About Me


 The greatest thing we can do is to show up for our lives and not be ashamed.

 -Anne Lamott


I'm a creature of the word, learning to tell my honest story.

I offer it here because telling stories is the road back home.

Motherhood is not a biological designation
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Random exhausted thoughts from the motherland.

These are the thoughts I would normally keep to myself in the name of saving face.

But I've got so little face left to save.
And, even if everyone else in the world thinks this post is TMI, my Elizabeth will like it and she will laugh. And her laughter has been my medicine these last five months. So, in honor of her, and all the things we say to each other that should probably never be written down for posterity, here goes...


The other day when I got my stroller out of the car, I thought to myself: "Shoot. Alls I need to know when I go shopping for a new baby stroller is: can I fit a 6-pack of beer in that basket?"


I have no problem wiping my dirty hands on whatever I am wearing at the moment.  I am already covered in spit up and pee and breastmilk, so it just blends in. I choose to call this: boho mommy chic.

I imagine people being like, "Wow, that mom doesn't even care that she's covered in spit up. She must be so secure in who she is!"

A little self-deception goes a long way, people.


Somehow, I thought I looked cute in this get-up. I convinced myself that wearing my hubbin's hoodie with short work out pants and blue Uggs, and a hippie "hairstyle," would look like a sort of beachy surfer-ish mom transplanted to Northern Virginia, who works out a lot, and is so "fun" she doesn't care to try and impress anyone, and who is so "in love" with her hubbins that she wears his clothing.

Let's just go ahead and point out the breastmilk leak on my left boobie, and the fact that I am letting my 4 year old prune our neighbor's bushes without permission, and my 5 year old is eating kettle corn straight out of the bag for breakfast.


I have decided that when I wear no makeup and my hair is a ratty mess, I will throw on a pair of black yoga pants and a black top and a big pair of sunglasses, and pretend I am FRENCH.  I am Sophia Loren. And I am SEXY underneath these sunglasses. But I don't need you to know how SEXY I am. Because I am CONFIDENT and SELF-POSSESSED.

I choose to call this: more self-preservation through self-deception.


The other day I was talking to a friend, and I got distracted mid-sentence by something on the floor. I walked over and discovered a dried up Kyrie turd on the carpet.  It must have rolled out of the diaper when I was changing her.  The person on the other line said Hello? to make sure I was still there because I had just gone silent.  So then I laughed and said, "Haha! I just found a dried up turd on my carpet! Where was I?"  And went on with the conversation like nothing had happened. Except while I was talking, I was also secretly inspecting my fingernails again for what I had thought was chocolate, but now suspected was poo, and just like in that movie Baby Mama, I indeed licked my finger to see what it really was.  And it was poo.


My postpartum underwear is so baggy huge that even when I wear high-waisted jeans to try to suck in all the fatness, my undies pooch out over the top, like I stuffed my waist band with a shower cap.  That night, I took off the jeans in frustration, and Michael was like, "there's a stain on your undies."

"Where?" I said. Not surprised, since yes, one does happen to bleed a little after pushing out a baby, and he was like, "up the back."

I took off the undies, and yes, there was a long rust-colored stain up the back. "Oh yeah, that's from when I sleep because the blood like oozes up instead of down."  I don't even know if that is gravitationally possible, or why I had on undies that were stained from sleeping in them the night before...but I did determine to buy myself some new undies pronto because I just cannot stomach another day wearing grannie panties and undies with huge elastic waistbands and stupid designs like colored circles that look like gumballs.  I've been waiting for my butt to get to a normal size again, but then I remembered that my butt doesn't gain weight when I get pregnant- I am not the lucky woman who gets some curves post-partum- my butt gets flatter.  As I've mentioned before, I look like an upside-down triangle post-pregnancy: everything expands outwards till I don't even have any indentations for a waist. No hips. No curves at all- I'm just one big rectangle, until we get to my butt, and then I start to shrink inward, like a wrestler sucking weight.  

At least my ankles are hot.


I had coitus (isn't that the weirdest word?) with my hubbins while Phoenix was awake, swinging in the swing near our bed.
At first I thought this would scar him for life.
But then I thought, Whatever. it's how he was MADE.
He was there in the womb while it was happening.
I mean, he's going to find out someday.

He didn't cry, so we figured he fell asleep, but then, post-coitus (WEIRD WORD), I heard him suck in like eight whimpery breaths ( I imagined his little lower lip trembling), and he started bawling, like, "it's TOO much.  It's just TOO much. I thought I could handle it, but I'm not ready for the whole truth!!"

 The whole truth, my son, is that someday, when you and your beloved have four kids five years old and under, you too will do whatever it takes to get a little nookie.

Reader Comments (4)

You are brave, friend. And I love it.

By the way, I think kettle corn is a totally legit breakfast. That's whole grain, yo.

Also, I went to the library yesterday with spit-up on both shoulders. And when I got home and realized, I just shrugged. If people didn't realize I was in over my head after experiencing our massive disruption of libraryesque serenity, then a little spit-up was probably lost on them too.

May 9, 2012 | Unregistered Commentercara

Trinity, your absolute honesty is refreshing. Would women in society be embarrassed to share such things if they were shared with one another more openly? No, because it would be normal. So forget what is already in place and start expressing what we're all thinking anyway, by your inspiration, you are not alone! ;)

Also, it's nice to know what I might have to look forward to when I reach a similar point in my life, it's more real than any book can relate.

May 13, 2012 | Unregistered CommenterB

This made me cry from laughing so hard. MUCH NEEDED- thanks! Thinking of you:)

May 15, 2012 | Unregistered CommenterKatie

Trina, I have ADHD. I don't know the difference between ADD and ADHD, and I'm sure I'm claiming to have the wrong type, but I have that disorder that makes it really hard to read stuff from start to finish. BUT - not your stuff. I read your blog posts in their entirety, and I'm never bored. Reading your thoughts makes me think "YAY! YES! I'm not alone! I'm not the only weird one; there are other people like me out there." And weird is the wrong word - we think our strange thoughts and behaviors are weird because we think they're rare; but that's just it! They aren't - they're very (and often times painfully) normal. So, thank you for being the brave one to admit you tasted the brown stuff on your finger, hoping it was chocolate, but very accepting of the fact and likelihood that it was not.

May 31, 2012 | Unregistered CommenterLauren

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