Globes, Schlobes.

Judging from the many Facebook posts last night and into today, many of you watched the Golden Globes. I too jumped at the chance to marvel at the beautiful dresses and see the movies I should be watching. Being the old lady that I am, I have noticed that I tend to be so far out of the pop culture loop that I unfortunately have no idea what the kids are up to these days. So last night, determined to be in the know, I poured a margarita and began watching the much anticipated award show.

I began by watching the red carpet, because really, that's the most interesting part. I have no shame in oohing over dresses, screaming OMG! she's so skinny! and seeing who is a hot mess and who is so perfect I obviously hate her. However, I barely made it ten minutes in before I became so enraged that steam started coming out of my ears and tequila sweat seeped through my pores. Ryan Seacrest was interviewing Cate Blanchett and asked her how much her entire ensemble cost. "Oh I don't know," she regally purred. In a completely blase, this is so beneath me voice she then followed up with (and I'm paraphrasing), "$20,000? I have a lot of security guards following me."

Well color me red, I was beyond irritated. I have no problem with rich people. Good for them. In fact, I hope to be a rich people some day. But is it necessary to ask someone how much their whole outfit costs? Duh. It's obviously super expensive. The woman is dripping in Armani and fine jewels. Her ensemble costs more than what the average American makes in a year, folks. But that's not my issue. I just don't understand when it became appropriate to ask the super rich famous person to advertise just how much their outfit is worth and when we became so eager to know.

And even more infuriating was the response to the question. The I'm so above this question, money is entirely disposable, I can hardly be bothered to know the cost answer. I'm sure that perhaps she did not want to disclose the amount for fear of being thought of as boastful, but it came across as completely arrogant and out of touch and it made me drink my cheap pre-made Costco margarita in a fitful rage. And did I mention I was wearing pajamas I bought on Groupon? Just to add insult to injury. I suggest that perhaps she should have said something quirky and hilarious to offset the elitest question so that I could have snuggled back down into the sofa, content to put my Target slipper clad feet up on my discount furniture store coffee table.

Then, just when I was rambling on in righteous indignation to my husband, a Bing commercial came on highlighting everyday women who were this year's heroes. The commercial included Malala Yousafzai, women serving in the United States military, and Margaret Thatcher just to name a few. I got to thinking, why don't we have an awards show highlighting the everyday person who made an incredible difference? They can show up on a red carpet and be decked out in the finest fashions and be honored for doing something amazing. I promise I won't wave a judgmental fist in their direction and rant on about the nature of their condescending responses to absolutely ridiculous questions because perhaps they would be asked about topics of substance.

That would be worth watching. But then, I suppose, I would have nothing to babble on about.

My Mama Just Don't Understand

It's come to my attention that I have become the topic of conversation for most of my mom's blog posts. Sure, she thinks she's funny and clever and I'm sure some of you other moms might relate, but did it ever occur to you that it comes at the expense of your beautiful baby? And furthermore, did it ever cross your mind that perhaps we babies are just as frustrated with your mommy antics as you might be with our sleeping and spit up habits? Hmmmm? You didn't, did you. Just as I suspected. It's all about oh woe is me, I'm a mom, my days are long and arduous and I don't sleep and I have a coffee intravenous needle permanently inserted into my arm. My clothes don't fit, my clothes are contaminated with spit up, I never have a chance to shower. Blah blah blah.

Oh and yes, I did say arduous. What, just because I'm a four month old baby who predominantly coos and goos and eats my feet you don't think that I have a rather extensive vocabulary? While in utero I often heard my mother complaining (something I'm finding that she does rather often, actually) and using all sorts of words that I stashed away in this growing brain of mine and will be bringing out for future arguments I anticipate future me will be having with that lady with the boobs.

So while my mom thinks I'm napping - I mean seriously, does she even read her own blog? She should know first hand that I'm fake sleeping - I have decided to use her complaint arena to set the record straight. Babies everywhere should not have to suffer the indignity to which she is subjecting me.

Let me address Oh Un-Holy Night. Of course I woke up every hour. My  mom spent the entire month of December telling me about how Santa Claus was coming to town, how he knows when I've been sleeping and when I'm awake. First of all, how creepy is that. But second of all, I'm no dummy. I knew presents were coming. Oh, she talked a big game about how I'd never remember this Christmas so Santa wasn't going to bring a gaggle of gifts, but I knew better. I had just recently started smiling a lot and this seems to make that woman so excited and think I'm the best thing since cheese. My mom really likes cheese. And pickles. And wine, which she blames on me and again, it is totally unfair to babies everywhere. So anyway, back to Oh Un-Holy Night. I was so excited about this Fisher Price Jumparoo Santa was bringing me. My mom kept talking about it right in front of me as if I couldn't understand a single word. It kind of ruined the surprise and made me giddy with anticipation, so what did she expect! All I could think about on Christmas Eve was how the next morning I would be jumping with glee and surveying all of my presents. That mom of mine can be smart, but on this occasion she really didn't think it through.

Now calling me Osama Bin Baby is just downright mean. I am no terrorist and even if I was, she rarely negotiates with me. Even when I cry I feel like she never gives me what I want. By four months, don't you think she would know my tired cry versus my hungry cry? She always gets them mixed up and frankly, I'm just getting annoyed. I know that when she gets annoyed she too gets very grumpy and I have seen her cry on a number of occasions. In fact, I have caught my daddy rolling his eyes more than once when my mom becomes a weepy mess. I really feel that she of all people should understand that sometimes when a girl is misunderstood, she becomes emotional. If anything, she is an emotional terrorist because she doesn't understand me one bit. Talk about not validating my feelings.

And finally, that list about what she wished she had known about newborns is just ridiculous. It might be hard being a new mommy, but try being a newborn baby with amateur parents for crying out loud! There you are, all cozy and warm in a nice sized belly (which she keeps complaining about which is so lame. Had it been any smaller, I would have been very uncomfortable and I don't know why she wants me to feel squished. She is really really mean sometimes.) and suddenly you are rudely and abruptly whisked from your home and expected to be all cool about it. In my case, I was born by a cesarean section and if that doesn't traumatize you I don't know what will. So sure, I cried in the middle of the night. And yeah, I wanted to eat a lot. You try being born! It's a tough and scary business being a baby and it would be nice if you would think back to your first year and have a little empathy. It's a big world out here and I'm just a little baby, trying to get by. Geez.

Oh and by the way, I have a tooth! So my sleepless nights and sometimes cranky behavior was because I had a sharp little dagger making its way through my gums. Sure, my mom gave birth but this is the baby equivalent to that so I think my grumpiness was warranted.

I think the boob lady hears me typing so I have to go now and fake sleep some more. I wouldn't want her to figure out that I have hijacked her blog being the baby terrorist that I am and all. If there are any other babies out there who feel me, share this post!

"It's not that I'm lazy - It's that I just don't care."

I am not the first woman and will certainly not be the last to find herself asking the question all mothers must ponder at the end of maternity leave. Is going back to work really worth it? I am engaged in an internal argument that has reached a devisive stalemate where both sides of me are glaring at each other making snarly faces. I waffle back and forth between going back to an unfulfilling job that ultimately has become a necessary evil or cut way back in order to spend my days cleaning up spit up, changing dirty diapers, negotiating nap time with a four month old (a no win situation), and dealing with the daily routine of satisfying the most disgruntled of customers. The payoff from the former comes in that glorious paper form, holding me hostage with golden handcuffs. The latter payoff comes from that toothless smile, that Beevis and Butthead giggle, that look in her eye I don't see often enough but tells me I am the center of her universe.

In a little more than a week, I will be faced with daily workplace issues that no longer seem important. When the boss man demands that report by COB in a voice that rivals the drone of the Office Space manager, I will be thinking not of the numbers and deadlines but rather what I am going to do with Bug to make up for my absence all day. When the nanny tells me about how they went to the park or how she is sitting up all on her own, I won't be thinking about the people I trained how to eFile their court documents, I will be throwing my proverbial fist in the air cursing the decisions I was forced to make.

photo courtesy of www.perfectlycursedlife.com

I live in a beautiful area, but I pay dearly for that Southern California sunshine. The obnoxious mortgage payments, the ridiculous property taxes, the constant hamster wheel of make money spend money make money spend money makes a woman's right to choose between a career outside the home and building a life within the home almost impossible. Instead it becomes a delicate balancing act, a precise dance, a constant battle to keep from dropping the ball in one area or the other. I always thought that I would welcome a return to the workforce. I didn't realized just how pricey a little slice of the American Dream can be. I never saw myself as a stay at home mother but now, faced with the very real thought of missing eight hours of Bug time a day, I find myself almost paralyzed at the prospect.

No one ever said this whole kid thing was going to be easy and sweet Jesus, it sure isn't. There are moments in the very long hours home with Bug when I think holy hell, what have I done. I can't run out the door for a last minute yoga class, my postpartum hair is in desperate need of a new style for which I don't have the time, and don't even get me started on the long overdue pedicure that has been haunting me. But to even consider a life different than that which I have chosen, to be the mother of the most perfect baby girl, is ridiculous to even think about. And though mothers go back to work all the time and grapple with the very same issue, it just doesn't seem fair to anyone.

So heat up that coffee and prescribe some Valium, because come January 21 this girl is going to need it.

Top 5 Things I Wish I Had Known About Life With a Newborn

There was lots of advice given to me while I was pregnant. Most of it unsolicited, as usual. I read some lists of what to expect those first few weeks of newborn bliss, but most were of the feel good, life is beautiful variety. These are some things that I really wish I had known. Although, knowing me, I probably would have told myself the lie that most people tell themselves for the sake of sanity and self preservation - that won't happen to me.

1. You have no idea what lack of sleep can do to a person. Everyone will tell you that once you have a newborn, sleep is rare. People love to remind you to get your sleep now because there won't be much sleeping once the baby comes. You listen, you nod your head, you smile politely at their tales of woe. But you don't really believe them.

I used to think I was cool with just a few hours of sleep. I did it all the time in college. But your best all nighter does not compare to this I'm a zombie, can't think straight, I just fell asleep with my eyes open experience.

Once your baby is born, you handle that first night like a champ. No big deal. You've got nurses coming and going and the baby bliss is still fresh in the air. You want to wake up and feed your baby. You can't wait until you hear that sweet little cry and you know just what to do. You are rocking this mommy thing!

A week passes and it still hasn't hit you. "This baby sleeps all day!" you exclaim. "I got one of the good ones!" You can barely contain your excitement.

And then suddenly, your perfect, sleepy newborn is whisked away in the middle of the night and replaced with a screaming, famished child who clamps onto your nipple like it's the only thing keeping her from falling off a cliff. And you will feel like you may never sleep again. Cling to coffee. Pray to the coffee gods. Make Mr. Coffee the new man in your life.

photo courtesy of blog.lib.umn.edu

2. Breast feeding hurts. A lot. It's a curl your toes and try not to scream kind of pain. I always thought I had a high pain tolerance, but it took an eight pound baby girl gnawing on my nipples like a crazed elf to take me down a notch. Every new mother should invest in gel pads. Throw those puppies in the fridge and then throw them onto your puppies once they're cold. Do it. Your nipples will thank me.

Photo courtesy of babyblueline.com

3. You might fight with your husband a lot. I sure did. I am lucky and have one of those super helpful husbands but by the second week of no sleep I had irrational, crazy thoughts like "How dare he change another diaper like that! What, he thinks he's better than me?" and "Oooh, so the man can heat up a bottle AND cook dinner. La dee freaking da." I had to constantly remind myself that with the raging postpartum hormones, the lack of sleep, and the baby terrorist plotting my demise, I had to be nice to the man who still liked me even though I was wearing the same pair of baby puke stained sweat pants for the millionth day in a row. He loves me he loves me he loves me till death by baby do us part. Poor guy.

Oh. And you might resent him just a little because no matter how helpful he is, you are the one with the boobs. Even if he has moobs, they don't do the trick for a super hungry baby. Therefore, the five thousand nighttime feedings fall on you and those voluptuous milk machines.

photo courtesy of momlogic.com

4. Everyone raved about Kate Middleton showing off her postpartum belly. She's so real, they all raved. Real women do have a belly after childbirth. Okay, well, unless you are a Duchess of Cambridge freak of nature your postpartum belly will not be all totes adorbs, I don't care how classy and cute your blue polka dot dress is. The good news is that it will go down eventually, but it gets real scary before it gets real flat. 

photo courtesy of joannagoddard.blogspot.com

5. There will be times when you think sweet Jesus, what have I done. My life, my body, my sanity will never be mine again. Those first weeks are just about as crazy as it can get (although I have been told that it gets even crazier). There were times when my sweet husband would send me on an errand just to get me out of the house and I would want to keep on driving to the second star to the right and straight on till morning. These feelings are normal (I hope! Please don't tell me otherwise) and they will pass. Your baby will do something super cute and you will be all maternal and gooey and full of squishy squealy love. And then she will scream at you and poop on you and keep you up at all hours of the night and so the cycle of motherhood continues.

photo courtesy of getborntribe.com

So now that I've scared you straight, I encourage you to make your own list. Were there any unexpected things you experienced with which I neglected to traumatize people?

Sleep Deprivation & Subsequent Negotiations

When George W. Bush stated that we don't negotiate with terrorists, he had clearly never come face to face with a screaming four month old.

I'm not sure if it's just my baby, because I often feel like all of my friends have perfect babies that do perfect things and perfectly sleep through the night while dreaming perfect little perfect dreams. How perfectly delightful. But Bugsy May has had some sleep regression as of late and let's just say, mama needs a cocktail. She started sleeping through the night about a month ago and I smugly joined the ranks of those perfect mothers with their perfect sleeping babies. I might have even had a smug thought or two like maybe my baby should be in one of those super cute Pampers commercials where the babies are sleeping like the little angels that they are.

Then one night, out of the blue, Bug decided to wake up at 4am. Okay, well, that's not so bad, I thought to myself.

Then on that unholiest of holy nights, the wee one was up every hour. Well. That was just an anomaly. That couldn't possibly happen again, I told myself as I tried to shake off the unnerving thought that Bug may just have it in for me.

Oh, but happen again it did. And it hasn't stopped. She has now reverted back to those newborn days of yore where every two hours she wakes up hollering, demanding that I too wake up and admire all that 2am has to offer. It ain't much, folks. If it's not last call, I'm not interested.

Last night was New Year's Eve. I barely made it through two glasses of champagne and a movie before I sadly informed my husband that I am in fact the lamest girl in the world and needed to call it a night at the late bewitching hour of 9:30pm. Bug was so sweet and thoughtful and woke up at midnight to remind me that a new year was finally upon us.

And so began a night full of baby cries and mommy sighs. Oh and a whole lot of angry whispers and not so subtle punches as my husband snored away. That man can sleep through anything but how he sleeps through the cries of a one Bugsy May, I'll never know.

And though I digress, let me address that snoring. I swear he is just mocking me with each gnarly, snorty inhale. Look at me, he breathes. I am fast asleep because it's the middle of the night and that's what you do when it's dark outside, you sleep. Sleep, sleep, sleep he exhales. Apparently, the little one didn't get the memo, you snoring son of a - well, you get the picture.

And then, as the sun rises, so does the husband. He announces in a sweet, I'm here to save the day, aren't I wonderful voice that he will get up with the baby so I can sleep. How nice! Too bad I am already up for the zillionth time and won't you just be a dear and make some coffee.

So today, on New Year's Day, we are going to try something revolutionary. It is time that the Bug learns to sleep in her crib and take *gasp* naps. I spent a good hour negotiating with the baby terrorist. Here sweetheart, if I feed you will you sleep? No? Okay. How about if I rock you? Oh you don't like that either? Okay well I wouldn't want you to be upset. Diaper change. That's it. It's not? Well color me confused. Would you like to suck on your toes for awhile? You would?! Well okay!

She slept for half an hour. Just long enough for Mama to make a mimosa and toast the new year with the champagne dreams and midnight kiss she was denied the night before.

photo courtesy of www.someecards.com