The past few days I’ve only wanted to spend my time with the women in the Litchfield Women’s Correctional Facility in New York. You know, the new season of “Orange Is The New Black” premiered on Netflix after a long wait. We got together with a group of our best friends to listen to a little Regina Spektor and catch up with Chapman and company this weekend. We admonished one couple for being the traitorous assholes who watched ahead an episode. If you’re not watching this show, start from the beginning and watch. It’s fantastic and lives up to it’s critical accolades.

We joked around and said which character each of our friends are. You would think that I would be Alex Vause. Tall, dark hair, big boobs and dark rimmed glasses. Obvious, right? No. My friend Sam said it best. She looked at me and said, “Amy, you’re Piper Chapman. You think you’re too pretty to go to prison.” I said, “Oh, I know I’m too pretty to go to prison!”

Let’s be clear. I would never get into a salacious love affair with an international drug trafficker like Chapman did. I would listen to my attorney’s advice and never lie under oath, that’s for sure. However, like Chapman, I would ask my husband to keep my blog updated while I’m locked up and I would read up on prison life before turning myself over.

mrgolightly.tumblr.com

piperchapman.tumblr.com

Seriously. I don’t think I’d make it in prison. Since watching the HBO series “OZ” during the height of its popularity I am convinced we are all one bad decision away from being locked up. I think any teens needing to be scared straight should be forced to watch “OZ.” As a teen I tried to steal one time just to see what it was like. I took a pack of gum from a hotel gift shop while on an overnight trip with my church youth choir. I got 100 feet into the lobby and felt so guilty I turned around and told the clerk I accidentally walked out, forgetting it was in my hand. I paid the $1.50 and vowed never to try to steal anything again. The only rush I ever got from shoplifting was rushing back to pay for something out of guilt. Clearly I never needed to be scared straight.

It’s no surprise that the story lines in “Orange Is The New Black” that have stuck with me at this time in my life are the ones about the mothers. Seeing the pregnant woman come back to prison with empty arms after delivering her baby was awful. I look at my babies’ faces and think what it would be like if I didn’t see them everyday because I was behind bars. I realized millions of families around our nation deal with that daily.

You could say that I drive safer, and continue to live right so I don’t become even more like Chapman. Now I have to run and go pick up my child from school on time. I can’t even handle being admonished by the preschool teachers, imagine how I would handle prison guards.

I definitely feel I am devoting most of my time to my family, now. (That’s a nicer way of saying I just use the hashtag #SAHM.) But, I have a confession. One member of our household is neglected.

Poor Ginger. She used to be head bitch around here.

Ginger protecting Baby Charlotte in 2011.

We got Ginger Christmas 2005 as newlyweds. She was our original baby. We doted on, worried about and basically fell all over ourselves for this dog. A rescue group found her on the side of the road. You would never know it after she came to live with us. She was spoiled rotten. She found us. She found the biggest suckers she could find to buy her designer dog food and pick up her poop.

We were good dog owners, but nothing like my friend Trish. Trish is an all around better person than you and me. Seriously. She’s a nurse who helps operate on people. That alone gets you into heaven, but she also volunteers for a pet rescue group and is often a foster mom for dogs before they are adopted. Ginger would probably rather have her for a mom than me.

Sadly, Ginger didn’t get as many snuggles, walks and pets after Charlotte was born. Now that Henry is here? Psh! I feel like she’s downright ignored among the chaos some days. The worst was about a month ago. I feel so guilty about this, it’s taken a month to write this confession.

At the risk of sounding like the cheesy start of a suspense novel, it was a cold and rainy night. It was about 3:00 am. I was expecting to be woken up by the cries of a little milk lover in need of my boobs, but it was a different sound. It was a tapping and scraping. I felt like I was still dreaming when Greyson sat up and said, “Is the dog still outside?!” “The sound was Ginger jumping and scratching the front door. We both jumped up and ran downstairs. Every step I thought, “Oh, God! Poor baby! What have I done!? I left her in the rain! I am a horrible person!”

Her collar and harness were missing. That means she got herself caught on a tree or bush while attached to her long tether. We put her out there and let her enjoy our large yard. She loves it. Ginger can now get out of the collar and harness if it gets caught on something. It’s doggy contortion at its finest. She bounded in the door, tail wagging, dripping with the rain of abandonment. We grabbed towels and dried her off. In my sleepy deliriousness I looked up at Greyson and said, “We can’t tell Trish about this!”

Well, she knows now. Ginger got loose yesterday morning too as I was trying to get out the door to be the parent volunteer at the preschool class party. I haven’t put her on the tether since yesterday. I just strap Henry in the baby carrier and have Charlotte walk with me as I have her on the leash. I have to remember to be a good dog mama too. Ginger deserves to be head bitch.

Why are dogs with sunglasses always funny?

There are looks only we get to see as mothers. The looks on the faces of our children. It starts with milk dribbles down their chins with sleepy, smiley eyes as they peek around our breasts or their bottle. They meet our gazes and grin between suckles.

Only we get to see the adoring eyes from a stumbling toddler when they say, “Mama!” Those sparkling, drooling smiles are for their mamas.

Their looks of horror after scraping a knee or hearing a loud noise are scary, indeed. But, they are faces that show that only you will do, mom. Only you.

I love the excited face, the face after you are reunited with your child after a few hours or days. The face of joy that we see and we can’t help but scoop up our babes, relieved they are back in our arms.

Enjoy the looks. Those faces make life better and they are for us, alone. Happy Mother’s Day.

Since being home, my wardrobe has gone to shit. When I was working full-time I may have rocked a low ponytail too often. It did have a side part to look “professional.” Let’s be honest, it was just in a low ponytail because it was dirty, but I was dressed for work. I had on clothes that weren’t yoga pants. Now I frequently squeeze into these spandex running capri things because that’s what the other moms wear when they sweat it out with me and our screaming children in strollers.

So, yesterday I was psyched to wear a dress for the preschool Mother’s Day Tea. I had every intention to dry my hair and wear it down, but the road to low ponytails is paved with good intentions. The first dress I tried on was way too short. I was worried I would flash my vag to the three-year-old’s if I had to sit in those tiny chairs, so I opted for one a little longer. Well, I ended up being a tad too scandalous for the kids, but didn’t know it.

You see, Henry slept through the night Monday night! Woop woop! He has only done that a handful of times. My husband says I rejected his advances when I rolled over in deep, blissful sleep yesterday morning. I have no recollection of this shunning. I slept until 7:00 am! It was glorious and everything I thought it could be. Greyson woke up with Charlotte, so I could sleep. This meant that when I did wake up my boobs were like ZOMG, full of milk! I fed him, dressed the kids and decided on this purple dress.

I packed my pump in the car with everything else to pump while I drive. That’s my thing. Vehicular milk expression. But, I was wearing a dress. Blerg. Well, it was only an hour, forget it. I figured I’d be alright. I didn’t pump. I was a little lopsided since he ate on one side, but I’d be okay. Right?!

The tea was adorable! We got flowers in pots the kids had painted. Oh, God a flower! I kill anything in potting soil. I really hoped to keep this little flower alive.

I got to hear my girl sing her class songs in her pretty dress. I was able to squat down by the tiny tables in a ladylike way to take a selfie.

But again, I suck at selfies. My friend Clare caught me taking forever to take a selfie.

After the tea I got back to the car and something happened that hasn’t happened in MONTHS. My overflowing boobs leaked on my dress. I also forgot my nursing pads/nipple covers so I was straight up nippin’ out of the dress. I was so full my cleavage was busting out of the top. Yep, nips and cleavage at the preschool in the Baptist church.

Then, as if the pump was throwing itself in my face to prove a point, I was forced to slam on breaks leaving the tea. The pump slid and knocked my flowerpot, sending dirt all over the car.

So the preschool tea gave me a physics lesson I already knew. If your boobs are too full, they will overflow. I guess that’s really biology, but you know what I mean. The other biology lesson? If there is a plant, even a precious one given to me by a child, I will kill it. That’ll teach me to try to wear a dress. Today I’m back in my shitty wardrobe.  Spandex with a low ponytail and proud of it!

Yesterday I got off to a great start for a Monday. We were out the door and had grabbed Starbucks for breakfast before my 9:30am Stroller Strides class. No groceries. It was the ‘Bucks or starve. That aside, we were doing alright with just one threenager tantrum and only a little pee through the baby’s diaper on his pajamas. I even pumped milk before we left so I didn’t have to do it while driving when pervy truckers can peer into my SUV. I had all my clothes on behind the wheel. Win!

I told the instructor we had to cut out of class a little early to get Charlotte to gymnastics class. We were making good time and I got half a workout in. I’ll take it. I downed water on the way to gymnastics. Water is my thing now. So. Much. Water. Now that I have time to exercise in my new #SAHM life, I’m gonna take advantage of it. I’m embarrassed to tell you how long it had been since I did actual exercise before leaving my full time job. We’ll just go with “more than a year.”

The water has a downside, no doubt. I wear my baby in the carrier when I have to pee. I wake up in the night when I’m not breastfeeding to pee. I hate even having to say “pee.” It’s so crass. Sorry, but bodily fluids are my life, ya’ll.

Our relatively blissful morning was cut short when after gymnastics I made the risky move to take my brood to Carter’s to round out their spring wardrobes. It was before lunch. We were prime for meltdowns. After my successful hunt for size 3T capri leggings, we headed home. Charlotte started losing it while we were still in the store. We had a bit of a “come to Jesus” discussion between racks of 30% off cargo shorts.

No worries. We got back in the car to head home. We were still hanging in there for a Monday. That is until my bladder was overwhelmed by my excessive hydration. I had to go. Bad.

That’s when they started up, both of them. Henry, the world’s happiest baby, turned on me in my time of discomfort. He wailed and screamed. No bottle that I awkwardly poked in his face by reaching in the back seat would soothe him. That’s when Charlotte decided this was too much for her. She whined and wailed. More bodily fluids. This time tears.

She hollered, “This is ruining my whole day!”

Really?! You ruined my junk for the better part of six weeks when I pushed you out and you want to tell me how this car ride is ruining your day?!

The more I pleaded with my children to calm down, the louder they screamed. We hit every red light. I was sure people in other cars could hear the wails of my discontented babes. I panicked and looked for somewhere to pull off the road, anywhere. Why did I drink so much damn water!? Why didn’t I do kegel exercises to strengthen my pelvic floor like my OB/GYN told me too?! Where is a bathroom!?

I pulled off the only place I could, a small, quiet side road. I threw on the hazards and jumped out of the car. I took Henry out of his seat to try to find out what on earth was wrong with him. I continued to do kegels so I wouldn’t wet my pants. He stopped when I rocked him a bit. I looked around. I couldn’t take it anymore. My sniffling 3-year-old stared at me with teary eyes. I looked around.

I was gonna do it, ya’ll. I was gonna do it. I was going to hold my baby, drop trow and pee on the side of this road because I couldn’t take it anymore. Just then a truck carrying a crew of construction workers came around the curve of my quiet side street. Thank God I still had my pants up.

I put Henry back in his car seat and thought about what I was about to do. I stood with the car door open and laughed until it hurt. My children looked at me like I was insane. Maybe I am. I’m a kegeling, milk pumping, full-bladdered mess who almost flashed a construction crew who could very well know the truck driver who may or may not have seen me pumping milk on another day.