I expend an exorbitant amount of energy trying to get my sh*t together, and although I apparently succeed at this, I remain constantly amazed that people tell me how organized and put together I am.  Most of the time I’m faking it.

With that said, it’s not that I’m completely fake.  I just mean that you may be on the phone getting advice from me, or you may be saying hello to me when you run into me some morning, and although I sound focused and bright, inside I am dying because I got four hours of sleep or am worried sick about a project I have going on.

When my older daughter was not quite two years old, she got into my razor cartridge refills – those chunky bar-of-soap around the blade kind of razors, which I thought were secured neatly in their little package.  I heard her call from the bathroom that her hands were dirty and she needed me to help her wash them.  My heart started pounding and I was shaking as I realized that wasn’t dirt but blood.  Luckily for us both, she was way too little to understand that she had cut herself, and those razors were sharp enough that her little fingers didn’t even hurt.  Talk about feeling freaking stupid.  The damage was minimal, she ran off happily to go play, and I locked those f*ckers up in the closet.

Sometimes, when I’m feeling lazy, I mix the baby’s cereal with water instead of breastmilk.

I can’t wait to be done with pumping, and actually, with breastfeeding in general.  I will probably nurse this baby until she’s well into toddlerhood, but I am still looking forward to putting away the nursies for good!

I can fake it most of the time, but I do think I have social awkwardness issues.  I can think of times when I have misread social cues or been crippled by my introversion.  I am a different person at work, where I have to be super confident and outgoing and someone people can rely on.  I am afraid of my kids growing up to be introverts and I want them to be super extroverted.

I pick teethers and other baby toys off the kitchen floor and hand them back to my baby all the time.  Before you laugh and tell me that everyone does that, let me add that our kitchen floor is rarely (has never been?) mopped.

My older kid fell off the bed three times.  The first time was when she was about 8 months old, and I fell asleep in the middle of the day while she was wide awake crawling on the bed.

I cleaned the cat litter boxes routinely throughout both pregnancies.  I read somewhere that the only way you’re going to get toxoplasmosis from cleaning the litter is if your cat kills and eats a bacteria-infected bird, poops out the bacteria, and then you touch the poop with your hands and put your hands in your mouth.  I have indoor cats anyway.

I also ate deli meat throughout my pregnancies, especially the second time around.  Sometimes you just need a turkey sandwich, and I don’t mean with microwaved turkey … ewww.

I am probably the biggest hypocrite ever for being annoyed at parents when I was single and childless, and now being annoyed at non-parents for being single and childless.  But sorry, don’t tell me you had a rough weekend because you had to clean the house and do food shopping and you haven’t gotten a mani/pedi in for-EVAH.

This is probably arbitrary and unfair, but I find baby boomer parents who comment on their kids’ Facebook pages very annoying, more so than parents my age with pics of their kids and whatnot.  It’s like, hon, you gotta get over the empty nest thing, you know?

As supportive as I am of everyone in our WMOM group, I really just don’t like to exercise.  I recently lost 60 pounds doing minimal exercise and a whole lot of calorie cutting.  I am believing the emerging research that says how little exercise matters to weight loss.

On that note, I have a friend who runs all those Tough Mudder type races where you haul around bricks in a backpack and crap.  I have no idea why anyone would do this willingly.  My very pre-pregnant self ran cross country races in high school, but 15 years later and after two kids, I have no desire to run a 5k or do anything more strenuous than my elliptical machine.  And the whole time I spend on the elliptical, I worry about work that’s not getting done or just better ways I could be spending my time.

As a parent, I want to make sure my daughters grow up with healthy attitudes toward their bodies and food. But I have struggled with an unhealthy body image and issues with eating my whole life.  I used to hide evidence of what I ate from my roommate, and punish myself for eating by skipping meals.  I don’t remember a time in life when I was ever truly happy with my body.

I might want to have a third child, but it may never happen because I’m afraid I can’t afford to.

I never go on vacation — I mean a real, out of town vacation — because I don’t feel like I can take the time off from my job.  I am bitter and resentful toward people (parents or not) who do go on vacation, or spend their weekends doing fun stuff, even though I know this is unfair.  I feel like work controls my life, and it makes me miserable.  If I didn’t love the clients and didn’t need the money, I would probably not be working while raising small children.

I have no hesitation in counseling people about their issues with family members, but when it comes to my own, I tend to stick my head in the sand.

Most days, I tell myself that I just can’t go on like this and that maybe everyone would just be better off without me.  In my darkest moments, I tell myself that maybe it’s time to follow through on that notion.

It takes me about four hours to write what I consider to be a really good post for this blog.  If I spend any less than that, I feel like it’s not good enough.

I fully intended to read everyone else’s True Confessions before writing my own … but I didn’t.

Earlier this week, I typed up a bunch of True Confessions that I promptly deleted because I’m too afraid to reveal them … I do this about once a week when I get ready to put a blog post together.

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