Shopping Experience

It's been about 5 months since JBB was born. All summer long, I had to wear maternity Capri's. Not that I really wanted to, but because I had too. I knew there was no way that I could possibly fit into my "normal" clothes for a few months after his birth.

It's fall now, so I figured it was time to try my "normal" clothes on. I really want to wear my old clothes again. So a few weeks ago, I tried on my pre-pregnancy pants. They fit. I was slightly happy for about 2 seconds....till I looked in the mirror and saw that I now have a HUGE muffin top. Where the heck did that thing come from? I swear I never had one of those before, and to be honest, I don't want it now. So, I tried on another pair, since those obviously weren't going to work. I asked C. for his honest opinion. He said in a few weeks, and told me that I just had a baby and that it was going to take a while to lose the baby weight. I love this man.

Flash forward to yesterday. Now, it's starting to get cold, and I really, really don't want to wear my maternity pants anymore. It's be a year of living in them, and a few months of living in yoga pants and sweats. I want my "normal" clothes or some semblance of it. I decided to drag C and Jbb off to the mall. Mistake one: going to the largest mall in the GTA on a Sunday.

I stopped at a few stores to check out their jeans. I didn't like them, so I moved on. Yoga Jeans? Really? Ummm no. Finally, I decided to try the Gap. Not that I've ever had any luck with their jeans. But I'm desperate and living in Canada, where my favorite clothing stores do not exist. Mistake two: living in Canada, the land of bad shopping and small sizing.

I stand in front of the wall of jeans, not knowing my size. I use to wear and 8. What's up with these 24, 26, etc. numbers? Where are the normal clothing sizes? Why are they listed like I'm a guy shopping here? A clerk finally helps me out. In the back ground I see my husband pushing Jbb around in the stroller, and am envious of them. I really don't want to do this. I hate pant shopping. I would rather have a lobotomy.

The nice girl gives me a few options and I grab a few shirts to take to the dressing room too. Mistake three: Why did I think that trying on shirts would be any easier? I'm nursing for God's sake. Needless to say the shirts, didn't even make it past the boobs. This was NOT a good start. So I try on the jeans. I got them on. They were buttoned. I couldn't breathe and the jeans looked like they were painted on. There was NOTHING left to the imagination. I decide to leave. I give up.

I walk out of the dressing room, over to my husband and the JBB. Jbb looks at me with his big blue eyes and smiles. I smile back, but really want to cry. My son has ruined my body, and I don't think it's ever coming back. C. asked how bad it was. 'Bad', I say. Very Bad! I told him to shoot me if I had any desire to go pant shopping in the near future.

I ate a whole row of Oreos once we got home. They were good. Fuck pant shopping. I can just live in my yoga pants.

Where the heck have you been?

O.k. I admit it. It's been FOREVER since I decided to blog. First, let me explain.

One: my husband found my blog and demanded that I delete and heavily edit it because he didn't like his portrayal. Once I did that I really had no desire to blog. I felt like my creativity had been zapped dry and censored. In my defense, what I did write about my husband, wasn't bad or malicious. He just didn't like it.

Two: I moved to Canada. Moved in with my in-laws for 6 months sans the husband. I really don't think people really wanted to hear my complaining about that situation. Nor would have it been fair to my in-laws who were so very generous.

Three: My husband and I bought the house from hell, and spent the last year fixing it up. Note to readers: Don't ever buy a house that is a power of sale or foreclosure. I'll be happy to email you my many reason why one shouldn't.

Four: The best reason of all....C and I had a baby boy in April. JBB (his first name, with baby-boy attached to it). He's now almost 5 months old, and I can now had a little bit of free time to blog.

So that is where the heck I have been.

Are you in the Club?

My Mom and I went shopping today. Her 40th class reunion is coming up, so naturally, we had to find a dress for her to wear. After finding said dress, we had to go bra shopping. Which after buying certain types of dresses, you would need to get a new bra. She didn't need a new bra for the dress, but wanted one.

A few weeks ago, she decided to go get remeasured for her bra. Since 80% of the female population is wearing the wrong size bra, she thought she'd make sure she was wearing the right size. But, low and behold, the store she went too didn't do a good job measuring her, and she wanted a second opinion. So off to the lingerie section of the store we went.

Now, I really don't like shopping for underwear. I only buy it if I absolutely need too. I have over-the-shoulder-boulder-holders that are YEARS old, that's how much I don't like this kind of shopping. My Mom explains to the Sales clerk what she's looking for and gets measured. She's in the 80% club. Of course I get sucked into the dressing room to help my Mom find the perfect bra. After about the 10th try-on, she finds one she likes.

I decide at this point to have "the girls" remeasured, since, its been about 10+ years. With age, weight loss, and weight gain, what's the harm? Now, I'm in the 80% club. The Salesclerk is a doll, and goes out looking for bras for me now. It seems I'm defiantly a larger cup size than I thought, and was wearing the wrong 30 something size. Which is why the straps kept falling down, it was riding up my back, and I wasn't ever getting enough coverage in the front.

I learned many things in my bra fitting today. First, a woman can go up a bra size and have a smaller cup, OR go down a bra size and have a larger cup size. Apparently they equal each other out. So, do I want the larger bra size or cup size???? Second, bra shopping is like dress shopping. Maybe you wear a Size 4 for Ann Taylor, but an 8 in Nine West. Only you might wear a 34C in Wonderbra, but a 36B in Maiden Form. Choices, choices. Third, a bra should be put on at the lowest clip in the back, with enough room for two fingers to go behind it comfortably. If you can't put two fingers behind, then it's too small. Too many fingers behind, then it's way too big. Fourth, if the cups make you spill out in the front, you need a larger cup size, if there is a gap between you and the bra, you need a smaller cup size.

It's sad to be 30, and find out how to wear a bra properly.

Next, I start trying on bras. I get critiqued by my Mom and the Salesclerk. Which was amusing. "Nope, take it off, it's too tight. Ohhh that one looks nice. No, it just doesn't do anything for you. Too much skin coming out of the top. Oh, you've got back cleavage. That doesn't look good......."

I find the perfect one. I mean perfect! It felt so comfortable that I didn't want to take it off. My Mom and I were tempted to put on our brand new bras in the dressing room after we paid for them. Our old ones just didn't feel good and we both loathed the thought of walking around for the rest of the day in them. Alas, we didn't change. The minute I got home, the new bra went on, and it is soooooo comfortable.

I can't believe I'm this excited about a new bra. What excites me more, is knowing that I really do have to go shopping for new clothes. Darn.

The Drama of the Name Change

In my next life, I've decided not to take my husband's last name. I knew that going through the name change process would be tricky and slightly difficult, but honestly, I didn't think it would be THIS hard. One of my friends tells me that according to Native American Legend, I would be considered cursed. Hell, maybe I am.

I decide to change my name from Janell Doe to Janell Doe Adams. Thus making my maiden name my middle name. Simple right?

Last week, I drive down to the Social Security office, because according to all websites this is the first thing you need to do to change your name. I bring my driver's license, my marriage license, passport, social security card, and had their worksheet filled out before I even went in. I wait my turn for a few minutes before being called up. I hand her everything she could possibly need to make this simple little change. At first she wouldn't accept my wedding license, because it wasn't a certified copy. It didn't have the raised embossed seal on it. I explain to her that I got married in Canada, and those lovely BRIGHT RED NUMBERS at the bottom of the license ARE the certification. She doesn't believe me, so she sits at her computer typing away for a few minutes. In my mind, I can picture her saying "Yeah, sorry, we can't accept this. It's not valid. You'll have to go to the court house to get married." And then picturing my husband blow a gasket, because the US Government won't recognize our wedding which we spent obscene amounts of money on. But she accepts it.

She won't however take my driver's license, because it hasn't been changed yet. Hold on...Wait a minute...I can't even get a new driver's license until I get a NEW SS Card. Isn't this a little backwards?????? She will accept my passport. Go figure? A few minutes later, the change is made and I am officially Janell Doe Adams. She hands me a piece of paper indicating that my new SS card will come in the mail in 10-14 days. What????? Aren't we living in a technology age? Can't you just print one up for me right here in the office??? Apparently not.

I ask her if I can now go to the DMV to get a new driver's license. No. Because I don't have the new SS card...And yet, she wouldn't accept my driver's license in the first place.....I want to smack my head HARD, because this really doesn't make sense.

This morning, I went to get my new drivers license, because now I have an official SS card. Yeah! I take the new SS card, marriage license, passport, and driver's license to the DMV. The receptionist, didn't like the look of my marriage license. NOT AGAIN... She takes everything and hands me off to one of those DMV people behind the counter...that's where the real trouble began.

DMV lady is a piece of work. She argued with me over the validity of the marriage license and wouldn't accept it. It's not "certified". Well, the Canadian Government says otherwise. She will accept my drivers license and my SS card. I explain to her that my maiden name is now my middle name. She tells me that's illegal. "It's o.k. for the SS department to have it that way, but THIS is the DMV!" It's illegal???? WHAT THE FUCK ???? How is this illegal? It was a legal name change. According to her, since my parent's didn't give me DOE as a middle name they weren't going to accept it either. AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.........

My options at this point are Adams, Doe Adams, or Doe-Adams. I JUST WANT DOE TO BE MY MIDDLE NAME.....WHY IS SHE MAKING THIS SO DIFFICULT?????? She absolutely refused to make Doe my middle name, so now I am listed as Janell Adams on my drivers license. I am so insensed at this point. If I could have reached around the counter to smack her, I would have.

The last kicker, is that my brand NEW drivers licensed needs to be RENEWED on my birthday, THIS YEAR! I get to go back in 3 months and do this all over again. Yippee, I can hardly wait.

Next up is my passport change. I wonder how much of problem this will cause. I really do understand why women don't change their name. Who wants to go through this process??? Who wants to waste their time arguing with idiots over the validity of their marriage license and their choice of a new name. It's not worth it. Because now, I am stuck with the name that I didn't want in the first place. I can understand how women feel as though they lose part of their identity. It's that simple omitance and you're now someone-else.

Bring on the tweezers

I thought I was going crazy this week. I mean I have been slightly depressed. I still don't have a job, and my routine is pretty mundane, so I thought I was going crazy. Then I realized I wasn't.

There is a war going on, daily against me. Unfortunately it won't be won, not ever and especially with me being the victor. This is a personal one. One that started when I was a teen and grew progressively worse through the years. The war I wage, well....it's my hair.

When I said that I was going crazy early this week, I wasn't kidding. Every time I put my hair in a ponytail, I kept reaching for the tweezers. You see I have this one lone gray hair that comes out every once in a while, that just needs to be plucked. After I plucked what I thought was the same hair 3 times this week, I was upset to discover that it wasn't the same hair. Which I was sort of glad about, because it meant that I wasn't losing my mind. No, it was a small patch of gray hairs. A patch! A patch???? I'm too young for there to be a band of merry gray hairs hiding like thieves in there. I must have temporarily eradicated at least 8 of them.

I grew concerned, so I went investing to see how many other thieves of youth were hanging out. To my horror and dismay, I found many, many more. Now, since I get my hair highlighted, I thought it would help cover these rogues into hiding a little more smoothly. Nope. My tweezers had quite the workout yesterday plucking them out, and some were pretty darn long. It won't be too long before I have to start coloring my entire head.

In the mean time, I think it would be best for me to buy another pair of tweezers. My purse needs a pair, just in case those evil little villains decide to make another appearance and this time in a more public place.

Morning Routine

Six months ago, I suddenly found myself without a job. I will say that I did nothing that was unethical, illegal or against company policy. I also won the right to gain Unemployment benefits, just because the circumstances of my not having a job any longer were quite unusual.

I developed a morning routine and I have to say that I love it and will miss it when I have to go back to work. Every morning I would wake up next to my husband, which was nice. I'd make him tea while he got ready or was on a phone conference. I absolutely love going into the bathroom to smell the mix of shaving cream ,tooth paste and cologne still lingering in the air. Feeling the soft shave as I kissed him goodbye. When the garage door closed, I'd sit in the chair watching his car drive by. It was the last glimpse that I would have of him before he came home. That last string that held us together.

Every day, I do the same thing, unless, I have errands to run or he decides to work from home. Each time, I wonder....is this the last time? Will I have to go back to work tomorrow? It's a silly morning ritual. But it's mine. And I will miss it when it ends.

The Sleep wars

Fairy tales. All children are read them while growing up and base some of their future expectations on what they read. Watching t.v. and all the happy couples while growing up, leaves a person to believe that certain expectations will also happen for you. Wrong, wrong, wrong. We are sold on an idea and told its the truth, till the truth smacks us in the face and we are left sitting there wondering what the hell just happened. Because that's not the way tv and fairy tales tell us it will happen.

Take for instance sleeping. On tv all these happy couples are entwined with each other all night long. They hug, embrace, spoon and hold hands. I honestly thought people slept that way, because that was what was portrayed all the time. It wasn't until I actually shared a bed with my husband, that I learned that was not the case. We both have different sleep patterns and expectations when it comes to sleep. Sleeping next to him all night long is like a fairy tale...it's Goldilocks and the Three Bears. It's too hot. It's too cold. And hardly ever just right.

It's hard to sleep next to a person. I don't care who that person is. Those experts say that it takes a long time to develop a routine when sleeping next to your spouse. They weren't kidding. I thought we finally got it right until the other day.

We like visiting our in-laws, but have decided we don't like sharing a bed at their house. We have a queen, they have a double bed. Downsizing is not a good thing. My husbands alarm went off the other morning and he reached over to shut it off. When returning to his comfortable position, he manages to slam his elbow right into my eye socket, at the exact moment I was getting up. He managed to slam it so hard that I thought I would end up with a broken orbital bone. I'm sobbing in bed, and it really was an accident. I have to go downstairs and put ice on it for a few hours to get the swelling down. It was red and puffy all day long. A few days later, I have a beautiful black eye. And no the under eye cream didn't help take the "black" away, but maybe a steak would have helped.

I was teasing him all week, that sleeping next to him is hazardous to my health. Those damn tv shows, don't tell you that your husband may end up giving you a black-eye while reaching for his alarm. Do they tell you that you'll hit each other in the head while switching positions??? Or scratch each other with toenails and fingernails, and in the morning you wonder why you have a weird scratch or bruise that wasn't there earlier? Or that the sheets will get drenched in sweat if you sleep with flannel sheets, a down comforter, and your husband????? No. Is it possible to lay your head on his shoulder all night long, or rest your leg comfortably over his??? Sure, if you're o.k. with him getting a limb amputated off the next morning from loss of circulation. We get this nice romantic view of what it should be like. We are sold a lie.

And yet, people today are left wondering why some couples have separate rooms and separate beds. Probably, because it's never "just right" and they also go tired of having limbs go limp, getting kicked, bruised and scratched for years. Sometimes it's a war, over blankets and the room temperature. The battle lines can be crossed and you harmed, all while both of you are asleep. I just hope that we will finally get a routine, where no one else ends up with another black-eye.