World Breastfeeding Week

World breastfeeding week will be celebrated August 1st to 7th this year. Even if you're not breastfeeding, you can help those who are by encouraging and supporting their breastfeeding journey. Please support this important and lifesaving initiative. I am!

Truth in Advertising

I'm all about preparation and an open and honest flow of information so for all you non-mommies (yet or ever) I've decided to break the momma-code-of-silence that we're convinced is the only way to continue the permanence of our species (there's enough of us anyway) and tell you what my journey to mommahood is really like...

It sucks.

Morning sickness (as you all know) is a misnomer - there's nothing restricted to the morning about it and it's not sickness - it's the overwhelming urge to immediately (if not sooner) barf no matter where you are (for me parking lots, at the grocery store and at work all have been wonderful places) and it strikes randomly and suddenly at any time of day. Yum.

Cocoa butter does not prevent stretch marks - it gives one an incredibly itchy rash on one's stomach that persists for days (and days).

Pregnancy does not give you a glow - scrubbing your face aggressively to try to banish the crop of zealous acne that has suddenly popped up all over your face gives you a red tint that is often mistaken for a glow.

32 more weeks (and updates) to go and counting...

You need one

Yesterday evening the cute hubby and I joined forces on saving a wonderful friend of ours from the depths of overkittenization. What is overkittenization you ask? It is a horrible, terrible state, typically caused by long periods of exposure to overly cute kittens, excessive amounts of sleep deprivation and a general lack of all things chic and fashionable such as late night ice cream devouring sessions and meals with fun and entertaining people outside the house. Symptoms include an increased appetite for chips, a focus on mathematical formulas and bathroom habits and a desire to wear only yoga pants.

With our years of experience, we quickly determined the only way to save my dear friend from the horrible fate in which she was trapped was to steal her away from the clutches of the 10 cats (yes, I said 10 cats) and force her to ingest excessive amounts of cheap Italian food and make witty conversation.

It was a dangerous and challenging mission, fraught with rapid fire quips and educated judgments. Late night rations of waffle bowls and chocolate were required but luckily with our experience we knew to come prepared.

Fortunately we were able to catch the disease in it's early stages and our applied treatment was successful. In such case that the above treatment were not successful, large amounts of vodka and dancing would have been required to save her from the horrible fate.

Below are case study photos of subjects under the spell of the dreaded host animals.

Beware - the images below are highly sensitive and may cause intense feelings known as need-to-have-one-right-now. In such case these feelings do occur, immediately contact KAR for the required antidote.

Proceed at your own risk.

The question portion of the program is over

I copied this article from another poster - this chick hit it right on the money. Hope others of you relate.

My Turn: Stop Setting Alarms on My Biological Clock

If I'm ever going to fulfill my dream of becoming a mother, I'm going to need some better role models.
By Carrie Friedman
Newsweek

July 23, 2007 issue - I am at a party chatting with a woman I know slightly. As her young son squirms out of her embrace, she slips her hand under my shirt. She's not getting fresh with me. She's touching my tummy with her cold hand and asking me, in a concerned voice, "Why aren't you pregnant yet?" I smile, break free from her touch, and head to the food table to fill said empty belly with her brat's birthday cake.

I love children and definitely plan on having them. Maternal instinct is oozing out of my pores: I've infantilized my dogs; I've gotten down on my hands and knees at the park with babies I barely know. My marriage is wonderful and solid, and we are both blessed with good health. I've been a nanny, a teacher, a youth-group leader. I've taken childhood-development courses solely for the purpose of someday raising happy, balanced children. I have always looked forward to becoming a mother.

So why don't I have kids or even the inkling right now? It's because of you. Yes, you: the fanatical mothers of the world. It may seem like ages ago now, but you weren't always like this. You, too, were sneering at the obnoxious parents who brought their infants to fancy, adult, nighttime restaurants or R-rated movies and let them carry on, ruining things for other patrons. You've been terrible advertising for the club that you so desperately need others to join.

If you want me to join your ranks—and you've made it clear with your cold, clammy hands on my stomach that recruiting my uterus is of paramount importance to you—I need to set some ground rules.

First, please stop asking me when I'm going to get pregnant.

For all you know, I cannot have kids. For all I know, I cannot have kids, as I have not yet tried. But imagine how painful this line of interrogation would be if I had submitted to all kinds of procedures, only to come up empty-wombed. It would be emotionally devastating. Yet ever since the day after my wedding two years ago, I have fielded this question from the eye doctor, the dental assistant, my yoga teacher, the bagger at the grocery store. All of them feel entitled to ask. Don't. It's none of your business.

Next, don't completely abandon your own life and passions. You're setting a bad example for aspiring mothers-to-be like me.

I recently expressed my happiness over an achievement I had at work to a mother-friend of mine. She said, dripping with condescension, "Well, you don't know happiness until you've had a baby."

That's very possible, but don't rain on my parade, as I've never said to you, "Remind me, when you went to that expensive college you majored in diaper-rash prevention, right?"

I happen to love my job. It fulfills me in ways no other person—even a child—could. I learned through my own mother's example that the best lesson you can teach your kids is to pursue their passions. It's not selfish to have your own life. In fact, it's selfish not to.

Now let's talk a bit about manners, as in please teach your children some. The world has rules, and kids should learn them. And being well mannered does not infringe on their individuality and freedom.

I crouched to meet the eye line of an acquaintance's 4-year-old to greet her, and in response, she punched me in the face so hard my mouth bled. What was more baffling was the mother's reaction: nothing to the child, but to me she said very sternly: "You really shouldn't talk down to kids."

I also shouldn't be punched in the face by kids whose parents don't know how to set basic boundaries. Experiences like this don't exactly encourage me to hurry up and get pregnant.

Finally, don't make your kid an extension of your own narcissism.

No one could possibly love your kids as much as you do, so stop inflicting them on others. Don't bring your kid to adult parties when you're not sure if it's kid-friendly. If they didn't invite your kid, they don't want your kid there. If you don't want to get a babysitter, stay home.

My husband thinks some people, particularly mothers, behave in these ways because it helps them validate their own choices. But he doesn't truly understand how infuriating it is, and that's because nobody badgers men with questions about procreation.

Becoming a parent was your decision, and I am thrilled for you. All I'm asking is that you let me make that choice in my own time. And keep your hands off my belly.