Belly Bandit.

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Today I ordered myself a Belly Bandit. Well, I actually ordered two Belly Bandits, because you’re supposed to wear it for 6-8 weeks postpartum and if the thing works (AND IT BETTER), then I should go down a size during that period of time.

I followed the instructions and referred to the sizing chart and felt somewhat surprised that my stomach is only 46 inches around at the widest point. It feels more like 66, but I measured it twice. Anyway … after much internet research I finally decided that it would be worth the money to compress my midsection with some kind of garment after this baby arrives. It is, after all, my third. There is no telling what kind of wreckage I will be left with.

http://www.bellybandit.com

The website annoys me because — for starters — do I look anything like this girl? NO. Also, the people in the “testimonial” section look like half-starved models, not normal people like me with cellulite. But it’s okay … we’ll all know in a few months whether or not I just wasted $100 of Husband’s hard-earned money on compression garments.  

In my fantasy world, I imagine him getting all pumped up after selling a car and telling his co-workers “YES!! Now Harmony can afford to get her spider veins zapped off!” Or, “YES!! Now Harmony can go to the spa!” Or like today, in my fantasy world, he will say to someone “I am so glad I’m having a good month so Harmony could buy not ONE but TWO Belly Bandits!”

I know this isn’t what happens. But I would love to hear Husband say “compression garment.” Just once.

36 Weeks.

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I’m 36 weeks pregnant. My body is pretty much begging for mercy at this point. Up until about a week ago, I was telling people that I needed every day I could possibly get before Penelope was born because I didn’t feel ready to deal, and that I hoped she didn’t arrive early. 

But then. 

All of the sudden.
 
I went from pretty miserable to BEYOND UNCOMFORTABLE and I’m ready for her to get out. My pregnancy buddy (who was also pregnant with her third child) had her son last week, three weeks early, and now I am insanely jealous that she gets to hold her baby instead of feeling his bones grind against hers every time she bends over to pick something up. This probably won’t happen to me, early delivery. I’ll likely carry this baby every single one of the 280 days that 40 weeks of pregnancy entails, as my skin continues to stretch into oblivion.

But you know … there’s Asher, my sweet, sweet boy, who is soon to be ousted from his position as baby of the family to forgotten middle child. He’s only 20 months old, but he knows something is UP. I keep finding him looking at a book we have in our house called “Baby On The Way.”

And he keeps doing this:
 

 And looking at me like this:


And it makes me feel a whole bunch of things. First of all, no one is allowed to make him the “forgotten middle child.” I will make sure of it, and probably cause a lot of damage in the process. Also, I’m worried he is about to go from being my sweet, sweet boy to some sort of hellion I don’t know what to do with. Becoming the middle child might ruin him, and that would be devastating.

Thirdly, for Asher’s sake, I hope his sister doesn’t arrive for exactly 27 more days. June 14. And maybe a little bit for my sake too, because today I tried my hardest to soak up all of the sweetness I could from my sons and I felt like I couldn’t get enough of them. I wanted to stop time. Which is a feeling very unfamiliar to me. I never feel like that. Ever. My days are typically so long that sometimes it feels like some kind of torture, and when people tell me to “enjoy every moment” I want to say “ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND?! MY MOMENTS DRAG ON FOR ETERNITY!”  

But not today.

Today, even with the fits and the crying and the frustration that comes with parenting a 4-year-old and a toddler, I really soaked them in. I have two wonderful kids. None of us are perfect, but I don’t say enough how happy I am to be their mother. I don’t know what kind of shit is about to hit the fan in my house, but right now — despite the fact that I can’t take a full breath or sleep more than 2 hours in a row at night without getting a leg cramp or having to get up and pee — everything is good.

Let’s keep it that way, family. 27 more days, give or take. Let’s finish strong.
  

First World Embarrassment.

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My due date is a month from today. 

I woke up this morning and upon realizing the date, my heart started racing and I jumped out of bed and started doing things. As I have mentioned, if I don’t finish my to-do list before Pepper arrives, the Earth is going to open up and swallow us all. ALL OF US WILL GO INTO A BLACK HOLE. Why doesn’t anyone but me realize this?!?! That is the urgency that I feel when I think about things like organizing the laundry room cabinets.

Yesterday’s project was cleaning up the carseat, which has so far carried two of our children safely. I took it all apart and wiped it down, washed the covers, put it all back together and then put a new cover on top of the old one and some fluffy strap covers and — WHEW! — I am one step farther from being swallowed up whole. 

Ready to go!

People, nesting is a real force beyond my control. Want to know what else is? First World Problems combined with pregnancy brain, which according to my calculations equals First World Embarrassment.

This morning I decided to go to Starbucks before dropping the kids off at preschool. This is Asher’s last day of school (tomorrow is Maverick’s last day), and that means these next sweet hours of me alone in my house with the Avett Brothers playing on Pandora will be my last sweet hours alone for a very, VERY long time. Nothing could make me enjoy it more than a big cup of overpriced coffee. We may have a tight budget, but OH — I make room for overpriced coffee. 

So I put a Yo Gabba Gabba DVD in the player and off we went. I used to judge parents who allowed their children to watch too much TV and I especially judged the ones who had a TV in their car. I thought, “Can those people really not handle a 20 minute drive without TV?” Well, the answer is no. No, we cannot. Because those 20 minutes of silent driving without having to answer questions like, “Mommy, do hogs eat bugs?” is just so, so SWEET. And if I am slightly damaging my children’s brains, it’s counterbalanced by the fact that my sanity is slightly improved during that drive.

I mean … look at this.

Watching Yo Gabba Gabba!

Anyway, I pulled up to the drive-thru window and handed the lady my money and this is when the First World Embarrassment occurred. She turned away to get my drink and I really don’t know what happened except that I literally am not thinking straight … I started singing (loudly) along with the Yo Gabba Gabba DVD, right there at the window, for all of Starbucks to enjoy.

“Don’t! Don’t! Don’t bite your friends!”
“Don’t! Don’t! Don’t bite your friends!”
“Bite, bite, bite! No, no, no!”
“Chomp chomp chomp! Yes, yes, yes!”

Around the last stanza I realized what I was doing and immediately stopped, but the damage had already been done. So I overcompensated for my First World Embarrassment by shutting the DVD player off and making my children listen to Top 40 music instead, and therefore we returned to Maverick asking a stream of questions like “Mommy, the lady on the song said she doesn’t care. Why doesn’t she care?”

“Well … this is a band called Icona Pop. And she is just being silly, she didn’t really crash anyone’s car or throw their stuff down the stairs …” 

And, that’s a lie. 

Damnit. 

  

First World Problems.

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I’m thinking of starting a new series on my blog called “First World Problems.”  

Here is my first First World Problem: my mother-in-law bought me a Groupon for three hours of house cleaning a few months ago. It was right around the time that I gave up completely on cleaning my bathrooms, so it was excellent timing. 

I have been trying to schedule an appointment with these people and finally took their “first available” opening. Because I am pregnant and everything is a big effing deal I stressed for an entire day over whether or not I should stay in the house with Asher while she cleaned, or if we should leave. Should I take what little valuable jewelry I own with me? Should I hide it? Am I being crazy? I should wash our bath rugs. Right now.  

Things of that nature.

To make a long and boring story short, the girl got in a car wreck on her way to my house and had to reschedule for today. So for the second time in less than a week, I went through the house and cleared the floor of toys, hid our important paperwork and pulled all of the towels out of the bathrooms. I crammed a few items in my purse that have value. I woke Asher up from his nap early and left the house for several hours in the pouring rain so we wouldn’t be in the girl’s way while she cleaned.

I left a key for her.

It was a car key.

Her phone was dead so she couldn’t call, and when I got home with two cranky kids I found a note with the CAR KEY I left and an apology to me that she couldn’t open my door.

My second First World problem is that I can’t back out of my driveway because I seem to have lost my ability to drive. I fully expect to get pulled over for suspected drunk driving at some point soon. Here is a conversation I had with Maverick this morning when we were leaving for school:

Maverick: “We have to be nice to the plants. It’s our job to take care of them.”

Me: “Mmm hmm.”

Maverick: “So is petting them with your car nice? Because you just ran through our grass and petted that bush with the van.” 

My third First World Problem is that Husband and I swapped phones and I really don’t know how to explain what has happened … except to say that every single picture I ever took with my old iPhone is now downloaded to our computer, including pictures like this.

 
 And this.

 
 And this one here.

You see … I text pictures to my girlfriends sometimes, either for entertainment’s sake, or to make a point, or because I need a helpful opinion — like this series of photos below. I asked my friend who is a scarf guru to help me tie a scarf correctly, and that explains why I have all of these pictures. Not that it’s any less embarrassing once you know the explanation.
 


I think this last one was me showing another mom what some sunglasses and a stern look can do. It frightens children, that’s what. I’m just grateful that Husband didn’t ask for an explanation for anything that he saw. I figure he either didn’t want to know, or just didn’t care. But seriously … if I found something like this on his phone, I’d have some questions.

 

 
  

Tirade Time.

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Everyone on Facebook is all riled up over this article, where the CEO of Abercrombie & Fitch flat-out says they don’t want overweight or ugly people wearing their clothes. Also, he states why they only hire very good-looking employees — because, and I quote — “good-looking people attract other good-looking people, and we want to market to cool, good-looking people. We don’t market to anyone other than that.”

Hmmm.

This store has been around for a long time. I remember shopping there in high school, back when they still carried a size 12. I liked their jeans because they were roomy in the ass. Apparently now the largest size they offer is a 10 in women’s, and that size is waaaaaaaay high up on the shelves so you, the fatso who requires a size 10, are forced to ask for help from one of the good-looking sales people. Oh, the shame.

Reading that Abercrombie caters to skinny and pretty people doesn’t outrage or shock me in the least. I mean … duh. They have had chiseled male models standing shirtless in their doorway for years now. I do find it amusing that the man in charge is so open with his douchery. Also, the fact that the company is being accused of “body elitism” makes me laugh. Hello … what about all of the designers who don’t go above a size 6? What about MODELS? What about “vanity sizing,” where a size 6 is actually the size of a 10 (I’m looking at you, GAP), and you keep going back to that store because shopping there makes you feel skinny? It’s all stupid. Stupid, stupid.

Note: I am about to go on a tirade. Keep in mind that this is what I am teaching my own children … you may disagree. And you know what? THAT IS OKAY. Study these abs for a moment before you continue. These are the abs of the Abercrombie models.

(source)

Begin tirade.

There is clearly a problem in this country. We all have it too easy and we feel “bullied” and want everyone to be treated nicely and we think everyone should get a blue ribbon because everyone is a winner. That’s not realistic. Everyone is not a winner. There is only one winner, and that is why there is only one first place.

I think we do a disservice to our kids by making them believe that they deserve a blue ribbon when they came in last. It’s okay to lose sometimes. It’s okay to be dressed differently. It’s okay to be fatter than the other kids. It’s okay to be skinnier than the other kids. Are you healthy? Do you have a talent? Then focus on that, for God’s sake. Everyone has some redeeming quality, but everyone is not beautiful or smart or exceptional. 

Sometimes there are stores that only want perfect people wearing their clothes. Sometimes you get made fun of. That’s life, and it goes to show how spoiled all of us are. There are people on this Earth who have no food or water, and we’re over here squabbling over whether it’s more attractive to have visible ribs, or abundant curves. I’m embarrassed for us all. Our hypersensitivity has made us weak.

There will always be douchebags wandering around telling you that you aren’t good enough. We can’t change them, but we can change how much we allow their opinion to affect our lives. Let this Jeffries guy be a total jerk. Let him waste away reeking of cologne, pumping his face full of chemicals in an effort to turn back time. He fits right in with millions of other people. WHO CARES. If everyone stopped shopping there and he went out of business right this minute, another douche would surely take his place. 

Shallow and horrible parents continue to spawn shallow and horrible children who will most likely terrorize my normal ones at some point in the future. My kids will want to wear whatever is cool and I have no idea if I will be able to afford to dress them in the cool stuff or not. Maybe they’re going to have to deal with being made fun of. Maybe they’ll have to get a job to pay for the clothes that they just have to have. Maybe my kids will never win a blue ribbon or be able to get a job at Abercrombie because they don’t fit the mold. 

I don’t care.  

I readily admit that bullying is wrong, but hypersensitive kids are the weak ones that will probably get bullied the most. Don’t send your child into the world feeling like they are owed something. They aren’t. Sometimes they will lose and you, their parent, need to be okay with that. Let them lose. Let them learn. Show them that it’s OKAY to FAIL, OMG. It’s OKAY to be WEIRD, OMG.

Teach them to be strong: in mind, body, and most importantly — SPIRIT — and it will be harder for the Abercrombies of the world to ruin their lives.

End tirade.