When I visited my mom’s secret boyfriend Dr. Oz on his show recently, he asked if I ever worried that dieting would trigger a recurrence of the anorexia I had back in high school. Matt Lauer asked me if I had an unhealthy body image to work that hard to lose weight so quickly after giving birth. Gossip magazines wrote that the only food I ate was egg whites, and that all my friends were terrified I was starving myself to death.
Completely wrong. Not even close. Does an anorexic eat ice cream? Does she have popping arm muscles? An anorexic wouldn’t have the strength to battle back the bullshit. I look at the gossip rags and laugh. It’s hysterical how people make up stories to sell magazines. They should see me eat my pizza! It’s ludicrous and annoying, though, to see my picture with the words “Eating disorder” over my head. I’d never put my health at risk. I have a son to take care of.
In all fairness, 42 pounds is a huge amount of weight to drop in six months. I do still complain that I hate the remnants of my mommy pouch and that my boobs look like deflated balloons. But I’ll never have an eating disorder again. I was immature. I starved myself because I was desperate to keep my place as a flyer on the cheerleading team. I didn’t need a full-on intervention. When the school nurse brought it up, I agreed with her. I said to myself, “You’re hurting yourself. This is stupid. Stop it,” and that was it. I started eating again. Purposefully weakening myself would defeat the purpose of what I’m trying to do, which is get in great physical condition. My goal isn’t to be skinny. It’s to be strong and full of energy for Lorenzo. I’m eating super healthy and exercising for that purpose, and it’s working! I can lift Lorenzo and hold him while he bounces on my lap for a hour—great for the biceps! I rock him in my arms to sleep—killer on the triceps! I carry him up and down the stairs—quads!
I got what I wanted. I’m a MILF and a Super Mom. Honestly, it just wasn’t that hard. I thought it would be nearly impossible to get in shape and care for my kid. But it’s totally doable. I just signed up for the food delivery and got myself to the gym. Once I’m there, I have a routine to follow, and 90 minutes goes by quickly. For sure, the hardest part is getting there. Having a trainer keeps me from getting lazy and prevents boredom. I go with my sister-in-law-to-be, who also just had a baby. I know it’s harder for older moms. They just don’t snap back as quickly. But I feel anyone can do it with the right motivation and determination.
It’s all about Lorenzo. As long as he needs me, I need to work out. They go together. One day, maybe he’ll come to the gym with me. Mommy & Me Plyometrics! Love it.
Chapter 21
Back in the Saddle
There is one part of my body that isn’t snapping back to its pre-pregnancy condition. My vagina will never be the same! Right after giving birth, it felt used, like I’d had sex for weeks without lube. It was stretched to the width of a Frisbee. Now, it’s back to normal size. It looks more or less the same, not that I’m bending over a hand mirror and staring at it every day. But sex feels different now.
Thanks to postpartum hormones, I was horny for the first two weeks after giving birth, and couldn’t wait for the six-week no-go period to end. When we could finally have sex again, though, the hormones faded and I lost my mojo. Jionni tried to sex me up. I was just so tired and wrung out. I’d been feeding and changing and caring for Lorenzo day and night. And now, I had to have sex? Meh.
We eventually did it when Lorenzo was three months old. I’m sorry to report that sex has changed, and not for the better. It hurts. I think it’s because in the delivery room, when they were sewing me back together, I asked for an extra stitch. I might have gone one stitch over the line. Now it feel like my vagina has been sewn shut. The door is nearly closed. Just a tiny bit open. Jionni isn’t the tallest guy around, but he’s got a hefty braciola. He says sex feels the same for him. He doesn’t feel that extra stitch like I do. I thought at least one of us would enjoy the tightness. Oh, well.
It’s my dream to have three more kids, but at the rate we’re going, we might never have sex again.
I exaggerate. Sort of. Along with my like-a-virgin vag and exhaustion, I had another problem. No sex drive. I just stopped wanting it. Sex used to be the number one motivator in my life. The possibility of getting lucky was what would get me out of bed at the crack of noon. I’d spend hours getting dolled, putting on a gaudy dress, gluing on my lashes, and teetering in high heels off to a club to find a man. Smutting was my favorite hobby. Flirting was my religion. Smushing was my calling. I thought about sex constantly, and wanted to do it all the time. I was so damn good at it, too. I took a lot of pride in my sexuality. I assumed it would never cool off.
Right now, my sexual spark couldn’t ignite a backyard grill! Jionni and I are down to, like, once a week. I’d be lying if I said that we’re off pace all because of me. Ha! If Jionni were begging for it, I’d lie there and take one for the team. But he’s too tired for sex, too. In his pre-baby life, he wanted to do it every day. We’re okay with a scaled-back erotic life. For both of us, the baby stole our sex drives. But what we got back was so much sweeter. I’ve heard that when the baby gets older, you get it back. But we’re going to be having babies for a while. So I figure by 2020, we’ll be raring to go.
Chapter 22
That’s How We Roll (With a Stroller)
Our first family vacation was to Hollywood, Florida, to Jionni’s family’s vacation house. It was in the winter when Lorenzo was about four months old. We were so paranoid about taking him to the airport in the cold, we wrapped him up like a bubble boy. Hat, scarf, sweater, coat, fleece hoodie with footsies over that, under two blankets, and a cover on the stroller. He probably lost three pounds of sweat just getting from the house to the plane.
Me, too! We lugged along his car seat/stroller, which had to be dismantled at the gate, and a diaper bag bursting with milk bottles, diapers, wipes, and creams. Of course, I had a massive suitcase for myself, as well as suitcases for Lorenzo and Jionni. We brought along the baby bouncy seat, too, because Enzo loved it—and so did we. For three people to take one flight, we had enough luggage for an army.
“We can buy stuff there,” Jionni said.
“In Florida?” I asked. “At the old people development?”
The house was in a retirement community. Just the old people and us. Lorenzo was the only baby for ten square miles. Jionni and I were the next youngest people by 40 years.
Whenever we left the condo, Lorenzo was in his vacation baby outfits of shorts and t-shirts. We drenched him in sun block. He can tan when he’s eighteen. (Listen to me! I’m such a freaking mother!) I got the idea of my baby sunglasses line on this vacation. I kept propping my own shades on Lorenzo’s tiny nose. Babies need their own cool shades, I thought. Make a mental note.
Jionni and I took walks around the development. We’d put Lorenzo in the stroller and tour the place. People looked at us, but only because we were strangers and, you know, not ancient. But no one recognized us. We went to the development pool a lot. Around it were a hundred oldies in lounge chairs, and the three of us. Lorenzo loved his swimmies and riding on a float. We hung at the pool with the ninety-year-olds and just splashed around all day. Going to the community club for dinner was like swimming through a sea of human fossils. At the beach, we were the only people for long stretches without wrinkles. Must get an anti-wrinkle moisturizer in my line, I thought. Make another note.
Going on vacation was very inspiring for my business.
It was over too quickly. The good times had to stop strolling. We packed up our little village and went back to the airport. That’s about the time Jionni and I realized with a bit of a shock that we’d gone on vacation and hadn’t had one drink. And it was, like, the best vacation ever. We were a family on our little family vacation. We got some sun, some fun, decent food, and alone time as a threesome.
No sex either. It wasn’t about smushing in Florida. It was about cuddling, just me and my fiancé and baby. Lately, cuddling has made me feel even closer to
my man than sex. It’s a sad/happy truth about love. My feelings for Jionni are so deep, we don’t need to go balls deep. When we do it, sex is fine (hoping it gets better than fine before too long!). But it’s just not as important for us as it used to be to seal our relationship. We’ve got Lorenzo—he seals the deal.
Lorenzo was a good boy on the flight down, and slept the whole time. But on the way back to New Jersey, the baby was fussy. I had to walk up and down the aisle to calm him down. We were recognized again. Everyone on the plane took pictures. I was in mommy mode. I said, “Back off! You’re too close to my baby!” I didn’t care what they thought of me. If anyone tried to touch Lorenzo, I’d hiss and show my claws. And you know what? It was kind of fun to be a huge bitch. The whole trip was a lot of fun. I can see us taking family vacations every year. As we have more kids, we might need a separate plane for just the luggage.
Chapter 23
Next!
Having a baby forces you to live in the moment. Sometimes I’m so present, an entire day goes by in a blur. It’s the Baby Time Warp. You wake up and start the routine of feeding, playing, diaper changing. Before you know it, it’s time for sleep. A whole month goes by like that. Then nine months. I can’t believe Lorenzo is standing up and starting to take baby steps. He’s growing out of his clothes faster than we can do his laundry. I change his outfits a few times a day to make sure he wears it all at least once. He’s a rock star in whatever he’s got on. The kid’s got swag. Just saying.
Lorenzo is stronger and faster every day. He’s old enough for big boy pajamas. Soon, he’ll tear around the house. Soon after that, he’ll be going to school and having his own life. When I think about the future, I only think about it in terms of Lorenzo’s milestones. His future and mine are melded together. I simply can’t imagine my life without my baby by my side.
We are building a house on a lot near Jionni’s parents in North Jersey. It’s got six bedrooms, and I want to fill them up with tan babies. Four total. That’ll leave one bedroom for guests. That room will not be taken up by a nanny. No judgment about anyone else using a nanny. But I don’t like the idea of hiring a non-family member or friend to care for my kids. I don’t trust just anyone. I only leave Lorenzo with people I know. Fortunately, between my parents and Jionni’s huge family, we can always get a babysitter if we need one.
My friends are happy to babysit, too. Before I had Lorenzo, most of them thought they weren’t anywhere ready to have kids themselves. Now they’re obsessed with my baby and want their own. Before long, Lorenzo is going to be a wise older brother, cousin, and “cousin” to all my friends’ kids.
I tell them, “Don’t rush it. Enjoy not having kids for a while. Have fun with mine and start your family when you really feel the urge.” When you have a baby, even going to the mall and getting your nails done is a major process. If someone isn’t home to watch him, you have to load up the diaper bag, and lug him in the car seat. Then transfer him to the stroller, and hike up stairs or up the escalator. He might puke or shit himself, and then you have to change him. Or you can’t maneuver the stroller into the ladies room and you (almost) pee or shit yourself. You have to fend off old ladies who feel like they have the right to pinch the baby’s cheeks or adjust his little hat. But I do sympathize with the impulse to reach out and touch a stranger’s baby. I kind of want to hold every baby I see lately. I use to run away from them. Now I spot a baby at a restaurant, and my nipples burn from missing Lorenzo.
Don’t get me wrong. I can’t wait for my friends to have kids. I’ll definitely be psyched when they have newborns, and I’ve got a five-year-old who can get his own juice and snacks.
So, yeah, my house! I can’t wait for it to be finished. Even though it’s been fantastic to live with Jionni’s family, I’m done with cave dwelling. We need more space than the Man Cave (or is it the Baby Cave?). All of my clothes and shoes and Lorenzo’s stuff are crammed into the corners. This is no way to raise a family. We need a place of our own. I don’t want to get married—or start pregnancy number two—until we’re moved in and settled. I hope it’s ready by Lorenzo’s first birthday. We’ll throw him a huge party there.
Here’s Jionni
We talk about the future a lot. The house, the next baby, getting married. My sister—the one who was pregnant when Nicole was—is pregnant again. She’s due in a few months. I have a big, close family and love that Lorenzo and our next kids will have cousins the same age. But we can’t get pregnant again until we have a place to live. First we move, then we can get married. Then we’ll have another baby.
But then again, accidents do happen.
Moving is going to be a big change, obviously. We won’t have Jionni’s mom cooking for us. I can barely boil water for pasta. I’m going to have to learn how to cook, do laundry, and clean house. That’s cool. I want to live clean. No more clothes thrown all over, food on the counter, and clogged toilets for me. After living with a lot of roomies and family for so long, it’ll be strange to have a place of our own. Our crew will visit, obviously. But it won’t be like Grand Central with foot traffic all day like where we are now. I’ll miss everyone, but it’s a necessary step. I’m not a kid. I have a kid. I’m an adult, a mother, and a soon-to-be wife. I should have my own home with a yard for Lorenzo and his sisters and brothers. It might feel isolated at first, but we’ll fill it up with kids. Who knows, in a few years, we’ll probably outgrow it. I’ll complain that we need an even bigger house. I hope we do. I want to burst through the rafters with my family.
People ask if the old me is gone for good. Some of my former ways will not make a comeback. I don’t even think about going drinking with friends. Booze would ruin my diet. It’d ruin my attitude. I want to keep my head on straight. It’s a form of neglect, I feel, to spend all morning nursing a hangover instead of caring for your baby. If I do party my ass off again, it’ll be on a weekend vacation with Jionni—if we ever take one! My parents or his will watch Lorenzo, we’ll fly off somewhere for a couple of days, and then I’ll do shots and stay up all night. Otherwise, nope.
I’m a grown up. That’s the long and short of it. I used to be a little crazy. But I didn’t kill anyone. I didn’t do drugs. Partying at the Jersey Shore in the summers is just what people do if they grow up around here. If Lorenzo or my daughters do the same thing in twenty years, I’ll probably be horrified, but I won’t be surprised.
Apart from being fairly certain Lorenzo will watch us on YouTube one day (he’ll be so embarrassed!), I have no idea what will happen in his life. But I do know that with my genes, he’ll be short. Maybe he should be a jockey or a trapeze artist. My parenting goal is to just love him, let him live, and support him. I’ll need to work a lot and expand my business to give him a good life, an easy life. I hate the idea of him struggling, ever. Of course, I want my children to understand the value of a dollar. They’ll have jobs and chores. I just don’t want them to stress out about their needs being met. I definitely don’t aspire to raise him with a TV camera in his face. We signed on to do Season Three of Snooki & JWOWW. It will most likely be the last. I won’t film away from my family, and I don’t think it’s healthy for Lorenzo to grow up on TV. When he’s three or four and starts to clue in to the wider world, it’s time to stop. Really.
Maybe I’ll have other opportunities, and that’d be awesome. I can’t plan for anything, though. We’re being smart and saving money now. Jionni and I have already started a college fund for Lorenzo. Our only goal is to give him whatever he needs, and make sure he knows he’ll always have a family to fall back on. That’s what my parents did for me, and I want to return the favor for my kids.
The next big thing for me: Getting married! Jionni and I will do that right after we move into the house. And then, when we’re legal, we’ll try to get pregnant right away. And then again, and again. If we have our next three kids a year apart, I’ll be done with all my pregnancies by age 30.
And then, finally, I’ll get a boob job.
Epilogue
Mother’s Day
My mom did it all for me. Now I know what she went through. Having a child has definitely brought us closer. Before, my parents were kind of annoying. Now, I can’t wait to talk to them. They care about Lorenzo’s poops as much as I do. Thank God someone does.
Growing up, I really got into Mother’s Day. I would make a pilgrimage to the dollar store and pick out little gifts for Mom. I’d served her breakfast in bed, the whole deal. This Mother’s Day, my first as a mom, was almost too exciting. I looked forward to it forever. I went back home to Marlborough and spent a four-day weekend with my mom and grandma. Jionni had to work. It was just Lorenzo and three generations of mommies. And it couldn’t have been more special.
On Mother’s Day morning, Mom put out a pair of hand-painted flowerpots on the table. She pointed at them and said, “Remember these?”
I did. When I was about ten—old enough to make something besides a crayon outline of my hand—I painted terra cotta flowerpots for her. Two of them. We planted a couple of geraniums in them and they looked beautiful.
“You still have them?” I asked.
“Some gifts you keep forever, no matter how old your kids get.”
One day, Lorenzo will come home from school with a picture frame made of popsicle sticks, or a painted flower pot, and he’ll give it to me with as much pride and excitement as I gave gifts to my mom. And I will treasure them and keep them forever.
Baby Bumps: From Party Girl to Proud Mama, and all the Messy Milestones Along the Way Page 14
