Wednesday, September 10, 2008

Some Days

Some days we sleep in and get naps and have champagne and foie gras and nobody cries and everything goes even better than planned.

And then some days we wake up optimistic because the baby slept 13 (13!) hours and we want to take her into SLO and then nothing goes as planned and everyone cries and you think "I need to talk to the boss about the conditions here at work".

I had to find something -- anything -- to wear to a wedding we're going to on Saturday. The wedding will be on the beach so I knew it was casual, but the choices for nursing wear are horrible. So I went to Old Navy thinking I could find a cute top (with easy boob access) and pants that wouldn't make me want to amputate my hips. And I didn't even LOOK at the skirts ... okay I LOOKED, but they are about 4" long and I'm not wearing THOSE skirts until I'm too old to care what other people think of me or I lose 30 lbs ... whichever comes first and I-don't-care-what-you-say-about-that-Clinton-and-Stacy.

Phoebe cried in Old Navy so I fed her in the dressing room. Then changed her diaper in the dressing room. Tried on horrible clothes that made me feel horrible about my body in the dressing room. Fed her some more because she wouldn't stop crying in the Old Navy dressing room. Tried on more horrible clothes in the dressing room.

And -- can I just say -- THANK YOU Old Navy for not carrying "long" length in ANY of your non-jean pants in your stores. Really? Are my legs REALLY that long that REGULAR looks RIDICULOUSLY short? And especially in THAT size. I didn't think so. So WHY ARE THESE PANTS ANKLE LENGTH FOR GOD'S SAKE!?

I resigned myself to a stupid shirt and figured I'd wear jeans to the wedding. Whatever. WHATEVER. I know better, people! I promise I do!!

And on the way to the freeway onramp I unsuccessfully tried to stop myself from crying.

Because nothing fits. Because the baby is crying. Because I'm going to wear jeans to a wedding and everyone is going to look and me at the beautiful wedding and go "Look at the fat chick in the jeans". Because with one income I don't have the luxury of just going to Banana Republic and finding 5 perfect outfits. Because I hate the size on the tags and the fact that I look like shit in a sleeveless shirt now, but just 3 years ago I was SO CLOSE to bench pressing 30 lb. dumbbells (I was benching 25 without problem and woulda moved up if I hadn't moved and couldn't afford gym membership over here and was happy in relationship and getting fat, I JUST KNOW IT!). Because I hate needing to lose 10 lbs., but because I hate how those goddamned Old Navy lights make me look (hideous) the only thing I can think about is getting french fries and I KNOW that french fries won't help me here, but it's immediate and losing 10 (okay 20) lbs isn't immediate. Because I wish my best friend lived in SLO so we could lament stupid dressing room lights together over a small cone at Foster Freeze (not the Geoff best friend ... the other one)

Sometimes you just need to pull over and cry.

But I didn't. Because the priority was finding something to wear. Well, and comforting my child.

So we drove to Simply Mama to find a nursing bra (one of mine broke and I need a new one because things change post-baby and the previous ones were bought when I was 8 months pregnant) and Phoebe started crying. So I fed her in the car. And then again in the dressing room.

Feeding and crying and feeding and crying forever.

I'm never going to fit into anything that's flattering again. I'm never going to get this baby to stop crying. I'm never going to just TAKE A VACATION from her crying. Life stops. It stopped. Forever.

Some days you don't look at the baby and go "I LOVE HER SO MUCH!" Some days you go "Remind me why I ever wanted a baby or had a mai tai, and I mean, EVER."

And there's more crying. And feeding. And crying. And the really helpful and great grandmotherly owner trying to give me UNSOLICITED ADVICE about the crying and asking how often I breastfeed and if I wear her in a sling or a baby bjorn and if I hadn't been wearing a bra that fit SO FREAKING GREAT (down a number and up a letter) I would have wanted to just walk out and leave her holding my baby (yes, she was holding my baby who -- OF COURSE -- quieted RIGHT DOWN when she held her) and just tell Geoff that Phoebe ran away from home.

But then she fell asleep. And then I found a perfect dress. Really. Perfect. And it was on sale.

And it looks like this, but in a pinkish/dusty rose color (and with my new bra it -- ahem-- looks better on me than the model wearing it here):

Found 2 cute shirts, too, but they were waaaaaaaaaaaaay too expensive (I am sorry, but even when I was making great money, I couldn't justify spending $70 on a freaking shirt, folks), but it was nice to find nursing wear that looked cute at least. Especially after Old Navy debacle.

And the lighting in there was SIGNIFICANTLY more flattering. And by that I mean to imply that it was nearly dark in that dressing room. The owner is a genius.

Phoebe stayed asleep and I went to get some fries and a Delirium and the woman who owns Bel Frites with her husband was there and we talked because she hadn't seen me for a few months (I was pregnant, 40 lbs. heavier, blonde and had no bangs last time) and Phoebe started crying so we left and went to the car. So I only had half my small order of fries (jamaican jerk seasoning with ranch chipotle dippin' sauce) and-yes-I-realize-I'd-lose-babyweight-faster-if-I-didn't-eat-fries BUT I HAVEN'T BEEN THERE IN MONTHS, OKAY!? And I want you to know that I may have left some fries, but I finished my Delirium.

And then Phoebe decided to ...

Cry all the way home.

Cry when we got in the house.

Cry during feeding her 800 times.

Cry until daddy got home.

And she fell asleep while he was holding her and he just put her in her bed.

And we cracked open a bottle of $3 Barefoot Chardonnay ($3 at Food 4 Less -- I mean, even if it was really horrible we could always add sugar and ice to it and call it a "wine cooler")

And thank god for wine. Really.

And having best friends available via text message.

And bras that fit.

No comments: