Confessions Of A Domestic Failure. Bunmi Laditan

in four days and I was kind of okay with it. That’s what deodorant is for, right? Right now, I had six layers of Lady Smells Bad antiperspirant on my underarms. It’s strong enough for a man but pH balanced for a mom who can’t find the time to wash her privates.

      I smelled like a cross between sheets that were put away wet and very expensive cheese.

      I checked my bank statement after this “grocery” shop, and do you know what stood out? Every third line was either for vanilla lattes or Burger Central. The only two food groups I consumed were caffeine and fast food. It wasn’t my fault, though. Junk food and caffeine were all that were keeping me going. I needed these treats to make it through the day. I didn’t get to sleep anymore, there was no “me” time, I didn’t have friends—the value menu, sweet caffeinated beverages and wine were currently pleasure central and I would not apologize for it. My pants might, though, because they were stretched to capacity.

      PS: Emily would announce the twelve Motherhood Better Bootcamp winners on her show in a couple of days. She said they received over 7,000 entries. Please fairy godmother, come through for me.

      11 P.M.

      Motherhood is an ashram; our religion is love, diaper changes and sleepless nights. This begins with pregnancy. Speak to and dance with your unborn baby every day—preferably to music that features either harps or Tibetan gongs.

      —Emily Walker, Motherhood Better

      Fun fact: Did you know that some women take their placenta home with them after giving birth? Some send it away to be freeze-dried into capsules and others eat it raw, like sashimi...supposedly it helps balance out the hormones and make you feel like a normal person again faster.

      I was on the Mommy Chat online message board complaining about how tired and emotional I always am, as one does on a Friday night post baby, and someone asked if I’d eaten mine. I said no, and she responded with, “That explains everything.”

      Really? So motherhood would be easier for me if I’d just cooked up the afterbirth like Bolognese and served it over linguini with a side of garlic bread?

      Joy’s neighbor buried her placenta in their backyard under a tree. If you bury a placenta under an apple tree, are the fruits then an apple/placenta hybrid? If you bury it in a vineyard, would the wine have hints of afterbirth?

      Sommelier in a fancy restaurant: “This full-bodied pinot grigio hails from Napa Valley. It was aged in maple oak barrels. You’ll notice hints of elderberry and subtle notes of the placenta of a seven-pound six-ounce child.”

      Maybe I should have kept my placenta. The birthing center offered, but between figuring out how to install the car seat, heal my broken vagina and oh, yeah, trying to wrap my mind around the fact that a human baby was coming home with me, I’d felt like I had enough on my plate (no pun intended).

      I was fascinated by the thing, though.

      It was way bigger than I thought it would be. In my mind I imagined a pork chop but it was more like a blobby T-bone steak. It had all kinds of veins on it. An old high school friend on Facebook dipped her wet, bloody placenta into red paint and threw it against a canvas. The art now hangs in her family room.

      No comment.

      If I had taken my placenta, what would I have brought it home in? A freezer bag? Do they put it in a to-go box like restaurant leftovers? Wrap it in foil or maybe drop it into a Styrofoam box complete with utensils, and salt and pepper packets?

      Mom to nurse: “Can I have this wrapped up? I’m taking it with me.”

      There was a whole section of the Mommy Chat website, I was discovering now, dedicated to placenta recipes. Smoothies, cakes, even stir fry. STIR FRY. Bok choy, onions, bean sprouts and thinly sliced placenta. Maybe a little Chianti on the side?

      This was way too much for me. I should go to bed.

      The contestants chosen for the Motherhood Better Bootcamp program would be announced tomorrow live on the show. If I hear my name I am going to absolutely freak.

       Saturday, January 26, 10 A.M.

      Of course Emily had to keep everyone on their toes until the last sixty seconds of her show. Well, I didn’t make it into the Motherhood Better Bootcamp, but I wasn’t going to let it get to me. Emily said something on her show today that really struck me. “I wasn’t born a good mom, I willed myself into one.” All I needed to do was try harder. I needed to put the same energy that I once put into my job into motherhood.

      I had Emily’s book. I could do this on my own. I decided to embark on a mission called Ashley the Perfect-ish Mom. First thing in the morning I was going to join a gym (or at least research gyms), eat healthy and be the best, most attentive mom ever.

      It was time for me to stop living in dirty sweats and move up to the fancy $10 stretch pants from ShopMart. I was going to start dressing up Aubrey like a human and not a Les Misérables extra. I was browsing Etsy right then, picking out some bows. She needed them. I’m not saying she looked like a boy, but I swear she could be sitting in a pink stroller, wearing a pink and purple dress, with a fluorescent flashing sign that read, I’M FEMALE, and people would still ask “How old is your son?”

      Anyway, maybe I’d even start juicing once I figured out exactly what that was and if mix-ins like tequila were allowed (tequila is from a plant).

      I had this.

      Impossible Goal of the Day: Get accepted into a group of mom friends, or at least make one awesome best friend sometime this century.

      I joined three local mom Facebook groups but hadn’t posted yet.

      What would I even say?

      Hey guys, friendless mom looking for a new bestie. Need someone to share secrets with? I’m your gal!

      Maybe something a little more subtle.

      Lonely, unemployed, reluctant stay-at-home mom looking for 2–3 moms for my mama bear pack. Must be cool, love complaining, not be a YES Wrap representative and be imperfect. Must NOT have a Pinterest account.

      I know the last part sounds harsh, but I don’t need a crafter in my life. You know why? Because it’ll only be a matter of time before I’ve spent $500 on yarn, crotchet needles, puff paints and a glass-etching kit in a sad, futile attempt to become her. I’m too easily influenced to have these bad seeds in my emotional space. I need another sister in failure. Someone who not only fails to achieve resolutions but forgets she even made them. Yeah. Someone like that. A leader.

      Being a new mom is like being a freshman in high school. You have just a few days to find your clique and commit to the corresponding lifestyle. So far, the available groups are:

      1 Crunchy Moms

      2 Stay-at-Home Moms

      3 Working, Executive-Type Ambitious Moms

      4 Moms Who Hate Their Jobs But Do Them Anyway

      5 Wine Moms

      6 Hot Moms

      There’s a bit of overlap here and there, but so far I haven’t found one that I identify with and, therefore, still have exactly zero friends. It’s getting a little old walking Aubrey through the park alone, especially when it seems like there are groups of moms gathered all over the place, laughing, smiling, being best friends and sharing stories about their kids. I want to share stories about kids. Someone should invent a match.com just for moms who want to find their life mom-mate.

      It seems like once you’re an adult, if you don’t already have your friends picked out, you’re screwed. Nobody makes new friends after twenty-seven.

      I miss my office friends, but since I had Aubrey, they’ve all vanished. I don’t blame them. Given the choice, who would want to spend an afternoon at the park with me and Aubrey when they could be getting manicures? I just wish they would have kept in touch more than