Hearing someone say, “You’re all baby, and you look fabulous!”?

A foot massage by a hot, shirtless pool boy named Fernando?

Walking without feeling like my pelvis will split in two if I take one wrong step?

A glass of wine?

No, my friends. While all of those are nice, this is what true happiness looks like:

After a long (too long!) absence, they’re back. That yummy, frozen pudding-on-a-stick goodness is back.

While grocery shopping the other day, I caught a glimpse of them out of the corner of my eye, and before you could say Bill Cosby, they were in my cart. I don’t know how long pudding pops have been off the market, but it’s been long enough for several petitions to circulate, demanding their return, and for others to attempt to fill the void with homemade versions of this creamy treat.

I have already scarfed down a third of the box, and while the taste matches my memory of it, there are some differences. No worries – all three flavors are represented again: chocolate, vanilla, and that oh-so-daring chocolate-vanilla swirl. But like other childhood memories, looking at the pudding pop today, it just looks…smaller. I remember pudding pops that were tall, wider than they were thin, with that wonderful freezer-burn coat on the outside (seriously, the only product that tastes better the longer it’s been in the freezer).

Doing some research, I found it’s not just my failing memory. They are smaller now, about the size of a Good Humor popsicle, both shorter and lacking in width. The freezer burn ice coat, however, still remains.

They may not be exactly like the originals, but the taste and smell are close enough to keep me happy. And when you’re pregnant, with heightened senses of taste and smell, that’s a Good Thing.

Edit: Speaking of food – do you like granola bars? Check out my review of a new chewy granola bar at Mommy’s Must Haves.

Cordy is not a girly girl.

Oh sure, she wears dresses when I put them on her. Of course, she has no opinion on what she wants to wear, and doesn’t care how I dress her. She hates having her hair messed with, preferring the style achieved by rubbing her head all over the couch and a fleece blanket: frizzy and standing straight up. Headbands, ribbons, hairclips? Never.

She does appreciate beauty, but not where you’d expect. She will hold up her soccer ball and proclaim, “Itz booo-ti-full!” She has yet to apply the term “beautiful” to any person, or anything beyond balls, her fleece PJs, a sippy cup of milk, and her beloved stuffed puppy.

For Hanukkah, she was given a pretty pink plastic tea set. She hugged that box all night, and continued to hug it the next day, and the day after that. When we finally opened it and took out a cup for her to play with, she tossed the cup aside. No, it was the box she liked.

We have yet to see Cordy take much of an interest in stereotypical “girl” toys. Other moms have come to accept their fate with their girly girls, even embrace it, while I watch my daughter attempt to carry my giant exercise ball, which she lines up with her soccer ball and her beach ball, before making her plastic baby Jaguar (from Go, Diego, Go) jump from one to the next to save the Little People giraffe. I don’t necessarily want her to be a girly girl – her disinterest in Barbies and Bratz dolls is, frankly, a relief to me. But I keep mentally preparing myself for her to hit the well-known “Princess” stage of development, just so I’m ready for it and not overwhelmed by the wave of pink and glitter and an interest in shoes and crowns. (Mostly because I have no fashion sense when it comes to shoes, and would be at a loss to discuss fashion with her.)

This weekend, we took her to Toys ‘R Us to pick out a toy. She had a gift card from Christmas, and I wanted to use it before we forgot about it and it was lost to the bottom of my purse. So we put her in a cart, and wheeled her around the store like an empress, stopping to let her look at anything that she fancied. She rarely gets to do this, so it was a treat. We didn’t want to influence her one way or the other, so we tried to take her down every aisle that featured toys that were appropriate for her age.

She loved the fire truck she saw in the clearance aisle. But as is often the case for her, she knows she’s limited on what she can have, and will often hold onto a toy as if it is her most prized possession, only to later thrust it into our hands when she sees something more interesting. We can always tell what she really wants, when she refuses to let go, even to scan it at checkout.

The fire truck, however, didn’t even earn being pulled into the cart, and so we continued on. I did push her a little bit towards the Little People toys, just because I think they’re cute. I tried to point out the Little People farm, but she pushed it away as she reached out and grabbed the Little People dinosaur set. Aaron and I looked at each other a little surprised as she happily touched each figure, saying, “Dinosawr!” each time. Then she saw the Little People schoolbus, followed by the plane, and held each of them for awhile. We held up the Little People palace to see if she was interested in that, but she pushed it away, gave back the plane, and grabbed the dinosaurs again. We thought that might be the toy of the day.

Then she looked across the aisle and demanded to be pushed over to that wall of toys. It was the Elmo wall. (ugh) She carefully examined the choices, and then grabbed the Elmo guitar from the shelf. Musical instruments are a favorite for her, and we generally encourage them, but after hearing about 5 seconds of this monstrosity, Aaron and I decided she must be distracted with something else. Anything. Not only was it producing loud, tinny music, but the music was very slightly out of key – just enough to drive you insane. If 5 seconds gave us that response, think of what all day would do to us.

We quickly progressed down the aisle to the Backyardigans and Dora/Diego toys, and soon the evil Elmo guitar was no more. However, she still had yet to pick anything that she was really interested in. While Aaron took time to put toys back in the right spots, I ventured down the aisle of pink to see if Cordy might like anything there.

Short answer: nope. She looked on in boredom at the rows of dolls, accessories, dress-up clothes, and play strollers. I picked up a doll that looks like a newborn, showing it to her, but she turned her head in disgust, pushed it back at me and said with disdain, “Noooooo!” I held up a fairy costume, asking her if she wanted to dress like a fairy, and she once again turned her head away from the sparkly wings and gown. Nothing in the aisle of pink appealed to her. Even Dora, who was Princess Dora in that aisle, complete with castle, could not hold her interest.

We went back to the Little People, and she once again grabbed the dinosaurs. Figuring this was the closest thing to a real choice, the cart was turned towards the registers. But that’s when she saw the trains. Suddenly the dinosaurs were tossed to daddy, and she reached for Thomas and Friends as she said, “Wook! Twains! Oooh! Twaaaains!” She’s never seen a single episode of Thomas the Tank Engine, but the trains were too exciting to pass up. In a matter of minutes, she had a few train engines in the cart with her, plus a steam shovel, and was happily reciting the colors of each of them. Aaron grabbed a case to hold her trains in, too, knowing there was no way to transport these out of our house without them getting lost.

At this point, nothing else would make her happy, and so the trains were purchased. Of course, while in line, a woman noticed the trains in the cart, and asked Aaron if Cordy had a little brother. (Cordy was dressed in pink that day, so for once she wasn’t mistaken for a boy.) Aaron explained that no, Cordy likes trains, and that’s what she picked to buy with her gift card.

Of course she likes trains. She’s our non-girly girl. And that’s OK. Some day her XX chromosomes may go into overdrive and proclaim pink to be the new black, and Barbie to be the new Dora, and that’s OK too. For now, I’ll start reading up on the parts of a train, so I can play with her as she pushes her trains around on her tea set box.

Cordy had to accompany me today for a few quick errands – to the post office, and then to my work, to complete a task I forgot to wrap up yesterday.

If there’s one thing this child does not like, it’s running errands. It’s hard enough to run errands with a toddler, but make that toddler an unwilling participant, and it becomes cruel and unusual punishment on level with Gitmo.

First was the post office, to mail some papers that could not wait another day. Walking in the door, I noticed the line, about 4 people deep. Not so bad, I thought, we can make it through this, since we’ve endured longer lines before.

I took my place in line, with my squirming toddler on my hip. Letting her down would be a disaster – she’d be out the door with the next stranger who would open the door for her faster than I could beg someone to hold my place in line. So she is forced to stay in my arms, a fate she normally doesn’t mind, unless we are somewhere she doesn’t want to be.

In under a minute, the boredom was apparent. She threw her puppy stuffed animal to the ground, generally the first expression of displeasure. Trying to bend down to pick up her prized toy, while still holding a protesting toddler and not losing my balance due to my pregnant belly, is quite the task. More people were now in line behind us, and the room was becoming crowded.

Then she shifted to her new strategy. “Help! Help!” she cried to the strangers in line. One more person in front of me, I kept chanting to myself, while trying to shush her in my most cheerful voice in order to convince people this was a normal game, and she was fine. I just needed to get these papers mailed and we could leave.

“Help! Mommy! Daddy! Help!” she continued. Oh great, now people are staring at us, probably wondering exactly what my relationship is with this little girl. I tried smiling at them as I met their questioning glares. They didn’t smile back. Oh, boy. But it was my turn at the counter, so it would all be over soon.

I didn’t realize that sending something Express Mail requires it to be in a special envelope, which the postal worker handed me and asked me to step aside and address. I should have realized the post office would only work to prolong this ordeal. Cordy looked back at the line of people, and gave a quiet, sad, Oscar-worthy, “Help” to the jury waiting behind me, while leaning back against my arm. My back and arm were ready to give out at this point.

Still only having one hand available, and picking up puppy twice while writing, I scribbled the address on the new envelope, trying to keep it passably legible so that this maddening scene wouldn’t have been in vain, while fighting off Cordy’s attempts to grab the pen.

Then she perked up again, and shouted, “Ayudame! Ayudame!” (Spanish for “Help me”) I froze, then slowly turned my head and looked back into the line. Our neighborhood has a high percentage of Spanish speakers, and sure enough, someone understood her. Great, now she’s managed to alienate me to the crowd in two languages. I forced the envelope back at the postal worker, paid for my postage, and turned to run.

Cordy, of course, had to throw her puppy one more time. A nice, older Hispanic man picked the puppy up, and said something to Cordy in Spanish as he handed the puppy back to her. I smiled at him, said thank you (in English), and rushed out the door in embarrassment, not wanting to know what he could have possibly said to her.

Going to my office wasn’t nearly as traumatic. When we walked in the door, I said hi to one of the women I knew, and Cordy once again tried her “Help! Help!” routine. “Sorry, kid, that won’t work on her – she’s seen your picture on my desk, and knows you’re mine,” I told my sullen toddler. Cordy didn’t try it again.

You know, I had planned to be a good mom to her when she was a teen, by doing my best not to embarrass her. But the way she’s been acting lately, I think that embarrassing her as a teen is only fitting retribution, and I will remind her of today when she’s 15, rolls her eyes at me and complains, “But mooooom, I don’t want you to come to the movies with me and my friends! You’ll embarrass me!”

Yes. Yes I will.

Holy sitemeter, Batman! Nothing like getting linked by a high-traffic, and now TV famous blogger to drive your stats through the roof! Yesterday, more than triple the average number of visitors clicked through, most to read my take on the cocktail playdate bru-ha-ha. Izzy noticed a similar trend, as we watched our sitemeters explode. Thanks, Melissa – feel free to link to me anytime!

Speaking of stats, another big event happened to my sitemeter yesterday: I hit 50,000 total visitors sometime early in the day. 50K in just over a year – never thought I’d type that. Thanks for reading, and I hope you’ll continue to enjoy stopping by. Here’s to the next goal of 100,000!

Does anyone else have a toddler who insists on taking half of his or her toys to bed? At first it was just her puppy, but then she started grabbing one other item each night. Now she loads up her arms with toys, stuffed animals, cups and balls overflowing from her tiny frame and blocking her view, insisting that she needs each and every one in order to go to sleep.

Since bedtime is never protested as long as the toys go also, we try not to make an issue of it. But I’m starting to wonder how she sleeps in all this:

Nick Jr., please forward all advertising incentive checks to A Mommy Story…

And finally, this song has been stuck in my head for two days now, so I’m going to unload “Why Mommy Left” on all of you. If you’ve never heard of the singer-comedian Stephen Lynch, you must go to YouTube and find more of his music. He’s one of my favorite comedians, and his twisted songs always cheer me up on bad days. If you like this one, be sure to check out his song “Superhero” also.

These are the network-friendly versions of the songs – most of his work is generally not this profanity-free.

Thanks a lot, Today Show. After watching your segment on cocktail playdates, I called my mom and discussed the topic with her. During this discussion, mom said, “Well, when you were little, I’d have a wine cooler or two with my friends while you were playing with the other kids.”

Wow. After all these years, I find out that when we went over to her friends’ houses so I could play with their kids, turns out she was drinking alcohol with her friends. I never knew, and now the saintly image of my mother has been turned upside down, as I now see she was nothing more than a normal human being with a taste for alcohol and a desire to relax after working 40 hours a week, and parenting me on her own the other 138 hours. My childhood memories are shattered now that the truth has come out that my mom was a bad parent.

OK, all sarcasm aside now, WTF was up with this segment? For those who missed it, the video can be viewed at the link above. They did a short video piece, with the most sensational cutting I have ever seen (the kids were always shown with wine bottles or glasses near them), and they interviewed two blogger/writer moms who believe in the concept of cocktail playdates, while also bringing on an expert with the intention of slamming these moms, while not actually addressing what they said.

I give all the props in the world to Melissa Summers and Stefanie Wilder-Taylor for going on that show and fighting to get their (very valid and sensible) points across, despite the show’s attempts to make moms who happen to have a drink around their kids come across as nothing less than crack whores. The show tried to lump social drinking – having a glass or two over a period of time, possibly with food – in with college fraternity/sorority keg-stand binge drinking. While both Melissa and Stefanie emphasized that they were talking about one or two drinks, Meredith and Dr. Janet continued harping on the aspects of being legally impaired. Two totally different topics.

Drinking around kids is nothing new. My mom, along with others of her generation and generations before her, would occasionally have a drink while socializing with friends, all while the kids played nearby. And while I could have guessed that was going on, until she told me today, I had no idea. (It clearly left an impression, eh?) Mom also used to leave me with the babysitter so she could go out drinking at bars with her non-parent friends, too. She was 24, newly divorced, and struggling with being a single parent. I can’t blame her at all for that – I’d want a drink, too.

This piece only reinforced the belief that mothers should be held to higher standards than non-parents, fathers, or any other human beings, while at the same time also suggesting the moms are complete idiots who could never know when “enough is enough” when it comes to drinking. So we’re supposed to be holier than the Virgin Mary, yet we’re not intelligent enough to know how to stop if given a little alcohol? It’s no wonder we can’t win.

The truth is, American culture is filled with puritanical notions of right and wrong, and alcohol happens to be one of the hot buttons, especially when paired with the hot button of mothering. Many here don’t understand the word moderation, how to apply it, or how others could possibly know what it means. The Europeans are probably laughing themselves silly at us, and we deserve it. Social drinking, especially at meal time, is much more common in Europe, where even a pregnant woman can have an occasional glass of wine without being shunned. Yet their kids don’t seem to have higher levels of alcoholism, and I do believe their kids are still beating the pants off of us in standardized tests.

And this segment also suggested that it is OK for parents to drink if it’s a mixed event, like a BBQ or family gathering. (I guess it’s OK then because the men are there to stop us crazy, unintelligent women from drinking too much, right?) And nothing was mentioned about dads drinking in front of their kids. Do they get a free pass?

Moms, especially stay at home moms, don’t often get the chance to socialize with friends without their kids. If everyone else is allowed to have a drink to relax, why can’t moms? Dr. Janet kept saying that there had to be “healthier” ways to relax, but come on – these women aren’t getting drunk everyday, they’re having an occasional glass of wine now and then. And isn’t it healthier to have a glass with friends while sharing your frustrations, than to sit at home and drink alone to drown your misery?

Would I drink around my children? Yes. Would I get drunk around my children? No. Do I know my limits? Absolutely. Believe me, I drank enough in college to know my limits very well. One glass of wine would barely have any effect on me, and if I drink it over the course of an hour or more, would probably have no effects on my judgment or ability. And as I get older, I find one glass of wine is just the right amount for a social setting.

And it’s not like I drink every day. Or every week for that matter. I happen to like good wine (especially a good German Riesling…yum), and when at a social function, I enjoy having a glass. Big shocker of the day: I’ve even had a glass of wine while pregnant. Again, it’s all about moderation, people. My OB leveled with me and said the only reason doctors don’t tell patients it’s OK to drink while pregnant is because some people don’t understand moderation. She had no problems with me having a glass of wine.

I see nothing wrong with modeling responsible drinking around my kids. Keeping alcohol a big secret from them will only cause them to find out about it later, possibly from someone who doesn’t share my belief on moderation. I’d rather be the one teaching the lesson on what is proper alcohol consumption and when it is appropriate.

Stefanie said it best, and Melissa echoed it, when she said this is simply one more way that women judge each other in the quest to think themselves better than other mothers. Most moms are intelligent human beings who are simply trying to find the balance between being the best possible mother while also not losing our own sense of self in the mountain of sippy cups, Dora videos, and diapers. I’m pretty sure that when I left the hospital with my daughter, I didn’t have to sign any legal statements swearing to give up my entire life as I know it, and never do anything to ruin my child’s image of me, like drinking, watching TV, eating anything but healthy foods, and having sex.

I am a mom, but I’m also a woman, a wife, a daughter, a writer, a student, and a friend, and for my own sanity I have to be allowed to continue to develop the other roles in my life, and not just the one of mommy. Because if I shut off all other areas of my life, deny that I am anything but a mother, what kind of role model am I being to my daughter?