The Election Season is OVER

You guys.

We did it! We (barely) made it!

I’ll go ahead and admit that this is how I’ve felt for the last year:

It has been nothing short of a circus. A honest to goodness, we should be paying for this, circus.

We’ve gone through 100 potential candidates. Each one dipping out at the appropriate time, except for this guy:

Who was so confident he named his running mate before getting the nomination.

And so we’re down to these two knuckle heads:

Well done America, well done. Can’t blame me. I didn’t vote for either of them in the primary. #imissben

He’s orange, and she’s a liar. He can’t quite figure out how to keep his big mouth shut, and she’s still trying to figure out what C stands for.

But. God willing, we will be done with this tonight.

Just a recommendation though, I’d get a bottle of wine…or five. Tonight might be a long night.

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I am not defined by the number on my jeans.

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My sweet baby girl is fourteen months old,
and I still don’t fit into my pre-pregnancy jeans.

Dang, that feels good to say.

I want to start by saying that I’m cheering you moms on that can get back into your jeans. I am. I’m insanely jealous, but I’m cheering you on. Because we’re all in this together.

But I defiantly don’t think we talk about the fact that our bodies are completely different than they used to be enough, which means that it’s ok if we don’t ever fit back into those pre-pregnancy jeans. Because we aren’t defined by a number embroidered on our pants. 

I grew a new organ, which helped me grow and house a HUMAN BEING for nine months. My body is different. My hips got wider, my boobs got bigger, my butt got bigger, I saw cottage cheese on my thighs that I had never seen before…but I grew and birthed a healthy beautiful and perfect baby girl.

I decided to go jeans shopping the other day for the first time since Em’s been born. I had picked up a pair of jeans at Target after she was born because I just couldn’t do maternity clothes anymore. But since she’s been here, I haven’t ventured into a store specifically looking for jeans. To be honest, I’ve been wearing jeans with a rubber band around the buttons this whole time.
So I headed to the mall.

I knew going in that I needed to start with a size up from what I used to be. Which I’m honestly fine with. Because, and lets all say this together: I am not defined by a number on my pants.
I went into Lucky first because years ago I had bought a couple pairs of their jeans and they lasted me…well years. I grabbed the size 8 and headed for the dressing room.

I couldn’t even get the buttons close to each other.
I checked the tag to make sure I hadn’t picked up a size 4 on accident.
Nope. That big 8/29 was staring me in the face.

Tears filled my eyes.

I am not defined by a number,

but it sure did feel crappy not fitting into those jeans.

It’s totally shallow, but I wasn’t about to go up any further in sizes there. It just wasn’t worth it to me. Having been a size 6 my whole life pretty much, I’m not sure I would have handled seeing double digits well.

Can we pause for a moment and just all yell out, “WHY CAN’T ALL SIZES BE THE SAME?!” Why is an 8 at one place a 2 at another?!

I’d also like to add that I felt like I couldn’t fit in any less in that store. There I was, hair up in a bun, Indians shirt on, pushing my stroller through the most cramped store on earth, while all the employees stared at me.

I left the jeans in the changing room and headed out.

We strolled into Gap where I couldn’t find a wash that I loved.
Loft had jeans that made me have a huge crotch bulge when I sat down.
And I honest to God gave Hollister a thought but then if an 8 at Lucky didn’t fit, there wasn’t the slightest glimmer of hope for me there.

I left the mall feeling terrible about myself.

It’s hard being a woman you guys. And even more so a mom. When you’re surrounded by fitness Instagram accounts of moms that do nothing but post shirtless selfies, you can get yourself into a big hole. When you’ve got friends that won’t stop bragging about all the weight they lost breastfeeding, you can get yourself into a big hole. While other moms are posting pictures in full make up and hair done, I’m lucky to have gotten in the shower before 4 pm.

Even as I write this, I have that crap feeling in my gut.
Like I don’t do enough.
Like I didn’t breastfeed for long enough.
Like I’m not enough.

But we have to stop.

Moms that still don’t fit into your pre-pregnancy jeans and you’re kids one, or two, or five…we have to stop comparing ourselves to the moms who can.
Our lives are different.

My brain doesn’t wake up thinking, “I gatta work out”, it’s always thinking, “Oh please go back to bed for 15 more minutes”. I’ll take butter over coconut oil every day.
Wine. It’s just a non-negotiable for me.
On crappy days I want to wallow in self-pity with a big bowl of pasta or fried rice.

 I am not defined by a number on my jeans. 

As far as I know, I’m healthy. I take the kids (dog included here) on a walk every morning. I try to cook at home as often as possible. I also try to get yoga in daily. But I have too many other wonderful things happening in my life right now to worry about what size jeans I bought.

Which are an 8 at Target incase you were wondering.
Target, with the win. Per usual. 

So here’s what needs to happen.
I need to quit rolling my eyes when I see other mama friends say they fit back into those jeans. Because I’ll say it again, I am applauding you over here!
But I also think that we’ve become this super workout driven society that almost border line shames people into thinking that if they don’t do it, they don’t fit in.

Do I think we all need to take care of ourselves? Of course.
Do I think I could be doing more to loose weight and be in better shape? Of course.

But this is where I am. And while not every day I feel great about it, I have to realize that I’m making all the choices in my life, which means there’s no one here to blame, or celebrate but me.

So if you fit into those jeans or not.

It’s fine.

Because the number on them doesn’t define you. 

 

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10 Things October Taught Me

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Yes. The eye fell off 10 minutes after I put it on her so I just drew one on. 

#1. Writing every day for 31 days is really freaking hard. But I’m also super proud of myself for how much I did.

#2. The Cleveland Indians are a really really good baseball team. I gatta be honest and say I didn’t watch any games during the regular season, just the highlights. But I’ve watched just about every Post Season game and I can’t get enough. Plus. WE’RE ONE GAME AWAY FROM WINNING THE WORLD SERIES.

#2. We’re all going to have difficult people in our lives to deal with. And I find that most of them aren’t by choice. But you’ve got to just deal and move on.

#3. Mom bloggers with perfect pictures with their perfect children deserver a bottle of wine. Because I don’t know how the hell they do it. I tried so hard at the pumpkin patch…no luck.

#4. The Pumpkin Spice Latte will be served in heaven.

#5. I can’t get out of Target without spending over $50. If you know how, please let me know. Most times I leave saying, “What the crap did I just buy?” But I still love it there.

#6. Being a parent during Halloween is so much better. For so many reasons. One: When you dress up, it’s not to be the hottest, it’s to be the cutest freaking family alive. Two: There is nothing better than seeing your tiny human in a costume. Three: You get to sit out front, drink beer, and hand out candy. Yes and Yes.

#7. The crockpot is a gift from God and I do not know why I don’t use it more. Put a whole meal in a pot and leave it all day?! Maybe I’ll start writing the recipes down?

#8. The Cleveland Browns are a terrible football team.

#9. Hillary Clinton thinks third trimester abortions are ok. THEY ARE NOT.

#10. I’m almost annoyed at Christmas being put out on November 1. This usually never happens. But I am super into fall and Thanksgiving this year.

What did October teach you?

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Give yourself a slow clap

I’m realizing that as a mom, it’s ok to be really proud of yourself for doing the littlest things.

Like last night. When I had a super fussy baby but got all ten finger nails clipped. I honestly thought, “Yes. Today was a win.”
Most days I feel like it’s all crumbling around me, so when things go right, I deserve that slow clap!

And so do you!


ALSO. GO TRIBE.

So mama, take the clap. Celebrate the cut finger nails, the clean kitchen counter for the first time in a week, the pile of laundry that’s half the size it was yesterday, and the fact that you drank your whole cup of coffee while it was warm.

 

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Raise Good Humans

www.mylifewithalittle.com

I want my children to grow up and be the “nice” ones. The kids that all parents let their kids hang out with, because they come from a “good family” and have “good morals”. I get that this is really 1950s housewife of me.

But it’s the truth.

I want to raise good humans. Kind humans. Generous humans. Courageous humans.

And I know it’s going to be a battle because we live in a world where most people can’t see past their own nose. I watch the news, read tweets and see Instagram posts and sometimes I get so sad for humanity as a whole. *Facebook not included because we broke up*. I think we can all agree this is the ugliest election season that’s ever been. Have we ever had two people constantly trying to seriously bring down the other like these two? Two people that will go to any length just to make it to the top?

I want my kids to have the will power to go after the things they want. But dang. If it means totally shoving someone into the mud, I won’t have it.

As mothers, it is our job to raise good humans. To raise up humans that care about each other, even if they have different opinions on things.

Ya’ll it’s a sad day when our only concern is ourselves, and it’s even sadder to admit that we’re already there.

So let’s stop.

Let’s stop handing our kids everything they ask for. Let’s stop being embarrassed at reprimanding our children. Let’s not worry about being the cool mom, because although it’s a title we all want, if we raise them right we’ll get it anyways. Let’s not change our convictions because they don’t go along with others.

Let’s raise good humans.

Who say please and thank you. Who open doors for people. Who don’t throw fits at age 10 when you say no. Who want to help others. Who want to change the world for good.

So seriously. Let’s raise good humans.

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The Future Freaks Me Out

It’s not a secret that we’re living in some dark times, and I honestly don’t mean to be “that person”, but let’s just be real here for a second.

We’ve got wars going on, people flying planes into buildings, shooting up nightclubs (and other establishments that I’m not even going to type out), Police officers being shot for doing their jobs, racism rearing it’s such ugly head, two people running for President that are literally the worst.

Is there so much left that’s good? Yes, the answer, I pray, will always be yes.

But.

That’s the thing.

Mamas, we have got to pray for the future of our children. The world that they’ll grow up in, the people they’ll become. In total honesty, it all freaks me out a little.
Ok a lot.

I’ve been working on praying for Em’s future lately. Specifically that she’d grow up and know Jesus. That she’d follow Him, be an example of Him. And that’s about as far as I get.
Because I think that’s the most important.

Do I want her to do well in life? Go to college, get a good job, get married, give me a ton of grand babies? You bet. But above all of that. I want her to have a strong relationship with the Lord.

Because who knows what this world will look like in ten to twenty years.

The future freaks me out, but I have a hope that is ever lasting. My human emotions sometimes get the best of me, but I’m quieted so often by the reminder that no matter what…no matter what happens in the world, no matter who gets elected. I’m ok. We’re ok. Our children, when we raise them up in Christ, will be ok.

 

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