Adulthood Stole My Cool

Can’t Hack It

Posted on Apr 12, 2014 in Adulthood Stole My Cool, My Kid Stole My Cool, Pregnancy Stole My Cool

Can’t Hack It 1

I spent last weekend in San Francisco visiting friends.  Non-mom friends.  For the first time, the distinction between “mom” friends and “non-mom” friends became important; for the first time, I realized that though I like to think I can hang out with my non-mom friends just like I used to, I’m severely disillusioned.  Nope.  As a 33 weeks pregnant mom of a two-year-old, I just can’t hack it anymore.

***

The week after moving back to southern California, a few non-mom friends happened to be in town.  After exchanging emails to make dinner plans, one friend suggested a place and time.

8:30.

I balked. 8:30!? As in, PM!?  But that’s jammy time!  I hastily wrote my friends back, and after claiming jet-lag, asked if we could push dinner up to 8:00.  I really meant 5:30, but figured that might be pushing it for my friends whose lives don’t currently revolve around potty-training and early morning prenatal yoga.  So 8:00 it was.  The evening of our dinner arrived, and after chugging boatloads of coffee I made my way to the restaurant, praying I wouldn’t fall asleep face-first into my mocktail.*

I managed to rally, but I got lucky that time.  So let’s examine last weekend, when a silly pregnant woman attempted to recapture her pre-children days.

Friday night my girlfriends and I got together at a charming little Italian restaurant.  We enjoyed a delicious dinner and then lingered over wine.  (Well, everyone else lingered over wine.  I lingered over water.)  I love these girls.  I love catching up with them.  I love lingering over wine when I am actually allowed to drink wine.  But how does a sleep-deprived, third-trimester pregnant woman stay awake past 9:00 in a dim restaurant after eating copious amounts of carbs and cured meat?  It’s damn near impossible, I tell you.

Everyone seemed a little spent after a long week, and decided to disperse after dinner rather than heading out somewhere else.  Thank the good Lord – I could go to bed!  Except I couldn’t.  My friend’s neighbor fell asleep with her television blasting.  My über-sensitivity to noise meant I didn’t actually fall asleep until around 2:30 A.M.  Twas not too long ago that staying up till 2:30 was – if not the norm – not a big deal.  But now, I thought I was going to die.  No, really.  With each passing hour I could feel what little energy I possessed seeping from my body, never to return.  There’s no recovering from a 2:30 AM bedtime anymore.

I dragged myself off of my air mattress at 9:30 the next morning feeling terribly hungover, which is weird since I hadn’t had anything to drink the very night before.**  It’s a sad, sad day when your body starts to feel hungover without any of the fun drinking part the night before.  I slabbed on gobs and gobs of concealer to no avail.  I would have to face the day not only feeling hungover, but looking it.  My friends and I met up for brunch at noon.***  After devouring a massive burger, a few of us set off to window-shop.  It was a beautiful day, and after popping in and out of shops we retired to a rooftop bar where my friends enjoyed margaritas, and I shoveled chips and guac into my face.

And then my eyes started drooping.  It was around 4:00, and this was my second day in a row without a nap.  This was a dire situation.  How was I going to last through dinner?  And after, when my friends would certainly head to a bar or something.  Keep it together! I berated myself. You are still young!

Au contraire, my body told me.

“Are you okay?” one of my friends asked, noticing my glazed-over expression.  “Are you sure you don’t mind us drinking?” another asked, mistaking my exhaustion for boredom, or perhaps annoyance.

“I’m fine!” I insisted.  Truly, I did not mind my friends enjoying their beverages.  It was a beautiful day! I was in great company! Life was good!  I was just so. dang. tired.

Gorgeous San Francisco day

Glorious San Francisco day

After a couple of hours enjoying the gorgeous weather outdoors, we walked to dinner.  (Because obviously when visiting a city like San Francisco, your trip should revolve around eating and drinking.)  We settled in and my friends ordered their craft beers.

“Do you have any non-alcoholic beers?” I asked the waiter.  He stared at me in disbelief.  I had obviously offended him.  I rephrased my question.  “Um, do you have any non-alcoholic anything?”

The waiter brought me my Arnold Palmer, and that’s when I mentally checked out.  I’m pretty sure we did not all sit in silence for the duration of the meal – but hell if I can remember what we talked about.  I picked at my meal (duck carbonara) – lifting my fork to my mouth was simply too tasking.  You know something is off when a pregnant woman boxes up the majority of her dish to go.  Especially when that dish contains bacon.

After dinner the pack of us went a few doors down to a bar that was showing one of the Final Four games.  My friend Jessica’s boyfriend was coming to join us.  We debated what to do next.  Stay at the bar and watch the game? Go to a different bar?  Head to Jessica’s apartment and hang out there?  “I’m up for anything!” I exclaimed, as convincingly as possible.  Ultimately, the others decided to go home.  Once again the gods had smiled upon me – I could go to bed. (This night at a blissfully quiet Airbnb.)  It was 8:00.

As we piled into the boyfriend’s car and all headed to our respective homes/hotels, I had a thought.  Maybe it’s not just me – a pregnant mom – that can’t hack it.  Maybe as my friends approach and enter their 30s – balancing more demanding careers and personal relationships than in our early 20s – they can’t hack it either?

I smiled at this thought; I’m not alone! So here’s my proposal: Let’s all drop the facade.  Forget the trendy restaurants, the cool bars.  Let’s not even pretend we want to be there.  Next time, let’s just sit around in our sweats and order take-out and go to bed at 9:00.  Sound good?

 

*I did not actually chug boatloads of coffee.  I wish I could have, but alas, caffeine is just one thing I’m supposed to have “in moderation” or whatever.  On another note, if you have happened to run into me recently or plan on seeing me soon, I apologize for my crankiness.

**For you critics who read that and think, “What is she complaining about! That’s seven hours of sleep!”, factor in hourly wakings to pee.  And then be thankful your bladder is still intact.

*** That’s another thing.  No meal till noon?  Dinner at 8:00PM?  Who eats at these ridiculous hours? Certainly not pregnant women.  Certainly not moms of toddlers who have probably developed a routine of eating with their children, which is about every 2-3 hours beginning at 7:30 AM if your child is a bottomless pit like mine.  There is a lesson here: When spending time with non-mom friends, pack snacks.

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How I Know I’m Old: Hiking Mount Fuji

Posted on Sep 3, 2013 in Adulthood Stole My Cool

How I Know I’m Old: Hiking Mount Fuji 0

Last month while I was in California, my dear friend Molly visited me from New York.  Molly and I have been friends since our freshman year of college, when we were young and could drink pitcher upon pitcher of margaritas with no ill effect. Well, we’re not young anymore.  She’s a grown up lawyer in Manhattan, and I’m a grown up with, like, a husband and kid.  Molly and I still haven’t fully accepted our adulthood status yet, but it’s getting harder and harder to deny.  This last visit, we devised a little game.  “Do you know how I know I’m getting old?  [Insert depressing evidence here]”. I thought I could translate this game into my blog.  So here you go, my first “How I’m Know I’m Old” post:  Mount Fuji. Ever since we learned we would be stationed in Japan, Damon has talked about hiking Mount Fuji.  I said I would hike it with him, not because I’m a hiking enthusiast, but because every few years I have to do things like this to prove to Damon that I still love him. Anyway.  Fuji-San is only open for hiking two months out of the year, and Damon and I had a slim window to take advantage of climbing season.  He returned home the end of August on a Thursday and we left for a vacation trip to Singapore the following Monday.  Once Damon was home and settled, we scrambled to prep for the climb.  (Scrambling includes realizing at 7PM the night before your 4AM wake-up that your hiking boots have gone missing.  Way to be prepared, Diana!) This experience was a lesson in expectation management.  I knew it would be challenging to a degree – I mean, you are climbing up a mountain – but I figured, “I’m fairly athletic, I can handle this.”  (Not to mention all the children and little old ladies that complete this hike.)  In my head, I thought it would be a long but scenic stroll up the mountain.  Gradual inclines that would plateau into picturesque viewing points.  Warm and sunny at the...

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My May

Posted on May 22, 2013 in Adulthood Stole My Cool, It's the Navy Life

My May 3

You guys.  I miss you.  So much.  Do you miss me?  (Say yes!  Validate me! Validate me!) Can we talk about the last three weeks?  Holy bejeezus.  I don’t even know what happened. Oh, wait.  Yes I do.  Night Stalker returned.  And hasn’t left.  And turned into Day Stalker as well.  The. Child. Won’t. Sleep.  Between teething and a nagging cough, the kid is a mess.  And she’s turned me into a mess.  Couple that with an abnormally busy social calendar, and no blogging for me.  We all know I can only blog regularly when I maintain my shut-in status. But things are looking up.  Elisabeth’s cough is clearing up and she’s starting to return to napping.  The cough that she gave me is starting to clear up, too, so maybe one night this year I’ll get an uninterrupted night of sleep.  (Seriously, we are ALWAYS sick now!  Always!) Last night I went to bed at 9:00.  Yes, that happened.  I’m planning on doing that again tonight, so let me just give you a quick recap of my goings-on this past month. -I bought a juicer.  So that was exciting. -My friend Claudia moved.  It’s quite sad.  Soon there is going to be a mass exodus of VFA-115 spouses.  It’s part of the Navy life.  But a really crappy part.  Luckily, before the actual good-bye is always a good-bye party. -I helped plan and attended a Cinco de Mayo luncheon with a group of Japanese Officer Spouses.  Have you ever seen Japanese women try to hit a pinata?  Hi-lar-i-ous. -I went to another party.  This happened. -Damon completed an Olympic-distance triathlon.  What a stud. -I believe somewhere in there was Mother’s Day.  I’m not sure though. -I joined the board of our Atsugi Officer’s Spouse Association.  Nothing really blog-worthy here, except that I have spent a good deal of time reviewing high school scholarship applications, among other things.  And I thank the good Lord I am no longer in high school!  Can I get an “Amen” to that!? -I shattered my iPhone and had to venture off to the...

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Cookie Hell. Or, That Time Girl Scouts Turned Me Into a Dealer

Posted on Jan 18, 2013 in Adulthood Stole My Cool

I do not do drugs.  I do not condone drugs.  I never experimented with drugs.  But maybe if I had, I’d be better prepared for dealing with Girl Scouts now.  Stay with me. While I don’t believe in doing drugs, I do believe in volunteering.  Last year I wrote about volunteering with Girls on the Run, a wonderful organization dedicated to making health and fitness fun for young girls.  While we don’t have GOTR on NAF Atsugi, we do have Girl Scouts, another organization committed to building girls of strong character.  Or something like that. As you may be interested to learn, I was once a Girl Scout.*  So when I learned that the Atsugi Girl Scouts were looking for volunteers, I thought, Why not?  I figured it would be a great way to get more involved more in our community and give back a little of my time to an organization that had given so much to me.** I was wrong.  Very, very wrong. Due to my schedule, I was unable to volunteer as a leader.  Instead I was asked to take on the role of Cookie Manager.  (Co-Cookie Manager is more accurate.  I have a saint of a partner, Kat, who is way more on top of this thing than I am, bless her soul.)  It wasn’t really what I had in mind, and truth be told, I didn’t really know what the job entailed.  Again I thought, Why not?  If that’s what they needed me to do, by all means I would manage me some cookies. What I failed to take into account is that people go bat-$&!% crazy for girl scout cookies.  Straight up psycho.  People want their cookies, and they want them now.  Let’s be real for a second – they aren’t even that good.***  But it’s as if we as Americans have some weird, nostalgic connection to these cookies that compel us to buy, buy, buy and sell, sell, sell.  And the fact that they are only offered -gasp!- once a year in -gasp again!- limited quantities strikes an urgency in us to get...

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Goth Mom

Posted on Oct 30, 2012 in Adulthood Stole My Cool

I am not a do-it-yourself kinda gal.  You’ve probably gathered that from previous blog posts.  Well, my non DIY stance applies to my hair, too.  I never have – and never will – colored/cut/up-doed my own hair.  I am simply not capable of such things.  I once YouTubed a curling iron tutorial.  Got that?  I actually googled, “How to curl your hair.”  I can’t even operate a curling iron without video assistance!  And even with the video assistance, I totally scorched my hair. But that’s okay, because I’m not really high maintenance about my hair.  Perhaps I’m not high maintenance about my hair because I don’t know how to be high maintenance about my hair – but whatever.  Growing up, I always played it safe, never adding more than a few barely noticeable highlights to enhance my natural color (mousey brown).  But then a few years ago I decided I was ready for a change!  I was ready to plunge into the world of hair dye! This was a HUGE decision for me.  So I gathered my courage, walked into the salon a light brunette and walked out – a dark brunette!  It was revolutionary!  Changed my life! I’m lying.  Of course it didn’t change my life.  It’s hair dye.  I don’t subscribe to the theory that blondes have more fun, and by extension, brunettes less fun.  Or any theory that claims you hair color will determine your life/personality/how much fun you have.  The person who has the most margaritas has the most fun, obviously; it has absolutely nothing to do with hair color.  But still, I liked the new look and decided to stick with it, when convenient. Incidentally, the last time it was convenient was a really, really long time ago.  Like, pre-baby long ago.  My lustrous dark brown hair had long ago faded back to basic brown.  But visiting my parents in California afforded me the opportunity to visit my long-time stylist and redo my do. Perhaps my stylist’s assistant had been drinking before she mixed my color, or perhaps she just didn’t like me.  Either...

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Why I Love Not Being Pregnant

Posted on Jan 2, 2012 in Adulthood Stole My Cool, Pregnancy Stole My Cool

6 weeks ago I went through this.  6 weeks ago little Elisabeth Lucy came into the world.  6 weeks ago my pregnancy was OVER! 6 weeks is a not insignificant amount of time.  Yet I still find myself, on a fairly regular basis, thinking, “Wow.  I love not being pregnant.”  When I open the medicine cabinet and see the Tums bottle gathering dust, I think it.  When I slip on a pair of pants without an elastic band, I think it.  When I climb a flight of stairs without breaking into a sweat, I think it. So in that spirit, here is my list of Top 10 Reasons I Love Not Being Pregnant: 10) I can sleep on my back and my stomach.  I don’t actually sleep on either, but I like that I have the option. 9) For the first time since moving into our new condo, I fit comfortably into my stall shower. 8) As suddenly as it appeared, my heartburn disappeared.  Miraculous! 7) I am no longer resigned to the elliptical at the gym.  I see running in my future.  And kickboxing.  And power yoga.  And if I’m feeling saucy, maybe even… Zumba! 6) My legs no longer resemble Bigfoot’s.  I don’t believe No Shave November was intended for women, but shaving my legs became an impractical and somewhat dangerous undertaking as pregnancy wore on.  As my belly grew, so did my leg hair.  TMI?  Sorry. 5) I am saving loads of money not having to buy toilet paper every other day.  Not peeing every 45 minutes has major monetary advantages. 4) I can wear my pretty, fun shoes again.  OK, I still wore them while pregnant, but it hurt.  Swollen feet + strappy sandals and high heels don’t mix. 3) Wine. 2) I have not once gotten stuck in the garage between the car and the trash cans.  Yes, that happened. 1) (Drumroll please) I get to cuddle and play with and love on the cutest little baby girl*.  (Awwwwww).  It’s INFINITELY better than have her play soccer in my stomach every time I try...

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