Pretty much everyone already knows I chose to wait until the baby is born to find out if a boy or girl would be arriving.  For those who chose to question this “earth shattering” decision, I politely reminded them I didn’t find out the baby’s gender this time around because I already have a little boy and a little girl and figured why not let this be a surprise… a healthy surprise.

But since that belly button of mine popped like a turkey dinner, strangers on the street have been taking it upon themselves to tell me their very scientific predictions on whether a boy or a girl will be arriving.   Without me asking.

That’s right; I never asked any of these people.  Not a one.  I am not sure if they think I couldn’t afford an ultrasound so it was up to them out of all the people in the city to tell me their 100% accurate prediction.  Or else I would have to wait a whole 40 weeks to find out the baby’s gender.

While waiting for the light to change so I could waddle across I heard –

Excuse me Miss but you are having a boy. That’s a boy you are having!

At the Pakistan Tea House where I was a regular because this pregnancy I was surprisingly able to eat mild and semi spicy chicken, the owner declared –

You are having a boy.

By the grocery store where I stood waiting to hail a cab –

It won’t be long before he comes.  That boy is ready.

The lady in the elevator who reached out and touched my belly questioned –

A boy, right?

At the kids’ pediatrician’s office while I waited to pay for the office visit –

I can’t see the pregnancy in your face at all.  That means you are having a boy.

And then the guy in the hallway at my new office walked by and said something different –

I have a girl at home. You are definitely having a girl.

Let’s just say, no matter what the final votes are for boy or girl, I’m not donating any baby clothing to charity just yet.  I’ve waited this long. I can wait a little longer before I regain space on my bedroom floor currently housing clothing trunks.

The next time someone wants to write a story about motherhood, they should write about the absolutely unnecessary competition found between mothers. It is insane. And unfortunately it doesn’t look like it will be stopping anytime soon.

The Mommy Wars (or whatever phrase it’s been packaged as this month) do nothing but separate women all needing a support group of some sort for this new phase of their life. Whether its friends, family, co-workers or an online message board, I find it hard to believe a mom could go the first year of motherhood without asking for advice. And if those moms are out there, hats off to you because I find motherhood to be the hardest job I’ve ever had.

I sit here in between phone calls and emails, happy to have healthy children and be a part of this group of strong women called mothers. It’s never been a thought of mine to consider the well thought out choices I’ve made for my family to be fodder for someone looking to judge me. But they are – which is incredibly unfortunate.

There are so many things going on which make it into the “Breaking News” that one would think we would all just be happy our families were safe and sound. But it doesn’t work that way. Maybe these judgmental moms don’t have their TVs on and are suffering from a case of boredom because they also do not subscribe to their local newspaper.

Because if they did, they would realizing having an epidural does not make you less of a mother. We all have to wake up in the middle of the night and change diapers; make sure the water temperature is just right before the babies take their bath and stress at one time or another about dinners for our picky eaters. And if they read what’s happening in their community besides the Arts & Living section, they would probably realize they shouldn’t unfairly judge someone you’ve at the playground on Saturday because you found out she works outside the home during the week.

My life isn’t easy. I don’t believe anyone has an easy life. Whether you are struggling to keep your sanity at home because you have a laundry list of things to do before your children get home from school or you find yourself in the middle of the divorce right after having a baby, we all have things happening in our lives and it’s just incredibly unfair to judge instead of support one another.

I’m guilty of being naive enough to think I could make a personal decision about my body and my children without being shunned. I don’t need anyone to feel sorry for me or my children because I made a choice about breastfeeding or diapering my children in something other than cloth diapers. What I need is to finally hear moms are going to come together and support each other so cases of post partum depression decline significantly. I need to hear moms are being treated the same whether they stay at home or they have a career which requires them to leave the house every day.

I must declare, the one good thing about the recent office move (the mailing address on the website is the correct one to send products for review) is the fact that there’s now a test kitchen – you know so we can see if that Crayola Crafty Cooking Kit or oatmeal raisin cookie mix from Kids Central Kitchen is up to my daughter’s standards before reviewing them on the site or including them in a kids in the kitchen television segment — and even better, a test bathroom where I can check all the hyped safety gear for the bathtub or the cleaning products I am sent which claim to eliminate the need for a scrub brush in the shower.  

So exciting!

No more taking things home from the office in order to test it in my tub and then return it to the office so all the samples for one segment were in the same place when it was time to pack for the segment. 

Woohoo, talk about hassle free living.

Now if only the weather would stop testing my nerves and just start being spring already.

When I decided to attach a pint sized blog to my website it only came to fruition after I got over a severe case of nerves. I hesitated for so long because I was rightly concerned about the eyes – both business and personal — who would be reading it.

It was clearer than a day at my favorite beach in Antigua I wouldn’t be able to talk about most of the things happening in my day – all the scandalous behind the scenes tales about contracts, celebrities and vanishing cellulite mixed in with the mundane waits for producers or agents to respond to an email with a green light or a frustrating red light – because I would never get booked again.

It was air apparent I would have to extremely limit what I said about friends or family if I wanted to continue to have any.  My mother was at the top of that list being a woman who greatly appreciated her privacy.  Lord knows, the ban of me doing anything wrong while she was a judge was just finally lifted after being in effect since the day she was appointed decades ago.

So I decided it would be wise to be mum about everything from sitting in the waiting room at her mammogram appointments to talks about remodeling her kitchen or the miraculous feat of cooking an entire Thanksgiving feast without having an aneurism.  As I found out, it was a good idea because it seems that even her friends’ eyes are on my mild blog. (Hi! Please invite me to your next dinner. They always sound so lovely.)

It wasn’t really hard for me to decide to not blog about Luke and Natalie’s papa con queso because I knew that while he didn’t care enough to read what I wrote, his nosy “friends” and even nosier family — Yes, I said it. And they are lucky that’s the word I used — would feel it their duty to alert him to my opinions.  I didn’t really want to invite any headaches or comments responding to what would have been daily monologues about my love for how they’ve treated me and my kiddos.  

Why would I divulge things like that?  Sometimes even the most confident person wants reassurance from someone else (even people you don’t know because it seems unbiased) that “Yep, that girl was definitely off her medication when she said that to you.”  And nothing beats receiving an email from a reader alerting you to something you once mentioned as being important. Or getting a quick note from a singer you loved in the 90s who was name checked.

It pains me to be sitting on these anecdotes which would make for quite the Bravo reality series.  I could get off the phone and exclaim “Is she kidding me?” or “Why is her boyfriend such a jerk”.  People … I have quality reality TV content here I can’t share.  But as I was reminded last week, brands appreciate it more when I stick to being Savvy Mommy sans personal blog posts.  (This should shine a little light for those wondering why the blog name changed. Another pair of eyes, huh.)

So welcome (back) everyone.  I promise only a small dose of $10 words – just enough so my mother’s friends know I still am intelligent – and occasionally more than a semi candid glimpse into mi vida loca. 

I enjoy reading your emailed love notes and misspelled letters of hate sent because I disagree with your views. Keep them coming – unless it’s a disturbing account of how much you’d like to see me without a bathrobe. Keep that to yourself; buddy, unless you want to make it into my folder for “special” emails.