Friday, May 30, 2014

My Worries, Doubts, and Fears.

    It's starting to become more and more real for me. My baby girl is due in 14 weeks, and I'm just trying to figure out where the last 26 weeks went! I have fuzzy memories of going to the toilet over and over again when my angel rejected food. Memories of picking through garbage bags of maternity clothes and crying to myself because I wasn't ready to swell up like a balloon. And sitting in counseling sessions, learning how to let my worries, my doubts, and my fears show so that I could work through them and progress. Now, I only have 3 months left. Now, I have to find an apartment, buy a car, get at least a full-time job, and continue with the summer semester.
    I feel like this pregnancy hit me in two shockwaves. Yes, shockwaves. Literally two waves of shock. The first wave was shortly after I realized I was pregnant and my mind raced thinking of everything that could possibly go wrong and everything that had to be done. I was hit with stress, fear, guilt, worry, loneliness, and sickness all at once. The second wave is happening right now. Stress, fear, guilt, worry, loneliness, fatigue, and hunger.
I can see time racing ahead of me, and it's impossible to keep up.
I can feel time pushing my sweet baby through these 9 months, leaving my scattered brain and swirling hormones behind.
I do not feel prepared for this at all, and I'm bawling just as I type this! How stereotypically hormonal of me.
    I guess that like any other rational mother in the world, I want the very best for my baby. She deserves EVERYTHING. I want to give her the best of everything. I want her to have everything she could ever possibly need! And I feel as though I'm already falling short. She already doesn't have a father (yet). She only has me. And I don't think that's fair to her at all. It makes me feel beyond determined to find THE perfect guy. Not only for me, but for her. I know I deserve a great guy, but she deserves the best.
    I'm sure that other new mothers out there have their "What if" lists as well. We're mothers! We worry! I feel like I worry excessively, which is a fault of mine that I accept. My "What if" list includes: what if she isn't born healthy? What if she can't nurse? What if she gets sick? What if I'm so tired that I sleep through her hunger?
I know this won't be a cakewalk. And I know that everything will work out. But I'd also be a little concerned about my own sanity if I wasn't freaking out at least a little bit. I'm about to be in charge of another human being. A helpless, perfect, fragile baby girl. I have to take care of her and fill her every need.
I need to figure out how to do that for myself, first.

Saturday, May 24, 2014

I'd Rather Be Flat

    First, if you are either

  • A male without older sisters
  • An unmarried male, or
  • Someone that is offended by blatant opinion,
    just don't read this post. I mean, you can still read if you want, just remember that this is MY blog and I don't control YOUR eyes. 
    Now that I've said that....

               HOLY CRAP I HATE BOOBS.
    Seriously. I hate them so much, here's a poem:

          Beautiful lumps of fat and nerves
          Only useful for being milked like a cow
          Painful and sore whenever they want to be
          Can I just get them chopped off now?

          Swoobs are a pain for the well-endowed
          Sports bras are impossible to shop for
          Why men are fascinated, I will never understand
          I just want to be a B. Nothing more.

    Now that you all think I'm crazy and slightly obsessed about hating boobs (you're not wrong), let me explain my personal history.
    When I was a freshman in high school, I was a cheerleader. I was very lean, as well as anorexic, and therefore relatively flat. I wasn't disgustingly skinny, but definitely fit and slim. Toward the end of the year, I started eating again and also started birth control (to lessen the damage of endometriosis). In just 5 months, I went from 5'6" 105lbs of muscle and bone to 5'7.5" 138lbs of confused hormones and stretch marks. All of the sudden I was out of my 32B and into a 36C. I had blue lines on my thighs and sides. It was very depressing for my 15 year old self, and I soon went off of the birth control and pursued other treatments. But the boobs, they stayed.
    As high school progressed and I continued exercising, my chest wasn't really a problem. Bra shopping is definitely my least favorite thing, but once I figured out what my new size was, I just dealt with it! I figured out what I liked and didn't like, and resorted to doubling up on the sports bras. Not a big deal!
    Then I graduated.
    Then I got pregnant.
   My sore breasts was actually the first indicator of my pregnancy. My cycle was irregular anyway, so I didn't freak out when I was a week late. But when my boobs were in excruciating pain for 2 weeks, I knew something was up. Little did I know this was only the beginning of my breast dilemma!
    There was no immediate change in my bra size, so I thought I was in the clear! They were sore, but not really changing. Then, the morning sickness stopped. And suddenly my bra didn't fit anymore. I FLIPPED OUT. I didn't want to deal with bras anymore. I was done. I was tired, sore, and soooooo done. And I knew that inevitably, I would keep growing. I put off buying a new bra for 2 months, until I finally couldn't handle being squished into a C. I went to Victoria's Secret and asked to be sized. I anxiously awaited the verdict.

38DD    38DD    38DD    38DD    38DD    38DD    38DD    38DD    38DD    38DD    38DD

    I nearly had a meltdown. No wonder my boobs were blue and purple with stretch marks! The poor things. My poor body! I reluctantly purchased a bra in my new size. I have to admit that it feels pretty dang good, but now I have a new problem.
    Do you know how hard it is to find maternity clothes that fit my chest but that aren't shaped like potato sacks?! Pretty near impossible. I have a handful of shirts I can wear, and the rest of my clothing consists of stretchy undershirts and cardigans. Either the shirt fits in the top and is super ugly, or fits nicely but basically squeezes my chest to death. This is something I definitely did not foresee when contemplating the months leading to September 8th. 
    Every time my friend states that she's jealous of my bra size, I just shake my head and show her my stretch marks. Ladies, having a huge chest is NOT fun. It's not easy. It hurts. And I'd rather be flat.

Sunday, May 18, 2014

Help I've Been Body-Snatched

     What is happening to me?! My hips are wider, my back is breaking, my skin is temperamental, my gums are bleeding, my legs are cramping, and my bra cup size has doubled! DOUBLED! And this is all so sudden!
     I was expecting that pregnancy would include some weeks of sickness, then some weight gain, and gradually the other unpleasantness would build. But so far, from what I've heard of pregnancy, this is kinda weird. All of the sudden, 5 months in, I'm finally looking and feeling pregnant. I was sick for several weeks, yes. VERY sick in fact. I was taking Zofran, which is prescribed for chemotherapy patients to help them keep food down. Once the morning sickness calmed down, I stopped taking the medication and immediately lost my appetite. Yes, that's bizarre. I should have been craving everything under the sun, and I struggled to eat just a cracker. I had to physically open and close my mouth with my hands! I had lost weight. Which is even more bizarre. After some research, I found that Zofran, along with my changing hormones, reset my thyroid (once a hypothyroid) to normal and suddenly my body just didn't need as much food. And apparently the baby was still getting everything she needed! So I kept forcing crackers until my appetite returned. Well, more like a constant taco craving.
     There are definitely things happening to me that I had no idea was even possible. I have rainbow-colored stretch marks all over my body. My feet and ankles swell at night. I feel like I'm bruised on the inside from all the karate my little princess is practicing. And did you know that the rib cage expands and all of the organs move around to make room for the baby?!! This is insane you guys. There's a pound and a half of human in my stomach right now. And she has hair and fingernails and can hear my voice.
That kind of freaks me out.

Sunday, April 13, 2014

Why Am I Still On Tinder?

I'm very very single. And that's okay! I mean, it would be nice to have somebody of course, but it's not ever necessary. I'm in a strange position in life right now. I'm turning 20 this year, I'm having a baby in the fall, I'm working 3 jobs, I'm doing a summer semester at UVU in May, and I'm single. This whole picture would make a little more sense if there was a man, but when has life ever really made sense? Never. So I'm just going with it!

When I first found out I was pregnant, I swore off dating for the next 4 years. I figured nobody would be interested in a pregnant Mormon girl that lived with their mom (no offense mom). So, some Tindering wouldn't hurt, right? Why not check out some hotties (and unfortunately some not-so-hotties) while I grow a cute baby? I wouldn't meet with any of them. Maybe have some friendly conversation when I'm bored. I just want people to talk to! I'm not looking to date anybody in my current state let alone get a boyfriend. Little did I know that Tinder guys in my age range are psycho. 

For those of you who have never had Tinder or are unaware of how it's formatted, I will explain. There are tabs for your personal profile, home, messages, and settings. Your profile is where you can write a short bio about yourself, include some pictures, and post your age. Most people also include their height, but you never know if they're adding a few inches. I personally don't have my height included, which might be bad since I'm on the taller side... but I'm only browsing so who cares! Home is where other people's profiles pop up. It shows their first picture (which I'll discuss the importance of later), their age, an X and a heart. At this point, depending on the first picture, you can use the X or heart OR you can swipe the picture to the right (yes) or to the left (no). If you swipe right and it shows that you're a match, that means that they swiped right for you as well. At this point we come to the messaging. I personally NEVER message first, because even though I'm on a modern app I have the ancient belief that the guy should make the first move. Tinder gives you weird prompts to message people. Things like, "Are your hands tied or something?", "You might be far removed 2nd cousins, ask.", "If 46% of your body heat comes from your ears, where does the rest come from?", and my personal favorite, "Your kids would look beautiful." WHO COMES UP WITH THIS STUFF?! Anyway, messaging is where Tinder gets really interesting. Guys will either start with some corny pick-up line, a simple "Hey", or go creep mode instantly. If they take the pick-up line route, I really enjoy sabotaging it and waiting for their bewildered reactions. If it's a simple "Hey", I always respond and either end up with a boring conversation or a great one! But the creeps... OH the creeps. They are everywhere, and I swear I attract them. I once had a conversation that went like this: 

Seriously? Gross. This is also a perfect example of a typical reaction I get from guys when I tell them I'm pregnant. I decided a while ago that I would be open about being pregnant, because it can be a deal breaker for people. The reactions I get from guys include a few steps, not always necessarily in the same order: 
1. Congratulations! 2. How far along are you? 3. Is the father in the picture? 4. Are you keeping it? 5. So now you can just have sex and not worry about getting pregnant! 
Honestly. EVERY. SINGLE. GUY. I'm not sure why I haven't given up yet! I guess I'm just waiting for a guy to say, "Congratulations! What food are you craving?" That's what I'm really after (:<

On Tinder, you hope to be able to weed out the weirdos by looking at their pictures and bio. I have a list of things that I swipe left on (no's). This is where choosing your pictures is very important. I know every girl has a mental list of some sort when it comes to man fishing, but Tinder man fishing is a different story. This is the list of things I swipe left for:

  • If they have a mullet or they're balding
  • If a picture includes a dead animal
  • If there's only one picture of the guy
  • If their bio says anything along the lines of, "I just want to hook up"
  • If they're holding alcohol in any of their pictures
  • If they're posing with hooker types
  • If their mouth takes up half their face
  • If their bio has any typos, spelling errors, or grammar issues
  • If their bio says "LOL"
  • If they have a picture of them flexing at the gym or declare themselves a "gym rat"
  • If none of their pictures are just of them. How are you supposed to know who you're talking to?!
  • Mexicans, Asians, and black guys (woops oh well judge me)
  • If they have gross piercings
  • If they live 30 miles away
  • If they declare themselves wealthy
  • If they're wearing sunglasses in their first picture. Talk about shady. *duh-nuhh-tsssssssssssss*
  • If their bio only includes their snapchat username and/or Instagram username
  • If they have bad eyebrows
  • If they don't smile with their teeth. I become suspicious.
  • If they obviously participate in rodeos
  • If they only pop up because they're visiting the area. Pointless.
  • If they just give off a douchebag vibe with their clothing style
  • If the first picture is of their abs. Just get over yourself.
Now of course I have things I automatically swipe right for, but the list is much shorter:
  • Gorgeous
  • Classy style
  • Plays an instrument
  • In school
  • Has a picture with a kitten or puppy
  • Bio declares that they love their nieces and nephews
  • They can cook
  • Good hair

And yet I STILL get the crazies. It's definitely entertaining, but I'm tired of being disappointed in these guys. Their mothers did not raise them to use girls, and they certainly didn't raise them to "ravage you" with their "bear claws". *shudder*

Don't worry, I do have ONE good Tinder story. One of my matches was really kind and I could tell that he wanted to actually talk to me. I was BEYOND hesitant to talk to him, because then he'd want to meet and hang out and then eventually he'd know I was pregnant. And then what? I didn't know this guy or what his reaction would be like. Something told me to talk to him anyway. He was the sweetest guy and kept asking to meet me. Frozen yogurt, a movie, anything. But I was way too afraid to meet a stranger! Especially in my pregnant state. I'm not exactly flat. Eventually I told him that I thought he was really kind and that he should know I was pregnant. He answered with congratulations and "I actually have a son." What. Wasn't expecting that! So we had something new to talk about! I felt much more comfortable. He had dealt with crazy pregnancy before. He knew what was happening to me and wasn't judging me either. Hallelujah. Eventually, I agreed to meet him and we had a great conversation. We've hung out several times since, and now I consider him my best guy friend. He's seriously an incredible guy and I'm so lucky to have met him! Thank you, Tinder. 

So Tinder is awesome .05% of the time. The rest of the time, you just hope and pray that the creeps can't find your house!

Tuesday, December 10, 2013

Things I Love

1. Salted Caramel shakes from Arby's
2. Twilight Princess
3. Playing with sand crabs
4. Leather pants
5. Stained glass windows
6. Forests
7. Bus drivers
8. Accents
9. Art history
10. Watermelon
11. Fuzzy socks
12. Paintball guns
13. Itty-bitty baby piggies!
14. Hand-crocheted sweaters
15. Olive Oil
16. Movie previews
17. Foot massages
18. White bread
19. Christmas lights
20. Twix, snickers, reeses, and kit-kats
21. Stand-up comedy
22. Zombie novels
23. Star Wars: Episode 5 - The Empire Strikes Back
24. Taco Bell happy hour
25. Road trips
26. Writing letters
27. Stuffed Animals
28. Otters
29. Online guitar tabs
30. Tangled
31. Helium
32. Long boards
33. Puppies
34. Homemade maple syrup
35. Sudoku
36. Fog
37. Brooms
38. Frank Sinatra
39. Wedding television shows
40. Lined paper
41. Hot-N-Ready pizza
42. Trucks
43. Frozen grapes
44. Space heaters
45. Old movies
46. Massive rain storms
47. Familiar smells
48. Dancing
49. Water
50. Netlifx
51. Camping
52. Freshly-mown grass
53. Salt and Pepper
54. Cheesy compliments
55. Eminem
56. Mud
57. Heels
58. Basketball
59. Dragonflies
60. Floral prints
61. Homemade rootbeer
62. Soft toilet paper
63. Macaroni&Cheese
64. Mittens
65. Power tools
66. Rice bags
67. Fireplaces
68. Crepes
69. Creeks
70. David Tennant
71. Parades
72. Silly string
73. Grand pianos
74. Action figures
75. Thai food
76. Hand warmers
77. Google sky map
78. Bleach
79. Bridges
80. Bobby pins
81. Daylight savings
82. Griddles
83. Yoga pants
84. Fluffy towels
85. Cooked fruit
86. Poetry
87. Swedish meatballs
88. Toothpaste
89. Stilts
90. Microwaves
91. European currency
92. Instagram
93. Mod Podge
94. Dying Easter eggs
95. Painting
96. Weather forecasts
97. Honey butter
98. Twitter
99. Songbirds
100. Freckles

Wednesday, November 13, 2013

To Starve, Or Not To Starve.

To starve, or not to starve-- that is the question:
Whether 'tis more beneficial to suffer
The pains and agony of outrageous hunger
Or to take my wallet to the land of food
And by spending go broke. To starve, to nap--
No more-- and by a nap to say we end
The hunger, and the thousand thoughts of cheesecake
That girls are drawn to. 'Tis consumption
Devoutly to be wished. To starve, to nap--
To nap-- perchance to dream: ay, there's the point,
For in that nap of hunger what dreams may come
Of delicious morsels, evasive.


Grocery shopping at BYUI is an obnoxious business when you don't have a car. Campus is at the top of the hill, and everything else you could ever need or want is at the bottom of the hill. My glutes are unhappy just walking to class! And then when you DO finally get to the store and purchase all of your food with your precious money, you have to carry it all back.
David and I went to the store and took a backpack each, not anticipating we would need more space than that. Well, of course we were wrong. We ended up typing grocery bags to the straps of the backpacks, trekking up the hill like pack-horses. Never again. I'd rather eat tuna for a week than make that trip again.
Every once in a while, my roommate drives to the store and is kind enough to take me. Ironically, those are the days when I really don't need anything. I just can't win when it comes to grocery shopping here! So, I decided to basically make a bet with myself to see how long I could go without grocery shopping.
Last week I didn't eat much more than random beans, canned peaches, and the rest of my cheese on whatever else I could find. I finished my case of ramen, I didn't have any milk, eggs, or bread. BUT. I SURVIVED.
Now, I have my car back and I can shop with ease. For some reason though, the starving student mentality hasn't left and I can't bring myself to make a sandwich or bake a cake. I'm sitting here eating tuna from the can and actually liking it. Like, what is my life now? This tuna is delicious. It's as if I've been thrown into an alternate life where I'm the youngest of 14 children and I've always had to fight for my food, and then preserve it so I could stay fed until the next gladiatorial meal.
Will this preservative mentality pass? Maybe. Do I want it to? No! I have saved quite a bit of money and time by making something from nothing and learning to be content with less than the bare minimum. And at the same time, I'm steering clear of that dreaded Freshman 15. Or 40. Whatever you'd like to aim for.
My point is, conserving resources and self-deprivation are not the same thing. I started out thinking I was starving myself, but soon realized that I was perfectly fed! Maybe not healthily, and my diet certainly wasn't rounded, but I wasn't starving. I wasn't depriving myself, I was being conservative, imaginative, and content with what I had.
This tuna, though.

Saturday, October 12, 2013

Social Dance? More Like Socially Awkward Dance

"Take Social Dance!" they said. "It will be fun!" they said. 
Let me define Social Dance for you: a class designed to produce couples. NO JOKE. 
Social Dance tradition mandates that when you say the prayer, you have to follow up with your name, your hometown, your major, something interesting about yourself, your idea of a perfect date, and your availability. Still not joking. After the person gives their awkward declaration of availability, the teacher then addresses all those of the opposite gender and says, "Did you all hear that? If you're interested in any of those things, this is the person for you!" Heaven help me when my day comes. And it inevitably will.
Social Dance is one of those classes that can either be really awesome or really mortifying. Or both, if you're lucky! Guess what. I'm lucky. 
We always start with the Foxtrot, which isn't so bad, unless your partner is 2 feet taller than you. I'm standing there like, "Oh hey. Nice belly button." It's also ideal when they're not 1 foot shorter than you. I always wonder, "Do I have any nasty nose hairs? I hope he can't see up my nostrils. Oh gosh... do I have chin hairs? NOOOOOOO!!!" I smile and dance and try to tuck my chin into my neck, accepting the humiliation of multiple chins over the possible humiliation of a black forest residing in my left nostril. 
Learning the steps and moves is only slightly humiliating, as I step on my own toes. And then they expect me to dance with someone else?! I just crush toes everywhere. It's my new talent.
And then the music turns on.
This is the portion of class when you can really tell who has rhythm and who doesn't, and there is no hiding your inability to keep a beat. Unfortunately, if you're a guy who can't keep a beat, you are automatically in the bottom percentile on the girl's list of desirable dance partners. And if you REALLY wanna get low in that percentile, forget everything you've ever learned about dancing when asked to be free on the dance floor. Add that to not being able to lead, and you're instantly number 1 million on a girl's list. Good job, buddy! It's sad, but true.
Girl's have the ridiculously frustrating task of following the guy's every move. So when the guy's head is suddenly full of rocks, it just makes life SO MUCH FUN. Being the dominant female that I am, I just end up telling the guy what to do and I lead. Hooraaaaaaayyyyyyyyy.
The awkwardness of Social Dance stems from literally every aspect of the class. The people, the moves, the music, the self-sacrificial prayer... and yet, I keep going back. And I will continue to go back until I can finally dance with that one elusive attractive boy with a sense of style and decent rhythm. *Sigh* So unattainable. I guess I can stick with my 8 foot hunk of Idaho boy.