I had many thoughts earlier today that ended with, 'yeah, that'll be good to blog about.' Sadly though, I can't remember too many of those.
Maybe it was the tortuous 3-hour car ride with screaming baby, chatty 3-yr-old and highly anxious husband, or the ill-planned Sunday night trip to Whole Foods to join the throng every annoying self-centered urbanite joined by - once again - screaming baby who it turns out is teething, or the scramble that was quickly cook dinner but try to entice 3-yr-old to poopy on the potty, or the well-deserved and must-needed glasses of Chardonnay. Regardless, the brain is fried. But I will leave you with this:
The baby is now Six Months Old. Yes, a big milestone. A half year. Six months. Wow. Can't believe we've made it this far. Everyone always says -- and even I've even taken to repeating it -- that the first six months is the hardest. Make it past that, and it's all downhill from there, they say.
Wonderful. But the 6-month mark has been a slap in the face to me. A bit of a wake-up call. Basically this gave me an okay-you-haven't-just-had-a-baby reminder. Yep. No more excuses. The baby weight needs to come off. I'd hate to be one of those women who complains about their baby weight when in fact her baby is. Seven. Years. Old.
So much for 'finding time' to work out. I now realize there is no such thing. I need to MAKE time. It may mean a few hours less sleep. It may mean a few hours less work - and a few more to-dos not done. It may mean a few hours less hanging out with the husband or a few hours less sitting on the porch drinking wine. But, it's gotta happen.
I'm tired of "empire waist" being my saving grace. At some point, I need to get back to being me and shed the post-baby weight. I'm giving myself another 3 months. That will be a full 9 months post-partum. I figure it took me 9 months to get here, so I at least should give myself a full 9 months to get out of it.
I feel like half the battle is realizing that the weight isn't just going to fall off by itself. It's going to take some work. And it's going to take some tough decisions to actually MAKE time. But I think I'm ready.
Sunday, June 29, 2008
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
And the first shall be last
Over the weekend a friend and co-worker jokingly mentioned that she was basing her self-worth on the number of social media followers she had. I had to laugh because I realized that even more sad was what I use to evaluate my self-worth on a daily basis: number of ounces.
Lately it's been a measily 6 oz per day. Back in the day I could easily produce 12 or 15 oz.
Of milk that is. (Most of you are getting totally grossed out right about now.)
Of all the jobs I have, being a mammalian mother may be the toughest. I'm not discounting the hard work that ALL mothers have to shoulder. What you feed your kids -- whether it be the purest drawn breastmilk, Gerber baby formula, or Doritos and Diet Coke -- has little to do with the bulk of the effort. It's a hard pill to swallow when you realize that even after the pregnancy is over, it's still not my body, my choice. Having to think about what I can and can't put into my body, having to force in pumping time at work, and having to wake up at odd times in the middle of the night for months on end can take a toll on a gal.
Maybe the hardest thing about breastfeeding is the knowledge that you've got to take care of yourself in order to nourish the baby. And as all my mom friends will agree, one of the hardest things is trying to figure out where they stop and you start -- or maybe it's where they start and you stop.
Taking the time to exercise or eat a healthy meal or - gasp! - put my feet up is nearly impossible at worst and a selfish indulgence at best when the baby needs feeding, the 3-yr-old needs corraling, the laundry needs folding, the dinner needs stirring, the dog needs relieving, the husband need loving, the bills need paying, the report needs proofing and the dishes need washing.
So, ok, I guess it's not a breastfeeding thing. And maybe it's not even a mom thing. Universally we all struggle with where to put ourselves. First certainly doesn't work, but too low on the list ain't a good thing either.
For now, I'll try to keep up the breastfeeding gig. For all it's annoyances, it does guarantee some sweet cuddle time with the little guy and it does help out in the cleavage department. Speaking of which...
Lately it's been a measily 6 oz per day. Back in the day I could easily produce 12 or 15 oz.
Of milk that is. (Most of you are getting totally grossed out right about now.)
Of all the jobs I have, being a mammalian mother may be the toughest. I'm not discounting the hard work that ALL mothers have to shoulder. What you feed your kids -- whether it be the purest drawn breastmilk, Gerber baby formula, or Doritos and Diet Coke -- has little to do with the bulk of the effort. It's a hard pill to swallow when you realize that even after the pregnancy is over, it's still not my body, my choice. Having to think about what I can and can't put into my body, having to force in pumping time at work, and having to wake up at odd times in the middle of the night for months on end can take a toll on a gal.
Maybe the hardest thing about breastfeeding is the knowledge that you've got to take care of yourself in order to nourish the baby. And as all my mom friends will agree, one of the hardest things is trying to figure out where they stop and you start -- or maybe it's where they start and you stop.
Taking the time to exercise or eat a healthy meal or - gasp! - put my feet up is nearly impossible at worst and a selfish indulgence at best when the baby needs feeding, the 3-yr-old needs corraling, the laundry needs folding, the dinner needs stirring, the dog needs relieving, the husband need loving, the bills need paying, the report needs proofing and the dishes need washing.
So, ok, I guess it's not a breastfeeding thing. And maybe it's not even a mom thing. Universally we all struggle with where to put ourselves. First certainly doesn't work, but too low on the list ain't a good thing either.
For now, I'll try to keep up the breastfeeding gig. For all it's annoyances, it does guarantee some sweet cuddle time with the little guy and it does help out in the cleavage department. Speaking of which...
Friday, May 30, 2008
Good Wife? Good Mom?
Had a very good conversation with a good friend about how vices and parenthood co-mingle.
What makes one a good parents vs. a bad parent? What makes one a good wife vs. a bad wife? Struggling with the fact that getting fucked up with my hubby is actually very good for our relationship aka good for our marriage. But wondering how a hungover mommy is good for my kiddos.
Maybe Dooce knows? I think a good marriage is probably one of the best things for children. Hopefully this doesn't offend anyone. A serious question though.
What makes one a good parents vs. a bad parent? What makes one a good wife vs. a bad wife? Struggling with the fact that getting fucked up with my hubby is actually very good for our relationship aka good for our marriage. But wondering how a hungover mommy is good for my kiddos.
Maybe Dooce knows? I think a good marriage is probably one of the best things for children. Hopefully this doesn't offend anyone. A serious question though.
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
Magical
Once again, it's been a very bad month for blogging. The all-encompassing job thing continues to interfere.
The mini family reunion in my hometown of Melbourne, Florida was a nice diversion though. There may be no pleasure greater than watching your kid groove in the sand and waves at the beach.
We also gave in to the inevitable, infamous Disney World visit. Was it magical? Yes, if you consider lines that lead to other lines, hundreds of thousands of fat people with children on leashes, and foreigners gnawing on smoked turkey legs magical.
For roughly $300, the hubby, Jackal and I spent about 5 hours in that magical place. The day's events: 2 rainstorms, 3 spinny rides, 1 over-sized lollipop, 2 artifically colored and flavored popisicles, 1 fake treehouse, 1 major meltdown, 25 what-the-fuck-were-we-thinking moments, and 4 greasy tacos.
Priceless? Seeing the glee in the Jackal's eyes as he got to drive his first race car and catching a crazed mother yelling "IT'S YOUR FAULT I'M CAUSING A SCENE AT DISNEY WORLD" in the middle of Main Street as we we leaving.
The mini family reunion in my hometown of Melbourne, Florida was a nice diversion though. There may be no pleasure greater than watching your kid groove in the sand and waves at the beach.
We also gave in to the inevitable, infamous Disney World visit. Was it magical? Yes, if you consider lines that lead to other lines, hundreds of thousands of fat people with children on leashes, and foreigners gnawing on smoked turkey legs magical.
For roughly $300, the hubby, Jackal and I spent about 5 hours in that magical place. The day's events: 2 rainstorms, 3 spinny rides, 1 over-sized lollipop, 2 artifically colored and flavored popisicles, 1 fake treehouse, 1 major meltdown, 25 what-the-fuck-were-we-thinking moments, and 4 greasy tacos.
Priceless? Seeing the glee in the Jackal's eyes as he got to drive his first race car and catching a crazed mother yelling "IT'S YOUR FAULT I'M CAUSING A SCENE AT DISNEY WORLD" in the middle of Main Street as we we leaving.
Friday, May 23, 2008
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
It's in the Jeans
It's time to fess up. I've gotten so spoiled lately.
I remember when I was 8 we had no money to buy clothes. My 4 sisters and 2 brothers eagerly looked forward to that day when another family at church would give us hand-me-downs in big brown paper shopping bags. We'd take the bags home in our beat-up Volkswagon van and wonder what it would be like to have new, store-bought clothes and be one of those kids who's "in style" and gets to go back-to-school shopping.
At some point in high school -- when I got a job at Footlocker at the local mall -- I was able to squirrel away enough cash to pay for gas AND blow $40 bucks at Wet Seal on brown denim Bongo jeans. (I was supposed to be saving the money for college. Don't think my parents didn't chastise me for making such a "foolish purchase.")
Throughout high school and college, it was much more normal for me to make any clothing purchases at a thrift store or Goodwill or Salvation Army. Even shopping sprees were focused on the clearance sale racks at the very back of the store.
At some point after college and a few years into receiving a regular paycheck, I started feeling comfortable shopping at the Gap. Mainly at the sale rack, but sometimes venturing to try on something in the front of the store that was full-priced. If full-priced Gap jeans were my gateway drug, designer denim became my habit. Six years ago it was a $100 pair of Lucky Brand Jeans. Now it's a new pair of $200 Citizens of Humanity or 7 for All Mankind or Chip & Peppers or whatever else makes my ass look good just about every season.
And so as hubby and I pore through our bills and finances and ask ourselves the following questions -- Why haven't we saved for the boys college? Why are we still living paycheck to paycheck? Don't we make good money? Where does all our money go? -- I have to admit that it's probably all gone to "foolish purchases".
Maybe mom was right all along. But goddamn, who wants to wear hand-me-downs, or even worse, mom jeans?
I remember when I was 8 we had no money to buy clothes. My 4 sisters and 2 brothers eagerly looked forward to that day when another family at church would give us hand-me-downs in big brown paper shopping bags. We'd take the bags home in our beat-up Volkswagon van and wonder what it would be like to have new, store-bought clothes and be one of those kids who's "in style" and gets to go back-to-school shopping.
At some point in high school -- when I got a job at Footlocker at the local mall -- I was able to squirrel away enough cash to pay for gas AND blow $40 bucks at Wet Seal on brown denim Bongo jeans. (I was supposed to be saving the money for college. Don't think my parents didn't chastise me for making such a "foolish purchase.")
Throughout high school and college, it was much more normal for me to make any clothing purchases at a thrift store or Goodwill or Salvation Army. Even shopping sprees were focused on the clearance sale racks at the very back of the store.
At some point after college and a few years into receiving a regular paycheck, I started feeling comfortable shopping at the Gap. Mainly at the sale rack, but sometimes venturing to try on something in the front of the store that was full-priced. If full-priced Gap jeans were my gateway drug, designer denim became my habit. Six years ago it was a $100 pair of Lucky Brand Jeans. Now it's a new pair of $200 Citizens of Humanity or 7 for All Mankind or Chip & Peppers or whatever else makes my ass look good just about every season.
And so as hubby and I pore through our bills and finances and ask ourselves the following questions -- Why haven't we saved for the boys college? Why are we still living paycheck to paycheck? Don't we make good money? Where does all our money go? -- I have to admit that it's probably all gone to "foolish purchases".
Maybe mom was right all along. But goddamn, who wants to wear hand-me-downs, or even worse, mom jeans?
Sunday, May 4, 2008
Day Out with Thomas
It was slightly absurd - getting the whole family up and out of the house by 7:30 this morning to attend a Day Out with Thomas at the Baltimore & Ohio Railroad Museum in Baltimore. Even more incongruous was driving through the Baltimore ghetto -- crack addicts, street walkers, police cameras, etc -- to get to the museum where Thomas was making his appearance.
Once inside the fenced parking lot, we became one of hundreds of upper middle class white families parking mini vans, juggling strollers, and buying Thomas-branded conductor hats for screaming toddlers. As hubby pointed out to me, trains should be added to the list of stuff white people like .
The highlight of the Day Out is supposed to be a 25-minute train ride on a real train pulled by Thomas. The Jackal is easily impressed with a simple metro ride, so this particular train ride had been talked up and eagerly anticipated (and used as a potty training reward) for many weeks.
The train ride started out as expected -- waiting in a long line with other families. I came to realize that even though I might have 2 kids of my own -- I am not really a kid person. Rarely is it that I find stranger's kids even remotely bearable.
But it was the scenery outside the train window that lead to this:
Hey kids, let's take a ride on Thomas!
Yeah, okay!
Mommy, why do those people live by the train tracks?
Mommy, why is there so much trash?
At least the Jackal got a good lesson in the fact that Baltimore is no Sodor Island fantasy.
Once inside the fenced parking lot, we became one of hundreds of upper middle class white families parking mini vans, juggling strollers, and buying Thomas-branded conductor hats for screaming toddlers. As hubby pointed out to me, trains should be added to the list of stuff white people like .
The highlight of the Day Out is supposed to be a 25-minute train ride on a real train pulled by Thomas. The Jackal is easily impressed with a simple metro ride, so this particular train ride had been talked up and eagerly anticipated (and used as a potty training reward) for many weeks.
The train ride started out as expected -- waiting in a long line with other families. I came to realize that even though I might have 2 kids of my own -- I am not really a kid person. Rarely is it that I find stranger's kids even remotely bearable.
But it was the scenery outside the train window that lead to this:
Hey kids, let's take a ride on Thomas!
Yeah, okay!
Mommy, why do those people live by the train tracks?
Mommy, why is there so much trash?
At least the Jackal got a good lesson in the fact that Baltimore is no Sodor Island fantasy.
Monday, April 21, 2008
Strangers in a Familiar Place
This coming weekend marks the 7th wedding anniversary for hubby and me. An apartment, two houses, one dog, two babies, one near divorce, a damn good therapist, four jobs and many cases of wine later we're better friends and more in love than ever.
To celebrate -- and to remind ourselves that we are husband and wife -- we're taking a mini vacation. The in-laws are coming from St. Louis to watch the 2 boys. I'll start freaking out about the horrible mess in the house about 12 hours before they're due to arrive. But for now I'm just happy to daydream about and plan for the weekend.
Life has been so hectic lately that we've decided to waste absolutely no time in transit and book a room at the Mandarin Hotel right here in DC. I'm supposed to get a discounted rate through my company so we figure we can afford the semi-splurge since we aren't spending any money on a train to NYC or a flight to some warm beach.
The Mandarin is so removed from most of the city that we think it'll feel like we're in some other city. But not having the responsibilities of parenthood for 2 days will make it feel like an other-worldly experience.
Maybe we'll try some new restaurants, finally check out that exhibit at the Corcoran and sleep in past 7 am.
Maybe we'll work out at the hotel gym, read the paper from front to back, stay out late and not worry about stopping at the ATM to get cash to pay the babysitter.
Maybe we'll sleep through the night, have sex that lasts longer than an episode of Curious George, and not check under the bed for monsters.
To celebrate -- and to remind ourselves that we are husband and wife -- we're taking a mini vacation. The in-laws are coming from St. Louis to watch the 2 boys. I'll start freaking out about the horrible mess in the house about 12 hours before they're due to arrive. But for now I'm just happy to daydream about and plan for the weekend.
Life has been so hectic lately that we've decided to waste absolutely no time in transit and book a room at the Mandarin Hotel right here in DC. I'm supposed to get a discounted rate through my company so we figure we can afford the semi-splurge since we aren't spending any money on a train to NYC or a flight to some warm beach.
The Mandarin is so removed from most of the city that we think it'll feel like we're in some other city. But not having the responsibilities of parenthood for 2 days will make it feel like an other-worldly experience.
Maybe we'll try some new restaurants, finally check out that exhibit at the Corcoran and sleep in past 7 am.
Maybe we'll work out at the hotel gym, read the paper from front to back, stay out late and not worry about stopping at the ATM to get cash to pay the babysitter.
Maybe we'll sleep through the night, have sex that lasts longer than an episode of Curious George, and not check under the bed for monsters.
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
Bi-Polar
Last night I attempted to self-medicate-away my stress with half a bottle of Petite Syrah and a little Knob Creek on the rocks.
Tonight I'm trying a cup of Sleepytime herbal tea and the latest issue of Real Simple. Should be thrilling.
I have to say, the Knob Creek website is much cooler than the Celestial Seasonings. Knob Creek does a pretty damn good job of making you think you're special for being a bourbon snob. The 'customize your own label' feature and personalizing the people behind the ad campaign almost had the cynical marketer in me converted. However, when I saw that their 'ask a professor' feature was just a fancy FAQ they lost me.
Maybe I'll join the Celestial Seasonings book club. That is - if I can get past all the mentions of "bagged teas". Right, tea bag?
Sunday, April 13, 2008
Too busy
Of all the titles I carry - Wife, Mother, Milk Bar, Executive Producer, Friend, Cook, Housekeeper, Accountant and Blogger - I've slacked most in the Blogger department lately. I have a list of draft posts that is getting embarrassingly long. And I have even more mental-note-blog-about-this ideas crowding my brain.
The irony of it all is that my work - helping clients understand and use social media - is really becoming a roadblock to my blogging.
The week started out mildly enough. The hubby and I were determined to get a head start and not have the head-spinning chaos of the previous week. So Sunday became the day we prepped for the week. Groceries were purchased. A slow-cooked meal was prepared. All laundry was cleaned, dried, folded AND put away. Even the pile of old receipts, unpaid bills, half-addressed baby announcements and forgotten tax forms was sorted through, organized into color-coordinated folders and neatly hidden away. We felt ready for the week.
Monday came and went in a flash. I actually started blogging about the week's menu -- exciting times now that the weather is nice and the grill has a new propane tank -- but then got sidelined working on a proposal.
Tuesday was so long ago I forgot what happened. Except that the baby who normally sleeps 12 hours through the night decided to get up at 2:30 and feed.
Wednesday involved business travel. Up at 4:30 am to pump a bottle, shower, blow dry and be at Reagan National for the 7:30 American flight to Raleigh. Met with very cool Lenovo executives about their Olympic Blogger project. Stole away for 15 minutes to hand pump a few ounces so my boobs didn't explode right in front of everyone in the conference room. Was back to DC in time to send a few emails from home, dash to the store, nurse and bed baby, and make Ina Garten's Roasted Salmon Nicoise Platter for diner guest. Drank slightly too much wine and smoked a regret-filled cigarette or two.
Thursday involved crazy day at work trying to catch up from being out the day before. Dinner was supposed to be the left-over salmon but both hubby and I lost our appetites when the smell of reheated fish permeated the house. Cereal is always good for dinner. When hubby heard that I'd need to work most of the night, he decided to go visit a friend whose wife was also going to be burning the midnight oil. It sucked to be home working by myself, but part of me was also grateful for the time to get some shit done.
Friday was the perfect escalation to the by now out-of-control week. Hubby had plans to spend the night away, and I was looking forward to a quiet Friday night with the luxury of a little alone time.
Friday morning involved big meeting with the U.S. Office of Personnel Management, which went well despite me and the client's mix-up over who was supposed to bring the print-outs. I returned to the office looking forward to expressing myself with my handy-dandy Medela pump, but realized I'd forgotten to bring storage bottles to work and made a mad dash to a near-by breast feeding store to pick some up. Grabbed grilled chicken salad at the Corner Bakery and got back in time to be 15 minutes late to creative meeting. Left half-eaten salad at desk as boss calls in the team for a crisis situation.
Shit! Now realize that we're going to be at work very, very late tonight and I have no one to watch the baby! Race home to pay the nanny and bring the baby back to work with me. Sit on conference call with big, important company people while jostling baby so no whines or cries give my situation away.
And they say us working moms can't have it all.
The irony of it all is that my work - helping clients understand and use social media - is really becoming a roadblock to my blogging.
The week started out mildly enough. The hubby and I were determined to get a head start and not have the head-spinning chaos of the previous week. So Sunday became the day we prepped for the week. Groceries were purchased. A slow-cooked meal was prepared. All laundry was cleaned, dried, folded AND put away. Even the pile of old receipts, unpaid bills, half-addressed baby announcements and forgotten tax forms was sorted through, organized into color-coordinated folders and neatly hidden away. We felt ready for the week.
Monday came and went in a flash. I actually started blogging about the week's menu -- exciting times now that the weather is nice and the grill has a new propane tank -- but then got sidelined working on a proposal.
Tuesday was so long ago I forgot what happened. Except that the baby who normally sleeps 12 hours through the night decided to get up at 2:30 and feed.
Wednesday involved business travel. Up at 4:30 am to pump a bottle, shower, blow dry and be at Reagan National for the 7:30 American flight to Raleigh. Met with very cool Lenovo executives about their Olympic Blogger project. Stole away for 15 minutes to hand pump a few ounces so my boobs didn't explode right in front of everyone in the conference room. Was back to DC in time to send a few emails from home, dash to the store, nurse and bed baby, and make Ina Garten's Roasted Salmon Nicoise Platter for diner guest. Drank slightly too much wine and smoked a regret-filled cigarette or two.
Thursday involved crazy day at work trying to catch up from being out the day before. Dinner was supposed to be the left-over salmon but both hubby and I lost our appetites when the smell of reheated fish permeated the house. Cereal is always good for dinner. When hubby heard that I'd need to work most of the night, he decided to go visit a friend whose wife was also going to be burning the midnight oil. It sucked to be home working by myself, but part of me was also grateful for the time to get some shit done.
Friday was the perfect escalation to the by now out-of-control week. Hubby had plans to spend the night away, and I was looking forward to a quiet Friday night with the luxury of a little alone time.
Friday morning involved big meeting with the U.S. Office of Personnel Management, which went well despite me and the client's mix-up over who was supposed to bring the print-outs. I returned to the office looking forward to expressing myself with my handy-dandy Medela pump, but realized I'd forgotten to bring storage bottles to work and made a mad dash to a near-by breast feeding store to pick some up. Grabbed grilled chicken salad at the Corner Bakery and got back in time to be 15 minutes late to creative meeting. Left half-eaten salad at desk as boss calls in the team for a crisis situation.
Shit! Now realize that we're going to be at work very, very late tonight and I have no one to watch the baby! Race home to pay the nanny and bring the baby back to work with me. Sit on conference call with big, important company people while jostling baby so no whines or cries give my situation away.
And they say us working moms can't have it all.
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