Eat, Pray, Change a Diaper

Posted by: , May 8, 2010 in 5:37 pm

sexandthesippy 15 Eat, Pray, Change a Diaper

Have you read Elizabeth Gilbert’s *Eat Pray Love*? If not, I don’t know where the heck you’ve been. It’s a great read. Liz starts on her bathroom floor, crying, feeling something in between hatred and indifference for her husband (what exactly went wrong, nobody knows) and winds up half way around the world where she finds true love. In between all of this is a lot of pasta and meditation.

How lucky is she! I tried to imagine going on an *Eat Pray Love* trek but the fact that I’ve used my uterus twice makes it impossible.

Let’s say I take the kids. We’re in Italy. Alone. No husband. No nanny. We’re sitting in a cafe enjoying the scenery- my baby on my lap, my 4 year-old in a chair facing me. Bliss! Then, what’s that sound? My eldest is shrieking because there are “parts” in her pasta.

“Honey, those aren’t ‘parts’, it’s called Parmesan cheese.”


My devil diva pushes her plate off of the table and on to the floor. Crash. We’re escorted out of the restaurant before I can even smell my manicotti.

Fast forward to the next country. India. I’m meditating in a room with hoards of sweaty, thin seekers. Ommmm….I see the blue light. My being becomes light and I’m at one with the universe until- a tap on the shoulder pulls me out of enlightenment. A voice.

“Um Ms., they need you down in the ashram daycare. It seems as if your older child wet herself while seated on one of our holy books and your baby is biting other children.”

Next country. I’m walking down the beaches in Indonesia. My new love and I will be meeting in my beachside cabana in just a few minutes but I want to watch the sunset. A soft breeze blows my silk sarong and I see him- my darling. He walks toward me, looks deep into my eyes, brings his face toward mine and whispers into my ear: “You have a sticker in your hair.”

I’m going to leave the *Eat Pray Love* expeditions to the child-less. The only extended vacation I’m going on will have to be in the mental recesses of my mind. Or during *The Real Housewives of New York City*.


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