Last weekend, my husband and I were lucky enough to get to spend a couple of uninhibited hours at the book store while my father took my two oldest children to a play. Alice decided be the best baby EVAH and sleep in the Maclaren, so we both went to the magazine section, got ourselves a huge stack, purchased a steaming cup of coffee and a muffin and went to it. I was intrigued by an article I read in Self magazine--an article where a woman talked about her struggle with weight gain while taking anti-depressants and whether the weight gain outweighed the benefits from actually taking the pills. In the end, she decides that yes, the 80 pounds she has gained makes her more unhappy than ever and decides to stop taking the pills (that she knows work, aside from the side effects) and go in search of another chemical combination to combat her depression.
I have thought about the article a lot over the past week, and even more when last night, I was enjoying myself on the computer and catching up on blogs that I haven't read in a while (once again, Alice was sleeping like a champ), and I read the blog of a woman who had just gotten breast reduction surgery and liposuction on her arms. I have read the blog only sporadically, but the news still surprised me greatly. This is a woman who lives very frugally (in fact, that is why I started reading her blog in the first place) and majored in women's studies in college--a feminist who often discussed body issues with eloquence and knowledge. The blogger was a solid size 12-14, which is around what I was before I lost weight. It amazed me that she would feel such a surgery is warranted and would spend the money on it. But, the more I thought about it, the more I respected her decision. I have often thought about such surgeries myself, and even now, post weight loss, would love to have liposuction on my stomach where there is still loose skin (yeah, gross, I know). The only thing that keeps me from it is the cost and an inability to stop my life long enough to actually get and recover from such a procedure--hell, I can barely find the time to update this blog once a month! As I finished reading, I realized that her decision to have the surgery was guided by wanting to be at her best, and yes, looking for that elusive happiness that we all yearn for.
All this has made me think about my own life. Am I really happier now that I have lost weight? Is it a bad reflection on me (and my vanity) if I am? The truth is, I am just at a better place in my life now in lots of ways--my family is complete, I have a job that does not pay well (at all) but is very, very rewarding both to me and my community and still affords me time to spend with my kids, my husband has a job that provides well and that he enjoys (most of the time!), we have a fun, loving marriage and he is still the only person that I would ever want to go on a long car ride with. Being smaller is really just the cherry on top of that sundae. And it is not that I was unhappy before. There were many times when I was bigger that I would catch glimpses of myself in a mirror and feel very pleased with myself and my look--I dressed well and did my best to flatter the extra poundage. But, looking back, I realize all the tiny, often subconscious, things that I did because of the weight. There were many times that I didn't participate in things because I felt too big or was afraid that I couldn't keep up becuase of the weight. Some of these tiny decisions affected my children, and that is not something that I am proud of. Plus, there were the many, many times I would catch a glimpse of myself in a mirror--at my double chin, or the extra rolls in my stomach, and be just totally grossed out by what I saw. No one should be grossed out by looking in the mirror.
I will say, relatedly, that I am much more aware of my body now, and maybe even a bit harder on myself. There are days now that I wake up and feel like an absolute whale--when the love handles that haven't totally disappeared yet seem huge and when my calves (which I have worked on incessantly, and ladies and gentleman, that shit ain't fun) seem like tree trunks. This is probably slightly insane, but I almost feel like I have a reverse body dysmorphia thing going on. When I was bigger, I would look at myself and think that I looked amazing, and then see pictures later and not even be able to recognize myself. Where did that double chin come from? Are my arms seriously ham hock-esque? Now that I am thinner, I get that feeling a lot, but it is more when I am just looking, not in pictures. Weird, huh? I was talking about it to my mom, and she said it is just because I am not used to myself yet. I think that is a fair assumption.
So can you be both fat and happy? The answer is, I'm not sure. For me, I don't think I could ever be fat again and be happy with myself. Mostly because, at this point, I know what kind of health issues could be related to the extra weight. That line is different for everybody though. Just as I don't think there are any hard and fast rules for fashion or raising your children, there are no guidelines for one's feelings about his or her weight. But it is interesting to think about.
Saturday, April 10, 2010
Thursday, March 18, 2010
Today
Today I had a biopsy done on a lump I found in my back a month or so back. Scary, yes, but it turned out to be just a benign mass that I will probably wait to have removed until this summer. After the biopsy, I managed to pass out cold on the doctor's office floor. I have no idea why. I didn't see the needle (I don't think it would have bothered me if I had though--going through natural childbirth with no drugs has totally ridded me of any fear of pain), I didn't lose any blood, nothing traumatic happened. I just fainted. One minute I was talking to the nurse about how chubby Alice is and the next moment I'm laying on the floor with a bunch of nurses around me and a bit of my J. Crew tiered camisole laying over my lips. I recovered quickly, but it was definitely odd.
Today I drove back from my appointment and took my son to karate. I love to watch Sam do karate--probably why I drive him an hour each way to go. Sometimes I think the class is more for me than for him, but it does him great good, and I am a firm believer in extracurricular activities for kids. And he likes it, and I can't help but think he is pretty good at it. He got a stripe on his belt and he smiled grandly--this big smile that explodes from him like fire. It was one of those moments where he looked at me and I wanted to freeze the moment in my head forever. I want to be able to call back that smile the day I see him graduate from college, the day he gets married, the day he wrecks his car, the day he gets his SAT score and is disappointed with it. That smile tells me just how amazing my son is.
Today my oldest daughter shaved her legs for the first time. Her legs have been rather hairy for a while now, but I have kind of let it go until I thought she was ready emotionally for it. She finally decided she was. It is going to be 70 degrees here tomorrow, and she wants to wear a new tiered skirt she has that has matching arm warmers. Yes, arm warmers. At any rate, I took her to the drugstore on the way home from her voice lesson (her grandmother takes her to singing while Sam does karate), and let her choose her own shaving gel. She picked Raspberry Rain, which seems fitting for some reason. I showed her how to do it when we got home, and then she stalked off to the bathroom to do it herself. She is so independant. But it paid off--she did a phenomenal job for it to be her first time and seemed pretty proud of herself, wearing monkey-printed boxer shorts as she walked around the house. I can't believe how old she is. Part of me wants her to be Alice's size again--new and fleshy and totally dependant. But the other part loves seeing her grow and change and become this cool little lady. I love her dreams, her laugh, the way she is simultaneously proud and embarassed of her intelligence.
Today my husband called me from the road and we talked like we were college again. My husband just accepted a big promotion that puts him on the road a lot--for instance, this week, he left Wednesday and comes back tomorrow (Friday). It has been harder than one would imagine. For instance, I woke up in the middle of the night last night and realized that I didn't know to turn out the lights in the house or to take off my glasses before I go to sleep--my husband always turns out the lights and removes the glasses after I am in bed. But tonight I came home and called him and we giggled on the phone over his hot dog lunch (since he is on the road a lot, he tries to eat at little mom and pop establishments and take pictures of them--some of these are pretty entertaining) and my passing out. It reminded me of all the time we have spent apart--his freshman year in college, the year he worked at the State Dept., the summers in Russia, my time at creative writing retreats. We have always dealt with these times well. Absence, in some ways, does make the heart grow fonder. And there is something about those fevered, giggling phone calls--full of stories and whispers, plans and excitement. It was the perfect ending to a day that was at times strange, at times fun, and just purely normal.
Today I drove back from my appointment and took my son to karate. I love to watch Sam do karate--probably why I drive him an hour each way to go. Sometimes I think the class is more for me than for him, but it does him great good, and I am a firm believer in extracurricular activities for kids. And he likes it, and I can't help but think he is pretty good at it. He got a stripe on his belt and he smiled grandly--this big smile that explodes from him like fire. It was one of those moments where he looked at me and I wanted to freeze the moment in my head forever. I want to be able to call back that smile the day I see him graduate from college, the day he gets married, the day he wrecks his car, the day he gets his SAT score and is disappointed with it. That smile tells me just how amazing my son is.
Today my oldest daughter shaved her legs for the first time. Her legs have been rather hairy for a while now, but I have kind of let it go until I thought she was ready emotionally for it. She finally decided she was. It is going to be 70 degrees here tomorrow, and she wants to wear a new tiered skirt she has that has matching arm warmers. Yes, arm warmers. At any rate, I took her to the drugstore on the way home from her voice lesson (her grandmother takes her to singing while Sam does karate), and let her choose her own shaving gel. She picked Raspberry Rain, which seems fitting for some reason. I showed her how to do it when we got home, and then she stalked off to the bathroom to do it herself. She is so independant. But it paid off--she did a phenomenal job for it to be her first time and seemed pretty proud of herself, wearing monkey-printed boxer shorts as she walked around the house. I can't believe how old she is. Part of me wants her to be Alice's size again--new and fleshy and totally dependant. But the other part loves seeing her grow and change and become this cool little lady. I love her dreams, her laugh, the way she is simultaneously proud and embarassed of her intelligence.
Today my husband called me from the road and we talked like we were college again. My husband just accepted a big promotion that puts him on the road a lot--for instance, this week, he left Wednesday and comes back tomorrow (Friday). It has been harder than one would imagine. For instance, I woke up in the middle of the night last night and realized that I didn't know to turn out the lights in the house or to take off my glasses before I go to sleep--my husband always turns out the lights and removes the glasses after I am in bed. But tonight I came home and called him and we giggled on the phone over his hot dog lunch (since he is on the road a lot, he tries to eat at little mom and pop establishments and take pictures of them--some of these are pretty entertaining) and my passing out. It reminded me of all the time we have spent apart--his freshman year in college, the year he worked at the State Dept., the summers in Russia, my time at creative writing retreats. We have always dealt with these times well. Absence, in some ways, does make the heart grow fonder. And there is something about those fevered, giggling phone calls--full of stories and whispers, plans and excitement. It was the perfect ending to a day that was at times strange, at times fun, and just purely normal.
Friday, March 5, 2010
How to Soothe a Teething, Fussy Baby in Three Easy Steps
1. Acquire a Maya wrap or comparable ring sling. Put baby in hip carry. Check the mirror to make sure that both of you look like as awesome as Naomi Watts and Liev Shrieber when they wear theirs. (Ok, yeah, nothing looks as awesome as Liev. Not even piles of Manolos and cupcakes. NOTHING.)
2. Turn on VH1's Greatest Songs of the 90's. Proceed to dance and sing along to every song that gets played. Enjoy the commentary, but mostly just sing and dance. Baby will laugh initially, and possibly squeal. Older children will shake their heads, promise to never, ever be like you, and then retreat.
3. Dance. Get a good hour of cardio. Don't even stop on commercials--just use that time to warble Wonderwall at the top of your lungs. Go and check mirror again. Baby will be asleep by the time Vanilla Ice rocks the mike like a vandal.
2. Turn on VH1's Greatest Songs of the 90's. Proceed to dance and sing along to every song that gets played. Enjoy the commentary, but mostly just sing and dance. Baby will laugh initially, and possibly squeal. Older children will shake their heads, promise to never, ever be like you, and then retreat.
3. Dance. Get a good hour of cardio. Don't even stop on commercials--just use that time to warble Wonderwall at the top of your lungs. Go and check mirror again. Baby will be asleep by the time Vanilla Ice rocks the mike like a vandal.
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
Mom on Mom Crime
I have been thinking about this post for a long time. However, our computers have been down, and blogger is blocked at work now (I KNOW!), so it is just now coming to fruition.
Recently (and this is probably because I am spending too much time looking at internet forums and blogs and such), I have noticed a whole lot of mom on mom crime. No, I haven't seen mom's going at each other with machetes. However, it is almost worse. Moms just go at each other with these silly passive aggressive arguments over parenting and lifestyle choices. Not breastfeeding (or stopping breastfeeding too early)? If I were you, I wouldn't do that. DON'T YOU WANT THE BEST FOR YOUR BABY? Have you ever used a disposable diaper on your child? If I were you, I wouldn't do that. YOU COULD GIVE YOUR CHILD A RASH/ASTHMA/DEATH. Did you give your child the flu vaccine? If I were you, I wouldn't do that. HAVE YOU SEEN THIS REPORT LINKING VACCINES TO AUTISM/SCURVY/DEATH? You get the idea.
Parenting choices are just that--choices. We all make different ones. And no one goes out of their way to make a bad one. They make the choice that is the best for them at the given time. The reasons they make the choices may not be relevant to everyone's life, but then again, not everyone else is making the decision. I'll just be honest and weigh in on the three above quandries: I breastfeed, and I'm keeping at it, but at one year, I'm out like shout. I absolutely hate to pump--hate the break it forces in my day. Because of this, I understand why anyone would stop early. Me? I'm just keeping at it because I am damn stubborn. And because I love my 6:00 feeding with Al. That one feeding keeps me going. Yes, I also cloth diaper. Have I ever used disposables? Sure. There is a package of them up under my bed that someone gave us. I love that it is there because I know that if I just don't get around to washing diapers when I should, or if something happens, it is right there. I would use one without hesitation. Oh, and yes, I vaccinated the HELL out of my kids and myself (although Al wasn't old enough at the time to get the flu vaccines). I'm sorry, but I have had the flu, and it sucks. I don't want my kids to get it, I don't want them to give it to their baby sister, and if there is something I can do to prevent that, I'm on board. I don't put a lot of trust into modern medicine--I'll just be honest about that--but this is one instance where my desires outweighed the distrust. And no, you can't send me a pamphlet about vaccines that will make me reconsider, thankyouverymuch.
Another place that this mom on mom stuff leaks in is on weight and body image. As you know if you read the sporadic postings on here, I am losing weight. I am now about 8 pounds over my original goal weight and about half way in to my goal size. It has been a hard ride, but totally worth it. However, I have been treated rudely, been told that I must be having an affair, and had it intimated that I must not be spending enough time with my kids if I am losing weight "so quickly." I even overheard someone saying that I must be "anorexic" because I didn't eat an extra slice of pizza at a birthday party the other night. For one thing, if that is the case, I'm a pretty shitty anorexic, and a fat one at that. But that is beside the point. It is so strange--if you are a big girl (which I have been for the better part of 8 years), you get treated shittily by the outside world--SA's won't help you when you shop, you get unwanted tables in restaurants, etc. etc. But when you lose the weight, thinking you will make everyone happy, people get bitchy and all of a sudden you find yourself the butt of a joke. ONCE AGAIN.
And why did I make the choice to lose weight? Was it because I wanted to look like Jessica Alba? Well, yes and no. I would be lying if I said that wasn't at least part of what motivates me. But mostly it is health related. Obesity (and the problems associated with it) run in my family. My father has been heavy my entire life, and recently underwent gastric bypass surgery because his blood pressure was sky high and he had other associated heart problems. He has also had seven knee surgeries because of his weight. His mother is so obese that she is no longer able to get out of a chair in her living room. My mother (who is very thin because she keeps these things under control) has high cholestrol and runs 6 miles a day so that she will not have to go on medication for it. To be honest, I'm scared shitless of having these kinds of things. I don't want to let something go to the point that there has to be some kind of medical intervention when I originally could have taken care of the problem by laying off the ice cream for a while. And now that I have three kids, it seems rather selfish to eat the way I want and lead an inactive lifestyle that not only could force me to not see them grow up, but also give them eating/lifestyle issues of their own.
I will not say that losing weight has been easy. It has not. I have stood in front of my TV and yelled curses at Jillian Michaels many a time. But. It is the best thing I have ever done for myself. In fact, I now live with regret that I allowed myself to be fat for so long and that I hid behind excuse after excuse when I could have done something about it. I spent my wedding fat, my honeymoon fat, I graduated from college fat. I told myself that I was a "fit" fat person, that I could dress in a way to "flaunt my curves (yeah right)", but I was just lying to myself, and that angers me. I am mostly just happy now that I see what a positive impact this has been on my life and that I know that this is a change I have to make every day for the rest of my life. Mostly because I will not go back to the way I was. Never.
And even as strongly as I feel about my own health and weight issues, I do not think they are right for everyone. I would never tell someone they should lose weight or eat healthier or exercise or any of that. Never. That is their decision--they know what their life is like, they know what issues they have to overcome and they sure as hell don't need me to tell them about it. If they ask me something about it, I would be happy to tell them my favorite workout dvd's, what the best kind of yogurt is (nonfat Greek, plain with frozen blueberries FTW), websites you can go to track calories for free. But I would never force my ideas on them. Moreover, I would never make comments about someone's weight, no matter where they fall. Just as it is not ok to call someone a "chunk" or a "fatty," it is also not ok to call someone a "skinny bitch" or "anorexic." It is also not ok to say that someone's body is not "real"--as in "I'm a size 16--the size of a real woman. That's not a real body over there." Seriously? Does anyone else see the idiocy in that statement? We all have REAL bodies--I am certainly not made of rainbows and kitten dreams, thank you. Lord.
All I'm saying is that fat or thin, zaftig or skinny, crunchy or mainstream, parent or child-free--we all deserve respect and a life free of passive aggressive commenting. If you ever start to say (or type) the words "If I were you...", I would encourage you to stop and think about it. If you were that person, you wouldn't have the same insights, no, but you would still be able to make a decision that best benefits you. Would it be the best decision? Maybe not. But you would make it, and learn, and isn't that what we are all aiming for? I certainly hope so.
Recently (and this is probably because I am spending too much time looking at internet forums and blogs and such), I have noticed a whole lot of mom on mom crime. No, I haven't seen mom's going at each other with machetes. However, it is almost worse. Moms just go at each other with these silly passive aggressive arguments over parenting and lifestyle choices. Not breastfeeding (or stopping breastfeeding too early)? If I were you, I wouldn't do that. DON'T YOU WANT THE BEST FOR YOUR BABY? Have you ever used a disposable diaper on your child? If I were you, I wouldn't do that. YOU COULD GIVE YOUR CHILD A RASH/ASTHMA/DEATH. Did you give your child the flu vaccine? If I were you, I wouldn't do that. HAVE YOU SEEN THIS REPORT LINKING VACCINES TO AUTISM/SCURVY/DEATH? You get the idea.
Parenting choices are just that--choices. We all make different ones. And no one goes out of their way to make a bad one. They make the choice that is the best for them at the given time. The reasons they make the choices may not be relevant to everyone's life, but then again, not everyone else is making the decision. I'll just be honest and weigh in on the three above quandries: I breastfeed, and I'm keeping at it, but at one year, I'm out like shout. I absolutely hate to pump--hate the break it forces in my day. Because of this, I understand why anyone would stop early. Me? I'm just keeping at it because I am damn stubborn. And because I love my 6:00 feeding with Al. That one feeding keeps me going. Yes, I also cloth diaper. Have I ever used disposables? Sure. There is a package of them up under my bed that someone gave us. I love that it is there because I know that if I just don't get around to washing diapers when I should, or if something happens, it is right there. I would use one without hesitation. Oh, and yes, I vaccinated the HELL out of my kids and myself (although Al wasn't old enough at the time to get the flu vaccines). I'm sorry, but I have had the flu, and it sucks. I don't want my kids to get it, I don't want them to give it to their baby sister, and if there is something I can do to prevent that, I'm on board. I don't put a lot of trust into modern medicine--I'll just be honest about that--but this is one instance where my desires outweighed the distrust. And no, you can't send me a pamphlet about vaccines that will make me reconsider, thankyouverymuch.
Another place that this mom on mom stuff leaks in is on weight and body image. As you know if you read the sporadic postings on here, I am losing weight. I am now about 8 pounds over my original goal weight and about half way in to my goal size. It has been a hard ride, but totally worth it. However, I have been treated rudely, been told that I must be having an affair, and had it intimated that I must not be spending enough time with my kids if I am losing weight "so quickly." I even overheard someone saying that I must be "anorexic" because I didn't eat an extra slice of pizza at a birthday party the other night. For one thing, if that is the case, I'm a pretty shitty anorexic, and a fat one at that. But that is beside the point. It is so strange--if you are a big girl (which I have been for the better part of 8 years), you get treated shittily by the outside world--SA's won't help you when you shop, you get unwanted tables in restaurants, etc. etc. But when you lose the weight, thinking you will make everyone happy, people get bitchy and all of a sudden you find yourself the butt of a joke. ONCE AGAIN.
And why did I make the choice to lose weight? Was it because I wanted to look like Jessica Alba? Well, yes and no. I would be lying if I said that wasn't at least part of what motivates me. But mostly it is health related. Obesity (and the problems associated with it) run in my family. My father has been heavy my entire life, and recently underwent gastric bypass surgery because his blood pressure was sky high and he had other associated heart problems. He has also had seven knee surgeries because of his weight. His mother is so obese that she is no longer able to get out of a chair in her living room. My mother (who is very thin because she keeps these things under control) has high cholestrol and runs 6 miles a day so that she will not have to go on medication for it. To be honest, I'm scared shitless of having these kinds of things. I don't want to let something go to the point that there has to be some kind of medical intervention when I originally could have taken care of the problem by laying off the ice cream for a while. And now that I have three kids, it seems rather selfish to eat the way I want and lead an inactive lifestyle that not only could force me to not see them grow up, but also give them eating/lifestyle issues of their own.
I will not say that losing weight has been easy. It has not. I have stood in front of my TV and yelled curses at Jillian Michaels many a time. But. It is the best thing I have ever done for myself. In fact, I now live with regret that I allowed myself to be fat for so long and that I hid behind excuse after excuse when I could have done something about it. I spent my wedding fat, my honeymoon fat, I graduated from college fat. I told myself that I was a "fit" fat person, that I could dress in a way to "flaunt my curves (yeah right)", but I was just lying to myself, and that angers me. I am mostly just happy now that I see what a positive impact this has been on my life and that I know that this is a change I have to make every day for the rest of my life. Mostly because I will not go back to the way I was. Never.
And even as strongly as I feel about my own health and weight issues, I do not think they are right for everyone. I would never tell someone they should lose weight or eat healthier or exercise or any of that. Never. That is their decision--they know what their life is like, they know what issues they have to overcome and they sure as hell don't need me to tell them about it. If they ask me something about it, I would be happy to tell them my favorite workout dvd's, what the best kind of yogurt is (nonfat Greek, plain with frozen blueberries FTW), websites you can go to track calories for free. But I would never force my ideas on them. Moreover, I would never make comments about someone's weight, no matter where they fall. Just as it is not ok to call someone a "chunk" or a "fatty," it is also not ok to call someone a "skinny bitch" or "anorexic." It is also not ok to say that someone's body is not "real"--as in "I'm a size 16--the size of a real woman. That's not a real body over there." Seriously? Does anyone else see the idiocy in that statement? We all have REAL bodies--I am certainly not made of rainbows and kitten dreams, thank you. Lord.
All I'm saying is that fat or thin, zaftig or skinny, crunchy or mainstream, parent or child-free--we all deserve respect and a life free of passive aggressive commenting. If you ever start to say (or type) the words "If I were you...", I would encourage you to stop and think about it. If you were that person, you wouldn't have the same insights, no, but you would still be able to make a decision that best benefits you. Would it be the best decision? Maybe not. But you would make it, and learn, and isn't that what we are all aiming for? I certainly hope so.
Sunday, January 10, 2010
My Experiences with Cloth Diapering
So I cloth diaper my four month old. Cloth diapering is pretty normal now to many I think, but in the rural area where I live, I might as well tell people that I wrap my daughter's hindparts in leaves and mud cakes. When I tell lots of people, they immediately ask "why." To my family, it is mostly a question of cost. My husband, who is incredibly frugal, likes cloth diapering A LOT. The day after my daughter was born, Matt walked into my hospital room with this huge smile on his face. When I asked him what was up, he said "You know, I think I'm going to really like this cloth diapering thing." It soon came out that on the way home the night before (it was an hour drive home from the hospital--told you we lived in the boonies!) he had figured out the price of disposables for two and a half years versus the price of cloth diapers and he was very pleased!
For me personally though, it is a question of comfort. I know that I would not want to wear paper underwear around for two years, so I wouldn't think that Alice would either. The cloth diapers we have are super plush and super comfy looking. To me, they just look better for a baby. Plus, I think they are super cute and fun--and to me, aesthetics means a lot!
I used disposables for both of my older children. When Gabby was born 10 years ago, I was very young, and although I wanted to cloth diaper (my mom had used cloth with me, and I had heard her tell people about it over the years), I didn't have the knowledge or time to track down something that was not readily available in my rural area. When Sam was born, I was in college, and I just didn't think--went right with the disposables. The only issues I had with disposables were the comfort issues and then the fact that I didn't like the way that they smelled--even unused. Something about it was just artificial and weird. But because I didn't think about it that much, I didn't think there was any worthy alternative.
I have been so pleased, though, with the choices you get with cloth diapering. When Alice was a newborn, we used fitteds (Kissaluvs) with covers (mostly Thirsties with a couple of Bummis thrown in), mostly all borrowed from a super awesome friend of mine. Then, as she changed sizes, we moved to prefolds and covers. I will just be honest--I am not the best prefold diaper-er in the world. But my husband...holy crap. My boy could go pro. I have no idea why or how, but I'm pretty sure he could slap a prefold on a writhering elephant. He's that good. Anyway, we rode that wave until Alice grew a bit more until we thought one-size diapers would flatter her and do its job.
And that's where we are now. Our "stash" is almost exclusively BumGenius One Size 3.0 Pockets. Why? Because they are the diapers the fit Alice the best. I tested Happy Heiny's and one FuzziBunz One Size (although I recently ordered a few sized medium Fuzzi Bunz to try), but the BumGenius are the easiest ones for everyone in the family to do (I have to consider my mother in law's input since she watches Alice while I work), and they work the best on Alice's frame. The just look comfy on her when she is wearing them.
We also have two Goodmama fitteds that I purchased off of Spots Corner. I bought then gently used because I couldn't bring myself to spend $30 on something that my baby will poop in. I like them, but (for us) I don't think they are worth that kind of money. For one thing, the fit is not as good on the BG's. Something about the way they fit around her legs doesn't look as fitted as the others. I'm hoping she will grow into them more. However, the prints are AMAZING. The two we have are kind of psychadelic, Pucci kind of prints. Just seeing them in the laundry makes me smile.
So far, Al has worn them under a wool soaker that her aunt crocheted for her. The soaker itself is adorable--gold with a magenta ribbon at the waist and a ruffle on the butt--and I love that it was homemade just for her. We have worn this specifically at nighttime. We have only done it a couple of times, but I'm not sure how much I like it. For one thing, I don't like waking up to the smell of wet wool. This is especially an issue when Alice is not such a heavy wetter, and is usually just fine in a Bum Genius pocket with the doubler for nighttime. So I don't have to wake up to wet wool... For the other thing, I haven't tried to fit anything over her fluffy woolly butt, so I worry about her being cold, even though she is covered in blankets. I like her to wear a blanket sleeper (she is wearing a fleece one as she sleeps beside of me right now), and I'm pretty sure that I couldn't get that over the wool. Those are my only issues, but since we are happy with other avenues, I might not do a whole lot more with wool right now. I know, though, that as she grows and changes, we will look into it again.
The final experience with cloth diapering I have had is just how addictive it is! You have no idea at how many websites I have looked at, and how many diapers I have read about. My husband thinks I am insane. But I think it is worth it...even if diapers are my new crack!
Friday, January 8, 2010
SNOW DAY!
We are out of school today for snow, which is AWESOME. Yes, I know we will have to make it up in summer time and I will bitch and moan about it at that time. But there is something magical about a snow day, no matter how old you are. Seriously. The public schools of the US should make a major ad campaign about this--people would sign up to be teachers in no time! I seriously got up this morning (at 9:15!!!) and thought about putting off law school indefinitely and keep working for the public school system just based on the totally delicious feeling of sleeping late and waking up to puffy white awesomeness.
Anyway, I desperately need to catch up on blogging, because really, I want to be a better blogger. But lately, mostly with the holidays and all, I just haven't been able to do that the way I would like. So let's hope that in 2010, I do better. We'll see. I'm not promising a lot, I guess, because I know my own limitations with work and the kids and being a viable member of the family. But I will try.
At any rate, my kids remain awesome in all ways. My son is currently standing beside me in his swimming trunks, which totally makes sense if you know my son. My oldest daughter is taking pictures of herself and the baby with her new DSi. And I am sitting here in the midst of it all, loving the noise and the happiness that radiate off of these little beings.
I took Sam to the doctor a few days ago, which was a hilarious experience. It was just a check-up (I am trying to be a good mom and scheduling everyone's medical/dental appointments at the beginning of the year so they are over and done with and so I can remember when to schedule them for next year). Sam, who has never met a stranger, sat down and immediately told the doctor, "We have problems in our house." I was sitting there, holding Alice, and my jaw dropped. I had images of Child and Family Services showing up at my house with crowbars and tasers. The doctor asked him what kind of problems he was referring to, and he goes, "My sister and I went on the recalled toy website, and we have THREE TOYS that were recalled!!" The doctor laughed, and I laughed (a little uneasily) and decided to breathe again. The check-up went along as planned. Then the doctor said she needed to check Sam's genitals. I helped him to pull his pants down, and the doctor talked to him about good touch/bad touch. He asked why she was touching him. She smiled and said that she needed to make sure that he was growing ok. Sam gets all serious and says (in a loud voice, mind you), "That thing on the top...it grows a lot!!! Really fast sometimes! I think it is going to grow and grow and touch the ceiling!" The doctor and I both had to put our heads down and silently laugh. I am going to remind Sam of this around the first time that he brings a girl from college.
Ok, now Gabby just took a picture of Alice and put a mustache and fuzzy black eyebrows on her. She looks amazingly like Mario.
It is days like this that I really should do more. We were out of school yesterday as well, and I got all my laundry done and cleaned out Sam's drawers and went through our unmatched socks to weed out potential matches and turning the rest into rags (dusting with socks is kinda the bomb diggity and I dare you to find those exact words elsewhere on the internet). But then part of me tells me that I should have more days like this, where my major accomplishments including watching Celebrity Rehab, loading the dishwasher, showering, and testing the merits of Herbal Essences new Tousle Me Softly mousse. I am usually such a Type A kinda girl--always running, always going, always holding myself to a super high standard that I'm not sure I ever really attain--that days like these feel super indulgent and wonderful. Could I do it tomorrow? Definitely not. I would go crazy. But right now I feel centered and happy and awesome.
My birthday is less than two weeks away. I will be 27. I think of all that I have done thus far--the three kids, the moves across the country, college, all the stuff that has been strange and hard and wonderful. I want it to continue--my husband has talked about slowing down as we approach 30, but I don't think I want to. I want this--I can't wait to get back to law school, I want all the challenges that that brings. As I approach my birthday, I feel better about myself than ever before. Part of that is the physical stuff, but most of that is having my kids and my family and feeling complete.
And on that note, Alice decides that she has had ENOUGH. I am off to give her a nap, and maybe take one myself!!!
Anyway, I desperately need to catch up on blogging, because really, I want to be a better blogger. But lately, mostly with the holidays and all, I just haven't been able to do that the way I would like. So let's hope that in 2010, I do better. We'll see. I'm not promising a lot, I guess, because I know my own limitations with work and the kids and being a viable member of the family. But I will try.
At any rate, my kids remain awesome in all ways. My son is currently standing beside me in his swimming trunks, which totally makes sense if you know my son. My oldest daughter is taking pictures of herself and the baby with her new DSi. And I am sitting here in the midst of it all, loving the noise and the happiness that radiate off of these little beings.
I took Sam to the doctor a few days ago, which was a hilarious experience. It was just a check-up (I am trying to be a good mom and scheduling everyone's medical/dental appointments at the beginning of the year so they are over and done with and so I can remember when to schedule them for next year). Sam, who has never met a stranger, sat down and immediately told the doctor, "We have problems in our house." I was sitting there, holding Alice, and my jaw dropped. I had images of Child and Family Services showing up at my house with crowbars and tasers. The doctor asked him what kind of problems he was referring to, and he goes, "My sister and I went on the recalled toy website, and we have THREE TOYS that were recalled!!" The doctor laughed, and I laughed (a little uneasily) and decided to breathe again. The check-up went along as planned. Then the doctor said she needed to check Sam's genitals. I helped him to pull his pants down, and the doctor talked to him about good touch/bad touch. He asked why she was touching him. She smiled and said that she needed to make sure that he was growing ok. Sam gets all serious and says (in a loud voice, mind you), "That thing on the top...it grows a lot!!! Really fast sometimes! I think it is going to grow and grow and touch the ceiling!" The doctor and I both had to put our heads down and silently laugh. I am going to remind Sam of this around the first time that he brings a girl from college.
Ok, now Gabby just took a picture of Alice and put a mustache and fuzzy black eyebrows on her. She looks amazingly like Mario.
It is days like this that I really should do more. We were out of school yesterday as well, and I got all my laundry done and cleaned out Sam's drawers and went through our unmatched socks to weed out potential matches and turning the rest into rags (dusting with socks is kinda the bomb diggity and I dare you to find those exact words elsewhere on the internet). But then part of me tells me that I should have more days like this, where my major accomplishments including watching Celebrity Rehab, loading the dishwasher, showering, and testing the merits of Herbal Essences new Tousle Me Softly mousse. I am usually such a Type A kinda girl--always running, always going, always holding myself to a super high standard that I'm not sure I ever really attain--that days like these feel super indulgent and wonderful. Could I do it tomorrow? Definitely not. I would go crazy. But right now I feel centered and happy and awesome.
My birthday is less than two weeks away. I will be 27. I think of all that I have done thus far--the three kids, the moves across the country, college, all the stuff that has been strange and hard and wonderful. I want it to continue--my husband has talked about slowing down as we approach 30, but I don't think I want to. I want this--I can't wait to get back to law school, I want all the challenges that that brings. As I approach my birthday, I feel better about myself than ever before. Part of that is the physical stuff, but most of that is having my kids and my family and feeling complete.
And on that note, Alice decides that she has had ENOUGH. I am off to give her a nap, and maybe take one myself!!!
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
Morgan is a size 8.
That is all I have to say. It is kinda the best thing ever.
Sitting in a bag beside of me is a pair of size 8 pants. 3 mothereffing pairs of them in fact.
I have not been a size 8...well, ever. I wore a 6 before my first daughter was born and a 10/12 after. I have been up to a size 16 (and a tight size 16 at that). I have spent most of my time as an adult as a 14.
I just cancelled every email sale alert I receive from a plus sized clothier. I am going to all my online shopping carts in a bit and deleting all the size 10's and replacing them with 8's.
And I am never going back. That is basically why I am writing this. The way I feel right now...I wouldn't trade it for anything on this planet. I am so proud of myself. I feel like ME. I don't feel like Mommy Morgan or Stressed Out Morgan. I feel like MORGAN, GROWN ASS WOMAN and OFFICIAL HOT MAMA. I feel strong. I feel comfortable in my own skin. I feel like I could go in anywhere right now at this moment and not be uncomfortable (well, I'd change out of my jammies first).
Fuck yeah!
Sitting in a bag beside of me is a pair of size 8 pants. 3 mothereffing pairs of them in fact.
I have not been a size 8...well, ever. I wore a 6 before my first daughter was born and a 10/12 after. I have been up to a size 16 (and a tight size 16 at that). I have spent most of my time as an adult as a 14.
I just cancelled every email sale alert I receive from a plus sized clothier. I am going to all my online shopping carts in a bit and deleting all the size 10's and replacing them with 8's.
And I am never going back. That is basically why I am writing this. The way I feel right now...I wouldn't trade it for anything on this planet. I am so proud of myself. I feel like ME. I don't feel like Mommy Morgan or Stressed Out Morgan. I feel like MORGAN, GROWN ASS WOMAN and OFFICIAL HOT MAMA. I feel strong. I feel comfortable in my own skin. I feel like I could go in anywhere right now at this moment and not be uncomfortable (well, I'd change out of my jammies first).
Fuck yeah!
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