Tales from La La Land

When I was pregnant with Harper (and had absolutely zero clue what the fuck was coming my way), I was all, “I’m totally going to be a hot mom who is basically un-phased by snot, poop and Cheerios.” I’m not kidding when I say my current life mission is to NOT have my life taken over by Cheerios. They symbolize the complete and total loss of pre-child life. Like, seriously, if you let them, Cheerios would fill your house, car, bed, bath tub, hair and towels.

But, of course, being a normal 20-month old, Harper loves Cheerios (Chee-O). It’s one of the words, along with chocolate (shadda), cookie (titty), treat (tweet), milk (muk), paci and MINE, that she has perfected. Of course being an anal bitch, I’m still determined to conquer Cheerios so I spend half my life picking them up off the floor and vacuuming them out of the car seat and telling Harper that Sanch does not like Cheerios. And then the other day, I pulled out a beach towel, and low and behold there was a year-old Cheerio crusted onto the towel.

I wept a little inside.

I’m totally not winning this game.

When you spend half your time picking up food or changing diapers or searching the Internet for the best chemical to remove the smell of puke, you simply aren’t left with tons of time to be the “hot mom” you always dreamed you’d be. When you add being almost 6 months pregnant into the mix, looking in the mirror at your super hot body and dark eye circles contradicts everything you visualize in your mind.

And you know what happens when you have a mid-pregnancy/raising a toddler at the same time crisis?

THIS:

I went to get my hair done, and I somehow came back with red streaks. Clearly, I am losing my mind if I thought red streaks = hot.

I just needed something.

Harper is my life. She kills me with how cute she is. Every phase we go through requires time and attention. We are currently in the transition phase from crib to bed. It takes no fewer than 1.5 hours for her to finally go to sleep. She loves the fact that she can get out of bed on her own. She gets up, knocks on her door and says, “Mama mama mama mama mama mama mama mama” until someone comes to get her. We get her, put her back to bed, read Good Night Moon for the 600th time, sing twinkle twinkle, kiss Mickey, hug Minnie, tickle Mimi and hug Harper. This routine happens over and over and over until Harper finally gives in.

It. Is. Exhausting. And, even though it’s only 8 p.m. on a Friday when she falls asleep, and I technically could go for a jog or paint my nails to look pretty, I prefer to lay on the couch and eat Pretzel M&Ms while watching Real Housewives until I pass out at 8:45 p.m.

HOT. MAMA. HOT. HOT. HOT.

But then I look at her sleeping in her big girl bed and I feel like I want a gold star. I feel like Laef and I are winning. Like despite the fact that he’s gone completely bald and is already stressing about having two girls, which means one thing, and one thing only to him – TWO WEDDINGS – we’re doing this.

Despite the fact that my hair is completely fucked up and I’m trying to squeeze into non-maternity clothes for as long as possible so that Harper can go to gym class and swim lessons, we are pretty much winning this game.

Yes, on most days my feet and hands are totally sweaty (yay Pregnancy!), I’m out of breath from walking to the bathroom (double Yay pregnancy!), and I eat Tums for breakfast (HIP HIP HOORAY Pregnancy!).

BUT Harper sleeps in a bed!

And she’s so cute!