I actually looked like this the other morning.


Needless to say, things have been a little frazzled around the Bonk house. The three of us have had an awful lot of adjusting to do to our new little fourth. Since I’ve last blogged, Paul has gone back to work, and I’ve been pretty occupied with learning how to be a mom of two.

Now, my closer friends will know that I’m pretty scatter-brained in general . . . and people who know me through the blog have probably figured that out as well. Having a newborn and a toddler to take care of at the same time has introduced me to an entirely new level of scatterbrainedness.

Last week, I took Lucy in for her two week checkup. As soon as we got into the exam room, I realized that I had left the diaper bag at home. I knew they were going to want to get a naked weight, and here I was without any diapers or wipes or extra clothes in case of a poopsplosion.
Luckily, we’re in Omaha and have the privilege of getting to take our kids to Children’s Physicians. These people are incredibly awesome. I sheepishly admitted to the nurse that I had forgotten the diaper bag and didn’t have any diapers or wipes. She then proceeded to laugh and tell me about the time she took her kid to the grocery store without a diaper bag and ended up covered in poop.

She also left and brought back some extra diapers and wipes. I immediately felt better and was able to sit back and relax while our pediatrician declared Lucy a “porker.”

Just so you know, in the world of newborns, being a “porker” is usually a good thing.

So, after getting looked over by the pediatrician, Lucy was decidedly pissed and screaming. After the appointment was over, I stayed in the room to feed her a little bit so she wouldn’t scream the whole way home.

Before I go much further, here’s a little bit of relevant information that may not seem entirely relevant at the moment:

I don’t know about other moms, but when I’m newly post-partum, I enter a place I like to call the “Frump Zone.”

The Frump Zone is this terrible place where all of your clothing is either maternity stuff, which is now too big, and pre-pregnancy stuff, which is, of course, too small. Not to mention the fact that my chest now makes me look like the main character of a badly drawn comic strip created by a hormonal thirteen year-old boy.

Since I had a C-Section and am still in a little pain, opting for the slightly small clothes isn’t really a good choice. This means that I’m still running around in full-panel maternity pants… which are articles of clothing that can be kind of confusing sometimes. Or I’m just losing my mind and they’re not really confusing at all.


As I pull in the driveway and get Lucy and her carseat out of the car, I’m feeling pretty proud of myself for taking my newborn to the doctor. I climb the steps to our house without tripping and dropping my two-week old, and get out my key to unlock the door. As I look up to put the key in the lock, I stop when I see my reflection in our door window.

Half of my hair was falling out of my ponytail, my shirt was rolled up and resting on the top of my still-poochy belly, and the maternity panel of my pants was fully exposed—all the way up to my comic strip bust.

knew that receptionist had given me a weird look as I waved goodbye.

Things have calmed down a bit since then. We’re starting to groove into a routine, and I’m slowly gaining back the idea that I’m still capable of being a parent. It’s not all frazzle-dazzle all the time, I promise.
Just remember: the fact that your stomach is warm doesn’t necessarily mean that it is appropriately covered. Check your shirts.