The past couple of days have not been good days for me. I feel sad and lonely.
There are two things I do when I feel this way. I eat. A lot. And? I go through old pictures.
The eating thing is totally unhealthy and part of the reason I'm still fat, but, when I get this way, it feels as though food is the only friend I have who's not pissed off at me, so, a stuffin' my face I go.
Digging through old photographs does not make me fat. It has zero calories! It's very therapeutic for me. It makes me happy, to see my boys when they were little, or makes me giggle to see pictures of my really bad hair cuts. Sometimes, (but not usually) it makes me feel worse because, did you know I used to be skinny? Because I used to be skinny. (AND have FABULOUS skin. And hair.)
Also, did you know I used to WEAR A COWBOY HAT AND TSHIRTS WITH COWBOYS ON THEM?
In public?
In all fairness to me (and my sister, whom I cut out) we WERE at a "Country Starfest" (which was a big event in which you could meet your favorite country star, line dance, drink beer and attend concerts) so it's not like I dressed like that to go to a restaurant.
But still.
A cowboy hat. In public. In California.
Classic.
Also, did you know that when I was 25 years old, I did my hair and dressed in a way to appear to be a woman nearing her 40's? (Which is hilarious now that I actually AM a woman nearing her 40's and wouldn't be caught dead in that dress/hair combo)
And, apparently, I was "against" showing cleavage, or any skin that wasn't my face or hands for that matter. Thank God Tony was still into glasses the size of God because it feels good to not be alone in the Unstylishness.
As I browse through the hundreds upon hundreds of photos stuffed in boxes, I'm reminded that no matter how bad I feel at any given moment, there were, (and always will be) wonderful times in my life. I can look back and remember the times in my life in which I was truly happy, the times that are easily forgotten when I slip into these moments of sadness. The times where I everything in my life was exactly the way it was supposed to be...
That was minutes before I walked out of the hospital, less than 24 hours after giving birth to my second baby, a son. How happy I felt, how complete my life was, how lucky I felt to have another baby boy to love and care for. A brother for the most perfect son a mother could have asked for.
God. I remember that moment, (and, Lord have mercy, I remember those pajamas) with my boys. As I watched the only son I'd known for 4 years holding his baby brother, as I watched them together, the fear that I had throughout my entire pregnancy with Ethan, that I'd not be able to find enough love in my heart to for TWO children, was erased in that instant because, right there, on that ugly couch, in those hideous pajamas, I found myself overwhelmed with Love Love Love for both of those boys.
I had no idea that, seven years later, I'd watch those two precious, incredible little boys of mine holding my daughter, their baby sister in their arms, looking happier than I've ever seen them.
Funny how life doesn't always happen the way you plan it. And especially funny how the unexpected turns, or, in my case, pregnancies can end up being the greatest thing you never thought would happen to you.
In the same way it's funny how images from the past can snap me out of my pity party and make me realize that no matter how any one else in this world feels about me, those three beautiful children love me. Unconditionally, even if I'm no longer that thin woman with flawless skin or if I did used to sport a Stetson cowboy hat in public.
That's some badass hair in the first picture. How old were you?