Burka Princess

One of the reasons I love New York is for the diversity. Now don't get me wrong--I'm not delusional and/or ignorant. I know I live in a White suburb of New York City by living in Park Slope, but even my White suburb of the City is more diverse than a White suburb of say Washington, DC or Raleigh, NC. I know this because I grew up in those suburbs, and you'd never see the diversity of races and ethnicities there that I see here. I love that my kids are growing up thinking that exposure to all sorts of people is the norm. Honestly, this is a huge reason why we continue to stay here even when a nice little house in Carborro, the college town outside of Chapel Hill, continues to haunt my dreams, pregnant with possibility.

Alexandra is in her princess stage. I guess it was inevitable; everyone told me that no matter how much you try to keep her from the Disney mania that the princess phase sneaks up on you and swallows your daughter whole around this age (she will be four in June). They were right. We have never watched a Disney movie, have NO Disney paraphenalia in our home, nor do we speak of princesses, but she is obsessed with all things pink, wearing dresses 24/7, and wearing a veil (which is more bride than princess, but whatever....). It's pretty sick.

She has a few criteria that define princess-hood. One: you must have a dress that touches the ground (which she has been endlessly begging me to buy her) and Two: you must be wearing some sort of head jewelry or scarf. So, naturally, as we walked home from daycare the other day when she saw a group of Muslim women wearing full burka (albeit, faces showing, but long black dresses/cover ups and black hijabs) strolling past the playground she screamed and pointed:

"Mo0000mmmmmmmmmy! Look at the princesses!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

I guess there's still some hope for her afterall.

Pretty

It takes a lot to make me feel pretty lately. With boobs that still leak (even though Nico is almost 10 months old), baby food smeared on my legs or my shoulder, a complete lack of time to maintain my eyebrows or shave, there are some days I glance in the mirror after the kids go to bed and am more than slightly appalled at my looks. Then I shrug it off, try not to get depressed about it, and fold laundry while listening to NPR. That's the glamorous life I lead.

But every so often one little thing can make me feel pretty, and this summer the prize for this goes to my Saltwater Sandals. As always, I am a summer or two too late to be wearing these sandals when they were all the rage (my fingers are no longer even close to the pulse of fashion...if they ever were), but I have finally nabbed a pair of these sandals and I am loving them. I got a pair in bright red and they make me feel cute. Red surprisingly goes with a lot of colors, and when I put them on I feel like I have an outfit--even if the rest of my attire is randomly selected, wornI , and covered in baby drool.

Another good thing is these sandals are cheap ($35) and waterproof! Great for daycare pickup in afternoon thunderstorms. I got Alexandra a silver pair and they are sooo cute.

If you have any one thing that makes you feel pretty, clue me in. I'm all about the quick fixes lately.

Birth Control

I am in agony at this crossroads.

So, here I am, 35 years old, 99% sure that I am done having children, and I have a good 10+ years of potential fertility left. I have to do something a tad more foolproof than condoms to ensure that we don't get pregnant again, especially when you consider that we have gotten pregnant twice using condoms (our miscarriage and nico). Obviously Adam and I are not exactly model condom users. With that in mind, there are two options: IUD or for hubby to get the big snip of vasectomy.

Neither option appeals to me.

IUD: I don't like the idea of a random piece of plastic wrapped in copper floating around in my uterus. Nor do I like what I have read of IUDs online. Granted, yes, I understand that only folks who are freakin' miserable post of their horrifying IUD experiences online, but those posts have scared the bejesus out of me. And, quite honestly, it does not seem right. Shoving a T-shaped hijacker in through and into your most important girl part just. seems. wrong. Sorry. I know some folks love it, and maybe I'm a purist, but ICKY. And the side effects...Don't even get me started.

THE BIG V: Adam is more than willing to undergo the big snip. He is 100% sure he does not want three kids, and I am 99% sure that I agree with him. And it's not that I feel bad about him ending his fertile life--the guy obviously is potent and has used his forces for good. But here's where I sound like a crazy lady: I feel if he gets snipped, I'm going to die in the next 10 years and he'll remarry, want to have kids with hot young wife #2, and then he'll resent our decision. In some sicko way, I feel if he gets snipped I will die, a Murphy's Law of vasectomy. I know I should venture into therapy for this crazy fatalistic thought processes, but I can't help it. I guess I have known too many healthy, happy folks just up and die in my life to think otherwise.

I am surprised at how much agony this decision is causing me. I have been menstruating regularly since I was 11 1/2--that's TWENTY FOUR YEARS!!!!!--and I used my body for childbearing purposes for a total of three years. I feel so thankful for my fertility and my healthy pregnancies and beautiful children, but I wish I could just somehow turn this business off without hormones, surgery, or intra-uterine devices.

UGH.

Wanted: Sports Bra

I have watched the NYC Marathon religiously since I moved to New York. Having had run my first marathon in 1999 (San Diego) immediately before moving to NYC, I came to this city on a marathon high. Each year I have found some place along the marathon route, bunkered down, and cheered from beginning to end--hands freezing, voice failing, and energized and inspired by all who run.

This year between Halloween, Daylight Savings Time, and negotiating two kids instead of one, we were late getting down to Fourth Avenue in Brooklyn, the first main stretch of the race after the runners cross the Verrazano Bridge in Staten Island and enter into Brooklyn. We finally made it down to the corner of our street and 4th Ave, with our friend and neighbor Kate, and in between running into about a dozen friends we discussed the overwhelming phenomenon this race: the complete and utter lack of a decent sports bra.

Okay, ladies of the race--WTF? We saw medium and large-chested women jiggling like nobody's business. Not only did it look uncomfortable, but holy god, the nipple chaffing that must have happened to those girls! One woman wasn't even wearing a bra, but a camisole, with her goods shifting up and down a great deal. A GREAT DEAL. We saw so many women running with not enough support and it was greatly disturbing--both as a woman and as a former distance runner.

As someone whose normally small B boobies have shifted to be DDs, I am acutely aware of trying to move with small boulders attached to my chest and it is not fun. I wore a unsupportive bra on the elliptical machine last week and felt like I was going to knock myself out--and the elliptical is low impact! They make great running bras for ladies who are larger or, if you don't want to admit that your chest falls into that category, then double up a normal sports bra. What's wrong with these women?

I think that next year I'll create a stall at the marathon expo on proper sports bra usage...Or maybe I'll film a public service announcement and post it on YouTube...Or start a grassroots campaign for better running bra usage...I'm not sure, but those puppies have got to get strapped down.

(Photos: A group of British ladies walk the marathon each year in these crazy decorated bras--not whom I'm talking about in this post b/c they're walking, not running, but very amusing! And Alexandra getting into the cheering. Children's toys make for great marathon noise makers :)