Lost and Found

You know, there is a reason they make 'mom jeans.' And the reason is that there are these things known as 'mom bodies.'

When I had AK about 19 months ago, I lost a few things. First, and most fortunately, the baby weight. I didn't necessarily lose it from the places I had gained it, but at least the numbers on the scale returned to a range I was comfortable with.

However, I also lost elasticity in my belly. With LP I knew the skin pouch was going to be put to good use again soon as we anticipated having another child; after AK we are still not sure and, well, I think I would like to have a less dimpled, less stretch-marked belly while I decide.

Last night in the shower, LP asked me how I grew so much skin on my belly, so, apparently, I have also lost any sense of dignity.

At this point I have also lost any hope of finding jeans that fit. Low rise is all the rage. Low rise means that I have a bubble of skin hanging over the sides of jeans, as well over the front. Doesn't that sound so pretty? Is the thinking that people won't notice because they are distracted by my arse, which is also hanging out?

Mid-rise jeans are apparently the new mom jean. They are impossible to find and because they cover so much more than the "typical" jean on the street, you feel like everyone must think you are wearing mom jeans. While they don't go high enough to double as a brassiere, it looks like they might, but mostly because your boobs hang so low...

Who's That Girl?

Think back to when you were in elementary school - can you remember 'the dirty girl'? You know, the one that looked unkempt, maybe wore stained clothes? At the time, and even now, you didn't know why she was that way - was it a family thing? Did she get in a tussle on the way in?

Now I have my own three year old, and I can't help wondering - is she the dirty girl?

I pick out the girls' clothes at night, but there is no guarantee that they will actually wear what I leave out for them. LP wants to wear what she likes. Sometimes she will wear jeans and other times jeans are a tool of the devil meant to constrict her innards and you can't pay her to wear them. Sometimes corduroys count as jeans and other times they are awesome. Basically, she wears what she wants and I try to provide an acceptable option.

Not only does she often pick out her clothes but she dresses herself. Heaven help you if you try to help her and she is not in the mood. Yesterday one of my friends wrote to tell me, "I was talking to LP this morning and noticed she had both shirts on backward. She proudly explained that she 'beat Daddy' getting dressed." When I asked the Hoos about it, he hadn't even noticed. He was just proud of himself that he got her hair in a ponytail. He thought her hair looked too wild.

LP's hair is another challenge. She has perfectly straight, beautiful blondish hair. She wakes up fuzzyheaded. And she isn't keen on letting you brush it. And she really really doesn't like things in her hair. Ideally, LP wouldn't have bangs. But if you want bangs to grow out you have to be able to pin them up to keep them out of your eyes. Not happening. This morning I got LP to accept putting a clip in - but SHE had to do it. Who knows what she looks like.

Finally, OxyClean is my hero. It goes in every load of laundry and I typically have something soaking in a bucket full of it. That being sad, little kids are messy. Every stain doesn't come out even with Mighty Ox. There is just no way. And, every day at day care more stains get added. Yeah, my kids have stains on their clothes, yeah clothes cost money, and no, I am not always sending them in brand new clothes that will just get ruined.

My question is, how come most of LP's and AK's friends look so well put together? I know they all have awesome moms. But I think LP's and AK's mom is okay too. What is the magic trick? Hook me up!

Question Everything

Ever have someone that you think has questionable taste compliment you? And then it makes you question your own taste, "Oh, wow, she likes these shoes? Are they butt ugly?"

Although the idea of me as a fashionista is and should be laughable to those that know me, I think it has been a while since I totally embarrassed myself (like the time I wore a skirt that had the glue from a size sticker embedded down the front of it and I pretended I didn't care), not including any critique by the Hoos.

The thing is, at this point, so few of my clothes don't have permanent stains from snot or Vicks vapor rub or who-knows-what, that I am very protective of those items that are still in decent shape. Like shoes. Which happens to be what this woman complimented me on.

Thankfully I am planning an outlet shopping excursion with some friends soon, so I can replace the lovely brown flats that are very comfortable and very cute with something that hasn't been tainted by my colleague's opinion -- or my kids' body fluids.

Showing Off

Last night on the playground, AK started tugging frantically at her left sleeve. Thinking there was something in it that was bothering her I went over to inspect. As I pulled on the sleeve to look inside, the little bugger pulled her little arm in and promptly pulled the entire shirt up over her head. She then went on her merry way, running back to the steps that would take her to the slide.

LP, who was playing on the nearby tennis courts with her friends, caught wind of this fairly quickly. She approached, insisting that she also needed to remove her shirt. I recommended against this, but with a few stealthy moves I was overruled and soon had two partially nude daughters on the playground. Fortunately within two minutes LP declared she was ready to go home.

On the way home LP started talking about how she and AK both "had their topless shirts on." Not sure where she came up with this phrase, but I was even more pleased when she announced, "Mommy, you do not have your topless shirt on...because you have big boobies."

Never mind that even if mommy had smaller boobies the chances of her removing her shirt in public would be slim to none (trust me, you would all thank me for this). I am figuring that at some point I will have to tell the girls it is inappropriate to be topless in public. The Hoos is pushing for sooner rather than later.

The Art of Subtlety

Last night when the Hoos walked into the house, he greeted the girls, looked at me and asked, "Did you wear those shoes to work?"

I was wearing green Crocs with my work clothes. I stated that I had to run out to the car to get something I had forgotten (his dry cleaning!) and they were easier to slip on than my brown heels.

"Oh, okay, because there is something weird with them and your pants. Your pants are too long or something." I pointed out that my pants were the right length when worn with the aforementioned heels.

"No, it isn't that. They are weird on your butt. Can I throw them out?"

Awesome. I wore pants all day that my husband thinks make my butt look funky in a bad way. Talk about a shot to the confidence. And he wasn't done.

"Where did you get that shirt?" I looked down at it. It was a new shirt I had bought over the weekend. It was kind of sheer so I wore a tank underneath. I liked both - having just spent actual money on them.

"Better yet, why?" At this point I am sure he could sense that perhaps it wasn't the conversation I was hoping to have with him.

"It is just that you are so pretty..."

I am going to look at the bright side - Looks like mama just won herself a shopping spree.

Evidence of Sleep Deprivation

Saturday morning I distinctly recall hearing LP ask the Hoos, "Daddy, does this match?" and he responded, "Perfect!"

Imagine my surprise when I got out of the shower and was met by this smiling face.

Not sure if I have to work on the concept of matching with LP or the Hoos or both!

Just so you can readjust your eyes after the fabulousness of the polka dots - here is a new picture of AK. We were painting with baby food.

A Step Up

As I have stated before, I am vertically challenged. Therefore, we have several in high kitchen cupboards and the sweaters on the top shelf of my closet.

However, since LP became mobile, the stools have migrated in to other rooms of the house, like her bedroom and the living room. Frequently she will move them about to help her accomplish a goal - like climbing in to the Hoos' and my bed in the early morning hours or turning on our bedroom light in an attempt to rouse us.

Since becoming potty trained, the stools are more likely found in a bathroom to help LP wash her hands ("BY MYSELF!!!") after using the facilities ("BY MYSELF!! IN PRIVATE!"). Last night the Hoos came into the bathroom while I was brushing my teeth and found me standing on one of the aforementioned stools, "What are you trying to see what it would be like if you were tall?" I blushed, but nodded in affirmation.

And then he came and stood next to me. And he was still about 4 inches taller than me. He is 5'8. Meaning, tall to me is 5'4. How sad is that? Man, I hope my girls are taller than me.

He's Going to Kill Me

I don't usually write about the Hoos, but this post is really more about me than him.

For anyone that knows me and the Hoos personally, this isn't going to come as much of a shock - the Hoos is a slim guy. He comes from slim stock - his parents both have slight builds and good metabolisms. Many people aren't so lucky.

Recently some folks have commented to the Hoos about his weight. When he tells me and checks to see if I notice him looking different, my immediate reaction is to be defensive, "You tell them I feed you, don't you?!" Horribly, my concern is more that people will think I am a bad wife and don't take care of him.

I swear I cook dinner five or six nights a week. And lately we always have some sort of baked good in the house that LP and I whip up. Okay, maybe some nights we only have a starch. Or, like last night, I only make soup (homemade vegetable) and cheesy bread to accompany leftovers (lemon chicken from Sunday and baked ziti from Saturday) which likely isn't as filling. Okay, and we eat a lot of chicken, turkey and fish because I don't eat red meat (although I do buy the Hoos and LP steak a couple of times a month)...

You know you have mental problems when you start thinking of ways to make meals more fattening. Not that I would do it because the only one that would gain weight is me!

Speaking of eating - AK is on finger foods. She loves Cheerios and last night downed the pastina I mixed in with her mooshed up veggies!

FYI

The information on the girls' Daily Sheets from day care, when accurate, has the potential to be really useful.

For instance, last week when AK's sheet said that she had only drank 2.5 ounces of milk all day (while chowing down her solids), I was sufficiently warned that it would be a rough night full of feedings so that AK could make up for lost calories.

And, when LP's sheet calls out NO NAP, I know that there is a good chance that the next few hours will be not-so-pleasant for the entire family.

However, there are occasions when I am not really sure what to make of the notes on the sheet. Yesterday LP's sheet said:

During nap time [LP] likes to sit on her cot and take off her shoes and socks even though we tell her to keep them on in case of a fire drill.

I am not sure if they are passing on an anecdote or if I am supposed to try to have a conversation with LP about keeping her shoes on. I do talk to her several times a week about using her listening ears and hearing her teachers' words, but should I be specifically talking to her about her footwear?

AK also had an interesting note yesterday:

[AK] has a rattle in her chest.

This note was also accompanied by a phone call. When Miss Louise spoke to me I asked if AK was coughing or in any sort of distress and she said that my little fuzzyhead was smiling and laughing and having a good time, although her nose ran occasionally. Am I a bad mom because I am trying to pick up cues from her actions instead of her chest? Should I be rushing her to the doctor?

In addition to trying to decipher the daily sheets, I have the distinct pleasure of having burst blood vessels in my eye again. This totally sucks and makes me feel really yucky. I cursed audibly when I noticed it in the mirror while brushing my teeth last night.

Fed Up

When I woke up Saturday morning I had this odd sensation on my arm. A hair - one of the many falling out of my head daily - had landed on my arm and I could distinctly feel it. As I brushed it off, I made a determination. My hair was coming off.

I called Lori, our family hair dresser to see if she could fit me. "Are you going short?" she whispered into the phone. The last time we had been in, it was so LP and the Hoos could get hair cuts. The Hoos made it clear to Lori that her preferred my long hair and that he would do anything he could to keep me from cutting it off. Regardless, I responded to her in the affirmative.

I am now the proud wearer of a shorn head. Too short for ponytails and too short for little fingers to pull out. It is still falling out - but it is not nearly as messy or distracting. And, unlike after I had LP, my hair is straight again. Hormones are very, very weird things. Pictures will be posted at some point...although I would rather post pictures of the girls:)

The Tortoise and the Hair

Once again, my hair is falling out. Post-partum hair loss sucked the first time around, and yup, it sucks again. I remember now why I decided to get my hair cut short last time - at least there will be short hairs everywhere (no, not that kind of short hair) instead of long hairs that can wrap around things. Oh, and in case it isn't bad enough that my hair is falling out in abundance on its own, AK is really good at pulling it out too. If only I could train her to only pull out the silver ones.

Infamous hunter AK stalks the evil gray hare...

A Revelation

I am one day shy of 32 years old and yesterday I realized for the first time that HEELS MAKE YOU LOOK TALLER AND THINNER. Seriously, folks. I am five feet tall, I understood the concept of heels, but never did I realize that they could be truly transformative. Too bad most of my heels are open-toed. Now I have to spend my birthday money buying closed-toed heels to keep the illusion up all winter long.

Shape Shifting

I am having a hard time adjusting my wardrobe to my ever-evolving body and all of its (and my) requirements.

The Usual. Typically I am a jeans a t-shirt kind of girl. I like to be comfortable and casual. I step it up slightly (but admittedly not much) for work. Because LP slobbers, snots or dumps food on me often, most of my clothes tend to be easy to wash.

The Preggo. When you are pregnant, you wear maternity clothes. They can be loose early on to cover your expanding, but not-quite-yet-pregnant-looking body or they can be tight to show off your ripening shape. I went with the tight because I carried Dee straight out in front of me and trapeze shirts and the like made me look like a circus tent. I don't need help looking short and dumpy.

And Now. Fortunately I have lost about 20 of the 30 or so pounds I put on while gestating Dee. Unfortunately, it takes much longer to lose the post-baby-skin. In fact, I don't think I ever really lost the pouch I had acquired from LP. It did shrink a bit though.

In addition to having to figure out how best to hide my stomach flap (do you tuck it in?) I also have the good fortune of needing to wear nursing pads. Dee has such an erratic eating schedule that I leak way more frequently than I did with LP. Without the absorbent circles in my bra I live in constant fear that I will have growing wet circles on the front of my shirt. And let me reassure you, this is no wet t-shirt contest that anyone wants to participate in or watch.

Between the pouch and the circles, I think I look like Jabba the Hut wearing pasties.

You would think that there would be SOMETHING in my closet or multiple dressers that would not only cover but potentially (dare I say) flatter me. You would be wrong. My maternity clothes continue to be tight across the chest (the extra padding on my stomach has moved to my breasts), highlighting the hot hot hot nursing pads. My non-maternity clothes aren't baggy across the middle, highlighting the fabulous muffin top created by my post-maternity flab.

At this point, Dee and LP are my best accessories and I hope to use them as camouflage as much as possible. Even better, the Hoos thinks I look great. That goes a long way to helping me feel better about my shape-shifting. That being said, I still wouldn't mind having more then two shirts and one pair of maternity shorts to wear out in public.

Mutually Exclusive

Apparently, in the last few weeks of pregnancy clothing can not be both comfortable and fit.

Not that I like having my gut exposed to the breeze, but because of my decidedly pointy beach ball shaped belly very few shirts actually cover it. Even maternity shirts that look really really long when you buy them early in pregnancy somehow shrink, curl up and stretch beyond their limits by the time you reach the end of the gestation period.

I am one foxy beast, y'all.

Hiking...Without Exerting Myself

One of the problems with being pregnant is that nothing fits. It doesn't matter if it is maternity clothes, regular clothes, or clothes a size or two too big. You will spend the last few months of your pregnancy hiking stuff up, creatively using safety pins, and covering your chest with folders to hide your goods.

Tops. My maternity shirt is gaping, showing off the girls to the point of distraction for a few people. I don't know why manufacturers insist on making crisscross tops and v-necks for pregnant women. Only worse are button-downs, which I thought were cute the first time I was pregnant, until I realized that no matter what they were not going to lay flat and I would spend most of the day flashing unsuspecting colleagues.

Bottoms. Maternity pants don't stay up. The ones with big stretchy sections roll off your belly (or at least mine, but it could be because I am carrying kind of pointy), and the ones with bands that fall below your belly inch down when you walk. And, if you are petite like me, don't be a bonehead and get your pants shortened early in your pregnancy. By the time you get to the end they will be too short and you will look like you are wearing highwaters.

Undergarments. My panties are in a bunch. Literally. They keep falling off my butt and bunching up in the back. I look like LP with a full diaper (and a much bigger arse). Maybe this is because I am wearing my regular underwear, but for some reason the maternity underwear only come in bikini briefs; I don't wear bikinis when not pregnant, and I can't understand why someone would want less material when they have more to cover. And don't get me started on bras. I have four different sizes in my lingerie* drawer. Even ones that are labeled as being the same size don't fit the same, even from the same manufacturer.

*I don't really own any lingerie, but it sounds nicer than "the bedside dresser where I cram in pantyhose, socks, bras and granny panties".

Stained

This morning I stopped at the bagel store and got a bagel and some nice warm decaf coffee to enjoy on my way into the office. Life was good. I arrived at the office, finished the coffee and got up to make my first, of what I am sure will be several, trips to the ladies room.

While walking I look down and notice a wet spot on my chest. It is definitely too early for lactation and the spot was closer to my collar than my girls. And the spot was a light brown and smelled vaguely of vanilla hazelnut decaf coffee.

By the time I got to the bathroom I realized that this was not a single spot, but rather there is a chain of spots - starting at the top and trailing down to the middle of my large and in charge belly. Lovely.

I can clearly visualize my Tide-to-Go stick...it is sitting in a basket on my dresser from the last time I changed pocketbooks. Clearly not doing me any good. And water? Well, I tried that...and 20 minutes later it finally dried and left the coffee splotches behind.

And, even though I have a couple of extra cardigans stashed in various file cabinets in my office, none of them are maternity. It is not like I can just throw on any old thing. It is 8:20 and I have already resigned myself to looking like a slob for the rest of the day. Woo-hoo.

I Need This

Today I have a couple of things to get off my chest.

To the people who just noticed that I look pregnant. No, it does not feel good for you to say to me "My gosh, you have really popped!" or "You look so much bigger than the last time I saw you!" I AM ALMOST SEVEN MONTHS PREGNANT. I LOOK LIKE A PREGNANT PERSON IS SUPPOSED TO LOOK.

To be fair, the Hoos "forgets" that I am pregnant. When I say I am tired or it takes me a few extra seconds to straighten my back out after getting up from playing on the floor with LP, he asks if I am okay. I AM FINE. THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU ARE PREGNANT. (I know this sounds harsh, but I AM PREGNANT.)

Oh, and to my brain: Dude, it is okay to stop running at times. Because despite the fact that I "went to bed" at 9:30 last night, I did not sleep. It wasn't that you, Brain, were thinking about anything important or any of the items that are making me anxious (like fitting a zillion different plans into one weekend and preparing Bun's room and getting new furniture for LP's room) and coming up with brilliant solutions, rather you just ran in circles about nothing. Thanks for that.

I am still tired and cranky, but now I feel a little better for venting. It also helps that my bunny munchkin loves to give group hugs now and I keep envisioning us having a four-person group hug once little Bun arrives. That will feel good.

All About Me: Day Two

Since yesterday was all about me, let's make today all about me too. Today, the topic is size.

For those of you that have never actually encountered me in person, and for those of you that have, let me remind you that I stand almost exactly at five feet tall. 60 inches is not a lot. And, keep in mind, I am not one of those tiny, tiny short girls. I am petite, but my hips have proven to be good for breeding, my bosom is ample, and my waist is about the same size as my inseam.

When not pregnant the distance between my breasts and pubic bone is about 7 or eight inches. Therefore, when pregnant there are not really a lot of directions for a baby to grow in. Up and the kid hits my ribs (and this baby hits my ribs and lungs, believe me); down, and well, that's not really supposed to happen until the end of the 40 week gestation period. Bun is growing out. I just measured from under my chest to the bottom of my belly and it is about 13 inches. Good thing my skin was already stretched from LP (ah, stretch marks, how I love thee). Yes, I look like there is a ball in my belly. And yes, there is only one baby and yes, I still have about 12 weeks to go, thanks for asking.

I believe I have mentioned before that seven kids in LP's day care class have become or will become older siblings in 2008. That means there are lots of pregnant moms. The other day the Hoos encountered one, "Aim, is Chloe's mom pregnant?" I confirmed his suspicion. "Um, how far along is she?" When I told him that she was due a few days after I was I could see him trying to hide his shock so I said,"She's tall." He began nodding emphatically, "Yes, she really is tall."

Going Gray

Over the past year or so I have noticed an exponential increase in the number of gray hairs proliferating on my head. It used to be I had one or two that I could pluck out and forget about. More recently I have discovered that there is just not enough time in the day to dislodge every new silver follicle popping up. My hair is naturally brown, with some natural reddish highlights (she says hopefully).

It appears that in addition to the evolving color of my hair, I have the challenge of evolving texture. Being pregnant my hair isn't really falling out. However, my hair never really grew in properly after the fabulous post-partum hair loss I experienced after giving birth to LP. I continue to have short hair in my bang area that like to unattractively swoop and bushy hair on the back of my head that sort of curls/waves up in layers. I can see everyone squinting, trying to imagine just what the heck I am talking about; trust me, it ain't pretty. To the right is a relatively recent picture that still doesn't do the fuzziness justice.

Most of the gray appears to be underneath the top layer - which causes the dilemma of 'do I pony tail and show off the gray? or do I leave it down and show off the fabulous, half-ass curls that arrived along with LP?'

Yes, I have tried to cut it into shape, but I really want to be able to put my hair in a ponytail when Bun arrives. And I tried shorter not too long ago and it doesn't really work with the curly/puffiness that my new hair offers (see this photo). Probably the most likely fix would be to actually put some hair care products into my hair and blow dry it in the morning. And we all know, that ain't gonna happen. What probably will happen are some fabulous new highlights once I pop Bun out. I won't be covering my gray per say, I will just be offering it the opportunity to "be a better you."

Cha-Cha-Cha

After a totally disappointing Friday of being stuck in the house as my car was in the shop, the weekend was quite a pleasure. My parents came up on Saturday and spent the afternoon with LP and me. We lunched, she snuggled, we partied like rockstars. That evening my brother-in-law and his family came over for dinner. LP inserted herself into the play of her three exuberant older cousins.

For some reason she follows her older male cousin, O, around like a puppy. When his little brother was playing with a book that LP wanted and she started to cry, instead of running to Mommy or Daddy she ran to O, held her arms up, and said "Uppy!" He obliged and then looked around at the grown-ups, "Now what?"

Sunday the sun was shining, even if the temperatures were not exactly warm and cozy. Looking for an activity that would help LP expend energy, get all three of us out of the house and hopefully help us enjoy the pleasant brightness, we went to the Stamford Museum and Nature Center. We have never been before, and they were having their annual Maple Sugar Festival. It turns out that the Center is a working farm with horses, cows, pigs, goats, sheep, alpacas and a whole host of other animals - including a very entertaining river otter. They also had lots of events and activities - both inside and out. LP especially enjoyed the free popcorn. If you are a local, I highly recommend checking the Center out.

Today was an event I have been anticipating for weeks - our cleaning lady is back! Woo-hoo! She was visiting her family for a month in Slovakia and just returned. She even showed up EARLY at 8:40 instead of 9. Yippeee!!! After greeting her, LP and I packed up and left the house, both to get out of her way and to take advantage of having the car back and run some errands.

Of course, the biggest errand was an unplanned one. WE GOT LP'S HAIR CUT!!! I happened to pass one of the places that specializes in "Kid Cuts" and decided to run in and see if they had any openings. They were able to squeeze us in at 11:45, so after LP and I spent some time running around Barnes and Noble, we went back and sat her cute little butt into a pink Barbie Jeep chair.

She was a very good girl and it only took about 5 minutes for them to complete her cut and take my $25. I know, a total rip-off. If I had known how little they would end up cutting I wouldn't have wasted the money. But, I guess it was worth it since she liked sitting in the car, they put a butterfly clip in her hair that she kept in until we got to the car, her bangs no longer fall into her eyes, she got her picture taken and they gave us a little baggy with her locks. Now I know better and next time we go to our regular haircutter or we do it ourselves. I would take a picture, but you probably won't be able to tell the difference.