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When ink can change your life.

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I’m sitting on a sheet of crinkly paper, nervous and shaking. The man sitting on the swivel stool below me smiles and says, “It’s just a tattoo, it’s not gonna change your life”.

At the time, it seemed like he was right. My tattoo is tiny and easily hidden, so from the outside, my life would likely stay the same. I realized the man with the large grill on his teeth was right, this probably wasn’t going to be a major life changing event.

But now, a few days later, I’m starting to question this. I feel different inside, in a good way. I did something I NEVER thought I would do, I completely stepped out of my comfort zone (literally and figuratively).

Anchor Foot Tattoo

Last night, I dyed my hair a color Chris describes as “bad girl brown”. I felt the need for more exterior upgrades. I’ve been so focused on fixing things from the inside out, it seemed time to make some changes on the outside as well. A shedding of my skin, so to speak.

So, sorry to prove you wrong Tattoo Man, but this little anchor has changed my life, and I thank you for that.

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My favorite picture.

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When I found out I was having a boy, I was a little disappointed. I don’t know the first thing about boys. How would we connect, what would we talk about, would he want to hang out with me when he’s older or go have beers with his Dad? I know a whole lot about lipgloss, but zero about football. I was apprehensive about how things would pan out, but I fell in love with that little meatball just the same.

And as it turns out, all that worrying was for nothing. Typical.

I don’t think that a boy and his Momma have ever loved each other more.

Love

Thinking about our next baby is still an overwhelming thought for me, though I know that day will come. But now when I daydream about babies, I hope that I have another boy.

Patience and snuggles.

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We knew this day was coming, but still, I was not prepared. Emmett is my baby, and no matter how old he gets, I still see him as my tiny little buddy.

Well, that tiny baby boy has moved into a toddler bed.

Last night handy man Chris took the front rails off E’s crib and replaced them with a toddler rail. We all sat in his room and oohed and ahhed at his big boy bed. He rolled around in it with his favorite stuffed animals, and of course Monkey and paci, and generally seemed to like his new space.

But when it came time to go to sleep, he was having none of it. He kept saying, “Yay down? Sidown?”

Internally I was feeling annoyed and thinking, “Awwwww, man! Not this again…”

I’m going to have to back up here a bit to explain. We were accidental co-sleepers for the beginning of E’s life, that is to say I hadn’t planned on sleeping together, but that’s exactly what happened until he was 8 months old. We then realized that were all sleeping terribly and it was time for baby to sleep in his crib.

I slept on an air mattress in his room for two weeks, helping him to transition to his crib. There were tears on both sides, but in the end, we were victorious. Then came the one year old separation anxiety phase. He would scream and cry all night, we didn’t know what to do and it was breaking our hearts.

Then, magically, he was the best sleeper in the entire world. He goes to sleep at 7 pm and sleeps till 7 am, if not later. I would see the look on people’s faces when we told them, we knew we were lucky.

So that brings us to last night, when I was irritated and felt totally inconvenienced to have to be sitting in his room with him, trying to get him to stay put in his new bed. I happened to be chatting with some friends online and one of them told me, “Be patient, you’ll get there”.

Patient.

An adjective that surely did not describe me at that moment. In an instant I realized she was right, we will get through this, just like we’ve made it through every other parenting challenge. So instead of feeling grouchy, I reminded myself that there is a very short window of time that Emmett will want me this much. In a few years, will he still cuddle his head into the crook of my neck and grab a handful of my shirt sleeve to keep me close?

What started out as a tedious evening became a night of sweet cuddles in a cramped toddler bed. I sang him his favorite lullaby, I stroked his hair, I whispered how much I love him, and there was nothing inconvenient or tedious about any of it.

Ok, enough with the vagueblogging.

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This is a really difficult subject for me to talk about, which is probably why it’s still a major problem in my life. I felt vulnerable and anxious at the thought of sharing this, but I think as part of moving forward, I need to be honest with myself and honest with the people I love. So here goes nothing.

Full disclosure: I see a therapist. If you don’t, you should. Everyone should, they are amazing and life changing but unfortunately, they usually have a bad rap.

I had my first session with a new therapist last night and I already love her. She specializes in eating disorders.

Why do I need a therapist specializing in eating disorders you ask? Well, me and food don’t have a very healthy relationship. It’s actually incredibly dysfunctional. If food were a person it would be arrested for domestic battery, I would get a restraining order against it and we would probably end up on the Jerry Springer show, security guards pulling us apart while we screamed at each other and threw punches. But after the show, we would make up. I’d say to food, “I can’t live without you!” And food would say, “You don’t have to baby, I’ll always be here for you.”

If someone is anorexic you would probably feel terrible for them, and it would be clear that they need help to change their self perception and eating habits. But if you are overweight, you’re just fat. And most people probably think you deserve to be that way.

Just eat healthy!
Go to the gym!
Get off your lazy ass and do something about it!

If only it were that easy. (PS It’s NOT)

I’ve spent half my life fighting with my weight. Several times I have lost quite a bit, only to gain it back plus some more, just for good measure. Externally it may seem like I’ve given up, I’m at my all time highest weight and I have no plans to “diet” ever again.

But what you can’t see is me, underneath all the weight, how I cry because I feel so lost. How I worry that I’m going to die young because I’m at high risk for Type II Diabetes or cancer or heart disease or all of the above. You can’t see how much I hate myself for ending up here and how hopeless it feels.

So this is me, putting it out there. I’m releasing all the anger, disappointment, guilt and sadness. I’m done living my life this way. DONE.

Whatever it takes, I’m taking it! I’m on the edge of something big, I can feel it. And I think it’s going to be amazing. ♥

Sparks.

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I feel a tiny spark deep within, daring to become a flame, hoping to become a fire. I don’t dare speak this admission above a whisper for fear that my breath will blow the spark out.

But it’s there. For the first time in a very long while, I feel optimistic.

I just wrote a really long post about this growing optimism, but I’m not ready to post it. Too much, too soon.

Sorry for being vague, I hate it when people do that. More to come…

Stuck in a rut.

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Lately I’ve been feeling like I’m stuck in a rut. Maybe it’s the seasonal change? Maybe I’m depressed and not admitting it to myself? Or maybe I just need to stop whining and actually do something about it.

How does one do that? Get unstuck from a rut, I mean.

One of my main areas of frustration right now is work. I’m not going to get into too many details because I don’t want to get fired, but I’m nearing the end of my rapidly fraying rope. I don’t want to feel this way, because in general I like where I work and I like what I do. So what’s a disgruntled girl to do?

I don’t want to be like Milton from Office Space, bitter that his desk keeps moving and mourning the loss of his red Swingline stapler.

Office Space

I want to be like Peter Gibbons, after he was hypnotized.

Office Space

“It’s not that I’m lazy, it’s that I just don’t care.”

This is what I’m aiming for. I am a hard worker, and I’m good at what I do, but I care too much. I take constructive criticism personally and I get so frustrated when projects drag on and on and on because of committee indecision.

No more. I will continue to work hard and do my best and that’s all I can do. If projects drag on for months because 85 different people keep changing their minds, so be it.

I’m learning a great deal about digital marketing right now and I’m getting a pay check, and that’s all that matters to me.

1 rut = paved over.

Goodbye Martha.

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For as long as I can remember, I wanted to be Martha Stewart. While most kids my age were thinking about going to keg parties, I was dreaming of dinner parties with finger foods, matching linens and acoustic guitars playing softly in the background.

I loved throwing parties and I would start planning months in advance, painstakingly creating the menu and making sure that every detail was perfect.

When I first created an account on Pinterest I thought I’d died and gone to heaven. Image after image of fabulous parties, delicious recipes, crafts, beautiful home decor. I spent HOURS pinning things on my boards, I was so excited to try them out.

But in reality, I am not a Pinterest Mom. I didn’t hide an elf around the house last Christmas, I don’t make art with my child’s dinner and I don’t have a turkey made out of Emmett’s hand print. I would love to be this kind of Mom, but I am not.

And that is OK.

I’m tired of trying to be perfect, it’s exhausting. And no matter how perfect I am, there’s always someone out there who is craftier or more creative or a better cook. So I’m bowing out of the race, I’m done competing.

I’m sorry Martha, I still love you, but I am no longer trying to be you.