staffer, one-time stand-up comic, fledgling novelist, side hustler, beauty products junkie. Lives in MD with her husband Josh, son Huckleberry and two giant retriever lap dogs named Frank and Stein. Connect with me here: https://aimeelubin.com/
I’d like to start out by saying that giving birth was not what I expected. I expected a lot of screaming (by me) and a lot of nurses running around. What I got was the opposite. The staff was calm and surprisingly so was I and my fiance. I was in labor was six hours. The worst part? The contractions. Which I was also surprised by. I had invisioned pushing to be the worst part. Pushing was the easy part and actually was a relief! I did not notice the stitches that my doctor was doing or anything else for that matter once my baby was on my chest.
Boy was I exhausted but I was running on pure adrenaline. My body had just pushed out an actual human being! My fiance and I were in awe of the beauty of our little girl and the giving birth process. Once our little girl was here, the nurses asked if I wanted to breastfeed. I said yes and was shocked (still am) at how hard breastfeeding is! Everyone says it’s a natural process. In my only experience, ladies, I am sorry it is not. It is a lot of work! After the breastfeeding training, I was able to take a nap and enjoy my baby. Thankfully, we were able to leave the very next day and so excited.
We were home and totally excited! We were now a little family of three! What I didn’t know was that this was about to turn into the hardest month of my life. Once we got home, my body finally came to the reality of what it had done. I was exhausted, in pain, and wanting to feel like myself. I wanted to be a super mom! Instead, I felt weak and scared. The pain of using the bathroom was terrifying and intense. I cried every time. I would like to say I found relief but I never did. It took a whole month for my pain and blood to go away. My emotions were on a rollercoaster ride and I was exhausted at trying to understand myself and wanted a quick fix. Within a week, I realized that I was supermom and eventually I would return to being myself. I would be a stronger and better verion of myself.
During the first month after birth, you have to be patient with yourself. You are a superwoman who just did an amazing thing. For me, the hospital was easy, however, once we were outside the hospital, for a month was awful. Whether it is all awful or all awesome, it is so worth it! I cannot wait to do it all over again.
Hi! I'm Carolyn Erickson! I am from Wisconsin and mother of a beautiful baby girl. I'm a new stay at home mom and I am loving it. I also am beginning my career as a freelance writer and blogger!
There’s another reason to look forward to the holiday season. The Walt Disney Company announced that Soul, the all-new original feature from Pixar Animation Studios, will debut exclusively on Disney+ on Dec. 25, 2020. In international markets where Disney+ isn’t currently or soon to be available, Soul will be released theatrically, with dates to be announced.
“We are thrilled to share Pixar’s spectacular and moving Soul with audiences direct to Disney+ in December,” said Bob Chapek, Chief Executive Officer, The Walt Disney Company. “A new original Pixar film is always a special occasion, and this truly heartwarming and humorous story about human connection and finding one’s place in the world will be a treat for families to enjoy together this holiday season.”
Soul comes from visionary filmmaker Pete Docter, the Academy Award-winning director behind Inside Out and Up, and co-director/writer Kemp Powers, playwright and screenwriter of One Night in Miami. It stars the voice talents of Jamie Foxx, Tina Fey, Phylicia Rashad, Ahmir Questlove Thompson, Angela Bassett and Daveed Diggs and features original jazz music by globally renowned musician Jon Batiste and a score composed by Oscar winners Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross (The Social Network).
“The world can be an exhausting and frustrating place – but it’s also full of unexpected joys, even in seemingly mundane things,” said Docter, director of Soul and Chief Creative Officer of Pixar Animation Studios. “ Soul investigates what’s really important in our lives, a question we’re all asking these days. I hope it will bring some humor and fun to people at a time when everyone can surely use that.”
Previously scheduled for theatrical release on Nov. 20, 2020, Soul was named an official selection of the Cannes Film Festival earlier this year along with multiple upcoming festivals including the British Film Institute’s London Film Festival this Sunday.
Congratulations are in order. Chris Sullivan announced that he and his wife, Rachel, have welcomed their first child. They named their little one, Bear Maxwell.
“HE HAS ARRIVED! 8lbs of beautiful baby boy. Witnessing @therealrachelsullivan bring our first son into this world, after 20 hours of labor, was one of the great honors of my life,” Sullivan captioned a sweet photo of Bear’s feet on Instagram.
“It was primal and intentional and I have never been more in love with this powerful woman. She and baby are resting and recovering well. Everyone is healthy and exhausted,” he continued.
The next day, Sullivan posted an official name announcement saying, “We are so excited to have Bear Maxwell in our lives. He and Mama Bear are at home resting and bonding. Everyone is happy and healthy. It’s a real love fest over here.”