I Don't Think You're Ready for this Belly

I'm so sick of hearing about my belly fat.

Everywhere I turn, my spam folder, the TV, my mirror, it's there, nagging at me. My friend Laura affectionately refers to hers as her "What's That?" Michelle calls it her "Ooh Dreep".  And me, well, I never had a name for mine until this week when I started touching it and realized it had a whole new feel to it. I asked the husband to validate my feelings and so he pressed on it like I was the Pillsbury Doughboy and declared, "It feels like a water bed".   So there you have it, I now have a name for mine.

Dr Oz recently did a show on this topic where every woman in the audience wore a spandex bra and bike shorts, exposing their bellies for the world to see.  Some of the women were sobbing, stating they were embarrassed, ashamed, and depressed about their midriffs.  The show was supposed to help us women understand why we have belly fat, what we can eat to reduce our belly fat, and more importantly, it was an opportunity for Dr. Oz to grope and feel up as many grieving women in one fell swoop. It's not that I don't love you, Doc, but clearly, you have some issues in  Doctor/Patient Relations Department. Just sayin'.

It turns out if you want to eliminate your BF you should eat sauerkraut, miso soup and I'm sure there was something else. After 2 weeks on this diet, I don't understand why my waterbed is still afloat. I've been eating the sauerkraut daily on my hot dog but my BF is just growing. WTFBF?

Presents

I have a zillion Christmas blogs in edit mode. I'm hoping this one makes the cut.

I want to write about the excessive commercialism, the lost meaning, the overabundance of food, random acts of kindness, why you shouldn't keep talking to kids about Santa so much since it just sets every parent up for failure, what would Jesus think of it all, why parents put the Elf on the Shelf in pornographic positions, and the year my mother accidentally raised my oven temp to 500 degrees causing a chestnut to explode in my face.

But I won't.

I just want to say that we all work really hard this time of year to make the holiday extra special. We get less sleep, we work extra hours, and we get super stressed; always feeling we're not doing enough, not baking enough, not buying enough.

But, Enough is Enough.

Every so often during this season (when I am ready to have an anxiety attack about it all), I have to center myself and think back to last year. I vaguely remember what we bought the kids. I have no memory of what people gave me and have to think extra hard about what we ate. So, my point is, none of what you are doing and buying matters at all. It seems so "high priority", but in reality, next year, none of it will matter and this Christmas will be another distant memory.

For me, the only thing that really matters from year to year, is who is present and who is not.  And when you experience your first Christmas without that special someone, whether it's your Mom, Dad, Grandparent, Sibling, Spouse or your beloved pets, Christmas Day can be a devastating day. The gifts and the food mean nothing when you're grieving a loss.

The presence of your loved ones are the presents. This year, the big presents for me are that my entire family is together, under one roof.  There will be a LOT of noise, food, mess, laughter, and silliness, thanks to their presence. I can't think of a better gift.

Love and peace to all of you in the New Year,
Becky

TextmasTime is here

My Hurricane Irene blog helped you when the lights went out. Now, here is the Holiday edition to help you communicate with your peeps without overtaxing your fingers.

Whether you are a parent or a bored teen, there is something for everyone here while you Text the Halls. Add the following to your phones for those times when you need to vent to your TextPals.

NML: No More Legos!

DTENCIIDIFB: Does this eggnog count if I drink it for breakfast?

IDCTYFYSIO: I don't care that you finished your shopping in October

EOTSIACP : Elf on the Shelf in another compromising position.

IIBTIWTGAFXMS: Is it bad that I want to go away for xmas?

ACSWARM: At cookie swap with aunt, rescue me!

TKASA: The kids are sick again

DTFCSMMLF?: Does this fugly Christmas sweater make me look fat?

ROOSHDC: Ran out of stamps, hand delivering cards

GSAYSA: Got screwed at Yankee Swap, again.

IMBETCTJ: It might be easier to convert to Judaism

BNIFU: Batteries not included....

WMUI2012: Wake me up in 2012

Jugs R' Us (and why does this lady look so happy?)

It seems lately I cannot post a blog that does not include the words "boob" or "breast". In keeping with this theme....

Today was my yearly Mammogram. If you are under 40 and have never had a lump or worrisome history, then you have not enjoyed the pleasure of having your boobs squeezed into a vice. (This yearly test may save your life so please do not skip it! I am not here to give you medical advice so please do not sue me.)

I am here to tell you that after you have your first mammogram, you will feel the need to have a cigarette and a shot of brandy. You will feel the burning desire to scream, "What is the point of wearing this Johnnie if 99% of my upper torso is already naked while you twist my breast 180 degrees, squeeze it, vice it, and direct me to simultaneously stick out my butt like Mrs. OohWiggins? How exactly does the Johnnie help my dignity?"


After some intense research (Google), I confirmed that a man did, in fact, invent the mammography machine. No gal pal I know would torture another sister in this fashion, unless she was messing with her private stash of chocolate. Then, totally justified.

I know this machine can be a life saver. And I feel sorry for these poor technicians who do such a phenomenal job but have to resort to Cirque De Soleil maneuvers to get the scan just right. And I think about what they see (and touch!) on a daily basis. It runs the gamut from floppy fried eggs to mammoth watermelon jugs. They definitely need an award, or a chest to pin it on, as my mom likes to lovingly point out.

Turns out, I passed this year's exam with flying colors, thank God. And I will go back again, exactly one year from now. What can I say, I am a glutton for punishment.

Parenthood: Blessing or Burden?

When I became a mother, I had some clue as to how life would be....or so I thought. You never really know until you are in the trenches, up for nights on end; feeding, changing, nursing, crying (yours), repeat. And you think the hard work is just when they are babies but there is always a new stage to contend with and as good as your little angels are, it's still a lot of freaking work and it never goes away. Sure, you can grab a date night, an hour nap, or a one way run down the street screaming your head off for only so long. The job of motherhood is always there; 365 day/year job which pays you squat. Your leash is a short one, no matter how you slice it. The job violates every labor law out there. Why hasn't the Department of Labor intervened by now?

One recent article sparked some controversy. Take a look here. It's about parents who love their kids but hate their lives. If you are childless by choice, this article will make you feel validated. If you have kids, well, I can't tell you how you feel. If you wish you had kids, then please don't read the article. Personally, I love being a mother and feel that it is one of my "vocations" in life that I was meant to do, and if that sounds too corny for you then, too bad. I do have other hopes and dreams aside from all the glory and goo that is motherhood. But it's not easy, none of it. No matter who you are, whether you are a SAHM (Stay At Home Mom) or a WOHM (Work Outside Home Mom), we are all working our fannies off, right? Aren't we all doing what is best for our families and ourselves? Isn't that enough? I think it is. No one gets a prize when it's all over that says, "She made her own dough" or "She sewed all the kids' clothes". The prize is that everyone got out alive and mostly unscathed at the end of each day.

I know plenty of parents (many are very close friends) who have severely disabled or chronically ill children. Their kids' medical needs are never ending and their futures are unpredictable, at best. And do you know what is interesting about them? I NEVER hear them complain about their kids. And do you know why? Because they are just plain grateful to have those children, problems and all. Then, there are the parents who are given the most precious, perfect and healthy children and for whatever reason, do not see it. They complain about every little thing.

We all have our days. But to say that a person "hates their life" as a result of having children makes me cringe. Do you view having a child as a blessing or a burden? Every day and every night, and many times in between, I am counting my blessings, big and little.

Got Formula? Not anymore!

Our local baby factory hospital, Women & Infants, has recently announced that they will no longer provide formula samples to new moms who are being discharged. Their claim is that the formula sends the wrong message to mothers and discourages breast feeding, while also endorsing products, another bad message. (They also give you as many free Pampers as can fit in a body bag, but I guess that does not count).

I think this new practice is stupid, stupid, stupid.

A little background, in case you think I am biased (but aren't we all?). I was the mother who was beyond determined to make breastfeeding work no matter what happened. At no point was my baby ever going to have formula, unless it was a dire emergency. I took all the classes, I coached my nipples, preparing them for what was to "come", and I had all the right equipment; the pump, the peek-a-boo bras, the plastic breast shields (don't ask), the leakage pads, and the extra strength Advil for the pain that would ensue.

Are you picturing Wonder Woman without the tiny waist? Good.

Then my first born arrived. An average sized baby who had a hard time "latching on". What? How could this happen? Isn't breastfeeding the most natural thing in the world? Doesn't the baby have an instinct? And who are these hairy women coming into my room, analyzing my breasts and prying open my baby's mouth by his chin while squirting water in his face to wake him up, all in the name of a feeding? And did I mention that I can't even rest the baby on my tummy for a feeding as I've just had a C-section. Home team disadvantage, you must hold the baby like a football under your arm. Do these people know how much I hated flag football in junior high? I sucked! And now my baby doesn't even know how to.

Day 2: The baby starts getting jaundicy and it later turns out it's not the normal kind. It's the kind called "Breastfeeding Jaundice", which they tell me can only be cured by drinking more breast milk. Super! I have a yellow baby who wants to sleep all the time, has a receding chin (not cool in the Land of Lactation), and was just circumcised (adding to more trauma).

At this point, I may have turned to formula. I did not. As I said, I was determined! I used the hospital pump and tried to increase the supply of milk so the baby could look less like a lemon.

They even let me take him home where I continued pumping and nursing constantly. However, this baby was not recovering from Breast milk Jaundice and was losing weight. My pediatrician (also a nursing mother to 3 kids), knew how much I wanted this to work. She finally advised formula to supplement, just to get his weight up. I was devastated at the time, but I did what she said. I was in no way going to mess with his development. He ended up gaining weight and was fine, however, my breast milk supply never "took off", so he was a half and half baby. Kind of like what you put in your coffee.

Then I had my 2ND baby 4 years later. I gave the breastfeeding a try and miraculously, it worked extremely well for 15 months. He had formula once in a blue moon.

We all know that breastfeeding is the most natural and nutritious food choice for a baby. However, sometimes, it just doesn't work out for whatever reason. And after having experienced my own reasons, I can understand why some women "give up" on breastfeeding, or don't even try it. They probably hear horror stories or perhaps they are too self conscious to even try it. You cannot judge another woman for choosing formula. You are not in her bra, are you?

So, getting back to my opening sentence way up top. No matter what your choice is, having a sample of formula handed to you upon discharge will not be the nail in the coffin. You have already had the baby and by the time you have left the hospital, you have fed the baby via breast or bottle and have made some type of decision, correct? And what happens if you get home and you don't have a back up plan in case you cannot nurse? Won't that dinky little sample from the Similac company come in handy?

I loved my experience at Women & Infants and I am so grateful that both my babies were delivered safely and I was treated with the best possible care by all of the nurses and staff. However, I believe this new policy is just silly and they are using the wrong platform to send their message. The free Pampers do not cost the hospital any money, nor do the formula samples. You get all kinds of freebies as a new mom. Considering what the formula companies charge, I think it's the least they can do. The hospital already has their army of lactation consultants swarming the castle like Breastfeeding Ninjas, sniffing out every woman who springs a leak, so we know that they give breastfeeding more P.R. than the Kardashian girls.

Perhaps the hospital's new strategy can include sending all new moms home with a 60 year old Russian wet nurse. Now that would be useful!

Why you should go to that Class Reunion

It's hard to believe that 25 years have passed since my high school graduation. I have attended most of our reunions and I must say, this milestone reunion was the best ever. I can only speak for myself but I have a feeling that my classmates share the same sentiments. This one was extra special!


We're all getting older; that is a no brainer. But I think as you hit your 40s, the reality of mortality and time slipping through your fingers really starts to hit you. Many of us have lost parents, have dealt with tragedies, personal or family illness, daily stress and struggles, loneliness, or hardship. On the flip side, many have gotten married (twice!), had kids, enjoyed thriving careers, or traveled the world. We've all been down many roads with paths leading us on unexpected turns and twists. However, the one thing we all have in common is our time together in school.


There's something about this shared experience that makes you all warm and fuzzy inside. Even if you weren't the most popular, the smartest, or good looking (in whose eyes?) kid in school, we all had our fun. If you were a self-proclaimed Motorhead, Preppy, Dexter, Nerd, Beauty Queen, Jock, or Plain Jane, I know you had at least one friend to share your miserable experience with! I am so thankful to have had one of those friends who "got" me right away and made my 3 years the best ever. I still cherish that girl to pieces and I am so thankful she was brave enough to organize our 25th reunion!


Heading to a reunion after so many years can be scary. Let's face it, things are not exactly where they used to be. On our "Pre-Reunion" Facebook group, the boys were strategizing bald spot and pot belly coverage while the girls worried about love handles, saggy boobs, and laugh lines. Our conversation thread cried out with desperation to Sally Hanson, Spanx, and Manx (my own homage to men's Spanx), even minutes before the reunion began. The hysteria we all felt was contagious and made going to the reunion that much more fun.


And it turned out that we all look pretty damn good! Yes, we are aging but we are doing it together so we're all on the same playing field. There's really no point in trying to look like something you aren't. (Botox and toupees went undetected by this writer.)

What really mattered that night was that we had a rare opportunity to get reacquainted and stroll down memory lane. The night was filled with "our" music, laughter, hugging, crying, more hugging,some odd dance moves, more than a few, "Oh, I remember you!" (even when we didn't with the help of name tags, but that's ok), and wanting this night to last just a little longer.

Life is short and time flies. Both total cliches, and completely true. If you have a chance to go to a class reunion, just go. Don't think about it.

No matter what your experience was in High School, a night with your old classmates will leave you re-energized, giddy, wistful, overwhelmed, grateful, and just plain happy.

And leave the Spanx behind. Dancing to Michael Jackson's P.Y.T while feeling like a sausage stuffed in its casing does not a Pretty Young Thing make.