How Becoming a Mother Changed Me For the Better

Three years ago my husband and I welcomed a baby boy into our family. He was our first child and we were thrilled to be parents. Leading up to his birth I was confident we were ready, and as much as others told me life would change I somehow thought my life was different. I would not change, I would now just include mom on my resume. Boy – was I wrong.

The first time I held my son and looked into his eyes, life did change and so did I…dramatically. I was now a mother and solely responsible for this tiny life in my arms. To say you instantly fall madly in love is a vast understatement.  There truly are no words in the English language to describe the overwhelming joy and love you feel when you first meet your baby. It’s once you get over that moment of butterflies and kittens the fear sets in. I actually asked my nurse, “Are you sure you want to leave him to me?” I was hoping I could move in to the hospital and just use the nurses as free labor until my son enrolled in college, but unfortunately my request was not honored. Eventually they did kick me out and now here I was…a mom.

Suddenly all other things in my life came second, which included my beloved Chihuahua. Blasphemy! Every minute of everyday, even once I returned to work, I thought about my son.  Did he miss me? Was he ok? Does he know how much I love him? Does he love our nanny more than me? Should I give up my career for him? How am I going to pay for college? I basically turned into a raging lunatic. My nights were sleepless, and not just because the baby needed to eat but also because I was overanalyzing every move he made.  If I did get the occasional two hours of sleep, I would have dreams he skinned his knees, or the kids at school were mean to him and would wake up in a panic.  I always heard him crying even when he wasn’t. I slept with one eye opened staring at his chest to make sure he was still breathing. I hovered over anyone who was holding him, and often criticized my husbands parenting skills. No one loved my son more than me, so I knew what was best. Or so I thought.


Truth was, I didn’t know what the hell I was doing either.  It was the blind leading the blind. I was just trying to make it to the next day without losing my sanity. I was exhausted trying to keep up with being a new mom, as well as the person I used to be. Then it hit me – I am not that person anymore and the sooner I learn to let her go, the better off I will be. I can’t stress over trying to be perfect because I’m not. No one is, nor do they expect me to be.

Once I made that commitment, all of the little insignificant nothings didn’t bother me anymore. I was going to have to get used to motherhood along with the worry and guilt that comes with it. It consumed me at first and was quite difficult to embrace. I constantly doubted my actions and myself. That pedicure I used to enjoy now seemed like time I should be spending with my family. Life became an intricate balancing act, but eventually I figured it out. I knew what advice to take and what advice not to take.  I’m pretty sure putting Jack Daniels on my son’s gums when he’s teething was advice I had to turn down. I started feeling more comfortable with my decisions and knew I was doing the best I could.

The lessons I learned were: It’s impossible to give a 100% to everything.  The person who puts the most pressure on you – is you. You might not be able to have it all at once and that’s normal. Something will have to give and you will make sacrifices.  Those sacrifices will be worth giving up although you may not see it now. Becoming a mother will be one of your greatest accomplishments – mistakes and all. As time goes by some fears subside. The ache in your heart becomes one you begin to cherish and the lessons your kids teach you will make you a better parent – and a better person.

Momma sebe

Why You Should Take Pregnancy Photos

I admit I’m a vain person when it comes to taking photos. I even have a side I must take pictures on.  If I can’t take the photo from that angle, I opt out.  Snobby I know, but I don’t like to be captured in time looking like a disaster.  Who does? At least if people see me in person looking like a hot mess, which is a lot by the way, their memory of me will soon fade. Pictures however last for-ev-er; and with all the social media and sharing sites out there your photos can reach thousands of people in seconds.

To quickly elaborate on the origin of my bad-picture phobia: I grew up in the South, we don’t even go to the gas station unless you are dolled up.  That’s the way it is. When you look your best, you feel your best. Even nine years as a Chicagoan, I still never leave the house without mascara and lip gloss on. Those I am taking to the grave with me.  I know I will get some hate mail saying pregnant women are beautiful and I shouldn’t be such a diva. I agree with you and admitted I am a vain b*tch when it comes to photos. Other pregnant women are beautiful and even if I was one of those other women, I feel far from sexy when pregnant.  There is nothing wrong with that, and I am sure I am not alone. If you feel amazing and sexy while pregnant, I commend you and secretly hate you. Truth.

When deciding on whether or not to take pregnancy photos I thought long and hard.  Do I want people to see me looking like an Umpa Lumpa?  Do I want people to see my belly button all stretched out like a bad yoga pose?  Do I want people to see my enormous boobs?  Ultimately I decided to take them because I didn’t take pictures with my first pregnancy and have regretted not doing so.  Back then I was working sixty-plus hours a week and there was always tomorrow. Well, tomorrow came and went and suddenly my baby was here. I missed an opportunity I can never get back.

This time around I wanted to capture the moment- swollen face and all. Ultimately the idea of pregnancy is – beautiful. I loved the outcome and am so glad I took the time, and put aside my southern princess roots, to capture baby Alex in the womb.

I posted them on Pinterest under pregnancy photo ideas and they have received a lot of re-pins. This led me to share with all of you.  My husband took these with our camera, a Nikon D60.  Then I used iPhoto on my laptop to soften them up and add some filters.  Photo shoots and prints are expensive so this was a great, free alternative.  Here’s to women and their baby makers.







My Brain and Body Have Betrayed Me


First time mom-to-be’s or those trying to get pregnant: DO NOT READ!  I don’t want to scare you. You’re welcome.

I am feeling a little betrayed these days because I tricked myself into having another baby.  First let me point out: I am obsessed with babies, it’s somewhat of a problem. I think they’re amazing and I would have ten if I were younger – and rich. What I am not obsessed with is baking them or pushing them out of my lady parts.

Following my last baby, I told my husband he would have to drug me to knock me up again. I hated every minute of pregnancy and when people told me I would miss it once it was over; I would violently laugh while portraying the world’s most disingenuous smile. Noticing my distain they would often follow up with,”Trust me. God made us so we would forget the pain or we definitely wouldn’t do it again.”  I would listen nicely but ultimately tucked the information away in my I’ll  believe it when I see it section of my brain.

About a year after my son was born, those words of wisdom started to see some truth. I would see a pregnant woman and reminisce about feeling the baby move and the anticipation of meeting them.  When I saw a newborn I certainly urned for one, not remembering the slightest bit of torture I experienced during the birth of my own. By year two, I was begging my husband to give me a baby and tracking my ovulation cycle diligently on my iPhone. Once we became pregnant, all I could remember was the moment I saw my son the first time and the joy he has brought me every day since then.  I felt truly blessed to get to experience it all…again.

Baby Sebastian 1 day old
Baby Sebastian
1 day old

I still feel blessed and can hardly wait to hold my baby; however, all those painful, disgusting, annoying memories about giving birth have come back to me….with a vengeance.  I am officially terrified! I had what most would consider a very by-the-book delivery, yet lately I can only remember all the awful things I had to endure. I am starting to have nightmares conjuring up every what-if story my brain can process, and trust me when I say even Stephen King would be proud.

I further torture myself by reading every headline I see about dramatic births.  I remember doing this to myself right before I gave birth last time but when my water finally broke a calm came over me.  It wasn’t until that moment I knew I could do it.  I know I can do it again, it is just the what-if’s that are sending me into a downward spiral. What if I go into labor and my husband can’t get there in time?  What if I have the baby in the car or a taxi?  What if labor goes too fast and I can’t get an epidural?  What if he comes early? What if my vagina breaks? What if he is an alien?  You name it, I have thought about it.

Baby Alex already laughing at me
Baby Alex
already laughing at me

WTF is my problem? Am I a masochist?  Why am I doing this to myself?  Why am I remembering this now when I don’t have a choice in the matter?  News Flash Holly: This baby is coming with or without your participation. I decided to make a list of the all the things I hated about labor that have kept me up at night.  I hope by sharing them it will help me come to terms with the inevitable and render any support from you.  It is okay if you call me a psycho, I will not be offended.

Things I hate about having a baby:

  • The IV:  I HATE IV’s.  The one they use during labor is a larger gauge in case you need an emergency blood transfusion. Awesome.  Plus, during labor you sweat like a whore in church and the tape keeps coming off leaving the IV to wiggle around.  This gives me the creeps. You already have a ton of wires connected to you and people are always bumping them.  This was the only time I yelled at my husband.  I told him if he touched or tripped over my wires again, I was divorcing him. I was serious.
  • Contractions:  My contractions coupled.  This means they would spike, only to come down half way before spiking again.  This happened two or three times before they would go away completely.  You can feel them coming on like a freight train and there is nothing you can do about it – not good for control freaks. Contractions literally feel like someone is crushing your pelvis. No matter your tolerance of pain, these suck.. bad.
  • Epidural: The epidural is amazing however the thought of it going into my spine freaks me out.
  • Catheter:  After the epidural you have to get a catheter.  No explanation needed, it just sucks.
  • Birth: It’s humiliating.  Luckily it is overshadowed by the joy of your baby – so this I can live with again.
  • Epidural tape: This tape holds the epidural in place and covers your ENTIRE back.  They also spray on an adhesive to help it stick even more.  Taking it off is a b*tch!  Imagine the world’s largest band aid with super power stickiness.
  • Bleeding:  You bleed… a lot. After raiding the hospital supply of underwear and cleaning myself up the nurse would inevitably come in, put all her weight on my stomach, and pull a WWE move to release any blood. This is disgusting and it hurts.
  • The hospital team:  They are amazing, but they deal with chicks like you every day.  I can only imagine how many times they are asked, “Does it hurt?”  I felt bad whining or complaining because I wanted them to like me and give me more attention. My plan worked but I had to act like a rockstar, when in reality I wanted to scream at the top of my lungs.

This is all I can think of right now. For the record and as all of you as my witness:  This is the LAST time I am doing this. Baby maker is officially retiring.

Your crazy friend,


End of day - All worth it!
End of day – All worth it!





The Anatomy Of My Pregnancy Sleep Cycle

Every night I share a bed with a giant, a toddler, a pregnant belly and a dog. As of late, I share my sleep cycle with snoring, bathroom breaks, leg cramps, hip numbness, and baby number two holding a rave dance party in my belly. Ah, the joys of pregnancy.

I’m curious if this is the universe trying to prepare me for the long, truly sleepless, nights I will be graciously given once baby Alex arrives. Either way, I am tired and there is no end in sight.

This is a typical night in my house as illustrated by me. Sometimes pictures do more justice than words. Enjoy.

By 9:30 we head upstairs to wind down.

Part 1 sleeping

Thirty minutes later my husband is in a deep sleep ALREADY! How does he clear his mind and fall asleep so fast? His snoring is full-force and I usually poke him several times a night to give me a few minutes of quiet. By this time, my eight pound Chihuahua has nestled in his favorite spot – my crotch.

Part 2 sleeping

By 11 p.m., I have already been to the bathroom twice. Each time I come back, I lose more of my bed space… and the blanket. My legs start to go numb and each time I turn, my hips pop.

Part 3 sleeping

Now, here I am at 1:30 am. The kid has made his way into our bed and I am almost on the nightstand. The dog is in my crotch, my legs hurt, I am cold and my son has his feet in my ribs. The kid in my belly is also still fist pumping.

Part 4 sleeping

It’s 5:30 am and my last bathroom break before the alarm goes off. My son, a.k.a., the wind-mill, has managed to creep on top of me.

Part 5 sleeping

When the alarm goes off everyone is well rested, except me. Now it is time to be mom.

Part 6 sleeping

Here’s to another sleepless night. Hoping yours is much better than mine. – Holly


Emergency Room Visits Are In My Near Future

Now that I have succumbed to the reality of having two boys, my thoughts are now starting to evolve into ways to keep those little a-holes out of the ER.  We all know boys are Tasmanian Devils that apparently don’t hear what their parents say unless it involves ice cream or boobs.  Their ability to listen is most certainly selective, because screaming their names or saying no doesn’t seem to resonate.

Being the helicopter mom that I currently am, I know this helicopter is in for a crash landing. There is no way I can maintain my lunatic-self with two boys OR the future emergency room patient – will be me.

I have two older brothers and have heard the horror stories from their childhoods and witness many of these stories myself.   Yes, in hindsight the stories seem funny, but I am sure my parents were not laughing when they stamped their Frequent Rewards Card at the ER every week when those two were little.  You name it; they had it happen to them. One brother broke his chin trying to boobie-trap the other one. Who the hell breaks their chin? The other brother broke both of his wrists while trying to do a flip out of a swing.  The poor guy had to wear casts, which were held up with rods attached to a belt around his waist.  Know what this meant?  My mom had to help him pee, shower, eat, etc. He was in Junior High school at the time.  I’m sure having your mom help you pee at that age was humiliating. For the record: I am not holding either of my son’s man parts if their dumb a** breaks their wrists. Take note boys.


Now, I had my fair share of doing stupid sh*t.  I was a definitely a tomboy who didn’t have fear of much.  For example: once while on my way to work at my lifeguard job, I got a flat tire.  No biggie – right?  Wrong. Obviously, I don’t know how nor am strong enough to change a tire, so I pulled over on the left hand side of the road.  Yes, left side. Way to go brainiac! I then proceeded to walk down Interstate 35 in a bathing suit, all the while hitchhiking to get a ride to a phone.  Now this was, of course, before cell phones if you can even imagine that. I finally caught a ride with an 80-year-old couple that I first asked, “Promise you aren’t going to kill me?  It’s hot and I can’t walk anymore.”  They replied with a resounding, and almost defensive, “No, we aren’t going to hurt you!” And continued with, “You really shouldn’t be walking down the highway in a bathing suit.”  No sh*t Sherlock. Thanks for the words of wisdom.

bathing suit hitch hiker

Either way my stupidity didn’t land me in the ER (knock on wood), or on a black market in some foreign country, so that was a plus.   Point being: I know my boys will make stupid choices, it’s all part of being a kid and learning. However, if those choices involve blood; I’ll be the mom passed out in the corner with a hand full of rosary beads, praying it’s only stiches or casts. Wish me luck.

"Please Jesus, no blood!"
“Please Jesus, no blood!”

I Miss Breastfeeding. Did I Just Say That?

I know most of you are vomiting in your mouths right now, especially those of you who are currently breastfeeding.  Maybe I just miss it because I am not partaking at the moment.  Or, maybe my body is tricking me into missing it to prepare me for the long months ahead after the baby is born.

I remember with my son, I almost gave up after the first week.  He didn’t want to latch on because the milk was not coming out quick enough for his liking.  Hmm, no patience – wonder where he gets that from?  We called everyone we knew who had kids to ask for advice.  Should we get a Lactation Consultant?  Does he hate me? Is my milk bad?  Is it an allergy? Reflux? Finally we just relaxed, listened to our instincts, and it worked.

Sebe baby

I started pumping right away because I wanted to build my supply up.  Plus after he ate, I still felt engorged so I had to release all the milk.  After a few weeks I was producing 52 oz a day. You read that right. FIFTY-TWO ounces a day. I was a cow, literally. Oddly enough, I was proud of this.  If my husband wasted or spilled any of my milk, it was his ass.  This is liquid gold people! Respect!

This is what my freezer looked like... Legit.
This is what my freezer looked like… Legit.

Once I got the hang of it, I loved it.  Of course, there were a few things not to like. For example, it dominated your daily routine. You most certainly had to plan lunch or play dates around your pumping schedule.  It also was very inconvenient when life got in the way.  I once had a six-hour flight delay, and had to pump in an airport bathroom stall. Vomit. I used the handicapped stall as it had enough room, and of course, as soon as my milk let down; knock knock.  Sh*t!  

Luckily the lady had a daughter who was breastfeeding too, and we were in Texas where people are generally nice.  She replied, “It’s ok Honey, you finish up, I can wait.”  I hugged her when I stepped out and offered her my next born out of guilt.  She laughed, and passed on my offer. Good thing, because I didn’t catch her name.

Back to why I miss it: I loved that my body could provide such great nutrition for my son, and it was free!  Formula is ri-dic-u-lous-ly expensive. I also loved for every ounce of milk you produced, 20 calories were lost. Along with working out and eating healthy, I dropped weight like a bad boyfriend!  If I had a piece of chocolate, I would turn to my friends and say, “It’s cool, I can just go pump it out!” I liked seeing their faces riddled with jealousy as they wished their boobs could pump out calories too!  To be honest, this was one of the main reasons why I did it for almost a year. Selfish? Maybe. Brilliant? Yes!

Mostly, I miss that connection with my baby.  It was a beautiful thing and made me proud to be a mom. Now, come November I want all of you to remind me of this post when I am b*tching about breastfeeding.  Until then, I will relish in my fond memories.

Me and my boo
Me and my boo

Lies, Lies and More Lies

I enjoyed during my first pregnancy.  I really liked their emails informing me of what and what not to do during my pregnancy, also receiving their updates on the growth and development of the baby.  I loved being part of a community of other ‘first-time’ moms as well. I felt like we were all scared to death and trying to lend blind advice to avoid panic attacks. It was comforting and exciting.

baby se

The second time around, I still love to get the ‘your baby is the size of a Kumquat’ emails. (Pause.  What the hell is a Kumquat, by the way, and why are you insulting my baby like that? Carry on.)

I guess they are kind of cute! Dear Kumquat, get a new name STAT.

However, many of the other notifications they send me I literally want to reply  in all caps: THE GIG IS UP, CUT THE CRAP!  For example, I received an email recently titled: Welcome to Your Second Trimester!  I thought this was sweet, but when I opened the email I burst into laughter. Following the nice welcome note, the email continued:  This is the time when most women feel their best. Liars!

Who are ‘most’ women?  The chicks who work at And by best, do you mean as compared to the rest of the pregnancy? I guess not having my head in a toilet is now an advantage, however peeing myself and slowly feeling my pelvic bone spread is not what I would consider ‘feeling my best’.  Just tell me like it is ladies.  Here is an example of an email I would like to get:


Welcome to Your Second Trimester!

While you may start to feel relief from the nausea, remember you are still pregnant.  Just seven more months of feeling like you have no control of your body. Yay!  Things to expect over the next few months:  You will start to waddle as your uterus is causing a wedge in between your pelvis. Your boobs will get extremely large, and  yellow stuff will start to leak out.  Your nipples will always feel like they can cut through glass.  Last but not least, since your organs are all pushed together you will pee yourself on occasion.  Avoid sneezing. We know this sounds awful, but it will ALL be worth it when you see your little bundle of joy. 


Speakers of Truth


The second part of the email they sent me read: ‘Most’ women also (here we go with the ‘most’ comparison again) experience a spike in their libido. Okay, okay.  Calm down there Babycenter. The only thing I am experiencing is in my dreams, and when I wake up I realize my body can not keep up with my mind.  Sex is not anywhere near sexy when your pregnant.  It is uncomfortable and awkward.  If there are women out there who say differently, then they are in a class all their own.

Just keepin’ it real. Feel free to do the same Babycenter.



Traveling With A Toddler: Cruel and Unusual Punishment

Traveling with a toddler is brutal, especially alone. You would have thought I learned my lesson after this debacle, but apparently not.  That’s the thing with kids; you always give them second chances because you are blinded by love.


The last time I flew alone with my son, I swore I would never do it again.  That was nine months ago.  So he’s changed, right? He would listen to his momma and be a good boy this time, right? Not. So. Much.  Monster Diva is officially his new name. Being pregnant doesn’t help either.  I am tired and the last thing I want to do is chase after a toddler in an airport.

I took some key mistakes on my part from last time and prepared a grand plan.  Almost as if I was writing a strategic sales plan, I carefully mapped out activities and pitches for the three-hour flight.  I listed all my collateral: Goldfish, DVD’s, Fruit Snacks, and my ultimate bribery tool: Chocolate. I also tried to pack light (which is almost impossible with kids) to prevent carrying too much luggage.  I checked the bags to free up my hands, in case I had to chase the little monster. Checking bags is very difficult for me.  I HATE checking bags.  I like to have my bag in my possession and not have to wait when I deplane.  Me, a woman, once took a carry-on to Paris for a five day trip to avoid the baggage claim. I took a stroller this time too. Why?  To lock his a** in and prevent him from chasing shinny things.

We made it to the gate relatively drama free.  I got this! Right when that thought crossed my mind… here we go. He takes his shoes off and starts trying to ‘Hulk’ his way out of the stroller. All the while he is shouting, “I wanna go on air pwanne!”  I tried to stay calm and convinced him they wouldn’t let him on if he is a bad boy.  Then, I found a TV with cartoons.  Thank you Jesus. Tip: try to not have more than an hour waiting time once you get to the gate. This is known as the witching hour.  I took notes for next time, literally.

"Only good boys allowed on plane!"
“Only good boys allowed on plane!”

Once we got on the plane, I cornered him in the window seat and apologized to all those around me in advance.  Taking off was exciting for him, he liked to count to ten and yell, “Blast Off!!”  Luckily all the people around me thought it was cute. He also bursted out in song a few times, serenading his audience with favorites such as: Twinkle Twinkle Little Star and Old McDonald. Just like the last flight we had together, he doesn’t like people sleeping around him and would yell, “Wakey-Wakey!”

The remaining time was challenging, but at that point I just didn’t care. After two airplane bathroom trips holding him in mid-air trying to aim in the toilet, I gave up. He opened and closed the window shade at least three dozen times, and we were the last to get off the plane because he took his shoes off and refused to put them back on. I had to use my secret weapon, the chocolate, to get the shoes back on.


Luckily my husband met us and flew home with me.  I pawned the kid off immediately and told my husband I was now invisible. He was a trooper and kept Monster Diva in check for me. I have to fly again with the kid in two weeks….alone. Isn’t there a better way?  Should I just give in to the embarrassment?  Should I just let him be a toddler and tell all the other passengers to go screw themselves? Are there day nannies that will fly with me?

I don’t know, but I need a new plan.  If I wasn’t pregnant I would down a few glasses of wine. Either way, God help me. Prayers are appreciated.

Tips from this flight that were helpful:

  • More snacks
  • Charge computer longer
  • Put shoes on that are difficult to take off quickly
  • Sit in the back of the plane so not as many people around
  • Fly at night so he sleeps
  • Drink (if you can)
  • Don’t take any carry-on’s, it is too stressful
  • Pack light
  • Buy kid headphones (mine didn’t fit him well)
  • Remember this is temporary

Who Knew Getting Pregnant Was So Difficult And Why Didn’t You Tell Me

Truth be told, I am quite upset with my baby maker these days. Why is being a woman so difficult? I spent my entire youth trying not to get pregnant, only to be on a desperate baby rampage in my thirties.  Trying to get pregnant is a sensitive subject, I get it, but I am not afraid to speak about it.

Many women keep quiet about the trials and tribulations of getting pregnant, either out of embarrassment, pride, etc, so when difficulties happen with you, YOU start to feel like the problem. Why me? What is wrong with me? How are all these b*tches around me getting pregnant? Why is MY baby maker on strike?  These are my actual thoughts right now as a sit in Starbucks next to some pregnant chick.  B*itch.

Why is hers growing and NOT mine?
Why is hers growing and NOT mine?

The whole ‘trying for a baby‘ process is like a bad dream.   Scratch that, more like a freakin’ nightmare. Each month I jump on the crazy baby train begging to be dropped off in pregnant-ville, yet the a**hole conductor has yet to let me off. So here I am almost a year later holding my first class ticket without my glass of champagne.  This first class is complete rubbish.

When we first started trying, we were told to have sex every day after my period.  Then we were told doing this would only lower sperm counts, so we need to have sex every other day instead.  Then came my thyroid problem, so I was put on medication.  Then I was told my progesterone was low, which explained why my eggs were not able to attach to the uterine wall, resulting in a miscarriage. Next my doctor suggested I quit my job, because the stress was too much. Lastly, she told me I am getting old and only have a certain amount of eggs left.  Awesome!  Defending my eggs I blurted out, But I still feel so young! Women have babies into their forties for Christ sake! I am only thirty -five, just turned thirty-five.”  My sensitive doctor replied, “But you are still thirty-five, let’s call it what it is.” She told me to get ovulation kits and try a couple more months before we had to meet again.

Not happy with your outcome Mr. Smiley!
Not happy with your outcome Mr. Smiley!

Equipped with all this information, I went to CVS to buy ovulation and pregnancy tests.  After I filed bankruptcy from my CVS bill, I downloaded the app, AESOP Fertility. This app tracks my monthly cycle.  It shows a green dot when my eggs are ready, and a red dot when I should be prepared for another month of heartache. Once my cycle starts, I have to rub progesterone cream on my hands nightly.  When the green dot finally shows, it was go time.

My husband doesn’t mind the beginning of ‘go time’, but wants to kill me by the end.  I constantly boss him around, “No, this way.  No, that way!”  After the deed I have to lay with my legs in the air and a pillow under my hips for twenty minutes.  TWENTY MINUTES.  Way to kill the fun. The worst part is when you stand up after those twenty minutes to go to the bathroom. Ladies you know what I am talking about. Vomit. 

The next few weeks are always a blur.  Any little hot flash, dizzy spell, hunger pain, twinge of the uterus I immediately think, I’m pregnant! When the time comes to take a test, it always shows negative.  From there the denial sets in.  Maybe it’s too early.  This test is wrong. I know I am pregnant! Then I take another test, negative again. I wait. A few days later the spotting starts.  Maybe the egg is implanting, I read you spot sometimes during this process. I wait.  The real bleeding starts. I then realize I am not pregnant, I just wasted all that money on those stupid pregnancy tests, and I cry.  I cry because my plan didn’t work. I cry because there is no baby. Finally, I cry because I know next month I will have to do this all over again.

Preg Test

If we don’t get pregnant soon, I have to take a pill which helps you ovulate, however increases your chances of multiples.  Great, just what I needed.  Sorry Kate, but ‘Holly Plus Eight’ doesn’t work for me. If that magic pill doesn’t work, I’ll have to start seeing a fertility specialist. Any specialist scares me.


Everyone always says, “At least you already have your son.” Which is true, but I long for a bigger family and not getting pregnant hurts just as much, regardless of what number kid it is.  Plus, my son needs a sibling to keep him occupied while I write all these blog posts for you ladies!

Please send your good vibes and baby making mantras, as I can’t take many more months of this vicious cycle – sober, at least.


Much Love,








Lesson Learned: Ask Where The Reservations Are First

Earlier this week, Kari asked me to go to dinner.  Obviously any opportunity I get to hang out with girlfriends, I jump at the chance.  The day of Kari and I’s dinner date, my husband informed me he had to work late.  I called Kari to tell her I would have Sebastian, but asked if he could join us.  She said it shouldn’t be a problem, as he is pretty well behaved.

Later that evening in route to the restaurant she looked at me and said, “You know this place is really nice, like fine dining, right? Obama supposedly frequents this place.”  My response, “You know there is a kid in my back seat, like a toddler, right?”  My anxiety escalated as she tried to convince me all would be fine. I get embarrassed really easy, especially in public.


To save me from having a heart attack,  Kari calls the restaurant to make sure kids were allowed. The hostess, without hesitation, said it would be fine.   Once we arrive, I lean into the hostess and quietly ask, “Can you put us at a table in a dark corner, preferably away from all other living beings. Thanks.”  Kari chimes in, “We will leave if the kid gets crazy.”


Once we were seated (away from everyone else), I immediately pulled out my iPhone so the kid could watch Mickey. Phew that bought us about twenty minutes. The hostess then came over with a placemat and some crayons. Let’s be honest, she probably had to run down the street to the Cheesecake Factory to get those damn crayons, because I know kids rarely come here. The cheapest bottle of wine was $70! We made it through the salad course and much to our surprise, Sebe was a complete angel.  In fact, he was drinking out of a regular water class with such sophistication, you would have thought he was a natural.


Kari and I were able to actually have a conversation and enjoy a three course meal without interruption. At one point my son looked at me and said, “Momma I mind my manners.”  For that… he got Gelato and a kiss.


Once we settled the bill, I put his token batman jacket on and he ran through the restaurant holding his cape screaming, “I am Batman!”  He even did a little twirl by the hostess stand. Luckily all the old rich people left in the restaurant thought it was cute.

When we picked up the car, he proceeded to tell the valet attendant that he was VIP. Listen kid, let’s not get too big for our britches just yet. You’re 2. 

"I am BATMAN!"
“I am BATMAN!”