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Archive for July, 2013

More Precious than Bird Poop

posted by BatSheva Vaknin 9:45 AM
Wednesday, July 31, 2013

Spitty.

If you’re a mother or father, or friend who accidentally said you’d hold your friend’s infant without realizing the milky bath your clothes would be taking in exchange for those few minutes of wriggling cuddles – you know what I’m talking about.

For those of you who DON’T know what I’m talking about, I’m talking about the milk that the baby burps out, or ‘spits up,’ or – let’s call a spade a spade – projectile vomits, after feeding.

Looks exactly like bird poop, only multiply the amount by about 10,000 and without those little dark clumps.

The very first night “out” after I’d had my baby – my husband and I went to a friend’s surprise party at a restaurant – I wore a long black skirt, a pretty blouse, and the first high heels I’d donned since I was about 3 months pregnant. The night was really nice – a wonderful respite from a rowdy home and the exhausting schedule of the newborn – and I wasn’t even too disappointed when the night was cut short by a text telling me the baby was crying and starving.

As I said my goodbyes, one of my friends – a woman whose child has just turned one – remarked to me, “Hey, I can tell you have a newborn at home! Hahahaha.”

I wondered if she was talking about the dark circles under my eyes, the still-pregnant-looking pooch of my stomach, or – could it be? – the happy glow I was (possibly?) sporting.

“… Your skirt!” she continued. “The white stain all down the side! Classic.”

Ha. Ha. Ha.

Yeah. Classic.

My kid spits like a champion. We spend about 30-60 minutes MINIMUM burping him after every feeding, because his little tummy fills with painful gas bubbles that don’t allow him to relax or settle or play or sleep.

And by “burping” I mean bouncing, rocking, slinging over the shoulder while slapping him on the back and running in circles around the house.

Fun times at 5am!

And 7am. And 10am. And 3pm. And 8pm. And every other AM and PM time your clock can track.

Forget the crying. I’m not even going to go INTO the crying, since basically it’s not funny at all, just exhausting and frustrating and endlessssssssss….

Of course, if you are – like me – a mother, you will have no problem ‘forgetting the crying,’ since we mothers invented the concept of ‘infant amnesia.’ As in – once your child is past a particular awful phase (insert here: endless crying/scary illness/or, of course, any of that crazy and wild behavior including but not limited to: biting/kicking/screaming/tantrums/attacking his/her sibling/back-talking adults/stubbornness, and/or picking his/her nose and wiping it all over your walls for 2 years straight) – we immediately forget it!

We block it out so completely that when people remind us of these past behaviors as we are busy obsessing over how incredible our children are-

“Wait – Didn’t he used to kick you and then bite his sister any time you tried to take him to bed?”

…you, the infant amnesia-prone mother, just sort of nod dreamily and answer, “Oh yeah, that’s right! Hahahaha, I’d forgotten all about that!”

…Leaving your childless friend with the VERY mistaken impression that your child is basically an angel who perhaps once or twice in his life bothered you, but not much more than that. OR…

…Leaving your mother/father friends with a very smug feeling that they may be crappy parents sometimes, but at least they aren’t as completely in denial as you are.

But I digress.

Back to spitty!

If David (my 2 month old) is a champion bronze medal spitter, then Yehuda, my eldest, could have taken home the gold.

Yehuda cried louder than ANY other child I’ve ever known (x100), prompting more than one comment of “Maybe you should take him to see a doctor?” and sending me regularly into fits of tears and/or lengthy fantasies about ditching it all and running away to Paris.

Yehuda’s spitty?

Legendary.

He could – and would! – projectile spit up to a 5 feet distance. He could drench my newly dry cleaned dress, cover the carpet, and still have a little left over to shower his father as an oh-so-special ‘welcome home from a long day at work!’ gift.

All of our play toys, mats, and bouncy chairs were COVERED in white splatter patterns, as were our carpet, our clothes, our furniture (which to this DAY bears the proof), and our friends – again, friends who were too naive to realize that just because the kid was cute, didn’t mean he wouldn’t projectile spitty-vomit all over them in the blink of an eye.

Looking forward to blocking out this phase again soon!

Until then…

…anyone have a baby wipe I could borrow?

c/xo,

Sheva (BatSheva Vaknin)

 

All the rave on the Milano catwalk: Spitty Couture!

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To Sleep… Perchance, to Dream…?

posted by BatSheva Vaknin 9:33 AM
Monday, July 29, 2013

Ahhh, sleep. We humans love it, don’t we? Almost as much as we love company.

As a kid, I used to let the cats sleep with me because I loved having a sweet warm and soft animal to cuddle with – but the truth is, they would drive me crazy taking up the whole bed. One cat could spread his body over more than 75% of the bed, often leaving me pressed unnaturally against the cold wall just to give him room.

Another cat, Juanita, would knead my hair with her paws and DROOL on my head as I tried to sleep. She’d have continued for hours if I let her.

As a cat-less adult, I thought I put all that behind me.

And then we had kids.

It’s one thing to have a newborn share the bed with you, nursing and conking out. That’s difficult because you’re so aware of his presence and you don’t want to disturb him – but on the other hand, it’s really sweet and special and wonderful.

Even when you wake up with a stiff neck.

Or – like I did this morning – with a thumb-sized purple bruise smack in the middle of my forehead, where apparently I must have stuck my thumb the whole night -pressed against my forehead – in order to be sure I didn’t roll on my little David.

It’s when the older kids get into the game that the old cat memories get dredged up. Because, like a cat, they come in the middle of the night when your defenses are down, you’re too exhausted to say no, and – let’s face it – there is something so cute about them crawling next to you and cuddling themselves to sleep.

Until they actually FALL asleep.

At which point – like the cat – they proceed to turn their little bodies sideways and push me nearly off the bed and/or shove their feet on their father’s head and/or bonk me in the eye with their sharp elbow.

At least (so far) they haven’t drooled on us.

c/xo,

Sheva (BatSheva Vaknin)

 

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Flashback Friday! (Don’t be a Dick)

posted by BatSheva Vaknin 9:38 AM
Friday, July 26, 2013

Most Fridays, I post an oldie but a goodie blog for your enjoyment. To those of you who just started reading The Grownup Girl recently, enjoy the “new” blog! To those of you who have been with me from the start, but have memories like mine, enjoy the “new” blog!

And to those who were with me from the start and who already read this blog and burned it into your memory, word for word, photogenically, I say:

What are you doing wasting your time dilly-dallying on my website? Get out there and find me a book deal!

TOP 10 THINGS MEN SHOULD ALWAYS DO (I don’t care if you are a “feminist” or you are gay – you have a penis, don’t you? So get your notepad and let’s get started, shall we?)

      1. Hold the door open for a woman, let her pass through first.

Shhh! I told you, I don’t care!

    2. Walk her to her car at night.
    3. Watch to see that she gets inside safely if you are dropping her home.
    4. If you are eating together, serve her first. Pour her wine first too.
    5. If she arrives in line the same time you do, let her go before you.
    6. Complement a woman on something about her appearance and/or actions. In a sincere way, obviously.
    7. Don’t be a dick.
      8. Examples of dick behavior:

a. Talking about another girl/how hot another girl is

b. Stare at another girl’s boobs

c. Stare at our boobs for too long (a quick glance is okay, after all, what are we, invisible?)

d. Complaining and/or whining about how we didn’t do something. Just ask us again in a nice way. We’ll take care of it.

e. Being mean. I know, I know, you can’t always help this, and we lady-folk can be sensitive. So if you already WERE mean, being a dick would be if you didn’t say sorry afterwards.

f. Watching TV instead of helping with the kids

Hey! Where are you going! Dude, come back, you left your notepad!

Dick.

Well, for the rest of you boys who stuck around: if you follow these simple steps, you will not only get an A++ from The Grownup Girl, you will also unwittingly be making sure your lady friends fall in/stay in love with you…

Shut up, it is NOT shallow. Why?  Because it works. Try it, you’ll see…

c/xo,

Sheva (BatSheva Vaknin)

My kind of hombre

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Esther

posted by BatSheva Vaknin 9:46 AM
Wednesday, July 24, 2013

I guess this week is officially “Esther Week” since I can’t stop myself from writing funny stories about her.

My daughter Esther is basically four years old going on eighteen, as is evidenced by her height (taller than most 6 year olds), her poise (she constantly dazzles strangers with her irresistible charm), and her verbal skills.

Some examples:

1. After asking to taste my white rice in order to compare its flavor with her ketchup-and-rice dish (the only way she will eat rice… and many other foods, which I realize as I write this, is more of a 4 year old palate than an 18 yr old one, but here’s where the mature part comes in…) She rolled my rice around on her tongue and then declared, “Not bad!”

2. In the car she told me that ‘God is inside of us, but not in our brains,’ because, “Our brains are where the thinking happens, and the imagining… but you can’t kiss it.”

3. Upon hearing me tell my friend that her brother Yehuda is ‘Year of the Monkey,’ Esther volunteered that this is because “Yehuda is wild like a monkey.” Very sound reasoning, if you ask me.

It is exactly this maturity that makes it fun to identify those words and phrases she still messes up, betraying her true four year old colors.

With that in mind, here is a glossary of Esther’s most recent ‘ketchup with rice’ para-phrasing:

Seh… Suh… S-Spectacle” = Despicable Me

PowerPop Girls” = Powerpuff girls

Shin” = Chin (as in, the bump under your mouth)

Wuh-huda” = Yehuda (granted, Esther mastered  saying Yehuda’s name properly six months ago already, but her “Wuh-Huda” pronunciation was so cute that I adopted it & now call him “We-huda” as much as I call him by his actual name.

Pee-gina” = Vagina

When I tried to correct her on that last one, she firmly replied, NO IMA, it’s PEE-GINA! And then I thought about it, and realized that “Peegina” is much prettier and makes much more sense than “Vagina,” so I think we should delete that one from the second list and move it to the top, as an example of how smart she is.

Move over, Websters.

cx/o,

 

Sheva (BatSheva Vaknin)

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No More Storks

posted by BatSheva Vaknin 9:35 AM
Monday, July 22, 2013

Hey there! Before you get started, why not sign up over THERE…

…so every time I post a new blog, you’ll get an email letting you know about it!? That way, you’ll be among the FIRST to read each new blog.

Which I’m pretty sure makes you the winner. Of everything.

Now, on to today’s blog…

Remember the old blog where I relayed the story about how my doula friend’s daughter schooled my kids about ‘which body part babies come out from?’

When my kids were like, “Duh, babies come from the mommy’s belly button!” she corrected my kids ASAP.

“Not the mommy’s belly button. The mommy’s putza.”

The Hebrew slang for Vagina, according to my doula friend.

I thought it was great that her daughter knew the truth, and I backed up her claim when my daughters came questioning me again about it later. (My son seemed to have forgotten all about it; TMI maybe?)

We live in a very multicultural community. The “multi” standing mostly for “Israeli,” but you get the idea.

The school they go to is similarly “multicultural” and they learn Hebrew and Judaic studies alongside math, science and reading.

What they don’t learn – and this is the best thing about the school- are things like bad words and bullying. Instead they learn about personal and global responsibility.

Most of the students they go to school with are pretty sheltered.  Which I love.

For example my kids STILL think the “s-word” is code for “stupid.”

Really!

If I happen to say something is “stupid,” they tell me I’ve said a bad word. It’s adorable.

These are kids who are kids – not kids trying to be hip grownups, which is refreshing – and rare – in this day and age. I’m pretty direct and honest with them about subjects like race and where babies come from – and when they are older, I’ll be honest about how the babies are made in the first place.

I may even let them read this blog.

Or not.

The teachers at my kids’ school are wonderful, and most are personally aligned with the school’s philosophy of educating reflective and caring kids, not smart-alecky ones.

And it’s not like they would lie to the smaller kids about where babies come from. But if the subject came up, it’s possible that unlike my doula friend’s daughter, or like – well, me – they would just sort of smooth it over. No stories of storks or cabbage patches, but maybe just change the subject if it came up.

So… it was a bit of a shock to my 3 year old (at the time)’s teachers when, a few months ago, Esther proudly announced to her  classmates:

“THE NEW BABY IS GOING TO COME OUT OF MY MOM’S VAGINA! “ 

Esther’s teachers were still blushing, hours later, when I picked her up after school and they related to me the story.

In Esther’s defense, she most likely said the baby will come out of her mother’s “PEE-Gina” because that is how she pronounces it.

And in my defense?

What can I say; the girl’s got older siblings and if I’m telling them something, she’s inevitably going to wind up hearing it too.

And then share it with, apparently, the entire preschool 3 yr old class.

Oops! ;)

C/xo,
Sheva (BatSheva Vaknin)

 

If this isn't the face of a girl who just introduced her fellow 3-year-olds to the word "Vagina" I don't know what is.

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Flashback Friday! (Harry Potter Dies)

posted by BatSheva Vaknin 9:35 AM
Friday, July 19, 2013

Most Fridays, I post an oldie but a goodie blog for your enjoyment. To those of you who just started reading The Grownup Girl recently, enjoy the “new” blog! To those of you who have been with me from the start, but have memories like mine, enjoy the “new” blog!

And to those who were with me from the start and who already read this blog and burned it into your memory, word for word, photogenically, I say:

What are you doing wasting your time dilly-dallying on my website? Get out there and find me a book deal!

SPOILER ALERT: IF YOU HAVEN’T ALREADY SEEN THE FILM OR READ THE LAST HARRY POTTER BOOK, AND YOU ARE PLANNING TO SEE THE MOVIE, READING THIS BLOG MAY SPOIL THE ENDING FOR YOU! ON THE OTHER HAND, IF YOU ARE LIKE ME, AND YOU READ THE BOOK AND WERE SURE THAT HARRY POTTER DIED, PLAIN & SIMPLE & CLEAR AS DAY, READ ON, BECAUSE YOU WERE WRONG.

Whoops. Did I spill too much in that spoiler alert? Sorry…

I was out with some friends the other night when the subject turned to Harry Potter. My friend works at the studio that produced the movie, so she had seen it a bunch of times. I announced cockily that I would never see that horrible movie because “Who wants to see Harry Potter die? It’s depressing!” (If you’ve been faithfully reading my blogs, you know I never waste my time watching a movie that doesn’t have a happy ending.)

My friends looked at me strangely. “But – you know he doesn’t really die,” the one who works at the studio offered gently.

I stared at her blankly.

“BatSheva (BatSheva Vaknin). You really think that J.K Rowling would finish the whole series off with Harry Potter just dying and never coming back? Ten million kids would break down her door and murder her!”

“But I read the book. Harry Potter dies. So did Dumbledore.”

“Well, yeah, it seems like he dies. But then you read about him in the epilogue, how Harry is grown up with kids, and you realize he survived. You remember? The epilogue.”

Epilogue?

Turns out, I realized when I got home and flipped through the book, I hadn’t really read the epilogue carefully. Or at all. Or – I think I was just so confused and mad at the book for killing off Dumbledore and Harry Potter, that I just didn’t even want to deal with understanding how an adult Harry was doing 10 years later. I tuned it out.

I’m a really fast reader. I can read a 500 page novel in a couple of days, tops. (Before I had kids I could do it in one or two days, but those rascally creatures really demand a lot of our downtime, don’t they?!) It served me well throughout life, reading this fast – especially at Yale, where most teachers assigned something like 10,000 books per week on top of papers and exams.

My problem is with absorption.  I don’t remember anything! (For those of you who also don’t remember anything they’ve read past a minute ago, here is the blog where I wrote about my terrible memory.) If I race through a book I’m usually okay because I can recall a character or event from earlier in the book when it’s referred to later on. But if I’ve had to put the book down at some point, then pick it up days or weeks later? Forget it. I can still enjoy the read, but I won’t be able to put all the pieces together into a coherent picture.

As I mentioned in my Memory Loss blog, this is especially frustrating when it comes to politics or social issues – I read convincing arguments that completely back up my point of view, but when it comes time to defend my point of view, I usually can’t recall the details – only my general feeling that I know I’m right!

Saw the movie, enjoyed it. He doesn’t die. What else happened? Ummmmmm……

C/xo,

Sheva (BatSheva Vaknin)

Now if THIS had been in the movie I would have remembered!! Wait - where's his scar?

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Seriously. What if…!?

posted by BatSheva Vaknin 9:44 AM
Wednesday, July 17, 2013

Hey there! Before you get started, why not sign up over THERE…

…so every time I post a new blog, you’ll get an email letting you know about it!? That way, you’ll be among the FIRST to read each new blog.

Which I’m pretty sure makes you the winner. Of everything.

Now, on to today’s blog…
Seriously. What if…

… you replaced the word “sex” with “chicken” in pop song lyrics?

Okay, true, I’ve gone a bit stir crazy as of late. Having a newborn will do that to you.

But seriously. What if you did it?! We would get some amazing new, kid-friendly lyrics:

You! Your chicken’s on Fire! Consumed! With what’s to transpire!
(duh, what’s about to transpire is we’re going to eat some burnt chicken, son!)

I smell chicken and candy, mmm-mmmm yeah. Who’s that lounging in my chair, mmmm-yeah.
(duh, there’s a chicken lounging in your chair. And she’s eating your Skittles!)

Let’s talk about chickens, baby, let’s talk about you and me, let’s talk about all the good things and the bad things that could be, let’s talk about chickens. Let’s talk about-
(Um, this person REALLY wants to talk about chickens with you. I’d avoid him.)

And – drumroll, please! – my all-time favorite, George Michael!

I swear I won’t tease you 
Won’t tell you no lies 
I don’t need no bible 
Just look in my eyes 
I’ve waited so long baby 
Out in the cold 
I can’t take much more girl 
I’m losing control 

I want your chicken 
I want your love 
I want your…..chicken 

It’s natural 
It’s chemical (let’s do it) 
It’s logical 
Habitual (can we do it?) 
It’s sensual 
But most of all….. 
Chickens are something that we should do 
Chickens are something for me and you 

Chickens are natural – chickens are good 
Not everybody does them 
But everybody should 
Chickens are natural – chickens are fun 
Chickens are best when they’re….one on one 
One on one 

EW! Cover the kids’ ears! GM, you’re such a perv!

(PS – I wanted to draw a picture for this blog of George Michael singing & dreaming about chickens, but lucky for you, I used the picture of this sign instead.)

cx/o,
Sheva (BatSheva Vaknin)

Song lyric? Or restaurant? You be the judge.

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Rhymes with “Myrtle”

posted by BatSheva Vaknin 10:01 AM
Monday, July 15, 2013

… and it ain’t ‘Turtle.’

No, folks – this blog is an homage to one of the best post-partum Mommy Gear items on the market.

The girdle.

“You look amazing!”

“I can’t believe you already lost all the baby weight!”

“Are you sure you just had a baby?!?! No way!”

These comments and more, ladies, are what you will hear if you diligently wear your Mommy Girdle after you have your baby.

Versus…

…the comments I heard before I ordered my $120 “medical grade” postpartum girdle.

“Aw, how far along are you? Is this your first?”

“How exciting, another baby! When are you due?”

“Honey, it takes time, don’t worry. From the neck up, you look amazing!”

Unfortunately, there are some drawbacks to the girdle.

For starters, whereas I no longer have a giant flabby tummy when I wear the girdle, I now have a minorly disturbing roll of “lung fat” billowing below my chest & above my stomach – the roll created from the top of my girdle pressing into my flesh. In other words, when I sit, I no longer have that doughnut roll over my pants because the girdle is sucking it up, but then I guess ultimately it needs to find a way out – like a plant to the sun – and the girdle winds up vomiting that extra chub out from above its seam, just a few inches under my boobs.

Also, after I wear it for a while, the ‘bones’ of the girdle (what is this, anyway, 18th century England?) have pressed so deeply into my hips, that they leave elaborate red lines and patterns etched in my flesh that could go head to head with any Papa New Guinea tribal markings. Bring it on, Faipz!

(Faipz is an actual Papa New Guinea name. Seriously. It was so hard to choose just one name from all the awesome Papa New Guinea names I Googled – so here, for your enjoyment, are some of the runners up: HermanDerm, JayPilz, Mr asideg, Mangi Porgera, Awel, Ezy and Dexjo.)

And… if I eat too much, I get a stomach ache. …which, I guess, could be a good way to keep off those post-partum pounds. Except it just makes me want to rip off the girdle, and eat it as a punishment for not allowing me to enjoy my food.

[Breastfeeding hunger pangs are dangerous, yo.]

Also… it is quite startling to go without it – startling for other people, who got used to seeing my flatter stomach and now have no other choice but to assume I’ve gone and gotten pregnant AGAIN – but startling also for myself, because it reminds me of my real stomach situation and not my fake girdle stomach situation.

So, yeah, it’s not perfect. But I have a feeling it will take me a while to get back to my dieting and Insanity self…

So in the meantime, I’ll take the illusion, Myrtle.

cx/o,

 

Sheva (BatSheva Vaknin)

 

P.S. Don’t miss out – Sign up in the upper right-hand margin of this blog page and get emailed each time I write a new blog!

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Flashback Friday (The Love of my Life)

posted by BatSheva Vaknin 9:23 AM
Friday, July 12, 2013

Most Fridays, I post an oldie but a goodie blog for your enjoyment. To those of you who just started reading The Grownup Girl recently, enjoy the “new” blog! To those of you who have been with me from the start, but have memories like mine, enjoy the “new” blog!

And to those who were with me from the start and who already read this blog and burned it into your memory, word for word, photogenically, I say:

What are you doing wasting your time dilly-dallying on my website? Get out there and find me a book deal!

[** A PHOTO WAS SUPPOSED TO BE INSERTED HERE BUT MY $#*@!#& WORDPRESS PLATFORM WON'T LET ME UPLOAD IT & SINCE I AM USELESS WHEN IT COMES TO SOLVING SOFTWARE PROBLEMS, YOU, DEAR READER, MUST USE YOUR IMAGINATION TO PICTURE THIS: A CHOCOLATE BAR, WITH THE CAPTION "The chocolate I was eating as I re-posted this blog. I have a problem. A really yummy problem.**]

The caption was funny with the actual photo. Promise.

Chocolate chocolate bo-bocolate, bananafana fo-focolate, fee fi fo mocolate –

CHOCOLATE.

Um…. guys? I think I may have a – uh – “problem”. Is it a problem to fantasize about chocolate chip cookies or chocolate cake during a class? During a conversation? While writing on the computer? While watching TV? While putting kids to bed?

It’s not like I’m fantasizing about crack cocaine or even cigarettes or scotch or anything. I mean, many studies say chocolate is really GOOD for you, you know? Those studies generally do not specifically cite chocolate chip cookies or chocolate cake as being “good for you” but what do they do anyway, those assholes? Chocolate makes me happy!

Wait – I see the problem. I’m looking to an external substance to help me feel love. Loved. Comforted. Happy.

I’m supposed to find that within myself, right? Or… outside myself? Like, you know, in a higher power? I mean, who is more important: God or chocolate. GOD, RIGHT?

I think it’s a problem that I need to yell at myself to remind myself God is more important than chocolate. I need to be reminded to think about God like a kid needs to be reminded to think about brushing his teeth.

Chocolate, on the other hand…

I also don’t like being a cliché. I mean, me: girl. Chocolate: my obsession. How very Seventeen Magazine. On the other hand, if being a cliché means I eat a lot of chocolate cake & cookies, how bad can it really be?

You see the problem I’m having?

Did I ever tell you about the time I was starring in this play called Equus and I had to be naked onstage, so I went on this really strict workout & diet regimen that didn’t allow me to have ANY sugar, not even fruit, for like two months? No motivator for a diet in the world like knowing you are going to be onstage for six weeks in front of friends, family and strangers completely naked, let me tell you. So I actually stuck with it. My body changed and looked amazing. And meanwhile, my mind… went a little bananas.

Not so much during the day. During the day, I would obsess and pine for my chocolate, desserts, and sweets that I missed. But the weirdest thing was at night. Going to bed without chocolate sucked. I drank decaf coffee with Equal and half and half to give me some approximation of the creamy sweetness I craved. But actually being asleep? That was what exposed my relationship with chocolate for what it truly was.

An addiction.

Because, much like I have heard my ex-cigarette smoking friends describe to me, I began to have dreams, night after night, about chocolate. Dreams that I was cheating on my diet and eating cake. Dreams that I was cheating, then I “woke up” and realized it was only a dream, then realized I was still sleeping and maybe it wasn’t really a dream and I had eaten the cake and now I was busted, and so on and so forth. It was exhausting.

I finished the run of the play and immediately allowed myself to eat cake and cookies and whatever I wanted again. And that part of my stomach that I never liked – the part that sticks out – yeah, duh, it came back too.

After three kids, it would be REALLY NICE to stop craving chocolate and regain my slim tummy again.

Suggestions, anyone?

c/xo,

Sheva (BatSheva Vaknin)

 

WHOAH! I actually figured out how to fix the tech problem by using the 'support' function on my WordPress... In other words, I FIXED THIS PHOTO UPLOAD ISSUE WITHOUT HAVING TO HIRE SOMEONE TO DO IT!!! I don't know about you guys, but to me, this is a clear indicator that God exists and miracles ARE REAL... And if that isn't reason to celebrate with some chocolate, I don't know what is! :)

 

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Blast Off!

posted by BatSheva Vaknin 10:00 AM
Wednesday, July 10, 2013

Speaking of amazing inventions… Mommy and baby gear has come a loooong way since I had my first child almost 9 years ago.

Back then? We had like 5 throw pillows that you had to stuff beneath baby, beneath your arm, beneath your elbow, behind your lower back and behind your head, all while simultaneously holding Baby’s body in place, holding his fragile head in place, and holding your boob in place, nipple squeezed between two fingers for maximum square footage of sucking material.

You needed eight hands just to handle all of it.

Now? We have My Breast Friend™ (winner for all around best breast-feeding pillow and simultaneous winner for all around WORST NAME EVER for a breast-feeding pillow) – a breastfeeding wrap-around with bumps to keep Baby in place, a snug fit that gives automatic back and elbow support, and is so handy it practically milks you and delivers the milk to Baby in a red satin bow.

Back then? We had scratchy, heavy blankets or lightweight swaddle blankets (with none of the cool chic designs like they have now) that you had to keep over Baby’s head and your naked breast while you breast fed in order to have some privacy, and they would slip off continuously and since you didn’t have eight arms you had to hold the dang thing in place with your teeth (did I mention those blankets were SCRATCHY? Tasted like sand and old grass…), or they would practically suffocate Baby while simultaneously covering any view from above, meaning new moms basically had to Hellen Keller their way into stuffing that breast into Baby’s mouth, and believe me, the results were none too pretty. (For more on this topic, see my hilarious blog Breastfeeding Bites and So Will Your Baby.)

Now? Some genius figured out how to belt a lightweight cloth so that you could adjust it around your neck (no more 8 arms and/or teeth to hold in place) AND they added to the collar rounded wire that holds the cloth aloft from the neck, shielding Baby from prying eyes whilst allowing Mama to peer down and actually SEE what she is doing as she guides Baby’s mouth to her breast.

SO, world, here’s my suggestion for the next amazing invention that will rock the world of New Motherdom.

High-backed diapers.

Stay with me…

Nine years ago, all we had were mostly leak-proof disposable diapers, some natural, most filled with juicy chemicals for maximum pee pee absorbency.

And now…? Nothing much has changed. Unless you count a bit more variety, including some cool but super useless diaper designs (my friend gifted me some skull & crossbones diapers and some ‘anchors away’ diapers from Honest.com that were cute… but also, completely dumb, since – Hello, diapers stay UNDER the clothes and aren’t seen by others…? I mean, like, duh!?!)

But FUTURE generations… take note! And CURRENT entrepreneurs/inventors – please steal this idea & make it work! The diaper with the high back.

Simple!

Useful!

A high-backed diaper that keeps all that yucky poopy – the poopy that normally escapes the regular diaper & shoots up the back of your newborn/infant/young child - inside the diaper!

Revolutionary!

You know, like when they blast a particularly explosive poop, and normally it just explodes right up the back of that diaper & stains the baby’s onesie, blanket they are lying/sitting in, AND your lap if you happen to be unlucky enough to be holding him/her at that moment?

Come on now, people. We can send a man to the moon. We can make a breastfeeding cover that is breathable, effective at covering Baby, AND allows Mommy to see what baby is doing.

Why can’t we make a *()$#)*&%@**$! diaper that keeps all that gross poop inside?

c/xo,

 

Sheva (BatSheva Vaknin)

Scarier than The Shining

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