I am normally a pretty laid back, fun-loving, and kind person. I smile. I say "please" and "thank-you," and hold doors open for little old ladies. I've even been known to put my car in park and run across the street to help a disabled/potentially homeless man pull up his pants when he suddenly fell to his ankles (he was using a walker and wasn't very able-bodied.) This is a true story.
But if you'd like to see the other side of Jen Warman, all you need to do is wake up my sleeping baby.
From everyone. Everywhere. All of the time. In fact, it started when I was pregnant and hasn't stopped.
In all honesty, it doesn’t really bother me when people offer me advice. One thing I have learned, however, is how to tell when you’re about to receive bad advice.
My son is now ten months old, and only recently did I stop getting into the bath with him. This seems ridiculous, I know—but it was the easiest way (I found) to bathe him without fear of losing grip of his slippery body or without crushing my ribcage against the hard porcelain tub. Therefore: bathtime for Cole also meant bathtime for Mommy.
After spending 2 weeks sitting on my a$$ watching the world's best athletes compete, it got me thinking:
Maybe I should train and become an Olympic athlete? (I always do this, just ask my husband.) Anytime I'm inspired by ANYTHING, I want to be a part of it.
Two of my best friends are doctors. "Maybe I should go to medical school? I like biology & anatomy."
I can't decide if I want to write a blog post about postpartum hair loss, or about how cute and advanced my son is.
The two topics don't go very well together either—so it's not like I could seamlessly go from one idea to the next. It would be like serving lasagna with a side of curry for dinner. They just don't jive.
