MPS and I had an “oh shit” moment on Sunday night.  The condom broke.  The condom didn’t break a little.  It exploded.  This is my first experience EVER with a condom breaking.  Obviously I know that condoms can break, I didn’t think they actually do break.  And I thought we were doing awesome not using withdrawal as our only form of birth control.

I had no idea the condom broke.  MPS wasn’t as shocked as me and sheepishly said, “Well, I thought maybe it did b/c all of sudden it started feeling really amazing (he’s not pro-condom, but he’s even more anti-BCP b/c I become a raving lunatic on BCP). “

There’s no way I could handle another baby.  Could you imagine 3 babies under the age of 16 months???  Absolute horror…

I asked MPS, “Should I take the morning after pill?”  His response was, “It was only one time.   Let’s wing it!”  Thankfully, we aren’t 16 year olds having sex and my life is not an ABC afternoon special.  MPS and I have a very relaxed approach to birth control.  It was hard getting pregnant and staying pregnant with Tubby and Bubby.  I definitely feel like I have natural birth control.  But, I did get pregnant once without fertility drugs.  So my body can ovulate on its own.  I could get pregnant.  Many times a successful pregnancy can fix any fertility issues.  If we keep shit like this up, Chubby will be on his or her way.

Luckily my first period post baby showed up yesterday.

***I like the idea of 3 or 4 kids.  MPS wants a third baby hardcore.  I think I’m losing by mind by even typing this.  I don’t want a minivan…

I’m ready and waiting for MPS’ arrival.

This is a bonafide bitchfest.

I hate the rain.  I hate the cold. I hate not being able to go outside on a 5 mile stroller walk everyday b/c of the fuggin’ weather.

The babies are adorable but they’re screwing up my sex life.  They don’t like to go to bed and start screaming when mommy and daddy get freaky.  I’m not having sex everyday.  I’m not orgasming everyday.  3-4 times a week is NOT cool.  I don’t know how to remedy this situation.

My vagina sucks.  I haven’t had time to pluck.  I can’t tend to my pussy b/c the girls are so damn needy and clingy.  All I want is a few hours to myself where I can pluck every individual hair off the va-ja-ja. My bush is out of control…

I don’t remember the last time I was able to finish a novel!  I miss reading.  I miss going out on the town.  I miss life pre-babies.

Damnit, I need my mom so that MPS and I have a night off from parenting.

And I miss Los Angeles, desperately.  I may have seasonal affective disorder.  *Sigh*  I hate Prozac — it’s so hard for me to cum while on Prozac due to delayed orgasm (a side effect of the drug).

***Aren’t I a stupid bitch?  If some chick who is doing IVF reads my blog she is going to want to punch me really hard in the ovaries.

Fuck. Withdrawal is not working.  At 30 years old with 2 babies, I shouldn’t be considering the morning after pill.

I love Halloween and I adore costumes.  I have a French maid lingerie set.  I think it’s time to bust it out when I’m alone with MPS tonight.

I should be thinking about appropriate birth control versus lingerie, but I’m fantasizing about tickling his butt with a duster……………….  and this is how I’ll end up with chubby.

I live in Washington, DC — this is the land of jobs for me.  I was a former federal employee and have mad good references and did a kick ass job at my old position.  I held a senior position at my former gig.  I was a federal employee for over 4 years.

I don’t know if I want to work now or not.

All of my thoughts at this moment are driven by fear.  FEAR.

I absolutely love being a mom.  I love my babies.  I also love having mad free time.  So staying at home is pretty kick ass.  But I feel like a fucking loser being a stay at home mom.  Yes I said it, I feel like a LOSER.  I don’t know why I need a career to feel good about myself, but I do.

I’m so desperately afraid that I will be completely unmarketable in a few years when the kids go to school.  I’m afraid no one will hire me since my resume will grow stale.  Changing a diaper in 15 seconds isn’t a skill I can add to my resume.  I’m terrified that my choice to opt out of the work place now will screw me tomorrow.

Do I want to work now?  No.  I’m tired dudes.  The babies are a handful.  Plus, I need free time.  I just don’t think I could balance marriage, mothering, work, ME time and a social time.  I want it all.  I want everything to be mine.  I want to be the sexy wife that fucks her husband every night, plays/teaches the kids and laugh with them, makes gourmet dinners, has a kick ass job and goes out drinking wine with the girls.  Let’s add finding inner zen to the list.  I want it all.

A part-time job would be so ideal.  Why can’t I find one?  What do I want to do when I grow up?  I want the kind of job that I swoon over.  I want to love my job so hardcore that I want to cuddle with it.

Why did I just fill out another application for a full-time federal job?  Why do I scroll through USAJobs like a fiend?  What the fuck am I doing?  I’m so utterly confused.

**I know that I have choices and tons of folks out there don’t.  I should feel better about having choices.  But I don’t.  The choices are making my life difficult b/c I just don’t know what I want right now or should be doing.

MPS and I were out shopping for warm clothes, as we have none.  The girls were in their double jogging stroller.  Of course the girls were spitting up, it’s what they do best, and I bent over them cleaning up the mess.  2 ladies ooh and aah over the girls.

Lady 1:  They are so beautiful!  You’re a lucky dad!!

MPS:  Thank you.

Lady 2:  How old are they?

Me:  3 months

Lady 1:  Wait, they’re yours? [directing the question to me]

Me:  Uhmmmm.. yeah.

Lady 1 to Lady 2:  Oh, she is the mom….

Lady 2:  Oh [Look of shock]

WTF??? I was standing right next to MPS.  MPS doesn’t look older than me.  I was cleaning up milk spit up.  Why would I be doing that if I wasn’t the mom???  Tubby looks just like me for gawd’s sake.  People being shocked that the girls are mine is getting super old.

Everyday, someone asks me if I’m the mother.  Every fucking day.  Do I dress like a nanny in my skinny Lucky jeans and Ugs?  Seriously, every fucking day.  Ridic.

So, I had this huge jeans issue.  I considered returning my size 24 (double zero) Lucky jeans and getting a size 25 (zero).  The gay boys at Dupont Circle convinced me to keep my double zero jeans.

My jeans have stretched out b/c they’re 2% lycra.  The thighs are pretty loose.  The waist is definitely loose.  They are definitely NOT tight. They’re comfie. There is absolutely no muffin top at all.  I was out of my mind.

So, my girls aren’t as brown as me.  One is really freaking pale with green eyes (so far!), like her dad.  The other is a very light tan.  I’m crayola brown.   I wouldn’t think this would confuse people.  I mean, why assume that my husband or the baby daddy is the same color as me?  Granted, most people don’t assume South Asians are white as my husband with green eyes.  Fine.  But still, I live in a metropolitan area, people can assume that I married a white boy.  Right??

Clearly not.

Everyday.  I mean every fucking day.  Someone asks me, “Are those your babies?”  I think this a bizarre question.  I would never ask a woman pushing a stroller, “are those your babies?”  It’s fucking absurd and rude.

Yesterday I was on the metro.

Lady:  So you’re taking the babies out for a walk?

Me:  Yes!

Lady:  They are so beautiful!  How old are they?

Me:  Thank you.  They are almost 3 months old!

Lady:  So are you the nanny or the mom?

Me:  Uhm… I’m the mom.

Lady:  Oh.

Sure, I’m rocking a double zero right now.  [I still don't understand how my body is smaller postpartum.]  I can see how a lot of people don’t expect a woman giving birth to twins to be as small as me.  They need to be taught etiquette.  Something along the lines of, “You look amazing for having just given birth to twins,” would suffice.

I had a huge hole in the crotch of my favorite jeans (Lucky in the Sundown style).  Plus the jeans [Size Zero/25] were really big, I can pull them off without unbuttoning my pants.  So this weekend in NYC, PB and I hit the stores.

Finding the perfect jeans is one of the highlights of my life.  I don’t have an ass.  I have skinny legs.  I have zero hips — yes, think pre-pubescent boy.  I tend to drown in many jeans — they’re baggy and I look like I fit in a rap video.

I hate to admit this, but I’m into the skinny jeans.  I like being able to tuck my jeans in my Ugs or wear them with a pair of flats or heals.  A wide leg just won’t do.  I looked like a fucking moron in the Lucky Lola Skinny.  I looked like I had chicken legs and was potentially starving to death.  Uhm, that’s not sexy.

The Lucky Zoe Skinny was a much better fit.  The jeans are low rise, slim fit and skinny.  It only has 2% lycra or stretch and even though it’s a skinny jean, my legs looked not as skinny (if that makes sense).  Plus, I definitely look like I have an adorable little ass in the Zoe.  But dude, the jeans are fucking low.  The back is raised a little higher so no panty lines aka the thong show.  I can’t imagine how people wear ultra low rise, low rise is low enough! I don’t want to go around flashing my crotch.

So the Size Zero (25 waist) was too big.  My thighs, ass and hips were far too small.  Low rise rests on the hips.  So I tried on the Double Zero (24 waist) and it actually fit.  I purchased them in NYC.

But then I had a freak out in DC.  Holy Shit, do I have a muffin top?  Holy Shit.  I’m down to 111 lbs, 2 1/2 months postpartum.  I’m not trying to lose anymore weight or anything crazy like that.  My tummy is flat and slightly fit (I have the 2 lines coming down my abs but nothing crazy hardcore).  Now, no flesh is spilling over my jeans.  It’s just that I’m constantly pulling my jeans up.  And there’s 1/8″ or 1/16″ of skin the jeans pulls on if I don’t yank the jeans up.  So when the jeans pull on my skin, there’s an itsy bitsy spill over of skin.  I started thinking maybe these jeans are just too fucking small.  I mean, I’m 30 years old, I just don’t expect to fit into Double Zero jeans.  I simply don’t.

So then I started googling like crazy.  I started reading post after post how women buy jeans too small in order to feel good about themselves and it makes them look like shit.  A thin girl tries to squeeze into an even smaller jean and looks like shit.  Fuck no, I didn’t want to be any of those girls.

So I went to the Lucky store @ Dupont Circle.  I ran into the store and shouted, “I think I have a muffin top.”  The sales rep were all entertained [side note, I think I could do a reality tv show] and gathered around my dressing room.  I came out and everyone thought I was a lunatic.  I was told, “Girl, you are too small for a Zero,”  “You are tiny, that is the perfect fit,”  “Uhm, what muffin top are you talking about.”

I walked out feeling confident.  So now I’m on the Lucky website and I look the same in my jeans as does the model wearing the Zoe Skinny. So skin is not fat, pulling of skin is not muffin top.

The take home [b/c this was the info I was looking for on my google search]:

1. Ya definitely have to yank your pants up all the time.  My ass or crotch are not exposed or anywhere close to being exposed.  But there’s 2% lycra in the jeans and they stretch out.  When the waist of the jeans lies on your hips, ya gotta constantly do the yanking game. Just b/c it feels better not for exposure reasons.
2. It may take a day for the skinny jeans to fit your body properly.  Remember it stretches.  If I purchased a Zero, it would stretch out to almost a 26 and I’d look like a fool.
3. There’s a difference between fat on the belly and skin.  The jeans are super tight, it pulls against the skin. That’s skin, not fat.  No one else notices it.  Not even the gay boys in Dupont Circle [b/c I did show them my belly and even pulled my top up].  So relax, it’s not a muffin top.
4. Buy long long tank tops.  Seriously, don’t show off the belly like it’s the 90’s.
5. Higher the rise, the less skinny the jeans.  So higher rise jeans generally means a looser fit.  That’s not a bad thing at all, but it’s not going to be the skinny look or the perfect look to tuck into boots.

I have a love hate relationship with these jeans.  I objectively look good in them, I just don’t know if I feel good in them.  They make me second think a dark chocolate brownie in the middle of the night, I don’t like that.  Now I’m tempted to wake my husband up from his slumber to discuss all this with him…. he may just lose his mind.

It’s not situational, based on the type of job.  Some people simply just are.