Baby Bliss

You know the feeling you get at the end of a really long run? The feeling of complete and utter reward? Or the deep clarity and relaxation you find in a really intense yoga class? The feeling you get when your soccer or softball team has just come together in the final half of the game and won the state championship? The same feeling you get after a well earned promotion or that dollar amount in the bank you have been working so hard to save up to? Not one of these feelings, not even every single one of them combined, is as off the charts amazing, as the first moment you look into your children's eyes.

I usually write from humor. I love bringing lightness to my motherly woes. Today, I feel the need to write from the best place possible. My heart...

Everyone says, you can never explain the love you feel, the first time you look at your own flesh and blood. Well... you can't. Everyone says there is nothing more rewarding than becoming a parent. Well... there isn't. Becoming a parent is the hardest, most challenging fucking thing I have ever done in my life, yet some how, some way, my son is the best thing to ever happen to me, my relationships, my marriage and most of all, my heart. Who knew...........

I used to hold onto a lot of things in life. I held onto anger, insecurity, pressure, vanity, and a few other things to say the least. Holding onto this negativity never allowed for TRUE openness, forgiveness and most of all happiness in my life. Since my son, I have never felt more compelled to forgive, forget, love with 110% of my heart, and make sure everyone in my life knows just how much they mean to me. Life is really REALLY short. This never scared me the way it does now.

Before my son, I fought every inch of myself every day. Nothing was ever good enough. I always needed more. I needed to be the best at everything. I was a very honest person, but rarely with myself. I was never good with kids either. I never felt a real connection to them. I was to busy filling this crater void of mine with other things. I partied... A LOT. I shopped... A LOT. I ate or didn't eat A LOT. I exercised A LOT. I worked... A LOT and I demanded A LOT. I was extremely self absorbed and my pitty parties were always population... Me! I would find the best and most self destructive ways to shut out the world. An A+ student at "Fuck-U-1-0-1".

When I met my husband, I had a massive life shift. He got me on the road to becoming a better person, but I had to take responsibility and grab the wheel. I still had a lot of demons and insecurities to battle, before I was ready for life to its fullest. He didn't exactly fix me, but he is like super glue to all my broken parts. He picks me up, dusts me off and we start all over again. Our first few years together were not all that easy. I know now, exactly what I can handle in life. My sister says it best. "Kim, if someone wants to project unhappiness onto your life, imagine how truly unhappy THEY are". Many people in life will try to break you down. There are unhappy people everywhere that want to steal your sunshine. You can wallow in that and be a dark storm cloud, or you can embrace those that love you the most. You can focus on life's little gifts and shine brighter then you have ever shone before! I have lots of sunshine in my life, but there are no two brighter then my Scots. Both with one T!

Sure! Are there days with my son where I would like to drink a bottle of Jack Daniels and stick a large hot dagger in my eyeball!?!?! Of course!!!! Are there moments when my husband is soundly sleeping and the pillow behind my head would serve me better smothering his adorable face!?!?!? Duh!!! But when the three of us are snuggled up in bed and our little man looks up with his gummy grin... our whole world fitting inside of our arms... I have never felt more beautiful, more happy, and more rewarded for anything I have ever done in my life.

My life has become everything I never knew, I ever wanted.


I am not religious at all... But today I will give Baby Jesus some thanks for life's little miracles.

Laugh, Cry, Love, Read.

Me.

Party Rockers

Visit my new website where I will be permanently posting now!
www.selfmotivatedmomma.com

What I wouldn't give to walk out of my house with a cute little clutch. JUST ONE purse, a tube of lipgloss and an ID that says 24... The glory days! I have 5 friends right now that are pregnant. I tell them all the time to kiss their stylish little hand bags good bye. Because unless their Fendi Clutch has some go go gadget compartment for poopy diapers and 6 changes of clothes, say bye bye to fashionable on the fly!

Every time I leave my house with my kid, I feel like I am packing for Armageddon. Diapers, wipes, extra soo soo's, burp cloth's, hooter hiders... It's never ending! The only thing I don't have with me is canned food and first aid... and that's only because the little bugger doesn't have teeth or the ability to walk yet.

Going out with a newborn is kinda like a ticking time bomb. They are changed, rested and fed, but that's not to say they don't have a complete and utter melt down for no reason at all. "oh he is sooooo cute!"... Yes. Yes he is... Right now. "Would you like to hold him?". This is always my master plan at social events. My window of opportunity to feel human again! Then I have exactly 2.5 minutes to suck back a glass of wine and a crab cake before the kid realizes it's not his mommy holding him. Then like nails on a chalk board I hear it.... The dreaded fuss! Just loud enough for everyone to look. Yes people, he is crying... Get a good look cause as soon as I walk over and hold him again, he WILL stop. So much for that good looking artichoke dip. That shit requires two hands, so now, its off the radar.

My husband is probably the most incredible dad I have ever seen. He is so tentative and helpful when we go anywhere with the baby. I think its because he enjoys the attention more than my baby does. When we go to parties and weddings it's his opportunity to share stories and let cute girls fuss over him and my awesome sauce son. Seriously, I'm not sure which one is cuter and it works to both of their advantage. The best is when he makes executive decisions. We were at a beach wedding a couple weeks ago and he forgot that the sun sets at night. "Babe, where are his pants I left out for you to bring?"-Me. "Oh, I figured he didn't need them because it was hot out"-Scot. Great idea honey, so why don't you take YOUR pants off, throw on a cotton tee when the wind picks up at 8pm and see how that shit feels. Let me know when your penis gets so cold it feels like its gonna fall off, and maybe next time you will pack the child some pants.

When I used to dress up for parties, I based my clothes on things like accessories, weather and what my girlfriends were wearing. Now its... Is it washable? Cause shit doesn't dry clean out of silk, and who has time for that anyway. Are my boobs going to pop out? Or leak? Can my nipples hear a baby cry from across the room? Cause if they can, any breast feeding mom knows.. Your screwed. High heels!?!?!? LMAO! Try carrying 15lbs worth of car seat and baby, accompanied by a 5 pound "Dude" diaper bag in a pair of Jimmy Choo's. Not sexy... Not Comfortable... Not realistic... I tried and I have a new found respect for Victoria Beckham.

We went to two birthday parties this weekend as a family. I did indeed wear some wedges and got a few compliments on the size of my new boobs. My baby fussed a little, but not too much. I ate not one cupcake, but TWO. My husband and I still managed to squeeze in a look of utter lust and love for each other from across the room. We were home by 11pm and what happens after that is well... Private.

I think we're doing okay. Right?!?!

Laugh, Cry, Love, Read

Me

Yogi Baby

Manhattan Beach coined the phrase "Yummy Mommy". Never will you see so many young gorgeous moms, clad in lululemon, uggs and 3 carat diamond rings on their fingers, as you will in Manhattan Beach California.

I have recently started going to a Mommy & Me Yoga class, at one of my fav studio's called The Green Yogi. Moms in Manhattan are like the Mercedes of child care. They are absolutely flawless. They have all the bells and whistles, and they have more "drive" for fitness then Jane Fonda in her gloriest of glory days! These women are not human. They have all had at least one child and they look better than a highschool cheer leading squad.

The instructor Chelsea Welch, who is also a Doula, is built like Malibu Barbie. She has gorgeous long legs, stunning blue eyes and golden skin that probably smells just like the ocean. The studio is brilliant! Let's put the hottest yogi we can find, in front of a bunch of post baby bodies and see if we can motivate. Worked for me. I should put a picture of Chelsea on my fridge as well, and maybe it will motivate me to stop eating ice cream every fucking day.

During the class we prop the babies up on bolsters, hold them up in warrior and even incorporate them into abdominal exercises. This one woman has an 8 month old that easily weighs almost 20 pounds. Warrior is hard enough to hold for three minutes, throw a 20 pound baby into the mix?!?!? These women are machines! I'm from Canada alright yummy mommies?!?!? Up in the great white north we embrace pregnancy weight gain like most normal people and continue to wear our maternity jeans till the child is at least 6 months old. This whole Manhattan Beach "Live Fast Die Fit" Shit is killing me. Forget keeping up with the Joneses. These women leave no room for excuses. They are back to a size zero within three weeks. I was never a size zero so I guess I am shit out of luck anyway.

This one mom, Wendy, who I am sure has angelic in her blood, looks like a greek goddess... and NOT the Big Fat Greek kind. She has long, sandy, flowing hair. Slim arms that reach out like willow tree branches and a tushy you could eat tapas off of. Her baby just chills sweetly underneath her during the whole class. He giggles and koo's at her while she gracefully flows from pose to pose. Its adorable. Meanwhile my baby, who gets terrible gas, is trying to grunt out a fart with his legs up in the air. Like mother like son... There is simply nothing to be done.

If it is good joo joo and motivation you are looking for ladies, go see my gals at the Green Yogi. They have super human yogi powers. They will whip your butt into shape, all while offering you peace, love, glowsticks and herbal tea.

Mom-aste!

Laugh, Cry, Love, Read

The Flat and Flabulous

Yes... I too have lost my ba-dunk-a-dunk. I have heard so many new moms talk about the post baby flat butt. I was SURE this could never happen to me!!! There is a reason why black women love me and now... I'm just another boring white girl who lost her booty.

Post baby body is like a home renovation gone way wrong. I have heard about muffin top and jelly belly. I always had a pretty tight little tummy. Now.... Santa Clause and I have some serious shit in common and I know why the man only comes around once a year. And what is with these boobs!?!? I loved my perky little boobs! Now I have these big sloppy milk sacks that just get in the way when I fold laundry. When it's all over, I bet all I will be left with is empty sacks and cookie nipples.... Milk and Cookies... Awesome.

People tell me all the time I look fantastic for just having a baby. Well of course I do!!! I'm wearing clothes!!!
In hope of motivating myself a little, I decided to take a photo of myself in my bathing suit... Outside... In direct sunlight... Front AND back. This is my own personal form of cutting. The cruelest thing I could possibly do to myself.

I got a series of work out videos for at home, so I can work out in privacy with my Flat and Flabulous little bod. I set little man up with his entertainer, while I set myself up with a trainer! Except my baby spends more time watching me then he does his little noise makers. I don't like it. He looks at me with judgy little baby eyes, and I KNOW he is wondering why his mommy doesn't look like the glistening biotch in the video. Listen kid... Your mom was smok'n hot before you came along, and your not really one to be judging with that pudgy tummy of yours. The only reason mommy works out with you is because you are the only person she knows with more rolls than she has.

I have no idea how much I weigh right now because we have a scale free home. Those machines have the devil inside them. They can make or break an entire day, so we don't ever weigh ourselves. I wanted to go buy one but my husband put his foot down. "You are beautiful!" he says "and you don't need a scale to tell you that!"... Um... Yes... Yes I do... Pleeeeeease!!!

No.

Fine. But he can't stop me from driving to Target tomorrow and hoping on one there!!!

Next... Jeans.

Laugh, Cry, Love, Read

Me

The Booty Call

Don't pretend like you have never had one. We all know at some random, relatively low point in all of our lives, we have had THAT person.

It is always the 1-2am call or text. Or in some cases of desperation, you just show up to their home in a drunken stooper. You are POSITIVE that this person wants to see you post Denny's at 3am.

Oh! Were you sleeping!?!? Weird! Well... Since I'm here... Wanna have sex?

Booty Calls are like dessert. It is this brilliant idea in the moment. Instant gratification! And then like getting on the scale, the guilt kicks in when your Monday morning is impacted by the number you see. But instead it is on your cell phone under... Dialed Numbers... 14 Times... Shit. Under their phone it of course says, 14 MISSED (AKA Ignored) Calls. Then we ask our best friends how they could let this happen!?!? Like it's THEIR responsibility to take your phone away. Then they tell you they tried, but you went to the bathroom at the bar and proceeded to call from the hadi-cap stall.... 14 TIMES... Fuck.

These people are always the perfect representation as to what is happening in life. We call on people for Booty Calls to fill whatever voids we have in the moment. They are often Narcissistic, Vain, Unintelligent, Douche-y and incredibly sexy all at the same time. Where do you find a Booty Call you may ask? Bars, Old Boyfriends, Old Friends, Bartenders, Bouncers and my personal favorite... Public Transportation. This is when you are in the darkest of dark places.

Why is it so f'n difficult to get these people out of your life? Booty Calls are like skin cancer. You keep going in the sun knowing that it's bad for you and then you need a plastic surgeon to get this horrible growth off your back. A friend of mine, that shall remain nameless, could not stop the booty call. She tried EVERYTHING. She erased his number, deleted him off Facebook, told him to never call her again and yet found herself still calling HIM every other Saturday night after a Roxy Burger and fries. She actually called the phone company and asked if there was a way they could block her from calling his number. "So you want to block your own calls to this person????"... "Yes". "So what your saying is, that you have no will power????"... "Yes". "So can you do it?".

FYI you can't, and for the record, my friend was not the first person to call a phone company with this kind of request. Clearly there are many people in the world that just can't stop the Booty Call.

To all my peeps out there that have found themselves doing the walk of shame at 11am... Heels in hand heading toward an Eggs Benedict... Just remember you are not alone! Hold your head high! Today is a new day! And there are plenty of narcissistic douche bags to go around! You can't hate them... They serve their meaningless purpose!

Amen.

Laugh, Cry, Love, Read.

Captivity

I am being held captive in my own home. How is this possible?

It's like babies have a sick sense of when you are desperate to just get shit done. We will have a great couple of days. Good sleeping, playtime, jogs, errands and BOOM! I am strong armed by an infant. You think your gonna put me down in this bouncer? Think again mommy! I am gonna make you hold me ALL day long! That 5 minute shower you are taking... I am gonna make it extra relaxing and scream the whole time you are in there. And don't you even THINK about moisturizer mommy! That shit is for fancy ladies that wear make-up and blow dry their hair too. I decided as your baby, you don't need it.

Why do we even have nursery's? My baby will sleep anywhere but his crib! Sure we try napping in it, but over night? HA! That comfy chest of mine is a much better idea. Your boobs don't just get bigger to feed. They are pillows for our babies newborn little heads to rest on as well. It will be like a sleepover every night mommy and we can watch daddy sleep soundly next to us cause somehow, some way... He never wakes the F up!!!!! How!?!?! How do men sleep through this!?!?!?

The bassinet is 5cm from the edge of my bed. But for some reason 5cm is just to much distance for my baby to handle. And how do they always sleep with one eye open?!?!? It's like they are looking, watching, waiting.... We tip toe around them trying not to make a peep and then... There goes the other eyeball. The little shit is awake. Sleep training?!??? LMAO! Baby Wise wants me to wake my new born up every two hours?!?!? What mental person wakes a sleeping baby? How about I take five minutes and eat sitting down instead a-holes! I want to meet these women that claim their babies sleep through the night. Then I want to know where they live, so I can leave a flaming hot pile of dog poo on their front door step. (Mary if you are reading this... I love you).

People wonder how I have time to blog. I have an IPhone in my hand, a rocking chair and a baby that doesn't want to sleep anywhere but on my boob.

I have all the time in the world.

Laugh, Cry, Love, Read

The Hermit

Baby - No Shame No Gain

Now I lay me down to weep. I pray to you Lord, let this newborn go the F to sleep. If I should die before I wake, tell my husband the sex we ONCE had, was super great. Bless this child Lord, for there are times I am SURE he is possessed. It is barley in me some days, to pull it together, and just get dressed.

My child is 1 month old today. I thought I was totally prepared for this... My baby should have a onsie that says "I'm with stupid". No book, no advice, no doctor or nurse can prepare you for the one, the only, the newborn.

I had a goal of making it 6 hours without an epidural in hope that I would have a nice short labor and he would be out fast. IDIOT!!!! 12 hours later followed by an emergency C section... This natural labor stuff never happened. My baby had the cord wrapped around his neck and my anesthesiologist was reading BLENDER Magazine in the OR. "Hey Bro, I know you see this shit everyday, but do u mind reading up on Marissa Miller when my intestines aren't 3 feet away from your face? Thanks Dick!"

When we left the hospital the nurses told me one very important thing... When he latches, DON'T pull him away from your boob. My little guy came out like a shark. He feeds like a Great White who just stumbled upon a lonley sea lion with one arm missing.

Like most women that have a C Section, I had not gone to the bathroom in almost 5 days. The day before we came home from the hospital they pumped me full of laxatives and sent me on my way. The next morning I had a cup of coffee to add a little extra kick. The little guy was hungry so I started his feeding, thinking I had some time. It hit my like a ton of bricks. It was like the scene from the movie Bridesmaids at the wedding boutique. NOTHING was to stop this from happening.

But the nurses told me under no circumstances to unlatch?!?!? I was panicking. I had to take him with me. But I couldn't do this alone?!?!??? "Scot!!!!!!! I need your help!!!". "The nurses told me not to let him unlatch!"
I had to take my baby and my husband in the bathroom with me to unleash 5 days worth of bowel movements.

It was a sight. My husband holding my little baby up to feed and courtesy flushing for me at the same time. "This poor kid has been on the planet for 5 days, and one of the first things he has to smell is your shit?!?!?" Scot says, as he is shaking his head in disbelief. This is as bad as it gets right? For better or worse?

Well he never unlatched and he still feeds like a wild animal.

Next on my list of discussions....

Projectile Baby Poop.

Laugh, Cry, Love, Read

Me