Crying. Baby crying stinks. You hate it. You want more than anything to help your Sweet One STOP so he can go back to that cooing and gurgling you love so much. Because see, you are on a mission, as you’re FINALLY losing some weight (yes!) and you have been stuck in the house for about 8 billion years. The sun is shining and new jeans sound better than the epidural you got shoved into your back at around 6 centimeters. It's time to go JEAN SHOPPING!!
So, you manage to get your 25-pound fully-stocked designer diaper bag AND baby into the car without much fuss. You are amped, have make-up on, and ready to go! As you pull out of your driveway, you feel free and totally independent, like that annoying friend who was out and about right after labor!
You're three minutes into the weekend bumper-to-bumper traffic when your Sweet Little Angel starts screaming and wailing bloody murder. What the heck is going on? Paci fell? Toe is cramped in new shoes? Sun is in his eyes? Blowout? He is backwards so you have no flippin' clue!
What are you supposed to do? Miss your exit, pull of to the shoulder and fix the problem? Continue driving and crank up 80’s rock music, hoping to drown out the screaming with the a guitar solo? Nah. You just do the twist your neck and arm backward thingie, patting baby's head in between shifting gears and changing lanes while saying, “you’re ok!” at 75 mph. While this does not do much to stop the crying, and puts you, baby, and others at extreme risk, at least you feel like you are doing something and you make your exit!
So you get to your destination no longer inspired but haggard and disoriented with the worst neck pinch you have yet experienced. With ringing ears you park wherever you can and begin to wrestle the stroller out of the trunk, breaking the one good nail you have trying to pop the dang thing open. You fit your stupid designer diaper bag halfway into the bottom of the stroller and prepare for baby transport, only to find that baby has fallen blissfully asleep while you were fighting with the stroller. Naturally. So, your best efforts to gently move baby from car to stroller starts the wailing all over again, as if you violently shook the car seat and slammed it into the stroller. The drama.
So 20 minutes into your trek, baby is crying that hunger cry, (you know the one that causes you to spray milk) even though baby just ate right before you left so he can’t POSSIBLY be hungry, right? You convince yourself of this in order to get from the parking lot into the mall.
Baby's screams are amplified, each wail echoing painfully through the mall’s large walkways. What a way to announce it is time to find some new jeans! You feel all eyes on you as you trudge by, trying to remember the names of the clothing stores you used to shop at since so many new ones have popped up while you were living in the Maternity World. The annoyed eyes become all too heavy as you duck into a normal clothing store for the first time in about 6 months, and you are happy to escape the wave of grimaces.
But oh no. Skinny, taut women parading around you cause envy and disbelief overwhelm you as you sweat that NONE of these women have had children. Swearing under your breath you angrily snatch the first three pairs of jeans you see in different sizes and lug the stroller to the dressing rooms.
Looking at the dressing rooms causes an internal dilemma: Do you use the room reserved for people with wheelchairs who need to use the support bars or not? You realistically cannot fit your diaper bag, let alone the stroller, in a dressing room designed for skinny childless people. Rationalizing the need at hand, you dart into the bigger dressing room and maneuver the stroller and diaper bag into place and position yourself in a manner that you hope will reveal the most flattering image of your “new body” in the mirror. You sit down and look at baby, who is not wailing any longer but seems to be taking a break as to save the real tantrum for an audience. You realize that baby’s binki is missing, but there is no time for that; she is quiet and it is now time for the daunting task of finding great jeans that fit! You remember the dressing room mirror as being evil, but now you wish you could try the jeans on in the dark! "Is this a fun mirror??" you moan while squinting so you can blur your view of stretch marks and chunky flesh. Of course you try on your pre-pregnancy sized pants first. Denial and agony of the truth clash when they don’t fit and you groan as you pull them up as far as they will go, which is half-way up your thighs. You manage to convince yourself that clothing sizes changed within the last 6 months due to some manufacturing mishap and attempt to move on. The next pair is not much better, but after squirming and yanking you get them to cover your behind! For a split second you think you should buy these and use a rubber band to hold them together and wear over-sized shirts for now because the weight will just “melt off” once you start that strenuous exercise routine. You are jolted back into reality and try on the third pair. Of course the largest sized pants you don’t want to fit “fit”, and you are pretty sure you are buying your first pair of "mom jeans" as tears start to well in your eyes. Jeans shopping was not as fun as you thought it was going to be! After slipping back into your maternity jeans (which are actually more current with the trends than what you are about to buy) and letting your tummy back out, you realize you now have to go stand in line to buy the darn things. On cue baby starts crying and starts to emit a very ripe and nauseating smell. You decide the diaper can wait as you exit the room and head for the line of about 2000 people waiting to buy jeans in your old jean size.
As you stand in line with sweat dripping off your brow and onto the shelf of a chest you have acquired, you fumble for binkies, toys, Cheerios, anything that will get your baby to stop crying, but nothing is working and you know it is because of that rancid diaper you are allowing you child to steep in as it ferments due to your selfish quest. Your eye catches the clock on the wall, and to your amazement, you see that it took you an HOUR to try on three pairs of jeans. You swear you will never go out alone with baby in public again as you realize it is ALSO time for baby to eat and you either will have to sit on a bench by the cell phone kiosk to nurse, or use your half-an-hour window of time to get home and feed the ravenous peanut before he explodes. If you are a mom with formula, you are probably letting out a sigh of relief as you give the baby her bottle and the rest of the experience is somewhat tolerable. Or, you’re freaked out because you forgot your ATM card and have no cash to buy bottled water and must either, let your baby starve, or get water from the bathroom that was last cleaned, uh, when?
You are able to buy your jeans just before everyone passes out in line behind you and you make it out to the car relatively in one piece and start loading everything back in. Driving all the way home with that smell is certain to be a health hazard, so you attempt your first diaper change in the passenger side seat of the car. Right now you're happy I told you to pack plastic baggies! You’re tired, your breast pads are filled to capacity, and you wish I would have also have told you to add earplugs to the list! Baby starts crying again as soon as you are out of view, and the perilous drive home requires that 80’s rock music once again. In your stressed-out stupor you actually think your baby’s screams sound great to heavy metal. At least you got some jeans, right?
Who doesn't love the "Mom Jeans" skit on SNL...Tina Fey ROCKS! Watch the clip at: http://www.nbc.com/Saturday_Night_Live/video/clips/mom-jeans/229048/
So, you manage to get your 25-pound fully-stocked designer diaper bag AND baby into the car without much fuss. You are amped, have make-up on, and ready to go! As you pull out of your driveway, you feel free and totally independent, like that annoying friend who was out and about right after labor!
You're three minutes into the weekend bumper-to-bumper traffic when your Sweet Little Angel starts screaming and wailing bloody murder. What the heck is going on? Paci fell? Toe is cramped in new shoes? Sun is in his eyes? Blowout? He is backwards so you have no flippin' clue!
What are you supposed to do? Miss your exit, pull of to the shoulder and fix the problem? Continue driving and crank up 80’s rock music, hoping to drown out the screaming with the a guitar solo? Nah. You just do the twist your neck and arm backward thingie, patting baby's head in between shifting gears and changing lanes while saying, “you’re ok!” at 75 mph. While this does not do much to stop the crying, and puts you, baby, and others at extreme risk, at least you feel like you are doing something and you make your exit!
So you get to your destination no longer inspired but haggard and disoriented with the worst neck pinch you have yet experienced. With ringing ears you park wherever you can and begin to wrestle the stroller out of the trunk, breaking the one good nail you have trying to pop the dang thing open. You fit your stupid designer diaper bag halfway into the bottom of the stroller and prepare for baby transport, only to find that baby has fallen blissfully asleep while you were fighting with the stroller. Naturally. So, your best efforts to gently move baby from car to stroller starts the wailing all over again, as if you violently shook the car seat and slammed it into the stroller. The drama.
So 20 minutes into your trek, baby is crying that hunger cry, (you know the one that causes you to spray milk) even though baby just ate right before you left so he can’t POSSIBLY be hungry, right? You convince yourself of this in order to get from the parking lot into the mall.
Baby's screams are amplified, each wail echoing painfully through the mall’s large walkways. What a way to announce it is time to find some new jeans! You feel all eyes on you as you trudge by, trying to remember the names of the clothing stores you used to shop at since so many new ones have popped up while you were living in the Maternity World. The annoyed eyes become all too heavy as you duck into a normal clothing store for the first time in about 6 months, and you are happy to escape the wave of grimaces.
But oh no. Skinny, taut women parading around you cause envy and disbelief overwhelm you as you sweat that NONE of these women have had children. Swearing under your breath you angrily snatch the first three pairs of jeans you see in different sizes and lug the stroller to the dressing rooms.
Looking at the dressing rooms causes an internal dilemma: Do you use the room reserved for people with wheelchairs who need to use the support bars or not? You realistically cannot fit your diaper bag, let alone the stroller, in a dressing room designed for skinny childless people. Rationalizing the need at hand, you dart into the bigger dressing room and maneuver the stroller and diaper bag into place and position yourself in a manner that you hope will reveal the most flattering image of your “new body” in the mirror. You sit down and look at baby, who is not wailing any longer but seems to be taking a break as to save the real tantrum for an audience. You realize that baby’s binki is missing, but there is no time for that; she is quiet and it is now time for the daunting task of finding great jeans that fit! You remember the dressing room mirror as being evil, but now you wish you could try the jeans on in the dark! "Is this a fun mirror??" you moan while squinting so you can blur your view of stretch marks and chunky flesh. Of course you try on your pre-pregnancy sized pants first. Denial and agony of the truth clash when they don’t fit and you groan as you pull them up as far as they will go, which is half-way up your thighs. You manage to convince yourself that clothing sizes changed within the last 6 months due to some manufacturing mishap and attempt to move on. The next pair is not much better, but after squirming and yanking you get them to cover your behind! For a split second you think you should buy these and use a rubber band to hold them together and wear over-sized shirts for now because the weight will just “melt off” once you start that strenuous exercise routine. You are jolted back into reality and try on the third pair. Of course the largest sized pants you don’t want to fit “fit”, and you are pretty sure you are buying your first pair of "mom jeans" as tears start to well in your eyes. Jeans shopping was not as fun as you thought it was going to be! After slipping back into your maternity jeans (which are actually more current with the trends than what you are about to buy) and letting your tummy back out, you realize you now have to go stand in line to buy the darn things. On cue baby starts crying and starts to emit a very ripe and nauseating smell. You decide the diaper can wait as you exit the room and head for the line of about 2000 people waiting to buy jeans in your old jean size.
As you stand in line with sweat dripping off your brow and onto the shelf of a chest you have acquired, you fumble for binkies, toys, Cheerios, anything that will get your baby to stop crying, but nothing is working and you know it is because of that rancid diaper you are allowing you child to steep in as it ferments due to your selfish quest. Your eye catches the clock on the wall, and to your amazement, you see that it took you an HOUR to try on three pairs of jeans. You swear you will never go out alone with baby in public again as you realize it is ALSO time for baby to eat and you either will have to sit on a bench by the cell phone kiosk to nurse, or use your half-an-hour window of time to get home and feed the ravenous peanut before he explodes. If you are a mom with formula, you are probably letting out a sigh of relief as you give the baby her bottle and the rest of the experience is somewhat tolerable. Or, you’re freaked out because you forgot your ATM card and have no cash to buy bottled water and must either, let your baby starve, or get water from the bathroom that was last cleaned, uh, when?
You are able to buy your jeans just before everyone passes out in line behind you and you make it out to the car relatively in one piece and start loading everything back in. Driving all the way home with that smell is certain to be a health hazard, so you attempt your first diaper change in the passenger side seat of the car. Right now you're happy I told you to pack plastic baggies! You’re tired, your breast pads are filled to capacity, and you wish I would have also have told you to add earplugs to the list! Baby starts crying again as soon as you are out of view, and the perilous drive home requires that 80’s rock music once again. In your stressed-out stupor you actually think your baby’s screams sound great to heavy metal. At least you got some jeans, right?
Who doesn't love the "Mom Jeans" skit on SNL...Tina Fey ROCKS! Watch the clip at: http://www.nbc.com/Saturday_Night_Live/video/clips/mom-jeans/229048/
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