This time last year, I was a weight loss expert. I was so good at it, in fact, that I lost ten lbs. in one day.
I would go through childbirth again if it meant I would lose the last ten.
Here's the problem: I'm no longer pregnant, but someone forgot to tell my body. I'm asked on a regular basis when the baby is due. I get judgmental looks from strangers. I listen to people whisper, "Has she never heard of birth control?"
I have to explain that my belly is extra-fluffy because I am recovering from twins. I gave birth to one of them and two days later the second one came... in the form of an email from my agent, stating that I had six months to write a book.
Have you ever tried to lose weight postpartum while sitting on your butt in front of a computer screen?
Me neither. I ate chocolate instead.
Turns out the doctor doesn't take the whole twin thing seriously. I tried to explain that my "kids" are needy, and that between two "newborns" I just don't get much time to myself these days.
He offered to adopt one. Turns out he's willing to take the book now that it's finished, including all the royalties.
He's such a man. He wants all the credit for none of the work.
Bekah Hamrick Martin is a local writer who can be reached at firstname.lastname@example.org, unless she's working on triplets.
A cold caught my Tiny Human this week. I give it a couple of days before she chases the cold away, but for now, Elmo and Cheerios are the order of the hour. Every hour. On the hour.
I'm pretty sure if I hear the ABC's song one more time, I might just have to choke on the TIny Human's Cheerios. Because it sounds like the gentlest way to kill myself.
Needless to say, I'm trying to find additional ways to entertain my almost-one-year-old. But what do you do for a person who can't feed herself, can't change herself, and only speaks by barking when the B-I-N-G-O song comes on T.V.?
You buy her a puppy. Because that sounds like it would make life a lot easier right now.
"B-I-N-G-O" must stand for Because I'm No Genius--Oh?
You know you've been avoiding laundry when the only clean thing is maternity underwear. (They don't do my husband's figure any favors. Just sayin'.)
You can probably tell I'm not a neat freak. Oh, I have the best of intentions. I can make a chore chart with the best of the Pinterest Mamas. The concept looks great all laid out on paper. Until I mop up the spilt formula with it.
Did I just say the word "formula"? Another thing that will probably merit hate-mail from the Pinterest Mamas.
(Yes, I realize breastfeeding is best for a baby's immune system, as well as for mother-child bonding. And congrats for doing it until your child was 7.5 years old. But not everyone wants to or can do it for that long.
So stop asking me in the grocery store how old my child was when she was weaned, because you are not going to like my answer.)
Please don't take this column personally if you're an organized Pinterest Mama. I'm probably just a little jealous that your child was wearing hair bows and tights at the gym daycare while mine was in her footed jammies.
After I saw your tight butt I went home and ate a piece of chocolate cake. Even though it wasn't on my chore chart.
But please don't give up on me. I can be an over-achiever in some aspects. For instance, I've decided to potty-train my 11-month-old.
I wonder how the maternity underwear will fit?
Bekah Hamrick Martin is a local writer who can be reached at email@example.com, unless she's dodging homemade Pinterest Mama bullets being fired her way after this column.
It's been your usual week in the Martin house: late nights, early mornings, death threats.
In other words, Vacation Bible School.
Seriously, whoever came up with the words "Vacation Bible School" was not thinking of the teachers. By day three, one glance around the cafeteria told me these adults would love to be in one place: anywhere but here.
And you thought I was kidding about the death threats. Oh no. There were fifth graders standing on tables yelling words that should not be whispered inside of church walls. This shouting was due to the fact that I refused to tell the end of a suspenseful story, but instead dragged it out over a period of four days.
(There were adults taking prescription sleeping pills because my "story time" left them with nightmares; others were googling the story to see if the main character would live through the end of the week.)
So all in all, I think it was a successful week. Children cursed in church and uniformed men laid awake at night.