Confessions of a Lazy Dreamer

So yeah, this was a bad idea. Blogging five years ago was new and pedestrian. These days it's scarily professional, and people who have day jobs seem to somehow also have blogs that kick ass. This dawned on me about three weeks ago, and I haven't blogged since. Because I'm self-conscious, competitive and lazy - a triple threat, if you will.

I suck. I haven't posted a Fun Fact Friday in over a month. I haven't posted weekly pics that give updates on what size fruit the baby most resembles along with my cravings and weight gain stats, ala a chick like this:

babymakingmachine.com

I haven't been writing comedy. I've barely been baking, and it seems that when I do, I suck at it. I'm not going to even waste your time with the details of my Animal Cracker Sugar Cookies Fiasco or my Pumpkin Streusel Coffeecake Fail. Don't ask. The point is, I suck, I'm tired and I can't compete with the "Cup of Jo's" and the "Joy the Baker's" of the world. And that's okay. Because their are some people with real problems, and maintaining a super cool and widely popular blog isn't one of them. I'm old enough to know that perfection is not a reality. Sure, I could fool myself into imagining that I'm finally going to be the perfect woman. You know, the woman who wakes up at 4:00 am every morning to workout (running/weights and yoga, alternating days). Who is showered, exfoliated, moisturized and made up before the baby wakes. The woman who hand mashes her own organic baby food and sews her own bibs. Who works a nine hour day and still has energy at the end of it to cook, clean and be sexy all at the same time. You know, this woman:

mariakang.com
I'm not Maria Kang, you know, the mom who posted this "What's Your Excuse Ad on her fitness website that some are saying is fat shaming? Yeah, I'm not her, and I'm okay with that. She doesn't look like she's the kind of person who enjoys delicious food or glutinous amounts of sleep, and I can't support that.

I could pretend I will magically become a perfect person, but why set myself up for failure? Instead, I'm going to commit to doing the best I can. End of story. Right now, the best I can do is check in with this blog every couple of weeks and throw a baby bump shot your way. You're fine with that, right? I mean after all, we're friends, and friends know that sometimes friends suck.

So here's what I got for now. I'm 23 weeks pregnant. The baby is the size of a large mango. I've recently felt his/her kicks and they bring me a ton of joy and a pinch of panic, like everything baby-related does these days. I've yet to gain a pound, although the baby is exactly the size she/he should be, thanks to my voluptuous figure - yay, fat stores! I crave juicy fruit (watermelon, grapes, pineapple) and fruity juice (100% Cherry mixed with sparkling water is my $*#t). I'm currently completely happy with my imperfections, because I know that this little bean is sprouting this very moment.

el bebe at 20 weeks!

What more could a lucky girl want? 

xoxo tay

I Made This For You...

I'm such a horrible blogger. I've abandoned my post for far too many days since I began, and I have no excuse, except to say that I'm incredibly exhausted from growing a placenta, a human and soul inside my body (from scratch).

Speaking of making things from scratch... I made these Butterscotch Blondies from Clementine's just for you! Of course, you can't smell them or taste them, but it's the thought that counts...right? They don't contain any actual butterscotch, but the brown sugary-buttery taste makes it seem like they do. I made mine with pecans, but you can make yours however you like! The base of this blondie is a mother dough - add chocolate chips, cranberries, caramel, peanut butter, jam, pretzels, popcorn, graham cracker crumbs, marshmallow, streudel, pumpkin - the sky's the limit! Go crazy!

~taylormade

4th Trimester Bodies Project

The 4th Trimester Bodies Project is a photography series that uses mothers as subjects. If you or someone you know is a mommy, you too could be photographed for the series! Check it out!

4thtrimesterbodies.com 

4thtrimesterbodies.com 

4thtrimesterbodies.com 

4thtrimesterbodies.com

~taylormade

Maternity Jean is Not My Lover...

babble.com

I had my first full-on, pre-natal, emotional breakdown today in a dressing room at Old Navy. I've been searching high and low for weeks for a pair of jeans that gracefully fit my plus-size and pregnant body, and I've come up short every time. In the weeks prior, it wasn't that big of a deal, because I still had my one pair at home that fit. But seemingly overnight my size 18 Target Merona Bootcut - my old faithful - are too tight. Even though I haven't gained an ounce over the last seventeen and a half weeks, the baby has (thank goodness) and my abdomen is beginning to protrude (again, thank goodness). The trouble is, I seem to be in between an 18 and a 20, and the maternity section at Target and Old Navy only goes up to 18. I know what you're thinking: "News flash, Taylor, there are other places to shop in the world besides Target and Old Navy", to wish I politely reply: "Not in my tax bracket". As a rule, I have a hard time spending more than thirty bucks on any one piece of clothing. And the fact that my maternity wear will be useless in six months makes my thirty dollar rule even more valid.

Is it be too much to ask to find these in the plus-size section - ooh, and ankle length, please.
polyvore.com

The real issue here is that I screwed up. I should have thought ahead a year ago when I was living on caramel lattes and coffee cake. I should have imagined the day that I'd be shopping for maternity clothes and realized that I would not want to do so as a size 20. As I huffed and puffed trying to squeeze my meaty thighs into dark washed, panel jeans - breaking a mean sweat all the while - I couldn't stop the inner bitch inside me from scolding me for being such a fuck up. That's the narrative she barks every time: "You fucked up." Harsh, I know. See why I call her a bitch?

Three hours and one tearful therapy session with my husband later I can calmly declare that I'm fine. What's done is done. I can't undo the years of overeating and under-exercising. All I can do is breath deep, do right and stock up on yoga pants.
~taylormade

17 Weeks: Baby Steppin' to the Bump

These days I'm feeling my size. I'm anxiously awaiting the day that I look pregnant, and not bloated. Like I said before, I'm about 90% baked goods and 10% baby, so I realize my body will not look like the models over at Pea in a Pod. Still, I want a big ole baby belly and I want it now!

My "B-Belly" is slight, but it's there. Notice the little dip where my belly button is. 

From the side, stickin' it way out. I have to remind myself that I don't have to suck in my stomach anymore. After being self-conscious about my body for over twenty years I've found that I have a tendency to suck in my abs and collapse my chest in order to look flatter.

Getting there...

~taylormade

Stand Up: Part Two

Why I Stopped:

The list is long, and if I were to analyze each bullet point I would certainly find a healthy dose of bull shit reasoning behind several of these notions. But let's not waste time analyzing the past. It's so passé.

I quit stand-up comedy because...

• I'm not a night owl. I'm also surprisingly shy, so hanging out with strangers in a small room at the back of a night club at eleven o'clock at night while nervously awaiting my set was my own personal nightmare.
• Being an elementary school teacher, I could never commit to weeknight shows. Mama doesn't mess around on school nights.
• The energy it took to prep for a seven minute set was about a million times longer than seven minutes. Output/input people, output/input.
• I was doing "Bringer" shows. Those are shows that you book with a club manager because you're a decent comic, but more importantly, because you agree to "bring" a large group of friends to the show. I hated the pressure of having to drag my friends to come see me even more than I hated the fact that my friends had to schlep across Hollywood, pay $20 for parking and buy at least two over-priced and watered-down cocktails in order to show their support. That said, I have awesome friends, and I am eternally grateful for every ounce of schlepping that was done.
• This one is going to sound totally obnoxious, but it's the truth: I was sick of doing shows with people that weren't funny. I'm not saying I'm the next ________(fill in the blank with your favorite comedienne), but there's some crappy comedy out there, and this girl has her pride.
• And last but not least, I wasn't making any money doing it.  I know, I know, I'm not supposed to do it for the money but for the love. I agree with that sentiment to an extent.  I wasn't trying to be a millionaire, or even pay my bills. But I was at least hoping to (after time, energy and gas money) make a teensy-weensy profit, like, I don't know, enough cash to go to Target and buy a new scarf.  Never happened. 

So that's it folks. Next time I'll post about my plans to get back. I'm not sure stand-up is the route for me, but I know that slinging one-liners at my husband for the rest of my days can't be the extent of my comedy writing. If it is, I'm sure to become a sad, bitter woman (assuming I'm not one already). Tee hee.

~taylormade

Fun Fact Fridays: Witch's Milk!

mirror.co.uk

Years ago, while I was being babysat by a neighbor and her family, I witnessed a baby lactate. "Say what?!" you might be asking yourself. But yeah, tis true. This little baby, while lying on a bed, was being given a rub down with some sort of special oil, and as the grandmother passed the oil over her chest, milk came out of her nipples. Her grandmother then smoothed the secreted milk over the baby's skin with the remaining oil. She repeated these movements at least a dozen times, and each time her grandma hands passed over that little grand baby chest, milk came out. In my memory it looked like some sort of tribal ritual, but I'm pretty sure it was just a newborn getting a little smooth skin help courtesy of Johnson and Johnson. I never forgot that image growing up because I didn't believe what I was seeing. Milk coming from a baby's breasts?! Is it possible?

Wait for it...

It is! In fact, five percent of babies lactate! Neonatal Milk or "Witch's Milk" is milk produced by infants. It's brought on by breastfeeding and hormones. Aaah, hormones, they never cease to disappoint. Apparently this hormonal phase only lasts for a few months and, as previously mentioned, is very rare. But still - babies making breastmilk - pretty darn cray cray!

~taylormade