B is for Bath Time & Brandy
“B is for Bath Time & Brandy,” is a chapter from my book, One More Sip of Whine. I had sent my book to one agent, an incredibly dope and off the charts agent, and as expected, heard nothing. I went too big for sure. I thought, “go big or go home, right?” was a good first step. It was not. I’ve been thinking about sending it out into the world again – actually, I’ve just been too fucking lazy to do it – until I have been obsessing over this book, “Crushing It!” – in which I mentioned in my previous post. I have SO much that I want to do in order to shift my life, my career, in such a totally major way that I may just self-publish this. I’m wanting to focus on all of the other awesome odds and ends that I need to push forward and pursue in a very serious kind of way. If anyone has any thoughts on whether I should self-publish, please feel free to leave me a comment! Also, if you want to read more chapters from this book, click on the tab at the top of the screen that says, “my books.”
“B is for Bath Time & Brandy,” is a funny chapter about the hells of bathing and/or showering your little one in their first two years on this earth. If you’re a momma or dadster, and are reliving these painful memories as you read, I implore you, crack open a lil’ somethin’ – somethin’ to numb the vicious pains of such horrid memories. Cheers, to all the moms and dads suffering with the bath time blues. I hear ya… the struggle feels real. đ
*image found on Google Images via sillybunt.com
B is for Bath Time & Brandy
I WAS IN NEW YORK VISITING MY MOTHER a little over a year ago, and she was constantly volunteering to give Greyson a bath. I was so baffled by this. Then, when I finally told her she didnât have to feel obligated to take on this horrible nightly duty, she said, âI love giving the grandkids baths! Iâve always loved bathing babies!â (Sheâs had 5, yes 5 children by the way.) âEh-hem, what? Are you some sort of masochist? Have you taken some happy pills today?â I did not say these words verbatim, however, I most certainly was thinking them. Kids are squirmy and slippery, hate to get their heads wet, require about 6 hands to safely and effectively get the job done, and throw water out of the tub, and I donât know about you, but I feel as though I need some sort of back-y-otomy after this torturous ritual is through. Alas, this is not the job for me. As Greyson got older, I thought maybe popping him in the shower with me would not only be easier, but more time efficient, as well. This newfound idea was as fleeting as a fairy. It went down like this:
Shower #1: I tried to shave my legs. No room. Jumping toddler. Shaving cream missing from my leg. Child licked said shaving cream off of my leg, only to say, âMmmmâŠyummy!â
Shower #2:
G: Mommy, you have a penis?
ME: No, Mommy has a vagina. Girls have a vagina, and boys have a penis.
Shower continues. I wash my hair and suddenly scream, shampoo streaming down my face and into my eye. My child has poked me with his finger right into my va-jay-jay while joyously laughing. âVAGINA!â
Shower #3: Greyson thought that jumping up and down, trying to âstomp Mommy,â was fun. This was not fun at all. In fact, it fucking hurt! Also, he decided that helping wash me and eating soap off of his hands was the new shower time fashion⊠Fuck showers.
Night #4: Back to the hellacious nightly bath time routine. Surely this is better than poking, prodding, and licking me in the shower.
I decided I needed something else, something with the ability to help me relax and let the bath time blues just roll off of my tightened shoulders, something with a bit of a kick, yet with a smile. Something smoother than my babyâs bottom but stronger than his screaming shrieks. Ah-ha! And this was the âah-haâ moment of the week, of the month, in fact! This is when âBâ was not only for bath time, but for brandy. Bath time with brandy⊠ahhhh⊠and bath times have never been so very, very sweet.
One More Sip of Whine
A holiday gift to yours truly was to get a move on with my book, “One More Sip of Whine.” It’s a book comprised of short stories about my adventure thus far, as a mother. It’s raw, real, honest, foul-mouthed, and I hope, hilarious. *Side note: As I write this, I am at a ‘child play land venue’ downtown Portland. Why do I love it? My child is amongst the other batshit crazy kiddos in what looks like a cage in a kiddie jungle, as I sit and type this with a glass of pinot grigio. Bless the man or woman who created this space. I think I’m in love with you… *Back to business: I’ve previously shared a few of my chapters (each short story is a chapter) with you all and thought that I’d share the beginning of the book: My introduction, and the shortest and very first chapter of my book, “Dear Abby.” I’m SO excited that my book has been through its beta readers and is now in the editing process! Do I realize the harsh reality of getting a book published? I think I do. I’m totally stoked about it anyway and am proud of myself for attempting to move in this direction!
I wrote another book about my experience as an expat in Beijing, China that I will self-publish when this current book is all said and done. It’s called, “Crazy China Sh#% (Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God? I do).” This book was written to better explain to my friends and family what my life was truly like on a daily basis whilst living in such a foreign place. I’ve just started 2 new books as well. My first ever, to be self-published, e-cookbook AND a book that details Greyson’s life as a 3 year old, month-by-month. Writing is my therapy and a place that lets me escape and relax, a comfy pocket of my life to retreat to. That being said, I love cooking & eating food just as much, hence this blog! And, I did name it foodgalleygab… let us not forget the ‘gab’ portion of this space and place! I’d love to hear your opinions on my intro and first chapter, or opinions on any of the other 3 chapters that I’ve previously posted. Many thanks and I hope you enjoy this crazy book journey with me, as I’ll post the whole process as it happens. Happy Saturday!
“One More Sip of Whine”
Introduction
I NEVER THOUGHT IâD BE WRITING this book because no one couldâve ever prepared me for the absolute insane and yet, insanely wonderful ins and outs of motherhood. There are no words, however, Iâve tried to use many in this book to describe to you my experiences. Did I ever expect that a little person would be poking me in the vajajay and screaming âvagiiinnnaaa!â Or shouting like a madman âIâm crazy, mommy! Iâm so many women!â Excuse me? No, I absolutely did not expect this to be my life. Itâs a totally and completely, crazy and fucked up ride. Iâm not going to preach to you about the latest studies in child rearing because Iâm making my own up as I go. Unless, of course, the study states something that Iâm already doing right, in that case, I win. Killinâ it as a mama. I have no idea why I thought when I became a mother Iâd be in the elite five percent of motherhood. Iâve been knocked off that pedestal⊠hard. Those elite moms are often what I will refer to as the âmother shamersâ in this book. Also, itâs a code name for ânot taking responsibility and feeling totally okay about my batshit crazy child rearing ways.â Iâll get all real on ya at times and explain the seriousness of some of my struggles, but the rest? Well, thatâs just a comical twist on the fact that bringing a kid into this world challenges every last sane and sleep deprived bone in your body. And, that sometimes, I think a glass of wine is the best medicine for almost all child related ailments (for you of course, not your child, Iâm not that much of an asshole).
Itâs the moments when your kid escapes the shower wearing his underwear on the top of his head while shouting âIâm so cute!â And, now youâre running late to a birthday party only to notice you failed to put mascara on both eyes after youâre miles away from home, but your new philosophy since becoming a mom has become âfuck it!â To virtually every facet of your life. Phew! Words to live by. When the word âsexâ is something you think you remember from your college years, and the word âpoopâ is something you use in almost every sentence. When you think the world is over because your child might not be going to Princeton, when in fact, he has yet to begin preschool, and youâve not figured out why all the mother shamers got on that shit while their kid was still in utero. Yes, itâs all of these beautiful moments that at the end of the day, make your life so totally weird and nuts but somehow, makes it the best life youâve ever lived.
My lilâ man is the coolest little shit on the block. His name is Greyson and he rocks at life. He was born in Beijing, China because I was working there at the time and I think that makes him even more rad. He is bilingual and bad ass and I love him more than Brad Pitt. G is the reason my world spins so crooked but so right. My husband, bless his Scottish heart, deals with our shit daily and I think is entertained by our unpredictable ways. And this, folks, is my life.
DEAR ABBY
DEAR ABBY:
Iâm a total mess! Iâve screwed up and this mistake canât be taken back. Iâm losing my shit and it all began with me getting stupid drunk in Shanghai on Valentineâs Day almost three years ago. I mean, I could barely see straight kinda drunk. Weeks later, I found out I had done it; Iâd gone and gotten myself good and knocked up. Fast forwarding, I now have this little baby⊠fast forwarding some more, I now have this little toddler⊠and his dad, my husband. My boobs have never felt the same and I barely breast fed (which I cried about daily for 6 months and am pretty sure Iâve been added to the Motherhood of Shame list. You donât believe me? I assure you, itâs real. Itâs a secret, or really, not so secret society of mother âshamersâ), Iâm developing cellulite overnight, my baby hair is coming in at a rapid rate and I regularly look like Alfalfa, my husband tells me Iâm sexy and I tell him to âshut upâ because we both know thatâs a big fat lie, and Iâve ignored my friends for approximately two years now guaranteeing me little return in the friendship department. I love my child but I think I love my brandy and wine almost as much. I thought I was a tiger mom but now I think I may be the most underachieving mother and wife whoâs ever lived; and guess what, Iâm TOTALLY okay with that! Whatâs wrong with me?! Am I going to hell in a hand basket with an empty bottle of booze?! Surely, the Devil knows this is my worst fate, and I will, therefore, receive just that. What can I do to score some sweet points with the Mother Goddesses? Iâm a good person, I swear! Wait, I donât think Iâm supposed to swear. See! I donât even know the rules of this sick and twisted game theyâre calling âmotherhood.â Help me, Abby! Help!
-MOMMIE DEAREST
DEAR MOMMIE DEAREST:
Has it occurred to you that you may be affecting your husbandâs self-confidence and possibly giving your child a litany of bad examples with your love affair of alcohol and general disregard for the people in your life? You say youâre a âgood personâ but this may not be the side of yourself that youâre letting your child, husband, and friends see or get to know. Iâm not advocating for âtiger momâsâ, however, I do not think accepting failure is the alternative you should take. Perhaps reflect on the impact of your actions to others and to yourself, and then slowly make positive changes like thanking your husband and spending quality time playing with your child; pick up the phone occasionally to check-in on your friends to maintain or rebuild your relationships.
*FOUND ON GOOGLE IMAGES FROM CAFE MOM
