Gingerbread House Fail

Some things on my Facebook newsfeed can give me anxiety if I allow it.  Currently, it is the gingerbread house.  Pictures of perfectly constructed houses with icing and candy decorations.  Snap.  Click.  Send.  Upload.  Me, cold sweats.  I didn’t grow up making gingerbread houses during Christmas and I have lovely memories.  Why do I feel pressure to do this?  Back in the day, before social media, we could just NOT make a gingerbread house and wouldn’t really know or care if anyone else did.  Maybe if we happened to talk to another parent at the pick -up line at school and they happened to mention it, we could say, “Oh that’s great, I bet the kids loved it.  We just hung and watched Rudolph by the Christmas tree, it was so nice.”  Now, one is better than the next; as if there is a silent competition.  I mean, I could probably be the judge since my entry resides only in my heart of good intentions. 

 

It goes along with parenting in 2015 and the pressures we feel to do it perfectly, gingerbread house making kit and all.  I know it isn’t just me because I read articles about it.  And I know my mom didn’t feel the same pressures that are around today.  And my grandma, bless her soul with her 6 kids would just send them outside with helmets and try to survive the day…the week…her life.  The only pressure she had was to try and make one pot roast work for a family of 8.

 

I mean, you know I’m half serious.  I can own the fact that I won’t make a gingerbread house.  “I’m not crafty,” I say.  It is so true.  I have never even LOGGED on to Pinterest and I am sure it will stay that way forever.  And I’m sure I could get totally into a gluten-free gingerbread house if I desired, but I don’t.  I would rather let my kids play with the nativity set while I blog in a corner.

 

The point of the matter is that we live in a world where gingerbread houses, Elf on the shelf doing a snow angel in the flour, and pictures of the kids on Santa’s lap are the norm and they get embedded in our psyche.  They make us feel like we aren’t quite ahead of the game.  And at times we feel like we need to keep up.  And it especially feels closer and more prominent during the holidays. Well, I’ll raise you a gingerbread house with a homemade Santa sleigh made out of candy canes and kit kats.  Bam!

 

I might feel like this because I have a baby on the move and I don’t really have time for anything.  I kind of follow her around and save her from head bumps 50 times a day.  If I decided to use nap time to make a gingerbread house, that would be the time she naps for 45 minutes instead of 2 hours.  I would prep the whole thing and then look at it on my kitchen table for the next 5 days while my 4 year old begs me to finish it by pulling on my sweatpants as I grab yet another leaf from my baby’s hand.  (Don’t ask why there are leaves in my house). 

                      

So, that is my point about gingerbread houses.  It is not a reality for me.  But the real point is not lost on me either.  My reality.  Our reality.  The real point is that we all do what feels right to us for our families.  Some of us can make an amazing gingerbread house with our children.  Some of us like to snuggle up and watch movies together.  Some of us go to see santa.  Some of us light the menorah.  Some of us rush around last minute to get all the gifts and wrap them the night before.  Some of us are organized and some of us are not.  But most of us are trying to make magic.  And we find our magic and show this magic in different ways.  A night in NYC, a Christmas pj party, a cocktail party, a decorated house, an Elf hiding in a stocking, or a beautiful red twirling dress.  We make our magic every day and that is evident in our children’s eyes during this season.  It is there.  Look for it.  I’m sure you will see it.  And if you do, you know, you’ve done it right so far.  So I will walk right by that gingerbread making kit at the grocery store and I will not feel guilty about it.  Because when I turn toward my daughter and smile, she will smile back.  And when we get back home and pull into our little house with our white lights on the trees, she will say, “I love this time of the year.”  To me, that will always be enough.   

 

Imperfect Perfection

“Because true belonging only happens when we present our authentic, imperfect selves to the world, our sense of belonging can never be greater than our level of self-acceptance.”
― Brené Brown, Daring Greatly: How the Courage to Be Vulnerable Transforms the Way We Live, Love, Parent, and Lead

My 6 year old daughter has food allergies.  A lot of them.  She is allergic to peanuts, eggs, strawberries, gluten, sesame, and JUST grew out of her dairy allergy.  (I feel like I’m even missing something).  I always say, it could be worse.  She is healthy and thriving and we make it work.  I try my best to make her feel included.  A few weeks ago, she went to a birthday party.  She decided last minute that she wanted to go and I realized that I didn’t have “her” pizza in the house.  I usually cook the pizza first and send it along in a separate bag.  I had a friend bring her to the party so I could run to the store, buy the pizza, go home and cook it, and then bring it to the party.  There was traffic, lines at the store, (yada yada yada) and I got to the party at 5:25.  The party ended at 5:30.  The baby screamed the whole way there.  I was high anxiety.  My daughter got in the car and was upset with me.  I don’t blame her.  She had to sit at the table while everyone ate with no pizza or dessert.  But, if she could have seen me running through the store.  If she could have seen me nursing the baby while the pizza was cooking.  If she could have seen how hard I tried, in the pouring rain, she wouldn’t have been upset with me.  I burst into tears.  I tried. So. Hard for her.  I always try so hard for her.  I don’t want her to feel different.  I want her to belong…

With that said, how hard is it, for me, to teach her how to accept this?!

I am never that mom that makes a big deal about her daughter with food allergies.  I silently pack a snack.  I silently tell her not to eat anything unless it is approved by me.  I silently bring a bag to every party, every gathering, every dinner out, every weekend away, and every single thing that involves food.  Every single thing.  It’s a lot.  I decline birthday parties at the ice cream place, at the chocolate factory, baking cookies, etc.  There are some things I just don’t want her to have to deal with.  

More than this, I have to teach my daughter that it is ok to be different.  I have to let her be authentic and imperfect.  I have to teach her that everyone has “something” that they have to deal with.  This is her thing and she accepts it.  That doesn’t mean that she doesn’t get sad.  I look at her face when she looks at the cake at the birthday party and I DIE, literally.  I can cry for days thinking of this.

But I try to teach her that we eat to stay alive but it is family that fills us up.  And I got her back!!!! If she doesn’t want me to eat a piece of cake when celebrating someone’s birthday, I won’t.  If she wants a bagel on bagel day at school, I got her back.  If she wants a cupcake at the party, I got her back. 

To me, this is a big concept to deal with at 6.  The sense of belonging.  Self-acceptance. 

It is also a big concept for us.

The start of the school year was tricky for me.  I tried to lay low because I was letting things get to me.  It took a long time for me to pinpoint what exactly was going on with me.  I started to let things, opinions, and people, seep into my brain and change how I felt.  I started to question my decisions and focus on the wrong things.  I couldn’t find my groove.  I started to feel inauthentic.  I was having a hard time accepting myself.

I took cues from my 6 year old.  I love her because she is truly herself.  Sometimes I feel like I try to change her and make her friendlier, less shy, more this or that.  I might try to overcompensate for the allergies; for the differences.  But then I realize that we should all be so lucky to be able to be free to be ourselves.  What a concept?!  .  I love when a new friend of my daughter “gets” my daughter, truly.  I think to myself, “Ok, they will be friends.”    With my oldest, there is more than meets the eye.  I love when a friend is concerned for her food allergies.  When the mom says, “my daughter wants to make sure that your daughter can eat this.”  I love when other people have her back.  I get humbled to the core. 

Acceptance comes when we stop trying so hard.  When we stop trying to be “everything,” I think that is exactly when we become “everything.”  It is easy to get wrapped up in the wrong things.  If I have to change myself to belong, then I don’t want to belong.  This is what I have to remind myself to teach my daughter.  Accept yourself.  Others will accept you when you are truly yourself.  People who love you, will love you regardless of what you can or can’t eat. 

I love people who “get” me too.  Because let us face the truth, this isn’t just about our kids.  It never was and never will be.  This is about all of us.  We all want to belong.  We want our children to belong.  So let us belong by being our true, authentic, imperfect self.  I bolded the word imperfect because I don’t think we can relate to one another unless we show our imperfections. 

And whatever you think may stand in your way, is actually something that opens up your life, because it makes you who you are.  So I think we have to embrace it, whatever it is.  Being imperfect, is actually what perfect truly defines. 

Post Partum Depletion

I think the hardest thing about having a baby is everything.

I really do.

Between the pregnancy, the morning sickness, the giving birth, the recovering, the range of emotions, and the new, more voluptuous body, I just don’t know why or how everyone does it so dang much?!

Speaking of range of emotions, my husband wouldn’t drive with me to Starbucks the other day and I could cry tears of pain for 30 minutes straight based on that alone: like someone took my favorite pair of shoes.  I didn’t.  But, I could.  I could also cry as I pump in the corner of my house, sitting on the floor, looking at my IPhone.  If someone took a picture, it could be considered a low moment.  This so called “low moment” happens 4-5 times a day.  And it doesn’t happen quietly or without judgement.  When my pump is on, it yells at me.  I swear it says emphatically, “Let it go, let it go, let it go” over and over again. 

I’m trying pump!  Jeez.

On the flip side, I will laugh so hard that I fall on the floor at times.  At any other time, this could be construed as crazy, but it’s not.  Thank goodness I just gave birth.  That’s my out.  I think I have about 6 months of this “out.”  I’m more than half-way.  I actually feel like the post-partum emotions peek around 3 months.  I think I read that.  I’m definitely reading too many articles about it all.  I blame Facebook.  They keep putting articles about breastfeeding and post-partum on my page.  How do they know?  Yesterday I convinced myself that I have “post-partum depletion.”  Basically, I’m too tired to go to the gym.  It must be that.  Yes, I have that.  Thanks Australia.  I think you can find any article to support how you are feeling at any given moment.  I’m a new mom and I’m tired.  Post-Partum depletion.  Done. 

I’m also trying to embrace this new body.  It’s funny because I feel depleted but I don’t look it.  I look very well fed.  I know I’ll get back to the slimmer me, but I am old enough and much wiser than I was before, to know…it just doesn’t happen overnight.  At least not for me.  I’m looking at you Beyoncé…

I’m having trouble doing a sit up, still.  I’m more hunched over than usual, from holding the baby.  I can hear my mom in the background of my thoughts, “Stand up straight.  Be proud of those tatas.”  She didn’t say that exactly, but she always tells me to embrace them.  A DD never hurt anyone.  I agree, to an extent.  They never hurt anyone except me as I’m pumping and nursing the days away. 

I used to be able to do my barre classes without a problem, but now it is like I’m the new kid in class.  We are talking 4 months post C-section.  I’m a nursing mom so I’m telling myself and everyone who will listen that nursing moms need to keep extra weight on themselves.  You know, like bears hibernating in the winter.  I am a summer bear confused about logistics, keeping this weight on to ensure I have enough milk for my baby during these hot months, and to keep me modest.   It actually turns out that I can feed an entire nation.  I’m thinking it is the Oreos.  When I complain to my husband that I can’t get these last 10 pounds off, he says, “Maybe instead of a whole sleeve of Oreos, you should try one or two.”  “You are supposed to tell me I don’t need to lose any weight,” I respond.  And around and around we go. 

But, I have a beautiful baby.  I say that without the slightest hint of anything but pure and utter love.  She is the best thing to happen to me, this me; the older, wiser me.  The me that understands the path that I’m on; one that involves continuous self-sacrifice with a drop of self-love.  The one with no post-partum depletion in sight.  I know I’ll get to that other place.  I know what I have to do to get there.  But I can also be aware of the struggle that it brings.  There will always be dribbles and drabbles of struggle in heavy, drowning rainstorms.  Meaning, when something is pouring love and happiness, it will get you wet.  There is always a downside during an upswing.  But I know where I’m going; I’m moving up up up.  I’m grateful for that, right now, in my life and at this time. The Oreos, my lacking sit-up, and my self-diagnosed Post-Partum depletion have nothing on where I am, where I’m going and eventually where I will end up. 

 

 

Love Wins

Part of the reason why I like to write is because I like to feel connected.  In a world with social media, that isn’t too hard anymore.  But still, I like to be able to try and bring moms together with common ground.  I have hit some road blocks along the way.  “She’s blogging now?!”  Although I’ve had support, I’ve also felt alienated from it.  “Don’t say that in front of Noreen or she might blog about it.” 

I’ve also had someone say the meanest things to me, “I feel sorry for your girls,” she said, “when they grow up and see what you have said.”  This comment devastated me, until I realized that it came from someone without children, who doesn’t know, and who likes to make others feel bad so that they feel good.  As my dad says, “never give someone else power over you with their opinions.  People only have power over you if you let them.”  I’ve been able to squash this feeling numerous times since. People will try to bring you down in life.  This is what I tell my daughter.  They will bring you down with their opinions on what you do and who you are.  At 6 years old, it is what you draw.  At 15, it is what you wear.  And at 35, it is how you parent.  But, you can’t let them hold power over you.  If you are confident in what you do and who you are, then you don’t have to listen to the useless opinions and statements flying at you.  Be confident enough to ignore it.  That is what I tell my girls.  Ignore the negative.  What matters is how you feel about yourself.

This is what I tell myself. 

One thing I try not to do, is alienate moms.  I try.  Who knows if I succeed?!  I never want to alienate moms.  I want to unite us.  The truth of the matter is, no mom is better than another.  That is the absolute truth.  No child is better than another.  Truth.  They might read faster or run faster, but it doesn’t mean they are better.  (I mean, unless they are slapping or scratching out eyes.  Well then, that is a different situation.)

And other moms may have different lives; some may work and some may stay at home.  Some may see their kids all day, every day, like me, and need some time to come up for air.  And others may carry guilt for not being home.  The truth is this, we choose our lot in life.  Don’t we?  We decide.  We choose. All the decisions in our life lead us to where we are.  One thing we as moms should do about it is own it.  Forgive ourselves for our choices.  I don’t wake up with a power suit and take the train with my coffee.  I forgive myself for not having a career.  Sometimes, I wish I did.  But, I chose my lot in life, to stay at home with my children no matter what I had to give up.  I chose it.  I own it.  People who chose to work, should own it too.  Of course there are people who have no choice and I understand and appreciate that as well.  I guess we have to do our best with our lot in life.  And, we should all try and be confident in ourselves and the decisions we make.  That way, we can be the best people for our children. 

What prompted this is based on an article that a friend shared on Facebook on how working parents create better, smarter children, in essence.  I read the article and then I looked at my 3 year old and asked her what she wanted to be when she is a grown up.  “A Barbie,” she responded.  Hmmm.  Ummm.  Maybe there is something to this?!  I thought about it a lot and tried not to be offended, but I did let this article hold power over me.  Not the person.  The article.  I texted my friend and told her that articles like that create Mommy wars.  And articles like that, divide us. I don’t like that feeling of division.  I like to always find common ground in parents.  Because if you think about it, we are all the same.  She was so gracious about it.  She didn’t want to offend anyone.  And the truth is, she shouldn’t have even offended me.  Because it means nothing.  The article, the “study,” means nothing.  Same with the 50 articles that counter that claim.  They mean nothing.  They may validate how we feel at moments when we question our choices, but they don’t make it true for everyone.  The only thing that makes it true is what we do with our choices and how we raise our own children.  The only thing that creates our truth, is ourselves. 

I would never have an opinion about anyone else’s choices in life, and not just in parenting; I will never have an opinion on who someone chooses to marry or what someone wants to wear. 

I believe the word is tolerance. 

We should all have tolerance for each other.  We should all accept each other.  We should all respect each other’s choices and decisions.  That is what life is all about.  We are one.

Especially Moms! 

People will try to bring you down.  But, only you can let someone else hold power over you. 

Make your choices.  Own them.  Accept others for their choices.

After all, in the end, it is love that wins. #lovewins

The best of me

It’s funny how good things always happen when you least expect it.  It usually happens when you are dreading something.  Like if you really are too tired to go out and meet a friend and then it turns out to be the best night with the best conversation and you come home feeling refreshed.  You think to yourself, why on earth did I dread that?  Or maybe it happens when you plan something last minute.  I had a spur of the moment birthday party for my daughter last year and with a week’s notice, it turned out to be one of those incredibly fun parties for the kids and the adults.  We still talk about it today.  Maybe it happens when you don’t put too much emphasis on anything.  Or maybe it is the luck of the draw?!  Or maybe just maybe, it is when something comes out of you that is authentic and true; maybe it is when others see the best of you…

My heart has changed.  My 3^rd baby did it to me.  She wasn’t what I expected.  I expected chaos.  I expected to feel overwhelmed.  But, I’m not.  I haven’t been.  I won’t be.  She did that to me.  She came to us to make us remember how to slow down.  She came to us cooing and smiling and so ready and willing to jump into this family, full force.  She made me remember what it is like to stop rushing.  She taught me how to feel content in the everyday, nursing and snuggling and holding.  SLOWING DOWN!  Life can get so crazy.  We are always trying to do this and that, signing up our kids in this sport or that event.  We are falling behind on paperwork.  But, when she cries, I pick her up, not because I have time to do it, but because that trumps all the paperwork piled on my table.  My other two kids are a little older (almost 6 and 4) so they are more independent also.  No diapers.  They sit at the table and eat and get dressed on their own.  They play together for hours.  They run in the sprinklers and the baby and I watch, silently…happily.  They come downstairs with nightgowns on and slippers and I feel like I can cry tears of gratitude.

I wasn’t expecting this.  I wasn’t dreading it, but I just didn’t know.  How could I? 

I didn’t know how lucky she is, to get the best of me.  And I didn’t know how lucky I was, to become what she needs so easily.  Maybe it is the support I have?!  I have a wonderful babysitter who does almost all of the crazy school pick-ups and drop offs. (life saver).   And of course I have a saint of a mom who runs toward the war zone with arms outstretched and immediately makes my house new again and makes me feel whole again.  She finds joy in helping me dig myself out of the piles of laundry and crusty floors.  She sleeps over for a few days at a time and wakes up with coffee in her hand and an empty hamper.  But more than that, she gives me mental support.  Just by being here, she brings us all peace.  She is what I hope to be for my 3 daughters, everything they need and more.

Whatever the formula, whatever the reason, I’m just happy with what has transpired.  This baby has come and brought me calm.  I absolutely have felt crazy and chaotic numerous times, flipping a pancake with a baby hanging in the bjorn and/or chasing a naked 3 year old down the hall with a screaming baby on the floor, BUT, it is my heart that remains steady and calm. 

After multiple people have told me, “The 3^rd baby will break you!”  I’m happy to say that the opposite has happened.  She has put me back together. 

Sometimes the best things happen when you least expect them.  Sometimes, something or someone will come into your life at the right time to make you realize who you are.  I have never tried to hide myself.  But I can honestly say that she has made me a better mother. 

Thank goodness for her.  She has come with kissable cheeks and sweet love and given me the best gift, the best of me. 

Lived in

The house next door to me was a 2 bedroom rental that went through families like the plague.  A builder tore it down and in its place, a million dollar house was built that a professional couple bought. (no kids).  Now picture my house.  It is on the small side, pretty cluttered and full of kids and a pregnant woman.  I mean, the ideal, right?!  I try to keep it clean but my daughter has the croup.  So, when an illness arrives, cleanliness is thrown to the wolves for a feeding.  And they feed on loose crumbs on the floor from dinner and scattered eggs that remain from breakfast.   CHOMP!  Let’s just say we all could have been well-fed during the blizzard (that wasn’t) based on the remnants of our floor.

We weren’t sporting our best form, to say the least.  There were dishes in the sink piled high; toys and games on our kitchen table, the whole nine yards.  I mean, I wasn’t expecting company.  That was quite obvious. 

My new neighbor stopped by at 8 pm on Sunday night, first introductions.  Now picture me.  I have a sick kid and I’m 8 months pregnant on a Sunday night.  It is bath time. 

Mortified.

It felt like our former selves walked in the door for a nice neighborly chat.  The "us" of 2008 was chatting with the "us" of 2015. They were dressed nicely on a Sunday night.  I had to throw on a maternity sweatshirt that was folded nicely behind my bedroom curtain (where all my maternity clothes reside).  What?  You can’t see it.  She had nicely blow-dried hair and he had a clean shaven face.  I had a bun in my hair and my husband hadn’t shaved over the weekend.  They had clean buttoned up dress coats and as they were talking a naked 3 year old ran by singing, “here comes my butt,” and my five year old is coughing loudly from the our TV room.  The poor guy almost tripped over our snow boots and rain boots which are lined messily in our dining room under our dining room chair.  (Where I pretend you can’t see them). 

This is how we know how different it is to be parents.  This is where you can clearly see the line between having kids and not having kids.  It would be nice if I could say this, “BUT we were happy.”  But we weren’t.  We had a very sick kid that we were trying to help breathe with steam showers and steroids and a 3 year old that needed to be entertained.  I’m starting to walk like a duck and it is JANUARY!!!  This wasn’t our defining moment. 

I said to my new neighbors, “please excuse the look of our house, it isn’t normally THIS bad.”

And she said this, “Are you kidding, this is what we hope for.  A house full of kids that is lived in.  We are full of boxes in our big house that we want to grow into.”

And there it was. 

Not only did she get me off the hook, but she made me realize how proud I was to be hugely pregnant with a naked kid running around the house. 

Maybe they left the house and shook their heads as they walked home saying to each other, “NEVER!”  Or maybe they walked back home to their big echoed house thinking, “We wish.”  Whatever they thought, I guess doesn’t matter.  What matters is that we might be cluttered, we might be messy, we might not have the big house with tons of space, but we do have is so much more.  We have a house that is lived in.  And if our 2008 selves saw our 2015 family in that exact instant, I know we would look at each other, smile and say, “We’ll take it.”

 

CLUELESS

I went to my exercise class the other day wearing my new maternity winter white down jacket. I use all of those adjectives because I mean, it’s pretty big. My mom got it for me for Christmas and when I tried it on, I didn’t feel, you know, beautiful. I felt large. “It is just to keep you warm,” my mom said. “I know,” I said. I knew I was just going to have to deal with it. I’m not one to really like this saying, but here it is, “it is what it is.”

I repeat that saying as I thump along the streets. THUMP, THUMP, THUMP!

So anyway, I was walking down the steps to my exercise class wearing that jacket and another student (about 60 years old or so) smiles at me and says, “When are you due?” But the “due” part kind of dragged on like this; “when are you duuueeeee.” I knew she thought I was going to say, “Any day now,” but I didn’t. I said a surprising, “early March.” Early March isn’t even the case but I had to shave off a few weeks based on her wide eyes. “OH!” She said. And then the pre-emptive defensive me said this, “I know, my belly is large.” What she was SUPPOSED to say was this, “No, it’s not, you look great.” After all, most women in their 60’s have probably had children and have been where I’m at. So they know. Throw me a bone. But she didn’t say that. She said, “This CAN’T be your first.” “No,” I responded, “It’s my third.” “That’s what I thought,” she continued on with no regard for my state of mind or hormones. “I gained the most with my 3rd too. At this point, who cares right? As long as the baby is healthy………………”

Why does she think I gained the most with this one? I haven’t. In fact, I’m in pretty good shape despite my big belly. She is saying this knowing I’m about to do 30 pushups at 32 weeks pregnant???

But anyway…

I walked away as she was saying all that nonsense to stuff my large winter white down coat in my cubby so her words trailed off. And then I mentally shut out her voice and pressed my lips together so not to cry. At that point, I thought to myself, “people can be so….” What’s the word even? I don’t know. Annoying. Cruel. Spiteful. No, those aren’t the right words. People can be so “clueless.” That’s it. People can be so incredibly clueless.

When I got home, I walked in the door and my kids said to me, “you look like a snow monster.”

Ok.

Thank goodness my self-confidence comes from within and is not based on what is on the outside especially as I flaunt my coat all over town. Otherwise, I’m sure I would be somewhere with spa blue walls and people telling me over and over again that I need to take my meds as I drool nonsense about snow monsters and white down coats. “No,” they would say, “you don’t look like a snow monster Noreen. Now open wide.”

Being pregnant is not the easiest time for women. EVERYONE has an opinion. EVERYONE believes they have the right to say ANYTHING to you. And most people have NO REGARD for a pregnant woman’s hormones, feelings, or state of mind. They simply become CLUELESS when a pregnant woman approaches even if they have had children too; even if they gained 70 pounds with that child. Still, it is like it has never happened.

“You still have 7 weeks to go? How can your belly get any bigger?”

“March huh. You still have a LONG way to go.”

“Another girl. (Insert spiteful laugh) Your house is going to be full of hormones.”

GAH!

I thank God for the people who have said nice things to me. They have saved me.

When I left class that day, one of the owners of the bar studio said to me, “Noreen, you are inspiring so many students by coming to class. You look great and are doing amazing.”

She has no idea how much she saved me that day!

I guess that can be my lesson in life. There will be people who will say mean things. There will be people who will make you feel bad. There will be people who hurt you, talk bad about you behind your back or to your face.

BUT!

There are more people out there who will say kind things to you. There will be people who encourage you and lift you up. Stay close to them. After all, they are the angels in your life.

But don’t let any of them hold too much clout over you either. The person, who should hold the most belief in you, is yourself. Let that voice stay strong.

I did cry that day after I got home because I’m pregnant. But then I lifted myself up and told myself that no matter what anyone says or how big my belly is or the fact that my thighs are expanding and my face looks full; I said to myself, “I am beautiful.”

Make sure you tell yourself that today no matter what size you are or where you are at. Whether you are pregnant or not at your ideal weight or have stretch marks from carrying your children or arms that shake when you wave; tell yourself the same thing over and over again. Tell your children the same thing over and over again.

You are beautiful. You are beautiful. You are beautiful. The outside can always be worked on. The inside is what counts!