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.

Shocking: I'm a Liberal.

If we are friends in real life, you may or may not know this about me. If we are friends on Facebook, the fact that I am a Liberal is IN YOUR FACE.

I am constantly posting articles, pictures, and opinions about same sex marriage (pro), the right to choose to have an abortion (pro), the death penalty (anti), slut-shaming (anti), racism (anti), and many other hippie, bleeding heart ideals.

I am aware that as a white, heterosexual female who has been lucky enough to have never had an unwanted pregnancy (or one that threatens my life), the above does not affect me much. So why am I so passionate about my beliefs?

Because they happen to people every day. Sometimes to people I know. And I have something called empathy.

Who am I to say that because I happen to be attracted to males, I can get married, but my best friend can't? Or because my pregnancies were wanted and uneventful, I should be able to make the choice for someone else?

I can't.

No one else can.

I can understand when people oppose my beliefs. That's your opinion. I don't like it, I won't debate it (because frankly, I don't have the time), but you can believe it if you want to.

But.

This is what I believe.

If you don't like it, don't look at it.

Huh, in fact, it's similar to something I've seen before.

friends.

Back in the year 2000 I was a young, shy first-year student at a small women's college near Atlanta. I was living in a big city, 3 hours from home, and only knew one other person at this little college. I seriously contemplated transferring to UGA (the University of Georgia, for the uninformed), where my best friend since kindergarten was studying.

Then one evening, while working on a paper in the dorm computer lab (yeah that's right, young folks, I didn't have my own computer...and we also had to work on the big computers! No laptops for us yet!), a fellow student, Morgan, struck up a conversation with me. I don't remember what we talked about, but she invited me to eat lunch with her and some other women the next day.

Through that small gesture, I met some of the most fantastic women I have ever had the pleasure of interacting with.  And almost 13 years later, we are all still friends.

Last weekend some of us met up in Wilmington, NC to watch Alana, one of my best friends, get married.

Not only was it a weekend to celebrate the love between two people, it was a weekend to celebrate the love among us all.

Many of us don't live in the Atlanta area anymore. I'm in San Antonio. One is in DC, one in NYC, and one in Philly. Three do live in the metro ATL area, while another lives near Athens.

But even though we may not have seen each other recently, we fell back into our old comfortable relationship.  One with a lot of laughter, a lot of wine, a little inappropriateness, but overall, a lot of love.

We have added husbands and babies to the mix (though mine weren't with me- kid-free weekend, whoo hoo!) But that just enhances the group.

The weekend was everything I thought it could be. Thank you, Morgan, for making a shy girl from a small town feel right at home, and for introducing me to the women that I am honored to call friends. I love you all, and I cannot wait until our 10 year reunion in April!

And now, many, many pictures.

I run.

I watched the footage, until my four year old started asking why there were people laying on the ground, covered by ketchup.

So I switched to my phone, reloading Twitter, the CNN app, and facebook, to get all of the news I was craving. News about who did it, why they did it, what was happening to everyone, and how I could help.

I can donate money. I can buy items that go to the Boston One Fund. I can donate to various funds set up for various victims.

I can do all that. Except I can't. Because we're broke.

I can give $5, $10, $15 here and there. It's something. It helps a little.

But I can also run.

I started running the Couch to 5K last summer, in an attempt to lose baby weight, get healthier, and eventually run a 5K. I achieved all three.

I took breaks here and there. I would be up to running 2 or 3 miles without stopping, then family would come to town, or I would get sick (seriously, I've been sick SO MANY TIMES this past year) and I would stop for a week. And in that one measly week, my ability to run longer and faster would disappear. And I'd have to start over again. But I did.

Then I started my internship. And the time that I had to go to the gym every day started dwindling. So I would maybe go twice a week, maybe hitting the free weights, or the elliptical, or a yoga class. Once or twice I ran at the library after dropping the kids off at daycare and before going in to work. Or I would go after work, and before class. But usually I was too tired, or had too much to do.

But I've started back. I've started trying to go at least 5 times a week. I feel better, and healthier, when I get my workouts in. Yoga, free weights.

And running.

I started back running again. Before the bombing, yes. But especially after. Because I can do that.

And it may not mean much, if anything. But it means something to me.

And yesterday I ran a full 3 miles without stopping. It's been awhile, but I did it.

I run for Boston. And for myself.

A somewhat schmaltzy post

Today is Maddy's first birthday! As of today, I will never (EVER EVER) again have a "baby." Even though she's not walking yet, I personally use the term "toddler" to describe any kid from the age of 12 months-3 years. So now I have a toddler (well, two, since Lily isn't three yet).

I love me some babies. So if I ever cuddle your newborn and sniff them Claire-on-Modern-Family style, forgive me.

To celebrate Maddy's birth, I figured "why not write her birth story?" Because I know everyone is simply dying to hear it (some for the 2nd, 3rd, 4th time). Indulge me.

******************************************************************************
On March 6th, I finished my last class of the spring 1 quarter. My due date was March 8th. As I finished my presentation for my Career Counseling class, we all joked that NOW the baby can arrive, as I had been really stressed about delivering before the term ended.

I should know by now- I make super full term babies. Lily was born at 40 weeks and 2 days. If I hadn't induced, I'm sure Ty would have done the same.

The next day, March 7th, I hung out at home with the kids. I wasn't expecting anything. I had an appointment scheduled for my due date, and they were going to do a non-stress test. I was kind of looking forward to it. We were playing outside, and I was pushing Lily on the swings when I started feeling some contractions. I thought nothing of it, because I had been having them off and on for a couple of weeks (even going so far as to have my babysitters on standby a couple of times). A friend from school called, and she asked if I had been feeling anything. I didn't want to jinx it, so I told her no. (Don't worry, I told her the truth when I saw her a couple of weeks later!)

I started timing the contraction around 5:00. I texted a couple of friends who were game for watching the kids, and told them I would keep them posted. One responded that she was available for the night, and to bring them over whenever. I started making dinner, still thinking that they would probably stop. But when the contractions were still going at 6, and were getting to the point that I had to stop moving and kind of concentrate through them, I packed the kids' bags and Steve took them to my friend's.

I called my midwife and told her what was going on. She gave me her cell and told me to keep timing them, and if they were still pretty consistent at 10:00 to let her know and head in. I ate some pasta and started folding clothes on the couch while watching Big Bang. Obviously I wasn't too concerned.

I still timed the contractions on the handy dandy Contraction Master website.  They were at the 5:1:1 mark (5 minutes apart, lasting for at least 1 minute each, and continuing for over an hour...that was drilled into my head as a parenting instructor), so I called my midwife at 10 to tell her we were heading in. Steve asked if it was too soon, since I didn't seem to be in pain. An understandable question- with Lily, I was doubled over in pain, crying "I can't do this, I need drugs!" before we even got to the car. I was also 9 centimeters dilated by the time we got to the hospital, and thought I was going to birth the kid in the parking garage. This time around, I was cracking jokes, moving around the house, and acting totally normal. I didn't want to take any chances.

I had a couple of intense contractions on the way, but nothing I couldn't handle. We checked in around 10:30 and got settled in triage. The contractions were getting to the point where I had to stop and breathe through them, but again, nothing too bad. My midwife, Lauren, came in and checked me.

3 centimeters.

Are you kidding me?

I wanted another med-free birth. I did it with Lily, and I LOVED it. I mean, I obviously didn't love the pain. But the recovery from it was so much easier than when I was induced and drugged up with Ty. And it was so quick! 6 hours, from the first contraction to the last push. I prefer to labor at home as much as possible, so I can avoid the temptation of that sweet sweet epidural. Again, with Lily, I labored until transition (8-9 centimeters) before even heading to the hospital. And she was born an hour and a half after we got there. So I didn't really have time to wish I had some drugs in me. This time around, being only 3 centimeters, I thought we would have hours to go.

We decided to go ahead and get a delivery room, so we wouldn't have to drive home and back. I had an IV port put in, in case I needed some hydration, but it wasn't hooked up to anything. Lauren had another woman in labor, so she was going to be bouncing back and forth. She also had a midwife in training with her who would check on me periodically. After they left, Steve and I flipped on the tv. I figured I could watch some Daily Show or Colbert while I labored. But there was no Comedy Central! The nerve! So we settled on Sports Center.

That was the day that Peyton Manning announced he would be playing with the Broncos. So that was all over ESPN. Considering how often I heard his name, I seriously considered naming the kid Peyton.

The nurse brought out a birthing ball for me to bounce on. For the uninformed, a birthing ball is a big, bouncy medicine/exercise ball that you can sit on and proceed to bounce or roll around to encourage dilation of the cervix. Sorry if that squeams you out. I sat on it, rolled, and bounced. I walked around the room. When a contraction hit, I would hold on to Steve or he would rub my lower back. They were getting stronger and more painful, and I really had to breathe to get through them. A few more minutes passed, and the contractions were even more painful. The midwife in training came in, and I asked if I could get in the shower. The hot water hitting the back is used to help with pain. It didn't work. The pain was too strong, and the contractions were too close. I was crying and holding on to the woman while Steve continued to rub my back. When a contraction hit, I would clench up and rise up on my toes. I don't know why. The training midwife checked me and said she wasn't sure how dilated I was, so she was going to get Lauren. I got my lovely hospital gown back on and climbed in the bed. Lauren came in to check me.

Lo and behold, I was 10 glorious centimeters! 

It was midnight. I had checked into the room at 11 pm.

I went from 3 cm to 10 cm in an hour.

IT CAN HAPPEN! I never believed it, but I am proof!

Turns out the training midwife knew I was at a 10, but didn't want to get me excited until she got a second opinion.

Lauren broke my water (3 births under my belt, and that sucker has never broken on it's own). After that, it was pushin' time.

I'm going to skip this part. Let's just say it was gory, it was painful, it involved some position changing, and I almost broke Steve's wrist.

One thing that I remember was how quiet it was (aside from Peyton Manning). I just concentrated on breathing, listening to my body (I know, how hippie of me), and pushing when I needed to. The nurses and midwives chatted, got things ready, and helped me along. When I talked, it was at a whisper. It was calm and peaceful. Apparently that is pretty rare, because the nurses kept telling me it was one of the best births they had ever seen, and Lauren was bragging to the other midwives the next day.

At 1:30 am, I pushed for the last time and out popped our little surprise! Not only was her conception a surprise, so was her sex- a little girl. We didn't find out the sex at the 20 week ultrasound, and we were both convinced that I was pregnant with a boy. We were also fooled with Ty- we could have sworn he was going to be a girl.

We got to the recovery room around 4 am, and Steve headed home to get a little sleep. I dozed as much as I could, but had so much adrenaline that I was pretty awake. My mom called around 5:30, and I talked with her for awhile. During all this time, Maddy was kicking ass in her bassinet, sleeping away.

Man oh man, my hospital stay was magnificent! It was like a vacation!

The kids were with my friends, Steve slept at home and visited the hospital a little, and Maddy and I ate, slept, watched TV and played on the computer. I knew I couldn't breastfeed (fool me once, shame on me. Fool me twice...), so I fed formula from the get go. There was no stress over breast feeding like I had with the other two, which made the experience so much better.

Steve came back the next morning, and we got ready to go home. Maddy was a little jaundiced (as were the other two), so I was given the option of either staying another night or just bringing her back the next morning to check her bilirubin levels. I was ready to get home, so I opted to leave.

Biggest mistake ever.

The kids didn't nap, so they were wide awake and annoying. My adrenaline was wearing off, and my baby blues were kicking in. Lily was in full blown 17 month old middle child territory (no explanation needed). Needless to say, it was a rough day. I ended up locking myself in the bathroom and crying.

Of course, things got better. I mean, we survived the year.

To sum it up:

-Med-free births kick ass (for me. If you want drugs, I do NOT judge!)
-You CAN dilate 7+ centimeters in an hour.
-If you think you're having a boy, you're probably having a girl. And vice versa.
-If you weren't able to feed your first two kids, odds are you have no milk and can't breastfeed a third. Don't stress, and if anyone gives you attitude about it, FUCK THEM (no one did, but I was ready for a fight).
-Take an extra day in the hospital if it's offered, especially if you have kids at home. It's expensive, but it's worth it.

Happy birthday, Maddy Mae!

Picture Fest 2013

Triumphant return, or just drunk enough to post again?

To say I've been slacking on this whole blog thing is an understatement. I haven't posted since last September...and before that the last post was in July. I started a post in early February, but never finished. My family blog isn't much better. My poor family- if they aren't on facebook or instagram, it's iffy as to whether or not they see any current pictures of my kids.

I'm taking a break from researching a paper for my Techniques of Substance Abuse class because I'm getting too tipsy to continue working on it. The kids are all in bed (and I think asleep!) so I'm now on my second glass of wine. And because I'm a lightweight, two glasses is enough to get me nice and giggly.

Ironically, the paper I'm working on is about effective modalities for treating binge drinking among college students. But since binge drinking is defined as four or more drinks on one occasion for females (and I've only had two), I'm good to go!

So what has been going on since my last September post?

Well, the vegetarian, pescatarian thing didn't work out so well. I caved. It was too hard making so many different meals. I don't mind eating vegetarian, but the husband likes his meat*. I decided to start again after the holidays, and even made a public (read: facebook) announcement about my resolution. Mistake #1: announcing it on facebook. Mistake #2: calling it a resolution. Yeah, failed again. BUT, I think I was being too hard on myself. Going from an omnivore diet to a vegetarian diet cold turkey (hehe, pun intended) isn't really a great idea. So I'm trying to balance it out. The majority of my diet is vegetarian, with some meaty dishes thrown in, primarily on the weekends and the occasional lunch (like when my friend goes to Burger King on our lunch break, and the thought of a Whopper cancels out the healthy salad I packed). Moderation is key, people.

School: I'm officially in my graduation year! Unfortunately, I still have 10 months to go. :( I will finish in December of this year. I'm currently 7 weeks into my year-long free labor stint. In other words, I'm an intern. I'm working alongside a few other classmates at a local counseling center. It's tough. On the plus side, I love the work. I love working with people, and trying to help them. I love when my supervisor asks me to take the lead, and I get to ask probing questions and think of ways to get through to them. On the downside, holy crap it's hard. Balancing internship/school/kids/etc is exhausting. It came to a head a few weeks ago, and I had a major ugly-cry breakdown. Since then I've worked out a new schedule with the husband, so he is helping a lot more with the kids while I work more hours (I have to meet a minimum amount of hours each term). It helps that I'm not taking any crazy hard classes right now, and that I don't have an outside-the-house job. But still, hard as hell. I don't recommend it. 10 more months...

The kids: holy shit, Maddy is almost one. ONE. I will never have a baby again. :( (No, NEVER. Not going to happen.) She is crawling everywhere, getting into everything, and pulling up all the time. Not walking yet, but she's getting close. She can speed-crawl to wherever she wants to go, so she has no need to walk. She is seriously one of the most laid-back, easiest babies ever. (Please don't hurt me, parents of children who still wake up at night/have colic/have teething pains/etc. Something will inevitably bite me in my ass when she gets a little older.)

Ty is four, and everything that goes with it. Super verbal, super smart, super pain in my ass. 70% of the time he is awesome, hilarious, and the best son/brother ever. But that other 30%? Whew, it's hard. I mean, it's nice that he can talk and tell me what he needs, but sometimes I think "Is it really necessary to teach them words?" Because then they use those words to talk back. He is really helpful though, and is a great big brother...mostly to Maddy, because Lily just pisses him off. He has started to have a really hard time when I leave the house to go to work or school. Usually he just says bye, but now he is crying and holding on to me when I leave. Of course, he's fine two minutes later, but it's still heart-breaking.

Lily is two. Surprisingly, the whole "terrible twos" thing isn't so bad with her. If anything, the 12 months between ages 1 and 2 were the worst. She couldn't express herself with words, so she just cried and whined. A LOT. Now she can verbalize more and more, and is becoming more independent. I thought she was potty trained this past summer, and even announced it to the world on the ol' FB (will I ever learn??) Nope, she just psyched me out! Now we're just taking things nice and slow. She likes to wear her "daywear" (underwear), so she does that at home and wears what I call a "just in case" diaper when we're out and for sleep times. She is super loving, and loves to snuggle close. Her favorite show is "Diego," and she watches a minimum of 3 episodes a day. But it's educational, so it's not so bad, right? I mean hell, she now knows what a tapir is.

So that was a really long post about what I've been up to. I blame the wine. Who knows, maybe I'll be inspired to post again sometime in the next 6 months?


*Giggity.