The line from Hamilton comes to mind, “Will I ever be satisfied?”Read More...
My husband took my face in his hands this morning and told me he’s angry. “I’m mad because my strong, beautiful wife seems to be giving up.” And he cried.Read More...
So yeah, bring it 29.Read More...
I left feeling a little like high school Caylee: more anxious, less sure of myself.
But, I also came home with a renewed sense of awareness for how lucky I am to have my husband in my life.
I don’t think we’re so easily defined. I think life is so much more complicated, and we’re an ever-evolving sum of a variety of things. There’s beauty in that chaos.Read More...
So, first of all. This is kind of about sex, if that kinda thing freaks you out, feel free to exit the browser. No judgement, some people just aren’t cool sharing that aspect of their life. And that’s fine. I had a…rough, but not like, super super rough…start to sex–let’s say emotionally rough. So, I’m pretty casual about it over all.
Anyway. My husband tried to “seduce” me this weekend. Mind you, his idea of seduction was to kiss my neck while grinding his boner against my butt. (Eye roll). I turned him down because, hello? Eight months pregnant, huge, and ick.
When I tried to explain how I felt: huge, that my boobs are leaking, my vag is leaking, like honestly, everything is already leaking, and I feel massive and uncomfortable and so not sexy; he replied that I hadn’t felt sexy or attractive in four years.
I wish I could blame pregnancy and babies for the past four years, but truly I can’t. Our oldest will be three in June, so I mean I was pregnant with him four years ago in September, but it started before that.
I’ve never been like super confident about my looks. I had a friend group of four in high school: all three were pretty, athletic, and two were very thin. I always just accepted that I was the big friend, the not as cute friend.
Plus, realistically, no one is overly confident in high school. And everything that I was and am was out in the 2000s when I was in school: curves, curls, glasses. I wore contacts and low cut jeans that didn’t flatter my hips, and if I wore my hair down (super, super rare!) I straightened it to within an inch of its life: shower and straighten at night, get up and straighten it all over again in the morning.
I once dated a boy who told me I should only wear my hair straight or up. He also told me I should tan if I was going to wear the miniskirt I bought. (Sidenote: Not sure why I chose that asshole to lose my virginity to, but…)
I didn’t really date. I messed around. I did friends with benefits. The boys I was involved with never told me I was pretty, beautiful.
Somewhere between my sophomore and junior year of college, for whatever reason, I found some confidence. I was confident when I met my husband. And let me tell you, this guy has never made me feel less than beautiful.
And our sex life was…mind blowing. I mean. We started out in this weird limbo: I had just gotten out of a relationship, just wanted to be friends with benefits, he wanted a relationship. He obviously got his way. But the beginning was…hot and heavy, to say the least.
So I understand where he’s coming from. And the girl he fell for seven years ago was confident and comfortable, and the woman he’s married to now just….isn’t.
But…His mom made some seemingly innocent comments about my weight during my first pregnancy. And my mom will ask how my exercise plan is going.
I joined Weight Watchers and lost 30 pounds, and it wasn’t enough. When I was lost ten pounds my mother-in-law looked at me and said, “You must have lost a ton of weight!” I heard this voice saying I’m gross, which…I have hella stretch marks, some squishy areas, and never hit a “heathly” BMI.
And my current pregnancy? I’m already over 200 pounds, and my clinic notes say, and I quote, “excessive weight gain.”
I don’t want to feel like this forever. I don’t want to hate looking in a mirror, seeing my body, or the idea of letting the man who loves me more than anyone ever has touch me make me recoil. But I don’t know how to fix it either.
It’s discouraging, and frustrating, and exhausting. I wish I had the answers, I wish there was a quick fix. I wish I knew how to feel better. But. Life isn’t that simple, is it?Read More...