November 17, 2009

Why Don’t You Take a Picture? It’ll Last Longer!

For those of you who read my last post, Totally Rockin’ Girls Weekend, you know that I had the pleasure of visiting my best friend from college this past weekend. She became a brand new mama this past August, and I was just so happy and excited to welcome her to the club! She and I have always been close as can be, but there is something about motherhood that just makes you connect to your friends in a different way once you both venture onto the journey of diapers, sleepless nights, and of course, poop. There is a new understanding between you that your lives have completely done a 180 degree turn, and that basically nothing is off limits as a topic of conversation. In fact, I’ve found that I actually enjoy talking about subjects that usually generate a response from my not-yet-mama friends of, “I can’t believe you went there! Gross! Ick! STOP talking now!” The non-mamas then put their hands over their ears and start humming, “la la la la la!”… in an effort to avoid hearing the God awful truths that they will no doubt experience someday if they choose to have children.

During one of her little munchkin’s feedings, my friend looked at me with her one boob basically hanging out and said, “You should really think about writing something about how your modesty goes out the door after having a baby.” I looked at her in total and utter disbelief because I realized that I hadn’t yet blogged about that very subject. I knew that I just had to give proper coverage to that topic because it is one of the biggest rites of passage that a woman experiences when becoming a mother. To all of the yet-to-be mommies out there who are in complete denial of the open book your body will someday become, this is your warning that you may want to stop reading this now and go find a blog about gardening or something a little more tame.

Before I delve into the whole modesty-out-the-door experience, I have to set the stage for just how discreet I truly was before I had my son. Let’s rewind to the summer of 2003. This was the first time that my mother and I went shopping for my wedding gown. My parents lived right outside of Washington, D.C. at that point in Old Town Alexandria. I can remember Mom and I getting up and having a light breakfast, and then walking into town to one of the local bridal shops for my appointment. It was an absolutely gorgeous summer morning and I just couldn’t wait to find the dress of my dreams. I had this picture in my head of wearing something really simple and slinky and looking like Caroline Kennedy on my wedding day. I was 26 years old, blond, adorable, and much to my delight, I was somewhere between a size 0 and a size 2. (I know…don’t worry…I’m gagging right now too). Much to our disappointment, our “bridal consultant” was a good 45 minutes late for the appointment, at which point I wasn’t sure which would happen first: a.) either I would burst into tears and run out of the bridal salon in a huff and announce to the world that it just wasn’t worth it and that I would just elope to Vegas, or b.) my mother would turn a nice shade of cherry red, ask to speak to the manager, and proceed to read her the riot act and let her know that she worked at the Admiral’s Club at National Airport and would relay the message to every single politician in Washington that her bridal shop was the worst wedding dress venue in town. Anyhoo, I will get off that tangent because that is another story for another day.

Getting back on track, I don’t know exactly what I thought would happen once it was time to try on dresses, but I certainly didn’t think that the five-foot tall witch bridal consultant would be in the dressing room with me and would pretty much ask me to strip down to nothing but the tiny little thong I had on so that she could help me get those gowns over my head. I literally stood there and froze because I was absolutely mortified at the thought of this woman seeing me basically naked. My mother kept nodding her head and telling me that everything was ok, but I had no intention of letting that monster see me in the buff. She finally seemed to take the hint and turned around so I could at least pull the dress up over my exposed barely there A-cup breasts. There I was…maybe 117 pounds tops…and I didn’t want that woman to see me naked. Ok, fast forward to 2009…nearly four years after giving birth and knowing that I will never again in my life have one shred of the bod that I did when I got married. If I could go back to that bridal shop today knowing how smokin’ hot I looked, I would totally strip down to my skivvies, exit the dressing room, and let every single other bride-to-be in that establishment see what a hot little honey I was, knowing very well that in a few more years, no one would ever want to catch a glimpse of my nude self ever again.

I think that I started to lose my bashfulness a tiny bit while I was pregnant and visiting my OBGYN’s office on a regular basis. I mean, it was bad enough having to go in there once a year for the dreaded but absolutely necessary pap smear, but now I knew for a fact that every single time I went in there, I would be subjected to having things checked out “down there” just to make sure that everything was progressing smoothly. Things really weren’t too terrible though, because this was after all my doctor, and I had really developed a rappor with her and felt comfortable being in her office. NOTHING could have prepared me for what was about to take place a few months later when I checked into the hospital to have my labor induced.

I gave birth to my little guy at Sky Ridge Medical Center, just south of Denver. It was one of those hospitals that looked more like a resort. They even offered those “Amenity Suites” that you could choose to upgrade to after being moved from your labor and delivery room. These came complete with a bottle of wine for the new parents to indulge in and a bathroom with a jacuzzi tub. That’s right, a jacuzzi tub. They must have some sort of top-secret information that the rest of us aren’t important enough to know, because I know that taking a romantic jacuzzi tub with my hubby after I’d just pushed out an eight pound baby was the absolute last thing on either of our minds. We opted not to take the upgrade.

I checked into the hospital at 7:00pm on March 1st, at which point they put some sort of little “pill” by my cervix that was supposed to help me dilate, gave me a sleeping pill and told me they’d check me again in the morning. I was one centimeter when I went to sleep, and I was still one centimeter when I woke up the next day. They wound up bringing my doctor in around noon the next day because I hadn’t dilated any further, and she wound up breaking my water. That got me to about four centimeters within an hour…and I stayed at four centimeters for the next five hours or so. To my great fortune, there were three or four nurses in training on the labor and delivery ward that day, and because I was one of those “rare cases” who was progressing so slowly, they found it necessary to have each and every one of those trainees come in and shove their hand in my hoo-hoo to see if they could guess how many centimeters I was. I didn’t think that it could get any more humiliating then having a bunch of giggling nursing students standing around your hospital bed while your legs are completely spread eagle taking turns trying to figure out how big your cervix is by holding their fingers in the air and measuring their width. I was wrong.

Everyone had told me before I went into the hospital to wait as long as I could to get an epidural because the worst thing that could happen to me was to have it wear off while I was trying to push my son out. About 20 hours into my labor, I finally figured out that the epidurals at Sky Ridge were on a drip system and would not wear off at any point during the delivery. Actually, there was even a little button you could hit every hour to give you an extra dose of relief if you needed it. Why on EARTH didn’t some one inform me of this classified information when I was admitted to the hospital? I immediately told them that I was ready for the anesthesiologist to get his butt in there and give me that epidural. Much to my dismay, the chick next door to me had decided she wanted her epidural about three minutes before I wanted mine, so I had to endure another 20 minutes of agony before he finally came in. When he finally did walk into the room, I swear I could hear opera music. First of all, he was very easy on the eyes which was a total plus, and second of all, I knew he was bringing me the drugs. He could obviously tell that I was about to pass out from the pain, so he gave me a spinal block first, and then put in the epidural. The spinal block took effect immediately, whereas that epidural was going to take a good 30 minutes to kick in, and he knew I wouldn’t last that long without trying to kill my labor and delivery nurse or one of her little sidekicks. I will never forget how amazing I felt as the pain left my body. I probably would’ve made out with the anesthesiologist right there if it would’ve been acceptable behavior. I think I may have even winked at him a couple times in my state of complete bliss. And then, just when I thought the worst of my embarassment was over, I heard a sound coming from the bed. It was the sound of the beginning of a series of uncontrollable farts coming from my body. I was too numb to feel them coming so I couldn’t squeeze my butt cheeks together to hold them in. All I could do was just let ‘er rip and act like nothing out of the ordinary was happening. There I was, lying in a hospital bed with the hot anesthesiologist, a couple of nurses, and their little puppy dogs hovering over me and pretending not to notice even though there was no way in hell they could possibly tune out the symphony I was playing. I officially lost my modesty for good in that moment.

It’s been almost four years since I had my son, and I know that I can never go back to being the naive girl in that bridal salon dressing room. After my whole birthing experience, I finally realized that doctors see people naked all the time and there is really nothing all that special or interesting about my 32-year old post-baby-bod as far as they’re concerned. And as for that poor anesthesiologist…I just hope that he learned something from his experience with me and went out and bought a pair of earplugs for future spinal block and epidural incidents.

The Mommyologist’s Last Word: “A true sign that I’ve made a full transition to being an un-modest mother? I actually look forward to going to the OBGYN nowadays. It’s an hour to myself, and that’s priceless.”

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Posted Under: childbirth, epidural, modesty
November 16, 2009

Totally Rockin’ Girls Weekend

Last night, I returned from one of the most awesome girls weekends I’ve ever had in my life! It was one of those weekends that had been on my calendar for a couple months and as the date of my departure inched closer and closer I got more and more excited. Girls weekends have always been great, but since having a child their value has risen considerably. I need these weekends to replenish my spirit and remind me that I am still capable of being the “fun chick” and to remember that once upon a time I was actually someone other than “Mommy.” I think that too often as mothers, we forget that we were in fact individuals at one point in our lives and if we don’t get away once in a while to reconnect with our pre-mommy personnas, it really just isn’t good for our health. Spending time with my best girlfriends always makes my “hidden” identity come to life again.

Before I left last week, I found myself kind of panicking at the thought of something going wrong that would stop me from getting on that plane on Friday. It is that time of year again, and the kiddos seem to be catching every little bug out there, so my poor son was subjected to practically being doused in Purell from head to toe anytime we ventured out in public. I mean, I’m a total germophobe anyway, but you dangle some much needed “girl time” in front of me and I pretty much turn into a complete lunatic. I was just convinced that the little guy was going to come down with something and my girls weekend would go right in the crapper. In my paranoid state of mind, I actually thought that the flu bug had a mind of its own and would just know that I had an upcoming girls weekend and would look at me and chuckle and say, “Screw you lady! You’re not going anywhere!” Apparently the flu bug didn’t know that it was talking to the Sanitizer Queen. You just don’t mess with her. The Purell showers paid off, I won the battle, and got on that flight without a hitch.

The friend that I visited on this particular trip is my best friend and former roommate from my days at the University of Tennessee (UT). To say that she and I “really raised hell” in our time at UT doesn’t even begin to justify the kind of antics that she and I used to get into. By the time we graduated, I think we were pretty much household names on that campus. To this day I’m still not sure if that is a good thing or a bad thing, but I do know that I’ve never had more fun in my life than I did in those short four years and I will never regret one second of my college experience. Somehow we managed to graduate without being kicked out of school for swimming in the fountain in front of the Humanities building or for charging all of our sorority sisters $1 per T-shirt for the Greek Week T-shirts she and I got for FREE since she was the Greek Week chair that year. (Those chicks thought they were getting the deal of the century… Suckers!). I guess now that the cat’s out of the bag I might as well also admit that we took the $90 or so that we got from those t-shirts and bought beer with the money. (Admit it, you think it was an awesome plan and wish you’d thought of it yourself)! Yep, we were pretty much legends. The poor UT Torchbearer statue in the middle of campus may never be the same after the way we treated him, but I think that she and I will go down in history as two of the coolest chicks who ever set foot on that campus. I won’t go into anymore detail on that story. This IS a mommy-blog after all!

My flight arrived at around 2:00pm on Friday, and my friend and I decided that it would be easiest for her to just keep driving around in circles around the airport until she saw me emerge from the terminal doors. A few months ago, she would’ve arrived an hour early and parked herself at the airport bar until my flight came in, at which point I would have parked myself on the bar stool right next to her and we would’ve had a good buzz going before we even left the airport. Of course, a few months ago she wasn’t toting along a newborn baby with her! She gave birth to her first child, a little girl, this past August, and now she was frantically driving in circles around the airport to avoid the crisis of the baby waking up, realizing she was strapped into the car seat, and screaming her head off in protest of that car seat the entire way home. When I finally came out of the building and saw her, we did a quick hug, threw my bag in the trunk, and hauled ass back to her house as fast as we could.

The car ride back to the house was just the first glimpse of the realization that our “girls weekends” have officially changed for good now that we are both mommies. Now, I’m not saying for one second that we didn’t have fun because truth be told, we had an absolute blast! It’s just that “fun” has definitely taken on a whole new meaning these days. Upon arrival back at my friend’s house, she gave me a quick tour, and then decided that it was time to go ahead and bust out the snacks. She was after all, a breast-feeding-mama and we all know that breast feeding makes you completely ravenous! She proceeded to pull out the lil’ smokies and crescent rolls from the fridge and baked us a delicious tray of pigs-in-a-blanket. Breast feeding burns an extra 500 or so calories a day, so there was really no issue with her sitting there and wolfing down those delicious hors d’oeuvres. I, on the other hand, had no excuse for such behavior. I have been working so hard these days to shed my inevitable five pound layer that shows up every fall, but those little porkers kept calling out to me and I just couldn’t resist, so I decided in celebration of being back together with my best gal, that I’d better have some of those pigs-in-a-blanket too. You know what? Don’t tell anybody, but I enjoyed every single one that I put in my mouth. And I’d definitely eat them again if a similar situation were to arise.

After we were finished stuffing our faces, it was time for the little munchkin’s feeding. My friend is one of the lucky ones out there who has had an insanely easy time with breast feeding. The baby latched right on and she’s a good eater and my bud’s got her on a great schedule. Let’s not forget the fact that she’s got these voluptuous boobs with totally bangin’ cleavage. Am I jealous? Yeah, a little. She’s also teeny tiny and if you saw her on the street you’d never believe she’d just had a baby two and a half months ago, but I kind of expected that one. If I could bounce back that quickly and look as good as her, I’d pop out a few more kids in a heartbeat. Ok, all body envy aside, let’s get back to the feeding. My friend may be lucky as far as the breasts go, but as far as feeding the munchkin goes, she’s got a spitter on her hands. The little beauty just happens to be one of those babies who can take someone out with one shot after a feeding. All babies burp after eating, but some just like to throw in a little extra sauce with the burps. After this particular feeding, my friend got a direct hit to the shoulder and kind of down her back too. I followed her into the baby’s room to get a new burp cloth and to change the munchkin’s diaper, and I stood there and looked at my friend and noticed that she had puke in her hair. Staying true to my witty self, I said to her, “well, at least it’s not your own puke in your hair this time…there’s something to be said for that!” At that point our hidden pre-mommy identities resurfaced and we busted out in uncontrollable laughter. This opened the door to a whole host of stories that we’d almost buried and forgotten about, and we just couldn’t resist the urge to relive them and have a few more laughs about the crazy girls that we once were. We spent the rest of the day and night just catching up and reminiscing and talking about all the things we did in college that hopefully both of us will take to our graves in an effort to save our children any unnecessary embarrassment and humiliation.

The next day we took a drive down to the UT campus and just rode around to check out some of our old haunts. I couldn’t believe how much the place had changed since we went there. I have to admit, I was actually disappointed to find that the very first dorm I lived in had been updated and looked all swanky and new, almost like a hotel. I firmly believe that part of the true college experience is living in a 10 x 10 cell with cinder block walls, no air conditioning, and a communal bathroom. I guess today’s freshmen just can’t handle roughing it in any way, shape or form. They don’t know what they’re missing! We also took a little drive down “frat row.” I sort of sunk down in my seat and poked my head up just enough to see out the windows when we drove by. You just never know what sort of frat-daddy alumni are still hanging around those houses on the weekends watching the football games and trying to convince themselves that 1.) they are still cool enough to hang with today’s frat guys, and 2.) that they still have hair.

After our little joy ride, we decided that we’d better grab some lunch to bring back to the house. My friend asked me if there was anything in particular that I’d like to have and only one thing came to mind. CHICK-FIL-A!! For those of you who have never had the privilege of eating at Chick-Fil-A, it is the most wonderful fast-food restaurant in the country and I feel sorry for you. If you are ever below the Mason-Dixon line, make sure to stop at the first one you see. They didn’t invent the chicken, but they did invent the chicken sandwich. We got in the drive-thru line to get our meals and weren’t shocked that there were about five or six cars ahead of us. The baby had been happily sleeping up until that point, but the minute the car started to slow down in that drive-thru lane, she was insistent on letting us know that she did not approve of the car stopping for any period of time. My friend proceeded to turn halfway around and start shaking the car seat back and forth in an effort to settle her little girl down long enough so that the drive-thru lady could hear our order. If anyone reading this knows of an invention that will shake the car seat for you, please let me know. My friend is definitely interested in doing business with you.

After the Chick-Fil-A adventure, we went back to my friend’s house to scarf down our food and relax a little for the afternoon before going out for a much-needed girls dinner, just the two of us! Her parents live nearby and had offered to keep the munchkin for a couple hours so that she and I could escape for some more delicious food and a little adult conversation. A pot of coffee, two showers, and one last minute wardrobe change later due to a post-feeding malfunction, we were off to the grandparents’ house to quickly drop off the baby and make our escape. I think we had almost convinced ourselves that we weren’t so much different from those fun loving college girls we used to be…and then my friend sent a text message to her husband (who was away on a boys weekend) and said that we were heading out for a night on the town and that she was wearing her “Fu!$-me” boots and double nursing pads. Honestly ladies and gentlemen, does it get any sexier than that?

Times have definitely changed as far as girls weekends go, but I wouldn’t change it for a second. The two crazy chicks from UT may be hard to recognize most days, but underneath the spit-up, breast pads, and even that five pound layer that I’m forever toting around, we are still in there if you look hard enough! I’m positive that down the road, as our little ones get a bit older, that we can do more girls weekends alone and maybe squeeze a little partying in if we can manage to stay awake. For now though, there is just no masking the fact that we’ve forever been branded as mommies.

I got in late last night and my son was already asleep, so I couldn’t wait to see the little dude this morning! I went into his room when he woke up and he wrapped his little arms around me and said, “I’m so glad you’re back Mommy!” We came downstairs and I presented him with the toy dune-buggy that I’d bought him at the airport before I left. He was more than delighted with his little gift, turned it on, and happily played with it for about 10 minutes. It was at that point that the two “C-size” batteries that I thought were so smart of me to buy at the airport gift shop for $5.99 proceeded to die and the little car stopped moving. My son looked at me, started crying about how he wanted a new toy, and then told me that he wanted Daddy back. I hadn’t been up with him for 30 minutes yet and he was already done with me. In the next minute, I heard him calling for me from the bathroom. I went in there and after he’d done his business, he turned to me and said, “Mommy, look at my poop! It’s like garden worms!” I really don’t need any further reminder after my rockin’ girls weekend of who I actually am these days. He pretty much cleared things up for me.

The Mommyologist’s Last Word: “All I know is when my best bud and I do finally get a girls weekend just the two of us, the UT Torchbearer better look out. We are older and wiser and totally broken-in as moms and that poor statue won’t know what hit him.”

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Posted Under: breast feeding, college, girls weekend
November 12, 2009

Tall Tales From La-La Land: Volume One

Yesterday evening as my little one was happily watching the new “Up” DVD that I’d bought him earlier that day at Target, I took advantage of having a few moments to myself and picked up the issue of People that I bought last week but never got around to reading. It’s the issue that has Fergie on the cover with the article titled “Rocked By Scandal.” I love a good Hollywood scandal because it makes me feel better about my own “normal” life, so I thought that this magazine would be a fun read. There was also a cover article with the first photos of Sarah Michelle Gellar and Freddie Prinze Jr.’s new baby girl, Charlotte, which I was even more interested in. Ever since I had my own baby, I’ve just been way more interested in anything celebrity baby related. I’ve always thought that Sarah Michelle and Freddie seemed like a pretty down to earth couple, well, atleast they seem as down to earth as you can possibly get out there in la-la-land, so I was really looking forward to reading all about their new addition.

I wasn’t surprised that Sarah Michelle looked absolutely stunning in all of her photos in this article. There were no bags under her eyes, her hair had actually been washed and blown out and looked all voluminous, her make-up was perfect, and it looked as if she was already back in her skinny jeans just six weeks after giving birth. (That BITCH)! At any rate, this really didn’t bother me at all, because I’m sure that if People magazine got a hold of me and prepped me for a photo shoot, I would look absolutely hot as hell and would graduate right back up to MILF status. I mean, c’mon, it’s a magazine and anyone looks good after a team of professionals has worked them over from head to toe.

The article started off okay and I was actually kind of nodding my head in agreement as miss Sarah Michelle talked about how she can’t remember anything anymore unless she writes it down. “I can relate to that”, I thought. I can’t even remember to pick up milk at the grocery store unless I have it on my shopping list or my three-and-a-half year old is there to remind me to add it to the cart. It’s pretty bad when you rely on your preschooler to remember what items are needed from the grocery store. I was almost fooled into thinking that maybe, just maybe this Hollywood star was just like the rest of us and was trying to get through the first couple months of mommyhood without being admitted to a mental institution. Then I made the mistake of turning the page to continue reading the article. That is when the inevitable celebrity bullshit started.

I think that Sarah Michelle officially lost me when she declared that she went into labor at the gym. The gym? Seriously? I can remember doing a prenatal yoga DVD up until about my sixth month and then laughing hysterically because I was just too big to get into any of the poses. During my last trimester, I was lucky to walk out to the mailbox without breaking a sweat let alone hit the gym! My fat butt was perfectly content to sit on the couch, eat snacks and watch soap operas and Oprah. The article then went on to tell how she came home from the gym and still did not realize she was in labor. Um, hello? All I know is that when I was in labor clutching the side rails of the hospital bed to try and deal with the agony, there was no mistaking what was taking place. According to Freddie, Sarah Michelle was, “calm, very centered, and very prepared.” He also compared his wife to Ghandi. Ok, at this point I was reeling and felt like I was about to puke. Ghandi? On the day of my son’s birth, my poor husband probably would’ve compared me to either Humpty Dumpty or the girl from the Exorcist.

I don’t know why I even kept reading this article, but I guess since I was already that far in I thought I might as well finish and see what other good laughs I could get from it. I about threw the damn magazine across the room when Sarah Michelle announced that they “do have someone who helps five days a week”, and that Freddie is “very hands on” and wouldn’t let her change a diaper the whole first week and cooked her all these amazing meals. All I know is that I can 100% guarantee that if we’d had someone helping us out five days a week when my son was born, I wouldn’t have had to change a diaper either. And if there was someone there helping out, then why in the hell would I even have my husband bother to change a diaper? Even better, my hubby is an awesome cook, so if there was someone else there besides us who was already changing the baby’s diaper, feeding him, AND getting up with him in the middle of the night so my husband would have the time and the energy to cook up some amazing meals, then I would’ve said, “More power to ya honey! Cook away!” As if I wasn’t already irritated enough, little miss Sarah Michelle had to top things off by saying that she “wasn’t going back to work anytime soon.” Let me get this straight. The chick isn’t working, yet she still feels the need to have someone there “helping” five days a week. What the hell is she doing all day if she’s not working and someone else is taking care of her baby girl? Ok, don’t answer that. I don’t want to know. She’s probably doing all sorts of luxurious things that I only dreamt of as a new mom like bathing, eating, sleeping, etc. Needless to say, I am totally over Sarah Michelle and Freddie.

After I finished reading that article, I paused for a moment to think about why it bothered me so much. I mean, it was pretty typical of any other celebrity baby story I’ve ever read. It dawned on me that the reason I get so upset about these types of articles is because somewhere out there, there is a brand new-mom who is sitting there on her sofa and crying reading that article because she thinks that is “the norm” and she can’t understand why she is still carrying her baby weight after six weeks, why she looks and feels like absolute hell, and why in her completely sleep deprived and overwhelmed state of mind she is questioning whether this was the right time for her to have a child. I know that she is out there because three-and-a-half years ago I WAS that girl, and I’d never felt so isolated in my life. I just want to shout from the rooftops to all of those poor new mommies out there who are feeling the same way that YOU ARE NORMAL and HOLLYWOOD IS A FREAKIN’ FAIRYTALE!

The false picture doesn’t stop with the celebrity baby articles, actually those are just the beginning. If you want to see a good example of how Hollywood tries to trick women into thinking that it is normal for mothers to look like beauty queens 24-hours a day, just tune into “Ghost Whisperer” every Friday night. Before I go any further, I will say that I love Ghost Whisperer, and I have absolutely nothing against Jennifer Love Hewitt. I think she’s cute as a button and for the record, that girl is NOT fat. On the show this season, her character, Melinda, has a five-year old little boy to take care of, and she also manages an antique store and talks to ghosts and solves their problems in her “spare time.” Take a good look at Melinda the next time you watch. I mean, the chick is dressed to the nines in every single episode! They have her in these dresses that I can’t even think of an occasion in my normal mommy life where it would be appropriate to wear them. I didn’t even look that fancy at my own prom! And don’t even get me started on the make-up. I put on make-up every day too, but I put on subtle “mom” make-up. I don’t look like I’m going to the Academy Awards when I drop my son off at preschool. I think they even have her wearing false eyelashes! What mommy in her right mind has time to glue fake little hairs to her eyelids on a daily basis? Let’s not forget to mention the fact that her hair is always perfectly curled and is never pulled back into the dreaded “I haven’t washed my hair in two days” ponytail. Apparently that would just be a disgrace on the Ghost Whisperer set. On last week’s episode, there was a scene where she woke up in the middle of the night and was having some sort of ghostly vision. As she sat up in the bed, I noticed that her bedtime attire was right up to par with her daytime look. She had on this sexy, black underwire bustier looking thing. I’m sorry, but do normal women really sleep in underwire? I go to sleep each night in an old Kappa Kappa Gamma t-shirt and pajama pants from Old Navy. I may not be the sexiest chick on the block but atleast I don’t wake up with red marks under my boobs from the underwire cutting into me!

Hollywood sure paints a glamorous picture of their mommies, that’s for sure! Out here in the land of REALITY though, it’s just a totally different story. This morning I was rushing around getting my son ready for preschool, and I was so pleased with myself because I managed to get dressed, get my make-up on, (once again, no time for a shower because I wanted to have coffee), and get downstairs and ready to go with about seven minutes to spare. I left the house thinking that I may not be a celebrity, but I looked pretty damn good for getting ready in 20 minutes.

After I dropped the little man off, I ran to the grocery store to pick up something to have for dinner tonight. I was totally psyched because pork tenderloins were buy one get one free. SCORE! I noticed as I made my way around the store that I was getting a couple of weird looks from people, but I just figured maybe they were impressed with the new color job that I got at the salon a couple weeks ago. It wasn’t until I got home that I realized what they were staring at. In my mad morning dash to get ready on time, I had put my shirt on inside out.

Not only had I walked all over the Big-Y grocery store with tags hanging off the side of me…I’d also dropped off my son at school dressed like this. I wonder if the other preschool moms even noticed? Nah, probably not! And even if they did, they’d probably just think to themselves, “Thank GOD that girl is a normal mom just like the rest of us!”

The Mommyologist’s Last Word: “If you want a real and honest picture of what a brand new mom looks like, put down the People and head to your local mall at around 10am. You will then catch a glimpse of the “stroller patrol” complete with plenty of other new mommies who are out there, just trying to get through the day one leaky boob at a time!”



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Posted Under: Hollywood, magazines, new mom, TV shows
November 11, 2009

Once Upon a Time, In a Land Far Far Away…

…There lived a man and a woman who spent day after day dreaming of having their very own little piece of paradise. This magical place was a land free of cheerios stuck to the coffee table, wet spots on the couch from those infamous “spill-proof” sippy cups, and incessant demands from the master of their house, better known as their headstrong three-and-a-half year old. In this fairytale world, the man and the woman could sit comfortably on their couch without being pushed out of their seats by a little man declaring that those seats were indeed HIS, and served a greater purpose as part of the “train” that he builds each night. Yes, my friends, this would-be oasis is completely train free, and it is also sound-proof. The man and the woman are welcome to sit night after night in complete silence, unless they choose to indulge themselves in whatever hot new reality TV show is on. The best part of this pleasure-filled wonderland? The man and the woman can walk back and forth to the kitchen rest assured that there are no matchbox cars to trip over. It is for these reasons along with many others that this man and woman spend night after night dreaming of the moment that the clock will change to 8:00pm and they can finally venture into their fairytale world. It’s a little place I like to refer to as “Adultland.”

Even as I sit here and try to write this post, I’m reminded that venturing back to Adultland is atleast a good four hours away. My son is in the family room playing with his toys while watching Dive Olly Dive on Sprout and listening to music all at the same time. Did I mention that the neighbor is also out with the leafblower for about the fifth time this week? If I weren’t a well-broken in mother who is more than able to tune out every little distraction, this entry may not get done today. The truth is, I’d rather sit here and write and try my best to concentrate because at least here in the kitchen at my computer, all hell hasn’t broken loose yet. I honestly don’t even want to know what sort of items he has piled up on the other side of that couch. You see, when he thinks that I’m not paying attention, (kids are totally oblivious to the fact that moms have superpowers and know exactly what they are getting into even if we are not directly involved in the situation), he takes it upon himself to fetch most of the larger toys out of his playroom and pile them up on top of the couch. A typical pre-Adultland scene at my house generally resembles the photo below:

I know what all of you yet-to-be-mommies are thinking at this point. “Ok, just because the Mommyologist allows her house to look like a tornado has blown through her family room doesn’t mean that I will let such nonsense happen after I have kids!” Yeah, good luck with that one sweetheart! Truth be told, your bundle will completely take over your residence as soon as you bring the little angel home from the hospital and Adultland will be a thing of the past.

I remember the first time that I really understood that my living room had been permanently taken hostage by an adorable eight pound human. It was about a week after we’d brought my son home and my husband’s boss and his wife were coming over to meet our new addition for the first time. I was already a complete and total basketcase and honestly didn’t know how in the hell I was supposed to handle visitors, but I sucked it up and decided maybe it would be good for me to have a conversation with someone that didn’t involve me sobbing uncontrollably. I did the best I could to re-arrange the living room so it at least looked as if my husband and I still lived there. Of course, the breast-pump sitting in a corner on the kitchen counter, pack and play behind the couch, bassinet in the middle of the room, and baby swing in front of the sliding glass door absolutely gave us away as brand new parents! Our guests were scheduled to arrive around 6:00pm, which was perfect because my bundle usually ate around 5:30pm. This meant that I could feed him and he’d be content and completely presentable to our very first visitors. God forbid a newborn should CRY when the boss arrived! I could feel the panic rising up in my chest as the clock ticked past 6:00pm and was now nearing the 6:45pm mark. That little bugger would need to eat again around 7:00pm, and I just couldn’t seem to get my head around what I was going to do if these people walked into my house and my baby was screaming his head off for the boob. It was like I thought they would completely judge me as a bad mother if that baby wasn’t sleeping or cooing happily in his little bassinet the minute they arrived. Of course, now that I’m a seasoned mom I know that they wouldn’t have judged me at all and that they would have just chalked it up to that kid being a newborn and all. DUH! At that point in my new-mom world of confusion though, I about had an anxiety attack just waiting for the doorbell to ring.

The doorbell finally did ring just before 7:00pm, so I said hello quickly, they got a small glimpse of the bundle, and then I had to run upstairs to feed the little guy. I got upstairs, sat down in the rocking chair, offered him the boob and then bawled my eyes out because the boss and his wife had not shown up alone. NOPE! They showed up with their two boys, about 8 and 10 years old at that point, and the DOG. At that moment, I had no idea how in the world I was ever going to compose myself and head back downstairs to keep up the “Things are just GREAT!” lie that so many new moms feel that they have to present to everyone.

As I sat there and my baby happily sucked away, I heard several noises coming from downstairs. First of all, I heard that dog whining and crying. Don’t get me wrong, I love dogs and to be quite honest, I was absolutely nuts over that particular dog. He was the cutest little shih-tzu you’d ever seen, and my hubby and I had watched him on numerous occasions while the boss and his family were on vacation. I used to love keeping that little dog and he would just crawl up in my lap and cuddle the whole time I had him. Apparently he was pretty ticked off that I had something else cuddled in my lap and he wanted me to know that he did not approve, so he sat on the mat by the front door and cried until they left. Ok, back to those other noises. Over the whine of the dog, I heard a newly familiar sound. This was a sound that absolutely made my blood boil and made me think that I was going to rip the hairs right out of my head. It was the sound of our new Eddie Bauer infant swing, and the music button that refused to shut off. The minute you pressed that button, the damn thing would play music for 10 minutes straight and there was no way of turning it off. It seems that the two boys downstairs got a major kick out of this, and just kept hitting that button over and over again. I was positive that they were going to do permanent damage to it and the thing would wind up playing that music nonstop 24-hours a day and that it was going to wind up on the front curb by the end of the night. It was official! My house had transitioned from a zero-lot first-time homeowners little love nest into a hodge-podge of a swing that wouldn’t shut up, a pack-and-play, a bassinet, and let’s not forget that oh-so-wonderful breast pump sitting on the kitchen counter. As much as I tried to fight it, Adultland was pretty much gone for good.

As my son got older and older, our “adult” living space kept getting smaller and smaller. As they grow, so do the size of the toys, and as they get more mobile, the area in which the toys wind up scattered widens as well. Before we knew it, our son had pretty much taken over each and every single room in our home. It got to a point where we were lucky to sit down anywhere without a monster truck jamming us in the butt. We did have enough sense when we moved into our current house to turn what is supposed to be the formal living room into a playroom for our little guy. To be quite honest, I don’t even know the definition of “formal” anymore, and there is just no place for anything “formal” in this house. I am actually quite fine with him having that room all to himself, because at the end of the night, no matter what kind of havoc has been wreaked upon the rest of this dwelling, at least there is a place to put all of the toys away, and we can escape for a while back into the peaceful oasis of Adultland. Well, at least until the prince awakens at 7:00am.

The Mommyologist’s Last Word: “To all of the pregnant chickadees out there, enjoy the serenity of Adultland now. Your territory will soon be invaded…and the odds of winning are stacked against you!

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Posted Under: clutter, toys, visitors
November 10, 2009

It Really Shouldn’t Be This Hard

Happy Monday everyone! I woke up this morning absolutely delighted because today it was going to be unseasonably warm for November in Connecticut…66 and sunny in fact! I just couldn’t wait to start my day. My son doesn’t have preschool on Mondays, so I thought this would be the perfect day to get out there and enjoy ourselves a little without having to worry about taking coats on and off. I figured that we might as well take advantage of this warm weather because in another couple weeks or so, we will be cooped up like two lunatics in this asylum that my house will become once the snow hits. While fall in New England is nothing short of miraculous, winter in New England is pretty much like being in prison. Sure, the snow is pretty and all, but when you haven’t been out of your house in a week and your son has knocked over pieces of furniture in an effort to blow off some three year old steam, you just tend to get a little “cuckoo!”

I had every intention of getting us dressed and out the door by around 10:30am. I figured that we could run a couple errands and then go out to lunch and then maybe head to a local park so the little guy could run around for a couple hours before it got dark at 4:30. Yes, that’s right…I said 4:30. Alright, let’s get back on track to my good intentions for today. Somehow it seems that whenever I make any sort of tentative plan to leave the house at a certain time, the heavens open up and some sort of rain cloud dumps everything it has on top of me.

Let’s see…where should we begin. I think I’ll start with my son accidentally peeing on me. This is definitely not the first time this has happened, as any parent of a little boy will tell you, getting pissed on is sort of a rite of passage with having a son. For whatever reason, it just seems a little more shocking when it comes shooting straight out at you as your son sits on the toilet trying to take a poop. I remember this very same thing happening to me about a month ago on my six-year wedding anniversary. In 2003, my husband and I had a moonlit wedding on the beach in the Florida Keys. In 2009, my son pissed on me in a restaurant bathroom while we were out celebrating our anniversary breakfast. Yep, getting peed on is some sort of initiation alright!

Back to this morning’s little episode. We have one of those little potty seats that I always put on top of the regular seat for him whenever he has to go #2. It has this little plastic “pee-guard” to avoid having pee-covered parents, but today his little wiener just didn’t make it all the way under that pee-guard. Nope, not even close! He was sitting there turning purple and trying to drop a deuce, and the next thing I knew I had pee all over my shirt. Being the adorable little man that he is, he just sort of giggled at me and said, “Oops! I forgot to keep “it” down!” I couldn’t help but laugh a little too…I mean, if you can’t laugh at yourself while covered in your child’s pee, when can you laugh at yourself? What’s the clear sign that I’ve fully transitioned from diva to mother? I didn’t wipe the pee off. And I didn’t bother to change my shirt. I figured that I’d be heading upstairs fairly soon after that to take a shower, so what was another few minutes in a pee-covered top? About an hour later, after rotating laundry, sending emails, and playing “picnic” with my son to avoid a potential meltdown, I finally made it upstairs for my much needed shower and shirt change around 10:30am. Yes, 10:30am…the time that I was supposed to be leaving the house.

Since I had my son, taking a shower just isn’t what it used to be. I used to love that first-thing-in-the-morning hot shower…where I wasn’t even fully awake before the water hit me. I used to love just standing under that hot water and letting it revive and energize me for the day ahead. I used to love staying in that shower as long as I wanted. Everything changed once my bundle arrived. During the first few weeks, I was lucky to get a shower at all. I was actually lucky if I even remembered to take a shower at that point in time. As my baby got older, I realized that I could put him in his bouncy seat and drag him into the bathroom with me so at least I could start having acceptable hygiene habits again. When he outgrew the bouncer, I stuck him in the exersaucer. When he about tipped over the exersaucer, I had this plastic corral thing that I would put in my bedroom that he would play in. Eventually, he outgrew that corral too, and to my complete shock, one day I was in the middle of taking a shower and the next thing I knew he had crawled over the side of that corral, toddled into the bathroom, and started opening and closing the shower door and playing peek-a-boo with me. At that point, I started dragging him into the bathroom with me with a bunch of matchbox cars and just letting him play on the floor while I took about a 2 1/2 minute shower so he wouldn’t take out everything in the drawers and cabinets. I found him sitting on that floor smiling and holding a tampon on more than one occasion.

I have to admit that I am lucky enough that we’ve finally graduated to the point where I can leave him in my bedroom with the TV on, and usually he will either sit in my bed and watch a show while I take a shower, or he’ll sit on the floor of my room and play with a bin of toys that I have up there for him. Don’t get too jealous yet though…this still doesn’t mean that my showers are uneventful. This morning’s shower was far from being nice and relaxing! I always wash my face last when I’m in there, and this morning I was treating myself to a quick Green Tea Mask just to have a quick 30-second spa during my shower-time. I had just rubbed the mask on my face and I heard my little guy screaming and crying hysterically for me. I slid open the shower door and popped my head out, and there was my son with his leg STUCK in between the mattress of the bed and the footboard. I quickly got out of the shower, grabbed a towel, and ran to set him free. The poor little thing! I was able to loosen his leg right away, and everything seemed fine, so I went to hop back in the shower to rinse off what was left of the green tea mask. Of course now my bedroom carpet was all wet, but I tried not to worry about it. There are just way better things to worry about in life than a wet bedroom carpet, such as a wet bathroom floor. In my attempt to quickly get back into that nice, hot shower, I forgot that I’d left a trail of water leading from the bathroom to the bedroom and proceeded to lose my footing and slip on my way back to the shower. Luckily, I caught myself on the shower door and managed to avoid any sort of injury. Now that I think about it, I’m lucky that I didn’t pull the shower door off.

I finally did manage to finish that shower, and when I’d finally gotten completely dry to avoid any further slippage, I went into the bedroom to find that my son had found the empty box from the new flatiron I bought last week and had ripped it into two separate pieces. He had shoved his little leg into one piece and was using the other as a telescope and told me that he was a pirate. You really just can’t beat the imagination of a three-and-a-half year old.


We did finally make it out of the house for the day around 2:00pm. We probably would’ve gotten out sooner, but while I was getting dressed after my “relaxing” shower this morning, a certain pirate grabbed my I-phone, which was still in the camera setting after taking his picture, and took a bunch of pictures of me wearing nothing but a bra and hanky panky thong. I had to delete each and every single one before we left the house. I was just way too appalled at the thought of any of those incriminating photos resurfacing at a later date.

The Mommyologist’s Last Word: I’m making an executive decision tonight and resolving to skip tomorrow morning’s shower. It’s a preschool morning and I just can’t take the risk.

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Posted Under: getting out of the house, pee, shower
November 9, 2009

Are You Gonna Eat That?

Ok, I have a confession to make. This past Saturday, my son asked me if he could have one of the leftover cupcakes from last week’s Halloween party that my friend down the street baked. They are adorable. She even cut some out in the shape of ghosts and put little candy eyes on them…which would have tipped anyone else who entered my house off that I did not bake them. I’m ok in the baking department, but I’m not that good! Back to my little guilty secret. Granted, I really don’t mind my son having a cupcake. I am not one of those moms who won’t let her kid eat sugar. This was yet another thing I boasted about while pregnant and threw out the window the first time my kid was having a hissy fit and I popped a dum-dum in his mouth to reclaim my sanity. My confession is that the real reason I let him have a cupcake just a short hour and a half or so before dinner is because I was hoping that he would follow his traditional pattern of licking off the frosting and leaving most of the cake behind, which means that I would just HAVE to finish that cake to avoid being wasteful. I mean, there are people starving in this world and that would just be a total slap in the face to them if I didn’t eat the remnants of that poor ghost.

The stage was set perfectly. My husband was in the family room happily being occupied by his girlfriend, (a.k.a. I-pod touch) and I figured he wouldn’t notice if I jammed the rest of that cupcake in my mouth once my son was done with his share of it. To my complete and utter dismay, things didn’t go according to plan this time. Instead of licking the frosting first, my son bit the head off that damn ghost and just dug right into that cupcake…and the next thing you knew he had dropped it frosting-side down right onto the kitchen table. If I was the Martha Stewart type I would’ve immediately ran for a paper towel, wiped up the frosting, and gotten him a fresh cupcake, but again, I didn’t want to be wasteful. He looked at me as if to say, “What the hell do I do now Mommy?” I told him to do what I would’ve done in this exact situation. I told him to lick the frosting right off the table. Who are we kidding? I told him to lick the frosting off because I was jealous and wished that I was the one licking that frosting off the table. Since I couldn’t lick the frosting off the table, I figured that I might as well watch him enjoy it!

As I watched him lick away with delight, I sat there and thought about how many times I have cheated on my diet by polishing off the leftover food on my son’s plate. For the most part, I am a pretty healthy eater and I try to avoid processed foods and all that other junk that is supposed to completely clog up my system and speed up the aging process. I don’t avoid these foods because I’m making a healthy lifestyle choice. I avoid these foods because I have come to accept that I will just never be one of those women who can eat whatever they want and not gain an ounce. Whenever someone asks me how I dropped all of my baby weight, there is only one truthful answer I can give: hard work and sacrifice.

After I had my son, I was under the impression that I would be back in my size 27 Seven Jeans about 2 weeks after giving birth. I don’t know what planet I was living on at the time, but I can remember being completely dumbfounded when the first 20 or so of the 50 pounds I gained fell right off and the last 30 hung on for dear life. To all of the mommies reading this post, isn’t losing baby weight a real bitch? As if nine months of having a human being living inside of you, soaking up all of your energy, giving you hemorrhoids, and making your boobs leak isn’t enough, AFTER the kid is out, these horrific fat deposits just take up permanent residence on your hips. Can’t a girl catch a break??

I was hell-bent and determined NOT to be the girl who completely let herself go to hell after having a child, so I got my fat ass off the couch and got out the door at 7am each morning with the stroller. It took me a good nine months of walking for an hour and a half a day six days a week to finally take off every last ounce of that baby weight plus a few extra pounds, which put me below my pre-pregnancy weight, which then put me back at my wedding weight. I had never been so proud of any other accomplishment in my life up until that point. I mean, the 27s were actually getting too big at that point! I couldn’t believe it…I had pretty much achieved my post-baby dream of becoming a MILF. If for some reason you don’t know what a MILF is, go rent American Pie. It’ll clear things up for you!

I kept my MILF status right up until about the point that my son started eating solid foods. And yes, I’ve just figured out this correlation. You see, when your baby is eating pureed chicken and vegetables and GOD knows what out of a jar, it is easy to just stick to the salad that is on your plate. When your baby grows up a little, however, and moves into the toddler phase, things start getting a little tricky. Before you know it your little bundle is munching on grilled cheese sandwiches, chicken nuggets, pizza, and all sorts of other delicious things that you usually swear off eating, but now can’t seem to resist sampling off your little one’s plate.

When my son turned about 18 months old, that is when I noticed “the layer” starting to form again. All of a sudden, those size 27s were getting a little snug…actually they looked more like they’d been painted on. I wound up buying a couple pairs of “fat” jeans and just attributing my new layer of love to the fact that the weather in Connecticut just wasn’t as good as the weather in Colorado, so I couldn’t walk as much until it got warmer. It is funny how I’ll make up excuses like that just to convince myself that the layer is perfectly normal and acceptable to me. I’d love to say that the layer magically disappeared again once the weather got warmer, but it didn’t. It wasn’t until I got out there with that stroller again, and started paying more attention to exactly what I was eating that it finally started to retreat a little.

The problem is that whenver I diet, I diet hardcore. I get really disciplined about everything that I put into my mouth, which usually leaves me starving by the end of the night. When I am completely ravenous, I just can’t seem to resist whatever is leftover from my little man’s dinner. We don’t have a dog in our house and there is no need for one. When I’m in a diet phase, you can find me sitting on the floor under my son’s chair waiting for scraps of food to fall off. I swear that I just sit there and stare at him and watch him eat in complete anticipation of what delicious morsels he is going to leave behind for me to gobble up. I’m ashamed to admit that it got so bad one time that I actually ate macaroni and cheese off the little guy’s shirt. That’s right! I ATE food off my CHILD! Now that’s a hungry mama!

I’d love to sit here and tell all of you that I finally have things under control and that the layer is gone for good. It isn’t. It is definitely on it’s way out again though since I’ve cut out a lot of crap from my diet these days and I’m really trying to avoid every temptation of licking my son’s plate clean. If I keep it up, things should be back under control by Thanksgiving. Perfect timing! That’s not to say that the temptations aren’t lurking around every corner. The other day I took my son to McDonald’s after preschool for a happy meal just like I do pretty much every Tuesday and Thursday after I pick him up. They gave me fries instead of apple dippers by mistake. I went back through the drive-thru and they wound up giving me the missing apple dippers…and they let me keep the fries. My son gags on fries, so I found myself between a rock and a hard place. Let’s not get crazy here though…they WERE McDonald’s fries and it would be a complete disgrace to throw them out. I just couldn’t bring myself to disrespect Ronald McDonald in that manner. I ate the fries.

Today we went out to lunch with some friends of ours and their kids. I ordered the grilled chicken salad and my son had the grilled cheese. I can’t lie, I was incredibly disappointed when his meal came out with chips as a side-dish instead of french fries. I mean, somebody would’ve HAD to eat those fries and they would’ve made such a nice snack on the car ride home today. He ate the grilled cheese, but not the chips. They were Cape Cod chips and I felt bad for those chips, so I had a few. Uh-oh, the cycle is starting again. I’d better not take him out for pizza this week or else I’ll have to dig out the fat jeans.

The Mommyologist’s Last Word: “To all of my friends with little ones, you’d better check your kids’ shirts if they are around me during a diet cycle. I won’t hesitate to step right up and polish off whatever goodies they leave behind!”

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Posted Under: baby weight, diet, food
November 7, 2009

My Moment to Shine…but not before my candle was extinguished a couple times!

I awoke to such a nice surprise this morning! I have been presented with the “One Lovely Blog” award from my new fellow blogging mama friend, Sarah, author of The Stroller Ballet, www.thestrollerballet.com. I was so honored that she chose me as one of her recipients, especially since today is only the two-week anniversary of my first post!

I am really enjoying reading her blog, so please stop by and visit her and say hello! I really appreciate her supporting me as a newbie!

The official rules of accepting this award are as follows:

Accept this award and post it on your blog. Include link back to the blog you received it from.
Pass the award to fifteen blogs you have newly discovered.
Be sure to contact them to let them know they have been awarded.

This wouldn’t be a true Mommyologist post unless there was some sort of glitch that prevented me from following these rules 100% to a T. Everything in my life seems to have some sort of “glitch” these days. You see, since I’ve only been blogging for two weeks, I don’t have 15 other blogs that I follow. Honestly, I am not even sure that I have 10, and of those 10, some have most likely already received this award, so I find myself in a bit of a pickle if I want to both accept the award and follow the rules. I really wasn’t sure what to do about my little dilemma, so I decided that a nice, hot shower and a blowout of my hair might help me come to some sort of resolution. For those of you who read my “date night” post, you know that I didn’t have time to take a shower yesterday, so I was long overdue for this one! There is just something about being fresh and clean and blow-drying my hair so it’s full of bounce and volume (at least it is right after I style it) that just helps me to think with a clear head.

I made my way upstairs with my son, plopped him down into the middle of our king-sized bed, turned on the TV for him, and proceeded to go into the master bathroom and completely disrobe to get ready for my much needed bathing session. Of course, right as I was about to hop in the shower, I hear my little man yell into the bathroom, “Mommy! May I please have a snack and a drink?” I am really big on getting manners from this kid, so there was no way in hell that I was going to ignore his polite little request. I grabbed my towel and draped it around me, shut the gate at the top of the stairs, and came down as fast as I could to retrieve his cranberry juice and cheerios from the family room coffee table. I have an irrational fear that every time I walk through my house in nothing but a towel, that the UPS man or one of the neighbors will ring my doorbell at the precise moment that I pass the skinny windows on either side of the front door. Sometimes I wish that we lived out in the middle of the woods somewhere and that I could just leisurely walk around my house without that towel and just let it all hang out. Ok, wait a minute. I take back that statement. For a minute there I forgot that I am a 32-year old woman who still bares the evidence (disguised as cellulite) that I was once pregnant and gained 50 or so pounds during that pregnancy. Now I’m a little nauseous at the thought of my post-baby self in the buff. Ok, give me the towel back!

After my baby was relaxed and happy and eating his snack in my bed, I took that much deserved hot shower, got dressed, got my make-up looking perfect, blew out my hair until it looked almost straight-from-the-salon, then came back downstairs to get ready to start writing my post for the day and accept my award. Afterall, this WAS my day to shine a bit. I decided to go ahead and just pass my award on to the other blogs that I DO follow and hope that my new friend would understand why I didn’t yet have the 15 stated in the rules! She seems like a pretty cool chick, so I guessed that it wouldn’t be an issue and hopefully she’d forgive me for being the rule-breaker that I am! For only being at the two-week mark, I thought that 9 out of 15 wasn’t all that shabby. I was almost completely done writing my entry, and then it happened. My cell phone rang. My son had been happily sitting on the couch and watching the Backyardigans while I finished writing for the day, and that damn cell phone went off. For whatever reason, any time the phone rings my son sees this as a signal to get all up in my face and start asking me a million questions and making a million requests. If he’s not doing that, then he’s flipping over all of the plastic containers in his playroom and beating on them with two drum sticks saying he’s a rock star. Today, however, he decided that since mommy was on the phone, this was the perfect time to play some computer games on Playhouse Disney’s website. Normally this wouldn’t have been an issue, but blogger was having trouble saving my draft. Stupid me decided to take a chance and just log out so that he could play his game and I could finish my phone conversation. Wouldn’t you know that the minute he hopped onto the stool and started playing his games, the person I was talking to told me that she was getting another call and would need to call me back. I’m sure you can all guess what happened next. YEP! That’s right! Blogger did not save my post. I had lost the WHOLE THING…and my moment to shine!

You would’ve thought the world had come to an end. I was SO upset and SO angry. I immediately hopped onto my Facebook page to let everyone out there know just how pissed off I was. Updating your status always seems like a great way to vent in the heat of the moment. This time it didn’t work at all. I literally felt like I was going to pass out because I was so mad. I decided that the best thing to do was to get out of the house for a while and try not to think about it. I mean, it was only a blog post for crying out loud and there were plenty of more important things that I could get upset about. I figured that I had a pretty good memory and could probably recreate it later on.

My son and I headed first to the bank, and then to the Christmas Tree Shop. For those of you who don’t live in the New England states, the Christmas Tree Shop is really not a Christmas store at all. It is basically a pack-rat’s heaven for all sorts of things that you absolutely do not need but can’t seem to live without. Everything is insanely cheap and honestly if you can think of it, they have it somewhere in that store. I don’t know why I thought going to the Christmas Tree Shop on a Friday at the beginning of holiday shopping season was a good idea. If the date is anywhere remotely close to the holidays and you want some excitement and want to see a real freak show, there is no need to go to Vegas. Just head to your local Christmas Tree Shop for entertainment for the entire family. I could barely navigate my cart through that store today, it was so nuts. I picked up a couple of baskets that I needed and then decided that since my son had been so patient with me during my little blog-deletion rampage, that I would take him over to the toy section and let him pick out something special. I figured he’d go for yet another truck or an electric guitar, but I was WAY OFF. You know what he picked out? A nine-dollar plastic shopping cart complete with cardboard boxes of groceries. His eyeballs got as big as saucers when he saw that thing. I have to admit, I was just as excited as he was, because I knew that the minute we got home, he would be so focused on pushing that thing around that he’d let me sit at the computer for a bit and maybe finally get this post done. When I asked him if he liked the toy he’d picked out, he yelled out “YES!” Then he looked at me and said, “Mommy, I love this shopping cart and I want to buy it. YOU be the payer!” I think that every single person in that store could hear my roars of uncontrollable laughter. Sometimes it just takes one adorable little statement from a perfectly charming three-and-a-half year old to make you totally forget whatever it was you were so upset about earlier in the day and put things right back into perspective. After we checked out and got in the car to come home things just started to get even better. Bon Jovi’s “Livin’ on a Prayer” was on the radio and I proceeded to turn it up, bob back and forth a little to the beginning part, “Whoa whoa wo wo wo Whoa Whoa!” and sing at the top of my lungs. My little boy thought I was hysterical and all was right in the world again.

Ok, back to the original intention of this entry. Thank you again to Sarah for recognizing me with this award and thank you so much to everyone who has been reading and following me! With that being said, I would like to give this award to:

www.frugalistalife.blogspot.com
www.operationsippycup.blogspot.com www.defininggreenville.blogspot.com www.mammydiaries.blogspot.com www.stephscafe.blogspot.com www.sophieandlilihandmade.blogspot.com www.thekeepingtime.blogspot.com www.housequeen.blogspot.com www.theungourmet.com

Please stop by and check out their blogs when you have a minute!

The Mommyologist’s Last Word: “If you are having one of those days where things just aren’t going your way, just hop in the car and head to the nearest Christmas Tree Shop. It’ll cure what ails you!”

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Posted Under: awards, recognition, shopping, shower
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