Holy shit! So much shit! I mean poop! OMG! This morning, my tiny human woke up with the biggest, smelliest, nastiest poop ever. Ok, maybe not ever, but we are talking infant days. You know what I’m talking about. The days of blow outs, poop on the pajamas, up the back, on the sheets, everywhere.
I’m knocking on wood right now because this has not been a common occurrence for my son. I have been thrown up on A LOT, but blow outs have been few and far between. I consider myself lucky in this department but it also means I’m not so used to it.
When I texted a mom friend about this, she had a great point. Better out that end than the other. I guess that’s true. I swear the smell of vomit lasts forever. And my son usually projects it. Poop is much easier to contain. I did smell it on my nose all day long, but it has finally gone away. The last time my son threw up in my car, the smell lingered for weeks. And I had my car scrubbed and detailed by professionals. If it were up to me I would have thrown the car seat out and bought a new one. My husband wasn’t on board with that idea. It just stopped smelling the puke smell last week.
I have a very involved husband when it comes to parenting. A definite hands-on dad. I can go out for a girl’s night and he does our son’s dinner, bath, and bedtime routine no problem. I can leave for a weekend and he can handle it. Of course by the time I return he is handing our tiny human back to me, but I do the same thing when he travels. And he travels a lot for business. And yes, I know it’s for work but it’s still a break. Husband, you still get to leave and completely check out, even if you are in some city in bumblefuck Kansas I have never heard of.
Back to being a hands-on dad, this is extremely attractive. He is 100 percent capable. All men are 100 capable of this, some just choose not to be. I have mom friends whose husbands can’t be at home alone with their children, thus making it difficult for their wives to enjoy the occasional night out with the girls or even a getaway. I don’t get that. I never will. It wouldn’t work for me. I need my nights out and trips away like I need air to breathe. They keep me sane. They make me a better mom and wife. Sometimes I just need to leave and take a break and I don’t think there is anything wrong with that. Every mom should be afforded that opportunity.
But lately, my husband is confusing me. When we talk about girls’ nights out or trips or me taking a solo trip to NYC in general terms, he just says, “You can do what you want.” When we talk about him going to play golf or watch football with the guys, I always say, “Great, have fun! You should make plans like this more often.”
We are all guilty of it. I’m guilty of it. All the time. Looking at all of your Facebook and Instagram posts (friends and celebrities included), overcome with jealousy that your life raising tiny humans looks way more glamorous and so much easier than mine. Especially when you post those family photos and definitely when you post the ones from vacation. I swear if you go by Facebook and Instagram, everyone takes these amazing, easy vacations with their little ones but me. And they all love it. Smiling, happy, with your annoying hash tags and posts: “Heaven on earth.” “No place I’d rather be.” “This is everything.” “Live for these moments.” Celebrities, maybe what we don’t see is you handing your little ones off to their nannies after the photos and videos are taken. That would make so much more sense to me.
Well guess what, we just got home from a family vacation to Aspen. Yup, that’s right Aspen. And Aspen is dripping in glamour and money and beautiful people. And all the while we are there, I’m posting videos and photos on Instagram and Facebook of how excited my tiny human is to get there and see his grandparents and snow, which we obviously don’t get to see a lot of because we live in the south. Videos from the airport, photos from the airplane of my cute little son wheeling his cute little monogrammed Pottery Barn Kids suitcase and singing, “Aspen, Aspen, let’s go to Aspen!”
And that was me checking in to the Jas Cafe at The Little Nell with all the fabulous people who live and vacation there while my little one was sleeping soundly at the hotel room with grandma and grandpa. Then, photos and videos of his excitement at going to ski school for the first time. “Mommy, I going ski school and I going to throw snow balls.” All he wants to do is throw snow balls and it really is adorable. Okay one more video of my small child in his Moncler ski outfit playing in the snow smiling ear to ear after ski school. And you will all think and maybe even be a little jealous of this amazing trip your mom friend took to Aspen. Luxury hotel, extra help from Grandma and Grandpa, great shopping, amazing restaurants, etc. But guess what, it’s complete and utter bullshit! A total lie!
OMG! Holy fuck! You need to watch the above clip from Celebrity Lip Sync Battle where Jenna Dewan-Tatum competes against her gorgeous husband, Channing Tatum. She performs Pony, as in Channing’s beyond sexy, stripper dance routine from MAGIC MIKE XXL. Holy hotness! I think she might be hotter than him! I have a new girl crush and it’s Jenna and her abs and her moves. Um why can’t I dance like that? Don’t you think that Jenna and Tatum have the hottest, craziest sex? Well that’s what I would like to think! And if I’m being honest, I’m incredibly jealous. So my new 2016 goal? Be Jenna Dewan-Tatum! Here is a list of everything I will need to do to accomplish this goal.
Equinox, what the fuck is with this ad? It’s fucked up. I don’t know how to say it any other way. I’m not sure what your message is. I get the tagline COMMIT TO SOMETHING. It’s a new year and you want people to join your gym and commit to their health and fitness. Fine! Or maybe you are saying, “commit to anything, just commit to something.” Great! I’m all for that too. But why the model who doesn’t even have children, breastfeeding twins who aren’t even hers? Oh and she just happens to be in an LBD looking very glamorous. What does this possibly have to do with your gym?
Are you advocating breastfeeding now? I read in the New York Post that supporters of the ad like that equinox is “normalizing breastfeeding.” I’m confused. Please explain to me what is normal about breastfeeding twins that aren’t yours in haute couture at a party. Maybe I would get it more Equinox if you used a less glamorous image. Show what it really looks like when you commit to breastfeeding. Way to go joining the ranks of mom shamers.
I’m not sure how I’m feeling right now or how I should be feeling. Angry? Anxious? Guilty? Resentment? Fear? Exhausted? Yes, definitely exhausted. Maybe that is the problem when you’re a mom. The divide between how you are actually feeling and how you should be feeling or how you think you should be feeling.
For the past few nights, my almost three year-old has not only fought going to sleep, but he has woken up screaming like clockwork right around midnight. It doesn’t help that we are on vacation and he shares a tiny room with my husband and me. He sleeps in his own bed next to ours.
And who do you ask wakes up with the little one? Well, his mom of course! I actually physically wake up the minute I hear him, like I have some internal mom radar. Where is my husband you might ask? Oh, he is next to me, sleeping soundly and snoring even louder. In creeps the resentment and anger. I want to scream at him, “HOW COULD YOU SLEEP THROUGH YOUR CHILD WAKING UP CRYING???!”
Well, I didn’t exactly make January 1, 2016 my bitch. But I did make something my bitch. What you might ask? Carbs! Yes, I made carbs my bitch! I didn’t mean to. I was supposed to wake up, walk 10,000 steps, fit in a yoga class to kick off the new year, and eat protein. Was there protein? Of course. Lots of protein.
There was extra crispy bacon (on top of three pancakes with maple syrup). Then there was chicken salad (on top of a warm, buttery croissant that I shared with the 3 year-old daughter of a friend). And finally there was chicken and beef (on top of hummus, accompanied by basmati rice, fresh baked pita and lentils with fried onions). Oh and don’t forget the two kinds of baklava for dessert. Oops! That’s what happens when you binge watch Narcos on Netflix for New Year’s Eve with your husband and red wine. The funny thing is, our New Year’s Eve dinner was 100% carb free and we didn’t even have dessert. WTF! So I’m great on the last day of the year but fuck up the first day of the new year.
Or maybe it was the three hours we spent at Chuck E. Cheese yesterday morning.
Happy New Year and welcome to my blog: The Medicated Mommy. I know, how cliché to launch your first blog post on January 1. And even more cliché, to actually write “new year, new me”. But it’s true. This is my year. 2016, I’m going to make you my bitch. This endeavor has been a long time in the making and I am finally sitting down to make it a reality. I have been pent up and repressed (in so many ways) for too long and this blog will be my release. My space. My safe place to write honestly about anything and everything I feel like writing about. No topic is off limits. It’s so safe that I won’t even be giving my husband the address (for now). Duh, I need to be able to write about him too! I hope you’ll come along for the ride.
A little bit of background. As the About Me page states in fewer words, I’m a 34 year-old wife and stay at home mom to an adorable and intelligent, yet bossy, strong-willed, energizer bunny-type toddler. I should also mention I’ve been married for 7 years, but with my husband for 12 and things do get monotonous as I’m sure you all know.
I’m Northern and my heart belongs to New York City, but I’ve been living in the South for quite some time and guess what: It’s booooring! And slow and did I mention that I’m booooored? And people settle for good enough and I want amazing. Oh and there is no Soul Cycle. I just want to live near a Soul Cycle. I’m in Soul Cycle denial. I have the app on my phone and wear all their gear (which I obviously have to order online), even though the closest one requires getting on an airplane. Is that too much to ask for?