Beautiful.

As women I think we struggle with body image for most of our lives, and having a kid only compounded those lovely issues for me. Almost a year has gone by since Kaylee was born, and this is still a big struggle for me, one that I struggle with some days more than others.

But, thanks to a video that Summer posted this weekend, I'm hoping that I can really start to shift my way of thinking as I work toward becoming a more healthy me. I'm already trying to exercise more and eat healthier, but it doesn't matter how many times I go to the gym, or how many smart food choices I make. If I don't try and work on my own ideas about my body image, everything else is just a waste of my time.

And let me tell you...it's a heck of a lot harder to make changes in your mind than it is in your body. Ever since I got to really thinking about this topic this weekend, this song keeps popping up in my head.

It's an absolutely beautiful song, and it's got such a strong message. So watch it. Listen to it. Believe what she sings. Because it's true. You ARE beautiful. No matter what.

Stop by tomorrow for more thoughts on this topic.




(I did the post before I realized there was a specific prompt for today's Musical Monday. Hope I don't get kicked out. I just had to post this one...)

Random thoughts from my exhausted little mind

I exercised tremendous restraint today by eating one FOURTH of a maple frosted donut with sprinkles at work.

I survived one of the most mentally draining and sad weeks I've had at work in a long time.

I compensated for only eating 1/4 of the donut by eating, oh, FOUR, rolls with cinnamon butter at Texas Roadhouse. Plus potatoes. And steak, and a salad covered in Ranch dressing.

Did you know Sunday is my baby's first Easter outside of the uterus? Isn't that exciting?

I love different opinions, and I love it when grown adults can have civil conversations about said different opinions.

New comments and followers on my blog make me wanna party like it's 1999.

Even though I haven't blogged about the Duggars for a while, they still cross my mind at least once a day (ridiculous, I know...) and I remain baffled. I hope they do something that's blog worthy soon because I'm starting to feel withdrawls from not blogging about them.

Internet etiquette 101: WRITING EVERYTHING IN ALL CAPS IS ONE OF THE MOST COMMON FORMS OF BAD ETIQUETTE ONLINE.

I loved every stinking bite of those delectable rolls. Eating so many was one of the smartest things I did all day. And I'm not being sarcastic.

Just in case you didn't know, Will Ferrell rocks my face off.

Choosing not to engage in silly arguments about things that don't matter is not bad etiquette. It's called healthy boundaries and being a mature grown-up who wears big girl panties.

I have 6 days in a ROW off from work, starting tomorrow, and I couldn't be happier about it. What, WHAT!!!

My feet stink.

If I don't respond to your comments on my blog, don't feel blue. Half the time I don't even remember to respond to emails from my own family, so don't take it personal. I promise that I still read every single comment that you write.

Blog drama is for the birds - you won't find that here.

Book 2 in the Twilight series is calling my name, so I'm signing off for the night.

You stay classy, San Diego.

Food - it's a love/hate thang

It's once again time for Writer's Workshop over at Mama Kat's Losin' It.



So, here's the question I've chosen to go with this week:

What is an unpleasant experience you had eating?

I'd rather not tell you about specific times I've had unpleasant experiences eating, like the time I realized I'd suddenly developed an allergy to bananas as an adult. Not lovely. Not lovely at all.

I won't tell you about the time I went picking raspberries in the woods with my family as a child and ate a *few* too many and had to lollygag behind everyone, telling them to go on ahead because I had to "pee."

Those things are none of your business.

SO. Let me tell you about my current love/hate relationship with food, and why it's been, in some ways, rather unpleasant lately.

Let me first start off by telling you that I LOVE food. Always have, always will.

I love carbs and I have a killer sweet tooth. I also like some healthy foods, but let's be real - it's way more fun (and therapeutic) to eat things that are bad. Come on - spear of celery or Krispy Kreme donut? Yeah...

In high school, I was 110 lbs. - it didn't matter what type of physical activity I did or did not do. It didn't matter what kind of food I did or did not eat. I could do whatever my little heart desired, and I didn't gain a pound.

The day I turned 18 something terrible happened.

I guess since I was technically a "grown-up" my body decided to start behaving like one. That meant that I could no longer eat anything and everything that sounded good, and I could't expect to stay small by sitting on my butt watching I Love Lucy marathons while eating pepperoni pizza dipped in Ranch dressing.

Sure, my metabolism was changing, but I did alright, I guess. I didn't weigh myself all that much, and I was basically okay with my weight. I took a fitness class each semester in college, and I was being more intentional about choosing healthier foods.

Then I got a miserable job straight out of college. I was on the road the majority of the time, and I was dealing with some really heavy situations that were pretty horific. Add that to the fact that I had ZERO support from my bosses, no way of really dealing with all the stress and sadness I was seeing day in and day out, and I was putting in a good 50 hours/week, but getting no overtime. I was basically volunteering to be an even more miserable person.

You bet your booty I was always helping myself to the donuts, pastries, cakes, and breads that were in the break room.

If I had to sit in my cooped up little office with no windows writing about how children were being abused, I felt absolutely entitled to enjoy a sweet treat whenever I wanted to. They tasted good, and they made me happy, and there was not much else at work to be happy about.

After nearly a year of torturing myself and realizing it was literally going to be the job or my sanity that would have to go, I quit. And I've never regretted that decision. Not for one SECOND.

During my time at that stupid ass job, I gained a lovely amount of weight. I had to buy new clothes because I could not fit into mine anymore. At all. Couldn't even fake it. Quitting did wonders for my mental well-being, and I decided it was time to do something about my physical well-being, too.

I got online, checked out Weight Watchers online (I knew people that had success with the in-person WW in the past, and it seemed like a realistic and healthy way to lose weight), and discovered that I had a pretty wide range of what was considered to be a healthy weight for my age, gender, and height. I was 13 pounds heavier than the heaviest recommended weight.

That might not seem like a lot, but it was to me. I'd never been so unhealthy and felt so crappy about myself. I hated having to buy bigger clothes, and I knew that I was eating as a way to deal with stress.

So, I did the Weight Watchers thing, and it worked tremendously. I loved it. I lost 18 pounds.

By the time I was done, I was actually 2 sizes smaller than the size I'd been happy with before I started gaining weight. I was fit, I was energized, and I felt great about myself.

The Thursday after I hit my final goal weight, I hit up Old Navy and bought the smallest size pants I'd ever worn (well, since I started wearing women's sizes and not girl's sizes anyway). I was ecstatic!

The very next day I found out I was pregnant with Kaylee. Nice joke, huh?!?! I haven't seen the likes of those pants SINCE. :) I thought it was pretty funny.

It was like God said, "Hey! Great job! You're totally skinny now, and now that you've proved to yourself that you can do it, you can just go right ahead and pack those cute capris away in a box in the garage because you probably won't be seeing them again. Uh, EVER."

(Just for the record - Kaylee's totally worth it. She's way cooler than those pants.)

So, all that to say that lately, I've been getting concerned about the numbers rising on the scale, yet again.

I got to my pre-baby weight real fast after having Kaylee, and I think a lot of that can be attributed to breastfeeding - apparently it's supposed to burn a butt-load of calories. But, I was SO over breastfeeding when Kaylee hit 9 months old, and that's when I began to ride the weight roller coaster again.

I know it's not out of control at this point, and realistically, I've just got a few pounds to eliminate. In my book, I am happy with my body when my clothes fit, and the number on the scale doesn't matter quite as much (although, of course, it still matters a little bit), as long as I am confident in my clothes, and as long as I feel healthy and fit.

That has NOT been the case lately. Pants - oh, how I've missed my favorite pants. The pile-on of extra poundage happens so quietly - one day you just wake up and it's like, "DANG. When did THAT happen."

So, I've decided to do something about it, and I'm really taking it seriously. Last week I went to the gym 5 times - did some Mommy and Me classes, aerobics, and just some basic cardio stuff followed by some light weight training. It felt fabulous. I felt skinnier when I left (even thought I wasn't), and I felt really good about myself. Just knowing that I'm consciously choosing to do something to have a healthier self makes a huge difference.

So, last week I jumped back on the exercise bandwagon, but even for that whole week, my hang up continued to be with food. I didn't want to say no to the three dinner rolls and lemon cheesecake at my mother-in-laws (along with a few other side dishes and the main dish). I was willing to work out, but I wasn't willing to give up the decision to eating anything that tasted good, and however much of it that I wanted.

But - finally, my stubborn self has come around, and I'm going to be eating healthier, too.

No more "grazing" on snacks all day. No more "just one Hershey's kiss" that turns into 17 Hershey's kisses (seriously - 17). No failure to plan healthy lunches. No more. NO. MORE.

Today I ate a salad with leafy green lettuce (not the non-nutritive iceberg crap), sliced turkey (97% fat free, thankyouverymuch), and dried cranberries, with that sweet spritzer salad dressing that has 1 calorie per squirt.

It was GOOD. It was full of flavor, and it even satisfied my sweet tooth. I was still hungry when it was gone, so I ate an apple, and I was good. to. GO. until dinner time.

I can DO this. I've done it before, and I can do it again. I know I can.

Let's just hope I don't get knocked up after I hit my goal weight and get back into my skinny pants this time...

Tuesday's Tribute - To the hurting

I've tried real hard not to make a habit of writing my blog posts at midnight.

I mean, although Kaylee knows how to sleep through the night, she hasn't exactly made a habit out of it, so I like to get to bed at a decent hour so I'm all ready to fight the battle of poopy diapers or old ladies with walkers (working at home, or working at the hospital), depending on the day.

But today - today I'm writing my post at midnight. Because tonight is different.

In case you're new around here, I work part-time as a hospital social worker. This week just so happens to be my week on call.

It's 5:30 p.m. and I've got a pot of spaghetti noodles and a skillet with meat sauce bubbling away on the stove. I'm in my comfy pajamas, and that dag blasted friggin' pager goes off. Two more minutes and I'd have been on the couch enjoying some Italiano and watching Sunday's episode of Celebrity Apprentice.

But....no.

From time to time, I whine and complain about my struggle with balancing work and home. I've even been known to complain about having to go in to work at all (or, God forbid, having to work a whopping four days in a row *gasp*).

But, the truth is, in such a time as this, I should keep my yapper shut. I'm very thankful to have a job when there are so many out there looking and looking, but not finding.

My job gives me the flexibility to stay home part of the time and be with my baby while she's still a baby. But, my job also means there are a lot of messed up people out there, and it's my job to try and help them.

Tonight I saw a lady who tried to end her own life. Thankfully, she didn't, and she ended up agreeing to go and get some help. So, tonight I can't just come home and go to sleep. I'm wide awake, and I need to do something to get my mind off of her problems.

Sometimes I wonder why I chose the job I did.

I see some really terrible things. Moms who smoke crack while they drive to the hospital to deliver their babies (no joke), people who commit such despicable crimes that they are cuffed to the bed rails, people who come in over and over again after being beat up by their boyfriends, babies who are covered in bruises, people who ruin their own lives (and the lives of everyone who loves them) with alcohol and drugs. It just goes on and on and on.

Why, oh WHY would I choose a job where I'm surrounded by these things?

Fairly regularly, I ask myself this very question, but I don't contemplate it for long, because from the moment I chose to be a social worker, I knew I was right where I needed to be. Even if, some days, I feel like I'm learning to ride a bike for the first time.

To be completely honest with you, on my way into the hospital tonight, I was afraid I might get the doodies. I was so nervous. I've been trained, I've dealt with really complicated patients before, I know what I'm doing, but I still get scared. I just never know what to expect.

Well, I didn't crap my pants (I always try to find the positive side of things...). I did just fine, but I think it's been a while since I've said so many prayers in one day.

So, about 6 hours later, a lady who was ready to end it all is probably still ready to end it all, but at least she's safe for the time being. She's getting help. And I'm praying that she will accept it and that she'll realize she needs to help herself.

This week, my tribute is to my patients - everyone from the 87-year-olds who trip over rugs in the bathroom, fracture their hips and need rehab, to the 16-year-olds who are high on meth and need a whole different kind of rehab.

You are the reason I have a job. Believe it or not, you're the reason I have a job that I LOVE. Many of you piss me off to no end, and I have no patience for you.

Then, there are others of you that I can only have compassion for, that I can only hope the very best for you, those of you who I truly, truly hope will someday be okay...

A Jay and Deb Production.

Forgetting how to be a grown-up

So, last night our Mommy and Me exercise group (of about 30 women) went out to a wine bar. It was yet another reminder that becoming a mother has caused me to forget how to be a grown-up.

A couple months ago, I went out shopping with a dear friend of mine for the afternoon. It had been quite a while since I'd been out in public with a friend.

She picked me up, I got in the car, and I was at a loss for words (and when my dad and my husband read that I was at a loss for words, their jaws will simultaneously crash to the ground). It was like I forgot how to communicate.

I couldn't think of anything to say, and when I did say things I either stuttered or rambled on with such nonsensical words as, "Kaylee I she pooped six times yesterday spaghetti I made for dinner need oil change."

The words would just come out and there was no logic to them at all. And I've been friends with this girl for about 10 years. I felt like such a moron.

I just had to look at her and tell her it had been a while since I'd actually gotten to hang out with a friend and not have the baby with me - it was like I forgot how to be. It was so bizarre.

It took me a good 20 minutes to get back in my groove, to where I could actually form sentences that normal people understand. It was like I needed to thaw out or something. It was crazy.

So, we finally pull up to our destination, I put the car in park, and we are still just gabbing away (we both love to talk). Finally, it hits me that we can continue the conversation inside the store, so I look at my friend, without actually thinking this through, and say in an excited Mom voice, "Ya wanna go outside?!" Just as if I was asking the question to my child, or to a puppy.

We got lost in our laughter, and eventually made our way into the store. She's got 2 kids, so she'd been in my shoes before. She totally got me, and it was no big deal.

Still, it made me wonder why, along with my once-skinny waist, my size 6 shoes, my perky boobs, and a living room floor that didn't used to be covered in crushed Cheerios - WHY did my ability to socialize like a normal human being have to disappear, too?

By nature, I'm an outgoing woman - I love to talk to people, meet new people, listen to people, but ever since becoming a mom, it's like some switch got flipped in my brain, and from time to time I revert back to my shy, nerdy high school girl persona.

So, back to last night's outing. I show up in JEANS (with a cute top and cute shoes, though) at a wine bar - what was I thinking?! And then I start comparing myself to all these moms who are just made up all gorgeous in their cute, trendy clothes. I felt like such a frumpalumpagous.

And I froze.

I didn't say much. I smiled or laughed when someone said something funny, I nodded at the appropriate times, I chimed in here or there with a comment, but I still didn't feel entirely comfortable.

Sure, it was nice to be out of the house and spend time with some other women, but it was just another reminder to me that somewhere in this past year, I've lost a little bit of myself, and I really, really hope I can find it again.

It's such a travesty

There is not a single piece of chocolate in this house right now.

How did that EVER happen?

Never again...

The budding cleptomaniac, the dreaded unfollower, and some vodka

So, this week, Mama Kat's got a fantastic smorgasbord of writing prompts for Thursday Writer's Workshop, and I can't pick just one. So, here are the ones I've chosen.

Why did you do it?

Well, this is what I would ask today's "unfollower" of my blog. Was it the picture of my kid hanging off the dryer that did it? Unfollowers make me sad. But, then I get over it. I also notice that people have a tendency to follow my blog in order to get an extra entry in a giveaway, and as soon as they lose, they unfollow. LAME. In the words of Mama Kat, "Don't hate me 'cause you ain't me."

What is a common misconception about you?

Well, lots of people think I'm younger than I am. Let's back up in time for a moment, shall we?

When I was in high school, our family would go to restaurants and the servers would ask if I wanted a kid's menu. Uh, no thanks. And I happen to be nearly 6 years older than my brother, who did not get asked for a kid's menu.

I've also been carded for rated R movies. BUT, when I bought vodka once for an Italian sauce I was making, the cashier told me she didn't need my ID because she noticed the wrinkles by my eyes. Yowch.

People said I'd appreciate these comments (aside from the wrinkle one) when I hit 40. Well, I'm only 25, but let me tell you. I am loving these comments right now.

Describe a moment when you felt afraid.

Well, today I was afraid twice, so you get to hear about both times.

First scary moment of the day: So, I totally tripped over my own two feet and landed on my booty in aerobics class today. In the front row, no less. I twisted my ankle, which hurt at the moment it happened. I was so afraid I hurt it and someone would have to carry me to the hospital across the street, because no WAY was I going to pay for an ambulance to transport me less than a block away. But, lo and behold - it was all just fine and dandy.

Second scary moment of the day: I was so scared because I thought that for sure I'd be having my first encounter with one of the pot bellied 80-year-old security guards at the mall. In fact, the only thing keeping me from having a major freak out right there was knowing that I could outrun the old geezers. So anyway, back to the point...

Kaylee and I went to the mall and took a gander through The Children's Place. I had her in the Snugli carrier so I didn't have to maneuver a stroller through the racks of clothing. Well, we were just window shopping. I left the store and didn't buy a thing (which takes an amazing amount of restraint in such a store). We get to the exit of the mall, and I look down to see Kaylee playing with a pair of pink baby crocs (which, by the way, she already has a pair of at home). I high tailed it back to the store and put them on the rack. No one said a word.

Are you always right?

Well, if we're talking about all general matters of my life, such as arguments with my husband, ideas I have about what we should spend money on, and basically everything that does not have to with American Idol, then yes. I am always right. My darn American Idol predictions about who's getting the boot have, unfortunately, ruined my perfect record of always being right. Except tonight - I was spot on for tonight, so I guess you could say that 99.972 % of the time I am absolutely, positively always right.

But please don't ask my husband to answer that.