Milestones

I’m having one of those days where the sun shines brighter, the sky is a more vibrant blue and all is right in the world.

Friends, I am wearing a belt today.

One that hasn’t fit in at least two years. My pants are doing some weird bunching thing because the belt is smaller than the pants, but I’d rather have my pant(ies) in a bunch than my ass hanging out for the world to see.

Yesterday one of my favorite people ever (That means you, Teresa!)  said I looked like I was losing weight, healthier, happier and my dreaded adult acne was all but gone. Totally made my day.

I don’t like what I see in the mirror, so I don’t look. I avoid the mirror like the plague. This morning I put my glasses on without them I can’t see my own hand in front of my face… and took a good hard look at myself in the mirror.

You could have knocked me over with a feather. But please don’t. I am TERRIFIED of birds…

What I saw completely shocked me.

I have the beginning of a waist.

I found my cheek bones.

My collar bones aren’t buried under layers of fat.

I have smaller thighs.

I have little wisps of hair growing in my bald patch.

And I’ll be darned, my skin IS tons clearer.

I was too blinded by how I see myself to recognize the changes in my body everyone else sees.  They might not be happening as quickly as I hope and wish they were, but they’re happening.

I am flab-u-less smothered in awesome sauce with a side of hawt wearing my sassy pants.

You know, in a totally not full of myself kind of way.  🙂

Mamavation

Image via Wikipedia

Where will your feet take you this year? Any plans for a big hike, race, or just a lot of walking?

It almost scares me how much Mamavation is in my head… 

When I was smaller, healthier, didn’t have watermelons attached to my chest in high school I really enjoyed running. I used to run in the morning before school with one of my neighbors. It was a great way to start off the morning. I was happier, healthier, felt better about myself.

Now, I’m happy-ish, not so healthy and I don’t feel all that great about myself. I think something needs to change. Duh! I’m going to get out of my own damn way and DO something about it. Again, duh!

I’m going to get back to running. I like running.  The mental and physical health benefits of running are huge. And many, many, many, many, thanks to  Hayneedle Bookieboo for choosing my post to win a treadmill.

Enjoyment, beneficial and a treadmill. It’s the perfect storm of exercise!

BUT

I know myself. I have the willpower of a gnat. I can’t do something just to do it.  I have a hard time doing something for myself because I should. I’ve quit doing things for myself. Take a look at any picture of me from high school and then look at me now. Case and point. I need a reason for it.

Soooooooooo, I’m going to run a race. For a cause. I raise awareness for something and I get healthy. Can we say win-win?! By the time I’m done training and have run the race, I’m going to enjoy running again and running will be habit.

Now I just need to find a race to run.

Thousand and thousands of people have epilepsy, including two of my cousins and my husband. Epilepsy is a cause near and dear to my heart. I’ll find, train and run a race to benefit epilepsy.

There’s a local 5k Just For the Health of It. With a name like that, it has to be run.

Here it is in black and white or whatever color it shows up as… I’m going to return to being a runner. I’m going to get healthy and raise awareness for good causes.

And that’s where my feet are taking me this year.

Never Did I Ever

Never did I ever think

I would get semi-drunkish with my dad.

Create a profile for a dating service while married…

to look at my father’s profile.

Get matched with my dad. Shudder!

I would give my father dating advice.

Critique my dad’s online dating profile.

Help my father write an email to someone he’s potentially interested in meeting up with.

Talk about ‘adult relations’ with my dad.

Admit to a less than wholesome adolescence. TO MY FATHER!

The demise of my parents’s marriage would affect me the way it is.

The thought of my parents divorcing would send me to swallow a Xanax and pray for the anxiety/panic attack to wait until Dad left to take over.

Never did I ever, but it all happened.

 It was not the Saturday night I was expecting when I woke up this morning…that’s for sure.

Dear #Epilepsy

Image by richiedogg1981 via Flickr

Dear Epilepsy:

Usually I’m the queen of passive aggressive, but you’ve messed with the wrong person today. I would go all mama bear on you, but I don’t have a children, so I’m going to wifey bear you so hard you have no idea what’s coming!

STOP. MESSING. WITH. MY HUSBAND.

If I found a magic lamp, my most important wish would be to take away your power. Not just  from my husband, but from everyone with epilepsy, ever.

I have a deep, burning, passionate hate for you, Epilepsy. Not indifference, dislike or distaste. Pure, raging, out of control hate from the deepest, darkest parts of my being. I hate how you make Hubster feel like he could be something different, better. I hate the control you have. The doubt you infect. I hate what you do to him.

 You come around every once in a while with no warning and break my heart. You make my husband feel like complete and total crap physically, mentally and emotionally. You take power and control. You steal chunks of time, memories. You leave nothing but destruction and pain in your wake.

And I’m damn sick of it.

What do I have to do to make you leave us alone?! Hubster has had surgery after surgery, tried medication after medication, had procedure after procedure and you’re still here. I don’t know what else there is to do. You can do whatever you want to me, but PLEASE leave Hubster alone.

You’ll be part of our life forever, but you’re not going to win. I will continue to fight you tooth and nail. I will not let you hold us back. I’m a stubborn, hard-headed, determined woman. You might win a few battles, but we will win the war.

-Laura

Dear Body: WTFrench Toast?!?

Dear Body,

Seriously, what the french toast is going on with us?!? Are we fighting? If I’ve done something that’s offended you, I sincerely apologize. Would you PLEASE talk to me before you completely shut me out?

I know I’ve done some seriously horrible things to you in the past. I know I’ve left you with some pretty hefty baggage and some scars, and I’m sorry. I thought we were working on these issues. I thought we were doing SO well. Am I wrong? I thought our give and take was working for both of us…

I know the whole Uterus/Ovaries thing was an issue for both of us. We saw the doctor and I thought we were beginning to turn a corner there. I’ve been taking my meds everyday. Not just for me, but for you and Liver and Pancreas, too. Is there a particular reason you decided to stop working again? And what’s with the nausea? The two different times I consulted with Dr. EPT, there was no obvious reason for all the hate. If you need to take a break I understand, but a little advance warning that you’re going to cut me off here would be appreciated, please.

Please know that I’m not mad at you. I’m mad at myself for putting you in this situation. It’s come to my attention Uterus, Ovaries, Liver and Pancreas have had issues with me for a while. I’m working on my issues with them, but you’re SO close to them. Are you influencing them? Are they influencing you?

Please tell me what I can do to repair our relationship. And if you can throw in a good work toward the other four, I’d greatly appreciate that, too.

We’re in this for the long haul. You know, the whole being conceived (EW!) and born thing kinda sticks us together forever…like it or not.

I’m not giving up on our relationship and I hope you’re not either.

Love,

Lo.

Mamavation Monday

Image by theimpulsivebuy via Flickr

Wow, how fitting that this week’s blogging carnival is sponsored by Orville Redenbacher’s Gourmet Popping Corn ! My post was going to be grazing snacking. Doo doo doo dooooooooo Um, that was supposed to be the theme from “Twilight Zone” It sounds right in my head… 

I’m a snacker. Period.

I don’t usually eat meals. I snack.

Are you a sweet or savory snacker?  What do you look for in a healthy snack?

I’m an equal opportunity snacker. I can easily go sweet or salty. I’m making the transition from anything and everything snacker to healthy snacker. I usually go for fruits and veggies straight from the fridge. Even I can’t mess those up! I might even go so far as to make some popcorn. Thank goodness for the popcorn button on the microwave. I’d be lost without it! If I’m feeling a little fancy I’ll cut up some cheese and grab a few crackers. But my hands down, all time favorite snack is frozen fruit. Grapes, blueberries, peaches it doesn’t matter. I can eat for a meal. I almost feel like I’m cheating. It’s cold, it’s frozen…it’s like ice cream, but not so bad for me! The worst part is the waiting for the fruit to freeze. As a snacker I look for ease. If it requires the oven, stove or more than one button on the microwave, I’m out!

Part of my issue is that I dont’ cook. I don’t know how. I can make all of  about three things. I’ve tried broadening my horizons when it comes to the kitchen, but whatever I attempt to cook ends up burnt to a crisp AND raw. What I have is a rare, rare talent! My cooking skills are a total joke.  Seriously, the standing joke is something about me needing a recipe for ice and some how burning that. Ha. Ha. Ha. Can you feeeeeel the sarcasm?

 The options for feeding myself and B are limited. We can exist prepackaged food that has sky-high sodium levels, eat out and spend a significant amount of money, eat the three things I know how to make over and over and over and over, or snack.

B has incredibly odd eating habits. He gets up for work at 5am, is out the door and doesn’t eat until he gets home around 3. I don’t know how this man stays so slim. He eats from 3pm until about 7pm. It works for him, so I’m not going to knock it.

However, I cannot do that. On my days off, I’ll get up and eat something simple. Around 10 I’ll have a muffin or toast because I’m hungry. Lunch time for normal people rolls around and I’m hungry again. I can either make a sandwich or some other lunch type thing, or snack until B gets home and I make something or we go out. I generally choose snack. If B and I are going to eat an actual meal, I want to be hungry and eat with my husband.

I used to snack on the crap food we had in the house. Chips, cookies, whatever sounded good. I’d take the whole bag and sit my butt down on the couch and watch Lifetime until B got home and it was time to hand over the clicker.

I’m trying to change my snacking habits. My body has issues and couldn’t recognize the insulin it had so it would tell me I needed something sweet and sugary. It’s almost like being diabetic, except my body does make what it needs, it just doesn’t know how to recognize everything is there. My body still doesn’t know what it wants/needs, but my issues have been diagnosed and I’m on medication to help my body absorb what it needs.

My body is starting to work correctly, but my brain is still having some issues. My brain wants to still wants to eat those crappy things because they taste good. I have zero will power so I don’t keep the crap in the house anymore.  B isn’t too thrilled, but whatever. If he wants it, he can do the grocery shopping! Haha, right! If it isn’t in the house, it isn’t there for me to eat. I don’t miss it. I don’t miss the high calories. I don’t miss eating and being hungry again a few hours later. I don’t miss feeling sluggish. This new way of snacking is here to stay!

——————————————————

I’ve been slacking on my water intake and getting my sweat on this week. It’s time to give myself a kick in the slightly less toned rear and get it together! It sucks to fall down off the wagon. It’s hard to get back up and on, but I can do this! Anyone else have that song stuck in their head? I fall down, but I get up again. Ain’t nothing gonna keep me down…. Ugh.

No Longer a Member of Fatties Anonymous

Hi, my name is Laura. And I’m a fatty.

There is no denying that I’m round, pleasantly plump, fluffy, husky, curvy fat. I’m 5 feet 3 inches tall and over 200 pounds. You do the math. A lot of me is boobs, that I started getting in 2nd grade, but that’s still a lot of woman. Hubster loves the boobs. He doesn’t want them to go anywhere, but anything more than a handful is a waste, right? I’ve got a few handfuls.

I know I’m fat. I’ve accepted it. BUT THAT DOESN’T MEAN I LIKE IT.

I’m over being fat. I’m done being unhappy with the reflection in the mirror. The way I look. The way my clothes fit. Shopping in the maternity section even though I’m not, nor have I ever been, pregnant. That last one is a REAL smack in the face.

I want to be able to buy cute clothes. I want to be able to do things without getting out of breath.  I want to jiggle less. I want to have more energy. Feel better physically and mentally.

 But most of all, I want to be a Mommy. I have some fertility issues (and being overweight definitely doesn’t help), but I’ll be a Mommy one way or another. I want to be the best Mommy I can be. I want to able to run, jump, play, teach my future kidlet(s) proper nutrition and model a healthy life style. I want to life a long, healthy life for myself, my husband and my family. I can’t do that right now. I want to be the best daughter, sister, friend, wife and mom I can possibly be.

SO I’M DOING SOMETHING ABOUT IT!

I’ve made lifestyle changes. I’m making conscious decisions about what/how much I’m eating. I’m *trying* to slowly cut out the bad stuff. I’m working out. I’m making an effort to get off my (flat, but at the same time jiggly-yes, it does happen) ass and DO things.

I will no longer let my weight define me.

I will no longer walk into a room and desperately search for someone my size.

I will no longer try to be anything and everything for everyone else to compensate for my size and to ‘help’ people like me.

 I will not let my weight hold me back from doing things I want to do and becoming the person I am.

I’m going to do this the healthy way.

I will not revert back to the thin, but incredibly unhealthy ways of my younger days.

I will not let the scale define me.

I define me.

I know this isn’t going to be easy. Or happen overnight. But the things that are worth it rarely are.

Let’s get this journey started!

I wrote this blog post while participating in the Bookieboo and Hayneedle Treadmill blogging program, making me eligible to win a treadmill. For more information on how you can participate, click here.

It Means

 I failed (passed?) the test again.

I was kinda hoping the awesome time I’m having playing Mommy would mean something different.  Trying not to pee myself while getting the all important Thing I Stick In Pee out of the stupid wrapper would be a lot different if there wasn’t such a let down. 

 The at home pregnancy test companies NEED to come up with a different way to test. If paternity/DNA can be determined with a Q-tip rubbed around in your cheek, why am I PEEING on something?!? And if I have to pee on something, let’s make it a little more sanitary, please. Or at least make that damn foil thing the test comes in easier to open. When you’ve got to go, you’ve got to go. Farting around with that thing is just sheer torture.

 The test does mean something, but not what I was thinking it might.

It means my period is 8+ days late just because.

It means I had some kind of stomach bug and the nausea wasn’t I thought it was.

It means I really haven’t kicked my caffeine habit and those headaches were just a reminder.

It means the Red Coats are coming.

Armed with super tampons.

Overnight protection with wings.

Crankiness.

Bloating.

Fatigue.

And the cramps that make me double over in pain.

Fan-freaking-tastic.

It means I was kidding myself.

It means one less month to give B the child of his own he’s always wanted by 30.

It means I’ve failed to do the one thing women were specifically designed to do.

Again.

It means I’ve taken a hit.

It means I’ve lost a little more hope.

 

Playing Mommy

This week I’ve been playing Mommy to an adorable 16mo little man.

It’s been a complete and total blast.

But, holy mother is it exhausting!

I really don’t know how parents do it.

Diaper changes in the middle of the night so Little Man isn’t covered in pee (and I don’t even want to know) in the morning. And saving yourself a load of laundry washing bedding and pj’s.

Early mornings because Little Man is ready to get up and you run on HIS schedule. Sleeping in?! What’s that?

 Making breakfast one-handed.  No judgement, Little Man. If I could get away with someone else carrying me around, I’d do it too!

With your non-dominant hand because Little Man wants to be held and Little Man isn’t quite so little when you’re not used to holding a toddler and your weakling other arm can’t cut it. Thankfully Little Man doesn’t mind the banana slices aren’t even CLOSE to the same size…they all go down/on the wall/on the floor/in the carpet/between couch cushions/in his or my hair the same.

Cleaning up breakfast while keeping and eye on Little Man. Please tell me eyes in the back of your head come with the How To Parent book the stork brings when they drop off your child!!!!!

Changing another diaper. And hoping to God Little Man doesn’t stick his hand down in Man Land…again before you have a chance to clean him up!

Getting dressed. Crotch snaps may just be the best invention ever…if the stupid things stayed snapped!

Keeping your smart phone and the tv clicker out of reach. He must be male if he has the clicker for 2 seconds and manages to find the adult channels…

Having a hard time remembering if you brushed your teeth. Which is highly unlikely.

Peeing with an audience. I thought once I moved and didn’t have to share a bathroom with 5 other people my days of peeing/showering with someone else in the bathroom were over. More lonely, but over. Yeah, not so much. Little Shit Man is juuuuuuuuuust tall enough to reach the door handle.

Cleaning up the toilet paper Little Man ran up and down the hall with. Seriously, that door was TOTALLY closed. Wasn’t it…?

Loading up and going for a walk. Because Pretend Mommy needs to get her sweat on, she’s tired of looking at the same walls and seriously plotting ways to kill that damn purple dinosaur.

Changing another diaper. And trying not to vomit all over Little Man. Seriously, what the french toast did he eat?! Never serve that again!

Make lunch. For the childless/cooking challenged, finding something nutritious to eat that Little Man would actually eat, that I can actually make and doesn’t make for another Crap-a-palooza is pretty difficult. Feeding Little Man the same thing for all meals probably isn’t much fun for Little Man.

Play with Little Man some more because that giggle and those dimples are To. Die. For. And wonder when the crap Dora the Explorer hit puberty.

Thank the Lord Little Man is as easily entertained as I am. Hey, if flicking the door stop and listening to it make noise is entertaining, I’ll take it!

Deal with the post lunch/pre nap melt down. And hope to heaven he doesn’t fight the nap too much.

Change another diaper. Plot ways to get B to change a diaper. B decided he was going to be hands off a diaper time…for this pretend parenthood AND the real thing. Right, like I’m going to let that happen…

Rock a crying, squirming, snotty, drooling Little Man before nap time. And feel my heart melt when he snuggles in.

Put half asleep Little Man in the crib for a nap. Time how long the crying goes on before Little Man realized he really IS tired and falls asleep.

Flop on the couch.  Behold the disaster area/ biohazard that is your house.

Clean up lunch, start a load of laundry, vacuum up the bits of cracker ground into the carpet. Pray the vacuum doesn’t wake Little Man and stare longingly at the bottle of wine in the fridge.

Thank my lucky stars B is home from work. Grab a shower and change out of my pajamas.  Did I seriously go walking around the neighborhood with banana in my hair and peanut butter on my forehead.

Pray Little Man is still asleep when I get dressed and (finally???) brush my teeth. Because B doesn’t ‘do’ diapers.

Change Little Man’s diaper when he wakes up. I don’t ‘do’ diapers, my ass. We’re going to have a chat about this and get things straight when (fingers crossed) I’m pregnant. This shit isn’t going to fly when it’s a full-time, for real gig. Laugh at your own unintended pun.

Let B play Daddy while I make dinner. Again, stare longingly at the bottle of wine in the fridge.

More playing. Watch my husband play with Little Man and feel my heart break a little that a child isn’t something I can give B right now.

Bath time. Wooo! Two showers for me in ONE day! But, man, that Little Man laugh is worth the sore knees and soaked clothes.

Diaper, pjams, snack, rock-a-bye, bed. Read- hands in Man Land- at least he pooped in the tub and Man Land in clean. Almost a second bathtime. Lots of crying, squirming and gnashing of teeth until he falls asleep while rocking and looks just like a heaven-sent angel…until midnight when it’s time to change his diaper, again.

Fall in bed, exhausted and fall asleep. Forget “adult time”, that’s how Little Men happen! And that WOULD be the first time Little Man breaks out of bed and gets an eye full…

Repeat.

For all the sarcastic, snarky, alternative/in my head cursing it was totally worth every second of it. I seriously don’t know how you parents do it day in and day out. But I can’t wait to figure it out myself.

No- The One Word I RARELY Use

I’m a giver, a pleaser, a sure-I-can-do-that-even-though-I-don’t-want/have-the-time/desire-to-er. The only time I use the word no is when saying No problem! to someone when they ask me to do something. I think I have to change that today.

Every single person on this case works a weekend shift. That’s just how it is. Not a problem. Just because it’s the weekend/Christmas/a holiday doesn’t mean our job stops. 24/7 care means 24 hours a day 7 days a week. (Oh, healthcare.) We’re compensated for Saturday/Sunday shifts so it’s not all bad.

 When I first started working this case I worked every single Saturday/Sunday. I had no problem with it. I was low man on the totem pole and that’s how things work. Fine by me. A few months later I switched to Sunday and every other Saturday. Again, not a problem. In the past few months I’ve had Sundays off and either worked Friday, Saturday or both.

 My boss asked me to switch one of my shifts during the week to work Sundays. As in ALL of them.

I think I’m going to have to say no.

And I feel badly about it. I don’t want to leave the client in the lurch. I really like them. I don’t want to screw them, or their family, over.

BUT

I also have to take my sanity into consideration. And my relationship with Hubster. And the time I get to spend with my dad.

Sundays are incredibly special to me. Sunday is the day I get to go to church. I may swear a little, but I do love Jesus. Going to church means time with B. It means seeing his brothers and their wives. It means being able to watch a movie together. Or go for a walk. It means we have time TOGETHER.

It’s the ONLY 95% guaranteed day B doesn’t have to work and we get to spend more than 3 hours conscious together. Our work schedules are SO different. B is scheduled one weekend out of 8 weeks. He often picks up someone else’s Saturday to help them out and add a little extra to his paycheck. 9 times out of 10 I’m working the Saturday, too. I don’t get to spend a lot of time with B. Sundays are important for us.

My dad usually comes over Sunday afternoons to do laundry and teach me how to cook something. (To say I’m challenged in the kitchen would be a gross understatement!) My parents have recently separated, my youngest sister wants nothing to do with Dad-which is her right. She’s more than entitled to her feelings…no matter how much I disagree with them. The other two sisters are off at school and not around for Dad to hang out with. I’m the only daughter he can see in a semi-regular basis. The time he and I or Dad, B and I spend together is awesome. It’s strengthened his and my relationship and his and B’s. As important and meaningful as Sunday afternoons with Dad are to me, I can only imagine what they mean to him.

Are all those things worth a $2/hour more?

I do think so.

I’m going to say no.

I’m not low man on the totem pole anymore.

I can count on one hand the number of times I said I couldn’t come in early, or stay late, or pick up a shift, or switch a shift for a 100% valid reason.

You learn something new everyday. (Or so I’m told)

Today I’m learing to say no.