Are You Fucking Serious?

I’ve decided to start a new segment entitled Are You Fucking Serious? wherein I will periodically discuss things happening in the news or Hollywood.

Let’s not waste time.

Here’s my first issue: Kristen Stewart is cheating on Robert Pattinson. Are you fucking serious? I’m expected to care about this? I don’t. The only thing about it that remotely interests me is maybe the fact that she was shacking up with one of her directors explains why this girl keeps getting movie roles and has become the highest paid actress in Tinsel Town despite the glaring fact that, um, she can’t fucking act. What’s that sound, you ask? Sorry. It was me throwing up in my mouth.

Number two: One Million Moms has made headlines again. You may remember them from such failed smear campaigns as the time they tried to boycott JC Penny because they hired Ellen DeGeneres as their spokesperson. This time, OMM is targeting TV producer Ryan Murphy and his upcoming sitcom The New Normal, which is all about a homosexual couple trying to start a family together. Are you fucking serious? Why do you insist on going after this same group of people who, by the way, are just actively trying to love each other? I really don’t understand what gay and lesbian people have done to make the rest of the world so angry. If being gay meant that you ran around punching other people in the face or TP’ing houses and egging cars, then yeah, I could see why gay people weren’t well-liked. But literally, all they want to do is get married and have babies. I don’t see how that’s a bad thing. Why don’t you go after someone who deserves to get shit on? There are plenty of dirt bags in the world who rightfully deserve your scorn. I mean, I could understand your outrage if JC Penny had chosen Tiger Woods as their spokesperson, or some other asshole who has blown his load all over his marriage vows. But Ellen? Really? A woman who ends every episode of her show by encouraging viewers to be kind to each other? Whose motto is “Laugh, dance, live?” Who quit American Idol because she didn’t like crushing people’s dreams? Whose entire existence revolves around being nice to everyone? I don’t have any proof but I really wouldn’t be surprised if Ellen poops out rainbows and cotton candy because she is that fucking awesome and genuinely nice and this is the woman that you’ve gone ape-shit over? And now you’re losing your bananas over a TV show about a couple who loves each other and want to be parents because you think it is contributing to “the decay of morals and values, and the sanctity of marriage.” Again, if you’d like to go after people who truly make a mockery of love, marriage, and parenting, may I suggest boycotting some of the following atrocities that have been gracing our small screens for years: The Bachelor/Bachelorette, Sixteen and Pregnant/Teen Mom, The Real Housewives of I Don’t Give a Shit or that new show Kate Gosselin is pitching about her search for love. Actually, you know what? That deserves its own paragraph.

Number Three: Kate Gosselin trying to hang on to her 15 minutes of fame by pitching yet another reality show about her life is not new, it’s not news, and it’s not shocking. But I’m going to comment on it because the irony and ridiculousness will smother me in my sleep if I didn’t say something. So Kate, you’re tired of being single and your solution is to let a camera crew follow you around the country while you look for someone to fall in love with your crazy ass? ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS? Maybe a better question is, did you hit your head and forget everything that happened to you in the last five years? Didn’t your first marriage disintegrate before our very eyes? Didn’t that happen because of the fact that you put your marriage on display for the world to see? I’m not suggesting that that was sole reason you and Jon broke up; obviously there was a build up problems going back long before your series began, and your “fame” was merely  a speck of dust that landed on the straw that broke the camel’s back. But the bottom line is this: your TV show did not help your marriage. What makes you think a TV show will help you in a new relationship? And also, what makes you think the rest of the world wants to watch that shit anyway?!

And now for something a little, well, a lot more serious.

I considered not including this last topic because there’s absolutely no way I can (or would want to) make light of it, which of course, is the exact opposite of what I’ve done with the subjects I discussed in the above paragraphs. But, although what I’m about to say is drastically different in tone, I have just as much of burning desire to talk about it as I did with all that Hollywood crap. If anything, the following subject’s severity makes me want to discuss it more because it would somehow feel like a disservice if I said nothing at all. So, I’m sorry to suddenly switch gears on you, but consider this your official warning.

Finally, number four: this last one is about a comment I heard on the news from an angry Penn State fan (or possible alumni) about the taking down of the Joe Paterno statue earlier this week. Obviously this man, probably in his sixties or so, wasn’t happy about the removal of the statue and was trying to defend the late coach’s legacy. I don’t have the exact quote but it was something to the effect of “...we love Joe Paterno for giving us 60 years of integrity...” I’m not even going to swear for this one, because I’m so heartbroken and appalled. Of course I can understand why Penn State alumni felt this way about Paterno before finding out that he helped cover up the horrendous crimes of his fellow coach Jerry Sandusky. But after finding out about his part in the cover up? How in the world could you not feel as though every ounce of Paterno’s supposed integrity exploded into tiny shards of glass that deserve to be stomped on until they’re nothing more than tarnish on the ground? Sure, he was (the keyword now is “was”) college football’s most winningest coach, but he achieved that title at the expense of ten little boys who were robbed of their innocence. He may have led his school and team to football greatness, but he did it while lying about the presence of a sexual predator and he did so for twelve years. I understand that by stripping Penn State of every win they achieved during those twelve years not only punishes Paterno’s legacy, but punishes the innocent athletes who worked hard for those wins and have, unfortunately, lost them through no fault of their own. But losing those wins is nothing compared to what those ten boys lost by the actions and inactions of those in charge at Penn State.

I also heard that Paterno’s family was upset that they were not consulted about the removal of the statue. To that I say, it is possible to stand behind the man you knew him to be while not standing behind his inexcusable behaviour. Just because you were closest to him doesn’t automatically give you any say in how his “legacy” is handled. That would be like asking Jerry Sandusky’s family for their opinion in his sentencing. To his family, I’m sure Paterno was a loving person; to them, he’s not and wasn’t an aide to a monster – he was a husband, a father, a grandfather. But knowing the best side of someone doesn’t erase the worst side of them, and it doesn’t give you the right to dictate how the rest of the world feels or acts toward them, especially given such appalling and horrific choices made in the name of winning some football games.

I don’t know what topic I could properly move on to now, so I just won’t try. I think that’s enough ranting for today anyway. Sorry to have switched gears so suddenly and drastically, but I guess it’s just like the world we live in. Sometimes we hear about things so awful they slice our hearts in half and other times, there are stories so silly it makes you wonder if you woke up in some alternate universe where people might actually still want to watch Kate Gosselin on TV.

For the record, it doesn’t matter what universe we’re in. Nobody wants to watch, Kate. Nobody.

-Alice

Letter to My Future Son

Dear bun in the oven:

As any expectant mother would, I have so much I want to tell you. Where to start? Well, how about with the important things.

At least this would explain the baby's
excessive movements. Every day
he's shufflin'. 

I’ve been experiencing a lot of heartburn during this pregnancy and it seems that no item of food is safe for me to eat anymore. People say this means you will have a lot of hair. I don’t know if there’s any truth to that, but I guess I’ll find out if you’re born looking like the dudes from LMFAO. Mostly what I want to know is why do you hate food so much? Are you going to hate food this much when you arrive? Specifically, what is it that you have against chocolate? Is there a particular brand of chocolate you’ve been holding out for? Do you think it’s possible you just got off on the wrong foot with chocolate and how do you feel about starting over with it? These are really important questions and I’d like you to seriously give them some thought before answering. Thank you.  

Your dad thinks that you’re going to be our quiet child. The way you’ve been kicking me for the last few months makes me suspect otherwise. I think he mostly just assumes that you won’t be able to get a word in because you sister talks all the time, but honestly, it’s pretty hard to ignore someone who repeats questions or sentences until she gets a) an answer or b) the particular answer she is looking for so I think you’ll learn to talk very quickly, if only to shut her up keep her happy and quiet. Although, I should warn you that even though she’ll motivate you into talking, she’ll probably do so while making you wear dresses and make up and nail polish. I should also warn you that I have no problem with her doing so and am probably not going to do much to deter her from this. If you want some backup on this subject, you’ll have to talk to your dad. But even he won’t be much help because he usually gets roped into dress up too.

I’d also like to talk to you about when you plan to arrive in the real world. I know you’re tentatively scheduled to show up on August 9^th, but I’m supposed to attend a wedding the next day so if you could help a mother out and come a little early, that would be great. You’re probably thinking that a silly little wedding is nothing compared to your birth, and though I technically agree with you, I really, really want to see Alison get married. Partially because she’s one of my best friends, and partially because she’s always been the anti-bride and I need to see it with my own eyes to make sure this thing goes down, ya know? You’re probably wondering who the hell Alison is (she is the person that calls every day to make sure Mommy gets at least a few minutes to talk to an adult and doesn’t totally lose her shit, BTW), but I promise that in the future, you will come to know her well and if you make me miss this wedding, we’ll both be sorry. That might sound like I’m threatening you, but I’m not (maybe just sort of?). It’s just that she is one of those adults who’ll sneak you candy when I’m not looking - actually she’ll have no problem doing it while I’m looking right at you guys- and will teach you how to do all kinds of mischievous things that will drive me nuts and then you’ll feel guilty that I had to miss the wedding of someone so fun because I was giving birth/had just given birth and had a really sore vagina/was too afraid to leave the house for fear of having you in my car on the side of the highway. For pete’s sake, there is going to be a bouncy castle at the reception. A FREAKING BOUNCY CASTLE! Do you really want me to miss that? Do YOU want to miss that? I promise that if you pop out early enough- let’s say no later than the 6^th, just to be safe- I will take you inside the bouncy castle. Obviously I will have to do so after the children (read: your sister) have passed out under their parents’ chairs from a sugar high and before the drunken adults (read: your father) start passing out inside the castle, but trust me when I say I can make this happen for you. Do we have a deal? Kick once for no and start hiccupping for yes.

©iStockphoto.com/juanljones

If I’m being totally honest, and I think it’s really important to be honest with your unborn children, thinking about your arrival both excites and panics me. I cannot wait to hold you (after you’ve been cleaned up and I’ve been given a stiff drink of course) and see what you look like (mostly because I really wanna know if I’m going to have an LMFAO-baby or not). However, I’m only just getting used to the idea of being one person’s mother and it’s now dawning on me that I’m going to be a mother to two human beings and that’s freaking scary. So I’m going to apologize now for all the times you’ll look up at me in all your infant glory and cuteness and see this face staring back at you. 

I think you’ll learn quickly, like your sister has, that I have no clue what I’m doing and I’m mostly making everything up as I go along. But I also hope you’ll see how much I love you. I swear to you that although I’m nowhere near perfect, I will always try to be the best version of myself in order to give you the life you deserve. No matter how many times I lose my shit what happens, I promise to end every day by making sure you feel safe and loved.

In conclusion, just remember that food and bouncy castles are your friends. (Don’t forget, before August 6^th.) Oh and a few more things just for future reference – tattoos and piercings are okay but you need to at least be 18, the original three Star Wars films are the only ones worth watching, and don’t bother ever asking your dad and I for a dog. It’s not happening.

Love Mommy

P.S. Seriously. No later than the 6^th, do you hear me mister?!

My Six Favourite TV Dads

I remember once during a media class in college, my teacher was trying to make the argument that Homer Simpson had introduced an era of "dim-witted fathers" on television and since Homer's arrival, almost every father depicted on a TV show was either a jerk, an idiot, or a well-meaning but still clueless imbecile. Being a TV-fanatic, I was appalled at the suggestion. I instantly thought of at least 10 upstanding dads from shows I watched growing up, and I have to say, I absolutely loved the stumped look on my teacher's face when I raised my hand and named them one by one.

The landscape of television is home to all kinds of dads (and moms, for that matter). Yes, some are stupid, like the Homers and the Peter Griffins. Yes, some are hopeless but still loveable, like Tim the "Toolman" Taylor or Ray Barone. Some are dicks who are funny but we wouldn't exactly wish they were our dads, like Red Foreman or Hank Moody. And some are just fucking scary - seriously, nobody should have to suffer through being the child of Benjamin Linus or Dan Scott. One stole a baby for 18 years and then basically dared a mad-man to shoot her at point-blank range (which he did), and the other knocked up and abandoned his high school sweetheart, knocked up his college flame less than six months later and chose to raise that son, like, down the fucking street from the other son he refused to acknowledge, and then some 18 years later, shot the father of his original baby mama's infant daughter (who also happened to be his own brother).

But just like in real life, you can't let the crazy mofo's distract you from the fact that there are a ton of amazing dads out there who do right by their kids all the time. So I made a list of some of my all-time favourite TV dads to remind all of us, and our smug media professors, of that very fact. No, this is not a comprehensive list of every awesome TV dad out there; that would mean I had to do some actual research. Yes, this list would have been more relevant a week ago when it was Father's Day. But whatever. This is my blog. And I'm pregnant. I can do what I want!

So here we go:

6. Danny Tanner (Full House) – So what if most of his lines sounded like an after school special? Who cares if he is arguably one of the nerdiest characters ever? That’s exactly why I love him. His wholesome, squeaky-and-geeky-clean image was his charm, and you’re a liar if you say it didn’t have you rooting for him. Quite frankly, Vicky was an idiot not to marry Danny. Not only was he a great father, but he willingly and regularly cleaned the house. What more do you need? 

5. Jim Walsh (Beverly Hills 90210) – Okay, you might be wondering why a dad who would move to Hong Kong and leave his posh Bev Hills home in the hands of his college-age kid and his friends could make this list. Jim is on this list because, well, because he’s cool enough to move to Hong Kong and leave his posh Bev Hills home in the hands of his college-aged kid and his friends. What? It’s not like he left Brenda in charge.

4. Sandy Cohen (The O.C.) – Sandy was the Jim Walsh of a new generation, but cooler. Was it because of Sandy's luscious eyebrows? Maybe. Probably. Yes. But also, he was lucky enough to show up on television after the phase of cheesy dads had ended (see numbers 5 and 6). Sandy was sharp, funny, and sarcastic, and was given as many good lines as his sons were. He also never moved to Hong Kong, which meant he got more screen time to bail his family out of sticky situations. 

3. Nathan Scott (One Tree Hill) – If you only ever watched the first season of OTH, you will surely not understand how Nathan could end up on this list. He was selfish, mean, and careless. But that’s what makes his evolution into one of the best dads ever so much sweeter. Nathan eventually managed to step out of his father's raging psycho shadow (see aforementioned Dan Scott) and grow into a loving husband and father, proving that you’re not destined to be a shitty parent just because you come from shitty parents. 

2. Phillip Banks (The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air) - Uncle Phil may not have been "freshest" of them all, but he was still pretty fly. The most obvious reason being that he took in his wise-cracking nephew and raised him like his own, despite Will constantly insulting Phillip's weight. But let's not forget about the fact that he always kept a straight face while Carlton made a fool of himself, never slapped Hilary for being a spoiled brat, actually let Ashley out of the house despite the fact that never wore a shirt that covered her navel, and could toss Jazz out of the house with one hand. Plus, he didn't even bat an eye when his wife suddenly showed up as a totally different person. 

1. Burt Hummel (Glee) – How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. I love Burt because he is fully accepting and supportive of his gay son, Kurt. I love him because he turned out to be Kurt’s biggest champion even though at first glance, he looked the part of a “No-son-of-mine-will-be-gay” type of character. I love him for dancing so goofily up the aisle at his wedding to Finn’s mom, Carol. I love him for stepping into the father figure role for Finn. I love him for always maintaining the balance between loving and being there for your children, and standing your ground with them. But nothing, absolutely nothing, could make me love Burt Hummel more than this. Pure. Magic.

And just in case you're wondering, Cliff Huxtable is not included here not only because it would be a no-brainer but because I didn't think it was fair to the other dads since Cliff has pretty much topped every single other "best" or "favourite" TV dad list in the history of life. Also, as much as I love Ted Mosbey and the fact that the older version of him is voiced by Danny Tanner, you do not get to be on my list if you take seven seasons and counting to TELL ME WHO THE FUCKING MOTHER IS! Oh, and Marshall's not on here because he's only been a dad for five minutes and he was drunk for the majority of that time.

And anyway, there are many other TV dads who could've or should've made this list. But like I said, Alice's blog = Alice's rules. Feel free to discuss your favourites though!

-Alice

All Aboard the Potty Train

Potty training sucks. Even when it's going well, it still sucks.

It's mentally exhausting trying to stay one step ahead of a toddler's many mind games, and it's doubly exhausting to also have to try and stay ahead of their bowel movements. Truthfully, I would have been happy to have left Thumper in diapers well past her third birthday, but the impending arrival of her baby brother meant that I had to undertake the project earlier. Because if there's one thing I don't want to do more than potty train my child, it's potty train my child after having just given birth to another. So, albeit begrudgingly, I picked up my kid and hopped on the bandwagon.

Admittedly, things went smoothly. We didn't have any huge hiccups and Thumper caught on quickly with little resistance. I know I should be hugely grateful for that, and I am, because I know this road isn't so easy for all kids and parents. But I still have to say that everything I stated in my original hate-on for potty training still holds true. I do not like having to literally run to the washroom multiple times a day. I do not like that while I run, my daughter takes a leisurely stroll towards the bathroom. I do not like cleaning up the inevitable accidents. I do not like thinking of ways to entice my kid to want to go potty when our sticker reward system has lost its allure. I do not like battling my daughter to make her go pee before we get in the car. I do not like mentally making a getaway path towards the bathroom in every building I set foot into. I do not like dropping my intended purchases in the middle of the store in order to sprint over to Chapters with my daughter in my arms because Dollarama doesn't allow customers to use their motherf#cking washrooms. I DO NOT LIKE GREEN EGGS AND HAM! I DO NOT LIKE THEM SAM-I-AM! Things got a little off track there, didn't they? The point, as I'm sure you can tell, is that I do not like potty training. Not one little bit. And despite the ease with which we started, we have now entered our first bout of regression. 


More often than not, Thumper waits until she has topeerightthisverysecond to go to the bathroom. I do have to give her credit though, she'll go a little in her underwear, realize what's happening and then actually manage to hold it until she gets to the toilet. But when you've got a wet spot in your underwear every single time you show up to the potty, you've got a problem. And the problem isn't that she doesn't know what it feels like to have to go; she knows, oh she knows. She just doesn't care enough to pay attention to it until it's happening. Do I blame her? No; no one likes to stop what they're doing to go pee. But it does mean that until she learns that she has to care, I have to do it for her. So naturally, I went back to telling her when she has to sit on the toilet - because let's face it, no child answers yes when asked "if" they have to go - but that has caused a huge struggle for control that often results in Thumper screaming and hiding under her bed or running as far from me as possible as soon as the potty is mentioned. And if we are lucky enough to by-pass the pre-trip theatrics, we usually end the trip with some of Mommy's because Thumper will insist on doing everything herself and doing it as slowly as possible. Which means that at some point, that little thread from which my patience is always delicately dangling will snap and I'll turn into such a raving lunatic that I make the women from The Real Housewives franchise look tame. The ironic part about this constant struggle is that I would love nothing more than to not be in charge of her bathroom habits. And I think that's the real root of my beef with potty training. 


I just flat-out don't want to be part of it. I would love love love if Thumper was capable of deciding when to go, or deciding to go in time I should say, and then take care of the clean-up herself. But with children so young, it's just not possible and it's not going to be possible for a few more years and I find it tedious. Is it necessary? Yes. Part of my job as a parent? Absolutely. But...still tedious? 


Abso-fucking-lutely. 


-Alice

Are You There, Alice? It's Me, Your Blog

Sometimes blogging is a lot like doing laundry. Laundry is probably one of the easiest chores to do but despite its simplicity, it’s one of the things I most often avoid doing around the house. Every time I force myself to finally do the laundry, or rather, the overwhelming piles of dirty clothes take over my room and I realize that I have no more clean underwear, I wonder why it took me so long to get around to it. It’s not like I have to sit and scrub anything; the machine does all of the work.

Lately, that’s how I feel about blogging. Writing is easy for me, and I love this blog. I love being able to talk honestly about motherhood and my experience in it, and I love the responses I get each week from all of you. But, as you may have noticed over the last month, I’ve been avoiding it. It’s not like I don’t have stories to tell you – things have been pretty hectic actually, between potty training [insert witty remark about wanting to bang my head against the wall], babysitting my niece for a week [see above brackets for my thoughts on constantly being around two toddlers] and the fact that my not-quite-three year old suddenly has nightmares and imaginary friends [did I mention she’s not even three yet?!]. So why have I been avoiding my own site? Well, I’m lazy.

I could say I’ve been so lazy because I’m seven months pregnant, or because I’m busy trying to avoid death by toddler rage raise a toddler, or because I put sleep ahead of most other activities. The truth is that it’s all three combined.

Motherhood is awesome but it’s draining even on the good days. And being pregnant is no different; quite frankly, creating life for someone else can often feel like it’s sucking the life right out of you. So between the bun currently in my oven and the one that popped out a few years ago and likes to find new ways to make mommy’s head explode every day, I’m finding that all of my energy is used up, hence the constant sleeping instead of blogging. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve always been pro-napping for adults, but it often doesn’t even feel like a choice anymore.

Putting all of that aside though, there’s still the double edged sword of procrastination to deal with. The longer you put something off, the easier it is to avoid. But the longer you do so, the scarier the task becomes, which is exactly how my one week off of blogging turned into a month. Suddenly the thought of writing on here made me a little panicky. It was self-inflicted pressure, but I felt like I had to be super witty and funny or else people would just stop coming around here altogether. But, just like with the laundry, the only way to get over the overwhelming feeling was to just do it. So here we are.  I know this post isn’t funny or witty, but it’s a post and sometimes that’s just going to have to do.

So don’t worry. You will eventually get to hear all about my thoughts on potty training now that I’ve actually done it and what it’s like to have Irish twins for a week. Again, I don’t know if any of it will end up being funny or witty, but I’ll try as hard as I can.

And, if I’m not trying as hard as I can, I promise to at least feel bad about it.

-Alice

Yes I Am. And So Are You

You’ve all seen the cover, even if you don’t know what it’s really about. I don’t even need to include a picture of it because I know you know which one I’m talking about. I’ll admit that I haven’t actually read the cover article on the latest issue of TIME Magazine, and I’m not going to. Maybe I would’ve, if only to know what all the fuss is about, because it’s not like I have anything against attachment parenting or a mother who chooses to breastfeed for X amount of time. But why should I bother wasting my time on a magazine that clearly doesn’t respect my role as a mother and the choices I may or may not make by using a condescending headline like “Are You Mom Enough?”

Am I “mom enough” for what? To carry a life inside my stomach for nine months? Yup. To put another human being’s needs ahead of my own every single day? Check.

Does that sufficiently answer your question, TIME? If not, let me try again. Yes, fuck you very much, I am mom enough. You know who else is too? That chick on your cover, but so are all the moms who aren’t on your cover.

We are mom enough whether we breastfeed for three years, three months, or three hours. And we’re mom enough if we use a bottle and formula to feed our children.

We are mom enough whether we choose to stay at home with our kids or go back into the workforce. And we’re mom enough if our social-economic situation has made that choice for us.

We are mom enough whether we shop at Whole Foods or not; whether we let our kids eat McDonalds or not; whether we give our children sweets or not.

We are mom enough whether our children go to preschool or never set foot in a classroom until their fifth birthday (or later. Or never!).

We are mom enough whether our kids sleep in our beds or their own.

We are mom enough whether we gave birth naturally or by C-section, in a hospital or at home, with or without drugs.

We are mom enough whether our children are ours by birth, adoption, surrogacy, or IVF.

We are mom enough whether we’re 25 or 45, are blonde, brunette or somewhere in between, drive an SUV or a sixteen year old clunker, are more like June Cleaver or Roseanne, eat Granny Smith or Red Delicious apples, or were born on Tuesday or a Saturday.

And do you know why? Because no matter what choices we make throughout the day, we wake up every 

morning and go to bed every night loving our children. Because we strive everyday to provide for our kids and to give them the lives they deserve. Because we work tirelessly to teach them the little things, like how to poop in a toilet or that you shouldn’t stick your fingers in a light socket, and the bigger things, like how to read and write or how to be a kind and compassionate member of society.

One last thing, TIME Magazine. Shame on you for pitting women against other women for no good reason other than to drum up publicity for your cover and fuck you for insinuating that some of us aren’t good enough. Because all of us, every single mother in this world that gives a damn, is mom enough.

Happy Mother’s Day, ladies. You are wonderful, and you are doing an amazing job. Now go have a glass of wine and a bubble bath. You deserve it.

-Alice

P.S. I’m willing to bet that the person responsible for that headline either isn’t a parent or has a dick. Regardless, using a title like that makes you a dick. 

Response to the Dumbest Letter to the Editor Ever

Recently, I came across a letter to the editor in my local newspaper that left me feeling a little twitchy. I considered sending in a response, but then I thought posting about it here would be more cathartic for me. The original author may never read this, but at least I won’t have to keep my word count under fifty because I have a lot more than fifty words to say about this article.

Here’s the lo-down on the original letter: a local mom relayed a “frustrating” experience in which she took her seven year old daughters to the park, and upon finding the playground overrun with toddlers, decided they didn’t want to play there for fear of unintentionally hurting the younger kids. The mom is upset that she had to take them to a different park, and is now requesting that parents of toddlers not let their kids use the city parks that have “for children between five and twelve years old” signs on them because it’s unsafe and disrespectful to the kids that the structures are meant for.

Stupid ideas make animated babies cry.

So to recap, mother and children went to the park, smaller kids were playing at the park; mother wants toddlers banned from parks.

Seriously? I mean...seriously?

I don’t even know where to start. Oh, wait. Yes, I do. Did the mom in question make sure that her children refrained from using city parks until after their fifth birthday?

Or I could lead with this: Aren’t those “for children between the ages of five and twelve” signs meant to serve as a reminder that children under five should have proper adult supervision at all times? And also to cover the city’s ass in the event that a parent is dumb enough to try and sue the city after they’re dumb enough to leave their small child unattended on a slide and someone breaks an arm?

No, actually, I’ll begin with a different scenario. There is a huge difference between the ages of five and twelve. I doubt that most twelve year olds enjoy the thought of playing at a park full of seven year olds, probably for the exact reason that this woman’s seven year old daughters didn’t want to play amongst a group of toddlers – because they’d have to adjust their behaviour, which, in the plainest of terms, means toning their shit down a notch so as to make sure not to pummel someone. Now, if these twelve year olds started campaigning to have those younger than them play at separate parks, wouldn’t that seem ridiculous? Wouldn’t we tell them to get over it and that adjusting your behaviour while in the presence of other children, younger or older, is just part of life? Yes. Yes, we would.

See? Nobody is dead. We can do this!

So what if your kid has to adjust her tactics when playing alongside a four year old, or two year old, or a one month old? Is it a tragedy? No. Is it unfair? Hardly. It’s called learning boundaries, and it’s just part of growing up and being part of a community. I expect my two year old to be mindful of other kids around her, especially when they’re younger than her, so why should someone’s seven year old get a free pass from doing the same thing? Kids and adults exhibit all kinds of behaviours at the park, and a lot of them can be infuriating. Here is what I qualify as a valid frustration: kids pushing each other, parents not supervising their children, an adult creeper, kids bullying other kids, parents bullying other parents, parents bullying children, someone throwing sand, mulch, or stones, or someone poking someone else’s eye out with a stick. Do you know what an invalid frustration would be? SCOFFING AT TODDLERS WHO ARE EXPLORING AND HAVING FUN AND ARE UNDER THE SUPERVISION OF ADULTS.

The woman also mentioned that there are toddler specific structures at parks all around our city. I’d like to point out that I live within walking distance of six parks, only one of which has toddler specific equipment. The only other two I’m aware of are at least a fifteen minute drive from my house. Now, maybe there are a whole slew of these fancy-pants parks with toddler equipment around, but I’m sure that there are a ton of families with kids under five who do not live within walking distance of them. I’m also sure that we can all agree it would be absurd to ask these parents to find and drive to a fancy-pants park every time their kid wants to play outside. Besides, what does this woman expect parents of multiple children to do? If you’ve got one kid that meets the “age requirement” and one that doesn’t, are you supposed to forego trips to the park altogether, or does your younger child have to sit on the grass watching all the big kids play?

I’ll give this mom one thing – she has obviously taught her kids about being respectful towards children younger than them, as demonstrated by their choice not to play on the slides that day for fear of hurting someone else by accident. That’s great; truly, I applaud that. Now what about teaching them about making a choice and living with it? The girls chose not to play while the toddlers were on the playground. They could have played anyway and simply adjusted their behaviour, but they chose not to and I doubt that anybody forced them to make that decision. Same as nobody forced the mother to take her kids to another park; they very well could have found something else to do until the toddlers were done. The mother could’ve suggested the girls play tag, have a picnic, have a handstand contest, pick flowers- shall I continue? Nobody forced her kids to not play on the playground and nobody forced her to take them somewhere else, so she should stop acting like that’s what happened and stop trying to force toddlers to go elsewhere as well.

Quite frankly, as long as my daughter has adult supervision, there’s no reason why she shouldn’t be allowed on a “non-toddler specific” park. Kids aren’t in danger of getting hurt simply because there is someone bigger or older around. They’re in danger when someone is acting like a jackass, no matter what their age. A two year old can accidentally hurt another two year old just as easily as a seven year old could, and a seven year old can injure another seven year old just as easily as they could someone smaller. I understand that having an adult around doesn’t eliminate the risk, but it’s the best chance at minimizing it, and that’s pretty much all you can ask for. Banning one age or another from a playground isn’t going to necessarily keep anyone safe, so let’s just focus on teaching our children to learn some boundaries and respect each other, and hope for the best.

-Alice

P.S. I know that this was my longest rant to date, but it was either write a two page letter on my blog or track this woman down and smack-attack the bitch. 

Why I'm Not Afraid to Say I Wanted a Girl

I have always wanted daughters. When I was little, I planned on having a brood of my own girls – mostly just because I had so many female names that I loved, but also because I couldn’t wait to put them in frilly clothes and give them my old My Little Pony dolls. Finding out that Thumper was a girl was pure joy; it wasn't just that I got what I wanted, but it felt like a safety net. If all of my other maternal instincts failed, at least the girly-girl in me would know how to dress her.

So how did I react upon finding out that I’m about to have a son?

In the first months of this pregnancy, the possibility of having a boy wasn't as distressing. I knew that having a boy wouldn’t feel like a death sentence and that obviously the baby would be loved no matter what, but I still anticipated a girl. There's already an abundance of pink clothing, toys, and accessories in our house, and Dawson and I had a girl’s name picked out long before conception. In wanting another girl, we came to expect it. So yes, when the ultra sound tech confirmed that there was no fagina this time, I was clearly disappointed. And in a culture where I think most people feel ashamed to say they are hoping for one gender or another, I’m not afraid to say so. Why should I be?

It’s not that different from any other dream we have for ourselves or our children. A father might dream that his son grows up to be a doctor, or an athlete, or take over the family business. If that’s not what ends up happening, the parent is allowed to feel disappointment – not disappointment in the child himself, but in the death of the dream, of what you always assumed or expected or hoped would happen. And as long as the father continues to support whatever career choice the son makes, then he should be entitled to his feelings. Our feelings are our own; we have a right to them, and a right to express them in a healthy way. Sometimes, that just means being able to say, “I wanted (blank) to happen,” and then cry about it for a few days. 

The phrase “as long as the baby is healthy” gets thrown around a lot during the gender debate. I get that some parents genuinely don’t have a gender preference, and that’s cool. I also understand that for those who have had a hard time conceiving, the gender is insignificant compared to the simple miracle of having a baby of either sex, and I certainly respect that. It’s the people who use the “as long as it’s healthy” line to practically scold me for having a preference that make me laugh. Of course I want a healthy baby; isn’t that a given? Nobody wants a new car and hopes it will come with a smashed-up bumper, or goes to the store for carrots and purposefully buys the rotten bag. Everybody wants a healthy baby. It’s just that some people hope, for various reasons, that their healthy baby will be a healthy girl, or perhaps a healthy boy.

It’s okay to want one or the other. There is a big difference between hoping for one gender and regretting having had the opposite of what you wanted. As long as you can get over your upset eventually, and the parent-child relationship isn’t negatively impacted by those feelings, there is nothing wrong with allowing yourself some time to be disappointed.

My initial upset wasn’t over the fact that I don’t want a son. It was merely about mourning the end of the dream I held onto for so long. And if my son reads this one day, that’ll be fine. It won’t matter what I wanted once upon a time, because he will know that I have and will always love him as fiercely as his sister, even if he hates My Little Ponies.

-Alice 

Backfire Story of the Day: About Fajitas, or Something

About a year ago, I wrote about the funniest words my daughter couldn’t pronounce properly. Since that post went up, Thumper’s vocabulary has changed quite a bit.

She can correctly say all five words mentioned in my original post and not only speaks in full sentences, but full soliloquies. She continually proves that she does, in fact, listen when I talk by later repeating what I’ve said, either to the cat or in song. Just the other day, she made up a song all about how Mommy says we shouldn’t play with the curtains because the curtain rod might fall down on us.* Later on, I overheard her ask the cat, “What’s with the stink-eye?”** You also already know that she is constantly asking ‘why,’ which requires me to constantly remind myself that she legitimately doesn’t know the answers to the inane questions she asks, as well as endlessly try to figure out what she’s really asking. It turns out that once kids figure out that asking ‘why’ will get them an answer, they will ask it even when they really mean is ‘what’ or ‘how.’

*I’m not crazy. This has happened in our house.

**The Juno fan in me secretly loves hearing her say “stink-eye.”

But the funniest conversation she’s had since the evolution of her language skills was by far one that she had with my husband a few weeks ago in the grocery store. It went something like this:

I may look sweet,
but I know what a vagina is.

Thumper: Daddy, where’s your fagina?

Dawson: (in shock) Um, do you mean fajita?

Thumper: No, FAGINA.

Dawson: Are you trying to say... (in a whisper) vagina?

Thumper: Yeah! Fagina. Where’s yours?

Dawson: I don’t have one.

Thumper: Why?

Dawson: Because I’m a boy, and boys don’t have vaginas.

(Pause)

Thumper: You don’t have any faginas?

Again, let me remind you that not only did this conversation actually take place, but it happened in the grocery store at a very audible volume.

I guess I forgot to tell Dawson that Thumper asked me what that area was called and that I actually told her. I should also mention that she cried when I told her it was called a vagina and said she didn’t want one. She just wanted to have a bum. Clearly, she’s gotten over that. Also, she can pronounce vagina correctly now.

Oh, and one more thing. After her conversation with Dawson, she began to very loudly sing a song she made up. That only consisted of the word fagina. While still in the grocery store.

-Alice

What to Expect When You're Expecting Again

During my first pregnancy, I found that people are really forthcoming about their experiences. By "people," I mean family members, friends, and strangers. And by "experiences," I mean horrible labour stories and a lot more use of the word 'vagina' than you’d like out of your mother or person you’ve literally just met. But whether you want to hear it or not, you can learn a lot from other people’s stories. You’ll either be prepared for the shit-show that pregnancy and childbirth bring or will be pleasantly surprised because you didn’t have it near as bad as everyone else.

For those readers who have yet to experience pregnancy, I compiled a short list of things I learned the hard way or by listening to someone else complain.  This is by no means a comprehensive list, but you’ll get the idea. You should expect:

• one or more of the following to ruin your sleep long before anyone places an infant in your arms: back ache, heartburn, your bladder, nausea, irrational fears, or rational fears
• to have to pee every five minutes, even when you haven’t consumed any beverages
• to pay way too much money for maternity clothes, you know, because it makes sense for people to charge women $60 for one T-shirt that will only be worn for nine months
• your boobs to look like they belong to a porn star
• to develop a love-hate relationship with: bras, Tums, hot showers, other people’s opinions, sleep, greasy foods, and standing up
• to become a raging B, a crying mess, and an over-sensitive worrier (sometimes all at once)

But see, I’ve come to realize that no one really talks about what to expect during your sophomore pregnancy. Sure, I hear a lot of people say that you’ll get bigger faster and that labour will be much quicker (though, fingers crossed, it will still allow me time for an epidural). I also often hear about the changing dynamic in your family – what the addition will mean to you as a parent and of course to your oldest child. That’s all well and great, but there are some things I’ve discovered that would’ve helped in preparing my mental state this time around. I created a list so that the rest of you will know what you’re getting yourself into. In addition to what’s above, you can:

If you could bring me some McDonalds, that would probably help.
Photo courtesy of someecards.com

1. Expect for everything to happen really fast. You know all those things we just talked about, that happen to you at a leisurely pace during your first pregnancy? They will happen right away and all at once during your second pregnancy. In fact, it all happens so fast that by the time you’ve finished having sex, your boobs will have outgrown your bra by ten sizes, you will be craving Big Macs, and the pregnancy rage will cause you to punch at least the first four people you see.
2. Expect to actually forget that you’re pregnant. The first time around, everything is new and everything is a novelty. You’d never forget about the bun in your oven because you cannot think of anything else, ever, even when all your non-parent friends tell you you’ve turned into that preggo. The second time though, you not only have pregnancy-brain-turned-mommy-brain-turned-pregnancy-brain, but you have a toddler to look after. So yeah, you’ve got other things on your mind and sometimes you will wonder why the hell you’re peeing so often or why you seem to have perma-heartburn only to look down at your belly and go, “Oh. Right.” Hopefully this does not continue once the child arrives.
3. Expect strangers to not touch your stomach. I know it sounds weird because with your first, everyone wants to touch your belly, even when you’re death-staring them, hoping they'll spontaneously combust. But my theory, and it’s all based on speculation, is that toddlers are people repellent. Think about it; toddlers are unpredictable. That sweet smile can melt into unmitigated rage faster than Disney can send a pre-teen princess into rehab. Nobody wants a piece of that, and so as badly as someone might want to rub your stomach for good luck, they want to avoid your little crack head even more.
4. Expect to miss alcohol more than you did last time. Again, because being pregnant was a novelty the first time, you don’t really miss not being able to drink. Your friends might be doing shots sipping a fine Pinot Noir before going to the bar at a very classy dinner party, but you’re all like, “I’m a mother now! I don’t need a drink!” This time, as your toddler is running circles around you and your belly, and you're counting down the minutes until Daddy is home, you’ll be like, “I’m a mother now! I need a drink! Or seventeen!”
5. Expect to still not be used to the feeling of a baby kicking inside you. Yes, you may be able to identify earlier what it feels like when the baby kicks, but that doesn’t mean it will feel any less like a foreign creature trying to bust out of your stomach like in those Alien movies. This is especially scary when the kicking interrupts one of those moments when you’ve forgotten that you’re expecting.

Maybe I didn’t get told about any of this because I should have just known, but still, a little heads up would have been nice. Now, if you plan on becoming pregnant for the third time, you’re on your own. I’m tapping out after two.

-Alice

Um, Who Are You?

Oh, hi there! Welcome to the Shameless World.

Um, who are you?

My name is Alice, and I am the Shameless Mommy.

Do I know you?

Maybe. All of my rants and ramblings used to be found on Escape from Mommyland, but as of today, I am taking up permanent residence in the Shameless World.

Oh, I see. Bad breakup, huh?

Hardly. It's just that my former partner and I no longer live in the same city. Or province. In fact, our provinces are not even next to one another. So it just made sense for us to go our separate ways professionally.

Right. Mm-hmm.

No, seriously. I solemnly swear that neither one of us will suffer a mental breakdown or a severe addiction to heavy drugs because of our split. Also, no one is getting their own reality show.

That doesn’t seem as fun for the rest of us, but okay. So what about all those posts you did for Escape from Mommyland?

If you look in the April 2012 archive over to your left, you can find every single post I ever wrote for Mommyland.

Even the one about the time your head exploded while learning to drive standard with your daughter in the backseat?

Yes. Even that one.

What about the one with the tell-tale signs that you’re pregnant?

Yup.

Or how about –

Seriously. They are all there.

Okay, okay. But what should I expect from you here at Shameless?

You know me – either my daughter embarrasses me, or I do it myself, but regardless, you always get to laugh at me. Sometimes I get rant-y, sometimes I like to talk about celebrities. Or to celebrities. But mostly, it's just me trying, and usually failing, to figure how to be a successful parent. So basically, this will be just like Mommyland, except that it’s all Alice, all the time! Alright, that even sounds scary to me. It’s more like, all Alice, once a week! Or however often I feel like posting.

I hope you'll continue to follow my antics, even if for no other reason than to make yourself feel better. If you liked to laugh at me in Mommyland, chances are that you'll like me here too. There's more ridiculousness coming soon, I promise.

Thanks for visiting!

Love, Alice

There is Only One Tree Hill

Julian said it best when he called it a show that “isn’t afraid to be quiet or heartfelt, a show that’s romantic and sexy and makes you feel like you’re not alone.” A show that in theory may have sounded a lot like many others – Dawson’s Creek, The O.C., or Beverly Hills 90210 - but would find its own voice and its own fans and end up spanning nine seasons. One Tree Hill may have been close to cancellation more often than not during its lifetime, and it may have had its share of psychopaths, car accidents, and kidnappings, but it also always managed to stay true to the characters and relationships that were always at the heart of the show, something that most shows can’t say. Last Wednesday marked not only TRIC’s 10 year anniversary, but the last time we would turn on our TVs and see what Nathan, Haley, Brooke and the others were up to. I couldn’t let the moment go without looking back at what made this show so damn good. And in my humble opinion, those things are:

The quotes: Whether it was Lucas quoting William Shakespeare, Karen poignantly telling her son that there is only one Tree Hill and it will always be his home, or Peyton’s voiceover telling us that “there are 6, 470, 818, 671 people in the world. Some are running scared. Some are coming home. Some tell lies to make it through the day. Other are just not facing the truth. Some are evil men, at war with good. And some are good, struggling with evil. Six billion people in the world, six billions souls. And sometimes, all you need is one,” OTH has always had a way with words. Yes, we all know that OTH was a vehicle to showcase great music, both as live guests and as the score for the series, but week after week, it proved that the words were just as important as the melodies. An episode just wasn’t an episode without the compelling voiceovers, the one-liners, or the heartfelt reflections.

The evolution of Brooke Davis: Oh, B. Davis. She started out as the stereotypical bitchy cheerleader who threw herself at Lucas even though Peyton had feelings for him, and ended up a confident and well-rounded business owner, wife, and mother, arguably becoming the show’s most lovable character. But the most wonderful part of it all was the journey that led her there; it was bumpy and painful, it was honest and authentic, it was funny and earnest and flawed. Once again, Julian said it best when pitching An Unkindness of Ravens to studio executives and he called Brooke a pivotal character. “Brooke’s heart is vulnerable, and that’s why she’s so central. And that’s why the audience will root for her; they’ll identify with her, her mistakes, her victories, her heartache.” Yes, we certainly did.

The throwbacks: Nothing excites a fan more than watching those little nods referencing a show’s past, and OTH has always been good at supplying those moments for us. From the quote hanging on the wall of Karen’s Café, “Somebody told me this is a place where everything’s better and everything’s safe,” to each female lead naming her child after her own maiden name (Jamie, Sawyer and Davis), to Skills’ (justified) paranoid behaviour during Brooke and Julian’s nuptials given the show’s history of wedding day mayhem, the writers have always hidden little gems like these within episodes for long-time fans to discover, and we have always enjoyed being in on the joke.  

The vision: OTH was a show about a group of high school juniors growing up into adults. It was a show about two estranged brothers. It was a show about the love story between Lucas and Peyton, Nathan and Haley, and Brooke and Julian. It was a show about music and sports and literature. But more than anything else, it was a show about hope. It was always clear that the show’s creator, Mark Schwahn, had a particular vision for how his show would progress – not in particular events, but in attitude and quality. And through all of its nine seasons the show stayed true to that vision and the characters within it and none of that would have been possible without Schwahn. Just look at Dawson’s Creek. It became a completely different show once it’s creator, Kevin Williamson, departed, and in those floundering last seasons, it was hard to watch the characters do such roundabout things that were no longer in line with who they’d become. I doubt that OTH would’ve been able to survive, or survive with integrity, after losing two of its main cast members, Chad Michael Murray and Hilarie Burton, at the end of season six without Schwahn at the helm. He was able to successfully shift focus completely onto the three remaining leads and still authentically carry on their stories while maintaining the same tone and heart that the show always had.

And now for the best things about the series finale:

SPOILER ALERT! It’s been a week since the finale aired, so you should reasonably be expecting to see spoilers all over the Internet, so you can’t get mad at me. But if you have yet to watch the episode, don’t scroll down.

Bevin’s cameo: With most fans hoping for an appearance from Lucas, Peyton, and baby Sawyer, nobody really thought about who else should or could return. So it was a welcome surprise to see Bevin working at City Hall and end up helping Quinn and Clay get married and then adopt Logan. As soon as I saw her face, I remembered what a weird and fun character she was, but it was good to see that Schwahn remembered too when he had her awkwardly blurt out that she was married once but then it turned out she hated her husband. But nothing was better than seeing her reunited with Skills in the Tree Hill High bleachers.

Dan’s mystery cheque: All season, I felt that Mouth’s “fat” storyline wasn’t really worth it. I mean, it could have been, but with all the other heavy things happening, it didn’t seem to have the, uh, weight, it should have. But all that started to change when he received a cheque from Dan’s estate for $500, 000, 000 with a note saying “What you do matters.” Using a throwback to a quiet and mostly forgotten, but important, moment between Dan and Mouth after Mouth got fired for refusing to report on the Nathan/Renee scandal in season 7, the writers finally revealed the storyline’s real purpose – Mouth honouring Jimmy Edwards and Keith Scott’s memory by founding the Edwards/Scott Scholarship Fund.

Chase and Chris Keller as BFFs: I wasn’t happy to see Chris back in Tree Hill this season, and his arrogant and selfish behaviour certainly didn’t help his case at all. That is, until Chase started to strike up a bizarre friendship with the playboy singer who likes to refer to himself in third person. Though it would have been nice to see Alex return to be reunited with him, I’m glad that Chase, who always been somewhat of loner and floater on the series, had someone by his side. Their antics provided a welcome, light-hearted tone to an otherwise intense season and bittersweet episode.

Brooke and Julian’s new home: It was a beautiful ending for a beautiful character. Not only did Brooke finally find a man who was willing to do anything to give her the life and family she craved and deserved, but in the house she always loved. Who didn’t get goose bumps when Brooke excitedly ran up the stairs to look in her room after Julian told her he bought her childhood home?

The return to Tree Hill High: Not only did I do a happy dance upon seeing the whole (okay, almost the whole) group together again in the gym where it all started, but I was overjoyed to see the series end how it began– with a Scott on the basketball court. As the camera panned from Nathan’s framed jersey to Jamie’s, we learned that Jamie had achieved his dream of becoming the school’s new all-time leading scorer. When a teenaged Jamie took the court donning a Ravens jersey, hearts of OTH fans everywhere exploded with happiness and the sense that even though we won’t get to see our favourite characters each week, everything was going to be alright in the Tree Hill world.

I’ll admit it. When OTH ended season six with their “believe that dreams come true every day” theme as Lucas and Peyton drove off into the sunset, I didn’t know how the show could ever top that episode. And last season, when Jamie dribbled a basketball over the bridge while wearing a hoodie in a nod the show’s original opening sequence, I wasn’t sure there could ever be a more fitting end. But I was wrong.

Thanks, One Tree Hill. Thanks for the music. Thanks for the memories. But most of all, thanks for barely including Quinn in this season.

-Alice

You Know You're Pregnant When...

It’s never been lost on Wendy and I that there’s a very good chance that the majority of women who read this blog do not, in fact, live in Mommyland. Which is totally cool with us. If you don’t have kids and you still think we are more “funny” or even “adequately amusing” than we are “demented” or “bad parents,” than we like you and invite you to keep visiting us here. Let’s face it; we’re nothing if not birth control for the non-mommies out there.

I thought it would nice to say a thank you to the non-mommies who like to keep up with us here on Escape from Mommyland. Thanks for stopping in even though you could just as easily busy yourself running up an online shopping charge.  Thanks for coming back even if it’s only to laugh at us and not with us. And thanks for not calling Child Protective Services even when our parenting strategies seem, well, questionable at best. To show my gratitude, I dedicate today’s post to you, non-mommies. I thought I’d offer you some advice on how to figure out if you’re pregnant or not. Some of you might end up needing this advice sooner than others and some of you may not ever need it. But keep it in the back of your mind because eventually you or someone you know will find yourself in an all-too common scenario: your period is late and you’re feeling a little bloated, but you’re not quite sure if that baby in your tummy is a baby-baby or just a food-baby. Allow me to help you figure it out.

You know you’re pregnant when:

You use the phrase “pee break” so often that your co-workers are starting to place bets on what you’re really doing in there. Some have guessed pregnancy, but mostly everyone is in agreement that you have a drug problem. Although, there are also a select few that are steadfast in their theory that you’re a secret spy.

You realize that Breakfast, Lunch and Dinner are no longer sufficient meal times, and that an additional set of meals must be implemented: Early Breakfast, Mid-morning Breakfast, The Sequel to Lunch (Parts Two and Three), Pre-dinner Dinner, Second Dinner, Post-dinner Snack (also known as Gimme-That-Tub-of-Ice Cream Snack), Late Night Snack, Late-late Night Snack and Mindless Munching on Crackers in the Middle of the Night While Still Asleep.

You cry during Glee. And I don’t mean during the final number, which is often meant to be a tearjerker or sentimental. I’m talking about crying in the opening song, even when it’s Artie and Will singing “Moves Like Jagger,” and you’re ugly-crying like, “Omigod. The way they move their hips is...so...beautiful.”

You’re crying right now.

Your breasts constantly feel like someone has or is still giving you a purple-nurple.

You've started spending more time with your head in the toilet than you did during your entire college career. Except that this time, you don’t have tequila burning your throat on the way back up or the foggy memories of creepy grease monkeys trying to grind dance with you from the night before. (Or maybe you do. Who am I to say how you got into this mess?)

You know that at one point, you had your wits about you. But you can’t seem to remember exactly when that was. In fact, you can’t remember much these days. It’s not so much your deteriorating addition and subtraction skills that worry you, but the fact that you can’t remember who Ryan Reynolds is dating at the moment or what happened on last week’s episode of One Tree Hill.

You start noticing pregnant ladies everywhere you go. You can’t help but wonder if it’s some freaky coincidence that every freaking woman in the world is suddenly pregnant, or if there were always this many preggos around and you just never noticed.

You buy new clothes. And I don’t mean that you’ve bought new clothes and then suddenly they don’t fit. I just mean that if you haven’t gone shopping in awhile but your partner has finally convinced you to spend some money on yourself and not feel guilty about it, as soon as the credit card has been swiped you can consider yourself sperminated. Because those stupid universal laws of parenting want to make sure you won’t ever get to enjoy those skinny jeans or trendy lace camisoles.

You pee on a stick and it’s negative but you don’t feel confident enough about the results to drink a glass of wine even though it’s staring you down and practically saying “Drink me, hooker. I dare you.”

And if all else fails, just remember this. You know you’re pregnant when you pee on a stick and it’s positive.

Yeah. I’d say that’s a pretty good indicator that you’re preggo.

-Alice

P.S. To those of you who just read through the list and are now pretty sure you’re pregnant, don’t worry. You’re not alone. Your very own Alice is also expecting! It was the constant purple nurples that made me realize it this time. What was it for you?

P.P.S. Congratulations!

When I Was 21

2006. It was the year a song titled “It’s Hard out Here for a Pimp” won an Academy Award, Justin Timberlake gave pop culture his greatest contribution in “Dick in a Box,” and the most famous babies ever, Suri Cruise and Shiloh Jolie-Pitt, first graced us with their presence. It was a world where iPhones, the Kardashians, and Justin Bieber hadn’t become a thing yet – although to be fair, the Biebs probably just wasn’t born yet.

Photo courtesy of someecards.com

2006 was also the year I turned 21. I was in college, had an unexplainable fondness for polka dots, and developed my first girl-crush upon realizing that Tina Fey was responsible for both Mean Girls and 30 Rock. Back then, if you had told me that in six years I would be pregnant for the second time, I probably would’ve laughed until I peed my pants or punched you in the face.

But alas, it’s true. It wasn’t that long until I would very abruptly trade in Jager Bombs for diaper bombs. There was so much for me to learn, and yet at the time I had no way of fathoming what was to come, and just how fast it would happen. So in honour of my former bar-hopping, polka dot wearing self, I give you the top 15 things I had no idea were on the very near horizon.

When I was 21, I didn’t know that in six years I would:

15. Say the sentence, “Sorry guys, I can’t, it’s naptime,” and actually be referencing someone else’s nap and not my own.

14. Stay up most or all of the night for any reason other than finishing a last minute project or drinking my face off.

13. Give control of the music in my car over to someone who’s barely three feet tall and thinks that anyone named Eric must be the prince from The Little Mermaid.

12. Talk about myself in the third person for at least 95% of most days.

11. Think of the term “sleeping in” much how I think of Muppet Babies: I think I remember a time when it existed... Otherwise, the person who started this lie is a really big asshole.

10. Not only let someone pee, poop, and throw up on me, but still love them afterward.

9. Spend 45 minutes at each mealtime watching a toddler very slowly eat her food, not eat her food, or make games out of her food.

8. Think that watching Dora the Explorer was preferable to shows like Jersey Shore.

7. End up with songs like “A-Goong Went the Little Green Frog” and “The Flea Fly Song” constantly stuck in my head.  

6. Think that “staying up late” meant being awake at 9:00 p.m. to watch New Girl.

5. No longer view my boobs simply as accessories or successful manipulation tools, but as sustenance for some and weapons for others. What did you call me? Take it back or I’ll shoot you in the eye with milk!

4. Not have a starring role on General Hospital or at least two Academy Awards to my name.

3. Discover what “after birth” actually refers to, as oppose to thinking it just meant the period of time that followed pushing a human out of your nether regions.

2. Use my repertoire of 90’s TV show theme songs as lullabies.

1. Think that having sex twice a month was a pretty good record.

All this talk makes me wonder what the next six years will be like. Hopefully when 2018 rolls around, I’ll be able to say something like, “I didn’t know that my sex life would pick up so much once my kids were in school,” or “I didn’t know the “why” phase would be so short.”

What? A girl can dream.

-Alice

About a Two Year Old

The year in between when your child turns two and three years old is pretty interesting. Frankly, Forrest Gump was right. It’s like the most terrifying box of chocolates ever, and you never know which one you’re gonna get. Sometimes, your toddler will wake up smiling and giggling and telling you that she loves you so very much. And other times, that pint sized crackhead ain’t afraid to cut a bitch simply because her milk was served in the wrong colour cup or you didn’t do up the car seat buckles in the exact right order. It’s the worst mind game ever, and you don’t really ever win; you just might get lucky some days.

But I guess all of that is nothing new, it’s just that the crazy is amped up quite a bit from the previous two years. Lucky for us, toddlers start to exhibit some other original behaviours or traits during this time, all designed to keep parents on their toes. Some of the mannerisms are funny, some are quirky, and others are downright irritating. Here’s the round-up on what I’ve come across so far:

The ‘why’ phase begins. Initially, your reaction is a mixture of mild perplexity and shrugged shoulders. Then the whys increase and you become more flustered because how the hell do you explain why asparagus is green or why the hallway is where it is. Then before you know it, you’ve officially reached the point where you are literally banging your head against the wall because surprisingly, or maybe not, that’s a less irritating activity.

It becomes acceptable for your child to openly admit to talking to herself. I have lost track of how many times the following exchange takes place in my house each day:

“Mumble mumble mumble.”

“Pardon, Thumper? Can you say it louder for Mommy to hear?”

“Oh, no I was just talking to myself, Mom. Don’t worry.”

In a surprising, or not, turn of events, children start monitoring what their parents say. For example, you might think you’re having an adult conversation, but when you casually say something like, “Oh man, I hate it when Rachel Berry makes those Broadway faces!” your child is likely to appear out of nowhere to say, “Mommy, we do not say hate.” Then five minutes later when you absentmindedly say something similar, she will again pop out to remind you to find a more appropriate word.

They will also start policing their friends’ behaviour. As in: “YES! It’s raining, Bambi. I told you enough times!” after her BFF asks one too many times if it’s raining outside.

Actually, let’s just put it on record that this is when they start saying exactly every single thing that you say. You may overhear struggles conversations between your child and her stuffed bunny that go like this: “I’m just gonna do your hair okay? No, sit still. No – just, NO! Let! Me! Finish! There! Aww, you’re so beautiful!” Or perhaps when you’re trying to explain why we shouldn’t, oh you know, use the dresser drawers as stairs, she will look you dead in the eye and say with complete seriousness, “Okay, okay. Calm down, Mmmoooommmmmmm.” Um, I’m sorry, did I miss something? When the f#*% did you turn sixteen?!

While we’re on the subject of being sixteen, let’s just say that, yeah, that becomes a thing during this year as well. Whether it’s because they demand to call Daddy at work and proceed to lie on their bed with their legs kicking behind them while they giggle and gab away, or because they’ve decided that they only want to play with older boys kids- and we’re not talking a year or two older here, but boys kids that are close to double digits and have zero interest in babies - your toddler will turn into a teenager right before your eyes.  Yes, it is as frightening as it sounds. And somewhat karmic, I suppose.

That’s all I’ve discovered for now. I still have six months before Thumper turns three so I’m sure there will be a lot more behavioural developments before then. Oh, goody. And then hopefully this all tapers off...right? Right?!

Now if you’ll excuse me, I'm busy. I have to go find a more appropriate word to describe how I feel about Berry's musical facial expressions.

-Alice

A Hard Day's Night

My daughter is exactly two and a half years old today. It took 912 days, but it finally happened. I finally did the one thing I said I’d never do as a parent. Granted, there were a lot of things I said I’d never do, but this was the one that after having actually become a parent, I thought I had a real shot of standing my ground on.

Thumper slept in my bed last night.

It’s not my fault. Really. Well, if by ‘my fault’ you mean that I’m the one who said “Why don’t you come sleep in mommy and daddy’s bed?” then yes it’s my fault but I surely can’t be blamed for how fitful my sickly daughter’s sleep was or the fact that she just wanted some cuddles.

It’s not that I care if other people co-sleep with their kids. It’s just that I could never do that on a consistent basis for the following reasons: I love my own sleep too much, I don’t sleep well with Thumper in the same bed, and I am the kind of woman who simply may hurt everyone in sight cannot function if I don’t sleep right. And I was always afraid that if I broke down once or twice, it would be too hard to make Thumper understand that sleeping in our bed was the exception, not the rule.

Even as a tiny baby, we never really let Thumper sleep with us. Sometimes I’d bring her in our bed for a little while in the early mornings, but mostly just because I was trying to squeeze in another hour or two of sleep. Which was kind of stupid because between worrying that I was going to crush her, wanting my own space, and waking up every time she breathed, I tended to not get much sleep out of it.

So why did I invite my daughter to sleep with me last night? I’m not sure. I couldn’t quite believe it when the words came out. I just know that after having checked on her a few times and seeing the discomfort on her face even while she was still asleep, I thought she could benefit from some cuddles.

Luckily, the cuddles she craved were from her daddy so I sort of managed to get some sleep. Unlucky for him, Dawson spent most of the night sleeping on the edge of our king-sized bed. Unlucky for me, Thumper woke up at 6 a.m. when Dawson got up to shower and wouldn’t go back to sleep.

Have I created a monster? Probably. Am I going to suffer the consequences of my actions when trying to put her to bed tonight? Maybe. Will I break down again? I have no clue. Hopefully I’ll remember the early morning wakeup call and leave Thumper in her own bed.

-Alice

Dear Celebrity: Snooki Edition

Dear Snooki:

This letter is based on the assumption that the recent rumours that you’re pregnant are true.

Look, you are currently the butt of everyone’s jokes, but I have made a conscious choice not to do that to you. Not because you’ll ever know if I do or don’t, but because I remember a time not too long ago when I was in your shoes. I was once the girl who partied like it was her job, although I guess for you it actually is a job. I had my share of dancing on tables and drunkenly running off my mouth for no other reason than because I could and I had nothing to lose. The only difference between us is that your life is filmed on camera and mine wasn’t. Although, it’s true that if someone had offered me a reality show, I would have taken it. I legitimately contemplated signing up for Real World after a particularly crummy break up. I was also once the girl who, at twenty-three, was unmarried but very suddenly and so very unexpectedly needed four pregnancy tests to make me believe that I was pregnant. It was scary as fuck. From that moment on, it felt like everyone I knew was watching my every move. I became the girl that everyone expected to fail because party girls make good gossip but they don’t make good mothers, right? Well, Snooki, the reality is that now you do have something to lose in this world. And that’s a game changer.  Most people aren’t going to give you the benefit of the doubt, but even party girls can change their ways, if they want to. So as a former hot, hot mess, let me tell you two things that nobody else will.

It’s okay to mourn the loss of the life you had. You have the right to cry, to get mad at yourself, at life, at everyone. It’s perfectly normal to be upset about the major changes that are coming your way, because there are some huge-ass changes coming your way.  You just have to remember that at the end of the day, it’s not about you anymore. It’s about the life that’s growing inside you. From now on, your decisions have to be made based on what’s best for that child. So here’s my next piece of wisdom.

Get the hell out of dodge. If you stay in the spotlight to raise this kid, you might as well start telling yourself you’re a bad mother because that’s all you’re going to hear from those around you. Hollywood is a world where people not only expect to see you fail, but they want to see you fail, and they will hang you dry for even the smallest parenting mistakes. And you know what? You’re going to make a shit-ton of mistakes because, like the rest of us, you will have no clue what you’re doing. And that’s okay, but Hollywood will make you feel like it’s not. That’s the other difference between us. Yeah, I had everyone I knew watching me, but you’ve got everyone in the whole world watching you. My mistakes don’t get plastered all over Facebook or become a Twitter trend heard ‘round the world. Yours do, and yours will. So go back to Jersey and surround yourself with family. They might give you some grief but they won’t be waiting and hoping for you to fail miserably.

I hope it goes without saying that I don’t think you should plan a reality show around your pregnancy. MTV already did that with a bunch of teenagers, and look at how well that turned out for those poor girls. Take a page out of Jaime Lynn Spears’ book - when life hands you an unexpected pregnancy, just turn the cameras off and go home. 

-Alice