Archive for December, 2008

Five Beautiful Things


Napping baby, surrounded by a selection of his Christmas bounty (only 2 of which make noise, thank God!)


Pair of coordinating Christmas stockings (the green one having been completed on the 23rd, of course)

Pattern is the Chubby Sock from this book, and yes, Mr. K almost died when he came across the pattern. Terrible jokes ensued.


Roses from Mr. K (ribbon frou frou added by me). Possibly as a ‘please feel better, we are having a massive party tonight’ gift, but also maybe a ‘just because I like you’ kind of present.


One of four blocks for a baby quilt (which I totally could have finished in one afternoon, if not for a variety of circumstances). Dear friend L gave me this most excellent book for Christmas and it got me all fired up. Also, having my sister AND husband around to help with BabyK creates so many more opportunities for thinking grown up thoughts. Mostly following this pattern, but you know. Whatever works.

picture1First bridesmaids dress ever (I know, I can’t believe it either… my first time and I get to pick it myself!) Beautiful because 1. purchased online without trying on a single dress in a store, 2. purchased on Friday, and arrived today, 3. accomodates nursing bosom without being obscene or old lady and 4. $107 including tax and free shipping. Thank you, J.Crew!


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Merry Christmas to me

So. Apparently my boobs are kind of an issue, huh? Sorry about the novel. In the spirit of truthiness, I will confess that times have been pretty rough here at Casa de K. BabyK continues with his lack of sleeping/random screaming, the diet from hell has mostly been thrown out the window and the resulting weight loss has disappeared as well, peace seems to exist only in Christmas card photos. But Christmas is about grace, and the unexpected, and getting what you want even if you can’t get what you need. Even for AnonymousK.

Exhibit A:

I heart this site. I heart it mightily. And it is so brand new!! But full of both style *and* substance.  I have measured myself, and reading the loving description of the body types actually made me feel a little bit better about my current physical manifestation. I still have a million things to do before Santa comes and will be going pretty much non-stop through the next week (with six month vaccinations, even!!) but I spend my precious alone time minutes before bed dreaming of high heels and dresses with defined waistlines.

If you are still looking for a gift idea for the woman (or metro man) in your life, may I suggest this? As someone who hates to shop, mostly because it is so hard to find anything that fits well from the sea of overwhelming choices that are somehow all the same… this could change your lady’s life, for a very reasonable fee. An excellent Valentine’s gift too, if you’re already Santa-ed out.

Wishing you all the jolliest of holidays!

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For my ‘girls’

So here I sit, holding the most beautiful, warm, snuggly piece of baby deliciousness in my arms as he drifts to sleep, and I am feeling sad. Or maybe not sad exactly, but wrung out. Limp. Like dirty snow.

I guess it is not without cause. Lots of bad shit has gone down in the past few weeks, with the parental disaster that is a holiday and then the actual parental disaster which seems to have had a happy-er ending this time but which could not be accomplished without some heaping spoonfuls of assholeness. Also, a small performance, a dinner party,  a party for 20. BabyK has been to the local and very prestigious childrens hospital for his tummy issues and they put me on a ridiculous diet in which I can pretty much only eat fruit, vegetables and meat. And brown rice. Without sauces or flavorings or anything, of course. Which means that I can’t eat unless I cook it myself,  as our one expedition to a restaurant demonstrated when BabyK had a total meltdown in the middle of the night.

So it’s been some rough times. I think we’re coping okay. I’m behind on the laundry and the dishes and cleaning the bathrooms, but what’s new? The house is actually decorated and I have wrapped presents under the tree.  (None for me of course. Motherhood is gift enough. Or so I’ve been told.) While the recession is worrisome, so far we are doing okay if not great.

Still, these things are not my chief concern. My chief concern is something so petty and vain and superficial that it occupies my thoughts with frightening regularity. (Perhaps as a means of not thinking about the actual concerns?)

I don’t feel pretty anymore.

I know, you see this as a crisis too, right?? (I am imagining you nodding gravely, whether you are or not. Wondrous intertron!) I am going to talk about some girl stuff here,  so navigate away from this page if you are going to feel uncomfortable chatting with me at a dinner party after you read this, because, yes, we are going to talk about BOOBS.

I think there is no question that BabyK was a very highly desired and long awaited pregnancy. We had plenty of time to think about what we were doing and to consider our options and there was no question that WE WANTED A BABY. In the throes of that, there was very little that we would not have given up (or in some cases, did give up) to achieve that goal. And we feel very satisfied with those decisions and would repeat the entire process in a heartbeat to obtain the wonder and comfort that is BabyK.


Knowing that you are going to lose some things and actually losing them is a different experience. One thing (knowing that the loss is coming) happens in your head. The other (actually losing) happens in your… some place else. Heart, spirit, gut, whatever.

Once, I had the most perfect pair of breasts. Really, they were magnificent. A truly resplendent rack. Generous and full but not too large. Beautifully colored and shaped, with plenty of perk. Being a married lady and having learned my lesson (quite painfully) about not advertising what isn’t for sale, I mostly kept them under wraps. Who can say how successful I was, but I always felt more than a little comforted that I had my secret weapon at hand. I don’t have the most attractive face, or laugh, and my hair is always difficult to manage, and [list of boring physical flaws]… but I knew I had a pair of tits that rivaled anything in the Victoria’s Secret catalog.

Through the majority of my pregnancy, I wore the same size bra. No first trimester increase for me. And that was fine, they were perfect as they were. I certainly did not need more. But inevitably, right at eight months or so, they started to get bigger. I didn’t really notice because my rib cage had already moved so I was already wearing a nursing bra. But there at the end, the first sign of their impending demise appeared. Big red stretch marks, all around them. It looked as if someone had put each breast through a playdoh factory widget. Something with evenly spaced little gears. It hurt. But I was a little distracted with the about to have a baby stuff, so I just keep slathering them in body butter and hoping to control the situation.

Then I had a baby and my milk came in. At home, trying to find ANYTHING that would fit, I measured myself. The tape measure doesn’t lie. It kept spitting out the same numbers over and over. 34J. Yes, that is the letter J. That comes before K. It is a real size. For FREAKS. This is the part where I offer my sincere apology to anyone that I may have shocked with my overflowing bounty in the first few months of BabyK’s life. It is hard to handle that much of anything, and with a newborn and all of that, it took some time to figure out. Sorry if I overwhelmed.

Now, things have shifted and deflated and accomodated. The bra that I paid $50 for is a 36F. F = DDD. What sucks about these porn star measurements is that there is no perk, no bounce, no joy in them. They hang flat and straight down. I could almost roll them up and tuck them in a bra. Thanks to the fading stretch marks, they are a dull and listless purple-grey-dead fish color. Those perfect breasts of yesteryear are a distant memory.

Why did I not take pictures of these jewels??? Why did I not walk around with my shirt off all the time? Why did I not use them for fame, fortune and glory? And now they are gone. My new natty g‘s get a lot of love, but that is because they are someone’s primary food source, and that someone has a tendency to pinch while he’s eating, so they’re sometimes covered in green and yellow bruises if I’m not on my game. It is certainly a very different kind of experience than they were once used to.

So. I am sad about my boobs. If you add in the haircut horrors of Summer 08, the part where my stomach now pooches out right at my ribs because someone used it as their house, my complete and total lack of ass from not ever working out and the huge dark bruises under my eyes from never sleeping… yeah. I need a makeover. And by makeover, I mean, appointment with a plastic surgeon.

While I intellectually can say, that is the price for BabyK’s existence and I am very happy to pay it, would pay it again if needed, hope very fervently that this isn’t the only time I’ll ever pay it… when I am getting dressed, or interacting with a gentleman out in the world, completely unsuspecting, it slaps me silly. The droves of people who are constantly drawn to the fresh and tasty adorableness of BabyK doesn’t help. Every so often you catch their eyes stealing to my face with a calculating look… is her husband the attractive one?

He is now, friends. He certainly is now.

At least he doesn’t have a secretary.

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