Sippy Cups Are Not For Chardonnay: And Other Things I Had to Learn As A New Mom & Naptime is the New Happy Hour: And Other Ways Toddlers Turn Your Life Upside Down by Stefanie Wilder-Taylor
|September 12, 2010||Posted by Christine Gordon Manley under Memoir, Non-fiction|
My name is Christine and I am a New Mom. (Can I get a Hello Christine?)
My life has recently transformed from one of deadlines and paperwork to diapers and parenting manuals. Having been the youngest in the family, the world of babies was unknown to me, and I was in for quite the culture shock, let me tell you.
Lucky for me, I discovered Wilder-Taylor’s parenting-with-humour series: Sippy Cups and Not For Chardonnay and Naptime is the New Happy Hour. Not only does Wilder-Taylor offer practical, no-nonsense advice for new moms and moms of toddlers in these books, but she does so with such comedic grace and flare that I found myself laughing out loud through most of these books. (Not surprising since Wilder-Taylor is a comedian.)
I read these two books in reverse, having received Naptime to review since it was a new publication, and having begged the publisher for Sippy Cups because I loved the first one so much. Readers will giggle their way through the Park Hierarchy of mothers, hard-core Mommy and Me enthusiasts, the trials and tribulations of toilet-training, and the politics of play dates, among many other events, problems, and life-style choices that come with being a parent of a little one under the age of 2.
I can’t, in all honesty, do Wilder-Taylor’s style justice, so let me provide a few excerpts and let her speak for herself:
From Sippy Cups [on Mommy and Me groups]:
During this time my mind started to wander a bit. I glanced around to see if there were any moms who felt as out of their element as I did. I noticed one woman was wearing a pink tank top with the words ‘Brody’s Mommy’ spelled out in sequins, like she was some sort of Brodie groupie. I wondered what this was all about. I love my baby too, but I’ve never felt the need to shout it from my breasts. Hey, I own my home, but I don’t have that information bedazzled on the seat on my pants. . . . But when I looked down at the little wriggly baby in my lap, I saw that she was loving it: the atmosphere, the songs, the other babies: My little sweetie’s eyes were lit up like Paris Hilton’s in a Fendi shop (155-157).
From Naptime [On getting baby to sleep in her own toddler bed]:
So was I right to be concerned that my daughter would be tempted to borrow the car keys and head out for a nightcap the second she realized she was free to do so? . . . It took a week or so, but she eventually figured out that there were no longer any bars keeping her from her books, her toys, and most importantly, her mom and dad’s bed. The first night I opened my eyes at four a.m. just as her head popped fuzzily into view, it scared the crap out of me. I had made the fatal error of removing my contacts before bed, and through my compromised vision, my daughter, in her bright pink Elmo nightie and slept-on curly hair, looked more like a midget in a clown suit. For a second I was worried I was trapped in a Stephen King novella (106).
In a world suddenly disrupted by erratic sleep patterns, “interesting” bodily fluids, and unsatisfied crying, I felt like I had a friend, a comrade at the very least, in Wilder-Taylor. Oh, of course my daughter fills me with joy and her smiles are like crack, but on the odd day where I feel a tad frazzled, it’s nice to not only laugh at Wilder-Taylor’s exploits, but to pause, breathe, and laugh at my own.
I highly recommend these books to any new or expectant moms out there. Scratch that. I think they should be compulsory reading.