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

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

Sometimes I’m not funny. I apologize. If you struggle with weight or body image, please read on. If you don’t, please stop reading and email me immediately, I need to know your secret. If you’re just not interested come back tomorrow. We are going to talk about hair.

Anyway.

I used to blog over here. This is Blog to Lose, if you don’t know it, it’s a great site for weight loss support and I blogged almost daily there when I was losing weight a few years ago. I lost, in fact, 60 pounds over the course of about 7 months. (Reader’s Digest Version: I was depressed. I worked nights. I ate to stay awake. I got fat. I felt bad. I lost weight. The end. Well almost the end. Read on.) Anyway… not so much. I weigh about 10 pounds from the weight I was when I started that blog and my life isn’t the same.

For the better.
Confession: In those days of weight loss I obsessed over my weight to the point of weighing not just daily, but multiple times daily. I weighed before the shower. After I peed. With clothes on. With clothes off. I measured myself weekly (if not more). I obsessively stared at my stomach waiting for it to remarkably become tighter, have less stretch marks, look different, better (hello. I had been pregnant 4 times). I worked out 6 days a week. Two or more hours a day.
It was an ugly ugly time. I’m ashamed of that behavior.
But also, I recognize that many women I was cyberfriends with were doing the same thing. I can’t completely explain why but you go ahead and apply whatever psychological knowledge you have.
So now I blog for a different reason (because I’m not actively losing weight), but it’s no surprise that the thing that seems to get the most positive response (or any response) is posts about body image. I can’t tell you the number of emails I got after the Victoria’s Secret post (well I mean I could, but that is meant to suggest that I got a lot, which I did). I got email from anorexics, bulimics, food obsessed people and people who just plain ol’ hate their bodies. This isn’t necessarily something people like to publicly share, but I know you’re out there gals (and guys). So this one is for you…

Stop.

I know it’s not that easy. Oh believe me. I knooooow. But here’s the thing.

You are the way you look.

But the way you look is not *you*.

I know this doesn’t apply to everyone. I also know that skinny people have body image issues too. I used to be one.

See…


I’m on the left (the one on the right is my little sister. She’s 22, single and in grad school if anyone knows any nice guys). This was taken less than two years ago. I can give you a laundry list of things I don’t like about my body in that picture. (I’ll spare you, but use your imagination. If you’re a lady, you know the hot spots.)

Anyway now I’m not skinny.

See…


And I could still give you a laundry list of things I’d change. (I’d put on a swimsuit if I thought it would illustrate my point better but I don’t have one. Also I apologize for the poor quality of this photo. I had the 15 year old snap it quickly, because it’s rare to get a photo of me without a baby attached.)

So, why am I smiling? (Besides the fact that it’s sunny and beautiful outside and I did yoga.)

I should be crying my eyes out right? Because I used to look like that other girl? And now I don’t.

Well I refuse. I will not cry over my thighs. Or butt. Or stomach.

See we went to the beach this last weekend and I sat in the sand with our sweet little baby, watching my Big Kids play in the surf and I people watched.

Mostly I just kept seeing girls in bikinis and thinking to myself, “Welp self. Your body is just never going to look like that again. Ever.”

And I was just a little sad.

Ok I was a lot sad.

But just for a minute.

I’m going to be honest… I was trying really hard to enjoy the sound of the ocean and the smell of the salty water (both things I big puffy pink heart) but I was intermittently thinking horrible things. I was imagining how my husband must surely find me hideous and wondering how many women on the beach he was looking at thinking he wished I looked like them. (He wasn’t. Just to clarify. He’s not that guy.) I was thinking about how it’s only going to get worse because I’m only getting older, and saggier. I was thinking about having another baby and what that might do to my body. I was thinking I’d never ever wear a swimsuit again. Ever. Never.

Oy.

I wasn’t having a very good day emotionally speaking. I’m blaming PMS.

I was sad. Also PMS.

(Also I wanted a chocolate bar. Bad.)

Then I was sad that I was sad, and sad that I was sad that I was sad. Did you get all that? And I talked to the Man about it. Because that’s what I do. And he did like he does. He told me he loved me and that he wanted me to be healthy and happy and not worried about the scale. Or my stretch marks. Or my pants size. Or. Or. Or. He told me I am beautiful and he loves my body the way it is. Round. Shapely. Soft. Curvy. And I thought, why can’t I love myself this way too? Or any way I am? Oh this makes me mad at myself. Just mad. MAD. And so I consciously decide to I love myself. Yay. I’m smart. I’m beautiful. I’m a good person. Phew.

(Then something happens to make me critical (pick ANYthing) and thus begins the cycle again.)

But you see it’s not about being skinny or fat (or whatever), it’s just about loving who you are, how you are. However you are.

It’s gonna be ok.

I wish women would tell each other things like this.

You look how you are.

But you are not how you look.

beauty , body image , serious stuff , weight loss

Today was La Leche League. This is a meeting that happens once monthly where breastfeeding moms (and not breastfeeding moms) get together and talk about… you guessed it, breastfeeding. Well really besides that what happens is ladies can feed their babies without anyone looking at them like they are weird. It’s nice. I wish the whole world was one big perpetual LLL meeting.

Also we had a nice lunch afterward. Good news. I can still speak a language other than baby.

Here are Ella and I. Please note: Wearing 15 year old daughters scarf.

She is trying to eat my face. Don’t worry I fed her before she got too much of it in her mouth.

Next item of business:

Hubs asked me about my blog the other day. He doesn’t usually so this was big news.

It went like this:

Hub: Have you been updating your blog?

Me: No.

Hub: Why not?

Me: Because I don’t have anything interesting to say.

Hub: You’re always talking about happy stuff, you should talk about some hard stuff too.

Me: Good idea. What?

Hub: I don’t know. Something hard. (BTW this is my version of what he said. He sounds far more intelligent than that.)

So here I am… I used to keep a pretty busy blog about weight loss.

But then I got skinny. Who wants to read about that?

Guess what? I’m not skinny anymore.

More on this later.

Also it looks like pretty soon I’m going to start guest blogging for Attachment Parenting International. That’ll be fun.

News to follow.

Also… Don’t tell my husband but staying at home has me a little freaked out. (Just kidding. He already knows.) Anyway. I’ve been an “at home” mom before. I love to cook and clean and craft and raise kids. Seriously. I was born to be domestic. My mom told me when my first darling baby was born that my the time she was 6 weeks old I wouldn’t be able to get to work fast enough. Wrong. So so wrong. I cried EVERY DAY for months taking her to the nanny. I wanted to be home. As a mom it’s all I’ve ever wanted. Suddenly though I feel like I have nothing vital to add to any conversation. Who wants to hear about homebirth? Breastfeeding? Co-sleeping? (Someone besides you Staci. You put up with me. Lord bless ya.) Also I’m afraid to run out of money. It’s gonna happen eventually. And I’m afraid I’m a lousy mother. What if my kids hate me? I’m afraid I’ll forget how to be a nurse. Oh my gosh, what if can never ever start an IV again? Then I’m afraid when I do go back to work no one will want to hire me because I forgot how to be a nurse. They can TELL. Oh and I’m afraid I’ll forget how to have an adult conversation. Goo. Gah. What? You don’t speak baby?! (I don’t speak baby either. As far as I know babies speak the same language we do, they just don’t know how to make words yet.) And I’m afraid of the day I have to go back to work. NO. I don’t want a stranger taking care of my baby. It’s a lot of afraid in case you didn’t notice. Mostly I’m thankful to be at home. And scared for the day that isn’t the reality anymore.

Those are the things maybe some mommy bloggers think about but don’t say. My (Former. I think I have to call her former now that her brother and I aren’t married anymore) sister in law, and one of my favorite people in the history of people, used to say, “I just wish we could all wear t-shirts that said the things we don’t want people to know. Things like ‘ I yell at my kids’. ‘I eat too much fast food/chocolate/meat.’ ‘I don’t know the last time I exercised.’ ‘My husband and I fight. All the time.” ‘I don’t recycle.”

She’s a smart one that lady.

It’s true though. No one wants to say they’re fat, mad, miserable, broke, too in debt, grouchy, have PMS, dislike their husbands, want to yell at their children. And if you talk about these things are you interesting? Honest? A jerk? I’m not sure.

I do know one thing though. You’re about as interesting as you think you are.

blogging , LLL , weight loss