Definitely maybe

My obgyn up and had a baby on me.  That's how I know my kid is old.  She must have gotten pregnant right after or around when I delivered and then had a child in the intervening 18 months.  Incredible!  She said it so casually as she popped her head up from in between my knees.  You know you're a mom when you're amazingly grateful for those few minutes alone, even if they come at a gynecologist's office.  At least you get to lie down.  I felt the tiniest bit betrayed.  How come she knew all the ins and outs (heh) of my pregnancy and yet I knew nothing of hers.  She's always been warm, but today I noticed a completely different side of her.  We had a hilarious conversation about the gyno visit portrayed on "Girls."  I find a sense of humor to be especially important when someone's whole arm has explored my insides.  She was so curious about my son and what he's doing now.  It made me almost forget that the first words out of her mouth when I walked in were, "so....when's the next one coming?"  Et tu, Brute?

It's been a weird few weeks in my world, but things are shaking back into place now.  If only I could find the perfect modern floor lamp.  Apparently, you are supposed to think about furnishing rooms WHILE your house is under construction, not AFTER.  Oops.

Who do you want to be today?

When I was a kid I had a recurring daydream about a machine that would let you change your appearance.  You could just plug in the different look you wanted, blond bob, smaller nose, whatever your chubby, little 10-year-old heart desired.  Maybe I was a tad too into "The Jetsons." It wasn't so much that I hated what I looked like (not always) but more was curious to see how it felt to be someone else.  Someone named Pamela.  If only for a day.  A week ago, when I walked into the MOMA to see the Cindy Sherman retrospective, I knew she wondered the same thing.

The exhibit is huge and fascinating, as Sherman transforms herself into aging socialites, abused prostitutes, Hollywood ingenues, and many, many, many other characters.   Viewing her photographs is like taking a swan dive into your own issues with identity and beauty.  All of the pictures are untitled, leaving the viewer to project her perceptions of class and gender while wading through the throngs of French people who manage to look chic and casual at the same time (how?  is there a class?).   My favorite photo was one in which a woman coming home from a hard day's work, in a rush to get dinner started, knocks over the grocery bag and is hunched over the ruins, wondering why nothing can go right.  Or at least that's what I saw at this point in my life.  Five years from now I'll probably have an entirely different interpretation.  See what you want to see, be who you want to be.  Go check out this exhibit!

It's not you, it's me

One of the scariest things I've ever done was plug some of my favorite beauty items into the skin deep site. It was downright terrifying to see how many chemicals I put into my body on a daily basis. Granted, some things (mascara!) are pretty much impossible to find chemical-free, but I have been trying to come up with some eco-friendly substitutions for my beauty regimen. There are lots of great moisturizers, makeup companies and cleansing products that are at least attempting to use more natural than synthetic ingredients. But, I have to draw the line somewhere. And that somewhere is my armpits.

For the past couple of weeks, I've been using an aluminum-free, crunchy, green (it's literally green) deodorant. Not an antiperspirant, mind you, because the aluminum is what prevents you from sweating like a pig. Aluminum is said to possibly cause cancer, Alzheimer's, and other assorted party fouls. Although there hasn't been any real scientific proof of a causal link, I'd rather hedge my bets, especially now that I've got a youngin' depending on me to bring the sand toys to the playground. I've never been a huge sweater, so I doubted that it would be that different for me sans antiperspirant. I decided to ditch my dirty Secret and go organic, y'all.

I didn't really notice anything the first day or so. But, about three days in, I was at a restaurant and I could have sworn that the guy standing next to me had just walked off a basketball court. There was a vile stench all around. A few days later I smelled it again and wondered when the hell people in San Francisco stopped showering. Dirty hippies! Finally, this morning I was changing the big/little guy's diaper when I caught an awful whif. It wasn't poop, it was ME! I had a full on identity crisis. I smell? Like a homeless person in Miami? When did this happen? Have I been smelling for weeks? Am I a hippie now? I am mentally cataloging all the people I've hugged recently and may have utterly repulsed. Damn hormones. Foiled again!

So. I'm starting to think maybe smelling like an onion factory is worse than all the potential, unproven harms of good old, working deodorant. Then again, since I can be a little obsessive (just a tad) once I set my mind to something, I'm going to work my way through this list to try to find a deodorant that doesn't leave me friendless. Any ideas are appreciated, especially by my clothing.