Stretched to the max

standard May 26, 2011 1 response

I was so excited back when I was pregnant. So excited because even though I was gaining weight every which way (toes anyone?) even at 39 weeks my belly was smooth, shiny, and brilliantly stretch mark free.

It’s ok. You can hate me.

The morning of my 40th week I got one. But it was a doozie. Like all the stretchmarks got lazy and decided to pop out in one place.

I caught myself fingering the deep ravine leading down from my belly to the top of my thigh often that week. I was fascinated by it. I’d had my fair share of stretch marks before being pregnant. A road map covering my hips, testament to heredity and maybe a slight penchant for candy. This one felt different, earned, more like a badge of honor than a badge of shame.

The stretch mark faded after C was born and came back as my belly swelled to allow Little L to grow. I never did get more, though it’s possibly because I was obsessed with rubbing all sorts of oils and lotion on my bump. Now it’s faded and I’m once again left with just the silvery lines crisscrossing my hips. Nothing on my belly to show for the two pregnancies I experienced other than a certain pouchiness that definitely wasn’t there before C.

I’m learning to live with the pouch, just like I’m learning to live with my other pregnancy left overs. Instead of hating how my body has chosen to remember this time of our lives, I’m choosing to think of all these issues as battle scars to show off with pride.

Pregnancy isn’t for the faint of heart. Neither is having a post-partum body.



This is a Bump Month post inspired by one of our wonderful sponsors Apothederm. I’m not sure I’d use the cream on my belly if I had pregnancy stretch marks there, but I’m seriously thinking about getting rid of the ones on my hip once and for all! About time I stopped feeling shameful about them!

Five jobs and counting, but still sane

standard November 4, 2009 6 responses

By the time I dropped off the girls at daycare this morning I had already conducted a phone meeting for one of my jobs – managing editor at a local parenting newspaper. I kissed them goodbye, reminded them to make good choices, and headed a half hour south for a second meeting for a second job – co-creator of a website. (Still in very early days. Incredibly exciting.)

After a quick lunch with an old co-worker I raced to my new job (job #3) at Tiny Prints. For four hours I worked nonstop on a number of projects* and then I tidied up my desk and hurried back out.

I had 15 minutes to go get C and Little L from daycare, which is when my fourth job of the days started.

Now, you could argue that being a mommy isn’t really a job, or you could argue that it’s the hardest job of all. I just know that after a full day of work I still had to come home, cook dinner, clean up, wash little people, put them in pajamas, read them books, and put them to bed. Thank goodness for M. There’s no way I could have done it by myself.

When the children are in bed and the grown-ups have eaten there’s one more job (job #5) awaiting my attention – blogging. I update here, sometimes there, and from now on here too.

If I had any energy left at the end of all that I’d turn my attention to my sorely neglected novel (job #6), but tonight that’s just not going to happen. It’s almost 10:30, I’m nowhere near done with job #5, and I just got a flurry of emails related to job #1.

I’m sure that soon this new routine will feel like just that, routine, but right now it’s feeling like a bit of a stretch. I’ll either get used to it or something will have to give. I just don’t know what it could be. Hopefully it won’t be my sanity.

My messy car spared me a traffic ticket

standard November 2, 2009 3 responses

I had one goal this weekend, aside from spending quality time with the girls and M, one measly little goal: clean out my car.

It wouldn’t have taken long, all I really had to do was scoop out the contents of the toy bin that has been strewn between the seats, on the floors, and everywhere in between. Every few weeks I have to truck everything back inside so the next day the girls can start migrating the toys back to my car one at a time.

Of course, as usual, I never found the time to go out to the garage to tame the chaos inside my car, which is why my car still looked worse than the love child of the public dump and the Toys R Us baby doll aisle when I headed out to go to a blogger event this afternoon.

I was still spacey from a too short nap and a run in with my sorely lacking wardrobe when I realized that I was racing up a 40 mile/hour road going a brisk 60(ish). I slowed down to a more respectful speed and glanced in my rear-view mirror to make sure no one had spotted my transgression. Which is when I noticed the cop pull up behind me.

I pulled over and she did her thing before finally walking up to my car. I smiled my brightest smile and tried to be my most charming self, but I have to admit I wasn’t expecting what happened next.

“Oh! You have twins?” She asked, glancing at the matching car seats in the back. I had expected disgust at the state of my car, instead I got pity and compassion.

“No, a two and four year old. In fact, that’s why I was speeding, I think I was enjoying the quiet a bit too much.” She nodded knowingly and smiled, but she still asked me for my license, registration, and proof of insurance.

I had the first two, but despite all my frantic searching in the glove compartment I couldn’t find any trace of the proof of insurance. I shrugged apologetically and must have looked sufficiently harried and confused because she replied with a soothing smile and a word about how busy I must be before moving off with the two documents.

She let me off for the speeding, choosing to just giving me fix-it tickets for my burnt out brake light and lack of proof of insurance. She talked again about how busy I must be, and, peering around the inside of my car again, reminded me that I clearly needed to pay more attention, both to the speed limit and to my documents. Then she told me to slow down and let me go.

I glanced around at the abandoned dolls, stacks of artwork, ground up waffles, books, and everything else that clutters up my car and thanked my lucky stars that I never found the time to clean it out. I was so grateful that I was even able to hold my head high when I stepped out at the Four Seasons and let the valet drive off with it, though I did feel the need to apologize when I got it back at the end of the event. It really is beyond messy and I should probably do something about it.

No use crying over spilt milk

standard May 19, 2009 8 responses

I have a bag. A good bag. A really, really good bag.

Technically it’s a diaper bag, but it only ever really rarely actually holds diapers*. Instead it holds my three or four notebooks**, my pens, my wallet, my glasses, my camera, my Flip, stickers, a book for the kids, my phone, sunscreen, more sunscreen, Aquafor, more pens, some old candies, a pacifier, often my laptop, and anything M or the kids want me to carry for them***.

Including, sometimes, their left over milk containers.

Which don’t usually spill.

Except for this last one.

I honestly can’t remember the last time we went to McDonald’s (before tonight, because that doesn’t count, it has nothing to do with this story and I’m only including that fact in the interest of full disclosure.) Sometime in the middle of last week maybe****. As we left Little L handed me her milk chug, and I, thinking that it was still sealed shut, threw it into my bag.

I fully intended to put the milk chug into the fridge as soon as we got home, but I promptly forgot about it, and I didn’t remember I had even put it in the darn bag until I pulled it out this morning as I was trying to shove my laptop into it’s space.

Even then I didn’t notice the bottle had been opened. Or that it had leaked all over my bag. All over all that clutter at the bottom of my bag. All over my precious notebooks, pens, and stuff.

Did I mention that it was almost 100F over the weekend?

I have had old milk sitting in my bag, all over my stuff, for the last 4 to 5 days, in the torrid heat.

So I apologize. That smell that’s been bothering you all day? That’s my bag. I’ll be getting a new one in the morning. Because sometimes it’s no use crying over spilt milk, not even when it has spilled inside your really, really good bag, all over your precious stuff.

* I keep the diapers in the car, or on the baby, where they’re most useful.
** I have a bit of a notebook problem. Maybe more like an addiction. And let’s not even mention the pen situation. K? Thanks.
*** This bag, it is heavy, very, very heavy. But it’s all essential. I swear.
**** Do not be a Judgy McJudgy-pants. We bring veggies and fruit, they eat chicken nuggets and a couple of fries. It’s not so bad. Really. Honest.

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