Seven Things That Suck About Indiana.

Oh, Indiana. Home to...corn fields. Lots of corn fields. And pharmaceutical companies. You are a very lovely state. One I'm usually happy to call home (but then I'm from Detroit, so you know. That's not saying much).

But right now? You're kind of on my shit list. And here are seven reasons why.

Holy crap, the humidity. I don't know if you've noticed, Indiana, but it's only June. Not even late June. But the humidity out there? Feels like August in Southern Florida. Do you think you could turn it down a notch or five? Because I'd like to go outside at some point before it turns into winter again.

Tractors should not be allowed on regular roads. Ever. Nothing makes me angrier than having to slow down to negative five miles an hour because some stupid farmer decides to take his two-story-tall tractor out for a drive down the highway (and it happens. frequently).

Enough with the damn thunderstorms.  Five nights in a row? Really? And tornadoes on the ground to boot? This is not the vacation weather I ordered up, dang it. Cut it out!

Your most interesting city is as boring as Law and Order (the TV show).  I'm talking, of course, about Indianapolis. Home of chain restaurants, chain stores and...well, I'm sure there's something interesting to see, but the whole town seems geared toward the Midwestern conventioneers who couldn't afford Vegas (i.e., short on staycation fun).

Why do you have to be so damn rocky? Why is the whole dang state (or at least this portion of it) have to be one solid bed of rock? Because if you didn't know, basements are a handy thing to have when it's tornado-ing out. I may have to look into finishing my crawl space.

Could you do something about the mullets? There are a lot of them. He-mullets, she-mullets, toddler-mullets—even old, balding guy mullets. Someday, they'll come back in style, but for now? The mullet aficionados are making the rest of us look bad.

Diversity. Learn the word—then apply it to your populace. If there is a more white bread place on the planet, I haven't seen it yet. We are lucky that our neighborhood is home to people of multiple races, but on the whole? A face that isn't Caucasian is rare enough to turn heads. That's just weird.

I could go on. But then I'd just be feeding into the stereotypes (even more than I already am), so I'll shut up. Instead, I'll turn the tables on you. What annoys you about your state?

Top Ten Signs You Have Baby Fever.

I do not need another baby right now. In fact, I'd go so far as to say a baby is the last thing I need right now. It's taken 14 months to feel like I have any idea what I'm doing. To feel anything other than tired and frazzled, as a matter of fact.

But part of me really wants another baby.

That's right, people. I have a small case of baby fever. How do I know? Well, gee, I thought you'd never ask. Here we go...the top ten signs you're jonesing for a babe.

Pictures of wrinkly, newborn babies bring a tear to your eye. And not one of remembered pain, but one of "ohmygodsheissocutecanaIhaveonenowplease?"

You attempt to sell your child's outgrown clothes, but can't bring yourself to do it.  Because, sure, you have no plans to get pregnant again, but what if you did? And what if it was another girl? A girl who conveniently enough, was born at the exact same time of year? Then you'd want those clothes again, wouldn't you?

You start rationalizing why you don't really need the guest bedroom in your head. After all, you only have guests once every other month or so. Besides, those pull-out couches are surprisingly comfy! And hey, they could always sleep in your bed...

You start keeping track of your cycle again. You know. Just in case.

You look at pregnant bellies, and instead of smiling in sympathy, you have to stomp down a pang of jealousy.

You start sentences with "next time..." I'll exercise all the way through. And I'll watch what I eat. And...

You allow yourself to picture driving a minivan. And you don't feel the urge to vomit.

Speaking of vomit, you tell yourself morning sickness wasn't that bad. After all, it only lasted a couple of months. And those preggo pops were awfully tasty...

You give yourself a mental high five when your husband slips and says things like "our kids" (plural).

You find that you're almost disappointed when your period arrives on time. Not that you were "trying" but...

So yeah. I think I have baby fever. But I'm pretty sure I can wait this one out. Kind of sure. Sure I am.

How about you? How do you know when you're suffering from an acute case of GimmeABabyNows? And how 'bout you go visit Oh Amanda and spread some Top Ten Tuesday sugar around?

Eight Ways A Baby Changes Your Marriage.

Before my daughter was born, I swore that her arrival would not change my relationship with my husband. We would be just as romantic. Spend just as much time together.

We'd be the same AmberandBrian we had always been...but better.

Then Tori was born. And it was like a nuclear bomb had gone off in our family room, changing the familiar surroundings into something foreign—and turning our world upside down.

The dust has settled now (mostly). We've figured out how to manage this whole baby thing (mostly). And our relationship? Has leveled out (mostly). But it's not the same. And here, for your reading pleasure, are ten ways it has most definitely changed.

Romantic late night dinners? Sure we have those. Of course, usually these late night noshes are spent silently shoveling food into our mouths as the baby screams (from teething pain, sickness or just plain crabbiness) upstairs. When the screeching gets too loud, Brian puts on some tunes—but it's more likely to be Metallica than Frank Sinatra.

Couple workouts? Sure we do those. However, instead of spending hours working out together at the gym, we take turns sprinting after the baby, and wrestling her into her car seat, and keeping her still while the other person puts a clean diaper on her frantically wriggling bottom.

Long, leisurely walks? Well, not quite. How about short trots around the neighborhood, pushing the stroller as fast as we can pull the dog along, hoping he poops before she starts screaming.

Relaxing Sunday brunches? Only if McDonalds counts. Okay, we haven't actually eaten Sunday brunch at McDonalds. But the two hour meals we used to begin our weekend afternoons with have become hurried affairs at Bob Evans—on the rare occasion we make the effort.

Saturday night movie dates? Absolutely.  Only, except dressing up and heading to the theater, we strip down to our sweats and fire up the latest NetFlix arrival. And the end credits usually find us snoring on each other's shoulders, not making out.

Knock down, drag 'em out screaming matches? Not so much. These days our battles are done in hissing whispers, with red-hot glares used to maximum effect. Because, after all, you can't fight in front of the baby. And if you can't have a good fight? The making up part isn't so great either.

Boot knocking action? Yeah. Sure. It happens. You know, on those oh-so-frequent occasions when we're actually both feeling rested, relaxed and amorous. Yeah. Aaaaaallllll the time (anyone want to buy a bridge from me?).

Still best friends? Definitely. I've got no snark here. Despite it all, I'm still glad to be married to him, and can't think of anyone I'd rather spend time with. And after the year we've had? That's saying something, people.

Now it's your turn. How has a baby changed your relationship?

Hey It's Okay...Tuesday and Every Other Day.

The world just keeps getting more screwed up, doesn't it? Oil spills in the gulf, tornadoes in Oklahoma, floods in Tennessee...whatever Mother Nature is up to, it sure isn't cool. Those are things we all should be worried about.

This list (brought to you by the lovely mistress of Airing My Dirty Laundry One Sock At a Time) is about all the silly crap that clutters up our brains and adds stress to our lives. The stuff that it's perfectly alright to be okay with. And with that I bring you...

Hey it's Okay...

It's okay to ignore the Mommy Nazis and feed your kids a little refined sugar every once in a while. I mean, childhood without cookies and cupcakes? Is not really childhood at all.

It's okay to flip through the Top 40 radio stations and realize you don't recognize a single song...or want to. You're not getting old, you're just too cool for mainstream media.

It's okay to get down in the dirt and show your little ones how to make mud pies. If they have to learn, they might as well learn from the best!

It's okay to secretly wish that the Sports Illustrated model wanna-be who just passed your huffing and puffing self on the jogging trail would trip over her shoelace or pull a hamstring or something.

It's okay to think that a little dust adds character to a home...and a few dirty dishes make it look lived in. Just make sure to throw away the dirty diapers hiding in the corner of the bathroom, mmmmkay?

It's okay to look at your perpetually puking cat and wonder why he can't just eat it again like dogs do.

It's okay to finally get serious about your diet simply so you won't be judged and found wanting by thousands of women at a blogging conference (not that I'm doing that or anything...).

It's okay to take your 15 loads of laundry to the laundromat on the other side of town, just so no one sees how behind you are.

It's okay to roll your eyes at your husband's Lost obsession, even though you enjoy the show too.

It's okay to wish you had a cleaning lady, but be too embarrassed by your messy house to call one.

That's my list. What are you okay about this week?

My Top Ten Strategies For Keeping It Sexy.

As the mother of a young child, it's difficult  to keep in touch with my inner sexy chick. After a long day of battling persnickety people, dirty dishes and grumpy babies, all I really want from life is a cozy pair of sweats and an hour or two of couch time.

I certainly don't feel like spending my few free minutes primping and pampering myself the way I used to. Heck, these days I'm more likely to take a razor to my mono-brow than take the time to pluck those stray hairs.

But, my inner sexy chick, she puts up quite the fuss if ignored too long. To keep her happy, I've found a few fast, easy ways  to remind myself that I am a woman first and mommy second.

Things like:

Red lipstick. I almost always put on at least a little makeup before I leave the house (that's what a couple decades of battling acne will do to a person). But I don't feel fully dressed until I put on that final coat of lipstick. After all, nothing distracts people away from those dark bags under your eyes like a pair of shiny red lips.

Hair dye. Shortly after Tori was born, gray hairs started sprouting on my head. At first, I tried to pluck them, but for every hair I removed, two more arrived at the party. But I refuse to give in to gray hair, damn it. So these days, my red tresses get a little help from Miss L'oreal.

Pretty underthings.  I might have baby food splatters on my shirt and mismatched socks on my feet, but you can bet that underneath it all, I'm wearing something with at least a little lace. A girl's got to have standards, after all (and a little support).

A pair of kick-ass heels. I love me some high heels. Loooooove them. My knee, on the other hand, hates them, but I am more than willing to put up with a little pain for the calf lengthening, back-straightening, chest-enhancing stance heels give me.

A really awesome jacket. Most of the time, you'll find me in jeans and a T-shirt. But when I need to remind myself that I still know how to fake it? I'll add a little jacket.

A quick pedicure.  I have long since given up on painting my finger nails. The sweet perfection that is a good manicure lasts all of five seconds on my hands. But my toes are a different story. Those I like to keep polished to perfection, even in the dead of winter.

Dry shampoo. These days I'm lucky if I have time to toss back a cup of coffee in the morning - never mind the 30 minutes it takes me to wash, dry and style my hair. But with the help of a little of that powdery shampoo goodness, I can cut my grooming time by two-thirds.

A good flat iron.  I invested in a $60 job a few months back and I have never once regretted it. Sure, my eyes might look a little crazy, but with the help of that flat iron, at least my hair can give the illusion of put-togetherness.

A flirty, twirly skirt. Although I always seem to don these numbers on ridiculously windy days (much to my chagrin), nothing makes me feel girlier, or prettier, than a really nice skirt (especially when paired with the aforementioned heels and red lipstick).

A power nap. Like most moms, I'm chronically short of sleep. So when I need to be on my A game? I try to get a little shut eye. After all, my smile is one of my best features, and it is always at its brightest when I'm well rested.

Those are my secret weapons. What are yours?

I'm joining up with The Mommyologist's monthly Mom Sexy link-up. Join in and see how everyone else keeps it sexy!

Writer's Workshop: Ten (or so) Things I've Unlearned.

Back when I first became a mommy (you know, about a hundred years ago), my head was stuffed with all sorts of rules. Swirling around in my brain were all sorts of sentences beginning with "good mommies must..." and "good mommies never..." And you know what? I nearly drove myself mad.

Now, a whole year later, I've learned a little something. Okay, a lot of somethings. Mostly what I've learned is that those rules are total crap. Here are ten that I find particularly offensive.

Good mommies must breast feed. Oh yeah? Tell that to the screaming hellion who would have nothing to do with my boob for the first three weeks of her life. She was miserable, I was miserable, and more importantly, I was in danger of losing my mind. So yeah, I quit. I might have cost her a few IQ points, but you know what? I was formula fed and I turned out just fine (shut up. I did).

Good mommies always keep their cool.  I don't know where I got this one from, but I was sure it was true. Then this screaming, popping, vomiting mess arrived in my life and I was anything but calm. At first, I beat myself up every time I got frustrated, or found myself close to tears, or just wanted to give up, but eventually? I realized that there was no way I was going to get through this thing if I couldn't be free to feel whatever it was I was feeling.

Good mommies keep a clean house. Yeah. That lasted for about two days after my mom went home. My husband and I are slobs. Always have been, always will be. So I've learned to embrace the mess. Until, that is, company is coming. Then I run around cleaning like a mad woman (so if you hear strange noises at about 2 a.m., don't worry. It's just me, trying to remember how the vacuum works).

Good mommies never get bored.  I thought I was supposed to be completely enthralled with her every gurgle, babble and fart. But you know what? I'm not. Sometimes, I'd rather stick hot pokers under my toenails than play one more round of peekaboo. And that's okay.

Good mommies never let their kids eat off the floor.  When Tori first became mobile, I freaked out every time she picked something up and put it in her mouth. But, as we've already discussed, I'm basically a lazy person. These days, her favorite food is cheerios...sprinkled with a layer of floor crunchies.

Good mommies lose the baby weight within the first three months. If that's true, than I am a complete and utter failure. I'm still carrying 15 extra pounds. But that's better than the 35 extra pounds I was padded with this time last year, so I'm going to cut myself some slack.

Good mommies never let their babies watch TV.  This is a rule I actually stuck with. For the first nine or ten months of her life, Tori never saw TV. But you know what sucks? Now, she just won't watch it. So, when mommy wants her to space out in front of Sesame Street or Baby Einstein or something, she'll have nothing to do with it. That kind of sucks, y'all.

Good mommies make their own rules. This one, I've discovered, is actually true. What works for my family might not work for your family and so on and so forth. We're doing our best to muddle through over here, and so far? We're doing okay (knock on wood).

Well, that's not quite ten, but I've got company coming tomorrow and a whole house to clean. So, I'm going to make my own rule and pretend the assignment called for a list of eight. You got a problem with that? Then visit Mama Kat and find some other, more rule-abiding workshoppers to read.

Top Ten Ways to Quiet Your Demons.

Everyone (at least everyone I know), has demons to slay. Whether it's a little voice telling you you're not good enough or a bad memory that refuses to stay buried, chances are good that every once in a while, you need to escape from the monsters that inhabit your mind.

I know I do.

So here, for your reading pleasure, are my top ten ways to get those nasty little buggers to shut the heck up:

I call my mom. Yes, really. There's something about the sound of her voice that calms me down, even if all we do is talk about something as inconsequential as the weather.

I shop. Is there anything better than retail therapy? I don't think so. I used to dust off the credit cards and go shopping for reals, but now that I'm older, wiser and in debt (not to mention an hour away from the nearest real mall), I just log on to my favorite store and fill up the ol' shopping cart before clicking out. It's almost as satisfying. Really.

I hug my husband. Like cozying up under a nice, warm blanket, but better. For some reason, that man continues to love me—and he assures me he always will. Yep, he's a crazy mofo.

I bake something chocolate. The ooier and gooier the better. The formula I use to calculate how decadent said dessert should be goes something like this:  Amount of psychic trauma + loudness of obnoxious demon  — length of time until next weigh-in = appropriate recipe.

I grab a purring kitty. I know there are a lot of cat haters out there, but for my money there's little in this world as relaxing as the sound of that purr. And since my cat is getting on toward the elderly side, he's usually more than happy to plop down on my lap for an hour or two.

I beat the crap out of myself at the gym. Some of my best workouts take place when I'm trying to outrun those dang demons. Sure, I feel like hell the next day, but it's worth it.

I call a friend. I'm lucky enough to have a few true blue lady loves who I know I can call anytime, day or night. Sure, they might be annoyed at being woken up, but they get over it quickly enough. Especially since it's only a matter of time until I return the favor.

 I lose myself in a book.  As any real bookworm will attest, nothing can take you away from the problems of your real life faster than a good book. And I? Am nothing if not a bookworm.

I lose myself in Tori's world. In her life? The biggest problems involve finding the best route to chase the kitty and figuring out how to stack those darn blocks. Those are problems I am happy to help her solve.

And when all else fails? I take some Tylenol PM and go to sleep. Drug-induced slumber will conquer the most determined of demons, after all. What? It's not like I said I drink myself into a stupor (at least, not often)...

Now go visit Oh Amanda and see what the other Top Ten Tuesday participants have to say.

Top Ten Signs You're Not Ready to Have Another Baby.

Now that Tori’s reaching the one year mark, the questions are beginning again. Whether it takes the form of a casual, “so, do you think you guys are going to have another,” or the much pushier, “you know, you really should think about giving her a sibling,” everyone wants to know.

When am I going to pop out another baby?

My first reaction is usually “none of your business, damn it.” But really? I have no idea. We’re certainly not ready yet. And here are ten reasons why:

 I still haven’t lost the last 15 pregnancy pounds. And yes, in my world, doing so is a necessity. I want to be a MILF, damn it.

Getting out the door with one kid is still a challenge. She fights me tooth and nail while I dress her. Then she screams and arches her back as I try to put her in her car seat. Then, when I finally get her harnessed in, she poops. And the cycle begins again. Add in the search for the diaper bag and my car keys, and we’re always at least 30 minutes late.

I’m not done sleeping yet. Once I got preggers, I never managed another eight solid hours of sleep. First it was the constant peeing. Then, the insomnia hit. Then the joints started aching. And then, of course, I had a newborn. So yeah, I’d like to appreciate my pillow for a while longer yet.

I haven't forgotten how much being pregnant sucks. Sure it's a magical time filled with beauty and wonder. It's also nine months full of ever expanding body parts, constant exhaustion and  extreme indigestion.

Our love life hasn't recovered from the first one yet. And that's all I'm going to say about that (my mom reads this, yo).

I haven't forgotten how much maternity  jeans suck. I never found a pair that would stay up. Ever. So I was constantly waddling around, holding on to the waistband, hoping to keep the crotch from ending up at my knees.

Formula is expensive. Sure, if I had another kid I'd try to breastfeed again, but given my resounding failure with Tori, I don't hold out much hope. I'm looking forward to not having to spend 30 bucks a week on glorified powdered milk for a while (mama needs some new shoes).

I haven't figured out the whole work/baby/life balance yet. I'm told it's possible to stop feeling like you're constantly behind in every aspect of your life, but I'm not sure I believe it. Until I figure it out (or find proof that everybody's lying), I'm not ready to add more chaos to my household.

I really enjoy wine. And lattes. I missed both terribly while on the baby making journey, and I'm not quite ready to say good bye again.

I'm not ready to surrender to the minivan. In my mind, I still drive my little blue convertible. I don't think my psyche could take the transition to family hauler.

So there they are. My top ten reasons I'm not ready to have another baby just yet. What about you guys? How did/will you know when you're ready to try again?

Don't forget to visit Oh Amanda for the other Top Ten entries!

BBB Round 2: Four Foods that Make Dieting Doable.

After a two week hiatus, the diet that never ends is on again. And this time it's crunch time. I'm not going to make my deadline (Tori's birthday), but I'm bound and determined to have this weight off in time for my vacation in June (plus, I am not buying a "fat" summer wardrobe).

I'm off to a good start - I'm down three pounds this week. Which is actually only a half pound less than the last time I weighed in (healing from surgery requires lots of ice cream, you know), but I'm going to go ahead and give myself credit for all three.

Helping me along in my pursuit of skinniness are a few key foods. Foods that fill me up, but not out. Here's four of my favorites.

For breakfast, I rely on Yoplait Yogurt Delights. At only 100 calories a pop, this yogurt puts only the tiniest of dents in my daily points allowance, and when mixed liberally with a bowl of berries, actually fills me up.

At lunchtime, Campbell's Select Harvest Light Soups do the job. There are a few different varieties, but none have more than three points for the whole can. Even better, they actually have taste (unlike those Progresso nasties).

When I can't face another meal of soup, I turn to salad.  And these dressings by Bolthouse Farms are pure awesomeness. They're made with yogurt instead of whatever salad dressing is usually made from, so they're both low calorie and filled with the creamy goodness of "real" dressing. I have to get them from my neighborhood co-op, though, so I don't know how easy they are to find.

Even the most dedicated dieter needs to snack. And when the 3 o'clock munchies hit? For me, nothing but chocolate will do. Luckily, these Fiber Plus Granola Bars taste almost exactly like candy bars. Seriously. But they'll only set you back two points (or 120 calories for you traditionalists). So you can have your candy and your shrinking waistline, too!

Those are my current lifesavers. What are yours?

Disclosure: If you know me at all, you know that no one pays me to write about anything. But just in case you don't, let me assure you I received no compensation (not even coupons), for including these products in my blog. I just happen to like them and thought my newest discoveries might make life a little easier for the rest of you.

Dieters unite!

The Do's and Don'ts of Valentine's Day (for the hopelessly unromantic).

My husband is a wonderful man. He's kind, generous and wickedly funny. He's unafraid to help around the house—but is no slouch when it comes to tasks that involve power tools. Even better, he's just as quick to change a stinky diaper as he is to kill the menacing spider that sent me screaming from the room. In short, he's a fantastic husband (and that concludes the sucking up portion of this post).

His one fault (at least, that we're going to talk about today)? He doesn't have a romantic bone in his body. Not one. Seriously. As you can imagine, this has led to more than a few tears over the years—and the establishment of a few ground rules:

First, don't believe your Valentine when she says she doesn't want anything. This is a lie. It doesn't have to be anything big (small velvet boxes are always welcome), but she does want to know you thought of her.

Do spend some quality time at Hallmark picking out a card you know she'll enjoy. Just do it—even if you have to bring a vomit bag to sop up the results of all that force-fed saccharine.

Don't underestimate the power of flowers. Specifically, flowers delivered to the office by a professional paid to do just that. Yes, they're ridiculously overpriced. But that overpriced floral arrangement will make her the envy of every woman around her (and you the knight in shining armor).

Do take her on a date. I don't care how many years you've been together or how many kids are underfoot. Take her somewhere special. Not necessarily anywhere expensive (I believe one year we went to Burger King)—any place you can focus on the two of you will do.

Don't forget that sometimes it really is the thought that counts. When it comes to Valentine's Day presents, the best gifts are often the ones that cost the least. On one of our first Valentine's Days together, my husband made me a mix tape. That's it. Just a mix tape of special songs, like the one he sang for me at our Senior All Night Party. But you know what? I still have it (and yes, I'm aware I just dated myself).

Do think beyond the lingerie department. Now I happen to have a thing for pretty underthings, so it's okay in our house. But most women?  Would rather get a box of chocolate covered cockroaches than see that distinctive Vicky's Secret box.

Don't be afraid to think outside of the traditional Valentine's Day box.  Sometimes the best gifts are things that your Valentine really needs, but would never think to ask for (just ask the Existential Waitress).

Do surprise her every once in a while. Chocolates, flowers and fancy dinners are great. But if you really want to make her starry-eyed? Do something completely unexpected (check out this post by Mommy Melee for inspiration).

Don't forget to tell her you love her.  And that you think she's sexy. And that she's most the beautiful woman in the world.  And not just on Valentine's Day. She needs to know she's special every single day of the year. Because, you know what? She thinks you're pretty awesome too.

But before you hit the mall, head over to Mama Kat's and see what the other workshoppers have to say.

Top Ten Reasons Winter Blows.

It's no secret that I hate winter. I know that I whine about it, ad nauseum. But have you ever wondered why I hate winter so much? Well, I'm here to tell you.

The whole soggy foot situation. I’m sure a real grown up remembers to put on her boots and thermal socks before leaving the house, but I have yet to reach that status. Instead, I’m forced to sit at my desk with the snow melting into ice-cold puddles in the bottom of my shoes. And when my feet are cold? There’s no hope for the rest of me.

The necessity of gloves. I am a rather scatter brained person. I forget things. Frequently. I lose them even more often than that. So keeping track of a pair of gloves for the entire winter? Impossible. I inevitably end up sporting horribly mismatched gloves, feeling like a fool every time I pull them on.

The cracked, bleeding hands. Because I do so often lose my hand coverings, I’m frequently out in the elements without them. Which leads to old lady hands with cracked, bleeding knuckles. Attractive, no?

The de-icing of the windshield. As a solidly entrenched member of suburbia, I do, in fact, own a two-car garage. Where, in theory, I could park my vehicle. But it is bursting at the seams with random crap, and so I still have to park in my driveway. Which also means I have to spend a solid ten minutes every morning chipping away at the ice and snow. Ten minutes which could otherwise be devoted to drinking coffee…or picking my nose.

The constant runny nose. Once the temperature drops below freezing, I tend to come down with a case of the sniffles that lasts until spring. By February, the redness of my nose gives me a striking resemblance to Rudolph, except without the benefit of having an actual light in there. Obviously, I’m quite the catch.

The snarling people. Have you ever noticed how much less happy people are when it’s cold and nasty and gray outside? No one holds doors, or smiles unless it’s absolutely necessary. And around the office? Well, let’s just say it’s a wonder no one’s come to blows yet.

The stupid ass drivers. Oh no! There’s a quarter inch of snow on the ground! Of course we should drive at 15 miles an hour, and begin stopping a half-mile before the light. Otherwise all those satan’s little helpers driving SUVs won’t have anything to swerve around at 55 miles an hour…right before landing in a ditch.

The necessity of a gym. When it’s warm outside, a world of fitness opportunities lies just outside your door. But when it’s cold? You’ve got to head to the gym, where you’re inevitably trapped on a treadmill next to that guy who just finished hacking up his left lung yesterday, and is working on his right one today.

Oh, the itching. Blame it on the cold weather. Or on the dry heat the furnace gives out. Or the sheer number of layers I’m forced to wear. But somewhere about the middle of January, my whole body starts itching, and no amount of moisturizer helps.

The bone chilling cold. This is by far the worst part of winter. No matter how hard I try to stay warm, my core remains slightly icy, and five seconds after getting out of bed, I’m shivering again. Brrrrrrr.

So, yeah. Those are my top ten whines for today. How about you guys? Is there anything that bugs you about this season?

Also, if you'd like to read some more (probably far less whiny) Top Ten goodness, head over to Oh Amanda.

Top Ten Ways to Procrastinate.

Procrastination, I've often said, is an under-appreciated art form. Sure, anybody can do it. But some are more skilled at it than others. Those of us in creative industries, like advertising? We probably spend more time procrastinating than anybody else on the planet.

So here, for your reading enjoyment, are my top ten ways to procrastinate (which I may or may not be writing while ignoring an imminent deadline):

1. Twitter, twitter, twitter till you can't tweet no more. Check in with your favorite tweeps. Check out the trending topics. Stalk those who did you wrong—and random folks you've never met.

2. Explore alternate career paths. What would it take to become a long-distance trucker?  How much do bartenders at Coyote Ugly make? Could you survive on a barrista's salary? Well, there's only one way to find out...

3. Facebook stalk...anybody. Old high school buddies, ex-coworkers, the bitchy supermom down the street...hours of entertainment can be had.

4. Do you speak Etsy? You should. There's a world of handmade goods out there, just waiting to be discovered.  Purses, jewelry, clothes, even tutus (yes, tutus).

5. Plan an escape. When dealing with writer's block, nothing sounds better than abandoning ship and heading for warmer climes. So I plan mythical vacations. Cruises, safaris, glacier treks - no adventure is too far fetched.

6. Explore the wonders of YouTube. What can't you find on YouTube? Laughing babies, sneezing pandas, stupid human tricks...an entire universe of procrastination goodness lies before you.

7. Find the answers to random trivia. Who played Inigo Montoya? Why do cats have more than one set of eyelids? Is Keith Richards really a vampire? If you search long enough, the Internet will probably supply the answers.

8. Plan elaborate meals I will never actually cook. So what if I can hardly boil water? For all google knows, I could be the next Julia Child. So why shouldn't I plan a menu including Beef Wellington, goat cheese souffle and molten lava cake? After all, my husband can always make it for me.

9. Games, games and more games. Have you discovered Bejeweled? Or ever participated in a Tetris tournament? If not, then you haven't really lived (or procrastinated).

10. Read blogs, of course. Right now, my reader says I have 820 entries to catch up on. Yep, that could keep me busy for a while.

But right now, I have an ad to write. And a baby to put to bed. And most importantly, Lost to watch. So why don't you tell me what your favorite ways to procrastinate are?

Seven More Things No One Tells New Moms.

Back before Tori was born, I thought I knew it all. Then, about three weeks in, I realized I knew nothing. At about six months, I started to get a little more confident, and at almost seven months, I thought I knew enough to warn other mothers-in-waiting.

Oh, how naive I was (and still am, I'm sure). It turns out, Tori only had more surprises in store for me. So here they are—seven more things no one dares to tell new moms.

The more your baby eats, the worse her poop will smell. Yeah, I know. Even at the best of times, baby poop isn't an aroma you'd want to bottle and sell as perfume. But once you start in with the "real" foods? Her diaper will begin to smell like trash that's been left too long in the sun. Mmmm, trash.

All those food rules? Aren't worth the paper (or computer screen) they're written on. I know. You're only supposed to introduce one new food every five days. They're only supposed to have fruit after they've eaten vegetables. Sugar is the enemy. Right. There are only so many times you can watch your kid purposely vomit up a food she finds nasty (yes, really) before you start to bend the rules.

You only think you want your baby to crawl.  Sure, it sounds like a good idea. Who wouldn't want their child to be able to move themselves from place to place, grabbing their own toys and making their own fun? Any parent who wants to stay sane, that's who. Once your baby learns to crawl, you will never sit down again. Ever.

Think carefully before teaching her a game. She will want to play it endlessly. Jumping up from behind the couch to play Peekaboo is fun the first 500 times. As is Walk-Around-The-House-Holding-Mommy's-Hands. And Chase the Kitty? Hours of fun. Eventually, though, your body will have had enough. But your baby? Can play these games forever. She doesn't even have kneecaps.

Two years is a looooong time to go without relying on ye old boob tube for some free babysitting. The American Academy of Pediatrics says kids shouldn't see any TV until their second birthday. Supposedly it slows their development and all that. But, you know what? I don't believe those Academics have ever had to take a poo (oh yes I did say it) while alone in the house with a kid who refuses to sit still for more than five seconds. Unless, that is, the digital babysitter is on.

Like a puppy, your baby will chew on anything. Teething infants and teething puppies have a lot in common. They will gnaw on anything they can get their mouths around. Shelves, chairs, molding, shoulders, noses...nothing is safe. Put your antiques away, people.

You will never realize how dirty your house is until your baby starts exploring. I don't care how often how you vacuum, sweep or mop. After a day spent crawling aroound on the floor, your baby will look like a human Swiffer pad. Or is that just me? Don't answer that.

There's more. Oh so much more. But if I spill any more secrets, the lynch moms might come after me. So you'll just have to wait in suspense for the next edition of Things They Don't Tell You. Unless you have your own observations to share?

How to Survive a Holiday Visit Home (with a baby).

Guess what? If you're reading this, you've survived the holidays (or at least most of them). Congratulations! I think you deserve a pat on the back. We all do.

I, of course, spent the holidays in Detroit. With my family. Allllll of my family. Complete with two sets of moms and dads, various siblings, their children and even a great grandparent or two. Which was lovely. Also, stressful, emotionally draining and exhausting.


But I got through it with my smile (mostly) intact. Want to know my secret? I've got ten of them.

When traveling with a nine-month-old, bring ear plugs. Last time we went home, Tori was still at the stage where she (mercifully) slept a lot. Not so much anymore. And, let me assure you, she was not pleased with the seating arrangement. Which she vocalized with the most obnoxious of screams. For hours at a stretch. Luckily, our radio is quite loud (it almost drowned them out). Next time, there will be ear plugs.

When someone asks you if you want a glass of wine, accept. Ah, alcohol. It takes the edge off, doesn't it? It also makes it easier to ignore insults and feign interest. Errr, just as an example.

When in situations where openly drinking isn't appropriate, switch to "pop." This is something I learned from a more experienced pair of parents. See, cola can hide a multitude of alcoholic lubricants, all of which make anything more fun. But the other relatives? Will just think you're exceptionally glad to see them.

When celebrating Christmas with a multitude of children, bring wire cutters.  Nothing can change excited giggles to frustrated screams faster than an overly well packaged toy. Enter wire cutters, the instant liberator. They made my husband the most popular man in the room.

When celebrating Christmas with an infant, lower expectations.  Everyone was excited to see Tori open her gifts. Everyone, that is, except for Tori. She really didn't get what the fuss was about. Didn't even want to rip the paper. Eat the paper, sure. But not rip it. I'm pretty sure her lack of interest frustrated a lot of folks. But I? Thoroughly enjoyed opening all those extra gifts.

When sleeping in a strange bed, remember you might need help getting to dreamland.  My best friends of the past week? Tylenol PM and Benadryl. No matter what the day had dished out, those little helpers made sure I was able to make my way to dreamland without first spending hours rehashing events.

When at the mercy of other people's cooking, remember the scale will eventually forgive you.  Sure, I may have eaten more calories in the last week than I usually consume in a month. But it was all in the name of family togetherness, so my waistline had to suffer. The scale? Deserves a holiday too.

When surrounded by free babysitters, remember to take advantage of it.  You know what I did this week? I spent more than two hours inside a single shoe store (DSW, I heart you). Obviously, I did not have a baby in tow. With two sets of doting grandparents within minutes of each other, Brian and I actually got to spend some quality time together. Without baby. It was almost enough to make me want to move home...almost.

When traveling during the winter months, remember to be flexible.  We were all set to come home on Monday. The car was packed, the kid was secured, and the dog was tied in. But winter? She had other plans. After seeing the highway was down to ruts, we turned around, going into the Holiday Visit Bonus Round.

When you finally get home, remember to appreciate the silence.  Sure, it might seem a little  quiet at first. A little lonely. But it's home. And in no time at all, you'll be back to dreading the next trip to the Motherland.

Top Ten Things I'm Thankful For.

"If you pause to think, you'll have cause to thank."

That's what the sign of our local Presbyterian church reads right now. And you know what? It's completely true. It's easy to gloss over the good things in our lives, dwelling instead on the people who have done us wrong, or the things we lack. It's tempting to tell ourselves, "I'd be happy if only..."

It's much more difficult to live in the moment. To appreciate what (and who) we have. To be happy with our lot in life and just be. So today, in honor of Thanksgiving, I thought I'd take a moment to count my blessings.

And since you're here, lovely readers, you get to count them with me.

I'm thankful for the roof over my head. I know I'm lucky to have a roof at all when so many don't. But I'm thankful for this home in particular. After years of living in dumpy apartments, drafty townhouses and crummy fixer-uppers, we built this one from the ground up. And it? Is a house I'm glad to come home to.



I'm thankful for the internet.  I know we did without it for thousands of years, but it's become so much a part of my life, I can't imagine how. And to think, fifteen years ago, most of us didn't really know what the world wide web was...

I'm thankful to have a job to call my own. As some of you know, I'm from Detroit. Which is experiencing some hard times, to say the least. Many, many of my friends and family there have lost their jobs - and most of those who are still working are waiting for the ax to fall. It makes me intensely grateful for every paycheck that gets deposited in my account.

I'm thankful for my iPod. I work in a wall-less cubicle maze - and I have the focus of an ADD gnat. Without my trusty portable music library and headphones, I would never ever get anything done. Ever.



I'm thankful for modern medicine.  A hundred years ago, I probably would  have died in childbirth. So, however much we complain about the state of the medical system in our country, let's remember how much we owe the doctors and hospitals within it.

I'm thankful for the baby upstairs. I knew having a baby would change everything. But I didn't realize how insanely grateful I would feel every time I saw that gummy smile. She's a pooping, puking miracle, and I love her more every day.



I'm thankful for my running shoes. When I absolutely need to get away? Escape is as easy as tying on those shoes. Unfortunately, I don't make use of them nearly enough, but it's good to know they're there for me when I need them.

I'm thankful for my husband.  The yin to my yang. The right to my left. We're both completely insane, but in completely different ways. There's no one I'd rather have by my side as I navigate this wacky thing we call life.

I'm thankful for chamomile tea. And chocolate. When all else fails and I think I really might lose my mind, I sit down with a hot cup of tea and a bar of dark chocolate and just chill. That combo almost always brings me back from the brink.

Most of all, I'm thankful to be me. I'm a little crazy, a lot disorganized, and there are days I would give anything to trade lives with someone else, but really? I'm one lucky little bitch. It really is good to be me.

Now head over to Oh Amanda and check out some more Top Ten lists!

Who You Calling Talented?

I knew winning my tiara was going to be tough. But I didn’t realize how tough—until we got our instructions for our third mission. The challenge? Show the world, and the pageant judges, how talented you are.

I was stumped.

I briefly considered lots of options. For instance, I can’t sing well, but I’m quite good at singing badly, so I thought about taping myself singing the worst rendition of  “Do-Re-Mi” you’ve ever heard. But even I have some limits (and stuff you put on the internet? Never goes away. Ever).

Next, I thought about dancing with my dog. On tape. Yes, this is something I do. No, he doesn’t like it. And since we can’t compete with this guy:

I decided to let it go.

I even thought about stunt falling down the stairs, since that’s what I do best. But, because that really is my biggest talent, there’s far too much chance of that going horribly wrong. So I didn’t.

But while I might be lacking in the “super huge talent” category, I do have lots of little things I do really well. So that’s what I’m going to share with you today. My Top Ten Tiny Talents.

I bake a damned good boxed cake—Despite the fact that I have never actually made a cake from scratch, I have a reputation for being a great baker (my brownies are kind of famous). My secret? Voodoo, of course.  What, you thought I’d actually give it away?

I have a knack for getting lost—I love to drive. But I can’t follow directions to save my soul. In my mind, the sun sets in the east, Florida lies to the north, and one-way streets are always headed in the wrong direction. Once, I directed my husband to drive two hours down the wrong highway before I realized what I had done.

I plan excellent imaginary vacations—Traveling, especially to warm, sunny destinations, is just about my favorite thing in the whole world to do. See how happy I look?

So, when I’m feeling sad, mad, fed-up or just plain bored, I get online and ferret out the best vacation deals around. Cruises, flights, car rentals—I find it all, take it all the way to the point where they’re asking me for money…and then click out. It’s masochistic, really.

I give good rant—As I may have mentioned a time or two, I have quite the temper. The only way I’ve found to simmer down? Let loose a good solid rant. These diatribes generally include lots of colorful language, magnificent insults…the works. My husband said they actually are film-worthy, but he didn’t want to make me mad enough to capture one for your viewing pleasure.

I make fabulous messes—Remember the character Pig Pen from Peanuts? I am the real life version of him. As soon as I enter a room, it becomes a disaster. Clothes fall to the floor, papers get disorganized and inch-thick dust appears from nowhere. It’s one talent I’d gladly give up.

I look good in hats—Skinny jeans? I don't think so. Sweater coats? Only if I want to look like I'm wearing my giant mother's clothes. But hats? Hats I can do (and really? not many people can).

 

But since I generally don't allow pictures of me to be taken, whether I'm wearing a hat or not, this is the best proof I can muster up. You'll just have to take my word for it.

I’m a fair weather speed-reader—Hand me a 500 page novel, leave the room for a few hours, and when you come back, I’ll be done. I tear through books like nobody’s business. Unfortunately, this talent only applies to things I want to read. Give me a textbook and tell me to read 100 pages, and when you come back, I’ll be sound asleep.

I can spell almost anything—Seriously. Give me a word, any word, and I’ll spell it for you. I even won a spelling bee once. But the advent of spell check has rendered this fabulous talent virtually useless. Damn you, dictionary.com!

I can predict the weather—I’m not a meteorologist or anything, but I can tell you when the weather’s about to change. When the barometric pressure starts doing its thing, my knee begins to pulse with pain. It hits a fever pitch about six hours before any big storm is due. Want to know if you should take an umbrella? Ask my knee.

I make damn cute babies—I may be biased, but I’m pretty sure Tori’s the most adorable baby on the face of the planet.

 

And I take all the credit.

That’s it! Those are my Ten Tiny Talents. Now head on over to MomDot and see what the other Bloggers and Tiaras contestants have to say for themselves.

Seven Things They Forget to Tell New Moms

Listen. I get it. I get that the mommies of the world have to hold back some of their secrets. If they went around telling all the non-procreating ladies how hard caring for a baby actually is, well, there'd be a lot less babies in the world.

But once we get ourselves knocked up, I think entrance into the sisterhood should be automatic. At the very least, a more experienced mama should take the newbies aside in those early weeks and give them a good talking to.

Although, really, would we listen? Probably not. Every new mom likes to think she knows it all...until, that is, she's deep in the trenches (and by then, she's too embarrassed to admit she doesn't know what she's doing). So, in hopes of educating at least a few of you, here's my list of the things they forget to tell moms-to-be.

Babies poop. A lot. Every time they eat? They poop. And those poops are surprisingly large. Large enough to propel themselves out of the baby's diaper and on to their backs, their clothes, their hair (there might be a good reason most babies are bald). One bloggy friend of mine got the ingenious idea to just cut her baby's onesie off when it was really bad. I thought it was the best idea I'd ever heard.

Spit happens. For a loooooong time. Okay. I knew newborns spit up. I'd heard the stories. Seen the evidence on my friends' shirts. But I didn't know how long that particular phenomenon lasted. Mine is almost seven months old. And guess what? She still spits up. But now there's more of it. My clothing may never be the same.

Even once they start sleeping through the night, they don't. I was lucky. Miss Tori was capable of sleeping through the night when she was just ten weeks old. But as soon as I got used to getting my Zs, she stopped. Growth spurts, unscheduled poopy diapers, teething...all mess with your sleep schedule. Some friends just informed me that I might not sleep again until she's five. Five. That's a whole lot of years, people. I'm not sure I'll make it.

Teething never seems to end. Tori's been working on her first tooth for oh, about, three months now? She'll be miserable. A fussy, drooling, sleepless mess for days at a time. Just long enough, in fact, for me to start thinking that this will be IT. The day when that tooth finally pops through. But then, all the action stops...until I've settled into complacency. Then the cycle starts all over again.

Solid food? Is not something babies are real excited about. I looked forward to the day I could start her on real food for months. I read all the books. Researched baby food manufacturers (no, I don't make my own. This is not Super Mom's blog). But when the big day arrived? She made a face and spit it back out at me. This is a pattern that has repeated itself for the last month. Humorous? Yes. Easy? No.

Dressing babies? Is not fun either. Sure, they look cute in their adorable little outfits. But getting them on? Should be an Olympic event. When they're first born, clothing babies is a nerve-wracking event. They're so...breakable. Then, just when you get the hang of it, they get a mind of their own. And my baby? Hates clothes. Hates them. Especially sleeves. By the time I get her in her pajamas, I'm ready for a bottle of my own (you don't really need me to tell you what kind, do you).

Everything your baby sees will go into her mouth. No, you don't understand. I mean everything.  Toys, clothing, dog food, dead bugs...everything. If, like me, you're not the world's best housekeeper, you will spend more time than you ever thought possible diving for whatever unsuitable object is heading toward your baby's drooling orifice.

Vacuum your floors, people. Vacuum your floors.

There are more, of course. More things you need to know. But, hey, I'm a mommy now. I can't go giving away all our secrets. That would ruin the fun (and get me kicked out of the sisterhood). All I can say is...good luck. You're in for a helluva ride. Through a blizzard. At night. In a rear-wheel drive car. On twisty mountain roads.

But don't worry. It's totally worth it.

Top Ten Reasons I Deserve to be Called a Scary Mommy.

When issuing the news that I was going to have a baby, I got lots of hugs, heard lots of squeals and fielded lots of excited questions. But I also saw the sideways looks. The ones that said, “She? Is going to be a Mommy? That’s a little scary.”

I had a bit of a reputation for being a drama queen. And a klutz. And, I might as well admit, a little self absorbed. The people around me wondered if I’d be able to rise to the challenge of being a mother.

Well, it’s only been a little over six months, but I’m told that so far, I seem to be doing a decent job. But that doesn’t mean I’m any less scary. I’m sure I could come up with hundreds of reasons that I deserve the title, but I doubt any of you have the stomach to hear them all.

So, instead, here are the top ten reasons I deserve to join the ranks of Scary Mommies.

Being the exhausted mother of a small child has only enhanced my klutziness. I’m constantly tripping over my feet, bumping into immovable objects, and, of course, falling. I made it a whole six months without crashing with Tori in my arms…but that was it. Fortunately, she wasn’t hurt, for which I count my lucky stars, but it’d be better for all of us if she learns to walk early.

I have been known to (gasp) nap with her in my arms. Every new mom is told countless horror stories of parents who sleep with their children, only to accidentally suffocate, or worse, crush them while they doze. But for a long while there, the only way I could get any Zs at all was if I cuddled her close to me. And now? Now, I just crave the closeness. There’s nothing like the feel of a sleeping baby to send you off to dreamland.

It’s awfully hard to stay awake during those late night feedings. I admit it. I’ve occasionally (okay, maybe slightly more often than that) drifted off to sleep while feeding her. Then I start awake, the bottle dripping down the side of her face and on to her sleeper. Luckily, she usually falls asleep too…

Speaking of feeding, I didn’t breastfeed her. I tried. Oh, how I tried. But Tori? Was having none of it. When I gave her my boob, she would scream and scream and scream until I felt like screaming too. Finally (although far too soon according to the Breastfeeding Nazis), I gave up. It was either switch to bottles or go insane, and I chose sanity. I’m told that automatically makes me a bad, if not scary, mommy.

I routinely subject her to ridiculously long photo sessions. Growing up, no one seemed to know where any of my baby pictures were. In fact, my brother assured me the lack of photographic evidence was proof that I was adopted. So Tori? Constantly has a camera in her face.

But seriously, with a mug like hers, how could I resist?

I have an unhealthy obsession with dressing her in cute clothing. Have you seen the adorable baby clothes out there?  And they’re cheap, too (at least the brands I buy). The poor kid sometimes gets her outfit changed three or four times a day, just because I like to giggle over how ridiculously cute she is. It’s no wonder she’s developed a tendency to fuss whenever I put her on her changing table.

My own appearance has taken a turn for the worse. Leaving the house in mismatched socks and without makeup isn’t exactly a new thing. But now that the majority of my morning is devoted to caring for her, I often later find that I’ve neglected to do something essential—like put on deodorant, or properly button my shirt. My hair hasn’t been cut since I went back to work, and my eyebrows? Well, let’s not talk about my burgeoning mono-brow. I only hope I can get it together before she’s old enough to notice.

I’ve become one of “those” mothers. You know the ones. The ones that are convinced that their babies are, in fact, the smartest, most advanced infants to ever walk, er, crawl, er, roll on the face of the earth? Yeah, that’s me. I swell with pride at every check-up when the doctor tells me she’s doing things that are months beyond where she should be. I think she’s the next Einstein. Only she’ll have better hair.

I just can’t get enough of her. When I’m away too long, I get an actual, physical craving for the feel of her little body. I need to see her smile to keep my sanity. In my cube, I have a bulletin board dedicated to pictures of her…a coworker recently told me I might be a wee bit obsessed. She’s like crack, that baby is.

I’m actually considering inflicting my mothering abilities on another baby. Not any time soon, of course. But she’s brought so much joy into my life, I can’t help but think that giving her a brother or sister? Might actually be the best idea I ever had.

And that’s why I’m a Scary Mommy. Anybody still with me? Because I could go on…Just kidding. I won’t. That would be really  scary. Now head on over to the real Scary Mommy's blog, and tell her that I should win her Scary Mommy contest.

After all, if I win that Flip camera? I can post all kinds of adorable videos of my gorgeous kiddo. Or not. If you'd rather I didn't.

Birthday Wishes.

My Birthday is coming up soon. I mention this not because I want you all to buy me gifts, or because I crave attention (although if you want to send some birthday wishes my way on the 11th, I wouldn't object). I bring it  up because the arrival of that auspicious day always brings with it the dreaded question, "so what do you want?"

Internet, I can always think of about 175433167897655621 things I want. Until someone asks me that question. Then my mind goes completely, utterly blank. I end up saying something like, "oh, I don't really need anything," or, "nothing! Just your company is enough."

These are lies.

I loooooove presents. Love them. I love seeing them in a big pile, waiting for me to open them. Love trying to guess what they are. Love, love, love that moment between tearing open the box and getting the first glimpse of what's inside (By the way, expensive wrapping jobs? Are wasted on me).

It doesn't matter if it's a diamond necklace (not that I've ever gotten one) or a bar of chocolate — I just love getting stuff.

So here's a completely random list of the things I'd love to find inside those shiny boxes.

This purse from Hypernoodle, a fantastic designer I found on Etsy.

Or maybe this one from Pesky Cat Designs, another Etsy find.

 

Of course, purses these cool deserve to be filled with fancy gadgets.  So I need one of these (that's an iPod Touch, for those of you who have been living under a rock).

 Or maybe one of those fancy electronic book reading devices (a whole bookstore at my fingertips? Dangerous).

Maybe you'd rather adorn my pretty neck with this necklace from The Vintage Pearl.

And purchase this ensemble from My Black Dress to go with it.

And since glamorous clothes like these deserve to be donned in equally swank surroundings, I'd like this bathroom, please:

Preferably inside the new home that was just purchased for me on this private island in Fiji:

Or,  if that's too much, perhaps you could just send me on vacation to this beautiful villa on St. Thomas.

No? How about that bar of chocolate, then? Some flowers? Heck, an e-card would be nice. Or, you know, you don't have to get me anything at all. Just your company is enough...

Unless you're my husband. After the recent Mother's Day debacle (he knows what I'm talking about), I'm never pretending to not want anything ever again. It's better for the health of our marriage if I just admit to my rampant materialism. Right, honey?

Top Ten Signs You Might Be PMSing.

For the last few hours, I've been scowling into my computer screen, silently grumbling, "I don't freaking want to write a blog post today. I've got nothing to say. And nobody listens to me anyway." Grumble, grumble, grumble.

And then it occurred to me. I must be PMSing (it's pretty much been a guessing game since the whole hatching a baby thing). Thus, this post idea was born. So, without further ado, here they are, the top ten signs you might be PMSing.

You kinda hate everybody you talk to.  Earlier today, I was sitting in a meeting with, oh, ten other people? As they talked, I just kept thinking about how much they annoyed me. And how much I wished they would just. shut. up.

Pants that fit yesterday now give you a decided muffin top. I'm wearing jeans that I swear were loose last time I put them on. Today? I had to wear a baggy ass shirt to hide the floofiness of my belly spilling over the top.

Chocolate becomes an essential food group. I know. It's terribly fattening, and only supposed to be eaten in small quantities. But on days like today? I crave a brownie, or better yet, a brownie smothered by death by chocolate ice cream and dripping hot fudge with every meal (diet? what diet?).

Your body's thermostat seems to be set at boiling. I may only be in my early 30s, but I get my share of armpit drenching, swamp ass inducing hot flashes. I'm sure menopause is going to be a treat.

No amount of sleep is enough.  As the mother of an infant, I'm generally tired at even the best of times. But right now, I feel like I could sleep for 24 hours straight (and probably still be exhausted).

Suddenly, every little mess becomes deeply offensive. My husband can always tell when I'm about to go on the rag, because I start cleaning. Everything. It's the only week of the month our house gets anywhere close to clean.

When not simmering in anger, you find yourself deeply depressed. Things that usually don't even phase me become cause for floods of tears. Things like...the fact that I forgot to put socks on my baby this morning.  You know, important stuff.

Plus, you really hate the world. What? Did I already say that? Well, I can't stress it enough. Stay away from me today, people.

When not craving chocolate, you find yourself binging on carbs. Science says carbs give us energy and make us feel better. I say they're the only thing keeping me from tearing your throat out.

And lastly...

You really can't be bothered to finish what you start. Things like this Top Ten list, for example. Yep, that's right. I'm done. No clever closing today...I think I'll go look at baby tutus instead.

Better luck tomorrow.