DRESS HELL

It's pretty depressing when the best and most flattering dress in your closet is a MATERNITY one (but just for the record, it is a Dianne Von Furstenberg and it's fucking gorgeous.). I wore it all last summer when we had an event one weekend after the next and I was ten thousand months pregnant. But now, Mommy is not preggers and is in need of some major dress action.... We have a black tie wedding next weekend and a bar mitzvah the weekend after that, and then in October (yes, it's still 3 months away but still), we are going back to Maui for my brother in law's wedding (complete with rehearsal dinners and all). 

So after taking Baby-Ko to his favorite park today, I decided to go to my favorite "park" (a.k.a. Nordstrom) and do a little shopping... But let me just say this: the days of trying on clothes, and standing in front of the mirror and examining every last curve and detail are a thing of the past, my friends. Now, as I try to hoist my TWTs into slinky dresses (that will without a doubt require maximum strength Spanx), I ALSO must keep an eye out for Baby-Ko who feels quite at home on the floor of the dressing room .... acting as a human lint brush as he rolls around, using his fine motor skills  to pick up shmutz. (Honestly though, his pincer grasp technique is quite impressive. He could pick up a piece of dust if he wanted to). ANYWAY, fortunately my Aunt N was with me and to help entertain Baby-Ko and "yay/nay" dresses as I sped through try-ons.  After about 12 dresses, in 12 different sizes ("designer" dresses do run smaller right?SAY "RIGHT," bitches),  I found a nice and affordable BCBG dress in navy with black trim that can work for both the Bar Mitzvah and formal wedding.... And on my way out, spotted (and bought) a darling Anna Sui scarf print chiffon dress perfect for Maui that was marked down ten times and covered all potential areas of back fat. Mommy scored.

Feeling very lucky (and perhaps insane), I then went on to do the dumbest thing: I decided to try on old dresses in my closet AFTER dinner. Obviously, I realize that the 8 pound tire around my waist did not occur within the 10 minutes that I devoured my turkey dog (with grilled onions, pickles and chips) from The Stand. But I didn't think it would stop EVERY single fucking dress with a zipper from working (okay, from FITTING).   Your back is not fatter. It's just different. Being pregnant made you different. From head to toe.

Well, I don't want to feel "different" anymore. So Monday, ladies and gentlemen, mama's gonna start watching it. I have signed up for this 30day/30 minute fitness plan and I do expect to see results. There are, however, some things on my body that may stay "different" forever. But, man, if this chick could make my feet one size smaller again, I'm pretty sure I could find a fabulous pair of shoes for both occasions... Okay, maybe two pairs....

SEX AND THE SHOES...

With my five year anniversary approaching next week, I have been racking my brain trying to think of a great gift for T-Ko (preferably one that doesn't involve killing hookers). And considering that I just spent a small fortune on the said XBox 360, I would love to find something that doesn't break the bank and/or lead to future marital problems...

Well, ironically, this morning on the Today Show there was a follow up segment about this couple who wrote a book about having SEX 101 DAYS IN A ROW. Yes, in a row. No excuses. No ifs, ands, or "butts." As I listened to the couple brag to Meredith Vieira about their sex life, I noticed how happy and glow-y they both looked. The wife looked like she had just returned from a tropical vacation and the husband looked like he was ready to do his wife right then and there. Then I noticed the chyrons on the bottom of the screen: "Frequent Sex = Better Sleep".... and "Frequent Sex= Fewer Colds or Flu." Seriously?? I want to sleep better. I want to feel better. I want to look better. Can frequent sex also help lift my tribeswoman tits? I mean, these people were making sex sound like a miracle drug. Count me in.

I was about to pick up the phone to call T-Ko to tell him he was about to get the best anniversary gift of his life, when reality struck and annoyance set in. The couple was talking about making the effort to have sex (despite exhaustion or something like that) and the husband said "... but an hour later, when we were done...." - WHOAH. Hold up. ONE HOUR? Really??? One WHOLE hour? Like from start to finish?? Does that INCLUDE foreplay and the essential trip to the bathroom afterwards? One hour? Really. Good for you. Good. For. You. I'm exhausted just thinking about it.

Then suddenly, my attention shifted. The camera went wide and I noticed Meredith Vieira's SHOES. Ooh. Where do I know those shoes from? The peep toe... the high high heel... the red sole... Ahh, yes. Christian Louboutins... I stared at them for a good 2 minutes yesterday at Nordstrom... Now THOSE would make a great gift. After all, there are SOME things that are better than sex.....

NEVER SAY NEVER

If I had a dime for every time I used to say "When I have a baby, I will never ______" and then actually DO "the never" once I had a baby of my OWN, I'd be a very rich girl. Well, today, I think I managed to do every "never" I have EVER declared...

I had plans today to take my BFF to lunch for her birthday. I suggested we go to the Little Next Door because I have never been and because, let's face it, 3rd street is a hell of a lot cooler than Ventura Blvd. As usual, my 8 1/2 month old partner in crime was in tow. As I shlepped the diaper bag and the world's biggest stroller ever up the block, I prayed that Baby-Ko would put on his "city" face and play it cool for the next hour or so while mommy enjoyed her expensive salad and french pressed coffee with her friend. Of course, due to a top tooth cutting through, Baby-Ko was not so willing to play along.

As Baby-Ko fussed and squirmed in his stroller, then in my arms, then in my BFF's arms, I began to panic. He was on the verge of a major meltdown so I had to pull out all the stops and began to commit a series of "nevers" one after the next.... I let him play with utensils, I let him bang his maraca on the table, I let him eat cheerios to his hearts content, I let him play with an old bottle of water in my bag... But when those "toys" no longer interested him, I went into DEFCON 5 and gave him MY CELL PHONE. Despite the fact that it's probably made with lead paint AND the cover is missing ( completely exposing the lithium battery) my cell phone was, for a brief period, the ONLY thing keeping us from getting dirty stares.

Halfway through our meal, a very pretty, tall, tan mom (PTTM) walked in and sat down near us. She was there with her mom (I think) and her 16 month old daughter who immediately spotted Baby-Ko. When he saw the little girl, he immediately wanted to get off my lap and on to the floor where she was. He let out a huge screech and without even thinking about it, I sat him on the floor... The patio FLOOR of a fucking restaurant, where he pat, pat, patted the floor (like the bunny). For a brief second he was happy, making googly eyes at the girl and feeling free of my arms. But when the little girl wouldn't relinquish whatever little toy she had in her hands, he lost his shit again. SO, I picked him up and offered my cell, AGAIN. My BFF, who was probably embarrassed at this point, suggested we "maybe get the bill?"

After Baby-Ko threw (my now broken phone) on the ground for the 10th time, the PTTM shook her head said to me, "It makes you wonder why we do it..."
"Hmm," I laughed politely. Wonder why we do it....? I mean, I know she was commiserating, but I have to say, I have never "wondered" or questioned "why we do it"- why we have babies... I KNOW why we do it.
I do it because there is nothing more precious then feeling his breath on my cheek when he falls asleep in my arms...
I do it because his thighs are so delicious, I have to stop myself from taking a bite.
I do it because the sound of his giggle is infectious.
I do it because I have never seen anyone enjoy a cheerio so much.
I do it because despite the fact that I feel like I'm constantly disheveled, that I can no longer "do lunch" (certainly not in Hollywood anyway), that my tribeswoman tits are such pancakes that I might even enjoy a mammogram, and that my cell phone, aviators, AND iPod now belong to an 8 month old, I am completely and utterly in love.... and would NEVER trade it for the world....

MUFFIN TOP

Ladies and Gentlemen, I have an announcement please....

I. WENT. TO. THE. GYM. TODAY.

I do believe a "mazel tov" and even a "l'chaim" are due. The List God's Nanny is here today and along with getting some writing done and going to Target, getting my fat ass to the gym was high on my priority list. NOW, before you go burning my spanks, I suppose I need to come clean about my little "fitness routine" at the gym today...

Even though the Nanny is here, I didn't want to be gone too long so I decided to go to the ghetto gym closer to my house. The other one I usually go to isn't exactly fancy, but it's always crowded... Every machine is taken by gorgeous wannabe actors and actresses with killer bods. I used to go to that one and feel inspired, but this morning, trying to stuff my tribeswoman tits into my sports bra, was all the inspiration I needed. (More on breastfeeding in another post... maybe).

When I get to the ghetto gym, a wave of nervousness comes over me. First of all, it's packed. Second of all, there are young, good-looking people here. What the fuck?! Wannabe's don't live this far out in the valley! I spot an open treadmill behind a great big post, next to the only elderly person in the gym. I push the "manual workout" button and it automatically sets the clock for 20 minutes. Perfect, that's all I got in me. (Shut up, I walked fast. Very fast. Up hill... )

After my 20-minute fat-man-heart-attack-walk, I grab my belongings and jump off the treadmill. Behind my treadmill was a row of old school Stairmasters.... This guy gives me a look and then looks at my treadmill, as if to say "you were only on for 20 minutes? Seriously??" Quickly, I spot an open bicycle and leap towards it, hoping this guy sees me get on it, as if to say, "fuck you. I'm far from done with my workout."

As I start pedaling, I realize how lame I am... especially because I'm only going to put in another 5 minutes. (I have a lot to do today!) My 5 minutes are up before my Ipod even shuffles to another song and I jump off. Yes! Time to hit Target. Workout complete. I grab my purse and as I stand up, I feel more stares from all the women on the precor machines. "5 Minutes?! You really think you'll lose your MUFFIN TOP working out like a stroke victim after 5 minutes?"

Whatever. I have a baby at home whose need for diapers is far more important than fulfilling the recommended 30 minutes of cardio a day... I think. Plus, I'm still breastfeeding. I've heard a breastfeeding woman can burn like 600 calories a day- that's equivalent to a spin class. Precor, THAT, bitches.