Really Big Questions Before Coffee

I spent the first four years of my daughter's life doing everything for her in the morning. I would try to get up earlier than her to sneak some quiet. Until you have a child, you do not appreciate silence. And silence, in my humble opinion, is at it's best while sipping coffee. 

I leave really early for work so morning time with my daughter is sporadic. Sometimes she is snoozing with dad and the pug and I'm the last wake up call before I pop out of the house. Sometimes she comes into the bathroom to supervise the get ready process and talk at me. My daughter doesn't stop talking from the time she wakes up, until the time she goes to bed. Laugh all you want, this isn't an exaggeration.

This morning was a pop-into the bathroom morning and she was ready to talk about everything. Unfortunately, I inadvertently left the best question right in front of her.

Not to be oversharing but after months of deliberation I just switched from Tampax to the Lunette Cup, and all I can say is it's a huge game changer, and I recommend it for anyone. I come from an environment of period-shamers and the cup has had some pretty awesome results in terms of my comfort and confidence in that arena.

I had just cleaned it this morning and left it out to dry when my daughter walked in. "Mommy, what is that?" She pointed directly at the cup. Oh man, do I have to give an anatomy lesson at 6:45? I haven't even started to boil the water for my COFFEE!

I gave her a small explanation for it's purpose and about my period but told her we could certainly talk more about it as she got older. Then came another big question: "Mommy, like how did I grow up and get so big like, how does that all happen?" Oh my gosh do I have to explain babies now? I haven't had toast or anything!

Again, a mild and dialed down version was given to her about everything and then it was: "Can I have make-up? What's that called? Why do you have two different brushes? Which one goes on your eyes? Will you wear pink today? Can you make me breakfast before you go? Can I wear my shirt from Sophia today? Can you help me find it? Did you know I didn't even hear you go to Boot Camp? I was still asleep! Was Daddy snoring a lot?"

I don't even think I can type as fast as she hurls the questions in my direction. There are so many wonderful things that come out of these conversations, but they are also exhausting. Because of life circumstances my daughter is just that kid that needs to know the plan. And mom is the planner. And when things don't go accordingly to plan, it can get upsetting so I've paid close attention to helping her navigate her feelings around all those things.

She knows the 1st Friday in August we're planning on a vacation to see PA and NY family. She knows every Saturday at the same time we have horseback riding lessons and every so often, she can switch that Saturday lesson for a different event. She needs to know how her day will look. Who is she playing with? Who is putting her to bed? Is it a normal bed time or flexible?

She is all questions and Mom is all answers. Some of the huge questions, I'm like "Uh, we'll find a video or book to better explain that." Once she asked me how did "dinosaurs get extinct?" That's a complicated question and even Land Before Time didn't really tell us everything and Jurassic Park would just scare her so, yeah. That's a long conversation, not a quick and simple answer.

We talk a lot about boobs and bodies and make-up. We talk about clothes, and ponies and friend problems. I try to steer her in the right direction with her questions but also not let her be too gossipy or dramatic, just the right amount of those. There's also a part of me that wants to enjoy that she's even asking me anything and wants to hear what I have to say.

I'm not that mom that's afraid to talk about vaginas and anatomy and how things work. I make sure she knows the right words for body parts and bodily functions and such. My child's vocabulary has always been vast and impressive, so I tell her what everything means. To my embarrassment, yes, mine is the child at the store that will announce, "Mom my vagina is really itchy!" She also likes to tell people she's "as tall as mom's boobs!"

But, again, I'd rather her have the answers to the questions, even if the answers aren't so awesome. Recently she came home talking to me about some boy telling her about Chucky, yes the doll that kills people. He told her about Chucky coming to get her and kill her dog and knives and such. I shut that down quick. I told her, Chucky is fake. He's pretend. He's a fake character with special effects made to scare people in movies and he won't hurt her. I wish I could yell at that kid. Six year old children have no need to know about CHUCKY!

The big questions before my coffee always come from curiosity, which I love and encourage just how much she wants to know about everything. It's hard to not squash that with an "I don't know, I don't care, or just be quiet," when life gets tough and I've tuned into the fact that I may have been doing that, even unconsciously. I've had many discussions with the husband about how, as a little girl, it's so important that she feels like she can be heard and say what she wants to say, even if it seems like nonsense to us.

Weekday mornings I'm always in "a hurry," and I remind her often to please not be "in my way," but this morning I made some time for her really big questions. Sometimes they need to be "continued" at a different time when mommy can function better. But most often, even as they seem annoying when I'm not at my best mom moments, I'd rather have her ask me everything than not talk to me at all. 

She's still my baby and is learning and absorbing EVERYTHING. There is plenty of time for her to keep things from me and give me the silent treatment when I piss her off. For now I really want to talk about the make-up brushes, my period, My Little Pony and extinct dinosaurs, even if it's before coffee. 

Today's Post Brought To You By Resilience

I have recently been defined as exhibiting resilience, so I Googled the exact definition: the capability of a strained body to recover its size and shape after deformation caused especially by compressive stress; an ability to recover from or adjust easily to misfortune or change. 

Let's break this down.The capability of a strained body to recover it's size and shape after deformation caused especially by compressive stress. Two words: CAR ACCIDENT.

An ability to recover from or adjust easily to misfortune or change? I possess said ability, yes. Adjust easily? Define easily! Easily to misfortune and change? Hmm...I don't recall any of it being done easily but just being done.

I'm not sure how to feel about this being me. In some ways it is complimentary but I can't help struggle with the feeling that I shouldn't have to be so resilient. This is why my new favorite word is wobbly, which is definitely a move from ambivalence, most likely in the right direction. 

Some of my easy adjustments to misfortune and change are from exhaustion. Sometimes I can't have that same argument over and over. Some of my adjustments to misfortune and change have come with tantrum, depression and all of them with anxiety. But I put on a good game face, that much is true.

I posted just last night about being that person who can look completely put together while internally just collapsing. You can say something that completely breaks me and my worst response would just be resting bitch face, I just get stone-faced and absorb whatever offensiveness affronts me. Sometimes that feels cowardly, other times I'm just avoiding confrontation like a normal anxious depressive adult.

But lately I just ask myself, is it worth getting upset about? As a woman we are notoriously labeled as nagging, whining, high maintenance beings. It's pretty unfair but sometimes we do live up to the stereotype, sorry to say. But then again, how many times should we have to adjust "easily" and "handle" the misfortune and change. 

I've been mistreated, I've been taken for granted, hurt physically, emotionally and spiritually like the rest of us. I've even experienced a degree of sexual assault and yet, I prove my resilience right? Is that a compliment though? To be able to put up with all of this? Maybe we shouldn't have to.

After everything with the #metoo movement it became more clear to me than ever that all women are resilient. We all handle more than our share, and most often with grace and composure, but we shouldn't have to. And this isn't to say that we need to take our resting bitch faces and turn on "the bitch switch." But I feel like we can use our resilience to better ourselves and our world, instead of letting it define us.

I think my issue with resilience is there is a feeling for me, of an underlying "doormat" -sub-context and really it's more about strength and calculation. Most change is difficult but we push our growth and do what we have to as we persevere. Misfortune hits us all, and maybe we need a day to cry and feel all the feelings, but most of us shed our tears and soldier on because we have to.

So while resilience is good, and I'm glad it is said to me as a compliment, I strive for more. I want more growth and evolution. And I'm surely going to use that resilience to get me there! 

Mom Bods: We Carry More Weight In More Ways Than One

This morning I did the unthinkable. I did something that bothered me to every fiber of my being. Something that I haven't done in over six years. I got on the scale to see what I weighed. Why did I cave into doing something I loathe in this way? Well, yesterday I went to my annual lady check up on a cold Florida morning and they made me get on their scale, and completely clothed, mind you. After obsessively working out with no time to eat too much, of course I expected to drop 20 pounds immediately because I deserved it dammit! Alas, I weighed maybe a pound or two less than last year, which was super disappointing.

So, I tossed and turned, hit the gym this morning and decided, "I can't actually weigh that much because I had on boots and serious layers and I started 2018 very puffy and uncomfortable. I refuse to believe I've made no progress." So I did it and as I suspected, 6 pounds less with no layers and boots. Score! And I looked at that number and realized, I was a good 40 pounds lighter than when I had Luna, but 24 pounds heavier than my skinniest. The best part? Those numbers didn't defeat me. 

Exactly 10 years ago when I was in Oregon, finishing my last semester at University of Oregon (Go Ducks) and finishing my depression and anxiety treatment, fitness was everything to me. In just 2 months in the future, I'd be engaged and then married the day after I graduated college. 

I was friends with a trainer that worked at the U of O fitness complex so between her and weight watchers I ended up trimming down to the absolute most fit I've ever been. I worked really hard because when you're a college student working only part time, you have all the time in the world to eat, but then again to work out also. When I actually looked at weight watchers and saw how many points were assigned to everything, I wanted to become anorexic or bulimic. Luckily I went through way too many years of orthodontia to ruin my teeth so anorexia became way more appealing than pigging out. Who was I kidding though, I didn't have that discipline and I was in love with food. 

I replaced binge-eating and emotional snacking with working out. My last semester at U of O I actually won the Nike Fit Female of the month and was up to 3 workouts some days. When I got married, I was legitimately thin. I was so terrified to put it back on because I LOVE FOOD and also wine and amazing cocktails. I maintained really well our first 2 years in Florida because it is mandatory you have a "beach body." With age and stress, I allowed myself a little more wiggle room until pregnancy and then after a really great first 4 months of growing a person, I just went for it. All I wanted was steak, potatoes, Twizzlers and Chik Fil A and also, if you can't eat like a pig when you're pregnant, when can you?

I got on the scale after Luna was born and there may have been tears over the post baby belly. It took me a year of motherhood until I allowed myself to take much time for me and when I hit boot camp, it was so hard. The first 90 days were the most brutal but I did it. I got down to my thick comfy size after a year. After two years I was in my pre-baby size but on the top of that range too. This past year was about stress and anxiety though.

We'd had a wedding to attend last summer that would be filled with beautiful people and I wanted to be one of  them. I had made grand designs to start in March only to have them completely derailed and halted. Not being able to work out my normal routine and being left with no other options sank me into a pretty bad depression. What helped? Bread and ice cream. Not together, just as my comfort cheats.

Finally I'd had enough. My mom, who has given me enough body issues to sustain multiple lifetimes, was of course on board to watch Luna so I could go workout during the weeknights so I could "start to feel better and fit into real clothes again," as she so lovingly describes my journey and struggle. So, I got a gym membership and went back to full time boot camp. Before I knew it I was working out twice a day again and every time I got angry or sad or anxious, I took it out in spin or on the treadmill. 

I stopped getting on the scale when I started Boot Camp because when I felt better, I noticed my sleep getting more sound and my clothes fitting differently so that was all I needed. I also had a tribe of people who supported me and told me I was looking healthier, happier and different. Working at the car dealership at the time also helped because I was surrounded by a bunch of 45+ old married dudes who loved to make inappropriately strange compliments from time to time; always a nice ego boost.

But I stayed away from that scale. Why? Because when I was younger with way more free time, all I had was time to obsess about food and all the rationalizations of "If I want that I have to work out more to earn it." In my old age I just decided, "Oh I'm having that cake, but just one small piece, not 3 because someone pissed me off today. Someone will piss me off every day, take it out on the elliptical. That's how you have your cake and eat it too mama!" Yes, I literally pep talk myself often. 

Even after the car accident, my stomach, an already super self-conscious area for me because my mom used to pat it and promise I'd "grow out of the baby fat and then be pretty and thin," got so smashed and bruised from the seat belt and impact that today there are little scar type crumples and bumps that I despise. It was hard for me to get really back into working out because I was so sore and swollen and awkward for a couple months. So my patience with my body has since evolved.

With all of the mental stuff that came with that, I just didn't take care of myself. So last year I took it back. Now due to adulting, the gym membership expires next week, however I have multiple back up plans to keep me healthy, but this morning was about my needing that validation that it was paying off. I have a few people who's opinion of my physical appearance I trust undoubtedly past the whole "Uh huh, yeah that matches" type thing, but I think I still needed a little affirmation for myself.

I don't intend to get obsessive about the numbers. I will admit I was a little disappointed, yes, but having the numbers be more already lost than more I need to lose was positive. And I've found that we all have these things about us, these strengths and weaknesses about our own personal imagery. And on these journeys, maybe we post too much about it on Instagram, but these routines for health we've established can sometimes be our saving grace. For me, the gym is a place where nothing else matters but my time to kick butt, everything else can slow down for a minute.

As moms we all carry weight so differently, which is why I hate the scale. I weigh the same as women 2 feet taller than me but it's all in my stomach and thighs, and maybe they carry it in their waist or bust. You never know. And us moms have it worse than you single ladies because our bodies went through uncontrollable changes. Sure we can try to keep everything together but pregnancy and childbirth change our figures forever! My hips can tell you that personally, and my boobs too! I didn't even have boobs before baby! And they still haven't even left me!

Already as moms we feel that pressure to be fit and look good even on the days we feel like a tired old handbag ready to be thrown in the Goodwill pile. I remember this weird feeling after I had Luna where I had to "dress like a mom." What did that even mean? I mean I had shirts with weird band logos and swear words. I guess I shouldn't show up to the park in those but did I need an Ann Taylor credit card? How does one dress like a mom? I still don't know.

We all have our own style and ways for ever facet of motherhood, especially how we carry our physical and emotional weight. Mom Bods carry it all, both figuratively and physically, so be gentle on each other, and be gentle on ourselves. It's progress over perfection and the last cliche of today is, the only workout you regret, is the one you didn't do! You got this mamas! WE got this! See you in the gym!