Identity Crisis

Long ago, in a galaxy far, far away, there was a woman named Paula Burton who used to shave her legs, dry her hair and was even known on occasion to brush her teeth. These days the only thing i brush is my leg hair. Seriously, I'm looking down at so much designer stubble I feel like I'm wearing George Michael on my legs. Showers used to mean pampering, lathering, shampoo and conditioning. Now I just get wet. And baths...well, i thought I'd sneak one in and have a bath with Olive. Nothing finer than a tepid bath where the water line reaches your hips. Nope, things have definitely changed. I love the way that people excuse the size of your bum and thighs with comments like, "you just had a baby". I LOVE IT! But, why doesn't this extend to all aspects of motherhood? Just as i don't have time to exercise, i don't have time to wash. When i blurt out " I stink" or " gosh, when did i last brush my teeth?" why don't people feign that same courtesy and remind me that i just had a baby. Not smile and inch away or tell me i must make time for myself! Pah!
If it was just me and Olive I would happily allow her spit up to ferment between my cleavage but in order to remain married I am told this gives me incentive to "make an effort". Just like the old days when the waxing fairy would come in the night. Sigh. When i found time to floss the other night (prompted by said husband who was flossing alongside me) I found food that i couldn't remember eating. I looked in the mirror and wistfully remembered days where i would have time to veet and whitestrip. I wondered if my boobs would ever fit in a bra from Victoria's Secret again? Would I ever be one of those wives that is all dressed up with makeup and straight hair that wears cardigans with little buttons that never really fit in the holes from J Crew? I never expected to be this person so can i expect to be that person? Shudder.
A couple of months after the baby arrived people started offering to babysit insisting that you and husband need some quality time - a date. I had done the same thing to friends in the past. Resisting the immediate urge to tell them that we don't need quality time, just me. Please give me an hour to wash, no, to sleep - both. I could do both in an hour. 60 minutes is a lifetime. I don't say this however, i just thank them and have every intention of taking them up on their offer...except I don't ...because I'm terrified that my daughter will become hysterical when she realizes that I am not there and i will have emotionally scarred her for life. I never thought i would be this mum...I thought I would be so relaxed and cool about everything but it turns out that I'm nuts. I thought the same about being pregnant - i thought I'd be all European and enjoy wine and cheese on street corners in floaty dresses not flomp around in sweats panicking about the damage that one sip of red wine could cause. You can have the best of intentions but I'm quickly learning that all bets are off. I only pray that I'm never that parent that thinks it is okay for their child to run around a restaurant, squawking and yapping at other diners. Dear God, please don't let me become some freak that thinks that your child expressing themselves in any manner is a wonderful thing. Amen
So...this week I received a call offering me an audition. My first post baby audition. Thud. When i confirmed the appointment the night before, i quickly realized the terrifying consequences of my actions. I will need to shower. I will need to find something in my wardrobe that will fit me and not make me look like I am 20lbs heavier than my resume states. And then a couple of biggies...what will i do with my daughter? And, how will i get there? I chastised myself for agreeing to do this. Why? Why? Why? I had enough to do without adding this into the mix. Okay...I am woman. I am problem solver. I can do this. If i can squeeze that little monkey out, I can do this. I thought back to 80's movies with strong women with big hair and with the music to Working Girl running through my head i knew I could come through this.
I have a friend in Portland...okay, i have a couple. Well, they are Tom's friends but they have been nice enough to befriend me. They are wonderful and so lovely that i think if we were Mormons I would like them to be my sister wives. Anyhow, said wonderful friend agrees to take me to my audition and watch Olivia in the car whilst I pop in and pretend to be someone that i used to be pretending to be something that I'm not. Still with me? Let me back up...The day began at a leisurely 7am. I feed Olivia, snuggle her, change her and put her in the Even Flo exersaucer (brilliant) This will buy me 10-12 minutes. I pour a coffee (programmed the night before - brilliant) and run to the shower. Throw myself in. Wash hair ( that is now dropping out at an alarming rate - nobody warned me about this post-partum hair loss treat), condition hair. Lather legs, shave armpits, shave legs...manage to blunt a razor, wash face. Rinse hair. Pull said hair out of butt crack - I'm telling you, I'm losing so much hair - it's like a small child's wig that i remove each day. Hop out. Run into other room to check on Olive making sure that she doesn't see me. Run back. Deodorant on. Moisturize legs and arms realizing how many hairs i missed on legs - faintly hear Careless Whisper...block it out with Carly Simon. Moisturize face. Rub hair with towel. Down coffee. Pull on undies, shorts and T shirt. Run back into other room, sing They're Changing Guard at Buckingham Palace whilst marching like a loon. Get a giggle. Run back to bathroom - apply makeup. Breathe. Get Olivia - bring her into the bedroom while i try and find something that will give the impression of a BBC news reporter. I am woman. I am strong. Find a dress that works from my Goldman days when i was first pregnant. It's black. Of course. Get some gripper knickers out. Put dress on then realize that chances of keeping it clean before we head out the door are slim to none. Back in shorts and T shirt. Dry hair whilst trying to sing above noise to amuse Olivia. Brush my balding locks. Spray perfume, run in and out of it. Grab lip gloss. Grab Olivia. Go. Rehearse lines in elevator. Meet said amazing friend. Load up baby. Follow mapquest directions to some random place and run in the door. Breathe. As i sit and wait to go in, i am aware of several things. I am clean. I smell good. I have left Olivia with someone i have met 4 times. I forgot to brush my teeth.
The rest of the day I was on a tremendous high. Some guy in a coffee shop asked me if i knew i looked like Debra Messing. I spent a delicious afternoon rolling with Olivia. Then we napped holding hands on the bed. I was just about to pour myself a congratulatory glass of white wine when i got a call asking me to go back for a 2nd audition. Thud. How the heck was i supposed to do this twice? I tried to picture Melanie Griffith on the Staten Island Ferry but just kept seeing Sinead O'Connor crying in the Nothing Compares To You video. Hmm, Okay... sister wives were out of commission - not even i was that rude. MIL was still out of town. Started to sweat. Heavily. Who do i know? Who can i call? Finally, our incredible niece came to the rescue offering to pick me up on her way back from work. However, on this day of firsts, it was also 107 degrees outside and i couldn't take Olivia in a car without air conditioning no matter how much mama needed a new pair of shoes. When said niece arrived, I grabbed her car keys, kissed her and told her I would back as soon as i could. Olivia had just eaten and was in her exersaucer. All i asked was that she kept Sophie the deadly giraffe out of commission. I didn't say goodbye to Olivia, didn't stop to think, knowing that if i thought this through I wouldn't go. I hopped in the car and tried to remember how to drive. The rest is history. I came home that evening on a tremendous high. I had managed to smell good and abandon my daughter in one day. No babysteps for me.  I felt like Shania Twain in leopard print.
The truth is that like many mums that go back to work it must be incredibly difficult. I had but a taste of it today and it was hard. I had to remind myself that I have no memory of that age so what I'm feeling is about me not her. I get tremendous joy from being with Olivia each day and i realize just how blessed I am to have this time in my life to be with her but what did today tell me? That I'm still Paula Burton underneath being mummy Bain. That becoming a mum didn't cancel out my other life and best of all i can be both at the same time or at least in the same day? I think so. The lines on these identities were smudged and before today i had been unsure that that could become a reality. I left Olivia smiling and returned to a still happy baby. So far I see no evidence of any emotional scarring...
So, what's the next step? Well, the sky's the limit...We have a happy baby and a clean and happy mummy. I also have a date with my husband this evening and while my breasts may not fit in Victoria's Secret bras any longer, my butt still happily hangs out of their knickers...with imagery such as that you can bet I'll have a happy husband...;)

And...would you believe, i ended up booking the job?!

To Worry or Not to Worry? And do we have a choice...?

Picture the scene - Olivia in her swing drifting off to sleep, clutching taggie blanket in one hand and Sophie the rubber teething giraffe in her other. I seize the opportunity for a bathroom break - it must be a good 4 hours since I last peed and 4 cups of coffee are now taking their toll on my recovering kegel muscles. No sooner am I out of the room than i hear her cough. Relax, just a cough. Then another, and another, and then some tears. I race back in and find Sophie's leg wedged deep in her mouth. I yank it out, pick her up and with her now calm, I remind myself to breathe. After 10 seconds she is smiling. Another 10 and she is asleep. Moments later I have emailed Tom at work banning Sophie. "She's a flipping giraffe - had it been her neck in there we could have been in real trouble!"  

Nothing actually happened...so why is my heart still pounding 20 minutes later? Why in those 5 seconds running from the bathroom to the living room had I already pictured Olivia blue and unresponsive? As a mother, am I ever going to stop worrying? Are those days gone? 

Before Olivia, two things would leave me in a cold sweat. The fear of losing my own mother and the fear of losing Tom. These are understandable emotions that most people can relate to. Fear of being left.  Since the gift of Olivia, the thought of losing her is paralysing. It goes without saying and how any parent comes through losing a child is beyond me. I know that death is a part of life but the loss of a child is surely death itself to the parent. I do not know and can only imagine. And, like many other new mothers, i think we spend a lot of time imagining. That is why we check our sleeping babies even after they are sleeping through the night. That is why the sound of silence is not quite as peaceful as it once was.
I think that this is something pregnancy gears us up for. We have 9 private months with our baby and we learn how strong that bond can be. Nine months where although by the end your bump can become public property, every movement, hiccup and contraction is happening solely between us. I could be standing on the A train at rush hour in Manhattan with people pushed far too close to me but only i was feeling my girl's first kicks. 

It took me 20 weeks to be comfortable with having a baby. Our wonderful surprise had left me terrified and feeling utterly lonely, despite the mountains of support i had surrounding me. I wanted to be a mother but not yet!! What would i be giving up? Had i thrown everything away? Gradually fear turned to nerves. How are we going to make this work? When I hit the home stretch I just felt primal. I need to get this baby cooked and out to me safe and sound. It took me 9 months to get a handle on the strength of emotion I was going to feel and even then when that tidal wave of emotion hit me when she was born I was utterly overwhelmed. Nine months. I painfully remember the Friday morning one week before Olivia came and I had stopped feeling her move inside me. I had woken up and had some orange juice, some sweet cereal and i still wasn't feeling her. I sent Tom and my mum out to get coffee and order me a hot chocolate and i promised that I would join them shortly. I hadn't told them what i was or rather wasn't feeling and to this day i do not know why. I just needed to be alone. I showered and kept talking to my tummy, kept drinking and eating sweets to try and invoke some movement but nothing. Tom returned having had a feeling that something wasn't right and when he walked in I dissolved into tears.  Within 20 minutes we were at the hospital as advised by our OB. It is safe to say that I have never been so terrified. My throat was thick with tears which i refused to let out. I remember thinking that this was to be some cruel joke. I hadn't wanted to be pregnant and now that I am so in love with my baby i will never get to meet her. I looked at Tom and knew that he was thinking similar things. I never want to see that look on his face again. They found the heartbeat and we sobbed in relief. For not having to experience everything that we had both imagined. A week later we were in the same ward holding our daughter.

Incidentally, since Olivia's arrival I have also become aware of my own mortality. Every day truly is a gift. Yesterday at Portland's Beer Festival (Yes, i went...with Olivia...terrible mother) I was talking with a friend who has suddenly developed a fear of flying. She and her husband are going away next week and although this is a common fear for many it has come out of left field for her. Interestingly enough, she attributes it to a fear of leaving her children should anything happen to her. I'd never thought about this but i immediately understood. I remember having those teen-angst fantasies about seeing your own funeral - who would be there, who would care, what music would I have, who would try speak barely unable to contain their own emotion... Now, the thought of my own early death terrifies me because for the first time i feel it has consequences.  I know that Olivia has an incredible father so it is not so much who would teach her this or show her that, it's just that I want to. I want to hear her first words, watch her discover her talents, teach her to play sports, watch her graduate college, see her get married. I want to hold my grandchildren. If I found out tomorrow that I had a week to live all that I could think that I would do would be to find ways that she would know me and know how much she was loved when she was older. 

Does the worry ever end?  Probably not. I suppose that it just changes. Last week my biggest worry was her runny poop, a day later I was concerned because she was congested. Today i will probably worry that i haven't given her enough tummy time. When will it get easier? Does it get easier? I think it must or else we would all be locked in asylums and who on earth would have a second child? Either that or the sheer joy outweighs the worry. I think that the worry when they are so young is more intense because so much of what happens to them is what we do - they are our responsibility. Our choices dictate their daily activities. When they are older, our worries are perhaps about whether we did a good enough job when they were growing up, so that when faced with choices they head in the right direction, the safe direction...the one without worry...at least for us, the parents. 

I suppose for me being a mum means experiencing a love that is cliched because it is so true. A love that comes easily but not without hardships. I'm learning that being a mum is non stop, demanding but rewarding.  And if worry is the currency of a mother's love then I am rich woman. 

A Woman's Breast Friend

I just took a shower. The neighbors had complained that a terrible smell was coming from the apartment. My fabulous sister in law is here and so after a sleep in till 9...yep, that constitutes a mammoth sleep-in these days - remember those days of just sleeping forever, getting up only to eat cereal, drink gatorade and text fellow clubbing refugees to see they made it home safe?
Anyway, so i decided to end my proof of evolution and shave my armpits. I hear Olivia cry as i am tapping out my clogged razor and as i look down i see yet more proof of mother nature as my boobs begin leaking. Not that strange for a new mum, well, no, but this new mum stopped breastfeeding 4 months ago. What? Shock! Horror! Well, after an attack of the post partum crazies - not quite Brooke Shields wanting to throw my child against a wall crazy - more waking in the night rocking an imaginary child and thinking i had lost her in the bed. There's more to that story but let's return to my misadventures of being a wetnurse.
I had always planned to breastfeed, attended the classes, didn't understand why anyone wouldn't given the money you save on formula. My sister hadnt breastfed, nor my mother but I had a friend that had and she said and i quote that she was "addicted" to it. I was looking forward to it - at 32 weeks my boobs were already leaking the colostrum. I say boobs, but honestly, 34C became 36F - when i say you could park a bike you know what i mean...
So, day one in the hospital...when Olivia was handed to me after being cleaned up she was crying and the nurse told me to 'nurse'. I had attended the class and knew on paper what to do but after a 32 hour labor and not having slept properly for the last 8 weeks i was tired, drained and emotional. I was unable to soothe my new crying baby no matter how i shoved my mammoth mammory in her mouth. I started crying and eventually a nurse helped. She latched on and became a barracuda. My Olive was born 8lbs 11oz and was 10 days late - her sucking reflex was in overdrive. It felt great...for about a day...and then the pain came. However, my lactation consultant had told us that if you are doing it right it shouldnt hurt, so inbetween sobs and biting down on a stick...well, my mother's hand, i was mentally chastising myself for being unable to do it right. My nipples were sore, cracked and actually bruised. After 2 days i reached out to my lactation consultant and received pretty much the same information. If you are doing it right, it shouldn't hurt. She had seen Olivia latch on and she was feeding correctly. So...why was it hurting? My dear friend was a terrific support and came to watch me feed and offer positioning advice. I bought a nipple guard - didnt work for me. I was tired, in pain, my milk had come in and as a first time mother had little or no idea what i was doing. I couldn't relax. When she was sleeping, i was checking that she was breathing. When she was crying, i was crying. Aside from the 24 hour high immediately following Olivia's birth where i was delirious telling my husband that i couldnt wait to have another, i was yet to enjoy this experience. I was full of fear and the feeling that i was doing everything wrong. I had read books, watched dvds, but nothing can prepare you for the oeverwhelming sensation and huge responsibility that this precious life is yours to keep alive. I received some wonderful advice from another newish mum who told me that this was "normal" and that nobody knows this baby better than her mum and to own the responsibility. I cannot tell you how important a supportive community is at this time. Who will tell you that it is hard, but gets better, that breastfeeding IS tough but improves, that you are not supposed to have all the answers at first. So thank you, Jade, Jay, Ed, Emily, Heather, Elizabeth, Amanda, Aelish, Debi, mom and my mum who essentially saved my life. Mostly, thank you Tom for your support whatver my decision. I love you.
So, back to the scraggy nipples and teary feedings...i wasn't enjoying it. My daughter was looking up at a mum who was crying. I began pumping and sobbed the very first time someone other than me fed my girl. I was a bad mother. A dreadful person. I was embarrassed that after a couple of weeks i was "just" pumping. I had more milk than a local dairy and should have just set up a milk stand out front. "Wash down that girl scout cookie!!" I was putting all this pressure on myself. People talk about how hard it is to BF in public because of public opinion - i felt the complete opposite - i wanted to wear a TShirt that said - it's breast milk in that bottle! I wasted many hours crying over this. I was mortified. What was wrong with me? I was also completely shocked at this assault on my body. I would shower to feel better, to get clean, and remove the dried milk scum...ahhh, and then get out and be dripping milk all over the floor and faster than i could mop up with toilet roll i had dripped more. I remember just sitting in the bathroom weeping at the state of me and then Olivia started crying and my boobs were dripping faster than my tears. I wound up laughing - i told you...crazy. I would trawl through websites looking for support and just found these dreadful women - the breastfeeding nazis. They have nothing better to do than write on websites telling women to TRY HARDER and that you are DEPRIVING your child and your child will likely have allergies or learning difficulties. What a load of crap. I'm a bottle baby and I'm fine...My husband is a bottle baby and he is very fine. What about all the adopted children - are we meant to believe that they make up the sneezing, retard community?
By the time i went to my doctor about my anxiety ridden state - i was tired, weepy and looking for some enjoyment in this ride. I was prescribed lexapro and wellbutrin XL -two medications that are not compatible with milking. I was full of mixed emotion - tremendous sadness that now the choice had been taken away from me but the relief was palpable. I now felt that i had a legitimate excuse to stop breastfeeding. I look back now 4 months later and it saddens me that i went through this and felt that I had to cover it up. I wish i had loved breastfeeding, i wish that it hadnt been absolute agony. I wish that i had found a lactation consultant as my friend had that told me it was going to be hard at the start and i wasnt doing something wrong. Most of all i wish that i had had the strength when asked if i was nursing to say "no" and not feel the need to tell everyone that i was a little post partum nuts and needed the meds. I wish i didnt hide away until Olivia was 3 months old only feeding her in private so people didnt think that i was a bad mum because i was buying formula. These breastfeeding nazis need to know that we have enough guilt for the entire catholic community, we do not need it from you. If we are fortunate enough to get baby number 2, then yes, i will try again. Absolutely. However, i will never put myself under that pressure again. Bottle feeding allowed me to look into my daughter's eyes without pain and talk to her and sing to her whilst feeding. She's a mummy's girl just like her mummy was. My mum didnt breastfeed me and you couldn't get a closer mummy and daughter. She is my best friend. It's funny, i still feel like i am justifying my decision. Maybe I am. Here are the facts. I hated breastfeeding. I wish i hadn't. I will try again. I met a lady recently who asked me if i was nursing and when i began to explain she quickly cut me off and told me that she had stopped straight away, it wasn't for her and that was that. This lady is my hero. Thank you LP.
So, there you have it...in conclusion, i have a healthy baby girl who is formula fed!

okay, BF nazis...go have a field day on me...inbetween lifting your tshirt for your 8 year old child to nurse...;)

Poop Happens

Mums never have time to poop. In fact, i barely have time to pee. I usually have to run out of the room singing Olivia's name as i go and then as soon as i hear the "where's mummy?" whimper, i'll sing "i'm cooominggg, oliiiviaaaaa" before hurrying back to her pulling my pants up as i go and wiping my wet hands on them as i hurry back in.  As for eating, well, I can only assume that this is another brilliant trick by Mother Nature - eat as much as you can in those pregnancy months because you'll be starving for the next couple of years. A bit like a squirrel storing nuts...

Yes, yes, my daughter naps - in fact, she's as low maintenance as they come (or so I am led to believe) but when babies nap it is golden time. I don't want to be cooking for myself. I'm either going to do one of the following things - brush my teeth, do laundry, pick up the apartment, email friends that think i have dropped off the planet or most importantly nap myself. I think this is where stay at home moms get a bad deal because people assume that we can just sleep during the day while they are slaving at work. Let me paint you the other side. Our job does not come with a lunch break, hometime, vacation days or even sick days to call upon when things get too much. We are on call 24/7 and get paid in kind. It's the greatest job in the world but also the hardest. I had no idea. I had a rude awakening. It's a simple as that. Do you know what i miss? That giddy feeling you would get at around 3 or 4pm on  a work day when you knew that 5 o'clock was just around the corner. You know the feeling - you get a sudden lift and let people go ahead of you at the copier, deliver other people's fax cover sheets. If it's a Friday or a long weekend you may even talk to people in the stall next to you in the restroom. It's fleeting but magical. That's it. That's what i miss. 

Anyway, back to me starving - literally wasting away here...so, when i was at Costco...which incidentally is my new favorite place - my bathroom cupboards are now stocked with a 10 pack of toothpaste, 6 electric toothbrushes, 24 razors and 5 deodorants. Amazing. Incidentally, how long does it take you to get through a roll on stick deodorant? I use mine daily and roll back and forth say 5 times on each pit and it still takes me months. I think i have enough deodorant for perhaps 3 years. Please let me know if i am missing some vital deodorant etticute here. Ok, so as i wandered around Costco I found power bars, energy bars, trail mix bars etc. Brilliant, i thought. A fool proof way for moms to eat quickly and on the go. I grabbed a box and headed into the sunset. Yesterday, absolutely bloody marvellous. Was twice as effective given my new sustenance. Today, well, as I was munching away on these little monkeys I realized that they were Fiber One bars - yep, a single power bar has 33% of your daily fiber allowance. I have had 3 already today. 

Remember what i had said about not having time to poop? I am now hollering the Grand Old Duke of York from the bathroom at Olive. She even accompanied me in her stroller earlier. 

So, there you go - and so the eternal quest continues - what do moms eat that's simple, healthy and quick to grab?

On a side note, I am thankful for the 28 pack of toilet rolls i bought at Costco.

Revolutionary Road

I'm sitting looking down at my body. Is it my body? Good lord! My breasts - my beautiful once perky breasts that once stood to attention are now permanently at ease. My pouch that once incubated my little girl stares back at me. My boobs are actually sitting, nay, resting on my tummy as i type - too lazy to just sit still, they are passed out, lying comatose on the top roll of my post baby body. Ahh, yes, of course it is worth it. Blah. Blah. Let's call that a given. My daughter is without a doubt the greatest blessing I will ever receive...but let's call a spade a spade. It's an all out assault on the female body. If you are one of those women whose stomach went straight back to being flat, then i can only assume that you had that little sucker pop out early and scheduled a tummy tuck with that C section. Either that or you are just one of those horrid women...I met one the other day...lemme tell you...

So, i was at a 4th July party. I know noone, i just moved here remember...all my husband's friends. We arrive and within 5 minutes the men are outside the front of the house checking out a souped up classic car sucking on beer from a cooler (suburbia is standing outside the front of the house) while I am abandoned in a room of new mothers drinking bottles of water because two of them had run a half marathon that morning ( i dont even have time to do a TaeBo DVD) and the other was a bonified wetnurse. Sure, i'll take a water...and a valium...thanks! After being handed my red, white and blue plastic beaker with my name neatly applied on the side. Yes, that's paula. P-a-u-l-a..i mean, there are 8 of us at this bbq - know your guests. As i take the water from the host's hand i realize that everything is red, white and blue. The napkins, the cupcakes, the frosting, the hair ties in the toddler's hair and then i see that the other women have also dressed in accordance. I am dressed in my trademark black, it's slimming, i like it and i'm in mourning for my life. I digress.  I chortle...Oh, did i miss the memo on the dress code? Tumbleweed #1. They look at me, look at each other and then look down at themselves before acting like it is a surprise. Really. I mean, really. Well, as the Brit in the room, it kinda makes sense for me to wear black today...it was all planned, honest...i smile. Tumbleweed #2. They smile and then move onto a conversation about frosting. oh lord - i feel like i am in the real desperate housewives of Portland or Wilsonville, or wherever i am...somewhere off some highway in a cul de sac of homes that look like something out of a Tim Burton movie. The rest of the day drags. I am "introduced" to a drink of champagne( fizzy wine) and cranberry juice and given the calorie content of various other entities. I hear you can buy great baby blankets at "Nordy's".  I could in detail describe the nurseries and baby shower gifts each of these women received and of course the birth experiences...except they weren't like any I have shared with women before - you know about enemas, hemerrhoids, peeing under the epidural and thinking your waters had broken. Nope, this was all about how easy it was, who had the quickest push and the least stitches. At one point I started laughing and asked what they all talked about before the babies came...tumblewed #3

Then one of these skinny sunbed hags tells me nlot to worry that my baby is chunky. Her 3 year old was chunky and even now is fat. Umm, i'm not worried, i say. She's super healthy and i love those extra folds (folds are a must on babies). Who calls their 3 old fat except for a tummy tucked scrag? This same devil lady (who is also a BF nazi but don't get me started on that) when reprimanding her obese toddler (!) utters the words"if you say that again I will pop you in the mouth!" umm, not sure i read that in What to Expect. I decide in a room of 4 people to never speak to this woman again. Of course i do, i keep trying to charm her (have i misunderstood her?) but no, she's just horrid. Have decided. WILL NOT BEFRIEND HER ON FB. EVER. 

ANYWAY, these were some of the first moms i met in Oregon. As we drove away and I ranted to Tom, he said, so, i guess you didnt enjoy yourself? An image of our old life in NYC flashed before me, carefree, inebriated, funny...not necessarily in that order. Honey, you would have been more worried if i had, i answered.