Another set of School Year Resolutions

Twas' the week after school starts...

Well it's after school hours so I've got plenty creatures stirring at this moment, but I've had a pretty successful first week of routines and schedules. It is the time of year for tired kids and peppy moms. I love it. It's during this week of the year that I like to make my Resolutions. I like to spend my New Years Eve swigging champagne and eating fondue... not waxing poetic about the things I need to improve.
Every year a few remain as staples. This proves that am not perfect (I know, shocking) and/or shows that at least I'm consistent.

***

1. I will exercise and take better care of my beloved temple. 

This one is always there but has been modified. I have substituted "lose weight, ya fat-ass" with "take better care of myself. This change is hugely important. I have spent so many years focusing on my weight and my jean size. I have ruined many experiences for myself because the gnawing feelings that I've had due to my body dysmorphia have caused me to become depressed. Something about turning 33 made me realize that this is what Ive got and I need to learn to love it. I have accepted that I am far to lazy and enjoy wine too much to ever look like I did in high school again. 

I've decided to be aware of what I put in my body, take care of my body and move my body. This includes the mind as well. 

2. I will write more

Also a consistent resolution. The pressure is really on this year as it's my last year without a child in grade school. When my baby finishes pre-k this year I will need to have my ducks in a row. Writing a book, keeping up with this blog, pushing copy for money and getting published are all on my to do list this year. I must write, write, write. 

3. Stop yelling so damn much

I'm a yeller. I blame it on my fiery Latin blood. I get passionate about certain circumstances and explode. These can include but aren't limited to: dirty dishes left on counter tops, kids asking the same inane answered question over and over, tripping over a random pet, dirty clothes lying next to hampers or children fighting. I start to get a spurt of anger and ultimately yell something foul in Spanish. Occasionally I'll single out the member of the family that deserves my wrath and go to town. I have raised 2 out of 3 yellers. My middle child is quiet with her anger which I've decided is much more frightening. This year I will attempt to channel my inner Michele Dugger and discipline with a calm demeanor. However, I think this one will be included next year. 

4. Say yes LESS often

I am a people pleaser. Under my gruff exterior and behind my resting bitch face is a giver. I hate letting people down. My fear of having people call me lazy or mention that I never pull my weight has driven me into a complete frenzy at least 75% of my life. This fear has caused me to do all the work for school projects on numerous occasions, wear a whole lot of bridesmaids dresses, help friends with their chores, do other co-workers work for them etc. After my kids went to school I had extra pressures placed upon me. I did not want to be the mom that didn't help or didn't pitch in.  I'd volunteer to make things, correct things, organize things, etc. "yes I'll get the donuts and pizza", "don't worry about it, I'll happily drag my toddler around with me while I fetch everything on the party supply list" and so on. This last year pushed me over the edge. I hated begging other parents for money or being the only one to volunteer. I decided to just be a random faceless mom this year. It promises to be bliss.

5. Stick to a friggin' household budget

Really nothing much to say here but, Damn I suck at money now. When I got married I was like a big breasted Ebenezer Scrooge. I pinched my pennies, saved for rainy days and worked extra jobs to keep myself independent. I'm convinced that my husband ruined me. His more lackadaisical financial style blended with my tightwad tendencies and created a monster. Years later I hardly ever balance a checkbook or make sure the savings account is over stocked. With automatic debits for all of our bills and luckily a decent salary I haven't had to worry. Sadly my lack of worry is the payment for the fact that we'll be working until we are 85 based on the way we are saving. Old Sarah plans to spend her golden years rocking away in her chair, watching old horror movies, crocheting blankets and enjoying her glaucoma prescription. I might wanna start saving up or else that dream will die.

What are your "New School Year Resolutions?"

I highly suggest getting yourself a list going. Moms need to be constantly improving themselves. I mean if we falter...who will run the world?

Love And Hate With My Big Boobs

In honor of breastfeeding month I thought I'd write about my eventual acceptance of my large chest. Feeding babies helped.

***

It all started in the 5th grade. I started to notice my chest size increasing. "Why now?" I thought. I was still sort of a little girl. My barbies were still re-enacting my grandmothers soap operas and telenovelas. My favorite television show was Double Dare and Popples still graced my bed. Surely I was just getting chubby, not boobies. I would lay on the floor on my stomach hoping to smash them flat, all the while praying to God to remain titty free just a few more years. My highly medically form of breast reduction didn't work and I was a full C cup by the time 6th grade commenced. 

My chest size became the topic of many a whispered conversation. It seemed that I was the only girl at my school wearing a legitimate bra. Buying the bra was just as horrifying as putting it on everyday. My mother would be sent back out into the bra department to grab bigger sizes as I sat in the dressing room with tears in my eyes.  She had started with the training bra and that had proved to be a rookie move. My breasts had remained small enough for that ridiculous "starter" bra for exactly 12 minutes. I assume those minutes passed as I slept in my Popple filled bed because I don't remember having mosquito bites laying on my chest. We left the store with beige 18 hour bras that came in a box. I'm glad that my parents decided against the sexier bras that came on hangers since it allowed me to be childish a bit longer.
By 8th grade my body had transformed into a damn swimsuit model during the summer. I had grown the last bit of my 5'8 height and my waist had slimmed and dropped the last bit of baby fat. My breasts had also settled for a 34 D on my thin frame to really pull the look together. If I had been 22 maybe I would've been okay with this new body. During an assembly a boy sitting behind me was able to unlatch my bra. The mortification was epic as I ran to the bathroom in tears.  I began to wear the baggiest clothes I could stand and walked with a slouch. I have always hated being the center of attention (probably why I write a blog and don't have a vlog on youtube) and I really hate attention from the opposite sex. I blamed my breasts for this attention and that began my hatred of my body.

Fast forward to adulthood and I had a new baby boy in my arms. The fear of pain from breastfeeding had him drinking from a bottle during his first day of life. I hadn't made any milk or colostrum yet and was afraid he wasn't going to get anything to eat. That immature notion had caused issues with him latching. Getting him to accept my nipple over the soft latex one on the formula bottles full of milk was a challenge and it eventually took 3 of us working as a team to make breastfeeding a success. However, once he latched on and began to eat I was absolutely in love with the act of feeding my baby with these things I had once loathed. I powered through all of the situations that arise when nursing your babies. I nursed while having Mastitis three times. I suffered with clogged milk ducts and one really uncomfortable kid free trip to Mexico with one breast that wouldn't pump. I held my head high as I walked around with two very large breasts that were distinctly different sizes. Ugly nursing bras, noticeable nipple maxi pads, fighting the urge to wake my sleeping baby to soothe the pain of full jugs and the inevitable eye full of milk spray that my kids all experienced. I wouldn't have changed a thing. I would sit and watch my baby eat all day if I could. By the time I realized I was feeding my final child I would cry at the thought of someday having to ween her. I had become so in love with our special time together that I never wanted to quit. I would still be breast feeding her today at 4 years old had my husband not intervened and encouraged me to get a new hobby. It was time to move on from that period of my mommy life and give more time to my family as a whole.

The absolute best thing that happened during my breastfeeding experience was my new found love for the breasts I had hated for so many years. I didn't stare at myself in the mirror trying to picture how much better my clothes would look without such a huge built in shelf. I started to laugh at my booby related mishaps. When the inevitable food dropping would land on my shelf I'd just laugh and say, "you can't take me anywhere".
It is nearly 11 years since I started my new love of my breasts. I fed 3 kids for 6 years with these things. I had secretly hoped that I would have the same post-nursing problem that some of my friends developed--incredible shrinking breasts. However, they remain even bigger than they had begun.
Luckily I have come to terms with my large chest. I still wish I could jog without 2 bras on or avoid the back and shoulder pain that comes with the territory. Maybe someday I'll get the nerve to have a reduction and purchase every halter top within arms reach, but until that day comes I'll keep shoving these mounds into my size F cups and pray that my daughters don't overly develop. That would surely kill their father.