The Backtimer

Sometimes I feel like my life is like some sort of late-1990’s Ashley Judd movie probably called “The Backtimer,” or better yet, just plain “Backtimer.”

I forgot to pack the Boogie Wipes?

Having a baby– and having to be somewhere at any specific time– means an in-reverse race against the backwards clock to be punctual.

Today, I have to be at a friend’s house in the suburbs at 5pm.

That means…

Wake the baby up at 8, so she is fed and ready for a nap at 10– get her up at 11 so we can go out and run errands with her, but be home and fed again so she can be down for the second nap at 2:30…. get in just enough sleep to rouse her oh-so-gently around 4. Get her dressed, fed, and we’re ready to leave the house at 4:45.

Late, but in the ballpark.

Coming this Spring: Backtimer II: Fear No Passover 

My Baby Sleeps Through the Night, But I Can’t

Somewhere along the way, Posey started sleeping through the night– but I couldn’t. Baby asleep at 9, husband asleep by 10– but I was wide awake for hours, my internal clock still dinging for the 4am feedings I was used to. At first, I tried the occasional slug of NyQuil to get me drowsy. It sorta worked, but it felt kind of tawdry. I decided that I needed a more “adult” form of sleep therapy, so naturally I went to the next logical step:

Unisom + Reading Sookie Stackhouse novels under the covers with a flashlight

Unisom didn’t work; Sookie only helped so-so. Next try for sleep…

A Girls’ Getaway to Las Vegas

The city that never sleeps, you say? I’ll take what I can get. And what I got– for the extra $20 I slipped the front desk guy– was a quiet corner suite, perfect for a new mom’s desperate attempt to get some rest. But guess what? It seems that I was not following my own advice, and here’s where things really started to unravel. From the moment I stepped off the plane, I was “off.” At first, I thought it was just the resurgence of the icky panic attacks I used to suffer from, the result of being too attached to the baby, too nervous of a traveler, and just plain tired.

My Brain!

But it wasn’t just that… and this is something I never expected to write about on this site… But it seems relevant.

In 2002ish, I was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis, which sucked. Over the last decade, it’s just been just a blip on my radar–there, but not. I’ve been very lucky. When I got pregnant, I knew there was a chance of a relapse in the first 6 postpartum months, but I honestly didn’t think it would happen. After all, nothing much has happened in ten years. But on Friday, I started experiencing double vision in possibly the most visually overstimulating place on Earth.

I flew home Saturday, and on Monday, I checked into…

The Hospital

Maybe it wasn’t a hotel, but I did have a private room, room service, a nice view of the helicopter landing pad AND an excuse to stay in bed. And the news is all good. I’m not going to go into a ton of medical details, but I will say that my MRI showed no new “bad spots” on my brain– in fact, the inflammation is so slight right now that it’s not even reading on the scan. This setback has no bearing on the future course of my disease, and we expect it to be an isolated incident. I’m hoping to be back to my old self in the very near future. Aside from steroids, the best thing I can do for myself right now is sleep (ha). The nurses woke me up all night to check on me, so no rest there. At my doctor’s suggestion, I went home Tuesday night and tried…


OK, I was so scared. I was so tired, but so scared. Haven’t you heard those stories about people taking Ambien and sleepwalking/talking/eating/jogging/prank calling/driving? I took a half and literally booby-trapped all the exits to my home so I’d wake Beef up if I tried to escape. I put chairs in front of all the doors. I didn’t do anything crazy, but I also didn’t sleep that well, either.

Last night, I finally went to sleep on my own. I am feeling a lot better today. I also recommend exactly ZERO of the sleep tips I outlined in the above text and will instead ask you to refer to WebMD’s 10 Tips to Improve Sleep for New Moms.

I am disappointed that the only lingering reminder of my Big Deal Vacation is that I’m still finding streaks of spray tan in my ears with Q-tips. But I’m happy to be home.


My Favorite Things

Weird but true…
I can’t get enough of hospital food. Especially hospital food that involves gravy. If it comes with a dome over it, even better.

I’m taking a short blogging break, but will be back in action later this week with amazing tales of a Vegas trip gone horribly, terribly wrong. Hint: Did I mention I’m having hospital food for dinner?


Bon Voyage

Someone commented on the HuffPost that it was only 49 reasons because I couldn’t think of fifty. That couldn’t be further from the truth.

50. Leaving your baby for the first time to go away for the weekend. My stomach is in knots.

At least I have her Lammie to keep
me company. I’m sure my seat mates didn’t think this photo shoot was weird.


Fighting the Great Armpit Fat War of ’12

Before I had Posey, I heard the same thing over and over again from most of my friends with kids:

“I lost the weight, but now I’m just shaped…differently.”

I was prepared for an even-more jiggly tummy. It’s actually all I’ve ever known, so I never mourned the loss of a flat surface– like I’ve never been sad about not being able to jump in the horse and buggy to get some leeches stuck to me at the barber. No one ever told me the parts that might be shaped differently might actually be the ones that a baby was never inside.


I am going to Vegas this weekend. In preparation, I tried on some dresses in my closet to see what fits again. It turns out, my arms are not the same as they were before. And to add insult to insecurity, armpit chub was spilling out the side of my brand new fancy-pants-custom-fitted-by-a-highly-trained-booby-expert bra.


I returned to Nordstrom, sausage-armed with the knowledge that this is the result of a poor fit. The saleslady was skeptical. “Let me see it on you,” she said. It sounded like a dare. I’ll see you a faulty Wacoal minimizer and raise you a 34D-or-DD.

“It’s not the bra,” she said. “It fits just fine. No bra will fix that.  It’s not the bra, it’s you.”


If Oprah Winfrey has taught our world one thing, it’s to live your best life. If she’s taught us two things, it’s that the right bra can fix everything. There is no such thing as “it’s you,” and to tell a topless woman toting a Snap-N-Go stroller in a poorly lit dressing room anything differently is criminal.

So I tried on six more. And none of them were any different. I teared up. I started to believe her. And then I found out that Spanx upped their sizes and came out with this. And sells it, which means I could get it the next day. Although the straps are not adjustable, which is just plain nonsensical, my armpit rolls are gone. Take that, mean saleslady.

Peace has been restored throughout the land.

Other People’s Babies

When you have a baby, other people’s babies don’t look cute OR ugly.

They just look… wrong.

Familiar, and yet unfamiliar at the same time. It’s sort of like looking at Chris Klein in the American Reunion trailers after being used to looking at Cory Monteith on Glee.

Something’s just off.

Cory (In this example, "Your Baby")

Chris (In this example, NOT your baby)