Belly and The Bug: April 2009

Survivalist

I'm not really sure how I feel about this whole swine flu thing. I mean, I'm opposed to it for sure - nothing good ever came of mutant viruses. That's not the issue. It's preparing for the pandemic that has me feeling all wishy-washy. Is this going to be the kind of thing where everyone goes into a tailspin, panicking to get stocked up on toothpaste and duct tape for nothing? You know, like Y2K? Or are we truly on the verge of a global pandemic? It's pretty hard to tell.

Erika (my older sister - and that is the last time I will describe her relationship to me since I do it EVERY time) went to Costco today to prepare for the coming apocalypse. When they didn't have everything she needed, she went to Walmart. She called me between stores and I totally made fun of her and her survivalist ways. There is one reported case in the metropolitan area where she lives - a student at some private school. That school is closed, but the public schools are still open and everyone else seems to be just fine. When she got to Walmart, the greeters were wearing face masks. The greeters at Walmart! Face masks! And then, as if to prove that I'm a cavalier bitch who is risking my family members' lives by not stocking up on hand sanitizer and anti-diarrheal medicine, Walmart was sold out of face masks. I was stunned.

So, today was one of those glorious spring days where you can taste summer just around the corner. This afternoon, the girls and I walked to Fred Meyer to deposit our rent check at the WaMu inside. I had Erika forward me the CDC's list of supplies so that I could pick some up while I was there. I mean, if the greeters at Walmart in middle America are wearing face masks, I should at least look at the list. Below is a picture of Erika's cache of supplies:

Take note of the multi-pack of Lysol spray, the 25-pound bag of cat food, the granola bars, the basic medicines, the laundry soap, the toilet paper, the case of Cup o'Noodles. I also happen to know there's a case of canned tuna in there. Plus she bought fifteen gallons of water. Erika is not messing around. By contrast, let's now look at my bounty:

Somehow I didn't do as well. These little sandals are a perfect match for the girls' new swimsuits, though.

I miss grown-ups

The last few weeks have been pretty low on outside interaction with adults (not related to buying the house, anyway). Two weeks ago, the girls had nasty colds that kept us in the house. Last week, I was the sick one. Now this week, Belly still has a cold and she's added a fever to the mix. We are all going a little stir-crazy being stuck in the house so much and that poor Belly wants to be held all the time. I can completely understand. That's how I felt last week.

Belly is sitting in her high chair as I write this (The Bug is napping), sounding very much like a typewriter as she munches some crackers. I could watch her eat all day. I don't know why, but she's a ridiculously cute eater. I can't exactly qualify what makes the cuteness ooze forth so profoundly when she eats but it surely, surely does.

Anyway, I felt like I had started to develop some friendships with some of the neighborhood moms but have not heard from a single one over the last few weeks. How boring. And telling. I guess we're all just wrapped up in our own child-focused worlds.

On a more positive note, everything everywhere is blooming in Portland. It is bea-YOO-tiful!! The girls have a book called Jamberry that has fireworks in it that are like berry explosions - big pink flares with little strawberries cascading down; big blue blasts with tiny blueberries on the tips; you get the picture. The other day we were driving down a street that was lined with pink and white flowering trees. I could hear The Bug softly making the fireworks sound effect as she looked out her window. I just smiled - she had summed up my thoughts exactly.

A stickler for the rules

I never followed blogs until last summer when a friend of mine recommended one that she thought I would like. Like? I loved! And then I stumbled across another one that piqued my interest. And another. And another. I probably follow about fifteen blogs regularly now - mostly personal/mommy and cooking blogs. Regardless of genre, there is a common thread between all of them: Near perfect use of grammar and punctuation. I like witty, too. But let's get back to that first point. Having worked in many a professional setting, it has never ceased to amaze me how many people have very little grasp of the proper usage of the English language. They can't spell. They can't use a semicolon correctly (much less a dash). They can't make subjects and verbs agree. They've never seen a thesaurus. And the thing that REALLY gets my goat? THEY DON'T CARE! They assume people won't notice or won't care or something. I'm not talking about the lower echelons of the corporate ladder, either - I mean real honest-to-goodness corporate executives. It's astounding. And it automatically has the effect of making me lose respect for them. I will not hesitate to judge people solely on their writing skills. Remember that, Facebook friends.

I pause to point out that I know I am not perfect. I am close, but not quite there. I judge when poor grammar and punctuation skills are the standard modus operandi, not the occasional slip.

But I digress. I'm impressed with the number of quality writers in Blogland. Don't get me wrong - I've seen some that are so terrible, they just have to be made up (which makes them strangely compelling in their own way). But there are some solid writers out there and I find it refreshing. I don't really think I'm snobby about this so much as incredibly nerdy. Maybe a little bitchy...

Speaking of nerdy, my sister Erika has made THE COOLEST set of Little House on the Prairie découpaged coasters. She also made a set using the reproductive organ chapter from a medical encyclopedia. I can't even explain how awesome they are. Erika is my current craft hero. I can't wait for the girls to get older so I can do crafty things again. Right now I get my craft fix by salivating over Etsy. I have about seventy items flagged as favorites and I sigh audibly when I sign on and see that one of them has been sold. Anyway, Erika is going to open an Etsy storefront and I'm trying to help her think of a name. We like the idea of incorporating the word "library" - library craft, art library. Those are sucky suggestions, but you see what I mean, right? Any suggestions?

I can die happy

I. am. so. sick. I'm going to bed. But first needed to put this out there in the universe: We have finally come to terms with the jackass seller of the Charmer. The new roof will be ours. We close June 1st. And I had about 3 oz. of Chimay to celebrate. Now I'm completely done. Must sleep...

Dear Belly and Bug,

Mama apologizes for being impatient when you were so goddamn whiney last week. I didn't know THIS was how you felt. I didn't realize at the time that you wished your sweet little faces would fall off so that you didn't have to deal with having your noses wiped yet again. It didn't occur to me that there was throbbing pressure in your sinuses that might make you want to lie your baby heads down for like, three days. I am sorry. Now I know. So please try to be a little more empathetic to me, okay?

Buggy - when you smacked me square between the eyes with you tambourine this morning? That made me see stars and caused my sinuses to unload for at least 20 minutes. I know it was an accident, but please try to be a little more careful.

And Belly, when you were slamming the square wooden puzzle piece into the spot where the triangle one goes and Mama showed you the correct spot, yet you insisted you were right the first time and kept slamming, slamming, slamming? That made my head hurt in a way that almost caused puking.

I am begging you, loving daughters of mine, take pity on me. I promise I will remember how this feels - this misery, this exhaustion - the next time you have crappy colds and whine all day and night. I will be a better mother. I promise. Just go easy on me, okay?

Your ever-loving and appreciative mother,

Mama

Under the weather and over the moon

I usually manage to avoid the girls' sicknesses. This time, I did not. No, no - I did not. Basically, I feel like complete shit. It's a cold that is primarily effecting the right side of my head, giving me a couple exciting moments today where my balance was impaired and I almost biffed it. The girls were not excited about my low patience level and overall crabbiness, as evidenced by the number of times they acted up and whined. It's pretty safe to say that this was not a good day for any of us.

On a brighter note - and by brighter I mean shining like a million candle light flashlight right in your eye - the house deal is coming together. We're still working out some of the details, but this thing is happening. I. AM. SO. EFFING. EXCITED. Have I mentioned that I love this house? I love this house. In fact, you're all invited to come visit once we're in there. (See, I can say that because I believe my readership is low enough, everyone could bring a bottle of wine and a sleeping bag and we'd have a ton of fun!) It needs a little work, though. The family room is kind of a piece of work. Two of the walls have wood paneling that I will need to cover with that stuff that makes it like sheetrock and paint it. And most unfortunately, I will not be able to replace the ugly, royal blue carpet before we move in, or this year, or even next year. I'm trying to figure out how to cover it in such a way that I can live with it. Plus it has track lighting. I anticipate a trip to Ikea in the very near future to buy something to replace that crap. I will stop this boring banter. I could prattle on like this for hours and you've probably already fallen asleep reading.

WAKE UP!! Oh, sorry - didn't mean to startle you. Nothing new to report. Just that - well - I heart my new house (even if the washer and dryer that are conveying look like they're from 1975).

Confidence is a beautiful thing

I have expended some serious time and energy these last months fretting over Belly and the fact that she just doesn't walk. I can't even begin to count the number of times I've googled "not walking at 14 months," "...15 months," "...16 months," "...17 months." Here we are on the cusp of 18 months and I've been thinking that maybe I'm in denial. Maybe there really is something wrong with her. I've been sorta bracing myself for the results of the developmental evaluation that the pediatrician is sure to order for her when we take the girls in for their checkup in a couple weeks.

And then...this afternoon...Belly walked. As in, she walked from the couch to the bottom of the stairs, paused to hold on to the gate for a minute, then walked into the kitchen to hold the freezer handle (the freezer is on the bottom of our fridge), turned around, walked back to the couch. This is a serious distance - maybe 38 feet round trip? She did this lap several times. Sure, she'd stumble every now and then, but that little Belly just stood right back up and kept on her merry way. I jumped and wooted and cheered and she was SO proud of herself. And dang it, I was pretty proud, too.

I was absolutely thrilled when The Bug first walked four months ago, but this is different. More than a lack of physical ability, Belly seemed like she had a big confidence hurdle to get over. And she did it. My baby believes in herself and that makes Mama prouder than just about anything.

Ohmigodohmigodohmigod - breathe....

Hi Internet Loverlies! Mama is in a goooooood mood. You know why? Yes, yes - I'm having a little wine. But that's actually what's keeping me somewhat calm and stopping me from jumping around the house like a total effing maniac (I might spill my glass if I did that). Okay - remember The Charmer? The house that I longed for but didn't get? I can't even believe that I'm about to write this, but the sellers are completely nuts and after refusing to respond to us because they were not about to lower their price one hot red cent...they lowered their price. On Tuesday. And I happened to notice it immediately. And they lowered it enough that Dude and I agreed that it was worth writing a second offer at their new price. And THEY'VE ACCEPTED OUR OFFER! We are doing the home inspection tomorrow and barring any structural damage or whathaveyou, that darling of a home will be MY darling!

Oh, Charmer - I knew we were meant to be together. Me with all my cooking and you with your brand new gas stove. Me with my boxes and boxes and boxes of books and you with your library of empty shelves begging to be filled. Me with my need for good food and wine and interesting shops within walking distance and you with your close proximity to the ultra-hip hot-spots of Portland. Me with my hooligans and you with your Ananda Marga preschool a mere 10 blocks away. I could go on and on, but I won't. We will have years to wax poetically about our love. Sigh. I think there are cartoon hearts in my eyes...

If they're so wise, why do I have to take them out?

I met with the oral surgeon yesterday. He says that both of my wisdom teeth have to come out and because I'm "so old" (yes indeed, that is a direct quote), he highly recommends getting completely knocked out instead of just having the nitrous. PLUS my teeth, in their infinite wisdom, should've known that they needed to wait another 10 months before erupting because there is a twelve-month probationary period on my new dental insurance for anything besides standard cleaning and maintenance. That means I'm paying cash for this barrel of laughs. This picture's getting prettier and prettier, right? Ugh. I'm scheduled for the emptying of my mouth and pockets at 8am on May 6th. At least they've already given me the Valium prescription.

In other news, I am STOKED (can I say that even though I'm not Keanu Reeves?) that we are going to Costa Rica in a month. I guess I haven't really talked about that on here, have I? Well, I have a farm there with two of my siblings. And I say "farm" only as a convenience. Someday it will be a farm. Right now it is a bunch of land - most of it cliffs and jungle - with a house that my brother is building. He lives there about six months a year and the rest of us are very jealous but not sure how to swing it ourselves. Anyway, we have bananas and mangoes and pineapples planted and being harvested, but just enough for personal consumption and MAN I can't wait to be their consumer! My sister and her husband are going down there with me, Dude and the girls. It is going to be a much, much needed vacation in paradise (you know, if your idea of paradise is a remote mountain side about 5km from the beach in the middle of Central America with fairly primitive amenities and two 18-month-olds, which strangely I guess mine is). And there are monkeys and toucans and sloths and stuff! I've been trying to teach the girls the animal names in Spanish as well as English, but they only seem to care about the giraffe (la jirafa) and the polar bear (el oso polar). Oh well. So much for practicality. I guess they take after their mama a little more than their papa in that department.

The snot rivers runneth over

Lordy, lordy, lordy - my girls has got themselves some SNOT! It's hard to believe that those little 2-foot-eighters have enough snot in their wee bodies to necessitate a nose wiping approximately every 3.9 minutes, but they do. They started feeling sick Easter afternoon and by bedtime, it was a full fledged snot-o-rama. Accompanied by coughing. Accompanied by some diarrhea. Good times!

There is one very positive thing that has come of this, though. Last night as we were getting ready for bed, Dude suggested that we leave Belly and The Bug in their own bed until one of them woke up since they were sleeping so soundly at that moment. I heartily agreed - especially because I knew that none of us were going to have a restful night of sleep once the transfer into our bed was complete. About twenty minutes later, The Bug woke up and Dude went in to see if he could get her to go right back to sleep. I fell asleep four seconds after he got up and the next thing I knew, my alarm was going off. I sat up and I was in our bed all by myself. In the same instant, I felt bad that Dude had slept in the girls' room with the sicklets and WONDERFUL that I had just had a solid night of sleep with zero interruptions. That hasn't happened since...well...probably some time in my second trimester of pregnancy? If only it hadn't been a gym morning. I could've slept until 7am instead of 5:45am. But I'm not complaining. Nooooooo no. I still feel for Dude who is most likely stumbling through his day upstairs in that office of his, but my body feels RESTED. It's a glorious, glorious thing.

April's pre-tax-paying date night extravaganza

Despite having that damn wisdom tooth that is causing me grief, Dude and I went on a date last night. It was our monthly fine dining date and it was goooooooood. We went to a restaurant called Blue Hour in the Pearl District. As soon as we sat down and I opened the wine list, I knew my foodie palate would be sated. Any restaurant that has a selection of more than five white burgundies is going to offer up an excellent meal. It is a clear indicator that they take things very seriously. And that's what I love. Serious food. Inventive, playful, sophisticated - all are good adjectives, but the food must also be serious. It doesn't have to be expensive and fancy - just serious.

But this place WAS fancy. Here's what we ate:

A trio of foie gras - seared, terrine, mousse - served with a huckleberry gastrique, sour pear butter, candied pistachios, onion marmalade and toasted brioche.

A carmelized onion tart with sauteed morel mushrooms, parmesan flan and salted mustard greens with shaved black truffles.

A suckling pig dish for which I don't remember the official description, but it was a pork shoulder with crispy skin and then this incredible thing where they wrap together the tenderloin, loin, bacon and skin, braise it (I think), then slice it. We got a big hulking slice of THAT. Served with parsnips, eggplant and pan jus.

Then we had a cheese plate with Constant Bliss, Red Hawk and a French sheep's milk one whose name I don't recall.

A scoop of rhubarb ice cream.

And a bottle of Oregon pinot noir.

I was stuffed FULL. And I had a food hangover this morning. So rich! So divine! So indulgent! Sigh. I love Dude. I love food and wine. I love when Dude takes me out for delicious food and wine.

Please pass the teething tabs

I need to find a dentist and STAT. Apparently, the girls aren't the only teethers in this house. I have a wisdom tooth clawing its way through my gum and it really, really, really, really doesn't feel good. And I'm terrified of what it's going to take to make it feel better. I'm one of those people that has never had a cavity or anything. The dentist's office has always been a nice place where I go to get my teeth cleaned and that's it. Now it's looming in my very near future as a place where I go to have bones yanked from my face. I know they're gonna want to take the wisdom tooth on the other side, as well (I don't have any on top; just the two). Ugh. I feel just sick about this. And scared. Totally and undeniably scared.

Busted!

Both girls were about an hour and a half into their nap when I heard a lot of stirring going on over the monitor. Now, if The Bug wakes up first, she quietly crawls off the bed and reads a book on the floor. If Belly wakes up first, though, somehow they are both awake by the time I get up there. I have no idea what she does to wake up The Bug because, whatever it is, she does it very quietly.

Today I caught her red-handed. I crept up the stairs as quickly as possible and as I peeked in the girls' room, it was all unfolding before me. There was The Bug, sound asleep on her back. And there was Belly, on her knees next to The Bug, very carefully lifting Buggy's shirt with her right forefinger extended about to go in for a serious DING-DONG! on the belly button. I whispered, "Psssssst!!" and Belly looked up at me in total shock. The speed with which she dropped The Bug's shirt and laid back down - even turning on her side away from The Bug - was astounding. I crawled onto the bed and snuggled up against her but there was no way she was going back to sleep. I mean, not with me shaking so hard with laughter.

The happiest place on Earth...well, at least in Portland

Today we went to the Children's Museum with a little friend from the neighborhood and his mom. I had promised the girls that we were going to see "kids," but they were confused why we were a) driving and b) in the truck for more than three minutes when everyone knows that the community center is six blocks away ("Duh, Mom. Gawd!" I can hear it already.). When we got to the museum, The Bug was happy to meet up with her buddy in the parking lot (Belly was playing it pretty cool still) but she clearly had no idea what we were about to walk into. The excitement continued to build as we walked in and there were kids and babies EVERYWHERE.

There is a Bob the Builder exhibit at the museum right now and we checked that out first. The girls have no clue who Bob the Builder is, but they courteously waved hi to the giant statue of him that stands in the doorway with a friendly smile and a hand in the air. Then...they climbed; they slid; they explored; they ran/crawled like grease lightning; they squealed in glee. And we were just getting started.

Next was the mock-grocery store/deli. My thoughtful children licked every everything that was on the shelves of the store and I could practically see the thanks written across the faces of the other parents. They must've been so pleased to see their own children handle the still-wet-from-my-daughters'-mouths plastic produce. Then we went to the mock doctor's office. There were a bunch of anatomically correct male and female baby dolls in cradles and The Bug picked up a little boy baby. She looked at it for a minute, then put it down in favor of a girl baby. She gave it a quick inspection and proceeded to hug that doll for about five minutes. Belly made a baby pile with all the other dolls and then tossed each one over her shoulder, creating a new "discarded baby" pile. Nice. After that, we went in some play area that was like a forest. Belly pulled every book off the rack and tossed it (the "discarded book" pile). The Bug stared long and hard at the fish tank. I could practically see her little mind thinking about her favorite book, Good Dog Carl, and how the baby goes swimming in the aquarium. Then we donned waterproof smocks and headed into the water room. The girls were just a little bit too short to have as much fun as I thought they would've, but they still had a great time. The final stop was in a transportation room with a bunch of toy trains and a miniature city bus that the kids can pretend to drive. This was truly the real highlight of the day for The Bug. She LOVED driving that bus. She absolutely refused to let anyone else drive or even help steer it. Belly normally fights pretty hard for what she wants and she wanted to drive that bus. But even she could see that arguing with The Bug on this one was pointless and instead had a rollicking good time playing peek-a-boo, hiding in front of the bus and popping up in the windshield to scream at The Bug.

We are going to get a membership to the museum FOR SURE. The girls were exhausted afterward and almost fell asleep on the way home. Bedtime tonight was quick and easy. I've got two words that pretty much sum it all up: Mama likes.

When will it end?!

It is 8:41am and Belly has already bitten The Bug three times. She went in for a fourth time but I got my hand between her mouth and The Bug's shoulder and she chomped down on my thumb - until she realized what was happening and then she immediately went slack-jawed. At the last bite to poor Buggy, I scooped up Belly and spanked her diapered butt and put her in the beanbag chair in the other room. This is the first time that I've ever spanked her. I didn't like it, but I have tried everything everything everything else. And honestly? I don't think she cared. Now I'm left feeling like a crap mother and I have no doubt that the biting rampage will continue. What do I have to do to make the biting STOP?? I'd say I'm at the end of my rope, but I lost that rope so long ago that I don't even remember what it looks like. Seriously. This has been going on for like 8 months.

Oh. And they're mocking me now when I tell them no. The weather here has been absolutely gorgeous the past few days and we've been spending a lot of time on the back deck (this house only has a deck - no yard). There are three things that I don't want The Bug to touch: the Tiki lamp, the big pot filled with soggy fermented plant matter that is just off the side of the deck, and some sort of electrical cord that is attached to the back of the house. She is well aware of this. Now when she touches any one of these items, she chants "No! No! No!" as she does it. It cracks Belly up every time.

I love these girls with everything I got, but if this is what 17 months looks like, will we all survive the terrible twos? And I've heard three is even worse than two...

Name dropping

I lived in Los Angeles for about 7 1/2 years during my twenties. I loved it. I'd live there again right now if I could afford the quality of life to which I have grown accustomed here in my thirties. Anyway, besides just regular day-to-day sightings, I worked at Spago for five of those years and I've got my fair share of celebrity stories. It's a very gauche thing in LA to tell celebrity stories, but they are loads of fun to those who live elsewhere. And since I'm not in LA, here are just a few of mine (or at least snippets from a few of mine):

I once got stuck in the elevator of a club with Marilyn Manson, Twiggy Manson and two extremely large body guards. I was propositioned. I declined.

Donald Sutherland told me I'm as cute as a bug's ear.

After goofing around with him for most of an evening, I asked Dustin Hoffman if I could call him "Uncle Dusty." He declined.

George Michael bought me a bottle of my favorite white burgundy.

I used the bathroom at Vanna White's house.

I winked at Tommy Lee in his convertible - from my convertible - at a stop light on Mulholland Drive.

Bill Maher and his friend tried to buy drinks for me and my friend. When we passed, he demanded, "Don't you know who I am?!" To which I replied, "Don't you know who I am?!"

Paul Westerberg told Winona Ryder that he'd shake her hand, but his right arm was busy resting on my shoulders.

After seeing first-hand just how short Jean Claude Van Damme is, I bragged that I could probably kick his ass. He heard me.

Muhammad Ali summoned me over to tell me that he liked my braids.

Sir Anthony Hopkins insisted I call him Tony.

The one that makes me swoon just to think about it, though? Al Pacino called me sweetheart. Sigh.

Oh to be hated again

WARNING: The following post contains the ramblings of a vain woman who feels fat.

When I was a teenager, I was a little bit of a hot-n-tot. I can admit that only because, well, facts are facts. Fact one: I had a 34-24-34 figure. Fact two: I routinely lied about my age so as to "seem" older. Fact three: I always preferred less clothing to more. You get the idea. Anyway, I often heard "You're so thin! I hate you!" And I won't lie - I didn't mind. I was a size 0 or 2 but I didn't need to do anything to have that figure. I ate whatever I wanted (and in large quantities - I am from Wisconsin, afterall); I drank; I shunned exercise for the sake of exercise. (Actually, I'm starting to hate my young self, too.)

When I turned 20, my metabolism started to shift. I joined a gym but never went. I was up to a size 4 or 6 for the first time in my life and felt like that was probably still alright. I moved to LA when I was 21 and suddenly felt like one of the fat girls. I knew that I needed to lose weight or I was only going to be cast as "the friend" instead of the leading lady. I half-assed worked out, but I never altered what I ate. The year I was 22, I started waiting tables at Spago and I gained ten pounds in about an instant. That was twelve years ago and oh how I wish that even that would've kicked my ass into the gym. But sadly, no.

There have been another ten pounds that I've put on and taken off and put on and taken off and put on and taken off since then. I know that counting calories and getting regular cardio exercise is the key to what works for me but man I hate that crap.

I had just embarked on losing that ten pounds when I got pregnant, which was not ideal, but whatever. All through my pregnancy, I was told to make sure I was eating a lot and getting enough fat in my diet, etc. And my doctor even told me that I only needed to exercise if I felt like it because, being pregnant with twins, it was important that I keep my energy levels up and not stress my body. So...I didn't really exercise while I was pregnant. I went for slow strolls and sometimes did a few laps in the pool, a few prenatal yoga classes. People, I am 5'4" (on a good day) and by the time I had those little pups, I weighed about 185 pounds. THAT is a lot.

Then came the big breastfeeding myth - "If you breastfeed, the pounds will fall right off!" It's a total lie. I'm serious. There was even a recent study that shows this. And the whole time I was nursing, I was told to make sure to drink whole milk, eats lots of nuts and seeds, blah, blah. This stuff = FAT. The pounds were not falling anywhere. They were staying put.

Then the dreaded happened. When the girls were about six months old, some woman thought I was pregnant. It took everything I had to hold back the tears at that moment. Oh but how they came when I got in my car. To say my body image was low is an understatement. I felt like I was walking around wearing a fat suit. A big, stretched-out fat suit. Looking in the mirror was something I avoided and I felt like I mentally understood how one heads down the path to an eating disorder.

I stopped nursing when the girls were nine months old and immediately started counting calories. I had some quick success and this spurred me on. But then we were moving and it was the holidays, etc., and it was just too dang hard. So I decided not to beat myself up over it and get back on track in January. Which I did. And the Lose It! app on my iPhone totally makes it even easier.

I'm currently back down to my pre-pregnancy weight (meaning that I still want to lose another 10 pounds or so) but my body is SO different. I'd say that overall, everything is saggier - especially the midsection - except my biceps are the biggest they've ever been (thank you, Belly and The Bug). I'm going to the gym a couple times a week and working on putting my abs back in place with a heinous class called "Ab Blast." It all sucks, but I've resigned myself to the fact that I'm going to be a terrible example for my girls if I'm so, so, so unhappy with myself. I have to get rid of the weight and be done with it once and for all. And it DOES feel good to not be trapped in a fat suit anymore. Progress is being made. I'm not there yet, but progress is being made.

Meanwhile, Valerie Bertinelli is on the cover of People magazine in an effing bikini. What is that? Good for her! But I don't find it particularly motivating. Unfortunately, without the assistance of a little cosmetic surgery, that will never be me again. I think I hate her.

Belly and The Bug