The Wide Hip Curse or All in God's Plan

So I have a theory, but I need to back up a little.

As soon as I saw that fuzzy 2nd line on the pregnancy test I knew it would be awhile before I could fit into some of my favorite clothes again... like 10 months, right? I mean I'm young- my body will just snap back in place like one of those Stretch Armstrong toys. (Forget that I have the exact same muscle tone as it too) So I lovingly and with the early pregnancy excitement that I wish I could go back and just smack off my face pack up these clothes.

Ahh these clothes- the symbols of my youth. As my fingers carefully fold the glittery leopard print pants and sadly yes ,matching halter (no, I didn't wear them together at least not all the time) I recollect fondly on the memories they evoke. In every day, I am actually a fairly conservative dresser (thank you Catholic nun led schooling for pounding into me that the flesh is evil and dirty) but when I would go out to bars or parties I let loose a little- ya know, take the sisters out for a night on the town.

Well needless to say I was slightly over optimistic when I thought I would return to prepregnancy me a month after birth. And, of course, by 'slightly' I mean 'REALLY'.
But now, 13 months later I am finally back to my college weight which is good because I had gained quite a bit of weight during law school- I blame their Final Exam Candy Bowls of Evil. Anyway, so after months of carefully watching what I eat and diligently exercising I’ve shed the weight. Haha, I couldn't even write that without laughing- no I don't have time to eat anything but the scraps off my daughter's plate (and she eats like a Viking) and then I spend the rest of the day chasing her giggling butt around while trying to keep her from drawing on the dog, but I digress.

So WAHOO. I'm college weight right so I'm going to drag out all those memories and put them on just to remind myself how hot and sexy I used to be... alright! I pull out my favorite pants ever... black faux leather low rise. If you knew me in college you will remember these. I wore them ALL THE TIME. I skanked them up with a halter and blue eyeliner for the bars and I dressed them down with a sweater for class. (just writing that makes me shake my head in shame) I rip off my awesome eeyore sweats (college AND law school friends will also remember these) and slip them on. Wait, they seem to be stuck on something...namely my hips. I can't pull them up. This makes no sense. I am the same weight that I was the last time I wore these! NOTHING HAS CHANGED!! Then in the distance (and thanks to baby monitor, in the closeness too) a baby cries. Sighing, I yank them down to attend to baby and begin to ponder this.

So here's the theory....chances are very very high that had I fit into those pants this morning I would have worn them to storytime at the library, and the grocery store, and the park (I bet the plastic-y faux leather would have been AWESOME going down the slide) Given this unavoidable temptation- I think my pants magically not fitting is all God's way of saying "mothers don't wear faux leather pants that show their thongs" The new bulges on my hips are nature's literal speed bumps designed to say " whoa mom, let's rethink those jeans that lace up the side." God, in his infinite wisdom, has created a very effective way of making sure the keepers of civilization, the molders of humanity, the bearers of the next generation don't go around showing off their tits and asses. How can we be models of everything that is right with the human race if we are showing whale tale?

Now, some mothers have worked around this natural way of things by going out and buying their prepreg, party clothes but in the NEXT size up. This is simply laughing in the face of God and they will be smited and punished probably by ending up on People of Walmart.com like this..
There are also mothers who 6 weeks postpartum just slide right back into those rhinestone capris without any difficulty or mysterious bulges... those women are freaks of nature. Sorry, but it’s true. By being able to wear all those un-mom clothes they are clearly going against God's plan and frankly, probably sold their souls in order to do it.


* This is not to say that mothers should not be sexy or dress fun, but there needs to be a new sexy, a new fun... Tigger instead of Eeyore or something...

Well if it isn't Mr. Mary Poppins

I'll start by saying that I have no idea what I do with my day. I wake up with a head full of plans and somehow end the day with the house just as messy, laundry just as undone, dinner just as uncooked, but somehow I am EXHAUSTED. Okay, yes I do chase after a very active and demanding 1 year old all day. So I feel hey as long as I keep her alive, decently fed, and not screaming the entire day I have actually accomplished quite a lot, right? It annoys me to no end when my darling husband seems bewildered when he comes to a total mess with nothing accomplished (except for happy fed baby, of course). He isn't mad, just confused. Ok hot shot you do it if you think it's so easy...

This week I had a very important appointment to attend that required getting ready, looking good, and being on time. So, of course, husband takes over baby care in the morning while I am gone. Now, I love baby and I love husband, but there is a tiny tiny angry troll part of me that hopes baby acts like her true demonic self and he can get a taste of my mornings. I secretly hope that I will come home to a dirty naked little maniac running around a house that is one piece of junk mail away from being declared a state of emergency with a frenzied exhausted husband covered in baby's breakfast and possibly some baby poo. (I know, I am cruel and awful- no surprise there) I cackle gleefully at this image especially the part where husband sees me, falls to his knees, and begs me to never leave the house again and later returned home with a dozen roses and his eternal praise over my superior mothering ability......
(you know where this is going)
I get home and wait for the deluge of complaints and praise- what's that noise? Oh, its silence… followed by a giggle. Oh, maybe she somehow figured out how to tie him to a stake and I am just in time to save him! I look down to carefully step over the toys and other random junk on the floor and I almost trip over the nothingness. There is nothing on the floor.... WE'VE BEEN ROBBED!!! I run into the kitchen... the robber took all of our dirty dishes!!! And cleaned up the counter... wait a minute. I look through the clear window (formerly covered in sticky handprints and dog boogers) and see my husband pushing a laughing, fully dressed baby in the swing. He is also dressed and sadly not covered in any kind of filth.

Fastforward past my confusion and disappointment. Apparently, Mr. Wonderful not only took really awesome care of baby, but he also managed to tackle my to- do list... you know the one that I have been chipping away at for oh I don't know-a YEAR! WTF!!! Ok, now I know what you are thinking- geez you ungrateful wench I would love it if my husband was able to clean AND take care of the baby. No, you wouldn't- you think you would, but you wouldn't. You would feel just as horrible as I felt. Not only can husband keep baby better fed, better dressed and happier, but he can also do it AND freaking clean the mountains of mess that have piled up during my reign of neglect. Now I have done an amazing job thus far protecting myself from "supermoms". I relish in the fact that my friends seem to have just as tough a time as I do- in fact if any of them behaved as husband did I would immediately cut them out of my life. (Digression, if any of my friends are actually Supermom they have the good sense to hide it and complain just as much as I do AND I think they are actually pretty super anyway)
Back to husband who has morphed into some horrible combination of Mary Poppins and Mr. Clean. I have no idea how he did it- then it occurs to me... he knew about this appointment two weeks ago. That is PLENTY of time to make the necessary preparations. I bet as soon as I pulled out of the driveway a van full of little Merry maids pulled up and got right to work and a brunette Julie Andrews came down our chimney and immediately worked her babycare magic... no wonder he looked so refreshed- I bet the bastard got a nap in as well. Yea, now it makes sense. Phew, and there I was thinking he did it all on his own and that I was somehow horrifically inadequate. Ha! Well, I feel better.....

Move over Justin Biever-whatever your name is...

Turns out I am an international sensation! Ok not really, but I did notice that every now and then someone who isn't me or my immediate small group of friends stumble upon my page and sometimes they are from another country! This is completely exciting and just sort of awesome...

Are you, my international fanbase, actually reading my posts? or is it accidental and you immediately click off it? I sort of fear that "Navigating the Bump" actually just mistranslates into something awesome in your languages... If so, please god let it not be about that Bieber kid!

I hope its that other people, besides those who know and tolerate me, are actually enjoying my blog because I am looking for an International Fanclub to form, hehe....

All self-centered jokes aside, I would really like to know-

1) where you are from

2) if you meant to click on my blog and read it :)

Thanks!!

Stillness

In the world of motherhood just when you have a bad day where you spend moments wishing you could throw on some glitter high heels and go out clubbing (before realizing, of course, that clubbing makes my head hurt, slimey club men make me want a shower and glitter high heels give me blisters) you wake up to a completely different world.

a little background- my daughter is, like every other baby her age, teething. Also like other babies she is not handling it well. We tolerate it during the day mostly because she is a happy go lucky baby that is easily distracted from her pain... nighttime is a different story.

For the last several nights, she has woken up around 1 ish screaming in pain. Like any other mother this is heartbreaking (and annoying- seriously Mr. Tooth JUST COME THROUGH ALREADY AND CEASE THIS TORTURE!!)

so I break all the rules about night time waking and rock her and shh her until her tylenol kicks in (god bless you painkillers!) She finally falls asleep in my arms (I know, bad mommy, breaking sleep training rules!)

Its this moment that I love the most about being a mother. Yea, Awake Baby is a lot of fun and her smiles and giggles are precious but her daddy gets those too. This moment, this silent golden moment of complete contentment, is mine alone. No one has seen this moment, but me. Just us in her room the nightlight casting its gentle amber glow. My beautiful daughter snuggled against my chest, breathing softly (ok snoring)with the faintest hint of a contented smile on her face. It brings me back to those early blissful days when I just held her after she dozed into her milk coma (ok I was terrified to wake her but recollection softens those memories). Outside, nothing moves, not even the wind. Inside the only movement is slow sway of my rocking chair. Everywhere around us is stillness and I wouldn't trade it for anything.

Mommy Reviewer

Since everyone cares ohh so much about my thoughts and opinions, I decided that I am going to read books and then blog about them. I really feel this is the next logical step in my path towards total self-importance. So I guess stay tuned- I'm checking a bunch of stuff out of the library and I have tofind time to read it.....