Yesterday, as I was getting a bikini wax (yes, my lady parts are now well-groomed — you’re welcome for that Super Important Piece of Information), I was commiserating with my aesthetician about post-baby bodies. Both of us have been suffering from a real lack of enthusiasm over the current state of our figures, and we’ve decided the best solution is for everyone else to quit looking so good.  I mean, if you are just a naturally thin person who shed the weight without thinking while still being able to shove your face full of Five Guys and Ben & Jerry’s, then obviously I hate you and am so jealous I can hardly see straight, but you can just keep being you.  But if you’re working your little tail off Jessica Alba-style, then you need to stop.  Because you’re making me look bad.

The thing is, it didn’t actually take me all that long to lose the baby weight.  At 6-weeks postpartum, I was within 5 lbs of my pre-baby weight.  At my one-year check-up, I was 7 lbs under my pre-baby weight.  Just a month ago, according to my parents’ scale, I was 10 lbs under my pre-baby weight.  And yet?  And yet I feel gross 98% of the time.  The baby belly that just won’t disappear, the arms that I swear have grown twice their normal size, hips that have expanded in a way I didn’t believe possible, and thighs that appeared straight out of nowhere.  And don’t even get me started on the stretch marks that have created a demented treasure map all over my lower torso and upper thighs.

Several months ago I decided to take my low self-esteem in my own hands and start a workout regimen.  And I’ve been pretty good about sticking to it.  4-5 days/week, I’m doing some sort of cardio and/or strength training.  Plus, I’ve recently decided to stop eating buttered popcorn by the pound and I’ve given up bricks of solid chocolate.  But I’m pretty sure I’ve GAINED weight.  I’m pretty sure my pants are tighter and my shirts hug in very unflattering ways.

It’s awful and disheartening and depressing and straight-up unfair.

So if the rest of you could just let yourselves go to hell the way I clearly have, that’d be super awesome.

kthxbai.

Mac is a hugger.  For as large a personal bubble as I have, this kid doesn’t seem to have one at all.  While he’ll hug just about any adult if asked, it’s other kids he really loves hugging.

He hugs all his little friends all the time all day, without any real reason.  He gives gentle hugs to little babies where he simply rests his head on theirs, and he gives big bear hugs to bigger kids.

As it turns out, all of the kids Mac spends time with are like this.  They all give and receive hugs freely.  They’re just happy, friendly kids.

Unfortunately, not every kid loves the same kind of invasion of personal space, and I’m always left feeling a bit awkward when we’re out amongst the general public.  While Mac and his friends love to stroll up to other kids, give a hug, and share their sand pail, most other kids we’ve encountered don’t feel the same way.  They don’t like a stranger — even a small one — trying to tackle them with a hug.  Which is totally understandable.  But it leaves me feeling bad for a kid like Mac (and leaves me feeling like other parents are judging me —I’M SORRY MY KID IS SO FRIENDLY, OK?!?!).

I love that mAC loves so freely and that he just wants to embrace (quite literally) everyone.  And it breaks my heart just a little bit knowing that Mac will have to deal with at least a modicum of rejection from his peers for the rest of his life, and that these small rebuffs at the park are just a little taste of that.

Mac never leaves these exchanges with hurt feelings, though.  So clearly I’m blowing this up to be a much bigger deal than it is.  And I’m happy that, for now anyway, Mac’s default feeling towards everyone else is love, no matter their reception of his overzealous advances.

When I was growing up, my parents owned a marina.  Since my dad was a teacher, it was a great way for my parents to own their own business and earn extra money during the summer.  Plus, it was a pretty awesome place to grow up (we lived in the house just a few feet away up the hill from the marina).

(this is a picture of the marina today. No, you’re not missing something. It was bought by the nursing home next door and turned into a parking lot. They literally paved paradise and put up a parking lot. Okay…maybe not literally paradise.  That red arrow is where I’m pretty sure the infamous boat launch was.)

Every spring and fall, my parents would spend an entire day launching the boats and docks or taking out the boats and docks. I usually made myself scarce because as a princess-y 8 year old, manual labor didn’t interest me, but my brothers were always doing their best to get in the way of the days proceedings.

One year (I believe it was the fall) my youngest brother was sitting in the backseat of our truck in his carseat as my parents were pulling boats up on the trailer.  The trailer, naturally, was attached to the truck.  My brother managed to unbuckle himself from his carseat, climb into the front seat, and put the truck in gear.  The truck then quickly drove into the lake while my parents scrambled to rescue their toddler (I believe he was 3 at the time) from drowning.

That was the second time one of my brothers launched a truck into the lake.

Yesterday, I took Mac with me to run some errands.  I was strapping him into his carseat and getting everything situated, and I suddenly realized that after I had him all buckled in, he managed to undo his top buckle.  Thinking maybe I just forgot to snap it tight, I clicked it together again.  And that’s when I saw him manipulate the buckle and unclick it. 

My kid is on his way to figuring his way out of his carseat.  Which means that I officially need to keep him away from parked cars next to large bodies of water. My family very obviously doesn’t have a good track record.

I feel it’s relevant to mention that, while out on the boat, I got stung in the ass by a bee. It hurt like hell. And I STILL had a great Mother’s Day. That’s how good my day was — even a bee sting to the buttocks couldn’t ruin my day.

After I wrote that mother’s day post, Mac made me chase him around the house as he protested against having his diaper changed, broke the mirror off the wall and was a complete brat during breakfast.

So I guess some days are luckier than others ;-)

As I slipped into bed last night, my skin still smelling of sunscreen and fresh country air, I couldn’t help but smile as I drifted off to sleep.

It would be an understatement to say I was in a funk last week.  I don’t know what my problem was, but I could feel myself slipping further and further under a black cloud of despair and it just seemed to get worse as the week progressed.  By Saturday morning, I could barely muster a smile for my sweet little family.  But then we visited our friends in the hospital and as I held their tiny new baby boy (how easily I forgot how little those newborns are), my not-such-a-baby-anymore baby laid down next to me on the hospital couch and promptly fell asleep.  It was in that moment that the black cloud over my head quickly began to dissipate.  I saw my blessings of good friends, sweet babies, and a supportive husband laid out before me, and I realized I don’t deserve to feel anything other than grateful.  It was time to snap myself out of it.

On Sunday morning, I still felt a little gloomy, but smiles abounded after receiving a thoughtful gift from my husband and the sweetest unprompted hug from Mac. I was then treated to a delicious breakfast at a nearby bakery before heading out to spend the day with my parents (and celebrate my own incredible, adorable, phenomenal mother).  Mac and I tooled around on the golf cart while the rest of my family golfed 9 holes, and then after lunch and naptime for everybody, we spent the rest of the afternoon boating on the St. Croix River.

We drove home, tucked in our rambunctious boy, I treated myself to Dairy Queen, and spent the remainder of my evening in awe of how lucky I am.

I am lucky.  I am treasured.  I am loved.  And I hardly deserve any of it.  But I love this family fiercely and I’m glad we took Mother’s Day to remember how much we all mean to one another.