How to Achieve the 4 p.m. Miracle

6 am:  Open up one eye when alarm goes off (as far as the crusts will allow).  Snarl at alarm.  Punch snooze.  Tell yourself, “I’ll never drink again!”  Shut eye.

6:15 am:  Open up one eye (make sure it’s the same one).  Sock the off button.  Dig out crusts.  Put feet on floor and pad to the bathroom.  Make sure you’re hunched over.  Snarl at your spouse.

6:30 am: Pickoutyourclothesironyourclothesgetdressedfeedthecatmakeyourlunch emptythedishwashergetthebabyupdressthebabyfeedthebabyemptythelitterboxfold thelaundry.  Ask yourself why the hell you don’t you do any of this the night before. Make sure you scold yourself in a criticizing tone. Make it believable.

7:45 am:  Get the hell outta Dodge.

8 am:  Enjoy a hot toasty cuppa joe from your local establishment (the one with the drive through).  Waft the healing vapors towards your nose.  Savor the nutty goodness.  Sigh with contentment as you sip.

10 am: Enjoy a second cup of coffee at your desk.  Not as hot or delicious as the first, but still tasty.  Guzzle. Guzzle. And then maybe have a third. And a fourth.

10:15 am:  Tell anyone who hovers remotely near your (fourth) coffee cup, “DON’T TOUCH MY COFFEE!” or, if you prefer, “DON’T SPILL MY COFFEE!”   Both are equally important.

11 am:  Shake.  Shakily write Post-It notes to yourself.  Shakily type on your keyboard pretending to work.  Hear your heart shakily go THUMP THUMP THUMP. THUMPTHUMP. THUMP.

12 pm:  Start chewing up your mixed greens with broccoli, cauliflower and mushrooms salad for lunch.  Chew.  Chew.  Be prepared for a lot of chewing.  Cough.  Wish you had more dressing.  Dryly chew.  Stare longingly at coworker’s pizza and fries.

12: 30 pm:  Take aspirin for your chew-related jaw pain. (BONUS:  Get the kind with EXTRA CAFFEINE!)

1 pm: Think about pizza.  Obsessively.  Pepperoni.  Green pepper. Ham. Sausage. Onion.  Green olive.  Thin crust.  Thick crust.  Buttered crust.  Cardboard frozen pizza crust.  YUM.  Hear and feel your stomach eat itself.  Think about cheesy nachos. Then back to pizza again.

1:30 pm:  If there are any cupcakes/cookies/cakes of any kind offered in the break room, shovel them into your face.

2 pm: Use toothpicks to pry your eyelids open.

3 pm:   Complain about your boss to your coworkers.  Complain about your heart palpitations to the person in charge of the coffee fund.  Complain about the housework hanging over your head in an email to your spouse.  Call your sister to complain about your parents.  Call your parents to complain about your sister.  Try to console yourself with Pinterest.  Find NOTHING GOOD TO PIN.  Complain to yourself about how the entire universe is conspiring against you right now.

3:59 pm:  Head to happy hour!

And here it is!  4 pm:   Enjoy the delicious glass of wine you’re mouth is suddenly so thirsty for.  And then have a second because it is just so grapey good!  Shake your head at how silly you were this morning when you said you wouldn’t drink today.  Why on Earth would you think THAT?  It’s liquid joy in a cup.  Admire the lovely crimson shade.  Think about how much you love your job, love your boss, love your sisters and your parents.  Marvel over how well-kept your house is.  How smart and beautiful your kids are.  How nice you really are, deep down inside.  How funny and witty you are – ha! ha! ha!  Attack the tapas. Bask in the glory that is life!  The miracle.

5 pm: Head home.  Help your spouse chop vegetables, pass them dishes to and from the grill, get out the salt and pepper and assorted spices.  Make three side dishes, plus dessert.  Eat dinner with the spouse and kids. No, wait, stop eating. Get up to get napkins.  Get up to get ice water.  Get up to get another knife because one fell on the floor.  Get up to get the olives out of the fridge.  Put away dishes, spices, wipe counter and clean up mess from dinner (since your spouse cooked, of course – it’s only fair!)

7 pm:  Put screaming, crying, snotty, dirty, smelly kids to bed.

7:45 pm:  Drink 1/2 of a bottle of Cabernet to help you relax after your dinner/bedtime shenanigans.

9 pm:  Snack on Doritos and string cheese and/or Dove chocolate and your kid’s whole grain Goldfish crackers (cheddar).

English: A pile of Goldfish Crackers, made by ...

10 pm:  Drink another 1/4 bottle of Cabernet to help you sleep.  Don’t forget to remind yourself that red wine is good fo your heart.

11 pm:  Drink last quarter bottle of Cabernet.  Because you don’t want it to oxidize and go to waste.  And because you REALLY care about your heart.

English: A glass of port wine. Français : Un v...
(Photo credit: Wikipedia)

12 am:  Smash your face on your pillow.  Zzzzzz….

3 am:  Wake up parched because all the fluids from your entire body are either held within your engorged bladder or have fallen out into the sopping pool on your pillow.  Guzzle a glass of water while peeing.  Re-smash face against pillow.

6 am:  Open up one eye when alarm goes off (as far as the crusts will allow).  Snarl at alarm.  Punch snooze.  Tell yourself, “I’ll never drink again!”  Shut eye.

Bow To Your Thighness: 3 Guiding Principles For Physical and Mental Health

I’ve always hated my thighs.

In high school, jeans shopping was a complete nightmare.  I know what you’re thinking, “Isn’t it always?” or “Wouldn’t we all rather stick our heads into the yawning mouths of lions or alligators or piranhas than shop for jeans?” To which the answer is a resounding YES.  Yes, we certainly would. Hell, wouldn’t we all rather stick our heads into the ASSES of these animals, if it meant we’d get out of jeans shopping ever again?  I’ll let you answer that last question on your own. 

I cringe when I think about the multitude of shopping trips needed, hours long, to find a single pair of jeans that I thought I looked not-like-a-lumbering-mastodon in. My mom patiently (or fake patiently) sat there while the sales lady brought me pair after pair after pair.  I didn’t want jeans that were too tight, because then people would see how big these thighs were, but jeans that were too baggy made them look even bigger.  The Flabby Flank Conundrum. 

It was also the mid 90’s and our entire generation was wearing everything ultra-baggy. When you only wear jeans and hoodies in a size XL, because, for some reason, THAT is what is cool, even though you really fit into a size S or M, you don’t really learn what kind of clothing is most flattering for your body.  I was essentially plucking random jeans off the shelves and hoping they magically fit. It was like trying to find a tactful and well informed politically inspired status update on Facebook. Highly unlikely no matter how hard you search. My thighs are still hard to squeeze into many normal-person sized pants, but now I can usually spot jeans with a size 10 thigh hole and a size 6 waist without shedding too many tears.  In high school I hyperfocused on the sheer bulk of my two trunks; I realize now that it doesn’t really matter how big my thighs are.

Except when it does.

Yesterday I went running, in shorts.  Cute little blue and yellow running shorts with a white stripe down each side.  And about 1/2 mile in, the ensuing chafing reminded me why I never run in these. You don’t have to deal with this crap when you’re primarily a winter runner, like I am.  Rub. Rub. Rub. Rub. Rub. Raw. Raw. Ouch.  I have a good friend who would get embarrassed when her thighs would “clap” (and cheer her on!) really loudly while she was running.  I was embarrassed that there was no way that would EVER  happen to me – since that would require them to be separate entities.  In the past I might have cursed the chafing and my thick thighs, but now I chalk it up to simply choosing the wrong garment.  I should have worn the ridiculous looking spandex. 

No matter how much you hate a body part, there becomes a point where you know it isn’t going to get that much better. No matter how toned I get or how much weight I lose, my thighs are always going to rub together.  So, I have to let it go and honor my physical and mental health by remembering to stick to my Three Guiding Principles.

1.  Work on Creating A Positive Self-Image

My thighness isn’t going away.  It’s genetics.  And, since I want to be happiest of happies, I’m going to work very hard on not caring about my damn thighs because I have approximately 93472 million more important things to care about.  I will look like a complete buffoon in spandex in order to think less (thus care less) about what I look like.  This is the runner’s paradox.  

2. Work on Fitness

These thighs look better the more toned they are. The stronger they are the better I feel.  These thighs have squatted me through stress-relieving yoga during my depressing battle with infertility,  squatted me through prenatal yoga, even with the additional pounds from Baby Grouch, and accidentally trained me for a marathon.  They’ve taken me from point A to point B my entire life and I need to appreciate them by taking care of them.  So, I will continue to run and squat and thoroughly tire them out.  This aging, post-baby body demands it.

3. Be Gluttonous

Just not every second of every day.  I will eat leafy greens, and fruity fruits, organic grains and beany beans, but I am not willing to give up on what makes me happy and balanced and fun.  I do not want to be the boob sipping soda water and munching on carrots at girls weekend. I do not want to be the one who can’t agree to go to a restaurant until I’ve ensured they offer grilled chicken and zucchini.  Bor-ing.  I will be as healthy and fit as I can be, whilst indulging, on a somewhat regular basis, in mounds of nachos.  And pizza. And most definitely, wine. 

How do you bow to your thighness?

English: Mannequins wearing jeans in Sânnicola...
(Photo credit: Wikipedia)

A Comprehensive Pre-Pregnancy To-Do List

A pregnant woman
A pregnant woman (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Pregnancy preparedness: Things you’ll want to do before you get knocked up – in no particular order.

1.  Start telling strangers in line at the grocery store and strangers you’re connected with on social media that you are pregnant and that you are  planning to formula feed.  Take notes when they give you loads of valuable advice about infant feeding.

2.  Stare at your naked self in the mirror and pinch the flabbiest part of your belly.  Sneer at it in disgust. Then, try to imagine that your flabby belly will never again be this toned.  Pat your (soon to be thought of as toned) flab and tell it you’ll miss it.

3.  Google childbirth worst-case scenarios.  Develop extreme anxiety.  PANIC.

4.  Stock up on your favorite seasonal treats, since you don’t know what will be available when you crave it most.  DO NOT, I repeat, DO NOT eat your Thin Mints.  You will need them later.  TRUST ME. Scavange boxes from your friends and family if you can.

5.  Drink copious amounts of vino.  You’re really gonna miss this stuff.

6.  Attend a natural childbirthing class and ask questions like, “What is the herbal equivalent to an epidural?” and, “How many six packs do I need to drink to help my milk come in?”

7.  Keep a box of tissues in your purse at all times.  When you want to be pregnant, everyone else around you will become pregnant. Teenagers, nuns, your eccentric uncle.  EVERYONE.

8.  Go to yoga.  You’ll need the core strength to sustain a healthy pregnancy, delivery, and recovery.  You’ll need the breathing exercises to offset the breast-feeding advice, childbirth horror stories and immaculate conceptions going on all around you.

9.  Kegels.  Yes, you need to do them.  Start ’em now.  Do them in the car, do them at work, do them when you empty the dishwasher. You’d better get used to multi-tasking.

10.  Drink more wine.  Relish it.

11.  Research baby products and read each and every review.  Buy fifteen books reviewing the products and then buy three more books reviewing the reviews. Create an elaborate wish list.  Go register for products and get so annoyed with the process that you just scan the first two items on each shelf. (*Note – those choices will work out just fine).  Pass along books along to the nearest pregnant sap.

12.  Sex it up.  If you’re struggling with conception, sex will quickly turn into a chore you have to complete in between laundry and online banking.  Once you get pregnant, your husband will worry about poking the baby.  Right after having the baby, you’ll worry about breaking your pelvis.  When the baby is older, you’ll both choose sleep over sex.  It’ll be a couple years before you’re both in the mood (and that’s when you’ll start trying for your next baby).

13.  Read up on the importance of infant schedules and sleep training.  Try to do 100 pull ups, walk across hot coals, and hold your breath for 4 minutes under water.  These three tasks will better prepare you for the inevitable realization that carefully planned schedules and techniques won’t work out for you in any way, shape or form.

14.  Start slathering on the cocoa butter.  If it doesn’t prevent stretch marks, it’ll at least smell like coconuts and make you think of the beach.  Once you’re pregnant, keep using it but know that you’ll feel less like a Hawaiian Tropics girl and more like a beached whale.

15.  Start spending time with other people’s kids.  Their whining, incessant chatter, tantrum throwing and disgusting drooling will prepare you for what is to come.  Let me remind you that evolution has programmed us to love our own so much more than our neighbor’s.  Don’t be afraid, your own will be amazing.  A science refresher is always valuable.

16.  Relax.  Because we all know that unlike ovulation, balanced hormones or healthy uterine linings, this is the true key to conceiving.

Any other advice for those who want to be parents?

Top 10 Things Infertiles Want You To Shut The Fuck Up About

In honor of Infertility Awareness Week – here’s a Top 10 list for what some of y’all should shut the fuck up about.

1.  Complaints about your body during pregnancy.  Swollen feet?  Fat ass?  Whaleish proportions?   Shut the fuck up, you’re pregnant. You have a tiny head and tiny feet poking you in the ribs and wedged between your organs. That’s how you’re supposed to feel.

2.  Complaints about what you can’t eat while pregnant.  Can’t eat sushi? Can’t eat goat cheese?  Can’t eat salami?  Shut the fuck up before we shove this seaweed wrapped, cheese slathered salami up your ass.  Have you heard the saying you can’t have your cake and eat it too?  Maybe not, seeing how you’re devouring that cake….

3.  Complaints about what you can’t do while pregnant.  Can’t go on a rollercoaster? Can’t go on a trampoline?  Can’t skydive?  Shut the fuck up, we can’t have a baby.

4.  Complaints about your kids.  Up all night?  Have picky eaters?  Sick of them crying over broken toys?  Sick of them crying over sharing toys?  Sick of them crying over the fact that you made them wear pants?  Shut the fuck up, that’s how kids act.

5.   Questions about when we’ll have kids.  When do we think we’ll have kids?  Are we planning on ever having kids?  Hm, let’s see, we thought about 3 years ago, but now we don’t know if we ever will be able to, THANKS FOR ASKING.  Shut the fuck up with your ignorant questions.

6.  Complaints about how your pregnancy/children is affecting your sex life.  Really?  Try forcing your spouse to have sex with you when they have a temperature of 103 and a raging sinus infection, because it is cycle day 15 and you don’t “waste a cycle”.  Or try having to drive to Ohio because it’s cycle day 15 and your spouse is out of town for work and you don’t want to “waste a cycle”. Then you can talk to us about your crappy sex life.  Shut the fuck up, we can’t wait to not HAVE to have sex.

7.  Gushing about how your prenatal vitamins made your hair and nails grow.  “Prenatal vitamins made my hair so lush and my nails so long” you say.  Yea, shut the fuck up.  We’ve been on them for 3 years and our split ends have split ends and our nails are stubs (but maybe that is from our anxious chewing?)

8.  Complaints about all of your doctor appointments/procedures.  Really?  Because some of us are spending hundreds or thousands of dollars on medications and procedures.  We’re spending time at the doctor 4 days out of the month, on dates we can’t plan ahead, and often have to leave work or cancel plans to check on our follicle size.  We’re getting probed, we’re stabbing ourselves with needles, we’re nauseous because of the meds we’re taking.  The end result of this is usually bad news with a pitying look from a nurse, instead of getting to hear a heartbeat or see our baby’s toes on ultrasound.  Shut the fuck up about your doctor visits and procedures.

9.  Advice about how to get pregnant.  Relax?  Stop trying and it will happen?  Utilize the missionary position?  Drink herbal tea?  Trust in God’s plan?  Chart our temperatures?  Shut the fuck up with your witchcraft and wives tales.  We’re working with our reproductive endocrinologists, thank you very much, because this is a biological problem, not a fairy-tale dilemma.

10.  Complaints about not being able to drink because you’re pregnant.  Ok, actually, that one we get.  We totally get that.

Did I miss anything?


I found this on Pinterest, and do not know who created it.  If you know, please  send me a message so I can give them their due credit.
I found this on Pinterest, and do not know who created it. If you know, please send me a message so I can give them their due credit.

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