Family Magazine

What Mother Can’t Get Her Childs Birth Date Right?

By Rachel Rachelhagg @thehaggerty5

I haven’t blogged in about ten thousand years. Since the Earth is only around 6 thousand years old, I take full responsibility for messing up that Math for you guys. In fact, I take full responsibility for messing up so many things in life right now.

The ability to do math and basic things with my hands lately has affected my blogging lifestyle. Per say. While my hands want to type, they are sort of tied up wiping baby butts and serving the other three children mediocre dinners while Daddy works late, again.

I’ve missed you guys. I’ve missed writing and sharing and feeling sane, and showering daily. While our fourth baby is a massive blessing, he is also a spider monkey in human form and is making my life this very crossfit experience I never signed up for. Crossfit is for experienced people that have worked out before. I feel like when I signed up for this fourth baby I was a little limp in the bones. A little out of shape.

I’m now bound by this contract for 18 years, and I’m scared because I don’t have the right protein powder to replenish the amount of milk that he drinks from my breasts on a daily basis.

When I say out of shape, I mean in Mother form I was a 400 pound beached whale just waiting on a rescue mission to save her, with like birds already surrounding her , ready to declare her dead and ready for consumption.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Story time!

All three of our older children got into a Charter Academy for this Fall. We are super excited, and ready for a change. This also means that I had to transfer documents from their current school, as well as make copies of my soul and uterus for the new school. They weren’t super accepting of my placenta as a form of ID, but I am working with it.

As always, I wait until the last minute to send in copies of anything important, as I am sitting on my butt watching the clock change to bedtime hours daily. I do nothing all day, in case you are wondering. My life is super peaceful and quiet.

Today I happened to finish my Soap Oprah, so I decided to go and make copies of all the important documents, and things they needed for the new enrollment.

We get to the Register of Deeds, and I realized Luca didn’t have any shoes on. This is ok. This is normal, it’s warm outside. Except he is now walking , so I knew this would be an issue while trying to make copies of the Last Supper of Jesus. AKA birth Certificates of my offspring.

You would think that it was our Lord’s last bite the way they went about handling my paperwork.

I’m sure I saw someone in the back light a Menorah and say a prayer for my shoeless child.

_________________________________________________________________________

I’m standing there filling out these forms for my girls, all the while Luca is reluctantly on my hip trying to eat the complementary pens on the counter for people like me that do not come prepared with a pen of their own. I keep trying to teach him that the pens aren’t like Chick Filas mints. You can’t just grab 7 and expect everyone to turn a blind eye.

He starts getting annoyed with being held captive, so I put him down. Shoeless and unafraid he begins to roam his new found territory as I try to use my mushy brain to fill out important things I should know about my daughters.

I nod my head, and assure the front desk woman that everything is correct, as she ushers the documents to the back.

The woman in charge walks towards the front desk, mean mugging me. Oh mercy. What have I done now? I mean, I mopped my kitchen floor last night after the kids used icey pops to decorate for Spring!

She whispers to the sweet lady I am dealing with, and I hear her because I am basically a ninja that can hear a four year old lying from 43 miles away.

” Yeah she wrote the birthdate wrong. It’s not the 12th, it’s the 11th. How can you get your child’s birthdate wrong? ”

I had obviously written the wrong number down. I am obviously a special needs Mother.

My special needs include – someone help.

________________________________________________________________________

Listen Rhonda, I know exactly when she was born because she roared out of my vagina like she was late for yoga class. I couldn’t even cough before the Doctor got in there, as she was waving at me from my lady hole.

I KNOW she was born on the 12th. The 11th. The 11th. Math is hard and everyone needs to calm down.

Ma’am , since you wrote the date wrong and we had to run it through the system, that’s an extra $14 over your normal $24 rate since she was born out of this County.

Luckily for myself, my treasure is in heaven and in my wine cabinet, so I wasn’t worried about spending an ungodly amount on mistakes.

Listen, that’s what Jesus died for. My mistakes. So if you could just send him that bill, that’d be great Jeannine.”

Let it be known I will not be applying for any accounting jobs. Writing numbers down isn’t my strong point.

What Mother can’t get her Childs Birth date right?

The tiniest Haggerty, overtaking my heart and sanity day by day.

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