The Cheeks Swims !!

Today was a big day in the life of Eliza; she went swimming for the first time, in her grandma's pool!

I debated publishing this video because a). I look like bouncing jackknife in part of it, b). I'm making ridiculous sounds and saying daft things and c). I still haven't lost the 10 pounds I've been complaining about for 6 months now but hey in the end, YouTube was less effort than writing a full post.

Check out my very cute, very serious little girl as she umi-zoomis all over the pool, with a little help from her momma. I had to edit the video for reasons I will not disclose and unfortunately, her giggles were left on the cutting room floor, along with a few choice words muttered by my husband...

Purge

Today begins my whole house purge. I want everything in order for our "embrace our space" campaign, which kicks off next Thursday when Robert Jenny from Robert Jenny Designs comes to evaluate our needs. I'm really excited to see what he comes up with and hope that we can afford it... I'm pushing to blow out that back of our flat to extend our living area into the patio area but according to Matt, that will happen when hell freezes over.

Today is the start of another transformation that I am calling my "farewell to fat" campaign.  Although I put forth a lot of effort to lose the baby weight in the beginning, in the past month or so, the only progression I've made is moving further up the scale.  I'm not bothered, however: the three hour tapas and wine lunch I had on my last day in London (which I swear put three pounds on me) was totally worth it because it was spent with the best of friends who truly have their priorities straight: babies, friendship, food, and wine!  So, today starts a month of counting calories, except on the weekend when I'll allow myself two meals out, which will hopefully do the trick.  We'll see...

Ok, time to get back to work; stay cool - this weather blows!

Taking a Bite Out of It All

Hi, remember me?

I know, it's been a long time since I last posted and I apologize, particularly to my number one reader, Cort, who has been nudging me gently toward the keyboard with her Facebook inquiries. I've made a pact with myself to post at least twice a week and I intend to keep it.

My friend K*, who blogs here, warned me of the difficulties of juggling my momma self and my writing self and while I listened, I had no clue how it would play out. Obviously, I didn't foresee the wall I would hit until it was too late and here I am, six months later, just getting back into the swing of things.

In the past six months, I've done little more than tend to E, stare into space, watch trash TV, troll Hoboken Moms and Craigslist and eat. I've gained weight and lost brain cells but after a week spent on the River Thames with my Walking Girls, I feel refreshed and ready to return to a better version of my former self.

I'm looking forward to writing, running, working out, traveling, exploring, and organizing. I'm going to stop biting my nails (and fingers, knuckles, thumbs...) and start taking more satisfying bites out of life.

Matty and I have decided to fully embrace small space living; he's generously given me the green light to consult interior designers who specialize in urban spaces so hopefully by September, our flat will be transformed and each member of our family will have a room of one's own.

The sale of Ash Street fell through, so if you know anyone interested in a single family home in Watsontown, let me know. It needs more than just a little TLC but that house has great bones and could be a fine family home. And the price is just ba-na-nas - cheaper than a fully loaded Tahoe or Yukon...

Now that I'm pack on this side of the pond, I'm going to spend this week systematically going from one end of our flat to the other purging at least 50% of its contents; if you want to benefit from that purge, be at 413 Elm Street in the 17777 on Yard Sale Day at the end of September. Everything. Must. Go. We're morphing our style from shabby-chic/Country Living (think magazine, not Boyd's Bears) to Mid-Century Modern-meets-Fabulous Beekman Boys-meets baby friendly decor, so I'm embracing mimimalism.

I'll keep you posted!

* Ashley and Celine, you'll want to check out her blog - she's a true superhero: when she's not posing as mom to adorable twins, she's making huge strides as a professor of teacher education, specializing in literacy and the importance of infusing writing and 21st Century practices across curriculum at all levels. She's one of my professional role models.

Twenty Weeks In

Some days, it's all just a bit too much:

my nerve endings, a bit too raw and the

future, a bit too bleak. Luckily, it's 

just some days but honestly, why can't 

everyday bring porridge that is just about right?

Girls Day In

Little Eliza Skye has been keeping me company

today while I try to get this house back in order;

it's covered in dust from the front stoop and stairs

demolition/reconstruction, plus the laundry was 

piled up so high that Angelica Pinkerton got lost 

in it for a few hours.  So instead of joining my 

lunch group for the $10 salad and gourmet pizza

special at Bin 14, I chose to enjoy the world from

within and slung open the rear screen door to let 

the cool breeze blow while I make an attempt at

domesticity.  So far, so good - the bed's been

stripped and washed and re-made, which is a 

Herculean task in and of itself.  

While I cleaned, Eliza chilled in her Mamaroo

 and played with her Taggie ball.  Content, we both 

went about our business until I heard the bells of her 

ball signify its fall to the floor and lo and behold,

she was fast asleep and has been for the past two hours.

Naps are a rare thing for Miss E these days

but I don't ever complain since she sleeps

13 hour nights away in the fashion of her father.

Also, I usually have her on the go during the day,

lunching with the girls, picnicking by the pier,

and even listening to violin strings, as she did

yesterday at the 5th Street Philharmonic concert

hosted by our amazing friend Valerie, whose

own momma was the one delighting the wee

babes during her all request concert.

Some days, however, I feel it's best for E

spend the day at home, the place she knows 

best and where she feels most safe and secure.

I admit that now and again, a tinge of guilt

flares from making her adjust to my lifestyle

instead of me adjusting to hers so when it does,

we spend our version of a girls day out, in.

Before I go stuff pillows into cases, I want to 

share a few things with you that are on my 

mind today and I think I'll do it in list form:

A random email from my best bloggy friend 

in Alaska that put a huge smile on my face.

Kristin Hannah's latest, Night Road, that

I've been listening to while strolling with E.

An accepted offer on my house in PA that is so

 far below what I paid for it over a decade ago

that it pains me almost to the point of tears.

A second offer from the buyer who first insulted 

Matty and me (by offering $100,000 less than

what we paid and $69,000 below asking) 

that we have countered with a final offer -

take it, or leave it because we don't need to move.

An additional six months of maternity leave

that my husband has so graciously afforded me

because he can't imagine leaving E with anyone else.

Sunshine.  Glorious sunshine.

Mother's Day

Eliza Skye and her momma,
Mother's Day 2011


Mother's Day is a very strange holiday.

 No matter how hard everyone tries to make

the day all about you, the reality is this: your 

job as a mom does not allow for any breaks.

Not a second passes that the mind is not spinning

with thoughts of bottles (or breasts), bowel movements,

burps, drooly McDrools, or the three dividing

times of your baby's day: play, nap, and bed.

Matty was particularly generous for my first

Mother's Day; so much so that as he handed 

me the gift, he turned to Eliza and said, "Get 

ready for your mom to yell at us, Eliza", 

which I did but only briefly because although 

I don't believe in extravagance while

I'm not working, I do truly believe that I was 

not meant to be part of the working class and

will therefore enjoy the gift as though I am not.

I believe Father's Day may be my holiday 

of choice.  It is not in my nature to sit back

 and allow others to do for me; on Father's 

Day, I can embrace my Type A personality 

and relish in my comfort zone (i.e. I'll treat my 

husband like a king by doing everything myself 

 while claiming that I'm doing so because it's

 Father's Day and not because I'm a total 

control freak which, admittedly, I am).

Happy Mother's Day to all. 

A special shout out to my new friends 

and their baby boys and girls; I love ya.

To those of you with more than one child or a 

child and a dog, I salute you.  For those of you with 

multiple children AND a dog, I bow to you. For those 

of you who have a child or a dog or children and a dog AND

work too, well, I can't even begin to express how in awe of

you I am because let's face it: with one child and a cat, it's a full day.

Once I go back to work... well, let's hope there's Wi-Fi in the asylum. 

What's Up?

It's been an interesting few weeks,

that's for sure. My daughter stayed out 

past curfew at an Irish pub and I extended 

my maternity leave until February 2012,

survived a solo journey home to help 

out around the house while my mom

recovered from surgery resulting from 

Diverticulitis, had a bunch of girls and babies

over for a Royal Wedding Re-cap brunch,

drafted a floor plan that would turn a corner

of our living room into a proper nursery for

Eliza (one with heavily insulated walls

and a door!), and read a few books in between.

Oh, and my baby girl is now sleeping in the

crib unswaddled, like a big girl, and to reward

me for her hands free nights' sleep, she rolled

over today from back to tummy and then

straight up into Cobra position.

Atta girl, Cheeks!

Also, congratulations to my darling friend 

Abbie and her husband Jamie on the birth

of unnamed Baby Girl Holyer! I'm so 

excited that Abs and I both have little 

bambinas and that Lindsay's little one

 will make it three baby girls in August!

What else will summer have to offer?

You Can Do This

Knowing that your best friend -

the one you met when the two of

you were the age that her daughter is now -

has made it through not one, not two,

but three infancies alive (and now has three

happy, healthy, loving school age

children and an intact marriage, sense

of humor, and good hair to boot)

makes the prognosis of getting

through one (and possibly still having

some skin left on your fingers)

a heck of a lot more optimistic.

The Wall

China and Berlin did it.

And so did Mexico City, 

Quebec, and Bruges.

Perhaps it's time 

that the LaPointe's

build a wall, too.

I'm getting

tired of life with

baby in a 1 bedroom,

so perhaps we'll 

turn it into two.

Or, someone could just buy this place:

79monroestreet.blogspot.com

How does your garden grow?

After spending last summer working on an organic farm in Nova Scotia, one of my former students is now helping families live more sustainable lifestyles here in New Jersey by acquainting them with organic backyard farming/gardening.

Gabby specializes in introducing families to simple practices that can produce life changing results.  She and her team of like minded helpers will come to your home and completely transform your space into an organic garden that suits your needs, one that will afford you and your family fresh vegetables this summer and a healthy lifestyle moving forward.

Do you have a private backyard or shared common space?  Lack a yard but have a balcony?  Have no true outdoor space except a tiny spot that doubles as a fire escape?  Live in a 5th floor walk up with literally no outdoor space but have a sunny spot by a window? Have no space at all, but your neighbor does and might be willing to share?  

No worries- Gabby is experienced on all accounts and will build raised beds to your specifications, fill your window boxes with kitchen herb gardens, organize a container garden for those who lack soil, or help you bring the outdoors indoors if necessary!
After a free phone or email consultation, she and her team will arrive at your door with all tools, supplies and seedlings needed to transform your space.  

I've taught literally thousands of students and Gabby is, by far, the most passionate, dedicated and authentic girl I know.  She is so devoted to helping make the world a better place, one garden at a time, that she has deferred her acceptance to a prestigious college in order to follow her dream of making a modest living by helping others live sustainable lives.  

She is a very honest girl who is not out to get rich but who does need to make money since she is no longer supported by her parents.  In addition to a minimal delivery fee to cover gas and tolls and an agreed upon installation fee, you'll receive a bill itemizing the cost of materials and plantings.

If interested, you can contact me, Ali, at ali.k.lapointe@gmail.com for her contact information - call me old fashioned, but as her former teacher (who has her best interest in mind), I'm not comfortable posting her contact information in a public forum.

Hobomomma Theresa

In the beginning, this is about as much as you 

get out of a newborn and it can me a bit, um,

mind numbing, to say the least.  Those days 

are really, REALLY hard and seem to drag

out 'til eternity. Ugh, I remember them well...

But time passes and not only do you get 

better at taking photos, you start getting a

'lil something in return for your efforts. The

days start to move by quickly and you begin

to take baby steps back toward your old self.

Then one day you wake up to this and 

suddenly, life feels good again and in fact,

maybe even a little better than it used to feel.

Your energy has returned and even though 

your figure is still reluctant to come back, 

you're able to embrace each day with a smile.

But in those early days, it's impossible to see

through the milky haze of exhaustion. It's 

tough to logically rationalize your depression.

And you miss your old life, desperately and

feel as though perhaps you've made a big mistake.

That's why it's so important to connect with 

other women sharing your experience and 

perhaps more importantly, someone who has

just moved out of the stage you're currently in.

Someone for whom the experience is still raw

and fresh yet for whom it's finally in the past.  

I was really fortunate that I was able to turn

to my best friend from high school who gave

birth to her 4th the August before I gave 

birth to my 1st (and only). And that 

I was able to share my pregnancy

with another BFF who gave birth in October.

Luckily, when I blogged my feelings, many 

of you reached out to me with your experiences and 

support. Girls I haven't seen since high school, ones 

I became friends with through Matty, and even my 

bloggy friends shared their stories, sent gifts, and 

checked in on me regularly to remind me that

I (and what I was feeling) was absolutely normal.

And that made ALL of the difference.

I wouldn't have made it through those early days 

as well as I did without your support but many

new moms do not have the same network. A lot

of new moms feel isolated and crazed and,

well, that's just unacceptable and needs to change.

Hoboken is unique in that it's a walkable 

community brimming with new moms and

there are a multitude of ways to connect,

from the support group at the hospital to

baby yoga/music classes to restaurant

deals for new moms, etc. Unfortunately,

it's the exception whereas it should be the rule.

I feel so strongly about the necessity of 

bringing new moms together with one another

 (and with more seasoned moms whose babies 

have moved into the next stages) that I need to 

figure out a way to do just that nationwide.

Just call me the new moms Hobomomma Theresa!

I Caught a Wild Cat

This One's For Joan

, a photo by Life As We Blog It on Flickr.

The other weekend, Matty was the best man in a lifelong friend's wedding. Over the past few years, I've gotten to know the couple well; they are nicely paired so I was really looking forward to this event, despite having to seek out a formal dress that would fit my post-preggo body.

My friend Connie helped me out there; luckily, she had a to die for Nicole Miller that had just enough stretch in it to fit my heavily Spanxed bod. Dress taken care of, I turned to another friend to help me with my hair.

The morning of the wedding, I left Central PA and The Cheeks behind and drove back to Hoboken to prepare. I arrived back at my flat mid- afternoon, just as the ceremony was taking place in Hackensack, which meant that I had loads of time before the reception to make myself presentable.

You see, this was a big Jersey wedding at a fancy-shmancy reception hall and I wanted to look like I belonged there so of course, I pulled out my wedding hair extensions, hopped on my Huffy and pedaled over to 333 River where my friend Sarah (a very hot, English air hostess for Virgin Atlantic who once spent a weekend on Richard Branson's boat) was waiting to work her magic.

And she did. This is a pic of her handiwork; she did an amazing job twisting up all of the little bits of my short hair, securing them, and hiding them underneath the extensions so my long locks looked au naturale!

She just shook her head when I picked up my bike basket and left her place to hop back on my bike but I wasn't worried: I covered the extensions hanging down my back with my sweatshirt and pulled the hood tight around my neck to keep the top in place.

I was about to head home when I remembered an important detail: my borrowed shoes were open toe and I hadn't had a pedi since, well, before The Cheeks was born. Ugh. Luckily, I still had 3 hours before I was to meet Matty at the reception so I made my way to the nail salon and settled in for some treatments.

Along with the pedi, I was in desperate need of an eyebrow wax so I crawled onto the table where as she was slathering me with wax the, um, bold technician made this statement "ugh, you need upper lip waxed. You hairy".

Really? Did she just say that, because I've never had my lip waxed and had no clue that I was masquerading as the mustached woman. Needless to say, I was a bit taken back by this comment and, well, my body unfortunately started a bit.

I say unfortunately because while my body jerked up a tad from the table, her body was firmly pressed against it.

And against my extensions.

I won't state the obvious but I will say that I wasn't too stressed out at that point, I mean, how hard would it be to go home and re-attach a few extensions? After all, only two ripped out and there must have been 20 bound to my head.

(damn technician! I will say that she got her just desserts when I sat down to a pedicure with legs that hadn't been shaved since, well, um, when did I have the baby...)

I got back to Headquarters with 2 hours until go time and still wasn't stressed so I entered the bathroom and began what I thought was going to be a 15 minute fix. And from there, well, let's just say everything unraveled: my hair, the time, and my entire demeanor.

2.5 hours later, I was still in front of the mirror FREAKING OUT. My hair was an absolute terror, as I hadn't realized that when she ripped out the extensions, she had unraveled some of the short pieces Sarah had pinned up and therefore I had these weird, kinky bits that I couldn't manage. At that point, I had thought that if I took out all bobby pins and pulled everything into a ponytail, I might pull off a chic Academy Awards do.

Ha! Not. Even. Close.

Finally, I had to stop. It was only getting worse and I was now 45 minutes late and missing the entire cocktail hour which everyone knows in Jersey, is the BEST part of a wedding.

With no makeup and no time to find my evening bag, I barely managed to slip into the dress, pull out Aunt Babe's raccoon fur, grab my keys and get on the road.

En route, I sent (while stopped at a red light - not while driving) an SOS text to my friend Johnna who was at the wedding, told her I was in dire need and begged her to meet me in the ladies upon my arrival. After a few GPS miscalculations, I finally rolled up to the valet and parked underneath the five Hollywood style spotlights. By that time, I was approaching full blown panic attack mode. What were these lights? Was I at the wrong venue? Was the paparazzi here? Was someone going to snap a pic of this hot mess the minute I exited the car?

Once in the ladies lounge, I sat down and tried to do some damage control while I waited for Johnna. That's when the lovely attendant noticed me and came over.

"What is going on here, sistah?" She tisked tisked me in her lovely Caribbean accent and then answered her own question, "Ah, don't worry love, I have a weave, too," she declared, "just sit down and relax, relax and I'll take care of you."

Now, I remember the last time someone told me to "relax, relax" and his name was Jason and I think I punched him in the face for patronizing me but this time, the words soothed my tired soul and I melted into the chair.

A few moments, bobby pins, hair bands, sprays of gel and words of encouragement from Johnna later, I looked gorgeous but nothing like this picture and was able to make it to the bar and grab a martini - just before happy hour ended and my husband got up to give his speech.

All's well that ends well, I suppose, however I learned a major lesson for the next wedding I attend: You are not the bride, Ali. No one gives a care what you look like.

Except you.

The Bap Mobile

, a photo by Life As We Blog It on Flickr.

Eliza Skye likes to bap.

My kind friends with babies sweetly refer to her cries as "cute" whereas they cut through me like a razor on Joan Rivers' face. Her baps, on the other hand, do not make me clench my fingernails between my teeth because they are quite endearing.

Back in the early days, I scoffed at those who said that I would recognize her different cries because hell, they all sounded the same to me. Now that I'm past the 3 month mark (which my girlfriends and I decided at lunch today is the first true milestone for new moms), I must admit that although I can distinguish her hunger cry from the others, I have no clue what the other ones mean. I do, however, know which ones are going somewhere dark and evil and which ones will quickly subside.

The baps, if caught at just the right time, will most likely turn to smiles if I play my cards right.. or in baby terms, if I act like a clown and make ridiculous faces and sounds.

Which is fine with me because like all new moms, my main goal in life is to keep her happy... and, um, relatively quiet.

Now that she is 14 weeks old, she finally likes things that she used to hate and I'm not on pins and needles each time we leave the house. I took her in the car yesterday and not only did she sleep for the car ride to and fro and while we were at Barnes and Nobles, she didn't even do her usual 5 minutes of crying before passing out. Instead, she played with her toys and sucked on her bunnies ear.

Each morning, I've been forcing myself out of the house to get some much needed exercise for the mind and body and for the most part, she enjoys these strolls whereas just a few weeks ago, it was a real crap shoot.

Today, we strolled to the train station, then to Target, up to Anthony Davids on 9th and Bloomfield, over to Connie's on 9th and Hudson, and then back to our place in Southwest Hoboken.

And The Cheeks was a good little girl on each leg of the journey. She's starting to love her Bap Mobile and that makes me love her even more.

For Sale

Spring Cure 2010, a photo by Life As We Blog It on Flickr.
And yep, I took this bad pic.

This is where I spend my days but you need to imagine a play mat, bouncy seat, crib, changing table, and Mammaroo swing sharing the space with me.

Oh, and a 14 week old.

Today I got a call around noon from the real estate agency, asking if an agent could show our place from 2-3, which is feeding time. Of course I said yes, because I need to get the hell out of this one bedroom before I commit hari kari, or hari krishna or something else along those lines.

So, I went about de-babying the flat - snatching up bibs and bottles, blankets and teething toys, pacifiers and Poohs, cribs and play mats - and shoved everything in either the basement or the dishwasher. Then I stocked my Sportsac, adding more diapers, formula and bottles (because I have a bomb shelter mentality when it comes to my diaper bag), popped The Cheeks in her car seat, and went to Barnes and Nobles to buy my new friend's first novel and wait out the hour.

Luckily, The Cheeks slept the entire time so after buying the book, I pressed my luck and decided not to feed her and made my way home.

Having a newborn and a flat for sale at the same time is nerve wracking; I'm not sure which accounts more for my chewed nubby fingers, but together the combined pressure is tough stuff.

I want this place to sell; Sophia and I buried a statue of St. Joseph in the backyard this past weekend in hopes it will lead to success. If it works, well, the Catholic Church will get a new member and little Eliza Skye will wear a white dress on her communion day.

If it doesn't work, well, I'm open to many religions and will get to work burying their saints, sinners, and archetypes, too.

Bring on the Judgement

Day 23/365 Mother's Little Helper, a photo by texasgurl on Flickr.

It's confession time here at LaPointe of It All: my daughter is OBSESSED with television.

Yep, she's 14 weeks old and has already discovered the boob tube and all of its glories. We noticed that she was attracted to television when she was just a few weeks old: the little monkey couldn't tear herself away.

So, like any good mom, I made sure to turn her in the opposite direction when I watched quality programs like Shameless, Skins and Jersey Shore; I allow her to stay facing the tv during Teen Mom because hopefully the sorrowful lives it portrays will sink in and The Cheeks will think twice before giving up her goodies (no offense, Catelyn and Tyler - you know I heart you!).

No matter where Eliza is in the living room - on her play mat, in her Mammaroo (which she has FINALLY embraced!) or in her bouncy seat, she strains her neck toward the tv to see what's going on. Yes, I realize that I could solve this problem by turning off the tv but if you think that I'm giving up my television viewing, you have another thing coming. It's the only thing I can do that doesn't require one or two hands and without it, I would go insane.

When you're living in 700 sq feet and must spend 24/7 together with others, there's only so much you can do to maintain sanity and for me, watching tv is a mainstay for preserving my mental health.

So I try to make sure that what's on interests us both: we both enjoy Dinosaur Train (particularly the episode Good Mom), and Bethenny Ever After (she feels as though Bryn is her BFF). E and her dad have enjoyed watching baseball, golf, Mickey Mouse and Scooby Doo (don't worry, he changes the channel during the scary bits).

Yes, we are a television family and that's just how it's going to be. Feel free to judge me all you want but you won't change our ways. I grew up on television and so did my Matty and little Eliza is just another Kline-LaPointe who digs televised entertainment in a long family line.

I'm smart and active; Matt is smarter and active and Little Eliza Skye will be the smartest and most active, don't you worry.

Windows

Windows of Opportunity (2), a photo by lamar.francois on Flickr.

One of the most frustrating parts of motherhood is waiting for a window of opportunity to open so that you can return to your former self for a moment. These windows rarely open for more than an hour or two, so when they do, it's crucial to take advantage.

My day is organized around Eliza's schedule. I wait for her to sleep so that I can shower, make the bed, clean the kitchen, do the laundry, blog, read, etc. If I want to leave the house, I must consult her feeding schedule to determine if it's worth going out at that particular time or if I should wait another hour until after she's had a bottle.

When I get together with my friends, we try to co-ordinate schedules in advance by aligning our morning feeds in hopes that the kids will stay on a similar schedule. This is particularly important when traveling together, as I have done twice in the past few months.

Right now, Matt doesn't know it, but he is missing out on his window of opportunity to go to the gym this morning by choosing to nap on the couch instead. Well, he probably knows it and is ignoring it because I made it clear that he should've left 40 minutes ago while she was napping. Once she wakes up, it will be bottle time again and the whole Groundhog Day life that we're living will once again commence.

My MIL came down Wednesday morning and I jumped right out of that window, onto my bike, and zipped up to Washington Street where I met our realtor (and dear friend) for lunch to talk strategy for getting us out of this one bedroom. Thank goodness I have a great MIL because I need to taste freedom once in a while.

I wish my family lived closer because then I would have a lot of help and could feel more like myself, more often. Having a baby has made me realize the value of communal living; if I win the lottery, I'm buying a massive spread of land somewhere beautiful and temperate, building gorgeous cottages, and I'm inviting all of my favorite people to join me in a shared experience.

And on that note, this window has come to a close, as my baby daughter is waking from her nap and it's time to feed The Cheeks.

Rookie Mistake

Girls' Thursday Night Out Sans Babies + 

Wine + Sushi + Dancing at Buskers to Katy Perry = 

One Miserable Mother and One Relentless Baby.

Lesson Learned.

The Goal

Alicakes Sleeping Baby Girl! Shhhh!, a photo by alicakescupcakery on Flickr.

Everything in my life revolves around one goal: a sleeping baby.
Eliza is a great sleeper but I live with the constant fear that she'll stop being one, so everything I do throughout my entire day is in hopes of a good night's sleep.

That's what my life has come down to.

Ugh. Welcome to Groundhog Day.

My Inner Skinnygirl

bethenny.jpg, a photo by caitlinoco on Flickr.

Ok - Eliza is 13 weeks old and I feel that it's about time that I make an active effort to lose the rest of the weight I gained eating Ben and Jerry's during my miserable pregnancy.

As you know from my post-delivery blogs, I swelled to the size of a small whale after she was ripped from my womb. Most women leave the hospital having lost AT LEAST the weight of their child. Not me; I left the hospital having gained the weight of a very large child: I entered at 161 and left at 172.

I am not bullshitting you: I gained 11 pounds of water and bloat after giving birth to 14 pounds of child and placenta. I lost 36 pounds in the first few weeks I was home without any effort (oh shut up - considering I should've left the hospital at around 146 pounds, the majority of those 36 pounds was water) but I have only lost 1.5 pounds since.

Yep, 1.5 pounds. That's it. I weighed 136 on January 13th and I weigh 134.5 now, which is really depressing since I've been starving myself 6 days a week, doing 100 push ups every other day, and walking miles a day pushing a pram.

But one day a week at the new moms lunch, I've been stuffing my face, in addition to drinking A LOT of wine... during the day and at night.* And I haven't been doing the Body By Bethenny workout that I bought to stream on Amazon. As a matter of fact, I'm just now watching it for the first time while writing this.

And I'm kinda inspired. Kinda.

It's hard to find time to work out and frankly, (or should I say Frankely.. lol) I think that for the most part, unless you're interested in increasing your cardio lung capacity, working out for weight loss is a myth, which is why I'm even more reluctant to start doing it.

But it's time. I need to tone and I need to lose 10 pounds if I ever want to fit back into any of my old clothes. And yes, I know that I look "fine" right now. That I even look "great" when I make an effort. But that is not good enough for me because I am 5'2 and ten extra pounds on my frame means that I'm up two dress sizes and that is not acceptable.

Stop - I don't want to hear it, so don't even bother commenting: I don't care how you think I look or what you think I should weigh or blah, blah, blah. I know what I want to look like and what I want to weigh and most importantly, that I don't want to buy an entire four season wardrobe. I realize that the body changes in permanent ways after having a baby and that some things may never fit again but my coats should. My shirts should. And most of my pants, jeans and dresses should if I tone up and lose these last ten pounds.

So that's what I plan to do and I'm going to start making a sincere effort tomorrow because it's too late to start today: The Cheeks is about to wake up from her afternoon nap and this is the last free moment I'm going to have until 7:30 tonight and at that point, Matty will be home and it will be the two of us stuck in one room for the rest of the night and I'm not about to torture him by making him sit and watch me embrace my inner Skinnygirl. Which is another lovely reality of having a baby in a one bedroom.

So tomorrow it is.

*No, I'm not a lush... not yet. When I say a lot of wine, I mean a few glasses every other day.