Archive | April, 2012

Bad dog = Chair upgrades

26 Apr

Scene: the house is quiet. Stockton and I have both finished eating (a Mexican feast) and are attending to various responsibilities, mine involving my boobs and a certain hungry baby, his involving emptying the trash.  The remains of a delicious meal are still on our counter, waiting to be cleaned up (safe out of reach of mischievous hands paws). 

I could probably stop the whole story there and you’d be able to figure out what happened, but then I wouldn’t be able to accost you with all of the most insipid details of this tragedy. And so, I shall continue.

As I was nursing, shhshing, and generally trying to lull the baby into a deep, fitless sleep (which was totally for naught because I think I was probably up and down the stairs a minimum of 15 times last night to tend to a cantankerous baby, and I am NOT EXAGGERATING THIS TIME I TOTALLY SWEARS IT), I hear a loud crash that led me to believe there were probably shards of extremely sharp matter all over my kitchen floor.  I, assuming Stockton was in the kitchen cleaning up the dishes, remained calm and continued my “you are getting verrrrrry sleeeppyyyy” routine.  I figured, yes, something probably broke, but Stockton is staying quiet about it and taking care of it since he knows I’m topless and unable to assist him in a disaster clean-up right now. However, I did find it suspicious that if, in fact, Stockton was the one who broke the allegedly now-broken, sharp, once-fragile item, there was no screaming and cussing coming from the kitchen.  Likewise, if it was the dogs’ doing, there would’ve been screaming and cussing too.  Not from the dogs, because they don’t typically scream or cuss, because they have excellent composure under pressure like that, but from a very pissed-off Stockton.  So to not hear any screaming and cussing was a tad disconcerting to me. (Note: I would like to point out here that Stockton is not a big cusser or screamer, but when there is a crisis involving broken glass and messes and bad dogs and the like, he knows how to let it fly like the best of them).

About 5 minutes later, my fears were confirmed when I heard Stockton come into the house from the garage, followed by a very un-tempered and passionate “SON OF A BITCH!!” pretty much confirming that, yep. Wally has struck again.  And it’s prooooobably pretty bad.

Finished baby duties hurriedly (probably, in hind sight, what had my kid so pissed off that he decided to make the rest of my night hell) and ran downstairs to find Stockton standing there, hands on head, assessing the damage, and breathing uneasily slowly (I would imagine that was his way of his diaphragm telling his brain “Do not kill him. Do not kill him.”).

As it turns out, Wally had gotten his dirty freaking paws up ON OUR COUNTER (which is generally an off-limits surface for him, though I feel that this is a detail I really shouldn’t have to explain) and had knocked over a FULL and BRAND NEW glass jar of very red, very stain-y salsa. All over the floor and our white barstools. Aweesoommmeeeee.

Unnecessarily long story, short: the dog ruined my chair and as such, it got a pretty makeover today!!

So here is the before shot of our bland barstools (giving you the broad view so you can take in the intensity of the green walls… they aren’t messing around):

Since the walls are SO INCREDIBLY GREEN WHOA I decided to just work with it and, thus, it’s become kind of a theme in the kitchen. Embrace the green and all. So here is the After picture of the newly made-over chairs, which luckily no longer look like a bloody siege occurred on them.

Totally a bold choice, I realize. I love the fabric, though, and because it has the creamy undertones, I decided to keep my kitchen table chairs in their regular vanilla color, which I prefer for a few reasons. 1) A whole kitchen in this pattern would be slightly “Hey, didja get a discount on 100 yards of the same fabric or something?” and also 2) I like to play around too much with table linens and if I used this on my kitchen chairs, I think it would limit my flexibility with that too much.  So I might make a table runner with some of what’s leftover, or a valence/roman shade for the laundry room which I’ve been meaning to do forever with the hopes that a nice window treatment might make my laundry routine a bit more inspired. No? That’s not how it works? Oh well, I’m gonna have to find SOMETHING to do with the extra 99 yards of that fabric I bought. Kidding. Sort of. I only have 98 left.


My furniture is not a jungle gym, WALLY

26 Apr

This is why I can’t have nice things.



UPDATE: this.

My dogs are trying to kill me

The Post-Partum Weight Loss Story

11 Apr

Well, the big hot topic after all women have babies, of course, is WEIGHT LOSS!! As if there isn’t enough pressure on new moms to KEEP A BABY ALIVE and DON’T LOSE YOUR SHIT EVERY DAY, now everyone wants to stare you up and down to see just how good (or not so good) your bod is. I will admit that when I first became pregnant, I was that woman who was all “I’m going to be a fit mom” and “I’m only going to get pregnant right in my belly” and “My arms are going to look good at 9 months pregnant” (how asinine and ignorant a goal!).  And yet, dear readers (do I even HAVE any readers?), none of those goals were met. In fact, I win the award for blowing all of my goals out of the water within, oh, 6 weeks?! Because I found out I was pregnant at 3 weeks (like, practically 5 minutes post-conception I do believe) and thus began a carte blanche binge eating Festivale de Fetus.

Rewind to my honeymoon, where, for all intents and purposes, I was in the best shape of my life (and so in looooovveeeee):


I think I was about 135 pounds in this picture. This was Day 1 of the honeymoon. I was 15 pounds heavier after the honeymoon because I ate like this at every single meal:


I literally struggled to find a photo from our honeymoon that didn’t involve gross amounts of food, but ay papi, I hope they serve guacamole in heaven. BUT I DIGRESS!

So then here I am (7 months later) and almost pregnant (excuse the totally queer photo… we were on a vacation in Florida and I was definitely a few more pounds for the worse than in the honeymoon pics, hence the awkward try-to-look-skinnier-than-you-are pose):


I believe I was dancing around in the low to mid 140’s in this picture.

Then, about 2 weeks later, TA DA!! I passed a pregnancy test with flying colors at a mere 3 weeks pregnant (so, err…. Florida baby??), and my official “starting pregnancy weight” as measured by my doctor’s scale was 146 pounds. About 10 pounds higher than I WISH I would’ve started out (wop wop, so long sexy pregnant arm dreams).

My pregnancy was rough, and since I know many women share my misery and WORSE, I don’t want to exaggerate the suckiness, but just to say very few nutritious food items were appealing due to my seriously overwhelming morning (and afternoon and night) sickness.  So what’s a girl to do but eat Dairy Queen Blizzards for 3 meals a day!??! I had to feed my growing baby somehow!!!! Here I am at LESS THAN 20 weeks pregnant and showing WAY more than necessary, but feeling confident because HEY! BUMP! JUST ONE! As opposed to the first 17ish weeks which were just a progression of my belly (and other various body parts) becoming overall lumpier in a very unpregnant-just-fat kinda way.Image

I invite you to check out the boob shelf that was forming as well as the dimply thigh/butt region (note to readers: the baby wasn’t in my ass, hence there was no reason for it to gain the weight that it did, damn those blizzards).

Our first anniversary (21 weeks pregnant) and what was that I was saying before I got pregnant about having skinny arms? Err…..


And 32 weeks pregnant. 32!!! That meant that if I were to have delivered on my due date and not 3 weeks early THANK YOU GOD, I would have had 2 months left. DA FUCK!?


As a result of the good Lord showing some mercy on me, I delivered my baby boy 3 weeks early and here I am during the week I was hospitalized pre-induction. Because nothing is sexier than a fat, cranky bitch, knitting:


And after delivery:


Yayyyyy, babiessssss.

Whew ok. That’s the pregnancy journey. Now for the POST pregnancy journey.

Little boy blue was born December 4th which means I still had the bulk of the month of December to enjoy, which meant COOKIES! and COCKTAILS!! and GENERAL CHRISTMASTIME FATTERY!!!!!! Here I am looking especially frightening while introducing my niece to her new cousin:


The hugeness. It overwhelms me. And makes everything else look so teeny tiny in comparison, no??

Ok, so I think I had just had it. I wanted to wear my wedding ring again. I wanted to wear all the clothes in my closet! My eleventy million pairs of premium denim were MOCKING ME in all my fatness. And people, I don’t tell you all this to freak you out, but to tell you, yeah. We’ve all been there. We’ve all worn maternity pants when we’re not pregnant. We’ve all used “But I’m nursing and need extra calories” as an excuse to eat 7 pieces of pizza. I, especially, have been there. And you know what? Those nasty but fun habits that you form during pregnancy when you treat it as a 9 month race to GAIN ALL THE POUNDZ are hard to break after the fact. I just knew that I had to do something or I would easily become one of the zillions of women who has a baby and just never loses the baby weight.

I didn’t do anything extreme. I barely did anything even moderately. I started diets and then quit after 10 minutes. But what did seem to work for me was trying to clean things up by cooking more (my husband and I are HUGE restaurant junkies), exercising more, and just generally focusing on saying NO to the really bad stuff, but still allowing myself some pleasure in my diet and lifestyle.  And 4 months later, I am beyond thrilled to tell you, it’s all gone. And then some.

Here I am this past weekend with my little family (exactly 4 months to the day post partum):


I realize this photo doesn’t show you much because no, I’m not wearing a bikini or anything super-modelesque. Because even though I’ve lost all the pounds, baby making does crazy things to your bod. It’s not the body it was before it, well, made another body.  Things are displaced. I’m still nursing and my boobs are disrespectfully enormous. And saggy. And generally less pre-baby-perky. But that’s ok. I’m adjusting to this new body, and you know what? I’m not really ashamed to say that it’s the best I’ve felt in my whole life, because it feels so good to know that in 9 months I gained 35 pounds, and in 4, I lost 40. It’s an ongoing process, and I will run my second half marathon on May 5th (training for which has comprised the bulk of my exercise regimine) and I can’t tell you how proud I am to say that 5 months after my son was born, I got my rear in shape for a half marathon. I know stronger women have accomplished much more. Many more women are thinner, fitter, stronger and better looking after their babies come. But I’m cool with this. And you know what? I say this because I truly, truly, madly, deeply, insanely believe it: if I can do this, anyone can. The proof is in the pictures, know’msayin’?

So there you have it. The most volatile year my body has ever endured, and it came out the other end not too shabby.

All joking aside, I hope this is a motivation to those who are struggling with their post-pregnancy bodies, and that we can embrace what we’ve got and be really, really proud of the fact that we are women, hoo-rah, baby making badasses, stretch marks be damned. So stop worrying about if you’re going to ever fit in those jeans again. You might not. A child shot out of your baby chute for pete’s sake, things shifted! But just know, you will be a better you after having your baby whether you are back to your original jean size or not. And it’s all so, so dang worth it.