Pick An Adjective

I can't stop talking about things related to being a mom.

My apologies.

I was much cooler than this just a short time ago. I wasn't going to become the mom that could only talk about her kid. I was going to wear short dresses, slingy heels and swig champagne, giggling over something interesting, worldly. Women were going to wish they were a mom like me and men were going to swoon, "There's no way you just had a baby. You're so... (insert adjective such as sexy, skinny, amazing, fabulous, etc.)."

But, this having a baby thing takes over your life.

I emphasize life, as in, it will never be the same.

Not in a bad way.

In a whole new way that sometimes smells like vomit. But then again, it sometimes smells like lavendar and baby noggin, which is heavenly in surreal kind of way.

My problem is that I can't find this weird little thing called balance. I talk about being a mom so much, blog about it when I finally find the time to blog, and dream about it when I don't sleep the deep sleep with the drool. When I'm at work I worry that my daughter has forgotten that I own the Ambien neck that she loves to curl into at night, the neck that knocks her out and makes her all woozy. When I am at home I worry that I'm not putting in enough hours, not proving that I can be the badass little career woman they all know and... (insert adjective such as love, loathe, irritate, etc.). Somewhere in between I worry that I'm not a good wife and Mr. J needs more attention. Then I worry that I'm not getting to the gym enough and will soon start to... (insert adjective such as jiggle, wiggle, flop, balloon), making my husband question whether my mid-thirties are going to be the time when I finally let go and get mom ass. When I'm at the gym I worry my daughter loves the nanny more.

It is a vicious cycle and involves a lot of frenzied jostling around, dropped keys, balancing purses and baby seats at the same time.

My arms look amazing, but I have not dried my hair thoroughly since sometime in March.

I no longer wear eye shadow colors, only the base and a little eyeliner and mascara.

I just spelled wear in the above sentence where and it took three read-throughs before I caught it.

I have no idea what day it is or what I did yesterday, much less over an entire weekend so thanks for asking, but the blank stare is real. It is the time I spend jogging my own memory and worrying that I'll never find the brain cells that were apparently left at the hospital when I brought pumpkin home.

I simply hope that the anxiety in my chest fades and I figure out the schedule that Angelina Jolie keeps, the one in which she manages to keep six children and a sex symbol happy.

Please tell me she cries in the tub with her hair in a pony tail and snot running down her face.

Anything less is unacceptable.