The Doldrums

As I sit here at Marvelous Market, alternately reviewing government documents that will continue to make my life hell for the next two months, facebooking, tweeting, and emailing what feel, like long-lost-friends, I'm in the Doldrums. Not the naval phenomenon, and not those Milo runs across in his wacky literary adventures (gold star if you get the reference), but the I-haven't-showered-or-washed-or-cut-my-hair-and-hate-everything-in-my-closet kind.

Part of it, if you've been following my tweets, is that I've been working ridiculous hours. I miss my kids and H, we have no food cooked in the house (popchips and Masala Art takeout are staples right now), and the last thing on my mind is putting together a reasonable outfit, let alone putting on makeup. I know better. I know that, if I've been working all night, haven't slept, and need to keep focusing, that showering, putting on makeup, and at minimum a coordinated outfit without babyfood stains will make me feel better. I learned that a long time ago, from a dear friend whom I will purposefully never see again. You've heard me say all this before, I know.

Part of it is that I've gained weight. A lot. I've matched my highest, pre-wedding (not baby-induced) weight. Which is not a good thing. I'd lost weight after Bean #2, but then gained it back. Eating like a pig and indulging as comfort...well, not helpful. I haven't made it to any kind of workout or yoga class in months. (I ran into my yoga teacher from last semester at Politics & Prose last week. She was, as every yoga instructor I've ever encountered is, kind, patient, and understanding. Which doubled my guilt at not going.) Nothing in my closet fits except for my "fat pants" and two pair of beloved LOFT cordorouy pants that fit like blessed gloves and miraculously don't make me feel like a sausage.

The last part is that I just don't have time. I don't have time to shop. I don't have time to iron. I don't have time to drop and pick up drycleaning on the 3 things I own that make me feel good. So I don't. I feel like crap because I can't be bothered. I haven't even bothered to wear my favorite shoes (lillybees, I'm lookin' at you, kids) because my months-old pedicure is so nasty that I can't even fake it under fishnets in peeptoes. So I wear my grey booties daily. Which is all fine and good in icky weather, but when the sun starts to peek out and buds (or bugs, as The Bean calls them) are flirting with breaking through their barked cocoons, grey ankle booties just won't cut it.

So I'm slowly plotting my return. Slowly, people. I can't take more than that. What's the plan, you ask? Well, it's been underway for a leeetle bit. And I'll keep you posted, but here we go...

1) Go out in public with real clothes and talk to non-work people. Check. I went to last week's launch of Jill Kargman's hilarious (laughed out loud during my bathroom reading) Sometimes I Feel Like a Nut at ginger. I squeezed myself into a girdle (let's face it, it's not a "shaper"), put on tights, lillybees, a dress (crazy, but now I can't even remember which one), and a vintage astrakhan coat from my MIL. I chatted with Jill, the incomparable Babsie D, and a lovely writer I've met before. Just three people, but they were people.

2) Get a haircut. Almost check. I see Jae today at 3pm.

3) Buy new shoes. Since I'm not happy with my body, I can play with my feet fashion. Almost check. Taking The Bean with me to the Georgetown simplysoles outpost today.

4) Get healthy. Ok. That's a much longer term one, but I'll get there. And if you have it in your hearts to help me, reminding me along the way, I'll take whatever support I can get.

5) Buy a few pieces I love NOW. Not for the future healthy me, but for the Rubenesque, Now Me. First stop: March 29 DSS.

6) Keep going. Even when I'm distracted or have relapses into UnshoweredWorld, I will get. back. on. the. wagon.

And I'll kiss the Doldrums goodbye.

No Good Excuse (or at least not one I want to admit)

I was so looking forward to the Momzillas book launch last night. Lovely Authoress Jill Kargman (of The Right Address and Wolves in Chic Clothing fame). Hosted by Town & Country, designed by Babsie D, hosted by 4 Fabulous Hostesses, and in one of my favorite parts of town.

So I carefully dressed yesterday morning, saving my most stylish M dress (thanks, MeghansMom, for the loan!*), and packing my makeup & brushes for a pre-event touchup.

I finished up the last work task I had to get out the door, promising to be back online after my "appointment," blotted the oil off my face, put on some lipstick, threw a scarf in my hair, and begged a ride from H (I love it when he's leaving the office at the same time as me).

We're jetting down Rock Creek Park, and Oooh!

That doesn't feel so good.

No, no premature labor or Braxton-Hicks. Nothing that dramatic or glamorous.

Gas.

The worst gas I've felt in a very, very, very long time.

Ooooooh!

Oh, so glamorous.

"We need to pull over somewhere. Now."

Fortunately, we were right by the turnoff at Virginia Avenue.

"A gas station?" he asks.

"Uh, no!" Eeeewww. Gas station bathrooms are so gross.

"The Watergate. The hotel at the Watergate. I'm pregnant. They have to be nice to me." I do have standards, you know.

"Huh?"

I repeat.

"Oh. We just missed the turn."

"The Kennedy Center."

"Do they have nice bathrooms?"

"I don't care. It's close."

So he pulls in, the doorman opens the door for me (that's service, even when writhing in pain), and I dash in, down the escalator, and through the doors. It's excrutiatingly far away.

Score. The big stall is free.

Much better.

Uh...

Let's just say that I was fortunate two nice ladies came in in relatively short order. I was pondering how I could dash into the next stall without being seen. Fortunately, too, they were nice, and spared multiple squares.

Ladies, I'm eternally grateful.

Eons later, I make my way out to the car, where H is, uh, patiently waiting (read: on the cell phone with work, not answering my call. Good thing there wasn't actually anything wrong with me, his pregnant wife.)

So that's the story of why I didn't get to attend the evening's festivities. I've heard that they were stupendous. And that my Saltines and plain rice were no match for the munchies available at Ralph's Chevy Chase "abode."

Authoress Kargman signing her work in front of cool Ralph Ts for women sporting lovely spring prints. Photo: Abby Greenawalt

The Kennedy Center bathrooms, by the way, are perfectly acceptable, and good to remember if you're ever in the area.

And I promise a review of Momzillas when I get a chance.

*One of the best things about impending motherhood is the Sharing of Clothes. We women should do it more often, quite frankly. I wouldn't be able to get to work comfortably and happily without the help of my friends.