It’s Only Moments Until Nicholas Sparks Buys The Rights To My Life…


Girls are drama.

I know this because I’m girl, because I have two girls, and because almost any given day of our lives could be comparable to a Nicholas Sparks novel turned into a Lifetime movie morphed into a Tori Spelling autobiography. In short? There is never a deficiency in feigned illness, the ever-present threat of emotional damage, and more fake tears than a Lindsay Lohan court day.

Regardless, living with this many girls can really do some damage to your psyche. My eldest child lives her life like Kristen Chenoweth (every day is another excuse for a musical), and talks so much that it’s hard not to begin to tune her out. As much as I want to focus on her every word, when she’s performing plays tentatively titled “I’m The Princess, Who Marries The Prince, To Get The Unicorn Back From The Witch”, you start going into autopilot mode.

Sometimes my husband comes in the room and proclaims, “Can you not hear her? How can you not hear that?” First of all, when you’re about 60 minutes in to the “Toddler Monologues”, a newfound form of defense mechanism kicks in (let’s just call it motherhood survival mode) and you begin to filter the information that is heading your way with rapid fire. Anything with the words “explosion”, “blood” or “the baby just ripped up your $50 bill” makes it through, and anything involving “Suite Life”, “sparkles” or “when I grow up I’m going to be a fire fighting queen who lives at the circus and designs clothing” gets the boot.

Of course, for every chocolate covered neurosis my daughters throw my way, they certainly know how to sweet-talk. More often than not, girls know exactly when to turn on the charm (in a way that my husband could only dream about). As my eldest child tells her dad he’s the most handsome man on earth (while simultaneously expressing it through the beauty of sign language), she is batting her eyelashes and flashing her dimples in perfect synchrony with her slow slide towards the nearest pint of ice cream.

The resident man of the house, however, is almost always met with an onslaught of “Do I look ok’s?” and “Do you think I look pregnant in this?” He thinks this is because women are just innately insecure, but what men don’t seem to realize is that once you’ve had your skin, cartilage and skeleton stretched, pulled and rearranged for nine months (prior to pushing a small human being out of your innards), we have earned the right to feel as insecure as we please.

How would a man feel if he had hormone induced hair loss, breakouts you can’t treat with chemicals, cellulite in places you didn’t know were humanly possible and lived the better part of your post-partum months as a living chew toy? It’s safe to assume they’d garner up a little more sympathy towards our never-ending girl drama (at least once he realizes that stretch marks are like David Hasselhoff jokes: they’re not going anywhere).

Despite the fact that men simply don’t understand why women are so darn emotional, I often don’t understand my daughters either. It’s like they live life to a constant extreme, bouncing back and forth between manic depression (when they get a stain on their Fancy Nancy sneakers) or profuse elation (especially if they realize that mommy’s $100 facial cream looks gorgeous Pollock style on the wall).

And just when I feel like screaming “pick an emotion and stick with it”, I remember how lucky I am that my children can express themselves to begin with. A year ago (as my infant lay dependant on tubes and wires in the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit) or months after (when she was diagnosed with seemingly progressive hearing loss), I worried that we’d never be able to communicate like a normal family again.

Yes, to some people, “normal” might not be defined as talking with your hands, or tolerating the intense dysfunction that comes from raising girls, but to me, it’s the biggest blessing in the world. Every time the baby has an emotional meltdown, I’m thrilled she is healthy enough to do so. And every time the girls create more sisterly turmoil than a season of Charmed, I count my blessings that they are both here with us to torture one another some more.

So the next time we find ourselves exhausted, depleted and worn out from the constant noise overload that is motherhood, I suggest we take a second to think about the mothers who’s kids can’t express themselves, can’t discuss their feelings, or worst of all, are saving their chatty conversations for another day in heaven.

If you pass by my house most days of the week, you will likely hear screaming, crying and piercing melodies from the latest musical production in our living room… but I don’t care. If you have a problem with it, you can stick in your earplugs or head the other way.

Because what might sound like unbearable levels of girl drama and emotional outbreaks to you…

Sounds like music to my ears.

Bailey Vincent Clark is the Editor-in-chief, author and founder of Makeover Momma. She hosts Makeover Momma TV on Tuesday (7 PM/EST & 4 PM/PT), and has a weekly column on Friday: “Getting Friendly With Makeover Momma.” If you would like to ask questions, submit concerns or simply chat: please email

Makeover Mommaâ„¢ occasionally receives cosmetic products for review, with no obligation to positively promote or cover said brand. Receiving products has absolutely no influence over our recommendation of any particular product.

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6 comments on “It’s Only Moments Until Nicholas Sparks Buys The Rights To My Life…
  1. Veronica says:

    While im reading this im like, “How the heck does she write like this? She’s amazing.”. THEN i remember back in day when we were homeschooled and we were in journalism class. Then it all comes back to me lol! While i was writing cheesy poems that could be mistaken for a 4th graders that took me 30 seconds to read, you were bringing in these amazing multiple page long stories that made us all look around in awe and we all knew exactly what eachother was thinking :). You were born with this talent! Im just happy I still know you so I can enjoy your work. Also, selfishly I love that I can totally relate to so much that you write!

  2. Aw, that is the sweetest thing in the world Veronica… THANK YOU for taking the time write this comment : ) Although my stories all made zero sense to my life at the time. I still remember my first full fictional work was my 200+ page “war novel” when I was like 12. Because after all, there is nothing I can relate to more than the Vietnam war (haha)

  3. Sunday says:

    This was beautiful. I truly loved how you captured both the angst of raising small children and the joy in having the pleasure and honor of raising them all at the same time.

    Also, the last part about thinking about mother’s whose children can’t express their feelings really touched me.

    Thank you for that.

  4. JenniferG says:

    Bailey, you are a phenomenal writer. That is all. – J

  5. Julie says:

    As a special education teacher, I think of those mothers you spoke of in your column every single day…and I’m so glad you gave them credit in your as always beautifully written way. My experiences as a teacher of children with various ability levels has truly affected the way I think about my own child, and I am able to feel so blessed every day for even the smallest things she can do (which yes includes abundant drama and chaos)!

  6. Bailey, I think this is a great post! I do want to point out though that all the ‘girl drama’ that you talk about with your little ones…well I get that but in ‘boy’ form with my 3 year old….I think it is just a ‘kid’ drama lol Although I have a newborn girl so we’ll just have to wait and see how she is huh?

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