Putting the "MO" in MOFO since 2004

This is a Flickr badge showing public photos from Meghantown. Make your own badge here.

My site was nominated for Hottest Mommy Blogger!

Monday, April 30, 2007


The straight poop, so to say....

Perhaps the reason that so few people give good advice to new mothers is this: Real advice might scare the shit out of the most fearless of would-be mothers, steering them away from parenthood entirely.

In doing so, real advice would contribute to the end of the species. So the ass-vice givers are really just doing their part to perpetuate the human race by offering advice on only the more useless and banal aspects of parenthood, avoiding the nitty-gritty, more useful tidbits.

Motherhood is scary as Hell. It's also hard work. However, the rewards do outweigh the hardships. Evidence of this being multiple-child households. So rest assured, it is worth it. I don't know a single person who would revert back to their worry-free parentless days if given the choice. The problem with these children is that you fall head-over-heels in love with them. That never, ever, goes away.

Here is my best ass-vice and advice for Liz, Christina, and Tammie (congratulation on little Myles, Tammie!) for the blogshower over at mothergoosemouse.

Steaming pile of ass-vice:

Maybe I am too good at blocking out what I don’t want to hear. I don’t recall getting a lot of ass-vice. I do recall reading Dr. Sears book on attachment parenting, choking back tears of despair and inadequacy on several occasions because I didn’t follow all of the parameters of what was deemed good attachment parenting. My daughter an I didn’t have an instant bond. Breastfeeding didn’t work out. I felt like I absolutely faked my way through the first month or two. Then I had to go back to work. Then I decided it was all too much, and I gave her away to a nice Lutheran couple. Just kidding about that last part.

There were a lot of things written in that book about mothers who were so in sync with their babies they always knew exactly what was wrong with them when they cried. I was not that mother, and reading about mothers like that made me feel like a total failure.

In fact, to this day, I avoid self-proclaimed "mother superiors" like the plague. I just don't have the time or energy to pretend to believe that kind of song and dance. If you can't commiserate, or make me laugh at both our inadequacies, you are of no use to me.

BUT: Thirty two months after having my daughter Maggie, I really can figure out a lot of what’s going on with her. I don’t always get it right. But oftentimes, I do. We just had to get to know each other. And I know my child like no one else could. You can't read it in a book. It just takes time.

Also, the people that say “sleep when the baby sleeps” have no idea the unannounced foot traffic we get at our house. My head hitting the pillow during the day is a damn near guarantee that at least three people will stop by unannounced. It’s like we live in a community drop-in center for the love of Pete.

Best advice:

Don’t compare yourself to other mothers. Don’t judge other mothers. Try not to allow yourself to feel judged by other mothers. Just figure out what works for you, and be content with what you can accomplish, while maintaining some semblance of self, and sanity.

And if you feel like you are as crazy as a shit-house rat, it’s not your fault. You just have a touch of the PPD, and you need to get your heine to a professional who will help get you back to feeling like yourself again.

In addition, the first few months are HARD, and it does get so much easier. I promise.

Friday, April 27, 2007


We had joy we had fun we had throw-up in the sun

Please forgive the extended absence but things have been busy professionally and personally.

We spent 3 days in Sanibel with some friends, and had a great time. There was an abundance of shells, sun, ocean, and freestyle barfing on the beach, in the bed, and in a bucket. Maggie will GLADLY tell anyone who asks.

I should have known the moment I saw that Maggie had fallen asleep on the beach. I had just returned from a walk down the shore. There I was, full of self-congratulations about how she was having SO MUCH FUN she had up and exhausted herself. I sat next to her with my magazine, smiled, and gently touched her cheek. She looked up at me, rolled her eyes back in her head, and commenced spontaneously vomiting.

What is it about sick children that just breaks your heart? I picked her up and she slumped limply against me. I carried that 40 pound child a quarter mile back to our room without batting an eye. She didn't cry. She just looked at me gave me a beleaguered smile as I changed her into dry clothes and tucked her into bed.

The pox upon our hotel room was mercifully short-lived. A good night sleep and a quart of gatorade later, she was right back in her "A" game.

And it was over. At least until we got home, and a day later, I came down with the barfing disease a mere HOURS after an important meeting (saying retroactive hail Mary' s as I write this).

Not to get all Pollyanna on you, but sometimes that child of mine impresses the dickens out of me. She traveled like an old pro, played her little tuckus off, conquered the stomach flu, and didn't miss a beat. I think we'll keep her.

Friday, April 13, 2007


Letting the mojo go

It's pretty amazing how a good night's sleep and a little bit of sunshine, along with NORMAL average temperatures (I am currently giving winter, and all cold weather systems thinking of heading towards the upper midwest the big, fat, FINGER) can make you feel like the world is right, once again.

I am not yet getting any unsolicited questions about the contents of my expanding belly. I will be soon though, as it's getting harder and harder to suck in the old gut. I am feeling the annoyingly familiar creaks and pains that occur when your center of gravity shifts (this is a precursor to the entire center of your universe shifting, at least it did with the first child). The funky sharp pain in my left upper buttock is back, whispering "remember me?" every time I get up from a sitting position. I also sigh with meaning, getting in and out of cars and chairs.

Speaking of expanding bellies:

WHY, oh why, doesn't anyone make a decent pair of maternity pants? Like some nice comfortable drawstring pants one could wear to work? What happened to the drawstring?

Do people not understand that it's not just the belly that expands? My ass will soon have it's own zip code. I just don't understand those women perusing the racks at Mimi Maternity with skinny little asses. They confuse me. I simultaneously loathe them and am fascinated by their diminutive rumpuses in their skinny maternity jeans, which, I must point out, are an oxymoron. How do they DO that? More importantly, why do I covet their freakishly tiny bums?

Much like the last time, my bosoms have blossomed 2 additional cup sizes. The boobage cups runneth over. And under. And around. I have newfound empathy for women who are well endowed in their normal state. I have divets in my shoulders, and a sore back. It's not so much fun. I remember last time being about 8 months along, and holding up my old bras, thinking they looked just insanely tiny. I was sure I would never, ever wear anything that small again. Yet miraculously, they shrank back down, and then some.

There is so much weirdness to all of this business of incubating of humans.

I recall hobbling my stitched-up, flabby self into Target 2 days after giving birth to Maggie in a joyous and tentative momentary escape from all consuming infant care. I got an ogle from a man with questionably low standards. The shock to my system of being seen (or more accurately, objectified), once again, as a woman with perhaps a small iota of sex appeal, was almost as shocking to me as the freakish pleasure I derived noticing. Noticing that I was being viewed by some pervy guy as an object possessing feminine wiles once again.

That creepy post-partum woman-ogler guy put the spring right back in my step. What in the WORLD does that say about me? Oy vey.

I swore three ways to Tuesday that I would eat healthy, and have less weight to lose this time around. The trouble is that I just flat out don't want to cook. By the time I have composed a healthy meal, I am usually too tired or grossed out to eat it. This leaves takeout. Which is not so healthy. Plus, I am really REALLY into bacon.

Ironically, I have received messages from the Twin Cities Marathon, and the Urban Wildlife half marathon in the last 3 days. Ha. HAHAHA.

It's best to just let all forms of vanity go at this stage. Beyond a good haircut and some lipstick at least. I haven't sunk so law as to resort to mom jeans. I will let that be my bar of success for the time being.

Tuesday, April 03, 2007


Funkity Funk Funk

  • It’s cold and it’s grey and it has been so for many many days. My mental health is fragile. As a friend of mine said today “I’m solar powered”. Which means I am slogging through cold molasses up to my armpits. This shit is for the birds. It is supposed to SNOW later this week. I want to hide in my closet until May.
  • Incubating fetuses (or feti, in this case) is mind-numbing business. Was I stupid before, or is the fetus sucking all my mental energy?
  • I dropped Maggie off yesterday morning, got all the way to work and realized I forgot my computer. What the Hell am I going to do with TWO children every morning? I am officially scared.
  • Much of the time, I feel like a one-legged man in an ass-kicking contest.
  • I dream about buying cute clothes for regular sized people.
  • I want to go somewhere warm this weekend. Like Mexico. But trying to decide whether to bring Maggie or not, and if not, who to leave her with, makes me too tired to pursue it any further.
  • American idol is on tonight, and that makes me happy. What does not make me happy is that I have become the kind of person I made fun of in my twenties. The kind of person who gets excited about watching television.
  • I can smell the bad breath of a coworker from across the cube wall. It’s not pleasant.
  • I need a vacation from my own life. Where shall I go?

Well slap my behind and call me Polly

Izzy and Nancy nominated me for a thinking blogger award, and I am appropriately flattered. It is an honor to be recognized.

In turn, I have been asked to appoint some of my own thinking blogger awards.

Most of these women have already been awarded, but I have go to give props where they are due.

Liz from Mom 101. There’s always a good post up over at mom 101. Liz gets riled up over many of the same things that I do (women’s rights, the ethics of marketing to children, plus she has CONVERSED WITH GLORIA STEINEM!) . She also includes links to all sorts of intellectual articles that back up her ideas, so that I can so in and plagiarize for my own use. Kidding! (sort of). Plus, she’s funny. And I dig me some funny. She’s also a gifted introspective writer, and I also dig me some introspection.

Izzy: “No! YOUR’E SCHMOOPY!!!!” But seriously, we share a passion for wanting to protect our daughters from objectification, and extend their worry-free childhoods as long as possible. We are both looking for ways to navigate American culture while simultaneously raising well-adjusted daughters with healthy self-image. I hope she tells me when she figures it all out. Her self-depricating sense of humor make for many great laughs as well.

Sweetney: Tracey succinctly describes her horror brought on by everything from the Amish School shooting to Bratz dolls. From video clips that give me the giggles, to posts that make me want to pound my chest in solidarity, there is always something good going on at Sweetney.

Alice Bradley from Wonderland (and also finslippy). Alice might be afraid that I will over-serve myself on Chardonnay and try to molest her (again) at next years BlogHer, but she’s not afraid to write about ANYTHING. There’s always a hot (and often controversial) topic related to motherhood over at Wonderland. Don't forget to peruse the comments, because there's some great stuff there as well. She’s got nerves of steel, that Alice, and I admire that.