In the same aisle that sold baby utensils and bowls, food grinders, and food processors, you could also get a baby scale. Not to weigh his food. But to weigh the baby himself, to see if he was getting enough of all the goodies you put in the bowls and fed to him via spork. Speaking of goodies, there were hundreds of kinds of baby food and formula, in boxes, cups, squeeze packs, pouches, and jars. Not to mention the millions of bottles, nipples, electric bottle warmers, and bottle drying racks available. The weirdest product on that aisle was a mesh fruit sucker. You put a piece of fresh fruit into a mesh pouch. He’d suck the fruit through the mesh to avoid choking. A baby didn’t just chill on the carpet while eating. He would sit in a high chair, or a low chair, or a floor seat, or a chair that is attached to the table. I scanned one of each. Total for all food and dining items: $700.
Seeing the trend? I was running up hundreds of dollars per aisle. Have I mentioned the baby-proofing section? Every item you could ever want to make your home safe, from gates to knob covers to cabinet locks. Plus, you could choose from a selection of “movement monitors” in audio and/or video. I liked the pretty cloud-shaped monitor but it was pricier than the others. I said in what became the registry’s slogan, “What’s another $50?”
My mom mentioned a few times that back when I was a baby, she didn’t use most of this stuff. But then again, I was adopted at six months. The entire boob area didn’t apply to her. And she didn’t need the infant stuff, like the “Snuggle Nest,” which was like a mini-bassinette with side rails to put in your bed to make sure you don’t roll over and smother the kid. Another suffocation prevention product: the crib wedge. Back in the day, people just rolled up a blanket and put it next to a baby to keep him in a safe position on his back and prevent the five-alarm mayhem of his rolling onto his belly. But I read the wedge’s packaging: “For your peace of mind.” Well, wasn’t my peace of mind worth $30?
Over in the bathing area, I had to laugh when I saw the $70 baby bubbling spa shower. It was a freestanding pink plastic hot tub that had a battery powered whirlpool machine attached to it! Baby Jacuzzi! Can I get in? If that was a little over the top, you could always get a smaller, less high-tech baby bather, along with a spout protector, and the bath stool for mommy to sit on next to the bathtub. My mom said she used to just put me in the kitchen sink to bathe me. When I got older, I went in the regular bathtub and she kneeled on the bathroom floor.
I didn’t get anything in the potty training aisle. It would be a while before Lorenzo used a plastic toilet. I did check out the “Potty wrist watch” that beeps an “It’s time to go!” alarm. We’d been there an hour already. I had to run to the Babies “R” Us bathroom every twenty minutes. I didn’t need an alert to tell me to pee. I have never, to my recollection, needed help figuring out when I had to relieve myself. If Lorenzo was anything like his mom, he wouldn’t either. When nature calls, my boy will answer on the first ring!
So far, I’d registered for a hundred little things and already spent thousands. We hadn’t even gotten to the big-ticket items yet. If I thought I had a rough time deciding between nipple creams, I had no idea how hard it would be to choose a stroller. Which was the safest, the best, the coolest? I definitely needed an infant stroller with a detachable car seat/carrier. But I’d also need a stroller for when he was older. What about an “all-terrain” stroller? Was I going to be a mom who jogs around the neighborhood? Uh, no. My milk would cascade out of my boobs from bouncing.
A stroller was not complete without accessories, such as a phone holder, a cup holder, a “toy bar” (not nearly as fun as it sounds), food trays, a canopy, baskets, and a fan or umbrella. I tried to picture myself lifting up a tricked-out stroller to go up the steps. Could I do it? The lightest stroller was only sixteen pounds with a titanium frame, and it cost (brace yourself) $500. I was tempted, but I couldn’t pull that trigger. For a while, we’d carry Lorenzo in a Baby Bjorn, or a sling, or a Snugglie, or a baby backpack—with a frame or without. By now, my brain had melted all over the floor. Clean up in the stroller aisle! Get the mop.
Car seats were another necessity that you had to upgrade every twenty pounds—infant rear facing, baby front facing, then a booster seat—with all the accessories, including a Snuzzler head rest to protect his neck, which, considering my driving, was essential. Of course, we needed the portable crib for $300. Unfolded, it was a full size playpen with changing table. Folded, it was the size of a Tampon box. I’d heard from other moms that a bouncy seat and a baby swing were must-haves. One of the swings rocked, vibrated, and swayed at five speeds and included a toy bar, plush cushions, an LED light show, and an MP3 player. It wasn’t a baby seat, it was a disco party cruise! If they made one for grownups, I’d never get out of it. Only $250!
And then there were the real necessities that will keep your baby from screaming in your ear. As I came to learn, the best choice was a $2 pacifier. I registered for a few of those, along with play gyms, activity centers, a million toys, and security blankets. I nearly added an entire Hello, Kitty! furniture set that included a zebra patterned armchair. It looked like the high heel chair I have for myself. A lot of the kid furniture looked like my stuff. Hmmm. It made me wonder . . . but not too much.
So the grand total of everything I scanned and added to my registry was . . . wait for it . . . $5,400! According to the sales girl, that was around average. My little guy wasn’t even there yet, and he was costing a lot of pesos! It would be thousands to feed, transport, entertain, comfort, and clean the crap off a six-pound critter—and that was only for the first few months of his life. By comparison, a six-pound cat costs about $200 a year. But obviously, a baby is not a human pet. No fur.
No one needed a baby Jacuzzi or baby disco cruise. But I registered for all of it anyway. I didn’t know what I was doing as a mom, but if I had all the stuff, and it was all new and modern, it might make motherhood easier. I hated the idea of being in a situation where, say, a butt paste would really come in handy, and I didn’t have it. I’m sure the makers and sellers of baby products are aware that they play to a new mom’s fears. Every time I scanned a barcode, I knew I was being suckered. But I didn’t care.
I’ve been told that feeling overwhelmed while registering—and the reality of what you were getting yourself into—is a rite of passage for first-time moms. “With your second baby, you won’t use 90 percent of this stuff,” women have said. We actually needed a van to transport it all to the house from the baby shower. The spare bedroom was packed floor to ceiling. Though a lot of it never got used, I did take some comfort in knowing it was all there.
Of all that stuff, the Must Haves would have to be . . .
The baby bouncy seat.
The baby swing.
The diaper caddy (it does keep things organized).
The bottle warmer (since I was freezing so much milk).
The item that really worked to entertain and calm Lorenzo didn’t come from the baby store. It came from the Apple Store. Lorenzo loves his iPad. We have it strapped to his crib. He’s not even a year old and he knows how to get to his favorites tunes and videos. Some people might criticize us for letting a baby play with an electronic device. If you don’t know by now, I don’t care what my critics say. Let my baby live! He loves his music and rocks out in his crib every night. He is part of the first generation born with devices in their hands, and good on him. We plan to use the iPad to teach him to read and do math. He’s going to be a pro with it when he starts school, and that’s only positive.
Most Useful Item: nipple cream. When I first saw it on the shelf, I thought I was in the wrong store. Were we in Babies “R” Us, or the Pleasure Chest? Nipple cream would be more at home among dildos than diapers, or so I thought. Um, I was completely wrong. This nipple cream isn’t to get you off or in the mood. It saved my nipples from falling off. After pumping, my poor pepperonis were ON FIRE! Putting the cream on made them feel like popsicles in the freezer—so relieving. New moms should buy nipple cream by the qu
art. You will use it, and rely on it, heavily.
And the Don’t Bother Withs . . .
All the sporks and special bowls. Just use regular stuff. The baby doesn’t care what utensil you use.
The stroller attachments. They block the baby’s view. Lorenzo is curious. He wants to see the world, not stare at a plastic flower.
The baby bath. Just like Mom said, the kitchen sink is easier.
Most Useless Items: super cute clothes. Registering for too many cute outfits is a common first baby mistake. We signed up for a closet full of stuff. Whoops. Lorenzo never wore half of it. We had this vision of him crawling around in cute button downs, trousers with snaps, and ties. (If he were a girl, it would have been tutus and crowns.) But those special outfit days hardly ever happened. It was all about the white onesies, bibs, and pajamas. I guess we could have put him in Sunday clothes every day. But babies are a freakin’ mess. One spit up, and their precious outfits are ruined. Now all those shirts and ties are in storage, waiting for the next baby boy who will probably never wear them.
Chapter 11
Bump vs. Blimp
You could have the healthiest body image in the world and still struggle with what happens to you during pregnancy. Anyone who’s had an eating disorder or an obsession with size is going to have a really rough time of it.
My history with my body image has been shaky. My low point was back in high school. I was a cheerleader. I absolutely lived for it, and practiced for hours each day. I was the “flyer,” the girl who got thrown around and stood at the top of the pyramid. I choreographed a lot of our routines and always put in some crazy dramatic throws that had me soaring through the air. I loved it. Cheering was my passion.
When I was a senior, I should have been enjoying my last year as a veteran on the team. But I saw all these new, tiny, fourteen-year-old freshman girls coming up through the ranks. They looked like babies. Not only were they skinny—like 89 pounds—they were small all over, flexible and fearless. Some of them were openly vying for my spot as flyer. I felt threatened by them. As petite as I was, these girls were even smaller.
Give up my place at the top of the pyramid? That was not going to happen. I added hours of practice to my day. I killed myself staying in shape. I was determined to make myself as tiny as the freshman girls. So I cut way back on food. I went from normal eating to just having salads and a handful of crackers each day. Then just one salad and one cracker. Then just one cracker. It got to the point that I ate only ice cubes, all day, for days in a row.
I didn’t stop eating to look hot, or to be the prettiest girl at school, or because I had a messed-up childhood. No deep-seated emotional or psychological problems or insecurities to report. Sorry. I wasn’t trying to starve myself into looking like models in magazines or actresses in the movies. I was motivated only by the fear of losing my spot as flyer. I was competing with younger, lighter girls, and thought this was the way to win. The irony was, I was so hungry and tired from not eating, I almost fainted during practice. I managed to starve myself until I was smaller than the freshman girls. But I wasn’t healthy or strong. What good was a skinny flyer if she passed out from hunger and fell off the pyramid?
I sort of knew that I wasn’t really helping myself by whittling my body down to tan and bone. But I was in the anorexia zone. As weak and tired as it made me, starvation was self-destructively addicting. I felt a sense of accomplishment for getting through a day on water and air. That pride doubled if I could do it the next day, too. The rational side of me knew this wasn’t a good idea. I wanted to start eating again, but it was like I forgot how to do it. I was afraid of what would happen if I did. I thought I’d gain twenty pounds overnight, that all my self-denial would be erased by one cheeseburger.
The year was 2006. My bout with anorexia was decades after The Best Little Girl in the World. The disease was way out there in the media and had been for a long time. We’d done a whole course on eating disorders in junior high health class and were constantly reminded about it in magazines and on TV. Despite the fact that everyone seemed to know about anorexia, including me, I managed to fly under the radar for a few months without anyone noticing how skinny I was getting. I think they just thought of me as small to begin with.
The school nurse was the first person to clue in. I went into her office to weigh myself every day. I didn’t do it on the down low, like creeping into the room when she wasn’t looking. I just went in, stepped on the scale, and left. A lot of girls did the same thing. But this was an observant lady. She not only noticed that I weighed myself, but that the number was going down, from 105, to 100, to 90, and eventually, down to a seriously fucked-up low of 80 pounds. Forget the freshman girls. My weight was lower than a sixth grader’s.
The nurse called my parents. “Get Nicole to a doctor,” she told Mom. “Her weight is too low. She’s not eating. Something’s wrong with her.” I’m not sure if the nurse raised the eating disorder flag, or she just let my parents assume. When someone loses weight that fast, it could be any number of things. I actually had to get some tests to prove to my parents that it wasn’t that I was sick with a medical disease. I was making myself sick.
I don’t know exactly how I managed to break out of that “must not eat” mindset. Just calling attention to it, my parents watching me like a hawk, and my friends catching on and supporting me combined to loosen the grip of it. When cheerleading ended for the season, I just started eating again, adding foods and meals pretty quickly. It was almost like I was making up for lost time. I got back up to my normal weight by graduation.
Being obsessed with weight—for whatever reason—only caused trouble. I wanted to look good. But even more than that, I wanted to have fun. College was all about studying hard, and partying harder. I traded hours of cheerleading workouts for hours knocking back beers and shots. The pounds really piled on.
When I auditioned for Jersey Shore at age twenty, I weighed 110 pounds. The GTL lifestyle, for me, wasn’t exactly slimming. I usually skipped the “G” part of it and never hit the gym. I hit the bar. The only exercise I got those first couple of years on the show was dancing and running from the police. If you watch seasons one and two of Jersey Shore, you can clearly see that I was getting chubbier episode by episode. I’d taken the “I’m happy with myself” attitude to the extreme. Honestly, I didn’t care what anyone else said about me. People called me a “bowling ball” or a “basketball.” Whatever. You gotta let the haters hate, or you’ll go crazy. What they said had nothing to do with who I was as a person. My goal was to just be true to my natural shape and myself. I was born with a petite, curvy body. I loved food and partying. I’d rather have a blast than deny myself—or slide back into an eating disorder.
But, being true to yourself doesn’t mean just letting it all go and not being healthy. Those first few years on the show, I took the art of not giving a shit as a far as a person could. I had fleeting moments of thinking, “I love myself no matter what, but this isn’t my natural size. I’m naturally smaller.” I tried dieting a few times, including an insane plan of eating only high protein cookies. That didn’t last. One margarita later, I’d find myself elbow deep in a platter of nachos. I was in a heavy “Why deny myself?” mode that included a lot of Long Island iced teas and funnel cakes. Whatever I wanted was okay—which wasn’t really okay, no matter how I justified it.
After some awards show, I looked at the photos of me on the red carpet and thought, Okay, that’s gone far enough. Even if the camera added ten pounds, I was larger than I’d ever been at 126. Remember, I’m only 4’9”. I’d put on twenty pounds since college, and it was all vodka and onion rings. I’d had enough of it. I thought, Packing on flab is not loving myself.
It was a real eye-opener. You can have good self-esteem and still groan over bad pictures. Just as it’s okay to put on a few pounds, it’s also okay to say to yourself, “Seriously, I need to get my house in order.” I watched myself on TV, and I just didn’t like what I saw. Th
e press was showing old photos of me as a high school cheerleader and calling attention to how different I looked. I wanted to get back to that range. Not the anorexic 80 pounds, but a built and ripped 100 to 105 when my legs were rock solid muscle. Everyone who has had periods of her life when she was fit knows what it means to be strong and sexy. You just feel better all day, physically and mentally. I’d been eating junk for years. I had to put an end to it. I’d veered from one extreme to the other. The time had come to get in shape.
It took all of 2011 to do it. I busted my ass and got back down to my high school weight of 105. I lived at the gym, and ate a farm’s worth of greens and grilled chicken. I drank booze only when filming. During the off-months, I just had vodka seltzers or a sip or two of wine. It’s no coincidence that I got my body back in shape at the same time I was in a relationship with Jionni. I wanted to be sexy and lean for myself, but also for him. The best part of the change was that I didn’t feel like a fat slob anymore. I looked in the mirror and thought, Mmwah! I love that sexy bitch. I got down to a size two and felt the right kind of pride. For the cover of my second novel, Gorilla Beach, I posed in a very tiny monokini and rocked it. I was in love with Jionni and with my chiseled body.
I was actually a week or two pregnant at that photo shoot and didn’t know it. When we finally realized I’d missed my period for a reason, it was the start of a new year. No resolution to lose weight this time around! I had one lousy month at my goal weight, and then, almost as soon as I peed on those sticks, the fat layer came creeping back on. Being hot and sexy was what got me into this situation. That, and not using condoms. (Never again. My next pregnancy will be planned.) I was excited about having a baby and getting engaged to the love of my life. But I did have to wrap my mind around more body changes. I’d just spent a year losing twenty pounds. I barely got to enjoy being in sick shape, and now I was going to gain all of the weight back, plus another . . . who knows? I had no idea how huge I’d be by the end. AWESOME.
Baby Bumps: From Party Girl to Proud Mama, and all the Messy Milestones Along the Way Page 7
