Fitzpatrick, Maddow, and Me.

In the words of Austin Powers, “I’ve lost my mojo, man.”
It’s gone and I really want it back.
Before I figure out how to get it back, I need to examine why my mojo left me when I need it most.
Several factors contribute to the loss of said mojo. Let’s break it down.
This is the obvious reason. The person who knew me the best, who I was completely myself around, completely devoted to, who watched me push a baby out of my vagina, ran for the hills. I always thought that a man has a deeper love for his wife after she carries and delivers his baby. Especially me! I loved being pregnant and I had a super easy and zen labor and delivery. Best day of my life! I was sick my first trimester but “Afkah,” (stands for Artist Formerly Known As Husband if this is the first entry you’re reading,) would say that despite my weakness and nausea I always had a “great demeanor.” I got pretty uncomfortable (and huge) at times, but still enjoyed the experience and wore tight fitting dresses to show off my growing tummy and widening backside. I never turned into that miserable, “get this baby out of me already!” person. I felt beautiful and loved how everyone is so nice to a pregnant lady. Muuuuch nicer during pregnancy than after. I swear, people used to run to open the door for me when I was pregs. Now they stare at me like I’m some sort of freak show trying to navigate how to get the door open whilst pushing a stroller and carrying a diaper bag. Seriously, nobody helps! I’m not the only one of my friends who this happens to. I guess it’s a thing.
That was a pretty long tangent about being pregnant.
Back to getting dumped.
I got dumped. I got dumped and now everything I once thought about myself is not what I think about myself. Which leads me to the #2 no-mojo factor.
I never thought I was the most beautiful girl, and by far not the sexiest, but I definitely thought I was a’iight. I’m sure my mother’s friends reading this think that’s a spelling mistake, but I’m going to just let it go. Now I look in the mirror and I’m not happy with what I see. Despite knowing that I’m not the hottest girl around, I always had incredible confidence. Literally I would find a guy I liked and say, out loud, “He will be mine,” and most of the time, he was. I kid you not, I at least got a date or two out of it. I can only think of a few dudes that weren’t into A-Po. For the sake of name dropping I’ll share the story of one of the dudes who I could not score a date with to save my life. I used to hard core flirt with a horror film director named Eli Roth. (Can someone pick up that name I dropped on the floor?) We flirted at the gym, I would walk him to his car, I made it wicked clear (he’s from Boston so I threw in ‘wicked’ in case he reads this, we have lots of mutual peeps,) that I had a big crush on him. There was even a blurb in In Touch Weekly that he was seen hugging on a brunette trainer. I was tickled by that, actually, and assumed the source had seen us in the gym. Actually, that reminds me. I remember my client Beth that trained at the same time as him used to tell me every time he hugged me he would look at himself in the mirror. Ha! Love it. But he was so funny, cute, and nice I really wanted a date! It never happened. Point of the story is that most of the time I was interested in someone, they became interested in me because of my confidence which I no longer have. I’m fairly certain my husband fell out of attraction with me and that doesn’t help the case either. Sad face emoji.
Now I will be even more indulgent and go into the specifics of what I don’t like about my looks:
A) My hair.
I’ve always loved a cute pixie cut. Since my hair is a crazy Jew fro I never thought I could have short hair. I always had fairly long or shoulder length hair that I usually pressed straight.
Here comes a story…
I went to premier of a movie that my friends Marcus and Patrick did called, “The Collection.” The star of that movie is a goddess named Emma Fitzpatrick, who had a pixie cut from heaven. We hung out with her after the film and I was obsessed. I wouldn’t shut up about her hair and Afkah said, “Just do it! It’ll look great.” About a month after my wedding I did it.
And I wanted to die.
I hated it so much. I wanted to glue my hair back on. I cried and cried. Afkah felt terrible. After hour two of my tears he disappeared into the bathroom and reappeared 10 minutes later with a shaved head. Said he did it for solidarity which I thought was pretty darn sweet. Took me a few weeks to figure out how to style it myself and got used to it. I never loved how I looked with short hair, but I could deal. And it’s sooo easy to take care of. I figured I’d never have to grow it out because my husband likes it, (or so he said,) and it’s convenient for me, so I’ve kept it. Not to mention how horrible it would be to have to grow it out. Oh believe me, now I know from experience. Twice since Afkah left I’ve tried to grow it out but it’s so heinous I had to cut it again. The sides get puffy, so puffy they puff out of hats, and I can’t stand to look at myself.
A few months after my split, I started talking on the phone with a guy I briefly dated around a decade ago. It was fun. He’d call while I was pumping my boobs and we’d make each other laugh. He did a few things that did start to chisel away at my self-esteem, however. One thing was that he would ask me, quite often, if I was going to grow out my hair. During one conversation he compared me to Rachel Maddow. Nothing against Rachel Maddow, but I’m pretty sure she’s a butch lesbian with short hair. I actually think she’s quite pretty, but for some reason, I didn’t take this as a compliment. I know I drive a Subaru (total lesbian car I’m told,) but I really don’t think I look butch. Or do I???????
B. My body isn’t what it used to be.
Some folks reading this probably want to punch me in the boob right now. I have lost all my baby weight and I recognize that’s great. But I’m not as solid as I used to be. I miss my abs, my tight little bum, and my cut arms. I don’t get to the gym as often as I’d like and I also indulge in a crazy dessert every night after Willa goes to bed which doesn’t help the cause. I justify it because I’m burning tons of calories breastfeeding, I’m alone so no one can judge me, and I’m freaking sad!!! My go to is microwaving cookies in a mug then putting ice cream on top. Another fave is graham crackers with Nutella and raspberry jam. Mmmmm. I eat dessert and watch reality tv. Hashtag, winner! I have 10 more days of nursing, hence 10 more days of eating like a stoner. I’m going to take full advantage.
I have more to say on this topic but I think this blog is getting too long. If your attention span is anything like mine, I’m sure you appreciate that I’m going to end here and save the rest for another blog. Let me once again say that I know my problems are really lame and small compared to others. I have a damn awesome life and I’m lucky as hell. But they’re still my problems so I’m talking about them. The. End.
Thanks for reading!!!


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