Archive | 11:28 am


6 Jun

There are moms I know who lost all the baby weight the first month after delivering.  They wear cute athletic clothing and have their hair sweetly tousled.  They take care of multiple kids under 4 without daycare or sitters and somehow still look as good as if they got 8+ hours of sleep a night.  Oh, and they’re remarkably kind and make the best roast chicken you’ve ever had.

I am not one of those moms.

Right now my ensemble consists of scrub bottoms and nursing tanks because they are the only things that fit.  I have two kids with one going to daycare so she can play and I can sleep when the baby sleeps, and I still look hungover.  John says our eldest gets her temper from me, and the last time I attempted roast chicken I’m pretty sure I gave myself food poisoning.

Still, I was pretty damn pleased with myself when I showed up at Penn this Wednesday, exactly three weeks after Evie was born, for an interview wearing one of my more fitted maternity dresses and cute grey pumps.  Unfortunately, by the time I got to the interview, I was sweating buckets (the hot flashes of postpartum/lactation are insane) and had blisters over the top of several toes, literally bleeding into my cute grey pumps.  I’m hoping I came off as interested and excited, rather than just hot, sticky, and bloody.

So now to complement the scrub-nursing tank look, I’m wearing my fancy Jack Rogers sandals, made for summer weddings, because they are the only footwear I own that don’t aggravate my many new blisters…and I must have looked like a strange bird at the playground yesterday, hobbling over to the elder child in fancy sandals with the younger strapped to me in this still awkward wrap-like device, trying not to put too much strain on Evie’s neck while bouncing around trying to keep up with the now fast Ari.

Note to self: when going to a public area when I might need to enlist the help of older kids to wrangle my own, always bring some kind of bribe.  Throwing a small container bubbles at the bottom of the stroller while running out the door yesterday might have saved the outing.  (The kids had their own bubble-making “utensils” but had run out of the “soapy formula”–no clue of the proper names of these things.)  Ari was in heaven, and Evie slept through the whole thing.

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