Okay, seriously, what the hell is that?
That is not a part of my current hairstyle. That is a photo of one of the crazy, one-inch-long sprouts of hair that has recently cropped up all over my head making me appear generally fuzzy and unkempt. Look at it...it's kinda like wildlife photography...or this book Portia checked out of the library last week called Look Look Look. You look through little 2"x2" clear windows to the picture on the next page and guess what is pictured. Not sure what I would have guessed with this picture. All I know is that I am thoroughly annoyed with this new hair phenomenon. I realize that it's regrowth from all the hair that fell out after I had Holden. And I suppose I should be happy that it's growing back. But it does not make for a good look right now, and nothing keeps it under control...not hairspray or gel or serum...nothing. It just stands straight up. Ugh.
I guess I should be honest, though. The hair, really, is the least of my problems. It's been over ten months since I had a baby and I am still not back to normal. And I'm not talking about my body--
That's not back to normal either, but I'm sick of us women bashing our bodies all the time so I just won't do it here. Someone has gotta take a stand somewhere, because I certainly don't want my daughter worrying about what her body looks like. I want her to think about how it feels and how healthy it is, but not what it looks like. I want her to love it and take care of it, but I don't want it to be a source of frustration or shame or anxiety. Unfortunately, short of moving somewhere remote or completely cutting off all access to American media (and every other girl it has touched), my quest for her body happiness will be a virtually impossible, extremely uphill battle. Still, it's one I'm willing to try and fight.
--I'm talking about my brain. I've gotten somewhat better since Holden started sleeping through the night, but I'm still more intellectually stunted than I would like. Maybe it's because I spend most of my time saying things like, "Can we please not talk about poop in public?" and "A doggie says, woof!" Ahh, the joys of a 3 year old and a 10 month old!
Really, most of it is a joy! I just caught myself yesterday sitting there, watching them play on the floor, with a silly grin on my face, thinking how adorable they are and how short this stage will be...how short every stage will be...oh, it's going by so fast...I'm gonna blink and they'll be leaving for college. And then I think that maybe I want a third...and then I think, OH MY GOD WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOU!!! You're getting old and you hate being pregnant...you felt extremely old and horrifically sick and incredibly huge for nine months and swore you would never do it again! Get a grip!
Whoa, alright, I'm okay now. So anyway...
I'd like to take a moment and tell you how incredibly awful food poisoning is. Don't worry, I won't gross you out with details. If you've had it, you know what I'm talking about anyway. It's sufficed to say that I won't be eating spinach salad again for a while. But what really ticks me off is that I got it twice...two weekends in a row...from the same f'ing spinach! The first time I thought it was a stomach virus and NEVER connected it to the spinach. But the second time, well, I figured it out. And felt pretty damn stupid. The worst of it is, the resulting weight loss won't even stick around. Such bulls*&#.
Speaking of bulls*&#, does anyone actually know how to figure out your bra size? Who invented this system? I am in dire need of a new over-the-shoulder-boulder-holder, but don't want to spend much because I'm still nursing and who knows where these puppies will end up once I'm done. (I'm hoping for a nice, perky 34B...but I haven't seen perky, 34, or B in a very long time, so I'm thinking that's not likely without cosmetic surgery.) So I figured a Target or Kohl's special is the way to go right now. To minimize my time in the store I thought I would first determine my current size, so I looked online for a refresher on how to measure myself. Well, based on the various sites I checked, there are two different schools of thought on how to measure oneself. Depending on which one I choose, I could either be a 38A or a 34DD. Seriously? Seriously. I even rechecked the measurements multiple times. What the f%$@? Guess I'll be spending an hour in the Target dressing room next weekend.
That kind of stuff really ticks me off.