Curves are all the rage these days. And by curves I mean Kardashian, not Mama June. I hate to give Kim K props (because the obsession our country has with her makes me very confused), but I'll be darned if that gal doesn't have the biggest booty on a size 4 waist I ever did see. I also have curves, relatively new ones to me. I have to give mad props to college and to my little humans for blessing me with these randomly placed lumps and bumps that will never land me on the cover of Cosmo. #dreamscrushed

I was always in the 10th percentile for height and didn't make the weight chart at the doctor until I was 15 years old. I weighed 79 lbs as a sophomore in high school. I had the metabolism of a grey hound and ate like a high school football player. Those were the days. Big Mac for lunch? Hell! I'll have two! That'll never show up on my double zero ass (who am I kidding? I wore a kids size 14 at best). Then, one summer it happened. I grew inches. Lots of them. And boobs. Lots of them, too. I have hated my body ever since.

I am am so tired of looking back at pictures of my younger self and wishing I was there again. I do not, in reality, wish I was anywhere but right here. Right now. I have three awesome kids, a smokin' hot husband who loves me (and all of my junk), two border collies that belong on the Iams bag, a beautiful home, and a great career. I'm closer to the big man upstairs than ever before and I have found a way to manage my crazy - for the most part (anxiety meds and blogging sure do help with that, my friends). Why, in the hell, am I so discontent with myself?!?

I know why. It's because I can do better for me. That sounds so cliche. "Be a better you!" "Your only competition is the person you were yesterday." "You won't get a tighter ass by sitting on it." Hokey? Absolutely. But not bullshit. There's a whole lotta truth in those little sayings. I {you} will never be a priority in my {your} life unless I {you} make myself {yourself} one. Sounds obvious, but for moms it is practically impossible. With a little bit of time management and better eating habits (I love baked goods so much, it's weird), I could easily have 45 minutes at the gym, four times a week, and a better ass. I have every excuse not to go. Kids, work, housework, blah, blah, blah. Enough already. Never have I ever said: "Man! I really regret burning that calorie. Could you put that dimple back on my thigh, please?"

Dont worry, I won't post any before and after pics. No one should be subjected to that. I won't start taking pre workout and shit you can only get from other countries to get buff. (Anyone who knows me knows that me on pre workout would likely resemble a hamster on meth.) I just needed to give myself a hard time in a public forum so I can spend the rest of the week getting beach ready. We go on vacation on Friday... hence the sudden motivation to lose a layer of love.

#goals #motivation #momlife #thingstoworkon

Look at that sweet little nugget up there 👆. She looks so precious and innocent. Don't let that angelic face fool ya. This photo was taken right after an all out tantrum involving a banana and a border collie. 🍌🐶. It seems it takes next to nothing to send our favorite short people straight to crazytown. I've compiled a list of my favorite fit-enducing household items that me and my little angels have had the pleasure to experience...

1. The Hairbrush. When I get the brush out, my threenager acts like I just pulled out a chainsaw. All I'm trying to do is make you look like a presentable little monster so the teachers at preschool think I've got it together, and here I am, chasing your nekked ass all over the house to do YOU a favor.

**Sidebar:: Chainsaws are effing scary. Toddler or not. A chainsaw in a haunted house will make a 19 year old girl pee in her flare leg jeans. Don't ask me how I know.**

2. The Vaccuum. I get it. It's loud. But what is the worst thing that has happened in the last three years that she has been experiencing this? Maybe having the floors cleaned and the dog hair not present makes her feel like she isn't at home. That must be it. It's not "home" without a canine tumbleweed rolling across the living room 😖. Sorry sister... if I vaccuum any less, the house may be condemned.

3. The seatbelt. Okay... this one has some legitimacy to it. I pinched her leg once. Now she looks like a wet cat going into the bathtub when it's time to strap in the car seat.

4. Baby wipes. They seem harmless. She doesn't mind them when I am cleaning her lady bits because she refused to use the big girl potty, but if that wipe gets anywhere close to the macaroni covered face - she WILL lose her mind.

**Sidebar:: I was changing her diaper the other day and complaining about the nastiest poop of the month, and she literally picked her head up and said "Stop. Whining. Mommy." I shit you not. I was floored. Silver lining... At least I know she understands me when I tell her to stop whining.**

5. Bandaids. I was terrified of bandaids as a child. I would sooner bleed out than put that pony covered bandage on my boo boo. My first born is the same way. It's like the world's way of telling me: "see how ridiculous that looks?!?". One of my best gal pals has a daughter who insisted on bringing her own bandaids to the doctor 🤣. As if the ones they provided wouldn't do the trick. I trust you to stick a needle in my leg, but those bunk ass Sesame Street bandaids ain't gonna cut it. This is clearly a job for Doc McStuffins.

6. The Hairdryer. Again, the noise, I know. But she would rather go through the torture of me tightly French braiding her hair, Bahamas style (without the beads or hair bugs), than sit for two minutes with the dryer on low. Her hair is as thin as The Donald's real hair, so takes a good 15 minutes to braid. Drama. Queen.

7. Mr. Chuck E. Cheese. I realize this is not a household item, but a household name no doubt. That ugly rodent, that happens to be the face of one of the funnest kids' places in America (per them), strikes more fear in the heart of my little bird than anything I've ever seen. Once she sees him for the first time, she spends the next two hours prancing around every corner like the Pink Panther, on the lookout for that rat. Sometimes weird marketing works. Chuck E. Cheese is a prime example of that.

Do I think it's funny to see her run from a full grown person dressed as a mouse? Absolutely, but sometimes these moments remind me how big the world must seem to them. It's hard out there for a toddler. If Yao Ming were chasing me wearing a mask, I'd run too. Sometimes it's not as much about her being dramatic as it is rational. I need to be more patient with her little people fears. They are real to her and that's what matters.

#theanxietymom #winethoughts #whinethoughts #momlife