Child Abuse

I forgot to bring Milan's blanket to daycare yesterday, and instead of driving home to get it, after consulting with my Dad (go figure!), I drove to work. Bad mommy!

Last Fat Entry Ever!

OK, last fat entry ever. Also happened a work, a virtual minefield of weight-ism. In the oh so glamorous snack bar, where you can get a lentil soup so bland it would lead any good Turk to consider Armenian genocide, the "lady of the house" says: Oh, you're pregnant! I stare at her for a second, then say: No, I just haven't lost all the baby weight. She: How long ago? Me: Two years. She: I'm sorry you have lost the baby. Try again dear. And pats my hand.

Quoth the Ramen, 'Nevermore.'

I checked out a really cute preschool in Silver Lake today. All meals are provided. Lunch on Tuesdays: Ramen. Yes, Ramen.

Motherhood

When I told M. this afternoon that it was time for a nap, he ran into his room and started hurtling stuffed animals onto his bed. He can only sleep if they're all aboard. Priceless.

Nothing Comes to Mind

Without O.D.ing on coffee my mind is a different creature altogether. But the calm sea also breeds lethargy. Lukewarm waters a la Med aren't conducive to creativity. Or are they? I suppose I could write in a villa on Cap d'Antibes. But I'm craving a cold shock to rouse the senses, to stir the cerebral mass, to cook a novel or two. Impressed by the economy of style of Chandler and Rand. But even that thought doesn’t lead very far. Bumps into the kitchen cabinets and dirty laundry and pizza pieces strewn on the dining room floor. A toddler really is an immense brain drain. And I want to kill the person who recently wrote "motherhood is a state of grace."

Beat on the brat with a baseball bat...

Went to one of these dreadful snack and chats where we always run out of time for the real attraction: the speaker. But I did walk away with some useful nonviolent parenting tools. Key: Child-led. Everything. Create an environment in which you do not have to say "no." Lovely approach. Very humane. Later told my British mommy friends and they said fuck that. We're British. No means no. End of story. That's why there are so many fucked up kids here who need super nanny, because they know no boundaries. So now I'm confused again.

Mama Mia

Speaking of mothers: A's has bought six acres of the Ozarks, where she lives in a tent. And where she's slowly going blind.

Enjoyment

Dr. S. said this morning that there should be some enjoyment in life. That's an understatement for some, a sisyphusian task pour moi. The key: approach everything (especially Milan and mothering) with playfulness. I must remember this. Play. And lessen the gulf between the mother I think I ought to be and the mother I can be.

Gayempathy

All the darling gay guys we've been working with on our house adore Milan while verging on either awe or pity as to the plight of fulltime motherhood. They are happy to return to their Frank Lloyd Wright pads, kick up their heels and enjoy the silence. The freedom. The nonchalance of not being a parent. The very bearable lightness of being. Of watching Nate Berkus on Oprah and going antiquing on weekends without dragging a one-year-old along. But I wouldn't trade lives. I appreciate their empathy, I feel a little sad and then I give Milan a huge bear hug.