Browsing Tag

mother’s day

when moms take baby steps
Parenting

When Moms Take Baby Steps

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Last weekend I went to my first baby shower in many moons…. ever since I said “goodnight moon” to breeding some 15 years ago.

The mom-to-be is in her ninth month; as I watched her drape tiny onesies, precious caps, baby gangstah hoodies, miniature t-shirts and wee shorts over her built-in clothes rack belly, I couldn’t help but let out a few involuntary gasps.

Not because the of wardrobe — although who knew that giraffes were the gender-neutral IT creature of the infant set nowadays? — but because of all the amazing things my mommy-to-be friend has to look forward to:

  • That feeling you get when you hold that previous tiny bundle in your hands for the first time and are hit by a zillion pound realization that NOTHING will ever be the same.
  • The first feeding, when “doing what comes natural” and breastfeeding is actually not all that natural, it turns out. Nor is almost anything maternal that you thought you knew. Much like Jon Snow, your little Wildling is proof positive that you know nothing.
  • Being annoyed in the hospital by the nurses waking you once or twice during the night to feed your newborn… only to realize once you get home that was the last good night’s sleep you had… ever again. Or at least it’ll feel that way.
  • Getting into a routine with the baby, which not only takes time but is also at the expense of all other routines — work, “alone time” with your partner, hanging out with your friends, your personal hygiene regime, your workouts, getting back into your non-maternity wear and well, everything.
  • Projectile poop. It’s a rite of passage, y’all.
  • The feeling that the only book you’ll finish reading ever again is the aforementioned Good Night, Moon. Even Dr. Seuss feels like heavy lifting in the early days. And forget that stack of magazines, newspapers and your own books, too. Your “mommy brain” is a combo platter of sleep deprivation, abject terror from looking up everything in the What to Expect… books and hormones. For all those aspiring dictators out there, if you could bottle the essence of mommy brain, you would NEVER be challenged because nobody would ever be able to read, think or effectively function other than burping, changing diapers, rocking and pacing around in circles with the ultimate goal of getting to nap time.

The list could easily go on, but the point is this: the initiation into motherhood has NOTHING to do with taking baby steps. It is all about a magnificent yet terrifying leap from the Mountain of Self into a deep, endless Sea of We. (Sea of Wee?)

For the first few years, things are a total blur. For example, one time in a total sleep deprived haze at a kiddie concert in Prospect Park, Brooklyn, I can remember begging my mother-in-law to promise me that things would get easier.

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where the time goes
Best o’ the Bitch, Parenting

Moms, Here’s Where the Time Goes

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Where did the time go?

You know what I’m saying — it feels like just yesterday that gorgeous girl who looks like a princess in her strapless prom gown was a toddler playing dress-up. That handsome young dude holding up his driver’s license was last seen playing with trucks on the living room floor. Even the dog who used to have a thick, dark coat that gleamed in the sun when she romped and played is sporting grays and spends hot days napping instead of frolicking.

Where does the time go? is the popular refrain when we look at pictures of our growing, growing, (sniff) gone babies.

As we age especially, time feels like an over-caffeinated bitch, speeding away and laughing at you as it leaves you in the dust desperately trying to figure out where the hell it went.

Neuroscientists like David Eagleman have good explanations for why this is  — beginning with the fact that the passage of time is a perception, not a clear-cut sensory experience like smell, touch, taste, and sight. While these faculties reside in distinct areas in the brain, time is embedded throughout the senses  — for example, in the persistence of a smelly diaper, the eternity of a screaming child’s temper tantrum, or the endless throb of a finger burnt when hurrying to make dinner.

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The Bitch'in Manifesto word cloud
Parenting

The Bitch’in Moms Manifesto

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This year for Mother’s Day, I wanted to give my peeps something truly Bitch’in… so I’ll leave delivering the sweet cards, bath products, scented candles, flowers, chocolates, and soothing herbal tea assortments to your family.

Instead, I bring you THE BITCH’IN MOMS’ MANIFESTO:

1. We Love. It begins and ends right there. A mother’s love is unconditional, but we don’t forget that applies to ourselves too. (In other words, we make time to do things like take showers or join the roller derby.) That’s a WHOLE LOTTA LOVE.

2. We Embrace Impermanence. Ages and phases, as they say — this applies to our kids and us. Life is flux; resistance is futile. So do we do our best to hang on to the shit that really matters, like our values, and let the rest of it roll. Seriously, we bitch’in moms know how to LET IT GO.

3. We Know Perfect is a State of (An Unstable) Mind. Imperfection is where the creativity, excitement, and joy are found. This doesn’t mean we don’t strive for perfection; we just recognize that it’s not about the destination, it’s all ABOUT THE JOURNEY.

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And now a word from our Mother's Days sponsors...
Bitch’in Life, Parenting

Mommentary for Mother’s Day

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As a “popular mom blogger,” I am uniquely qualified to shoot some mommentary your way on what this whole motherhood shebang means nowadays, particularly around our “official “holiday, Mother’s Day.

I’m actually kinda filled to the gills lately, having just attended the Mom 2.0 Summit — a business conference where approximately 450 breeders and people who wanted to reach those procreators gathered to network, interact with brands/corporations/media companies, and absorb a ton of amazing information from those whose businesses are for parents and by parents.

What made this conference particularly intriguing was that the Wall Street Journal had just published an article called, “The Mommy Business Trip.” A  “moms gone wild” puff piece about the big biz of mom blog conferences, the author made her case about how women left to our own devices go insane: we Tweet pics of ourselves having fun (vs. making meatloaf, I suppose), raid the minibar, and run amok with the television remote. (No cartoons for a day – that’s right, we’re so cray-cray!) Yup, big perks for slacker moms looking for an “easy” way to ditch the family for a few days.

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Mother Earth is one of my BBFs
My Bitches

Mothertruckers

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My knee is throbbing a little bit this morning, and that’s a good thing. It’s better than a torn vagina, and probably less painful. Still, it’s a battle scar from my most recent adventure chasing the dragon.

The dragon is not something illicit, but it is intoxicating: it’s the knowledge that you can conquer something huge, intimidating, primal, and powerful through one decisive action. Like childbirth, for example. A personal challenge that you have no choice but to go into head-on, knowing nothing other than the fact that you will be a very different person on the other side.

Every since I pushed the first puppy out, I’ve been exhausted, overwhelmed, and in a constant state of flux. The old “ages and phases” maxim holds true: as soon as I think I have my footing, there’s another incline, another push in a new direction, a sensation of starting over. Does is surprise anyone, then, that for the last couple of years my BBFs and I have been road-tripping to chase the dragon with a goal set so impossibly high there’s nothing else we can do besides put one foot in front of the other, just as our foremothers did, as we conquer Mother Earth’s impressive challenges?

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