Posts Tagged ‘baby’

You know what I’m sick of? 2 things.
1. Winter.
2. Seeing Kim Kardashian’s pregnant behind plastered all over the internet, t.v., and magazine racks at the 7-11 when I’m trying to buy my Family Sized chocolate bars.

In both cases, I think I can speak for the entire North American population when I say, “Enough Already!”

I want to be clear about my position on the Kardashians. Love ’em or hate ’em, the Kardashians are in your face all over the place. Famous for being famous, I guess, which is why they have such a dedicated posse of haters. And there are a lot of haters out there!!! I am not one of them. I happen to think that if you have found a way to be famous for no reason at all, you’re a freakin’ genius. Good for you! You’ve turned the public’s disgusting appetite for celebrity and all things superficial into a bankable career, and for that you should be commended. Reality shows, Clothing lines, high profile romances….. ahhhh the life. And as for the Kardashian women, for the most part I can actually look past the superficial bullshit and find admiration in the way these girls use their assets and social strengths to create public personas for themselves, all while steeling themselves to the harsh and criticizing world of our shallow and misguided society.

Case in point, Kim Kardashian. I happen to think that Kim is one of the most physically beautiful women on the planet. Not only does she have dark stunning features and a striking set of eyes, she has a bountiful body full of curves and one hell of a booty. A girl after my own heart. But probably the most attractive thing about Kim is her CONFIDENCE. This girl has a bum so big that I believe she had her ass x-rayed to prove that she doesn’t have butt implants. A lot of girls in her shoes would be draping themselves in pretty sarongs on the beach…not Kim. Kim rocks a tiny bikini every time. By industry standards, she’s got wide hips, big boobs, and a big ass.
EXCLUSIVE: Kim and Kourtney Kardashian take over Miami Beach with new beach bods
By my standards, and most women and men out there, she’s a goddess. And Ironically, her baby-daddy previously penned a song with the lyrics, “She’s got an ass that will Swallow up a G-String.” Yes, Confidence is sexy, and Kim has confidence. We’ve all seen that ‘uneven’ couple somewhere and thought, “How did HE get HER?” or vice versa. The answer to that riddle, of course, is Confidence. Mother Nature’s greatest equalizer. Not born with stunning good looks? Snaggletooth and hammertoes? One leg shorter than the other? No problem! All you need is a little of this here magic potion we call Confidence to level the playing field. It’s the single most important quality I believe a person can have, and I pray that my kids have tons of it. There are not many things that can shake a very confident woman….but pregnancy happens to be one of them.

Kim loves to be on the cover of magazines, and all over the media. It’s her career. But I’m pretty sure, when she got pregnant, this was not the type of publicity she was hoping for.

If you’ve ever been pregnant, you know that even the happiest, most excited, ecstatic mother-to-be goes through some serious body image issues at some point. Things all over your body are changing. Drastically. And while it’s true that not all women are as shallow and body-image obsessed as me, I do believe that most pregnant women struggle with getting bigger in some way. And most pregnant women would not want to be in line at the grocery store with a 2 litre pail of ice cream and see their own pregnant ass staring back at them from the newsstand.

With a caption that reads, “I can’t stop Eating!!”.

OK Holy Hell Society, I don’t know exactly who “you” are, but I’m pretty sure “you” are actually “we” and WE need to wake the hell up and leave pregnant women alone. The pressure that is being put on women in today’s world to be thin and beautiful all the time is totally out of control! I know I rant about it all the time, but it’s really getting to me. I think we can safely assume we are failing as a whole when we start picking on pregnant women about their weight, and EVEN MORE Ridiculous, their fashion choices. Like, Really? This is on the top of the list of most talked about public gossip….Kim Kardashian’s latest maternity fashion DON’T. OH.MY.GOD.

Check out this little nugget from :

“Kim Kardashian slammed for bad maternity style” As much as Kim Kardashian tries so hard to look good during her pregnancy, the socialite just can’t pull it off in her tacky maternity wear. In fact, the Keeping Up with the Kardashians star has been lambasted for her bad taste in maternity fashion – which usually comprise either baggy clothing or tight, skimpy outfits. A case in point: she was recently caught by fashion police wearing a billowing pink dress to church in Los Angeles. The reality TV star, who is six months pregnant, looked larger than life – especially around her ballooning hips.But Kim appears unperturbed by the criticism, tweeting photos of her bare pregnant belly for the world to see.

GASP!!! How dare she wear a billowing Pink Dress! How Dare She have ballooning hips!!! Nevermind that there’s a human being growing in between them, she should at least make an effort and slap some SPANKS on those bad boys and try to tame that tummy! Can’t she find anything more attractive? Well, it seems Kim just can’t win for losing. Now all of her fashion choices are being criticized and picked apart, and more often than not, featured in full-on “Mean Girl” style ‘Who Wore It Better’ articles. She gets compared to her previously pregnant sister:


Other celebrities who are NOT PREGNANT and probably starving themselves:

And in the most offensive and disturbing display of bullying I’ve seen in a while, she is being compared to Marine Life:

Now, can you imagine what life is like? This woman is in love, expecting her very first baby, and full to the brim with explosive pregnancy hormones. And every damn time she leaves the house, she knows somebody is going to have a problem with what she is wearing, and there’s probably going to be somebody taking a picture of her big pregnant ass at the absolute most unflattering time and angle possible. Did you ever catch a glimpse of your own pregnant ass by accident before? I have, and I’m pretty sure all the hairs stood up on the back of my neck I was so horrified. Pregnancy may be beautiful, but most of the time, it’s not pretty. And to expect it to be pretty, 100% of the time from someone, is not fair.

Can we leave the pregnant ladies alone? I remember being pregnant with my second. I was huge. My brother hadn’t seen me throughout my entire pregnancy until he came home at Christmas, when I was 9 months pregnant. I’ll never forget his face when he walked in the door and saw me. It was a look of shock and awe, which he tried to hide with arched eyebrows and a nervous chuckle. That was the same Christmas I considered punching my grandpa’s lights out if he made one more comment about how many sandwiches I was eating. And my step-dad, God Love Him, posted a pic of me on Facebook hunched over the buffet table shoving a big bite of something into my mouth. Thanks, Dad! Pregnant women just want to be left alone. We know we are big, thank you very much. I don’t even need to go into the whole spiel about how our bodies are growing precious little lives inside because, well, Eff you, that’s why! Nobody should have to explain or validate their appearance to anyone, let alone a pregnant woman. So back off, K? Can’t we get back to gossiping about the Bachelor’s resident nut-job and buying magazines revealing Hollywood’s worst Plastic Surgery Fails?

Instead, let’s make fun of the ridiculous photographic choices women make ON PURPOSE when they are pregnant! HEEEEHEHEHEHEHE FUN! Ok, so I have to cop to actually taking cheesy maternity photos myself, finally got around to it with #3 and, like everyone else who does it, really wanted to document and remember what my body looked like with that precious little life inside. But OOOOOHHHHH hahahaha I did not go this far. Check it out:


Jackie Chan says, “WTF?!?!”



Britney Spears says, “WTF?!?!”



Kim Kardashian says, “WTF!!!!?!?!”
kim kardashian 2 300410

hahahaha Come on, Kim, Strap on some of those Yellow Suspenders and let’s see “Who Wore It Better!!!”.


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What kind of mother am I? I spent some time pondering this today. While folding 256 loads of laundry this afternoon I happened to be watching Anderson Live, which featured moms who claim that taking anxiety medications make them better mothers. And, like any good talk show, Anderson included both sides of the conversation. Translation: Moms who are RIGHT and Moms who are WRONG.

Have you ever noticed that in general, moms (because we are women and it seems to come naturally) tend to judge each other? Sometimes its passive aggressive, vague and sneaky judgement, like, “She is definitely a more “Laid Back” mom…(using those annoying finger quotes and raised eyebrows). Substituting euphemisms like “Laid Back” and “Relaxed Parenting Style” for words they really mean such as “Lazy” and “Neglectful”. And then sometimes it is just blatantly mean, like “She lets her brats do whatever they want, whenever they want, and they have no respect for anybody!”. Well hello, Judgey McJudgerton, please tell me where I can sign up for your clinic on Perfect Parenting 101. Now I don’t want to sound bitter, but this is usually the mom whose Facebook statuses paint a rosy picture of after school baking sessions with the kids and Pinterest boards full of wonderful kids craft ideas, but who hisses “Get your Ass in the Car, you Little Shits!!!” at her misbehaving kids when she thinks nobody is listening. And don’t even get me started on women who criticize other mothers, and they don’t even have any kids yet! Get real! You have no effin idea, lady!!! Keep it to yourself. Better yet, write down all your judgemental and condescending thoughts, and then once you have kids, bring that list out and marvel at what an idiot you were back before you had a clue. MMMKAY???? I have hollered at my kids! Lots! Because sometimes, getting down to eye level with a 5 year old and trying to calmly explain why their behavior is upsetting you is just plain ineffective. And for the record, so is hollering, most of the time, but I do it anyway, because it feels good. And sometimes, it makes them fear me. If I’m lucky.
So anyway, back to Anderson. There was a mom on the panel who says that she has dealt with anxiety/depression disorders on and off for many years, and since she has had children, she finds that being on a steady prescription of anti-anxiety medication definitely helps her to be a better mother. She says that she does not abuse them, and they don’t make her “high”, they just help her to feel normal and to cope with the many demands that parenting and providing for a family presents in this day and age. She is open, and honest, and articulate. On the other side of the fence is a woman who “strongly disagrees” with this philosophy. When asked on what grounds she opposes mothers taking anti-anxiety meds, she only presents “What If” scenarios. “What if your kids are having a bad day, and based on your example, they think that the answer is just to pop a pill to make everything better? What if you get addicted to them? What if you take too many and you can’t drive your kids to school?” For the record, this looks like a very unhappy woman, but in the interest of not being judgemental I will assume she was just nervous. She did use the word “I” a lot. Long story short, what she was there to say, was “I don’t need meds to be a good mom.”

Well this may or may not be a shocker to some of you who know me, but I DO need meds to be a good mom! I also have struggled with anxiety and depression, and let me tell you, adding 3 kids to the mix who are 90% of the time on my watch and under my care, doesn’t exactly leave a lot of time to mentally decompress, de-stress, and relax.


I love my kids!!! So much, I decided to stop the insane rollercoaster cycle of being on meds, and then trying to wean off, and then having to go back on them, over and over and over again. For someone who struggles with depression and anxiety, a normal day is never a normal day. Sunshine made me crabby. My kid spilling his milk would make ME cry. Most of the time, I wished I could just lay in bed and sometimes, hoped I would not wake up for a long, long time. This was not my kids’ fault, this was not my fault. This is a LEGITIMATE illness, people! And if I was not on medication, everyone around me was suffering, including my kids. I may not be a better mother than you are, but I am not a worse mom because I take a little medication. I am just a mom, and I suspect that I am just one of many with the same fears, troubles and insecurities about how I may be failing my children. Now all that being said, I did a little self discovery about what kind of mom I actually am. I know that I am on the “Laid Back” end of things, and I like it that way.But what does that mean? Here are some examples.

I love it when my kids want to try new foods, but this does not happen very often, and I am not the mom who is going to force my kid to eat something that makes him gag. Have you ever tried to force down food you hate? It sucks. Kids are people too. Pick your battles.
I love to bake with my kids, but I also really like it when they get bored after 10 minutes and let me do the rest in peace and quiet.
I can’t wait until bedtime each night, when I get to tuck the kids in and kiss their tiny little faces, and see them sleeping like little angels…..and then I get to park my ass on the couch and watch my shows…in peace and quiet.
I make my kids beds for them most of the time, because quite frankly, I think it looks nicer and bugs me when I walk by their room and their blankets are on crooked.
I pin a lot of cool kids activities on Pinterest, knowing full well that I will never get around to doing them with my kids but I still hold out hope that one day I will have time to be “That Mom.”
When I make homemade playdough for the kids, usually once a year, I feel like I should get a mother of the year award. Then I swear under my breath every day for the next 3 weeks every time I have to sweep up massive amounts of dried playdough crumbs off the floor.
Sometimes when my kids are whining and crying about something ridiculous and I am so frustrated I could scream, I just whine and cry right back at them until they look at me like I’m crazy and eventually stop and leave the room.
I take advantage of the fact that my kids aren’t old enough to read a clock yet and I lie to them about what time it is so they will go to bed early. This is very easy in the winter time, and I love it! I feel like an evil genius.
I occasionally let my kids eat cereal for supper. And by occasionally, I mean at least twice a week.
I think farts and butts and poop is just as funny as my 5 year old son thinks it is.
I have daily dance parties with the kids, and I like to turn the music up really loud and pretend I can’t hear them when they repeat, “Mommy Look at Me!!!!” 500 times.
I encourage my kids to dress themselves, and wear whatever they feel like wearing, as long as it is weather appropriate. My kids may not always match but they are definitely creative and proud of their self-image.
Sometimes I just really want to strangle my kids. I love them, and I would never actually do it, but when one of my kids is bawling at a ridiculous octave in my face, and I have 101 other things I need to be doing, I sometimes tune out the sound and daydream about wrapping my hands around them and squeezing really really hard. I totally understand how Shaken Baby Syndrome happens. Being a parent takes Restraint!!!
When it’s 4 a.m. and my baby is crying for the 8th time that night, and I am totally exhausted, sometimes I lay in bed with my pillow over my head thinking “Shut up, Shut up, pleaaase just shut up and go back to sleep”, hoping that when I remove the pillow, there will be silence.
I am a stay at home mom and my world, for the most part, pretty much revolves around caring for my kids and their environment. I love being able to do this, and I know that for myself, I wouldn’t have it any other way. But I also need to get out of the cage every once in a while too. I take short vacations, and love girl time and date nights and in general just time away from the kids. And I do miss them, but I don’t miss them every single second that I am gone. I was an individual before I had kids, and I still am, sometimes.

What does this all mean? I don’t know. I think it means I’m a normal mom. I’m not perfect. I make lots of mistakes. If there is a parenting manual on how to DO IT RIGHT out there somewhere, please send it my way. But for now, I’m just like you. I’m just guessing. Moms, like kids, are all so different. That’s the great part about raising kids to be individuals…we don’t all have to be the same. The world would be a pretty boring place. What works for you and yours may not work for me and mine but who cares?! Do your thing. As long as your kids are still alive and happy, you are passing the parenting test with flying colors. Moms, please stop judging each other. Be supportive, and practice acceptance! Mothers need encouragement, even the ones who seem the most confident. If you have a natural childbirth or a C-Section, if you breastfeed or bottle feed, if you choose to stay at home or go to work, just do your own thing! Who cares if your best friend feeds her baby nothing but organic fruit and you have been feeding yours Kraft Dinner? Does your baby smile at you when you pick her up? You’re doing your job. And if you feel like it’s time to up the dosage, by all means, bring on the happy! Because we all know, if momma ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy. AMEN!

I may be a mediocre mom, but my kids seem to like me. And that’s Good enough, I guess.



Whoever came up with the phrase “Sleeping like a baby” is an idiot.

I have an 8 month old, beautiful happy baby boy. Light of my life. Would do ANYTHING for this kid. But if someone came along right now and offered me one full week of uninterrupted sleep in exchange for my 3rd born adorable bundle of joy, I’m pretty sure I’d say “Hell Ya and Here’s the Diaper Bag!”.

I had a colicky first baby…I’d like to give you the details of her sleep patterns when she was a baby but honestly, I’ve blocked out pretty much the entire first year of her life, and can’t remember. Baby #2 was a dream…sleeping through the night at 6 weeks, happy all the time, big cute smile. He turned hellish around age 2 but hey I had 2 good years as a primer and by then I was sucked into loving him enough to tolerate it. They grew, began eventually sleeping all night and finally even getting to bed on their own, even waking up and getting themselves breakfast while I blissfully slept. I was really enjoying sleep. A lot. Then, I had a total lapse in judgement and decided it would be a good idea to start all over again.

Remembering what it was like to have a baby in the house is a lot like remembering childbirth. You know that in theory it kind of sucked, but your brain glosses over all the crappy parts and all you remember are the touching memories and cute little moments. YOu go through your old baby clothes and think to yourself, “Awww, this little sleeper is sooo cute and sooo tiny! I can’t even remember when my babies were this small!” There is a reason you can’t remember. It’s called Sleep Deprivation. You think back to those precious days of bonding with your baby while nursing, how her little eyes would drift closed and she looked so sweet and you would gently rub her cheek wishing you could just look at her forever. What you tend to block out is pulling her into bed with you for the 5th time in one night because you’re just too freaking exhausted to get up and sit in the chair one more time. You know the health nurse “advises against it” but at this point you don’t give a shit and you latch her on to feed her, and you wake up 2 hours later with your boob smooshed up against your baby’s head and a big puddle of breast milk on the sheets. How’s that for bonding? And chances are, you’re so damn tired that all you can think is that if you don’t move she’ll stay sleeping, so you leave your boob there, smooshed against her head, until she wakes up to feed. Again.

But such is life with a newborn, right? Sure, this should only last a few more weeks, I can handle that. It’s not like I’ll NEVER get a good night’s sleep again, right? Baby #2 was sleeping through at 6 weeks, I’m sure this one will be the same. 6 weeks comes and goes. Still getting up every 2 hours. What the hell? I’m soooo tired. Too tired to put in an honest effort to try to get him to sleep in his own crib. Easier just to keep him in bed with me. I start to side with Mayim Bialik in the whole attachment parenting thing. Can’t be that bad, right? Baby Daddy isn’t getting up to help much anyway so he might as well sleep on the couch, more room for us! Shouldn’t be too much longer. I’m sure once he has some solids in his diet he will start sleeping longer.

3 months comes and goes. Still up every 3 hours. I try feeding him a bit of cereal before bedtime. No results. I’m starting to lose my mind a little. Did I mention that when you have 2 other kids to deal with, there is no such thing as taking a nap when the baby naps? Especially when this baby only naps for 20 minutes at a time. When I am awakened to the sound of his crying, I lie there and think to myself, “Shut Up. Please! Just Shut Up and go back to sleep!!!!” It’s terrible but it’s true! It boggles my mind that this tiny human who is growing at a rapid pace is getting the same amount of sleep as I am, and yet he is calm, happy and alert in his wakefulness. I on the other hand, am a disaster. I’m tired. I look in the mirror and do not recognize myself. I daydream about falling asleep and waking up to find that he’s 5 years old. The entire house is on noise lockdown. If the baby is sleeping, NOBODY is to make ANY noise. EVER. Don’t Breathe, Don’t Speak, Don’t Move. Don’t ask me for a sandwich. Mommy is going to try to have a nap. Go play the Wii….and don’t come out of your room. Ever. Thanks!

6 months…still the same. You’ve got to be kidding me. Did I mention Baby Daddy works away now and guess who is getting up with the baby 3-4 times a night? Mommy Dearest. Who, by this point, is also going by the pseudonym Sybil. My 2 other kids, God Bless them, start to carry on their fights in whispers and resort to making ugly faces at each other instead of beating on each other to solve arguments. It’s all about the quiet time. SHHH! Baby’s Sleeping! Sybil needs some rest! For the love of GOD Let Mommy Sleep!!! I am starting to believe that the best form of wartime torture HAS to be sleep deprivation. It makes you crazy. The promise of a little bit of reprieve in the form of some shuteye is enough to make you willing to do ANYTHING. At this point, I would be willing to do some crazy shit in exchange for one night of uninterrupted sleep. I read other mothers’ Facebook statuses, “Baby slept all night last night! Had to go in and poke him this morning just to see if he was still alive!” and I feel like I’m gonna lose my shit. Bitches! Whose baby sleeps through the night at 3 weeks! Liar. You’re a Damn Liar.

Baby boy is now 8 months old, and still waking twice per night. Every night is the same. I go to bed, and try to fall asleep, wondering if tonight will be the miracle night where I make it all the way to morning without getting out of bed. I finally drift off to sleep, only to be awakened 15 minutes later by Junior. It’s as if he’s saying, “Silly Mommy! What do you think you’re doing? You’re not allowed to sleep! Get in here!!!”. I slide out of bed in a fog, trudge downstairs and warm up a bottle, climb the stairs, pick up Junior, and sit in the rocking chair, all without opening my eyes. I rock myself to sleep. When I snap to, he’s done his bottle and asleep, and I return him to his crib. I fall back into bed. Only to repeat again 3-4 hours later. Sometimes he gets up at 6 a.m. Good morning!!!!! And every morning I look him square in the eye, and say the same thing: “You’re Lucky You’re So Cute.” Well, either that, or “You’re a Shithead!!!” JUST KIDDING. Maybe.

There was one night when he was only up once, and then slept in until 9 a.m. And guess what happened? My 4 year old woke up at 7 because he peed the bed. That’s Right! So I’ve officially given up the dream, pardon the pun, of ever sleeping again. If you count the months I spent waking up 4 times a night to pee while I was pregnant, I haven’t had a full night’s sleep in 17 months. Now I think you’ll agree that’s enough to drive anyone totally batshit crazy. So Word to the Wise; if you’re putting in an order to the Big Guy upstairs for a baby, don’t ask for one that “Sleeps Like A Baby”. Ask for one that “Sleeps Like You Slept Before You Had Kids.”



Today, I took a time out. A mommy time out. It was long overdue, as it usually is for most moms. And it was sooooooooooo nice.

I went for a massage, which happens to be hands down one of my absolute favorite things to indulge in. The problem is that for someone who loves a massage so much, I’m really bad at making it happen. My sister got me a gift certificate for a massage for Christmas….two years ago. I used it today. My massage therapist was shocked when I called for an appointment. She thought I died. When I was finally face down on her table we had a good laugh over the fact that the last time I had seen her for a massage, I was just newly pregnant with baby #3, and the time before that I had accidentally forgotten my wedding rings at her clinic. My marriage ended over 2 years ago. (Maybe that should have been a red flag???) Anyway, it got me thinking: My, how time flies between massages!!!

Why is it so hard to make time for ourselves? Incidentally, my sister shares the same massage therapist who asked me to remind dear sis that she has TWO unused gift certificates that should really be used up! What the hell is wrong with us? Why does this angel with the magical fingers like warm butter have to beg us to come in and get a heavenly rub-down? Each time I leave her office, I promise that it won’t be nearly as long until I return next time, and every time I make a liar out of myself. Today, I vowed to change that.

I have noticed that as mothers, we tend to put ourselves fairly low on the priority list. Now I know this sounds like a very canned statement and we’ve all heard it a million times, but it is repeated a lot because its true. And if I’m being honest, the reason for being low priority isn’t always because I love my kids and my family just so darn much that I just want to do absolutely everything that I can for them. Sometimes, the reason is that I am so depended on, taken for granted, and used up that I have no other choice but to keep trudging away and hoping that maybe someday, I will get to go do something all by myself for once! Sometimes, it’s the simple fact that I am so effin busy worrying about what everybody else needs or wants that I just don’t bother to make time for what I need or want. And sometimes, let’s be honest, it’s just plain easier to complain about not having time to yourself than it is to actually arrange it and follow through. And let me tell you ladies, I don’t care how loving and attentive your man or your children may be, I can guarantee they are not thinking about your needs and wants nearly as much as you are thinking about theirs. I’m not saying he doesn’t love you. I’m just saying that when you’re lying in bed at night staring at the ceiling and thinking about all the things you didn’t have time to do today and how many things you have to do tomorrow, he’s not worrying about what he’s going to make you for supper or whether or not he will have time to wash your yoga pants before Zumba class. He is lying beside you, snoring and dreaming of bacon.

So what’s a desperate woman to do? Make some Damn Me-Time, Dammit! That’s Right. I said Damn, because that’s what women do when our kids aren’t constantly buzzing around us like a swarm of needy bees. We swear, and tell dirty jokes, and we complain about our kids. Among other things. (Or is that just me?) We commiserate about what it’s like to NEVER EVER be able to take a dump without somebody knocking on the bathroom door. (OR if you’re like me, having to leave it open because it’s quicker and less stressful to deal with what they want and get them out of your hair so you can finish your business.) But what do we do when we are, on rare occasions, by ourselves?

I’ll tell you what I do with alone time. I sit quietly and listen to the glorious sounds of NOTHING. I enjoy lots of peanut butter, knowing that nobody is going to beg me to get up and get them a spoonful too and *GASP* SHARE. I fart without saying “excuse me!”. Maybe I get to leave the house! Oooh, that’s fun! Let’s see….I don’t need to buy anything but maybe I’ll just go wander around the stores and enjoy the fact that nobody is begging me to buy them something or “Look at This!” or OOPS “Cleanup on Aisle 3!”. I might even take something into the change room and try it on, taking the time to look at what this outfit looks like from the front AND the back, before anyone sneaks out under the door and escapes to play Hide and Seek.

Today, I went for a massage, and when I got in my car afterwards, I didn’t want to go home. I went for a tan, not because I needed to but simply because I could. It had been years since I had lain in that warm relaxing bed with my eyes closed, the low comforting hum of the fan escorting me lazily off to sleep for a glorious 20 minutes of peace. If there is in fact a heavenly White Light when you die, that’s what I imagine it would feel like….a 20 minute tan. (Only you’re already dead so you don’t have to worry about Skin Cancer. BONUS!) When I eventually wandered back to the house, I was happy. Happy to see my family, happy for what I have, happy to be alive. And all it took was having 2 tiny little hours to myself.

My point is that I’ve discovered that it’s called Me-Time for a reason. Nobody else is going to make it a priority but Me. If I need some time to myself, (and we all do), I just have to find a way to make it happen. It’s like exercise…it’s sooo worth the effort in the end. Sometimes we need to just Pause, Breathe, and Relax. Life gets stressful, and it’s easy to get overwhelmed and forget who we are for a moment. We’re mothers, we’re wives, we’re so many things to so many people. But first, we’re women. We’re individuals. We’re important.

And we need some Damn Me-Time!



It’s official, I’m a loser. But hold on! Not THAT kind of a loser! I’m super cool! But I have begun noticing a certain trend going on in my life lately. I’m Losing Things. My mind? Maybe, but other things too! Here is a quick inventory of things I’ve lost:

My Boobs. This is a sad and unfair bi-product of losing weight, being in my 30’s, and breastfeeding 3 kids. I once had nice, perky, happy boobs. They joyfully greeted me every morning throughout my late highschool and college years, well into my early twenties, right where they belonged: high on my chest and pointed towards the sun like eager little trained puppies. Not too big, not too small. Just right. Then I got pregnant at 25 and it’s been a downhill slide down the slippery slope of Sag and Shrivel ever since. Don’t get me wrong, I sure enjoyed them while they were at porn-star status during my pregnancies, but I have to say it is a sick and cruel little joke God likes to play on pregnant women, giving us the boobs we’ve always wanted and at the same time, ramping up the readout on the Bitch-o-meter during one of the most unsexy times of our lives. And then, of course, the Milk Comes In, and your chest becomes some kind of freakish side-show, stretched beyond the parameters of what you ever thought was possible. And finally, after filling and emptying and feeding on demand for however long you decide you can handle it, they start to shrink. And shrink. And shrink. Until what you’re left with is most closely comparable to two tube socks with a small handful of rice in the bottom. Now throw in a little weight loss and what you’re dealing with can only be described as sad and unfortunate. I still have a sports bra that I wore when I was 15 years old. When I was 15, it was nicely filled out. Got a little snug in college when I put on the Freshman 15, but still fit. Honest to God, I still wear it today when I workout! Unfortunately, in addition to being almost totally threadbare and discolored, its also BAGGY, which is something a sports bra should never be. And I no longer wear it for the same reasons. I used to have to wear a sports bra to keep my boobs from bouncing around and getting in the way. Now I have to wear it to keep them from getting caught in the track of the treadmill when I run. Sad reality. I now spend my free time browsing breast augmentation sites on the internet.

Cravings In an effort to maximize my potential for positive results while following this Insanity workout program, I have put an effort into eating better. I’m not following any type of low carb this or cabbage soup that, just making a conscious effort to eat small, balanced meals often throughout the day. I eat leaner, cleaner, fresher. The result is not only have I noticed a difference in my energy level and my waistline, I’ve almost totally lost all of the cravings for sugar, salt and junk that used to strike often. I eat whatever I feel like eating for the most part, but I have noticed after making a few changes over the course of a few weeks, that what I feel like eating has definitely changed. I crave green crispy vegetables. I can’t get enough! I stand in front of the produce section at the grocery store and fantasize about how delicious those adorable little Brussel sprouts are going to taste for supper tonight. I used to binge on junk food, especially on the weekends. If I was left alone in the house with no kids or other adults to judge me, I would rifle through the kitchen like a greedy little toddler looking for the junkiest, most forbidden treats I could get my grubby little hands on! Now that I have removed the ban on any food and allowed myself to have whatever I want, suddenly, the desire to “cheat” on a diet is gone, because there is no “diet”. If I want it, I eat it. 9 times out of 10, when I really think about it, I don’t really want junk that bad anymore. It’s weird! But I’m totally enjoying it. And, enjoying unlimited access to peanut butter as well! Life is Good!

Excuses I have mentioned recently that I have actually started looking forward to my daily workouts, something that is a relatively new experience for me. Although I have never regretted a workout after it’s done and always feel glad that I made the effort in the end, I typically used to view exercise as a necessary evil and something to be tolerated rather than enjoyed. This attitude made it very easy to talk myself out of exercise on many occasions, and to come up with all kinds of excuses as to why I could or should skip my workouts. They ranged from fairly valid, (I’m exhausted, and they say a mother should sleep when the baby sleeps, right?) to completely irrational (If I squeeze in a workout right now, I won’t have time to shower, blow-dry, and do my makeup before I go outside to CUT THE GRASS.) Now that I have established a consistent routine, I find that there are no more excuses that hold any weight. I look forward to the “Me” time, and especially to the feeling of satisfaction that comes after I’ve just given 100%. My body feels good, my mind feels good, and it would take a lot to talk me out of that kind of reward now. Suddenly I can’t think of any good reasons to cheat myself out of feeling better. I’ve rounded up all of my excuses and traded them in for a nice tall glass of Shut The Hell Up, thank you very much. And I have to say, I don’t miss them!

Inhibitions Now as I write this I am laughing because those of you who know me best, know I never really had many inhibitions to begin with. But as many of you might be able to imagine, a few extra pounds can make even the most confident person feel a little more inhibited in their day to day life. For example, the simple act of exercise itself used to make me self-conscious. I have almost always worked out in the privacy of my own house because God Forbid anyone would see the red-faced heavy breathing sweat monster that I become when I exercise. (It always boggles my mind how anyone works out on their lunch break and then goes back to work without showering and totally getting redone again, because I become a greasy puddle whenever I physically exert myself.) Even though I used to live in total isolation on a farm, I would still close the blinds while I exercised for fear that someone driving by might catch a glimpse of me working my glutes in a deep squat. And you can forget working out while my man is in the house…totally out of the question. How embarrassing! But I am happy to say, that attitude is becoming a distant memory. I’m not sure if I am becoming more confident, or if I just don’t give a shit anymore, but the thought of someone “catching me” in a workout is much less atrocious. I know I look like a drowned weasel after I finish a run. Deal with it. The next step is to stop holding in my farts when I’m jogging! hahaha

Self Doubt. Now I realize that self-doubt is an inherent human condition, and we are all stuck with it to some extent. However, I have been noticing that successfully making positive changes in my life has quieted the annoying voice in my head that tends to second guess every decision I every make. Suddenly, I am much less confused about my personal opinions, my direction, my goals, my convictions. I feel as though my ability to take the wheel in my life has strengthened. I believe that I can do the things I set out to do. It is not just about sticking to a workout routine or an eating plan. It is about making a decision to change something, and setting a plan to be successful in changing it. Taking control. Reclaiming power over my own life! I highly recommend it. I walk around for the majority of the day with the old SNAP! remix “I’ve Got The Power” pulsing on a continuous loop in the background of my brain. My new Anthem! I’m so cool.

The moral of the story, kids, is that being a loser isn’t so bad! Gaining is sometimes overrated, watching an episode of Hoarders proves that. Losing is where it’s at! In an effort to spread a little Monday Morning Motivation, I would like to pose the question to my readers: What can you possibly do today to be a Bigger Loser?


Insanity has arrived. It usually visits me every day in some form or another, but yesterday it came in the form of a Fitness DVD collection and a promise that this “Insane Workout” would get “Insane Results”. Well here’s hoping.

Like so many other people out there desperate for change, I have ventured down many different avenues in a quest to lose weight and tone up time and time again. Some of them worked, if only until my love of peanut butter, marshmallows and chocolate bars won out. Generally speaking, the best results have come from the boring, annoying old “Eat Right, Work Out A lot” route, which I have to admit is pretty satisfying if you can stick with it. But even at my fittest, I was never really TONED. Sometimes thin, sometimes in shape, but never Really Lean and Toned….which brings me to Insanity. Literally.

Even though I have been consistently running every day, I feel like I need to ramp up my workout. I am in pretty good cardiovascular shape right now, but you probably wouldn’t guess that by looking at me in a bathing suit. I try to cut myself a break because baby #3 isn’t even 8 months old yet, but at some point you gotta get back on the hamster wheel and I feel like it’s probably time. I want to be healthy, have more energy, feel good about myself, blah blah blah, but the real reason I am doing Insanity is because I want to LOOK GOOD! Totally vain, I know, but whatever. My clock is ticking ladies! Looking hot in that suit is definitely on my Bucket List and this is one goal I feel like I am ready to take one final kick at.

Why now? I’ll tell you. The baby maker is closed for business and the boss is ready to take her body back. Seriously. After almost 8 years of renting my uterus and other miscellaneous sublets out to these squatters, I am ready to finally reclaim my real estate and give it a little curb appeal! I have spent the majority of the last 8 years either pregnant, nursing, or waking up every 2 hours and operating on absolutely no sleep. Stretching my body out to ungodly proportions. Riding a terrifying, hormonal emotional roller coaster. Eating macaroni and cheese leftovers and hiding under a t-shirt and behind the diaper bag at the beach. Mommy needs to get her groove back. Now that being said, my 3 little twerps may have hijacked my once glorious boobs and left me with a couple of deflated water balloons, but the rest I have to take responsibility for. My kids didn’t give me this ass, Peanut Butter did.

So……I open the mysterious brown box marked INSANITY. My fingertips are quivering with anticipation. The body I’ve always wanted is in this box!!!! It feels like Christmas back when I was a kid and getting gifts was fun and not a tortured exercise in feigning excitement and disguising disappointment. I hold in my hands the most terrifying home workout on the market, or so I hear. Shaun T stares back at me with his deep piercing brown eyes, the caption at the bottom of the picture reading, “Prepare to Get Your Ass Kicked”. Good LAAAWD what have I gotten myself into. Well, let me tell you exactly how it’s going so far.

Day 1 is the fit test. This is where you are supposed to follow along with these 3 insanely fit people and perform 8 different “moves” for 1 minute each, and record how many reps you can do. Then you repeat the test every 2 weeks for 60 days. Now I have to say, after the fit test, I was feeling a bit like a bowl of jelly but not totally out of breath, and I figured, “Hell, that wasn’t so hard. I think I should really squeeze in a run, too.” I mean, the baby was still sleeping and you can’t waste a golden opportunity like that. So being the idiot that I am, I hopped on the treadmill and did a nice leisurely 60 minute run. Wow! This feels great! What was I so worried about? I am obviously in much better shape than I thought. I actually start to wonder if I am too advanced for Insanity.

Cut to Tuesday morning. I hear the baby awaken and I turn to roll out of bed like I do every morning. Huh. That’s weird. My body is not working. I seem to be paralyzed. I wonder what could be causing this? It occurs to me that I am obviously still asleep and having one of those dreams where you try to run or jump or something and you can’t move. OK Better wake up now. I punch myself in the thigh. There! definitely felt that! Now I’m awake. OK Lazy bones! Wakey wakey Eggs and Bakee….I’ll just put my left foot on the floor, and then the right …..OH GOD THAT HURTS!

I’m feeling a little stiff! OK no problem, that’s to be expected. I hobble around slowly and painfully, getting the kids off to school. My 7 year old asks me why I am walking funny. The entire time, I am wondering how in the Hell I am going to do Day #2’s workout. surprisingly, by the time I get the baby all ready for his nap, I have moved around enough to loosen up a bit and I put DVD 2 in the player. OK, LET’S GET EXCITED! Time to get INSANE, BITCHES!!! hahahaha. The Fit Test wasn’t that bad, how much harder could this workout be?

20 Insanely Fit people are jumping around on the screen behind Shaun T, sweating, out of breath and desperately counting the seconds until the next water break. And those are the professionals! I was a puddle on the floor. If Sweat is just Fat Crying, then my fat was hysterically begging for its life. At one point, I was jumping up and down so vigorously that I actually peed a little. Yet another physical injustice I can thank my 3 kids for. But I was IN THE ZONE! the INSANE ZONE! So i just kept on going. What’s a little pee when you’re dripping in sweat already?

By the time Shaun T is finishing his last stretch, I am laying on the floor with my towel on my head staring at the ceiling fan and wondering exactly how much of the puddle underneath me is sweat and how much is pee. I try to get up and I feel like the Tin Man looking for an oil can. The baby is looking at me like, “Who are you and where in the hell is Mommy?”.

For the rest of the day, I continue to get stiffer and stiffer. My arrogant confidence disappears like a fart in the wind. I sit here now, typing, afraid to finish because that means I will have to close up my laptop, peel myself off the couch and climb the stairs to get to bed, and the thought of moving my muscles is terrifying. And you wanna know what’s really Insane? I’m gonna do it again tomorrow!


I have read a lot of fitness magazines in my past. This was back when I was young and dumb and thought that READING about getting in shape would give me a better body. All I really got out of those magazines was the odd good workout playlist. I did however notice a lot of “tips” for maximizing your workout. Work many muscle groups at once? Interesting. Choose an activity you enjoy? Good point! Drink plenty of water and eat lots of protein? BOOORING!!!! !Let me tell you something about maximizing your workout. Before you have kids, maximizing your workout means doing the right exercises in the proper sequence, etc etc blah blah blah. After you have kids, maximizing your workout means getting as much physical activity in as you can before someone is either crying or bleeding or covered in shit.

I like to run. It’s my go-to cardio workout. I have a treadmill and I love to crank the blood-pumping rap and hip-hop and challenge myself to beat the hell outta that machine every time I get on it. But let me tell you, it ain’t easy!!!! Actually the running is the easy part. Getting the treadmill out, the baby asleep, and the workout in, all in time to go shower and pick my son up from school, that’s the hard part.

Let me give you a little glimpse into the typical morning in my house. (I say ‘typical’ but what I really mean is ‘the last 4 mornings,since I started working out’.) I wake up in a haze at 6:30 when the baby won’t go back to sleep, and decide I can squeeze a good 15 more minutes of sleep in if I just let him chew on electrical cords on my bedroom floor with the door shut so he can’t escape. JUST KIDDING!!! He chews on my slippers and my unplugged curling iron. After about 5 minutes it becomes painfully clear I am not going to get any more sleep and I dredge out of bed and down to the kitchen. Time to make the kids breakfast…so I whip up waffles, scrambled eggs, and bacon or sausages, depending on what the kids feel like having that day. JUST KIDDING!!!! Those little sandwich-grabbers get cereal or toast and if I’m in a good mood, a drink of something. Then I get my coffee and my spoonful of peanut butter, and the world is right again. After coffee #2, life is like one big Broadway Musical, and butterflies trail behind me from room to room as I sing everything instead of speaking it, all while I pack lunches and shuffle the kids out the door to catch the bus. Ain’t Life Grand?

So now it’s time to workout. I have to admit, after day 2, I actually start looking forward to my morning workouts. It’s the closest thing to “Me” time I can get, and I feel so darn good afterwards! Now this is where it gets logistical, it’s all about the timing. Baby is ready for a nap…quick, dig out the treadmill. I live in a shoebox, and the only place to put the damn thing is in a dark corner behind a pile of stuff. I move the living room furniture to make room. I move the vacuum cleaner and the 50 lb box of scrapbooking paper out of the way (into the bathroom because that’s the only place for it). I pull the treadmill into the living room,plug it in, cue the workout music and put it on pause. Baby is starting to get a little fuusssyyy!!!!! I run upstairs and slap on my workout clothes. Uniboob sports bra? CHECK. 1982 track shorts? CHECK. Baby is freaking out. I head to the kitchen and warm up a bottle, plug it in baby’s mouth, and fill him up nice and full because when the rubber hits the road I don’t wanna have to stop to feed anybody!

SO! Time to workout. Now I have trained this little monster to actually fall asleep in the swing as Lil’ Wayne or 50 Cent blares at an ungodly frequency in the background, while he watches the hypnotizing pendulum of my legs moving back and forth on the track. What an Angel! Mommy gets a good hour in as he sleeps soundly. What a relief. I hop off the treadmill, eat a banana, towel off and stretch. Still sleeping! What to do, what to do…. I know! Why don’t I quickly take a shower before he wakes up! Good Idea! Move the vacuum and the 50 lb box of paper into the livingroom (talk about maximizing your workout!). Jump in the shower, quick quick! Has any mother out there ever had a nice long relaxing shower when there’s a baby in the house? Turn off the water…I still hear the music because I know that when I turn it down the little bugger wakes up every time. Time’s a tickin! Almost time to go pick up my 5-year-old from Pre-K. I towel off and creep out of the bathroom….

He’s not bleeding! He’s not crying!
But guess what?

He’s got a diaper full of shit!