Photo Op

Holy Cow Moment 3:  Yesterday we took family photos.  Wow, family photos.  It used to be dog photos or couple photos, now its family photos.  I used to worry about my makeup or hair looking perfect, making sure everything was pristine (yeah don’t go look at my old photos because it never was no matter what). Now, all I wanted to know is, “Do I look like I tried?”  or “Is there baby spit up anywhere on me that you can see?”  So I think it is safe to say things have progressed… er maybe regressed? 

I also underestimated how much work it is to get a husband and infant ready for photos.  I had grand plans to curl my hair – I know gasp- what mother has time to curl their hair.  I did abandon this effort after I actually found the time and energy put on makeup and eyeliner!  From there my darling daughter was in sweats and a shirt figuring she has a tendency to spit up on everything, we would just change her at the photo place.  My husband did get himself dressed and very well I might add.  His tie was perfect something I don’t either of us had mastered for last years Christmas party so I was really proud.  (I should note that he doesn’t wear ties but once a year since his job is hands on and rather messy.  A tie would actually be a safety hazard so unless I don’t like him anymore or I need the insurance money he doesn’t wear ties.)

So off to the store we go.  We are of course are running in my mommy definition of “On time.” We have exactly 5 minutes to get said daughter dressed and get into the studio so in the end we were 3 minutes late.  Wow moment again – we were changing her diaper stripping her and redressing her in tights, dress and a sweater in the parking lot.  My husband was slipping a diaper cover on as I was holding her attempting to button her up one handed.  If there had been a contest for dressing a child in less then 2 minutes I think we won.  Our daughter found this highly amusing which made dressing her all the more of a pain since we too were laughing.

As we get into the studio, 3 minutes late, the people seem a little frazzled because heaven forbid they treat people like people instead of cattle going in for slaughter (apparently I have a fixation with cows based on my second post and this one).  As we are sitting down it hits me… where are our daughters shoes and headband… oh right on the seat of the car where we put them.  Go parents! Well these cows just threw a huge pile of manure out there – or at least that is how they looked at us because my husband had to go get these items.  I refuse to pay for photos that I don’t think will look cute and the headband made the outfit, I think. 

Well to make the long story short we ended up swapping appointments with apparently very put together parents (I think they were just brought in to make us feel bad).  The photos were still done in record time – I didn’t know I could sprint in heals – that didn’t even make it into the photos.  What’s the point of having cute shoes if no one sees them? 

So wow moment of my week was – I have a family, I don’t care about my hair anymore and I apparently can’t get 40 things done at once without being late and still forgetting something.  The good news is that at least everything was in the mom car; it’s just too bad it didn’t make it into the mom purse to make the trek inside.

Mom’s Diner

WARNING - This post contains references to cows, milk and other motherly things (such as nursing).  Yeah thats right cows. So if you are sensitive to any of the above skip this one.

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Holy Cow Moment 2:  Contrary to my infants belief I am not open twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week.  I am struggling to find my me time and thanks to her, in her tiny eyes I do not have, nor should I get, any.  It’s like I’m a sweat shop dairy farm (if there ever could be such a thing) – I suddenly feel for the cows that live day in and day out in a stall.  That being said I still cherish my time with my child and I like my right to choose to nurse but after dealing with men at work I am now officially over whatever modesty might have remained after the birthing experience.  (For those woman who have never experienced this portion of life don’t worry you can still laugh – just envision a cow.)

I am a working mom, be it right or wrong I am not here to argue about it.  My company has a room set aside called a “mother’s room” great idea right?  In theory it’s awesome, small uncomfortable couch, tiny fridge that something might have died in and on a good day a jet engine of a fan, which whirls not stop, has yet to take off.  Sounds great right?  Well for me it is, except when I have to fight for the key.  I’m sure you are now imagining a couple of mom’s going at it out over a key, but really it was more like one mom and five men going round and round over today’s best communication network , E-mail.  Ah E-mail I love the, except when everything gets misconstrued, can take hours to get responses and all while the mom in question is getting ready to blow up – literally.  Yes I was getting mad, yes I was ready to punch one of the MEN in the face but I was literarily going to blow like those shoes back in the day you could pump until it could take no more and Poof no more functioning shoe.  TMI right? 

So here’s the story, apparently a crap couch, tiny fridge, a deafening noise and four walls needs to be locked up like fort knocks.  Who knew?  To get into the mother’s room there are qualifications and I thought I had them all.  I was apparently wrong.  It took me three hours and five men later and a threat of confidentiality and several other choice words to get a key but only after I found that the GUY guarding the key went to the same elementary school with me, small world right.  Why the 5 men you ask?  Well one guy referred me to the next and the next and the next until I ended up with the first again who then gave me another name (the one who actually controls the key – NOVEL CONCEPT), non were woman.  Now that everyone knows my business why don’t they just join me?  I mean if this is such a “sacred choice” and this room is highly coveted that they can’t allow a key to an obviously desperate mother why not just join the party.  It is official I have no modesty or dignity left. 

“Motherhood is so beautiful” – whoever actually said that adopted, had a maid and nanny.  Today I have a crusty section of hair – thank you child of mine for spitting up in it before I left for work and too bad I didn’t notice it since I have become immune to the smell.