Weight is one of those topics that women never like to talk about — well at least their number — but everyone can’t control themselves to discuss on a pretty constant basis: “Oh my gawwd, you look so tiny in that!” or “you are getting soooo thin!” (said in a semi-jealous tone!) or “Ugh, I feel so fat in this. I mean I look five months pregnant! Ugh.”
Been there, said that. It’s absurd. And it’s never really nice. {psst: if I ever said anything to you in half jealousy, I’m so sorry!}
I’ve addressed weight here in years past, and if you’re interested, even talked specifically about my number(s). I’m so over caring what my number is. It doesn’t define me in any way, except I suppose to the doctor. I love this image, below, that I saw on Instagram; these women are all the same weight and yet so utterly different.
At the end of the day, thin doesn’t equal beautiful and it doesn’t equal happy. It just equals a smaller clothing size. In fact I recall being most critical of myself and my body when I was at my thinnest; it became consuming.
This summer I’ve taken a new approach on body image and weight. My daughter is much more aware of bodies than last year. But not in thin or fat ways, just in ability to have fun. Shouldn’t we all measure our bodies this way? To lift her in the pool, to spin her around, to go down the waterside and to push her on the swings. And to do these things until my arms fall off! My focus is on being strong and healthy, the way it should be. Keep Reading —>>
I never envisioned I’d adopt. In fact, when I was young I never envisioned much when it came to kids of my own. Kind of assumed I’d have a boy and a girl, because, that seemed like what could make a family (and what I came from). I just assumed it would be me delivering them. And, all was on track when I gave birth to our little girl nearly five years ago. But, things have a way of changing in ways you never imagine.
A little over a year ago I shared here how my husband and I tried to adopt, only to have it fall apart right after Mother’s Day 2013… just three weeks before the due date. I won’t get into that again except to say that, like with other things, I’m confident things happen for a reason.
Last Tuesday, our little boy who was born in November officially became ours by law. The “gotcha” day as it’s apparently called. In some ways it was monumental, and in other ways, hardly news at all. He’s been ours since the moment we met. He just fit into our family. Yes, we now had a boy and a girl but it wasn’t for that reason at all. He’s just ours. Our daughter fell instantly in love; she immediately declared him her best friend and the way she sings, plays and hangs with him could make you cry. The fit was perfect. She raised her right hand higher than any of us (as you see above) to swear that Evan is all ours. There was no question, and it became immediately clear that had the other adoption not gone sour, we wouldn’t be here. With Evan. Our son. Keep Reading —>>
Wheh, we made it to Friday. If you had a kick-ass week, or if well, this week just kind of kicked your ass, think it’s important to remember this quote. We’ve all had those hindsight moments where what became reality was so much better than we had thought would be days, months or weeks prior. If you’ve had a rough week, or something happened you totally didn’t expect — whether that’s in your job, with a guy, in any situation — sometimes you’re ending here will be way better than you could have ever imagined. Focus your time now seeing what’s next based on this new road map. Here’s to a great weekend!
I have a scar on my left cheek. It’s been there since I was around 10 or 12 years old when I had a birth mark removed. From the moment I could wear any make-up until just a few months ago, I wouldn’t leave the house without covering it. What’s probably unnoticeable to you has always felt like this obvious red scar in the middle of my cheek that I didn’t want anyone to see.
Granted its faded over the years but who wants others to see their scars? To see what feels like a battle wound? Perhaps symbolic of my chunky childhood self. The person who was never the popular kid. For the people I’ve reconnected with through Facebook, you know it’s the truth. Concealing — with my favorite maximum Clinique concealer for nearly two decades — was a daily occurrence. Go to the gym or the pool without it on? Never. Try to kiss me on that cheek? Hated it. I was constantly aware. Keep Reading —>>
