the one where I say I'm not skinny, and it's gonna be ok

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

Anyway.

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

For the better.

Confession: In those days of weight loss I obsessed over my weight to the point of weighing not just daily, but multiple times daily. I weighed before the shower. After I peed. With clothes on. With clothes off. I measured myself weekly (if not more). I obsessively stared at my stomach waiting for it to remarkably become tighter, have less stretch marks, look different, better (hello. I had been pregnant 4 times). I worked out 6 days a week. Two or more hours a day.

It was an ugly ugly time. I'm ashamed of that behavior.

But also, I recognize that many women I was cyberfriends with were doing the same thing. I can't completely explain why but you go ahead and apply whatever psychological knowledge you have.

So now I blog for a different reason (because I'm not actively losing weight), but it's no surprise that the thing that seems to get the most positive response (or any response) is posts about body image. I can't tell you the number of emails I got after the Victoria's Secret post (well I mean I could, but that is meant to suggest that I got a lot, which I did). I got email from anorexics, bulimics, food obsessed people and people who just plain ol' hate their bodies. This isn't necessarily something people like to publicly share, but I know you're out there gals (and guys). So this one is for you...

Stop.

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

You are the way you look.

But the way you look is not *you*.

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

See...


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

Anyway now I'm not skinny.

See...


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

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

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

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

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

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

And I was just a little sad.

Ok I was a lot sad.

But just for a minute.

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

Oy.

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

I was sad. Also PMS.

(Also I wanted a chocolate bar. Bad.)

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

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

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

It's gonna be ok.

I wish women would tell each other things like this.

You look how you are.

But you are not how you look.

LLL and other things on Tuesday

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

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

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



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

Next item of business:

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

It went like this:

Hub: Have you been updating your blog?

Me: No.

Hub: Why not?

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

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

Me: Good idea. What?

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


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

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

Guess what? I'm not skinny anymore.

More on this later.

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

News to follow.

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

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

She's a smart one that lady.

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


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