motherhood

bonkers for bonnets!

November 24, 2015

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i know. i know.

{head hanging in shame}

i’m officially that mother i’ve mocked for all of my life.

and my little person is suffering the consequences of my blatant hypocrisy.

although, from the way she juts that chin of hers, so sovereign and splendid—all self-derived of course: the climate of orange county entitlement seeping into their pores starting at birth, she’s just as depraved as i am when it comes to our love for bonnets; beaufort bonnets in particular.

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introduced to the beaufort company by my friend alexei, i swooned for smelling salts at first glance of these sweet vintage caps.

i proceeded to spend sutton’s first year’s tuition to vassar on their website.

community college it is!

{let’s be honest though, sutton’s favorite toys are tupperware and tissue paper….vassar won’t even be opening up her application letter.}

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hatched out of south carolina low-country, the beaufort bonnet stems from an heirloom, baby bonnet pattern handed down through generations of sweet babes.

they are even prettier in person, very durable, and wash up beautifully-i throw them in the my washing machine and hang them to dry.

and not just confined to headwear, the beaufort company makes gorgeous apparel for boys and girls as well.

sutton was soon clad in their rompers and bloomers, and looking for an invite to the nearest afternoon tea, high-society charity event, or fundraiser for the league of women voters.

she settled for sidecar donuts.

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the child will not stand for a bow, nor a headband, but throw a bonnet atop her head, and voila: she’s a jane austen, reciting-fool {!}—-all, afternoon, long.

 {always insisting on the “emma” role and castigating mommy to the unclever, without beauty character of “miss bates;” she scurries around playtime, bonnet bedecked, matchmaking her tissue paper and tupperware tops.}

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i’m honored and thrilled to announce i will be hosting a trunk show for the beaufort company in early february.

if you are interested in attending please leave me your information in the comments below so i can send you an invitation.

they offer both boys and girls garments, unisex and are great baby gifts.

NO pressure to purchase!

stay connected on instagram and facebook for updates.

photos: taylor cole

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so is this what you do all day?

November 9, 2015

those words are still clanging in my brain, like how hours after a concert you can still feel the reverberation in your teeth?

“so this is what you do all day, katie?”

now a permanent tattoo in my cerebral cortex, trying to find elbow room amongst the other new inventory like: “optimal seven-month-old wake times”, “sippy cups that don’t spill”, “cognitive marker recognition”, while still trying to maintain goodstanding with the free-range parenting club.

the little person and i had escaped from the asylum house, an olympic medal feat these days of daylight suckings time where naps get the big “EFFF- you!;” and found our way to the donut shop–a two birds with one stone stop for caffeine and sugar, my street drugs of choice.

enjoying the friday afternoon sunshine and all the gluten my waistband could withstand, i spied a friend from work.

as delicious as my donut, this girl instantly puts a smile on my face. we gabbed girl: family stuff, boy stuff, life. she just gets it. so much younger than me, yet years wiser and cooler. i immediately felt better, calmer, lifted, and it wasn’t just the serotonin surge of my apple fritter.

as we wrapped up our goodbye’s, i watched as my friend took my “get up” all in: my silo of coffee, a stroller strapped, gibbering, bonnet-clad, formula soaked, one sock wearing, seven-month-old, my suitcase-sized to-go box of donuts, undereye bags so enormous delta airlines considers them my carry on, and a diaper bag so teeming full of bullshit i require a bellhop with me at all times. with the sweetest, loving smile she beheld the spectacle that is now me and, in a 1000% non-judgemental way, observed:

“so this is what you do all day katie?”

——-double-fist, jab punch right, SMACK, in. the. gut.——

{punch! punch! punch! punch! punch!}

before i could answer {not that i had an answer} sutton projectiled more formula, volleyed her pacifier onto the sidewalk, and drowned another diaper. {honestly jessica alba, your diapers SUCK!}

we fled the scene blowing kisses and practicing “bye bye.”

but those nine words have stuck with me.

what the hell do i DO all day?

i’m a far cry from the days of 40+ clients and classes per week, and i’m certainly not here with you oversharing like i used to?

but theses days with my little person, often hours of me watching her not sleep on the baby monitor, dart by faster than any spin room sprints, and are ten times more exhausting than teaching four of those said spin classes in one day.

i’m not complaining. i know how crazy lucky i am that i get to be with her during this precious time.

this morning we discovered she has a sense of humor?!………..it’s not very good, but it’s a start.

she realized she could get me to laugh by licking the kitchen table. i pretended to laugh for another hour, and now my kitchen is spotless. we’re going to work on the hardwood floors tomorrow.

every day there’s something new. something goes away and something else, unfamiliar and just perfect, in her momma’s eyes, emerges.

as much as i miss my old way of hustling, and i daily romanticize the lives of mothers who work full-time, i am grateful for every invaluable second of my new gig.

so i guess, for the time being, i try to take as much of this treasured time in as i can.

that’s what i do all day.

 image from my instagram

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sweet child o’mine

June 26, 2015

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 i’m officially 12 weeks into this whole motherhood gig.

the baby police have yet to take my little person away from me; although hunkiest and i did catch her the other night putting in a request for a transfer.

our sutton is slowly finding her groove.

her parents?

the jury is still out.

her preferred method of communication is still crying.

she LOVES to cry.

not that i expected sundown, elizabethan poetry recitals, but a taylor swift song, at least to break up the afternoon wailing and the midnight waterloos, would be nice once in a while.

the pediatrician assured me her fondness for gibber and grandstand for pop music will come soon enough.

we had her first shots on monday.

sutton barely winced.

her father and i, on the other hand, cried so hard we both vomited, needed a tight swaddle each for soothing, and were simultaneously breastfed by the nurse.

if it’s true the apple doesn’t fall far from the spin bike than baby girl’s first words will most likely be a profanity-laced casserole of expletives.

we’re taking bets on the following:

motherfucker, goddamnit, cock-sucker, or fuckyoufisherprice.

money is already stowed away for sutton’s future therapy bills, and i’ve cleared my schedule for the parent/teacher conferences coming my way.

while most moms are researching pre-schools and sleep-trainers {the best}, i’m getting her on the “list” for rehabs and military academies.

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i pretty much feel like i’m doing everything wrong….all. of. the. time.

from diapering to bedtime stories, {she’s more US WEEKLY than Vanity Fair,} i fall asleep counting the number of fails of the day rather than sheep.

even my “mommy” nightmares are wrong:

a girlfriend asked me if i was having the “standard,” pre-requisite-to-being-a-good-mother-nightmare:

where you’re dreaming that you’re “rolling over on your baby in bed and smothering her?”

will

um, that would be a “no.”

yes, i am having this re-occurring nightmare

and it IS absolutely terrifying.

we’re talking cold sweats, screams, and a fear of falling asleep at night.

but instead of harming my sweet baby, i dream that i still haven’t been asked to my jr. prom, and all of my friends already have dates.

so we know where MY priorities lie.

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luckily for my own, my husband’s, and my daughter’s sanity, i went back to work last week.

it’s definitely a lighter schedule than i’m used to, but it’s enough so that i’m getting my brain wrapped around things besides sleep schedules and formula ounces.

although i worked out until the day i delivered it was at a much lighter intensity; my workouts feel hard, but SO SO good!

i gained 40lbs with my pregnancy; 17 of which still hasn’t come off.

i used to wear boyfriend jeans. now i wear these-are-why-your-boyfriend-broke-up-with-you jeans.

funny though, for all the crazy body image issues i’ve dealt with in my life, this is the least i’ve cared about how i look, how much i weigh, or how much i’ve worked out for the week.

i’m just so grateful to FEEL good again {after a wretched pregnancy,} and to have a healthy, beautiful baby girl.

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so let’s talk about that girl.

my girl.

my girl with the birthday cake breath.

 yes she likes to cry.

but i, of course, think it’s the prettiest cry in the land, like a choir of forest fairies lullabying the violets and dandelions to sleep for the night.

when she’s overly exhausted, you can hear heartbreak in her cry. it brings me to tears; like when nina simone laments over lost love, or when i discover i’m out of coffee.

no, she doesn’t always sleep through the night.

in fact, she’s sometimes partial to the every 45 minute dance party–especially between the hours of 11pm and 4am.

my under-eye dark circles have become my new, signature “look.”

one day i will miss these middle of the night wake-up calls: that gummy smile, those eyes so bright and sparkly they light up her pitch-black nursery, buckling my knees with a love i’m convinced can solve all of the world’s problems.

forget drones and peace talks……i dare ANYONE to have hate in their heart after a baby looks you square in the eye, and cups your cheek for comfort.

or try being angry when the dead-weight, sack of flour, of a newborn naps in the crook of your neck.

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other than this new mammal under our roof, things are pretty much the same.

our beasts still run the show, and we just pay their mortgage; in no way have are they in second place.

i’m still not ready to talk about the “game of thrones” finale so let’s just leave it that.

i wouldn’t take any book recommendations from me for a while—i’m only trying to read books where i don’t have to think, cry, or care about anyone in them—so pretty much kathie lee gifford and i have started our own book club.

my fantasies these days aren’t of white sand beaches or first class to morocco—lately i’d give my left foot for an ativan sandwich and 4 hours of uninterrupted sleep.

i have NO idea what this season’s summer sandal or IT-bag is…my accesories of late consist of spit-up and my night-guard; anything and EVERYTHING to ensure that i will never get pregnant again.

we are DONE.

one and DONE.

so who sutton looks like?

 she is the carbon copy of me as a baby except without any eyebrows…we’re hoping misha nesselrod will soon come to her rescue.

although, if you ask my mother, she says {and i quote} “sutton looks like axl rose after he gained all of that weight.

?!?!?!?!?!?!??!?!

so there you have it.

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according to my mother folks, that’s my baby ⬆︎.

and yes, grandma {aka “gigi”} is no longer babysitting for us.

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so as i wrap up this post, over the internet and television, breaking news is coming in that the united states supreme court has made the landmark ruling to provide same-sex couples with the right to marry in all 50 states.

i hope my computer doesn’t short out from the tears flooding down my face into my keyboard.

this is not hormonal emotion, this is human elation.

long overdue, but a welcome decision—it’s still hard to wrap my brain around the fact that people who love each other need the government’s permission…but that’s another post…

i am euphoric for my friends, my family, my daughter, and my fellow americans, gay and straight.

we have taken a supreme court step towards a more tolerant and loving society.

this is a great day.

friday-equality-for-all-to you m’loves!

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