Thursday, June 23, 2005

sleep when the baby sleeps? what a freakin' crock.

Motherhood, although generally fantastic, involves a level of sleep deprivation that would be difficult for most mortals to stomach. But when you are someone like me who absolutely NEEDS and MUST HAVE her 8-9 hours of sleep per night, motherhood can be a beeotch with a capital B.

People always tell you "Sleep when the baby sleeps." With few exceptions, I haven't been able to do this successfully. And trust me, I've tried. But the minute I lie down and try to catch some shut-eye, I begin thinking about one or more of the following items:

1) The baby will wake up any minute.
2) The gigantic pileup of dirty dishes in the sink.
3) The equally gigantic pileup of dirty laundry.
4) The numerous phone calls I need to make and/or return.
5) I wonder what's on Ellen this afternoon?
6) Did Katie Holmes really convert to Scientology?

... and so on. However, amazingly, I have learned to function on a serious sleep deficit (in no small part due to the two nectars of the gods, coffee and Diet Coke). As I've said before, it's all about lowering your standards.

So now, I've pretty much given up on napping. I spend my napless days reading Us Weekly magazine, filing my nails, bidding on random eBay auctions, perusing sale items at the Gap online and watching Ellen -- not doing the dishes or the laundry.

And you know, it's almost as fun as sleep.


Tuesday, June 14, 2005

we interrupt our regularly scheduled program: an interview with undercover celebrity

Allow me to deviate from the project plan I laid out two posts ago so I can join the interview game and answer the questions posed to me by Undercover Celebrity.

Question 1: What’s the worst/most humiliating job you’ve ever had?
This is easily answered by simply stating the name of the store in which I worked in high school: H&H Tack and Feed. I was a cashier at said establishment, and spent my time a) selling alfalfa to all the rich people who owned horses, and b) trying on various pairs of Wranglers and cowboy boots with my co-workers. (For fun. Not to actually purchase. When you work at a store like H&H Tack and Feed, you must maintain a sense of humor at all times).

Now although I would give H&H the title of worst job, I have to add an honorable mention. My first job out of college was as a technical writer at a medical device company. And when I say "medical device," I really mean breast implants. At this job, I wrote manufacturing procedures and marketing materials for all our various implants. The pro of this job is that I am now quite adept at recognizing implants when I see them. The con was that I was forced to spend a lot of time cashing my paychecks at the bank they were drawn on, then going to my own bank to deposit the cash in my account. This company was notorious for giving employees bad checks, in turn causing them to bounce any checks they wrote.

Question 2: Would you rather be 4-feet tall or 8-feet tall? Why?
Definitely 4 feet tall. Why, you ask? Because "little people" totally have their own culture and I could go to conventions with them and meet other people my size. Frankly, I'm not sure what support system exists for 8-foot-tall people. It's got to be sketchy at best.

Question 3: Shove. Marry. Push-off a cliff. (please place the following men into a category) Balky Bartokamus. Mork. Kramer.
Do you mean Shag/Marry/Push off a cliff? If so, here's my order:
Shag - Kramer. (Just get it over with and forget it ever happened.)
Marry - Balky Bartokamus. (Somewhat clueless, but so good-hearted. You just know he'd bend over backwards to treat you right.)
Push off a cliff - Mork. (Too zany, and we don't have enough in common with him being from Ork.)
I'm sure these answers will cause some sort of controversy. My answers to this game are usually fodder for mockery. For example, when given the chance to marry Yoda or E.T., I chose Yoda. Hello, he's like the wisest being on earth! Although I was roundly criticized for this choice, I stand by it to this day.

Question 4: What did you want to be when you grew up?
Definitely a veterinarian. And somehow, I ended up in marketing. I guess they have more in common than meets the eye, since some of the people I work with remind me of animals.

Question 5: What was the meanest thing you did to your sister whilst still a child?
Ooh, good one! I'm sure there were many, but the first one that jumps to mind is that I told her that if she cut the tail off her My Little Pony, it would grow back. She cut it. It didn't grow back. And I'm still not sure she's forgiven me.


Want to play?

The Official Interview Game Rules:
1. If you want to participate, leave a comment below saying "interview me."
2. I will respond by asking you five questions - each person's will be different.
3. You will update your journal/blog with the answers to the questions.
4. You will include this explanation and an offer to interview others in the same post.
5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.

Evan Posted by Hello


As promised, here is the first installment in my project plan of blogging topics, namely "How I actually came to own a pillow called 'My Brest Friend,' and how said pillow has made my life immeasurably easier."

The first thing I need to get off my chest (ironic, no?) is that I am simply not the sort of person who would purchase a product with the ridiculous and humiliating name of "My Brest Friend." Perhaps it's the marketing professional in me, or perhaps it's just that I don't like to reward the person or company who came up with such a name by giving them my hard-earned cash.

But as I've learned after having a child, you must lower your standards. For example: Four hours of continuous sleep? Heaven! Taking a shower every day? The ultimate indulgence. Remembering to eat lunch? A bonus.

So once Evan was born, I wondered how exactly the human race had sustained itself for centuries when breastfeeding is so damn hard. Really. Here's an illustration to give you an idea of the agony I endured. I honestly would go through childbirth ten more times (with an epidural, of course) before experiencing the pain of the first five weeks of nursing my son. I am talking extreme pain, and this from a person who I SWEAR is not a wimp. In fact, I've always prided myself on my high pain tolerance. However, I was popping the Darvocet they gave me in the hospital two at a time. When I went to refill my prescription, a note that said "High Dose Alert" popped up on the pharmacist's screen -- meaning they could tell that I had been taking the maximum dose because of how quickly I had returned for the refill! I'm pretty sure that was the low point.

So after a couple of weeks of cracking, bleeding, crying and picturing myself hooked on painkillers like Jack Osbourne and Rush Limbaugh, I finally consulted a lactation consultant. She took one look at me and pronounced my condition "severe nipple damage." That was another low point, yes. But this was the beautiful day that I met my new Brest Friend.

Yes, it's true. The MBF pillow, however silly the name, became my knight in shining armor. Just to give you an idea of the mechanics, you fasten the pillow around you, and it positions the baby perfectly and helps you avoid a "bad latch-on," as they say. One use and I was hooked. You strap it on and feel a little bit like a blackjack dealer. Actually, you could cover it with green felt and use it as a blackjack table for a Halloween costume. (So Martha Stewart of me.) Future Halloween costume or no, the MBF was worth every penny, and I will shout its praises from the rooftops forever and ever, amen.

So, what did I learn from my experience? First of all, the first few weeks of motherhood are simply about survival, because you have to throw quality of life out the window temporarily. (At least until the baby starts smiling at you and/or sleeping more than five hours at night.) It just goes to show you that it's never wise to say "I'll never..." when it comes to having children. You never know when you're gonna have to swallow your pride, suck it up and gird yourself, literally, with your Brest Friend.

Monday, June 13, 2005


I am so sorry to you, my 3-4 loyal readers, for my total lack of blogging in the past two months. My list of excuses is long and includes such doozies as "I just had a baby," "I'm exhausted because I always have to get up at night to feed the baby," and so on and so forth. However, the REAL reason I'm such a blogging lagger (see title of this post for my fun new term) is that the happenings in my life over the past two months are quite difficult to quantify in mere words. There are many suitable topics I could cover, however. Maybe I could start just by listing them here, and then covering them one by one in future posts. Okay, I feel better already. I will create a nice little outline-slash-project-plan and then attack them one by one. Wow. That is so satisfying! Like an electronic version of a to-do list.

Topics to cover in future blogs:
1) How I actually came to own a pillow called "My Brest Friend," and how said pillow has made my life immeasurably easier.

2) How annoyed I am that I can't follow that sage advice, "Sleep when the baby sleeps."

3) How bizarre it is that when you go into the hospital to HAVE a baby, they actually let you LEAVE with the baby. And how the baby not only goes home with you that day, but continues to LIVE with you, FOREVER.

4) The Culture of Daytime People. By this I mean the extremely large number of people who don't work during the day, and who are out and about in various places at 10:30 a.m. such as the dry cleaners, the drugstore and the mall. Ranked in order of probability, my guess is that these people are stay-at-home moms, waiters, bartenders and possibly drug dealers.

5) How I continue to torture myself by trying on my old jeans a couple of times a week, and what odd masochistic impulse compels me to do so.

Well, that'll be a start. Look forward to me covering each of these in detail soon, and forgive my absence. I've missed you, really I have.