I'm a mom

Hi dear readers, I apologize for my absence, I am just now recovered from what I can only describe as a slow death for the last 10 days. The hubster and I were so sick, my mom took our baby this past Sunday and despite getting pretty much zero lovey time together, all we could do is lay next to each other, blow snot in each other's t-shirts and weakly discuss whether we should watch a marathon of that Boss Undercover show or It's Sunny in Philadelphia. It was brutal, and I'm just glad to be on the other side now.

Well readers, in the time that has passed, something big happened. I'm not exactly sure when, but it happened. I became a mom. I know, you are all thinking, wow. Her baby is like 16 months old. If she didn't know this already she really needs to cut back on her day drinking. But it was a very fun, easy transition for me when Brooks was born (besides the first 3 months, which I don't remember literally at all and refer to as "the fog," but that's normal I hear). I thought that I hadn't really changed at all from the Sarah "before," the gal who loves being up to date on the latest fashion, what is happening with Brad and Angelina (really Brad, you need to marry her? Haven't you done enough? Just get back with Jennifer and I'll forgive you in a decade, maybe). I'm the one who loves a cold margarita on a Friday night and being able to pull out the party trick back bend at a bar.

I will tell you how I know, but only if we keep this between us. It's embarrassing. I found mom panties undies undergarments vajayjay keppers underwear! (what's a cool hip name for underwear?) And the worst part is, they belong to me!

I'm really not sure how this happened. Back to the day drinking. But seriously, we have been living in Florida over a month now, and it's been a really hectic move and couple of months. I was doing laundry last night, folding about eight loads that backed up when we were sick, and finally feeling coherent and level-headed for the first time in weeks, noticed an enormous blob of tan Lycra stuck to the dish towel. What is this, I thought. Did my mom spend the night recently? Is Zac bringing home old lady panties and putting them in the laundry to keep me on my toes? Oh no, I realized. They're mine.

The memories came flooding back of the day it happened. I was in Forever21, buying a few new dresses because, after 9 months of running my GD ass off, I had finally gotten to 5 lbs away from my pre-baby weight. (When people tell me "it takes 9 months to put it on, it'll take 9 months to work it off," with a smile and a wink, I want to gouge them in the eyes and rip that wink off their face). I was feeling practically anorexic as I sauntered around Forever21, thinking that all the high school girls were probably wondering who the model was in the College Station Forever21. I had just started fixing my hair again for the first time in probably a year, and miraculously, I didn't have a spec of throw up on me. I was a marvel to see. Or so I thought.
I guess God gives us this spectrum of confidence to keep us going, but it sure is rough when you realize what the reality is. I must have had 100 dresses on my arm when I waltzed into the Forever21 dressing room, and as it's a store for 12-14 year olds, they only let you take in 6 at a time, so I meticulously separated them and bounced in with my first 6 items.

Much to my shock and dismay, not a single thing in my first 6 fit my Gisele-like body. I was shocked. My stomach rumbled as I gruffly swung open the door to grab the next batch, and I figured that was a fluke. I was starving, but I had to plow forward. Brooks was only at the Mother's Day out for 2 more hours and it had taken me an hour to do my hair, this was no time to think about the Aunt Annie's Pretzels I could smell from the mall.

What followed was like a sad TV show on Bravo about the girl who has body dismorphia, except mine was in a less "oh my gosh, that's so sad" way and in a more, "get a grip on reality girlfriend" way. Only 2 or 3 items in the batch of 100 dresses even went on my body, let alone looked like something that my husband would walk around with me in public wearing. I didn't realize it, but despite the numbers on the scale, my body had changed forever. Only moms know this, and I reflected on what one of the strength coaches my hubby worked with at Texas A&M had told me when I was pregnant months ago. As I sat sobbing like a hot mess in Forever21, I remembered him telling me that the body of a pregnant woman was like a transformer, and your hips have to actually expand to get the baby out during labor, and after that, they are forever larger and your body is never really the same. Since I was able to squat Brooks out in a matter of minutes (seriously it was like a National Geographic special) I figured my hips were twice their former size, and who knows what my vajayjay had stretched to. (Good thing I know to tell the doctor about the extra stitch. Message me if you want to know more). I know this is being a smidge dramatic but it was a nightmare.

Before that day, I don't think I'd ever walked into Forever21 and not bought a single thing. I'd always found a scarf or dress that caught my fancy, but then again, that was in my pre-baby hips days. You see, I was waiting for this day, and I had saved the money I was making from my side business making cake pops, to buy clothes for my new and hard-earned Gisele  mom body. But I was a bitter woman that day, and muttered stuff under my breath about Forever21 being a cult and changing their sizes on me, as I made a quick exit and a beeline to Aunt Annie's, where I knew I still fit.

After two pretzels with icing a pretzel and a diet coke, I decided this was no time to feel sorry for myself, and that I needed to leave the mall with something that made me feel good about myself and getting back down to the weight I had targeted. I had worked really hard after all, sometimes even refusing ice cream at night in bed while my hot hubby indulged! With only 45 minutes left in my Brooks-free mommy time, I walked into Macy's, and I'm not proud of what I bought, but it is who I am now. I bought mom underthings. A lot of them. All different kinds too. I was new at this, I didn't know how it worked. I didn't have time to try them on, so I just grabbed a plethora, tried not to get the grease from my pretzels on them, and headed to the church to collect my baby.

My sweet baby. You would think that I would be mad at the sweet Brooks for what he had done to my body. But again, God has a plan. He makes you love their darling faces so much, from the first second you squat them out, that you accept that after nursing your body sucked your boops back into your body, and what was left was a sad sack of clementines with squiggly lines on them and hips that don't lie. You accept that you are never going to weigh that number again, not ever, unless you give up McFlurry's all together, and then that's a life that's really not worth living isn't it? Because it's all worth it.

I love being a mom, even more than I thought I would. It's so rewarding I almost can't stand it. When he naps a long time I miss him, and I go in his room and stroke his hair like a creepo, willing him to wake up and play with me. Of course I have days when I text my husband things like "This is it, no more kids, and you better be bringing me home 1 million dollars and a Ferrari because this is the hardest damn job on the planet." But for the most part, it is so much fun and I feel so lucky I get to do it.

The mom underwear did help things, and it even got me back into these fabulous Juicy Coutoure jean leggings, the last pair of jeans that wouldn't will themselves over my junk in the trunk. The only problem was, the jeggings needed a thong, and you could see enormous mom underwear lines, so they were retired. I framed them and they know hang in my closet with all my vintage Hermes bags and Jimmy Choo shoes.

As a final note, I decided to try the back bend, alone in my room. This old mom has still got it.

Diet Schmiet

In the light that we are going to try to expand our family sometime soon, I figured it would be in my best interest to begin to try to eat healthy and get in great shape beforehand. Why not board the fat pregnant train at my fittest? I'm so smart.

So tonight I decided to measure out my ice cream. I don't have ice cream every single night. It's somewhere between 1 time a week and every single night. Much closer to the every single night side than I'm willing to admit to my blog and to myself. Have you ever measured out a serving size of ice cream? If you want to be so incredibly depressed, like Sarah Machlachan on the animal commercials depressed, please measure out a half cup (what the carton "suggests" I eat) of ice cream. Here is what it looks like:

If you're thinking the bowl looks empty well you would be right. If you're thinking the spoon looks like it's already had a few licks....well you'd also be right about that. Your attention to detail is astonishing dear reader. You see my issue is that I usually have at least 4-5 bites out of the carton before I serve my bowl. I have realized those bites are what a serving size is. So before I've even planted my rear on the couch to eat ice cream and watch the Real Housewives, I've already eaten an entire serving searching for the cookie dough bites. It is abandoned puppies depressing.

I guess this is pain for beauty. (I hate that saying. I can hear a Chinese nail lady saying it to me as she waxes my upper lip and I wince). You see my next pregnancy I just know I'm going to look like this:

One thing I've noticed is that when I'm trying to eat healthier, all I can think about is the unhealthy stuff. Even though I'm trying to tell myself that I need an apple, all my brain can think is whether I should get a McDonald's cone or a Wendy's frosty for the drive home.

We had some visitors recently and got the chance to go out to eat at 2 fun and fancy restaurants on the beach in Ft. Lauderdale. I always head into these places thinking, I will get roasted salmon and steamed broccoli, avoid the bread plate and guzzle ice water! Gosh I must be glowing, I continue to myself. 20 minutes later I'm the person elbows deep in the bread, slathering on (and asking for more) butter, and preparing to order the risotto because "I just barely ever eat risotto." I'm playing it real fast and loose with the "barely ever eat" phrase.

Side note on bread: One thing I have noticed in Florida restaurants is that the bread is very hard. Do older people like hard bread? There are a lot of 60 and ups down here. Are they all requesting stale bread? What's a girl got to do to get a soft buttered croissant or 5 before her meal?

Despite my shortcomings and love of risotto and bread, I figured a good spot to start all this healthiness would be a trip to Whole Foods. This is one of my favorite things to do, walk around these upscale type grocery stores and peruse all the food. Everyone there seems rich and fancy, and I too want to be rich and fancy, even if just from 3-3:30 on a random Monday. I imagine my name is Evelyn and my little one is Frederick (I have another on the way, to be named after an artist I admire), and we have just come from his music appreciation class. Brooks is half fluent in mandarin already, obviously, and I am head to toe in Gucci and look fabulous.

The reality: I'm covered in the squirt baby food that Brooks just exploded onto himself and me as I put him in the cart, and I'm pretty sure he has a poop, but the wipes and diaper are all the way back in the car and I don't realize it until we are in the store. I guess he will have to wait to be changed in the popped open trunk until we are done. I'm not positive I put deodorant on before I left so the odor we are giving off for a 10 foot perimeter around us is musky to say the least. Fancy it is.

They didn't have a Whole Foods in the town we were in before so I was excited to go. Big mistake. I guess the last time I went was in college when apparently it didn't matter that the 12 oz of blueberries were $8.99. What do they do to make this stuff organic, grow it in Gold? Now that I'm a sensible mom on a budget, I walked around aghast at the prices and thinking, we can deal with pesticides and hormones. We'll be fine! Brooks and I filled up on samples as our afternoon snack (sneers from the organic cheese lady as we made round 2 didn't help) and I picked a few things to buy so I wouldn't have to trudge out like white trash with nothing. It's not the Gap, I reminded myself, you can't walk into a grocery store and not buy anything.

The nice man bagging the groceries noticed my choice of (organic) blueberries dipped in yogurt (white chocolate), and remarked "these are so good." 'I know!' I told him, thinking about how Brooks and I would devour the whole thing on the ride home.

"Although," he said, "anything is good covered in chocolate, even a finger!" I guess he pinned me, the girl who would eat anything as long as it's covered in chocolate. I can't argue with facts.