While furtively smoking half a cigarette (leftover from last month's girl's night out) on my back patio in.broad.daylight. and texting smokesignals to a friend begging for a loaner copy of Babywise to refresh my meaniemommy skills, I realized that I am still very much in the newborn tunnel. (Let the record show, I did not smoke half a used cigarette, but rather, half of a perfectly good cigarette before disposing of the remainder. My name is Jenny and I occasionally smoke half cigarettes.)
The newborn tunnel, not to be confused with the better known and all-encompassing tunnel of parenthood, is defined primarily by three trademark characteristics:
1. Yoga pants. Any time of day, any day of the week. May or may not correspond with physical activity. More likely, correspondent with marathon nursing sessions and embarrassing public excursions to grocery stores.
2. Lack of showering. Why get all lathered up when tomorrow's another opportunity to wear some little person's bodily fluid in your hair? I have had actual interior debates measuring the cost of my shampoo/conditioner against the likely number of hours my hair will stay clean. And let me tell you, usually, the odds are not in my mane's favor.
3. Any excuse for drinks with dinner. Ahem. For example: 'Oh, it's Tuesday. Taco Tuesday. Let's have margaritas!' Or perhaps 'Did you see it was St. so-and-so the lesser of Lithuania's feast today according to the 1942 reformed Scottish Catholic calendar? Yeah, we should pop open a bottle of red wine. I have always harbored a strong, unspoken devotion to him/her that I've never mentioned aloud before today.
Now that I've flaunted my holy all over the www, I think I may just go slip into a fresh pair of poly-spandex blend and start counting the hours until daddy's quitting time.
It is Taco Tuesday, after all...
|A lot of really confusing images came up when I googled 'yoga pants.' Surprisingly, this was the least disturbing.|