Bibbidy Bobbidy Boo

Have you ever looked through your closet and realized that you've outgrown your own fashion.   That sense of style that you were so immensely proud of is actually just ridiculous for a 30-something professional with a baby on her hip??? Seriously, hip slung jeans that show your butt crack are just not cute any more.  Those tank tops with the built in shelf bras don't support anything that gravity has decided needs to touch the floor without the miracle of a water bra insert...in fact, when you greet the UPS dude in the tank w/shelf bra remember he's not ogling your breasts, he is shocked and appalled at the fact that they stretch that far!!! PUT ON A REAL BRA!!! (this is really just a reminder to myself...anybody who feels comfortable letting their boobs hang low, by all means, sing it sister!)

Not only has your skin changed, your hips expanded, your boobs shrunken, your belly taken on a new layer of dough, but your clothes just do not fit right.  They just don't.  I could blame little bean for this but really who can blame the kid for craving M&M's and ice cream every night while taking up residence in that sanctuary inside mommy? Nope, can't blame the kid at all for that.... So, my theory is 9 months on 9 months off and the leftovers are just called reality.  I'm not defeated, I know with some hard work and dedication I could change my body, solidify the dough, >tighten< the not so tight. I just haven't gotten there and really I'm not all that worried about it. It's the clothes that are really starting to tick me off. When did I suddenly become an adult? I went out yesterday in a t-shirt that I've had since my late twenties, cool at the time. I felt like a moron when I realized I look like a 30-something trying to hard.  I was comfortable mind you - until I was extremely uncomfortable sitting in the dentists office with little bean and a shirt with a skull and flowers on the front.  Yeah....maybe shoulda gone for a polo or something. 

Making Margaritas

After an excessively hot week there is nothing better then sitting on the couch listening to a thunderstorm outside. I'm sure you're all thinking..."fool, get off the computer!" Not to worry, it's only a random crack from time to time, in the distance, and raining gently. When things get hairy I'll shut her down. Promise.  In the meantime, I've been doing a bit of reminiscing.

Moving. It isn't something most people jump up and down at the thought of.  If they are anything like me, they drag their feet until the very last minute, scrambling to get boxes from every store in town and shoving things into garbage bags and plastic totes without labels so upon arrival it is a complete cluster F@#&!  Yeah...that's more my style.  The reminiscing has to do with previous moves.  The most recent being when I was pregnant with little bean.  Not extremely pregnant, probably about four months, just about the time where the sickness and horrifying first trimester disaster is supposed to be over. Unless you're me of course and it lasts through your entire pregnancy. Let me just tell you, stress, anxiety and pregnancy are not a pretty mix! So, I employed the help of everybody I could and I have recently learned that in my haste to move, twice, I lost many things that I loved and many things that are important - read: Important Identifying Documents! Yikes!!!! Not good. That being said, I work best under pressure and cleared out a ton of crap I never actually needed.  Couldn't have done this without the help of friends and family, that's for sure.

I am suddenly finding myself at the point of moving once again. It's an exciting move and one little bean and I will be able to approach with joy and good feelings attached.  I get to sort through the crap slowly and make sure I actually know where the important documents are stashed.  I won't have a belly sticking out a mile in front of me or fear from being 10 feet away from a toilet or other hole worthy of tossing my cookies into.  I won't break a sweat at the thought of carrying a bag of socks to the car. I have never moved with a toddler before and doing a little reading has assured me that little bean will adjust and cope well...I always believe everything I read.  I am sure I won't encounter any meltdowns or near disasters over a misplaced "bubby" aka, bunny or specific book or even a crayon for that matter!   Nope, this is the way it should be done...unless of course you can hire movers to do it for you. That just might be the way it should be done. Who knows.

Prior to the pregnant moves I've had my fair share of packing and unpacking and repacking.  I once dated someone that said he wouldn't own anything he couldn't pack within three minutes and leave.  Yep...that relationship didn't last very long! There was also the guy I once lived with that when I moved across the country and left him behind he mailed me a bunch of my stuff including my stereo without any cords and one shoe from each pair I owned. I walked around lopsided for a LONG time! Seriously though, I wasn't cold-hearted or cruel, I just knew where I didn't want to be.  Generally it wasn't with some loser that could even think of sending someone one of each of their shoes because really if that's the way he approaches life he's probably just not a very good seed.  Regardless of that fact, looking back it is a really funny story and somewhat creative.  It has also been something that has built character and the often used catch phrase..."I'll chalk that one up to life experience." Lots of life experience happens when you move.

When you're ready to leave your parents home and start exploring the world as a teenager it's like it should have happened yesterday and you can't leave fast enough.  When you are ready to embark on adventures later in life it is with caution and curiosity and sure footing.  Your ducks tend to be in a straighter row so to speak so that when you are handed some lemons in life you can find some limes and tequila and make a delicious margarita instead of panicking.  (I don't know...do you put lemon in a margarita? Whatever...you can make it however you want, if you have the time to make one life can't be that bad.)  Boxes upon boxes of chaos could cause anxiety in anybody and surely will have me panicking a little but this time I know where I'm going and I know where I've been so the right now just feels right.  I will continue to write from an Itty-Bitty living space and I can imagine the stories of packing disasters and misplaced Elmo will entertain for weeks to come but I can assure you that each pair of my shoes will remain joined at the feet.

What was that Parrots Name?

My Mommy Hung the Moon...and then I threw applesauce at it.

I read that book just about every night, not the applesauce part mind you. "My mommy hung the moon. She tied it with string. My mommies good at everything." Yeah, well sorry Jamie Lee Curtis, but you live in a delusional world.  I can barely get the kid to drink milk (kids are supposed to like milk, aren't they???) and when the moon comes up? It's lights out time kiddo!!!! Sorry, don't get too attached. 

Here's the thing, I am a single-ish mama as far as being a non-married, non-traditional mother is concerned. I have an amazing support system and someone I could spend every waking minute with, but that being said, day in and day out...I am the mom.  

Obviously the mother clan knows what it means to have had a baby. Exhaustion. Fat where it wasn't before. Exhaustion. Dark circles under your eyes. Exhaustion. Flabby arms, aka bingo wings...need I say more? Oh yeah, and lets not forget: Exhaustion.  To top off the exhaustion, lets add some throw-up, boogers, blood, snarly hair, crusted on food and then lets bring it right back home to EXHAUSTION.  It's like nothing I have ever felt before in my entire life.  I've pulled all-nighters, both for fun and for not so fun reasons.  I've driven hours on end and sat through countless boring and ridiculous meetings.  Nothing a little caffeine and exercise couldn't fix.  This folks, is sheer and irreparable exhaustion. 

Yep, you read that right. I used to exercise.  Now, I chase little legs, shoo little feet from standing on furniture, dry tears, and clean up spills.  Not the typical form of exercise, but who's counting.  So, here I figure I will insert some dieting.  I figure, hell (ahem, I mean heck...shoot, dang, you know the PG terms), I did it once I can do it again! So here comes the gluten-free attempt.  Who am I trying to kid?!?!?! That is ridiculous.  First of all, every kid snack basically known to man has gluten in it. Goldfish? Yes please.  With my kid, it's like I'm the parrot in Aladdin, and I'm getting crackers shoved in my face even though my mouth is clamped tight and I am shaking my head "no" vigorously...What was that parrots name again? Doesn't matter.  Basically, the kid foiled most of my GF plans!!! Easier to lay blame there then on the fact that I essentially have zero will power and cannot fathom a day without my blessed pasta, bread, and crackers.  But here I sit trying.  I will try to update you on this attempt, but don't think that I'm going to offer you tips and recipes....I don't even know what day it is so, I can't be that girl for you. 

I don't do coffee, so the exhaustion tends to just settle in my bones and is the driving force behind every mistake I make on a daily basis.  Yesterday, I walked into the grocery store, filled my cart, went to the register and yep, you guessed it...NO WALLET!!! Of all things. So little bean and I parked our cart, lost a shoe, stopped to re-attach said shoe, which led to a minor meltdown, walked to the car, found said wallet, retrieved our parked cart and proceeded to check out with red cheeks and the speed of a gazelle bagging groceries.  Get me the *&^%$#* out of here!!!! Yikes. 

So, this is the story of me.  The story of forgetting who the parrot is because really...my brain just can't fathom trying to remember such a thing.  This is the story of hating coffee but essentially needing an IV of the stuff... Of remembering my own sippy cups and training bras, but reveling in the world of doing it all over again from an entirely different perspective.  Here we go...time to find some string to re-attach the moon.  It's crooked.