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Monica Bielanko
A chronicle since 2005 of my marriage & move to Brooklyn in my twenties; becoming a mother in my thirties; moving to Pennsylvania and learning to amicably coparent after divorce in my forties while living 3 doors down from my ex-husband in a small country town.
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Thursday
Jan032008

Baby Steps Toward Motherhood

I am drunk enough that everything seems monumental. You know, when everything is a fucking Kleenex commercial, just so fucking moving. I'm not going to lie. I need to stop drinking. I'm not afraid to type it out loud. Monica needs to ease up on the drinky-drinky. The excuse du jour? Cramps. And so a hot bath and a gigantic glass of wine seemed fully justified. And here I am, three glasses later... typety-type-typing. More justification; I worked New Year's Eve and New Year's Day... tonight is my Saturday night. Is that enough? Or are you planning an intervention?

The world is out there lurking, behind the slightly bent metal blinds. I started my period today. I know, too much information. But I have started doing this funny thing... On the first day of my period I Google "pregnancy calculator". And then I can see my due date were I to do IT and then actually conceive as well. I know, baby steps - pardon the pun - Baby steps toward motherhood.

Oh! Did you know the McRib is back? Question: if the sandwich is so Goddamn popular why don't they serve that bastard all the time? Seems like everyone rejoices when the McRib returns, right? So just give that fucker a regular spot on the menu next to the Happy Meal. Why does McDonalds tease us so?

I saw the movie Juno today. It confirmed I have left the Britney Spears demographic and have officially joined the Old People ranks. I identified with the Jennifer Garner character and not the oh-so-witty Juno. Jennifer Garner broke my heart in this flick in the best way possible. And I'll just shutty-shutty right now in case you haven't seen the movie. Ain't nothin' worse than some blowhard waxing intelligent about the latest movie they saw and totally spoiling it for you.

In March I will be 31. I know! What the fuck? Seems like just yesterday I was all, did you hear the new Pearl Jam song, it's like, so intense?! And now I'm all, if I fuck my husband in ten days and conceive my due date will, like, be around Halloween! Dear God. Who AM I?

Check: Are you there God, it's me, Monica... When did I turn into this responsible working lady who yearns to shape the minds of young 'uns?