I searched ‘boob sweat’ on Amazon

I searched ‘boob sweat’ on Amazon

Texas summer can suck it. Thanks to temperatures like these:


I now have a serious problem with underboob sweat. Like, serious swampiness under the girls. No chafe yet, thank Jeebus, but with how frickin damp it gets under there it can’t be too far behind.

Having experienced underboob chafe after my first marathon (it STIIIIIINGS), I’m game for avoiding it. So like I do with almost any problem I have, I turned to Amazon. If you can’t find it on Amazon, you didn’t really need it in the first place. Amazon, of course, did not let me down in the boob sweat product department.

Naturally, there was the usual paraphernalia one might expect when typing boob into a search box: bras, boob shapers, bra inserts, chicken cutlet-looking things, clothing with frat boy type boob humor (like Hello Titty), etc. But then, there were a few items that made me go

dafuq

So if you’ve ever wondered what types of products you’d be offered if you typed ‘boob sweat’ into Amazon, you’re in luck! Here’s a random sampling of the 150 that were returned on my search:

mens shaperThis man-girdle. I can’t decide if it’s PhotoShopped or if the dude is really being compressed that much. Either way – not helpful in my de-boob-sweating campaign.

pudding boobs

Ok, um, WHAT? It’s like, yeah, ha ha, the Christmas puddings look like boobs and OMG they are place where boobs usually are. Super LOL. But WHY does it have to come in kid sizes???

heel covers

I think someone was just trying to make a quick buck. Or just wasn’t paying attention when uploading pictures. Either way, it didn’t impress those 4 customers.

boob schmoozie

There were several different types of liners or inserts one could shove in their bra to combat mucky mammaries, but I liked this one because it was called the Boob Schmoozie. It kind of looks like a twiddly mustache for your boobs.

Boob cream that turns into a powder. And apparently, if a woman has sweaty boob problems, she helpfully thinks of her man and gets him the matching sweaty balls lotion. The couple who de-funks together, stays together.

lady anti monkey butt

What’s not to love about a product with ‘anti-monkey butt’ in the name? Half the reason I chose Boudreaux’s Butt Paste for my kiddos was because of the name. I’ve known for awhile that my sense of humor slides heavily into junior high boy territory, and I’m ok with that. What pissed me off about this product was the description:

Specially blended for women, Lady Anti Monkey Butt Powder is a cornstarch and Calamine based powder you will love for absorbing sweat and staying irritation-free. Satin-smooth and with a pleasant fragrance, this body powder provides long-lasting cooling relief. Apply before spin or exercise class, before long walks or jogs and after showering.

If I may quote my friend Captain Jack Sparrow from above: DAFUQ? Does this company assume women only do these kinds of stereotypically “lady” activities, or is the powder only effective after these particular workouts? Maybe I’ll post that question under the Customer Questions & Answers.

Because I’m super cheap, I decided to come up with my own solution.

The best part? It’s BARELY NOTICEABLE under your shirt. The worst part was my kids bugging me to have the fan back, because apparently the clip-on stroller fan is the most exciting toy ever.

For those days when I can’t pry the fan out of their greedy little hands, I’m going to try sticking some Bamboobies nursing pads under my boobs. They are AMAZING at keeping milk from leaking through a shirt, so I imagine they’d work well for sweat too. I still have a few left over from my leaky days, so I’ll give it a shot and let you know how it works.

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Apology to my first son

Awhile ago, I saw a HuffPo piece called “An Apology Letter to My Second Child.” My second child was about a month old, so I was like, ok, I’ll bite. It was one of those funny/cutesy posts where the writer apologizes for all the awful things that happened (brother peed on you, didn’t do your baby book, etc.) but then declares she won’t apologize for loving you less. Slightly Hallmark cliche, but sweet nonetheless. It got me thinking, though…

…and I need to apologize to my first son. So, here goes:

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Colt, 6 weeks

I’m sorry I don’t remember much about your first few months.
Jack will do something adorable, like “shout” at us or make a funny face. I’ll remark, “I don’t remember Colt doing that; did he do that?” And my husband will inevitably reply, “Yes,” with only a hint of an exasperated sigh. I was in such a fog of exhaustion and untreated postpartum depression that I honestly don’t remember most details of his first 3 months. I took a crap ton of photos, so it’s not like it’s a complete blank. But those random moments of looking into his eyes, smiling at his coos, nuzzling my nose into his hair and breathing in his wonderful baby smell? No memory. Makes my heart ache a little.

I’m sorry I was afraid.
I was afraid to bedshare, because I was certain I’d kill him. I was afraid to babywear, because I read one random story about a baby suffocating in a Moby wrap. I was actually afraid to be alone with him at times, because I didn’t know what to do with him! I wish I’d educated myself more. Bedsharing has been a lifesaver with Jack; I get so much more sleep and I know I won’t kill him because I do it safely. I wear him in a wrap often – sometimes, it’s the only thing that calms him down! Again, I educated myself on the safest ways to wear an infant. I can’t help but wonder a bit that if I’d bed-shared (gotten more sleep) and baby-wore (less crying/stress), I might have more memories of Colt’s first few months.

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There was happiness…

I’m sorry I was so stressed and cried a lot.
Most of what I do remember about the first few months is how panicked I felt – especially while home alone. Bryce went back to work 10 days after he was born, he worked 12+ hours a day, I didn’t have a car, and I didn’t have any friends that lived nearby. Basically, I was too isolated while learning this crazy new job of mother. Plus, there was the untreated postpartum depression. I’d gone off my depression meds before trying to get pregnant. During Colt’s pregnancy, I had no symptoms of depression, so I didn’t think after pregnancy would be all that bad. HA. I had several risk factors for PPD, but ignored the signs when they showed up or lied to health care providers. I mentioned to Bryce once or twice that I thought I needed help, but did it kind of casually and never followed up. I should have told him I’d had fleeting thoughts of what life would be like if I was gone (how would Bryce raise a child alone?) and that I was afraid I could possibly hurt the baby.

With Jack, it’s been 180 degrees different. Bryce took a month off before going back to his laidback, 9-hour-a-day job. I have a car and an older son who loves to go do things. I’ve got several local friends I see regularly. I started taking my depression meds at 36 weeks, so it would have time to build up in my system before delivery. No sadness, anxiety, or unworthy feelings (unless I forget to take my meds for a few days!). I feel so much more relaxed. I’m sure part of it is just the fact that I’ve done this before. However, I think a large part of it is different circumstances (Bryce’s job situation) and that I worked hard to reduce my risk of PPD this time around. If things get bad this time, I will ask for help. If you have any of the symptoms of postpartum depression, please don’t be afraid to ask for help!!!

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Much more relaxed now

I’m sorry I went back to work because I thought being a SAHM wasn’t enough.
I took a full-time job when Colt was 4 months old. Part of the reason was financial; we were barely scraping by on just Bryce’s salary (damn student loans). Another part was me wanting to use my newly earned Master degree. But there was a part of me that felt being “just a mom” wasn’t enough; that I wasn’t fulfilled as a person. In reality, my disease was rearing up. I used to only find my worth in my work and felt like I wasn’t complete without validation from outside sources. This was my disease talking. I’ve since worked through that and I no longer need someone/something to tell me I’m worthy; I’m enough. I’ll be going back to school when Jack is about 5 months, but not because being home with the boys isn’t good enough.

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The moment Colt stole my heart

I suppose this is the part where the touching “I’m not sorry I…” comes in. I’m reluctant to add it – mostly because of the Hallmark cheese factor – but also because I don’t want to devalue what I just wrote. I loved Colt then, as I do now. There’s no doubt about that. He made me a mother. I am grateful that I learned from my early motherhood experiences, so that I could make different choices later. Colt is a bright, independent firecracker who tells me he loves me about ten times a day, so I know I didn’t ruin him in those early dark days. I just wish those early days weren’t quite so dark.

Jack be nimble, Jack be QUICK!

So apparently all my uterus needed was a firm but loving lecture about letting go, because my son was born the day after I posted my missive. Looking back, I was probably in early labor all day Sunday. I’d had contractions all day, but nothing too regular and nothing painful.

Things felt different on Monday morning. I had one of The Signs that labor might be imminent, which was very exciting. All morning, my contractions were about 4-6 minutes apart, but not painful. Still, something told me to skip my workout and just kick it. I made sure the hospital bag was completely packed and my labor playlist perfected. I was ready.

mom colt

Contractions started getting a little more painful around noon. Nothing big, but a noticeable change. I had an OB appointment at 3:00, so I figured I’d wait until then and see what they said. I had to meet Bryce at 2:30 to drop one of the cars off for service; by then the contractions made it a little hard to drive.

At the appointment, I was a little disappointed to find out I was only dilated to a 2. However, the nurse practitioner said she could feel the bag of waters. I figured that was a good sign, and she said it was up to me whether I went to L&D now or later. This was at 3:45, and I decided to go home and wait.

After my appointment, the contractions started coming every 3-5 minutes. And they got progressively more painful. I spent some time in the shower, on my exercise ball, on all fours. Around 5ish, I decided we needed to go in. When the L&D nurse checked me (at around 5:30), I was dilated to a 4 and she said my membranes were “bulging.” Time to be admitted! Which meant a half hour’s worth of stupid questions in between increasingly worsening contractions.

I also couldn’t get the epidural until they admitted me, took blood and got the bloodwork back. Son of a bitch. I had originally planned to do a natural birth, but at one point I looked at Bryce and said, “Fuck it, I want the epidural.” He nodded, eyes big and terrified. Good move. Unfortunately, it took so damn long to do all the paperwork stuff that I think it was about 7:00 by the time it was placed and the drugs flowing.

I was doing ok with the contractions. I focused on my breathing and when one would start, would chant in my head, It’ll be over soon. I think I had back labor, because my lower back and hips were in agony. I just prayed that the epidural kick in before my water broke. I was seriously terrified of what the pain would be when my water broke, because I remember how horrendous it was with Colt. When my water broke around 7:23, I was still feeling everything…sigh.

The nurse checked me then, and I was an 8. That’s when shit started going down, according to my husband (I was too focused on the intense, crushing pain in my back/hips to notice). He said about 6 nurses burst in and one started gloving up in these special brown gloves. Then the doctor ran in and pretty much jumped into his gown and gloves. He was a little surprised, because with Colt I didn’t start pushing until I was dilated to a 10.

At some point during this, they put my legs into the stirrups and it was time to push. This is when I was losing my head. I began screaming with each contraction because it hurt more than any pain I could have ever imagined. My husband said he’d never heard anyone scream so loud. At one point, I yelled that I couldn’t do it and honestly thought I was going to lose it.

Thank God the OB was a good one. He calmly and gently told me, “You can scream if you want, but when you do it actually makes the baby move up a little, makes it harder. It’d be better if you held your breath, grabbed your legs, put your chin to your chest and just pushed.” Something made me stop and trust him (even though this was the first time we’d met; my regular OB was on vacation). I quieted down and said, “Ok.” I did everything he said, and Jack was born about 3-4 pushes later at 7:33. In less than 4 hours, my body had gone from barely dilated to baby. I guess it’s true – when the baby is ready, he’ll come!

In a way, I got the natural birth I thought I wanted. The epidural didn’t numb anything except my left thigh, and that occurred after the birth. Now that I’ve done natural birth, I don’t think I want to do it again. That was pretty damn intense. And painful. More power to the mamas who do it and feel like warriors afterward, but I’m just happy I made it through without completely going crazy! He was 8lb, which helped (his older brother was 10lb 3oz, so 8lb seemed small!).

jack

We didn’t get immediate skin to skin, which was disappointing. They said he was floppy at birth, so they took him to get examined while I was stitched up. But once he was placed in my arms, I didn’t care that it wasn’t right away. He was soft and beautiful and absolutely perfect, and I’m madly in love.

mom jack

A Letter To My Uterus

Dear Uterus,

I want to commend you for a job well done. For just about forty weeks now, you’ve nourished what is undoubtedly a beautiful baby boy. From all the pictures we’ve seen, he’s grown well and all the necessary bits are intact. You’ve done splendidly.

However, it’s time to let go.

You can’t have him forever. He’s going to keep growing and you can only stretch so far! It’s already getting pretty cramped in there, according to the rest of my abdomen. Bladder is especially insistent that her days as a trampoline come to an end soon.

It’s time to move into phase 2: expelling your precious cargo. Now, I know this requires more physical work than you’ve been doing. You’re going to have to use those muscles you’ve been working on for about 20 weeks now (yes, I’ve noticed your many, many sessions of Braxton Hicks, especially the ones when I was trying to sleep – your dedication has been commendable). You should have Olympic powerlifting levels of strength by now, so it really shouldn’t be too physically demanding for you to squeeze him out. I’ll even help (I’m sure you’ve noticed my own grueling workouts – all those lifting sessions were training for labor).

You held on too long with Colt, and remember how that turned out? I had to come at you with a Foley bulb and Pitocin. I really don’t want to have to do that again. Don’t make me use interventions! I know you have it in you to do it on your own.

I promise you, we will take good care of that sweet baby once he is out of you. He will be loved and cherished by everyone who is anxiously waiting to meet him – me, his daddy, his big brother, grandparents, aunts, uncles and of course anyone who is on social media. He will go straight from you to my chest, where I will hold him close and help him transition to this scary new world.

Are you holding on because this might be your last baby? Does it sadden you to think your Big Job in life might be done for good? I get it – I have similar feelings. But remember, there was a time we thought this baby might not happen. You never know what will happen in life!

So please, dear Uterus, let my baby go. I can’t thank you enough for what you’ve done so far, and we’ll work together to bring him earthside.

Love,

Sara

uterus

P.S. No need to worry about how well he’ll be nourished outside of you. The Boobs wanted me to tell you they’ve got this. Judging by the amount of wet spots on my shirts lately, I have to agree with them.

It’s ok to hate motherhood

It’s kind of funny that my last post was about angry music and in it, I asked my hormonal bitchiness to go away. The day after I wrote it, I had probably the worst day of my pregnancy, hormone-wise.

Yesterday (Tuesday) was the perfect storm of crazy. I was tired, sore from my Sunday run, short-tempered and low on patience. My son was whiny, tired and not really willing to listen to me. Everything came to a head when he refused to nap. I laid with him for a little bit and, of course, fell asleep just long enough to wake up groggy, tired and more irritable than before. I left him lying there awake and told him to sleep. About 15 minutes later, I hear a knocking on his door (his usual way of letting me know he’s up). I ignored it, until I heard him hit the door with what sounded like a hard toy.

I kind of exploded. It wasn’t pretty. I yelled about not hitting the door and he started crying. In a fit of rage, I showed him how his beloved Lego Marvel superheroes video game was going into the closet for the foreseeable future because he wouldn’t nap. All the while, he’s standing there with tears in his eyes, probably confused as to why I was freaking out so much.

Once I forced myself to calm down a bit, I held him for awhile and apologized for yelling. We talked about how it was scary that I yelled and how he shouldn’t have hit his door and I shouldn’t have yelled. He was running around and playing as if nothing had happened about 15 minutes later, but I was still in a state.

Fast forward, my husband gets home and they go outside to play. I sit down outside to watch and soak up some Vitamin D, but within two minutes I have to go lay on my bed and bawl my frickin’ eyes out. While sitting out there, watching my son run around, I had this fleeting thought:

I wish he’d keep running and not come back.

That instantly triggered the mom guilt and reinforced my thoughts of inadequacy; hence the tears. As I lay there sobbing, I alternated between beating myself up for having such a horrible thought and being terrified at the thought of having two children when I can barely manage one.

Now, normally this is the point in a blog post like this where I’d tell you about that magical moment where I realized it’s all going to be okay. That my son did something heart-melting and I saw what a joy motherhood really was. Not going to happen this time. I didn’t have an a-ha moment like that this time.

My son and husband did come in and try to make me feel better. My husband rubbed my back and sat there in silence, knowing I would talk if I wanted to. My son jumped around the bed, asking if I was ok, telling his dad that I was sad and giving me little kisses and hugs. It did help my tears subside and my calm (sanity) return, but it didn’t make me love motherhood again.

And that’s FINE. It’s okay to have thoughts like mine. It’s normal not to love motherhood 100% of the time. It’s all right not to have that Hallmark moment where you realize everything is going to be hunky-dory. If it takes you a little longer to find your calm again, you are still a good mama.

Note: If you have these kind of feelings, acknowledge them. Don’t force them away because you are ashamed, or think good mamas don’t have those thoughts. Let them out in some constructive way: crying, talking to someone, screaming (into a pillow, preferably not at someone else), doing a therapeutic activity (art, yoga, whatever floats your boat). If you hold these types of feelings inside, they will fester and possibly grow into something worse. Don’t be afraid to ask for help if you feel like you’re drowning. Asking for help is a sign of strength. My support team is my husband, my parents, a few close friends and my OB. After I give birth, I plan to go back on my antidepressants (I know there are some I could take during pregnancy, but I don’t feel my need outweighs the potential risks to the baby at this point). Just please, don’t hide these feelings away out of fear or shame. You are a good mama, and don’t ever forget that.

When the past invades your present (parenting)

My son attends a gymnastics class once a week. On so many levels, it’s a good thing: he gets some socialization, gets a chance to learn new skills, gets practice with listening to authority figures, I get an hour to myself (stuck on a hard bench, but still). He enjoys it, and has been exposed to so many different new things. Did you know a 3yo can do the pommel horse, and rings, and high bar (all with assistance, of course)? When I did gymnastics camp in the 2nd grade, we only did floor, vault and beam.

Colt in the swing at gymnastics

So this sounds all find and dandy, right? Last week, I almost broke down in tears watching him. Not from pride or that sentimental “oh-he’s-getting-so-big” crap that frequently pops up. The tears were threatening to spill because I wondered if this gymnastics thing was a big mistake.

Colt is very spirited and independent. Sometimes, he has trouble focusing. This often comes out in gymnastics, when his coaches are asking him to do specific tasks and he just wants to screw around with the other little boys in his group. Last class, I watched the coach put him in a sort of timeout: a few feet away from the other boys, facing away, because he wouldn’t stop messing around while waiting his turn. I think it was the right thing to do (hell, I’d probably do the same), but it still broke my heart to see my boy singled out. When the same thing kept happening at every station, that’s when the doubt started to creep in.

Then I wondered if maybe these feelings were highlighting my own personality or parenting shortcomings.

I try not to be pushy with Colt. I want him to enjoy his activities and not feel like he has to succeed in order to be loved. But there is a part of me that wants him to be the best. I think it’s natural for every parent to have that feeling. With me, I also know I’m very competitive. I was an overachiever growing up and felt like my worth was dependent on how well I did in school, sports, etc. When I got my first B ever in high school, I felt like a complete failure. In sports, I was always second best, the 6th man, the first sub – never the starter, the star. It made me feel less-than, even though I was always on the varsity team and contributed greatly. I just never felt good enough.

I don’t blame my parents for this. They applauded my achievements and encouraged me to do well, but never tied their love to how well I did. I’ve read that feelings like mine are often seen in children of alcoholics, so I’m guessing I developed them as a coping strategy to my dad’s drinking.

I don’t ever want my son to feel that he has to be perfect to be loved. I also don’t want him to miss out on learning opportunities just because I’m afraid he’ll fail, or be laughed at, or feel inadequate. I think it’s important for him to experience these things, so he can learn healthy coping strategies now that will serve him well as he gets older.

There is proof that the gymnastics thing was more about me than Colt. At the end of class, I was waiting for the coach to come over and tell me that Colt was not getting his sucker today because he didn’t listen (this has happened before). Instead, I watched her put her arm around his shoulders and say, “Good job listening today, Colt.” From a distance, I only saw the negative, but up close she saw improvement. When he ran over to me, beaming and saying happily, “I did listen today,” I swallowed the lecture about listening to his coaches, hugged him and simply said, “I’m so proud of you. Thank you for listening to your coaches.” Apparently, Colt isn’t the only one who is learning from gymnastics.

Twisted Mix Tape Tuesday: Let’s Get Physical!

…but not with Olivia Newton-John. Not in this chick’s workout playlist, anyway.

Oh how I’ve missed Twisted Mix Tape! I love talking about music, and sharing music, and discovering music, so my hiatus from this blog hop has been sad times. But no more!

Twisted Mix Tape www.jenkehl.comThe topic this week is motivating music. Since I’m kind of a gym rat who needs music to fuel my workouts, this is near and dear to my heart. So here goes: the top 5 songs that get me pumped the eff up.

1. Lose Yourself by Eminem

Oh My Lawd, this gets me pumped up. This song got me so many months of marathon and half marathon training. At the end of my last leg in one of the relays I did, I just replayed this song over and over and over because I. Was. Just. Done. I needed Eminem to tell me that “Success is my only motherfucking option, failure’s not.” This especially gets me to that point of, I’m so pumped up I might cry: “So here I go it’s my shot, feet fail me not, this may be the only opportunity that I got.”

Funny enough, I’ve never seen 8 Mile.

2. Killing In The Name by Rage Against the Machine

Another badass running song. The pace of my run syncs up well with the beat. This one also gets my blood pumping when I’m lifting heavy things.

“Fuck you, I won’t do what you tell me.”

3. Shoot to Thrill by AC/DC

I’m not gonna lie, my love affair with AC/DC is a direct effect of my near-obsessive love of The Avengers. Iron Man makes two kick-ass entrances to this song: one in Iron Man 2 and the other in The Avengers. The Iron Man 2 soundtrack is a staple in my workout playlist rotation. It kind of makes me feel like Iron Man.

4. Pretty much anything by The Lonely Island

So, one thing I like to look for in fitness music is humor. If I’m dying during a long run, I want to hear something funny to take my mind off the fact that I hate life so much right now. The Lonely Island pretty much delivers on that, every time. It’s a close one between I’m On A Boat and Jizz In My Pants, but I think Boat wins because it also has such a driving beat. Jizz is a little mellower. Anyway, here is both. You be the judge!

5. Professional Griefers by deadmau5 featuring Gerard Way

I added this one while living in England. The driving beat, the yelling lyrics, just the overall energy. I freaking love this song.

My workout playlist has definitely evolved. It used to be dominated by pop – Black Eyed Peas, Britney, etc. It still has a bit of that (Britney puts out some damn good dance music) and actually has a lot of British pop from my time in England (Wiley, Far East Movement, David Guetta, JLS, Example).

What music gets you off your rump and moving?