Body image

I've been thinking about my body lately - a lot more than usual.

I've always struggled with my weight.  Not necessarily outwardly - in a way that my friends and family could tell.  It's been more of an inward battle. I wouldn't say I've ever had "body issues".  In fact, I often feel as though I should give my parents far more credit than I do, for raising me to believe I was - AM - beautiful, no matter what age, shape, or weight I am. 

In elementary school, I never once thought I was too fat or thin - and I don't ever remember thinking that about any of the other girls I went to school with, either.

As soon as I entered middle school and shifted from a normal little sixth grader, into an awkward glasses, braces, and extra-large leftover-from-the-80's bang-toting 7th grader, I began to feel a little self-concious of my appearance.  But I never remember feeling ugly or fat.  Just, awkward.

I remember my Aunt saying to me "you should wear a ponytail throughout middle school...every day...and then come back for ninth grade with no braces, contacts, and long blond hair!"  And to an extent, I did that.  Came back with a new look, joined the cheerleading squad, and started making an entirely new group of friends.  So much so, in fact, that once in the 10th grade, a group of friends and I were sitting around talking about middle school and one of my best guy friends said to me "wait, you went to our school in 7th and 8th grade?  I thought you were new last year!"  Apparently I really had made an appearance change.

Being a cheerleader, I developed some serious muscles. My thigh muscles were strong; my biceps toned. When people would see our arms and say "wow, do you lift weights?", my best friend Sara and I used to love to joke (seeing as we were "bases") "no, we lift other girls!" Throughout high school, I wore a size 5 or 7 pants comfortably (oh to wear junior sizes again...sigh). I was always relatively thin.  Never worried about being overweight. 

When I went off to college, I stopped working out almost altogether.  In most cases, one would think this would be bad for your body, but for me, it was the opposite.  I lost all of my muscle tone from cheerleading, but was still walking a couple of miles a day on campus back and forth from my dorm to classes, the dining hall, etc.  As my muscles disappeared, but my diet remained relatively small (just lunch and dinner thanks to sleeping in late and meal plans!), instead of gaining the freshman 15, I dropped it.  I was wearing a size 4 regularly, a size 2 on good days.  Sure, I drank my fair share of calories in bud light and boone's farm, but as college went on, I took on a waitressing job, only upping the amount I was walking per day and continuously burning calories without really trying.

And then I graduated.  And stopped working as a waitress.  I started a desk job.  Moved out on my own - buying my own food.  Drinking just as much as in college.  Doing FAR less physical activity.  And the weight started to creep on.

I started to feel bloated and unattractive most of the time.

The guy I was dating made sure to tell me I looked gross.  And in a way, I couldn't blame him.  I went from a size small, with a flat stomach, to having a muffin top and cellulite.  And all I could do was eat and drink away my unhappiness.

When I finally ended that relationship and moved into an apartment on my own, I started to drop a tiny bit of weight.  And then it happened.  I found the Arlington night life.  And I started going out 3-5 times a week.  A WEEK.  Talk about carb overload.  I'm surprised I didn't smell like beer or vodka-tonics around the clock.  It wasn't so much that I was a drunk.  I was never out of control.  I just was completely enjoying the young, single, city lifestyle.  To the fullest.

Until I realized I was lonely.  And going out drinking several nights a week was only a temporary void filler.  So I scaled it back.  Started spending more nights in with my puppy.  And magically the weight started to fall off.  Amazing how cutting out the beer made the pounds melt off.  I started going to the gym occasionally - walking, sometimes jogging (but let's be serious, mostly walking).

I met Todd and was back in a happy place with my life.  Both in my relationship, and in my internal body image.

Since Todd and I became a couple, we've both gone through our ups and downs with weight - falling into that relationship comfort zone...racking up a few pounds here and there because it's so damn fun to go out to dinner with someone you love!

But before I got pregnant with Nick, I was actually in decent shape.  My clothes were all in the range of size 6 to 8.  I was healthy -- and not insecure.

And then I got pregnant.  And suddenly I felt as though it was totally ok to have a big bowl of cocoa puffs before bed.  Every night.  Sometimes followed by a helping of mashed potatoes.  And suddenly I was 37 weeks pregnant, tipping the scales at just over 200 lbs, and living this fantasy that as soon as Nick came out, my weight would go back down.

To an extent, it did.  I was under 200 lbs just after he was born.  Down around 180 when we left the hospital.  But I still felt gross.

After I finally bounced back from my battle with post-partum depression, I started to focus on myself a bit.  Walking to be healthy.  Eating better than I ever had.

By the time Nick was a year old, I was around 160 lbs.  And while that was 20 lbs more than I wanted to be, I didn't find myself disgusting.  I still didn't have bad body image so much as a drive to look better.

So last summer, I put my big girl panties on, got back to the grindstone, and started really working out.  I was walking every day, often jogging - doing the couch to 5K program, and doing Jillian Michael's 30 day shred.  I was nowhere near where I wanted to be in terms of weight, but I could tell I was getting more toned.  I started to like how I looked in clothes.  And I really started to like how I was feeling - not out of breath or sluggish.

And then we went on vacation to Myrtle Beach -- and all of my progress went right out the window with the seafood dinners and daily ice cream cones.  I fell off the wagon.  And here we are almost a year later, and I have yet to get back on it.

Until now.

So I'm putting it all out here for the world - as in my 26 followers who all know me in real life and may or may not tell me when I'm looking a little "swollen" (what's up mom!) - to keep me accountable.

I don't want to be this heavy any more.  I don't want my thighs to rub together under my maxi dress.  I'm sick of digging my shorts out of my crotch when I walk.  I don't want my arms to flap in the breeze when Nick and I are at the playground, and I sure as hell would like to wear a shirt that's more tailored to my body without having to worry about how muffiny my muffin top is that day.

I've already succumbed to the fact that I won't ever wear a bikini again, because dammit, nobody wants to see my stretch marks.  But I'd like to feel confident in my tankini.  Maybe it won't happen in time for this summer.  But maybe it will.

All I know is that I'm finally ready - ready to get back on the wagon - to stick with it - to get myself into shape. And I'm holding myself accountable.  I'm going to throw out the mindset that "well, this one slice of pizza won't hurt anything" because let's be real - one slice means four...followed by a trip to Dairy Queen. 

I'm releasing my inner chubby kid.  And I'm giving in to a better lifestyle.  Because I don't want to be the fat mom on the beach.  I want to be able to breathe when Nick begs me to chase him around the playground over and over again.  I want to look in the mirror again and feel confident in my size.  And I want to get the tattoo that Todd finally agreed I could get - the reward I'm putting in place for myself after I lose the first 15 lbs.

So if you see me out, ready to cram a bacon cheeseburger in my pie hole, feel free to slap it out of my hand.  Because Lord knows I'm gonna need a few reminders, and a whole lot of ass kicking along the way.

Hold my hand for today, my heart forever

I took Nick over to the playground last night.  It was well past his bedtime, but there was still so much daylight left and the warm weather had me feeling generous, so off we went.  The playground is a stone's throw from our house.  Typically I'll carry Nick over there, partially because I'm impatient and want to get there ASAP, but mostly because Nick is in a very independent stage - one in which he prefers to NOT hold our hands whilst running amok -- and while we live on a relatively private street with very minimal traffic (only local homeowners coming and going), I fear him darting into the street in front of a car.

But last night he was perfect.  As soon as we stepped foot on the sidewalk, he reached up for my hand, and held it tightly the entire walk to the playground.  I purposely slowed my stride and strolled at his short-legged two year old pace.  We stopped to point things out in the grass and pick up sticks.  Paused to wave to daddy as he worked in the backyard.  A less than one minute walk to the playground took us closer to 4 minutes...and I relished in every ticking second as his sweaty, chubby little fingers squeezed my hand in excitement with every new observation and every nearing step to the playground.

When we finally arrived, a group of 5th and 6th grade boys were playing a game on the playground equipment - one that involved a lot of jumping and climbing, as well as loud shouting.  Nick was beside himself and walked right into the middle of the group of boys, waving and saying "hi!".  The boys were kind and said "hi!" back to him, but continued on with their game.  I decided to give Nick some space, and sat back on a bench to watch him play.

But no sooner had I settled onto the bench, than my toddler came running over with a huge grin on his face.  He used all of his might to climb up on the far end of the bench, then carefully balanced as he walked towards me, placing a tiny hand on each side of my face, gave me a kiss, and giggled as he fell into my lap. 

As I tickled Nick and laughed with him, I listened to the older boys playing in the background -- and my eyes began to fill with tears.  Because it occurred to me that at this moment in time, I am Nick's very best friend.  I am his shelter.  His comfort.  His calm.  His protector.  He is not embarrassed to be seen with me - or even more so, to kiss, hug, and love on me in public.  We hold hands and snuggle and giggle and he loves it just as much as I do. 

A huge knot formed in my throat as I thought about how in just a few very short years, this would all change.  Soon he won't need to hold my hand to walk to the playground, because there won't even be time for me to yell out "be careful!" as he's running out the door to play with his buddies.  The kisses and cuddles in public will be all to embarrassing in front of his friends.  And I will be replaced with a best friend his own age.

Sure, Todd and I will still be Nick's protectors.  And we will always try to be his sense of calm and comfort.  But it pains my heart to know that this time of pure innocence and blatant love for us is fleeting.  I want to hold Nick in the palm of my hand forever.  I want to relish in every hand hold and hug and kiss and giggle.  A part of me wants him to never grow up.

I went to bed last night with this thought weighing heavy on my mind.  I kept thinking about the little boys at the playground - wondering if their mommies were sad that they no longer held hands; were no longer looked at as their sons best friends.  And I couldn't shake this sense of worry and sadness.  Will I know one day when Nick is holding my hand as we walk along, that this is the last time he will willingly hold it?  Will I be able to capture that memory and carry it with me forever?

And as I was putting Nick in the car this morning, I saw one of the young boys from the playground last night walking to the school bus.  He was happy, smiling, chatting away.  And I had to wipe away a tear of joy as I did a double-take...because the person he was happily giggling with, was his mom. 

And they were holding hands.

Maybe, just maybe, I will always be Nick's favorite person.  Because God knows, he will always be mine.

Potty training on the horizon?

This morning, seconds before my alarm went off, and about 15 minutes before I usually trudge down the hall to wake up Nick, I heard the sweetest little voice over the baby monitor saying "Uh oh!" on repeat.

I looked at the monitor to see Nick standing at the front corner of his crib, one foot pushing down the bumpers, a stance he has perfected over the past 18 or so months since he first figured out how to pull up in his crib.

Seeing as he wasn't actually crying, I chose to attempt to ignore his calls and tried to close my eyes for those last few seconds before I knew my alarm would blare.

But the whispers of "Uh oh!" soon turned into full on calls of "UH OH!!!!" and I thought maybe he had dropped his beloved bear over the side of the crib - which I knew would only end in a sobbing mess of tears, so I yanked myself out of bed - still pants less mind you - and wandered into Nick's room.

As soon as I pushed open his door, he grinned and said "UH OH!" and pointed right to his butt.  To which I said "did you poop??"  And he gleefully responded "UH HUH!"

This isn't the first time he's told me that he pooped.  We've had instances in recent weeks where he's pooped, and someone has caught a whiff of it, and when asked "Nick, did you poop?" he'll nod yes and point to his rear end.  But this was the first time he seemingly "announced" it and actually "asked" to be changed.

I, for one, think this is bittersweet.  While yes, I'd love for Nick to be potty trained and no longer have to worry about the threat of pink-eye when the water splashes up in my face as I drop yet another one of his monstrous turds into the toilet, I know nothing about peeing with a pe*nis.  Pooping in the toilet?  I've got that covered.  Wiping?  Check. Flushing?  Check.  But standing to pee, or worse, trying to point a little weenie downwards while sitting?  Not my forte.

And there's the added joy of the fact that Nick thinks the removable basin of his practice potty actually makes a better hat than somewhere to take a #2. I foresee a lot of "life's bleachable moments" in our near future.

Not to mention potty training is just one more step in the direction towards being an active member of society and no longer being my itty bitty baby boy.  Until, of course, he starts grabbing his ass in Target screaming about needing to "take a BM" (what, your mom didn't call it that too?) and I'm left standing there half mortified and half grateful that I'm still needed.

Motherhood is such a glamorous job.

Maybe I'll leave potty training up to Todd.  At least the peeing-while-standing part of it...

Wait...who?

Conversations with a toddler who is VERY vocal, but not verbal, yet understands EVERY.THING can be pretty hilarious, and sometimes downright head-scratching.  Case in point, last night the following conversation ensued between my mom and Nick:

Gramma:  "Nick, I love you!  Do you love Gramma?"

Nick:  "Uh Huh!"

Gramma: "Do you love mommy?"

Nick: "Uh huh!"

Gramma:  "Do you love Boss?"

Nick: "Uh huh!"

Gramma:  "Do you love Daddy?"

Nick:  "UH HUH!"

Gramma:  "Do you love Gramma Ardie?"

Nick: "Uh huh!"

Gramma:  "hmm...do you love...Michael?"

Nick: "mmm hmmm!"

Us:  "wait...who's Michael??"

Who cares...Nick loves him, too!

New duds

--8 new polos
--2 new muscle tees
--13 new pairs of shorts (one with tiny American flags all over them - adorbs!)
--13 new graphic and solid tees
--1 new pair of swim trunks (me thinks we need to add a few more in this category)
--3 new sets of footie pj's (here, too)
--And 2 new pairs of jeans

And this picture doesn't even do it all justice. Because while we have a million dollar camera, I only take pics from the convenience of my cell phone.

Looks like I'll be spending my remaining afternoon sorting through Nicks clothes.

Who said dressing little boys wasn't fun??! (Ok, at one time I said it - but I retract that statement!)

I couldn't have planned this if I tried

Nick woke up around 4:45am this morning, and thought it would be a good idea to run his sippy cup of water along the slats of his crib like an inmate singing the blues.  Totally irritating when you're trying to sleep. 

Todd had already gotten up for work and was downstairs in the shower (yes, he has to shower in the basement bathroom these days while our master bath is torn apart for the re-do, but that's an entirely separate post for another day), so I did what I thought was the most logical solution -- hopped out of bed, stumbled towards Nick's room, grabbed him out of his crib, and brought him back to our room for snuggles (and the hope that he would go back to sleep for a couple of hours).

When I woke up to my alarm two hours later, I looked over to see this:

Sweetest thing ever.  Nose-to-nose.  Little arms intertwined.  My heart?  Exploded.

Not sure I could love these two more.

Weekend in review

We had a great weekend...very low key and relaxing, but nobody was sick, so that instantly qualifies it as a great time in my book.

Sadly, I didn't take many pictures this weekend because it was somewhat uneventful, and - shockingly enough - I somehow managed to NOT have my phone in my hand at all times.  Which was equally as satisfying.  Nice to unplug a bit every now and then.

Saturday we all woke up around 8:00am, and started out the day quietly with Nick doing a lot of playing (lately he is completely enamored with all of his Jake and the Neverland Pirate ships) and demanding that I clean (as soon as the vacuum comes out, he becomes quite the slave driver).  So I cleaned the house - well, in all honesty, just the main level - while Nick pointed out specs of dirt on the floor that I missed.  Around 11:15, I could tell that Nick was getting very tired and was ready to nap, so I quickly fed him lunch - which he ate, thank goodness - and thought "well, guess I'll try putting him down in his crib".  See - Nick rarely naps in his own bed on the weekends.  Typically we're on the go, running errands and doing things, so Nick tends to nap in the car or stroller.  Usually he'll fall asleep in the car just as we're getting home, so one of us will carefully get him out of his car seat and let him sleep on our chest on the couch.  But Todd was working on the master bath and I had a meeting with Nick's speech therapist and our caseworker at noon, and knew that Nick couldn't be sleeping on either of us, so to his bed he went.

And damn if he didn't fall right to sleep!  It was like all of the stars aligned.  That, and he must have been exhausted.

When Nick woke up from his nap, we loaded up the car with our old Snap 'n Go, and drove it over to Lori's house, to borrow when her baby boy makes his debut (which should be this week!!).

Then we came home, played some more, made dinner (which again, Nick finally ate some of), read a TON of books, and then got Nick ready for bed.  After Nick went to bed, Todd and I watched Pitch Perfect.  And we really enjoyed it!

Sunday was another late wake up - around 8:30am.  We hurriedly got dressed and decided we would go out for breakfast.  After breakfast, we had a list of errands to run, and headed to Bed Bath & Beyond.  They didn't open until 10:00am, so we sat in the parking lot for about 20 minutes (along with about 10 other families...amazing how desperate people were to get their Sunday shopping started).  After BB&B, we headed over to the mall as I needed something at Sephora and Todd needed to go to Sears.  But once again, we were about 30 minutes too early, so we decided to do something I never thought I'd have the gall to do.  We took Nick to the mall play-place.  Germ city.  There were tiny bodies, and bare feet, and sticky fingers, and runny noses, and coughs galore.  And I took off Nick's shoes and threw him to the wolves.

Todd and I both exclaimed how helpless we felt watching Nick try to climb all of the little trains and slides.  He's still so tiny and slightly unbalanced.  Not to mention he is a very timid and cautious little guy - content to watch the bigger kids jump and fall all over the place.  But when he attempts to climb something himself, he does so very carefully - taking his time - and often getting bumped off by a faster, bigger kid.  But Nick seemed to enjoy himself and Todd and I both knew it was good for him to have us "let go" a little, while simultaneously letting him burn off a little energy.

Immediately after he was finished in the play-place, we wiped him down from head to toe with antibacterial wipes (we swear by Johnson's antibacterial wipes - and buy them in bulk at Costco), and then doused him in hand sanitizer.  Mama can't afford another week of illness. 

We finished our errands at the mall, then headed home where I fed Nick lunch and put him down again for a nap in his bed.  Two days in a row!  I'm pretty sure I hit the lottery.

While Nick napped, Todd and I loaded up my dad's pick-up truck with all of the tile, drywall, etc. from the Master bath demolition, so he could take it to the dump. 

Then Nick and I spent a few hours in the basement playing with every single one of his toys.  We played grocery store (where Nick would hand me a play shopping bag and proceed to bring me every single piece of play food and toss it in the bag.  rinse.  repeat.)  We sorted shapes, named colors, played trains and cars, rode on every single bike/car/bus/wagon/ride along toy in the basement, and jumped on the mini trampoline.  To say I was exhausted was an understatement.

I made spaghetti for dinner and Nick not only ate an entire plateful, he actually asked for seconds!  After last week's stress of Nick not wanting to eat anything, plus gagging and sometimes vomiting anything he ate, this was a huge triumph for not just him, but me as well.  I was so excited to see him eat so much!  And it must have filled him up, too, seeing as when he went to bed, he promptly passed out.

It was a quiet weekend, full of normalcy and limited excitement, but sometimes those are my favorite types of weekends.  The ones where I just enjoy my little family, and soak in the moments as a mommy of a two-year old.  Even if it meant reading "Pajama Time" six times in a row.  Bliss.