Ducky Diaries: Writers c*ck block

Tuesday, December 2, 2014

Writers c*ck block

I have a confession to make. 

The last few months I have had some serious writers block. I used to pour my heart out here. The good, bad, ugly, and the funny. I used to be funny and well rested.  What the hell happened?! 

I feel like I have had some serious writers block!

That along with the time constraint bestowed upon me by two crazy ass toddlers.  The constant crying, whining, why's, pooping of the pants.

Finally it hit me tonight. I had an epiphany. I really do believe my writers block is attributed to the serious blocking of the you know what, that is happening here at Casa de Jackson.    

I think we all know what I am saying here, amirite?  We are having so little sex it's become a negative to the square power......   Seems the second kiddo is pretty much the best birth control ever.

So I has questions for all my kind mommas.  The bed sharers, room sharers, baby wearing, breast feeding, crazy bastards.... I love you, I am you. But..... But......  How do you do it?  Literally. 

Where? When?

You tell me to get creative....

"You just gotta get creative hun." 

You tell me I have to schedule it.  Then I look at you like you're crazy because, HELLO, I'm the one to told you to schedule it......  Ungh.

But seriously, mommas, all mommas, any mommas are you lying? Does it happen as infrequently at your house? DAFUQ?! Is this where you tell me "On Wednesdays we wear pink.". Is there some secret sex having cult that I am not privy to.

Hmmm, maybe not answer that last rhetorical question. I don't need to know.


Are my children the only kids that can hear a thought and see 'the look' in their sleep?  I fully believe they have these tiny 3rd eyes that sense the very moment we decide to consciously couple (thank you Gweneth Paltrow).  Like they know. They know. 

The moment, scratch that, the nanosecond, you think, maybe, just maybe, yea, let's do *WAaAaAAAAaaaaaAaaaaahhhhhhhHhHHhhHHH!*......  

Mood. Kill. Er.

Then even if you recoup from the list of demands your tiny dictator hands you and attempt to get back to the matter at hand and try to get creative, crazy shit happens....

Let me paint you a picture of what I'm saying. The last time we "Got creative" I fell off the damn washing machine.  No, seriously.  I should never underestimate the height difference between me and the clothes washer.  White girls, can't jump, apparently. We hop up, barely skim the ledge and fall off the side.

If you're 5'5 and under just take my word for it. If you're going to go this route borrow Jr.s step stool.

So other options for "Creativity" could include:


How the hell is that possible? Do you have a castle sized shower? Standard showers are not made for this shit. And the height difference. What size are you and your spouse, because seriously, I am like literally the perfect mix of too damn short for anything crazy. 


Who has enough balance to one leg it in the shower with another person present? No seriously. I need to know.

-Our bed?

Kid in it.

- Kids room?

Kid in there.


Way too damn dangerous.


I can't even successfully navigate every day use.


My feet dangle because I'm not tall enough to be an adult.


See above where I fell off the washer.......

Sex life after children should be a legitimate class you have to take before the birth of your first child. Followed by your Lamaze instructor throwing an air mattress at you and wishing you the best of luck......

Because you will sincerely need it. 

Kids are cock blockers.

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