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While My Boyfriend Was Sleeping

What I write after Joe and Henry go to bed

By now I’d have two kids

May 25, 2015 by heidi 6 Comments

FAMILY PHOTOGRAPHY  BACKDROPS uk

That’s me up there, four months pregnant with the baby I lost in December. I remember feeling way further along when I took the pic. It’s one of only two belly pics that exist from that ill-fated pregnancy.

They say by the time you sprout your second or third or, if you’re Michelle Duggar, your 19th kid, your wrung-out stomach “pops” early, making it doubly or triply or quadruply harder to resurrect your abs. This is the sad truth for all gestating women, except Heidi Klum.

I read a description somewhere that likened the bellies of women who’ve had babies to balloons that have already been inflated. New balloons are a bitch to blow up. They don’t give. You have to pre-stretch them and blow like a mother to fill them with air. Your face turns red and the tail can be difficult to knot.

Twice inflated balloons are another story. They swell immediately.

With my second pregnancy, I quickly inflated, then quickly deflated – both physically and emotionally. When it became apparent that I couldn’t repress my way back to feeling normal, I did the only two things I could think to do at the time: I ran and I blogged. More accurately, I ran a lot and blogged just once.

This miscarriage wiped me out. Running made me feel strong again. Blogging – as heavy as that last post was – helped me compartmentalize my thoughts and articulate things I couldn’t in person.

The thing is: I’m a lighthearted person. I cry NOT AT ALL in front of people. Prior to this miscarriage, few people outside my family and BFF of 20 years have seen me cry. In the last five years, I can count two: the veterinarian who euthanized my dog and my friend Kim, who watched me break down over breakfast when my son’s off-the-wall behavior became too overwhelming to handle. “I can barely parent one,” I tearfully confessed. “How will I manage two?”

[Read more…]

Of monsters and boys

May 28, 2013 by heidi 3 Comments

There are three parenting bridges I thought we’d have plenty of time to cross: drugs, dating and bullying.

I suspected bullying would rear its ugly head first, but I figured we’d at least have until kindergarten to give Henry street fighting lessons.

Turns out I was wrong about bullying. Turns out that happens pretty quickly. Like as soon as your kid can walk away from you.

Last week Henry and I crossed paths with three bullies.

The first two looked to be about eight years old. First they taunted my kid for wearing a diaper, then they threw fistfuls of rubber mulch at his head.

“Wah wah,” they snorted. “I’m a BABY. Change my diaper!”

Under their breath they whispered, “I wish he would go away.”

They didn’t know I was watching them, that I had been watching them for 10 minutes before my son even wandered in the direction of their closely-guarded mean boy space.

They radiated piss potted-ness. They scowled at their mothers and hissed at each other.

I’m not the kind of parent who hovers over my child on a playground. Consequently, I let Henry walk into this mean boy space. As usual, he was looking to make “friends,” someone with whom he could briefly dig in the dirt.

My child approached. The boys grew agitated. They cast their eyes at the ground and then at each other. They mumbled something about “dumb babies,” and retreated to a new mean boy space. Henry, however, followed. As did my gaze.

Upon noticing the toddler’s return, the mean boys made a joint decision to pick up mulch and toss it at his head. This act was followed by the aforementioned diaper comments and mock crying, prompting my involvement.

[Read more…]

On 31

May 4, 2013 by heidi 6 Comments

Quick disclaimer: April was a crazy busy month. I had a ton of work to complete, a triathlon, a visiting sister, visiting parents and a brief family vacation on Daytona Beach. I apologize for the two-week hiatus. Here’s what I should have posted on April 24 to commemorate Lance’s FIFTH BIRTHDAY, a milestone I let slip by with little acknowledgment.

Hey! The Lance turned 5! 35 in pug years! That’s like a big accomplishment for an easily distracted, moderately busy mommy blogger. Woop woop.

ANYWAY. I read this piece April 19 before a small crowd at CL Story Time: Birthday Edition in Tampa’s Ybor City. I wrote it nine days after my 31st birthday and 45 minutes before the start of the event. At 31, I’m finally making peace with my procrastination pattern, among other things.

AND in case you missed it, this is how I coped with last year’s 30th birthday woes.

—

¶  Last year I spent my birthday curled into a fetal position, sobbing quietly into a pillow. The voices in my head, sounded, on this particular day, a lot like Marge Simpson’s sisters crossed with my husband’s 95-year-old grandfather.

True to form, they were none too pleased with my despondency.

“You’re pathetic,” they rasped. “I’d give my left titty to be 30 again.”

As I sobbed, my infant son napping in the room next door, I glanced down at my left titty. It was visibly TWICE the size of my right titty.

Why? Because my breastfed child preferred the left boob to the right boob and because I subconsciously offered him the left more than the right so my stronger hand would be available for such important tasks as operating a remote control, reading an issue of Vogue, swigging from a bottle of Vodka (just kidding) or in some cases conducting a phone interview for work (not kidding).

After 10 months of exclusive breastfeeding, I was taking back my chest, which among some circles of mothers is considered sacrilegious. The healthiest, smartest, most benevolent children wean themselves. Didn’t I know that? Cutting my kid off early would cause irreversible damage to his psyche. Our bond would suffer and he’d grow distant and resentful. Formula would give him cancer, lead poisoning and cavities.

[Read more…]

To chase a career or a kid?

April 13, 2013 by heidi 10 Comments

Before I had Henry I was impatient with the world, critical of myself and sometimes of others.

I thought stay-at-home moms had it easy. Worse yet, I thought they were devoid of interests beyond the confines of motherhood. I pictured them schlepping kids from Gymboree class to play dates, dressed in yoga pants and a pained smile. I pictured them chained to the kitchen, the SUV, the laundry basket and the obligatory spin class. I pictured them dutifully scheduling time for mommy pep rallies that celebrate the pleasantries of breastfeeding, cloth diapering, baby wearing and holistic nutrition. (Dear Earth Mamas: I see nothing wrong with these things. As topics of discussion, however, I find them boring.)

I thought I’d lose my identity as a stay-at-home-mom. I thought I’d compromise my self-worth and freedom. I thought I’d be resentful of my husband and pissed at myself for having failed at being a working mother: the ultimate wonder woman. I thought I’d be considered a disgrace to the radical feminists who came before me and a quitter to the overachieving, have-it-all multitaskers of my generation.

Leaving my job at the newspaper would mean I’d dropped a significant ball in the heroic juggling act that is regularly executed by the modern working mother. I’d be forced to rethink everything I thought I’d do or wouldn’t do as a parent, as if you really know these things before you bring a tiny, demanding, Bambi-eyed being into this world.

I was wrong about working mothers AND stay-at-home mothers. (As an aside, I was right about yoga pants.)

[Read more…]

Some men can’t tell a lie

March 18, 2013 by heidi 6 Comments

Two true conversations – one recent and one not-so-recent:

When I was about 19, insecure and dating my high school sweetheart, I asked him if he thought I was chubby.

He replied, “You’re not chubby. You’ve just got a thin layer of fat on your stomach.”

I couldn’t argue with this assessment. It was true. And though his remark didn’t send me into a downward spiral of body hate, it certainly didn’t boost my ego. It stuck with me of course, not because it was purposefully hurtful, but because it was idiotically truthful.

Fast-forward to my marriage …

About two weeks ago, after walking out of the shower and glancing in the mirror, I noticed that my shoulders looked especially broad and my arms looked especially muscle-y in that she’s-built-like-a-tank kind of way.

So I asked Joe, “Do you think all this swimming is making my shoulders too broad?”

He replied, “You’ve always had shoulders like a linebacker. It’s one of the first things I noticed about you.”

At first I sighed. I’m a Hungarian shot put thrower. Then I grunted and flashed my teeth like a grizzly bear.

“Fine,” I growled. “All the better to kick your ass.”

The red drug balloon

February 7, 2013 by heidi 3 Comments

It’s the middle of the day, in the middle of the week. I’m without Henry. His grandparents have him for the day so I can work on a magazine story. I’m walking Cubbie, enjoying a break from my computer. The sun is in my eyes. The pug is especially pokey, stopping to sniff every tree trunk and urine-drenched blade of grass.

I’m plagued by things related to the magazine story, none of which I have any control over. I spot someone in the distance riding so slowly on a bicycle I wonder if they’re pedaling at all or miraculously stationary. The strangeness doesn’t stop there. The cyclist is holding a red balloon, stranger still.

As we get nearer I notice that the cyclist is young, a teenager. He looks like he’s 16, but then again I’m a terrible judge of age since I still think I’m 22. Despite this denial I’m old enough to make these three calls: he’s a kid, he should be in school and he’s up to no good.

[Read more…]

The Electric Bicycle Diaries: Turtle Porn

May 6, 2012 by heidi 4 Comments

My father recently started riding a motorized bicycle to work.

I’m pretty sure he’s the only fella in town with one of these things, so if you live in North Collins, N.Y. and a man buzzes past you at 20 mph with a lunchbox strapped to the back of his seat, it’s my dad.

He bought the bike last fall while visiting me in Florida. He got it second hand for $150. It originally cost $800, or so he says.

It took him five hours to properly disassemble it so it could be bubble wrapped, packaged and shipped via FedEx to New York.

It arrived broken.

My father, crestfallen, immediately began searching for replacement parts. Because he’s a veteran at fixing broken shit, he had his bike up and running within a few days. The only problem was it was winter and there was snow on the ground.

“I’ll just have to wait until spring,” he chirped enthusiastically.

Well guess what folks? Spring is here and my tool-and-die-maker father has been leaving his house at 5 a.m. and pedaling motoring through rural back roads like a blue collar Pee-wee Herman in steel-toed work boots and a reflective vest.

[Read more…]

A love letter in a Rubbermaid tote

March 24, 2012 by heidi 5 Comments

lace wig

I’ve never been a big fan of fate.

It’s a lazy ideology and an easy way to make sense of the fortunes and misfortunes that steer the course of our lives.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m a wistful dreamer with an overactive imagination; raised without a religion, save for the convictions I borrowed from a dog-eared copy of “The Little Prince.”

I’m not saying fate doesn’t exist. I’m just saying I’m better equipped at tempting it than I am at waiting for it to happen, because often it’s the choices we make (or don’t make) that decide our destiny.

I found proof of this a couple months ago buried under a stack of clothes in my bedroom closet.

A love letter in a Rubbermaid tote.

I came across it the way we often come across faded notes and old photographs: by accident, by chance, by fate or whatever you’d like to call it.

[Read more…]

Zen and the Art of Dining with Baby

February 13, 2012 by heidi 11 Comments

All I want for Valentine’s Day is to sleep until 9 a.m. and have breakfast served to me in bed.

Just putting it out there.

I’m happy to avoid a restaurant this year. Things haven’t been the same between me and restaurants since Henry arrived.

I used to regard eating out with the wide-eyed excitement of a child. Now I look at my wide-eyed child with the vacant look of a defeated adult. A table-for-two has little allure when your lunch companion has a penchant for tearing up napkins, overturning salt shakers and occasionally cawing like a seagull while wielding a slimy baby spoon like a drunk with a lighter at a Guns N’ Roses concert.

Until Henry pursues his degree in economics from Harvard we’ll probably never enjoy a civilized meal in public. And even then the experience will suck because he’ll be boring.

[Read more…]

S.O.S for expectant mothers

May 17, 2011 by heidi 5 Comments

I’m writing this in response to emails I’ve received from first-time expectant mothers.

How to avoid becoming Pregzilla:

10 tips to help you keep your wits during nine months of beautiful freakishness.*

…..

1. Don’t stuff your face the second you see a plus sign.

I get it. You’re pregnant. You’ve been granted a one-way ticket to weight-gainsville, so why wouldn’t you overindulge? After all, everyone around you keeps telling you that you’re eating for two — even women who’ve had children. You have the world’s blessing to pig out. At no other point in your life will people smile at you cutely as you order two double cheeseburgers and a bucket of french fries. Oh, she’s pregnant. Look at the pregnant woman eat. If I had a quarter pounder for every time someone told me that I should “take advantage” of being pregnant, I’d look like the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man. Seriously. For your well-being and your baby’s well-being, eat smart. That doesn’t mean you should sweat every pound. (See Pregnancy Confession No. 7.) Nor does it mean you should deny yourself every milkshake. (See my obsession with Reese’s Cups.) It just means you’ll likely feel better, look better and be happier if you at least AIM for the recommended 35-pound weight gain. BTW: The average preggo needs an extra 300 calories a day. That’s one Hershey’s bar. My advice for newly knocked-up mamas: eat small healthy meals and/or snacks all day. And by snacks I mean, fruits, vegetables, crackers, cheese, whole wheat toast and cereal. My favorite staple: peanut butter. The sooner you cut out junk food and processed crap, the sooner your body stops craving it. It’s easy to forget that every morsel of food you ingest travels down a pipeline that runs straight into your baby’s stomach. That’s a lot of f#@%ing responsibility. But so is motherhood, so get used to it. Look at being pregnant as going on a nine-month health food kick. Take “advantage” of it in that way.

TRY keeping frozen fruit bars in your freezer. They combat nausea, chocolate cravings and they’re low-cal.

[Read more…]

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Lance lately

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Oddities

Reading material

Wild by Cheryl Strayed Travels with Charley Home Game bossypants just kids the time travelers wife Boys Life The-Liars-Club My Uncle Oswald Stephen King On Writing

Me.

Heidi K

Joe.

Joe on guitar

Henry.

henry as werewolf

Chip.

Chippy in a cupboard

Buzzy.

Buzzy

Why Lance?

This blog is named after my old friend Sarah's manifestation of a dreamy Wyoming cowboy named Lance, because the word blog sounds like something that comes out of a person's nose.

About me

I'm a journalist who spends my Mondays through Fridays writing other people's stories, a chronic procrastinator who needs structure. I once quit my job to write a book and like most writers, I made up excuses why I couldn't keep at it.

My boyfriend fiancé husband Joe likes to sleep in late on the weekends, but since we have a kid now that happens less than he'd like.

Before Henry and Chip, I used to spend my mornings browsing celebrity tabloid websites while our dog snored under the covers. Now I hide my computer in spots my feral children can't reach because everything I own is now broken, stained or peed on.

I created Lance in an attempt to better spend my free time. I thought it might jump start a second attempt at writing a novel.

It hasn't. And my free time is gone.

But I'm still here writing.

I'm 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 and I've yet to get caught up in something else, which is kind of a big deal for a chronic procrastinator.

How I met Joe

If you're new here and looking for nirvana, read this post.

And if that’s not enough…

heidikurpiela.com

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