“Stop” he said, as I pulled my shirt down to cover my stomach. “Let me see!” He pleaded.
“No. It’s disgusting. I’m embarassed.”
He gently moved my hand away and whispered “Baby, stop saying that. You’re beautiful.”
Once again, he slowly begin to lift my shirt, exposing my belly.
Shame and disgust is what I felt as I laid there, tears running down my face.
His hands gently stroked my belly, as he looked at it. “You’re so beautiful.” He whispered. “Stop calling yourself ugly. I love your body. Those stretch marks are beautiful to me, because they remind me that you carried my children. My children grew in there and you’re beautiful.”
The tears came faster and harder. Here is this man, this wonderful, loving man, rubbing the body I hate. Looking at it, loving it. Why can’t I just accept it for what it is?
That’s why.
I know he’s being sincere, but I can’t comprehend how he can find beauty in something so horrific.
I wish that I could see myself through his eyes. I wish that as he caressed my stomach and told me how much he loved me and how beautiful I am to him, that I could have closed my eyes, smiled and taken in the love that was being lavished on my body. Instead, I cringed in shame and I cried.
I don’t want to cry about this body anymore. I want to accept it for what it has become and not long for it to look like it once did.
How do I do that? How is that possible when I am covered with stretch marks and fat and sagging skin? How can I ever look past that to see the beauty within? I try, I really do, because I’m sick of talking about myself in such a disgusting manner, but it’s hard when I look in the mirror and see what I see.
I need to make peace with this, so that I can fully accept the love from my husband that he is so willing to give, I just don’t know how to do it.
*(Campaign for REAL beauty. Thank God for this, and it’s about damn time)
Monthly Archives: June 2005
I have been blessed
Today is the day that I celebrate the man who I made three beautiful children with. The man who goes to work everyday without complaining to provide for our children. The man who has taught my boys to respect women, to be responsible, to think for themselves, to be wise in the decisions they make. The man who has taught them all about fishing, how to load and shoot a rifle. The man who will stop whatever he is doing to fix a flat tire for his own boys or any of the 30 kids in the neighborhood, the man who will get up at 2am to clean vomit up after his boys didn’t make it to the toilet because he knows “his wife” has a weak stomach and can’t do it. The man goes without new clothes, who puts off getting new glasses that he desperately needs so that his children do not go without. The man who never had a father of his own to model himself after, but instead of being bitter, chose to become the best father he knew how to be.
He is AWESOME. My children are so blessed to have him for a father, and I feel so damn lucky to been the woman he chose to have children with.
Today is also the day that one of our children was born.
Eight years ago today, Ethan Michael came into our lives at 2:47pm. He was the funniest looking (to put it nicely) baby I had ever seen. Within a few months, he turned out to be one of the cutest babies in the history of babies and I have spent most my life trying to not bite and squeeze him to death, because he is THAT cute.
I’m trying really hard to not throw a tantrum like I did on Andrew’s birthday. It’s not easy, because I HATE how fast they’re growing. But that’s life. That’s how it works. You give birth, you do your best to raise them, and suddenly, you blink your eyes and they’re all grown up. It truly is bittersweet.
Happy Birthday, monkeybutt.
And finally, today is the day I celebrate my father. A man who loves God with all of his heart. A man who “practices what he preaches.” He loves his family and has made many sacrifices for us. My relationship with my dad wasn’t always a good one. There were many things I resented him for, but in the past few years, I’ve come to understand what a precious, amazing man my dad is. All of the things he did for us, he did from a place of love and wanting to protect us. He’s admitted and apologized for some of the ways he treated me as a teenager, and I have forgiven him. I understand he did the best he could and that he has always loved me deeply. He’s a man who is true to his word, a man who would give his last dollar to help a person in need. I love my dad and I’m so grateful for the relationship we have.
Happy Father’s Day.
From sad to GO BACK ALREADY in less than 10 minutes.
Yesterday was the boys last day of school.
I was an emotional wreck. My “babies” are now in SEVENTH and THIRD grade. How did that happen? I remember finding out I was pregnant with my Andrew like it was yesterday.I was only 21 years old, with perky boobs. (Ah, perky boobs.) I thought I might be pregnant and decided to pee on a stick.
“A LINE! I’M PREGNANT! LOOK! A LINE! LET’S GO SHOW MY MOM!”
Quiet on the SET!
I just put up a new set of pictures at Flickr.
(pink bathing suit? FOUR DOLLAH at Old Navy. Ahhhh yeah)
I admit that I got so caught up in the picture taking, that at some point, I began “role playing” and my roll was that of a “professional photographer.” I don’t know what got into me! At one point during the “session”, I was on my knees, looking up, yelling at Tony to “Throw her higher, but wait til I say “TWO!”
I love LOVE how the pictures turned out. I should pretend to be a pro photographer more often, because, wow. I’m in love with “my work.”
Not again!
I’ve been feeling rather frustrated with my weight loss, or lack OF IT lately. (Thanks a LOT, person searching for “fat”!)
Remember my Fat Pants? They are the ones worn in this LOVELY picture.
I keep them up on my closet, and sometimes I pull them out and stare at them. I don’t want to feel that way about myself, about my appearance and I’m working on changing. Those pants remind me of the pain and being the self punisher that I am, I want to keep them as a reminder.
Tony hates them. He wants to burn them. Maybe one day I will, but I am not ready to get rid of them yet.
I decided to put them on a couple days ago. I wanted to SEE the progress I’ve made. I NEEDED to see it.
I know, I KNOW. Shutup already about my weight! I’m making myself sick, but I can’t help it. Every morning I wake up thinking about it. All day long I think about it, before I go to bed I think about it. Obsess Obsess Obsess. I wish I could make it stop.
Anyway. I took more pictures. And I should be embarrassed to show anyone, because, well, just because… but I’m not. I mean, I am, but I’m going to. So there.
Move along, nothing to see here.
Today, I broke a rule I made to myself. The rule of not engaging in “Drama”
I singled someone out, not because they didn’t kiss my ass, because I the tone of their comments touched a nerve.
I tried to email this person privately, but what do you know? fake email address.
I’m sensitive when it comes to my daughter and while I don’t think she had bad intentions with her original comment, the fact that she kept going and the fact that she insulted me about using “proper birth control” pissed me off and I acted on it without thinking.
I do NOT ban people who disagree with me. I had to ask a friend HOW to do it, infact. I only banned her because she was stalking my blog, and it creeped me out. (yeah, I can see how long you’re hanging around and how many times you’ve viewed my blog. 59 in 72 minutes? DAYUM)
I am sorry if I was harsh on Katie, that I singled her out and that it came to what it did. I really am. And I love that Mieke called me out on it. Yeah, it’s my blog and I can say or do whatever I want, but this is NOT what I wanted.
All I wanted to do was write a post about how totally in LOVE with my daughter I am.
That’s why I felt justified in writing what I did, because what I wrote wasn’t up for debate, it was me, simply stating my enormous love for my daughter.
I love Mieke and the fact that she’s completely honest with me. What she said made me think. I should have just let it go and let Katie be.
I’m sorry. And with a spray of The ‘Sol, I’m done.
Joy, Unexpected
I love that little girl.
My God, I love her.
I can’t get over how perfect she is. How beautiful she is. How precious she is. How funny she is. How sweet she is.
She wasn’t supposed to be here.
I’d hear people talk about their “OOOPS” baby. Their “unexpected baby.”
I’d laugh and say “I don’t know what I’d do if that happens to us! Thank GOD for The Rythym Method!”
OOPS!
Ten months later, I STILL can’t get over the whole “She wasn’t supposed to be here” factor. It just makes her so damn special to all of us.
Oh, and did you notice, my daughter, the one I never thought I’d have, HAS DIMPLES?!?
I CAN’T EVEN STAND IT SOMETIMES. She’s just so… amazing. And so, unexpected. And so… not planned and so… MY DAUGHTER.
There. I think I got it out of my system. It was either write it out, or run up and down the street naked screaming “I HAVE A DAUGHTER THAT WASN’T PLANNED AND I TOTALLY LOVE HER AND WANT TO BITE HER TO PIECES!!”
Yeah… I’m scared! JEALOUS?
EARTHQUAKE!!
You people have no idea how scared I get when these things happen.
I always think it’s just the beginning and an even bigger one is coming.
Which would mean that we’re going to lose power and water, so I run to the toilet, pee, then I take a shower. That way I’m clean and emptied, just in case that happens.
I try to stay calm now that I have kids, because THEY freak out and being their mother, I’m supposed to reassure them that everything is going to be ok.
Before I had kids? I would run to the toilet and scream “I’m sorry God, for everything, please, don’t let me die.”
Now, I pretend to be calm, make sure the kids are ok, hug them, THEN I go pee and cry a little inside.
It’s the feeling of having absolutely NO control over what is happening that scares me.
It was 5.6. Damn. Ok. I’m better now. I think.
Decisions, decisions.
Nothing quite as awesome as getting poked first thing in the morning.
With a needle…
(remember? Tony’s Weapon of Mass Fertilization is still “active” so, no pokey pokey from him allowed! That’s right, I went on Pokey Strike until he makes an appointment. I had to take drastic measures, people.)
The nurse asked me how I was doing as she looked for a vain “I’m ok. I’d rather not be getting poked this early in the morning, but…”
“Well, everyone has to get poked every once in a while” She replied
“And not always the good kind of poke, either” I shot back.
Oh, how she laughed. Good thing she wasn’t apostolic, I thought to myself, she might not have appreciated it.
Doctor ordered some tests to find out what’s wrong with me, but based on the 5 pages of “symptoms” I read him, he believes that I have acid reflux. Call me crazy, but I think symptom #15-(Throwing up in my mouth a little everyday), is what he based that belief upon. That would explain me waking up feeling as if I can’t breathe and then panicking and my heart racing.
He said something about “cutting out caffeine”, “avoiding spicy foods” and “losing weight”, but I was too “busy being in denial” to know for sure.
He also said he wanted to put me on some meds, but can’t because I’m still making and administering Tittymilk. I now have to decide if I want to stop the Tittymilk so that I can take the meds. I’ve decided I’ll wait until after the results of the bloodwork come in before I make that decision. I’ve also decided to use the word “decide” as often as possible in this paragraph. It’s my blog, I’m allowed to make that decision. The decision is mine. Because I decide what I do with my body. It is not the governments decision to decide.
There are several reasons why I don’t want to stop breastfeeding.
It’s convienient. Especially when Lil’ G decides to wake up at 4 am. I can bring her into bed, Whip A Tit out and we both fall back asleep. Everyone’s a winner. Even Tony, because he gets to SEE the titty! Awesome!
I would miss the experience. I love when she nurses. I love the closeness, the way she smiles at me while she’s doing her business, the way she’ll rest her hands on My Big Ones, the sound of her breath as she’s drinking. I would miss that, but I know it has to come to an end sometime.
I’m also afraid of what is going to happen to My Big Ones after the milk dries up. I was T-R-A-U-M-A-T-I-Z-E-D after I stopped nursing Andrew.
Three days after I had stopped, I started undressing to get in the shower. I took my bra off, looked up in the mirror and HOLY SHIT! MY BOOBS!
My breasts, once full, plump and large, were now two flat, deflated, pieces of skin with nipples pointing towards the floor.
“TOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONYYYYYYYYY” I screamed.
“MY BOOOOOOOOOOOOBS!” It was as if someone took a needle to them, popped them and let all of the air out. What was left was the ugliest pair of boobs my eyes had ever beheld.
I cried. And cried. And cried again.
All day.
Everyday, for the next few weeks.
Now, back then, they were ONLY a D. I can’t imagine when will happen to my E cup boobs. THEY WILL HANG TO THE FLOOR! I will have to fold them up to stuff them in my bra! I will have a bra full o’ skin n’ nips. No actual boob! Gross!
I’m scared. And I’m not even kidding.
I have an idea! I’ll “quit nursing” but never actually “quit making milk” by secretly pumping everynight after the family goes to bed. No one will ever know! Well, no one except the entire World Wide Web!
Sometimes, I am able to put aside my stupidity and let a little genius shine through.
I just hope everything comes back normal so I don’t have to make any decisions that might cause the deflation of my boobs.
The one where I never SHUTUP.
I no longer believe that the fact I’ve lost 3 pounds in the last few days without even trying is not due to the fact that I have cancer.
It is due to the fact that I have a 10 month old human being who is into everything, everywhere, every waking minute of every waking day and I don’t have a chance to sit down and relax at ALL because I have to keep my daughter from choking on things, breaking things, knocking the trash can over and playing with raw chicken skin, and so on and so forth.
And let’s not forget CHEWING THINGS.
I’d like to submit evidence.
Exhibit A.
Yeah, she may only have 1 and a half teeth, but she KNOWS HOW TO USE THEM.
The reason we spent the extra money to buy that crib was because it turns into a bed! So we were like “sure, it costs more, but we can use it for YEARS!”
Obviously, we weren’t thinking about the possibility that our daughter would be part beaver.
I couldn’t even finish my dump this morning because the girl decided she didn’t want to stay in the bathroom with The Stink and TOOK OFF. I was sitting there, on the pot, screaming for her “GABBY! Come back to mama! I take it back! You can totally play with the clorox bleach!” Nope, she was gone. And so, I had to up and wipe because, trust me, she could kill herself because? We haven’t baby proofed yet. I thought we still had time! With the first, you’re on that shit like Tom on Katie, but by the time the third one pops out, you’re much more relaxed about everything.
I can relax NO MORE. The girl is on the move and looking for trouble.
I don’t NEED any trouble.
Unless by “trouble” you mean a bottle of wine and a rubbing of the feet. Because I totally need that.