Jay Miranda

Good Taste, Mom Life, Homeschooling

“But I Never Went to Paris”

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—This was one of the first things that crossed my mind when I first learned I was pregnant. For about a minute I contemplated buying plane tickets immediately just so I could be in Paris with my husband before the baby arrived. But the thought of being in Paris without the ability to drink wine was too heartbreaking to think of, so my dream was quickly quashed. I know this is a silly worry – is it? And maybe even a little selfish, which in mommy blog world is pretty much a cardinal sin, “Thou shalt always think of your child first.” Clearly, I was off to a bad start. Would my child one day see me as her own Lucille Bluth?

And what’s so great about that French city anyway? I guess because I’ve only been there in my mind. Maybe I’ve been hooked ever since I read the children’s book Madeline, which is really strange when you think of it. Tell me you got appendicitis at boarding school and I don’t think, “oh how charming!” It must have been those dreamy illustrations. And it’s been figurative illustrations ever since. Oh, to see Paris with my own eyes, not just through Hemingway, James, Dickens, or Baldwin. Or it would be just likethe film Midnight in Paris and time would blur and the sky would actually turn into Van Gogh’s Starry Night.
 
Of course, there’s no where else to stay but the Plaza Athénée, just like Carrie Bradshaw—because if you’re going to Paris you might as well go all the way to Paris. And lots of wine and laughter and love. That’s how I imagine myself in France. So you see that fiction, reality, and dreaminess have all thoroughly mixed together in my mind, like a 10AM cocktail swirling in mother Bluth’s hand (with toast!). I confided in my mother about my worries about my future non-existent travel. She told me exactly what I needed to hear: “Oh darling, you can still do all those things and I will watch your baby if ever you need a vacation alone with John.” Thanks mom.
So maybe the dream is not dashed, just delayed. For now, here’s a peek into my Parisian style imagination, in which I prance around the City of Light with my friends Isabel Marant, Vanessa Bruno, and Sonia Rykiel.
A leopard heel that can be worn day or night. A lacy camisole to pair with a striking pair of pants. A romantic, semi sheer dress. An oversized black coat for chilly nights out. The quintessential striped top and an amazing pair of studded boots.
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This post was originally written for another blog but I am reprinting here. The links are out of date but the ideas aren’t. I wrote this when I still pregnant. I still see myself in Paris one day, but Julia is there too.

On Time, Babies, and Lattes

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Sometimes I wish I could go back in time and shake my pre-mommy self into working more. In retrospect, I had so much time back then. Being a work-at-home mom sometimes feels like a comedy of errors:

My day starts at 7AM when the baby wakes but let me fast-forward to around 10AM when I decide to work. Alright, the baby is playing quietly in her swing? Great! Let me get some work done. I get everything ready and I start working: I’m reading over some documents, I glance over at the baby, glance back to the documents.

Look at me, I’m such a modern mom!

But quiet time only lasts 10 minutes. Sigh. I unbuckle baby out of the swing and nurse her for 15 minutes until she falls asleep. I place her gently in her crib and sit down in front of my laptop. Now hmmm, why doesn’t anticipatory repudiation apply to unilateral contracts? Ohh wait I suppose that if the deal is such that… Wahhhh!

I tip toe to the bedroom and peep inside at the edge of the door. The baby catches my eye and flails her arms as if to say “Hurry!” I pick baby up. Really, just a 30 minute nap? She lays her head softly onto my shoulder, head of curls a mess. Yes, I can rock you for a little while until you wake up fully.

Once baby is awake she sits in her Bumbo, a baby-sized seat made of some kind of rubbery foam. There she watches The Chica Show, about a puppet chicken that communicates in squeaks and works in a magical costume shop.

While baby is entertained I shall make myself a salad. Feeling ambitious, I even make my own salad dressing whipping up dijon, honey, and balsamic vinegar. I chop up a small avocado. I slice two dates and crumble some goat cheese. Ah, a beautiful and nutritious meal.

Look at me eating things I bought at the Farmer’s Market, I’m such a natural mom!

Let me just sit down to—wwwahhh!—Well, ok baby, I can hold you on my lap while I eat my salad. I eat quickly. It’s nursing time again. I sit in repose cradling the baby as the sun floods in. I pull out my phone. I check Instagram. I scroll through beautiful lives of my single, childless friends. Look down to pajama pants and bare feet.

How about a book? I read her favorite, Brown Bear, Brown Bear, What do You See? I make distinct voices for each animal, because I care about showmanship. I pretend to be Maggie Smith when I do the duck voice.

Now baby is calm, but still far from sleep. I switch the television to Pandora and Fiona Apple’s Across the Universe plays. I sway, spin, and loop around the room with baby in my arms. Baby squeals with laughter when I lift her into the air as I sing, “Nothing’s gonna change my worlddd…” She smiles at me with big brown eyes and raises her own baby arms.

After a few songs, I put baby down on her baby mat. Finally, a bit more quiet time. What time is it? ONLY 11:30? Oh god, when is my husband getting home? Focus. Read, write. Solid 30 minutes. Catch baby rubbing eyes. Better pick her up before she gets overtired.

Look at me, I’m such an intuitive mom!

Place sleeping baby on bed. Sneak out to laptop. A glorious hour session of work while baby naps. Text from John: “Be home late today. (encouraging emojis)” Great. Baby wakes up. But! I receive a windfall: my sister visits and agrees to watch the baby. I quickly change into actual clothes and actual shoes. No time to do my hair I hope people think I intended to look messy. I pack my blush pink leather bag and head to a nearby cafe.

I feel incredibly indulgent. I order an iced latte. Dig through my bag for wallet and find a stray baby sock. Pay cash. Sit at a long table facing a big window. Look at me working at a cafe with an iced drink and no baby, I feel like a less glamourous, more sleepy Nicolette Mason. I could order a macaron and totally Instagram it. But I don’t. At the cafe I get three whole hours of work before heading back to find a sleeping baby. She wakes as I enter the room. It’s nice to get a break but I still miss her when I’m away.

Look at me being a mom.

What a long winded way to tell you I wore these pink chinos from ASOS curve that make me happy, random striped top, F21 necklace, ASOS sunglasses, and Cole Haan spectator pumps for my afternoon outside.

Love Story

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I wanted a love story. The sort of aching, vulnerable, reluctant-but-inevitable-submission-into love found in the pages of Jane Eyre or Pride and Prejudice. I thought love would be poetry and English fields, even though I’ve never even been to England and nor did I marry Mr. Darcy.

The occasion of the day inspires me to put my feelings to ink. And I have so many of them. I lay awake at night and wonder: how many stories go untold? Why are women islands? I have so many stories to tell. Women and mothers—we have a story to tell.

So I got pregnant. And it was a big f—ing deal. Where’s the Walt Whitman, James Joyce, or Mark Twain of pregnancy?

I know, I know. Brilliant women all over the world become mothers and become so busy being mothers that there is hardly time to talk or write or make art about being mothers. And it makes me think there’s a great chasm in our culture because of it. Our stories should be told. Then one day I realized: they are told. A mother will sing her song to her child.

What story did your mother tell you and in what tone? Was it mellifluous and honeyed, sour, reticent, or dreamy? Love is a story. The absence of love is a story. Children grow up to be the bearers of those stories, for better or worse.

I remember my high school English teacher told us you can only really write about something you know and right now I am so intimately aware of my experience as a mother that I cannot escape writing about it. If prompted, motherly musings pour out of me.

First: I know I am not alone. I read stories about mothers crying in locked bathrooms or screaming in their cars, just to get through their day. I read even more stories about the quiet desperation of so many mothers. These women are everywhere and nowhere because these things are messy, don’t fit the ideal of motherhood, get labeled postpartum depression or something else that can be quickly dismissed as other. And even if that’s not exactly my story, it is one story and it’s a worthy story too.

Whence does a mother begin? The question reminds of the heap paradox from my undergrad philosophy class. No single grain of sand makes a heap. A couple grains of sand do not equal a heap. But eventually, you’re a heap. My mother told me you begin to be a mother during labor. That pain, she told me, is what made us mothers. I remember my labor pains even though my doctor told me I would forget them. Contractions felt like stabbing. Not like a bunch of little knives. Like one big knife pushing against my whole body. I was Sisyphus pushing a sharp rock, every 2 minutes. Oh, and I disagree with my mother.

For me, motherhood did not begin at labor. It began the moment immediately after I pushed my baby into the world and she was placed on my chest, writhing and perfect, and looked at me for the first time, eyes like blue almonds. I looked back into those eyes and she was the big bang, a cosmic singularity, Plato’s unmoved mover. All that contained in one seven pound, ten-ounce baby girl. My life was destroyed and assembled back together again in an instant.

I remember my life before becoming a mother. It was pretty indulgent. There was good food, good sex, cynicism, money, and different states of momentary intoxication. Ah, and what may be the biggest indulgence of all: the freedom to not care. At least not more than about myself – and hey, maybe not even about myself sometimes. But that’s not life anymore, that’s all gone. No one really talks about that to pregnant women. It’s not in the What to Expect book.

Since having a baby I feel like I am become halved and my baby is the other half. It’s this feeling that compels me to avoid drinking, drugs, frivolous purchases, and pushes me to obtain things like vitamins and life insurance. In a very real way, my life is no longer my own. It’s hers too. And there’s the rub. That’s what’s hard to accept as a woman who enjoys having an independent identity. And yet, while I do sometimes miss that part of my life, going back to my former life would probably be the worst thing that could happen to me. Because there would be a baby-sized hole in that alternate future.

See, my life had meaning pre-baby. But Julia has added purpose to my life unlike anything else. Through her eyes I’m seeing the world for the first time again. She inspires me to become the person I want to be, makes me think I can still change the world. Life is harder and more wonderful than ever.

And she is poetry come alive. Sometimes she is Bukowski, spitting and growling, sometimes she’s as disarming as a Brontë passage, and sometimes she’s a little bit Neruda when I catch her smiling in her sleep and I can tell she’s dreaming. I wanted a love story and quite unexpectedly I find myself in the middle of one.

jaymirandababy

Plus Size Pregnancy and Maternity Wear

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plus size maternity

plus size maternity

When I was pregnant I got lots of questions about plus size maternity. I learned that plus size maternity options were almost nonexistent. But don’t lose hope! Here’s what I learned.

  • Your body might not change for a couple months or it might change fast, so don’t buy lots of stuff all at once.
  • Embrace the baby bump! Unless you’re that Duggar lady, you will only be pregnant once or max, a few times in your life. Don’t spend that time worrying about your changing body. Healthy baby, happy mama.
  • Less is more: pick versatile items that can work across trimesters or even into post-partum.
  • Some of your pre-pregnancy clothing might still work for you, especially if you have oversized or stretchy items in your closet.
  • I wore heels sometimes, but not for long and not late into pregnancy. Invest in a good pair of flats or sandals. It’s ok to hang on to your personal style, but eventually let go and come to the comfy side (yes, let the comfort flow through you…)
  • Remember to plan ahead depending on what season you have your final trimester. I was mighty pregnant in the summer and light cottons became my favorite thing.
  • Take lots of photos! You will want to remember this time later.
  • The usual plus size retail options will have clothing that can work: look for jersey, cotton, or shapes that are flexible. You may need to size up.
  • Decide if you like demi, half, or full panels. I never really found a paneled pant I liked because they rolled down. So shop around.
  • Check out some of the few plus size maternity options: Old Navy, Motherhood, SimplyBe. I found some affordable basics at Target.
  • Don’t underestimate the power of yoga pants. I packed a bunch into my hospital bag (my favorite are the fold-down style). These are also essential in the weeks after baby’s arrival.
  • Your hospital bag should also include a wrap or long cardigan, nursing tops or other pajama style button ups, slippers, a pack of huge underwear (Laugh now – but trust me. Hanes classic cotton work great or grab a bunch from Cacique during a sale; you might discard them soon after post-partum), basically everything focused on comfort for the days immediately after your baby’s birth. Here is a good hospital bag list.
  • If you plan to breastfeed your baby, buy a few nursing tops/camisoles and bras around month 8 (size up because your bust will grow). I’m pro-breastfeeding, and while it is hard at first, being as ready and informed as possible can help you move through the hard period. For more breastfeeding info and support check out the sidebar of links here.
  • Remember that in the days after you have your baby your body is going through lots of changes. Don’t listen to anything or anyone about how fast you need to drop baby weight. If you feel the need to shut down negative body talk immediately, please go ahead! Many women lose a lot of weight in the first month after giving birth. But not all. It’s ok if it takes longer and it’s ok and normal if your body just looks different post-pregnancy. Don’t be hard on yourself, your body just did an amazing thing! You are powerful. You’re sort of a life-giving goddess. Best wishes for mama and baby.

If you have any questions or advice, whether you are pregnant, planning to conceive, or a new or experienced mom, please feel free to share in the comments. xo

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