How many times has your heart jumped into your throat upon hearing “Hey Mommy, WATCH THIS!” come out of your child’s mouth? It is arguable the most dreaded phrase heard in all of parenting, coming in just behind “I think I’m gonna throw up” and the classic “I didn’t do it!” right after hearing a loud crash.
It’s shit like that, that we moms SWEAR shave years off of our lives, as if the act of popping those turds out didn’t age us enough to begin with.
This got me thinking (dangerous, I know!)- I can safely assume that we all want to be around even LONGER once we have kids, just to watch them grow, and to point as laugh when they have their own kids that are even bigger assholes than they are- but I doubt we can deny that we FEEL older than our birthday says we are, and we should get credit for it (without qualifying for the early bird special, even if discounts are awesome). How could we do that without tacking onto our biological age?
MOM YEARS, y’all. MOM YEARS. Like dog years, but for moms. No, this isn’t some sneaky way for me to call all moms bitches- I’m totally serious! For every terrifying, disgusting, ridiculous, infuriating, death-defying, panic-inducing thing we have to deal with at the hands of our kids, we should get to add to our Mom Years. Think of it like merit badges!
You can now tabulate your mom years much like those quizzes at the end of Cosmo that you can no longer do because your social life is basically non-existent, and because you’re not running around flashing your vagina to the world anymore. Just to gynos. And maybe your significant other, IF THEY’RE LUCKY. See where you stack up! And no, this isn’t an addition to the Momlympics, so let’s not go around bragging about how old we are in Mom Years, but more as a way to say “Oh damn, you must be tired. Here, have a drink on me!”
*please note that the years assigned to each line and the “scores” following are based on nothing other than a number my wonky brain randomly came up with. So basically, Nonsense. Have fun!
Massively explosive diarrhea blow out in public – Add 1 Mom Year!
Kid decides to wander away in a public place– Add 5 Mom Years!
Drops a 4 letter beauty in public (because there’s nothing better than an afternoon FUCK in the grocery store, right?)- Add 1 Mom Year
They do that creepy ass horror film giggle in their sleep– Add 1 Mom Year!
Kid donks their head on a hard surface and OH MY SHIT, THAT SOUND! – Add 3 Mom Years!
Sleepwalks – You get an extra half a mom year!
Sleepwalks OUTSIDE– That’s 6 more Mom Years for you!
Kid begins to choke- 3 Mom Years!
Kid begins to choke IN THE BACK OF THE DAMN CAR while you’re driving!- 5 Mom years, lady!
“LOOK WHAT I CAN DO!” – 1 Mom year, just for the initial shock alone! This also counts for “Watch this!”
“How come your pecker looks different than daddy’s?” – 2 Mom Years and a stiff drink
“My Mommy’s favorite thing to do is drink ALCOHOL!”– 2 Mom years. Don’t be ashamed!
Witnessing the act of toenail biting, nose picking and eating, or butt-wipe sniffing – First, tell them go to wash their fucking hands! Then add on another Mom Year.
Vomit. Vomit everywhere.- Go ahead and give yourself half a Mom Year. You deserve it.
The first day of school– Ten tissues and 1 Mom Year
The first Parent Teacher Conference– AHHHHH!!!! 1/2 of a Mom year and a Xanax!
When they inevitably fall and break something after doing the shit you told them NOT to do. Twelve damn times. – 1.5 Mom Years a piece
Walking in on… dare I even TYPE it?? Masturbation– 2 Mom Years. And go have another drink. Shit.
I HATE YOU! – You get one Mom Year and a hug. It’s okay to flick them off behind their back. I won’t judge.
Teaching them to drive– 1 Mom year and extra credit for every time you slam on your imaginary brake pedal!
Watching them drive away for the first time without you– 2 Mom Years. I feel like I should get a Mom year for even having to THINK about that moment!
The baby bird finally leaves the nest– Bring on the waterworks and give yourself 3 more Mom Years!
Yes, there are about a bajillion other things that make us feel like we are just that much closer to death when it comes to kid- but damnit, hasn’t enough time been shaved from mine already? I’d die before I finished the entire list!!!
Now, go tabulate that shit up! I’m serious! Get a good old fashioned pen and paper out and add up all of your Mom Years and see what the total is. I’ll tell you exactly where that puts you in Mom-Land.
Now, I personally choose to tabulate a Mom year for each instance of the above I found horrifying, but you can tabulate how you see fit! Please note that this is not an exact science (at all) and your numbers may vary (probably will) and
this is complete and total nonsense that this is purely for fun. Or torture… At this point I can’t tell which.
1-5 Mom Years: You are still in the Honeymoon phase of parenthood, and I hate you. KIDDING! Sort of.
5-20 Mom Years: You probably still possess some of your sanity. You are ADORABLE!
20-50 Mom Years: Girl. I feel you. I’m tired, too. Let’s have a drink once the turds are in bed!
50- 100 Mom Years: No, seriously. Why isn’t there a drink in your hand?
100+ Mom Years: I bow to my new mommy overlord. Although, I’m impressed you’re still standing! Or sitting. Or breathing, really. DEAR LORD, WOMAN! GO GET SOME SLEEP!
How old am I in Mom Years? Well, I estimated mine conservatively, and I got in the 50-100 range, but when it comes down to it- I need a drink. And sleep. And some more sleep. Don’t we all? Let’s do that. This parenthood shit is exhausting!
How old are YOU in Mom Years?
Every. Single. Time. pic.twitter.com/aAAWWjdrN3
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