Breastfeeding is natural - bull.

Before Punk came along, we went to all the classes - babies 101, CPR, breastfeeding, et. al. In the breastfeeding course, we were taught the different positions to hold (Isaiah doesn't like most of them), how to express milk from the breast, how to get him to latch, what a good latch looked like, etc. The lactation consultant (Jenny, aka Madame Hitler) informed us that she'd had 4 kids, breastfed them all, and this was an all natural experience that would help us bond with our son. I should have known she was full of crap, as she also informed us that if you're breastfeeding, you can have unprotected sex, as you won't get pregnant. Needless to say, my bullshit alert went off on that one, as I know several people who were told that, and - SURPRISE - had a baby to prove this old wives tale was wrong 9 months later. Anywho, she made it sound like the whole thing would instinct, that the kid and I would know exactly what to do when the time came.

When Isaiah arrived a month later, we went skin to skin immediately after he was born. He rooted a bit, but the nurse had to help him find my boob. A few minutes later, another nurse whisked him off for the APGAR junk he had to do - not much time to feed. Once he returned, we tried nursing, and I tried not to cry, as it hurt. People will tell you nursing doesn't hurt, shouldn't hurt, and if it does, you're doing it wrong. It is perfectly acceptable to not only smack these people, but to brandish your mom finger at them as you inform them how incorrect they are. Of course it's going to hurt! Do you usually have someone sucking on your nipple like their life depends on it for nourishment every day? Of course not! It'll take your poor nipples a bit to toughen up, and until they do, you're going to be sore. The nurses saw my plight, and ran for Madame Hitler, who came in, cupped one breast in a cold hand, my son's head in the other, and rammed them together. In my 48 hour stay, I also had a nurse do this a few times, and Madame Hitler came back a few more times - the last time she made the fatal mistake of telling me it shouldn't hurt, that I was doing it wrong, and I went off. After telling her where she could put her advice and her "expertise," she was ordered out of my room on no uncertain terms.

Isaiah still had issues with latch when we got home, so I switched to exclusively pumping and feeding that way. What. A. Joy. Being hooked up to a machine every 2-4 hours all day and night. I never did feel like we were bonding as we should have, and I honestly feel like I've missed out on some things with him, but at least he was fed. Granted, it wasn't all breast milk like I would have liked, but he's getting enough to get the antibodies, and supplemented with formula. Having to deal with Postpartum Depression/Anxiety on top of that was just a bonus, and I struggled - still struggle.

After lots of tears and heart to hearts with other moms, both face to face and online, including with my own mother (who, bless her, had to stop breastfeeding me at 3 months because it just wasn't working), I have decided to stop. I can pump enough to stash a little in the freezer so he gets at least one bottle of breast milk a day until he's 6 months old. Not quite the year goal I originally had in mind, but 6 months is halfway to that goal, and pretty good considering.

I have to quit for my own sanity, as I hate breastfeeding and pumping. I don't feel any more bonded to him whether I'm feeding him breast milk or formula. I bond with him during play time, and when I see that toothless grin when I pick him up at the end of the day. Am I selfish for quitting? Some may think so, but those same people who tout 'breast is best' til they're blue in the face would also judge me if I continued until he was 2+. My feelings on the matter are these: 1) Fed is best. As long as his tummy is full, he's happy, healthy, and thriving, that's all I'm worried about. 2) Happy mama, happy baby, happy husband. If mama ain't happy, ain't nobody happy - I've proven this numerous times over Isaiah's (almost) 4 month lifespan. Many tears were shed, especially in the beginning, and my husband pleaded with me numerous times to go see a different lactation consultant, or anyone, just so I'd be happier. I saw a doctor who tried to put me on meds and quit breastfeeding before I was ready (at the 2 month mark). I declined her drugs and soldiered on. 3) Those judgemental freaks of society can shove their opinions where the sun doesn't shine. Punk is a chunky, happy baby with a giggle that lights up my entire world, and a smile that melts my heart. Your opinion on how we raise him is about as pleasant to me as what is in his diapers.

What I'm saying to all other mamas of the world is this: don't let anyone bully you into breastfeeding if you don't want to, or formula feeding if you don't want to. Don't let anyone lead you to believe that you're a horrible mother for wanting or needing to quit. It's ok to not like breastfeeding or pumping. DO WHAT IS BEST FOR YOU. As a friend of mine has told me numerous times, you have to take care of you first, because you can't pour from an empty cup. That little blessing needs you at your best, so do whatever it takes to get there, whether that means your bar is open for business or the taps are closed. Tell society to shut it, or just flat ignore them. You, as the mama, know what is best for your little one.

Me? I'm in the weaning process. With any luck at all, I'll be entirely done breastfeeding before Zach and I go on our anniversary trip in late September, so I can enjoy it without being hooked up to a pump. Since Isaiah will be on solids by then, I feel much better about this decision, and a weight has been lifted off me. September 21 is my Independence Day, my body will be mine again, and I'm not ashamed to say it.

Make up your mind!

Whoever said breastfeeding is easy is a complete idiot. I went into pregnancy saying our son would be formula fed, and then someone did a Jedi mind trick on me, and I wound up breastfeeding. It didn't come easy, it does hurt until you get used to it, and the lactation consultant at the hospital is 3 overly energetic, neo-Nazi fries short of a Happy Meal. Yet as much as I hate it, as much I detest hooking myself up to a pump 3 times a day, I continue. Why? Because I want my son - who is 3 months old this week, and has yet to be sick - to continue to get my antibodies and thrive. There's nothing wrong with formula; in fact, we supplement because my boobs just don't produce enough to handle his demand. Plus, everything I have read says that breastfed babies are less picky eaters. Think about it - he's got a smorgasbord on the boob, whereas formula is one constant flavor. That's gotta be boring.

The supplements didn't work for me to up my supply to where he needs it, but I figure something is better than nothing, so I continue. If nothing else, my to-read shelf is getting smaller, as I can get a chapter or two read in a book in the 15-20 minutes I'm hooked up to the pump 3 times a day (plus a power pump every now and then).

I've said numerous times I was quitting, and until this morning, I was actively trying to quit. I had knocked down my pumps to two a day and was slathering on peppermint oil like it was my job - yet I was still netting 9-10 ounces a pump. I've been praying relentlessly about this thing that has had my very soul in torment the last three months - to stop or  not to stop - and I figure I'll keep going until either my girls tap out or until March 1st, as it takes a few weeks to actively and efficiently wean. So, I've added a pump time - 4:30 am, 12:30 pm, and 8:30 pm - in the hopes that I can get back into the swing of things and keep him on some breast milk (probably not exclusively fed) until his first birthday. I also plan to exclusively breastfeed him on weekends, and any milk pumped over the weekend can help build a stash for the time period I plan to dry up.

Will I want to quit again in a day or more? Probably. Will I? Doubtful, as I keep bullying myself into continuing. If there's one thing I am, it's stubborn. I'll be putting my mint oil away for now, and continuing on. Here's hoping I can hit my goal. I'm sure my husband is tired of my back and forth, but I can't help it. I want this kid to have the best start to life I can give him, and this is it.

The truth will set you free

I'm probably going to get backlash from all the perfect mommies out there for this post, but guess what - I don't care. I had a hell of a day today. My husband actually was the inspiration for this post - I mentioned a friend on Facebook was returning to work from maternity leave soon, as was not looking forward to leaving her little girl in the care of others. I understand this, but my son is going to be watched and cared for by my mother, and I'm actually looking forward to going back to work to get away from him for a while.

That's right, I said it. I love my son dearly, wouldn't trade him for the world, but I'm about to shatter the glass on the delusional world of Facebook parenting. Parenthood is a wonderful shit storm. It definitely has its ups - watching this little person grow into whatever they will become later on, seeing the tiny infant gain fat rolls and dimples on their ankles and knees, and being entertained as they learn about the world around them. Then there's the flip side - the constant crying, the every two to three hour wake ups, growth spurts that involve constant feeding and little sleep, and if you're breastfeeding, it's even more "fun". In my case, my son wouldn't latch properly without a nipple shield, and on days like today, he can't even figure that out without wailing. I now pump almost exclusively, but at almost 7 weeks, he's going through a growth spurt and eating everything in sight. The crying gets to you at some point, and I spent some time locked in the bathroom today, curled in the fetal position "ugly crying" and not giving two shits who knew it. All of this can also lead to postpartum depression, which I'm pretty sure is a wave I'm currently riding. If you haven't had this, you're very lucky. I had a very easy pregnancy, and thanks to an epidural, a very routine (albeit with one hitch) labor and delivery, so I figure this is nature's way of making me suffer a bit. Seems fair, I just wish it would stop soon.

If anyone tells you their child is perfect and doesn't cry, they're a liar. If anyone tells you they have a blast with their kid 24/7 no matter what the kid's age and development status, that person is drunk. If anyone tells you maternity leave is a vacation, show them to me, as I'd like to a) find out what they're doing to have so much fun and b) punch them in the throat.

I constantly find myself asking what I'm doing wrong as a mother that my boy is crying, never seems satiated, and always wants to be held? What am I not doing that so many on Facebook are doing? That's when my husband stepped in and reminded me - Facebook is only for all the good things, the happy go lucky bullshit that masks all the turmoil going on behind the scenes. Perfect family, perfect life. I was raised to believe there was only one perfect being in the history of ever, and He created the planet and everything on it.

Parenting is not for the pansies or faint of heart. If your kid is like mine and doesn't give hunger cues, just goes from 0-starving in 3.2 seconds, you spend lots of time trying to figure out what on earth he's crying about. Pants are clean, he's not too hot or too cold, walking won't do it, swinging won't do it, we've checked 3 times now if he's hungry, but on the 4th try, he finally decides to give you a clue that yes, it's meal time in his world. Granted, by this time he's throwing a tantrum that would impress a two year old. Don't even get me started on the joys of hooking myself up to a pump and getting the milk out that way. I swear I look exactly like the cows at the local dairy farm when they get onto the milking turntable.

Waking up every two to three hours to feed it awesome, too. I read somewhere once that humans are actually programmed to only sleep a few hours at a shot, much like a cat. My level of functioning exhaustion is here to call bull on that theory - the author obviously never had kids. Coffee doesn't help, either, as that just keeps your eyelids open temporarily. It also gets into the breast milk and wires the kid like crazy so they don't sleep later. Awesome.

If your child is like mine, he also will cry during diaper changes, because why not.

Oh, and another joy that has nothing to do with the child - this annoyance comes from everyone else around you. My son will be 7 weeks old on Tuesday, and if one more person asks me when he'll have a sibling, or tell me he should have a sibling, we should try for a girl, he'll be bored without a sibling, etc. I have one thing to tell you:

GET YOUR OPINION THE FUCK OUT OF MY UTERUS.

I have absolutely no plans to do this ever again. He doesn't need a sibling, and there's nothing wrong with being an only child - I am one. If I hear one more time that I might change my mind in a few years, I may go postal. My opinion on those with more than one kid? Your sanity went completely with the first child, as you were crazy enough to do this all again. #sorrynotsorry My husband and I have discussed it, and our son will have siblings, but they will be/are covered in fur and walk on 4 feet. Three is a perfectly good size for a family, and that's what we shall remain. If not for the fact that the doctors claim I'm too young, I'd have gone with a tubal ligation last week instead of nexaplanion or whatever this rod in my arm is called. Good for 3 years, at which point I'll be "old enough" for a tubal. Tie those babies off, I'm done. 

Now that I've complained, let me back track a bit. We have our good days to go with the ones where I feel like I'm going to rip my hair out and call the crazy farm to admit myself. My husband helps out when I  need it, and sometimes when I don't think I do. As with any other mom, I'm a bit of a martyr and try to do it all myself - it doesn't help that I was like that before this kid came along, it's just gotten worse. Our son is perfect, he just needs to learn to communicate better, eat solid foods, and sleep through the night. I don't think that's too much to ask (sarcasm, for those of you who are the Sheldons of the world and didn't pick up on it). He has dimples in his knees and elbows that are the cutest things ever, is kissable everywhere, and I'm going to squeeze the bejesus out of him when he's big enough to handle such a hug. He's my greatest accomplishment, and I would do it all again in a heartbeat, as long as I got the same boy out of the deal. We're in a learning curve, which everyone goes through, and I need to not be so prideful and hand over the reins more often - something I'm working on. In the meantime, I'm sure I'll continue to cry in the shower when I get overwhelmed, pray a ton, and simultaneously wish he would grow faster and not at all. I feel bad on the days I miss it just being the two of us, and daydream about all the fun the three of us will have as he grows. 

Moral of the story? Don't believe everything you read on Facebook. That's a single glimpse into the life of someone, and it's only what they let you see. If you see a new parent looking like they're bedraggled, offer to help with anything - laundry, dishes, a meal,  holding the kid so they can go shower/eat/sleep. I've had one meal today, where my son has had 4. The only reason I'm showered is because I hopped in with my husband while our son took another 3 hour snooze. I didn't brush my teeth or pee until my husband came home at 3, because my son needed fed and soothed and changed and screamed when I put him down to go take care of myself (i.e., heat up leftover Chinese takeout). Also, don't push your own dreams on the new parents. I don't care if you think every family should have 2.5 kids because that's what yours had. Mine had only one, and will only have only one. Trying to shame me into having another is only going to annoy me and make me  like you less. I promise the next animal we adopt will be a girl. We'll even put her through obedience and therapy training so she can help others. 

Thank you and good night. I have to go pump. Again. 

Parenting meltdown

Yesterday, I awoke from a dream where Isaiah was here, and we had nothing in his room completed. The paint was on the walls, but that was it - no doors, no trim, no baseboards, no furniture, nothing. He had 3 light blue walls, one navy wall, and hardwood floor. That was it. Cue panic attack that lingered for the rest of the day.

The truth of it is, his doors (bedroom and closet) are ordered. The wood is at Von Tobel's awaiting pick up, the stain has been purchased and is waiting to be used. The walls are painted (thank you, Lauren and Zach), and we have all his furniture and decor, it's just not up yet. He is not due to arrive for another 4.5 weeks, and most first babies are late, so there's definitely time. In my pregnant mind, however, it went more like this:

"He has no furniture set up! It doesn't matter that he'll be spending the first 3-6 months of his life in our room in his pack'n'play, HE HAS NO FURNITURE SET UP! I can't put anything away in his dresser, and his closet is currently stuffed with all the things I need to set up in his room. We can't put that together until we get the woodwork in, though. WHAT KIND OF MOTHER AM I? Oh lanta - I'm going to be a mom. What if I screw him up royally? I can't do this, I can't do this, I can't do this - WHO THE HELL LET ME GET PREGNANT AND BE RESPONSIBLE FOR ANOTHER HUMAN???" 

It went on like this for most of the day, me holding back tears just knowing that I'm going to wind up screwing up this poor boy beyond all reason. I emailed Zach and practically ripped the guy a new one over something he has absolutely no control over (the doors are back ordered, and the baseboards/trim pieces are 12 feet long, so we're trying to find a way to transport them to our house). Then one of the ladies of the Moms of Boys board I follow on Facebook put up the following picture:

I am one of the few people in the world that knows how to fold a fitted sheet, BUT it took me a while to figure it out. I did a lot of praying last night when I got home from work, as that's one of the few things that pulls me out of a panic attack, and I slept pretty well last night. I woke up this morning thinking about the fitted sheet thing, how I had to learn how to do it, how I'll have to learn how to parent this little punker, and as I hopped in the shower a new revelation struck me - no one knows what they are doing. No child is the same as any other child, so all parents are making this up as they go. You have to learn how to parent your child based on that child's individual needs, wants, etc. In that one thought, all my anxiety melted away entirely, washed away by the hot water pouring over my head, and I felt a sense of relief. Between me, Zach, and God, we've got this - and you know what else? Isaiah is going to be an amazing little boy. He already is. He loves being sung to, squirms when he hears his daddy's voice, and likes to kick the cats off my belly. If I sit too long, he'll push into my ribs to make me stand and move around, so he's a great motivator for walking. Hymns calm him, hard rock makes him move (I picture him head banging in there, but who knows what he's doing). Swaying soothes him, and he definitely gets hangry (much like his parents - father especially). 

If we get stuck, we can always go to our parents for guidance. I even have a few friends that are raising kids quite well - Sondra and her son leap immediately to mind. We may falter, we may screw up at times, but luckily this parenting thing has a learning curve - and I have the best guy in the world to partner up with and tackle it. With any luck at all, this kid will be just as wonderfully weird as his genetics will allow - and if you've ever met either Zach or I, or our respective families, you already know this kid is destined for greatness! 

Gonna be a fit mommy

We have hit week 30, where Isaiah's milestones include being the size of a cabbage (where my 80's kids at? I have a Cabbage Patch Kid!), developing his eyesight, brain is growing, and his red blood cells are forming in his bone marrow. No wonder I'm so tired - growing our little guy is a lot of work.

I have kept up with my workouts, but not as vigorously as before, and sheer exhaustion some days has made me skip entirely. When I don't go workout with dad - still weight lifting - I try to do my prenatal yoga video at home. I would love to get up at 5:30 every morning and do this before work, as it's harder to get myself to do it at night, but even getting out of bed is tough in the mornings.
I have had a few people tell me that once I have this little munchkin, it is unlikely that my body will go back to what it was. I am expecting some change, like maybe my shape not being totally what it was before he was created, but I refuse to hold onto the baby weight forever. Thankfully, I have only gained about 18 pounds with this pregnancy, and all of it has been in my torso. I have an excellent cheer leading squad in my family and non-blood sister, so I have no doubt that I can not only lose the pregnancy weight, but also continue on my goal to flat abs. I will have those!

In order to cheer myself on, I have created a vision board. I plan to hang this on the closet door or bathroom door (haven't decided yet which, but the closet sees much less humidity) so I see it every day. I also plan to display the dress I'm working my way back into prominently in my closet as extra inspiration.

Thankfully, I was able to beat Gestational Diabetes, but only by 2 points. I'm pretty sure that was my exercise fairy kicking me in the butt to remind me that just because I can eat junk doesn't mean I should. I'm trading in my cookies for celery with peanut butter, my candy for carrots with avocado ranch dressing, and my brownies for fresh fruit. There's fish in our freezer again, healthier meals on the meal planning docket, and I have kept up with my daily shake (which is probably why the little bugger's measuring 2 weeks ahead of where he should be). My plan, once he arrives, is to put our ergo carrier or stroller to good use, and go for walks around the neighborhood. I also plan to continue with my prenatal yoga, as it's gentle. Once I'm cleared by my doctor for more strenuous activity, it's on...

I don't want to be the mom that is sick all the time. 

I refuse to be the mom that can't keep up with her child.

I will be the mom that can not only fit in her pre-pregnancy clothes, but rock them.

I will be the mom that will be able to rock a bikini while chasing after her toddler on the beach. 

Don't believe me? Don't think I can do it? Good - you're added motivation. To you I say, watch me! 

A new Blue

Back in 2007, I was brought home to my new boyfriend's childhood home to meet his family. Apparently I impressed them, as our relationship progressed, and my boyfriend became my fiance, then my husband. During one of our many visits to Nashville, I had a dream that our future child would be playing in the basement during a family function - holiday, random, visit, whatever. Having children has always been on Zach and my relationship 'to do' list, but we put it off, as - like the vast majority of our lovely generation - we are up to our eyeballs in higher education loans. Funny how bettering yourself and becoming an expert in your field has to cost you your life savings, dignity, self-respect, and future inheritance. But I digress....

We finally got to the point where a few loans were paid off (well, Zach does), and we're able to buy a house. We swapped out the God awful carpet for lovely hardwood, updated the windows, and dreamed together that one day our little one would take their first steps on our beautiful Acacia floors. We also discussed how the old saying is true - if you wait to be financially stable to have kids, you'll never have kids. We decided we would start trying to June of 2016, and we did. 

Fast forward through some not so fun stuff (the death of my beloved Grandpa), and on July 25th, we got not one, but three positive pregnancy tests. Yes, three, because I didn't believe the first one or the second one. I raced out to the family room and informed Zach that we had achieved Nirvana. To say he was excited is putting it mildly - he strutted the rest of the night, beaming with pride at the fact that he had knocked up his wife on (excuse the pun) the first shot. Ok, maybe not the first shot, but the first month of trying. We scored after only one round of pulling the goalie, and we have a tiny Blues jersey to prove it. 

So, coming this April, to an Easter basket near you, the newest member of the Schuette clan will be here to terrorize grace us with their tiny presence. Just in time for playoff season! 

Ladies, lend me your....eyes.

Ladies, I have a call to action that I would like to set in front of you, and I hope you pick up the challenge I will propose and run with it. Grab your wine, your coffee, your liquid vice to help bolster you through this post, and have a seat - we need to have a chat.

I have been seeing a lot of hatred toward each other, and I'm tired. Tired of women putting each other down because one doesn't look like the other thinks they should, raises their kid like the other woman thinks the child should be raised, believes something the other doesn't. I'm here to tell you we were not all made the same on purpose, as the good Lord above decided to put a little variety in the world - and as the old saying goes, variety is the spice of life.

The media likes to spice things up on their own, and social media acts as a sounding board. You know the kind I'm talking about - a woman that society deems "heavy set" or "overweight" wears a bathing suit to the beach, shows a bit of skin, and then America goes insane, tearing the woman down. On the other hand, celebrities put up professional photos where they have been airbrushed and then photoshoped, making them look more perfect than they already do, and society eats it up. Are you seeing a trend here? Society tells us what to eat, wear, do, look like. Do me a favor, tell society to shut up.

I'd like to start a movement, something others are also trying to start up, and I figure one more hashtag wouldn't hurt for the cause. I'm proposing that we no longer tear each other down, as maybe when that woman on the beach had insults hurled at her, they dug deep and latched onto that area of self-loathing she already possessed. Maybe she had been told by her husband that she could rock that tankini, but her self doubt told her not to. She told her self doubt to take a backseat, and then when she heard what others were saying, it took her high to a new low. Turn the tables - what if she had done that to you? You'd feel awful.

We were raised with the notion that 'sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me.' I've got news for you - that's a lie. Take my own life, for example. I have never weighed above 126 lbs, and I got that high by lifting weights within the last year. I'm 5'4 without the help of heels, and I have always been rail thin. It didn't matter how much food I put in me, my metabolism was burning it as fast as I could send it down. I have always had nicknames of "Stick girl," "Tiny," and my all time favorite, "President of the Itty Bitty Titty Committee." I ask you, who comes up with this crap? And why? I may have laughed along at the time, but inside, I was dying a little. I didn't like being this small, as it made me a target. I've got news for you, not only bigger people get picked on and made fun of, and it doesn't matter what size you are, words hurt. I am happy to say I took those years and years of pain, and I've turned it into results. In the last year, I have started using my metabolism to my advantage, and added weights to the mix. I'm still skinny, but now, I can kick some hater ass. I am taking my own pledge, that I'm not putting up with this nit picking crap anymore. I am beautiful, strong, and I love being in my own skin, so hurl your worst at me. Guess what? I love you, too, and even though your words aren't making you very pretty right now, I think you're gorgeous.

The Challenge

Ladies, do me a favor, and go stand in front of your mirror. You're welcome to do this clothed if you like, but I'd prefer you in some state of undress. We're not just looking at weight today, we're looking at all the things that society claims are imperfections. I'm going to show you how to embrace these "flaws," and I'm going to use me as an example. Ready? No? Well get ready, because here we go.

We're going to start at the top of our heads and work our way down. I have acne issues - on my face, scalp, chest, and back. Even my upper arms have issues sometimes. I can cover it on my face with makeup, but most of the time I get up too late for that nonsense, so society is stuck seeing my blemishes. I have found that drinking more water and eating healthier takes care of these (sex also helps, although I still have yet to do the research as to why that is).

My chest is a source of pride for me now, but it used to be a target for teasing bullies. I was an A cup all through high school, then magically became a B cup during college. Now that I'm working out (bench presses are good for the flat bosom), I'm in a C cup and holding steady - a low C, but a C nonetheless. I can hold up strapless dresses - like the one I'm in today - with no help from padded bras.

My stomach and thighs. God help me, but these are my trouble areas. I have cellulite on my thighs and buttocks, and my lower stomach pokes out enough to give me that lovely "muffin top". Squats and lunges are helping with the booty, and I'm still working on my abs, but those take a while to come around. My husband and I are also trying for a little one, so all my work in this area will (hopefully) soon be dashed a bit, and I'll have to start over.

My feet. I hate feet. I don't like mine touched, I don't like others' feet touching me. Painting the toenails helps make them a little pretty, but all in all, feet are my least favorite body part. There's no way to remedy this for me.

Moles! Holy sweet Moses, but thanks to my lineage, I have them everywhere. According to the doctor I saw when I had a pre-cancerous mole on my left inner ankle removed (which left an interesting scar), it's between the years of 20-30 that people gain the moles they'll carry with them through the rest of their days. Since I turned 30 this year, I'm hoping that means I'm done being a mole factory, as when I say I have them everywhere, I mean I have them EVERYWHERE.

So, here's how I see my "imperfections" - actually, I hate that term, because God made me & you in his image, so therefore, we are not imperfect. These things make me who I am, from the top of my brunette head to the tips of my size 7 feet. My eyes are blue and framed by glasses, which helps to turn me into the stereotypical librarian that I am. Here's the thing, though - people who don't know me only see the outside. They have no clue that I took all online courses between 2011 and 2015, and got both a Bachelors and a Masters in that time frame. They don't know that I love to read, crochet, and spend time with family and friends, be it outdoors or in. They don't know that my husband is slowly awakening a love for hiking and camping in me that I didn't even know I possessed. They don't know that I have buried two grandparents, one only a few weeks ago, and I still struggle with it daily. They don't know that when my husband goes out of town on business trips, I bring my childhood teddy bear into bed with me for comfort - my husband's too. You know why they don't know this? Because they made a snap judgement before getting to know me.

That being said, I want to introduce you to some other beautiful ladies!

My Girls

These ladies are some of my very favorite people in the world. They've given me permission to use them for this project, and I'm so glad they said yes! I'm going to introduce you, one by one.

Liz
Liz is one of my favorite coworkers, and is turning out to be one of my favorite people in life. She has an energy that just kills me sometimes, with hair to match. We can have serious conversations, or just laugh, and she's been there for me through some trying times at work. She's not afraid to let her inner nerd shine through, and it's one of the many things I love about her. Liz is an awesome up and coming photographer, and I swear she could be an expert for all things Apple. She has the kindest heart, and wants everyone to be happy, because everyone should be allowed happiness. She also did a marvelous job on the Color Run we did last month, and I couldn't have been more proud of her!

Lauren

Lauren is my sista-from-anotha-motha, my soul sister, and one of my very best friends. She gave me the push to get into fitness (and being a health and fitness coach, that's kind of her job). She's a husky momma, leader of her own team of health and fitness coaches, and all around awesome lady. She's my crochet buddy, and the one I run to when I need a girls night, not to mention my Saturday brunch date. She pushes me to be my very best me, and for that, I'll never be able to thank her enough. 

Monica

This lady has a sense of humor like you wouldn't believe, and she calls it her inner 13 year old boy. She can quote movie lines like no one else I know, and help make the work day go by faster. She is, hands down, the best boss I've ever had the pleasure to work for, and also one of my favorite people to be around outside of work - in fact, I'm pretty sure we were separated at birth somehow. She makes stepmothering seem easy, and shares my love of peppermint mochas. I'm so glad she hired me on, if for no other reason that I got a great friend out of the deal.

Stephanie

I truly wish I had known Stephanie when I got married, because then my wedding photos would have been as mind blowingly gorgeous as the boudoir photos I had taken a year ago. She is a gorgeous lady with a beautiful soul (and voice!) to match. I don't know her nearly as well as I wish I did, but I still count her among my favorite people. 

Kathi

I met Kathi through another friend, and instantly hit it off. Our personalities just synced, and we chatted like we were old friends who had known each other forever, but had only just met five minutes before. This woman can make me laugh, and we can talk about anything and not get annoyed or offended with each other. She won't put up with your crap, and she loves life to the hilt. 

Sondra

Yet another young lady that I'm still getting to know, yet already love to pieces! Sondra is epic, and someone I admire greatly. She is hardworking, caring, sarcastic, hysterical, and one of the best moms out there to an awesome little boy. I'm so excited to get to know her more and more, and call her not only a friend, but a sister. 

My point

My point for this post is to remind women everywhere that we come in all shapes and sizes, all backgrounds, ethnicities, belief systems. We catch enough crap from society for not fitting into their standard box of perfect, we shouldn't be slinging crap at each other. These women are our sisters, whether they're blood or not, and it's high time we all realized that. Remember that Golden Rule? 

Do unto others as you would have done unto you. 

I can guarantee you wouldn't want to be called names, talked down to, talked about behind your back or on social media. We can put a stop to this, but it's going to take work and dedication. If you wouldn't want it said about you, don't say it about others. Be the beautiful woman inside that you are on the outside. 

The Pledge

Write this down, stick it on your bathroom mirror, or somewhere else that you'll see it daily, and then repeat it like a mantra:

I am beautiful, inside and out, and I will not let anyone tell me otherwise. If I see or hear of someone speaking negatively to another woman, I will help put a stop to it. I will not repeat the negativity. We are all beautiful. 

Say it. Believe it. Do it. Hashtag it. #WeAreBeautiful Let's spread this all over. Love you, ladies!