Cheaper than therapy

While in Whole Foods this weekend, I watched the most perfect trophy wife with the most ridiculously gorgeous Tory Burch clothes, the most impeccable hair, and flawless makeup, walk into the parking garage with her three little baby-model kiddos and proceed to load her identical monogrammed tote bags into the trunk of her annoyingly perfect and beautiful car. It was simultaneously awe-inspiring and sickening. A little like watching a modern-day Jackie O with highlights in some never-before-seen Super 8 reel of her and her children.

(Edited to add: No, actually. No, it was much, much worse. Because at least with those Jackie O movies, you can somehow convince yourself that they were heavily edited by Jackie herself or some JFK political advisor or whoever, with some Camelot-era version of iMovie or something.)

I literally stopped dead in my tracks and stood there, mouth agape, marveling at this blonde, lithe superwoman, trying to figure out how exactly she distracted her baby from ripping out all the petals from her overpriced peonies (like mine was), and convinced that she had never in her life dropped a carton of overpriced organic strawberries on herself in public (the way I just had).

I couldn't tell if I wanted to be her . . . or to hate her. But probably, I just wanted to be bffs with her while borrowing all her clothes, telling each other secrets, running to the spa together, and then secretly hating her for her perfection. Hey, there were a lot of emotions running through me, okay? But then, something miraculous happened.

Covered in strawberry mash and a look of self-loathing, I watched as Ms. Stepford backed her flawless Volvo SUV right into a pole. . . and then, straight into another.

So, thank you, Universe. I really needed that one. It was much, much cheaper than all those years of therapy was probably going to cost me.

But hey, at least I got my kiddo to match what remains of those expensive, overpriced peonies. It's the little things, right?

 

Happy Monday!

 

Exhausted.

It's officially my new middle name, kids.

I used to think that other moms who constantly complained about being exhausted and over-tired were - how to put this gently - ahem, weak-willed. (Said in my most Ron Swanson-est of voices, if you will.) Until recently (and with really only a few hiccups along the way), I had this perfect little angel baby named "Alexandra-Sleeps-A-Lot" who took roughly a zillion naps a day, and slept twelve hours without waking through the night. Life was good.

That is, until Alexandra-Sleeps-A-Lot learned how to pull up. And cruise along the furniture. And cut four new teeth all at once. And then developed a nasty bout of <extreme!> separation anxiety.

All. At. The. Same. Freaking. Time.

{Pause for dramatic effect.}

No lie, for eleven days straight, my poor child didn't take a single nap, or sleep through the night without at least two frantic, shrieking, hysterical wake up calls. Eleven consecutive days. And it wasn't for lack of trying. Or, for lack of exhaustion either. . . on either of our parts.

But this face makes the past four weeks almost worth it.

So, yes, other sleep-deprived mommies. I'm now in your boat. I've finally walked a mile in your comatose, bleary-eyed, not-enough-caffeine-in-the-world shoes. I have my fingers crossed and I'm praying to the sleep gods that the worst of it is now over -- Alexandra's been back to her two long naps a day for a few days now.

And, most importantly, with her naps back on schedule, I'll finally have a moment to catch up on those important things in life. Like, you know, the Internet, online shopping, celebrity gossip, blogging. Oh yes, and um, house work and responsibilities and stuff.

Not staged. This is what you will find if you drop by my house unexpectedly. Please don't drop by my house unexpectedly.

 

(I know, I know. I probably just jinxed it).

 

 

 

Diane meet BabyGap, BabyGap meet my dreams.

So if heaven is a combination of chubby little babies dancing around with chubby little baby feet in adorable little dresses or teeny-tiny tweed newsboy caps (this, I imagine, is how heaven is 24/7 . . . it's either that or little puppies running around in hot dog costumes), then I'm pretty sure I just died and went there.

Pinch me now. DvF, you slay me.

I mean, really? Just look at this. This collection takes adorable to a whole other level. Am I right?

From what I learned from DvF's original collection for BabyGap last year, the cutest of these pieces (read: that little cheetah dress!) will sell out really fast, while many of the others will eventually go on sale. So my take? Buy whatever pieces you are absolutely dying over, can't-live-without now.  Then get the rest off the sale rack. Remember, kids grow out of stuff fast.  (Unless, of course, you're my kid. And then you're still wearing 0-3 month clothing at 8 months. Somehow.)

And in case anyone out there is waiting until the last minute to buy me a gift for my VERY FIRST, INCREDIBLY IMPORTANT, PRECEDENT-SETTING mother's day (cough James cough), any of these pieces (with the matching me-sized version, of course) would be a winner in my book.

Just saying.