Confessions Of A Domestic Failure. Bunmi Laditan

Maybe there are so many moms that they wear name tags when getting to know one another.

      She led me to the living room where eight other moms with babies in their laps and toddlers walking around aimlessly were watching a video on the large flatscreen. The woman showed me to the only seat left available. At that point, I wondered what we were doing, but I saw Isabel smiling at me from the left of the television screen and figured this was some kind of chick flick movie time.

      Then the film started. Wait no, the INFOMERCIAL started.

      A woman in a bikini wearing some kind of linen girdle popped up on the screen. “Are you ready to feel sexy again?”

      That’s when I started to feel like an idiot.

      “In just three hours you’ll feel the YES Wrap start to shrink your belly fat and trim your waistline! Get ready for a lean, mean tummy! I love my YES Wraps and you will, too!”

      I watched in stunned horror for the next twenty minutes as women mummified their abdomens while animated fat cells floated out of their bodies. Finally the video went to black and Isabel walked to the front of the room holding a green and white box with YES Wrap emblazoned on the sides.

      “Does anyone have any questions?”

      I knew I shouldn’t have raised my hand, but I couldn’t help it.

      “Is this the playdate?” I asked.

      Isabel fake smiled at me. “Absolutely! I’ve invited all of you here to make some friends and learn about a product that has helped moms around the world lose weight naturally.”

      I went on. “Right. So you invited me—no, targeted me—because you think I’m fat?”

      The fake smile didn’t fade but her eyes flickered.

      She shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “I didn’t target you. I shop at BabyOutlet all the time with my nephew.”

      At this point I may have snapped. “HE’S NOT EVEN YOUR SON? YOU’RE NOT EVEN A MOM?”

      I don’t know what came over me. The humiliation turned into hot, searing anger.

      “I MAY NOT HAVE A TIGHT STOMACH BUT AT LEAST I’M NOT A LIAR. YOU CAN STICK YOUR WRAPS UP YOUR—” then I noticed the kids in the room “—BUTT!”

      Isabitch started to speak but I ripped off my name tag and a patch of my dress at the same time, grabbed Aubrey’s car seat and stormed out, but not before scooping up my box of doughnuts. I ate five of them this afternoon and another two after dinner. So much for a lean, mean tummy.

      Joy texted to ask how the playdate went. I said it was a blast. She wants to come to the next one.

      Just my luck that when a (fake) mom wants to get to know me it’s because she thinks I could stand to lose a few pounds and she wants to make a few bucks off me in the process.

      FML.

       Friday, January 25, 10 A.M.

      Visualize what you want out of your mommy life. Just because you’ve had kids doesn’t mean you can’t live the reality of your dreams. My five children, beautiful husband and I take two tropical beach vacations a year thanks to the power of intention.

      —Emily Walker, Motherhood Better

      I was shaking off the predatory playdate. I needed to move on. I needed to put my energy elsewhere.

      Wishes For My Fairy Godmother.

       - Take 25lbs off of my body. Not boobs or butt, please, and not via some playdate marketing scam

       - Give them to Suzy Wexler (kidding)

       - Make sure Aubrey grows up to be happy, healthy and safe (move that to the top)

       - Make me a great housewife

       - World peace (move that to second place)

       - End famine (move this up, too)

       - Delete Facebook.com

       - Pass a law that all boxes of diapers should be accompanied with a Buy One Get One Free coupon for a bottle of wine

       - Make me a nicer wife

       - Remove all calories from wine but keep taste intact

       - Organize my house

      Impossible Goal of the Day: Improve my grocery shopping.

      Speaking of the power of intention, I ran to the market today and actually took a list with me.

      Grocery List

      Kale (For Emily Walker’s famous kale, quinoa, and fat-free feta salad with pomegranate vinaigrette.)

      Quinoa.

      Fat-free feta (Even though fat-free cheese should be illegal.)

      One pomegranate.

      Blueberries.

      Radishes.

      Organic milk (In Motherhood Better, Emily says regular milk can cause toddlers to go through puberty.)

      Eggs.

      Flour.

      Butter.

      Cream of tartar (For baking, because I’m going to start doing this any minute now.)

      Cherries.

      Apples.

      Celery.

      Chicken.

      Oats.

      Toilet paper.

      Cheese.

      Tomatoes.

      Onions.

      Red peppers.

      Here’s what I bought:

      Kale (For rotting in the fridge. Let’s be real—I’m never going to make that salad.)

      Quinoa (I have no idea how to cook this. Is it rice? Is it pasta? Nobody knows.)

      A pomegranate (For watching dry out in the fruit bowl over the next several weeks.)

      I didn’t buy the fat-free feta. It felt wrong.

      Organic milk.

      Eggs.

      Cookie dough.

      Honey Nut Cinnamon Crunch cereal.

      A pound cake.

      Toilet paper.

      Gum.

      Sugar-free fake strawberry poison liquid drink mix (for weight loss.)

      6-pack glazed doughnuts.

      Hot dogs (for snacking.)

      Frozen Tater Tots.

      Apples.

      Cherries.

      Strawberries.

      Frozen onion rings.

      Tortilla chips (for unexpected guests.)

      Nacho cheese dip (also for guests.)

      3 tank tops.

      2 pairs black pants.

      Running shoes.

      Workout DVD.

      Water bottle.

      Ice cream.

      Someone told me they named it “pound cake” because it contains a pound of butter. I prefer to think it’s just honest labeling: you gain a pound per slice. But on the bright side, butter contains milk, which contains calcium, so in a small way, pound cake is helping fortify my bones. I also always eat pound cake with strawberries,