It is amazing how being a parent changes the way you look at something as simple as walking.

My mall is the worst designed mall in the entire world. Instead of flattening out the land before construction they just built the whole thing uphill so every 40 feet there are 2-3 steps. On both floors. I never noticed what a stupid design this actually was until I tried to walk it pushing a stroller. To accommodate the pushers – and probably to comply with the handicap-accessibility laws – the kind mall designers built one single ramp for each set of stairs (actually, four sets of stairs, two on each side of the mall).

In theory, this system works fine. The ramp is wide enough that  two normal-sized strollers can pass, so even on a busy day you aren’t stuck waiting and can get from the As Seen on TV Store to the sketchy Asian import/”relaxation” store*as fast as your tacky crap buying heart desires.

But in practice, people are idiots. Lazy idiots who see the ramps as the best way to avoid walking up steps instead of a necessity for people who can’t navigate the stairs. Lazy fat idiots who walk two across so you end up standing in line for your turn to push the stroller down the ramp. Lazy fat deaf blind idiots who move at a glacial pace and don’t even notice the moms glaring and sighing in frustration. I tried just running them over with the stroller but that was about as effective as trying to move a tree out of the way with your car. I commented to the girl with the stroller waiting in front of me how rude I thought this was, and she said “It’s even worse for me since all the old women use the opportunity to scold me for being a teen mother. This isn’t even my kid – she’s my sister!”

It took becoming a mother for me to realize that while children can be inconvenient, they aren’t intentionally difficult or rude. I always thought little kids were the most annoying part of parenting but it turns out it’s other adults that are the real pain in the ass. Where can I go for good old fashioned hold-the-door, mind-your-own-beeswax, take-the-stairs, smile-at-your-neighbor living?

*The mall also sucks as a mall, with about half the store fronts empty or containing temporary displays. Unfortunately it’s where our Old Navy and H&M are so I can’t avoid it entirely. Plus, again, AIR CONDITIONING.

Clearly the listeners of our local top 40 station need to have their eyes checked, as they did not vote this baby as the cutest kid in Eastern Connecticut. But the day at the mall was not a total loss as I bought “Make Way for Ducklings”, some super cute fall baby clothes at 30% off, and THE CUTEST HAT EVER IN THE HISTORY OF THE WORLD.

The prizes for the Cutest Kid Contest were stuff like passes to the local water park and $500 at a furniture store so it didn’t end up being much of a loss. The Kids Expo itself sort of sucked too unless you wanted to sign your kid up for dance or gymnastics. I don’t think we’re going to bother with any more contests unless you count the one I’m about to hold for myself right here:
[polldaddy poll=1905257]

I got a call from the radio station this morning – after voting had closed – that said we had qualified as a finalist in the Cutest Kid Contest! I suspiciously asked him if he was just inviting everyone who entered and he assured me no, you had to have enough votes to get a call. It means we have to show up at the Kid’s Expo at the mall tomorrow, at least for an hour or so, because we “must be present to win”. As much as I love my own baby, our horrible mall combined with hundreds of children is pretty much my personal version of hell. Ah well, at least I know the baby likes crowds and going places. Plus the mall has a Gloria Jean’s which means delicious delicious, super bad for me, chocolate filled frozen coffee treats.

Thanks for your votes guys! I’ll let you know what happens tomorrow afternoon. You can check my Twitter feed if you need to know, like, RIGHT AWAY…but unless you’re my mom or E’s mom (Hi Carol!) I can’t imagine being that invested.

Sorry there was no post yesterday, but I was too busy STANDING IN LINE FOR EIGHT HOURS. Deal or No Deal (aka Opening Random Boxes with Howie Mandel) held an open casting call at Foxwoods Casino, which happens to be less than 7 miles from my house.

So my thought process went like this “Hey, I don’t have anything else to do. I could really use $500,000. It’s Connecticut, how many people can possibly show up? The casino has air conditioning so spending a few hours there is better than sitting in the sweat box that is my house. I’ll just pop the baby in the sling and we’ll breeze right through”

Here’s what happened: EIGHT HOURS OF STANDING. 7,000+ people. I held the baby in the sling or in my arms the entire time. I ate exactly nothing and drank 1 bottle of water. When we got to the front of the line, a casting director gave me 20 seconds to talk about myself and then sent me home. I made a stupid joke about how when I got in the line I was still pregnant. I don’t think he was impressed. I forgot all the clever things I was going to say and had a boring answer for “What would you do with the money?” I am much funnier and more clever on the internet than I am in person. Don’t bother watching for me on NBC at 4 pm.

Here’s what else happened: Baby Evan was ah-maze-ing. He took three naps and nursed twice. The nice people around me held my place in line so I could go find a chair (or a quiet corner) to feed him and change him. No one said a damn word about a nursing baby in a casino and several people had polite conversation with me and had no idea he was attached to my boob. He made approximately 500 new friends and was called “SUCH A CUTE BABY” 40,000 times. Random strangers begged to hold him. He did not scream. He did not cry. He only threw up a tiny normal baby sized amount. I think he had a pretty good time. The best part was just how much it reinforced in my mind that my parenting choices were working and I am raising a happy, social, well adjusted baby.

If I do get to open some random boxes I will totally be plugging this blog on national tv and then fill it full of ads for $700 high chairs and Gucci baby shoes. But don’t worry, I’ll remember you from when I was still unknown and send you a coupon for 10% off.

I am lucky. So so super duper lucky. Four-leaf clovers spring up everywhere I walk, horses throw their shoes at me, and rabbits volunteer to cut off their own feet in my honor. I have a beautiful house, everything I could want to live a nice, comfortable life. E’s on shore duty right now so he’s home for dinner almost every night (and sometimes for lunch too). His job in the Navy means he doesn’t ever have to worry about being laid off or losing his health care or having his hours cut. Because of the stability he provides, I’m able to stay home with Baby Evan and be the kind of full-time, cooking-baking, playdate,  go-to-Target-at-10-am mom I imagined I would be. I won’t miss his first words or first steps or first solid foods. I don’t face the challenged other breastfeeding moms deal with when it comes to pumping and storing milk or weaning earlier than they would have liked. I’m so lucky, there’s a chance I’ll win that Powerball tonight without even buying a ticket.

I wish I had a job. An out of the house, paid with real money job. Nothing fancy or prestigious or that requires lots of skills. I want to work at Target again, like I did when I was 17, hanging up clothes and organizing the sock aisle and folding hundreds of jeans. Or I could answer phones somewhere and sit in a chair and read US Weekly when I wasn’t busy. Maybe I could work at greenhouse and wear shorts and water plants and carry around bags of dirt all day. I am qualified for all of those things. I don’t mind making $10 an hour.

But the logistics of finding employment, convincing them to hire me, showing up at the same time every day, planning my schedule around both E’s and Baby Evan’s schedule, having back-up childcare just in case and finding back-up back-up childcare just in case is daunting. Maybe when the baby is a little older. Maybe after the next baby. Maybe when all the babies go off to school. Maybe when the babies go off to college. Maybe by then the gap in my resume will be 18 years long and no one will hire me.

Why do I care so much? Why do I feel so useless just because I don’t get a paycheck? How incredibly ungrateful do I sound for all that I already have? Having a second income would let us do a lot more, but we don’t need it to pay the bills (as long as the bills don’t get much higher). And the amount I could make as a cashier or receptionist or plant-waterer would barely cover childcare on the days I needed it. How many moms are at work right now wishing they were home with their babies with nothing more pressing to take care of than a load of laundry and planning next week’s meals (Monday: PB&J. Tuesday: Ham & Cheese. Wednesday: PB&J)? How many moms are hiding in a bathroom stall with their breastpump? How many moms feel guilty for not doing exactly what I am lucky enough to do? I feel guilty too, guilty for wishing I could get a break. Guilty for wanting to do something not involving my baby. Guilty for the things that I have. Guilty for not really, truly, totally, completely appreciating  every single second. So many people have more to worry about than I do, so why can’t I be happier? Not that I am unhappy. Just restless and hot and tired and losing some of the patience I work so hard to maintain. I just need a change. And my husband back.

Maybe I will buy one of those Powerball tickets.