Friday, July 31, 2009

Pre-Baby Weight + Post-Baby Shape = Pissed Off Mama

Just when I thought I would have absolutely NOTHING to blog about today, my fat ass and grocery bag belly showed up, showed out, and saved the day. Yay for my ever-so-fragile-since-i-had-a-kid ego.

My daughter has her christening on Sunday and I, being ever so fashionable (even while I was pregnant) decided I needed a new dress to wear to church too. So off Ms. Emory and I went, thrilled because it was her her very first COGNIZANT venture to the mall. It was my opportunity to school the munchkin on all things fabulous like SEPHORA, M.A.C LIP GLASS, and THE DILLARD'S SHOE DEPARTMENT (I swear I could live there..really). We looked and we strolled and we strolled and we looked and finally, mama found something worth trying on.

Feeling pretty confident (I've been back to my pre-baby weight since 2 weeks after giving birth), I marched my eager - yet apparently very wide behind into the dressing room. Armed with 2 strapless dresses and a pencil skirt, I prepared my eyes for all KINDS of hotness. Instead, my retinas were burned out.


HOW THE HELL DOES MY PRE-BABY WEIGHT NOT EQUAL MY PRE-BABY SIZE?????? HOW????? That makes absolutely NO SENSE whatsoever!!! Who the hell said it was okay for the two not to match up again? Even my daughter had to look away in shame. SHAME! I swear I heard her coo to the baby in the room next to us that I wasn't her mama. How sad is that? Two months old and already knows that something just ain't right about trying to squeeze overflowing boobs into something strapless. The jugs, which I once thought of as sexy and luscious, now looked 2 OVERSIZED CHOCOLATE MALT BALLS! And not in that "ooohhh I got the biggest piece of chocolate in the easter egg hunt" kinda way.

No matter how much I sucked in, tucked under, pushed out, and tilted up, the fact of the matter was that my once curvy hourglass of a shape now looked more like a plastic tumbler cup you buy in bulk from your local grocery for ten cents each: big, round, and ridiculous. I was forced to face the fact that for the time being my Jessica Rabbit days were over...or at least temporarily on hold. My tummy is reminiscent of a Kroger grocery bag - brown and wrinkly...and I've held on to a few lovely parting gifts - vericose veins. I always thought after I had a baby I would "bring the sexy back" has run so far in the other direction I couldn't even find it with mapquest.

And I thought I wouldn't have anything to blog about today.....

*no pictures today - I'm sparing your eyeballs*

Wednesday, July 29, 2009

And Then God Laughed....The Breaking of A Girl In Control

So there are things in this world I have a certain disdain for. Wet socks when I'm wearing them. Wet feet on tile floor. Rachel Ray (long story - hop to the end - chick almost burned my house down). People that smack their lips when they eat. Things that affect me but are out of my control. And now I have a new one to add to the list.

Plan B.

Not Plan B as in "what I'm gonna do if Plan A doesn't work". Plan B as in the morning after pill that is supposed to act as your PLAN B because PLAN A worked a little too well. The Plan B that brags about letting you have "control over your body and life". The Plan B that didn't work.

If you didn't figure it out from the above let me spell it out for you.

Girl met boy
Girl and boy fell in love
Girl and boy do the deed and aren't so careful
Girl says to boy:
"I love you dearly but I don't think I'm ready to be a mommy yet, so I'm going to go to the doctor and pick up the morning after pill tomorrow - PLAN B"
Boy says:
"Ok. I will go with you for support."
Girl and boy go to doctor and get PLAN B a full 10 hours after not being careful
Girl takes pills EXACTLY as directed and feels relieved that the little mishap has been taken care of

I should also mention that due to various health issues on both sides, neither one of us thought I could really get pregnant anyway. I had also tried for a year and a half with my ex-husband and it never happened, so this PLAN B was really just a "just in case" thing for me.

Fast forward 3 weeks. Take a listen to my brain.

"Aunt Flo should be coming to visit today. Hmmmmm....I'm not cramping. This is odd. I'm never late. My body is like clockwork - every 28 days for the last 20 years. I'm never late. Maybe I'm just stressed. If it's not here tomorrow I'm taking a test."

3 weeks and one day.

"That was a weird dream. My tooth came out. I'm pregnant. Titi Mimi always said if you dream of your tooth coming out either you're pregnant or someone close to you is. I'm pregnant. I know I am. I'm buying a test this afternoon"

6 hours later.

"pee pee pee....wipe wipe wipe...glance over at stick after 30 seconds of peeing on it....WHAT THE ^$^#@!&()*%!!!!"

6 hours and 2 minutes later.

UNCONTROLLABLE LAUGHTER. Seriously. Rolling on the floor, tears rolling down my cheeks, LAUGHTER. I called my girlfriend (who coincidentally was also pregnant) and she had the same reaction I did. IT WAS JUST UNBELIEVABLE. How could I - the girl who had tried dilligently for a year and a half, had a tilted and shifted uterus, AND HAD TAKEN PLAN B be pregnant????

Here's how. God laughed.

Seriously. God laughed at my earnest attempt to stop HIS plan. He laughed his happy, heavenly butt off and said "Yeah right girl. Like you have ANY control over this...I run this show - you're just along for the ride." So that was it. I was pregnant. Somewhere, floating around in my tilted and shifted uterus, a space previously occupied by supposedly had something in it. BIZARRE!!!

I hadn't told Boy yet but decided to do it over burgers. Had him meet me at Fuddruckers, and when he showed up I was shoving the biggest, sloppiest burger in history in my mouth. He should have known right then that I was knocked up. I rarely eat burgers. So he shows up, pulls up a seat and says all cool-guy like...."Hey baby - what's up?"...and like a 5 year old about to get her hand slapped I look down at my behemoth of a burger and just stare. blankly. not blinking. not speaking. not breathing. nothing. Then, it happens. The barely audible whisper which was really just moving lips and no sound.....

"I'm pregnant."


"I'm pregnant."

"What? Baby I can't hear you. What are you saying?"


Pause for reaction. And when I tell you I got more reaction from the table next to me than I did from him, I'm not kidding. The lady totally stopped drinking her soda and just stared at us. Cool-guy response:

"Wow. Cool. Congratulations!", as he leans in for a smooch.

However, he can't kiss me because I'M CHOKING ON THE AIR TRAPPED IN MY LUNGS FROM HYPERVENTILATING!! Did he hear what I just said? Does he realize it's his? (I'm no Samantha) He heard me. He knows it's his. He's cool-guy. I'm panicked girl. And up there in the heavens is laughing God. Fabulous. So finally, I manage to inhale and I'm like "Dude - what the hell?? I'm pregnant. How the hell am I pregnant?? I took Plan B." And then he says it. And I look at him. And I resist the urge to slap the "cool-guy" right outta him.

"I guess God had other plans."

And there it was. The plain, simple, hilarious truth. GOD HAS HIS OWN PLANS. I can plan all day, stay up late organizing and plotting, but what it boils down to is if He doesn't say so, it's a no-go. And so that was it. I was bound to be round. Knocked up because we didn't sock up. In the family way due to too much play. You get the point. So I geared up for the ride, said a little prayer since God was determined to run the show, and held on for dear life.

So fast forward 9 months from the Fuddruckers incident (oddly enough we haven't eaten there since) and my Plan B mishap is here.

The Fabulous Ms. Emory made her way into the world with much fanfare (taken at 38 weeks due to pre-eclampsia), and is here until God makes other plans. She has completely taken over my life. She determines when I sleep, when I eat, WHERE I eat, how I run my errands - SHE is in control, not mommy. But I guess that's what I get for attempting to make plans. That's okay though. As God has gotten me through life - I'm sure he will work through her to get me through this mommy-hood thing too. Good thing she's cute though. It's much easier to take orders from a cutie patootie, than from say - GOD.

Monday, July 27, 2009

The Drinks Are On Kroger

So, I have absolutely NO QUALMS WHATSOEVER admitting that I am a cheap bastard. I buy my purses at Goodwill and The Salvation Army. And yes, the rumor is true. I am THAT CHIC that purchased an antique Givenchy, authentic Louis, AND a Burberry clutch for the combined total of $4.75. I like nice things. I just don't have nice things money. I refuse to pay full price for anything - ever. Not on food, not on clothes, not even on Martini's. I resigned myself to spending money on things for myself ONLY if I absolutely love them. If my heart stops when I see it, breathing becomes scant and I find myself in a catatonic state - just staring at the object of my affection - it comes home with mama. If not, on the shelf it stays with all its reject friends. This is how I live my life. Sidenote - this works with men too.

So naturally I get excited on Sundays when the newspaper comes out. And if I'm going to be completely honest with you, I get the paper Saturday night so I can clip my coupons and do my shopping first thing Sunday morning. OCD? Sure. Why not. I'll take that. But here's the thing you may not know. I was laid off from work when I was 8.5 months pregnant, and still have not been able to find something full time. I am budgeting a family of 5 on one feast or famine income (honey is in commission only sales), and a bi-weekly unemployment check. Those two combined have to cover mortgage, car note, groceries, utilities, out of pocket doctor visits, and anything else that may come up. Not the easiest feat but it's better than living in a mud hut eating soppy rice with my fingers. If that's the alternative, I'll take the feast or famine paycheck of my love.

However, I just discovered a little something that has saved me the most I have EVER saved at the grocery I pass it on to you - in case you don't already know. Which you probably do. And I'm probably late to the game. Again. But I showed up and dammit I know SOMEONE doesn't have the info.
- online coupons, who's having deals, weekly specials
- online coupons that you can download directly to your grocery store savings card (THINK "KROGER REWARDS" CARD)
- online coupons from manufacturer PG&E that you can download directly to your grocery store savings card

So I went to all of the above websites today before I went to the grocery store, downloaded my online coupons, stuffed my clipped coupons into my handy dandy neon green coupon organizer (call me crazy if you want to but who's the one with the $2 Louis?), and the flyer with this weeks specials and headed off to see just how much I could save.

Hold your breath, ladies.

Mama saved $23.62!!!

That's a full tank of gas. My home gas bill. Two awesome pairs of stiletto's purchased at Ross (seriously ladies, I have 4 pairs of Steve Madden heels in my closet right now - $10 each!).
(my favorite Maddens) A pack of diapers. Two cans of formula. 4 MARTINI'S (which I could still enjoy if my daughter hadn't stolen my taste buds)!! Do you see my point ladies???? How can you be against being cheap when it could lead to cute shoes and essentially free drinks?? If you ask me, that is the world's BEST trade off! Shower cleaner for shoes??? Does it get much better??

(for shoes or shower cleaner - whichever...eventually you'll end up with both)

The Fabulous Ms. Emory

Sunday, July 26, 2009

I Just Heard My Hair Grow

For the first time in 42 days my house is quiet. No television. No radio. No baby crying. No honey snoring. No kids running/jumping/screaming/whining/breathing. Just silence. It's so quiet I think I can actually hear my hair growing. No lie.

It may seem silly to many but for the last month and twelve days (yes - I what) our home has been filled with constant noise. From about 10a.m. until about 2a.m. (yes - i meant that - 2a.m. - as in all day, all night, and into the next day again). Because of course you can SAY be in bed by 1 a.m., but then don't get mad when you wake up at 2 to get a drink and 10 and 12 are still up watching cartoons with a look on their faces similar to yours when you experienced your very first "contact high". You know...that glazed over look that says "I know I shouldn't be doing this but...dude, pass the cheetos."

For the last 42 days I have heard "Baby have you seen my _______ (fill in the blank)"....."Can I hold the baby"..."Can I feed the baby"...."How come she/he gets to feed/hold/put to sleep/sit next to/look at/breathe the same air as the baby"..."What's for dinner"..."What's for breakfast"..."What's for lunch"...."Its my turn to hold the remote - you had it thirty minutes ago"...."sdgnls odioi g ls ;sofi hg dg 'gogvknd ogh"....

Oh that last one didn't make sense? That's because that's how it started to all sound in my the garbled rantings of a swedish exchange student with a severe speech impediment. I would love to say the only sound I want to hear right now is that of my daughter's newfound voice....but honestly...not even that right now. This evening she cried so much (because 10 and 12 couldn't leave her alone long enough to take a nap) my poor girl is hoarse...HOARSE!!! AT 2.5 MONTHS! So no...I don't even want to hear her voice right now....I am totally content listening to my hair grow...and my fingers tapping on this here keyboard.....

In the bank of me silence is not's platinum.

Pregnancy Did Not Make Me Blonde....

Apparently I've always been this way....

So I totally get that when you are pregnant, you become a bit air-headed. If you are already a little blonde at the roots (as is the case with me), well your life becomes the fodder for dinner time laughs. Who am I kidding - my life became fodder for ANYTIME laughs! However, I was under the impression that once you pop out the brain cell stealer, your brain returns to normal size from its previously shrunken state, and people will once again believe you when you tell them you are college educated. I was not so lucky. Here is a list, in no certain order, of ridiculous things I have done since "the blessed event", otherwise known as giving birth....

1. In preparing a bottle for my child I forgot to put the nipple in, and attempted to feed her. Instead she received a milk bath. (Can we call that a spa treatment instead of a mommy mishap?)

2. Grabbed the wrong bottle after her bath and actually rubbed her entire body down (face included) with diaper rash creme instead of lotion.

3. Almost put her diaper on backwards, but thought it a much better idea to put her ONESIE on backwards.....and INSIDE OUT.

4. Packed her diaper bag complete with bottles and water and everything. Get to my destination an hour away from home only to realize that I have left her formula on the kitchen table.

5. Accidentally put her formula in my coffee thinking it was my creamer. (That's what happens when you are so sleepy you make coffee with your eyes closed.)

6. Took her to the salon with me in an attempt to have our very first mommy-daughter diva day, actually thinking she would sleep through the entire thing. Thank God my stylist is in love with my daughter because this could have ended very, VERY badly. I could be bald.

7. Agreed to have sex again.

Ok, so looking at the list - 6 screw ups in 10 weeks isn't so bad (that last one is just "my bad"). That's roughly 1 every 2 weeks....and with odds like that she should make it to 18 fairly sane, and in one piece. Me on the other hand, I'm not so sure. I'm not exactly batting 1000 here, but she's still breathing, right? She gives me a look sometimes as though she's wondering how on earth she got HERE through ME. I let her know in no uncertain terms that I am wondering the same thing, and we continue on making faces at eachother. She's cute as can be, and quite the little lady in her tiny state.

Let's just hope her hair stays a nice, solid dark brown. No blonde roots. Or else we are both in a hell of a lot of trouble.

Wednesday, July 22, 2009

The Controversy

So there's this notion floating around out there that it's a bad thing to put your relationship with your significant other ahead of your relationship with your child. I am not one of those people that subscribe to that notion. I think it is IMPERATIVE that my relationship with my daughter's father be stronger than anything else in this world - aside from my relationship with God. If we (her father and I) are on the same page, moving to the same rhythm, we will present a strong united front for my daughter, and a strong united front for US. We have that confidence that we can make it through the storms because of our mutual respect, love, and trust.


What happens when your significant other makes decisions in private that put your family at risk publicly? Is there enough trust in your relationship bank to get you through something that has made question not only the man you love, but your own common sense? What happens in that relationship when your left feeling foolish, betrayed, and hurt - all at the same time. Your relationship is thrown into a dizzying spiral of what?? Do you stay or do you go?? Does the love change? If so, does that change make you stronger or is it the beginning of the end? Or do you stick to the notion that your relationship with each other needs to forsake all others....

Therein lies the controversy...

Sunday, July 19, 2009

Babies and Frat Boys - Strange Correlation

What do a two month old baby and a 21 year old frat boy have in common?


My doctor described it as a yeast infection in the mouth - apparently very common in babies (really??). While one is contracted by the presence of some sort of bacteria on say, a nipple or pacifier that the baby has put his/her mouth on, the other is contracted by the presence of some sort of bacteria "somewhere else" that the frat boy has put HIS mouth on. No need to go into details.

So where is the true story you ask?

I knew a boy who thought he had contracted "thrush" after being with a local dorm girl who informed him after their date that she was "baking bread", if ya know what I mean.

As a memento, his friends (me included) left loaves of bread in front of his door for a couple of days. He wasn't amused - but we were.

Once a Cosmo Girl...Always a Cosmo Girl??

So, if given a truth serum you would come to find that I never expected to be pregnant. Due to some pesky fibroids that think my uterus is a warm cozy place to rest, and the fact that Father Time was having a hay-day with me...I just didn't see it happening. And I was okay with that - not initially of course but eventually it was like "hey - I can have martini's anytime I want - you have a child curfew...HA!"

Then, as if the Gods of fate and irony teamed up against me, I found out I was pregnant after a night of downing many, many (many) martini's.I laughed hysterically in disbelief. Called a girlfriend and she laughed hysterically in disbelief. And then I told my boyfriend. And he drank. Outrageously. In disbelief.

So this was it. I was prego. But I refused to let go of my Martini days forever...they were just temporarily on hold. And I was okay with that. I had to share my body for nine months and give up a certain level of freedom once the little one arrived...and I could concede to that. But give up my signature drink?? The drink that not only once led to me being carried out of a bar (oh don't act like it's never happened to you...), but also was the starter of the conversation that led me to the love of my life - give it up??? You'd have a better chance getting Dolly Parton to admit that more than just her hair is fake. I wasn't giving up my cosmo' way, no how, don't even ask.

However, it seems like once again the Gods of fate and irony have stepped in and decided to have their way with me. Last night was my first night out with my girlfriend since I had the body snatcher - er - i mean baby. I was so excited because there was finally going to be a reunion between my lips and that sweet martini glass I missed so much. When the waitress brought it out to me I swear you could hear trumpets playing - it was truly a moment worth savoring. I eyeballed it with eager anticipation and then took the first sip like it was the first kiss with a lover I hadn't seen in years.

And then I spit the damn thing out.

SON OF A BITCH!!! WHAT THE HELL IS THAT??? It tasted nothing like what I remembered it to taste like...whatever they were trying to pass off on Mama Martini was ass-water. So I sent it back and tried a different, supposedly equally yummy martini. The waitress waited by the table as I took the first sip, waiting nervously, eyes glazed over in anticipation, hoping to get a big thumbs up. Poor girl. What she got was a look that said "F you". And I didn't feel bad for it either - until I remembered something about my pregnancy. While I was pregnant my tastebuds changed. Things I once loved, I would have traded in for a plate of dirt and a spoon. And the one thing you CAN drink while you are round, red wine, became incredibly bitter and disgusting to me. And so as Captain Fate and Captain Irony teamed up to become Captain Kick My Ass, I mourned the loss of my dear friend - the martini. We had many a good night, and plenty of great ones. It led me to the love of my life, which led me to an even greater love - the love of and for my daughter.

However, as the late, great King of Pop said....gone too soon. I shall miss you dearly, Cosmo.

Thursday, July 16, 2009

Princess Poopie Pants and the Diaper of Death

As I type this blog, my 2 month old daughter sleeps peacefully on the bed next to me. She is wrapped up in what USED to be MY robe, but has now become HER blanket. Since she can't seem to fall asleep without Mommy or Daddy holding her, we've decided to pull a big, fat second grade SIKE(!) on the little one and let her THINK we're holding her, when really we are just wrapping her in clothes that smell like us (which could be a good thing or borderline child abuse depending on the day and time), so that we can continue on with our lives.

From the den of all things loud and obnoxious, otherwise known as the living room, I hear my twelve year old almost-stepson getting loud (and yes, obnoxious) and my fiance' getting louder. I am thankful to be tucked away with my darling, sweet, beautiful princess...the world outside my door is drama filled, tv blaring, and ummmm...yeah I just noticed that it's also fresh air filled. That darling, sweet, beautiful princess that I just ranted and raved about just filled the fresh air of our little sanctuary with the worst smelling poop this side of the Jersey Turnpike. How could something so incredibly foul come out of something so tiny?? It's not like the girl was up pounding back Milwaukee's Best all day (come on, we ALL know cheap beer makes for a stinky morning)! All she drinks is formula - and SOY FORMULA at that!!! Damn. And because I have holed myself up back here, I am the lucky contestant who gets to change the Diaper of Death.

As I turn my daughter onto her back I pray to the good Lord above that He might spare my nostrils, that they in fact WON'T burst into flames as soon as this evilness is unleashed, and that He would let me live to see another day. Of course that means that I run the risk of meeting the same fate tomorrow, but I will take my chances. Just as I finish giving myself my last rights, I look down at Princess Poopie Pants. She is bright and shiny, smiling cooing, and completley oblivious to not only the load in her diaper, but also the rumblings going on outside our door. Yes, 12 year old and fiance' are at it yet again - and she could care less. All she sees is mommy, and all she hears is mommy's voice. And apparently that's all she needs at this point and time. That's when it hits me like - well, like the smell of her Death Diaper hit me. Poop is temporary. In life. In your pants. On your's temporary. It doesn't matter and is fairly insignificant. But true, real, love...the love that you give and get just because you are fabulously you....well now that's the real deal. The economy is slow? Ok. Having trouble making that car payment? Alright. My 12 year old almost-stepson threw a dirty diaper onto the roof of the house and then lied to me about it and I had to find out the truth by getting onto the hood of my car (and almost broke my neck), getting the bag down and smelling it myself after it had been out in the hot Houston summer heat for the past 48 hours? That sucks. Okay, that way more than sucks. WAY MORE. But then my tiny inchworm of a daughter spits up into my bra, and as I feel the already digested formula nestle itself in the confines of my cleavage, I look down. She is looking up at me adoringly, showing me all her non-existent teeth. Her eyes twinkle as if to say "But I love you mommy!", and that's when it all goes away. Because she does love me. And I love her back. Even if her behind IS toxic.
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Hello! My Name Is Mommy by that one girl is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.