My Miu Miu dress from Holt Renfrew, after.
I have a wedding coming up. It’s a relative’s, I’ll leave it at that. My first reaction when I received the invite was a grand rolling of the eyes and a resounding “no way we’re going” - and then I thought about it a little more. You have to understand there’s some history here. I could go on about how we really never see each other that much, or how with the baby it’s really hard to go out for long periods of time, or I could even site how I don’t want to be the one in church whose baby cries during the “I Do’s”, but really, the truth is a little different. The bride-to-be was a bridesmaid at my wedding and 3 years later she still hasn’t paid for her bridesmaid dress. We talked to her three ,(1, 2, 3), times about it. She never paid. I really now think of her,
as an utterly contemptible, lying, deadbeat, cheatingcheapcheapcheaphussyhustler, as someone who really isn’t that nice after all. I think I need some Dear Abby on this one.
Maybe I can still use the baby as an excuse to get out of going? Have you ever done that? New parent’s have all sorts of new and shiny excuses to pull out of the vault. The,
mofomotherload of get out of anything bullpucky, endless reasons no one would dare question, all of which sound perfectly reasonable as a new mom! Not that we should abuse it though, reallywhythehecknotwe’reup24hrsasitis, doing the hardest job on earth ,and if we don’t feel like yet another pointless outing to can peaches with Aunty P. or whatever it is then so be it.
If you do choose to go out for an adult evening however know this. Baby poop does not respect silk. Common sense you say? Ahhh yes of course, but Newbeemom and Newbeedad are always dressed in their finest when Wee One decides it’s time for a,
grossstinkywhoppersized, dirty burrito. In my case last night, I was trying on dresses for above mentioned, utterly contemptible, lying, deadbeat, cheating, cheap, cheap, cheap, hussyhustler’s wedding and happened to have on one super, fantastic, silk Miu Miu Prada dress that I was shocked my, postbaby, fat-thighed, biggersized, bottom could actually fit into, when the little joy of my existence exploded , into a crying, flailing, poop-covered tazmaniandevelmess, one so big and so bad that I went through the wipes, got a washcloth, and actually had poop in my engagement ring and up to my elbows by the end of it. On the upside, I never looked better while covered in sh*t, Wee One slept soundly that night and the dress went for an all expense paid vacation to the eco-cleaners.
Yet, the question remains, can you still feel sexy in a designer dress knowing it had well, you know, on it?
I have not discovered the secret,
uber end-all be-all magic trick of magnificence, which will transform my life into a balanced, well-oiled machine however… I have learned this:
Bringing a baby into the equation will change your marital relationship no matter what you do. It makes no difference,
if you try to be Superwoman who does it all and kills herself in the process, you’re going to have moments where you want to tear out your hair, and possibly throttle your husband, or even start drinking earlier in the day. The dog will ultimately feel left out and the cats will go about their daily lives as if you don’t exist. No one ever said raising a child would be easy, but no one ever tells you the down and dirty side of things either as, it seems to be this mean and nasty little secret that no one ever wants to talk about or even admit to, why would they? The population would die off.
In fact though, I find no greater joy than my daughter. I cannot remember my life before her. Well actually, I can, but really why would I want to,
go back to that single-girl mentality of workworkwork overtime workout at the gym go out with my friends workworkwork life, and miss out on the most amazing, fun, fulfilling, challenging, and rewarding experience that is my little Wee One? She is my world. She is my saving grace. She is all untouched hope, excitement, and wonder that is left in this, sarcastic, somewhat worn, beat-up, jaded and totally skeptical, woman who melts at the mere hint of her smiling.
Today, she learned how to wave. I’d wave, she’d wave back. It brought tears to my eyes,
not in a Pam and Jim finally get married on the Office kind of tears, beautiful, honest, purely proud welling of emotion that carries with it only positive and uplifting charm. When’s the last time you felt that way? There is much to be gleaned from a 10 month-old.
And so, 10 months and counting…I have learned to let go of the small things, the out of my control things,
the way I want to punch everyone who drives like a nut down my street when I’m out walking the baby in her Bugaboo thing, and spend my time knowing how blessed and lucky I am to have a chance at being a mom. Her mom. Everything else is just another dirty diaper to toss, or as my brother-in-law likes to say, dirty burrito.
Today I conquered both my fear of wearing fuchsia lipstick and started my childrens book all in one fell swoop. I highly recommend it,
as a total pick-me-up and cure-all for tedium and a case of the uglies, the lipstick that is, I’ve never felt sexier while sitting in my home office fashionably dressed in my PJ’s, and wreaking of baby vomit. Here’s a little doodle I did. Like the books I read, I don’t know why I do it maybe I’m nuts and it drives my husband bonkers but, I always start with the last page first. Here’s the last page of my work-in-progress, hopefully one day will be published or I’ll be crushed and ruined creatively forever and ever, book for the Wee One in my life.
So you have a baby and you spend the good part of the next few months or year,
if you’re lucky enough to take a MAT leave that long, putting yourself back together only to find that the one thing you were sure of, your career, because up until now it’s all been a blur of insanity, isn’t at all what you want now that the Wee One is in the picture. Your beautiful bundle of joy, albeit wonderful and exhaustingneverstoppinglittlegogogomonster, is your new world and the thought of leaving her/him shatters your heart. So…what do you do?