The cheering was noticeably quieter this time, but everyone was still all smiles.
Emily lifted a transparent water bottle monogrammed in black calligraphy with her initials.
“If you follow me on Instagram, which I hope you do, you already know that every day I drink no less than seventy ounces of water infused with lemon, stevia and fresh-pressed ginger. I call it my ‘mommy tonic’ and it’s what helps me stay on top of my five kids and bustling business!”
Emily took a dramatic sip from the bottle.
“Yummy! The recipe is on the Motherhood Better online communication portal. By the way, don’t forget to check into the forums daily and let us know how you’re doing!”
I made a note to myself to buy a cute water bottle and make some mommy tonic. Hopefully it tasted something like a gin and tonic.
Emily put the bottle down. “Okay, this week, your challenge is to focus on your health by adopting a fitness routine that works for you. Every morning, I spend forty-five minutes with my personal trainer, Sven, and we...”
My mind wandered. Oh, we all knew about Sven. He was the Norwegian Hercules who graced Emily’s blog regularly, and always in some kind of graceful but intimidating yoga pose. Most of the time he donned only a pair of skintight elastic short shorts. The way his skin glistened in Emily’s photos, it looked like he’d been freshly oiled up for a body building competition. All of Emily’s followers were obsessed with him, and posts featuring her trainer always were flooded with comments.
Is he available for sessions out of state?
What are his rates?
I snapped myself back to reality.
“Sven and I prefer to exercise in nature and barefoot. It promotes a mind/body/Earth connection. Look, ladies, if I can get my body back after birthing five littles, so can you!” Emily continued. “Now, I’d like to hear from some of you. What are your personal body goals?”
A mom with long, wavy brown hair, a glittery tank top and expensive-looking sunglasses perched on her head spoke up. “Yeah, hi. I’m Kimmie from Los Angeles.” She popped her chewing gum. “My personal body goal is to lose the last one-and-a-half pounds of baby weight and complete the last abdominal skin laser treatments from my plastic surgeon. It’s painful, but I know I’m worth it.”
Emily smiled sweetly into her camera. “Those are all very good goals, Kimmie. Would anyone else like to share?”
Two more women shared their goals. Fiona, a mom with two dark brown braids that hit just past her armpits, said she wanted to start every day with yoga. A woman named Lillian with a short blond bob talked about joining some kind of stroller exercise club.
“These are all so fantastic,” Emily said, clapping her hands. “I just know this week will be a turning point. Remember, it’s not about being a size two, it’s about having the confidence of a size two.”
The call ended in a way that I couldn’t have ever imagined.
“Before we go, I’d like to introduce the group to our new member, Ashley Keller. She’s replacing Mellie.”
She said “Mellie” like the name tasted bitter in her mouth.
“We’re so excited to have you, Ashley! You do have a human child, right?” she asked, with a slightly annoyed giggle.
I was frozen with shock that Emily Walker was addressing me by name but managed to sputter out an embarrassed, “Yes.”
“Tell us a little about yourself, Ashley!”
“Um, my name is Ashley...”
Duh! She just said that! I could feel my face getting hot. I rubbed my sweaty palms on my shirt. “My daughter, Aubrey, is, um...”
My mind went blank. I couldn’t remember how old Aubrey was. Everyone was staring at me, Emily included. She has five kids and probably never forgets how old any of them are. How could she? She throws them massive fabulous birthday parties every year. If anything, her kids’ ages are marked in AmEx bills.
“She’s...less than a year old.”
Less than a year? A tiny bead of sweat formed around my temple. I brushed it away with my hand.
Emily smiled warmly. “Is she there with you?”
Emily Walker wants to meet my baby. The Emily Walker. I broke out in a dopey grin.
Of course! I jumped out of my seat and bent over to pick up Aubrey. It wasn’t until I heard the audible gasps that I realized I’d just mooned the entire group. Eleven people, including the woman I want to be when I grew up, had just seen my thonged, practically naked backside.
I ducked down immediately under the desk and out of frame. No. No, no, no, no. No. This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening. Every last member of the group and Emily Walker—my mom crush, future bestie and mentor—did not just see the bottom back half of my birthday suit, including the Minnie Mouse tattoo I got when I was eighteen that only David and a handful of others know about.
No, no, no, no. I held a now-fussing Aubrey under the table for what felt like an eternity and tried to melt into the floor and wish my existence off of the planet.
“Ashley?” I heard Emily say through the speakers. “Are you there?” Behind her I could hear a muffled snicker.
I crawled back up to the chair with Aubrey.
“I’m... I’m sorry about that. I forgot I wasn’t...”
A booming, confident female voice cut me off, “I’m not wearing pants, either, Minnie Mouse,” said the brown-haired, burly mom who had earlier identified herself as Josie from Iowa.
Everyone broke into laughter and I sheepishly smiled, relieved. I mouthed “thank you” to Josie.
“Well then! That was exciting,” continued Emily, tersely. “This must be Aubrey! She’s darling! We’ve run out of time but I just wanted to thank all of you for your commitment to being the best moms you can be. Remember, great moms are made, not born. Good luck with the challenge!”
Before I knew it, everyone was saying goodbye and the screen went black.
Well, it could have been worse. I could have done a full frontal.
I decided not to let my peep show get me down. Yes, it was humiliating, but I had three huge things to be grateful for: I just had a meeting with Emily Walker, in six weeks I’d be going on a three-day vacation with her and I was on the path to becoming the mom Aubrey deserves. A mom who wears pants.
Now I just had to figure out how to do it.
This week’s task was to exercise. I wondered if stretching to reach the candy on top of the fridge counted as Pilates.
My first step in the Fitness Challenge was to make Emily’s mommy tonic. It only called for water, lemon, stevia and fresh ginger, but the only ingredient I had on hand was H2O. I was not 100 percent sure what stevia was. Hopefully it was some kind of Russian vodka I’d never heard of. With any luck this tonic would be more of a cocktail than something I’d have to choke down all day like cough medicine.
It was already 7 p.m. when I realized I was missing two ingredients for Emily’s magic elixir and David had just texted me, letting me know he was on his way home (he worked late AGAIN), so I asked him to pick them up. You would have thought I’d asked him for a pound of flesh from his passive aggressive, I’m exhausted, but sure, text. I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve asked him to go to the grocery store since Aubrey was born. Was I supposed to put a freshly bathed and pajamaed Aubrey in the car and take her to the store? I don’t know if it’s work stress or what, but asking him for anything these days results in a huge man tantrum that is starting to get on my last nerve.
; I never wanted to be the type of wife that nags, but if I need something done I have to say it a minimum of six times to make it happen. The kitchen faucet was spraying me in the face from the base for two weeks before he finally fixed it. Over those fourteen days I must have brought it up twenty-eight times. If that’s nagging, I guess I’m a nag. Excuse me for not wanting to look like I’m about to enter a wet T-shirt contest every time I wash my hands.
At 7:45 p.m. David walked through the door and angrily tossed me a small shopping bag. It turns out stevia is not a Russian vodka but an all-natural sweetener that he had to go to three stores to find. I would have felt worse for him if he hadn’t had such an attitude about it.
“You’re welcome,” he uttered sarcastically after kissing me on the cheek.
I pursed my lips and used the sing-song tone that means I’m trying not to snap.
“You’re welcome, too, for me taking care of the baby all day, cleaning, changing the worst diaper I’ve ever seen in a six-inch by six-inch public bathroom, doing the laundry, and...” I almost said “making dinner” but stopped myself. The frozen chicken tenders, mashed potatoes from a box and canned corn waiting for him on a plate in the microwave probably wasn’t a meal I wanted to brag about.
He set his briefcase on the kitchen table. “And you’re welcome for my working an entire day so that we can have a house to live in and food to eat.”
I took his lunch container out of his bag and placed it in the sink. “You’re also very welcome for my doing everything at home so that you’re free to work and interact with other adults while I sit at home all day like a hermit with only dirty dishes to talk to.”
He began to walk upstairs toward the bathroom. I followed him, my plastic grocery bag still in hand.
David sat on the bed and kicked off his shoes haphazardly, knowing full well how much that annoys me.
He sighed. “If you hate being at home with Aubrey so much, why don’t you get a job?”
I felt like I’d been stabbed in the chest with a jagged icicle. I walked slowly toward him. Suddenly he wasn’t my husband, he was the enemy.
“First of all, I do not hate being home with Aubrey. She’s my entire life. It’s hard. Every single day it’s hard. Why aren’t I allowed to say that? My life isn’t easy.”
David stood up and loosened his tie. He leaned into me. “Neither is mine.”
Without another word he walked into our bathroom and shut the door. I heard the shower start. I went downstairs to clean up.
I felt conflicted. I never thought his work was easy, but if I were to be honest, it did seem more interesting and less...tedious than being a stay-at-home mom. I love Aubrey with all of my heart and wouldn’t change a thing which in some ways makes it worse. How can my life be exactly how I want it to be but feel like such a daily struggle?
I turned on the microwave and set it to two minutes to warm David’s gourmet meal. Hopefully he’d see it as a peace offering. A slightly overcooked peace offering with a side of ketchup.
I walked over to the kitchen counter and opened the plastic bag. It contained a small bottle of stevia, lemonade, and ginger ale. Lemonade? Ginger ale? I asked for stevia, a lemon and fresh ginger. I slammed the bag down on the counter and tried to control my rising anger.
This would have to do for the night. I mixed three drops of stevia and a splash of lemonade into a glass of ginger ale and took a big swig. Not bad.
I walked upstairs to my bedroom with my not-so-healthy elixir and settled into bed with my computer in my lap. I could still hear David in the shower.
I clicked through to the Motherhood Better message boards. Rebecca, Emily’s assistant, had sent me login information for the portal late last night. Apparently, it was some sort of private online journal where all of the Motherhood Better Bootcamp members were supposed to update each other with their progress. Scanning the page I saw that there were already over a hundred posts.
Hello ladies! Today I jogged for six miles while pushing my three-month-old twins in their jogging stroller. I felt incredible. I’m training for a half-marathon to raise funds for a local charity.—Heather from New Jersey, mom of two
Hi moms! Oh, I have had the best day ever! Our video chat with Emily really lit a fire underneath me. I have three children three and under, but that didn’t stop me from signing up for my city’s intramural lacrosse team! My husband is so supportive and is bringing the kids to every game and practice.—Naomi from Wisconsin, mother of three
Gosh. The most physical thing I’d done that day was break a sweat trying to open a particularly difficult bag of potato chips during Aubrey’s nap. At least I was drinking the mommy tonic. I sipped the sweet, carbonated beverage, hoping the core ingredients were melting away my cellulite.
I needed to up my game. This was a competition, after all, and Emily was probably reading all of these posts. I jumped up and checked my face in the mirror. I looked alright. Standing in the light of my bedroom next to my closet, I opened my phone’s camera and held it at a flattering angle, making sure to hold up my glass of tonic. I snapped a photo.
I had dark circles under my eyes and my hair was noticeably slick, but it would have to do. I quickly uploaded it to the Motherhood Better Bootcamp portal with the caption, I’m loving the mommy tonic! I can feel my body getting detoxified already. Thanks Emily!
It was only after I was admiring my brilliant post that I noticed three loads of unwashed laundry, including my inside-out panties with the crotch section facing up, were in the background. I scrambled to delete the photo but there was no option to do so.
Typing quickly, I added, Photo taken at my best friend’s house.
As my eyelids became heavy I checked Emily’s Instagram one more time. I thought Bare-Butt-Gate had been long forgotten, but she’d snapped a photo of a small purple bottle of some kind of body cream on top of her Egyptian cotton sheets with the caption, Perfect for keeping arms, legs, AND BOTTOMS smooth.
I fainted. Good night.
Tuesday, January 29, 12:30 P.M.
Too many mothers rely on caffeine to keep them going. What they don’t know is that motherhood comes with its own natural pick-me-up: love! When your heart is wide open to the miracle that is your blessings, you’ll no longer need sugary coffee drinks to make it through the day.
—Emily Walker, Motherhood Better
I made it to noon without a cup of coffee, but after almost falling asleep on the living room floor three times this morning while Aubrey banged a plastic octopus on my head like a judge’s gavel, I knew I had to get some coffee in my body. It was in Aubrey’s best interests. I’d never made it to the café that quickly—on the way, I almost ran over an elderly woman with my stroller, but if I slowed down, I risked dozing off in the street. The smoky black liquid tasted like heaven in my mouth and I downed it in less than six greedy gulps. A few minutes later I had that familiar buzz.
The café was mostly empty, except for two women chatting together in the corner. They’d lean into each other, whisper something and then laugh raucously, as if they were sharing the most hilarious stories anyone had ever heard. I tried not to watch them.
It was a recurring theme, but ever since Gloria came over, I’d been thinking more and more about how desperately lonely motherhood is. I ran through the different times in my life, teenage years included, and had to admit I’d never been this lonely in my entire life. David could be right next to me in bed and I still felt like I was by myself. I just didn’t feel like he understood me anymore. I didn’t feel like a
nyone did.
Ever since Aubrey was born, I’d felt like I lived on a deserted island of baby television shows, chores and diapering accessories. I had one teeny finger based in reality and the rest of me was stuck in an oblivion of sleepless nights.
I loved being a mom. I loved Aubrey, but I wished I had real friends to talk to every day. I couldn’t open up to David. He’d just go on and on about how I needed to start making to-do lists and getting things done while the baby slept. I wanted a friend who would just listen and complain, not make reasonable suggestions.
David was as involved as he could be, but at the end of the day he’d never know what it was like to hate his flabby stomach but love the cause of it. I knew he worked hard, but whenever he said, “I’m tired,” I wanted to cut him a little bit. Tired? You get to sleep through the night. I give 100 percent of myself but still feel like I’m failing at the most important job I’ve ever done.
Before I knew it, it was time to take Aubrey home and put her down for a nap. Even with the cup of coffee coursing through my veins, I knew I’d probably have one, too.
Looking around at the empty tables, and longing for connection, I pulled out my phone before leaving the café and logged into the Motherhood Better portal.
Motherhood Better Bootcamp Journal Entry
From Ashley Keller, mom of 1
Today I enjoyed a brisk walk with my daughter to a nearby café. I really worked up a sweat. I’m still adjusting to the mommy tonic and indulged in a small coffee, but instead of my usual chocolate cookie I opted for fruit-based apple pie.
3 P.M.
When I met Sven I was like most of you: unhappy and overweight. I couldn’t shake the last six ounces of baby weight. Within three weeks, he whipped my body into the best shape of my life. My high school cheerleading uniform is too big for me now.
—Emily Walker, Motherhood Better
Confessions of a Domestic Failure Page 7