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Sweet Saturdays.

Saturday, February 28, 2009

Every Saturday my daughter and I have a date in the kitchen. This is our one time a week that we have one on one time with each other. We don't allow any disruptions from Daddy or baby brother. Its just her and me. We both put on aprons, a pink Dora one for her, a black skeleton one for me (I need a new one by the way, Christopher, ahem, for my birthday, ifyaknowwhatI'msayin'). She sits on the counter and helps me dump ingredients into a bowl, and then holds the wooden spoon like a magic wand and "stirrr, stirrr, stirrr"s. Really, she makes a great big mess, and I have to constantly remind myself that shes only two years old, ignore that my gluten free flours cost a fortune, and let her have her fun splashing rice and sorghum flours up into the air, onto her pants, and onto the ground. And once the flour has made it out of the bowl, I'll probably be hearing "Oh no! I making a mess!" over and over again until she decides she ready to get down. I reassure her that we'll clean it up later, and offer her a taste of the batter or dough. Everything that we bake on Sweet Saturdays is vegan, so I have no problems letting her scoop it into her mouth. Usually it ends up on her cheek and up her nose anyways. We make up our own recipes to bake every weekend. Last weekend I was unoriginal and we went with "yummy yummies", which was Eleanore's interpretation of "muddy buddies". Before I left for the gym, I told her we'd make muddy buddies when I got back, but she heard me wrong, and now they'll forever be called "yummy yummies". Cute right? In the past we've made pumpkin blueberry muffins, mock chocolate donuts, sweet potato coffee cake, homemade "Oreo" cookies... is your mouth watering yet? I'm not sure what we're going to be making today, but I recently bought a mini muffin pan that I've been dying to use. Maybe we'll make the pumpkin blueberry muffins again, with a single blueberry in each miniature muffin. Anyone want to come over for a snack...

Something else that makes today Sweet? We're giving away one dozen Toffee Cookies from etsy seller sugarplusspice!! The winner? ...Smooshy! I asked Christopher to call out a number, he said 139, and then I sat here going through each entry figuring out who was qualified and who was not, until I reached lucky entry number 139. Congratulations!! And if you're not Smooshy, don't worry, next week we'll have another super sucky suck-day that you're all more than welcome to enter.

If you would like to sponsor a future suck-day giveaway, please email me, or send me a convo in my etsy shop. Thanks!

Super fun adventures at the ER.

Thursday, February 26, 2009

(I'd be totally surprised if anybody reads this entire post. Really.)

You know those days where everything that could possibly go wrong, does? That was my yesterday. Yesterday is going to go down in my own personal history book as crap-day. Yeah that sounds right. Crappy is probably the most accurate word to describe it.

The previous night, my 2 and a half year old, Eleanore, was sitting on the kitchen counter "helping", like she always does, her Daddy chop mushrooms (or, mushroomses). I was in the living room, sitting on the couch feeding the baby, who at this point was half asleep and milk was flowing freely onto my pants. So we're going about our night, tra la la, like usual, and the next thing I know I hear a loud crash/thump, and then screaming and crying. Eleanore is a tough girl, taught that when you fall you stand back up and brush off your knees. So for her to wail like that, she must have fallen pretty hard. Or, ugly hard. I suck at jokes. Anyways, I didn't see the actual fall, so the story is kind of fuzzy. When the comforts took effect and the sobbing stopped, she went to take a step away from the scene of the accident, and went tumbling down like a ton of those cute paper bricks (shes a 2 year old after all, so make them pink fluffy paper bricks. Filled with sand?). We poked at her, pushed on her, but couldn't find an actual "boo boo" spot. So we got her cozied up to where she didn't have to walk, and figured it would mend itself overnight. ...Wrong. The next morning repeat the trying-to-walk scene, and then insert me calling a nurse here. The nurse sent us to the ER. That might sound serious to most of you, but we have Military medical. I like how I ended the sentance there, as if everyone knows how sucky Tricare is. Anytime anything happens to any of us, its off to the urgent care, and then usually the ER. They don't do anything for us here on base, other than pass out referrals, and write you a prescription for ibuprofen. You have an ongoing illness that's been slowly shutting down your body? Well here... have some ibuprofen and check back in a month. I should bite my tongue and stop with my rant here. So, fast forward through a really weird tasting fruit/veggie combo smoothie, and we're at the ER. All 4 of us. If I had any idea that we'd be there for 6 hours, I would have stayed home with the baby and let Christopher and Elie go alone. We're not usually away from the house for more than 2 or 3 hours at a time, ever. So 6, was a bit of a challenge. I've never fed the baby in public. And it just so happens, that right when they call Eleanore back to check her vitals and get her pre registered, Charlie wakes up and is hungry. OK, I got this. I asked the front desk if there was a room I could use to feed him (I don't have dainty breasts, and we make a mess. I can't candy coat it), but they were all booked. Instead, they gave me a large blanket. So there I am, in a room packed full of strangers coughing and bleeding, and I have no choice but to sit down cross legged on the floor, throw the blanket over me, and give it a go. Oh, I'm engorged? Perfect! So now not only am I feeding my baby, but apparently I'm feeding Charlie's clothes, the blanket, my clothes, the floor, everything. I especially loved the part where he was choking on my milk, and everyone in the previously silent waiting room looked over at me. Oh hi, here we are, look at us! Yes, my child is choking from an overabundant milk supply. No big deal, really. Charlie screams and kicks and does all that cute baby stuff while I'm trying to burp him... and then off in the distance, through a teeny tiny window, I can see Eleanore clinging to Christopher for dear life, and screaming like a banshee. Awww, they must be trying to weigh her, haha. I can see Christopher kind of bouncing her, as the color of her face goes from pink to purple. Shes pissed. Charlie finally burps, which I'm sure everyone in the waiting room loved, and is back on the boob. Again with the overactive letdown... milk everywhere. When I tell you we're soaked, I'm not kidding. I could wring out his onesie if I wanted to. I'm struggling to keep the blanket covering my half naked body. The guy straight across from me keeps staring at me and then looking away when I look at him, and Charlie is choking again... we're having a good ol' time! Then Christopher comes walking out of the torture chamber, holding our injured princess, and says "I got peed on". What... by who? By Eleanore? Seriously? He sets her down in a seat, and reveals a giant wet spot on his uniform. Cute. He really did get peed on. One of the straps on her diaper broke, and they're both covered in pee. We didn't bring a spare outfit for her, and of course we didn't bring a spare uniform for him. He takes off his jacket and her pants (hey isn't that a Blink 182 album? OK, another dumb joke, sorry), and they both sit there recovering from the awful experience they've just endured. Eleanore seems to be happy in no time, getting loads of attention from Mommy and Daddy. When I finish feeding Charlie, I get up out of my ghetto blanket tent, it looks like we've set up camp in the corner of the ER by the way, and take him into the bathroom to change his diaper and outfit. On the way back, he pukes on me. A lot. Its running down my arm, and I have no way to stop it. Christopher helps me wipe it up when I get back to Corner-Camp-Crappy... now we're all soaked. Oh, and while all of this is going on, the waiting room is completely silent and still. We've been a great source of entertainment, and probably disgust for a good half hour. Thanks folks, for tuning into the Herman show, we're here for one day only so get your thrills while you can! As time goes by, we all run out of gas. We're exhausted. I make Eleanore a pretend house out of her blanket and the stroller. She seems more than happy to be playing in it. The waiting room phone starts ringing. Its nowhere near us. Everyone hears it. Ring, ring, ring. Are you kidding me? There are people sitting on either side of it, being complete assholes ignoring it. After about 15 rings, Christopher gets up (continuing coverage of the Herman show), walks over there, practically stepping on the people sitting right by the damn thing, and answers it. Obviously, its not for him. He calls out the name of whoever they're calling for, and then comes back and sits down. Way to go people. I especially like how the guy directly next to the phone (who couldn't take his face away from his blackberry for more than a second), was also Military, and Christopher said he had seen him around quite a few times. And then soon, finally, we're called back into our room. Too bad it was the size of a small bathroom, and as cold as the arctic tundra. I asked Christopher to go get me a blanket. By now, I've consumed only enough calories to make lunch for Charlie, and I feel like I'm going to pass out. Eleanore is tired and sucking on her fingers (a built in pacifier), and I've made a tally sheet of the 100 and something times Christopher has nodded off while sitting or standing. Charlie is starting to fuss for round two of lunch. Will it ever end?! ...OK. I'm about to sound horrible, try not to hate me, but I have to bring it up. When our doctor comes in, he has messed up eyes. One eye is lazy, and looking off to the right. The other has a big scar above it, and is staring straight ahead. I'm sure hes a nice doctor, and good at his job, but for the love of God... can we get a freakin' break here? So um, which eye do I try to make eye contact with? The lazy one, or the scarred one? Which one can he see out of? Can he see out of both of them? The entire time hes talking to me, I'm nodding and saying yes, and answering all those mom-daughter questions. But really, I'm trying to avoid eye contact with him, because I don't which eye to look at. I figure hes probably used to this, and probably doesn't even notice when people react anymore. I feel like a big jerk, which after 5 hours in the ER with 2 kids under 2, I am. Eleanore gets Xrays of her hip and ankle, and we leave hours later with a diagnosis of a sprain, and possible hidden fracture. There had been offers of codeine and mentions of pediatric surgeons. No, I'm not going to drug her up, shes just fine and Motrin will be enough I'm sure. And whoa Mister, a surgeon? You can't even tell if its her ankle or hip thats hurting her!! After the (crap) diagnosis, we waited in the igloo for way too long, so I took Charlie outside into the 90 degree weather for a walk and let Elie and Christopher spend some time alone for some Eskimo bonding. Only 7 hours after we left for the ER... we were finally home, with nothing more than an ice pack, and a print out on sprains. I'd like to thank the Military hospital here on base for being super awesome and never seeing patients. A big shout out to Tricare, for always sending us to the ER when it isn't necessary. And a special thanks to the folks of the Abilene Regional waiting room, for having no shame in turning the TV off and watching us instead. You wouldn't believe how good it felt to get out of my puke soaked shirt...

-"Tawriffic Limted Edition laser print", by tsktsk, $12.00.

Racquet ball for the uncoordinated.

Wednesday, February 25, 2009

So. I've started going to the gym. Every night, even. As soon as my loving husband Christopher gets home (I'm kissing ass because he downloaded a cd I wanted and I know hes going to come home and read this), I trade in my spit up covered mom clothes for cute workout attire, grab my ipod and water bottle, and drive down the street to the base gym. You didn't think I was going to say walk did you? Pffft. I've always been way too intimidated to go to the gym here, with 90% of everyone there being Military and obviously in shape. Its not like I blend in. Overweight tattooed chick with huge thick rimmed black glasses and an enormous rack... hi, here I am! Well finally I found a workout buddy, and the guts to get a move on it. The first time we went was the worse, but once we were walking away sweaty and refreshed, I felt like an ass for not going and getting it overwith sooner. I rode the stationery bikes, which was really me hiding in the front row so that I couldn't see anybody looking at me. If I can't see you, you can't see me, kind of thing. Usually I'm pretty confident, but ladies I know any of you that are even slightly self concious can relate when I say that the gym (especially a Military gym, gah) is totally different territory. Until you get used to it at least. So now I'm used to it, and I've made it part of my daily routine. I've even bought the super fancy green combination lock to prove it (22, 32, 06... don't let me forget that). And, for the past 2 days, played hours of racquet ball. By our own rules though. Have you ever played racquet ball by the actual rules? Booooring. Our rules? Hit the ball and you're a winner! I'm so hardcore set on losing weight, that I challenged myself to 20 minutes on the rowing machine and ended up splitting my palms open and bleeding, which I didn't realize had happened until I got home. Yes, I'm a badass, its true. Anyways, since I've started working out, I've gained confidence, sore muscles (thats good, right?), and finally, some time away from the kids. Once I stabilize my metabolism (gotta love those food allergies!) and actually start losing weight, I'll probably do bi-weekly updates on my progress. Until then, just picture me jumping around in a big soundproof white room, wearing super sexy safely goggles, missing the bouncy ball and sucking at serving. I was obviously the chubby akward girl with no sports skills, in the back of gym during any PE activities. Hurray for fitness!

-"WILL original watercolor painting man with glasses quirky expression by minneapolis artist Jennifer Sandquist", by Jsandquist, $40.00.

Monday suck-day, take 17!

Monday, February 23, 2009

OK. I miss Monday suck-day. Don't you? This morning I woke up to my husbands obnoxious phone alarm screaming "I'm on a boat, I'm on a boat, everybody look at me cause I'm sailin' on a boat!". Ya know, this song (click "this song" to watch the video). The alarm woke the baby too, who had taken over the entire bed around 3am, so I decided to feed him, and then what the heck, why not stay up. I came downstairs and made myself coffee and breakfast before my daughter woke up, which never happens. I got to eat my breakfast in peace? Wow. I should wake up earlier every morning. Well, sure I say that now. But after not getting to bed until 1am, and then waking up every other minute to feed a hungry 8 week old, I probably won't be so quick to get out from under the covers.

What? ...you don't want to hear me ramble about feeding babies again? Yeah I can't really hold that against you. Its not as good as a giveaway, which is why you're really here isn't it?

So I was completely unprepared to do a suck-day giveaway today. I had to do a last minute plead for sponsors in the etsy forums this mornings. And hot dog, would ya look at what I got as a result!

Wow. Lucky y'all, have a chance to win one dozen "Toffee Cookies" by etsy seller sugarplusspice!! Here's what you have to do. Go to sugarplusspice, look around at all of the wonderful delights (that I so desperately wish were gluten free), and pick out what you would choose as your Monday afternoon treat. Come back here to this blog entry, and tell us what you picked. Easy as cookies right (see what I did there? By saying cookies instead of pie? I'm so cute...)? For an additional entry, tell us why your Mondays suck (this Monday, last Monday, every Monday, whatever) in 20 words or more. "I have to go back to work", does not qualify, typeskates, haha. For 2 additional entries, blog about this giveaway on your blog, complete with photos and links, and then come back here and leave a comment with the link to your post. How bad do you want to win these cookies?? This contest ends on Friday Feb 27th. Happy suck-day!!

If you would like to sponsor a future suck-day giveaway, please email me, or send me a convo at my etsy shop. Thanks!

Motherhood boot camp.

Thursday, February 19, 2009

I'm so awful at blogging now. I always put it down on my to do list. "Blog", it says, but it remains un-scratched on the paper at the end of the night. Earlier this week a woman I was talking to on Craigslist (we tried to sell our elliptical, but turns out the resistance motor is burnt out, nice) described this period of motherhood as "boot camp". That's exactly what this is. Anybody want to know how my day usually goes? Oh good...

5:30 am: Christopher's alarm goes off. Either the baby has woken up just minutes before, or is about to wake up minutes after. Not to mention, he was probably awake just an hour ago. And an hour before that. Anyways, so around 5:00ish... Feed the baby. And then burp the baby, at least 5 times, thanks to an overactive letdown. Clean up regurgitated breast milk, and then maybe feed the baby some more. Try to go back to sleep, by sleeping with the baby in my arms so that I can easily replace his bink. Sometimes this works, sometimes it doesn't.

7:00 am: Feed the baby again. See above paragraph.

8:00 am: I've been listening to Eleanore over the monitor for awhile now. Shes wide awake in her room, thumping her leg against her bed repeatedly, waiting for me to come get her. So when I get a chance to set down the baby, I quickly get dressed, rush into her room and get her dressed (by setting the baby down, hes now in my bedroom screaming as loudly as his lungs will let him, which also causes Eleanore to cry), and then hurry her back into my room where I try over and over again to satisfy the baby with a binky, yet again. I do a quick room check, is there anything that needs to come downstairs with me? Phone? Spare outfit? Diaper cream? I scoop up the baby in my left arm, toss Eleanore's blankie over my right shoulder, and then with my right hand I lead Elie down the stairs. And if I'm lucky, like this morning, she'll stop and throw a fit at the top of the stairs, demanding to take down her too-heavy-to-carry princess storybook.

8:30 am: By now I've usually made it downstairs without kill myself, or anyone else. I'm clumsy. Its a wonder I haven't fallen yet. Eleanore sits down for some Sesame Street, and I hand her a sippy of milk. Sometimes Christopher has one already prepared for me in the fridge, sometimes he doesn't. Little things like that really help me keep my sanity. Prepared sippys that is. Next I try to put Charlie down in his swing that sits up on the counter in the kitchen. Most of the time he'll be almost-asleep and let me put him down, as long as the swing is in full motion and the sounds are on loudly. I don't know how many times I've run back in to restart the sounds. Hes quick to let me know when his music id done playing. The other times I hold him with my left arm, while doing the following: Heat water for a single cup of coffee. Chug large glass of water. Start cooking hot brown rice cereal for mine and Eleanore's breakfast. Sounds easy enough right? Well its not.

9:00 am: By now I've run back and forth from stirring the cereal and binking the baby, to the computer about 10 times. This is how I check my morning convos, emails, update twitter, etc. The cereal is finally done, and Eleanore is telling me over and over again about how Curious George is coming on next. Yes, Eleanore, I know. But I pretend not to know, and always reply with "oh really?!", as if I give a crap. Usually my patience has already been tested by this point, at least once, normally twice, by a crying baby that decided he didn't want to be in his swing after all, and me wanting to drink my one cup of coffee in peace. I take a deep breath, remind myself that I'm a stay at home mom and don't have the luxury of a vacation style breakfast, and go back to taking care of business. Now its time for me to try and eat my breakfast, and finish up the 5 Internet tasks that I shouldn't have started in the first place.

9:15 am: "I don't want any more. I don't want any more Mommy. Mommy I'm done, and I don't want anymore". Whats that, is someone talking? Oh, right, the kids. Crap. Charlie has been snoozing away to his aquatic swing music that I restarted 7 times, and Eleanore has been eating and making a mess in silence. My cereal sits cold and barely touched next to the computer, as I've completely forgotten about it... again. I get Eleanore down from the table, put her dirty bowl in the sink, and then chase the cat off the table, who has taken it upon herself to clean up Eleanore's mess. I tell myself that I'll clean that up in a minute, and of course, forget. So by the time I get around to it, god knows when, its crusted on and nearly impossible to scrape off.

9:30 am: Really, is the baby actually sleeping? Oh thank goodness. OK, while I can, I need to rush to get a load of laundry done, empty the dishwasher, fill it up again, clean the counters, go to the bathroom, lose my mind...

10:00 am: Eleanore is thirsty, and hungry. I give her a sippy of juice and tell her that she needs to wait a little while before we have a snack. Usually the juice distracts her from throwing a fit at the lack of snack. Shes not actually hungry, shes just bored. I remind her of all of her wonderful toys that she has to play with, and either she thinks "oh, yes, my play kitchen sounds fun!", or she thinks "I hate my Mommy and I'm going to let her know by throwing a very loud and exhausting tantrum right here and right now".

11:00 am: Where did the last hour go? Charlie wakes up to eat. Or, just to pretend like hes hungry, and really tricking me into holding him for the next hour while I try to feed him. But if he really is hungry, he sucks me dry, and I try to down at least 2 glasses of water the next available minute I have to do so. I have to drink as much as I can when I remember, otherwise I won't ever drink any. I drink probably 12 glasses a day. Never by sipping. Always by obnoxious gulping.

12:00 am: Christopher comes home from lunch. I'm still cleaning up from breakfast. Heck, sometimes I'm still eating breakfast.

1:00 pm: This used to be Eleanore's nap time, but recently shes decided that she no longer needs naps, and would much rather make me crazy. Charlie is eating again by the way, and probably has been for half an hour. This meal will probably last forever, as he'll fall asleep within a few minutes, I'll try to set him down, and then he'll wake up and be hungry again. We'll probably dance around the cycle for an hour or longer. Oh, and toss some more puke and poop into the mix. But those two things go without saying. All the time, always.

2:00 pm: Oh crap, I started a load of laundry hours ago huh? Better switch that. And clean up the dishes from lunch. And change Eleanore's diaper that I can't believe hasn't soaked through her clothes. I wish she'd tell me when shes got a dirty diaper. I then remind her how important it is that she tell Mommy and Daddy when shes gone to the bathroom, and day dream about how wonderful it will be when shes potty trained. She throws a fit most likely, not wanting to have her 5 lb diaper changed. I threaten with time out, put on my mean Mommy face, and usually the job gets done.

3:00 pm: Feeding the baby. Again. Still. Maybe he never even left the breast actually? I can't remember. By now Eleanore is past tired, and I'm waiting for a burst of energy to kick in, so that she'll stop throwing fits over nothing and everything all at once. The living room looks like a tornado has swept through it. I've forgotten about the laundry again. I've downed a few more glasses of water, pretending it was vodka. I've given snacks and sippys out like door prizes at a crappy company holiday party. I'm rubbing my head because of Eleanore's asking me "What story do you want Mommy?" over, and over, and over, and over again. I'm covered in baby spit up. Good thing I brought down that extra outfit for him. Its in the dirty clothes along with 2 other outfits that hes worn today. Also, I haven't worn a shirt in hours. Why bother when I'm constantly feeding? I hope nobody comes to the door. And if they do, I better know where my shirt is. Sometimes I forget shirts exist entirely.

4:00 pm: I'm officially crazy. I haven't had a minute to myself all day. I've changed diapers galore. I've fed gallons of milk to a 12 pound person. I have a headache. I'm on auto pilot, wishing I would have gone to bed 4 hours earlier. Not that it would have made a difference, because 3 of that would have been spent awake feeding the baby anyways.

5:00 pm: Christopher has come home sometime in the last hour, and I'm at the gym. I pumped milk before I left, so that he could feed Charlie with a bottle, which will come back to bite me in the ass next feeding when he gets mad that he actually has to work for his milk this time around. I hate bottles. Its like taking 2 steps back. So here I am at the gym, able to take a breath without being interrupted. Sweating out the stress from the day. Watching 10 different channels without sound. Having occasional adult conversation with my workout partner (hi Autumn!). Finding any excuse not to go home.

6:30 pm: I'm myself again. My brain is back to functioning at a mature level. My tone of voice has gone from bitter old lady, to happy preschool teacher. I miss my kids. I walk through the door to my house, recharged and ready to finish off the night with nothing but love and snuggles. I'm happy to drink pretend tea. I'm glad to feed the baby (seriously, does he ever stop eating?). Maybe I should start working out in the mornings?? I'd seriously have to go at 4am. And that sounds horrible.

7:00 pm: Christopher is putting Eleanore to bed. Charlie is in my arms/lap/over my shoulder. The rest of the night is smooth sailing. I tell myself I want to be asleep by 9:00.

9:00 pm: I'm not asleep. I'm either on the Internet, watching TV, or feeding the baby.

10:00 pm: In bed, but, feeding the baby.

11:00 pm: Feeding the baby.

Midnight: Feeding. The. Baby.

1:00 am: ...and feeding the baby.

2:00 am: Maybe I was asleep those last couple of feedings. I'm usually asleep right now, but, constantly waking up to give Christopher a good shove and holler something about a baby.

3:00 am: Are you there sleep, its me Tia?
4:00 am: Maybe I should start working out in the mornings.

Tweet tweet.

Thursday, February 12, 2009

I think I'm one of the last people on earth to catch the Twitter train. I finally made the leap from the tracks and grabbed the back handle as it was leaving the station. You can follow my ramblings by clicking here. And Christopher can be found here.

-"Night Twitter, Owl Necklace", by etherealgirls, $20.00.

You look so good in blue-

Wednesday, February 11, 2009

Day 3.

Sunday, February 8, 2009

Somewhere over the last year or so, I developed a serious addiction. Its on my mind constantly. I crave it when I don't have it. I need it. ...Peanut butter.

The other day I stepped on the scale, and admitted that things have gotten way out of control. With me and peanut butter that is. It started out with a teaspoon sized kiss so many months ago, and has slowly evolved into a half a jar daily affair. Yes, you heard me. Half-a-jar... daily.

I know. I'm embarrassed. I feel dirty. There were points when I'd even settle for chunky. You know its bad when you'll settle for chunky. There are two kinds of people. Creamy people. And chunky people. When a creamy girl settles for a spoonful of chunky, she's hit rock bottom.

I'm proud to say that I'm 3 days sober. From, ya know, peanut butter? I've limited myself to an acceptable 2 tablespoon maximum in my morning cereal, and that's become that. I wipe my hands clean of this awful calorie filled addiction. And good for me.

Thank god for SPANX.

Thursday, February 5, 2009

Alright. Its time to talk about my post pregnancy body for a minute. Ladies, if you've had a baby, you know exactly where I'm coming from. Or if you haven't, and maybe just had one too many PBR's, you might have some empathy. So... I housed a person inside my stomach for 9 months. Twice. Well, two separate people, at two separate times. Anyways. I wasn't a small girl to begin with. I've always been overweight. During my first pregnancy, I gained an awesome 38 pounds. And after the baby came out, the weight decided to stick around. I had never been that heavy in my life. Finally, this past year, after I got all of my food allergies under control, the weight came off. And as soon as it did, I got pregnant again. Which was good, because we had been trying for a solid year. Of course, I was scared that this time I'd gain even more weight, and have to go through another 2 years of doing everything I could to lose it and failing. Instead, I lost 8 lbs. What the heck, is going on?! So, here I am, 6 weeks postpartum, having lost all of my baby weight and then some, but am stuck with the mama tummy. You know what I'm talking about. The very reason mom jeans were invented. My maternity pants are all too big, and fall down when I move. But my regular jeans are way too tight, only in the stomach of course, which is an entire size bigger than the rest of my body. Stretched out and flabby. "You just had a baby, it takes time!"... right, well, sweats get old people, and its not so great for the self esteem to have to wear them 24-7. But, you guys, finally!!! ...I'm all healed from my surgery, and have rediscovered the magic known to us lady-humans, as SPANX. I lived in them before my pregnancy. Not only because they smoothed me out, but they also did wonders for my Endometriosis. However, wearing them while drinking... not the best idea, haha. The first time I ever wore them, I threw back 6 screwdrivers. How do you go pee with SPANX on? Good question right. Yeah, well, it wasn't pretty. We'll have to leave it at that. I have three pairs by the way, that I wear in rotation. And I'd like to add that I can't even button my jeans without them on. They're like a tummy tuck in a box. The combination of my new haircut, my new makeup (just ordered yesterday, I can't wait until it gets here!), my new ridiculously large supportive bras, and my SPANX... I feel like a new woman. Now if I could just find 15 minutes a day to pull it all together...

I should have eaten the fish.

Sunday, February 1, 2009

This morning after my shower, I came downstairs, ready for coffee and breakfast. Craving it. The coffee part especially (the weakest coffee you can possibly imagine, demands my stomach, but I'll take what I can get!) I headed into the kitchen, waltzing right past the dining room, to see Christopher putting a piece of salmon on a plate. Normally, that would be wonderful. I love salmon. But, it doesn't so much go with peanut butter and brown sugar hot cereal, right? This I learned a few weekends ago, but never said anything, thinking he'd probably never make the same breakfast again. Sometimes when I speak, things come out so much worse than I intend for them too. I was hoping this wouldn't be one of those moments. I took a deep breath, and as nicely as I possibly could, I told him that he could have my piece. I made sure to repeatedly let him know that I wasn't trying to be mean, and I appreciated it, I just didn't want to eat peanut butter fish. It came out bitchy anyways. It always does, doesn't it? After being a rude and ungrateful fish hater, I went into the dining room, at which point I instantly felt like the worst wife in the whole world. This, would be why...

Moments upon reading the sweetest love note ever written by a Sasquatch, said Sasquatch asks me "Whats wrong?". I reply with " *sob* I'm sad. I mean, I'm happy. *sob* I'm sad-happy". Sasquatch asks again, "Why are you sad?", at which time the only possible response that I could come up with, was "...*sob sob sob*, I should have eaten the fish!". And then I continued to cry into my hands and stare at my bowl of breakfast cereal, hating myself for not eating the salmon and keeping my mouth shut. Here he was, trying to be as romantic as possible, and I had to ruin it didn't I?

So today I've learned 2 things. 1) My husband loves me. Which I've known, but haven't really been feeling. 2) It wouldn't kill me to put on a happy face and eat the salmon when presented the opportunity.