Calm Your Baby Tits: A Millennial Mom's Manifesto

By Jessie Thompson

Calm Your Baby Tits is an inspirational collection of short, but real life stories, about the joys and struggles of having children in your life. You don't have to have your own children to enjoy the sarcasm and wit that is woven through these stories.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Jul 26, 2019
• ISBN: 9781543980066

Book preview

Copyright © 2019 by Jessie Thompson

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Print ISBN: 978-1-54398-005-9

eBook ISBN: 978-1-54398-006-6

Contents

WELCOME FRIENDS

THE BROWN SPOT

THE CLEPTO KID

BIRTHDAY PARTIES

SHOWER INTERRUPTED

TARGET DAY SPA

THE BUDGETEER

THE SHART

IT’S OKAY TO CALL IT AN ASSHOLE

THE COST OF KIDDOS

THE FALL, YA’LL

OMG THE MAN COLD

HELLO MOM JEANS

AT HOME COOKING

PRE SWIPE GENERATION

SCHEMES IN A TRIANGLE SHAPE

THE DITZY MOM

SHE SHED

CLEANING UNFILTERED

THE GREAT INDOORS

CAR SWEET HOME

NAPTIME PARADISE

BREASTFEEDING

CLICK TO SHOP

SCREENTIME BELIEVER

THE AFTERBIRTH

MOM FAILS

POUR MOMMA A DRINK

DRIPPY DICKHOLES

CALM YOUR BABY TITS

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

WELCOME FRIENDS

As you pick this book up to figure out if you want to spend your time reading it, let me help persuade you.

I wrote this book during my children’s nap times, over the course of a year. There used to be more chapters, many written while I was very sleep deprived, and those chapters didn’t make much sense. Those chapters got cut. It was also while writing one day, that I discovered that I am a millennial. While the national news was bashing the millennial generation one day, I was nodding along; then I decided to check the dates on that generation. I stopped nodding real fast when I figured out that I fell into the over-privileged, lazy group they were referencing.

You will also learn very quickly while reading that:

I am a mom of two children. They drive me insane, but I love them very much.

This book is written in small, easy to read, short story format. I have found that this format makes it easier for moms to read, because we have very small windows of free time. Also, like I said before, I wrote these chapters during separate nap times. Each day was different. Each day, I felt different emotions, and different levels of sleep deprivation. On some days, I was straight up pissed off at someone, and I like to think that shows.

We millennial moms, by all appearances have it easy. We have delivery services, the World Wide Web full of advice, and oodles of technology to serve us on our stressful journey of momhood. When all these facts are laid out, other people seem to forget that while the mom game is constantly changing, there is one element that remains the same in parenting: you are still working with children.

The child hasn’t evolved over time like the mom. Each baby is born with the only ability that they can suck the life out of their mom. This is figuratively and literally. Each child grows, and goes through varying stages of growth and hormone development, all designed to wear a mom down to the core of their sanity bubble.

No sane mom has time in her life to read all the help books and articles that exist. No real mom wants to either.

This compilation isn’t meant to judge or really help a mom. Calm Your Baby Tits has been birthed to remind all moms that you’re not alone. This book wants to make you laugh, and cry from laughing. As the author, this book is being written with love, and made to give you a proverbial hug, pat on the back, and a little reminder that we will all be alright.

I would like to say sit down and relax, but we all know that’s not going to happen. So, stand at your kitchen counter with your lukewarm coffee, children running around with toys at your ankles, and pop open a couple chapters of verbal, soothing tea. Oh yeah; and calm your baby tits.

THE BROWN SPOT

Every now and then, my children leave little surprises for me to find around our house. Sometimes, their surprise comes in the form of a Gogurt yogurt that has been hidden behind a chair for a couple weeks. Other times, it can be an apple with bite marks covering it, that somehow rolled into a closet, and slowly began to decay. Those surprises are gross. The only saving grace in me finding these surprises, is that it means company didn’t find them. That would be embarrassing. Then again, a lot of parenting embarrasses the crap out of people, so it would be fitting.

The worst surprise to find in your home is the brown spot. I like to think that moms know what I’m talking about. Sometimes the spot is small, and sometimes it’s large. Sometimes you think it could be chocolate, or pudding, only to reflect on when the last time was that pudding or chocolate was in the house. Usually, there has been no chocolate or pudding.

Sometimes you wonder if you should touch or smell the spot to make sure you know what it is. Touching the spot is never a good idea, but sometimes, that’s the only way to know the brown spot’s identity for certain. Any surprises left by your children are just that: a surprise. Like that box of chocolates, you never know what you are going to get.

This has happened to me many times. I have come across many brown spots in my home. I like to think of myself as a brown spot veteran. I have accidentally stepped in the brown spot, and I have found it wiped on my clothes. I’m not going to lie, sometimes it took me all day to figure out that the brown spot odor was coming from my own clothes.

My husband hasn’t been in the same field of duty as long as I have though. He didn’t have the knowledge or experience to encounter the brown spot. He didn’t know the procedure or protocol. In some respects, he was just an innocent bystander in the battlefield of parenting. One night, the brown spot got him.

I was in the shower that fateful night. I assumed that my husband was capable of watching our two small children for twenty minutes. After all, I do it all day, every day. He could at least give me a shower to take in peace and quiet.

My son came toddling into the bathroom when I was in the middle of rinsing the shampoo from my hair. He slid open the door, and proceeded to try to climb in. At first, I tried to block his entrance. After all, this was my shower; literally it was the only time that I had to myself all day. However, when his little foot hit the floor of the shower, I noticed a brown smear. Like I said, I am a veteran of the brown spot. I immediately recognized it as poop, and washed his little baby foot. He was naked from his point of entry, so I was curious as to where the rest of the brown spot was. When I checked his little ass crack, it was squeaky clean. Obviously my husband wouldn’t miss some poop lurking around. I was sure he was diligently cleaning up the brown spot footprints while I was finishing my shower. Certainly he wouldn’t want his fresh, clean wife to come across such an atrocity fresh from the shower.

When I got out of the shower, my son in tow, I walked around, looking for the brown spot. I saw a few baby footprints made from brown material, and knew instantly that my husband hadn’t cleaned up any brown mess. Instead, I found him in my daughter’s room, playing Barbie dolls with her. It was a precious scene, and on normal circumstances, would have made my heart melt. However, the whole room smelled like shit. Like fresh, mushy shit. The room smelled like the type of shit that is warm and squishy; that has particles of food and crayon particles in it; the shit creeps into your pores and invades you in the worst possible way. They had to have smelled it too. The stench was overwhelming and warm; it burnt my nose hairs immediately.

Um, did someone poop in here?

My daughter smiled. My husband sat up. Well, yeah, Jax pooped on the carpet over there, but we cleaned it up, and everything is okay.

I took in a deep breath. My nose is burnt out from all the poop sniffing that has happened in my mom life over the years. Even with my burnt out sniffer, I could still smell shit.

I still smell it. The smell is still strong. You missed some poop. Where did you say he did it?

My daughter led me over to a small patch of carpet that was still wet. There was no sign of poop particle at all. That was strange. As I put my face down by the carpet, I couldn’t smell anything. However, when I stood up, I knew that there was still a brown spot somewhere.

We need to find the poop. There is still more in this room, and there is a trail of it across the kitchen tile.

My husband looked surprised. Like he was shocked that he would miss something like that. I didn’t see him poop anywhere else. He squatted right there, pooped, and it was done.

I shook my head. No dear sir. The poop made its way onto the bottom of his foot, which means he has landed a fresh turd somewhere else. I know it. We have to find it.

So as a family, we hunted down the elusive brown spot. Our carpet is tan with speckled brown and cream specks. I purposely picked this color to camouflage stains that may make their way out of my children’s assholes. I’m obviously a planner by nature. On this particular hunt though, the carpet was working against me. I was tired. The bedroom still reeked of butt mud, but none of us could find it. I decided that maybe I was wrong. Maybe, just maybe, my husband was right for once.

I continued on with my nighttime routine. The whole winding down process of the house. I dim lights. I turn electronics off. I set up my oil diffuser to straight up lavender. On this night the house really needed some lavender. The smell of poop lingered.

My husband was tidying the kitchen for the night, and came across something on the floor. Food residue was his initial thought. He reached down and picked it up.

Oh my God! He screamed. So much for winding down the house.

He rushed to the sink, and began scrubbing. I laughed. I knew instantly what had happened. It was shit wasn’t it? I asked. I didn’t have to ask to know, but I needed the confirmation.

Yes, it’s shit! Where did it come from? I thought it was food. It was a brown spot right in the middle of the kitchen. How did we miss that? My husband was grossed out.

We didn’t miss it. It’s new. Follow the wee boy, and he will lead us to his treasure of unfound shit.

Like any good detective, I was used to waiting and watching. I knew that our son had hidden shit somewhere, and he would once again lead us to it. That new spot on the kitchen floor was still fresh. I waited.

Into our daughter’s room went our son. He played, mindlessly with a couple toys. There was no shit on his hands, so I assumed he had once again stepped in his shit storm. He went over to a corner. He stood there, and smiled.

Now, the thing about our son is that he knows when he has done something wrong. He acknowledges it, and this smile said it all. I raced to the corner, and moved my baby boy out of the way. There, hidden beside our daughter’s play kitchen, was a fresh and smelly poop log. I called for my husband.

He couldn’t believe it. He honestly had no idea how the poop got there. We removed the poop, cleaned the area, cleaned the kids. It was a whole process, but finally, we all got ready for