3athletejen

I distinctly remember my first encounter with food coloring. It was love at first chemical-laden sight. Mom and I were icing sugar cookies. We'd made a bowl of white icing. Then she broke out the food coloring. I was memorized by the bright colors and giddy at the thought of mixing them. Like most six year olds, I believed more was better. So the icing started a lovely pink after a few drops of red. Next came lavender with some blue. Then Mom turned her back just long enough for me to reenact the movie Cocktail with food coloring. Every color was going in and hell with a few drops, more is better. This is fantastic, I thought, as I created a rainbow in the bowl. I stirred with glee until I realized the rainbow was disappearing. The icing was turning a disgusting shade of gray-brown. This was terrible. No one wants to eat icing that looks like poop. So you're thinking, nice little story Jen. Way to point out that more isn't necessarily better. But that's actually n...

Dear Ms. Lemon, I have a bone to pick with you. This may come as a surprise because you're pretty much perfect with your fabulous patterns and ability to make most asses look perky. But here's my issue. You've turned yoga class into junior high. Like Guess jeans and Benetton rugby shirts circa 1988, you are all about status. That little horseshoe-like logo winks at me from the next mat over. "You know you want to own a pair," it says. "Athleta and Lucy are fine and good, but if you are serious about yoga, go with Lulu." Like most new moms managing a budget that includes one million diapers per month (that's what it feels like anyway) I picked a special occasion to reward myself. I'd get a pair of Lulu's for my fortieth birthday and BAM, I'd be the cool kid in yoga class. My ass will perk, my thighs will tone and maybe even splits will become possible because if I'm going to spend $100 on a pair of yoga pants, they better damn we...

This holiday has also been a weekend of many firsts. On Friday, Baby C rolled from her stomach to her back. This morning she rolled back to stomach. Later in the day she grabbed her toes. And all weekend long she's been a Chatty Cathy, "conversing" with anyone who will indulge her. I can hear those of you without kids thinking "Big deal, lady, my cat does that all day long and she can completely bathe herself with her tongue. So your kid rolled over. Who cares?" I can say this because this is what I thought when I read about someone's kid rolling over. Here's why this is kind of a big deal -- it means your kid is not totally void in the development department. It also means you should no longer turn your back on the changing table. Another not-so-good first happened tonight. As I carried Baby C through the kitchen I bonked her head on a cabinet door. Crap. Time slowed down. I looked at her. She looked at me. There was a pause. I thought for a n...

Parenthood is bopping along pretty well. We survived Halloween and dressing Baby C up like Princess Leia. She was not happy about it, but Husband was. I figured he has two years of influence over Halloween costume selection before she has an opinion, so better fit the Star Wars in now. The daycare drop-off is getting easier. Not easy mind you, but easier. C continues to be her happy, gargling self when she's not coughing up a lung due to her first cold. It took a week in daycare to get to that milestone and I know exactly what kid passed it along. (I'm looking at you over there in the corner, Snotty McButterpants. Yes, you.) That's okay though, because I can listen to everyone put the positive spin on it by saying, "She's building up immunity!" Right. Let's talk immunity when she's coughing everyone awake at 3 a.m. But really it's not too bad. Husband is even getting pretty deft with the snot-sucker thing. After all my blog entries bellyach...

I worried about a lot of things while pregnant. In fact, I mastered borrowing worry. My child was going to be colicky - I was certain. So I read books to prepare. Charley's not colicky. According to my sister, she's the most well-behaved baby ever. (That's an overstate, but she is pretty darn good.) One of my biggest worries was how I'd get my workout groove back. Husband and I had a nice little system pre-baby. We'd alternate gym days with dog walk days and on weekends I'd swim and yoga while he hit the trails. We each got workouts in about five days a week and felt relatively fit. While pregnant, I wracked my brain to come up with a system that would work with a baby and dog. I'd get up an 4:30am to accommodate exercise. I'd go to the 8pm swim practices. I'd do extra long workouts on the weekends. Sometimes good intentions remain intentions. Getting up at 5am gives me time to feed the baby, get ready for work, pump and get baby to day care....

Has it really been eleven weeks? Have I really been a stay-at-home mom for nearly three months? Is tomorrow actually the day I will drop off Baby C at child care and drive to the office to reclaim my pre-baby job? Shockingly, yes. Last night I teared up while explaining to Husband every milestone makes me nostalgic. I even cried at my six week follow-up doctor's appointment. When sweet Dr. L grabbed my hand and looked at Charley, complimenting her in all her baby-ness, it felt like a door closing. That door opened last December with a plus sign on a little plastic stick. Ten months later with a pat on the back I'm out the door with this creature who has overwhelmed my world. Let me be clear - I know people have babies everyday. Multiple babies. Some have nineteen and get their own TV show. Baby C is not miraculous in that sense. She eats, poops, sleeps, cries and obsesses over ceiling fans. (This is her new favorite activity.) But for Husband and I, each of whom thought h...

Two weeks from today I'll be back at work. Fourteen measly days. While I know dropping Charley off at day care is going to be a mascara-free day, I'm quietly happy to be venturing back into the land of adults. A place where conversation does not revolve around the number of daily poops, generic verses brand name diapers and what brand socks actually freaking stay on a baby's foot. (The answer is GAP.) Before Baby C's arrival, I was anxiously awaiting maternity leave. Three months of no work. Even with a baby, that sounded enticing. (Stupid me.) I've never not worked since graduating college. This would finally be the opportunity to be the glamorous, non-working person I yearned to be if I ever won the lottery. As is always the case, my perception and the actual reality were very far apart. Squeezing in the bare necessities around the needs of a being that sleeps, poops, cries and eats continually does not leave a lot of spare time for lounging. (Or even showerin...