"Bump" is the New Black

Let's talk babies here for a moment, shall we?

On my way to work this morning I counted 12 women in various stages of post coital condition.....and I don't have very far to travel.

Is it just me, or is half the population of fertile females all knocked up? It's like a disease that's spreading east from Los Angeles and infecting everyone who comes in contact with it--via gossip tabloid or Brangelina photo.
The Bump-itis Disease.

Since when did sporting a pregnant belly become a cool fashion accessory? When I was pregnant they were called "Big Fat Tummies" (not very glamourous at all). Now they are referred to with the nausiatingly cute moniker "Baby Bump".......and all of a sudden everyone wants one (I wonder if my "beer bump" counts). It's almost as if the actual child--the lifelong responsibility, the individual person with needs and wants--doesn't exist. Like it's all just about the cute little "bump." And that one day this "bump" will just disappear and everything will be back to normal again.

Reality check#1: Your "bump" will NEVER fully go away and there is no amount of sit ups, crunches or leg lifts that will give you back the tummy you had before the arrival of your adorable little "bump." And since I'm talking about body changes, here are a few more that you may want to be aware of: Your tits will never be the same perky little missiles aimed at the sky. No, even if you don't breastfeed (and I'm not preaching here, but you should) they'll be laying down flat like the ears on a bloodhound napping in the sun. Oh.......and how about stretch marks? Some women don't get them (and should be shot), but probably most do. They can range from little dents that can only be seen if the light is just so, to deep purple scarring that resembles a New York City road map complete with side streets and "points of interest".

Really I'm just beginning to scratch the surface of the discussion regarding how your body will change with your pregnancy, I could go on and on and on........but in the interest of not scaring my lovely pregnant friends (and not grossing out my boyfriend), I'll just leave it at that for now and not go into any detail about the vaginal stretching or permanent scarring caused by tearing from one hole to the other. No, I won't discuss that stuff at all.

Reality Check #2: Within that cute little "bump" there lurks a real, live BABY--and you will have to squeeze that baby out of your once tiny little vagina! Yes it's true. One day you will give birth and there will be nothing cute about it. It's painful, it's bloody, it's long, and it's inevitable. (Note: Unless you can do like Britney, Angelina, Gwen et al. who slipped their doctors some cash and bribed them to just cut it out on a scheduled day......but as far as I know, in Canada, this remains illegal.) So provided you are birthing this baby the old-fashioned way, brace yourself for the most unbeliveably un-glamourous day(s) of your life. And it doesn't end there. No no, for the few weeks following the delivery you will be a complete and total mess. You will cry all the time and will feel like you will never sleep again (and there is some truth to this). You will wonder how you could possibly have ever done this to yourself, and will feel sometimes that death is preferable to that screaching sound of a crying newborn baby. You will not be able to poo for days--until you can actually begin to taste it in the back of your throat. And then when you finally do, it will be like giving birth all over again except this time without the drugs. No my friends, it is NOT cute.....and this brings me to

Reality Check #3: This is FOREVER. Having a child is a permanent condition and your life will never be the same again. Things like cute little "baby bumps", what shoes to wear, what type of martini to drink no longer have any relevence whatsoever. Right here, this is the hardest pill to swallow: IT IS NO LONGER ABOUT YOU. For someone as self centered, egotistical and well, just plain sefish as I am, it was not something that came naturally or easily......and to be honest, I still find it very hard. No more staying out past 10 pm. No more running off to Vegas at a moments notice. No more drinking till you puke and pass out in the bathroom. No more running to the store for midnight chocolate munchie attacks. No, no, no. The sky is no longer the limit. In fact there is no longer the sky, only the limit. I want to drill this point home: BABY RULES THE HOUSE. YOU ARE NOW THE "BUMP"s BITCH.

Allright. I know, this is a rather cynical view of what it's like to become a mother....and although not entirely inaccurate, it may be a wee bit harsh. I love every inch of my daughter and would never change a thing about my life with her. That said, I wish that I had known exactly what I was getting myself into before I closed my eyes and jumped in. Being a mother is absolutely the hardest thing that I have ever done. It's mentally, physically, and emotionally draining and it will be that way every day for the rest of my life. I am tough and I can handle it. I only hope that the tabloid addicts and the fashion victims of the world give pause for thought before settling on the "bump" instead of the toy poodle with matching Louis Vuitton carrying case.

Brokeback is Fixed!

Our very own Brokeback James has been sliced, diced and sewn back together. Welcome back to the land of the walking, my good friend.

Just wanted to post this picture so that everyone could say "mmmm.......yummy."

So here's the question though: Where is his ass crack? Did they accidently sew that up too? Wierd.

UPDATE: Brokeback Still Broken. Can someone up there please cut my friend James a break? The poor guy is still in the hospital dealing with fallout from the surgery.
Here's hoping that you get well soon, don't lose too much weight, and that there's at least one cute nurse for your spongebaths.

Chicks Dig Balloons

So I took the kid to a party on Saturday. Boy have things changed. I used to worry that staying out too late would piss off my parents, now I worry about pissing off my kid.

It was great actually. I realize that this is the way to do it. I got to the party early enough that everyone was coherent and I had a few good conversations, stayed just long enough to have a few drinks and have everyone ooh and aah over what a damn cute kid I have. Then I left before anything got broken, anyone puked, or there was any real uncomfortable or embarrassing situations. This is ideal because a) I still get to go out and party, b) I don't have to pay for babysitting, c) I look like a damn good mom whose kid knows how to party and d) my kid genuinely knows how to party.

Taking your kid out to a house party doesn't have to be a sign of a neglectful parent as long as you follow a few key rules. Firstly, if you plan on having too much to drink then make sure there is someone close by who is more responsible than you. Another key is to announce to all who will listen "if you can see her then she's your problem." This should ensure that there is at least one person watching at all times, so you can just go ahead and ignore her and pretend for one blissful moment that you are responsible for no one but yourself and you're 19 again and fuck the world, live fast, die young woohhooooo!!! Then you feel a tug on your pants and a tiny blond midget person says "mommy, I have a poo."

Then it's time to go home and if you've played your cards right then you haven't done anything stupid, your kid hasn't done anything (too) stupid, no one has called children's services on your drunk ass, and all of your friends who don't have kids can take heart in the fact that yes, there IS life after childbirth.

Anyone can have a blog....

So anyone can have a blog and say basically anything they want.....That's the easy part. How do you know if anyone will actually read it? And if they do, will they actually give a shit?
So I've decided to write this blog for ME.....because I'm sure that I will read it and am also sure that I will give a shit.

So what aspect of me do I focus on? This is hard. At first I thought I'd write mostly about how hard it is to be a young, fun, single mom in a big city......but I am so much more than that. To designate myself as "a mom" would completely negate all of the other interesting parts that make up the whole of who I am. My daughter may RUN my life, but she certainly is not my ENTIRE life. I can hear it now mothers accross the continent saying "What?! You selfish bitch, your daughter should be your life and if she's not then you must be a bad mom!" Okay fine, but these are the wives whose husbands are "staying late at the office" most nights. These are the women who have lost their sense of self, who put everyone's happiness before their own and then cry themselves to sleep at night because no one care about how THEY feel. I know this because I was once one of those miserable saps who felt trapped in every aspect of life and so I focussed all of my energy on my daughter while my own self went to shit.......and I'm only 29.

So what happened? It was New Years of 2005. I had taken my daughter (9 months old) to Floriday to visit my parents for a week and left the good for nothin hubby at home to party it up in style with his drug-addicted, degenerate friends. The thought of spending a week without him was scary and awful even though he barely knew that I existed anymore, since the arrival of "our" (my) baby. A few days in Florida and I was so homesick, like withdrawal from a drug that you knew was eventually going to kill you but you would sell your house to have. I hit a wall, a breaking point where I knew that if I didn't grow some balls, gain some self worth and start putting myself first again, as I had done in my happiest times, that I would eventually end up spiritually dead, actually dead, or even worse--morbidly obese, agoraphobic and depressed like those whale-people you see sometimes on Maury Povich.

Anyway.......on my return from Florida I planned my escape. Before telling my husband anything that I had planned, I got myself on welfare, secured a place to live and even had friends lined up to move my stuff. Then I dropped the BOMB. Boy was he shocked (SHOCKED!). And without much further ado, I was gone. Moved onwards and upwards into my new and improved life and love and career and self esteem.

The whole point of this is: How can you teach your daughter to become a strong, successful and independent woman if you don't lead by example. I can show her to put herself first in this life only if I put myself first.

So this is MY blog. For ME, by ME and all about the things that interest ME. I am a mother, but before that, I am MYSELF.

my parents are cooler than your parents