THIS is why I can't have nice things.

And by things, I very obviously mean fingernails.

Here's the deal: I am a child.  I am messy, twitchy, and impatient.  I have absolutely no idea how other people do it, but I simply canNOT keep polish on my fingernails.  To begin with, I'm just really bad at painting them. Half the paint always ends up on the skin surrounding the nail.  Now assuming I get... oh man, I really want fooood!  No.  No.  Dinner date is coming soon. Do not, do NOT raid the fridge now.  Okay.  Sorry about that.  Now assuming I actually get some paint ON the nails, it always gets smudged or scraped while it's still wet and no matter how early I finish them, I wake up with something akin to a face-print on at least one nail the next morning.  I have spent many a Sunday morning strategically hiding the one moron nail through seven dozen hand shakes, so as to not seem like a maniac.  Come to think of it, really, really not sure if my hidden finger handshakes are actually helping there.

So, I'm terrible at painting my nails.  Established.  Obvious next option is to pay other people to do it, because APPARENTLY this is a really prominent business model, and there are people willing to paint my nails for small amounts of money on every third corner all around the city, right?  NO. And here's why:

1) I don't like to pay people to do things that I can do myself.  Even if I can't do it myself.  I don't like to pay people for things that I think maybe I should be able to do myself.

2) I don't like sitting there watching other people scrub my hands and feet.  It feels awkward, like I'm trying to subjugate the local Asian population, and I just don't feel comfortable with that.

3) There's a good chance that everyone everywhere is making fun of me.  I would give you a list of my top 100 reasons why, but THEN you might think I'm neurotic and crazy.  Just know that it's probably true.

4) I don't understand or appreciate tipping.  Especially at businesses where people set their own prices, and I'm paying them directly.  I think I have grossly overtipped, and I KNOW I've grossly undertipped, and this feeds right into the 100 reasons why people are talking about me behind my back.  That's not exactly the same as the list in #3, but there's a little bit of crossover, certainly.

5) Forget what I said in #1. Mostly, I don't like paying for anything.

So unless something magical changes about that list, these are the reasons why my nails will always look like they were painted by a serial killer.  As for today, I already took the polish off, maybe 30 minutes after painting them.  So no harm done, except for that creepy stained pink look that dark colors leave behind.  I'll keep my toe polish.  For one, my toes farther away from your eyes than my hands are. I hope.  For two, I can always hide them in my shoes, and no one has to know how bad I am at painting them.  So, you know. Win win.

Hope you're all having a day with fewer regrets than mine!  Oh, and keep those personalized art orders coming in.  You're gonna want one of those things when I'm famous and you're jealous.

Symtomatologizing, and other fun facts.

Wonderful news:  Despite all of my anxiety, I made it through the WHOLE NIGHT without any panicked moments, or even having to use the restroom at all!  I'd mention how I'm a big fan of celebrating small victories, but I would consider NOT wetting the bed as a way-too-old adult to be a pretty sizeable victory.

So after 8 1/2 hours of sleep, I'm so tired this morning I wish I could cry.  It's also about time that I let you know I've been putting on some weight, which is entirely inappropriate for someone who is five minutes pregnant.  151.4 this morning, which makes loads of sense when you consider the amount of ice cream I've been consuming.

Sometimes I used to wish I could make it halfway through a pregnancy without realizing I was pregnant, in hopes that I'd spend a month or two NOT getting all blimpified.  I guess I can only dream...

Note for the day: It doesn't really count as "eating for two" when one of those two is the size of a poppy seed.

4 weeks along... can it really get worse than this?!?

I went to bed last night, and as always, spent the night deeply engaged in some way too strange and way too realistic dreams, as is common during pregnancy days.  In the middle of one of these dreams, the content of which I cannot remember, I had one of those "dreaming you're using the restroom because you need to pee" dreams, when all of a sudden, REAL!!!  That's right.  I had started, just started, to pee.

Now I'm not going to say I wet the bed, because the bed was not wet.  This incident was not nearly that severe.  But what I AM saying is that, whatever the mechanism is that tells you to wake up when you need to use the restroom maaaay have broken on me.  I had no inclination to wake up until I had the actual physical sensation of CRAP NO I'VE STARTED TO PEE.  It was terrifying.  I haven't done that since I was about 7, and it freaked me out so much I couldn't fall back asleep for almost 2 more hours.

Let's get some perspective here.  Yes, I went to the bathroom before going to bed. Twice.  And yes, I'm pregnant.  But also, the baby, who is just now becoming an embryo, is approximately 1mm long.  It does not yet have legs with which to kick or use my bladder as its own personal trampoline, but by simple virtue of its existence, I have suddenly become incontinent, and by golly, I am WAY too old and WAY too young for that.

Ha. Just saw a commercial regarding "urgency".  I feel ya, sista.

So needless to say, I'm terrified.  Not sure if this is normal, it's certainly something I didn't have before, and I just can't imagine how much worse it may get as this pregnany... DOUBLE HA! Now Whoopi Goldberg talking about bladder leakage.  And NO, oddly enough, I'm not watching WE.  People who aren't working at 12:30pm must have a lot of bladder issues.  Okay, back to it.... progresses.  As this pregnancy progresses.  I may very well be in 24/7 Depends by week 12.

Anyway, I'm sure there are tons of you who are gagging at your computer screens right now, wishing I would NOT have disclosed to the world my nighttime bladder control issues.  But I've decided that since I'm not going to be losing any weight anytime soon, instead, I'm going to share every glorious and GORious detail of these baby building months.

So cheers, and hope you all feel control of all of your most important bodily functions today!

Hey now!

It seems I have this really insightful sister-in-law.  So insightful, in fact, that even from multiple states away, she was able to pick up on the maybe not-so-subtleties of my behavior changes.  Ashley's not blogging these days.  Why?

OBVIOUSLY, she's pregnant.

Yep, that's 5 points to you, Katie, for realizing that I COULDN'T blog over the past week and a half, mostly because I was too afraid I would fall into a long stream of ITHINKI'MPREGNANTITHINKI'MPREGNANTITHINKI'MPREGNANTITHINKI'MPREGNANTITHINKI'MPREGNANT.

And I wasn't going to blog about it before my family knew about it.  Or at least, for heaven's sake, until I knew about it.

So there you have it, the reason that A) I haven't been blogging as much, and B) I haven't been weight-losing at all.  See the deal is, we started trying to have a second baby about 5 months ago.  With our first, it was immediate.  Within a blink, faster than you could say, "hey maybe we should start trying for a baby", we had one.  It was awesome, and I assumed, indicative of highly predictable pregnancies to come.

In April, we started trying to have a baby, and I stopped trying to be skinny.  I assumed I'd be pregnant within 5 minutes and any efforts I made would be completely wasted.  Also, I LOVE excuses to stop working out.  And anyone who wants to tell me that you "should still work out during pregnancy!" can bite my butt.  Well that was my excuse for the first few months, and after that, I guess I was just out of practice.  And frustrated that things weren't working as quickly as I thought they should.  Which is to say, I never knew you could feel so absolutely pissed off about having to buy a box of tampons.  The more you know, huh?

Anyway, with all that said, be prepared for a new flavor around this blog, weight gain progress, giant belly pics, and tales about all the times I've cried that day.  (Yesterday it was FOUR!)  You  know, the kind of stuff that will make you feel MUCH better, and way sexier about yourself.  That is my 9 month long gift to you.

Oh, and P.S.- Do you like my drawing?  I really am kind of proud of it, I'm thinking of forgetting everything else and making this a place to exhibit my art.  Let me know if you'd like an original print, I can design something especially for you.  We'll bang out a price later.

1 Year Anniversary!

That's right folks, it has officially been 1 year since this weight loss journey started.  Woo hoo!  Anniversary celebration time!!  Maybe I should take myself out for a nice dinner, or buy me a flower.  That sounds nice.

Okay, so technically I'm almost a week late on this diet-iversary.  Oops.  I promise that once the summer is over and my life gets more normal my blogging (and hopefully my diet) will become part of my life again.

ANYWAY, today is not a day for apologies.  Instead, it is a day for some authentic Jersey-style fist pumping.  Today is the day where I can remember what I felt like 1 year ago.  So follow me back, if you will.  Walk down memory lane with me... :: With a Wayne's World style "Diddloo! Diddloo! Diddloo!"::

August, 2010:  I was sitting in my office at Visalia Youth Services, waiting for another client who skipped our session.  I started wandering around the internet, researching diet plans, reading reviews, and checking prices.  I decided on Slim-Fast, mostly because of the price.  My mother-in-law had been over a few weeks ago, and was telling me about a meal plan she had used to lose upwards of 20 pounds.  She looked awesome.  And I looked like the Michelin man.  And I didn't believe, never really believed, that I could look like myself ever again.  I figured with Slim-Fast, at least it would cut my calories and if (WHEN) I failed at it, I wouldn't feel more depressed for having wasted my money.  I'd just still be fat.

So yeah, suffice it to say, I was kinda depressed.  Add to this the fact that I was having severe, constant back pain.  And terrible allergy symptoms.  And was starting to have regular panic attacks.  Then my brother's wedding was coming.  I'd bought the bridesmaid dress months before, size 14, and it was pretty friggin' tight. I figured I'd lose a lot more weight (my daughter would be nearly 11 months, you can lose TONS of weight by then, right?) but I could just have the fat-lady dress taken in.

Unfortunately, when it was time to have the dress fitted to me, the only "taking in" that had to be done was in the shoulders.  Because you'd think size 14 girls would have bigger jugs than I  had, right?  Go figure.  In FACT, the seamstress highly recommended I invest in some quality "shapewear" just to, you know, "smooth some stuff out".  Translate: "To insure my belly rolls weren't going to bust any seams on this too tightly fitting dress".

"But I swear seamstress lady!  I know the wedding is in 3 weeks, but I'm on a diet!  It'll work, I promise...ish."

And I did diet.  By the wedding, I was almost 10 pounds down, and not busting at the seams of that dress.  At least as much.  

 I'm not saying I wasn't happy here.  I was ecstatic for my baby brother and his gorgeous bride.  I just felt like Gigantor.

 Cute baby didn't like strangers or cameras so much back then.  Note how Mommy's "You'd Totally Think I was Pregnant" belly works as a nice munchkin supporter.  Always a bright side!

 Here you can see what I was up against.  My ridiculously beautiful sister-in-law and her posse.  Geez, I could have at least gotten a tan.  A tan may have helped.  Also, note the shoes.  Best shoes I've ever owned ever.

Yep.  That's my belly and booty.  And yep, it's got loads of shapewear on it.  But there's some level of chub that won't be maintained by spandex.

Now here we are.  1 year later, after loads of prayer, tons of support, and a good amount of complaining about hunger and stupid exercise, I'm right around 45 pounds down.  In an effort to celebrate and make a fair comparison, I've jumped back into the dress for the first time since that day!

Yes, I'd just gotten out of the shower, and no, I was not wearing makeup.  I probably hadn't even brushed my hair, if I'm honest, but my hair is not the feature here. The feature is the fact that I have TWO discernible ankles.

 Even my daughter is excited about it!  "Ta Da!!!"  She was also emphatic about telling me that I looked "Cuuuuute!" She really notices when I wear dresses or skirts.  That's because I never wear dresses or skirts.

 I'm not stretching it. It's not stretchy.  It's just pulled out enough to fit me and, well, probably most of another me.  Or my skinny arsed husband.

 As you can see, I've evidently lost the most weight in my clavicle.  Hellooooooo clavicle.

Measuring tape belt of awesomeness

So there ya go!  Smaller in the body, weirder in the face.  These days, I have very little back pain (I was still built a little wonky, I'll always have a little pain), I almost never feel anxious, and a lot of my allergy problems are gone.  I'm healthier.  And I'm happier.  And I'm totally cool with taking weird, makeup-free pictures of myself because now I have sexier ankles.  Speaking of which, I really need to work on convincing my husband that ankles are sexy.

Well, I'm off, probably to work out again.  These pictures make me want to increase my awesome and NOT my waistline.

Hope you all find a reason to celebrate today!  And if you don't have one, make it up.  Your reasons to celebrate are only limited by your imagination.  I.E. "Woo hoo! It's Grocery Shopping Thursday!!! Time to have a living room parade!"

PSA. No, scratch that, Public Service WARNING.

Hey you.  That's right, you.  Yeah, you, EVERY SINGLE PERSON I KNOW.  I have a favor, of sorts, to ask of you.  Or maybe it's a command.  Or maybe, we'll call it a fair warning.

Anyway, it's this:

STOP SAYING TO MY FACE THAT MY DAUGHTER IS SOOO INCREDIBLY LUCKY TO HAVE HER FATHER'S BODY TYPE.

I get it, okay?  I understand that he is skinny, and she is skinny, and that's just wonderful for the two of them.  But what you're essentially saying is that my daughter really dodged a bullet in that she DOESN'T have MY body.  And while I can't disagree with you on this point, we may be all be missing something here.  I HAVE MY BODY.  It's nice for my dear sweet girl that she doesn't have to go through life looking like ::shudder:: her mother, but unfortunately for yours truly, I DO have to look like me.  And I would really appreciate any help I can get in pretending that this is not such a horrible fate.

I'm pretty sure I've reached my limit on smiling in response to this statement and agreeing that yep, "she's just a little thing" and trying my hardest to live vicariously through my luckylucky daughter and ignore the way I'm being insulted to my face.  And anyway, BEST case scenario, that response just turns me into a crazed stage mother, and then all of a sudden my luckylucky daughter has a pretty serious cocaine habit.

So there it is.  And now that you've all been warned, you should also know that the next person who says this to me is risking a swift-but-intense punch to the face.  But in my defense, come on.  You were asking for it.


Oh right, this was a PSA:

The more you know....