When my daughter was born, the nurse in the hospital nursery told me she had a boy and then a girl, same as me, and then she had “a bonus.” That always stuck with me, it was such a great way to think about number three. Then when I was pregnant with the little guy, people would ask if I knew what I was having or if I would find out – I told them the story, and that I too, was having “a bonus.”
After the little guy came along, I was volunteering at the bigs’ school one day and had the baby in the Baby Bjorn. Another mother, whom I’d just met, told me she had 3 kids too, with the same age span I had. She said they called number 3 “the straw.” I was perplexed and asked why – the answer was because he was the one that broke the camel’s back! I couldn’t imagine it at the time – but gradually I began to understand it.
Every day that third one is the bonus, but sometimes he can also be the straw!
After my daughter was born I threw my scale away. I hated it, and it made me unhappy – so off to the dump it went. I knew I needed to lose weight, I didn’t need a scale to tell me. That was 12 years ago. Now, I rely on my doctor’s visits to get an accurate weight – but in the meantime, my jeans tell me just how I’m doing.
Or so I thought. I can tell my weight’s been up a bit recently, but I wasn’t that concerned. Until I went to the doctor and saw the number on the scale! All the same feelings came back – and when the doctor came in and asked me how I was, I told him I was pissed off. Pissed off about my weight. He looked at his file, flipped back a page and said “wow.” Wow? Really? I asked if I was up a lot from last year. He said no – not from last year, but that I was up 5 pounds since the last time he saw me. At Thanksgiving!
What the fudge-covered-oreos had happened? Oh, maybe that? Actually he did ask me what happened and I told him that things had been quite stressful with my family during the holidays. He said to get used to it. Thanks. He also told me that once we hit 40, we tend to put on 3 pounds a year and that I’d have to work really hard to keep that from happening. Great. Oh, and to lose the 5 I just gained. Sure. And, ideally, get down about 11 all together. What??
Ok, then. Game ON. The next day I was at the gym taking a class. The instructor has the best music list. Lots of club remix-sounds of old songs. This day though, it was like the music was taunting me. It was all late 80’s and early 90’s music. All music from when I could wear a bikini, a skin tight dress, LEGGINGS. It just pissed me off even more. And, to make matters worse, all of the lyrics seemed to switch in my head: “Ice, Ice, Baby” was “Fat, Fat, Baby!” and “Can’t Touch This!” was “Don’t Touch This!” Ugh.
So now I’m basically pissed off for 3 reasons:
1. I’m fat (the BMI actually told me so)
2. I’m freaking hungry
3. I didn’t wear a bikini everywhere I went when I was 20.
I mean really, #3? Why didn’t I? Did I think I was going to have that body forever? I guess I did. Well, I’m warning you all now, if I ever get that body back, I just might wear a bikini everywhere. Parent-teacher night – bikini, grocery shopping – bikini, soccer practice – bikini…
Until then, I’ll be at the gym. Starving.
My first ever blog post was about what I thought would be a great family tradition that ended up being a total pain in my ass! Well, here we go again…
Each Valentine’s Day I buy candy and cards for all three kids and my husband. He buys candy and a card for me. I usually have to shop around like crazy to find candy this is nut free for my daughter, and that seems relatively proportionate to what I got for the boys.
This year, I read in Family Fun Magazine about a family who draws names and then buys Valentines for each other that way. The family said it was so sweet and everyone loved being able to pick out a Valentine for their “Secret Valentine.” Sucker that I am, I immediately subscribed to the sweetness of this and suggested it to my family! Plus, I thought, then everyone would be responsible for a Valentine for someone else, and not just me doing it all. Or so I thought.
I wrote out the names and we all drew one, starting with the youngest. It went perfectly well. I told the kids that if they drew my name, they’d have to tell Daddy and he would take them shopping, and if they drew Daddy’s name to tell me and I’d take them shopping for their “Secret Valentine.”
You know where this is going, right? Right down the tubes, that’s where! This great idea, this new tradition, is nothing more than the usual tradition, but more of a pain for me!
Here’s the breakdown of the “secret” drawing:
Little Guy gets Big Guy
Big Guy gets Little Guy
The Daughter gets Daddy
I get the Daughter…
And Daddy gets me.
Got it? It means, I STILL DO ALL OF THE VALENTINE’s SHOPPING, ONLY I DO IT 3 SEPARATE TIMES!
Happy freakin’ Valentine’s Day!