random.

Belly art in NYC, summer of '69

Really cool shot from this Buzzfeed list: 31 Photos of New York City in the Summer of '69.

A friend of mine posted something really profound on facebook awhile back.  She is a new mom, and while she loves her life, she sometimes misses having the chance to be wild, irresponsible, and independent (I'm totally paraphrasing here).

I identify with that feeling SO HARD.

Don't get me wrong, I had my wild independent years in college. But I met my now-husband when I was 21, and we have been together for 9 years, and married for 5 of those. Ty was born 9 months after we got married (no really, if we had had a honeymoon he would have totally been a honeymoon baby). So my irresponsible 20s were spent in a long-term relationship, and then as a wife and mother.

I wouldn't trade my husband and kids for anything, but do I wish that I had done more before settling down? Yes.

I wish that I had done the work abroad program in England that I wanted to do. Or lived in New York City for a few years. Or been a starving artist (though I'm not artistic).

Sometimes I miss being able to sleep in until 11, after staying up partying until 4 or 5. I miss only worrying about myself. Going out to the store for milk (oh who am I kidding- beer) without coordinating either who will stay with the kids, or gearing myself up to take them with me.

But then I get a hug and a kiss from one of my kids, and I think, "This isn't so bad."

I think that's why I try to change my appearance. Why I get yet another tattoo. Or why, on the 4th of July, I decided that I should try to bleach my hair blonde in preparation for growing out my white roots (oh that post will come later, don't you worry).

I got my hair cut into an even closer cropped pixie the other day. It may not seem like much, but it was a little way that I could rebel against the responsible wife-mother-grad student-intern that is my current role.

So cheers to all the moms who sometimes get the feeling that they missed out on things. Because even if we did, this reality is so much better.

And if you need to, just dye your hair a crazy color or get a tongue piercing to make you feel a little more alive.

(God, I miss my tongue piercing!)

confidence.

Last year I joined a gym. I'm one of those people who will not be motivated to work out unless they are shelling out money each month to do so.

Plus, I needed a place that had daycare.

Luckily, the husband's company had a deal with one of the local YMCA's, and we got a family pack for 40% off. PLUS, we can use any Y in the city (and surrounding towns, like Schertz and New Braunfels). And as I found out over Christmas, I can get a guest pass at any Y in the country.

Side note: WOW, the Decatur YMCA hasn't changed a bit. I mean that literally. I think it hasn't been updated since the year it was built, which I'm guessing was in the 1980s.

So I started working out. I did the Couch to 5K, where you start off slow and build up to running for 30 minutes, or a 5K. I started attending a yoga class, but I don't mean one that is nice and relaxing. That shit is hard. I work my ass off in there.

I ran a 5K in January, and I'm signed up for two more this year. Next year my goal is to do a couple of 10Ks, then maybe the Rock and Roll half marathon in November.

I usually keep a pretty good schedule of working out 5-6 days a week. I've slacked off a few times, mostly when family visits, or I go out of town, or I get sick (which has happened a lot in the past year. Damn gym germs! Wash your hands, you gross bastards!) But I always work my way back up.

Starting my internship this past January meant a little tweak in the routine, and then another one in May when I started my second internship (yes, I'm counseling at two internship sites. Because I'm obviously a glutton for punishment.)

Right now this is my plan, which I've followed pretty well:
Monday: Yoga and leg strength training (and sometimes a 1 mile run).
Tuesday: Arm strength training and a 20-30 minute run before work, depending on the time (can usually get about 2 miles out of that).
Wednesday: Yoga and/or leg strength training on the Wiiiiiiii Fit at home. Maybe a gym visit instead, if I'm feeling saucy.
Thursday: Arm strength training and short run before work or before class (my Thursdays suck).
Friday: Yoga and legs if I'm not working, legs or yoga on the Wiiiiiiiii if I am.
Saturday: long run (3+ miles) and arm strength training.
Sunday: NOT A DAMN THING.

I've also started a month long arms and abs challenge, where I do pushups, planks, and sit ups almost every day.

It seems like a lot.

But honestly, it relaxes me. I work off my stress (juggling 3 kids, a marriage, school, and 2 internships means I have a LOT of stress). I get a small break from the kids. I get to shower without anyone bothering me! And yes, I've lost weight.

But I've worked hard for what I've done. And with my newfound love-hate of working out, I've gained so much more confidence than I've ever had before.

This summer I've been wearing a bikini (only in appropriate situations. Not to work or anything.)

I haven't worn a bikini in many many years. I could have, but I didn't have the confidence (except when I'm pregnant. Then I display my beautiful swollen belleh for the world to see!)

I was joking around that it took having three kids and developing a yoga and running habit to finally feel good about myself. But it's not really a joke. It's what happened.

I don't have a perfect body, and that's OK with me. I'm a soft curvy woman. My belly pooches out. My boobs are heading south. My son likes to hit my butt and sing "Wiggle it, just a little bit!" I loooooove food, and my body shows it.  But it's the body I have, and the body I love.

I saw this really inspirational meme the other day, and I believe it 100%.

Working out gives me confidence.

Maybe your confidence comes from your curly, unruly hair. Your red lips. Your ability to laugh at awkward situations. Your kind smile. The love you have for your kids. Your laugh lines. Your stretch marks.

But we as women have been beat down and made to feel bad about our bodies for way too long.

Own it, and love it. Whatever shape it may be in.