Dirty Little Secret

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New Year’s Resolutions From Jerseygirl89

I’m not very good at keeping New Year’s resolutions. Although in high school I did make a resolution to keep my toenails painted (what? I was concerned about world peace. I just didn’t think I could fix it) that I’m proud to say I’ve kept to this day.

It’s the only one.

So this year, instead of setting myself up for failure, I’ve tried a new philosophy. I’m only going to make resolutions that I can keep.

1. I will not make fun of Britney, Lynne or Jamie-Lynn Spears. Well, not on my blog, anyway.

2. I will not gain any more weight. (So much more attainable than losing weight. And still good for me!)

3. I will not question my parenting skills more than once a day.

4. I will wear shoes that are not my clogs or my sneakers at least once a week.

5. I will answer emails within three days weeks.

6. I will stop watching “WE”, the channel for psychotic women.

7. I will not waste time wishing I had somebody else’s blogging skills.

8. I will stop cutting my own hair when I’m stressed out.

9. I will remember to take my vitamins.

10. I will floss . . .more often (that leaves the options nice and open.)

I think I can fulfill these. What are your resolutions? Or do you skip resolutions at this time of year, realizing that jumping on the “new year” bandwagon doesn’t have anything to do with success?

I’ve never been crazy about New Year’s Eve. I’ve always had a better time with a small gathering of friends than I’ve ever had at a huge party or event. Last year Hubby and I went to a local (ie casual) bar for a while, and that seemed so exotic and exciting after years of pregnant and new mother New Year’s Eves.

1n 1998, I sat in my apartment in Seattle with my now ex-husband. We watched TV (so we could avoid talking to each other) and drank cheap champagne.

In 1999, I was Amsterdam for New Year’s Eve. I was newly divorced and in a foreign country with an old friend and a few of her friends. It was a blast. Though the Dutch penchant for throwing firecrackers everywhere at the stroke of midnight freaked me out a little. But it was great. We were at a bar where we’d quickly become regulars and it was so relaxed and fun.

In 2000, I went to a snotty party at a trendy club in Kansas City. I was with two new friends, aggressively single women who were determined to score midnight kisses from hot guys. One of the friends got so attached to her hot guy that they disappeared. The rest of us had to search for them. Which is how I spent that New Year sitting by the hot guy’s hotel pool, surrounded by essential strangers, waiting for my friend to wake up so I could take her home.

“I want to party like it’s 1999″ is more than just a Prince song to me.

Just a reminder: Soap Opera Sunday is on hiatus until Jan. 6, 2008

The Barbie Dreamhouse
I got it when I was six
I was so happy

Douney and Burke purse
Got it when I was fourteen
I still have it now

My diamond necklace
that matches my earrings
lovely college girl

White gold claddagh ring
An engagement ring surprise
found in a huge box

My Ironflower
Three weeks old, Christmas 04
my little princess

Lovebug’s train table
he is so happy with it
a new favorite

No, you really don’t. I shouldn’t think very many people would want to see them. Yet, the post with that title remains my most popular.

And it’s not like it was a great post. Yes, it was an impassioned pro-breastfeeding post - but there are TONS of those on the internet these days (which is great, really). But the post is nothing special. Except that it has “boobs” in the title. Maybe I should put “boobs” in all of my titles? I bet I’d get a lot more clicks.

Though I really did start this intending to say a few words about my boobs. Before I had children, I had been quite satisfied with them. After nursing two kids, I do admit to fantasies about boob lifts (no implants, I’d just like them hiked up to where they used to be). But then I watched “Tribal Life” the other night. They were filming some tribe in Africa, I think. One of those tribes where no one wears a top. And where no woman has ever seen a bra.

And I began to feel a lot better about myself. Sure, they’re not the way they were ten years ago, but they still look like boobs. They don’t come close to touching my belly. I mean, one young woman in this tribe nursed a baby while the baby was lying on the ground and the young woman was sitting straight up. Straight up, I tell you. It made me cringe a bit.

So it made me think that maybe someone would actually want to see my boobs. That maybe the title wasn’t as sarcastic as I’d thought.

Though it doesn’t really matter. I’m not showing my boobs on the internet, unless it’s in a breastfeeding picture. But it’s nice to know I still could show them off, if I wanted.

Most people know not to utter racial or sexual slurs, at least not in public. Most people refrain from insulting people’s looks or fashion choices to their faces. Most people understand the rules of civilized society.

But for some reason they think that those rules don’t apply to pregnant women.

“You’re so big!” they say with a smile. “Are you having twins?” they ask sweetly. “Looks like you’re having a linebacker!” they exclaim cheerfully.

Would they say those things if someone was just fat? I think not.

I am short. And what little height I do have is in my legs. The space between my hip bone and my bottom rib fits nothing larger than a four month fetus. So when I was pregnant, I went from barely noticeable to needing maternity clothes very quickly. And then I had good-sized babies. So by the end of each pregnancy I was a freaking HOUSE. And I knew this. I mean, it’s hard not to notice when you’ve turned into such a water buffalo that half of your maternity clothes don’t fit.

Yet people still felt compelled to comment on my size. And I was too exhausted (I actually got more sleep after my babies were born that I did for the final months of my pregnancies) and too emotional (pregnancy hormones and all) to react properly. Because all I would say is, “Yeah, I know, right.”

So, essentially, I let those rude people get away with disrespecting me. So, to those of you who are currently pregnant, DON’T LET THEM DO IT.

Here are some appropriate responses:

1. Did you just call me fat?
2. My baby and I are healthy, thank you so much for inquiring.
3. You’re so tall/short/fat/thin/old!
4. Bless your heart, you’re so rude.
5. Are you trying to hurt my feelings, or are you just stupid?
6. It’s okay to keep some thoughts to yourself, you know.
7. The doctor says I’m as big as I’m supposed to be.

And for all of you who feel compelled to make comments about pregnant women’s sizes, SHUT UP.

This has been a Public Service Announcement brought to you the SO BIG Pregnant Women’s Foundation of America.

Merry Christmas!

I hope everyone is having a wonderful day, whether it’s filled with family and presents or Chinese food and movies. Or some combo thereof.

We are with my father-in-law’s side of the family. I am watching Aunt Frankie for signs that she hates my children, simply because they are younger (and, okay, really, cuter) than her grandchildren and last year it pissed her off when everyone fussed over them. I used to like Aunt Frankie until I found out about the jealousy issues and this will be our first holiday together since I found out. I’m not supposed to know about her issues, so I’ll have to maintain the WASP front and be nice.

But if either one of my children is upset by her (or her over-active grandsons) in any way, I’m so going Jersey on them.

(This is one of those times that I’m glad no one in my husband’s family reads my blog.)
Labels: Aunt Frankie, Christmas, jealousy

I hate to tell you all this, but there will be no more Soap Opera Sunday until the New Year. So today’s post is just going to be a normal post.

Well, not really.

I don’t have anything to say. I am exhausted, as we did two Christmases yesterday and then had to pack for our trip. Now we are prepping for plane travel with toddlers.

I hope your Sunday is better than mine.

Remember how I was all sick and whiny on Friday? Yeah, I’m still sick. Kids have recovered, Hubby is better but I am barely functioning. So, uh, er, this is my post.

I HATE being sick.