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Kylie Jenner

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So, I want to be clear: I, in no way, am hating on Kylie Jenner for having a baby. A woman who wants to have a baby, and can provide for he or she, should have one. Getting pregnant, staying pregnant and having a baby is not a process that comes easy to a lot of women. I recognize that and honestly, good for Kylie: she appears happy and her baby is healthy and obviously well taken care of… I’m going out on a limb and inferring that last part since Stormi’s mom is almost a billionaire.

My issue comes with what Kylie is not saying to her fans… to her 116 million Instagram followers.

Taking care of and raising a baby is harder than you will ever understand until you do it. And even then you kind of can’t believe it. Why did I do this to myself? Oh yeah, I always thought, and said to a lot of people, that I wanted to have a baby… although I had absolutely no clue what was involved or how hard it would be.

I was 37 when my son was born. My husband was almost 40. We were older, had some money, had good, full time jobs and guess what – it was still hard. It is still hard. I can’t even begin to think of how it would be for a 20-year-old!

That’s how old Kylie was when she had her daughter. My first thought when I heard the news she was pregnant was not judgmental in the way of “How could she be so irresponsible? She’s only 20! She’s going to ruin her life.” These weren’t my thoughts because they’re just not accurate. Her life is far from ruined.

Kylie has all the money in the world and, therefore, everything is at her disposal. I’ve read that she’s a hands-on mom, which is great… but when she needs a break, or wants to sleep, or wants to plump her lips, or take eight million selfies or whatever – a nanny, or even multiple nannies can be there in a second. Kylie can hire as much help as she wants. Money is no object. Also, she doesn’t have a full-time job with set hours and a nagging boss, so if she feels like sleeping or getting out of the house for a plump/de-plump/re-plump session, there’s nothing stopping her.

Just look at Kylie’s Instagram. I’m sure most of you already do… as I mentioned, she has 116 million followers. Recent photos include Kylie looking incredible in a skin-tight latex dress, vacationing with Stormi in Miami, hanging out in Las Vegas – this is not real life! I mean, it’s Kylie’s real life, but it is not the life of an average 20-year-old who has a little baby!

And I know that seems like an obvious statement, but it’s not… not to the average 20-year-old. Some of them will see the life Kylie’s living and think see – Kylie got pregnant at 20 and she’s okay! Yes, she is okay… she’s more than okay, but you may not be. Most likely, you are not your own boss. Most likely, you are not about to become the world’s youngest billionaire. Most likely, if you put on a skin-tight latex dress after baby, you’d have to be buried in it because that puppy’s not coming off. And as for Kylie and Stormi’s trip to Miami? – yeah, good luck traveling with a baby by yourself! Even with a partner, flying with a baby is the ultimate gamble. It could be fine…OR it could be you- sweating while your baby screams, poops its pants and you realize how truly small those airplane bathrooms are. Try changing a sweaty, poop-covered baby in one of those things and you’ll never think of the “Mile High Club” the same way again. By the way, Kylie flies private… with a nanny or two in tow I’m sure.

Kylie’s already talking about having a second baby. My husband and I have a hard time even saying second baby. Or maybe, we just don’t have the time or energy to even say anything. We’re too busy taking care of our son: shopping for food, preparing his food, changing diapers, reading to him, helping him learn, cleaning him, loving him and, oh yeah, working full time jobs and trying to stay in touch with our family, friends and with our own relationship. Did I mention we don’t have a nanny? Couldn’t afford one anyway… and don’t even talk to me about a latex dress.

Kylie’s already talking about having another baby. So is Cardi B. Three months after having her daughter, Cardi tweeted: “Would ya be mad at me if i get pregnant again?”

Of course not. What person in their right mind would get mad about that? All I’m asking for is some more transparency. Let these young girls know your deal so they can have all the information before they find themselves stressed out, covered in sweat and poop and wondering why they’re not in some club in Miami twerking in a latex dress with Travis Scott. Everyday moms are at home cleaning the house in a nursing gown and the closest they’ll get to Travis Scott is if he guest stars on Sesame Street.

NY→OH→FL→CA→MD

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I just moved to my fifth state. That seems crazy to some people, but it doesn’t really to me. I like transitioning to new states and getting to explore. I’d rather move to a whole new state than to move to a new home in a city I already live in any day. Or maybe I’m still twitching from when we moved to Sherman Oaks (Van Nuys) from a pretty cool part of L.A. Although, if you regularly find yourself in need of a bail bonds place, you’ll love Van Nuys… shit be popping.. like the Panda Express down the street.

But I digress.

I’m from Buffalo. I love Buffalo – the people, the food, the spring, the summer, the fall (am I missing something?) – however, I knew I wanted to experience living some place else. And that’s NO slight to those who stayed in their hometowns. I in no way think I’m better than you because I got the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to live in Dayton, Ohio. I just remember wanting to leave Buffalo the second I graduated from college. I can’t really explain it, but it’s one of the best decisions I ever made because I wouldn’t be where I am today – oh, barf… did I just write that? So cheesy, gross and true.

In 2002, when I was 22, I moved to Dayton. I had my first ghetto apartment, a job on a syndicated morning show.. and ZERO friends. Aside from figuring out how to work a real job, my other mission became making friends.

Making new friends is just like dating outside of the awkward first sex. I’m happy to say I have friends in all the states I’ve lived in, so if you’re looking to make some new ones, here’s what I did:

  1. Just like dating, you gotta put yourself out there. When I started in Dayton, I worked with a guy I thought seemed cool and he liked Incubus like I did (suck it, Michelle Snyder). So, I was able to get a couple tickets to a show and, even though I didn’t know him, I asked him to go and we did! It’s funny because just recently he told me that, for a second at that time, he considered whether we should be more than friends. We shouldn’t have, we didn’t and I’m proud to say we’re still really close today.. almost 16 years later. WAY longer than any dude I’ve ever dated.
  2. Be open to people you think you wouldn’t click with. One of my closest friends in Dayton was a girl I’ll call V – just ’cause. V was someone I would have never seen myself being friends with. She was a rockabilly, badass, bi-sexual, pin-up type girl who made me look like I had just busted out of the nunnery. But we got along well. So well that I actually spent Christmas with her family one year that I couldn’t go home. I think her grandma felt bad that I didn’t have any presents to open, so she gave me 20 bucks. My own grandmother never gave me more than $5… if she won at Bingo.
  3. Do activities you wouldn’t normally do… because you never know. When I moved to Tampa, FL and had no friends, I went speed dating. There, I said it. I didn’t connect with any guys, but I DID connect with two girls who were also there and equally as embarrassed to be speed dating. Almost 13 years later we’re still close friends. And when people ask us how we know one another, we act like we don’t speak English.
  4. Get involved in groups. This could be a Facebook group or, if you’re a new mom, I would definitely suggest joining a mommy and me group. Now, you’re obviously not going to click with every person you meet, but even meshing with one person is way better than no friends at all. When I first moved to Maryland, I went to a kiddy event with a mom I had only “met” on Facebook. And like dating, the minute I met her in person, I was like nope. I think she felt the same. But I’ll take a bad mom date over a bad date date any day – no mascara, no heels, no pity sex. I’m just kidding, I don’t have pity sex anymore.

In all, making new friends is the worst at first. But that stranger in your office, or sitting next to you on a bad speed date, could end up becoming one of your closest friends for life.

 

Yep…had a c-section

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I had an elected c-section. So, there’s that.

I’m in no way ashamed of my decision, although I was shamed for it and I hope sharing my story will help others not feel like crap if they decide it’s the best decision for them. Also, hopefully it’ll help the people on the other side understand and again – stop making c- sectioners feel like crap!

I’m 5’1’’, about 135 pounds. I’m just a little person overall. I’m short and I have small hips and shoulders. Now, some of you may have stopped reading at this point because you think I’m bragging, but I promise you this information lends itself to my story. And, just for the record, I have a jiggly belly and my boobs have been ravaged by breast-feeding so there – there are some bad things about me.

When I got pregnant, I started showing pretty quickly. I got big…really big. But, when you’ve never had a baby before, your judgement of what’s normal and what’s not is just off because you’ve never been through it. Plus, every pregnant woman and every pregnancy is different. That’s 100% true. That’s why pregnancy advice can be so annoying because what’s true for you just may not be true for the next person.

I was 36 when I got pregnant which is considered high-risk. But, for some reason, I wasn’t ordered to have a lot of ultrasounds or extra appointments. I guess because I wasn’t having any complications? I don’t know, I’m not a doctor.

So, I saw my baby at the all-important 20-week ultrasound and then I didn’t actually see him again until 36 weeks. 16 weeks…nothing. No info given, just a “Oh, I hear a heartbeat.” Uh, okay, cool.

Well, it wasn’t really because at 36 weeks I was told, for the first time, that my baby was big. Four weeks from the promise land and I’m informed of this for the first time. The word “macrosomic” was mumbled by one awful doctor I saw and when I googled it later, it basically said I was having a bigger than average baby. By the way, my husband and I decided not to find out what we were having, and when you tell someone they’re having a macrosomic baby, a simple google search, to find out what the heck macrosomia means, will tell you that most macrosomic babies are boys. Cool spoiler, bro.

Dr. Awful wasn’t my regular doctor, but I was told I needed to meet all the doctors in my group because any of those docs could be on call the time I happened to go into labor. Besides basically informing me of my baby’s sex, Dr. Awful also mentioned my size and weight. Oh yeah – forgot to mention that. I gained 60 pounds. Yep, 6-0! I didn’t really care that much, but Dr. Awful sure did and said to me, “If it looks good, smells good or tastes good, you can’t have it.” He said this to a very pregnant woman, carrying her first baby. He’s lucky he’s still alive and standing so he can be awful to other patients.

I did not start watching what I ate…I was pregnant, get out of here. But, I did start getting my vagina ready for this baby since almost every one of his body part measurements was in the 90th percentile. As a pregnant woman, you read about things like massaging your vagina with olive oil to help prevent tearing. So, I did it. It was weird, but I was prepping. I got the highly- recommended Tucks medical pads for after baby and special stuff to put in the bath to help in the after weeks and with hemorrhoids. Was I ready? Of course not, but I guess my medicine cabinet was.

One morning, 2 days after my due date, I started leaking fluid and lost my mucus plug (gross – can we come up with another name for that?). I already had an appointment scheduled the see how big the baby was, so the doctor on call said to just come in.

We checked in at the front desk and the receptionist asked me if I was in labor. “I think so?” I don’t know, I’ve never been in labor before. And my contractions were very mild and spread apart.

Once we were in the room and had the ultrasound, we were informed my son was measuring 10lbs 2oz. Now, they tell you these measurements can be off as much as 20% either way. So, I could actually have an 8lbs baby or a 12 pound baby! Even though I had not really imagined myself having a c-section, it was very clear to me what was the best choice for me, my small hips and my son. The doctor informed me that I was leaking fluid, so I needed to go straight to labor and delivery (or, the mechanic).

My regular OBGYN happened to be on duty when I arrived – hurray! I loved my OB and still do to this day. She is sweet and never made a big deal out of the 60 I gained, unlike Dr. Awful. She had learned from the nurse that we were opting for a c-section and came into the room we were in.

“I get it,” She said, “You’ve been carrying this big baby around for 40 weeks and you’re done. I get it. I mean…I’m gonna get a slap on the wrist and I don’t get compensated as well for c- sections, but I get it.”

Ummm…what? Didn’t see that coming. When we tell people the story, people ask my husband if he said anything to the doctor. I guess to defend my honor. His answer is always something like, “No! She was about to take my baby out of my wife!” What was the guy going to say to her? Rip her a new one as she walked into the O.R. right before she grabbed a scalpel?

It did get worse though. She came up to my husband as I was getting prepped for surgery and said something like, “Hey, sorry for what I said earlier. I mean, I will get a slap on the wrist and I don’t get compensated as well so..sorry not sorry I guess.”

Oh boy.

On the bright side, my surgery went well and my son weighed in at 9lbs 11oz. The nurse who weighed my son didn’t believe he was only that much because of how big he was and reweighed him just to be sure. Once he was out and my doctor saw how big he was, she said I made the right decision. But…I knew I did. I know I did.

Bill Maher does a segment on his show called “I don’t know it for a fact, I just know it’s true”.

I don’t know that I’d labor forever with that baby, not be able to actually push him out and have to have a c-section anyway for a fact, I just know it’s true.

My son was born into a world of no stress while Jack Johnson was being played. People in the room were casually chatting and then all of a sudden, there was my son. I know some people have bad c-sections. A friend of mine got a staph infection after hers. So I, in no way, think it’s the easy way out. It’s just not. All I’m saying is that I knew, in that moment, it was the right choice for me and my son. And there ain’t no shame in that game.

9/11 & 9/10

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(Full disclosure: I meant to publish this earlier in the week, but I work full-time and I have a toddler, so things don’t get accomplished until they’re almost no longer relevant.)

A common question and discussion that comes up on 9/11 is, of course, Where Were You? The producer who sits next to me answered that question by mentioning she was in middle school at the time…and I’ve never felt older. However, this isn’t about me and my crow’s feet (or the fact that the producer next to me does the same exact thing I do and she was in middle school on 9/11)… it’s about that day.

I was actually in college at the time. However, I wasn’t in my dorm room that morning, or in class…or sneaking out of some guy’s room (sorry, parents)… I was standing in my living room at home, getting ready for my grandfather’s wake.

He died on September 10, 2001.

The best way to describe my grandfather is Clint Eastwood in “Gran Torino”, only with less weaponry and more cigarettes. He was famous in his hometown of South Buffalo, NY. I know how that sounds, but it’s true.

My grandfather’s nickname was “Hawks” and I have no idea why. But that’s what everyone called him…even my grandmother. When I was living in L.A. and working at E!, our floor director, Tom, was also from Buffalo and we got to talking one day. I told him where in South Buffalo my family was from, but made no mention of my grandfather’s nickname because why would I? Tom immediately looked up at me and said “Oh yeah, Hawks?” He knew. Apparently a lot of people did…and it wasn’t because my grandpa was nice. No one would ever use that word to describe him. He was just someone you didn’t mess with. He was feared and respected… just about as old school as you could possibly get.

The number one most ridiculous story about him is the one I’m about to tell. Now, just realize I don’t fully believe this story, but it gets told a lot and I have to share it. Because even if it’s not true, some people do believe it, and that will also help clue you in to the kind of person he was – the simple fact that people tell and some actually believe this absurd tale.

When my uncle was a kid, he (and I’m sure he wasn’t alone) did this thing in the winter that is straight out of a scene from Back to the Future: Marty McFly on a skateboard hanging onto the back of a car. Well, back in the day in good ol’ Buffalo, kids would do the same thing in the winter when the roads had iced-over. So, no skateboard…just sliding along the ice while holding onto a moving car. You know…safe.

So one day my uncle is doing this and the driver of the car catches him, stops the car, and starts chasing after my uncle. As the story goes, they’re running all over the neighborhood until the chase stops when the driver clotheslines my uncle in his neck. Apparently my uncle was running fast, so it hurt…bad. He came home and told his father, my grandfather, who started tearing through the neighborhood himself, looking for the man. He was going into local businesses telling people he was looking for the clothes-lining suspect. Long story short, the guy moved. He MOVED from his home, all because he found out my gramps was looking for him.

True or not, what is true is that my grandpa was old school, like I mentioned. He provided for his family of four children and was married to his wife for more than 50 years, but did he show affection? Nope, not really. He was hard on his kids and basically told them what they were going to do and be in life. My aunt would tell you that by the time they got to kid #4, my grandparents really didn’t care. She claims that one year, my grandparents didn’t buy her Christmas presents…they just handed her some cash. So she went to the store, bought what she wanted, wrapped the items, opened them and acted surprised. I can’t verify this information since I wasn’t born yet, but I’ve heard the story a lot along with a slew of other gems that leave me wondering how my mother and her siblings haven’t ended up on Dr. Phil.

Something happens when parents become grandparents. Their tolerance level reaches a whole new high and they seem to enjoy the whole “kid” thing a lot more. I get it. You can hang with your grand kids and then peace the F out. You don’t have to deal with the day-today bull of “Oh shit, so-and-so has Hand, Foot and Mouth Disease.” You can just pop back in the picture when they’re not gross and fun again.

My grandparents did a lot for my sister and I. We lived with them after my parents split up and we moved out of our house. They did fun things with us and, in general, just put up with us because, let’s face it, kids can be crap.

My aunt (the cash in place of love one) said one day she walked into my grandparents’ house to find my grandfather making two ice cream cones. She thought, “This is it!” After a childhood void of emotion, her dad was making ice cream cones for the two of them to enjoy together and maybe sit at the kitchen table and talk about life and love.

After completing the cones, my grandpa put them back in the freezer, confusing my aunt.

“Dad, what are you doing?”

“The girls (meaning my sister and I) are coming over and they like ice cream when they get here.”

To which my aunt said, “You know… I like ice cream.”

“Well you know where the damn ice cream is.” And then he left the room.

Hawks was tough, but underneath the gruffness, mean comments and smoke, there was a grandfather who loved his grandkids…and of course his children too even if he didn’t always show it.

My grandpa died on September 10, 2001. And, every year, one day after that, he consumes a lot of my thoughts because I miss him. I think about how he’d be towards me now and I have to say, a part of me wishes he’d be making special cones for my son… and telling me to get my own damn ice cream.

What’s this about?

imisstv22

I don’t think this blog will be about just ONE thing, but when I was trying to come up with a name, I settled on a sentence that my husband understood (and thought was funny) immediately — I miss TV.

I’ve always loved TV… some people don’t, and I don’t understand those people. My husband has a friend who’s just not that into TV and instead plays tennis and takes guitar lessons. Sounds like a lot of work. I’d rather be sitting on my couch, shoveling take-out carbs in my face and watching a show or a movie I’ve seen one million times already. Yes, I watch Armageddon every time it’s on and who are you to judge me?

In 2013, I met my now husband Nick. He had a habit of watching TV on his couch at night until he passed out and once I found out this information, I knew it was love. I’m kidding, of course… there was a little more involved, although the avid TV watching was a huge plus.

We eventually moved in together and would spend our weekends binge-watching House of Cards or The Wire. Did I mention my husband bought a projector and 113” screen? I didn’t? Oh – my husband has a wireless projector and he almost completely covered one of the walls in our living room with a screen I had no idea was in existence. We barely had any wall art in that room, just technology and Kevin Spacey. (RIP)

So, things were going along great, Nick and I were figuring out how to live with each other, but any issues that may have come up were NEVER about TV. TV was good to us – we were happy, lazy and entertained. And then things forever changed in 2017. Nick and I had a baby.

Now, before I go and scare all those thinking about having kids, let me say this – my son is great. He’s cute, smart, silly and makes Nick and I laugh every day. The issue we’ve come across is that my son is SUPER active. He never stops moving. He even moves in his sleep. He took off and ran into the bathroom the other day, fell and chipped his teeth. By the way, he’s 15 months old – I know kids his age who aren’t even walking yet. And no, I don’t think my kid is better than yours because he’s walking. In actuality, I’m very jealous of late walkers – I’m sure they don’t come home from daycare with eyebrow cuts and reports of them pushing the other kids. A few people have called my son a “bruiser” and that’s spot on. It’s also a little mind-blowing to his NON-active parents who wish he would just sit and play with a toy for more than 5 seconds.

All of this movement means Nick and I are constantly chasing our son around the house, making sure he doesn’t chip the rest of his teeth (he has 13 by the way, which is also ridiculous for his age) or fall on his head again. When he was 3 months old, he launched himself off our bed. Most babies that age are just getting out of the sleep 24/7 phase, but my son’s like nah – I’m ready to throw myself out of this this bed, I need something from the fridge.

So, between having to watch our son’s every move, playing with him, feeding him, diapers, laundry and preparing food for daycare, one vital “activity” has been sacrificed. Alone time as a couple? – yes, but more importantly, our TV watching! My husband and I can barely get through one episode of The Path without passing out. Once, one of my friends commented to me that she didn’t know what she would be doing with her time had she not had kids. Ummm, I do! Watch TV all day! Sounds glorious! I remember it so well and there’s no way I appreciated it.

Sadly, I don’t think there’s an answer to my problem. Nick and I just have to wait until our son grows up and has got his own thing going on and/or starts hating us, so we can pay less attention to him and more attention to Hulu. In the meantime, don’t you dare tell me what happens on The Handmaid’s Tale… I’ll get to it in a few months. Or I’ll experience it when it happens in real life – whichever happens first.