She's Getting So Big...

Last weekend, I packed up all Tori's 0-3 month clothes. And I cried.

I cried because I remember how small she was just a short while ago. How, when I got her dressed to come home from the hospital, her  newborn-sized sleeper was too big. I had to roll up her sleeves, and her little feet didn't make it to the bottom.

It was a long time before her newborn clothes  got too small, and when they did, I was ecstatic. It was proof that despite all my doubts about my ability to care for her, I was doing something right. She was thriving.

So why is this different?

Because it marks the end of an era. That short period of time when she was mine, all mine, and I didn't have to share her with the world. I cherished every minute of those short months - and I'll never get that time back.

Don't get me wrong.  I love the little person she's turning into. She has such a personality now...it's amazing to watch her come to life.

But I can't help but wish time would slow down. Soon she'll be crawling. Then walking. And before long, she'll be running for the school bus. It will all be exciting, and I can't wait to share those adventures with her.

Well, actually I can. Wait, I mean. I'd  rather she stay my snuggly little Tori Bug for just a little longer... but you can't stop time (unless you're a superhero). It really does go fast, doesn't it?

New Blog Discoveries

The more I explore the big, beautiful world of blogs, the more I find to love. Women who make me laugh, cry, or just think. People I think I could be friends with, or learn from. Writers I am in awe of.

Today, I thought I'd share some more of my  faves with you. So you can be similarly enthralled (and I can get to bed sometime before midnight).

Diary of an Unlikely Housewife—She talks about life, love and fashion...and she's real person sized. That makes me happy.

My Messy Paradise—Kind of a kindred spirit. Check her out.

The Un Mom—I fell in love with her blog design first. Then noticed she was pretty damn funny.

Okay, Fine, Dammit—I just found this one the other day,  and I am in awe of this woman's writing. Seriously. She's one of the best writers I have run across in a long, long time. Jealous much? Nah, not me.

That's all I've got tonight. I'm simply too exhausted to string words together any longer. So I think I'll wish you a good night. Don't let the bed bugs bite!

About That Diet...

Two months ago today, I told you all that I was embarking on the Diet to End All Diets Part II, and I'd have my pre-baby body back in no time. Yeah. That was a good theory.

Wanna know how much I've lost? Five whopping pounds. Well, actually ten (I lost the same five twice), but that still leaves me far, far short of my goal. Which is 28 pounds to get back where I was, but ideally, more like 40 to get me where I really want to be.

See the thing is, when I'm depressed, I eat. When I'm stressed, I eat. When I'm overtired, I...well, you get the picture. And the last two months? Have been chock full of all three of those lovely states of being.

Every week, I faithfully log my weight into my little Weight Watchers thing—even when there's nothing to report. Lately, it's been politely saying things like, "if you're not happy with your weight loss, try..." I'm waiting for the day it takes off the gloves and yells, "Why the f*** are you wasting my time with this? Get off your fat ass and move already!"

Maybe that would actually motivate me?

It's not that I don't try. I do. In fact, I'd like to think I'm getting better about eating right. Ice cream has ceased to make a nightly appearance. Cottage cheese has become my regular breakfast. And it's not like I stuff my face with junk food all day.  Well, except for the pizza I had on Saturday. And the Reese's Peanut Butter Cups I treated myself to on Monday. And the Penn Station I ate for dinner last night.

Oh, hell, who am I kidding? I need help. Internet, do you have any suggestions? Just don't tell me to go to meetings. I hate, hate, hate those damn meetings—and the cake haters that always seem to hijack them (but that's another post entirely).

How do I juggle the work/home/constant need to snuggle baby juggernaut and manage to find time to exercise and eat right, too? Without, that is, resorting to diarrhea-inducing pills or faking an eating disorder?

I'm open to suggestions (and sympathy). Even if said advice includes "stop whining, shut your mouth, and move your butt."

Another Short List of Things That Make Me Happy.

This morning, I read a post on another blog that made me think. Called "Who Wants to Read the Good Stuff," it basically echoed my conviction that waxing rhapsodic about how wonderful life is is boring. It's the dirt that makes people laugh—and makes me feel better.

But you know what? I really do have a lot to be grateful for. In fact, my life is for the most part, pretty fan-freaking-tastic. So, for today, I thought I'd take a short break from my usual snark to bring you the second completely random edition of Things That Make Me Happy (you can find the first one here).

Ready? Here we go.

• My Brother. We rarely talk. And we couldn't be more different if we tried. But I like knowing he's out there, and that if I ever really needed him, he'd come running. There's just something about having that shared history with someone... As much as being pregnant sucked, I think I could do it again, just so Tori would have that special person in her life, too (don't tell my husband).
• Driving with the windows down and the music loud. The only thing better? A convertible. I had one, and I loved the heck out of it (and I really wish I had never sold it). I never use the air in the summer unless I have to—which means I arrive everywhere with nasty, fly away hair. But really, is there a better feeling?
• My iPod. Can you even imagine being at the mercy of popular radio anymore? I don't know what I would do if I couldn't carry my own personal music library everywhere I go. I guess I would have to listen to country songs with lyrics like, "God is great, beer is good and people are crazy." Really. That's a real song.
• Fire flies. When I was little, I thought they were magic. I still kinda do. I love to sit outside at night and just watch those little flashes of light. I can't wait until Tori's old enough to try to catch them (so I can too).
• Friends, old and new. I'm lucky to have a few friends who I've known practically forever, and who I think the world of.  And now, as another blogger pointed out, I'm making new friends in the blogosphere—people I would have never "met" if not for this thing we call social media. It's pretty awesome.

And that's it. My Happy List. I'm sure I could think of more, but you guys are probably all vomiting in your mouths a little bit by now, so I'll spare you. Don't worry, I'll be back to my usual self tomorrow.

Five Things You Should Never Ask a New Mom.

Back in the days B.T., I attempted to educate the world on how not to speak to a pregnant woman. I'm not sure how effective it was, but I felt better. And now? Now I'd like to teach you how not to talk to a new mom. So here it is, the list of things I don't ever want to hear you ask a woman with a newborn ever again.

Are you getting any sleep? Hmmm, let's see. I have a baby who needs to eat about every three hours or so. Said feeding takes about an hour. Then there's the diaper changing, and the calming of the baby, and the rocking. That takes another hour. That leaves, let's do the math, an hour! A whole hour in which to sleep. And that's if I don't have to eat, or pee, or shower, or wash some dishes so there's some utensils to eat with! Short answer? No. No I am not. Thanks for reminding me.

Are you breastfeeding? Excuse me? Since when is what I do with my boobs any of your business? And what are you going to do if I say no? Turn into a breastfeeding nazi and tell me how I'm damaging my child? I bet you will. Which is why I'd really rather not answer such a personal question, if it's all the same to you.

Are you sure you should be (fill in the blank)...I can't tell you how many people started a sentence that way in my first weeks as a mom. Absolute strangers told me I shouldn't have my baby out in public. That I wasn't dressing her warmly enough. That I was holding her wrong. The list goes on and on. And you know what? I was already completely paranoid and unsure of myself. I really didn't need this "helpful" advice. So next time you find yourself starting a sentence that way? Can it.

Aren't you going to stay home with the baby? I've heard that question asked just about every way you can phrase it. And it never fails to make me mad. No, I am not staying home. As much as I would like to, I'd like to keep a roof over my baby's head more. So please stop making me feel like a horrible human being—I'm already conflicted enough.

And here it is. The very worst thing you can ask a new mom. Are you ready?

When are you having another one? Seriously? This one can't even hold her head up yet, and you want to know when I'm going to do this again? Un freaking believable. Here's a head's up. If the baby's under a year old, the mom hasn't had time to forget how horrible the whole thing was. Don't ask about her plans for further procreation. 'Kay?

On behalf of all the tired, frustrated, in-over-their-heads new mothers in the world, I thank you for your attention to this matter.

Sappy Video Alert.

I first saw this video when I was about six months pregnant. And I bawled and bawled and bawled. I blamed it on the hormones. Wondering if it was really as heart wrenching as I remembered, I just went looking for it on YouTube. And guess what?

No, I didn't bawl, but I prob'ly would have if my husband wasn't in the room. So, here it is, Christian the Lion, completely with sappy ass music.



Are you sniffing a little? Tell me you are. Then I won't feel like such a sap. Or maybe I should embrace my inner marshmallow? I just can't help thinking about all the furry friends I've loved and lost...

Oh, I know! I'll blame the sobfest on PMS! Yeah, that's it. Anyway, must sign off before I burst into tears again. Nite!

The Evolution of Date Night

Once upon a time, in a galaxy far, far away, in a time known as B.T. (before Tori), Friday night was date night.

I'd come home from work, redo my hair, fix my makeup, put something pretty on, and out we'd go. Dinner at a restaurant was mandatory - but the fanciness of said eating establishment depended upon our budget. Sometimes it was cloth napkins and (semi) expensive wine...but more often, it was bar food and beer (well, I had beer. my hubby doesn't drink much).

Then, more often than not, we'd find something else to do. Stop in at a local bar, go down to the lake and watch the boats, or head to the bookstore (my favorite activity). Whatever it was, we made a night of it. It was lovely.

And now?

Well, we still refuse to cook our dinner. But instead of going out, we get takeout. And, generally speaking, we have to reheat it, because as soon as we sit down, Tori decides to fuss. And then she needs a diaper change. And then she needs to eat. And then...well, you get the picture.

Our after dinner activities generally include walking the dog, feeding Tori again, changing some more diapers, playing with Tori, and of course, ooohing and ahhing over how dang cute she is.

Then I put her to bed, Brian goes on the computer upstairs, and I turn on my laptop to talk to you, my dear readers.

Then, eventually, we collapse together on the couch, serenading each other with our snores. It's a different kind of life, that's for sure. But as much as I miss our old freedom, I wouldn't trade the driving force behind this new kind of date night for all the fancy restaurants in the world.