<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32127053</id><updated>2011-04-21T20:49:37.835-07:00</updated><title type='text'>zombiemom</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zombiemom.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32127053/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zombiemom.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>zombiemom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06239685215295489202</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>2</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32127053.post-115475363695153920</id><published>2006-08-04T21:41:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-08-04T21:53:57.633-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 102);"&gt;Hello...Is there anybody out there? I can't be all alone in this. Wish I had some girlfriends who were in the same place as me. I feel old around young people and hopelessly not grown-up around "real couples." We aren't really established yet. My husband is working on his doctorate and I don't have a clue what I want to do. Other couples with kids make me feel insecure. I feel like everyone can see what a joke I am, whereas they have it all under control. I try to remind myself that we won't be struggling students forever. HAHA! I'm not even a student. I want so badly to be the best mom ever. I love my daughter so much. Could it ever be enough to be just a mom? I don't think so, but what else is there. How does anyone ever decide what to do with their life?...or am I already choosing motherhood by default?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32127053-115475363695153920?l=zombiemom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zombiemom.blogspot.com/feeds/115475363695153920/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32127053&amp;postID=115475363695153920' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32127053/posts/default/115475363695153920'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32127053/posts/default/115475363695153920'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zombiemom.blogspot.com/2006/08/hello.html' title=''/><author><name>zombiemom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06239685215295489202</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32127053.post-115461750186436462</id><published>2006-08-03T07:57:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-08-03T08:05:01.873-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I smell like sour milk and desperation...my new signature scent. I suppose most new moms feel something like this. I got two words into this post, then my 5-month old daughter returned her entire breakfast to me. When I got up to change us both, thinking,"but, it took time to feed you that," I managed to ever-so-gracefully pull the power cord out of the laptop. Oh, another day. I walk around accomplishing trivial tasks , making small talk, does anyone ever notice that I'm just a shell on auto-pilot? Gotta go...my daughter just refreshed my perfume...and it's leaking down my leg.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32127053-115461750186436462?l=zombiemom.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://zombiemom.blogspot.com/feeds/115461750186436462/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=32127053&amp;postID=115461750186436462' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32127053/posts/default/115461750186436462'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/32127053/posts/default/115461750186436462'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://zombiemom.blogspot.com/2006/08/i-smell-like-sour-milk-and-desperation.html' title=''/><author><name>zombiemom</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06239685215295489202</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
