Ugly Days

I think every woman has those days when, no matter what you do, you just don't feel pretty. Okay, forget pretty. Me, some days, I feel like pretty is on a whole other planet, in a distant universe, through a time warp and in an alternate reality. All the magic of make-up, all the little tubes and pots and brushes, the hair tricks and accessorizing and slimming dark colors - ain't none of it gonna do a bit o' good.

I'm generally pretty okay with myself. I mean, I want to lose weight and I hate my hair ever since Josie was born and I rarely ever look decent in photos, but overall I'm not a hater. I don't lose any sleep over it or waste any time sitting around feeling bad about it. Who has time? And ultimately, what does it really matter? People don't come to your funeral because you were pretty. They come because you were kind, funny, smart, helpful, loving, generous - a million other things. Pretty? Not so much.

I digress.

The past few days, I have felt just... gross. My skin is an oil slick and I'm breaking out like a teenager. My hair is in this awkward phase of growing out from the massive loss it suffered after Josie was born and a subsequent overzealous haircut. I'm bloated. Can you guess what else is going on? Think lunar cycles. Think really hard. If you're a man, I hate you. Does that give it away?

Being a woman is hard. And I'm not even mentioning the things we do to NOT feel ugly - the waxing and plucking and starving and the 4 inch heels. Spanx? Just call it what it is - a girdle. Torture.

Today, I'm giving in. I'm wearing sweat pants. All day. Even in public. So there.

Cranky Pants

Josie Marie, dear child of my heart, love of my life, PUH-LEASE stop whining and screaming all day! You are driving Mommy absolutely bat-poopy insane. Dear God, let this not be a phase that lasts for very long, or soon you might find me curled in a ball in the corner, screaming too. Why oh why can't humans be born with teeth? I mean, really? REALLY? This seems to be a design flaw to me. I know, I know, that takes hubris to say to the Supreme Creator, but I'm sleep-deprived and did I mention bat-poopy insane? Yeah.

She's got two teeth now though - and it's super-dee-duper cute. (Yes, I really say things like super-dee-duper. Especially when I'm super-dee-duper sleep-deprived.) See those cute little pearly whites on the bottom? Awww! 

She doesn't look like a screaming banshee Madam Cranky Pants there, does she? Don't be fooled. She just liked the photographer - my friend, Kim Melendy of  Kim Melendy Photography. Who did an awesome job on her 7 month photos (of which I will add more later).

Fakers

I hate it when someone pretends to "commiserate" with you by telling you how great they have it in a backhanded way.

Example (admittedly exaggerated and sarcastic, but still): "You have no legs? Oh, that's terrible! BUT it's even worse to have such strong, beautiful legs like MINE. Let me tell you! It's SUCH a burden to be able to walk and run and ride a bike and do squat thrusts. Ugh! Legs are SO overrated, especially PERFECT legs like mine!"

I hate it when people dis themselves just to hear other people tell them how wrong they are.

Example: "That" skinny girl (we all know one) who constantly complains about how grossly fat and disgusting she is. "Oh, my THUNDER thighs! My cottage cheese butt!" So all her friends chime in with, "O Em Gee, you are SOOO skinny! You're like Kate Moss skinny! Anorexic skinny! You disappear when you turn sideways!" And then, if said friend is also one of "those" skinny girls, "Look at ME! I'm the one whose clothes have to be made by Omar the tent-maker!" The ego-petting/self-deprecating fakery can go on for EVER, back and forth, around and around in circles. O Emm Geeeee.

Then there's the backhanded compliment, which is really a nicey-nice way to say something really shitty.

Example: "It's a shame she's so overweight, because she has SUCH a pretty face!"

Or the belief some people seem to have that as long as they say something like "Bless his heart" prior to saying something really shitty like "He's dumb as a box of rocks!" it makes it no longer shitty...

I'm feeling negative today, can ya tell?

It's a beautiful fall day and (bless my heart), I'm in a pissy mood. Time to get over it.

Thirty

So, on the 4th I turned 30.

I don't quite know how I feel about this yet, which is why I haven't posted about it yet. For some reason I felt the need to acknowledge the passage of this momentous birthday though. I'm 30. Huh.

2010 has been a big year.

I became a mom.

Geoff and I celebrated our 10th wedding anniversary.

I turned 30.