The Comeback Kid & Waxing

Warning…I’m going THERE. If hair removal makes you want to vomit, please do not read any further. I don’t want to be the causeau of your nauseau.

I’m officially on maternity leave beginning today! {Deeeep breath in….aaand ooouut.} I have two last, smallish assignments to finish for my grad class and then I will allow myself to have this baby. I mean, that’s the way it works, isn’t it?

In the spirit of maternity leave, and taking a few moments to collect myself before my life changes in unmeasurable ways once again, I have decided the blog has been neglected long enough. I hereby reinstate said blog by giving you a pregnancy comparison.

While pregnant with Liam I went in for a pre-birth waxing appointment at a local spa-type joint. I don’t mind telling you that with Liam I had gained around 50 lbs. This pregnancy I’m at around 30 as of last week’s weight check. So, I had waddled into my appointment ready to let someone else take care of the problem that had easily been ignored due to the old saying, “what you can’t see can’t hurt you.” However, as I was about to bare all to the entourage at Liam’s birth I decided to give my vanity a little attention. I was probably somewhere around 39-40 weeks, and unfortunately, as Liam ended up being born at 42 weeks I can’t say that things remained as kempt. But then again, I’m not sure.

Lo and behold, when I get to my appointment, I know the girl who’s waxing me. I almost cancelled on the spot. Your waxing gal should have no other relationship in your life except to painfully rip the unwanted hair from places on your body that generally see no sunshine. You love your waxist (yes, I made up that term of endearment), but you see her only in the confines of the small spa room because usually when your leg is in that position and someone is paying such thorough attention to you it is pitch dark. Not only will this acquaintance be the one performing this completely humiliating act, but I am a ginormous, beached whale on the table. Oh my god, I die.

I had chosen an LA wax. For those of you unfamiliar, or needing a refresher, there are generally 3 types of “bikini” waxes. The Brazilian leaves you bare, the LA leaves a landing strip, and a regular bikini wax is your basic hair removal to inward of where your bikini would be. The LA would be a typical choice for me.

My acquaintance/waxist was actually very sweet and professional. But I learned a valuable lesson that day. After the fact. Hormones, particularly those that are pumping through your body when your are pregnant or premenstrual, create a horrifically sensitive latter day area. It is recommended that if you can avoid waxing during such times, you should. I learned this valuable lesson during my experience. And, yes, I did in fact return this pregnancy. Damn you, Vanity. It was so painful, and such a long experience, due to the amount of hair removal I had requested, that I had to practice my labor breathing and ended up drenching my shirt and the towel under me from sweat.

Today, I decided to book a regular bikini wax. I wasn’t naive enough to think that it wouldn’t be painful, I was just hoping that the amount of time it took would be fractional. Who, I ask you, is waiting for me at the front desk? That’s right, my acquaintance/waxist. Of all the times I had been back in for eyebrow waxing and a couple of other bikini waxes, I hadn’t had the embarassing pleasure of my acquaintance’s company again. Until I show up at 39 weeks pregnant, that is. And I’m sure the pleasure is all hers.

Once again, she is absolutely sweet and professional, and even though it is terribly painful, I was so right in booking the regular bikini wax. Much less labor-intensive and truly less painful places getting gripped by hot wax and paper.

If I can possibly help you leave this blog post with something other than a new perspective of me, it is the following two pieces of advice: 1)Keep your friends close and your waxist closer. 2)Check your vanity and go with the pregnant “regular” bikini wax. I promise you, with everything that’s going on in birth no one is going to remember how your nethers were coiffed. I know this because I asked my mom.

Oh, My Crawling Heart

Last night I was surrounded by childless friends, which doesn’t happen often these days. So, even though Liam is 7 months old and I feel like I’ve been a mom forever, I was getting a lot of new-mom questions. What’s it like? Do I just die from loving him so much?
I could have spewed off about how we still don’t get any sleep, how it takes 2 hours to do things which once took 30 minutes, it’s the best thing and maybe the worst thing that could happen to your marriage, every piece of clothing I tried on before I left the house had drool or snot on it, and didn’t they notice that I hadn’t even showered today?  HOWEVER, I must have been in good spirits having had half a beer and as we all know absence makes the heart grow fonder, so I was only thinking about my little cherub at home in the kindest of thoughts.

I told the girls a different truth.  One that I haven’t admitted to anyone in my outloud voice yet.  That the stupid, cliche saying about having a baby means your heart is living outside your body is true.  I know, I know, I know, I said. If someone had told me that pre-baby I would have smiled politely and given an obligatory, awwww.  Then I would have turned my head and gagged my throat with my finger.  But, I tell the girls, I seriously look at him crawling on the floor and it hurts to watch him.  My chest aches and the only description is that your heart is missing and it’s crawling around in front of you.

I told them they have permission to gag themselves and think to themselves that they will be way cooler moms than I am managing, but when it happens they’ll know.  As with much about motherhood.

On another note, but similarly related, tonight my friend told me her six year old boy told her he hated her today and she is the worst mom ever. I immediately burst into tears. I KNOW that every child says that to their mother at some point in their life, but holy shit that’s going to break my heart when Liam says it to my face. Not only will I burst into tears again, but I will probably fall to my knees and just wail. Which will probably make him “hate” me more. Husband says he will take care of Liam for making me cry and I had to laugh at having a conversation about an alleged future event.  But pre-baby I would have looked at my friend, stuck my lower lip out and said, awww.  Having no way of knowing that those words are like a physical, debilitating slap.  No, like being beaten by a sack of oranges. (Because a sack of oranges will hurt like hell and leave you with internal bleeding and damages, but no bruises. Or that’s what I’ve been told anyway. Haven’t tried it yet.)

This post qualifies as an Unexpected because I truly didn’t know how vulnerable having a baby would make me.  It makes you feel like if something happened to your baby the easiest way to deal with it would be to just die. I was watching the show Hoarders last night. I always get sucked in but can’t imagine how an illness like that happens.  I never empathize, I usually sneer in disgust. But one of the women last night started her hoarding tendencies after her 3 month old daughter died of SIDS. She took pills and then heroin and never threw away anything of the baby’s, which then apparently turned into never throwing away anything at all, EVER, but I finally felt empathy for this one hoarder.  I don’t think I’d turn to the crack pipe and I don’t think I’d start living in my own filth, but I get the complete breakdown after losing your baby.

I have got to toughen up a little, right? I mean, how does a parent deal with the kids who hurt your baby’s feelings, when they fall and break their arm, when that stupid, no-good, ho-bag hussy breaks their heart??  Oh, my bleeding, crawling heart. What have I gotten myself into?

UnExpected: Sleep? What’s sleep?

*Everyone says, “You’d better get sleep now, before the baby comes!”  We laugh appreciatively and ignorantly, making sleep promises we don’t fulfill.  Why don’t they grab us by the shoulders, stare meaningfully into our eyes and tell us that it will be like pulling 3 consecutive years of all-nighters in college, but as a 90-year old.  They should tell you that infant-induced sleep deprivation needs its own warning label:

May cause headaches, dark eye circles and behavior considered vengeful, murderous and sometimes toddler-like.  Do not operate heavy machinery while on Infant Sleep Deprivation.  If symptoms worsen…too bad, there is no way to counter the effects of Infant Sleep Deprivation.

Then they should slap you across the face.  Twice.

That might actually get the message across to those blissfully ignorant, pregnant couples.  Who are staying up way too late.  And getting up way too early.

**On a related note:  I did not expect to be so tired I would fall asleep while nursing and Twittering at the same time.

Which also resulted in my accidentally “following” an ex-boyfriend that I was stalking during a late-night nursing session.  Someone with whom I actually hadn’t had any communication with in several years.  Awkward.  (Don’t judge, you know you Social Network Stalk too.  And he has funny tweets!)  I went ahead and “unfollowed” him as soon as I woke up and saw where my finger had landed on the iPhone, yet knew full well that whenever someone follows you there is an email sent.  I broke into a sweat and prayed that he wouldn’t recognize my married name…and my profile picture.

Unexpected Page

I added a new page called The Unexpecteds because I wanted to talk about things in mommyhood that I…you know…wasn’t expecting but thought I’d need to continue adding to it.  There are so many “What to Expect” books and websites out there, but somehow we (Ok, I) are still unprepared.

It starts out like this:

I’m not 100% sure why women without children hear “what to expect” and are still shocked.  Some of it I maybe forgot.  Some of it seemed a little incredulous.  And I’m not gonna lie…sometimes I thought, maybe that won’t happen to me.