If You Leave Me Now…


You’ll take away the biggest part of me
OOOH OOOOH OOOOOOOH NO, baby please don’t go

If you leave me now, you’ll take away the very heart of me
OOOH OOOOH OOOOOOH NO, baby please don’t go

Please envision Peter Cetera and yours truly serenading each and every one of you in matching white tuxedos. With black shirts underneath. Exposing my bodacious hot tata cleavage.

I’m taking a little whoorl breather while this new working mother gig kicks the living shit out of me.

Don’t go anywhere!! I’ll be back!


Pardon the Mess


Hi. Did you miss me?

Turns out I had a slightly larger bandwidth issue than I originally presumed. Like upgraded my entire account to a more expensive plan only to find out that it wasn’t enough either kind of issues. So on top of returning to work and leaving my precious baby, I spent mucho evening hours involved in email conversations such as this:

Whoorl: Why is my site down when I just upgraded it?
Host: Your site has exceeded bandwidth.
Whoorl: I know this. But I upgraded like you told me to.
Host: Yes, but you are currently exceeding that plan as well. You must upgrade again.
Whoorl: I don’t understand. Why are you bleeding me dry?
Host: You have exceeded your bandwidth. Gimme your money, beaatch.
Host: Okie dokie.
Whoorl: By the way, what’s bandwidth?
Whoorl: Hello? Anyone there?


But let’s get to the nitty gritty. How was my first week back to work, you ask? Well, it was severely traumatizing. Like gut-wrenching, agonizing and horribly HORRIBLY wrong.

Oh, leaving Wito was fine, but people. PEOPLE. Do you know what it’s like trying to shove your post-partum ass into a size 2 suit? It’s not fun and frankly, not for the weak in spirit. Can we all say “muffin top” in unison?

Yet every morning, I try to fit into these suits. Like somehow, magically overnight, my hips and gut have resumed pre-pregnancy shape and TA-DAAHHHH, my suits fit again.

This is not the case. And total bullshit.

And what’s up with all this “Oh, the pounds will just MELT off when your breastfeeding!” More bullshit, people. I just read your body has to keep an extra 5-10 pounds on while breastfeeding to help create the milk.

I have 6 pounds left, and they seem perfectly content hanging out on my frame forever and ever. And frankly, even if I lost 20 pounds, my clothes wouldn’t fit due to my new motherly shape. D says I got me some curves.

Curves, my ass. Literally. I walk around all day just hoping and praying the weakening-by-the-minute seam down the back of my pants won’t bust and unleash the overflowing dam of ass on some unsuspecting bystander.

Today, I crammed into a pair of pants and immediately had to unbutton them while driving to work. Swell. In addition to the trillion things I have to prepare before my sales calls, I have to add Button Pants to the list.

Sales Binder? Check.
Proper amount of pharmaceuticals in bag? Check.
Pens, Pads, endless corporate branding? Check.
Physician sample forms? Check.
Pants buttoned and zipped? Motherfucking check. And ouch.