It’s me. It’s totally me.

I’ve been silent about this issue for a while, but I think it’s time to come clean. Sit back and relax while I tell you the story about how I found myself in another woman’s dark hotel room a few weeks ago.

It started out innocent enough. A lovely friend from our little blog community was visiting L.A. for a work thing. She wasn’t staying especially close to me, but I told her I’d pick her up from the airport and we could go hang out and have a few drinks.

We ended up sitting outside on the patio of a brewery in a marina. The sky was blue, the ocean breeze was—um—breezy—and the sun was as intense as the fight for a parking space.

Eventually, we settled with burgers and beers. It was nice. Conversation was easy—after all, we’ve “known” each other for years. There was nothing uncomfortable about the experience except the damn sun. After two beers, we decided we really needed to find shade.

How perfect that there was a bizarre and almost totally empty little wine bar downstairs. We ordered a bottle of wine and a few glasses of water, and sat down to enjoy.

It was right around then that I noticed that the nagging little headache I’d had for a while was starting to intensify. I drank my water, but after a few sips of wine, my head strongly informed me that I should stop drinking. I’m honestly not sure how long we sat there. It could have been 20 minutes or it could have been an hour. All I know is that by the time we stood up to leave, I was feeling pretty woozy.

It wasn’t terribly far from the brewery to her hotel, and I honestly thought I’d be fine. I figured that after I dropped her off, I could grab a bottle of water and some Excedrin before heading home.

I made it approximately one mile from the brewery before my body told me that this wasn’t going to work. We were stopped at a red light when I spotted a drug store, and I told my lovely friend that I was going to stop and use the restroom there real quick.

I had just turned into the parking lot when I realized that I was going to be sick. NOW. My head didn’t care that I was in the car with someone I literally just met a few hours ago. I hit the brakes, threw open the car door, and threw up right there while stopped in the middle of the parking lot. I didn’t even have time to take off my seatbelt. I’m so grateful I managed to get that door open.

Now, imagine you’re my friend, and you’re sitting there in the car after a long day of travel and being social. You’ve had a nice time, but you’re really looking forward to getting back to your empty hotel room where you can have the giant bed all to yourself. And then the person responsible for getting you safely to your hotel starts puking. Fantastic, right?

I somehow managed to go into the drug store to purchase Excedrin, Clorox wipes, and a bottle of water. I cleaned the part of the car door that had not escaped my projectile stomach contents and popped a few Excedrin. I silently contemplated which would kill me first: the migraine or the total humiliation. Whichever it was going to be, it would be great if it could be quick.

My poor friend had a few choices:

  1. Run. Totally understandable. I wouldn’t blame her one bit.
  2. Drive. Grab the keys from her incapacitated tour guide and get behind the wheel of a strange car in a strange city to find a strange hotel.

I will be eternally grateful that she chose option 2. Upon arriving at the hotel, she suggested that perhaps I should come sit in her room for a few minutes until the Excedrin kicks in? I agreed. She went to the lobby to check in while I went to the lobby restroom and threw up.

You can’t take me anywhere.

This saint of a woman lead me to a comfortable chair in her hotel room, turned out the lights, and let me sit there to contemplate whether they’d at least give her a “fresh” room if I died right there in that chair.

Around 8 pm after a bit of back and forth with Catch via text, it was determined that I was in no shape to go anywhere, so Catch would drive the hour to pick me up. Saint Blog Friend walked to the store for some necessities for the room. I decided that being upright wasn’t helping my head, and laid down on the floor for a few minutes until I realized it probably wouldn’t be great if my friend returned from the store and found me on the floor.

Eventually, Catch arrived to take me home. Although I am always happy to see her, I don’t think I have ever been so relieved.

I’m still trying to sort out how to appropriately thank my friend for being so kind to me when I was at my absolute worst. She could very easily have ordered an Uber in that drugstore parking lot and left me to fend for myself, but she didn’t. I’d offer to name my next child after her, but she knows as well as I do that that’s an empty promise because there’s not going to be a next child. Maybe a next dog, but somehow I think that’s probably not quite right either.

In the meantime, if you’re headed to Los Angeles and you’d like to hang out, I’d like to suggest the following:

1. READ THIS AGAIN.

Still want to hang out?

2. Have someone you trust read this post and see what they think.

They said it’s fine?

3. Reevaluate your level of faith in that person.

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Deodorant

We all know that I’m no social media influencer. I’m sharing this information because I’ve spent years trying to find an aluminum-free deodorant that actually works for me, and I’m really excited that I finally found something. I paid full price for this deodorant on a late night online shopping whim, and this post is in no way sponsored.

That said, Lume Deodorant has been life changing for me. I discovered it when I was goofing off on my phone late at night when I should have been asleep. This ridiculous video popped up in a Facebook ad, and for some reason I watched it from start to finish. Afterward, I read approximately ten thousand online reviews of the product, and surprisingly, they were overwhelmingly positive. Even though I felt pretty damn ridiculous spending $14 on a stick of deodorant, I decided to give it a shot.

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This stuff is awesome. Ever since I started taking Zoloft, I’ve been sweating like a fountain. I don’t understand why this drug makes me sweat so much, but it drove me so crazy that I actually tried to lower my dose. It turns out that excessive sweating is vastly preferable to excessive anxiety, so I’m learning to accept/tolerate the issue. I’m also using a lot of deodorant.

One of many things that I appreciate about Lume is that it’s not an antipersperant. Lume allows your body to sweat (which is healthy!) but it doesn’t allow your body to stink. This might take some getting used to if you’ve been using a traditional antiperspirant for years and aren’t used to feeling dampness under your arms, but I promise you’ll adapt.

Lume doesn’t contain baking soda, which can irritate skin. (Not to mention that the granular nature of baking soda isn’t particularly comfortable to apply.) It’s also cruelty free, which is a huge check in the pro column for me.

The web site says that it will control body odor for 72 hours, which I have yet to experience. I’ve only been using it for 3 weeks and I get about 12 solid hours out of it at this point. As I said, though, Zoloft makes me sweat like a marathon runner in July when all I’ve actually done is a few laps around the air conditioned supermarket. Lume has worked better for me than even the clinical strength stuff you can pick up at Target.

Another huge issue I have with deodorant is the scents. For some reason, I am incredibly sensitive to the smell of deodorant itself. Some of the scents out there are just nauseating to me, and every time I would find one that I could tolerate, it would be discontinued.  Apparently the general public does not appreciate citrus-y scents with the same level of enthusiasm that I do. (If Dolce & Gabbana ever stops making their Light Blue perfume, I will need counseling.) For that reason, I was really concerned that the natural lavender and sage scent in Lume would be too much for me. I’m really glad I took a chance and ordered that scent anyway, because I actually love it. A lot. I kind of wish there was a matching hand lotion or something. They also have an unscented option, which I have not yet tried.

Anyway, I’m not going to keep rambling about this stuff. I love it. It works for me. You can order it here. Pro tip: I was on the fence about ordering both the tube and the stick, but the combination was $$ so I decided to go for just the stick. At checkout, they offered an incentive to add the tube to my order for an even better price, and I went for it. There’s really no difference between the two, but the stick will leak if it gets too warm, so if you’re looking for portability (like leaving it in a gym bag in a hot car) I recommend the tube.

Comfort

Sometimes, when my daughter needs me for comfort, I find myself trying to memorize the feel of her in my arms… the smell of her hair… the rise and fall of her chest… I soak it all in and appreciate the privilege of being someone she seeks comfort from.

Other times, I want to crawl under my bed and hide from her like the dog does because I am so damn sick of being needed.

There really isn’t an in between. It’s either magical or it’s torture. She is either magical, or she’s torture.

No higher high. No lower low. That is my motherhood experience.