Let’s face it. Way back when, when you were imagining having children, you never really imagined you would be that informed about another being’s bowel movements.
My kid just spelled and wrote “cat” correctly. I will now pick myself off of the floor.
I guess it’s time to eat (hahaha! pun intended) a little crow. Last year I said I didn’t want to go back on Weight Watchers. I talked about how in the past in hadn’t worked for me, at least not long term. And yet here I am, back on Weight Watchers.
It’s familiar but different. As before, I need to find a good leader. I like the Saturday morning person, but I will usually have Bean and that is hard to manage even though Bean tries to be good. There is a meeting at 6:30 a.m. I have yet to make it to that one. The Sunday person seems nice but doesn’t seem to have quite the sense of humor that the Saturday woman does. And, if anything, this process is going to require a sense of humor. There are more points and more flexibility. And yet a number of foodstuffs have more points than they use to so I think it all comes out in the wash.
“Yes, but what changed with you?” you ask. Ugh. So many things. And, in the end, what didn’t change is what drove me back. The weight is still there, figuratively and literally. My daughter is four years old, and I am still a version of me I never wanted her to see. I never wanted her to see me struggle with my weight. I never wanted to infect her with this…this…what do you call it? A disease? A compulsion? A mental illness? A habit?
No child should ever know, at seven, what “Slim Fast” is. What ten year old should be on the American Heart Association Diet? My parents always told me I was pretty with their mouths, but watching them struggle with their health bled into my own fledgling identity. How could it not when being on and off and on these diets was the norm for my family? So ingrained was this that even in the depths of Alzheimer’s my grandmother was concerned with her weight, refusing to eat anything but chicken breasts and grapefruit.
I do not want to model a life, for my daughter, of being consumed by what I consume.
I KNOW what do to. I KNOW how to do it. But doing it? Actually doing it…the canyon between those things is so wide that I can only trust that others are right when they tell me there is another side. It is so deep that I can only hope there is a bottom to stop me when I fall.
I know that Bean is picking these up from other people. It’s just that somewhere something gets shifted in translation.
“I’m Ok with that.”
As in “yes mommy. I can go to grans house even if I skip quiet time. I’m OK with that. ”
Example: “bobby eats his boogers. It’s gross, for really.”
Bean has been coughing. Alot. Alot Alot. This is despite a steroid inhaler that she has been on for a different reason. I am afeared that it’s possible that the illness causing the cough is possibly worse than it is presenting. ugh. I may have to take tomorrow off for a trip to Peds. I seriously need to not take tomorrow off. ugh.
In other news, today’s experience at a Staff Appreciation Brunch can only be defined as an epic fail. Seriously. Cake and fruit and chicken biscuits and pastry and did I mention the cake? (Shaking head slowly at myself. Thinking about sending myself to bed without any supper.)
B: I didnt know animals could talk. (watching Over the Hedge.)
B: Mommy. Can I run in the bathroom?
M: Um. Yeah? Are you gonna run around in circles?
B: mmmm. Ice (cicle taken off of front of car) tastes good.
Reason 589 why my kid is cool. When given the choice between Build-a-Bear and the park, she chooses the park.
I was informed this morning, by Bean, that I needed Lip Chap. And here I was afraid that all the quirky verbal things of childhood has gone the way of no-gurt. Thank goodness I was wrong! Bring on the lip chap!
Shouted from the shower “If the monkey shows, just find another shirt!”
Yes, yes. I know. The story is really The Princess and the Pea. But I think my title is more appropriate and realistic. You thought the whole story was about testing to see if a girl was really a princess by seeing if she could feel a tiny pea through all the mattress of a big-girl bed. But, I imagine the whole story is really about a girl with a tiny bladder who has to make it to the bathroom in time to pee. Only then,of course, once truly potty trained, can she make the next step in maturity by sleeping in her new big-girl bed without a pull-up.