Being Boring

You know, Television Without Pity just isn’t the same. It’s INFURIATING. What is this mockery of the site I once loved so much? Seriously, what IS that? It — dare I say it — SOLD OUT TO THE MAN. “The Man,” in this case, being Bravo, who I normally love, but come on. COME ON, BRAVO.

Ahem.

I ordered Transitional Pants today, because honestly, one cannot continue to wear maternity pants a full eight weeks and change after giving birth, and it was in a size I’ve never seen before, not even when I was at my heaviest. But the maternity pants were not only winter-ish, they’re actually too big. The thing is, I’d like to say I care — and really, I do, or rather, I will — but for the moment, I get how moms say that they get too busy to be able to do anything about it, so I kind of don’t. I don’t look AWFUL, I mean Jesus knows I feel downright SVELTE since walking around as a whale and weighing a number that rhymes with “fun-shmeighty,” but you know, back then there was a whole person in there, and now it’s just me.

I haven’t been able to cook since Sam’s been born, and I miss it. I also miss eating food that didn’t come from a box or a deli counter, but I’m trying to have faith that some day we’ll get there. This WILL get easier … right? Right. Yes, right. We’re not allowing for anything else here. RIGHT.

And working out — HA. Dude, no. No. Some day. I kind of miss that, too, but not enough to bring Jillian Michaels into this cocktail of fresh hell while Sam stares at me from the bouncy seat. And when she’s sleeping, I’m sleeping, because this co-sleeping thing is working out for exactly one of us, and that person still pees in her pants, or occasionally on mama’s belly when she’s not paying attention.

Funny, I never had an identity crisis after Sam was born — I was warned about it, warned that I would wonder who I was, and what I was doing with my farking life, other than wiping butts and rocking small people to sleep. While I don’t know anyone who wouldn’t pull a stroller out of the back of a car after taking an HOUR to get ready to go on the simplest errand and think, what the fuck? No, seriously, WHAT THE FUCK?, I haven’t mourned any of my old life. I haven’t decided if this is because I’m remarkably well-adjusted, or if it’s because I didn’t have one before. The only time I feel differently is when I push the stroller through the college campus and see myself for exactly what the students must: a cautionary tale. God, you guys, when I first moved here, the dudes would occasionally CHECK ME OUT. HA HA HA. Oh God. No more, clearly. Never again.

What I HAVE had, is the occasional freak out because this job, as it’s been noted before, is both incredibly challenging and mind-numbingly boring. I have exactly two (2) mom friends who get me out a few times a week, and it helps more than you can imagine, but still, I wish sometimes that Sam would ask me a really tough question. They should make onesies with buttons you can push to simulate stimulating conversation until she becomes a bit more present.

Finally, related to the pants issue, have you guys seen the new-fangled Oreos? The Cakesters were a giant, chemical-laden bust, but y’all, the strawberry milkshake ones are HEAVEN. And cool mint! Like mint-chocolate chip ice cream IN A COOKIE! MY GOD. Where were these delicious items when I was pregnant? WHERE?

Happy almost-Tuesday! Sam and I have a lunch date, and it’s getting us through the week!

*Pet Shop Boys

31 comments May 4th, 2009