I had to take Kaliegh to the doctor yesterday. She wasn't sick as illnesses go, just fussy as all and wouldn't let me put her down even for the shortest amount of time. Even to take the fastest shower I had to yell, "It's ok honey, mommy is right here!" the entire time so that she'd just fuss and whimper rather than scream.
Turns out she has colic. Great. I'll be honest, I was hoping for something that would be quickly treatable rather than something random that lasts for weeks on end. At least I got the peace of mind I needed to know that I'm not a completely inept mother. I was starting to doubt myself and everything I learned raising my son.
On the bright side, though, she's gaining weight wonderfully. She's now 9 lbs. 15 oz, a full 2 pounds, 3 ounces larger than at birth. I look forward to seeing what her measurements are when we see them on August 8th for her 2 month check.
Something else happened this week... I've started falling in love with my new daughter. It's not very often that you hear a mother admit that she didn't love her child from the beginning. I'll admit it. When she was born I loved her, but was not in love with her like I am with my son. She was something unexpected for me; I was truly expecting a boy and somehow found myself utterly disappointed to be having a girl. Couple that with a lot of internalized issues I had with myself, I was not prepared to welcome a little girl into my home. I felt for sure that she'd end up with a miserable life, taking on all of my physically ugly qualities resulting in a difficult struggle for happiness. I realize now that I have a long road to get past that problem within myself, but I'm working on it daily.
Back to my point. This week she made eye contact with me and something snapped in my head. I melted. She looked at me and I looked at her. I think possibly that angels sang or bells chimed, it was etherical at any rate. Something happened in that moment and I realized how dearly I loved the little creature in my arms and how the mourning period was over for the son I had lost in mind. (Out of my own guilt I started reading about this subject. Many mothers expect something and when that expectation is not met, they need a period of mourning. It was a fantastic discovery for me to see other mothers go through this, that I'm not alone nor should I feel guilty for my feelings of having wanted another son so badly.)
For a completely unrelated subject... just a few more hours until I get to see the next Harry Potter movie!
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
Tuesday, July 3, 2007
A fear conquered
I am fat. There are no two ways around this fact. I'll share a secret, too: there are times that I don't actually realize that I'm fat and somehow think that if I don't tell anyone, then no one will notice. Crazy? Maybe. True? Unfortunately.
Perspective
It actually took me a long time to let myself realize how fat I am. I would look in the mirror and truly not see the person that was being reflected. Then one day when my husband and I were still dating we somehow got on the subject of how much I weigh. Somewhere deep down I knew the whole time we were dating that I was fat, I just wasn't ready to admit it. Again, I was living in this "don't ask, don't tell" world where I figured if I never told him I was fat, he'd never know. At any rate, he asked how much I weighed (not in a derogatory way, more out of curiousity pertaining to what we were talking about). I wouldn't come out and tell him, but I told him that he could guess and I would tell him if he was right. I'll be damned if he didn't guess it right on the nose.
At that very moment the entire world collapsed around me. I'm not kidding when I say that it was like standing in front of 1000 fun house mirrors and having them shatter around me simultaneously leaving only one mirror with a really fat, ugly woman being reflected back at me. It was crushing and that one moment seemed like it lasted for an hour. The entire world blanked out for a brief time and I got tunnel vision. I had never told him how fat I was, how could he possibly have known? Then it hit me: maybe I didn't actually have to tell people I was hideously overweight. Maybe, just maybe, they could actually see it for themselves. Since that day I've become almost compulsively self-conscience. One of my biggest hang ups has been my arms. I absolutely refuse to wear something without sleeves revealing my arms that are, in some cases, larger than some women's thighs. (Ok, maybe larger than an anorexic super model's thighs, but still, it's possible.)
Breakthrough
Then, for whatever reason, my best friend, the best friend I've ever had my entire life, gave me a present. Really it was more of a gift I would say, and not in a material sort of way, but in a spiritual way. She had a shirt she couldn't wear for her own reasons and thought she would pass it along to me in hopes I could get some use out of it. She knows my arm issues; God love the poor girl for shopping with me in so many situations where I reject every possible option because of a garment's lack of arm coverage. There are times she deserves a medal for putting up with my mental instability.
Back to this shirt. It has no sleeves. None. There is no coverage whatsoever. Your arms are naked as the day you're born. I told her I'd probably never wear it and she made some remark that I can't quite remember, but probably was along the lines of, "Shut up and wear it." She's great for telling me exactly what I need to hear. Today I took her advice and I just shut up and wore it.
For as strange as it sounds, it was an experience I don't think I can forget. I took so many chances and broke outside of my box today. I put myself into situations where I would normally feel extremely vulnerable and afraid. Not only did I wear it at home with my husband, but his friend came over as well. Then I picked up my son from school, went to the health food store for some Gripe Water, and eventually went out to dinner at a local restaurant we frequent and are friends with the owner. All the while wearing the shirt that normally terrified me. Today, though, it didn't terrify me, it liberated me! Liberation! At last! My arms were free to feel fresh air! I could walk with confidence that I looked nice because it is a really nice shirt. Oddly, however, it put me back into my closet of denial. With my liberation and confidence came my little voice that said, "You're not fat. No one will notice how big your arms are. You look as skinny as the teacher in the playground!" Was I willing to let the little voice in today? Sure. Am I going to delude myself daily that I'm a skinny, beautiful woman this time? No. But for a day, for one day, it was great to throw that fat girl back into the darkness of my mind and let myself live freely without the fetters of my physical appearance. Toss in some really great music in the car and I had the makings of a real emotional breakthrough today.
The Picture of Liberation
So this is it. This very simple shirt is it.
This is the shirt that will liberate me. It will make me beautiful for a day. It will bring me confidence that I normally can't even muster from the bottom of a bottle of Coconut Rum. It will bring me strength when I need it. It will allow me to find the freedom that I so desperately need lately.
This is the shirt that reminds me that I'm not just a mom who needs to exercise. I'm also a woman. I can be beautiful. I can be sexy. I can be a lot of things besides just plain fat.
Today I let beautiful come out, even if everyone didn't see it like I did. I felt it. I lived it. I will hold onto it tomorrow when my arms go back into their shelters and the sleeveless shirt moves to the laundry basket awaiting the next time it will release me from the bounds of my own mind.
Perspective
It actually took me a long time to let myself realize how fat I am. I would look in the mirror and truly not see the person that was being reflected. Then one day when my husband and I were still dating we somehow got on the subject of how much I weigh. Somewhere deep down I knew the whole time we were dating that I was fat, I just wasn't ready to admit it. Again, I was living in this "don't ask, don't tell" world where I figured if I never told him I was fat, he'd never know. At any rate, he asked how much I weighed (not in a derogatory way, more out of curiousity pertaining to what we were talking about). I wouldn't come out and tell him, but I told him that he could guess and I would tell him if he was right. I'll be damned if he didn't guess it right on the nose.
At that very moment the entire world collapsed around me. I'm not kidding when I say that it was like standing in front of 1000 fun house mirrors and having them shatter around me simultaneously leaving only one mirror with a really fat, ugly woman being reflected back at me. It was crushing and that one moment seemed like it lasted for an hour. The entire world blanked out for a brief time and I got tunnel vision. I had never told him how fat I was, how could he possibly have known? Then it hit me: maybe I didn't actually have to tell people I was hideously overweight. Maybe, just maybe, they could actually see it for themselves. Since that day I've become almost compulsively self-conscience. One of my biggest hang ups has been my arms. I absolutely refuse to wear something without sleeves revealing my arms that are, in some cases, larger than some women's thighs. (Ok, maybe larger than an anorexic super model's thighs, but still, it's possible.)
Breakthrough
Then, for whatever reason, my best friend, the best friend I've ever had my entire life, gave me a present. Really it was more of a gift I would say, and not in a material sort of way, but in a spiritual way. She had a shirt she couldn't wear for her own reasons and thought she would pass it along to me in hopes I could get some use out of it. She knows my arm issues; God love the poor girl for shopping with me in so many situations where I reject every possible option because of a garment's lack of arm coverage. There are times she deserves a medal for putting up with my mental instability.
Back to this shirt. It has no sleeves. None. There is no coverage whatsoever. Your arms are naked as the day you're born. I told her I'd probably never wear it and she made some remark that I can't quite remember, but probably was along the lines of, "Shut up and wear it." She's great for telling me exactly what I need to hear. Today I took her advice and I just shut up and wore it.
For as strange as it sounds, it was an experience I don't think I can forget. I took so many chances and broke outside of my box today. I put myself into situations where I would normally feel extremely vulnerable and afraid. Not only did I wear it at home with my husband, but his friend came over as well. Then I picked up my son from school, went to the health food store for some Gripe Water, and eventually went out to dinner at a local restaurant we frequent and are friends with the owner. All the while wearing the shirt that normally terrified me. Today, though, it didn't terrify me, it liberated me! Liberation! At last! My arms were free to feel fresh air! I could walk with confidence that I looked nice because it is a really nice shirt. Oddly, however, it put me back into my closet of denial. With my liberation and confidence came my little voice that said, "You're not fat. No one will notice how big your arms are. You look as skinny as the teacher in the playground!" Was I willing to let the little voice in today? Sure. Am I going to delude myself daily that I'm a skinny, beautiful woman this time? No. But for a day, for one day, it was great to throw that fat girl back into the darkness of my mind and let myself live freely without the fetters of my physical appearance. Toss in some really great music in the car and I had the makings of a real emotional breakthrough today.
The Picture of Liberation
So this is it. This very simple shirt is it.This is the shirt that will liberate me. It will make me beautiful for a day. It will bring me confidence that I normally can't even muster from the bottom of a bottle of Coconut Rum. It will bring me strength when I need it. It will allow me to find the freedom that I so desperately need lately.
This is the shirt that reminds me that I'm not just a mom who needs to exercise. I'm also a woman. I can be beautiful. I can be sexy. I can be a lot of things besides just plain fat.
Today I let beautiful come out, even if everyone didn't see it like I did. I felt it. I lived it. I will hold onto it tomorrow when my arms go back into their shelters and the sleeveless shirt moves to the laundry basket awaiting the next time it will release me from the bounds of my own mind.
Back to blogging
I'm getting back to blogging. Why you might ask? ("You", of course, being the absolute zero audience I have. Ha.)
To be honest, it's all about the inner voice that I have in need of release. Too often lately I've found myself driving around with this dialogue going in my head; the kind of thing that makes for a dramatic chick-flick monologue or at the very least a good chapter from a really a great book about life. Not just any book. The kind of "life" book that might not be the best literature or win awards, but the kind that makes you say, "Yeah, I get that. I feel that way sometimes too."
I've just experienced my second, and final, childbirth. I plan to stay home with this child since my husband and I are in a financial situation where this can be accomplished. However, it's bringing to light some of the feelings I wish I wasn't feeling; daily I go through the motions of being insecure, feeling like a failure and, most importantly, losing my sense of self-worth. Most people I talk to tell me things like, "Motherhood is the most important job" or "You have nothing to be insecure about, you're a great mom!" And while I can appreciate their sentiment, it doesn't always help me. I'm missing something in my life. I know in my heart I have another purpose, but I'm just not sure what that is quite yet.
So here it is, my blog. This will mark my daily, or at the very least semi-daily journey through life, my rogue thoughts, and a lot of wacky sounding dialogue meant for a book that I will most likely never completely write.
Welcome to the diary of a (not so) super mom.
To be honest, it's all about the inner voice that I have in need of release. Too often lately I've found myself driving around with this dialogue going in my head; the kind of thing that makes for a dramatic chick-flick monologue or at the very least a good chapter from a really a great book about life. Not just any book. The kind of "life" book that might not be the best literature or win awards, but the kind that makes you say, "Yeah, I get that. I feel that way sometimes too."
I've just experienced my second, and final, childbirth. I plan to stay home with this child since my husband and I are in a financial situation where this can be accomplished. However, it's bringing to light some of the feelings I wish I wasn't feeling; daily I go through the motions of being insecure, feeling like a failure and, most importantly, losing my sense of self-worth. Most people I talk to tell me things like, "Motherhood is the most important job" or "You have nothing to be insecure about, you're a great mom!" And while I can appreciate their sentiment, it doesn't always help me. I'm missing something in my life. I know in my heart I have another purpose, but I'm just not sure what that is quite yet.
So here it is, my blog. This will mark my daily, or at the very least semi-daily journey through life, my rogue thoughts, and a lot of wacky sounding dialogue meant for a book that I will most likely never completely write.
Welcome to the diary of a (not so) super mom.
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