What a Beautiful Baby!

The Fourth of July is rapidly approaching and that means one thing to me.  Family.  On one hand, it will kill my soul to have my first Fourth without my dad.  Now, I know that seems like a stretch for most.  But, my dad LOVED the Fourth.  He sparkled with childhood over it.  It was BBQ’s, swimming in the lake, fireworks, roasted marshmallows, family and none of the bull that comes with the more commercialized holidays.  We love the Fourth.

In preparation of bribing my nephew to love me, (yes, I’ll stoop really low) I went to BuyBuyBaby to gather the bait.  Curious George is his love.  My nephew, Matthew, is my love.  And, so it seems only logical to bring all that love together by getting him a plush new Curious George stuffed animal.

After gathering my loot for Matthew and a few things for my soon to be niece, Molly, I proceeded towards the exit with Curious George cradled lovingly in my arms.  There I was stopped by a lovely young women, who exclaimed, “What a beautiful baby!?!?”…

Do what?  My babies look like stuffed monkeys? 😦

Now, I’m sure the women was just in “complement everyone on their babies mode.” But really.  That’s almost as harsh as being asked how far along you are, when you aren’t even pregnant.

The real win came though when I was able to turn Curious George around watch the expression on her face change.  I said nothing.  Just smiled and sauntered on.  And, no, my babies would not look like stuffed monkeys.

Hope you and the monkeys in your life have a very happy Fourth of July too!



I Am Not A Thick Girl

I am not a “thick girl.”  It took me months to get my depression weight off; weight that I shamefully gained while my dad was sick.  But, I’m finally back inside a healthy BMI.  My muscle content is high.  My fat content is within the normal range.  I was able to power snatch the same weight as the men in my gym class yesterday.  (Form matters dudes.)   I still have a lot of toning I would like to do, but I am not a “thick girl.”

Our society is so messed up.  Being a size 8 now, I could only be a ‘plus size model’, except for the fact that I only stand 5’6”, which makes me entirely too squatty for that.  No, I have no desire or care to model, but these ridiculous standards exist.  It appears the only way you earn the right to feel good about yourself as a woman is to eat carrot sticks all day and be a Lulu Lemon yoga model.

I recently re-entered the dating world, and oh my goodness…  At first I was annoyed that men treat me like a little fatty.  But, I’m starting to feel that they have been culturally fed these standards of what an acceptable girlfriend should look like.  No doubt, I want to date a healthy man.  I want someone who could possibly enjoy going hiking with me or join me in a crossfit workout.  But sheesh, the shallowness of it all is too much.  I suddenly need to lose another 30 pounds and wear tons of makeup to be considered acceptably, moderately attractive.  What’s up with that?

I guess the final blow came when I was told that ‘men like thick girls.’  Good grief guys.  What a backhanded, ASSinine comment.  Society wouldn’t even let me feel good about myself, even if the little voice inside me told me I should be happy about myself.

I’m not looking for women to jump to my defense.  I’m not looking for comments about how I am in fact not ugly or even that I am pretty.  But here is a picture of me (in red) and my best friend (in black) on vacation.  No makeup. No touchups.  No photoshop.  Just two nice women enjoying one last hooray before my best friend marries the man of her dreams.  Now why in heaven’s name should culture dictate that either of us needs to apologize for not being perfect enough for the equally imperfect men trying to date us.