Ugh. Weight.

I’ve been gym-ing it for awhile but the scale hasn’t really budged. I guess the official word for that condition is a plateau. After a few weeks without losing anything, I grudgingly started counting calories … and then I quit. Man, that sucks, calorie-counting. I can’t function under that kind of pressure.

So I was feeling pretty discouraged. I know — Pepper is only 3 months old, she is my third baby in under 5 years, blah blah blah. That doesn’t change the fact that nothing fits me. Not my underwear. Not my pajamas. Nothing. Everything is too tight (my normal clothes) or too big in the wrong places (my fat clothes … sort of) and I refuse to go buy new things because then I’ll just get comfortable in them and stop trying to fit into my old stuff. It’s just Ugly Town until who knows when.

After Thursday’s Zumba class I was lugging the baby in her 15-pound carseat, carrying a diaper bag and a workout bag, and dragging Asher by the hand across the parking lot when an older lady who was in my class stopped to speak to me. As I loaded the kids into the van one by one, she said something incredibly nice and encouraging: “I am PROUD of you. For making yourself come to the gym with these little ones, and trying to lose weight the right way. You’re doing great.”

It almost moved me to tears, and then I started making self-deprecating comments because I can’t seem to accept a sincere compliment without putting myself down, and then she cut me off and said “Honey.” So I made myself shut up and say thank you. Because she’s right. I should be proud of myself. It’s hard to make myself exercise. Everything and everyone else gets in the way. I’m tired. I want to lose a lot of weight, and the overall goal can be overwhelming. I don’t have time to plan my meals properly and I end up eating crap most of the time. I have a flap where my lower abdomen used to be. 

I needed someone to validate my efforts and give me encouragement and I didn’t even realize it. I hope one day, when I’m older, I can offer encouragement to a complete stranger who is struggling with her children and her body.

And so, I re-made the decision to just be proud of myself. I’m working towards a goal. I’m always working towards a goal. The most important thing I need to remember is to be proud that I bother to work towards something at all, because I have three small children who are sort of sucking the life of out me. My vanity and selfishness are the only things saving me from a life of sweatpants and Husband’s old t-shirts. 

And THEN do you know what happened?! 

I put on a pair of jeans that wouldn’t go past my hips last week. And I wore them all afternoon.

 Glory, glory hallelujah! There is hope after all.

Here’s what happens when I’m let out of the house: I take pictures of random things that entertain me, and then I come home from a really big trip with photos like these.

This was in the airport.

And then there was the experience I had in the Nashville airport where all of the stalls were available (see photo below), and yet, some bitch decided to use the one right next to me. Really??

I had a wonderful, but exhausting, trip with my girlfriends. And then Husband picked me up in New Orleans and I burst into tears … from exhaustion, from the stress of air travel and feeling my uterus contract into a painfully tight ball during every single takeoff and landing, from smelling too many strangers, from missing my family, and from being overwhelmed. I’m fairly certain I’m not a sissy in real life, but in pregnant life I TOTALLY AM.

Here’s what I’ve learned — I don’t think I should travel while pregnant, but I realized this slightly too late, while zooming up the elevator in the John Hancock building. That is when I thought to myself, “Oh shit.”  The moral of the story is that I’m glad I went, but wow, that trip really kicked my pregnant ass. 

Luckily, there were people present who took pictures of us instead of bald eagles with widespread wings. This is why I need my friends.

Lunch at Karyn’s Cooked, a well-known vegan restaurant.

Sweet Jolene turned 25 last week (we shall be 25 forever)!

Fuzzy night time photo taken by a well-dressed local.

I like this picture. Also, I did Kate’s hair (far right) and I kind of want to chop mine off now. And get a hot pink blazer like Kelli‘s.

View from the Hancock Building.

Breakfast at Bongo Room in Wicker Park. Hands down, best breakfast of my life.

WEEEEEE! On the elevator going 90-something stories up and I thought I might die.

Dinner at Giordano’s pizza.

City life.

Mmmmmm.

This is all vegan! It was surprisingly yummy.

Group photo!

I have to give props to Anca, our beautiful hostess in the white dress standing next to me in the picture above. She was so delightful and her husband Cort was so helpful and polite that I kind of wanted to cram them both into my suitcase and bring them back to Louisiana with me.

No, really.

Now that I’m back home, I have a ton of laundry to do and children to hug and lemon water to drink. And sleep to catch up on. It’s good to be missed.

In 24 hours, I’ll be heading to the airport to fly away for three days with some girlfriends. We’re going to Chicago!

I am going to eat like a man and (window) shop and behave as if I’m not almost 6 months pregnant with my third child. 

I AM GOING TO LIVE IT UP, because once Pepper is born, I’ll have three kids to look after and who knows when I’ll be able to do something like this again!? Maybe never. So seize the moment I shall. 

I got this piece of advice from a friend today and it really hit home with me. She said, “Enjoy your life. You never know when your shit will hit the fan.”

She knows what she’s talking about. Life is fragile and brutal and amazing and beautiful and you never know what might happen next — good or bad. I am reminded of this every so often when something bad happens to someone I love. Life is hard. We are challenged and tested at every turn. Some challenges are easily overcome; some seem insurmountable. 

Today, I am grateful for everything that I have, including faith in a God I cannot see. He continues to bless me even when I look up to heaven and say, “WTF?!” Because you know I do.

After a night of sleeping not enough, followed by a day that sucked because I was not well-rested, TWO went right back into his Woombie. I’m experimenting with different swaddling techniques. Today for one of his naps, I stuck him in a sleep sack with his arms inside.

 

It seems strange to me that any of us survive in this house on any given day. But then I think about the people who live in truly deplorable situations (like Haiti, for example), and I feel stupid for showing everyone my super huge bruise. 

The Christmas cards have been ordered. Because this is the only picture we have of all four of us. 

It took 11 weeks and 4 days for it to happen, but this was the first time someone in our family wasn’t wearing pajamas. The only reason why is because it was a holiday (Thanksgiving) and we were at someone else’s home.

Immediately after this picture was taken, ONE went to dig in the dirt, TWO’s overalls came off, and Husband probably unbuttoned his pants.

  
I am thankful for that man. 

Those boys. 

My life.

Finally! It’s Thanksgiving! 

My cheesecake is refrigerating. All I have to do between now and noon is put the praline topping on it, make myself and my family presentable, and show up. The “make myself and my family presentable” part is what concerns me the most, and also why I have been up since 4:30.

Something about wrangling two children into nice clothes and making sure there isn’t crust in their ears is pretty damn hard. Not to mention, I have no idea what I’m even going to wear today. My wardrobe is a confusing mixture of too-small and barely-fitting items … every time I step into my closet I feel like I’m trying to solve a riddle.

Husband might be able to help with the kids. But usually what happens is he waits until the last possible moment to start getting himself ready, and generally this is during the peak of the wrangling period, when I need the MOST help. He also cannot be trusted to make sure they don’t mess up their clothes before we leave the house. 

One thing I can say for him, he is excellent at making sure I am left alone for however long it takes me to get myself together. I think he has learned to appreciate (accept?) the fact that I am semi-high maintenance (very high maintenance?) and it takes me at least an hour to get ready. I may be the only female in this family, but that does not mean I’ll be lowering my standards when I actually have somewhere to go besides the grocery store.

Again, this is why I’ve been up since 4:30. Gobble, gobble!