April 26, 2011

Naughty Laundry?

Oh, hello iPhone.

I need to figure out how this thing works, especially when it comes to the blog. I think I already have carpal tunnel from Angry Birds. This device is like a whole new world and I'm Jasmine on the flying carpet right now. Except that would make Nico Alladdin and I'm not too sure if that's a good thing. Doesn't really cohere with the bad boy boxer image I fell for, and frankly if he started talking to throw rugs I'd be a bit concerned.

Nico's been more of my, oh, I don't know... Prince Trifecta. Peculiar description but it is apt and I shall explain. He is the daddy, the breadwinner during my maternity leave, and my hot husband. Keeping the spark, ensuring ample time for mommy/daddy "catch up" has been fantastic. Catch my drift?

Such dirty laundry to air in public, I know, but it must be said. Post-baby you have to make sure to be together and perpetuate the chemistry that made that baby in the first place. If not, you're just two roomates raising a child. I most certainly could have raised a baby with my best girlfriend: our house would have been fabulously decorated, we'd communicate swimmingly, and with our wardrobes combined we could rule the world.  Plus I'd have one baby she'd have the other.  Hmmm.... wait, nevermind.  There would be one major component missing. The sexy time component.

I suppose the time has come when dirty laundry is just plain old naughty laundry, but if this key element to a marriage is ignored, then the whole foundation cracks.  And the baby deserves parents to be made happy by one another.  The baby deserves the world, and there is nothing healthier than a mommy and a daddy who enjoy their time together after the little nugget falls to sleep.

I'm just sayin.

April 12, 2011

ET, phone someone else's home.

I have a new rule.  Listen up.

If you are a telemarketer calling my home phone number, you must know that when I immediately hang the phone up without saying a word, I am kindly telling you to please put me on your do not call list.  Please.

There is nothing worse than the shrill sound of a sales pitch to shatter the lucid environment I have created to let my baby sleep.  You're pretty much lucky I can't reach through the phone and you are in far better shape with me just hanging up.

It is important for all to know that I, myself, have been in "sales."  By sales, I mean glorified telemarketing. This is a relentlessly dull, pride-sucking position that desperately jeopardizes ones toleration for fellow man, and I mean no disrespect.  Kudos for your dedication.  

I know how badly you want to destroy your headset Office Space style each time you have to cold call a bitter, in a rush, unfriendly potential customer and I'm only trying to save you from the unpleasantry.  Me?  I'm not bitter [that much], but I am in a rush, and if you wake my child I'm going to be a bit unfriendly and I apologize for it.  This is my way of avoiding this uncomfortable interchange.

So, like I said, no thanks, and thanks.

April 7, 2011

Attract the positive.

The nugget stirs.  I only have a few minutes.

I made an important connection the other day.  I think that faith and the law of attraction are the same thing.

To have faith is to believe that whatever weighs on you will work itself out; that what you need will be provided by the world, good will or God.

The law of attraction states that like attracts like.  Positive attracts positive, negative attracts negative.  For this to work for a person who wants to find a job, for example, they'd have to visualize themselves in the job.  This positive thinking attracts the positive outcome.  Conversely, if this same jobless person kept thinking to themselves, "my life is miserable, I can't find a job, I really need one," then they're ultimately attracting this negative, jobless, miserable, interminable search.

Faith and the law of attraction.  Ok.  So with this new knowledge, what do I do with it?  I realize that I have to totally change my way of thinking.  I have to create a new image of myself that I carry with me at all times.  I have to take a mirror reflection with a grain of salt- because it's only a picture of this moment and not what I'm working towards.

I must look to the future, where clearly I'll be wealthy, in a job I love, wearing a bikini under my business suit just in case I decide to go to the beach and flaunt my hot mama body.  I'll have a private account at Nordstrom and a walk in closet to house my collection of couture.  And of course, I'll be spending a great deal of time in my side office where I'll be writing my doctoral dissertation.

God.  I'm so busy in the future.  I guess at that point, I'll have to start visualizing myself living a less grandiose lifestyle- with less job responsibility and expenses- so that I'll eventually be able to relax.  Having faith is hard, never ending work, I guess.

I'll still be hot though.

April 5, 2011

I'm an animal.

I have recently come to the conclusion that my scale is broken.  For some reason, it's accurate for my husband but always weighing in a bit 'heavy' for me.  I have the worst luck with scales.

I am, however-and oddly enough, having better luck with my jeans.  I am officially wearing pre-pregnancy skinny jeans.  Now, I use the term 'skinny' loosely. By 'skinny' I mean my belt loops are begging for mercy as I use them as leverage to get my jeans over my butt.  And my stomach is living dangerously over my waist line- but I will not feel anything but pride that these puppies button and I can actually bend without sucking in or busting a seam.

My zipper is starting to act a bit lethargic.  I gave it a break yesterday and wore yoga pants.

And screw you Joan Rivers.  Just because it zips does in fact mean it fits.  Maybe not well- but these jeans fit for all intents and purposes and I won't let you or your fake face take that away from me.

And, by the way- I am an animal.  Hear that, world.  I am on my fourth week of my 6 day a week exercise routine and damn it, I'm kicking ass and taking names.  I'm doing the Insanity dvd's and they are... insane.  I've never worked so hard and so fast in my life.  This week I notice frequently how much tighter I feel both physically and athletically.  I'm doing stretches I was able to do after a year of hot yoga.  I'm pouring sweat and making it through without needing to hit the pause button as a survival mechanism.  These are notable developments in my journey of becoming a hot mama and they deserve their moment.

So, after 3 and a half weeks of balls to the wall exercise and a [relatively] strict diet regime, why doest my eyes deceive me on my scale?  I stand there every Thursday morning, naked as the day is long, waiting for those numbers on that scale to reflect my dedication and my non-full-of-shitness about losing weight healthily and they fail me.  Why so cruel?

Before I get into the possible explanations, I have to ask myself if I care.  Do I care what the numbers are if I feel good and am starting to wear my pre-pregnancy jeans?  I don't.  I mean, truth is I'd like to see those numbers go down about ummm fifteen units, but I'm taking the positive where I can get it.  Plus, my husband thinks I'm hot, so whatever.

I'll be happy with these signs of success.  My pre-pregnancy jeans are a fantastic step.  The jowls are down to an all time low and my collar bones are out of hiding.  I'm going to take these new developments as signs that pregnancy didn't cause my genes to stray after all.