Thursday, May 18, 2017

Why I Hate To Admit That I NOW Understand The Concept For Mom Jeans

Even though all of the text books say I am in the prime of my life, some days I just want to stick up my middle finger to the mid-forties. My metabolism has come to a screeching halt, I am pretty sure my thyroid function is non-existent, and I really don't know why I am saving any of my pre-pregnancy tops that once looked good around my midriff because those days are apparently long gone too.

I remember the days when I would look at my body in the mirror and like what I saw; granted it was my "just out of high school" running body, but once upon a time had chiseled abs and a rear end that would make a truck stop. Nowadays it doesn't seem to matter how many miles I put on the treadmill, if I nix sugar for the zero calorie monk fruit packets, or dine on a salad and hard boiled egg instead of lasagna, my body is clearly NOT THE SAME.

There is part of me that is still determined to shop in the trendy juniors section. I find myself huffing over the racks silently saying, "Why don't they carry this in an extra-large?" And everybody knows all of the cutest tops are made out of 100% rayon. For some reason, even if the label says machine wash cold then line dry, my rayon shirts seem to have the "Incredible Shrinking Woman" problem, where the vertical coverage decreases with every wash.

Since birthing a child at thirty-six, midriff exposed shirts are no longer a good look for me. That baby pouch just never seems to go away even when I give us this day our daily planks...hence my new appreciation of mom jeans. Once I couldn't understand why anyone would wear any pant higher that their hip but now I'll take a little height around the waist.

My Conclusion?

Mom Jeans: It's not about the camel toe...it's about hiding and preserving what once was!

Thursday, May 4, 2017

The Tired Kisser - What Does Your Child Do When They Are Exhausted?

Some kids have meltdowns, some kids get grumpy, some get sleepy, others get hyperactive when life has pushed them past the time when they should really be in bed. Fortunately for us, Senia Mae has never been a fit thrower or tantrum raiser. She is, however, a tired kisser.

When Senia Mae stays awake and dips into the bewitching hours, her reaction has always been to cuddle up to us, covering our faces with gentle kisses. I remember riding the tram back to the parking lot after an exhausting day at The Magic Kingdom. Many of the other younger children were screaming or acting belligerent, making their parents' memory of the happiest place on Earth a little less than magical. Senia Mae draped herself over my shoulder planting little pecks on my neck as she nuzzled her face into my hair. Although these tired kisses can get a little wet and drippy, if this is the worst behavior we get, we'll take it.

Now that she's a little older she doesn't require as much cuddling and caressing from me. She wants to be independent and do things herself. It saddens me that she's too heavy for me to carry her tired little body in from the car, but our tired kisses are not all lost. Instead of me holding her, she hunts me down in the only place a Mama can get any privacy, the bathroom.

The other night she poked her head around the white, six-paneled door that separated me momentarily from the chaos of my daily life.
"Mama, can we kiss on the toilet?" she asked, trying to delay getting into bed.

"Yes," I say, because I realize that part of her still needs my comfort even while I'm temporarily indisposed!