in the desert with some n'oatmeal and jesus...

many years ago... 15 years to be exact... I donned hiking boots, a bandana, a sunhat and my bible and did a hiking tour of israel.  i had been spurred by the uncertainty of my relationship with kjaer as we were still young and carving our own paths, getting closer to each other while he kept saying he didn't want to get married.  (maybe that deserves its own blog post).  desperate to figure myself out, i signed up for a tour and ventured overseas by myself for the very first time (i guess no one could ever accuse me of not being independent!).  it was an incredible journey that made my faith come alive and shaped me as i grappled with who i was and what i wanted.  

me and my roomie, shelley.  we met on this trip
and have been friends ever since!

was i really this young?

the tour was set up to mimic what it would have been like to follow a rabbi.  we often didn't know where we were going and our teacher would use the original hebrew and the landscape to teach scripture to us.  usually we would be dropped off knowing there was a destination in mind... an old archeological dig site or something to hike to.  

this particular morning our bus dropped us in the middle of nowhere... in the deserts of israel (israel isn't all desert, by the way.  this was just the particular area we were in during a portion of our trip).  any direction you looked... there was nothing.  

just rocks... and maybe some camels.  

see?  camels.

our rabbi started walking and we all uncomfortably looked at each other as he forged his way into the nothingness.  

so we followed.

i was painfully aware i was wandering in a literal desert... 

the terrain wasn't sandy like in the movies... it was rocky and void of life.  

and we just kept walking.  

soon we ended up by a group of children and a few sheep.  this was where we stopped.

for awhile we watched these kids, tossing rocks around their herd... keeping them together and moving them using the sounds of rocks landing by their little sheep feet.  their aim was impeccable as they chatted and played and tossed rocks.

eventually, the silence was broken by our rabbi... who started reciting psalm 23.

some people joined in... after all, it's an all time church favorite.  then it was over as the hot desert wind whipped the cords of our sunhats around and we stood waiting expectantly.

then he said words i will never forget.

THESE ARE THE GREEEN PASTURES

my american image of green pastures - which actually looked a bit like Ireland - flickered and then shattered.  you see, david had been a shepherd in israel before becoming a king and penning this psalm... in this actual geographical place.  stooping down you could see a little clump or blade of grass here and there... but it was by no means the fields of ireland.

what i learned that day and have tried to hang onto over these years is that God gives us just enough.  He doesn't just plop us in a green field and forget about us.  He is with us in the harshest terrain, the sometimes bleakness of life, pointing out the blades of grass and fighting off the wild beasts that would devour us... if we let Him (and even when we don't, too).  

He gives us just enough. 

i'm writing this because, my friends, i feel like i am in that desert again.  and as i sat down this morning for my quiet time... my coffee with too much cream in hand, i read psalm 23 and felt my young, athletic 20 something year old self standing uncomfortably in that 100+ degree rocky, desert realizing that my God didn't promise me the fields of ireland...

...but He did promise me that He'd take care of me.

this past year has been hard for everyone.  we've had those typical Covid stresses.  all of the stuff that came with our children learning at home for first semester, working from home simultaneously, jobs we had to relearn and the stress of living in a world up-side-down.  we've been there... done that.

kjaer was overaged this year at his school and is leaving the place he has called home for the past 14 years.  this has been devastating.  my part time status wasn't funded by the district for the next year.  this has flipped our family life on its head as i prepare to return to work full time for the first time in 9 years.  people we love suffered from Covid and were hospitalized.  a few people we love lost their homes due to rent increases and some have had to consider moving out of state because they can't afford the market here in colorado (and they happen to be a huge part of my support system).  i'm telling you... it's been one brutal punch after another.

on top of all of this, i have had unexplained health things happening to me in spite of working fastidiously to take care of myself, eating extremely healthy (we'd done a couple of rounds of whole30 and continued to eat that way 90% of the time) and exercising.  first, i began feeling drained all of the time.  my days home with ophelia felt unproductive and exhausting.  i began gaining weight for no reason... even though i was counting calories and measuring my food and exercising. in september i broke out in an unexplainable rash that lasted for about 6 weeks.  when i chatted with a doctor they just shrugged and said i should probably be looked at by an immunologist but failed to write the referral as my rash had been mostly healed by then.  then, i started having terrible stomach pains, waking up in the middle of the night to a stabbing sensation on my right side.  an ultrasound in december revealed nothing.  january i had a random breast biopsy... which felt traumatizing as i had just gone in for a routine mammogram and before i knew it they were prepping me for a surgical procedure.  (don't worry, it came back clean).  a couple of weeks later i broke out in a bigger rash.  this one covered my entire torso, my arms and started creeping up my neck (don't worry, i won't post pictures of it! 😂)  an immunologist suggested crazy things... bed bugs, laundry detergent.  nothing turned up.  he asked me to have my ferritin levels checked (part of an iron panel) but for a myriad of reasons i didn't go get my blood drawn.  instead i met with a dermatologist who had diagnosed me before she even talked to me because of the pictures we sent her.  i had pityriasis rosea, a rash that lasts 10-12 weeks that is usually caused by an immune response to a virus.  she asked me if i had been sick... which i hadn't.  we were all stumped.  it vanished early march... and i was glad to be done with it.  a week later i started having shortness of breath and my chest felt tight.   nothing seemed to help.  i tried my inhaler, breathing treatments, and allergy meds.  after two weeks of gasping for air (and a negative covid test) i chatted online with a kaiser doctor who tried sending me to the emergency room.  i was like, "i just am having trouble breathing and pressure in my chest, it's not chest pain."  to which she replied, "actually, that IS the definition of chest pain."  but i had already paid through the nose for a biopsy and was 90% sure i wasn't dying of a heart attack so i pushed back and asked if i could come into a clinic.  appointments were a month out but she reluctantly agreed and squeezed me in.  they did an EKG and chest Xray (which i passed with flying colors) and drew a bunch of blood.  nearly everything came back perfect... but that ferritin test from months before had also been there waiting in the cue.  it came back at a 4... normal levels are 18-300 mcg/L.  essentially my red blood cell count was extremely low... meaning that i was having trouble transferring oxygen around the body and my organs were screaming at me that they needed air.

kaiser was of little use.  my primary care physician returned my blood labs (she was filling in for the doctor who saw me in the clinic) and nonchalantly said i had a mild case of anemia.  she suggested i talk to my primary care doctor to find out about my iron levels... to which i mentally replied "YOU ARE MY FREAKING PRIMARY CARE DOCTOR!"  she had also not taken into account my ferritin test that had been ordered by a different doctor and was failing at seeing a bigger health picture.  

i was suffocating.

when i told her i had started an over the counter iron supplement and within an hour i could breath better... she told me she didn't think that was what helped me.  whatever, lady.  i know what happened.  (also... you were too lazy to look at the levels of my ferritin test because you didn't order that one... but it still counts).

feeling disillusioned, i decided to try a naturopathic doctor, dr. miller.  you guys know that since my VBACs with Henley and Ophelia i've been a little, how shall we say it... experimental with my healthcare.  i've been frustrated by doctors over and over again and have found such good healing with looking at ways to address root causes with things like diet and herbs.  so, with my fresh labs in hand, i met with her one spring day... i was having such a hard time breathing on the drive there i removed my bra while driving.  i actually tried to convince myself that maybe it was my bras that had made breathing so difficult for the past month.  i was second guessing myself.... something i had gotten really good at doing for the previous 7 months.

first of all... she spent 2 hours with me pouring over the bloodwork and my medical history.  it was so validating to hear that the things the doctors were shrugging off were no shrug-worthy matter.  when she saw my ferritin she expressed how uncomfortable she was with that number.  she confirmed i couldn't breath because of my low ferritin levels and set out to find the root cause.  she also confirmed that this was why i could start breathing better when taking the iron... like i had thought.  the larger question was, why was my body losing blood?  we have done many tests over the past few months... some have not been so pretty.  i may have even submitted to a stool sample that i had to do at home with my three young children knocking on the door at precisely the worst moment... but i digress.  by may we had ruled out internal bleeding, meaning that my loss of blood was being contributed to by my heavy menstrual cycle. however, the tests were bringing back some other red flags and we still had to figure out why i was losing so much blood.   

by mid-june i was diagnosed with an autoimmune disease called Hashimotos Thyroiditis... 

a crushing revelation, of sorts.

when i was diagnosed it was like everything fell into place... the exhaustion, the unexplained weight gain, the low iron, the heavy periods... it all made sense and yet felt scary all at once.  while i can work to put my hashimotos into remission,  it is going to take extreme dietary measures (AIP)... like more extreme than whole 30... and a lot of tweaking meds and herbs.  remission, if it happens, can be a 6-12 month journey... sometimes years for people.  the other frustrating thing is we still are digging for the root cause.  so now we are onto a whole other round of testing for SIBO and food sensitivities.  the goal in getting to the root cause is to heal that part of me that caused my immune system to go haywire and then work forward from there.  addressing the root cause can give me a better chance to put my body into remission.

on top of it all, apparently my immune system has also reactivated Epstein-Bar virus in my body (mono)... because, why not?  firstly, i never even knew i've had mono in the past.  secondly, that you could reactivate it.  reactivated EBV can cause a whole host of health problems including chronic fatigue syndrome, fibromyalgia, thyroid issues, lupus, vertigo, tinnitus and can contribute to anxiety, chest pain and asthma.  dr. miller seemed more concerned about treating the EBV virus with a ten week protocol before hitting the hashimotos hard core and so i've been spending the month of july stocking my freezer with AIP recipes and finding ones that i like so that when i return to work i can successfully heal my body while following a strict protocol to support my immune system in "turning off" EBV.  

you guys... i'm making weird ass things like carrot and banana n'oatmeal and spaghetti squash porridge for breakfast right now.  (both of which are extremely delicious, surprisingly!)

adding to the stress of this is the AIP diet.  when doing whole30 and basically cutting every food from God's green earth... i relied heavily on some staples... eggs, nuts and seeds, potatoes and coffee.  ALL of these will need to be eliminated from one to several months for me to be able to heal. 

did you hear me?  ALL OF THEM.

when dr. miller was like, "don't worry... there are lots of delicious coffee substitutes out there",  i nearly fell out of my chair and begged the sweet Lord to take me home.  (and the sad thing is... after our lovely chat i started drinking the almond amaretto herbal coffee  for my afternoon and evening cups. i even convinced myself i could come off of coffee only to learn i can't have the nut coffees on AIP 😭).

all that to say... i feel like i'm in a freaking terrible, endless, rocky desert you guys... and it keeps getting hotter.  oh... have i mentioned that my autoimmune disease gets worse if you are stressed?   so there's the cherry on top!

a couple of weeks ago, i woke up, took my kids to swimming lessons, drove home, started boiling hot dogs and had to lay down mid-boil and ask kjaer to take over because i was too exhausted to finish.  as i laid there on the couch, tears dripping down my cheeks, i felt myself crying out to God.  

how in the world am i supposed to be able to work full time when i can't boil f-ing hot dogs?

i felt isolated, alone and scared.  consumed by the worries of letting down my family, my colleagues and myself.  i was and am terrified that the busyness of a full time job might push me to the brink if i couldn't even go to swimming lessons and boil hot dogs without taking a nap.

i'm in the desolate desert and i'm worried i won't be able to get out without some sort of mental break down or my autoimmune disease ramping up even more.  

being the planner i am, i've started trying to prep myself.  call it what you will... but i'm calling it self-care.  i'm trying to hire a housecleaner, i've asked our babysitter to take on light housework this next schoolyear and the kids' laundry (an idea that i think is quite brilliant), i'm cooking and freezing meals for the fall and my AIP adventure, i've taken up yoga, i'm planning on walking during my lunches as work.  i'm trying to anticipate the challenges and be proactive.  but it still leaves me feeling overwhelmed and exhausted.  

so this morning as i sat down in my chair and started reading... i read psalm 23 and was moved.  i felt it, you guys... like to my core.  i have read and recited that psalm my entire life without skipping a beat... and today God grabbed me by the hand and walked me through my previous valleys of the shadows of death (which were way worse than my green pastures right now)... my rebellious pits i put myself in, the horrific illness and loss of my father, my postpartum depression, and some hairy stuff i walked beside kjaer through a few years ago.  and if felt it like a whisper and a loud roar all at once.

I was there with you.

I will be here with you.

and then i did what any bona-fide church girl does when she hears just what she needs from God.  

i started singing great is thy faithfulness... obviously.  

what?  that's not what you would do?

it's true though, because when i heard those words above... my heart remembered everything He has carried me through.  i mean... God and i have been through some sh-- together.... you know?  He's been my ride or die for the last two decades.  and always on the other side of those dark pits came a new facet to my faith and a new understanding about myself.  

i understand that this can make some people uncomfortable... and rightfully so.   a lot of folks have been hurt by the church or someone who claims to be a Christian, or have been scared to believe or resistant or simply just don't believe in God... that's ok.  but the thing is... i do.  so i just wanted to let you all know what's in my gas tank as i head into a year that feels bigger than 2020 was for me.  and here's the thing about God... whether you believe in Him or not... He's a gentleman... He won't force Himself on you like imperfect humans often try to do or scare you into submission.  just know that He's there if/when you call... just like He was for me 21 years ago on my apartment floor when i had reached rock bottom and was wishing death upon myself.  He was there and He'll be here...

Because of the LORD’s great love we are not consumed, for His compassions never fail.  They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.  Lamentations 3:22-23

so should we cross paths sometime in the next few months... just know i'm working through some stuff.  i'll probably have a headache from lack of caffeine so if you call my name i might squint at you or even look at you with contempt.  please don't hold it against me... it's the coffee's fault for being bad for my adrenals.  i may also be carrying around some sort of weird root vegetable breakfast doused in coconut milk with a catchy name like "n'oatmeal".... don't hold that against me either.  i may also have to relearn how to have professional hair and have outfits that don't include leggings... give me a few months to figure this all out.  it's just to much to be a glamorous working mom for me right now.  because underneath it all i'll be working my way through a low valley for myself... a change in my family life as i leave behind my part-time days for now, trying to kick some auto-immune disease ass, and trying to find rest and peace enough to heal when life feels so wild and crazy right now.  

because the main thing i came here to say is... today i was reminded that i won't be doing it alone.  and that feels a bit like an oasis to me... something i can rest in and know.  so i'm going to sit my little self down in this dessert with my n'oatmeal and lean on my shepherd... because without Him i'd be walking into a wasteland of despair this next school year...  but with Him i have hope.

toilet for a table...

ok, so... don't judge. 

i've already shared my struggles with weight and food with you all several times.  

since henley's birth, i've lost 75% of my pregnancy weight, but I have that damned last 25% to go.  and i'd love to tell you it's my last 5 pounds... but it's more than that.  don't pry too much.  i'll disclose if you truly care and want to encourage me.  but leave me alone to eat my damn carrot sticks in peace if you want to know for any other reason.  and if you're a REAL friend, you'll let me whine about how fat i feel even though you think i'm looking fabulous compared to the me you saw  9 months ago.  i want to live in my loathsome head right now and i'm too stuck in it to see myself for who i am... so don't try to argue with me.  i'll just smile and nod and go back to my dark, chubby cave.  

anyways...

it was fall break a few weeks ago.

fabulous fall break. 

which also means i'd abandoned any sort of weight loss regimen and had indulged in the finer things in life that week.  as i began to near the end of my diet vacation,  my anxiety began rising... deep down i knew that feast of a week was soon to be famine and my very cells were screaming more! more! hurry!  get as much in as you can!!

one evening was particularly stressful for me.  we were decorating pumpkins, henley had hardly napped all day, kjaer and i were having one of those serious conversations that almost turns into a fight and doesn't but it sucks anyway, we were still not sure who the hell was going to watch our kids the following week because our beloved daycare was closing... 

i was stressed.  soooooo stressed. 

so i thought, "i know, i'll eat a piece of cake with lots of icing!  cake fixes everything temporarily."  i had frozen some from henley's dedication and it was calling to me from our freezer in the basement.  so i sliced myself a lovely corner slice with ample buttercream frosting while trying to simultaneously clean up dinner, keep henley from fussing and help paint pumpkins (though kjaer was mostly in charge of that, thank GOD!)  my job was to play defense when henley would try to put her non-toxic painted hands into her mouth.  i kept staring at my sugary, sexy icing just spilling off of my cake.  i wanted to eat it so badly.  but i knew i'd be busy for another couple of hours (until both kids were down) and i just couldn't wait any longer.

(and yes, our children were naked... or as leif says, "naken" which kjaer always calls "naken bacon" and it makes my heart melt a little).

so when it came time to wash paint off of henley, i carried my slice into the bathroom with me to eat while she played in the tub.  

if you are already judging me... read on at your own risk and i don't want to hear from you how disgusting i am.  i'm already aware of my shortcomings and i find them a little bit funny in a sick twisted way (hence, why i'm sharing them with you).  

so the first problem (well, second problem if you consider that a piece of cake being eaten in a bathroom is a problem too) was that as soon as i set my plate down, my fork went flying through the air and landed behind the toilet.  

Lord knows what could be on that floor... so i ran through a quick mental debate.  the floor was just scrubbed a week ago, leif doesn't have bathroom rights in this bathroom, i have lucked out with one of those very clean men who never leave a mess around the toilet.  the disgusting pros kept growing.  but i knew i couldn't get up and get a new fork, because i had an eight month old who was fussing and needed to be quieted by warm bath water and floating alphabet letters.  and because i wisely chose to cease the crying at once and put her in the water, i couldn't leave her.  she's sturdy, but she's still a freaking baby that can tip over with the slightest change in air pressure.  so, i picked up the fork, wipe it vigorously with a towel and told myself it can't really be THAT bad... right?

what's the saying???
“No matter how bad things are, you can always make things worse.” (Randy Pausch)

so, i was watching my mostly stable daughter gnaw on a foam letter while taking my first bite.  if you know me, you know i eat the cake and filling first and save that delicious, sugary, decadent frosting for last.  it's my favorite part.  but right as the first bite on my fork is headed for my mouth, henley took a spill.  

i threw my fork aside and to catch her before she went under... staring sadly at my piece of cake as it slid down the side of the tub and the crumbs spilled onto the bathmat.  henley was fine... but i was not.  i knew i should just concede and wait to eat my cake until she wasn't sitting in a tub full of water.  but i continued to look jealously at that piece of cake during the rest of henley's bath, commiserating that i didn't even get 10 freaking minutes to myself to indulge in dessert (let alone go for a run or have a night out with my own husband).  before i could stop myself i had opened the drain and henley was curiously watching the water drain away from around her little chubby thighs so that mommy could have her way.  

i then took her out of the bathtub, wrapped her in her little monkey towel, stuck her in my lap and i ATE that damn piece of cake like a BOSS.  right there on the bathroom floor.  

as i was licking the last bit of frosting off of the fork, i came to my senses and realized all of the disgusting atrocities that had occurred in that span of 5 minutes.  and while i could have sat there a few more minutes, feeling terribly sorry for myself and the depths to which i have fallen...  i shrugged, got up, put my dish in the dishwasher and thought, thank God for things like cake on days like today.

being a mother has surfaced so many new pieces of me that i didn't know existed.  if young, childless monica had read this blog post, she would have thought, what the... i'll never act like that crazy woman when i have kids!  just like i used to think snotty things like that about other peoples kids before i had kids like... my kids will never act like that, it's disgraceful.  

kharma is a b*&$% my friends.

i now have a 2 1/2 year old little boy... who has the biggest heart and happiest soul i know.  BUT he also is an independent and strong willed 2 year old... and can be a rude little booger at that.  sometimes, after he has matter of factly yelled at some poor unsuspecting soul YOU DON'T TALK TO ME i float above my body and look down thinking... this is what you get for judging others... judgy mcjudger.  i literally have no idea what to do and feel like a failure.  i just want to drown my sorrows in cake and hope it all works itself out without me having to figure out a way.

i'm coming to find that in the glory and blessing of being a mother... there is also the part of motherhood where we find ourselves crouched on the dirty bathroom floor eating cake.... wondering things like: when will i get 10 minutes to myself or when will i figure out what it takes to change my children's rude behavior or when will i finally snuggle into the nook of my husbands arm for the night or when did i last brush my teeth and comb my hair?

but then i remember that i also have moments where my vivacious two year old lays his hand on my cheek during naptime and whispers ever so sweetly, "mama... you are my sunshine," and i can muster up the moxy to keep moving and try my best.

so for all of you mommies out there who find yourselves at a low point, take heart.  our babes give us those profound and beautiful moments to counteract all of the terribly messy ones we find ourselves sitting hopelessly in.  and for those times when it still isn't quite enough... there's cake.  lots of cake.  so grab yourself a slice, pull up a bathroom rug and indulge with me as we figure out this messy, hysterical... and yet beautiful thing called being a mama.

ramblings of a pierceless wonder...

you guys...

i lost my crap the other morning..

and not just a little.

lost.it.

as in, stomped off to my room, threw myself down on our bed and howled until i could howl no more.

kjaer and i used to call these sorts of days D-days (daddy days) after my dad died.  it was a code word to tell him it was basically pointless to try and make me happy... because i just needed to be sad and have myself a good cry and move through the day with puffy eyes.

that's what the other day was... a D-day.

if you asked me why... which is probably what you're wondering... i'm not sure that i could even tell you.  i mean... i know the incident that set the whole emotional downslide into motion, but it's really a cacophony of thoughts that have been running through my mama brain for weeks now.

that morning, the minor straw that broke the camels back was that i was sitting in our beautiful sunroom trying to wake myself up after a lo-o-o-o-ng night.  i can't really describe why the night was so terrible... but it was.  it was one of those nights where you are sure you probably got some rest in there, but it came in increments of 30 minutes here, 20 minutes there.  henley, who is usually an awesome sleeper, was moaning and groaning the way a baby would if they could toss and turn.  i had pulled her into bed with me around midnight and after two hours of (refusing to get out of bed) trying to snuggle and nurse her into submission... i finally gave in and went into the nursery, changed her diaper and nursed her in the chair.  she was dead asleep in less than 5 minutes.  when i went back to my room i put her in her rock and play... because even though i love having her in my bed, it was 3 AM and i had hardly slept at all.  the minute... i kid you not... my head touched the pillow leif started wailing for me from his little mattress on the floor.  kjaer was sleepily trying to get up and get to him... but i was up so i decided to be a martyr i suppose.  pooooooor meeeeee, i'm a mama and evrrrrrrry bodyyyyy neeeeeeeds meeeeee.  after throwing a mini fit into my pillow...i went and laid with him on his mattress and promptly fell into a restless sleep until 5.  when i woke up i tiptoed back to my bed... exhausted and ready to soak up a handful of hours of good sleep.  about 20 minutes later henley was ready to eat again.  so i pulled her back into bed and fell asleep nursing her.  i then i had weird dreams about my daddy... whose anniversary of his death is this week.

 so... i could feel i was fragile that morning already.  kjaer was playing with leif in the kitchen and i had taken henley with me outside in the backyard to let trooper out.  as i was out there i just sunk with henley into the grass... it was like i just needed to feel the earth beneath my feet, the grass between my toes... something to ground me.  henley seemed perfectly happy sitting in the grass and so we sat... avoiding the clamor that comes with a two year old boy who has just had his whopping 12 hours of sleep.  then i got up and moved into our beautiful sunroom... soaking up some sunshine and trying to absorb my dreams from the night before.  i just wanted to idle there for awhile.  sink into my surroundings and enjoy this place i call home.

so i'm sitting there... and leif comes running over delighted to see me.  he's in his santa claus jammies, eating a bowl filled to the brim with strawberries.  his blue eyes are sparkling and he has the silliest shock of bed head in his beautiful red curls.  he keeps climbing up into my lap and down, pushing and poking at my sack of potatoes that i loathingly call my body right now.  i don't mind so much... he's so happy and sweet and kind.  the whole time i'm thinking... 

damn, that kid is one amazing masterpiece.

and then he cracked my phone.

the back story is that my phone has been broken a few times.  we have some service plan that replaces it absolutely free... so i shouldn't really care...  except that the employees of best buy mobile are starting to treat me like i'm doing it on purpose.  i hate it.  i hate it when people assume the worst about me because i am not THAT person.  and then they always replace my phone with a refurbished phone with more problems... and it usually takes 3-4 refurbished phones until i can get one that acts like a good phone should.  so i'm sure it looks to them... on paper... like i've had my phone replaced a gajillion times over the past two years... when really it's been my fault (or leif's) about 4 of those times.

so... leif picks up my phone... which i had purposely moved out of eyesight 5 minutes earlier so it wouldn't be tempting for him...  but somehow he spotted it, picked it up and it slipped from his hands.

i didn't curse... though i wanted to.

i just sat there.

and then i became leif's jungle gym again.  he's crawling and poking and prodding and he won't leave me alone.  only now it isn't cute.  it was then that the cork popped off... i couldn't handle it anymore.  i moved leif aside and ran off to my room like a school girl and threw a big crying fit in my bed.

so i'm sobbing on my bed... telling myself that i just need a good cry.  but as i'm crying, the intensity with which i'm doing so is ramping up.  i feel like i mentally floated above my body and looked down on myself and saw the craziness unfolding there... and i starting flipping through all of the things that are making me upset... because i knew a phone that could easily be replaced couldn't matter this much.

first of all... we have been battling a diaper rash with henley for almost 3 months now.  finally... FINALLY... we figured out that she has super sensitive skin and can't even wear the plastic covers that go over her cloth diapers (and disposables have the same effect). so now i have to switch over to wool and fleece covers... which are much more involved than the little plastic covers that we have come to love.  and wool is expensive... so it's like we're having to make another small financial investment right before i have to send two children into part time daycare and we're already cinching up our belts.  it's a learning process and i just want it to be simple like cloth diapering has been with leif.

and speaking of those two kids going into daycare... one of them REFUSES a bottle.  she is the easiest baby i have ever met... except with this one crux.  everyone is telling me not to stress... but our daycare provider keeps nervously asking me if henley is taking the bottle yet... like EVERY time i see her (we still bring leif once a week in the summer) and it makes my blood pressure jump.  i feel so... pressured.

i don't like pressure.

and then yesterday (*Sigh*) i remembered that i hadn't put my tongue ring back in from my visit to the dentists office last week.  i was feeling particularly self conscious... looking like a ragamuffin.   and not the cute kind... like all of my girlfriends with the cute yoga pants and tank tops and doo-rags.  no... as in giant maternity shirts fresh with spit up stains and water from lanolizing some wool covers, unshaven legs, crazy hair and glasses.  so i decided to put my tongue ring back in that i had discreetly tucked into my wallet when they took x-rays at the dentist because i thought it would make me feel a little bit like my old self.  it was the only piercing of my many at the dentist's office that i thought, "oh, i'll just do it when i get home."  well... by the time i had remembered, the hole was closed.  i tried to go from underneath and above.  i thought about just ramming it through the new skin.  and then i could feel my daddy laughing at me from up above... because i had promised my parents years ago that when i got married i would take it out for my wedding day and never put it back in.  then my daddy died (around the time i got engaged).  as my wedding drew closer my mom reminded me about "that stupid tongue ring" and my promise.  i told her i didn't recall making such a promise and laughingly reminded her that she couldn't prove that i had because the only other witness was dead.  

she didn't think i was very funny.

but now here i sat... not one shred of me feeling attractive... and this stupid tongue ring... which must've had signified my beauty and youth was being rejected by my tongue. (who's laughing now, right?)

you wouldn't think it would matter after 15 years... but apparently i had a lot of identity tied up in it.

suddenly all of my sex appeal... or what i had left of it after having children... was left on the counter in the bathroom and my emotions were plummeting.  so i did what any depressed and unsexy mom would do.

i went grocery shopping looking like a total wreck.

i mean, i figured i already felt like crap... let's just get this shiz over with.

and then i'm catching my reflection in the dairy cases and thinking, so it's come to this, has it?

here's the thing, people.  it's not really about a phone breaking, or a tongue ring that won't go through it's hole.  it's about me feeling so unlike myself that i cling to these tangible things that i perceive as "attractive" or "cool" about me.  my iPhone isn't fat or greasy... it's sleek and stylish.  my tongue ring doesn't have lumps and bumps where it shouldn't... it is young, hip and sexy.  i don't have to worry about putting them on diets or squeezing them into too small clothes.  they don't have to wear clothes that are wayyyyy to big for them either.  they are perfect, unchanging, tiny little objects that i've staked my value on because i've forgotten who i thought i was... or as leif so sweetly proclaims i "got-for" who i was.

i've read the inspiring blogs and articles my mommy friends post to facebook... hell, i repost them too.  the ones where the mommy's are proud of their tiger striped stretch marks, their soft bellies and cellulite.  i've even been moved by some... the other day i put up a picture of myself on facebook of me at the zoo with my kids... even though when i looked at it i could feel my insides churn at the sight of myself. i've been inspired to wear a swimsuit and not miss out on making memories with my children this summer... except all i have right now is a damn, old lady looking, maternity suit that i feel like crap in.

if i only had money... yes, money would fix all of this.  money and being skinny.  

and probably wine... lots of wine.

but here's the truth.  here's the revelation i'm having.  yes i want to be the mama who doesn't care what others think and embraces who she becomes.  i will be that mama... just not today.  today this mama also needs to grieve what she's lost.  i've lost my athletic body... it's somewhere under these giant nursing boobs and post-partum belly.  and even though i've been watching what i eat and have started running again... the boobs and belly are still there.  my loving husband... who knows me all too well... likes to remind me that i just grew a tiny miracle and it'll all come back with time.  he strokes my hair and tells me i'm lovely and not to worry and i want to clench my fists and stammer through gritted teeth BUT I WANT TO FEEL SEXY AGAIN, RIGHT NOW!!!!  

even more unfair than losing my image of who i was... is that i lost my daddy and our (greatest accomplishments) babies will never know their opa on this side of heaven.  well... i say they'll never know... but leif seems to have some sort of spiritual connection with him.  he tells me when we pull up to oma's house "opa is here" or when my mom was watching the kiddos so i could nap when henley was born he looked up from his toys and quietly said, "opa went bye-bye." just yesterday (this probably is also contributing to my emotional train wreck) he pointed to a picture in a book we were reading and said, "that's an opa."  and wouldn't you know it... it looked just like him... bald head, happy grin and plaid shirt... even though leif has maybe seen 2 pictures of my dad in his life.

my dad was the original safe harbor before i fell in love... the OG.  if I had D-days like this before he was gone, i would crawl up into his lap and he would anchor me.  he was the earth beneath my feet and the grass in between my toes.  he may have thought i was crazy or a bit nutty, but i was also his daughter... one of his masterpieces too.  so that softened the insanity surrounding me, i'm sure, and allowed him to let me take shelter under his wings for a speck of time while i recovered without too much scrutinizing.

now i have a husband, who my daddy passed his mantle onto rather dramatically, and he is also trying to figure out this parent thing.  he's waking up next to this hormonal, puffy woman who goes all sorts of batty when her tongue ring hole closes and her iPhone cracks.  he probably doesn't recognize me in all of this either... but he does a fabulous job of holding down the fort while i take a D-day to sort through the emotional mess that is me.  he's my harbor... where i dock my little boat and wait out the storm.  but i'm also his harbor... so that makes it a different type of relationship than what my dad and i had.  we have to take turns losing our crap and picking up each others broken pieces... and i think we do a damn good job at it if i say so myself.

but i haven't fully gotten to the revelation yet, have i?

it is this... sometimes we all need a D-day.  a day where all that gets accomplished is having a good cry, making the bed and then watching a movie.  a day where we stand with mouths agape as we stare at the scary role of parenthood and wonder if we'll ever survive.

but a D-day is also something else.  it is defined as an important day for an operation to begin.  it's a day to pull yourself up by the bootstraps (in my case, after laying in a puddle for a bit of time) and take on the role that's been gifted to you.  a day to accept your challenge and strategically move on.

so for me... this means i need to accept that i'm not as hip and skinny as i once was (or thought i was).  accept that my daddy's physical presence is gone from this world.  accept that being a mother is stinking h.a.r.d. and trying to be a good one and a rockin' wife can often leave me feeling like a waste of space by the end of the day.

the operative word in all of this is acceptance... of who i am and what i'm becoming.  acceptance of the woman who stands in front of the mirror at the end of the day with no tongue ring, a chubby mama belly and a gap between my two front teeth when i smile.  because that woman can conquer mountains.  that woman does the best she can every single day by the grace of God.  and though there are failures, and tears (and childish temper tantrums that involve wailing on my part), and hiccups... it is ultimately the operation at hand... and nobody said it'd be perfect.

so i tell myself it's ok to fall into a mess of tears and sobs every once in awhile.  but after i've exhausted those frustrations, it'll be time to lace up those boots and get a move on girl. 

 throw your arms around those who love you, lean in and press on.  

and one day i'll look back on this challenging season of my life and see it for all of the splendor it really was... the chunk of time where i got to know and love myself for the beautiful mess i am... and embraced it.

food for thought...

our triumphs and our defeats erupt from our vaults [of secrets]

-beth moore

secrets.

we all have them.  some are good, some are bad.  some we are holding onto faithfully for others because they had nowhere else to turn.  we file them away into our vaults... into the darkness to (try to) forget about or stuff down.  

regretfully... sometimes we're able to dust our hands off, turn around and walk out of our vault without looking back.  

and regretfully... sometimes we camp out in our vaults.

i learned almost 15 years ago about the freedom in sharing your deepest darkest secrets.  i had been carrying my own secret around, hiding it from everyone i knew... living in darkness.  one of the most freeing moments in my life, was digging that secret out of the cellar in my heart, brushing the spiderwebs off and telling my mom.  in that confession, i learned the art of acceptance, mercy and forgiveness... so beautifully displayed by my mother.  and since then, i've done my best not to file away my shame.  i try to be honest about who i am, where i've been and what i've done.  

but i know i'm nowhere near perfect.  while i've only begun to brush the spiderwebs away over the last 15 years, there is so much in that vault that even i don't know about.

for instance...

i have always known that after henley's birth i would need to lose a substantial amount of weight.  while many of you gain the recommended 20-30 pounds... my body does not do that.  i can truthfully say that this time i made a valiant effort at staying healthy, but still managed to gain almost the same amount of weight i did with leif.  i have always known that at my 6 week check-up i would get the green light to start losing a little weight... healthily, of course.  so i've anticipated this for a long time.

after henley was born my brain switched into countdown mode.  

6 weeks until i get it under control...

5 weeks until i get it under control...

4 weeks until i get it under control...

you get the picture.

 you see... i've been down this weight loss road now 3 separate times (with other minor events when i had to re-lose 5 pounds here or there).  the first time was after college when i lost about 45 pounds.  the second time was after leif was born and i lost 60 of the 75 pounds i gained with him (before becoming pregnant again).  now i've had henley... i've lost (as many do) about 30 pounds in the first 8 weeks... and have 30 to go until i'm to my wedding weight.  

so when i had about 1 week left to go... i did something that i've never done before. 

i decided to do my best to get to the root of the problem.  

i'm tired of having to struggle so much with my weight... so i asked God, over the course of several days, to shine His big old flashlight into the cobwebs of my heart and expose the motives to this roller coaster i've been on to me.  i figured if i could get to the root, i might be able to experience some of that freedom that i've experienced in other areas of my life.

and as the week unfolded... here is what i learned...

lean in... 

(it's a secret)

i have food issues.  

major food issues.

we are as sick as our secrets... right?

well, as the week progressed, i started to notice secrets about food that i had been avoiding for a long time.  like if i had mcdonalds and indulged in a quarter pounder with cheese, a large fry and a large coke... i'd take the evidence of said meal and walk it to our outside trash can so that kjaer wouldn't see it when he got home.  

why, you ask?

honestly, i don't even know.  kjaer couldn't care less if i stopped at mcdonalds for lunch.  you and i know an occasional fast food trek isn't something to be ashamed of.  but i wanted to hide it... like a big fat secret i was ashamed of.  probably because my eating over the first 6 weeks with henley was more like a feast than famine.  i've probably been to mcdonalds four times in those 6 weeks... which is more than i went in the past couple of years.

but deep down, subconscious monica knows that mcdonalds is no way to start losing weight.  she's thinking... 

the end times are near, i must fatten up!!!

  hence... the shame, the hiding... the secret.

but that's not all.

when kjaer isn't around, i secret snack. 

yes... it's a real thing... this secret snacking.

i find all sorts of things around the kitchen and try to snack so that kjaer won't notice that anything is missing.  if his mom has brought over some delicious cookies from her bakery, i eat several, making sure to leave plenty enough in each bag (there are usually several varieties) that it looks like none are missing.  i NEVER eat the second to last cookie... that's a dead giveaway.  

also... right before i go back on track with my eating

i go WAAAYYYY off track.

as in... i derail my train.

i try to hit every restaurant i know i'll be craving, as if it's my last time i'll eat there again... EVER.

it's a little wild (and expensive).

two mondays ago was my first official day back on track.  as i was dutifully counting my weight watchers points for every item going in my mouth (only cheating a couple of times, of course, another secret),  kjaer and i were happily eating dinner and talking.  he was sharing with me how much he loves me and how he doesn't want me to get too stressed out over losing this weight.  he loves me no matter what.  

which is soooo nice to hear...

and yet part of me had to actually tell my brain...

this DOES NOT mean you're off the hook.  you still have to lose your 35 pounds.

and then, i dug those food secrets out of my vault, and told my husband what i've been hiding from him for the last 4 years of our marriage and 5 years of our relationship (i do this stuff even when i'm thin!)  and let me tell you... 

it

felt

good

(a little embarrassing)

but good.

and do you know what i realized?

i'm no different than anybody else with an addiction.  

alcoholics do this.

shopoholics do this.

drug addicts do this.

compulsive liars do this.

WE

ALL

DO 

THIS

in some form, somehow.  

it's just the facing - the putting words to it - that makes it different.  if i air out some of these secrets i've been burying for unknown reasons... they are no longer secrets.  and if we're as sick as our secrets... then i have a few less bad secrets to keep... and less sickness.  

simple as that.  

i'm not saying there isn't a place for secrets.  i believe my role as a wife, friend, sister and daughter is to be a trusted listener and keeper of secrets.  i really work to protect the secrets that are shared with me.  i also believe in good secrets.  for example, if i were to try to bless someone because i had that desire placed upon my heart... i don't believe i should go talking about how i attempted to bless someones life by doing whatever i did... bragging is telling good secrets that should be kept to ones self. 

but what i am saying, is i think each one of us can think of something that needs a little air... something that needs to be said out loud to someone else... even if it's just a whisper of a prayer to God.  it doesn't mean you have to be a blabber mouth and post it on a blog, like me.  but maybe find your trusted confidant and share it with them.  maybe it's your partner, your best friend, a parent.  who knows?  but chances are, if you have picked that person wisely (that being KEY)... you will experience freedom... like a breath of fresh air stirring through your soul.  

so there...

now i've told you one of my minor secrets... i'm a mess when it comes to how i think about food.  please try your best to keep it.  but even if you tell everyone you know, i also know that the truth will set me free.  and hopefully this journey will be a learning experience for me this time, rather than something i HAVE to do.  

so here's to dusting off the cobwebs and shining a light into my darkest corners.

here's to freedom.

lets doula this...

well folks... it's almost that time.  i'm huge.  

insensitive people tell me so.  (lots of them, too).

(albeit true... i don't really need reminders about my size... i'm well aware... trust me).

we are in the final countdown.  less than 8 weeks until my due date... which... don't ask me why us pregnant women cling to that date as if THAT'S the day.  we all know that hardly any of us deliver that day.  but it's an end point to the madness that is this expanding body.  

i hardly recognize myself anymore.  i used to be cute, i think.  

i don't remember, actually.  

my whole look has changed since i was pregnant with leif.  i've never quite recovered.  but let me tell you... i'm pretty excited to shrink... see my cheekbones again... my clavicle... my knees and elbows.  

so i've been working pretty hard this pregnancy to stay active.  i walk a couple of miles several times a week.  if i can't get it done during the day or because of the weather, i've been hopping on my treadmill.  i've been eating cleaner this time around... though not perfect.  (i'm pretty sure the gestational diabetes scare was actually MY fault.  the morning of my glucose test... which was scheduled for 3 in the afternoon... i drank a starbucks hot chocolate that i had bought for leif because i couldn't bare to see a $4 drink go to waste.  oops.)  i still have gained about the same amount of weight... so i'm slowly coming to accept that this is just what my body does when it's pregnant.  sigh.  while visions of a long, lean pregnant lady with a basketball belly dance in my head... i am stuck looking like a munchkin from the lollipop guild.  

all of this whining, which... yes... i'm totally aware that i'm doing right now... is to emphasize how excited i am to be nearing the end.  there is a light at the end of this big, pregnant tunnel.  then i only have to endure a few more months of insensitive comments while i whittle away my weight gain and rediscover myself as the mother of a newborn again.  

a part of me is just so truly happy to be nearing the end...  when the reason i'm up at night is because of a baby whose head smells like a dream and not because i have to pee for the fourth time and readjust my pregnancy pillow for the 10th time because i can't sleep on whatever hip i've been on for the last hour.  

and then there's the other part of me...  the part that is terrified of the whole birthing process. 

you might remember my "birth plan" when i was pregnant with leif.  i was all ready to go natural, unmedicated, draping my arms around my supportive husband's strong neck while i brought new life into this world.  to be honest, kjaer and i were high on this idea... we talked about it, planned on it and waited...

and waited...

and waited.

until my doctor threatened to fire me.  

so, together with our doctor, we scheduled a c-section and BOOM, we had a baby.  

many of you have had c-sections... and maybe you breezed through it with flying colors.  many of you were fine with however your baby came into the world... as long as they were healthy.  i envy you.  

this was not my experience.  i don't know why... but there was something so traumatic about the whole experience.  first of all, i felt so invaded.  one minute i was overflowing with baby, the next i was empty and being stitched up on an operating room table.  i didn't have time to labor, in fact i had never even felt a true contraction.  some people tell me how lucky i am because they hated laboring... but deep down i feel robbed.  i really had wanted to work at bringing my baby into the world the way i believe i was designed to do... like completing a marathon, but bigger.

it was my first surgery, ever.  and c-sections are no joke.  one person holds your intestines while another holds your stomach and the doctor yanks you around while they pull the baby out.  it was terrifying... at least to me.  

then, there was my hospital stay afterwards.  the first night my oxygen alarms went off because i stopped breathing for a second.  the alarm woke me up and caused me to take a breath as i saw the nurse come rushing into my room.  talk about heart-stopping.  plus, i couldn't walk two steps without throwing up.  it was awful.  

the next day the new mother in a room next door to me coded.  kjaer was getting ready to go home and pick up a few things for our room.  the next thing we knew alarms were going off, we heard a crash and the person who had been in the room with her was screaming for help.  the entire floor rushed to her room and worked to stabilize her.  it sounded like they were performing CPR... and it was totally terrifying.  i remember begging kjaer to stay with me, because i was just sure if he left, i would stop breathing (like i had the night before) and turn out just like that woman.  i cried and cried. he called our moms and had them come sit with me so that he could leave for an hour or two to get our stuff.  

and then there was the long recovery.  the bleeding for 10 weeks instead of the normal 3-4.  the trouble breastfeeding, which is very common with c-section babies.  the healing from three incisions in my guts.  all on top of the anxious, exhausted and overwhelmed nerves of being a first time mom.  

i don't really recall there being many moments of happiness or joy those first couple of months... and for some reason, i like to peg it on my c-section.  i just feel like if i had given birth the way i was meant to, i could have avoided half of that scary stuff that scared the ever-loving crap out of me.

so now... we're back to present day and i'm winding down to our next little munchkin's birth day and i feel desperate to make changes.   kjaer and i are attempting to go for a VBAC (vaginal birth after cesarean).  we've done research and have found it's actually better for mothers (and babies) to do VBAC's... but insurance companies scare hospitals and doctors into the old "once a c-section always a c-section" rule.  in fact, 95% of moms who attempt a VBAC end up having a c-section again because doctors are afraid of the minuscule chance that something will go wrong (even though the odds of something serious happening are more likely to happen during a c-section).  

our doctor has told us that we are good candidates.  the reason we had the c-section before was that i was 11 days overdue, had not dilated or effaced and had no regular contractions.  it wasn't an emergency, leif wasn't breech.... he was just too cozy all up in here!

so, on my treadmill the other night, i was waddling away at a snails pace watching a documentary on doulas (i watch such interesting things these days... insert eye roll here).  i learned the stunning fact that doula's decrease labor time by 50%!!!  

(!!!!)

this is one reason VBAC's are unsuccessful in hospitals.  if you don't progress in a certain amount of time, they just cut the baby out.  i started thinking, if i could labor at home for as long as possible and then have her come to the hospital with me to help kjaer and i labor... maybe i would progress at a reasonable rate, making my chances even better to be a success story.  

kjaer was giving leif a bath upstairs... unaware of my grandiose plans.  he brought leif down to his wife, who was loudly proclaiming over her loud steps, "i think we need to hire a doula."  

after a little discussion, kjaer was on the boat.  it did take some convincing though.  i mean... there's the whole money issue, which is nothing to laugh at.  current health insurance changes for educators has skyrocketed the cost of having a baby.  we will be paying close to $6000 out of pocket to welcome our new little one into our family.  so adding another $700 for a doula is daunting.  

but when i think that her mere presence with us will increase our odds... i think it's worth the punch in our wallet's gut.  anything to avoid being cut open and exposed on a stainless steel table.  

so i called one the other day and immediately my little hopeful heart sunk.  her first piece of advice was to fire our doctor and get a new one because, statistically, if you use the same doctor, they almost always cut you open again.  she assured me that it was my choice, but that i still had time to find a new doctor and it was her #1 piece of advice for us.  

i was torn.  first of all... i LOVE my doctor.  i've known her for forever... and i WANT to believe that when she says i'm a good candidate and she thinks i can do it, she believes it.  also... i'm scared.  i don't want to find another doctor this late in the game.  i'm paid up at the OB's office and honestly... i don't want to change now.  however, the more i realize the odds are against me if i stay with her, the more i'm realizing i need to leave my comfort zone.  the doula recommended a dr. to us with an extremely high VBAC rate (a rare thing, these days) and kjaer and i meet with him next friday.  

another reason i want a doula is because i think i need for labor/birth to be normalized.  i have everyone telling me i'm crazy for wanting to go unmedicated or to go for a vaginal birth (even though i've done more research on this than the nay-sayers have ever dreamed).  i have a feeling in the throws of hard labor, i will be scared and in pain and if the doctor says, "let's do a c-section, this baby is not coming." i'd just give in.  however, if a doula, who has witnessed hundreds of babies be born naturally said, "you are doing absolutely perfect, this is totally normal, give it another hour." i'd be more likely to press on.  (by the way, i know my husband would be full of this knowledge, just like he was while i was learning to breastfeed... but i didn't listen to the poor man because, well,  he's a man and i wanted an expert to tell me so... hence... ANOTHER reason we'll need a doula.)  plus, i like that the doula can advocate for me at the hospital so that kjaer can spend his time with me rather than trying to protect me from modern medicine AND help me labor.  

so think of us and pray for us as we start doula shopping.  there is a lot of yellow tape already because i've had a c-section... i have to go into labor naturally (no inductions because then i risk rupturing my uterus and possible death) and i have one week from my due date to do it or they take the baby out because of other risks.  we have to find a doula who is willing to work with those guidelines without making me feel like a wimp for adhering to my doctor's yellow tape.

so... in a matter of weeks i'll be holding the newest member of our family, i'll be starting my road back to a "normal" body (let's see if i can successfully get there this time!) and none of this will matter anymore.  i know that however this sweet thing comes into this world, as long as we are both healthy, it's all that matters.  but i'm truly hoping it doesn't have to be as traumatic as last time... 

    

dear kim kardashian...

several months ago, before i was pregnant with Baby K2, a much more famous person WAS pregnant with her first.  the whole world watched her as she tacked on weight and struggled to maintain her celebrity style as a well known fashionista.  

and the media was so cruel...

i don't care WHO you are... you don't deserve what that poor girl had written about her.

i felt my inner fat girl wanting to write her a letter.  because this fat girl had also tacked on a crap ton of weight when she was pregnant with leif and has really never quite been the same since.  and it's not that i idolize kim kardashian and want to be her BFF (though her reality shows are a guilty pleasure of mine) but it was because i felt like i could relate to her so well...

back when i was pregnant with leif, i gushed my feelings on weight gain in another blog.  it was received by so many with open arms.  my friends wrote emails of similar struggles and how it was nice to hear someone talk so honestly.  other loving and protective friends worried that i was being too hard on myself because i was, after all, pregnant and supposed to be gaining weight. 

but i didn't tell you back then what i'm about to say now... that i gained a whopping 75 pounds!!! that amount of baggage on a 5'3" frame is a tad bit overwhelming and VERY uncomfortable.  even more disheartening was that i was lifting weights with a personal trainer 3 days a week and trying my best not to go overboard on my eating.  it's just what my body did.  

so when kim began to get flack, i could feel her pain.  i can't forget the thoughtless comments made by a few people in my life.  i remember one woman at work said something so insensitive i went back to my classroom and cried.  my teammates consoled me and when they found out what she said they almost went down to her classroom and beat her senseless.  

but i begged them not to because that's just how people are...

quick to speak...

even now... i'm halfway through my pregnancy with baby K2 and doing much better on the weight front (though don't be mistaken that i'm a tiny pregnant woman... i'm as rolly polly as they come).  this weekend, i ran into a woman who had seen me a month before i was due with leif... meaning, i was HUGE.  she kept commenting on how "tiny" i was "this time".  at first i'd say, "well, i'm only halfway done, you get a lot bigger at the end."  secretly i was afraid she'd see me sometime in january and retract her kind statement.  later in the evening she started in again with how "small" i was.   i tried to be gracious, but then she said across the crowded room, "just look at how thin your face is!  your face was so much fatter last time."  

ummmm... thank you?

now, i'm pretty proud that i didn't and haven't gotten hormonal about this comment.  (another big difference with me this time is that i'm much calmer and less stressed out than i was with leif).  i realize that deep down, she meant to compliment me by telling me how good she thought i looked... this time. 

but i did fume a little (and complain to kjaer and my mom... well, and you) 

because WHO SAYS THAT STUFF?!?!?

(to a woman... let alone a pregnant woman... at that!)

it made me want to sit down and write ol' kimmy even more!  

but our dear friend kim has already given birth and is probably sweating it out in the gym with a personal trainer and eating salads made by a personal chef so that she can reappear in the public eye and wow those suckers who said the mean crap about her.  

so instead, i write for myself in the future (of this pregnancy and if there are any more to come... those too) and for my friends who are like me and do not look like a little twig with a basketball shoved down their shirts.  in fact, i write to those girls, whose butts started growing upwards the minute that pregnancy test came back positive.  i remember doing squats at the gym when i was pregnant with leif and seeing my derriere reflected in the mirror behind me.  i remembered thinking, "whose butt is that?  that can't be MY butt!"  i came home and asked kjaer if it was growing up my back... which, if i remember correctly, he thought was a trick question.  we now lovingly refer to my butt when i was pregnant as my "four story butt" because it was four stories high.  in fact, it was so big, i went to sit on the couch next to kjaer one time and ended up sitting on him...

not.

on.

purpose.

i just had no concept of how big it had gotten.

so you get the idea... i've been there.  i've been horrified at the weight gaining capabilities of my body and what it does when it's pregnant.  so i know a thing or two about feeling ashamed of my body.  so this is for those sisters... the ones who are embarrassed or worried about their growing bellies and bottoms.

first and foremost, i told kjaer to remind me of this when i was pregnant again, DON'T PANIC!  the first time around, i panicked.  i think it made me shove food down my face even more.  or else maybe it made me give up and think, "oh well, i'm huge, might as well have another cookie."  i was so depressed by the end of it i thought i'd spend the rest of my life trying to get that 75 pounds off.  it was so disheartening.  especially when it had taken me a couple of years to lose 40 pounds after college.  

but it did.

i know you look in the mirror and you feel fat.  your body is stretching out in directions you didn't even know it could go.  at the store, you try on that one cute maternity top in a medium and realize you need to upgrade to a L or XL (if you're being smart and want to wear it at the end of your pregnancy too).  DON'T DESPAIR, YOU WILL LOSE IT!!!!  6 weeks after leif was born i had lost a whopping 30 pounds!  a year after he was born i had lost another 30... (thanks be to breastfeeding and weight watchers for breastfeeding moms). I only had about 15 more to get back to my wedding weight when i got pregnant again.  

that's when i told kjaer to remind me periodically with this little one that it DID come off, i survived and it will come off again.  because in the throws of people's insensitive comments and judgmental stares, it is hard to remember a time when you were able to slither into your skinny jeans and a cute top feeling all super sexy and sleek.

and just so you know, women are usually the worst at saying cruel things to you... but i find the ones who usually do, tend to be the unhappiest and most critical of ALL people.  so try your best to let it go and move on.  every time i think of a thoughtless comment and the mouth it came out of i find my memory of that person's mouth is not usually as a smile.  they usually have their own weight issues or other baggage teaming with insecurities, which makes it easier to pick on you... because it makes them feel a little better about themselves.  so as the very wise mr. jay-z says, "go on brush yo' shoulders off."

buy yourself a cute pair of expensive maternity jeans.  splurge on a couple of cute tops.  and if you have a fat day, make sure your loving partner has been armed with the "right" things to say (ahead of time) to you so he doesn't feel like a jerk when you're crying and shoving ice cream into your face.  

because this to shall pass...

if you want to be back in those skinny jeans and cute tops, and you work at it.... with enough time and dedication, you'll be there again.  maybe not as perfect before.  maybe your skinny jeans will smooth out a few more lumps than you had b.b. (before baby)... or maybe not.  

but you will have a miracle that God entrusted you to carry for 9 months and bring into this world.  and you will find that a few pounds here or there in the long run, don't mean crap.   you will find yourself staring into the eyes of a brand new creation that is part of you and part of someone else you love.  so grin and bear it.  wear those pounds like a rockstar... and when your little one is born be kind and loving to yourself because you just accomplished a freakin' miracle.  and after several weeks of loving on your baby and regaining a fragment of control over your life, start eating wisely and moving again.  

it's like field of dreams... if you build it, they will come.  

if you want it... it will happen... slowly. 

and one day you'll pull out that box (mine was labeled "DO NOT OPEN UNTIL YOU ARE ABSOLUTELY SURE" and wriggle into a pair of your favorite before baby jeans.  they might be a little snug, but your sexy butt squeezed into them.  and you'll coast on a concoction of hope, euphoria and the long road you've traveled to be there.  

i promise.

baby k1 and baby k2