Wednesday 6/30
4:00 PM
I'm speaking to a client on the phone. Thank God he's chatty. It's the last day of the month and I need to get my sales in before the end of the day. The more he talks, the better it is for me. So, keep on chatting, buddy, keep on chatting. I try to make small talk by mentioning to him that I met my husband years ago doing community theatre. I'm sure he doesn't give a damn about where or when I met MJ, but I seriously need the talk time. My ass is already on the line as it is. So, if that means that I have to talk to someone about the invention of the tampon then I will do so. As long as I get in that phone time I have no boundaries.
I hang up with Mr. Friendly Client and document my sales information in the database. I hear the little beeping sound that my phone makes and pick up the receiver. "So, you are a member of the Hudson Players?" It's Mr. Friendly Client. I'm thrown off guard because he lives many states away. I reply with "Umm...How did you..." He laughs and tells me that he Googled me. Still a tad creeped out, I answer the question he was calling about and I send him on his Google searching way.
I then start to think about how connected I really am to the world. I instantly get paranoid and check all of my settings on Twitter and Facebook. I have my picture on every site I belong to, including LinkedIn. I never really thought about random strangers checking me out. I definitely never thought about my clients checking me out. I'm sure these guys just want an image to go along with the voice they hear on their end of the line. Okay...now I feel like a phone sex operator. I'm really not worried about my picture getting viewed. I actually find it rather flattering (Hey, I take what I can get these days). I'm more nervous about people seeing Baby Girl's pictures. I breathe a sigh of relief when I see my settings are fine and no one can see her pictures.
5PM
I'm singing along to Lady Gaga in my car like the rock star I pretend to be when my station loses its signal. I change over to talk radio and hear the host of the radio show talking about how Google is about to come out with a site that is going to crush Facebook. They continue to talk about how many people are connected on Facebook and how that number will at least double with this new site. I think to myself, "Great. Now every stalker on the planet can check my picture out. Am I too connected?" The timing of this radio show was perfect. I'm already paranoid about enough things. Things such as Baby Girl getting sick, fires, tornadoes,or missing out on the Norstrom half yearly sale. It’s not like I really need to add another item to the list.
8 PM
I'm an hour away from a "mom's night out" with one of my girlfriends. Even though we are going to one of my favorite local establishments, I just feel like staying on the couch all cuddled with Baby Girl. I miss her so much during the work day that I savor every snugly little moment that we share. However, I am longing for some adult alone time. I've been toting Baby Girl around with me like she's the new Marc Jacobs bag since she was born. I think I can stand to go out with some friends and relax.
After 4 outfit changes, I kiss MJ and Baby Girl good-bye and head out. It's karaoke night at the place I'm meeting my friend, so I blare my ipod in hopes to be inspired to pick a song to sing. I see my friend at the bar and am instantly glad I chose to come out. She and I have a fun time swapping mommy stories. It's nice being able to share the cute things that Baby Girl does without the fear that the person listening wants to drink a cyanide martini from boredom.
A few other friends join us and before you know it we are up singing "Vogue" as if we were the Pussycat Dolls live in person. Suddenly, I'm approached by a creeper who has just finished singing, or should I say screaming, a Journey song. He's very reminiscent of the school bus driver, Otto Man, from the Simpsons in appearance. He totally puts off that vibe that he's in his late 30's, living in his mom's basement, and spends his day between stalking E-bay for Star Wars paraphernalia and playing Wii. He awkwardly makes his way to me and tells me that I have an amazing voice and he really wants to hear me sing again. I politely say thank you and turn back to my friend. He taps me on the shoulder and tries to make small talk about the fine art of karaoke. I try to blow him off as nice as possible and am sure to flash my ring a few times. He seems to get the hint and walks away. What's up with me today and random guys?
I sing one more song, hug my friends good-bye, and head towards the door. Creeper starts to follow me towards the door. He tells me "I'd love to see you back here again. You have a great voice and we'd love have you as a part of our crowd." I'm instantly annoyed beyond belief. A.) This has been MY bar since I was about 20 years old and I've been coming to karaoke for the past 7 years. So, don't tell me that "we'd love to have you." I AM "we", ok? B.) What part of having a ring shoved in your face would remotely make you think I'm into you? And C,) Do I really look like the type of girl who's going to be into someone who most likely still wears Superman underoos and sleeps with his comic books? I look at him, smile, and say "Why thank you. My husband and I will be sure to come here in the future." Then, I run like hell to my car and lock the doors.
Midnight
I peak in on my tiny sleeping beauty whose belly is rhythmically going up and down in her crib. I quickly wash off my make-up and crawl into bed next to MJ. As I drift off, I think about the day. It was both odd and interesting based on the fact that I was approached twice by random strangers.
Hmm...Maybe I should triple I check my on-line privacy settings.
Thursday, July 1, 2010
Monday, June 28, 2010
Brick House
Sunday June 27
I'm 9 months pregnant and I'm in a BINGO hall surrounded by co-workers and friends. Right when the stand up comedienne who is dressed up as Bozo the Clown yells out "B12" I start to go into labor. I turn to the local weatherman who's sitting next to me and say, "I don't remember my lower back hurting this bad last time. Oh wait, I had a C-section." It feels like a small tribe of pygmys are spearing my back w/ hot pokers. I turn to find MJ, but only see the clown. Shit, that's one scary looking clown. At that moment, tears begin streaming down my face. Where the hell is MJ? I see the clown coming towards me while the weatherman starts to laugh maniacally. Right when the next contraction comes, my eyes pop open. I look around and see that I'm in my bed at home with MJ next to me sawing logs. Whew! Thank God that it was just a dream. However, my back really does feel like I've done a million pilates moves on a bed of nails.
I roll out of bed and try to do the back stretches my chiropractor showed me. As I lie there on the floor doing my pelvic tilts, I try to imagine that I'm actually doing some stripper moves. The thoughts of me being a stripper quickly move to thoughts of me being a beached whale. At my last appointment, Dr. B told me that I need to stop being such a mom and to start taking care of myself. This would mean getting my ass back to the gym. Part of the reason my back is killing me is because my muscles are still inflamed from Baby Girl being breech. The other part is because I still have so much baby weight in my stomach region. He tells me that once I get the belly fat off, my back should start to feel better. I want to tell him to try having his belly sliced open and having a watermelon removed. Then he can try working full time, getting minimal sleep, and nursing a baby all while trying to keep his house from looking like an episode of "Hoarders". Then, after all of that, he can let me know how easy it is to get to the gym. Good thing he's cute. Otherwise, I may have to slug him.
Post whale stretches, I spend the rest of my morning cuddling on the couch with Baby Girl. I decide to let MJ sleep in since he let me take a nice 2 hour nap yesterday. I'm glued to reading my Blackberry. I found my new form of crack: Twitter. I'm locked in on the celeb tweets as if they were my own group of friends telling me what's going on. I now know that Ramona from Housewives NYC is playing tennis, that Anna Wintour is having some Starbucks, and that Jessica Alba went to a BBQ this weekend. I then see that Holly Madison from "The Girls Next Door" is heading off to church. I laugh at the fact that Hugh Heffner's former girlfriend is going to church after she did her peepshow in Vegas. I realize the real irony in this tweet from Holly. A Playmate is at church while I sit here at home tweeting. I look up at the clock and realize that it's now far too late to even try to make it to Mass. So, it's back to tweeting and baby giggles for me.
MJ comes down the stairs looking like a grizzly bear emerging from a long winter's hibernation. He says groggily: "Thanks for letting me sleep in, Baby. Want to go to Target and try that new Brick House restaurant?" He says the magic word: Target. I instantly feel euphoria at the mere mention of the word. Disney music starts to play while cartoon birds and squirrels enter my living room. Target has it all. They have Starbucks, baby gear, shoes and more. The list just goes on for days. I snap out of my fairytale and take a shower in record speed. Off we go!
We are starving so we decide to eat first and try out the new Brick House Tavern. We are greeted by a line-up of stripper-esque girls who are dressed in denim Daisy Dukes and black plunging belly shirts. I look down at my strapless sundress and suddenly feel like Mrs. Roper in a muumuu. I bet their doctors haven't told them to lose the belly fat. Bitches.
We get seated and a smoking hot twenty-something comes to take our drink order. I get flustered for a moment because I don't know where to look. Her bellybutton ring is right at my eye level and if I look up then I'm starting at her boobs. Looking down isn't any better because then I'm staring at her barely covered crotch. I then laugh b/c I'm sure MJ feels equally awkward. Here he is having lunch in a man's haven with his wi
fe and baby while gorgeous scantily clad ladies are running around. Skimpy clothes aside, the food ends up being awesome. I'm tempted to order the desert called "Double D's" but I remember what Dr. B had said about my belly fat. Besides, I'm an E cup kinda girl now a days anyway. D's are for sissies.
We make our way through my magical land called Target and then head off to Sam's Club. I'm not normally a Sam's or Wal-Mart shopper. This is based on the mere fact that I can't handle the people that shop there. I've always had little to no patience to begin with, but when you add ignorant people to the mix, I'm essentially a bitch with a shopping cart. However, we do need to get something that we can only get at Sam's. We walk in and get what we need to get and decide to walk around for a bit. All the way from across the store, I can see the people swarming like trashy bumble bees around the free sample area. I instantly get irritated at the fact that people act like the free samples are the last pieces of food on earth. I get even more irritated at the fact that the people who are fighting over the last bite of taquitos don't really look like they've skipped a meal. Jillian Michael's would have a field day with these people.
We make our way to the check out when I decide I'm thirsty. I buy one of those 87 cent cups and head over to the fountain drink area. I go to pour my Coke Zero when I feel some guy all up in my business. He's a little weasel of a man who is clearly annoyed that I'm using the Coke Zero dispenser. I think I met my match for someone who is more impatient that me. So, of course I take this opportunity to pour my Coke Zero as slowly as possible. I pour a little of the ice out of my cup and fill. I wait for the fizz to go down. I then fill a little more. I literally feel his breath on my arm, and I realize that I've anoyed him enough. I made my point and smile as I walk over to get my lid. Unfortunately, I'm the one who is now waiting. Billy Bob here in front of me is taking his good ole time as he puts the toppings on his footlong. He ever so nicely leaves behind a big smelly glob of chopped onions and ketchup that I'm forced to reach over while grabbing my lid. I freaking hate Sam's Club. I'm sure that it's God's way of paying me back for both torturing little weasel man and for skipping church this morning.
We're finally home and spend the rest of the evening playing on the floor with Baby Girl. The devil on my shoulder tells me to go and bake some brownies while the angel (who oddly resembles Dr. B) on my other shoulder reminds me of my belly fat. I think of the little hotties at the Brick House and decide to side with with the angel. I grab a banana and promise Baby Girl that I'm going to be a healthy and hot mommy for her. She responds by giggling and grabbing my face. I instantly melt into a puddle and decide to start my floor exercises. I wince through the pain but I am excited to start working out again. Here goes nothing...
I'm 9 months pregnant and I'm in a BINGO hall surrounded by co-workers and friends. Right when the stand up comedienne who is dressed up as Bozo the Clown yells out "B12" I start to go into labor. I turn to the local weatherman who's sitting next to me and say, "I don't remember my lower back hurting this bad last time. Oh wait, I had a C-section." It feels like a small tribe of pygmys are spearing my back w/ hot pokers. I turn to find MJ, but only see the clown. Shit, that's one scary looking clown. At that moment, tears begin streaming down my face. Where the hell is MJ? I see the clown coming towards me while the weatherman starts to laugh maniacally. Right when the next contraction comes, my eyes pop open. I look around and see that I'm in my bed at home with MJ next to me sawing logs. Whew! Thank God that it was just a dream. However, my back really does feel like I've done a million pilates moves on a bed of nails.
I roll out of bed and try to do the back stretches my chiropractor showed me. As I lie there on the floor doing my pelvic tilts, I try to imagine that I'm actually doing some stripper moves. The thoughts of me being a stripper quickly move to thoughts of me being a beached whale. At my last appointment, Dr. B told me that I need to stop being such a mom and to start taking care of myself. This would mean getting my ass back to the gym. Part of the reason my back is killing me is because my muscles are still inflamed from Baby Girl being breech. The other part is because I still have so much baby weight in my stomach region. He tells me that once I get the belly fat off, my back should start to feel better. I want to tell him to try having his belly sliced open and having a watermelon removed. Then he can try working full time, getting minimal sleep, and nursing a baby all while trying to keep his house from looking like an episode of "Hoarders". Then, after all of that, he can let me know how easy it is to get to the gym. Good thing he's cute. Otherwise, I may have to slug him.
Post whale stretches, I spend the rest of my morning cuddling on the couch with Baby Girl. I decide to let MJ sleep in since he let me take a nice 2 hour nap yesterday. I'm glued to reading my Blackberry. I found my new form of crack: Twitter. I'm locked in on the celeb tweets as if they were my own group of friends telling me what's going on. I now know that Ramona from Housewives NYC is playing tennis, that Anna Wintour is having some Starbucks, and that Jessica Alba went to a BBQ this weekend. I then see that Holly Madison from "The Girls Next Door" is heading off to church. I laugh at the fact that Hugh Heffner's former girlfriend is going to church after she did her peepshow in Vegas. I realize the real irony in this tweet from Holly. A Playmate is at church while I sit here at home tweeting. I look up at the clock and realize that it's now far too late to even try to make it to Mass. So, it's back to tweeting and baby giggles for me.
MJ comes down the stairs looking like a grizzly bear emerging from a long winter's hibernation. He says groggily: "Thanks for letting me sleep in, Baby. Want to go to Target and try that new Brick House restaurant?" He says the magic word: Target. I instantly feel euphoria at the mere mention of the word. Disney music starts to play while cartoon birds and squirrels enter my living room. Target has it all. They have Starbucks, baby gear, shoes and more. The list just goes on for days. I snap out of my fairytale and take a shower in record speed. Off we go!
We are starving so we decide to eat first and try out the new Brick House Tavern. We are greeted by a line-up of stripper-esque girls who are dressed in denim Daisy Dukes and black plunging belly shirts. I look down at my strapless sundress and suddenly feel like Mrs. Roper in a muumuu. I bet their doctors haven't told them to lose the belly fat. Bitches.
We get seated and a smoking hot twenty-something comes to take our drink order. I get flustered for a moment because I don't know where to look. Her bellybutton ring is right at my eye level and if I look up then I'm starting at her boobs. Looking down isn't any better because then I'm staring at her barely covered crotch. I then laugh b/c I'm sure MJ feels equally awkward. Here he is having lunch in a man's haven with his wi
fe and baby while gorgeous scantily clad ladies are running around. Skimpy clothes aside, the food ends up being awesome. I'm tempted to order the desert called "Double D's" but I remember what Dr. B had said about my belly fat. Besides, I'm an E cup kinda girl now a days anyway. D's are for sissies.We make our way through my magical land called Target and then head off to Sam's Club. I'm not normally a Sam's or Wal-Mart shopper. This is based on the mere fact that I can't handle the people that shop there. I've always had little to no patience to begin with, but when you add ignorant people to the mix, I'm essentially a bitch with a shopping cart. However, we do need to get something that we can only get at Sam's. We walk in and get what we need to get and decide to walk around for a bit. All the way from across the store, I can see the people swarming like trashy bumble bees around the free sample area. I instantly get irritated at the fact that people act like the free samples are the last pieces of food on earth. I get even more irritated at the fact that the people who are fighting over the last bite of taquitos don't really look like they've skipped a meal. Jillian Michael's would have a field day with these people.
We make our way to the check out when I decide I'm thirsty. I buy one of those 87 cent cups and head over to the fountain drink area. I go to pour my Coke Zero when I feel some guy all up in my business. He's a little weasel of a man who is clearly annoyed that I'm using the Coke Zero dispenser. I think I met my match for someone who is more impatient that me. So, of course I take this opportunity to pour my Coke Zero as slowly as possible. I pour a little of the ice out of my cup and fill. I wait for the fizz to go down. I then fill a little more. I literally feel his breath on my arm, and I realize that I've anoyed him enough. I made my point and smile as I walk over to get my lid. Unfortunately, I'm the one who is now waiting. Billy Bob here in front of me is taking his good ole time as he puts the toppings on his footlong. He ever so nicely leaves behind a big smelly glob of chopped onions and ketchup that I'm forced to reach over while grabbing my lid. I freaking hate Sam's Club. I'm sure that it's God's way of paying me back for both torturing little weasel man and for skipping church this morning.
We're finally home and spend the rest of the evening playing on the floor with Baby Girl. The devil on my shoulder tells me to go and bake some brownies while the angel (who oddly resembles Dr. B) on my other shoulder reminds me of my belly fat. I think of the little hotties at the Brick House and decide to side with with the angel. I grab a banana and promise Baby Girl that I'm going to be a healthy and hot mommy for her. She responds by giggling and grabbing my face. I instantly melt into a puddle and decide to start my floor exercises. I wince through the pain but I am excited to start working out again. Here goes nothing...
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
Cabo, Mexico Part 2
Wednesday
MJ gets up early again for golf. He kisses me good bye. I still feel bad for being the equivalent to Medusa the day before. Even my crisp bacon at breakfast that I love so much doesn't seem to snap me out of my funk. Then, the most wonderful thought drifts through my head. The spa...
MJ comes back tired and worn from golfing and I tell him I have a surprise. I booked us a couple's massage at the spa for tomorrow. He seems genuinely excited and I hope this puts an end to our spat. He lets me know that the group wants to go downtown Cabo tonight and I should start getting ready.
MJ gets up early again for golf. He kisses me good bye. I still feel bad for being the equivalent to Medusa the day before. Even my crisp bacon at breakfast that I love so much doesn't seem to snap me out of my funk. Then, the most wonderful thought drifts through my head. The spa...
The spa beckons me from the 2nd floor of The Hilton. The intoxifying scents pull me towards the two glass doors. I walk in and open the spa menu. I think about the hot stone massage, but then realize that's not such a great idea. I scorched my gleaming white skin on Sunday when I had my little margarita nap by the pool. Instead, I request the "solar exposure" wrap.
I undress and step foot into the most decadent whirlpool I've ever experienced. The Hilton spared no expense here. The room was beautifully tiled with aromatherapy candles lit all around the hot tub. I enter the tub and wince at the pain. I now know how a lobster feels as it enters the boiling water. My body soon adjusts to the temperature and I zone out. My mind instantly drifts to thoughts of Baby Girl and how much I miss her. I quickly change my thought pattern and think of MJ, which in turn makes me think of the night before. Damn it, why can't I just enjoy myself today? Right as I'm about to start crying, Rosa comes and gets me for my wrap.
Rosa is a Mexican angel. She rubs the aloe mixture up and down my sun damaged skin. The smell alone instantly relaxes me. She then wraps me up in a foil-like blanket. As I lay there marinating like chicken, I start to feel insecure for the first time this trip. I'm wishing I hadn't eaten so much bacon. I'm wishing I would have worked out the past the few months. I'm wishing my tankini didn't make my boobs look like a circus side show. My spa treatment ends. Paranoid that she was repulsed by my Jaba the Hut physique, I feel compelled to tell Rosa that "I'm not normally this fat...I just had a baby, you see." She nods and smiles humoring me when I realize she doesn't speak English. Oh, well.
MJ comes back tired and worn from golfing and I tell him I have a surprise. I booked us a couple's massage at the spa for tomorrow. He seems genuinely excited and I hope this puts an end to our spat. He lets me know that the group wants to go downtown Cabo tonight and I should start getting ready.
Standing there in a pool of rejected clothes, I finally pick a sundress. We meet our friends and go to a fabulous place called The Office. It's a restaurant on the beach right in the heart of the city. We have a great time being serenaded by mariachi bands, receiving balloons from Mexican clowns (odd, but intriguing), and by a man trying to pour tequila down our throats (I intelligently declined that one). The food is to die for, which is apparent by the fact that I quickly consume about 2 cups of guacamole on my own. We follow up dinner by a quick trek to Sammy Hagar's bar called Cabo Wabo. It's a fun but overrated place. MJ and I have a great evening which makes up for the night before. I'm willing to bet that it's because no tequila is being consumed.
Thursday
We wake up and have approx. 3 tons worth of bacon at breakfast and head off to our couple's massage. I drift off into a semi conscious state as my new masseuse jabs her elbows into my flesh. I start to count down the days until I see Baby Girl. I picture playing with her, tickling her feet, and snuggling in bed. I'm jolted awake at the sound of MJ snoring at the adjacent table. I chuckle, then begin to fear that the girls are leaking all over the table. Thinking of Baby Girl often gets them flowing like the Nile. How do I explain that to some one who only speaks Spanish? Umm...mi los boobios are spilling la leche? F me. Luckily, it is just sweat that I'm feeling. Still gross, but I'm relieved. I think I'm done with the spa.
We take a dip in the pool and life seems to be much better between us. MJ is back to his chipper self which puts me back to my normal crazy self. We enjoy our few (non-tequila) drinks by the pool and snuggle in a private cabana. All is well in the world again, until I see someone playing with their 1 year old baby in the pool. I tell MJ I need to go Skype before I start hitting the tequila bottle. That gets his ass out of the pool in a heartbeat.
I see Baby Girl's delicious face on my screen. I don't cry this time. Instead, I tell her that we'll be home in 2 days. She just laughs and babbles and I can tell she thinks Grandma is the best thing since milk. I feel much better saying good-bye to her this time, since I'm not so upset myself. We blow her kisses and then get ready for the "White Party" (sans P. Diddy).
I squeeze myself into the ugly white dress I begrudgingly bought. When one is carrying around 40 lbs of post baby weight, wearing white is about as flattering as Roseanne wearing a spandex unitard. We end up sitting at a table of strangers and I feel them all staring at my girls, which are about to pop out at any moment. I tuck the girls in, grab some dessert, and head back to the room. Nothing like watching some old episodes of 90210 in Spanish to put you to sleep.
Friday
I'm excited because this is our snorkel adventure day. We take a bus into downtown Cabo and reach the marina. I look in front of me and I hear the hallelujah choir as the Heaven's gates open. I see Cartier, Coach, Chanel, and many more shops. I start to veer towards the stores when MJ pulls me towards the dock. Damn it! Why did I have to find the 5th Ave of Cabo on my last friggin' day? Sigh.
We board the boat and set sail. It's an amazing morning. We are cruising along, listening to music, and drinking some Dos Equis. I'm actually feeling brave enough to lay out in my bathing suit. I'm starting to feel a tad less insecure. I turn to say something to MJ when my new found self confidence comes to a screeching halt. There she is. Miss Perfect. There is a girl behind Mark who is in an electric blue bikini with a Victoria's Secret model body. She has bronzed skin, a rocking stomach, and an overall body to die for. Ugh. I instantly crawl back in my shell and feel compelled to cover up with my towel.
We reach our cove and start to snorkel. We see some fish, but they are not nearly as vivid as the fish were in St. Lucia on our honeymoon. We come back to the boat and eat some lunch that the crew prepared. I'm a little weary about eating tuna that's been baking in the sun all day, so I go for the chips and salsa. I end up talking with the rockin' body girl after a few drinks. She tells me she's had two kids of her own and she knows that I can get back into my pre-baby shape soon enough. I leave the boat feeling a little more inspired than I did before.
We quickly shower and change and meet up with friends to go back to The Office for one more hoorah in Cabo. This time we are sitting at a table that is right near the line on the sand where the panhandlers come begging. We do a good job ignoring them for the bulk of our dinner. Suddenly I feel a tug on my skirt and hear a tiny little voice say "Amiga, Amiga!" I turn and see the most precious little 4 year old boy trying to sell me some hand painted fish. My heart melts. All I can think of is little Baby Girl having to do that to earn money to eat. I buy $5 worth of cheesy little fish and then have a friend for the rest of dinner. Who knows where that money is going, but I feel like I did the right thing.
We head back to The Hilton and pack our bags for our checkout tomorrow.
Saturday
The alarm goes off and I'm flooded with mixed emotions. What a roller coaster ride of a trip this has been. I'm so glad to be going home to Baby Girl yet I'm so sad to be leaving the beautiful sights surrounding me. We get dressed and I say good-bye to my new found bacon addiction at breakfast. Thank God for my ass's sake that I'll be leaving that behind. We take in a final view of the ocean, smile, and board the shuttle to the airport. After a nightmare line in customs in both Cabo and Houston, we are finally on the flight to Cleveland.
We land and make our way home. We walk in the door and Baby Girl melts down crying. She remembers us! My parents look as though the just got off the battlefield at Gettysburg. We hug and thank them and send them on their way. After nursing her, we take Baby Girl into our room and let her snuggle with us in our bed.
I look at my beautiful family and feel so thankful. I've learned how hard it is to be away from something you love so very much. I've learned that even after a blow out argument, MJ is always there for me no matter what. And I've learned that no matter how good it tastes, I will never drink tequila again.
Cabo, Mexico Part 1
Saturday
It's midnight on and I'm wide awake. The alarm will be going off in two hours. We have to leave the house at 3 AM to get to the airport at 4 AM. I should be sawing logs but my mind is busier than the shoe department during Nordstrom's annual sale. I'm running around showing my mother-in-law all of the ins and outs of Baby Girl's day-to-day life. She'll be watching her for half of the week and my mom will be doing the latter half.
MJ and I finally lay down at 1 AM. He immediately drifts off while my thoughts go right to deserting my baby for a whole week. Then, my mind moves to my girlfriend, Ade. She's in labor and I'm not going to get to see the baby before I leave. This saddens me because she sat with me every day in the hospital when I had Baby Girl. My brain is a strobe light switching back and forth to both things on my mind. I look at the clock and see that it's 1:30. What's the point of sleeping now? I say, "screw it" and get up and take my shower.
We pack up the car and kiss up Baby Girl as she lays there peacefully. I try not cry but feel a tear slip down my cheek. We sneak out before I breakdown Mariah Carey style. Once we're on the road we start to talk about margaritas and sunshine and I think I may recover. I get a text from Ade, who lets me know that Baby Boy has entered the world safely. Bring on the margaritas!
Due to my sleep deprivation, I'm not really sure what happened from the car ride until our layover. All I know is that we have landed in Houston and I have woken up next to a guy who oddly resembles Will.I.am from the Black Eyed Peas. I turn to him and ask "Did I try to cuddle with you?" He laughs and says "No." We leave the plane to find out that our flight is delayed and our layover is now close to 4 hours. We look on the upper level of the terminal and see the Fox Sports Bar. Score! 3 Bloody Mary's later, I'm ready to board for Cabo.
I'm now comatose due to the Bloody Mary's. I wake up on our decent to Cabo. How wonderful...the customs line is almost an hour long. I feel sweat dripping down my legs so badly I'm afraid people will thinking I'm peeing my pants. That's what I get for wearing sweats to Mexico. I look to my left and see a group of people who could double as the "Jersey Shore" cast. This should keep me entertained. As I watch the Snooki wannabe flirt w/her winner of a man, my right boob feels like it's going to burst. Not again. Why is it that my right boob is always the one? I then and there dub it "the evil twin."
We make it through customs and off to our shuttle. We are promptly dropped off at The Hilton. A gorgeous Mexican man hands me a freshly made margarita as soon as I step off the bus. This is my kind of place. We check in and head off to our room...excuse me...suite. My jaw drops. We are on the first floor w/ sliding glass doors that open up to the ocean. We have a king bed, a living area, and one hell of a bathroom. There is a giant walk-in shower along with a jacuzzi tub. This is amazing! However, my amazement quickly ends here. I lay on the marshmallow cloud of a bed and don't open my eyes until Sunday morning at 7 AM.
Sunday
I wake up to sounds of the waves crashing on beach. I forgot how wonderful that sounds. We make our way to the breakfast buffet. I wasn't quite sure what to expect for breakfast in Mexico. I find tray of crisp bacon and know I'll be okay. Everything is better with bacon in my opinion--Well except the size of my ass. After breakfast, we find our group of friends by the pool. They let us know that we have our own server for the day named Miguel. I look at him and think "Does The Hilton only employ hotties?" After a few Petron margaritas I feel compelled to ask Miguel this same question. He blushes and continues to serve me my drinks. Oddly enough, I think they become stronger.
The drinks are so strong that I wake up an hour later sprawled out on a lounge chair in a position Kendra from "The Girls Next Door" would be jealous of. Luckily, my girlfriends positioned my skirted bottoms so I looked less like a stripper and more like your average rockstar passed out. I turn and look at MJ who is eating sushi. He offers me a piece and I nearly hurl. Sushi in the 90 degree Mexican sun after 900 margaritas just wasn't turning me on. We head off to the room, sleep a few hours, and make our way to dinner. Shortly after dinner, we realize we are old and head to bed. Apparently, tying one on in the afternoon makes one too tired to party in the evening.
Monday
Monday essentially consists of MJ golfing, room service breakfast, lounging by the pool, and having fillet mignon beach side. I know...life is tough.
Tuesday AM
We decide today we will check out San Jose. Alejandro at the pool told us yesterday that there is a very chic art district in San Jose. We take a cab and ask the cabbie to drop us off in the shopping distrcit. Because it's so early in the morning, there are no other tourists here. Every person in every shop lets us know that they have the best prices in all of Mexico on jewelery. "Almost free", to be exact. This isn't the shopping district I was hoping for. A hummer drives by with military men holding machine guns. I get a lump in my throat and tell MJ I'm ready to hit the road.
Right as we go to leave a man approaches me and says, "Amiga! You look just like that American actress...what's her name?" I laugh and say "Nice try." The next thing you know he's trying to sell us time share in Riviera Maya. He points out my wedding set and says "I can tell by the size of that rock that he married you because he loves you and not because you got knocked up". WTF. OK, check please! Get me the F out of this city. We leave him calling after us and hop a cab back to The Hilton.
Tuesday PM
This is the day I realize that I maybe drinking margaritas in the sun isn't such a great idea. We meet our friends by the pool and Miguel is bringing out the Petron margaritas left and right. I'm sucking them down like lemonade. I'm in denial that I'm drunk. You would think the fact that I keep yelling: "There's a dance party in my head, come join me!" would clue me in.
MJ and I decide to go for a walk on the beach. I take a graceful tumble down the stairs and onto the rocky beach. I laugh as though it was the funniest thing since Kathy Griffin. I brush myself off and ignore the stream of blood gushing from my knee. We walk along the shore and I realize I have lost my Coach wristlet. This is bad because it has my money, ID, and room key. MJ and I get into an argument fueled by the alcohol on the beach. Nothing big like Bobby and Whitney, but an argument none the less. I find my wristlet and storm off to the room w/ my bloody knee trail behind me.
The argument continues when we realize it's time to Skype Baby Girl. I see her adorable little face and gummy smile. I melt down. I have to walk away from the computer screen before MJ calls the mental ward. MJ ends the Skype call and we continue to have a war of the words. I say some horribly mean things to MJ. I don't know who I am right now. The words escape me as if I have no control over my voice. I end up hurting his feelings beyond belief. He leaves the room for dinner and I stay behind.
At first, I feel angry. Then, I feel horrible. I get dressed and try to find him. He's not at the dinner and I start to worry. I ask a few people if they have seen him and they said they did, but now he's gone. Before my friends turn into Nancy Drew and the Hardy Boys trying to find him, I realize where he is. I thank them for their help and go back to the beach. I find MJ sitting there somber watching the waves crash. We have a heart to heart. I apologize. He accepts even though he's still badly bruised and battered by my earlier words. We walk back up to the room and call it a night. I swear off drinking that much again the rest of the trip.
It's midnight on and I'm wide awake. The alarm will be going off in two hours. We have to leave the house at 3 AM to get to the airport at 4 AM. I should be sawing logs but my mind is busier than the shoe department during Nordstrom's annual sale. I'm running around showing my mother-in-law all of the ins and outs of Baby Girl's day-to-day life. She'll be watching her for half of the week and my mom will be doing the latter half.
MJ and I finally lay down at 1 AM. He immediately drifts off while my thoughts go right to deserting my baby for a whole week. Then, my mind moves to my girlfriend, Ade. She's in labor and I'm not going to get to see the baby before I leave. This saddens me because she sat with me every day in the hospital when I had Baby Girl. My brain is a strobe light switching back and forth to both things on my mind. I look at the clock and see that it's 1:30. What's the point of sleeping now? I say, "screw it" and get up and take my shower.
We pack up the car and kiss up Baby Girl as she lays there peacefully. I try not cry but feel a tear slip down my cheek. We sneak out before I breakdown Mariah Carey style. Once we're on the road we start to talk about margaritas and sunshine and I think I may recover. I get a text from Ade, who lets me know that Baby Boy has entered the world safely. Bring on the margaritas!
Due to my sleep deprivation, I'm not really sure what happened from the car ride until our layover. All I know is that we have landed in Houston and I have woken up next to a guy who oddly resembles Will.I.am from the Black Eyed Peas. I turn to him and ask "Did I try to cuddle with you?" He laughs and says "No." We leave the plane to find out that our flight is delayed and our layover is now close to 4 hours. We look on the upper level of the terminal and see the Fox Sports Bar. Score! 3 Bloody Mary's later, I'm ready to board for Cabo.
I'm now comatose due to the Bloody Mary's. I wake up on our decent to Cabo. How wonderful...the customs line is almost an hour long. I feel sweat dripping down my legs so badly I'm afraid people will thinking I'm peeing my pants. That's what I get for wearing sweats to Mexico. I look to my left and see a group of people who could double as the "Jersey Shore" cast. This should keep me entertained. As I watch the Snooki wannabe flirt w/her winner of a man, my right boob feels like it's going to burst. Not again. Why is it that my right boob is always the one? I then and there dub it "the evil twin."
We make it through customs and off to our shuttle. We are promptly dropped off at The Hilton. A gorgeous Mexican man hands me a freshly made margarita as soon as I step off the bus. This is my kind of place. We check in and head off to our room...excuse me...suite. My jaw drops. We are on the first floor w/ sliding glass doors that open up to the ocean. We have a king bed, a living area, and one hell of a bathroom. There is a giant walk-in shower along with a jacuzzi tub. This is amazing! However, my amazement quickly ends here. I lay on the marshmallow cloud of a bed and don't open my eyes until Sunday morning at 7 AM.
Sunday
I wake up to sounds of the waves crashing on beach. I forgot how wonderful that sounds. We make our way to the breakfast buffet. I wasn't quite sure what to expect for breakfast in Mexico. I find tray of crisp bacon and know I'll be okay. Everything is better with bacon in my opinion--Well except the size of my ass. After breakfast, we find our group of friends by the pool. They let us know that we have our own server for the day named Miguel. I look at him and think "Does The Hilton only employ hotties?" After a few Petron margaritas I feel compelled to ask Miguel this same question. He blushes and continues to serve me my drinks. Oddly enough, I think they become stronger.
The drinks are so strong that I wake up an hour later sprawled out on a lounge chair in a position Kendra from "The Girls Next Door" would be jealous of. Luckily, my girlfriends positioned my skirted bottoms so I looked less like a stripper and more like your average rockstar passed out. I turn and look at MJ who is eating sushi. He offers me a piece and I nearly hurl. Sushi in the 90 degree Mexican sun after 900 margaritas just wasn't turning me on. We head off to the room, sleep a few hours, and make our way to dinner. Shortly after dinner, we realize we are old and head to bed. Apparently, tying one on in the afternoon makes one too tired to party in the evening.
Monday
Monday essentially consists of MJ golfing, room service breakfast, lounging by the pool, and having fillet mignon beach side. I know...life is tough.
Tuesday AM
We decide today we will check out San Jose. Alejandro at the pool told us yesterday that there is a very chic art district in San Jose. We take a cab and ask the cabbie to drop us off in the shopping distrcit. Because it's so early in the morning, there are no other tourists here. Every person in every shop lets us know that they have the best prices in all of Mexico on jewelery. "Almost free", to be exact. This isn't the shopping district I was hoping for. A hummer drives by with military men holding machine guns. I get a lump in my throat and tell MJ I'm ready to hit the road.
Right as we go to leave a man approaches me and says, "Amiga! You look just like that American actress...what's her name?" I laugh and say "Nice try." The next thing you know he's trying to sell us time share in Riviera Maya. He points out my wedding set and says "I can tell by the size of that rock that he married you because he loves you and not because you got knocked up". WTF. OK, check please! Get me the F out of this city. We leave him calling after us and hop a cab back to The Hilton.
Tuesday PM
This is the day I realize that I maybe drinking margaritas in the sun isn't such a great idea. We meet our friends by the pool and Miguel is bringing out the Petron margaritas left and right. I'm sucking them down like lemonade. I'm in denial that I'm drunk. You would think the fact that I keep yelling: "There's a dance party in my head, come join me!" would clue me in.
MJ and I decide to go for a walk on the beach. I take a graceful tumble down the stairs and onto the rocky beach. I laugh as though it was the funniest thing since Kathy Griffin. I brush myself off and ignore the stream of blood gushing from my knee. We walk along the shore and I realize I have lost my Coach wristlet. This is bad because it has my money, ID, and room key. MJ and I get into an argument fueled by the alcohol on the beach. Nothing big like Bobby and Whitney, but an argument none the less. I find my wristlet and storm off to the room w/ my bloody knee trail behind me.
The argument continues when we realize it's time to Skype Baby Girl. I see her adorable little face and gummy smile. I melt down. I have to walk away from the computer screen before MJ calls the mental ward. MJ ends the Skype call and we continue to have a war of the words. I say some horribly mean things to MJ. I don't know who I am right now. The words escape me as if I have no control over my voice. I end up hurting his feelings beyond belief. He leaves the room for dinner and I stay behind.
At first, I feel angry. Then, I feel horrible. I get dressed and try to find him. He's not at the dinner and I start to worry. I ask a few people if they have seen him and they said they did, but now he's gone. Before my friends turn into Nancy Drew and the Hardy Boys trying to find him, I realize where he is. I thank them for their help and go back to the beach. I find MJ sitting there somber watching the waves crash. We have a heart to heart. I apologize. He accepts even though he's still badly bruised and battered by my earlier words. We walk back up to the room and call it a night. I swear off drinking that much again the rest of the trip.
Friday, May 7, 2010
Catching Up w/ the Blog!
Blogging is my favorite stress reliever. I've been feeling so stressed lately, and then realized I haven't blogged in over a month! I think I need to get back to it to help maintain what little sanity I have left.
So, here is a summary of the past month and a half. It's not going to be as exciting b/c it's multiple events squished into one blog entry. But, after I post today's blog, I'm going to start blogging weekly again. Bare with me if this blog is a little long.
Scottsdale, AZ
Tuesday
I wake up at approx 3:30 AM. My flight is at 7 AM and I live a good 40 minutes from the airport. The first thing I notice is that my right boob is near bursting. There's no way in hell I'm going to wake up a peacefully sleeping Baby Girl at 3AM to feed her. It's the old "don't wake a sleeping bear" philosophy. So, I go down stairs and pull out the ol' sex toy sounding pump and go to town. 20 minutes pass and my boob still feels like an overstuffed sandbag. What the hell? Shit. It's 4AM. I only have an hour. I run upstairs, take a shower, and start to get dressed. What should I wear? This is a business trip so I should look decent. It's 4:30 AM and who the hell wants to get dressed up? I look longingly at my VS Pink Sweats and decide that wearing pants that say "Pink" on the ass and a hoodie that reads "I Love to Party" may not be work appropriate. I grab my normal business travel black dress and put on some flats. Before I leave I try to pump one last time. 1 oz. Seriously? It's like my boob is out to ruin my travel. I look down and tell it "I own you beyatch, you don't own me!" The boob pep talk doesn't seem to work, so I give up.
I go to Baby Girl's crib and start to sob. How can I be leaving her for 4 days? She's a baby doll laying there with her arms over her head. I kiss her chipmunk cheek and drag myself away. As I wipe away my tears ,I hear a crash of thunder and remember that it's 40 degrees outside. Bring on Arizona! I kiss MJ good-bye and tell him the normal "No strippers or hookers until I come home!" joke. Off I go.
As I drive to the airport I feel more pressure in my boob. This is nuts. I meet up with my coworkers at the at the gate at board on the direct flight. I contemplate pumping in the bathroom, but realize it's a full flight. I can just imagine people banging on the airplane bathroom door saying "C'mon lady! You and your vibrator have been in the bathroom for 20 min! I gotta pee!" Suddenly, I hear a baby crying. Great. I feel a little leakage happen. I take a deep breath and grab my Redbook mag to get my mind off the crying baby. I flip to an article called "The pros and cons of Breastfeeding" Really? In a Redbook? I slam shut the magazine and tune into the in flight movie called "Did you Hear About the Morgans?". A Sarah Jessica Parker movie can't be that bad. I look up at the little screen and it zooms in on SJP milking a cow. A friggin' cow! Are you SERIOUS? Is this a conspiracy or am I on Candid Camera? I feel sweat forming on my lip. I grab my boob for the hundredth time not caring that I look like some perv feeling myself up. The lady and her screaming kid walk by. I'm about to ask her "Hey lady, is your kid hungry? Hell, is anyone on this flight hungry?" Right as the words are about to form on my lips the pilot announces our decent. Praise Jesus!
After going through baggage claim and a nice lengthy shuttle ride to the resort I have had about all I can take. Everyone is "oohing and ahhing" over the beautiful sights we are passing and all I can think about is not squirting the guy seated next to me in the eye. We finally get to our resort on McCormick Ranch. I walk in and see mass chaos in the lobby. There's about 150 people trying to check into their rooms. Thank God I've always been nice to my admin. She just happens to be the event planner for our trip. She let's me cut in line to check in for "medical reasons." I get a million dirty looks and finally say out loud "I'm a nursing a mom and I have to pump before my breast explodes on you all" The dirty looks turn into looks of distaste. I hear some mumbles of "TMI" under people's breath. I'm just about to bitch slap the girl next to me when I decide getting to my room takes precedence. I throw my luggage down quicker than Amy Winehoue doing a shot of Jack. Ahh...Sweet relief.
Now that the whole "boob the size pf Rhode Island" debacle is over I find my co workers and drink some margaritas by the pool. I realize I'm still way out of practice drinking when after 2 margs I turn to a co worker and say the term "gen-erection" instead of "generation." Time for me to head back to the room and go to sleep. What a day.
Wednesday
I wake up confused as to where I am. I slept like a rock. No screaming baby, no baby monitor playing the music box version of Mozart, and no snoring husband. I get ready for the 4 hour sales meeting that's about to occur. After eating my weight in some crisp bacon at the breakfast buffet, I find my little work buddy, Mandy Moo. We stock up on coffee and listen to each speaker hour by hour.
After lunch it's time for our "excursion" we chose to do. I decided to do the Hummer Tour (no cracks please) in the desert. I know that I'm normally the spa and pool kinda gal. But, I figured that I may never be in AZ again, so why not check out the sights. I get into a hummer full of strangers and start to wish I was back by the pool. Suddenly, our driver (who oddly resembles Crocodile Dundee) stops at the gas station and says "this is where you can get your beer for the tour" Now your speaking my language.
I return back to the resort bragging to my co workers how I drank beer in the desert and held a gopher snake. No one really cares because they are all already half lit from drinking by the pool. Apparently, some people ran out to the local liquor store and stocked up. I smile knowing tonight is going to be interesting.
We all attend the mandatory work dinner and then decide to do none other than--drink by the pool. Well, here we all are, when the president of our sales division decides to come out and join us. My co worker leans over and says "I have a private casita and a private pool due to a mix up. Who's in?" We all make like brides-to-be at Filene's Basement and go to his casita. Many 3 Olives cocktails later we decide that it's a good idea to swim. I run back to my room to change into my suit. Shit...I forgot my tankini bottoms. I hear a knock at my door. Mandy Moo is waiting for me. In my tipsy haze I decide I'm going to swim in my Spanx. Yep. I'm that level of buzzed. Luckily they are the full bottom briefs that come above my belly button and completely cover my ass. There I was swimming in Scottsdale with my co-workers in my Spanx and no one was the wiser. Gotta love vodka.
Thursday
I hate vodka. I feel a massive "thump, thump" in my head. I text Mandy Moo and ask her to bring me some ibuprofen. Why, oh why, did I drink so much the night before the all day training session. Thank God for the fact they had coffee readily available the entire day. And thank God for Bobbi Brown concealer.
The hangover day from hell ends and Mandy Moo and I decide to go out downtown Scottsdale . We pick a place called "Geisha A Go-go". It's a sushi bar/dance club. We sit outside and watch the barbie dolls with their fake boobs walk by. As I sip on my "Hello Kitty" martini and eat a sushi roll called the "Marilyn Monroll", I decide I should check out the bathroom. I enter the stall and much to my surprise the toilet has switch on the wall that turns it into a bidet. I have to check this out. There Mandy Moo and I are yelling across the stalls to each other "Try the oscillating mode! Check out the pulsating mode!" I haven't had this much fun in a bathroom since...well let's leave that one alone. We hear the bartender yell for last call and we make our merry way back to the resort.
Friday
After a week of tearfully calling MJ and Baby Girl on the phone, I finally get to go home and see them in person. I quickly scan the plane for crying babies and any signs of anything that has to do w/ boobs, milk, or cows. We're clear. I fall asleep and dream of snuggling with my sweet little girl. I drive off from the airport and make my way into the house to my eagerly awaiting family. I drop my luggage and run up them with my arms open. Baby Girl sees me and starts to cry. MJ kisses me looking a little frazzled from his week alone with her. He's as glad to have me back as I am to be home. He says "Let's go grab a bite to eat." I reply "Sounds great as long as there is no vodka involved". Baby Girl quits crying and gives me a gummy smile. It's good to be back.
So, here is a summary of the past month and a half. It's not going to be as exciting b/c it's multiple events squished into one blog entry. But, after I post today's blog, I'm going to start blogging weekly again. Bare with me if this blog is a little long.
Scottsdale, AZ
Tuesday
I wake up at approx 3:30 AM. My flight is at 7 AM and I live a good 40 minutes from the airport. The first thing I notice is that my right boob is near bursting. There's no way in hell I'm going to wake up a peacefully sleeping Baby Girl at 3AM to feed her. It's the old "don't wake a sleeping bear" philosophy. So, I go down stairs and pull out the ol' sex toy sounding pump and go to town. 20 minutes pass and my boob still feels like an overstuffed sandbag. What the hell? Shit. It's 4AM. I only have an hour. I run upstairs, take a shower, and start to get dressed. What should I wear? This is a business trip so I should look decent. It's 4:30 AM and who the hell wants to get dressed up? I look longingly at my VS Pink Sweats and decide that wearing pants that say "Pink" on the ass and a hoodie that reads "I Love to Party" may not be work appropriate. I grab my normal business travel black dress and put on some flats. Before I leave I try to pump one last time. 1 oz. Seriously? It's like my boob is out to ruin my travel. I look down and tell it "I own you beyatch, you don't own me!" The boob pep talk doesn't seem to work, so I give up.
I go to Baby Girl's crib and start to sob. How can I be leaving her for 4 days? She's a baby doll laying there with her arms over her head. I kiss her chipmunk cheek and drag myself away. As I wipe away my tears ,I hear a crash of thunder and remember that it's 40 degrees outside. Bring on Arizona! I kiss MJ good-bye and tell him the normal "No strippers or hookers until I come home!" joke. Off I go.
As I drive to the airport I feel more pressure in my boob. This is nuts. I meet up with my coworkers at the at the gate at board on the direct flight. I contemplate pumping in the bathroom, but realize it's a full flight. I can just imagine people banging on the airplane bathroom door saying "C'mon lady! You and your vibrator have been in the bathroom for 20 min! I gotta pee!" Suddenly, I hear a baby crying. Great. I feel a little leakage happen. I take a deep breath and grab my Redbook mag to get my mind off the crying baby. I flip to an article called "The pros and cons of Breastfeeding" Really? In a Redbook? I slam shut the magazine and tune into the in flight movie called "Did you Hear About the Morgans?". A Sarah Jessica Parker movie can't be that bad. I look up at the little screen and it zooms in on SJP milking a cow. A friggin' cow! Are you SERIOUS? Is this a conspiracy or am I on Candid Camera? I feel sweat forming on my lip. I grab my boob for the hundredth time not caring that I look like some perv feeling myself up. The lady and her screaming kid walk by. I'm about to ask her "Hey lady, is your kid hungry? Hell, is anyone on this flight hungry?" Right as the words are about to form on my lips the pilot announces our decent. Praise Jesus!
After going through baggage claim and a nice lengthy shuttle ride to the resort I have had about all I can take. Everyone is "oohing and ahhing" over the beautiful sights we are passing and all I can think about is not squirting the guy seated next to me in the eye. We finally get to our resort on McCormick Ranch. I walk in and see mass chaos in the lobby. There's about 150 people trying to check into their rooms. Thank God I've always been nice to my admin. She just happens to be the event planner for our trip. She let's me cut in line to check in for "medical reasons." I get a million dirty looks and finally say out loud "I'm a nursing a mom and I have to pump before my breast explodes on you all" The dirty looks turn into looks of distaste. I hear some mumbles of "TMI" under people's breath. I'm just about to bitch slap the girl next to me when I decide getting to my room takes precedence. I throw my luggage down quicker than Amy Winehoue doing a shot of Jack. Ahh...Sweet relief.
Now that the whole "boob the size pf Rhode Island" debacle is over I find my co workers and drink some margaritas by the pool. I realize I'm still way out of practice drinking when after 2 margs I turn to a co worker and say the term "gen-erection" instead of "generation." Time for me to head back to the room and go to sleep. What a day.
Wednesday
I wake up confused as to where I am. I slept like a rock. No screaming baby, no baby monitor playing the music box version of Mozart, and no snoring husband. I get ready for the 4 hour sales meeting that's about to occur. After eating my weight in some crisp bacon at the breakfast buffet, I find my little work buddy, Mandy Moo. We stock up on coffee and listen to each speaker hour by hour.
After lunch it's time for our "excursion" we chose to do. I decided to do the Hummer Tour (no cracks please) in the desert. I know that I'm normally the spa and pool kinda gal. But, I figured that I may never be in AZ again, so why not check out the sights. I get into a hummer full of strangers and start to wish I was back by the pool. Suddenly, our driver (who oddly resembles Crocodile Dundee) stops at the gas station and says "this is where you can get your beer for the tour" Now your speaking my language.
I return back to the resort bragging to my co workers how I drank beer in the desert and held a gopher snake. No one really cares because they are all already half lit from drinking by the pool. Apparently, some people ran out to the local liquor store and stocked up. I smile knowing tonight is going to be interesting.
We all attend the mandatory work dinner and then decide to do none other than--drink by the pool. Well, here we all are, when the president of our sales division decides to come out and join us. My co worker leans over and says "I have a private casita and a private pool due to a mix up. Who's in?" We all make like brides-to-be at Filene's Basement and go to his casita. Many 3 Olives cocktails later we decide that it's a good idea to swim. I run back to my room to change into my suit. Shit...I forgot my tankini bottoms. I hear a knock at my door. Mandy Moo is waiting for me. In my tipsy haze I decide I'm going to swim in my Spanx. Yep. I'm that level of buzzed. Luckily they are the full bottom briefs that come above my belly button and completely cover my ass. There I was swimming in Scottsdale with my co-workers in my Spanx and no one was the wiser. Gotta love vodka.
Thursday
I hate vodka. I feel a massive "thump, thump" in my head. I text Mandy Moo and ask her to bring me some ibuprofen. Why, oh why, did I drink so much the night before the all day training session. Thank God for the fact they had coffee readily available the entire day. And thank God for Bobbi Brown concealer.
The hangover day from hell ends and Mandy Moo and I decide to go out downtown Scottsdale . We pick a place called "Geisha A Go-go". It's a sushi bar/dance club. We sit outside and watch the barbie dolls with their fake boobs walk by. As I sip on my "Hello Kitty" martini and eat a sushi roll called the "Marilyn Monroll", I decide I should check out the bathroom. I enter the stall and much to my surprise the toilet has switch on the wall that turns it into a bidet. I have to check this out. There Mandy Moo and I are yelling across the stalls to each other "Try the oscillating mode! Check out the pulsating mode!" I haven't had this much fun in a bathroom since...well let's leave that one alone. We hear the bartender yell for last call and we make our merry way back to the resort.
Friday
After a week of tearfully calling MJ and Baby Girl on the phone, I finally get to go home and see them in person. I quickly scan the plane for crying babies and any signs of anything that has to do w/ boobs, milk, or cows. We're clear. I fall asleep and dream of snuggling with my sweet little girl. I drive off from the airport and make my way into the house to my eagerly awaiting family. I drop my luggage and run up them with my arms open. Baby Girl sees me and starts to cry. MJ kisses me looking a little frazzled from his week alone with her. He's as glad to have me back as I am to be home. He says "Let's go grab a bite to eat." I reply "Sounds great as long as there is no vodka involved". Baby Girl quits crying and gives me a gummy smile. It's good to be back.
Thursday, April 1, 2010
Saturday 3/27 (Birthdays & Closet Wars)
9AM
Baby Girl and I are playing with her activity mat. I'm amazed at how her face lights up with delight as she looks at the little fish dangling over her head. It's a similar look that I have when I walk into a jewelry store. I tell her someday she'll like diamonds much more. I pray that she stays this cute and adorable all day long. We have MJ's uncle's 80th birthday later in the day and she'll be meeting her extended family for the first time. Screaming your head off until you turn purple isn't always the best first impression to make.
Noon
I'm sitting here watch an episode of "The Real Housewives." Man, how I hate those bitches. Mostly because I want to be a real housewife and shop all day. But also because these skinny broads have all had multiple kids and look like Barbies. I look down at the road map formerly known as my stomach and shake my head. I guess my lot in life is to be a working mom who doesn't look like she had a kid. My stomach growls and I go heat up my Lean Cuisine. Maybe next week I'll get on the grilled chicken and veggies only diet. For now, frozen entrees it is.
I hear a creak and then a slow "thump thump" down the stairs. I turn to see Grizzly Adams staring back at me. MJ has been sick all week, so I cut him slack and let him sleep in. Who am I to call him Grizzly Adams, when I look like I just crawled home after an all nighter? My hair is dirty and pulled up, no make-up on and I'm wearing old leopard print PJ's (with milk stains on them, might I add). I do the hand off of the baby and go into my private sanctuary called the shower.
4PM
The time has come. I've been dreading it for the past 4 hours. It's time to get dressed for the party. Sure, it's an 80th birthday party and not a soiree. But, it's not exactly an event to wear Juicy Couture sweats-which is primarily what I have been living in on the weekends. Plus, MJ's cousin is hosting the party and she is quite the "it" girl. She's that cool cousin that we all have. She's always dressed out of a magazine and is always in the know. Pre-baby, MJ and I were pretty similar to her and her husband. We used to hang with them at these parties until late in the night. We used to meet up for sushi and martinis. She and I shared our passion for designer denim and drooled over Stuar Weitzman shoes. Now, frozen fish and grape vodka at home have become sushi and martinis to MJ and me. My maternity jeans have replace my True Religion, and late night has become staying up to watch "Lost." So, I'm determined to look cute.
I roll up my sleeves with determination and enter my closet. I'm a fashion warrior going into the battlefield of too small clothes. This is a battle I shall win, oh yes. I walk in and look around. I see a few dresses. I should wear a dress. They're always flattering. I pick up my old stand-by little black dress and get hit with my first bullet. OMG there's a hole in it! How did that happen? My favorite dress...no... It's ok. I move on. I grab another black dress and put it on. I can't get it past my boobs. How is that even possible? I wore this dress when I was pregnant! Deep breaths. I see a final black dress (black is flattering, what can I say?). I go to put it on but realize that I'll never be able to nurse Baby Girl in it. I guess I'll go the jeans route. Round 1: closet wins.
I know better than to try on my real jeans at this point, so I just grab a pair of my maternity jeans. Ha! Take that you closet! I'll just wear my drapey purple top...shit it's in the laundry. OK, I'll wear my Arden B. black flowy top. I put it on and have cleaveage the size of the Grand Canyon. It is an 80th birthday party after all, I don't want to give the man a heart attack. I think on my feet and remember a few tops I have that I wore when I was a little bigger (so, I had the post wedding chubbies, who didn't?). They are too tight around my stomach. What am I going to wear? So far: Closet 2 Me 0.
I decide to wear a blah maroon sweater, my jeans, and flats. It's just a birthday party and everyone will be dressed casually anyway. I contimplate wearing my new Nine West heels, but decided against it. MJ gives me a pep talk and a hug. He tells me he knows that once I hit the gym again the weight will be melting off. I tell him I love him and start to pack up Baby Girl and her 9 million items we have to take.
7PM
I'm feeling a little better. My hair looks good and I'm pleased with my make-up. Baby Girl looks damn adorable, and that's really who everyone is going to be looking at anyway. We walk into the house and that's when I see her. Tall, skinny, and gorgeous. Mark's cousin. She's wearing an amazing one armed shirt, tiny little pants, and killer heels. She hugs me and meets baby girl. Well, I didn't expect anything but the best from her and it's good to see her. I turn around and see sister in law 1. She looks hot. Bam! Sister in law 2 is right behind her-stunning! I look down and think, it's okay...I just had a baby.
Shortly after, I see another cousin who had her baby a few months before me. She's back to her normal size. I instantly get irritated. She looks all chic in her black top and fancy scarf. We were chatting about being new moms and our babies etc. I ask her how much weight she gained with her baby and she said about 25 lbs. I laugh and tell her I gained 90. As the words escape my lips I begin to realize that I really should have said no to all of the Olive Garden I consumed while pregnant.
I find MJ talking to a very trendy couple who I don't recognize. I did notice the woman of the couple's kick ass boots from across the room earlier though. MJ tells me they are friends of our cousin and they are here from Broadway. He teaches acting and dance master classes around the country and she is currently performing on Broadway. MJ proceeds to tell them that we do theatre and that I'm a singer and dancer. I feel them look at me as if to say "This chubby chick, does theatre? Does her chin get bruised when she tap dances from those hooters?" I instantly feel the need to explain myself by repeatedly mentioning I just had a baby and that I used to be skinny. I give the guy my card in hopes he will call me for a tap dancing boot camp. As I hand it to him I have images of me in the midst of all these skinny divas schlepping it on the dance floor. I immediately regret it. Then, I realize that he was probably just being nice and I'm sure I won't hear from him. It figures...the day I dress like a Wal-Mart shopper, I meet Broadway people.
10PM
Baby Girl has been a hit all night. She hasn't cried a single time. She's let me nurse her and change her diapers in the guest room with out a whimper. She's let strangers hold her and hasn't spit up on a single one. I'm so proud. We catch wind that the party has moved to the basement. We come down to find our two cousins and my two sisters-in-laws playing a Wii game called "Just Dance". They are having a blast dancing to Cyndi Lauper and Brittney Spears songs. I wanted to drop Baby Girl and join in. Then, I realized A.) What would I do with Baby Girl? B.) Everyone looks all cute up there dancing and I feel like a scrub C.) My boobs would be out of control with all of that jumping around. So, I sit there and watch them while I hold my mini me. It's at that moment that I realize...I need to stop whining and get back to the gym.
My plan is to go back to the gym on Monday and start doing Weight Watchers. I'm excited and motivated. MJ gives me the cue that it's time to leave. We say good-bye and pack up our gear. I tell MJ about my plan to get in shape again.
I grab a cupcake on the way out the door. I mean, I'm starting on Monday, right?
Baby Girl and I are playing with her activity mat. I'm amazed at how her face lights up with delight as she looks at the little fish dangling over her head. It's a similar look that I have when I walk into a jewelry store. I tell her someday she'll like diamonds much more. I pray that she stays this cute and adorable all day long. We have MJ's uncle's 80th birthday later in the day and she'll be meeting her extended family for the first time. Screaming your head off until you turn purple isn't always the best first impression to make.
Noon
I'm sitting here watch an episode of "The Real Housewives." Man, how I hate those bitches. Mostly because I want to be a real housewife and shop all day. But also because these skinny broads have all had multiple kids and look like Barbies. I look down at the road map formerly known as my stomach and shake my head. I guess my lot in life is to be a working mom who doesn't look like she had a kid. My stomach growls and I go heat up my Lean Cuisine. Maybe next week I'll get on the grilled chicken and veggies only diet. For now, frozen entrees it is.
I hear a creak and then a slow "thump thump" down the stairs. I turn to see Grizzly Adams staring back at me. MJ has been sick all week, so I cut him slack and let him sleep in. Who am I to call him Grizzly Adams, when I look like I just crawled home after an all nighter? My hair is dirty and pulled up, no make-up on and I'm wearing old leopard print PJ's (with milk stains on them, might I add). I do the hand off of the baby and go into my private sanctuary called the shower.
4PM
The time has come. I've been dreading it for the past 4 hours. It's time to get dressed for the party. Sure, it's an 80th birthday party and not a soiree. But, it's not exactly an event to wear Juicy Couture sweats-which is primarily what I have been living in on the weekends. Plus, MJ's cousin is hosting the party and she is quite the "it" girl. She's that cool cousin that we all have. She's always dressed out of a magazine and is always in the know. Pre-baby, MJ and I were pretty similar to her and her husband. We used to hang with them at these parties until late in the night. We used to meet up for sushi and martinis. She and I shared our passion for designer denim and drooled over Stuar Weitzman shoes. Now, frozen fish and grape vodka at home have become sushi and martinis to MJ and me. My maternity jeans have replace my True Religion, and late night has become staying up to watch "Lost." So, I'm determined to look cute.
I roll up my sleeves with determination and enter my closet. I'm a fashion warrior going into the battlefield of too small clothes. This is a battle I shall win, oh yes. I walk in and look around. I see a few dresses. I should wear a dress. They're always flattering. I pick up my old stand-by little black dress and get hit with my first bullet. OMG there's a hole in it! How did that happen? My favorite dress...no... It's ok. I move on. I grab another black dress and put it on. I can't get it past my boobs. How is that even possible? I wore this dress when I was pregnant! Deep breaths. I see a final black dress (black is flattering, what can I say?). I go to put it on but realize that I'll never be able to nurse Baby Girl in it. I guess I'll go the jeans route. Round 1: closet wins.
I know better than to try on my real jeans at this point, so I just grab a pair of my maternity jeans. Ha! Take that you closet! I'll just wear my drapey purple top...shit it's in the laundry. OK, I'll wear my Arden B. black flowy top. I put it on and have cleaveage the size of the Grand Canyon. It is an 80th birthday party after all, I don't want to give the man a heart attack. I think on my feet and remember a few tops I have that I wore when I was a little bigger (so, I had the post wedding chubbies, who didn't?). They are too tight around my stomach. What am I going to wear? So far: Closet 2 Me 0.
I decide to wear a blah maroon sweater, my jeans, and flats. It's just a birthday party and everyone will be dressed casually anyway. I contimplate wearing my new Nine West heels, but decided against it. MJ gives me a pep talk and a hug. He tells me he knows that once I hit the gym again the weight will be melting off. I tell him I love him and start to pack up Baby Girl and her 9 million items we have to take.
7PM
I'm feeling a little better. My hair looks good and I'm pleased with my make-up. Baby Girl looks damn adorable, and that's really who everyone is going to be looking at anyway. We walk into the house and that's when I see her. Tall, skinny, and gorgeous. Mark's cousin. She's wearing an amazing one armed shirt, tiny little pants, and killer heels. She hugs me and meets baby girl. Well, I didn't expect anything but the best from her and it's good to see her. I turn around and see sister in law 1. She looks hot. Bam! Sister in law 2 is right behind her-stunning! I look down and think, it's okay...I just had a baby.
Shortly after, I see another cousin who had her baby a few months before me. She's back to her normal size. I instantly get irritated. She looks all chic in her black top and fancy scarf. We were chatting about being new moms and our babies etc. I ask her how much weight she gained with her baby and she said about 25 lbs. I laugh and tell her I gained 90. As the words escape my lips I begin to realize that I really should have said no to all of the Olive Garden I consumed while pregnant.
I find MJ talking to a very trendy couple who I don't recognize. I did notice the woman of the couple's kick ass boots from across the room earlier though. MJ tells me they are friends of our cousin and they are here from Broadway. He teaches acting and dance master classes around the country and she is currently performing on Broadway. MJ proceeds to tell them that we do theatre and that I'm a singer and dancer. I feel them look at me as if to say "This chubby chick, does theatre? Does her chin get bruised when she tap dances from those hooters?" I instantly feel the need to explain myself by repeatedly mentioning I just had a baby and that I used to be skinny. I give the guy my card in hopes he will call me for a tap dancing boot camp. As I hand it to him I have images of me in the midst of all these skinny divas schlepping it on the dance floor. I immediately regret it. Then, I realize that he was probably just being nice and I'm sure I won't hear from him. It figures...the day I dress like a Wal-Mart shopper, I meet Broadway people.
10PM
Baby Girl has been a hit all night. She hasn't cried a single time. She's let me nurse her and change her diapers in the guest room with out a whimper. She's let strangers hold her and hasn't spit up on a single one. I'm so proud. We catch wind that the party has moved to the basement. We come down to find our two cousins and my two sisters-in-laws playing a Wii game called "Just Dance". They are having a blast dancing to Cyndi Lauper and Brittney Spears songs. I wanted to drop Baby Girl and join in. Then, I realized A.) What would I do with Baby Girl? B.) Everyone looks all cute up there dancing and I feel like a scrub C.) My boobs would be out of control with all of that jumping around. So, I sit there and watch them while I hold my mini me. It's at that moment that I realize...I need to stop whining and get back to the gym.
My plan is to go back to the gym on Monday and start doing Weight Watchers. I'm excited and motivated. MJ gives me the cue that it's time to leave. We say good-bye and pack up our gear. I tell MJ about my plan to get in shape again.
I grab a cupcake on the way out the door. I mean, I'm starting on Monday, right?
Friday, March 26, 2010
Thursday 3/25 (side streets & snow falls)
7:30 AM
Crap, I'm running late. This seems to be the trend this week. I did so great in weeks 1 & 2. Too bad Week 3 is reminiscent of my freshman year college. I would try so hard to get to class on time. However, each morning the hangover was worse than the day before. I found myself cutting out wearing make-up first and then showers next. Thank God that was the year Febreeze came out. I would wear sweats or PJ bottoms to class and times I (cringe) would even forgo brushing my teeth. I figured the ever so classy grocery store brand vodka and Natty Light was enough to keep the bacteria out.
Well, I haven't gone to that extreme yet, but is sure feels like I'm getting to work later and later. I kiss Baby Girl good-bye, run out the door in my smokin' leopard print dress and black pumps (ok, so the dress is still maternity...). Shit...MJ has me blocked in. I run back in and tell him I'm taking his car and he tells me it needs gas.
I peel out of the driveway and start to jam to Ke$ha's song "Tik Tok." MJ's car is much cooler than mine, so I check the gas gage doo-hicky to see how many miles I have left in the tank. 55, Sweet! I enter the highway of death and SCREECH. Standstill. Okay, I still have 40 some odd miles left, we can do this. I'm playing w/ the car's gadgets and watching the guy in front of me run a pick through his hair like it's 1988, when I hear "ding ding!" The low fuel light comes on. I go to check how many miles I have left when that feature is no longer available due to the gas light. I make like Frogger and hop across 4 lanes to exit in a neighborhood I'm not real familiar with. I mean, I grew up on the East side of the city as a small child, so I should be OK, right?
Well, apparently I've had one too many grey goose martini's in the past and have erased my childhood memories of navigating. I go to get back on the highway and there is no on-ramp. Ok...let's just drive a little ways down the street. Hmmm...looks familiar...let's turn right. OK, I recognize some of this...Oh, here's an on-ramp. I turn onto the highway and realize I'm on the wrong f-ing highway! I'm headed into the big city, Son of a-OK, I can do this. I'll just grab my blackberry and use my GPS. My blackberry's battery is dead. Ok, I'll just charge it. Shit! My charger is in my car and I'm in MJ's. OK breathe deep. Navigation...I can do this.
I get off at the closest exit and turn right on this residential road. Shouldn't some of this look familiar? Damn you vodka in my early 20's, damn you. As I'm driving down the street I'm starting to notice some bars on the windows of some local establishments. That's always a comforting sign...I look to my right and see the name of a hair salon called "Pooky Goo's." Where the hell am I? As I continue to drive I'm getting myself deeper in the heart of the inner city. At this moment, I'm so glad I have platinum blonde hair and am wearing an eye sore leopard print dress. No that driving my suburban mom SUV wasn't sign enough that I didn't fit in. I'm starting to get nervous-not because of where I am mind you, the inner city doesn't bother me-but because of how late I'm going to be to work. I can't even call my boss to let him know. I finally find a cross street with a name that I recognize. Hallelujah! 9 million stop lights and 100 bus stops later, I make it to work over an hour late. Luckily, my boss isn't even in today!
10 AM
After a much needed Starbucks run, I start my day. I call out to some of my clients and do my job. My clients ask about Baby Girl and how I'm doing being back at work. I want to tell them, "I wish I was at home with her and not talking to you, Billy Bob", but I refrain. Most of my clients are based in the deep south, so my days tend to be interesting. Today does not disappoint. I have one client tell me about how she nursed her babies and"always had leaky boobs." How's that for relating, Mr. Boss? I should have said "Funny! Mine are leaking right now too!"
Noon
I run to Nordstrom to have my D&G sunglasses fixed. I find it ironic that my real ones break and my faux would survive just about anything. I'm so happy to have them back. I walk out of Nordstrom, go to put them on, and find that it's snowing. Figures. I put my sunglasses back in their case and tell them I'll hopefully see them soon.
5:00
I rush out to MJ's car. I stealthily parked in the visitor spots since I'm not in my own car and they'll never know. I tear down the street to the highway of death. I'm in a rush because the painter is coming to give us a quote on our master bath. I make it a few miles down the road when it's yet another standstill. It's classic NE Ohio. As soon as there is the slightest change in element, everyone forgets how to drive. I call MJ to let him know I won't be home in time.
I sit in the traffic and reflect on my day. I need to get my act together next week. Or else I'm going to need to change my name to "The Blonde Scatter-brained Working Mom." At least I have Baby Girl waiting for me at home!
Crap, I'm running late. This seems to be the trend this week. I did so great in weeks 1 & 2. Too bad Week 3 is reminiscent of my freshman year college. I would try so hard to get to class on time. However, each morning the hangover was worse than the day before. I found myself cutting out wearing make-up first and then showers next. Thank God that was the year Febreeze came out. I would wear sweats or PJ bottoms to class and times I (cringe) would even forgo brushing my teeth. I figured the ever so classy grocery store brand vodka and Natty Light was enough to keep the bacteria out.
Well, I haven't gone to that extreme yet, but is sure feels like I'm getting to work later and later. I kiss Baby Girl good-bye, run out the door in my smokin' leopard print dress and black pumps (ok, so the dress is still maternity...). Shit...MJ has me blocked in. I run back in and tell him I'm taking his car and he tells me it needs gas.
I peel out of the driveway and start to jam to Ke$ha's song "Tik Tok." MJ's car is much cooler than mine, so I check the gas gage doo-hicky to see how many miles I have left in the tank. 55, Sweet! I enter the highway of death and SCREECH. Standstill. Okay, I still have 40 some odd miles left, we can do this. I'm playing w/ the car's gadgets and watching the guy in front of me run a pick through his hair like it's 1988, when I hear "ding ding!" The low fuel light comes on. I go to check how many miles I have left when that feature is no longer available due to the gas light. I make like Frogger and hop across 4 lanes to exit in a neighborhood I'm not real familiar with. I mean, I grew up on the East side of the city as a small child, so I should be OK, right?
Well, apparently I've had one too many grey goose martini's in the past and have erased my childhood memories of navigating. I go to get back on the highway and there is no on-ramp. Ok...let's just drive a little ways down the street. Hmmm...looks familiar...let's turn right. OK, I recognize some of this...Oh, here's an on-ramp. I turn onto the highway and realize I'm on the wrong f-ing highway! I'm headed into the big city, Son of a-OK, I can do this. I'll just grab my blackberry and use my GPS. My blackberry's battery is dead. Ok, I'll just charge it. Shit! My charger is in my car and I'm in MJ's. OK breathe deep. Navigation...I can do this.
I get off at the closest exit and turn right on this residential road. Shouldn't some of this look familiar? Damn you vodka in my early 20's, damn you. As I'm driving down the street I'm starting to notice some bars on the windows of some local establishments. That's always a comforting sign...I look to my right and see the name of a hair salon called "Pooky Goo's." Where the hell am I? As I continue to drive I'm getting myself deeper in the heart of the inner city. At this moment, I'm so glad I have platinum blonde hair and am wearing an eye sore leopard print dress. No that driving my suburban mom SUV wasn't sign enough that I didn't fit in. I'm starting to get nervous-not because of where I am mind you, the inner city doesn't bother me-but because of how late I'm going to be to work. I can't even call my boss to let him know. I finally find a cross street with a name that I recognize. Hallelujah! 9 million stop lights and 100 bus stops later, I make it to work over an hour late. Luckily, my boss isn't even in today!
10 AM
After a much needed Starbucks run, I start my day. I call out to some of my clients and do my job. My clients ask about Baby Girl and how I'm doing being back at work. I want to tell them, "I wish I was at home with her and not talking to you, Billy Bob", but I refrain. Most of my clients are based in the deep south, so my days tend to be interesting. Today does not disappoint. I have one client tell me about how she nursed her babies and"always had leaky boobs." How's that for relating, Mr. Boss? I should have said "Funny! Mine are leaking right now too!"
Noon
I run to Nordstrom to have my D&G sunglasses fixed. I find it ironic that my real ones break and my faux would survive just about anything. I'm so happy to have them back. I walk out of Nordstrom, go to put them on, and find that it's snowing. Figures. I put my sunglasses back in their case and tell them I'll hopefully see them soon.
5:00
I rush out to MJ's car. I stealthily parked in the visitor spots since I'm not in my own car and they'll never know. I tear down the street to the highway of death. I'm in a rush because the painter is coming to give us a quote on our master bath. I make it a few miles down the road when it's yet another standstill. It's classic NE Ohio. As soon as there is the slightest change in element, everyone forgets how to drive. I call MJ to let him know I won't be home in time.
I sit in the traffic and reflect on my day. I need to get my act together next week. Or else I'm going to need to change my name to "The Blonde Scatter-brained Working Mom." At least I have Baby Girl waiting for me at home!
Sunday, March 21, 2010
St. Patrick's Day (Bombs & Insecurities)
6 AM
I lay asleep when Baby Girl gives me my wake up call. I look at the clock and jump out of bed with the energy of a Dallas Cowboy cheerleader. I anxiously run down the hall to the nursery and grab my little McCutie and begin nursing her. It's St. Patrick's Day! Along with Halloween, this is my favorite holiday of the year. Call it a flair for the dramatic (or my Irish heritage), but I can't resist a holiday where you can both dress up ridiculously and drink on a weekday.
7AM
I hop into my pretend Aveda Spa (aka my shower) and start to think about the day. MJ and I have a tradition with our friends where we start the day off with kegs and eggs at a local Irish Pub. Then, we hop on a party bus and chaos ensues the remainder of the day. (Here in NE Ohio, we pretty much make every "holiday" a drinking day. We don't have much else).
As I rub my soapy bath pouf on my post baby body I begin to feel a little insecure. I know have lumps where I never had them before. My boobs are now the size of small planets. My face and body are puffy enough that I could pass as having a shell fish reaction. As I look down I think that I must have been abducted by aliens and given a new body. I swear, my thighs did not have their own zip code before. "OMG I can't do this today!"
Most normal people could care less about how they look on this green holiday. However, I also know my husband and I will be surrounded by a bunch of hot skinny twenty somethings. Now, I know I shouldn't let these little Miley's and Rihanna's get to me. But, it's hard because in years past I was one of those skinny bitches. Oh, the glory of putting on tight little tops, heels and Seven for All Mankind jeans. Pre baby body, where did you go?
7AM
MJ gives me a pep talk and reiterates how beautiful he thinks I am. My hair and make up I have to admit are rocking. I feel a moment of courage and grab a pair of my pre baby jeans. Who am I kidding? This isn't a moment of courage, it's a moment of insanity! I get them up to my thighs when I can hear my jeans saying to me "For the love of God, lady. Spare us the pain!" I listen to my jeans and crumple them in ball in the floor. I let them know they haven't won. I will be wearing them again soon. Nearing tears I grab my "Yummy Tummy" tank, my smoothing panties, and nursing bra. OMG. I've morphed into a senior citizen. After practically crisco-ing my body to get all of this "smoothing support" crap on, I finish getting dressed. So, off I go in my maternity jeans (yes, I'm still in them) and my "Kiss Me, I'm Irish" tee. Let's just hope I can breathe being this sucked in.
9:30AM
Well, after making a point to tell everyone to be at breakfast at 9AM sharp, here I am running a half hour behind. I spent the last 45 minutes searching for my nursing wrap. I'm not really the kind of girl to whip my boob out in public and start nursing. And by no means am I going to pump in public. No one but me needs to see that dairy farm freak show. Because of this, I had MJ order me a nursing cover appropriately named "Hooter Hiders." The name alone drew me in (the reviews helped a bit too). I made a plan the other night that I will pump in the car both before and after we ride the party bus. So, I really need this wrap. Where the F is it? We search high and low to the point of tears. Finally, I make a phone call and learn that we left it at a friend's house. Luckily, he is coming to breakfast and can bring it along. I'm glad that it's on its way, but I hate being late to any event. Yes, even kegs and eggs.
10:00AM
I greet my friends at the long table. Everyone is glad to see us. Not necessarily to see MJ and me, but to see Baby Girl. Baby Girl and my mother-in-law came along and will be departing after breakfast. She looks adorable dressed in her green top and shamrock pants. She's also sporting a bib that says "Kiss Me, I'm Irish", so we match. Damn that child can pull off an outfit. What can I say? She is the child of a fashion crazed woman. I look around and see beers, bloody mary's and mimosas-a-plenty. I start to get a little insecure again. This time I'm worried about the idea of me drinking all day. I know it sounds absurd being a former sorority girl and party animal. However, I haven't tied one on in almost 11 months. I'm out of practice!
10:30
I'm in the backseat of my car with the hooter hider tied around my neck. I'm trying to be discreet pumping, but it's obvious something's up. I start to get insecure yet again, as loads of people pass my car and give me the look of "what the hell..." I just pretend I don't see them and go one with my pumping. After 20 minutes, I finish and start to put the lids on the bottles. Shit, shit, shit!! One spills. All I can think of is that my friends may be sitting back here later. How do you tell them "Don't mind the wet stains, that's just my breastmilk"? Thank God, the milk lands on my coat and not the seat. Great...what am I going to wear for a coat now?
11:30 AM
I kiss my adorable baby good-bye. For a moment I realize how crazy it is to be leaving the most adorable baby in the world to drink green beer all day. Then, I remember all of the stressful and long nights I've had during the last 2 months and suddenly feel better. We begin the morning with an old St. Pat's standby: Irish Car Bombs. This is going to be a long day.
3:00 PM
1 car bomb, 3 cherry bombs, and a beer later, I'm in my happy spot on the bus. Ke$ha is blaring on the radio and I'm dancing like I don't have a post baby body. I'm loving this! This is a blast--until, our bus driver, Mildred, stops the bus to let some twentysomething puke at the side of the road. Mind you it's 3PM. Kids just can't hold their liquor. As we all start to laugh at the inebriated youngin', we get a new bomb. This time it's the news: our bus won't start back up. Excuse me? It will take how long to get a new bus? 2 hours? WTF.
Here we stand on the side of the road with a group of drunken strangers looking like a touring cast of an Irish "Rocky Horror." School is letting out and since we are on a main street in Akron, the kids walk by, point, and laugh. Cars whiz by, honking there horns giving us the "way to go, losers" signal. This was not the best moment of my life. Funny yes, proud no. Thank God for our friend, who is en route to meet us downtown. He pulls up in his mustang convertible and picks us up. We wave good bye to the party bus youth, and head to the next bar. My only concern now, is keeping my rocking hair from becoming convertible hair.
7PM
We make through a game of quarters downtown, a few martinis at a new martini bar, and another bus ride back to our "home" bar. We are excited to be back and share our story of our ghetto bus ride. I run in excitedly and hug my one guy friend, As soon as I pull back from hugging him, I see a look of horror on his face. I ignore it and turn to an entire table of friends. They have the same look of "OMG! Freddy Kruger is behind you!" on their faces. Finally, one of my friends finally tells me what's going on. My right boob is leaking milk and a have a nice big evident stain on my shirt. I put down my grey goose martini, look at MJ and say "It's time to go."
We head home and I begin to forget my humiliation of the leaky right boob as thoughts of Baby Girl enter my mind. Thank God, MJ stayed completely sober and his mother is spending the night. All in all, it has been a good day. However, just like always, at the end of the day, it's all about the boob.
Monday, March 15, 2010
Saturday (Outlets & Wonderbras)
Saturday
4AM
Why, oh why, did I think margaritas were a good idea? I'm sleeping soundly when the ear curdling scream comes from the nursery. Normally we try to alternate the late night feeding, but I'm bushed. MJ gets up and I roll over back to sleep. An hour goes by when MJ comes back in saying she refuses to lay back in her crib. So, I snuggle with her in bed with full intentions of taking her back to the nursery. Unfortunately, I drift back to la-la land as she sleeps in our bed. Even the most loving mom dreads her baby sharing her bed. Beauty sleep...hello? Those damn margaritas. They sure do make you sleepy when you're out of practice.
11AM
I take a little extra time in the shower this morning. I close my eyse and imagine that I'm in an Aveda spa where some muscle man named Antonio is giving me a message. I'm quickly snapped out of that fantasy when I hear a knock at the door. "Honey, can you hurry up? Baby Girl had a blow out and I need to throw in some laundry." So, long Antonio.
We decided we need a day out and go to the outlet mall. Someone may lose a limb if I don't get my Starbucks fix. After I practically take in my coffee through an IV, we are on the road. We get very excited that Baby Girl is so chill on the ride there. We go into each baby store and go a little nuts. I'm sure it scares the shit out of MJ that I used to be obsessed with Barbies and dress up as a girl. We both get stupid excited looking at baby bikinis and tiny sandals. We have visions of her splashing on the beach and beebopping around Disney when she's older. I only wish MJ got as excited about shopping for clothes for me.
Noon
As I shop around I notice a girl who needs one of those bra interventions like on Oprah. Her boobs were practically dragging on the floor. And boy were those some serious hooters! Seriously girl, have you ever heard of an underwire? Wait a minute...OMG, that's ME! As I stare at my reflection in the mirror I about drop my soy latte. The thing is, I was a very normal 32 full C pre baby. My girls were always like my signature feature. I was damn proud of them. I'm now a 36 E. E as in elephant. Jenna Jameson would be blown away. No wonder the poor child had such difficulties latching on in the beginning. She probably thought it was Armageddon and my boob was a giant meteor about to hit her face. Next stop: the bra outlet!
Sixty dollars and a handful of nursing bras later, we continue shopping. Before we leave the store I ask the girl if I can change bras then and there in the store. She looks at me like I'm a nut but says sure. I change bras and I'm a new woman ready to conquer the world. I take a glimpse out of the corner of my eye in the mirror and think "Much perkier! But DAMN are those suckers still big!" No complaints from MJ there.
4PM
We stop in Babies R Us or as I call it the "Drop $50 at the door because that's at least what you'll spend inside" store. Our main objective for going is so that I can use their nursing room. How sad is it that I get stoked about a little room with a rocking chair and a changing table? Baby Girl burps and goes back to sleep-as all good milkaholics do. We praise her for being such a good little girl for sleeping all day. We move onto BW3 and eat some wings and watch college basketball as Baby Girl continues to saw logs.
6PM
We try to watch a movie. Try is the operative word here. All those hours that Baby Girl was sleeping today is coming back to bite us in the ass. Let the scream-a-thon begin! There is no consoling her. She nurses so much I'm shocked that I have nipples left. She has her diaper changed repeatedly and we play with her. We even try to let her scream it out. Nothing is working. This goes on until close to midnight. Finally she falls asleep on my chest on the couch. I don't want to move in fear of waking her. I tell MJ I'll wait it out a half hour and bring her to the crib.
4AM
Holy shit. I can't move. When did Bea Arthur take over my body? Where am I? Oh, the couch. What time is it? 4 AM. 4 AM?? I was supposed to be in bed at 12:30. Eww, what's this wet sticky feeling on my neck? Ugh, baby spit up. Ok, if I can just make it upstairs with out waking her... I creep up off the couch ever so slowly. Yes! I'm just about to make it to the stairs when my hair brushes her across the face. "WHAAA!" She looks at me as to say "This is not my crib and it's been 4 hours since I ate you psycho, milk supplying, woman! Take care of this NOW!" Ah, my little Diva in training. I nurse her, change her and take her back to bed.
Well at least I have a few more hours to sleep until we have to get up for church. Then it dawns on me. Daylight savings! I'm screwed!
4AM
Why, oh why, did I think margaritas were a good idea? I'm sleeping soundly when the ear curdling scream comes from the nursery. Normally we try to alternate the late night feeding, but I'm bushed. MJ gets up and I roll over back to sleep. An hour goes by when MJ comes back in saying she refuses to lay back in her crib. So, I snuggle with her in bed with full intentions of taking her back to the nursery. Unfortunately, I drift back to la-la land as she sleeps in our bed. Even the most loving mom dreads her baby sharing her bed. Beauty sleep...hello? Those damn margaritas. They sure do make you sleepy when you're out of practice.
11AM
I take a little extra time in the shower this morning. I close my eyse and imagine that I'm in an Aveda spa where some muscle man named Antonio is giving me a message. I'm quickly snapped out of that fantasy when I hear a knock at the door. "Honey, can you hurry up? Baby Girl had a blow out and I need to throw in some laundry." So, long Antonio.
We decided we need a day out and go to the outlet mall. Someone may lose a limb if I don't get my Starbucks fix. After I practically take in my coffee through an IV, we are on the road. We get very excited that Baby Girl is so chill on the ride there. We go into each baby store and go a little nuts. I'm sure it scares the shit out of MJ that I used to be obsessed with Barbies and dress up as a girl. We both get stupid excited looking at baby bikinis and tiny sandals. We have visions of her splashing on the beach and beebopping around Disney when she's older. I only wish MJ got as excited about shopping for clothes for me.
Noon
As I shop around I notice a girl who needs one of those bra interventions like on Oprah. Her boobs were practically dragging on the floor. And boy were those some serious hooters! Seriously girl, have you ever heard of an underwire? Wait a minute...OMG, that's ME! As I stare at my reflection in the mirror I about drop my soy latte. The thing is, I was a very normal 32 full C pre baby. My girls were always like my signature feature. I was damn proud of them. I'm now a 36 E. E as in elephant. Jenna Jameson would be blown away. No wonder the poor child had such difficulties latching on in the beginning. She probably thought it was Armageddon and my boob was a giant meteor about to hit her face. Next stop: the bra outlet!
Sixty dollars and a handful of nursing bras later, we continue shopping. Before we leave the store I ask the girl if I can change bras then and there in the store. She looks at me like I'm a nut but says sure. I change bras and I'm a new woman ready to conquer the world. I take a glimpse out of the corner of my eye in the mirror and think "Much perkier! But DAMN are those suckers still big!" No complaints from MJ there.
4PM
We stop in Babies R Us or as I call it the "Drop $50 at the door because that's at least what you'll spend inside" store. Our main objective for going is so that I can use their nursing room. How sad is it that I get stoked about a little room with a rocking chair and a changing table? Baby Girl burps and goes back to sleep-as all good milkaholics do. We praise her for being such a good little girl for sleeping all day. We move onto BW3 and eat some wings and watch college basketball as Baby Girl continues to saw logs.
6PM
We try to watch a movie. Try is the operative word here. All those hours that Baby Girl was sleeping today is coming back to bite us in the ass. Let the scream-a-thon begin! There is no consoling her. She nurses so much I'm shocked that I have nipples left. She has her diaper changed repeatedly and we play with her. We even try to let her scream it out. Nothing is working. This goes on until close to midnight. Finally she falls asleep on my chest on the couch. I don't want to move in fear of waking her. I tell MJ I'll wait it out a half hour and bring her to the crib.
4AM
Holy shit. I can't move. When did Bea Arthur take over my body? Where am I? Oh, the couch. What time is it? 4 AM. 4 AM?? I was supposed to be in bed at 12:30. Eww, what's this wet sticky feeling on my neck? Ugh, baby spit up. Ok, if I can just make it upstairs with out waking her... I creep up off the couch ever so slowly. Yes! I'm just about to make it to the stairs when my hair brushes her across the face. "WHAAA!" She looks at me as to say "This is not my crib and it's been 4 hours since I ate you psycho, milk supplying, woman! Take care of this NOW!" Ah, my little Diva in training. I nurse her, change her and take her back to bed.
Well at least I have a few more hours to sleep until we have to get up for church. Then it dawns on me. Daylight savings! I'm screwed!
Saturday, March 13, 2010
Day 5 (Milk and Margaritas)
7AM
I run out of the house in a rush. So much for that whole "I don't need an alarm set; Baby Girl wakes me up the same time every day" thing. I'm starting to think the kid has a cruel sense of humor. MJ isn't home this morning because he and the guys stayed downtown after the basketball game. It's tough not having him around this morning, but I'm glad they didn't drink and drive home last night. Thankfully, my mother-in-law stayed the night. So, I throw Baby Girl football style to my mother- in-law and make a run for it.
I realize when I get into the car that I forgot my lunch. So, much for saving money today. My fuel light comes on. Why do I always need gas when I'm running late? I decide not to chance it and reluctantly pull into the Circle K. I ran out of gas on the highway of death a few years ago and refuse to ever let that happen again. Let's just say I smelled like gasoline for about 3 days after that mishap (there are some things you shouldn't do in a short skirt and heels on a windy day). I laugh at the fact that the sign on the pump says "Please Pre Pay in Advance" and that some disgruntled customer took a sharpie and crossed out the "in Advance" part. Underneath it, they wrote "WTF". I find pleasure in the fact that things like that drive other people crazy too.
8:30 AM
I start and end my week the same way: late. Luckily we do flex time, so I'm not overly concerned. I finally bite the bullet and email my accounts to let them know I'm back from maternity leave. My email and voicemail instantly become inundated. To my clients, I'm the Mother Theresa of the insurance biz. (The much more fashionable version of her that is). Let the fun begin!
11:30 Am
The morning whizzes by as I try to pretend that insurance is best thing since the Shu Uemura eye lash curler. I feel a not so pleasant tingle in my right boob. That's my cue to my pump. I hoof it up 3 flights (in heels of course) to get the extra calorie burn. I give a silent "wussup" to the people having their meeting across from the lactation room. I get all of my pumping supplies out and ready when I realize that I don't have my entire pump. In my discombobulated state this morning, I left the bottles and horns sitting on my counter. I let out a huge sigh and dejectedly go back downstairs.
I tell my boss I have to leave early because I didn't bring my entire pump. Apparently I'm speaking Korean because his face was blank. I try to explain without scarring the poor man. It comes down to me saying "Without my pump, you will find me curled up in the fetal position under my desk crying in pain while milk leaks all over." His look turns from blank to wanting to jab his eyes out. I get my point across.
Noon
I try to get my 2 work friends to go to lunch since I forgot mine. The one has plans with a friend and the other has to pick up her car she left at the bar. I commend her for having a wild night. These days my wild nights consist of changing diapers while having a glass of wine. I run down to the cafeteria and grab a sandwich from Quizno's. I immediately start to lose my mind as Gertrude at the register starts to argue with the guy infront of me about whether or not he gets a free soda. Give me an f'ing break. It's a soda worth $1.10. Just pay for the damn thing and let me get on with my life.
2:00 PM
It's the big boss' work anniversary. He's carried out 20 years of his sentence thus far. We all stand around eating cake and making office small talk. As I'm surrounded by upper management consisting primarily of men, I start to feel a warm and wet sensation on my left boob. Oh, God. My boob is leaking. Shit. Okay, I can slip away unnoticed. As I try to slither away unnoticed, someone takes this opportunity to start asking about Baby Girl. I try to cover my boob without looking like I'm groping myself and answered the man's questions. I can feel the stain getting bigger. I finally say "I have go to facilitate a webinar" and make a mad dash for my cube. I look down and have a pancake sized stain on my shirt. Thank God I wore a dark color. I throw on my NorthFace jacket and get the hell out of there.
4:00 PM
I now know how a water balloon feels when a child is squeezing it trying to make it pop. I try to get home as quickly as possible. There is little to no traffic on the highway of death. I enter my city after a nearly 4o minute commute from the city. I'm blocks away from my house and I'm suddenly stopped in traffic. Why are we stopped? Is that a police car? And an ambulance? Oh, please no. This can't be happening. There can't be an accident. I'm at the point where I'm about to ask the lady in the minivan in front of me if her child is hungry and could do me a favor. Thankfully, traffic starts to move.
4:30 PM
MJ and Baby Girl are chilling all cute and comfy watching an HBO movie. I rip off my soaked shirt and bra and run for my pump. 40 minutes later (yes, I said 40 minutes) I'm finally done pumping. I could have fed a small village in Indonesia with amount of milk I pumped.
6:00 PM
It was one hell of a long week. Between leaving Baby Girl for the first time this week and trying to pump at work, I was beat. I was supposed to have wine with the girls, but can't muster up the energy. I look at MJ and say "Let's go get Mexican. I need a margarita...or four."
So, we head off to the local Mexican joint and splurge on both food and drinks. Sadly, I know I'm going to be paying for this later...
Friday, March 12, 2010
Day 4 (Screams & COACH Bags)
7AM
I'm off work today because Baby Girl has her 2 month well visit. MJ is off as well to go downtown and watch live college basketball with the guys. I race around like the newly scatter brained mom I've become and get her all bundled up. It's a beautiful sunny day which is rare around these parts in March. I decide to go to the local outlet mall and try to find Baby Girl her first Easter Dress. MJ tells me that I may get a new COACH bag if I find one I really love out the outlet. He noticed mine is super beat up. (God, how disgusting must my handbag be when Mr. Manly Man here notices my tore up purse?) I'm elated!
10AM
I stand in line to check in at the doctor. An elderly gentleman looks at me and says "Is your baby carrier heavy?" I say it is. "How much does it weigh?" I say I don't know but it's heavy. "How much does your baby weigh?" Around 12 lbs. "Does it convert into a stroller?" Yes. "Things sure are more complicated now then when my kids were babies. Then again that's before the government controlled how we raise our kids and forced us to use these baby contraptions!!" Shit, here we go. I'm pretty sure the number of babies who have flown through the windshield may have been the deciding factor on car seats, but what do I know?
Poor Baby Girl. 4 vaccines in one day. She was pissed. The doctor orders me an ultra sound for later in the day to check out Baby Girl's tummy. Her spit up fountains have increasingly become worse. She schedules it for 2:15. Um, excuse me, but that interferes with my COACH bag shopping... I smack myself back to reality and remember that I have a baby who comes first now. She also tells me that Baby Girl cannot eat from this moment on until after the ultra sound. This should be fun. I should have run away screaming then.
10:30AM
I stop in the Post Office because I have to overnight something to my mom in Florida. I fill the envelope with my mail. I'm standing there swinging my baby carrier back in forth to keep the baby asleep. Both people in line are having major issues and yelling at the PO workers. Don't mind me swinging this 900 lb carrier. Take your time...I need to work out anyway. Jackasses.
It's finally my turn and I tell the disgruntled PO work (as I pray he doesn't go postal-I get nervous at the PO), I need to overnight some mail. He sighs and rolls his eyes "You need this envelope" I reply: OK thanks, I'll just pay for the one I used, that's fine. "You'll need to put a new label on it too" That's fine, too. "It's going to be like $25." I get sick of the 3rd degree and finally snap at him and say: It's FINE! It's all fine, just let me send my package please! I seriously think I scared him. Look, this isn't The Jersey Shore. Don't pull your Guido attitude w/ me buddy.
11:00 AM
I tear around the outlet malls like I'm on the old game show "Super Market Sweep" I get Baby girl her Easter dress, some Yankee Candle Car jars (can't have my car smelling like spit up funk) and an adorable COACH bag. They were have a huge sale at the outlet and I scored. Sadly, I did find myself lured like Augustus Klug in Willy Wonka into the Malley's Chocolates store. I bought like 4 pieces of chocolate and pretended it was for someones Easter basket. Whose basket? I'm not so sure.
2:30 PM
I get to Children's Hospital downtown Akron. Baby Girl has been asleep this whole time and is not aware that it's been 4 hours since she last ate. Thank God for the carseat. I get to the information desk and talk to Geriatric Gerry and he has no clue where I need to go. He sends me on a wild goose chase. I end up in the wrong wing. I find another senior citizen volunteer and she sends me to the 8th floor. Wrong floor. Thankfully someone got me in the right place. I walk in there like I just got off the roller derby track. Out of breath and sweaty with a blister on my foot. Damn cute shoes again.
2:45
Of course as soon as we sit down in the waiting room and the stroller stops moving, Baby Girl cuts up. She is screaming like Faye Ray in King Kong. People are staring and glaring. I find myself telling strangers "Sorry she's here for a tummy ultrasound and hasn't eaten in 4 hours. They won't let me feed her" Then, I get mad that I'm explaining myself to strangers. Why should it matter? It's Children's Hospital for the love of God. Children cry! The receptionist who is helping one of the glaring customers comes over with some sugar water to put on Baby Girl's pacifier. She says nastily, "Maybe this will stop her screaming". I tell her they are the ones who told me not feed her. She replies "I know, but she's quite loud!" I'm about to judo chop her when we get called back for the ultra sound. Poor kid, 4 vaccines, no food, and then cold ultra sound jelly on her tummy. Not her day either.
It turns out everything is fine and she is just gorging herself which makes her puke. Great. I have a baby bulimic. Hopefully I won't need to call "Intervention"anytime soon. So, I sit in the waiting room and feed her before I leave. I see the fear in people's eyes as we enter the room as if they are saying "Oh great, here's that screaming baby again".
3:30
Baby Girl gets quiet as I feed her. As I'm reflecting on my crappy day, I take a moment to look around. Here I am at Children's Hospital in the radiation department. I notice a family of visitors who's there for their child's radiation treatment. I look over and see another very sick young girl who has gloves on her hands to prevent clawing herself. She can't speak much more than a few grunts. I look down at Baby Girl and count my blessings. Here I am bitching about my day while there are other mothers here with their sick and/or dying children. I say a silent prayer to God and thank Him.
I guess our day wasn't that bad after all.
I'm off work today because Baby Girl has her 2 month well visit. MJ is off as well to go downtown and watch live college basketball with the guys. I race around like the newly scatter brained mom I've become and get her all bundled up. It's a beautiful sunny day which is rare around these parts in March. I decide to go to the local outlet mall and try to find Baby Girl her first Easter Dress. MJ tells me that I may get a new COACH bag if I find one I really love out the outlet. He noticed mine is super beat up. (God, how disgusting must my handbag be when Mr. Manly Man here notices my tore up purse?) I'm elated!
10AM
I stand in line to check in at the doctor. An elderly gentleman looks at me and says "Is your baby carrier heavy?" I say it is. "How much does it weigh?" I say I don't know but it's heavy. "How much does your baby weigh?" Around 12 lbs. "Does it convert into a stroller?" Yes. "Things sure are more complicated now then when my kids were babies. Then again that's before the government controlled how we raise our kids and forced us to use these baby contraptions!!" Shit, here we go. I'm pretty sure the number of babies who have flown through the windshield may have been the deciding factor on car seats, but what do I know?
Poor Baby Girl. 4 vaccines in one day. She was pissed. The doctor orders me an ultra sound for later in the day to check out Baby Girl's tummy. Her spit up fountains have increasingly become worse. She schedules it for 2:15. Um, excuse me, but that interferes with my COACH bag shopping... I smack myself back to reality and remember that I have a baby who comes first now. She also tells me that Baby Girl cannot eat from this moment on until after the ultra sound. This should be fun. I should have run away screaming then.
10:30AM
I stop in the Post Office because I have to overnight something to my mom in Florida. I fill the envelope with my mail. I'm standing there swinging my baby carrier back in forth to keep the baby asleep. Both people in line are having major issues and yelling at the PO workers. Don't mind me swinging this 900 lb carrier. Take your time...I need to work out anyway. Jackasses.
It's finally my turn and I tell the disgruntled PO work (as I pray he doesn't go postal-I get nervous at the PO), I need to overnight some mail. He sighs and rolls his eyes "You need this envelope" I reply: OK thanks, I'll just pay for the one I used, that's fine. "You'll need to put a new label on it too" That's fine, too. "It's going to be like $25." I get sick of the 3rd degree and finally snap at him and say: It's FINE! It's all fine, just let me send my package please! I seriously think I scared him. Look, this isn't The Jersey Shore. Don't pull your Guido attitude w/ me buddy.
11:00 AM
I tear around the outlet malls like I'm on the old game show "Super Market Sweep" I get Baby girl her Easter dress, some Yankee Candle Car jars (can't have my car smelling like spit up funk) and an adorable COACH bag. They were have a huge sale at the outlet and I scored. Sadly, I did find myself lured like Augustus Klug in Willy Wonka into the Malley's Chocolates store. I bought like 4 pieces of chocolate and pretended it was for someones Easter basket. Whose basket? I'm not so sure.
2:30 PM
I get to Children's Hospital downtown Akron. Baby Girl has been asleep this whole time and is not aware that it's been 4 hours since she last ate. Thank God for the carseat. I get to the information desk and talk to Geriatric Gerry and he has no clue where I need to go. He sends me on a wild goose chase. I end up in the wrong wing. I find another senior citizen volunteer and she sends me to the 8th floor. Wrong floor. Thankfully someone got me in the right place. I walk in there like I just got off the roller derby track. Out of breath and sweaty with a blister on my foot. Damn cute shoes again.
2:45
Of course as soon as we sit down in the waiting room and the stroller stops moving, Baby Girl cuts up. She is screaming like Faye Ray in King Kong. People are staring and glaring. I find myself telling strangers "Sorry she's here for a tummy ultrasound and hasn't eaten in 4 hours. They won't let me feed her" Then, I get mad that I'm explaining myself to strangers. Why should it matter? It's Children's Hospital for the love of God. Children cry! The receptionist who is helping one of the glaring customers comes over with some sugar water to put on Baby Girl's pacifier. She says nastily, "Maybe this will stop her screaming". I tell her they are the ones who told me not feed her. She replies "I know, but she's quite loud!" I'm about to judo chop her when we get called back for the ultra sound. Poor kid, 4 vaccines, no food, and then cold ultra sound jelly on her tummy. Not her day either.
It turns out everything is fine and she is just gorging herself which makes her puke. Great. I have a baby bulimic. Hopefully I won't need to call "Intervention"anytime soon. So, I sit in the waiting room and feed her before I leave. I see the fear in people's eyes as we enter the room as if they are saying "Oh great, here's that screaming baby again".
3:30
Baby Girl gets quiet as I feed her. As I'm reflecting on my crappy day, I take a moment to look around. Here I am at Children's Hospital in the radiation department. I notice a family of visitors who's there for their child's radiation treatment. I look over and see another very sick young girl who has gloves on her hands to prevent clawing herself. She can't speak much more than a few grunts. I look down at Baby Girl and count my blessings. Here I am bitching about my day while there are other mothers here with their sick and/or dying children. I say a silent prayer to God and thank Him.
I guess our day wasn't that bad after all.
Day 3 (Black Outs & Bessy)
6:30 AM
When I was 24, MJ and I went to Columbus w/ some friends for a theatre weekend. It was basically a huge drunken hotel party. It was a blast. However, I woke up that Saturday morning not knowing how I got into bed or where I was. This was a result of mixing dirty martinis, white wine, and Mike's Hard Lemonades (I reiterate I was 24). That morning, I had strangers at the hotel saying "Ha! You were that blonde in the elevator last night!" (Apparently, MJ) had to hold me up while taking me up to the room. Poor MJ. That was the one and only time I've ever had a true blackout. Until now.
My alarm goes off. I don't hear Baby Girl crying. It's 6:30. I put her to bed at 11:30. OMG she slept for 7 hours! Is she alive? I turn to a peacefully sleeping MJ and say "We never fed her last night!" He looks at me like I have 3 heads and says "Um, yeah we did. You elbowed me (hard) at 4 AM telling me to get up and feed her. Then, you rolled over and went back to sleep!" Oopsy. I have no recollection of this and honestly didn't believe MJ until I looked over and saw an empty bottle. I guess you can have lack-of-sleep-because-of-baby blackouts, too. Who knew? Poor MJ.
9 AM
I meet with my manager briefly. He lets me know that pumping is not covered under FMLA. Luckily, he is being very nice about it and letting me continue to pump. He explains the reason he was given is because pumping is not "bonding" which is what post partum FMLA is for. I look at him and say "If I don't pump, she doesn't eat." He agrees whole heartidly and I feel lucky to have an understanding boss with this situation. You practically have people in the company receiving FMLA protection for anything from a yeast infection to insomnia, but breastfeeding isn't covered. I'm considering writing my congressman about this.
10 AM
I meet with one of my other managers and am showing a co worker baby pics. This manager walks in and says "Are these pics of your nephew? " to my co worker. She and I both look at him like he's on crack. I say "It's my baby. I was out for 3 months..." I get the blank stare. Later I see my manager's boss. He says "Glad you brought the sunshine back with you" No, "Hey, how are you? How's the baby?" Shot down twice with in two hours. Glad I have such a strong presence in the department. Jeeze.
11 AM
My favorite time of the day...Pumping! I go into my little dairy room, sit down and begin. Well, something was wrong with the way I set up my pump. But, I don't realize this until I feel nice warm wet feeling on my leg. Milk is spilling out of the bottles. I get milk all over my legs, on my shirt, and down my arm. Of course, I was wearing dark grey dress pants and a black shirt. So, there was no hiding the milk stains all over me. I literally left that room looking like I got into a fist fight with Bessy the Cow-and she won.
6PM
The rest of the afternoon was full of paint drying work moments. I come home to Baby Girl, who of course cries the minute she sees me until I whip out a boob.
9PM
MJ and I chill watching DVR'd TV. We have a spur of the moment knock down drag out argument. Sleep deprivation sure can make people testy. On the plus side we worked out some things we holding in. On the down side the argument happened. We both realized that we need to be more appreciative of each other and respect each other's emotions. I'm going to do my best to chill on being a screaming banshee. MJ has had to deal with me as a crazy hormonal pregnant girl (aka bitch), then as a post partum hormonal new mom (aka super bitch), and now dealing with me starting to PMS again (aka uber bitch). Poor MJ.
11:30PM
Baby Girl gives me snuggles and nods off to baby la-la land. It makes me smile and comforts me enough to fall asleep, myself.
When I was 24, MJ and I went to Columbus w/ some friends for a theatre weekend. It was basically a huge drunken hotel party. It was a blast. However, I woke up that Saturday morning not knowing how I got into bed or where I was. This was a result of mixing dirty martinis, white wine, and Mike's Hard Lemonades (I reiterate I was 24). That morning, I had strangers at the hotel saying "Ha! You were that blonde in the elevator last night!" (Apparently, MJ) had to hold me up while taking me up to the room. Poor MJ. That was the one and only time I've ever had a true blackout. Until now.
My alarm goes off. I don't hear Baby Girl crying. It's 6:30. I put her to bed at 11:30. OMG she slept for 7 hours! Is she alive? I turn to a peacefully sleeping MJ and say "We never fed her last night!" He looks at me like I have 3 heads and says "Um, yeah we did. You elbowed me (hard) at 4 AM telling me to get up and feed her. Then, you rolled over and went back to sleep!" Oopsy. I have no recollection of this and honestly didn't believe MJ until I looked over and saw an empty bottle. I guess you can have lack-of-sleep-because-of-baby blackouts, too. Who knew? Poor MJ.
9 AM
I meet with my manager briefly. He lets me know that pumping is not covered under FMLA. Luckily, he is being very nice about it and letting me continue to pump. He explains the reason he was given is because pumping is not "bonding" which is what post partum FMLA is for. I look at him and say "If I don't pump, she doesn't eat." He agrees whole heartidly and I feel lucky to have an understanding boss with this situation. You practically have people in the company receiving FMLA protection for anything from a yeast infection to insomnia, but breastfeeding isn't covered. I'm considering writing my congressman about this.
10 AM
I meet with one of my other managers and am showing a co worker baby pics. This manager walks in and says "Are these pics of your nephew? " to my co worker. She and I both look at him like he's on crack. I say "It's my baby. I was out for 3 months..." I get the blank stare. Later I see my manager's boss. He says "Glad you brought the sunshine back with you" No, "Hey, how are you? How's the baby?" Shot down twice with in two hours. Glad I have such a strong presence in the department. Jeeze.
11 AM
My favorite time of the day...Pumping! I go into my little dairy room, sit down and begin. Well, something was wrong with the way I set up my pump. But, I don't realize this until I feel nice warm wet feeling on my leg. Milk is spilling out of the bottles. I get milk all over my legs, on my shirt, and down my arm. Of course, I was wearing dark grey dress pants and a black shirt. So, there was no hiding the milk stains all over me. I literally left that room looking like I got into a fist fight with Bessy the Cow-and she won.
6PM
The rest of the afternoon was full of paint drying work moments. I come home to Baby Girl, who of course cries the minute she sees me until I whip out a boob.
9PM
MJ and I chill watching DVR'd TV. We have a spur of the moment knock down drag out argument. Sleep deprivation sure can make people testy. On the plus side we worked out some things we holding in. On the down side the argument happened. We both realized that we need to be more appreciative of each other and respect each other's emotions. I'm going to do my best to chill on being a screaming banshee. MJ has had to deal with me as a crazy hormonal pregnant girl (aka bitch), then as a post partum hormonal new mom (aka super bitch), and now dealing with me starting to PMS again (aka uber bitch). Poor MJ.
11:30PM
Baby Girl gives me snuggles and nods off to baby la-la land. It makes me smile and comforts me enough to fall asleep, myself.
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