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Tag: body image

It’s ok to butter the toast too.

Photo by SHVETS production on Pexels.com

This morning my youngest asked me to make him eggs and toast. Since the frying pan was already out I decided to also have an egg. I popped two pieces of fresh french bread in the toaster, fried an egg, buttered my toast and added a drop of ketchup.

It probably doesn’t seem like a big deal, but if you have a history of disordered eating, or any type of unhealthy control issues surrounding food or body image, it really kinda is.

The simple act of just eating what you feel like eating without allowing yourself to negatively self talk is a huge deal for anyone who has historically or presently associated their self worth with what they put in their mouths, while trying to conform to a societal beauty standard that is unattainable or unsustainable for them.

The simple act of buttering my toast without feeling guilty about those “unnecessary calories” was, in fact, a really big deal for me.

Body positivity isn’t about celebrating fatness. It isn’t about giving up on taking good care of your body. For me, it’s recognizing that taking good care of my body begins with loving myself exactly where I am at and understanding that it is ok to be living in whatever skin I am currently in. It’s about not having to to justify the fact that I have soft spots and round spots by killing myself at the gym and constantly injuring myself by trying to push my body to places it doesn’t want to go.

It’s about taking part in things that make me feel good and strong and not feeling like changing the shape of my body is the ultimate accomplishment. I’m 43 years old, and am really, really tired of that narrative.

Since childhood, I have lived a life of restrictions around food. It came from doctors, coaches, parents, teachers. And I know that they all felt like they were doing what was in my best interest, but in reality, it damaged me. It made me feel like it didn’t matter what else I was good at, or even brilliant at, unless I could just not be fat. Their comments became my inner voice and it turned into a life long torment that made me feel like I was never really in control of anything unless I could control my body through deprivation or obsessive habits, and created the inability to ever feel like I was enough unless the number on the scale was deemed acceptable. It lead to avoiding doctors appointments because I didn’t want to see what the number on the scale was or hear the speech about healthy eating and exercising. It meant that running 5km 4 times a week still wasn’t enough. It meant not wanting to go out for dinner with my husband or friends because it wasn’t my “cheat day”. It damaged me.

Fast forward to the pandemic where we are all living some variation of our former selves. Like many of us, I wanted to find ways to “work on myself”. I dieted again. I ironically felt in control of things during a time where we didn’t have control over much, but realistically, food was controlling me yet again. Social media showed me pictures of weight loss programs and people who were celebrating their accomplishments and it just felt like an affirmation that I was unlovable unless I also attained such changes. But it made me finally decide that all of this bullshit was just enough.

I honestly don’t know who decided that thin was in, or that it was the ultimate goal for everyone, but I’ve honestly fucking had enough of it. People come in all shapes and sizes and I don’t know why we can’t just fucking accept that.

If there is part of the population who don’t fit into a “standard” airplane seat, change the standard, or make different sizes available. In the clothing store, we don’t need “plus” sections or “regular” sections. Just make the fucking clothes available to every body. Stop pretending that you did keto or weight watchers to “feel better and get healthy” because I’ve done them all too and that is a fucking lie.We did it because the world told us we were fat, and less than and we didn’t want to feel that way anymore. We wanted to shop in the same part of the store as all the pretty people do. And I get it. It feels GOOD for everyone to tell you how amazing you look- but why didn’t they see how beautiful we were before? Why can’t we see that our beauty exists in every shape?

So, yes, take care of yourself. Run the miles, take your vitamins, eat your vegetables to make sure you can poop, walk your dogs, swim the laps and pump the iron. But for the love of fucking GAWD, butter your toast too and remember that you are pretty anyway.

This Dieting Thing Can Fuck Right Off

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Almost one year ago, I got on the treadmill for the first time.   I decided that I was going to learn to run, with the ultimate goal being a 10km for my 40th birthday.

I didn’t make the 10 km mark.   Lack of training time and consistency driven by too demanding work schedules, children, nagging strain injuries and just plain life got in the way.

BUT, I was running 5km pretty regularly, and at the end of the day I have become a *runner*.  I had accomplished something I was told and believed I would never be able to achieve, and still have my eyes set on that 10km mark.     So yeah, giant “fuck yous” all around to my inner voice and people in a previous life that were quick to judge the short round girl and what she was capable of.

Anyway, I am 100% ok with being fitfat.   You know, someone whose body type is just never going to be sleek and slim and perfect.   I was happy with being curvy and healthy and not having any limitations in my fitness level.   I was super proud to get on the treadmill and gain power by exceeding everyone’s expectations, even my own.

Somehow though, over the course of the past year and a bit, my weight had surprisingly crept up.  I don’t normally get on the scale, but that fucking annual doctor’s appointment sealed my fate.    It wasn’t like I gained a shit ton, but it was enough to irritate me.

And if you know me, I am sorta anti-diet these days.   It makes me feel like shit inside, it make me feel like shit outside.  It brings up all those unhealthy thoughts and behaviors of pseudo eating disorders from my teens and early twenties and I am so tired of attaching anything about my well being or self worth to the number on a goddamn scale.

And still, I thought to myself last month that maybe if I just made an effort to shed about 20 pounds, it would take some stress off the joints that have been giving me trouble, allowing me to run a little longer and a little faster.   I wasn’t doing it for any reason of vanity or worthiness or any of my usual bullshit.

So, I jumped on the wagon.   I am about 12 pounds down but now this week, despite eating cabbage soup and boiled eggs and all the apples that have ever grown on a fucking tree in the universe, the scale is being a right asshole.  And all of a sudden, I am 17 years old again, and all that matters in getting that number down no matter how hungry and miserable it makes me inside.

Why does that happen?

I just want to run a 10km, Bitches.

To all the humans out there who see someone who is overweight, or underweight, or imperfect in any way, just remember that everyone is trying to be the best human that they are capable of in the moment.  Dieting is such an ugly habit.    I preach all the time about being beautiful in our diversity, that nobody needs to give a shit about what other people think.   And it’s totally true.

But we all have our kryptonite.

Mine is the scale.   It makes me fell weak, and like a failure no matter what it says.   It’s so annoying.

Find your kryptonite and tell it to fuck right off.   Do yourself that favour.   Whether its an object, or a person, or whatever.  It has no business stealing your power.

You are enough. I am enough.

Here’s to a 10km this spring!

I Used To Try And Drown My Problems In Wine, Now I Just Run Away From Them

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Flickr

Back in January, I started running.

No, really!

I decided that I was gonna do something for myself this year.    I didn’t book a trip or get my hair done.   I didn’t spend a ridiculous amount of money on a pair of shoes.

I wanted something where I could pursue solitude and independence from all of the other hats I wear on a daily basis.   I wanted to not have to talk to anybody and accomplish some monumental.

Well, monumental for me, that is.

So I decided that I would celebrate my upcoming 40th birthday in October by running a 10km race.

With a bit of encouragement from a dear friend, I quietly started a “Couch to 5km” program that I downloaded from the internet.   It starts you really slow, assuming that you have a zero grade fitness level and builds you up gradually.   The first week you maybe spend about 7 or 8 minutes of a 30 minute workout running.

I posted about my goals and progress on social media to keep myself accountable and make it real.

And let me tell you.  I thought I was gonna puke, faint or even die those first few weeks.   It was awful.  I started googling how high your heart rate was able to go before it literally explodes from your chest.   I had to force myself to get on that treadmill.

And then a few weeks in, it suddenly started to get easier, and I was running for longer periods.   And longer distances.  And all of a sudden, I ran my first 5km.   It had seemed so out of reach and impossible for me, but I fucking did it.

And I’m pretty sure the scale has not budged.  

Despite people commenting about weight I’ve lost……I don’t think I have.

I haven’t been dieting.  Not even a little bit.   I try to eat balanced meals that make me happy and have energy to feel good during my runs.   The things I enjoy.   Losing weight as in fat was never the goal of this.   I was searching to shed the weight of a lifetime battle with body image and a constantly negative conversation that I was having with myself about food.   “You shouldn’t eat that.   Carbs are bad.   That has zero points.  Empty calories. “

After those first few weeks and things started to get easier, I started to feel different about myself.    I’ve always tried to celebrate my curves and preach loving yourself at any size.

But for the first time I actually felt that way inside.

Once I started to get over the number on the scale or on the tag of my pants and concentrate on numbers like kilometers, minutes and heart rate, I gained power over a lifetime of never feeling like I was quite beautiful enough.

Because fuck it.   Now I could do something that I never could before.   I was proud of my body.   I was proud of the strength it’s been gaining.   I was proud to be the size I am and killing those miles every week.  It has been so empowering.

And now when I sit down to eat dinner, I don’t torture myself.   I literally eat what I want, when I’m hungry.    I don’t obsess about calories or fat or shame and then overeat because I am so busy trying to not eat the whole plate that I forget to enjoy what’s there and pay attention to the moment I feel satisfied.

I feel like after a lifetime of struggling with a very unhealthy vision of food, I have found a way to make my peace with it.   By letting go of stupid shit and giving myself permission to love what my body can do no matter what the scale says.

So now I don’t get on it.   I just give it the finger and don’t care.

And its funny, because I have gotten a lot of messages and emails from girls I know or knew or sorta know on social media, asking me how I got started because they want to lose weight.

And I am definitely no guru, and certainly not a fitness expert.   But I am an expert of self loathing, and I can tell you all this:

Once you change the goal from shedding weight to shedding hate, and set a goal that you see yourself achieving, you will succeed at this journey of health and self love.   The scale can’t and won’t give you that.  Just let it go.   Let. It.Go.

It’s amazing how such a simple goal has made such an impact on my whole life.   Find yours Bitches!  Tell me all about it!!

 

 

Madonna’s Daughter Has Hairy Armpits

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TV3

Omg.

So yesterday, on MSN news, there was an article about Madonna’s daughter, Lourdes looking smashing in a bikini.

Until she has the audacity to flash her unshaven armpits.  I mean, how dare she?   Doesn’t she know that she was being photographed?   Even if the photography was unsolicited, doesn’t she have any self respect?

I mean seriously, how does this fucking bitch live with herself?   How does she sleep at night, knowing what horror she has bestowed upon us, the public who needs to know?   A public who has a fundamental right to know what is going on in the world.

Listen, I get that she was at a beach with her friends, but she is a public figure whether she asked for it or not.   And to blatantly just leave her armpits unshaven for such a long time that we can see it from so far away with a telescopic lens is just not acceptable.   I can’t even believe she did this.

Doesn’t she care about what people think of her?   Doesn’t she care about the example she is leaving for young girls everywhere?   That it is ok for a girl to disrespect her body so much to have hairy armpits and flaunt them in public? HOW DOES SHE GET UP IN THE MORNING?

I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with people today.   Can’t we just live in a reasonable world where people are considerate of others and cover up their offensive body hair?  I can’t even watch the news anymore.  This is absurd.

 

This post brought to you by the most amount of sarcasm a person can hold in their hearts without exploding.

We have children being attacked with chemical weapons, a scary, complicated, no end in sight conflict in the middle east that seems to be escalating by the day.   An idiotic President of the US.  People constantly harming one another.   A divide between rich and poor that continues to get wider and wider.

Humanitarian crisis ALL OVER the world and THIS is the shit that MSN has deemed newsworthy.   Priorities.   Jesus Fuck.

 

 

You’re So Pretty.

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Sorry I’ve been kinda absentee lately, Bitches.

I’ve been at the beach.

Literally.  We have spent the summer in and out of the city and hanging out as a family.  We are super lucky to have a family cottage where we can just escape from all the people and all the things and just decompress.

In theory anyway.  It’s not completely stress free spending 24 hours a day with your children with no work or grocery store or girls nights to escape to.

But that’s another post.

Do you know how many bathing suits I own?

7.

Of the seven, five are bikinis, and 2 are one pieces.

The one pieces I hardly ever wear and actually bought for doing the baby swimming lessons when I was still pretty post partum.  Like they hid something.  Like anybody cared.  I just felt like a one piece was a little more appropriate for that environment.

But once outside?  Fuck it.  I am not spending a day peeling a one piece bathing suit on and off to use the bathroom.  And anybody who’s had a baby knows how often that happens once you have kids, right?  Let’s just say that if I lived in the US, I could probably sue them for the damage they did to my bladder. And that’s not even including the whole “cross your legs when you sneeze” thing.

And of the 5 bikinis, 3 of them are cheap suits that look good, but are starting to get a little stretched out or see through, but are good enough for a private beach.  Because nobody gives a fuck out there.

I bought one ridiculously expensive suit two years ago that helped to “disguise” the wreck that was my lower abdomen after Buddy was born.  It’s one of those ones with a little skirt.  Beautiful, but sometimes the extra material on the skirt is fucking aggravating.

And the last one was a suit I bought years ago, before my breast reduction and way before we had kids.  I’ve kept the bottoms all these years because they were really good quality, fit well and were black, but the top was useless. So yesterday, I went on a quest to find a beautiful, high end top that I could pair with the bottoms.  Think of those cute mismatched suits.

I found one at the specialty store. The place with the fancy French lingerie and bathing suits where the saleslady can’t wait to get in that change room with you and wrestle your titties into a fancy bathing suit top or bra.  They also love to shatter your dreams when they look at you and just by eyeballing your tits through a sundress, guess your bra size and it was nothing like what you thought it was.

Did you know that titties can grow back after you have a breast reduction?  Because babies?

Because always babies.

They ruin everything.  Even your titties.  Sigh.

So anyway.

I bought this beautiful top to pair with the bottoms I had and came home to try the ensemble on together.

The pre baby bottoms with the post baby top.

And Bitches, a little self doubt crept in.

And then you know what happened?

My little Buddy came over to me and said “You’re so pretty Mama.”

“Your hair is pretty. And your eyes are pretty. And your arms are pretty.  And your tummy is pretty. And your lips are pretty. And your legs are pretty. “

So the three year old teaches the lesson we should all remember today.  If only we could see ourselves through the eyes of our children.  Their perception is so innocent, but it is also uncensored and truthful.

I can’t tell you how much it meant to me to hear his little voice say those words to me.  It was the purest, most untarnished compliment I have ever received. He doesn’t care if there is a lump or a bump somewhere, or if my tummy jiggles in places or if my thighs touch.

He just sees me through eyes of love…..and so should I .

And so should you.

 

 

 

No, My One Piece Bathing Suit Doesn’t Hide My Non Thigh Gap Either

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I just read this article on Huffington Post called “This swimsuit ad proves you don’t need a thigh gap to wear a bikini”.

I mean, I get what the article and mostly its title are trying to convey.  They are trying to encourage us to embrace our bodies and know that we are beautiful whether a size 2 or 22.

But wait.

I didn’t know there was a rule about thigh gaps and bikinis.

Bitches, I have been doing it wrong for like 20 years.  How come nobody ever told me about this rule?  How am I not arrested by the Beach Patrol?

Thigh Gap? Are you kidding me?  The only time my thighs aren’t touching is when my legs are wrapped around something. Like when horseback riding, for example. Perverts.

Seriously though.  Is that what women have been told all their lives?   That if you don’t have a thigh gap you are too fat to wear a bikini?  Somebody needs to call the swimsuit stores, because I would estimate that only about 25% of women out there have a thigh gap.  And if you look in the stores, about 75% of the bathing suits on the shelves are indeed bikinis.

That ratio seems a bit wrong doesn’t it?

I mean, where are they hiding all these one piece bathing suits that come down far enough to cover up this hideous flesh touching that is going on between my legs?

Oh. RIGHT.  The non thigh gap bathing suits are hiding over there…..right next to the potato sack aisle.

Jesus Fucking Christ already.

This swimsuit ad proves nothing to me.  Except perhaps that we are still busy trying to label and manage everybody elses wardrobe according to ridiculous standards of beauty that don’t even fucking exist.  And don’t get me wrong, the women in the ad are stunning and I think the intended message is good.

But it doesn’t prove that you don’t need a thigh gap to wear a bikini.  It may prove that retailers are now starting to understand that all women have worth and deserve to feel beautiful. Or at least they are starting to realize that women are rejecting this stupid beauty ideal and wised up that there is money to be made off of women of every shape and size.  That its ok to still wear gorgeous clothes if you are bigger than a size 6. Maybe it’s a good place to start, but to me its also a reminder about we still see any deviation from impossible ideals for many many women as imperfections.

Ladies, your non thigh gaps are perfect. Your hips that bore children are perfect. That extra flesh around your belly is soft and perfect and part of you.  You don’t need a swimsuit ad to prove that to you.  Just put on a fucking bathing suit and go swimming.  If we all just start doing it it will become the normal thing and nobody will need to prove anything to you about your body anymore.

Bikinis are for everyone.  One pieces are for everyone. Last time I checked, a bikini exposes some flesh around the tummy, and leaves my thighs alone.  A bikini does nothing to affect my thigh gap.  Or lack their of.

So fuck off.

End Rant.

 

Body Confident Challenge: Name 5 Things You Love About Your Body

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I just read this article on Huffington Post this morning about women’s body confidence.

And the thing that stood out to me was that only 22% of women in Canada feel confident about their body.

22%.

I know it’s a little early for math, but Bitches, that means that 78%, or more than 3/4 of us girls don’t feel good about ourselves.

That’s a staggering statistic.

The above article suggests that the media is to blame, and it is.  It’s to blame because of all the unrealistic images plastered across our screens.  It’s because of all the filtered photos we post of ourselves on social media, where we try as hard as we can to look perfect before sharing our lives.  It’s because of all the airbrushed celebrities and supermodels gracing the red carpets and magazine covers.

But.

Those things can only penetrate into your brain if you let it.

Parents:  We need to start leading by example and loving ourselves better in our current state.  We need to be more careful about the language we use in front of our children so that they don’t believe the most important thing about them is the shape of their body or colour of their hair. We need to stop planting the seed that beauty is only something to be measured on the outside. We need to show love and acceptance for ourselves no matter what shape it happens to be. We just need to stop all trying to be the same.

And yes.  I am like every other woman out there who sometimes mourns her pre-baby body.  I, like ever other woman, diet from time to time.  I, like every other woman see things in the mirror that I don’t like, and wish to change.

And I think all of those things are normal.  It’s ok to recognize if I have been eating in an unhealthy way and want to gain control of that.  It’s ok to recognize I can take better physical care of myself and become stronger and healthier.

But what’s not ok is beating ourselves up because we don’t all fit into the same mold.

Stop trying to fit into a round hole if you are a square peg. If you are built like bull mastiff, don’t feel bad that you don’t look like a chihuahua.

22%.  Jesus.  What the fuck, you guys?

We need to turn this around.  Can you all find 5 things you love about yourself and tell me about them?  I want to hear you love yourself openly.

It’s not bragging.  It’s ok to have nice things to say about yourself.  And then find 5 nice things to say about someone near you.

Because 22% is just bullshit.  No matter what your body looks like, no matter if you are growing, shrinking, or anything in between, you are beautiful and simply on the same journey that every other woman is on.

I’ll start:

  1. Tits for days, Bitches.   I have great tits.
  2. I have great posture.  It makes me stand tall and never back down.
  3. Super steroid eyelashes.  No mascara needed.
  4. I have really strong arms and shoulders.
  5. My ass don’t quit.  *mic drop*

Seriously.  Bloggers:  I want your list of five reasons to feel good about your body.  Make your list, ping back here. Include a photo so we can all find 5 nice things to say about you in return. Link to social media, and let’s make this a thing.  A giant body confident “I am beautiful” circle jerk.

Because. Fuck. Yeah.

I want that 22 % to become 122%.

GO.

 

I Went To School To Learn Math, Instead All I Learned Was That My Teacher Thought I Was Fat.

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en.wikipedia.org

While scrolling through my Facebook feed yesterday, one of my friends had posted this link. 

It’s an article where a girl is asked to calculate her BMI ( body mass index) for an assignment for school.  Instead, this articulate and beautiful child wrote a two page response basically telling them to go fuck themselves and mind their own business.  It’s much more eloquent than that…..she explains why BMI is not a good measure of one’s health and politely tells them that she is beautiful as is and the rest is none of their business.

GOOD.FOR.HER.

Further to the article, my friend who lives in the same city as me, and is in the same school division made this comment:

My son had an assignment that was similar with BMI, how they keep healthy mentally, emotionally and physically and they had to rate themselves!! Really?!? All I could think of was these kids’ self esteem.)

Let me tell you a story about measuring my fatness.  From the time I was in elementary school and all the way until grade 10 when Phys.Ed. stopped being mandatory, this was part of the curriculum in gym class.  Once a year, amongst all the fitness tests like running around some pylons and hanging off a wall, the gym teacher would get out his calipers and measure the amount of fat on our bodies.  In front of the rest of the class.  They also had a picture of people’s legs and would measure the gap or lack there of between ones thighs.  In front of the class.

And I don’t give one flying fuck whether you are skinny, fat or somewhere in between.  Every single child and especially the girls felt so much anxiety about this moment that they should have provided shots of tequila first.  It was horrible and shameful and scarring.  And fuck you gym teachers for telling children that they are worth less because you could grab too much flesh off my hips with your stupid fucking calipers.  And no, you didn’t have to actually say those words to get that message across.  That’s what your actions did to us. That moment damaged us.  It damaged me.

I just simply do not understand today’s educational system.

A teacher cannot hand out a zero for work not done.  We can’t hold students back when they are not ready to move on to the next grade either academically or socially.  We can’t make them memorize multiplication tables because its too stressful.  They aren’t allowed to do homework at home.

But what we can measure is their Body Mass Index.  Because if we are going to make a child feel like shit about something, better make sure it is something that is completely irrelevant to their ability to succeed in life.  Let’s make sure we cut their confidence down for they way their body is shaped rather than hold them or their parents accountable for doing their schoolwork.  Don’t hurt their feelings or stress them out relating to anything that may prepare them for the work force one day or for University.  Instead of measuring their knowledge at school, let’s make them measure their body fat.

Seriously. Fuck.

But you know what else I remember?

I remember the gym teacher calling my dad into parent teacher interview and telling him he was “concerned” for my cardiovascular health because my time in the run was slow and I was clearly too fat.  And I remember my Dad laughing in that smug piece of shit’s face and saying “Dude, she just got of crutches with a torn knee ligament.  She walked the course.  Also, she can swim 50 meters in 32 seconds at 10 years old.  She is training in the pool 6 days a week so if you’d like to race her, I’ll set it up and put my money on my kid.  And although you may be concerned about her cardiovascular health, I am actually more concerned about your competency to evaluate it.”   

And that, Bitches, is one of those moments I will also not forget, because there was no way my dad was gonna let this asshole fuck with his kid.

So take a page out of my Dad’s book.  If your child comes home with an assignment such as this or tells you of an experience such as this, talk to the teacher immediately.  Do not allow them to shame your child.  Don’t let your child think that their self worth is determined by the opinions of others.   Stick up for your kid.  Trust me, it will be worth it.

And teachers everywhere….if you ever come near either one of my kids with a set of calipers, you will find it hanging off your genitals.

 

 

Sexy Is A State Of Mind

So here we are.  Summer.  Hot sun, cool breezes and 3 months away from my students.

It’s also the time of year where we either start shedding the layers of clothes or risk dying of heat exhaustion.  No more leggings under a dress.  No more sweaters to wrap around myself in case a muffin top is escaping over my pants.

No more hiding anything, Bitches.  It’s summer time, where we are exposed.

And you know what?  I think I am past giving a fuck.   Nobody else seems to care if my legs are squishy and I have that never leaving belly flap called ” I had two fucking babies, the last one was 9 pounds”

Could I diet and shrink a little?  I suppose.  But then there wouldn’t be any wine at night.  And THAT, my friends, is a non-negotiable part of mommy life.  It’s like my reward at the end of the day for not dying or selling one of the children.  Also, fuck that.

I try to consciously eat healthy foods.  I avoid using the term “fattening” in front of my kids.  I tell them that eating apples and avocados keep the doctor away and give you energy.  So you can go to gymnastics. Or beat each other up all day.  Or run randomly into traffic with me screaming at you to stop.

See?  I exercise.  And also I hope you are understanding why the wine cannot stop.

Anyway the point is that sexy is a state of mind.  You know how some days you feel really good about your appearance and some days you just want to hide?  It’s all in your head.  You look pretty much the same every single day.  So whatever.

I am a little person.  Short and slightly round filling out a size 14 nicely.   Everything wiggles a little bit when I move.  My thighs have no gap.  When I sit down, my belly hangs over my pants sometimes.  I cut my bangs a little unevenly and a little too short.

But you know what else?  My body created two beautiful humans.  It has few battle scars from that.  My body is strong.  I can carry both my children at the same time if I had to.  I can walk and run with them.  My bangs will grow back quickly.

And I wear a bikini because fucking rights I do. If a girl wears one to show off how much hard work she does at the gym, I will wear one to show how much hard work I do as a mom.  And if that includes having less time to focus on a “beach perfect” body then it does.

Still smokin hot over here.

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Ends and Beginnings

"The World is round and the place which may seem like the end may also be the beginning."-Ivy Baker Priest

Musings of An Insomniac

Late night thoughts of a perpetual dreamer..

Surviving Grief

How to embrace grief and heal

dwaineevanssr

This WordPress.com site is the cat’s pajamas

BigAndPinkyToes

A blog about family, food, and other good stuff.

Mums diary blog

MOTHERHOOD ~ FASHION ~ FAMILY LIFESTYLE #mumsdiaryblog

Breaking Sarah - Bruised, Not Broken

One woman's raw journey through incest, teen pregnancy, trauma, death, and family estrangement.

brickhousechick

Letting it all hang out

lifebeyondmommy

A stay at home mothers guide to self discovery

Peace Hacks

life, faith, adultimatums. Resources for peace seekers

Luminous Blue

a mother's and daughter's journey with transformation, cancer, death and love

The Secret Life of Emily Maine

a place to shout my secrets

Dramatic Momologue

The juggle is real.

andrea shawcross

comedy writer & maker of filmstuffs.

Ben's Bitter Blog

"We make bitter better."

David McVety

A Spiritual Shepherd's Thoughts on Faith and Family

Beating Myself Into a Dress

First a wedding dress, then a maternity dress, now I'm just trying to fit into ANY dress.

The Fat Chick Memoirs

Dealing with my Weight-Loss One Funny Story at a Time

The Science of Mom

The Heart and Science of Parenting

The Fat Bottom Bard

Waxing Poetic and Penning Tall Tales

Jeneral Musings

A personal potpourri of thoughts

Supporting Birth Diversity

Celebrating the Tapestry of Motherhood

rarasaur

frightfully wondrous things happen here.

An Early Start

Meet Jax a funny, kind, and smart preschooler who was a micro-preemie born at 23 weeks. Now that Jax is older, the scariness of the NICU has faded, but we're still learning how to manage the lasting effects of prematurity including chronic medical issues, ADHD, and Autism Spectrum Disorder. This is our story of love, hope, and survival.

Writings From Dr. Oolie's Pond

Poetry, Prose, and Random Thoughts

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