So my Lactation Leave has officially begun.
For the next month or so, I’ll be featuring a guest post every Monday and a Post-Partum Postcard from me later in the week.
You know. With tips on how to latch. Be it to a boob, beer bottle, or vat of Nutella.
Thank you so much to Julie from By Any Other Name for being here today. She’s a writer whose humor and wisdom I admire and I’m thrilled to showcase her chops on my site. When you’re done reading this, go to her site. You won’t be disappointed.
I’LL TAKE THE FIVE-DOLLAR FOOT-LONG INSTEAD
So recently, I heard the term Push Present for the first time.
Are you familiar with this lovely bit of brilliance?
According to Wikipedia (so you know it’s true), a Push Present is “a gift a father gives a new mother when she gives birth to their child.”
Because if she didn’t receive – let’s say – a Cartier watch wrapped up with a bow, Jessica Simpson might leave the kid in her uterus until he’s packed for college?
And yet I somehow missed this extortion-opp when I was sweating things out in an ice-cold delivery room. I was too busy begging for an epidural (or at least a roast beef sandwich – light mayo – on a nine grain roll) to think about jewelry.
Which is why, to this day, I own only one diamond. On the engagement ring my husband gave me sixteen years ago.
(Disclosure: My band of gold may not sport a real diamond because the fellow who sold it to us was found guilty of hawking fakes shortly after our wedding. Still. As in most areas of life, I soldier on in denial that my almostonecarat solitaire may be as genuine as Kim Kardashian’s marriage.)
Although I indeed pushed out two squawking newborns in the 1990’s, I possess no stud earrings. No tennis bracelets. No pendants. No Cartier watches.
(Disclosure: I don’t know if most Cartier watches boast diamonds. I do know Cartier has to its credit some pretty bling-ish pieces. Like the necklace they fashioned for Bhupinder Singh. Remember him? The Maharaja of Patiala in the early 1900’s? He not only possessed a kickass Cartier necklace but also a Maharajadom. And let us not forget the Best. Name. Ever.)
Imagine my bewilderment when I caught a segment on the Today Show highlighting the earth-shattering auction of Elizabeth Taylor’s jewelry during which Ann Curry modeled ET’s gems alongside Natalie Morales.
(Disclosure: It might’ve been Savannah Guthrie but I can’t tell Nat/Sav apart. I’d offer apologies but they’re both quite attractive. So hopefully they’ll forgive me).
These journalists were giggling like schoolgirls at a Justin Bieber concert. Or the mothers of schoolgirls at a Justin Bieber concert. Or Justin Bieber. Indeed throughout the segment, they gushed that wearing Ms. Taylor’s lavishness was the stuff of every woman’s dreams.
My Big Dream is underwear that doesn’t creep up my ass while I’m grocery shopping because I hate deciding whether I should pick the fabric out of my crack in Frozen Foods or continue toward the Express Checkout with a wedgie.
So. I ask you. What am I missing? Besides of course Push Presents, a maharajadom and a kickass name like Bhupinder?
Oh wait. That’s right. I may be a two-time mother, but I’m still missing the Girl Gene.
I don’t much care about Manolo Blahniks or Godiva chocolates or The Notebook by Nicholas Sparks. (Although Ryan Gosling might impel me to try a bikini wax. You know. Just in case.)
The truth is, I’d rather grocery shop with a wedgie than visit the local shopping mall and I’d gladly skip both to stay home and Google random crap on Wikipedia.
All day long.
Such heady goals don’t leave me time to wear lipstick, birth more children, or have my I-Can’t-Believe-It-Might-Not-Be-A-Diamond appraised by a local jeweler.
I know. I know. “Every kiss begins with Kay.” And some of them lead to Push Presents.
But I’ve got bigger fish to fry. And creeping underwear to foil.
Just as soon as I find out where the hell Patiala is.