Both times I gave birth, I did not fall in love with my children right away. Maybe it was the drugs, or the hormones, or the exhaustion, or some form of shock, or some combination of those, but it took a while for my heart to catch up with my head. I wanted to be one of those mothers who cooed and snuggled and felt that some form of destiny had been fulfilled in one messy whoosh. But I was more “Oh. Babies. Cool. Can I hold them and sniff their heads?” (more…)
Scooby-Dooed, but Shapelier
The beauty of the ThighMaster, if Suzanne Somers is to be believed (and I’ve no reason to doubt her), is that you can squeeze, squeeze your way to shapely hips and thighs (and stop going to aerobics classes.) Bonus feature? You can multitask! Master your thighs while you watch television, read a book, or, play shuffleboard, probably. I don’t know. I assume if I tried it, I’d manage to harm myself on the ThighMaster the same way I harm myself on nearly every other piece of exercise equipment known to man. Maybe I’d pinch large chunks of my tender thigh flesh in the hinge, or pull out my leg hair, or launch the thing into my crotch.
Just like on the treadmill.
I’ve Joined the Blue Tang Clan
Some feelings need to be acknowledged and then set aside for when the draft is done, and some for even longer than that. Right now, I’m going full Dory.
Jackie Pick 