The Order of Things

Now I'm not gettin' on any moral high-horse here, and I really don't care in what order you pass life's milestones, but I am beginning to see some rationale in the marriage-before-baby paradigm. It's not because of any antiquated notions of propriety, or because the church ladies will gossip, or even because the last name issue will be confusing and bothersome. All that crap is crap and your baby will be just as beautiful.

But I am here to tell you, pregnancy is just not the time to try to attract a man. I don't care what bullshit they feed you about pregnant women being sexy, it is just about the least sexy 10 (NOT 9 as they lead you to believe) months of your life.

I guess in the beginning it's not sooo bad, save for the constant nausea, vomiting, aversion to random scents, and general bloated feeling. At least during this time, you could still wear a descent-looking outfit to dinner, were you able to actually sit in a restaurant without running for the ladies' room every 5 minutes. Of course during this point you can't so much as have a glass of wine, so the idea of going on a date, even with someone you previously liked, lacks any real enjoyment factor.

In a few months, you just look chubby and haven't a single thing to wear. Let me tell you those maternity jeans, what a joke. Since the whole damn waistband is elastic, you can't hardly walk half a block before the denim seam is half-way down your ass and the crotch is between your knees. I paid a small fortune for a pair of designer maternity jeans and have to walk around with one hand holdin' up the seat of my pants, like a pot-bellied rap star.

And in the last few months, lord-a mercy, now there's a time to have a ring on your finger if ever there was one. Here I am, the size of a baby orca waiting to be harpooned by a near-sighted fisherman. My down-there must look like the Amazonian rain forest, though since I haven't seen it in months I can't give you an accurate description. My breast are leaking, I haven't had a good B.M. in months, and I'm pretty sure I have a hem-mo-roid. Trust me when I tell you that no one would have sex with me right now that was not legally obligated to do so.Hence the idea that one be married before one gets knocked-up seems the more intelligent choice at this point.

I mean, let's be honest, would you hang around to pry the shoes off the swollen feet of a snowman-shaped emotional basket case with an unreasonable fondness for chocolate sauce, which has no hope of being used in any sexual exploit in the foreseeable future? Only if it was too expensive to leave her. Thusly, friends, you best get somethin' in writin' before you embark down the balloon-shaped path ending in what must be the least sexy presentation of your Hoo-Ha that he will ever not want to see again.

God bless Sweetpotato, and God bless the New York Giants for giving him something to live for in the otherwise hormonally-overcharged, emotionally-unpredictable environment which is our home.

Fashion Resolutions

Happy New Year friends! We're another year older, but judging from the mess I see out on the streets, we're not a heck of a lot wiser. I just don't understand how year and after year, folks can keep committing the same fashion crimes. Have you not picked up a magazine since the Reagan administration?


So let's make a few New Year's Resolutions, shall we? Not those ridiculous "I resolve to go on a diet that ends mid-January and somehow results in the gaining of 5 pounds," resolutions, but resolutions that will actually result in the betterment of society.


Let us resolve to only wear clothes that flatter our figures. This means NOT wearing pants that fall too far below the waist, resulting in the overspill of your muffin top, nor pants that fall too far above the waist, resulting in the ballooning out of your muffin top within the fabric.

Let us resolve to only wear shirts that fall past the waistband of our pants so that there is no flap of skin showing for all the world. I don't care if you do look like Kelly Kapowski (before she got the got the boob job and chunked up for 90210), this is not Saved By the Bell, this is real life, and here in real life, we keep our midriffs covered (mostly because in real life we also don't often look like Kelly Kapowski and more like the muffin from Resolution 1)


Let us resolve to BUY CLOTHES THAT FIT!! If this year, you find that your size 10's no longer button with ease, then carry your happy ass to the store and buy you some 12's! It's alright, it happens. The crime is not in the gaining of the weight so much as in the pretending that you didn't. Even if you intend to lose the weight, and on the off-chance you are among the 5% of the population who might actually do so, you cannot go around in the meantime with your pants pleating horizontally across your thighs as the seams hold on for dear life. You'll feel so much better not having to live with the fear of ripping fabric when you sit down...not to mention the money you'll save on yeast infection cures.


Let us resolve to only wear shoes we can walk in! I don't care how amazing you look standing stalk still, if forward motion makes you look like Bambi On Ice, then get a grip and give up the heels! You can go from Hot to Hot Mess with the turn of an ankle honey, so until you can work a red carpet like Victoria Beckham, learn to look fabulous in flats!

And finally, let us resolve to Be Fabulous Every Day! I'm not sayin' you gotta dress to the nines for a quick trip to Target, but let's give it a little effort shall we? There ain't nothing sayin you can't be fabulous in a track suit (assuming you've followed all the aforementioned rules in the selection of said suit). I just can't stand these women I meet who profess to have all these clothes, shoes, handbags, and jewelry but "just don't have anywhere to wear them." Give me a break honey. Boots were made for walking and if the only place you walk is around the grocery store then wear your boots to the grocery store. Wear your diamonds to the soccer game for god's sake, but wear your damn diamonds! You have 2 choices in life- wait around for someone to take you some place fabulous, or bring the fabulous with you to some place! It's completely fine to be the best dressed person in Denny's, but it is completely unacceptable to be the worst (I mean, it's Denny's, the bar ain't set too high). And for goodness sake, put your face on before you leave the house, or at least draw your eyebrows on. You don't have to wear full-on warpaint but you absolutely cannot be fabulous without eyebrows.

If we all work together, we make a difference in 2009!
xoxox,
Q

Baby On Board

Well friends, I've got some big news...about 8lbs. of news to be exact. That's right, Sweetpotato and I are having our very first TATER TOT!!

Couldn't you just die!? Lord knows the combination of our genes will certainly produce the most delightful little specimen of humanity ever, but there's more...

The baby is a MINI QUEENIE!!! Now you can die AND go right to heaven, cantcha? I mean 'bout the only thing better than a world full of Queenie is, well, a world full of 2 Queenies. I had always meant to wait for the the big surprise, you know the moment the doctor catches the little thing and proclaims, "It's a Girl!" But then I got to thinkin', what if it's not a girl? What if, in some crazy twist of fate the universe slips from its axis and I give birth to a Y-chromosome?! ** Now this, is not to say that those of you who have little Y-chromosomes runnin around your house aren't happy as clams, and I do intend to have a little football playing mongral for Sweetpotato one day, but I have always intended to have a daughter first and I felt that if the universe had gone and screwed up my plans, I should be prepared! I mean, I have routines to choreograph and tap shoes to buy. The Queen Mum has already taken all my old sequin-covered recital costumes out of the attic, and just as soon as she can walk, the little one will be in dance classes just a tappin away! My grand plan is to pop out a few of these lil Taters, teach them all some song and dance routines, and take my show on the road! By god, I'm gonna revive the Vaudeville if it's the last thing I do...just call me Mama Rose!

Alas, all is right with the world and in early February, I am going to bestow upon the world one perfect lil' girl with one very large attitude.

How do I know she has an attitude? The obvious genetic predisposition not withstanding, this fetus has refused to cooperate for even a single instance since her conception. As I lay on the doctor's table, belly covered in blue goo and trying desperately to identify any of the organs the technician is pointing to on a screen of fuzzy grey blobs, the only thing that seems clear is that the baby is not cooperating. So they roll me and poke me and try to coax the child to turn over or uncross her legs or move her hand so we can measure her face, and she ain't having none of it. She keeps those legs locked and her face covered. I was afraid she might be shy but then I realized that she's just not ready to be seen. I mean, her momma don't go out the house without her face on and here this child's face isn't fully formed! She's certainly not posing for pictures with eyes out of place.....who know vanity was genetic?

Since then, she has proceeded to be the most disruptive house guest I've ever had. I can't hardly roll one way before she's rollin' the other, and no seated position pleases her Mini Highness. What does please her, are long bouts of jumping followed by kicking, followed by trampolining on my bladder, only at bedtime of course, unless I'm in a movie theater, restaurant, or meeting room where it might also be uncomfortable and distracting. I mean I know she's just practicing her ballet, but really, it's not workin' for me. No matter, I'm keeping a list of all the sacrifices I've made for Mini Q, of which I shall remind her daily when she is of a sufficient age to feel guilt and remorse.

Number 1 on the list....the abstention from alcohol. Now I'm not sure that this quite qualifies me for sainthood, but surviving a holiday season without booze and without alienating half my friends and family deserves some sort of recognition, to be sure. I mean, I haven't had mimosa in 8 months, and it's near to the point where I'm finding plain orange juice actually refreshing! Hell, by the time you cut out every "unrecommended" beverage, it's basically water or water and my insides are just about to rust from all that mountain spring goodness.

Alright, I'll stop my moanin', it's not that I'm not pleased as punch to be carrying this little bundle, but I didn't want y'all to think pregnancy had culled my complaining and turned me into one of those goo-goo-eyed mommies who days were filled with chirping birds and rays of sunshine. No, no, friends, I'm still hearing sirens and seeing fashion faux pas, just now from a much WIDER perspective;-)