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I Take My Pizza By the Crust Because I'm a Mother

I Take My Pizza By the Crust Because I’m a Mother

Ah, the coveted pizza night.

The one night a week or month or whatever where you get the chance to kick up your heels, pause your game of Candy Crush, and dial up the local pizza joint to handle all the dinner prep for you. The kids are bouncing off the walls with excitement and surely your husband has now found himself reminiscing on his teen and early adult years of fun and fancy free dietary bad decisions. Meaning, he’s totally loving the fact that you’re letting him eat like crap tonight. And probably hoping you’ll have more energy for later…if you know what I’m sayin’. I don’t know about you though, but pizza night means easy breezy across the board thankyouverymuch dear husband of mine. But…well…that’s not what this post is all about. I mean a little bit because it involves the kids and well we all know where kids come from. Right? I hope? A post for another day.

So there I am, so happy that all I’ll need to do tonight is slap a slice on everyone’s plate, load the little one up with a force field of dampened paper towels, and toss those grease-soaked cardboard boxes in the dumpster outside for clean up at the end of the meal.

I’m quickly thrust out of my lovely dream state, imagining myself sinking these teeth into the scrumptious New York style slice (I mean I chose the NYPDiest Pizza Joint west of the Mississippi for a reason, you know) when the five-year-old pipes up that he’s “DONE, MOMMY! I NEED A NEW SLICE OF PIZZA!” When I open my eyes, I see before me about 1/3 a slice of pizza staring back at me from the plate he’s shoved under my nose.

I Take My Pizza By the Slice Because I'm a Mother

“Uh…there’s still a bunch of this slice left to eat, buddy.”

“Ewwwwwww! ::flashes disturbing look as if I just smeared a booger in his eyeball:: That’s da crust! It’s disguskink!”


As I place my beautifully untouched slice onto his plate and take the discarded, “disguskink” remains of his as my own, I realize that I’ve probably got a good decade ahead of me enjoying pizza by-the-crust. If they failed to tell me about this when they piped up to tell me I installed the car seat wrong when leaving hospital, what other foods won’t I be able to enjoy like I’m used to now that I’ve got a small mouth to (sort of) feed?!

Tell me about the mundane things that have become “luxuries” now that you’re a parent in the comments below!

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