Disclaimer: This post intends no disrespect to working moms or non-working moms or military (wife) moms (who I know deal with this issue on a MUCH LARGER scale) or moms who can’t get a job. Or my husband. Amen.

Thank you for joining me for yet ANOTHER edition of Wordy Whiny Wednesday. Today’s whine will be brought to you by my bad attitude, PMS and generally a childish outlook. If you’re one of those perpetually pleasant people you may want to come back in a couple of days. And if per chance you do make it to the end of the Whine, I thank you kindly and ask that you would please leave a comment… Either 1. Telling me to stop whining and being a baby 2. Telling me you that empathize with my pathetic outlook or 3. Something about cake. Like perhaps I should eat one.

I am JEALOUS of my husband’s job. Whhhhhiiiinnnnnne.

There. I said it. *Sigh*

Now when I say I am jealous I don’t mean I wish I could work. Noooooo. No. No. While I do periodically miss the fulfillment of producing something other than clean laundry, breastmilk and a lovely cupcake I have no desire WHATSOEVER to be in the workforce. Ever. I very much enjoy the ‘work’ of this house. Therefore this Whine should be taken with the grain of salt that it is worth.

We now proceed with the Whining:

You may or may not know that 3 days a week my husband is GONE. Like AWAY. Away from this house. He leaves. Get what I’m saying? He goes to work, but work as it so happens, is in a land far, far from here. He packs a bag. He gets in his car. He drives away. And I. Stay. Here.

Now you should also know that we knew FULL well that this was going to be the case when we were first dating. We knew it when we moved in together. We knew it when we got pregnant. Annnd when we got married. Annnnnd when Ella was born. Annnnnnnd when I quit working. And if we get pregnant again we will know it then too. We KNEW he would have to drive away to work and yet, we did it all anyway. We had to. It was love. But yeah. I don’t like it. Not a fan.

Before I further proceed with the Whine let me say this:

1. My husband is AWESOME. He is kind and caring and loving. He is smart and funny. (Also he’s hawt)
2. My husband does not WANT to leave here. He’d much rather be here changing diapers and playing with his baby girl. He’d rather drive kids all over creation and listen to tales of elementary/jr. high/high school woe. He’d rather sit on the sofa and watch Twin Peaks and snuggle with me at night in OUR bed. But he cannot. Because he has to go far, far away to work.
And
3. He does not GO to work far, far away with the intention of having any fun while I cook and clean and become perpetually sleep deprived. It’s just that sometimes… fun finds him.

Furthermore, I am not suggesting that my husband would rather be playing tennis while I fold the 87th load of laundry this week. But you know, maybe he gets the chance to play tennis (or run or whatever). And pretty sure no laundry. And I’m not saying that he’d rather be having a rare beer with a buddy while I’m bouncing a fussing baby or getting her BACK to sleep for the 11th time, but yeah, sometimes, that too. Beer. No baby crying. Also I’m not saying he’d rather get an ENTIRE HOUR to play guitar with no one grabbing him and asking him for anything AT ALL EVER. But yeah, he’s alone soooo. That. And not saying he’d rather be getting SEVEN STRAIGHT HOURS OF SLEEP IN A MOTHEREFFING ROW than be here with me next to him tossing and turning and co-sleeping with a wiggling 8 month old. But those things are in fact happening because he goes AWAY to WORK.

Ah work.

See most of the time it’s just boring stupid work that I’m sure he wishes he didn’t have to do. He just goes to his big office and does it ALL DAY for like a hundred hours and then goes to a lonely empty room (sounds awesome right?) where he calls me, tells me about his day and then sleeps 7 hours, gets up at the ass crack of dawn then goes BACK to the office where he works out, showers and then goes BACK to his desk, usually well before 8 am. At his desk he gets to have maybe a pastry he finds at a meeting room oooor a bagel on Wednesdays, cause that’s bagel day. And coffee. OH and leftovers he brought to eat from home. But every now and then things happen… like this one time when I was HUGE and pregnant (and I mean HUGE) and I was killing ants upstairs and falling over the cat and sobbing like a HUGE PREGNANT LADY while his office was throwing “us” a baby shower. With CHAMPAGNE. And CAKE people. CAKE. And when he called he said, “It was so nice. They gave us a shower.” And I replied lovingly, ‘WELL WHERE THE HELL IS MY EFFING CHAMPAGNE THEN?” Because I was not invited to the shower. I was only invited to the ant killing and falling down party. And ha, whaddya know I was the ONLY PERSON at that party. And sometimes he gets to go to lovely lunch where there is food that is not peanut butter that he doesn’t have to pay for. Food like lobster ravioli. And wine. Or beer. Or other drinks that are not cold coffee or water that tastes like feet (no really). And I am eating a stale sandwich that I made like 2 hours ago but never got to because someone started crying and then something else and something else. Etc. Etc. You get the point. And sometimes, ok only once so far but still, this is his view for two days:

THAT. IS. HIS. VIEW.

(In case you can’t tell. That is the OCEAN.)

Because in the world of the internet, companies fight to gain and keep loyalty. They fight hard. And dirty. And apparently that means a 4 star resort in Santa Cruz. Where there is a big soft EMPTY bed with no baby keeping you up all night. And there is no laundry. At ALL. And where they will cook for you. FOR YOU. And there are no DISHES. And they will give you an open bar (that my actually be untrue, but there will for sure be plenty of beer). And they will let you play ON THE BEACH. GAMES. On the BEACH, people. The Beach.

And I’m jealous. It’s the ugliest of all the seven deadly sins, I KNOW, but there it is. Rearing it’s ugly sinning deadly head. And he says “the weather isn’t going to be very good” OR “there is fire soot {from the BONFIRE on the BEACH} and I’m having to breathe it” or “I’ll try not to have too much fun”. And I say. PLEASE. SHUT. THE. HELL. UP (that’s hyperbole, I’d never actually say that) be quiet. Because I have a migraine from the screaming AND I WANT TO RUN DOWN THE STREET AND POSSIBLY TO THE NEXT TOWN AND MAYBE PULL A FORREST GUMP RIGHT NOW (I’ve never actually had a migraine. Also I’d die if I ran more than 3 miles.)

*sigh*

I feel bad about myself.

Because this is my view:

This is NOT THE BEACH PEOPLE. Even if there is some water somewhere in that hose.

But also there’s this:

So I KNOW I really CAN’T complain. I know this. Because I’m getting to do what I want. I’m getting to be with our sweet little baby every hour of every day. I get to see her grow and change and I know I’m INCREDIBLY LUCKY. I know.

It’s just that I REALLY would like to be lucky on the beach sometimes.

Thanks for playing.

Anyone get this? Anyone? Bueler?

marriage , messed up crap , mothering , wordy whiny wednesday , work

My friend Liz published THIS blog post this morning. Please read it. I’ll wait. See you in 10 minutes.

Back? Ok good.

I’m gonna be honest. That kinda gave me a headache. It’s a whole bunch of sad but true information.

And I couldn’t agree more with Liz. She hit the ol’ nail on the proverbial head with that one. Cause yeah you know what NO ONE IS PERFECT. No one. Nope, not you. You over there… NO. Not you either. You may be doing better than me on some things. I may be doing better that you on some things but NO ONE is perfect. Let go of that notion and free yourself from the prison that is your own expectation.

You. Are. Not. Perfect.

And what do I have to say in response to Liz?

I don’t use paper towels (or toilet paper, or tampons). I’m awesome?

No.

I like white flour. A lot. (even though I have wheat to make bread. Have you ever had a whole wheat cookie? Yeah. No)

I use cloth diapers. Yay!

I buy doritos. Boo.

I breastfeed and attachment parent. Sweet.

I let Ella cry while I finished sewing a seam on a pillowcase. I suck?

I like high heels. Sexy.

I like ballet flats. Comfy.

I like Birkenstocks. Functional?

I make cake from scratch. Yum.

It’s still cake. Oops.

I like whole food. Yes.

I like cookies. And yes.

I buy almond butter. So yummy.

I buy Jif peanut butter. Yeah. Also yummy.

I make pie from scratch. It has apples in it. Apples are FRUIT. Fruit is good for you. Therefore pie is good for you.

It also has crisco in it. Oh. Never mind.

I drink water in reusable water bottles. Always. Saving the earth. One evian at a time.

I drink diet soda. In styrofoam. Or plastic. I’m probably going to have a stroke.

I don’t go to church and I probably don’t pray to your god. Also I don’t feel like I need saving. Thank you.

I still think spirituality is important. And I want you to worship however you want to. I’ll fight for that right for you. Forreals.

I am pro choice. Yes. I am.

I love babies. Yes. I do.

I’m liberal. Surprised?

If you’re aren’t liberal I (probably) still love you. No lie.

Amen.

Now I’m going to go have some chocolate. You should too.

hot points , stuff. and things , wordy whiny wednesday

Ok welcome to another edition of Wordy Whiny (and Weighty) Wednesday.

 

You may or may not remember this (depending on 1. how good your memory is and 2. if you give a damn at all) post about weight and fitness and blah blah blah (well you know not blah blah blah but close). So I’ve been doing those things I talked about. I’ve been drinking water and making sure I’m eating good (and ok I made cookies too, cause BALANCE PEOPLE, BALANCE) and I’ve been walking and cursing at doing Jillian when I can (or I should say when I prioritize it and frankly my knee is killing me soooo there’s that excuse) and the scale? Well it went up. OK that’s fine. Cause I ate pie so I asked for it. The first day of Jillian I almost DIED but by the fifth day I only felt a little like I was going to have a stroke. So that’s an improvement. BUT I’ve also been resting and crafting a little and tapping into my creative side. Oh and also I was taking care of supersickvomitingandpooping and now crabbywhinyteething baby but thankfully at least some of that has passed now. And I’ve been gardening and getting that going. Oh AND chasing the dog out of the garden so that’s exercise right? I’ve also been trying to tackle some small projects (well you know small in the grand scheme of things but not that small really) and starting new projects and checking off the list.

 

Today I decided to tackle my dresser.

 

Dun dun dun.

 

See yesterday I went to lunch with my lovely friend Staci and her super dee duper daughter Peyton and before I went I said to myself, “SELF, maybe you want to wear something besides yoga pants. Just sayin. You look like a hobo.” So I went to my dresser and found I could scarcely open it for the clothes that were SHOVED WILLY NILLY neatly folded inside. So I said to myself, after having NO success whatsoever, “Self. Add this to the list. Cause homie… this is ugly.”

 

So today at 6:15 am I dumped that whole damn thing out.

 

AND OHMYDEARLORD WHERETHEHELL DIDIGET ALLTHESECLOTHES?

It’s ugly friends and that’s just the dresser.

See I used to be skinny. Sorry to keep bringing that up but you know, it’s a valid point in the grand scheme of things since it was only like 2 years ago. (Come to think of it I may be reaching the end of the phase where I can still consider that recent. Well crap.)

Anyway.

When I was skinny (or more aptly when I was depressed) I bought a lot of clothes. I’m not particularly proud of this behavior but there it is. Some of them were, shall we say, rather pricey. OK SO WHAT if I have five pairs of Lucky Brand Jeans in size 6 and 8? They were different STYLES. :-/

 
Sigh. FIVE pair of pants I cannot, and most likely will not ever, wear. I thought I might try to sell these $100 per pair jeans on eBay but it turns out there isn’t much market for jeans that were $100 three years ago. So shit. And what did I find to wear…. Zip. Nada. Nil. Zero.

And where does this leave me you ask?

Well with an empty drawer and a frustrated brain. Of course.

Frustrated because A. I spent $100 on jeans I can’t wear (5 pair …so $500 really. Oh I feel sick.) B. And self loathing because I distinctly remember saying to myself when I lost all that weight “I’ll NEVEREVEREVEREVEREVER in a million zillion years weigh that much again.” Sigh. C. A little more self loathing because HELLO the way I got back to not fitting in my pants was by creating HUMAN LIFE. A sweet little bundle of precious joy who I absolutely cannot imagine my life without, so why am I beating myself up? (even if I could have skipped the cookies) D. And yet even more self loathing because I feel like I falsely advertised a 125 pound woman to my husband when what he ended up with was a 177 pound woman. (and yeah that’s really what I weigh so go ahead and process that number. I’m not trying to lie about it.) E. And even more self loathing for all the self loathing.

And since I’m not going to lie I’ll tell you this… when I finished cleaning out the dresser, and I had set aside the appropriate piles (one to donate, one to turn into wipes for the baby’s butt,  one for repurposing, one to save {that’s where the jeans I’ll never wear are just because I can’t sell them and dangit if I’m giving away $100 jeans}, one to give to my 15 year old {excuse me while I throw up} and one to give to Staci’s daughter) I sat down and had a good ol fashioned PMS induced tear fest. Partly for the aforementioned reasons and partly just cause I needed the emotional cleansing.

Then I talked to the Man and bent his ear for a half hour (hour?) and strangely felt even worse after that because in all love and kindness he essentially told me to get over my narcissistic self.

 

And he’s right.

 

And he said, “If you told me that you’re happy the way you are and this is the way you’re going to be for the rest of your life, I’d be perfectly happy with that because what I WANT IS FOR YOU TO BE HAPPY.”

 

And dammit he means it. And also… he’s right.

Why is it so hard for us to love ourselves? When life is beautiful and good. When we have healthy families and husbands we love. When we can walk and run and keep up with our kids. When we have healthy food and shelter. When we have essentially NOTHING to complain about. At. All.

Why do the size of the jeans in the drawer matter?

 

Does anyone out there want some $100 jeans?

 

 

body image , fitness , MEEEEEE , weight loss , wordy whiny wednesday

Oh wait. It’s Wednesday. My bad.

Last weeks Tuesday was brought to you from a luxurious resort in Scottsdale. This Tuesday… uh I mean Wednesday? From the sofa.

Let’s recap the week. Last week found us enjoying the sights and thrifty shopping adventures of Arizona. It was lovely.
Until:

I should have known things were only going to go downhill from there. I mean this is not a baby that just FALLS asleep on a bed unprovoked. Even if it is an ultra awesome down comforted resort bed. The rest of that day was spent celebrating (er, shopping) with my sister for her 23rd birthday celebration (which was Saturday). Then we were on the plane to come home:

Ella enjoyed the plane ride and wasn’t at all fussy. Clue #2.

The three episodes of unusual poop should have tipped me off. Clue #3. I blamed the travel. We arrived home late Thursday. Tired but in one piece. Mostly.

Then came the vomiting. And more pooping. More vomiting. I was up and down most of the night. Mostly up. Friday 8:30 am I was calling the Big Kids to pick them up from their dads (they had just returned from a ski trip with grandparents). By 8:30 more vomiting. And the lethargy. She couldn’t even hold her head up. I was genuinely concerned and shortly thereafter we were making an appointment to see our pediatrician. We haven’t seen him since Ella was literally 18 hours old. (That’s another story.) In any case by the time we reached his office things were looking up. Ella was able to nurse and keep it down. The diagnosis: Something viral. Awesome. We stayed there for a while just to be sure and then came home. I breathed a sigh of relief. The Man picked up the Big Kids. And our day proceeded on.

I was tired. Like really tired.

Later Friday there was more pooping. And Friday night more pooping. There was luggage and clothing all over the place that had to be put away.

I was tired. Like really really tired.

Did I mention I was tired?

Why am I so tired?

Saturday night more pooping. More. Pooping. Less. Sleeping. I just cannot sleep when kids are sick.

Again. Tired.

Sunday looked better. Kind of. Oh yeah and it was Easter. Oops. Thanks to Staci’s mom for getting me stuff at Costco to throw together some kind of Easter meal that wasn’t pizza. (I should have just gotten pizza.) Ella seemed to be herself and we had a kind of pathetic Easter celebration. There were no fancy dresses. No baskets. No egg hunts. No photo ops. We gave the big kids itunes gift cards purely because we didn’t want to support the tiny plastic crappy Chinese toy industry.

I’m a lousy mother. I was purely in functional mode. Cooking. And trying not to fall asleep standing up. I didn’t even get the camera OUT.

Except for this:

And this (it’s pie):

And this (it’s beer):

And this… The Big Kids teaching Ella to play blackjack.

Hit me.

Sunday night the Big Kids laundry was all done and the vomit was mostly cleaned up and they went back to their dad’s for a couple of days. Sunday night, more pooping. And then more vomiting. What. The. Hell. I gave up and sat on the sofa. All. Night. Long. Every time I’d put her down she would cry in pain. So I didn’t put her down. Instead I watched Brothers & Sisters on netflix (not a bad show, even when cradling an ill infant). At 5:45 I made the handoff to daddy (who had been taking her every morning because I refuse to wake him up at night). Slept 2 and a half hours. Got up.

She looked like this:

I looked like I’d been hit by a truck. Not a small truck either.

And on that note…

Here’s some things:

1. I CANNOT tolerate sleep deprivation like I used to. I just can’t. I’m either too old. Or I’m too old. I used to go 24 to 36 or more hours without a wink of sleep. Now one night and I feel like death. What happened? Oh yeah. I’m old.

2. I am a RN. I have been doused in every body fluid imaginable. Blood? Amniotic fluid? Bring it on. But I. hate. vomit. Not the vomit itself just the act of vomiting and seeing people vomit. Case in point, I myself have not vomiting since I was 5. No shit. (OK I dry heaved when I had my wisdom teeth out. But it took 4 vicodin on an empty stomach to make that happen). I don’t like it.

3. The way that I have learned to cope with vomiting (or sick in general) children is to get up and pretend it’s day time. That’s how I cope. It’s a control thing. This means a couple of things: 1. I’m not awakened abruptly by anyone vomiting on me. Which is nice. 2. I don’t sleep. At all. and 3. My Big Kids actually didn’t mind being sick in the night too much cause it meant they got to watch whatever they wanted on TV while mom set about disinfecting every imaginable surface.

Anyway. Ella is better now.

I still feel a little like I’m spinning in the middle of my own personal tornado.

Thanks for listening.

ella , messed up crap , mothering , OVERACHIEVERITIS , wordy whiny wednesday

Weight.

 

I’ve been avoiding it. For like a hundred and twenty-seven reasons. I don’t want to talk about how much I weigh (a lot), because it’s too much (it’s a lot). Also I don’t want to talk about needing to lose weight because I need to, but I don’t really *want* to. And when I say I don’t want to, I don’t even mean I don’t want to be thinner or feel better. Because who doesn’t want that? And I don’t mean I don’t want to do the work. Because I’ve totally done it (I lost 60 pounds and went from getting winded after running 30 seconds to running 10 miles) and I know I can do it. I just haven’t really wanted to because I’m not really disgusted by my body like I used to be.

 

I blame the Man.

 

Damn him for loving me how I am. Damn damn Man.

(He’s awesome.)

 

You may have read the one where I talk about how I used to be like so super skinny. Or the one that caused all the fuss.

 

But anyway everyone has their breaking point and I have reached mine. I am at *THAT* place. The place where I don’t just see myself in photos and think, “oh yeah you’re a little chubby but that’s totally ok. Have a cookie.” I have reached the place where I see myself and think, “How can I immediately destroy this photo? And possibly the camera just to be safe.”

These are the things I know to be true:

1. There are women who lose weight while breastfeeding (Dear Women Who Lose Weight By Breastfeeding Alone, I am jealous. I won’t say I HATE you because hate is a strong strong word. But yeah. You’re lucky. That is all.) I am not one of those women. I have never been one of them even back when I was young (and could eat a cheesecake and not gain a pound) and had one baby I was not one of them. Add four babies and 16 years. It makes a difference. Oy. So breastfeeding is not enough for me. Damn. Maybe if I had triplets?

2. I am not meant to be that thin. I can say this because I’ve been THAT thin (125 pounds which is incredibly small for me) and it was almost impossible to maintain. It’s important to not apply an ideal to yourself that isn’t YOUR ideal. I cannot run 5 miles a day AND go to the gym AND ride my bike. I mean I COULD but I’d never see my children and my husband and I’d be thin but obsessed probably and it’s all about balance. I am round. I am busty. I am soft. I used to picture my 16 year old self and think, “Well that’s the ideal.” No. It’s not the ideal. I was not a grown up woman at 16. I had not given birth. I was not a mother.  I was not 36. Striving to fit into the jeans I wore in high school would just be stupid. Also, they were acid washed which was a bad bad fashion trend anyway.

3. I eat. I am not going to try to claim I starve myself and still am overweight. I’m not going to try to say “Oh i don’t eat THAT much. I must have a thyroid problem.” Because I definitely do NOT have a thyroid problem. Unless the thyroid is where your cupcake drive is. Cause then yeah, I have hypercupcakethyroidism. Like furreal.

4. I don’t have any desire to be a single digit size. Honestly. Size 10 is just fine. When I’ve lost weight in the past I immediately became so addicted to the result of the loss that I kept setting my goal lower and lower. Until eventually I was smaller than I had been since I was 15. And honestly I looked like a really muscular bobble head. It was not cute. Like at all. My husband may feel free to weigh in on this one. (He is the authority on the matter because he has seen me THAT thin. And now. I’m like a totally different person. Or two people.)

5. I like muscles. I do. But I don’t have any desire to be rock hard or bounce a quarter off my abs. I am honestly and truly in a place where I enjoy being soft and round. I actually like being a little squishy. I like that my kids memories of their mom will be that she was soft. Also my husband likes soft. And I like that. That being said I also like shapely calves and arms so squishy in the right places, muscle-y in the right places.

6. And while we’re on the topic of soft and round…I’ll just confess. I am honestly terrified to see what I’d look like if I weigh less than 150 or 155 pounds. While those numbers do not appear in the range of what is apparently ok for my height, I know (because I’ve been there) that at a certain point parts of my body start to deflate. Namely my soft underbelly and Mt. McBoobs. This point was probably around 150 pounds before I was pregnant for the fifth time. I can recall being quite upset that I was thin for all intents and purposes but my belly looked just frightening. Moms, holla. You know what I’m talking about. Anyway. I am not going to get a tummy tuck ever. SO… all this is just my longwinded way of saying I’d probably rather just have a round belly than a deflated one. This also goes for the Grand Tetons. Amen.

So what’s important:

1. Fitness is important. It’s not important that I be able to run 10 miles. But it is important that I can walk and run and chase kids around. And generally not feel like I’m going to have a cardiac arrest walking up the stairs.

2. Food is important. And healthy, fresh food even more so. Cupcakes are important too. Balance.

3. While we are on the subject of balance. Balance is important. I really am a believer in the “all things in moderation” motto. Yes that means exercise. And food. And a good Cab. And time with family. Not in that order.

 

All that being said I have set REALISTIC goals. These are things we all can and should be doing and aren’t extraordinary.  This doesn’t mean I’m trying to lose 10, 20 or 40 pounds, though ultimately I would like to lose some weight. I will weigh myself but only as a recording tool. I’ve been weighing myself almost daily (or at least weekly) since Ella was born and so far I’ve done absolutely nil with that information. So I’m not going to start to becoming scale obsessed now.

Here’s what I am capable of doing at this point. I say capable because I’m not trying to set myself up to fail. I know I can’t (nor do I want to) spend hours at the gym. I like food and my husband and I like to cook and eat together. I also like to bake. And frankly I’d rather eat cake occasionally and be a little bigger than never eat it and be a size 6. That’s my trade off. I give myself permission to love cake. So anyway… here:

1. Water. Drink it. This is so simple and yet for me so easily overlooked. I don’t love water. I know I should but I don’t. So this, while simple, really is a goal for me.

2. Fruits and veggies. Eat them. I do ok on this front but need to do better. There are plenty of fresh and dried things around to eat. So that.

3. Exercise. Do it. Right now I’m doing the 30 Day Shred again. It’s not realistic for me to say I can work out 30 minutes EVERY day, because some days I just can’t do it. But I can say 5 days a week. 30 minutes isn’t that long and I don’t have to leave the house. Also I’d aim to walk with Ella (the Man and the other kids too when they are here) at least 3 times a week for 30 minutes.

4. Sleep. Get it. You know, when I can. This is probably the number one problem most women (and men) have right now. I am SO CAPABLE of functioning of 6, 5, 4 or even less hours of sleep. That DOESN’T MEAN I SHOULD. There are so many studies that show the vast difference between 6 hours and 7.5 or greater. Honestly when I nap I feel lazy. I lay there and tally all the things I could or should do but the fact is it isn’t lazy. It’s really necessary. I lived for many years being proud of myself for functioning on 3 and 4 hours of sleep. I went through nursing school that way and I worked nights that way. There were 4 day stretches where my total sleep would equal 8 hours. In four days. That is not something to be proud of, it’s stupid. Also besides making you stupid, lack o sleep sows your metabolism making your body think it needs to protect you from some awful thing, you know, like NEVER sleeping.  So sleep.

 

This is for ME. Do I want my husband to think I’m beautiful and sexy? Yes. Do I want my kids to see their mother as fit and healthy? Yes.  But this needs to be for me. It’s very easy, especially when you have small children to get caught up in what they need, what your house needs or your husband needs or your friends need. I’m guilty of feeling guilty for being selfish but a little selfish goes a long way in being to able to do all those other things.

So there you go. That’s where I am. Not a funny today but a serious. Because it’s all about balance.

 

So what things are you doing for you?

 

fitness , self-love , serious stuff , weight loss , wordy whiny wednesday