Enough with the Mommy & Me swimming lessons, people. Stop guilt-tripping me. Stop encouraging me to sign up. I'm lazy. And I'm a cheapmommy. I'm saving for all those activities my 2-year-old will demand when she's 5.

Seriously, has there even been a parent generation more into swim lessons for the seriously tiny? As I write, infants everywhere dunk their faces in water, while toddlers practice backdives in the L'il Louganis Club or whatever. But is all this swimming really necessary? Yes, I've heard the case for indoor pool-fests: tykes splash all morning and take nice long post-swim naps. I get that, and naps would be nice again. But I'm not going to swim to get them back.

I figured Crabtot wouldn't be into swimming either. It isn't in her genes. I spent my early years in Shiloh's country (Namibia) and even on the hottest days I couldn't be coaxed into the pool. Childhood pics depict me poolside in a woolen sweater, so that when invited in I could say, "No thanks. I'm really cold." Cold at noon in the Kalahari desert. Right.

Last summer, Crabtot couldn't be tempted either. On blistering days when even Crabmommy wanted to frolic in water, C-tot had no interest. I took her to magnificent lakes, but she insisted on toddling back to the car park, where we spent whole afternoons filling buckets with hot gravel.

No wonder I figured she'd learn to swim at the ripe old age of 6, like Mom. But then she asked. Yesterday. For swimming lessons. The phrase "swimming lessons" crystal-clear—after all, she hears those two words all the time around these hyper-athletic parts. Thanks, Crabtown!

So...my answer: "Who wants pizza pockets?"

A successful stall, but for how long?

Will Crabmommy be forced into a racing-back Speedo maillot? Stay tuned.

Crabmommy bio

Several women I know are about to pop first babies. So I'm doing the lip-zip—keeping mum about the day I became a mum. To me, there's no birth story worth hearing when yours is about to unfold. Bad stories are obviously off-putting; good ones can intimidate. So if you're a soon-to-be first mom, stop reading. My story might be good or bad (in either case, it's all bad for you).

In this excellent piece on labor pain, the author mentions how baby delivery professionals always tell preggie ladies, "Childbirth is different for everyone." Sadly, I didn't get that impression. Many of my friends seemed to give birth to bars of soap, in terms of difficulty. I also had this pre-labor dream in which, after a twinge of discomfort, I shot the baby into the arms of an admiring nurse, who said: "Wow! It slipped out like a sardine!" (Yes, it was a very weird dream.)

With my pals popping them without drugs and my easy-labor dreams, it's no wonder I thought I'd arise and walk home with my sardine within 12 hours. But when my day came, I went from the natural birth wing of NYC's St. Lukes-Roosevelt, with its back-massaging, candle-lighting, golden-boat visualizing, doula-like nurses, to the Failure to Progress category (much pain, no gain)...into a broken elevator, to be taken down a floor...and several notches lower in self-confidence, to where the brusque nurses and Pitocin reside...and eventually into C-section land, with its crucifix-like bed and flock of residents begging to make the cut.

Like many striving New Yorkers, I took an intense birth class that lasted forever and involved much dissing of epidurals while sharing babaganoush and mini-pitas with other overly-informed-but-trying-to-get-in-touch-with-our-instincts urbanites.

I'm glad I tried natural birth. But sometimes I wonder whether I missed out. On a nice big, fat, early epi.

Crabmommy bio

When not complaining, I can often be found lying on the floor of my bedroom in a pool of sunlight dreaming of ways to strike it rich. Like Baby Einstein Mommy. Or the loo roll lady, the chick who invented that gadget so babies can't pull toilet paper. Once mere mortal SAHMers, now they're all, like, hiring fifty nannies and going to Hawaii constantly. Or in the case of Einstein mommy, going to see the Sistine chapel with the kids (even though secretly wishing she were in Hawaii—I know it).

Here's the amazing thing about lying on the floor, ignoring one's duties as mother and wife: good ideas happen. I've got several and I'm sure at least one will yield big bucks. Lucky reader, YOU will get periodic sneak peeks at my inventions. (Don't even think of stealing my ideas, by the way. Fuggedaboudit. They are trademarked, patented, registered.)

Here's my first offering:

Especially good for urban breastfeeding mamas on-the-go, this handy Clip-On Food Visor™ helps a hungry mom chow down while baby remains calm and crumb-free in her frontal carrier. Developed so mom can nosh, say, a GIANT FALAFEL from that really yummy falafel joint on 7th Ave in Park Slope, the Clip-On Food Visor™ attaches to your Bjorn (still figuring out the deal with the Bjorn-peeps on this one) right above baby's head, providing a tray to catch the chickpea run-off, thereby ensuring that
a) baby doesn't get tahini mixing with the cradle cap on her head
b) mom grubs hassle-free and hands-free

Economical and practical, the Clip-On Food Visor™ means out-of-my-mind-starving urban mom can eat whenever and wherever she wants without trying to hold a floppy, not-yet-ready-for-high-chair baby with one hand.

I'm bloody serious. Why doesn't Bjorn add this as an accessory? 

Crabmommy bio

My proverbial glass is always empty. Not half empty, but like, almost totally empty. And the grass—always greener elsewhere! When I lived in New York, this was just fact. A child needs grass beneath her feet!  She needs nature! Now that we live in an exquisite western town amid nature's bounty, I can no longer complain. 

Wait, actually I can.

But a professional recently advised me to think positive thoughts. To learn to think of good things. Okay. Let's try it. Here goes. Thinking positive:

1. In Wyoming trash never smells because it's frozen 9 months of the year. And you can leave your ice cream in the car all day.
Too cold to drive to Smith's. I miss FreshDirect. Groceries right to your door in that nice truck. Oh heck, it's garbage day tomorrow. Got to get up at dawn's freezing crack. Can't leave trash on the street all night or BEARS WILL COME, they tell me. Uncivilized, crappy ice-hole.

2. Here, we have nature. Witness the beauty of the canyon, the aspen, the kestrel on wing!
Here, we have KIDS NAMED Nature, Canyon, Aspen, Kestrel!  I'm not lying. What's up with these rural-peeps, man? Seriously, NATURE?!

3. Goodbye gray skies of NYC winter. Every day is sunny here.
Yeah, but I have to drive Crabtot in the car. "Mom, the sun is biting me!!!" (Genetically predisposed to negativity, Crabtot claws at her eyes as if the sun is bleach... Stupid First Years sun-shade. Why's it so small? Sun gets in from the sides...Gotta write and complain.) 

Okay, I give up, 'cos my inner voice won't shut up. Unfortunately I can't blame that on where I live. Ruralmommy, urbanmommy, I always want to be the other mommy. So I remain the Crabmommy.

Crabmommy bio

...said the liquor store manager when my two-year-old asked for a neon-orange 99-cent plastic shot-glass on St. Patrick's Day. Tot was also offered a shamrock sticker, but declined. Because even on the greenest of days, she's orange-obsessed: underwear, shirt, pants, barrettes -- and that shot glass, which, when held to the eye, turns the whole world orange. She got the glass and we made a hasty exit before the color talk continued and she volunteered (as she had all week), "I have pink eye."

Many moms dread that pink -- the most contagious of girly colors -- will be their daughter's favorite. I don't mind pink. But my personal pink is purple. All shades and tones. Hate it. So when tot first indicated a love of purple -- favoring the violet marker, lingering on that purple page in Richard Scarry with the pansy -- I became concerned.

A mother's job is to teach right from wrong. So when tot begged for a "purple and lello" hair-scrunchy at the dollar store, I intervened. Tot, you must learn the objective truth: all colors are good, except one. Purple is for people who are squadron leaders in food coops. It's for people who attend drumming circles in purple drawstring pants. Purple should never have made it onto the rainbow. And purple with lello? That's the devil talking, my girl!

A good mom lets her child express herself. A good mom also protects her child...from lavender-walled bedrooms and lilac duvet covers. Hence my Color Brainwashing Program: dissing purple and promoting noble hues, like orange. I feel slightly guilty when orange tot elicits compliments -- "such an individualist!" and "how unusual! Most girls like pink or purple" -- but my cause is just. Plus, in an orange world, tot still coordinates her own way: she insists, every day, on wearing one lello sock.

Crabmommy bio

I love to loathe a list that promises to make me a better mom. Or that promises to make my life better as a mom. I came across a good one yesterday in the sort of mag that promises to make us better, peppier, and weirder than all get-out. Here are my favorite "Success Secrets" from "10 Things Every Mom Should Know":

* How to Find a Reliable Sitter
Ask mom friends, neighbors, and your pediatrician's office for recommendations.
Really? These people will help me find a sitter? Wow! Great tip!
The article also advises asking "what if" questions during sitter interviews, e.g., "What if you have to entertain my 3-yr-old on a rainy day?" (Babysitters, if a mom asks you that question, do not mention TV in your answer.)

* How to Clean Up Throw Up
This one lists a variety of vomit solutions for mixed media -- wood, upholstery, carpet.
Let me see. Your kid pukes...and amid the chaos you...go to the computer....or scrapbook...to find that handy vomit tipsheet.
Who are you, Mom? Go away.

* How to Breastfeed Discreetly in Public
This one solicits advice from La Leche league, which promotes carefully draped fabric and slings for privacy ("The fabric will cover you so you'll look as if you're carrying a sleeping baby"). God, I sure wish I'd had this list when I was breastfeeding. I used to bare both bosoms at once...it was so embarrassing! IF ONLY I HAD KNOWN about the draping of a shawl or blanket, I wouldn't have suffered so!

* How to Tell a Great Bedtime Story
Start with "Once upon a time there was a problem in the land."
Now this IS good advice. Add Al Gore voice, make the problem global warming, and you've got a winner -- tot's out in seconds!

Crabmommy bio