Blimps abound

While I was trying to coax Silas to sleep at two this morning, I was watching Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders 4. It's a show about the selection process (boot camp) of the Cowboys cheerleaders.

All the women are beautiful and not just thin but truly physically fit.

After one of the practices, the coaches (are they coaches? Judgmental demon women?) called back one of the girls for a bit of criticism. Most of the criticism is in reference to the girls' dance technique. However, this particular girl (blond hair and six pack abs with no cellulite in sight) was informed that if she wasn't careful, she might look "chunky" because she weighs 123, and the other girls weigh 112.

It put my friend's comment in perspective. I guess if the 123 lb girl who has given up pizza and chocolate didn't leave and slit her wrists after being called chunky, I should suck it up and get on a treadmill.

The Goodyear Blimp

Remember a few weeks ago when I was all full of confidence and self esteem? I believe I described myself as feeling "gorgeous."

This afternoon, a friend was trying to convey how fat this girl she had encountered was, and described her thusly: "She was big. I mean, she was bigger than YOU."

My God, I thought, call Goodyear. One of their blimps MUST be missing if there is a body out there floating around that's bigger than me.

Apparently my "you just had a baby" pass is up, and I better keep driving the next time I pass a Chick-fil-a.

You ARE the Father

I have tried to refrain from watching a bunch of junk TV while I have been off. Frankly, it's impossible. The temptation is just too strong.

What blows my mind is that people still go on shows like Maury. Who gets the news that their significant other wants to go on Maury and actually thinks it's a good idea to get on the plane? Boarding a plane is an involved process. Plenty of time to come to your senses and run screaming home.

You have to know that you have either been cuckolded (thank you Dr. Knudson for that vocabulary word) or you are going to have to take a parternity test. Shouldn't you just call your lawyer immediately and skip the public embarrassment?

It's not just the people being blindsided who confuse me. It's the people who pick up the phone and call to book the appearance.

What self-help book have these people failed to read that they think it's a good idea to drag someone on TV and say, "I cheated on you and little Henry may not be yours"? Talk about salt in the wound.

I guess I should stop being confused and remember that it sure does help pass the time between bottles and diapers.

My Silver Lining

My son is gorgeous, and I love him beyond words. However, he almost never sleeps between the hours of 11 pm and 4 am. So, sometimes my love does not translate to like (sometimes it's oh my God, what have I done, and why does Jesus hate me?!)

BUT today I found my silver lining when a lady with an enormous double stroller rolled into the pediatrician's office (i.e. she has twins). It then dawned on me that my life could be twice as exhausting, and that at least Jesus loves me more than he loves her. So, there's my silver lining.

So, this is being a grown up?

I have never felt like an adult. I still watch cartoons and play video games. Sometimes (read: ten minutes ago) I ruin my dinner with cupcakes. It took a substantial weight gain to stop me shopping in the juniors section. So, you see my point.

However, I have a baby now, and I figure one of us has to be a grown up. So, I've been taking steps (um, well step).

Step 1. Watch the news.

Growing up, I remember my grandmother watching the news at every broadcast. At the time I found it to be the most boring, grown up thing in the world. Therefore, that has been step one in making Michelle an adult.

Other people seem very impressed. When I contributed to a conversation about something going on in the news instead of saying, "you know I don't watch the news," Emma nearly fell off her chair, and my chest puffed all up with pride.

I'll let you know when I figure out step two.

I make people

Since this was not my first pregnancy, I know that I am supposed to hate my body now. The stretch marks and c-section scar and loose skin and extra pounds are supposed to make me cry (don't worry, I'm watching enough Oprah to meet my tear quota).

Trouble is, I don't feel disgusting, I feel gorgeous. I feel like I can do anything. I made a PERSON. Yes, he cries and makes me get out of bed when I would rather be asleep, and yes he pees on me (and in his own eye), and yes he costs a lot of money. But he is a whole person, and my body helped make that happen.

That is reason in itself to feel beautiful every day for the rest of my life. Stretch marks and cellulite be damned. I make people.

Sent from my iPhone

New rule

I'm back. Tomorrow marks the two week anniversary of me becoming a mother. Thus far I've learned that the key to success is figuring out how to function (don't drop the baby) on a series of naps ranging from 30 minutes (yes, sometimes he sleeps for 30 minutes between screaming fits) and four hours (only once, and I kissed him so much when I woke up that he seemed a little put out).

Also, I have a new pet peeve (as if I needed any more). Let me preface this by saying that Michael is every bit as awesome as I knew he would be. He jumps up to make bottles, he runs my errands, and he finds all the little things about Silas as amusing as I do (because really if it's not your kid, you don't care to hear my anecdotes, so Michael is my only outlet). When he wakes up to me (and Silas) bawling at 3 in the morning and me lamenting that I really suck at this, he assures me that I'm doing fine. So, over all, he gets an A.

However, he has begun going to work for an hour or so and then coming home to rest before going back to finish (beauty of being self-employed). What's the problem with that you ask? I'll tell you: if I have managed in that hour he is gone to get the baby to settle down and am catching one of my naps, he wakes me up to let me know he's home. WTF? Don't care. Will figure it out when Silas starts hollering again. No need for a play by play.

New rule: if I'm alseep and Silas is fine, leave me alone. If you call/text/email, and I don't respond, I'm asleep or elbow deep in poop/vomit and will get back to you at Silas' convenience.