Things I did not do in New York:

• Have a drink
• Visit the Empire State Building
• See the Statue of Liberty
• Eat a hot dog
• See a celebrity
• Find SoHo
• Visit the Guggenheim or the Met
• Finish my book

Things I did in New York:

• Took a ride in an ambulance and visited the emergency room
• Napped
• Wrote
• Took the subway
• Walked *everywhere*
• Traipsed around Central Park with all my luggage
• Ate fabulous food
• Went to MoMA
• Met my friend Anna from the Internet
• Bought clothes
• Bought toys
• Tried pate

I had a fabulous time and can’t wait to go back. Although I feel certain that I can skip the hospital the next time around.

I promised to report back on the nailpolish, didn’t I? Well, it’s a good thing I’m so prompt and not, like, almost a month late on that. Or anything.

Anyway, yes, nailpolish. I luuuurve it. The colors are fab, it’s super shiny, and it lasted forever on my toes. (Fingers = another story, but that’s mostly because once the polish chips at all I start worrying at it and the whole thing goes to hell. Yay, OCD!)

One weird thing: it’s darker on the nails than in the bottle. Which I guess makes sense, seeing as it is essentially paint, and they say that about paint, right? Although it’s never quite made sense to me. It seems like it should be the opposite, and I can’t figure out why I think that but I do. So the Tramp Stamp color (pictured) is somewhat more gothy than I’d intended, which figures, since all my nailpolish is pretty gothy. I thought I was taking baby steps in another direction, but as it turns out I was wrong. Oh well.

So the verdict is that the butter LONDON 3 Free polish is a win, and I would totally buy it again if it wasn’t $12 a bottle. Or if I wasn’t so broke.

Zen as I might be about socioeconomic status, there’s still a part of me that gets off on being able to Afford Things. Nice things. Things like my prettypretty BlackBerry Pearl or our multitude of Apple products. That part of me really, really wants to join this snooty athletic club that’s $100 a month and totally, completely impractical. But they totally offer childcare, and the idea of paying someone to watch my kid while I take a yoga class? Compelling. (See, because when I leave him with Not So for no reason except that there’s something I ‘want’ to do, I always feel guilty. Yes yes, I know, therapy would help with these things. But – another reason to feel guilty! You see my dilemma.)

I’m starting to feel a little bit like our lives are getting managable, which – hey, there’s a reason I take meds, you know? When just getting out of bed in the morning seems huge and untenable, it’s kind of a big deal to think that things might actually be okay, kind of. It was cleaning the house that did it. We’ve got this great apartment that I love unreasonably (well, except for the permeating smell of Rice Junkies that greets me every morning), but it’s jammed so full of stuff that it might as well be a storage unit. But Not So went all MacGyver on the stuff in Ellison’s room this weekend, so not only is all our old crap hidden successfully in the closet, we finally got to assemble the kid’s toddler bed! And, dude, don’t even get me started on how exciting it is to think that someday in the possibly near future I may be able to sleep through the night again. In any position I want. I can barely contain my potential bliss.

Next step is to get our room whipped into shape. This is a bit more complicated than it sounds, since we’re waiting to be able to afford these cheap-but-cute wardrobes from Ikea so that I can stop keeping my clothes in a big ol’ Rubbermaid storage bin and actually explore the idea of drawers.

Happy New Year, internets! It’s an even-numbered year, which always makes me feel vaguely twitchy, but I have high hopes for 2008. If I knew anything about numerology I’d probably have something pithy to say about the auspiciousness of all the numbers adding up to 1, but I don’t, so I’ll just…move on to something I do know about. Like resolutions! I resolve things. I do. And sometimes I actually do the things I resolve. More often not, since I tend to forget my resolutions by roughly January 2, and don’t remember them again until the last days in December, when…well, it’s a bit too late to lose 20lbs by that time, yes?

So in an effort to keep this year’s resolutions in the running, I give you my list:

* Finish at least one novel (incl. rewrites – I technically *finished* at least one during NaNoWriMo, but it needs to be reworked, to put it mildly) and submit to agents
* Exercise at least 2x/week
* Schedule 2 afternoons/week to devote to playing/spending time with the kid
* End next year with at least $5000 in our savings account (current balance: 68 cents)

I feel like there ought to be more in there, like “Get thee to therapy!” or “Learn to Salsa!” but I’m going with what I have. Optimism! Optimism is my friend.

Except maybe there should be something in there about my hair.

I was all set to write a nice, pleasing post about our new place (short version: I LOVE IT OMG) but was derailed, as always, by my reflection. My belly, specifically. Belly: what did I ever do to you? I feed you. I bathe you. I sneak you treats every once in a while. So why all the hate? Why do you protrude, gelatinously, from my midsection, rather than laying flat like you used to? Remember how fond we were of each other when you were small? What happened to that, huh?

I know what happened. First, I stopped being 19. Funny thing: just because you had the metabolism of a hyperactive finch in high school does not mean that you can go through your life eating brownies and not exercising, no matter how many times you had to argue with people about whether or not you were anorexic. (Which, so not. I ate then exactly the same way I eat now, only in high school? I weighed 107 pounds. I could almost fit two of me in my skin right now. So. Creepy.)  And then, secondly, I gave birth to my lovely son. And ate brownies. And did not exercise. Except that I did! I do, I mean. Exercise. I run after a toddler all day, and I lift things, and I walk everywhere. (Ponderously, sure. But it counts.)

The hot weather is bringing my reflection-hatred to a head (as it were), since I find myself leaving the house in things like skirts and tank tops. Don’t get me started on the tank tops, either – I used to be able to wear one without looking like a low-rent porn star, and now? Let’s just agree never to speak of it. (Except I totally will.)

On the other hand, we have a full-length mirror in our home for the first time in two years, and that’s pretty keen. Assuming what’s being reflected isn’t me.

technorati tags:self-image, weight, belly

I’m almost 14 months post-partum, and I finally feel like I belong in my skin.

I was taking a bath the other night and noticed the way my belly fat jiggled. That wasn’t unusual, because, dude – the belly, it jiggles, much like a bowl full of jelly, were you to fill a bowl with jelly and then try and fit it into a pair of jeans. But instead of instantly flashing back to my pregnancy or thinking that’s what happens when you give birth, I just thought that’s my belly.

Yeah, some epiphany, right? But it really was, and here’s why: my body is mine again. It might be flabby and lumpy and unattractively coiffed, but sometime in the last couple of weeks I stopped feeling like a vehicle for the continued sustenance of my kid and started feeling like a person who is also a mom. I mean, yes, I’m still nursing, so it’s not like I can exist separately from the kid for more than a couple of hours at a time, but now that he’s snarfing down every solid he can find the nursing seems a bit more secondary…and the mom thing, oddly, seems more deliberate. My body isn’t what makes me a mom; being a mom is.

I still don’t fit into most of my pre-preg clothes, but at least now I feel like doing something to get into shape is less like auto maintenance and more like – well, exercising. That’s something, right? Especially since I don’t even own a car.

technorati tags:motherhood, body image

After a week of ministering to my sick loved ones, I was so ready for some me time. It came in the form of a mama’s night out with my friends from the internet, who arranged to meet at the grand opening of Zenana Spa and Wellness Center. I even cut my hair and wore some makeup. I know – crazy talk. But that’s who I am. I live on the edge.

Zenana is a new spa in Portland that takes the novel approach of catering to parents. According to their website,

We offer a variety of spa and wellness services as well as lactation consultations, classes, support groups, childcare and a boutique offering unique mom and baby products.

Maternity Spa and Wellness Center in Portland Oregon

Awesome, no? Zenana’s space is huge and relaxing, and the staff was friendly and helpful. I didn’t get any of the freebies (aside from some delicious food from Vindalho) but I’m looking forward to getting one of the treatments (a mini facial, perhaps?) once we have a little bit of extra cash.

After that, we wandered over to a nearby pub for drinks and snacks. I had my first post-baby cocktail, a throat-searingly alcoholic Flirtini, as depicted in this high-quality cameraphone shot.

I’m not sure exactly what was in my drink, but it tasted vaguely of raspberry. It was quite good once the burning subsided. The company was good too, and that didn’t burn at all. We were out until – gasp! – 9:30pm, and I was home before 11. In my old life that would be an early night, but as it was I felt like I’d stayed out until dawn.

Happy Fun Baby was so glad to see me that he wouldn’t let go of me for an hour. He just kept looking at me and smiling and then burying his head in my shoulder. I had a fabulous time going out, but coming home to that? Best thing ever.

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