Body by Baby

Many of us feel embarrassed of our post baby bodies. Some of us are surprised that we didn't snap right back to our pre-baby bodies. The truth is, no matter how fast you bounce back to your pre-pregnancy state, you will never be the same. Be it from stretch marks, wider hips, sagging breasts, or just a new state of mind about your body, you are now forever changed by the miracle that is childbirth.

So, because Gisele and all her friends make it seem like stretchmarks don't happen, I started Body by Baby. Stretchmarks do happen. So does saggy skin. And saggy boobs. And that is ok. Because we are real women. Our bodies aren't perfect. But they didn't get this way on their own. They got this way because we are fucking awesome and CREATED A HUMAN IN THEM. What's a stretchmark or a muffin top when we actually made life?

This is what a real woman's belly looks like. This is what having beautiful babies does to a girl. And it is awesome:

 

This is Cat. She is the mom of a 21-month-old little girl.

Here is her story: 

I'm Cat. Mom to a 21-month-old beautiful little girl. She's perfect. No, I mean really. She's the shit. Unfortunately, I struggle every day with feeling like a complete failure because I can't shake the last 25 pounds to get back to pre-pregnancy. Stupid, I know. But it is what it is. So thanks to all of you brave ladies who have come before me to expose your tiger stripes to the world. Sometimes you need a little inspiration. :)

 

Thanks, Cat. You are the shit for sharing with us what we all hide from each other.


Body by Baby all started here, but you glorious bitches have kept it going. Feeling frisky? Send me your own Body by Baby portrait and I will share it with all six of my readers the world. Anonymously or not. Your choice. Email them to me at ilikebeerandbabies @ gmail . com (remove spaces).

Happy Mother's Day!

This is the Face of Depression

I have always been very honest about my struggles with depression because A: It is a real thing B: It is nothing to be ashamed of and C: If me being vocal about my struggles helps just one person with theirs, it is worth putting myself out there.

So here it is: I have been depressed lately. Really depressed. But more importantly, I have finally decided to help myself climb out of the black hole that I have been living in for the last few months.

When you are depressed, it is damned near impossible to get the help you need. The mere thought of all of the hoops you will have to jump through to get better is overwhelming. Drs, pharmacists, money, time, pride, etc. There are so many obstacles that stand between barely-surviving you and actually-living you that the thought of the work it will take to get better often makes it worse.

Depression is a silent suffering. A person doesn't need to look like a train wreck to be depressed.

Because this it the face of depression:

 

And this:

 

And even this:

I was cripplingly depressed in all of these pictures. I may have looked happy and fun on the outside, but on the inside, I was silently dying. And that is the ugly truth of depression. It doesn't come with an identifying rash or a scarlet letter "D". It just comes, and takes over, and smothers the life out of the person it has overtaken. Slowly at first. Then more and more rapidly and aggressively as it wears on.

I am on the path to getting better. Therapy has been great, but it has not been enough to pull me out of the dark depths of depression this time. So I am going back on anti-depressants. So I can be me again.

That's my story. What's yours?

I am overwhelmed.

I can't handle one more thing right now. Not one.

The slightest weight added to my already heavy load will break me. Make me crumble into a heap of nothingness.

Being a working mom who is dealing with all of the other goodness that life throws at me on a daily basis has made me completely and utterly overwhelmed.

I can barely move right now. Barely function.

Even the smallest task feels like an insurmountable hurdle.

I want to run away from life and responsibility.

From hospital bills. And doctors appointments. And deadlines. And housework. And the red tape surrounding my brothers death.

I want to be the fun and light person I used to be.

I want to get over everything that has happened in the last year and let go of the sadness and the anger.

I want to be normal. Just for a day.

I want to have all of the hard work that I have done in the last year to stay healthy and present finally payoff.

I want to stop backtracking into depression every other week.

I want to be free of the darkness that surrounds me. I want to step into the light.

I want to get up and have just one good day.

A day where I don't feel like I am going to drop from exhaustion every second.

A day where I just get to be happy.

A day where I don't have to bust my ass all day just to keep my life running.

A day where I don't feel irreparably broken.

I am barely functioning.

Working, momming and trying to have a life are just too much right now.

I feel like I am barely hanging on at work. And barely present at home.

My mind is always somewhere else.

Putting together a grocery list. Or managing our family calendar. Or booking Drs appointments. Or thinking about money. Or...

It is just so hard to be present and aware with so much swirling around you at all times. Let alone get a spare minute to yourself to relax.

I am at my limit.

No, I am past my limit.



I share times like this because I know that we all go through them. Many unspoken. And we beat ourselves up about them. And feel like failures for having feelings. But feelings are good. And letting them out is even better.

So, what about you? How are you feeling today?

From Mexico, with Love

My trip to Cancun with Motherhood: A Descent into Madness was all that it was hyped up to be. There were speedboats, tequila shots, shirtless men, sunburns and even some Faceslurring (drunken Facebooking) twunking (drunken tweeting). Here is just a taste of what went down.

First, I picked her up from the airport in the Rambone.

We both made signs for each other. Because we are geeks.

We meet!

Then we went to get pedicures and had lunch (complete with booze, of course).

This is me in the store after we got pedicures. Note my stylin' shoes...

After lunch, I took Elizabeth to my house to meet the fam. I can't think of anything more awkward for her on the face of the earth but she was a rock star and The Quiet Contemplator loved her. We then went out for more drinks, followed by dinner.

Martinis! I have no idea why I look so drunk...

We called it a night early since we had to be at the airport at the buttcrack. Then, we were off to Mexico.

This was what happened our first day/night:

So pretty. The only problem is that it tastes like shit.

Free 24-hour access to beer and wine on tap = heaven on earth.

We relaxed on the beach.

And then got very drunk.

Surrounded by shirtless dudes.

And more shirtless dudes.

And it was very windy (and I look like Taylor Swift).

Seriously. Very windy.

And you can order a whole tray of booze at a time. FOR FREE!

This was what happened our second day/night:

Then we woke up to a Stage 4 hangover and this.

So we did this for breakfast, of course.

And some of this. Drink Malibu and milk. It tastes like a smile. You're welcome.

Then more of this.

With these dudes.

This is Chris. He woke up the next day with a broken nose. He doesn't know why.

This was what happened our third and final day/night:

So we were exhausted and wanted a break from non-stop drinking. So, to relax, we decided to book a self-guided speedboat tour to snorkel the reefs. Not my brightest idea.

Anyway. I am scared of snorkeling. It makes me feel claustrophobic. But I am also an idiot and glutton for punishment, so I did it anyway. Want to know what makes snorkeling in the open ocean even more scary? Starting shark week right before you go out in the open ocean to swim with...SHARKS! Yeah. That happened.

I paid $9 for eight tampons. Who said Mexico was cheap?

So we got our gear.

Suited up.

And took off for our dive.

I drove.

And got burned like a bitch.

The next day we got up, boarded a plane and went back to reality.

The end.

For more details on the debauchery, visit this post by Motherhood.

Our trip was booked by the lovely Amy at Destinations by Amy. You can also find her sharing travel tips on Facebook.

Body by Baby

Many of us feel embarrassed of our post baby bodies. Some of us are surprised that we didn't snap right back to our pre-baby bodies. The truth is, no matter how fast you bounce back to your pre-pregnancy state, you will never be the same. Be it from stretch marks, wider hips, sagging breasts, or just a new state of mind about your body, you are now forever changed by the miracle that is childbirth.

So, because Gisele and all her friends make it seem like stretchmarks don't happen, I started Body by Baby. Stretchmarks do happen. So does saggy skin. And saggy boobs. And that is ok. Because we are real women. Our bodies aren't perfect. But they didn't get this way on their own. They got this way because we are fucking awesome and CREATED A HUMAN IN THEM. What's a stretchmark or a muffin top when we actually made life?

This is what a real woman's belly looks like. This is what having beautiful babies does to a girl. And it is awesome:

This is Ashlee from Momchalant. She is the mom of a 1-year-old little boy named Noah.

Here is her story:
This is my tattoo. I got it on my 18th birthday. I even asked the tattoo artist if it would get messed up when I had kids later down the road. We both thought it would be fine but as you can see from the picture...it wasn't. The top is the day I got it and the bottom is after I had my son.

I actually had my son at 19 (accidently) so I also thought with my age, it would be great to show women that even at 19 a baby can take a toll on your body. It's hard for me to see all of my friends running around in their bikinis while I'm stuffing my fat in my pants...but hey, I grew a human. What can they account for, right? : )

Thanks, Ashlee. You are the shit for sharing with us what we all hide from each other.


Body by Baby all started here, but you glorious bitches have kept it going. Feeling frisky? Send me your own Body by Baby portrait and I will share it with all six of my readers the world. Anonymously or not. Your choice. Email them to me at ilikebeerandbabies @ gmail . com (remove spaces).

Why Potty Training is like Prison

Potty training sucks. BIG TIME. I have found it is a lot like prison. Here's why:

You can't escape it.
No matter how hard you try to get out of it, you are going to have to do your time. Your can't beg, plead or cry your way out of your sentence. You just have to suck it up and do the hard time, coaxing your toddler to do something they don't want to do with stickers, M&Ms and outright bribery.

Your are on lockdown.
There will be no trips to the park, grocery store or The Target in your future. Outside potties are "scary" and fear of an accident while out or regressing if you slap a diaper on your little trainer is just too much to bear, so you are on house arrest until this hell potty training is over.

You are on latrine duty.
No matter how careful you are and how much you prepare, there is going to end up being pee everywhere--the toilet, the bathmat, the floor, the walls. So, bring out the rubber gloves and toilet brush because mommy is on toilet duty. FOREVER.

Your sentence is indefinite.
Though you have been sentenced to a month in the loo, you may get let off early for good behavior or you may have a tough peerole hearing and get another year tacked on to your sentence. Only time, and Jack Daniels, will tell.

Your cell is small…and dirty.
You are about to be locked in a cell the size of, well, your bathroom for the next month…or more. No matter how much you clean, sitting on the floor near the toilet is always sort of skeevy. I mean, come on, you poop in there.

Your cellmate is annoying.
You are now stuck for the majority of your day with a tiny cellmate that can be super annoying. The 500th time they ask you, "But why?" when you tell them they have to try to go on the potty may not cause you to attack them with a shiv, but it may cause you to bring the box of wine in and plant it firmly on the sink.

It all happened one night…
…when you got knocked up. One night of reckless sex has led to an indefinite sentence of cleaning up someone else's poop and pee out of a tiny, tiny toilet. And you even have to help them wipe. Was the crime really worth the time?

You may get sent back.
Even after your release for good behavior, chances are, you will be sent back to prison for violating parole. A new baby, daycare, illness, brand of milk, etc., can send your cellmate into a tizzy that will result in you getting sent back to the slammer diaper duty.

The Poop Stool

Yes, you read that title correctly. This post is about a stool. That you use while pooping.

While searching the interwebs for a way to relieve hemorrhoids (yeah, I went there), I found that going number two with your feet elevated was supposed to help. Wait, what? You want me to poop with my feet propped up? BWAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

After I finally stopped laughing and was able to contain myself, I decided I needed to try this for myself. Anyone who has experienced this pregnancy- and childbirth-related pain in the ass knows that, short of lighting a roman candle and sticking it up your rear, you are willing to try just about anything for some relief. And, good glory hallelujah, relief it was. Not only did going with my feet elevated off the floor make going much easier, it was like being hugged while on the toilet. It definitely helped get rid of my unwanted backdoor friends. Hey, they were 'roid heads who hang out with a bunch of assholes, anyway.

Thankfully, our discovery coincided perfectly with The Quiet Contemplator starting potty training, so we just use her potty stool as our poop stool and no one is the wiser. That is, until I told the bajillionty people (12) that read this blog. Oops.

Anyhoodle, since I have absolutely no sense of shame or boundaries, I just thought I would share this piece of advice with my mommy amigas. Because, let's face it, ladies, we all know what havoc having kids can raise on the old poop shoot. Here's to a future filled with pain-free poos, mamas.