My name is Kelsey Rasco and I have to admit, my life is perfect. It’s bright and shiny and everything flows like a beautiful river of love (sure, let’s go with it). Recently, I decided to make the biggest decision of my life and open a business. Brilliant, right? Sure, let’s go with that too. They say owning a business is glorious and some days, it might be. But the process of getting to work is where I really shine. The details suck anyway. No one cares about them. They want to know about the absofuckingly perfect life I live. Get ready cuz it’s freaking G O R G E O U S.
My sweet baby girl, Rhyan, opens her eyes and yawns the sweetest yawn and politely lets me know she’s ready to start the day. So, I prepare her perfectly warm bottle and allow her to eat in peace while she begins to wake. Sweet, sweet life. My heart. My soul.
Screaming (is that me or her?), shrieking alarm telling me I should have been on bottle prep 2 minutes ago. I go skidding into the kitchen in my tshirt and granny panties trying not to break my damn ankle on all the building blocks on the ground (but it was so cute when she was scattering them around LAST WEEK). As I’m trying to pry my last night’s make-uped eyes open I see there is, in fact, NO clean bottles for little miss muppet. Scramble time ladies. This is what I was MADE FOR (that’s a lie, I’m not actually made for this shit. I’m made for napping).
I jam through making the bottle and get that thing shoved in her crib and then silence begins. Soft and slow sucks lets me know the monster is happy (that’s also a lie, for she’s actually very sweet).
My morning swiftly moves by and I continue to get ready and prep myself for a wonderful day ahead where I’m on time and not running in, breathing heavy.
So, when I should have been getting ready, I collapsed in my partially made bed for 5 more minutes (my husband and I have a heated debate over that damn top sheet which is NEEDED obvi). The monster is done eating and ready for life. Me, not so much. Time to put the burners on like stat. When I planned a beautiful hair day and stunner makeup, it ends up with a brisk brush and mascara. Alexa, tell me I’m beautiful.
Peacefully get Rhyan dressed and suited to endure the outdoor climate. We are ready our friends. Let’s head out.
Timing is a joke. Peacefulness is a joke. It’s all a joke. It’s actually like 9:25. What really happens it a full out WWE wrestling match. Tears are shed by baby A N D mama. She twists. She turns. She shouts. Come on baby. JUST LET ME PUT YOUR DAMN DIAPER ON. And t h e n I can actually get her dressed. *sigh* I always have intentions of Instagram worthy outfits but this B (baby people, baby) is getting unmatched socks and no headband. By the end of this, I’m freaking sweating my tits off. But I must move with forward progress. I look down and now my perfectly black clothes are absolutely and utterly covered in dog hair. Cute. At this point, I just laugh because the joke is always on me. I still didn’t put her damn coat on. Does she even need to have it (actual thought process)? Frick, of course she does. We’re in THE FROZEN TUNDRA. We make it out the door and my hands are full of shit. Carseat (including baby like I’d actually forget her), bottles, diaps (we don’t even use adult language in our house), purse, phone, my dignity. The screen door slams against the carseat and my breathe catches and I think ‘fuck yes, no baby fingers got pinched.’ Then my sausage fingers jiggle towards the door handle and once again, ‘fuck yes, I can reach the handle,’ as I hook a finger around said handle and whip that door closed.
Time to collect ourselves during the drive to work and by ‘ourselves’ I really mean me. Because that drive is apparently Rhyan’s nap time (she must have been tired after the WWE match). This is when reality takes over and no more blissful shoulda-woulda-coulda’s. I gotta get that babe to daycare before the witching hour comes (meaning store opening time). Rush into daycare like the hot mess express, kiss kiss kiss SQUEEEEEZE. Shove bottles at teachers and I’m off. Seeyaaaaaa! Then I hop into my 2012 sedan and gun the gas and rip into traffic. Butthole pucker traffic merging going on. NO TIME FOR STARBUCKS TODAY PEOPLE. Stop sign rollin’ mama is on her waaaaaaay. Roll up to Dash & White at 9:58 (if I’m lucky) to start my day.
Maybe next time I can talk more about Dash & White but lord, give me grace. Give me patience and give me time. For this mama is tired. And guess what… I get to do it all over again tomorrow. If you see me, nod your head and give me a ‘get outta jail free card’ cuz ya’ll know I’ll need it.
I am Kelsey Rasco. I am Dash & White. And I am the most authentic human you might get to meet.