So let me just start this post by admitting I know these feelings are totally selfish and self-centered (which is, hello, part of my arguement for why I shouldn't be reproducing yet/ever), but a big part of my baby apprehension is straight up fear and grossness. It's easy for me to get caught up thinking of baby girl pigtails and hot pink tights with Mary Janes or little boys in cowboy boots, but anytime someone starts in on gross things happening to the waist-al area, I am ready to tuck and run.

It's not that I didn't know gross beautiful things happen, but after watching this movie with Shirley, and then reading this post from the great MODG, I am extra-super-terrified. For like, five minutes, the Ricki Lake movie made me want to give birth in a kiddie pool in Shirley's back yard (she has an awesome set up, that one) with puppies and rainbows with only a Skittle sugar high to buffer the pain, but then I reverted back to my Betty Draper, wake-me-when-it's-over fantasy. Maybe. Probably. Sorry, Shirley.

Long time, no Laverne

What have I been doing since we last spoke, kittens? Why, buffing my nails, lazing about, and stuffing myself silly with beer and pizza, enjoying the selfish spoils of a child-free (is that term designed to make you feel guilty, or is it just me?) existence.

I'm only partially kidding (the beer and pizza thing is oh so true). Work is getting hectic (in both good and bad ways), husband's schedule is constantly taking him out of town again, and two friends are about to get hitched--which means there have been 80 billion eating parties. But life is good. When it comes to the Baby War, I am still the scared foil to the excited Shirley. But I am rooting for her with the strength of 1,000 openly laboring Ricki Lakes.

I have been reading a pretty interesting book, y'all. I can't remember where I first heard about it, but it's a collection of essays from Salon.com debating the shoulds/shouldn'ts of parenthood. The first section is the firm "nos," the middle is the waverers, and the end (which I just started) is the eventual yesses. There are some pretty intelligent folk here saying some pretty ballsy things--things that I felt guilty for thinking and placing in the "reasons not to do this" category. Nothing is changing my mind at this point--I'm fickle, sure, but not that fickle--but it feels good to know I'm not alone in this estrogen-centric world.

Check it out (literally. The liberries need your help) and let me know what you think:

Maybe Baby: 28 Writers Tell the Truth About Skepticism, Infertility, Baby Lust, Childlessness, Ambivalence, and How They Made the Biggest Decision of Their Lives - by Lori Leibovich

Response to the parental happiness debate

I can't stop thinking about this post and the related NY Mag article. I'm still stagnant on my own feelings, but have really enjoyed seeing both arguments thoughtfully play out in various Internetty spots.

From Vanity Fair (one of my fav mags, and not just for the rich people porn): This quickie is meant to incite discussion, I reckon, and doesn't really conclude much. But I liked this from the comments: Why do Americans overthink everything? Why do they involve themselves in everyone else's business? I'm not suggesting to become a parent if you aren't emotionally and financially prepared, but please! It's innate to procreate and a marvel to be a parent even if it is the hardest job you'll ever have. It's the highest highs and the lowest lows etc and so on. I had a child because I love them and knew I would love being a mom but also don't feel I have to justify it to anyone. "Because I felt like it" is the only answer that's appropriate to an inappropriate question. Period, full stop.

From NPR: A father's perspective

And, finally, (save this one for when you need a good cry/comeapart) an amazing blog linked from one of my favorite fun blogs: One woman's perspective on how motherhood has brought her a different kind of happy.

As for me, I'm still on the childless side of the fence, but only slightly. Heading off to a meeting at my work, which I know would be super frowny about babies in my belly.

Happy Monday, y'all--

xo, L

Big boobies, ho.

Let's take a baby break, shall we, and talk about another "b" word dear to our hearts: boobies. Yes, a 31-year-old woman just called her breasts "boobies." Not "breasts" (calling to mind overly horomone-laden chickens) or "titties" (NEVER "titties." BARF). (On rare occassion, I like "boosom"...) Anyway, I've got big'uns. And not in a bragging, check out my hot shit way. No, in a "they must be dealt with" on a daily basis way. In moments of higher self-esteem, I like to think I'm pulling this type of shit off:

(yes ma'am!)

But most days it feels more like this:

(no, ma'am!)

Now, before Shirley starts in, you should know she has the teeniest, cutest little figure and can wear whatever she wants. She always. looks. good (hush, girl). (fine, i will do what my good southern mama told me and just say thank you!) My fellow mega-mammarians must always consider the boobage factor: How often will I be yanking up my top in front of my in-laws? Will a stressed out button pop free and blind a small child? Why do larger bras only come in grandma styles? This (re: saggage) isn't going to end well, is it? Well, here's what I've learned that helps:

1) v-neck/scoop-neck tops/dresses: This doesn't mean you need to slut it up (though, hey, Anthropologie, way to make all of your tops necessitate bulky camisoles underneath). See our girl Joan up there? Though she looks amazing overall, that crew neck isn't doing her chestal largess any favors. Gotta go with a scoop, J-Ho.

2) 3/4-length sleeves: dunno quite why, but this helps mitigate the boobage. Maybe it's because shorter sleeves stop right at boob-level like an unwelcome beacon in the night? Yeah, that's probably it. And skip the spaghetti-strapped tank tops, unless you're A) able to magically hold them up sans bra (which means I hate you) and B) going for a Hooters waitressy vibe. (More power to you)

3) wrap dresses are your friend (Diane von F, I wish you were my actual friend), as long as you can get the V part to close enough (as I learned the hard way, carefully concealed safety pins are not the answer). And have faith that it won't come unwrapped at inopportune moments (opportune moments are a whole other reason to go with the wrap dress).

4) minimizer bras: they somehow shove that shit underneath your armpits, but not in a noticeable way, hopefully. I like the Olga Christina line, which is slightly less MeeMaw than other options.

I guess none of these are huge revelations, but you'd be surprised at all the boob infractions I witness on a daily basis. Someone should give me a badge. And a taser gun. A badge and a taser gun, yes.

(again: yes ma'am!)

xo,

L

Take a good hard look at the muthafuckin' boat

L here. About to peace out to the husband's family lake house an hour north of our mysterious city. Lots of chips and beer to consume this weekend, which is not much different than most of my weekends, albeit in a different setting.

Here's what I've been wondering since Shirley and I started this here blog a few nights ago: Can we actually do this? This bloggal continuity thing? (yes!) I tried to have a wedding blog, but it lasted about 3 entries before I gave it up in favor of watching more Real Housewives. There's probably a devoted reader somewhere thinking I never got married and died. Turns out I'm both self absorbed enough to think this *and* lazy.

To baby or not to baby? That is the effing question that S and I have both been tossing around (and I promise that this blog won't be solely about our actual ovaries). And the answer is different every. single. second. I'm going to drive myself mad--or wherever you go when you pass mad. I realize I am only 31 3/4, but that's like being 77 in the eyes of the young baby momma'ed South.(you are one hot old lady.) I do this maddening should I/shouldn't I dance with everything though. I am equally crazed right now about whether to go with a white or black iphone. I mean, whether to volunteer at the humane society or the old folk's home. That's what I meant.

In classic obsessive style, here are the pros/cons:

Get that baby in mah belly:

• Cute clothes (i cannot wait to sew baby clothes.. yours or mine or both...)
• Be one less mom out there who is into monogrammed/smocked shit (ditto. but don't tell my mom.)
• Baby coos/grunts (yummmmmmm)
• That whole half you/half husband thing (also a con on some days) (this is the most convincing "pro" for me because i really want/need to see the combo in real life - will be fabulous!)

• Snapping myself out of my selfish existence (please. you give so much to people you love! not.selfish.)
• love love love (right?) (probably. unless your kid's an a-hole - kidding!)
• Our parents would loose their shit (in a good, not literal way) and be the best grandparents ever. We are so so lucky. (you really are... and don't you ever regret it. ever.)

No babies, kthx:

• They could turn into assholes just like me. (stop with this "i'm a selfish a-hole bit. you aren't!)
• Loss of ability to sleep late/nap (okay, this is a con and i have nothing to say to the contrary - naps rule! babies drool.)
• General selfishness (am I too settled in my ways to be anything but?) (yeah, it would be a major shift of energy and attention away from your own wants and needs... and i think this would be the toughie for both of us....)
• I'd have to make actual nutritious dinners every night (no Cheeto'ed Brittney baby for me). (dude! i think if we do this we should attempt to try to do it as close together as possible because i think we could greatly benefit from each other's strengths. i am STOKED on the idea of making some baby food... now adolescent food? i dunno.... i grew up eating "Kid Cuisine's" and i am a beautiful genius!)
  remember that shit?!

• What if I hate it? (wait, the kid or the act of parenting? cause i'm pretty sure you can't hate the kid but you most definitely will hate parenting like 80% of the time after about age 4 or 5...)
• A trifecta of suck for 9 months: no wine, sushi, or feta (or justifying that by thinking about how most Italian, Japanese, and Greek people have turned out ok) (they have... and rules are for suckas and made to be broken. everything in moderation.)
• Crazy huge(r) boobs that will take over the planet (or, most likely, the ground) (not gonna lie. i'm scared of your mammaries' potential for largeness as well.)
• What if I screw it up? (who *hasn't* screwed it up? i mean, nobody's perfect whether they are parents or not.)

If you read the post below, you'll see my homegirl has a much more mature, less self-centered view on this matter.

(And now I have totally effed up the font on this post, which means Shirley is gonna kill me.) (fixed it!)

give it to me NYMag

I'm sitting in the coffee shop getting ready to read this article:

Let's see how this goes.

-- Shirley

-- Post From My iPhone

S: What did you think? I read it when it first came out, and it definitely didn't send my ovaries singing. It seemed to mainly argue just one side, but it certianly didn't help my wavering. Here it is online. Would love if some mamas could weigh in: http://nymag.com/news/features/67024/ - xo, L

I had read the book they referred to in the article (Stumbling on Happiness by Daniel Gilbert) and was prepared for the argument against parenthood, so to speak, and so I wasn't surprised. I actually had an interesting conversation along these lines with our guy friend who swears he is never going to reproduce and I too called on that book but in a much different way. The book basically comes to the conclusion that we (humans) are terrible at foreseeing what will actually make us happy and that the best way to choose happiness is to actually take the input of others and their experiences into account -- the #1 reason we don't do this is because we all believe that we are somehow special and that we will surely make better decisions than others. So when the dude and I were having this conversation I gave the argument that I don't know a single parent who would tell me that they wish they had never had their children... and since we already know what a childless life looks and feels like but we won't know what a life with children would look like until we tried it for ourselves we would just have to take their word for it and trust that it is indeed the miraculous, wonderful, growing, enlightening experience everyone exclaims... otherwise we run the risk of being arrogant, and possibly naive enough, to call all of those people we love and know (and maybe even admire) either bold faced liars or imply they are just plain dumb.

so I think I want to do it and yet I am still holding onto the notion that the majority of parents I see today ARE "wrong"... here I sit still convinced that I/we can do it *better*! I am not ready to give up the idea that my sweet, patient husband and I can make a happy life with a happy child. I'm not ready to buy into the idea that parenthood will suck the life out of us or our marriage. I simply think that it will be comparing apples and oranges. How can one expect a new life with a new person in it to be measured by the old life with just the two of us running around doing whatever we want, whenever we want?! it's ludicrous!

(ahhh, luda!)

Isn't the whole point of choosing to change your life actually changing your life?! I wouldn't expect it to be the same and I wouldn't expect the happiness to look or feel the same.

Contrary to the title of the article, I think we could love a child AND love our lives.

Here are the three top reasons why:

- Our marriage is strong and we are happy, actually HAPPY people. I bet if you asked those same parents polled in the article if they were essentially happy people before they ever had children you might just find that those who were unhappy before were unhappy after and that you'd also uncover that they held some glimmer of hope that their kids would make them happy... or complete... or even popular... or more interesting... or just normal in some way. I don't think we are lacking anything in our lives but I do think we have a lot to give.

- I have absolutely zero desire to "do it right"... I could give a fuck about the stressors most parents seem to place on themselves or their children (via the article: "As we gained in prosperity, childhood came increasingly to be viewed as a protected, priviledged time, and once college degrees became essential to getting ahead, children became not only a great expense but subjects to be sculpted, stimulated, instructed, groomed.") Two words: fuck. that.

- If we choose to have children, it will be that: a choice. We won't feel put upon by a life that chooses us but rather empowered by a life we choose for ourselves. I feel smarter now than ever and I am glad I am in my thirties and know myself well enough to know my strengths and weaknesses. I think that being your own person and knowing yourself is a huge advantage in parenting...

but what do I know - I'm not a parent.

S: Holy shit, sister. You're even more of a genius than I thought. And I'm such a flip flopper on this thing that I should have my ovaries locked up. xo, L