It’s not just the coke-thin Hollywood moms that give Mommy a complex. The Celebri-tots look just as glam being carried by their nannies and dressed head to toe in Burberry Baby. Mommy shops off-the-sales-rack at H&M kids in a futile attempt to Keep Up with the Kardashi-babies. At least she can take comfort knowing that those silver Tiffany spoon-fed babies have the worst names ever (“Son, we named you after a paint colour.”) and their careers will peak on the reality show My Mom was a Celebrity and now I’m In Rehab premiering summer 2032. Besides Mommy is on trend, since having a baby is “the hottest accessory of the season” according to In Style. It’s just that sometimes she quietly wishes she also had a size zero figure and a Birkin bag to tote your diapers in.
DRINK: Mommy’s Lemonade Stand. 3 oz fresh lemon juice, 2 oz rye, 2 oz simple syrup. Combine ingredients and serve over ice. Garnish with lemon zest.
On the occasion of Mommy’s birthday, Daddy tries to melt away three months of emotional, mental and physical exhaustion with the (previously) fail-safe gift of a day at the spa. Unfortunately, Mommy’s first postnatal spa visit doesn’t quite pan out as planned. First, Mommy’s massage therapist has the misguided notion that Mommy wants to spend her first child-free hour in months answering a continuous stream of questions about labor, when all she wants to do is fantasize about Matt Damon. Mommy’s rejuvenation facial is scored by pan flutes, wind chimes and a lecture about the toll that lack of sleep is taking on the skin around her eyes, delivered by an aesthetician who looks 12. Mommy hasn’t even cracked US Weekly in the post-service tranquility room when Daddy calls with the news that you’ve been wailing incessantly for the past 45 minutes, refusing to take the bottle. Mommy heads immediately to the checkout desk where she’s pressured in her vulnerable postpartum state into dropping $75 on an anti-gravity firming lift cream from France that she’ll find unopened and expired in her bathroom drawer in 2020. As she races uptown at lightning speed, Mommy’s nipples leak all over the steering wheel. Serenity now!
DRINK: Zen Cocktail. 1 oz green tea liqueur, 1/2 oz melon liqueur, 3 oz mango juice, 2 oz cream. Mint leaves and nutmeg for garnish. Shake with ice, strain into a champagne flute and hold your breath for 18 years.
Angelina Jolie. Natalie Portman. Beyoncé. It seems like all of Hollywood can pop out a baby and look effortlessly malnourished the next day. Mariah Carey shit out twins and eight minutes later was the nude spokesmodel for Weight Watchers. Mommy wishes she wasn’t still living in her Heidi Klum maternity jeggings but unfortunately she doesn’t have a personal trainer or a weight-loss inducing habit like heroin. According to Mommy’s #1 news source, People.com, movie star matriarchs insist “The secret to losing the pregnancy weight was carrying around my baby all day!” Mommy knows this is celebrity-speak for bulimia, because no A-lister carries her own child. Though Mommy admits she loves how her new Double Ds look like they were done by Dr. 90210, she sometimes longs to look glamorously on the brink of death like Too Posh To Push Spice.
DRINK: Red Carpet Fizz. 3 oz pink Moet, 1/2 oz Grand Marnier,
1/2 oz lime juice,
2 oz orange juice. Enjoy every caloric sip, unlike actual celebrities, who subsist only on air and the perpetual need for validation.
The time has come for Mommy’s mandatory “bring the baby to the office” trip. Mommy carefully scheduled the visit during one of your feeding windows, as her lack of skill with the Hooter Hider would inevitably lead to a traumatic nipple-flashing episode. Mommy’s inbox has been overflowing with emails about how excited everyone is to meet you, although she knows they’re actually just dying to see how much of her baby weight she’s lost. None of her business casual wear fits, so Mommy had to truck it to Banana Republic yesterday to buy a half-price polyester frock she’ll never wear again, and take her hair straightener and MAC Studio Fix out of hiding. Mommy will put on her best “really interested” face as she’s updated on the latest office politics and business results, while secretly dreaming about “The Bachelor” episode waiting on her PVR. As you’re passed around from one colleague to the next, she’ll also try to block out what she recently read about keyboards being five times germier than toilet seats. Mommy really hopes you don’t cry, unless it’s when she’s caught in conversation with that guy from accounting who can’t read social cues.
DRINK: The 7-Day Weekend. ½ oz pineapple rum, ½ oz light rum, 6 oz 7 Up. Enjoy over ice in a chilled cocktail glass the next time you feel like celebrating the fact that you can wear pajamas 24/7.
Some women at Mommy Group complain that their babies are not sleeping through the night. “My Liam wakes up once in a 12-hour period! We’re going to have to hire a Night Doula.” What. The. Fuck. Not only will you not sleep through the night, you’re up every 2 hours. Mommy has been forced to replace actual restorative shuteye with caffeine and carbs. She was going to max out an RESP so you could go to Harvard, but at $10 a pop for a Venti and an artisanal cheese scone, it looks like you’ll be going to the University of (*shudder*) Windsor. To add insult to injury, after desperately attempting to nurse you to sleep last night, you puked Linda Blair style down her threadbare Bravado bra. Mommy was too exhausted to do anything about it, so she spent the night in someone else’s vomit. Memories of Cancun circa 2001.
DRINK: Mexican Coffee. 1 oz Kaluha, ½ oz Tequila, 5 oz coffee. Serve hot and steamy just like that night on the beach with Ernesto. Or was it Todd? Not important. Vacation flings don’t count toward your “number”.
Sure, there are a lot of things Mommy doesn’t miss about being pregnant. Like heartburn, cankles, and three months spent hugging the toilet bowl. But pregnancy definitely had its rewards. Aside from the 40 pounds of extra weight around her mid section, Mommy-to-be was a spitting image of a Victoria Secret model thanks to her no-leak double D rack, luscious locks and hormone-charged glow. And armed with her “baby brain” pass, she never had to sweat forgetting a best friend’s birthday or saying something stupid in a really important meeting. But, now that you’re born, Mommy no longer walks on water and she’s finding it hard to cope as yesterday’s news. She’s wondering why all the nice strangers who used to run to her expectant side to open doors for her are always MIA when she’s struggling to jam your SUV-sized stroller through the tiny non-automated Starbucks doorway without spilling half her extra hot latte on your lap. And the world could now care less whether you’re a boy or a girl, they just want to know what Mommy’s done to make you scream so loudly. Recently, Mommy’s even caught herself longing for the unsolicited belly strokes that used to make her throw up in her mouth a little. Now she has only your dirty diapers to thank for that.
DRINK: Break out your maternity jeggings and a basketball and enjoy a Cranberry and Soda, for old time’s sake.