Moms Gone Wild, Part Deux

Who would have thought that the hardest partying I'd do in years would be with my moms group? I guess you really do need to let loose when you spend most of your time with a 25-pound maniac who goes from crying to laughing and back again in less than 3 seconds. The night involved many cocktails, even more wine and some much-needed dancing. Some fashion advice from hookers, cab hailing tips from homeless men, and tequila shots rounded out the evening. Thankfully, I found my mind just as the shots were being poured and conveniently went to the bathroom. Tequila and I had a falling out a few years ago and I'm still not ready to forgive.

I laughed pretty much the entire evening, louder and longer than I have in months. You know it was a good night when you're still giggling to yourself the next day. My husband does NOT appreciate the random giggling. We were remarking last night how damn lucky we are to have found one another while on this extraordinary journey of motherhood. Switch out "remarking" for "shouting" and I think I now understand why we got a few side eyes on our way out of the restaurant. Although I've only known these women for a little over a year, they are so dear to me and my bebe. They repeatedly tell me that we're both not crazy and for that I love them. And even though the night ended in puke (not mine, hooray), I think we'd all agree that the pain was worth the pleasure.

However. I could have done without being wickedly hungover while driving to Tahoe today in the middle of a rain/snowstorm. It took about 2 hours longer than normal and I saw no less than three accidents on the way up. Fun times. I'll be cleaning banana and dog food out of every crevice in my car for years after making the mistake of putting the grocery bag too close to one very bored toddler. Good thing I brought the fire truck-the child is straight obsessed these days. Fiyah. Not necessarily a good thing considering his dad was a total pyro as a kid. It looks like leaving the house is off the table for tomorrow unless we want to go snow swimming. Hot chocolate shots all around!

Mama can't hang

Earlier this week, in celebration of our one-year anniversary (time, oh time, where are you?), my playgroup mamas and I had ourselves some cocktails. And then about a hundred more cocktails. Seriously, y'all, we killed multiple bottles of champagne and wine. At dinner. We also went to a bar before and after the restaurant. Holy moly, I may talk a big game about my former partying ways, but I've always been a pretty cheap date. Thursday night I drank like I was at a wedding. The old, fancy kind with singles tables and premium liquor. It was so incredibly super fun to celebrate with those ladies. Without the babies.

We spent much of the night laughing hysterically. I was still giggling when I got home (late. LATE) and spent a good twenty minutes in the bathroom deciding if I should cut bangs again. No. Cue spin central. My husband was laughing at me as I moaned about having to wake up with the babes. Mr. Monk took pity on me and slept till 8, which would have been awesome if Tony hadn't thrown up in our room at 5. Nothing like hearing your dog yakking away to make you wonder if you really might throw up from alcohol for the first time in 10 years. *Shudder*

The next morning I looked and felt like a poopy diaper. The post-breastfeeding, real deal, solid foods kind. Thankfully, my son doesn't yet understand "Mommy's hungover." And, hopefully, he never will. Despite the 8-hour recovery period, our wild night was so worth it. I'm just glad no one brought a camera.

Off and running

Last night we had a mini dinner party with 2 other couples and their four boys (five boys age 5 and under-check, please!). Mr. Monk loved being with the big boys. So much so that today he took his first step! Our little baby is becoming a man. Soon we'll need a lasso. Though, really, could he possibly get any faster than he is now? His crawl is like lightning. Blink and he's across the room and out the doggie door. He's less of a baby each and every day. Where is Evie Garland and her magic fingers when I need her?

While walking Tony when we got home after our testosterone-fueled dinner, he took off running and dragged me behind him up to the middle of a steep hill, in between two street lights. In the pitch black darkness, I turned around to give him privacy to do his business. I was minding some business of my own, texting and whatnot, when I started to notice some little bits of brown running toward me. The dog's poop had broken apart into about eight pieces and started rolling down the hill. Tootsie rolls of shit were flying everywhere. As it was the neighborly thing to do (and I was afraid of ruining my new boots on the walk home), I ran around with my little iphone flashlight trying to pick them all up. The fun never, ever ends.

Today we went to the last of our playgroup baby birthday parties. This one was a goodie--no less than three different kinds of baked goods and lots of candy. I kept throwing the wrappers away after every bite so I couldn't keep track of what I ate. And then I remembered that the dress I was planning to wear to a wedding this weekend barely fit me pre-pregnancy and I haven't tried it on since. What's another white chocolate covered oreo going to hurt? I'm finding the worst part of weaning to be the fact that I now have to actually exercise to burn calories. The fueling another life from your body and being able to eat whatever the hell you want, whenever the hell you want? Magic. Maybe there is something to extended breastfeeding after all. Or maybe I should just drag my ass back to spinning.

Why yes, I'd love another piece of cookie...

Down the rabbit hole

Follow me...

Yesterday at music class I learned that the 18 month old twins in our class are fully potty trained. Like wearing no diapers potty trained. Whoa. I didn't know that was possible. Somehow I doubt we will be freaking other moms out with our peeing/pooping prowess in 6 months. Half the time I can hardly remember to change the baby's diaper. He's peed through 2 pairs of pants this week. And I'm the one who's supposed to teach him how to navigate through the maze of life?

Now that he's starting to understand (a bit) more, I'm realizing that I need to curb some of my less desirable behaviors. I am a modelizer after all. No more fucking cursing every third word. No more yelling in order to get my husband to give me what I want. No more feeding Tony from the table. Definitely no more going completely limp and then violently thrusting my pelvis when my mommy tries to put me in my carseat.

An old friend and her 3 year old son came over the other day. We were gabbing and gossiping like in our pre mom jeans days. I believe the subjects of divorce, sex, sleep, Thomas the Train and Ryan Gosling were covered in equal measure. The boys were playing nicely and rather quietly so as to let their mamas get their coffee talk on. All of the sudden I came to the creepy realization that toddlers shouldn't be quiet and what the hell were they up to? I ran through the house screaming and found both of them outside, halfway up the slate stairs, staring down a piece of dog poop. We were probably three seconds from a world of pain. Who's winning mom of the year? I let a 3 year old babysit my 1 year old. Awesome.

There is a boy in our playgroup who loves to give out hugs. Just doles 'em on out to babies and mamas alike. As the mother to a lovely little maniac who will only allow the briefest of snuggles, and these only when he's sick and/or scared, I'll take it. You'd think Mr. Monk would get jealous when he sees his mom getting some loving from another shortie dude, but he seems so relieved--finally, now she'll leave me to my climbing.

No (more) boob for you

In playgroup yesterday the other mommies and I let each other in on a deep, dark secret. We. Are. So. Over. Breastfeeding. At first we danced around it and then, sensing a unified front, we collectively admitted what a chore it’s become. Now that our kids are all about seven or eight months, it seems as though we might be on the downward slope. Here in San Francisco, not giving your baby nature’s most perfect food is even worse than buying a purebred dog, or owning more than one car, if you can imagine such horrors. Please note that my husband and I are guilty of both. It’s amazing our tax dollars are even accepted.

I had initially planned to BF for a year based on all the findings that kids who suck down the liquid gold for at least that are more likely to publish a novel by age 30, bring about world peace, and generally be better-looking and have more friends. Feeding the wee one is essentially my job during this non-working period of my life. If I don’t perform my primary task of motherhood, would I still be good mom? Why would I then be any better than a bottle-feeding nanny? Of course, I realize that I am more than my boobs, but surely they are the main reason that my babe loves me more than anything else on planet Earth right now (even more than paper and he loves him some paper to rip and eat).

Many people tout the convenience of breastfeeding. After all, you’re already toting those puppies around all day. But, it can be a bit annoying to navigate BF’ing in public, unless you’re one of those folks who truly don’t mind whipping it out anytime, anywhere. I can safely admit that, while I fully support a mama’s right to feed her youngin, I am just not coordinated enough to nurse while wandering the aisles at Whole Foods. Enter breast pump, stage right. Anyone who has ever come in contact with this contraption will agree that something’s just not right about fitting your girl parts into a machine that literally pulls the milk right out of them. If you’re giving your kid more than one bottle a day, you have to make up for those feedings by milking yourself. The worst is having to pump right before heading to sleep so that I don’t wake up completely engorged. While I say a prayer every night thanking my baby for sleeping straight through the night so I don’t have to wake up and feed him, having to fill the bottles is not my idea of a relaxing pre-sleep activity. In fact, I’m surprised I haven’t yet had nightmares about being sucked to death.

One of my main concerns with continuing to BF is that I’m starting to feel a little selfish about my girls. I want them back. And so does my husband. It’s hard to feel ownership over your body parts when they are being controlled by an 18 pound writhing, screaming little being. I’ve become very hostile toward my husband even looking at my breasts these days. I’m fairly certain he hasn’t touched them in the past year. Memories of enjoying the bosoms prior to being pregnant have been so repressed that I am beginning to wonder if they existed at all. People do have use for these things, right? Not to mention, I was already doing quite well filling out a bikini before, I didn’t need any help from the full ducts I’m now carrying around. I may be one of the few people looking forward to the promised decrease in size once nursing is done. Of course, with my luck I’ll get pregnant immediately after weaning and the fun will begin anew. It’s like I’ve donated my body to science.

Fret not, I will persevere and soldier on to fight the good fight (though I draw the line at biting). I know I will miss this special bonding time with my son and the ridiculous smiles he gives me like he can’t believe he gets to drink this stuff every day. Also, it is free. I never could pass up a bargain. I just hope he thanks me someday in his acceptance speech.

The New Normal

So yesterday at playgroup Mr. Monk cried nearly the whole time. I kept trying to put him down to play with his friends, but his face would immediately scrunch up and the tears would flow. At first I played it off “oh, he’s DEFINITELY teething this week” or “perhaps he has his period?” After an hour or so of fairly continuous whining, I stopped trying and just let him hang out in my arms (super fun outing for me, I tell ya). He was clearly in a crabby mood and didn’t want to be hanging around a bunch of friends. I can’t say I blame him. When I’m in a funk, the last thing I want is a bunch of people staring at me wondering why I’m in a funk.

As I drove home, he passed out (finally!) and I starting wondering if maybe I am missing some of his cues lately. He normally is a little butterfly, smiling and flirting away. This week, however, he’s been downright surly. Is he getting sick of me? Has the fun gone out of our relationship? There’s such conflicting info out there about what to do when your baby is upset. Do I pick him up and cuddle him all the time or will that make him needy? Do I let him cry and comfort himself or will that make him feel abandoned? What’s a mom to do, especially when the usual drinking wine and whining with other mamas doesn’t go as planned (see above)? Maybe we’ll just go to the park and swing. Usually helps me cheer up.