The Poopsie Collective

This Was My Life Before You

written by STEPHANIE

Confession: I am completely in love with Lena Dunham’s HBO sitcom, GIRLS. I find myself laughing almost start to finish, and proclaim several times every show, “She is SO good!” My husband giggles throughout, but admits that he likes it better because I love it so damn much. At the end of the first episode he asked, “So, does she write girls well?” Oh yes. Yes, she does. The show is the highlight of my week because it’s the first fresh, honest and real TV show that captures the inner workings of a woman’s mind with rawness and wit. I feel inspired after each episode to write better, because Lena writes so well. I feel more confident after each episode that I’m not alone, because there are so many utterly relate-able moments. And I eerily recognize younger versions of myself (and my friends) in the characters.

The cast of GIRLS

I moved to New York when I was 23. I was fresh out of college, starting a design program at Parsons, and I was insatiable in every way. For the first time, I felt completely untethered and recognized that my life was wholly in my hands. I felt so very, very young, in the best way possible. 

I waitressed to pay the rent. I rationed my weekly loaf of Wonderbread and stole rolls of toilet paper from public bathrooms (toilet paper is really expensive!). I lived in a flat on 18th Street & Broadway with 4 other girls (including Gwen). I interned for Marc Jacobs. I snuck backstage at concerts. I had sex in public places. I stayed out all night. I explored every corner of the city. I fell madly in love. I graduated from Parsons. I got a real job. I traveled non-stop for work. I had an expensive wardrobe. I went to fashion shows. I called my underwear “lingerie”. I moved in with my boyfriend. I got engaged. We bought a condo. I got a better job. I made a lot of money. I spent a lot of money. I got married. I got a dog. I grew up. I grew bored. I left New York. I moved to France. I got pregnant. I traveled around Northern Europe in a VW camper van. I longed for my family. I missed California. I moved to LA. I became a mother.

2007 — Williamsburg, Brooklyn

Then came a moment of sheer panic and confusion when at an uber cool LA party, an “It” girl who was popping Adderall and wearing a fedora and red lipstick asked, “And what do you do?” Too many answers flooded my mind. Unable to put together a coherent sentence, I blinked, staring out dumbly at the question. I knew what my career was, but I had left it behind in New York so many, many months ago, along with a version of myself who would have been wearing a fedora and red lipstick by now too. I knew where I’d been, but not exactly where I was at that moment. And I knew what I’d been doing (cleaning baby vomit off my left shoulder), but caring for a baby wasn’t yet an occupation I had accepted, neither as part of my identity nor as a viable job.

Now, my daughter is 18 months old. The age itself has caused me to take inventory. It came upon me so quickly. My pre-child ambitions ebbed and flowed during those 18 months with each of my daughter’s phases. Sometimes I ached for something else. I was impatient and lonely and frustrated. Other times I was utterly absorbed, unable to think of anything aside from the here and now. And then there were months when my daughter and I were completely in-synch, when I had this “motherhood” thing down pat, and I felt ready to take on projects that inched me back toward a career.

While I blindly obsessed on and off over insecurities about my new position as a stay-at-home mom, I realized, with her turning a year and half, that this has been the most valuable time of my life. Sure, over the course of my studies, career and travels, I have done a lot. I achieved. I had success. But I never contributed more to the world than I did these past 18 months, because I made a person, and that person that I’ve been diligently and lovingly caring for will go on to make her own impact on this world. How much more productive can one be? Motherhood has brought with it a wholeness that I hadn’t had in my life before. Where there was once personal ambition, now there is satisfaction. 

There is a memory that I play over and over again in my mind. It was shortly before we’d made the decision to leave New York, and I was alone in our home. I walked through the large, Williamsburg flat, running my hands along the rough exposed brick, allowing my gaze to absorb the view outside the front windows. Our narrow street was lined with beautiful trees whose branches bowed under the pregnant weight of their spring blossoms. Inside, I took in the dark wood, white walls, high ceilings and skylights. I sewed the curtains myself, along with the paisley throw pillows. Upon an orange Moroccan rug were piles of DVDs. A partially unpacked suitcase sat in the corner still from my last trip to California. My husband’s black and white photographs, our flea market furniture, street art on the walls, a shopping bag of designer clothing and farmer’s market flowers, littered the living room. I took in the well-stocked bar, rows of high heels, and heaps of dirty laundry. I wandered toward the back of the house, felt the cold bathroom tile underfoot, the pale green bedroom walls we painted with friends, and the smell of lilacs from the back garden. I thought, “This is my life before you.”    

TV Moms Who Have it All Figured Out

Written by ERICA

Confession time…or for anyone who knows me, this is less of a confession of some deep, dark secret and more of an obvious exclamation of a fact. I live for TV. Or more accurately, I can’t live without TV. I’ll never forget back in High School when I had to do some stupid (not so stupid after all) exercise and calculate how many hours a week I spent watching TV. Turns out, it was a lot. And it’s still a lot. If you consider 15+ hours a week to be a lot. Personally, I don’t. But I’m deluded. Ok, so we’ve established that I’m not normal, I have an addiction to the remote, and I’m questionably beyond help. Hi, my name is Erica, and I’m a TV addict. (Hi, Erica.)

My love of TV isn’t always a bad thing. It’s not like I locked myself in my bedroom and refused food when Buffy the Vampire Slayer switched networks and Buffy “died” (albeit temporarily). Oh wait, I did. Crap. 

It’s not always like that! I swear! Sometimes TV is really helpful! I mean, I learn a lot from the vast collection of shows I study. Maybe not The Bachelor… all I learned from that show’s 16 dreadful seasons is that tube tops are never ever (EVER) flattering unless you give up eating entirely, and most girls look like they have Bell’s Palsy when they cry.  But TV can teach you a lot. For example, when it comes to motherhood, some of my biggest role models are TV moms. Yes, I know they are fake moms. (And yes mom, you are also on my role models list, just not this list.) So they’re fictional characters, does that make their experiences and lessons any less helpful? 

So here’s my list of the top 5 TV moms and what I’ve learned from them that I will carry into motherhood and beyond:

5) Joyce Summers (Buffy the Vampire Slayer, mother to Buffy Summers)

Oh Buffy, my hero, my obsession, my ultimate example of strength, style, awesomeness and power mixed into one pretty little lady. But despite the fact that I am madly in love with her (Buffy the character, and Sarah Michelle Gellar, the actress who embodies that character), I can recognize that to be her mother must SUCK. Ha, get it? Suck? As in, vampires suck your blood. Whatever, it was funny. Being Buffy’s mother cannot have been easy. Your kid is off saving the world night after night, and on top of all that, she’s also banging a dead guy with fangs. Actually, 2 dead guys, both with fangs: one with a soul, and one with a proclivity for human blood. Not an ideal situation for a mom who’s trying to keep her daughter safe, healthy and happy. But Joyce Summers accepted her daughter, she supported her, she made friends with her friends and somehow she was able to be the strong role model Buffy needed at all times. 

Lessons Learned: acceptance is key, and no matter how strong your kids may seem or pretend to be (or in Buffy’s case, actually be), at the end of they day they need your strength behind them.

4) Cindy Walsh (Beverly Hills 90210 (Original), mother to Brenda & Brandon)

Moving to a new city is tough; I speak from experience. Moving from the Midwestern burbs to Beverly Hills is debatably the toughest. Your once-upon-a-time perfect twins are about to be faced with bad boys (Dylan McKay, swoon), drugs, slutty girls, BMWs, eating disorders, legacy keys, troubled teens, pregnancy scares…the list goes on. Now Cindy Walsh isn’t exactly my type of mom, I mean, she wore mom jeans and had the bowl haircut (which I could blame on the style of the times, but then again, Kelly’s mom was always super cool). But despite her style, Cindy always made a home-cooked meal. She always opened her home to troubled friends in need of a stable adult figure. She and Jim actually loved each other. She was the glue that held the Walsh family together. Something I hope to be for my clan.

Lessons Learned: a home-cooked meal goes a long way, and though it often seems like a thankless job, sometimes just being present and welcoming in your home is everything.

3) Ashley Marin (Pretty Little Liars, mother to Hanna)

First of all, if you don’t watch Pretty Little Liars, get involved. This show is AMAZEballs. Anyway, Ashley Marin (PKA Sydney Andrews on Melrose Place) is a lot of things, but the top of the list when it comes to her best mom qualities: intelligent, witty, and real. She knows her daughter isn’t always making the best decisions. She knows people make mistakes. She gets that high school girls can be bitchy. She also knows that sometimes to be a good mom, you have to give your kid space. And most importantly, she knows when her kid is lying just by surveying her twitchy face. I presume that face-reading is a must-have skill for moms of teenagers.

Lessons Learned: study your kid’s facial expressions starting, like, yesterday. And let them learn from their own mistakes; but be there, be open and be honest with them.

2) Cameron (Cam) Tucker (Modern Family, father/mother figure to Lily)

Fine, not a “mom” per-se. But a mother figure for sure. He’s a party planner extraordinaire, expert clown, stay-at-home-dad, loving husband and hysterical father. Also, he rocks the drums, sings to little Lily and loves to accessorize. And while I’d rather look like Claire Dunphy (so pretty!), she’s a little too high-strung for my taste. Cam is the perfect mix of protective, intense, involved, fun-loving, and funny.

Lessons Learned: a good birthday party goes a long way, it’s important to be silly with your kids, and a well-crafted outfit is always appreciated, even on a toddler.

1) Tami Taylor (Friday Night Lights, mother to Julie and Gracie Belle)

And now, for my # 1 TV mom hero. AJ is shaking his head right now because just the other night I turned down watching an episode of Friday Night Lights so that I could catch up on The Vampire Diaries. Vampires over football any day, AJ. Write that down. That said, Tami Taylor is just the absolute coolest, hottest, most amazing mom I’ve ever seen (on TV). She ALWAYS knows what to do. Always. How does she freakin’ do that? She handles everything (motherhood, being the school principle, being the football coach’s wife, town politics…) with such grace and ease. She seriously makes it look so simple. Daughter caught boning the team quarterback? No problem. School bad boy (oh Timmy Riggins I adore you so) needs a place to crash? Sure. Husband gets a gig at TMU while you are 8 months pregnant and stuck in Dillon as the school counselor? Peace of southern pie. She is supportive, she is understanding, but she also speaks her mind. And her family always (ALWAYS) comes first.

Lessons Learned: loving and supporting your family is your number 1 job, stand up for what you believe is the best thing for your loved ones. And roll with the punches, because no one is perfect and try as you might, nothing works out exactly as you plan.

Warning: Change Ahead

Written by ERICA

Some important things to know about me: I am from New York. I love New York. I hate humidity. I am terrified of the ocean (sharks). I despise change. To give you an idea just how much I hate change, picture this… it’s about 11 years ago. I’m about to head off to college, and one of my most favorite shows ever (Buffy the Vampire Slayer, obvi) is switching networks. And to make the transition really shocking to adoring fans, wait for it, they KILLED BUFFY. They had her jump off a tower to save the world (yes, again) and she actually died! Spoiler alert, she comes back. Phew. And when she does she is better than ever, making some amazing decisions like to nail the bad boy vampire in town and get a super cutie new haircut. But when she died, when everything changed, I lost my $h*t. I slammed my door shut and cried for hours. To the point where my terrified mother asked if I “needed to speak to someone.” Yes, I can now look back at that reaction and recognize it was a teensy bit over the top (but just a little, it was REALLY sad!). But the extreme overreaction in which I lost my shizzle came from an honest place—a place where I utterly hate change.

So man have I gotten myself into a pickle now… because I just moved to Miami. A place that isn’t just a 3 hour flight from my home in New York City… it’s a WORLD away. 

Yes, I’ve known this move was coming for a while now. But that doesn’t make it any easier. I left my job, my family, my friends, and my support system back in NYC. I left my most recent obsession (Soul Cycle), my favorite wine bar, the best local market, my baby playgroup, my usual walking/running routes and my go-to boutiques. Sure, things could be worse… I’m in South Beach. I wake up every morning looking at the ocean. I am steps from the beach. And at least I’m still in the east coast time zone. But things could also be way better. My hair is pretty much always a mess here (dang humidity). I know, like, zero people. I have to drive most places (I was so used to being able to walk to literally anything, any time of day or night). My family, my besties and Owen’s besties are not here.

And this got me thinking… change sucks. For me at least, it always has and always will, to put it bluntly, blow. But I better get used to it. ‘Cause I’m fairly certain that with a kid (or one day, kids), things are ALWAYS changing. Any time you get used to a schedule, an activity, a favorite outfit, hell, even a personality trait, they go ahead and change $h*t up on you. One day, Owen’s favorite thing to do is suck on my cell phone and the only word in his vocabulary is ma-ma. The next day he’s over cell phones and onto electrical outlets, and his favorite word is now gi-gi (we think short for doggy). Kids are growing and changing every day. They keep you on your toes so you can never really get too comfortable with anything. So as much as I hate changes, big (moving to Miami) or small (Buffy dying/coming back to life on TV), I guess I’ve got to suck it up.  Yet another perk of being a mom… 

5 Mom Moments/Things I’m Not Proud Of (Part III of a Poopsie Collective Series)

Written by GWEN

1) Before Izzy was mobile, I pretty much plonked him on the ground wherever I went… like, mainly nail salons.

Impressed I managed to snap this pic while my nails were drying?

2) When I was about 8 months preggo, I got a TERRIBLE sinus infection. I was prescribed antibiotics, which helped, but my nose refused to unplug. It got so bad, the Mister started sleeping in the guest room. Not being able to breath through my nose is a REAL pet peeve of mine, so despite the doctor’s warnings, I used Afrin, the wonder drug nasal spray. It was a DREAM! I, of course, then worried that I had somehow screwed Izzy up for life, but everything worked out in the end. Well, so far. 

3) I have memorized all of the songs on BabyTV and hum them at work now. And I’m pretty sure once Izzy starts talking, he’ll be doing the same.

4) Sometimes if bath time is only an hour and a half away, I decide… Meh. The poop can wait. 

5) Three weeks after Izzy was born, after feeding him one morning, I came downstairs to talk to the Mister and his mom. It was at least five minutes into the conversation that I realized my left boob was still hanging out of my shirt. 

5 Mom Moments I’m Not Proud Of (Part II of a Poopsie Collective Series)

written by Stephanie

The Stanky Car
One morning mid-summer, I gagged getting into my car. It smelled like Indian food, pot, poopey diapers and coffee. Only 50% were my fault though. Oh sure, LIKE YOU’RE ONE TO JUDGE!
 

Baby Diva
Back in June, while my breasts were enormous from breastfeeding and my stomach was super soft and mushy, I had a black-tie wedding to attend at the Four Seasons in Beverly Hills. I needed to look hot and the closest my closet’s contents were getting me was a hot mess. My sister-in-law’s BF is a celeb stylist. She’s kind of a big deal and she agreed to dress me for the occasion. I felt like Charlie, finding the golden ticket. This was major.  
 
I’d hoped to drop the baby off to my husband before my styling but I ran out of time and had to take her with. No worries, this stylist only HATES babies. When she met my daughter the first time she literally said, “Ew.” My daughter doesn’t cry unless she is tired or hungry. She is pretty chill. But the second we walked in she started screaming. Fat, hot tears were dripping down her cheeks. She was inconsolable.
 
Did I step outside to calm her down? Figure out what was ailing her and try to fix it? No. I looked her square in the eyes, said, “No one likes a cry baby,”  then handed her off on the Assistant Stylist so that I could try on Dolce & Gabanna gowns.
 

Live Wire Teether
We have been pretty lax about baby proofing our house. My husband and I tend to live by the idea that kids need to explore and get hurt from time to time in order to learn the truth about the world. Marlowe is eating a clump of hair she pulled off the dog? Meh. Marlowe is crawling under the table and got herself stuck? Meh. Marlowe is sitting in my lap, casually chewing on the end of my cell phone cord while the other end is plugged in? “STEPHANIE!!!!! WHAT THE F*CK?!?!?!?!” Oh. Right. Oops.

The White Jeans Incident
Diaper blow outs and spit-ups are par for the course of motherhood. At a certain point very early on, I stopped worrying about stains on my clothes. I stopped taking dirty clothes off and instead started putting dirty clothes on (it saved a lot of effort). But then came a day when Marlowe kept her body fluids to herself. And another day. And another. And I started to resemble a normal person again. So I wore white jeans. BIG MISTAKE.
 
Marlowe had one of those chartreuse breastmilk poops that shot out of her so violently and with such spite that it splattered everything in a 10 foot radius. I ran shrieking into her room, dropped her all covered in sh*t into her crib (knowing that now her sheets would be covered too) and stripped myself down in the bathtub. I wasn’t freaking out about the white jeans. I didn’t care about them at all. I even knew in the back of my mind when I got dressed that morning that they weren’t making it through the day. What had me bugging out was that the poop had seeped immediately through the jeans, through my underwear, and was ALL over my crotch. My baby’s sh*t was in my crotch.  And while the baby rolled around in her poopey crib, crying, I showered thoroughly, got redressed, stain treated my jeans, and THEN went to clean her up.

TV-MA
There are days when Marlowe doesn’t nap. Those are bad days. I get all bug eyed and twitchy. So I turn on PBS Kids and drop her in her bouncer. But at 5pm Little Amadeus comes on. I can’t stomach that. It’s too lame. So I turn on Family Guy. The other day, Marlowe was totally content, squealing happily at the screen. After a while my husband walks by and notices that Meg is bashing another girl’s head into a locker. There’s blood everywhere. Marlowe is riveted. “Uh, Steph? I don’t think this is appropriate.” Great, how’s Fox News then? We don’t have cable.