O Mothers, Where Art Thou?

Yesterday signaled great things--I cut my nails and pushed back my cuticles. Yes, this rather mundane and routine grooming ritual is probably something you take for granted--something you may do after you get out the shower while getting ready for work in the morning or something you might do while simultaneously brushing your teeth and having a conversation with your spouse before bed at night. But not me, nope. This marks for me a crowning clipping achievement--the first indulgence in any kind of self-beautification that I have taken in the last 6 weeks--and Dean, I think, is ecstatic.

This small leap back in among the more productive living is moving me one small step closer towards preparedness for Dean's departure from our current den o' baby with two parents full-time, to just one. Though he has been working from home this week in an effort to help ease the transition, we've sort of been pretending he's not home as a test of my ability to fare diaper explosions, cooking lunch one-handed and mitigating nap time breakdowns solo. Whether he's actually gotten much work done is up for debate--he, rather, may be the better one to ask as I feel that my ice cold stares as I purposefully pace by his work area with the crying baby has everything but not distract him.

Nevertheless, I really am trying to use this time to ready myself for the inevitable. And that's why yesterday I embarked on a quest for other mothers. You know, a collection of clucking, cluttering and clacking postpartum mamas whose solemn goal each morning is to make it out of the house at least once a day a little further distance than it takes to check the mail. After two days of desperately combing the world wide web for groups of mommies with a similar mission, I stumbled across three prospective winners: "The No Drama Mamas", "The Stroller Striders" and "The LA M.I.L.K.s." (which stands for "The LA Moms I Want To Meet"). After filling out applications and answering profile questions that were eerily reminiscent of a college or first job application, I now sit in eager anticipation to be one of the "chosen ones"--a member of the "in crowd"--admitted into the the "inner circle" of breast pump pilates and diaper bag debates. As I wait while constantly refreshing my e-mail inbox in search of those three letters of acrimonious acceptance, I am reminded of the time I tried out for the cheerleading squad in the 10th grade. I didn't make the team then--let's hope I fare better this time--for Noah's sake, at least.