Four years and saggy boobs later

Warning: this is a body image post. Even worse, it's a mommy bloggy body image post, as if the world needs any more of those. But this isn't a feel-good piece about loving your body just as much post-baby (Because I don't), and it's not about whether children are worth it (because they obviously are if you want them). This is a post about whether our outsides match our insides by accident or design. 

I wrote a bit on this blog about body image during my first pregnancy, four years ago. I celebrated the roundness of first-time pregnancy curves and lamented bodily autonomy from the perspective of a 24-year-old as that gestation progressed. However, I felt no need to revisit those subjects during my second pregnancy as a 28-year-old-- a pregnancy that came to a close with the birth of my beautiful daughter one month ago-- partly because it felt like old hat and partly because I have less time for self-indulgent ramblings in general.

Though I spent nine months wallowing in the **unique and exciting** world of baby-growing as if I were the first woman to discover reproduction during my first pregnancy, I did not write about postpartum recovery after the birth of my son. I do, however, remember feeling attractive seven weeks after his birth, when I went out with some friends for my 25th birthday. I remember getting dressed on that night in a tight, jersey knit Victoria's Secret dress and deciding not-- NOT-- to wear spanx at the last minute. 

I feel all right about my pushing-thirty self right now, but I don't see myself forgoing spanx any time in the near future. I also don't remember feeling so (physically) mommish after Charlie was born. It's possible my memory is failing me, but I can't recall a time when I looked in the mirror and saw what I felt to be a stereotypical mom body back then. Now, it's all I see. My milk-laden boobs are as big as last time, but aren't they a little less pert? I gathered a handful of stretch marks around my hips this time around (a phenomenon I manged to avoid until after my second child's due date. Harrumph.) And the cellulite around my thighs seems to have settled in for an extended stay.

 

Perhaps most noticeably, my skin is distinctly different now in a way I don't recall from four years ago. It feels lovely but looks slightly sad-- soft and a tad bit loose like an elephant made of velvet. I describe it in an affectionate way because I genuinely feel mostly affectionate toward these developments, which brings me to the question I mentioned at the beginning of this post: Is my body (and my attitude towards it) reflective of the position I have embraced in life or an inevitable product of aging? 

I identify at this point in my life primarily as a mother (a title that holds the distinction as the only one I've always known for 100% sure I wanted), and I suspect that I have both subconsciously and consciously tailored my appearance to fit that description. Of course I look more like a mom now with sensibly short, naturally colored hair than I did four years ago with highlighted long layers a la every  underwear model. Of course I am softer and looser now post-pregnancy when I allowed myself to be 5-10 pounds heavier pre-pregnancy because no one wants to snuggle a bony mommy. These things aren't accidents and to complain and delude myself into thinking I am not complicit in my transformation into a 30-year-old mom lady is patently ridiculous. 

I guess what I'm saying is dress for the job you want, and if you're really committed, get fat and saggy for it, too. The snuggle phase only lasts a few years, and I'll be damned if my babies don't have a comfy mommy...

What's that? Ten year high school reunion is in how long now?... Catch ya on the treadmill! ✌️

"Pregnancy Brain" Cake Batter Ice Cream Popsicles

Some of my readers are probably familiar with the phenomenon of "pregnancy brain"-- the unexplained inability to complete even basic tasks without encountering moments of complete mental blankness. For those of you who are not, think stopping at green lights, signing your maiden name four years into marriage, turning on the wrong burner and starting fires, etc. 

One of the symptoms of pregnancy brain is the inability to focus on even simple documents like bills or, in this case, recipes. Yesterday my husband forwarded me this delicious-sounding recipe from The Baking Robot (http://thebakingrobot.com/2014/05/06/cake-popsicles/) that apparently actually creates ice cream-based Popsicles with cake crumble and frosting cores. That is not, however the impression I got when I failed to read the recipe even remotely correctly. It wasn't until I went back to try to figure out why I was having to make so many adjustments that I realized how off-base I was. 

Fortunately, my lack of reading comprehension resulted in a happy accident of delicious proportions. And so, I give you...

One-Bowl Cake Batter Ice Cream Pops:

(Makes 12)

Ingredients:

-7 oz boxed cake mix (I chose Duncan Hines strawberry supreme)

-2 tbsp cake frosting (Pillsbury strawberry)

-1 pint softened ice cream (Ben & Jerry's vanilla)

-1/4 to 1/2 milk

-Sprinkles etc for texture, if desired

-Popsicle mold & sticks

Directions:

-Beat ingredients together in listed order in large mixing bowl until smooth and thin enough to slosh in the bowl

-Spoon or pour into Popsicle mold

-Push a stick 3/4 of the way down in each

- Freeze until solid. (6 hrs-overnight)

Enjoy! 

These are lighter & more airy than straight ice cream bars, and they would follow a large meal or a hot activity beautifully. I chose strawberry because I thought a fruity approach was best for the hot summer, but imagine all the combinations one could try: devil's food cake and dolce de leche ice cream, red velvet and creole cream cheese, Funfetti and cotton candy-- the list is endless!

Three Things I've Learned From Three Years of Marriage

Today marks the three year anniversary of the day I married my wonderful, devoted husband, Tony. I know that three years doesn't exactly make me a marriage expert and that we have a long road ahead of us, but at this point, I feel that I have properly adjusted my mindset to the married life enough to shed some insight on what changes when one takes the plunge. Here are the three biggest, most important things I have learned over the past three beautiful years:

1. You can't keep score.

Balance and fairness are important elements of any successful relationship. If one person is carrying too much of the burden, whether emotional, financial, domestic, etc, resentments can arise. As in any situation where two people live together, there is a lot of responsibility to divvy up in a marriage. A couple owes it to themselves not to allow the stresses of this balance to lower them to a point where they are writing passive aggressive notes to their spouses like some college roommates on a Buzzfeed list.

My husband works three jobs (a 9-5, a high-demand part-time, and an occasional bar job), while I work freelance/part-time/sometimes. I stay home and bear the brunt of the childcare burden, as well as most of the domestic responsibilities. Sometimes I hate doing the dishes (and often Tony volunteers to do them because he's the best), but it wouldn't be fair for me to ask him to do the dishes as often as I do the dishes, just as it wouldn't be reasonable for him to ask me to work the hours he works. It would be nonsensical for me to try to figure out how many loads of laundry equals one drive across the Causeway to tutor a GMAT student. As long as each half of the couple is contributing in earnest and appreciating the contributions of the other, scorekeeping is unnecessary. With all eyes towards a happy, well-provided-for (financially and otherwise) household, balance can be achieved.

2. Unlearn the phrase, "If this doesn't work out..."

We all want to be The Notebook minus Alzheimer's. If you don't want to be The Notebook minus Alzheimer's when you get old, I don't know why you would get married to begin with. To me, marriage means forever, no takesy backsies. That said, we're basically all children of divorce, and we're all well aware that not all (or even most) marriages will be successful. Even so, it is the responsibility of a married person to love and invest in their relationship as if it will never end. Spending time worrying about what happens next if things go south inherently takes away from a marriage. If you don't give all of yourself emotionally and mentally to your relationship, and it goes bad, whose fault might that be?

3. You cannot overestimate your capacity to love.

The first time I fell in love, I had never experienced a feeling so intense before. The day I got married, I didn't think I could possibly love that man any more. The first time I held my child, my heart nearly burst with a kind of love I didn't even know existed (a cliche, but for a reason). The point is, any time you think you have reached love capacity in your life, you are probably wrong. The love I have for my husband grows deeper and more complex as we age and carve out our happy little part of the world together. I don't know how much deeper it goes, but I'm not willing to put an imaginary cap on it, because I believe that love is infinite and evolving, and I can't wait to see what lies ahead.

A short story about Lisbon I guess

The turn from Hobblers ct onto Quiet rd is tight. Our parents have been telling us since the first time we begged for the keys. That's where Jimmy died, they say. He was my age. He died around prom. That's the only thing anyone remembers about him. That's where RJ died, too. He tried to run from the cops. A three sport star. That's what happens when we put that kind of pressure on kids, grownups said. He smoked a lot of pot, we said, Both were true, and why shouldn't they be? But that turn, that fucking turn, and now that we're grown ups living somewhere with a grid system in a city where nothing ever happens and trying to go above thirty will put a real fucking problem in your suspension, a city where you keep screaming but every scream just mixes in with so many Woooos.  We crave turns like this. We go home and we get hammered and we crank up the Hold Steady and we take that turn at sixty and we don't care and we want to die, kind of, because what's the point anymore, and why are we any better than a 17 year old who could play three sports-- THREE god damn it and I can barely approach life, and the tires scream and the cows stand there and they just blink on the corner, because they have seen it. They have seen the blood and the screaming moms and they have seen the asshole boys trying to impress a girl and they have seen people like me, and their long, long, brown eyelashes just say, what's next? And why?

A Letter to my Almost-two-year-old Son

Dear Almost-two-year-old,
   
     Everyone warned me that the terrible twos would start around this age, and they have. Lord, have they. I don't think they should be called "terrible", though, because I understand.
     I understand that, when you wake up screaming bloody murder at 4:30 am after I managed to trick you into sleeping in your own bed for a few measly hours, and you are furious at being duped, it's because you like the Thomas the Tank Engine sheets and pillows and plushies and comforters that we bought you to try to cajole you into your own bed, you just don't like like them.
     And when you crawl into bed with dad and me, I understand that you try to push my head away from you with all your might while clinging to my body like a genetically enhanced leech because you need the warmth and comfort of my body, just without the meddlesome presence of my face.
    I get that, when you are crying and begging for something that you are already holding in your hand, it is because you need me to hide it behind my back for three seconds to fifteen minutes before presenting it to you in order to restore your sense of wonder.
     I understand that, when you are lying on the floor, kicking and screaming simply, "Again! Agaaaaain!" it is because you want to have or see something you have had or seen before in your lifetime, and you are too distraught to specify what exactly that might be.
     I get that the absence of trains is unacceptable.
     I know that sometimes you like to pull the dogs' tails for no reason because it just feels good be a straight-up jerk from time to time.
     More than anything, I understand that you are completely overwhelmed by the grown-up emotions you are sprouting.

   I think the terrible twos should be called the "question-why-you-wanted-to-be-a-parent-in-the-first-place twos." Trust me, I have, but I have an answer; I can see past the towering mountain of "TWO", to the slightly less-craggy peak of "three", all the way to the sloping foothills of "four", and beyond. And I know that you will come out on the other side a real, functioning little person, and I will feel privileged to have loved you all along; mind, body, and face.

Love,
Mommy



If you enjoyed this, you might enjoy my slightly-more-serious Letter to the Grown Up Version of My One Year Old Son
   
   

A Letter to the Adult Version of My One Year Old Son

Dear Charles,
     As I write this, you are 17 months old, you have 12 teeth, and you are covered in bruises because you refuse to accept your physical limitations. I think you will have grown up to be a brave man, and that makes me glad.
     I believe that some degree of bravery is necessary in any life. Everyone has to face challenges throughout his life that are much more easily overcome with a bit of tenacity and the unwillingness to back down. I hope that any obstacles you have encountered so far, you have stood face to face with and stared down. I further hope that you have done so with class, respect, and a bit of panache.
     Every generation worries that their children will have it harder than they did while striving to make the opposite true. My generation is just now taking the reins on many issues all over the world, and I am hopeful that we can steer this crazy planet in the right direction. I will do my best to make sure we do not fail you, but I fear there is only so much I can do.
    You were born almost ten years after the largest terrorist attack in American History, an event that occurred on September 11, 2001, which is a day that changed everything and nothing at the same time. I still woke up the next day and attended tenth grade. I still rode my horses and fought with your Uncle Ben and giggled about the boys in high school. But the world had changed, and it continues to change today.
    I am thinking about this on this particular day because today is the 68th Anniversary of D-Day. D-Day was a crucial turning point in a war that clearly pitted the forces of good and freedom against the forces of evil. It was a war that encompassed two continents and took millions of lives and broke an unfathomable number of hearts. Still, it was a war with clear moral purpose. Thus did the Greatest Generation save the Planet from Hitler and certain misery.
    America is fighting a war now, too, but it is a more amorphous war than the one your great grandfathers fought. It is a war against anti-freedom ideology and theology. It has fuzzy lines and requires shaky alliances with questionable governments in the pursuit of sneaky, evil men who sometimes hide in caves. Even the smartest, bravest men and women in the world can't agree how to win this war, if it is winnable. A lot of good men have given their lives in pursuit of safety for Americans and their allies, and more will certainly do the same. We as free and good people do not have the advantage of a clearly defined enemy lining up in battlefields like those D-Day soldiers did. As I said, the world is changing.
     I fear that it will continue to change and become more complicated in your lifetime. You are growing up at a time when computers are capable of serving as weapons, not in the sense of being physically harmful, but in many other senses. Information is exchanged in milliseconds these days, sometimes when the information is not meant to change hands. Hoards of money are susceptible to electronic attack. Privacy may become a thing of the past.
    I have every confidence that your generation will adapt to these changes. You are growing up in a plugged-in world, and you will never remember a time when information was not immediately available and at the tip of your finger. Practically all of mankind (except North Korea, but I hope they have gotten it together by now) is only a button click away. It's remarkable. Still, I suspect it will create unique challenges, particularly as technology continues to march ever forward in the rest of your lifetime.
    So be brave. I'm sure the world is more complicated than ever, but let your life be simple sometimes. Find love. Don't look forward to the next big thing without enjoying what you already have. Visit your mom a lot. More than anything, take advantage of the information and opinions that are available to you. Information is power, and power changes the world. Think critically, but speak kindly, and always, always look forward.
Best of luck.

Love,
Mommy