The Darndest Things

The other day, I picked Jack up from preschool and told him I had something exciting to show him: Pictures of the new baby!

Jack's teacher offered her congratulations and we stood there chatting about the pregnancy for a few minutes, which was a little uncomfortable because I was now holding Jack, equating almost 40 pounds of dead weight balanced on one hip.

Then things got a lot MORE uncomfortable.

The teacher asked Jack a question about the baby, and he told her that he could feel it growing inside my tummy.

And then he reached over and began to lovingly pat and caress MY LEFT BOOB.

Um, a little lower, kid.

Bless that woman...she TRIED to keep a straight face for my sake, but this was too great a test for her professionalism and she dissolved into embarrassed giggles. All I could do is shrug, red-faced, and say "Kids! Don't they say the DARNDEST things?" And then get the hell out of there.

(In Jack's defense...ok, yes, my boobs ARE getting bigger. But STILL.)

Ah, the daily little indignities of pregnancy. Care to come along for the ride?

Say Hello To My Little Friend

Not to be outdone by Jon & Kate and their "very special announcement," I have some news of my own.

Let's go ahead and take some of your questions.

Internet:

Holy crap! That's a baby! In YOU!

Lisa:

Dude, I KNOW.

Internet:

Huh. Well, that explains those unsightly baggy clothes. Here we thought it was all that cake.

Lisa:

Oh, suck it.

Internet:

So, when are you due?

Lisa:

Christmas...JESUS H. CHRIST!

(To clarify...I'm not insinuating that the baby is, in fact, the second coming of Jesus Christ. I just can't believe I may end up eating a hospital's version of Christmas ham. Wrong on so many levels).

Internet:

And how are you feeling?

Lisa:

Oh, you know, the usual: Sick. Tired. Hungry. Ugly. Weepy. Happy.

Internet:

Are you going to find out the baby's sex?

Lisa:

Absolutely. You know I can't keep a secret, not even from myself, much less from YOU, Internet. Besides, we have about 29 tubs in our basement containing five years of little boys clothes. If this one's a girl, it's CLEARANCE TIME.

Internet:

Wait...what IS that? Has your belly button already popped?

Lisa:

No, no. That protrusion you see would be the rubber band holding my pants together. Careful...it may fly off and poke your eye out.

Internet:

Is Jack excited to be a big brother?

Lisa:

He is. But only because we told him he gets to be the boss of this baby. What he doesn't know is by "boss" I mean 'diaper changer."

Internet:

So you have one well out of diapers, you have your life back, and now you're going to start ALL OVER again with another tiny, helpless baby? ARE YOU CRAZY?

Lisa:

Yes. Yes I am.

If You Seek Lisa

I am not SO self-absorbed as to assume you've all been personally impacted by how infrequently I've been updating this blog lately. In fact, the only person who probably noticed was my friend Leslie, who gently prodded me via email last week to let me know I'd been missed (I think her exact words were "UPDATE YOUR FREAKIN' BLOG SO I CAN GET THAT "PART TIME LOVER" SONG OUT OF MY DAMN HEAD.")

Okay, so...BUSTED. I've been a little "out of pocket" as of late (don't you hate it when people say "out of pocket?" What does that even mean?)

Let's catch you up on what you missed:

1. We celebrated my dad's 61st birthday by breaking
   out the leftover pirate piñata from Jack's party
   last month. Jack beat that thing to a bloody pulp while yelling "THIS IS HARD CORE! HARD CORE!" Then he tore off its head, speared it with the piñata stick and paraded it around the village, followed by cake.
   
   
2. My brother and sister-in-law came to visit. And bought a house. Not here...in Minneapolis (BOO). My SIL was also accepted into her MBA program of choice (YAY). Brains, beauty AND great hair. May he endeavor to deserve her.
   
   
3. I spent two weeks working around-the-clock (literally, some days) doing Website/social media stuff for the launch of a certain little-known mobile device. Let's call it..."MyPhone." During this time I neglected my usual eight-hour sleep requirement and standards of personal hygiene in order to field 2 a.m. tweets threatening to rape me and/or wishing death upon my children.
   
   
4. I turned 34. A whole year older. But still younger than most of you bitches. So there.
   
   Oh yeah...I had some cake.
   
   
5. Ben and I travelled to Chicago for the wedding of my fabulous friend Kim. As a bonus, we got to stalk our old apartment AND throw it down with my college besties and their better halves. And by "it" I mean cake.
   
   
6. While in Chicago, Ben got the greatest possible Father's Day gift...and that would be a weekend without fathering. But lest you think us callous, selfish parents, let me assure you that we made it home in time for a celebratory Father's Day dinner with our wee one. Complete with cake.

I think that pretty much brings us up to speed. What about you? What have YOU been eating?

I mean...doing?

Part Time Lover

In my five-plus years as a working mom, I've run in to her from time to time. And even when I like her, I always sort of hate her. You know... THAT woman. The one that has managed to score the most elusive, highly-coveted position in corporate America: The flexible work arrangement. The part time job.

You've met her, haven't you? The one who's managed to keep one hand firmly planted on the upper rungs of the corporate ladder while wrangling a kid (or two, or three) with the other? The one who canoodles with clients over lunch on Thursdays and consorts with farmer's market vendors on Fridays? The one who's figured out a way to stomach a pay cut without resorting to pleather shoes or giving up organic nonfat lattes? The one who makes it look OH-SO-EASY?

(It probably doesn't help that she is usually also unnaturally thin with extraordinarily cooperative hair. WHAT GIVES, ROBOT LADY?)

For a long time, I have assumed she had something I didn't. Some boring but exceedingly rich Wall Street-type husband. A trust fund. An Internet porn side gig. Or maybe just an extra maternal chromosome that made being away from her child ALL DAY unbearable.

Then on one solitary, soul-searching six-hour car drive, it occurred to me that maybe she DID, in fact, have something I didn't have: The gumption to figure out how to make it work, create a plan and then just ASK for it.

HUH.

Well, what do you know? That actually worked.

A few months later, I AM her. I still have the job I love, but on a slightly reduced schedule. I still have great benefits and a salary we can live on, with a few budgetary tweaks (like cutting back on childcare costs, as opposed to say, great shoes or lattes.) But now I can ALSO pick my son up from school...make dinner (really!) and consume it at an actual table with the rest of my family...take the dog for a long evening walk so she'll wear out and stop that damn barking...maybe even catch a few excessively bad reality TV shows without felling th eneed to manically fast forward through every commerical. All in a day's "work."

Three days into my new schedule, I can tell it won't be as easy as SHE made it look. Already, I'm mourning that purchase I probably won't be able to make. Already, I'm bending those boundaries and agreeing to work a little later, a little longer, than I probably should.

But then I think about the sleeping boy upstairs who ran to greet me at the end of his school day. And then I scan the three dirty lasagna dishes scattered across the dining room table and smile at how I tricked Jack into eating his green beans tonight. Then I reach down to pet Frankie, wiped after our turn around the block and snoring away at my side. And then I look at Ben's face and read the relief written all over it. That's when I know for sure. It was the right thing to do, and the right time to do it. And heck, it seems to be WORKING.

I feel like I've won the lottery. I AM THAT WOMAN.

Except for the part about being unnaturally thing with extraordinarily cooperative hair.

Hmmm...maybe I should ask for THAT next!