Sleep:  I there any other word in the English language as beautiful?  I suppose you might say that there are many, perhaps even words that are even more amazing and glorious.  But I'm pretty sure that if your answer is yes, you are either:

1. Not a mother

2. One of those moms whose child sleeps like as angel and pretty much has since they were a newborn... in which we can never be friends

Before I had a baby, I was a morning person.  Not one of those annoyingly perky ones, with the sing-song voice and perpetual "Life is Beautiful" smile on my face.  Just someone who never really had too much trouble getting up and going in the morning. I'd have a couple of cups of coffee at a leisurely pace before leaving the house, and I'd be good to go.  I was also more effective at work in the mornings, and more likely to work out, often going to the gym before work, having no problem getting up an hour earlier and setting my alarm for 5AM.  All of that changed once I had my son. 

There are no words to describe the pure all-encompassing exhaustion that comes with having a newborn.  You can certainly understand it in theory: their tummies are tiny and can barely hold any milk, so they have to eat constantly.  Makes sense, right?  Oh, but the difference between understanding it logically and actually living it are two very different things indeed!  Newborns have no concept of day or night, so will need to eat around the clock, no matter if mommy is a zombie or not.

"I'm just gonna rest my head here for a while"

There's a reason that sleep deprivation is a torture technique used by many countries.  Crazy, right?  The point is that new moms and dads experience such a crazy amount of sleep deprivation that they're living in some sort of twilight during that time.  That was the case for me, anyway.  It is exhaustion at its most extreme, and we signed up for it!  So you'd better not complain, especially not to people who don't have kids of their own.  They don't get it, never will, and don't really give a shit!

From about the time that my son was about six weeks old, he was exclusively formula-fed.  Apparently formula-fed babies sleep longer than breastfed ones, since formula is more filling - so they say.  That was not the case for my little guy, unfortunately... but you better believe that I held on to the little nugget of hope like a drowning victim gone overboard.  We would be up and at it from 4AM onwards some days, since my son was not one of those blissfully sleeping wee ones occasionally waking up for a light snack, and then settling back down for a little warm nap.  Nope, from the get-go, M was an alert baby, so curious about everything going on around him and wanting to take it all in.  A blessing?  Absolutely.  A curse?  Also.

I remember being so hopeful that my son would start to sleep all night long when he had rice cereal for the first time, at around four months old.  So many people had told me that because his tummy would be that much more full, he would be able to sleep for a longer period of time.  I also remember being completely devastated when that wasn't the case.  There were tears, and words of comfort from my husband afterwards , but I held out hope for the next thing (whatever that might be) that was supposed to mean that I would get a full night's sleep.  On to more and more solid foods as the weeks went on, but still baby M enjoyed his multiple nighttime bottles.

My son finally slept all night long, from 7PM to 6AM just shy of his first birthday.  To some moms that sounds like a nightmare, and to others that sounds like a dream come true.  Since that time, my son has been consistently sleeping through the night.  There are occasional bouts of night waking that happen when he's sick (or when he started preschool when we had about a month of hellish sleep), but for the most part our nights are pretty reliable in terms of his sleep.  He wakes up very early, anywhere from 5AM onwards, and there was even a period around the time that he turned two that he was waking up at 4:45AM, and ready to go, go, GO! 

I've never been a night owl, and now crawl into bed most nights with my book sometime around 9PM and fall asleep pretty much as soon as I turn off the light.  You'd think that with me getting somewhere between seven and eight hours of sleep a night, that I would feel fully rested and ready to bound out of bed and play with my toddler when he wakes up.  Nope.  Honestly, you can't explain it to someone who hasn't lived it, but I am still 100% exhausted every hour of the day.  All day.  Every day.

Since having a baby, I look tired all the time as well.  It's not all that easy to tell since I have thick brown frames on my glasses that hide all manner of sins.  Thank God.  The puffy, strained and bloodshot look is one that I rock every morning until about 10AM.  I have eye wrinkles on top of eye wrinkles that no amount of moisturizing will get rid of.

My fatigue is different than what it once was when my little guy was less than a year old.  Now it's a fatigue from staying at home with him, and chasing after a three year old from 5AM-7AM seven days a week.  There's no such thing as a weekend, per se.  I am lucky enough to have a husband who is completely involved and devoted to his son, and even with the extra set of hands, it's still busy, tiring and can also be really stressful.  There is no relief from responsibility on the weekends, let's just put it that way.  I am able to get more done on the weekends, but it means that I have to take time away from my family to do it (whatever it is, be it: cooking, cleaning, running errands, etc).

My son is now three and half years old, and to this day I am completely obsessed with sleep: his sleep and mine.  I think about his naps constantly, and worry what will happen when he no longer needs to nap at all.  I crave sleep just like an addict craves a fix.  Oh, and I am certainly a caffeine addict and have been for close to 4 years  Anyway, sleep is something that is on my mind a lot.  A lot.  Constantly.  Maybe more than is healthy and normal. 

All of this to say that there's a big difference between starting out your day the way you'd like to, and at your own pace than being jolted awake at 5:15AM by a child demanding to play with his train set.  I guess that's why I'm no longer a morning person...  And to those of you who ask a parent the question "Why?" after it comes up that they're tired: don't be surprised if you leave with a black eye or two.

Do you ever find yourself getting lumped into a category that you don't feel you belong in?  Like in high school, when you weren't quite cool enough to be part of the preppy crowd, because you drank too much?  Or when you couldn't really say you were athletic because you were too lazy and smoked too much?  How obvious is it that I'm referring to myself right now?

When I was younger, I remember thinking that my mom was SO old.  Like really old, and so were all of the other moms on the block, in the park and at the school drop off.  Friggin' ancient, and super boring.  You know the ones, right.  Well, I just realized that not only am I one of those same moms now, but when I had M, I was five years older than my mom was when she had me!  Yessir, I am officially part of the Mom Crowd.

But seriously, how can that be right?  I don't feel like a spring chicken or anything, but there are mornings when I literally do a double take when I look in the mirror.  Who is that old hag with the crusty eye snot staring back at me?  And why does she look like she could fall asleep standing up like a horse?

Good morning, y'all!

There's also how others perceive me as now.  When we moved to the suburbs a few years ago, one of my Welcome Wagon gifts was a free consultation with a personal trainer.  I was so excited, M was just about a year old and I was ready to take a step towards improved health.  Let's just say the trainer had obviously lumped me into the category of middle aged housewife and really couldn't wait for me to leave her office.  I was furious of course, but ended up letting her categorization of me define who I was.  So silly in hindsight.

When I get a chance to head out on my own, without M in tow, it is glorious and peaceful.   I look so forward to going shopping on my own and being able to take my time.  But a peculiar thing has happened to me in the last few years: even when I'm alone without my son, I am invisible to most people.  It's as if I literally don't exist when I'm shopping and can't seem to find a sales clerk to save my life.  Meanwhile, the teenagers dressed like whores are getting helped and catered to, and it burns me for a few minutes.  But then I think about it, and remember that I used to get attention when I was younger too(although likely not when I was a teenager, since I so was awkward and always drunk), and it's all good.

"If someone doesn't pay attention to me in the next two minutes, I swear to God I'm gonna spend my $5 elsewhere"

Taking a step back and putting things in perspective has helped me realize that everything has come full circle now that I'm nearing the Big 4-0... and that's exactly how it's supposed to be.  Am I as wrinkle free and energetic as I was in my twenties?  No, but I've finally put down roots with my little family and feel content.  Can I stay out at the pub into the wee hours drinking cider and smoking du Mauriers?  No, but warm little arms wrap themselves around my legs every morning while an excited voice says "Good morning, Mummy!".

I'm invisible to some people, but I'm the center of my son's world.  Which is exactly as it should be.

I know my 3 year old is not really out to get me. Sometimes however, this is what I believe he's thinking. Lol

I want my breakfast now!

You've make me my breakfast but yours looks better, so it's mine.

What do you mean I can't have it?

It's mine!

I want my flinestones vitamin.

I want another flinestones vitamin.

What do you mean I can only have one?I want more! 

Those are MY vitamins!

My toy fell off the table!

I need to scream about this! 

Oh the horror!

Screaming doesn't seem like quite enough. Perhaps throwing the toy at my mother will make everything better... Hmmm perhaps not. She looks pretty mad. I should scream some more. Perhaps louder with more whine and conviction in my tone. 

What do you mean I need to brush my teeth? Why?

But, I don't want to. 

These are MY teeth. I can do what I want with MY Teeth. 

Why are you upset that I just spit in your face? But, you told me to brush my teeth. Isn't spitting a part of this?

Ugh, I don't want to get dressed!

I'd rather run the other way until your face turns red, mommy. 

I think I'll steel the dog's toy now. 

Oh look at that, the dog is chasing me! Yay! 

Oh mom said the dog needs to go out.

I think it's best MY dog stays with me. Well, mom seems upset that MY dog is still chasing me. Oh man, look! THE dog just did her business on the floor! 

Mommy!!!! She peed!!

Clean up the pee on the floor, mommy!

Uh oh! Mommy seems upset. 

Perhaps I should scream.

I don't know how many times I've heard the term Supermom over the years.  But I never truly believed in any of the hype before I had a child of my own.  I guess our superpowers are innate, and come from bringing life into world.  Here's some of my own superpowers that I've cultivated over the last three and half years:

Gag Master

The ability not to gag and vomit at all of the disgusting things you see and clean and touch and have all over your face as a mom.  The last few months of my pregnant body prepared me quite well for this ability.   Pretty much every day of my last trimester, I found myself facing some new atrocity on my body that I'd never seen before.  And don't even get me started on the birthing process.
Anyway, as a mom I have witnessed so many nasty things but don't even bat an eye anymore.  From one of the first diaper changes when my son was a newborn when I realized that he was actually still shitting (thought that one was cute); to the vomiting when we decided to try to let him cry it out; to the shit on the carpet and the wall and inside our wicker garbage can when he decided to empty his own potty.  It's all good, as far as I'm concerned.  Now, ask me to change another kid's poopy diaper?  Not without gloves, that shit is nasty!

Octo-Mom

This one doesn't refer to Nadya Suleman, the crazy lady in the States who gave birth to eight babies, while already having six kids at home and being on welfare (but seriously, WTF???).  This ability is the extreme multitasking moms do. Making supper while on the phone booking your kid's next vaccinations, with your toddler on your hip singing songs and dancing to keep him from fussing?  Cake walk.  Carrying the newborn in from the car in his bucket seat, arms laden with your groceries and your colossal diaper bag, and your keys in your mouth?  It's a cinch!  BUT in my case, ask me to hold a thought in my head unrelated to my son or my house?  Not gonna happen.

Feign Queen

One of my favorites, the power to pretend to be interested in all manner of things while not giving a shit at all.  "Mommy look, I made a race car out of Lego with super turbines and six wheels" for literally the twenty second time in one day; having a "conversation" with another mom at the park, who is speaking AT you about the benefits of all children being in daycare (while composing your grocery and next Netflix binge-watching lists in your head); conversations with other moms about themselves and their perfect children where you don't have a chance to get a word in...  Honestly, I don't care about 90% of the conversations I have with people, but no one knows since I wield this superpower like it's nobody's business.

Automatic Pilot Mom

This one is surprising , in that it literally comes from nowhere as soon as your kids are born.  Tackling the day by day before I had my son on less than seven hours of sleep was inconceivable.  Once he was born however, I would find myself awake for weeks on end with ten minute power naps keeping me from dying.  And the thing is, you just keep going without stopping, because you don't have days off.  There is no "off switch" on kids (and god, do we ever wish there was some days), so the best thing to do is plaster a shit-eating grin on your face, chug your umpteenth coffee of the day and handle it.  I am literally amazed at what my body can do some days.

This shit's on Auto-Pilot!

From single moms everywhere dealing with bullshit exes every day; to moms whose partners are away for work for days on end; to moms who tackle things we can't even imagine; to the moms who struggle to keep it all together when they feel like they're losing it...  We are all moms, and we all work our asses off while our own needs very rarely come into the equation.  If that's not the very definition of a Superhero, I don't know what is.

Mommy wars, mommy shaming... the new buzz words in the Mommy Community.  But wow, is it ever real.  One of the biggest things that moms are judged on is how they feed their babies.  Those who feed their children formula are vilified by health organizations and other mothers.  Some women are made to feel embarrassed and ashamed of breastfeeding their children in public.  This has to end.  Jesus Christ, having a baby is the absolute hardest thing in the world.  Why do some people want to make it so much harder on others than it already is?

Bitches!

I'm going to share my own breastfeeding experience with you all.  To bring home the point that almost Everybody Struggles as a parent  to try to do the right thing . 

By far one of the most eye-opening and agonizing experiences I had in the first few days and weeks of being a mother was my attempt at breastfeeding my son. 

Let me start off by saying that I knew that if breastfeeding didn't work out for me, I wasn't going to try to be a hero.  I would have no problem feeding my son formula if necessary.  BUT, this was a decision that I was able to make before my son was actually born... before I was so sleep-deprived that I could fall asleep anywhere and anytime for the first time in my life... before the excruciating physical pain of trying to feed a newborn baby who clearly had no idea what he was doing and neither  did I...  Back when the idea of my baby was more a concept that anything else...

So back to the beginning.  My husband and I had attended prenatal classes to get ready for baby, a series of four or five classes organized by the local CLSC and lead by nurses.  The breastfeeding class was as informative as you imagine it would be, when the nurse animating the class definitely did not have children of her own that she had breastfed.  She had done her special project on breastfeeding as a nursing student, but she was about twenty with no kids.  Anyway, all of the expectant couples were given doll and a plush breast to practice a good latching technique.  After about five minutes, every single couple in the room was an expert and we were ready to go home and breastfeed our babies!!! 

Holy Propaganda much?!?

A few weeks later in the hospital, the first few hours after my son  M was born were a total haze.  There was so much anxiety, excitement, love, joy and awe going on in the both the delivery and recovery rooms that I have a really hard time remembering much about it.  I know that I practiced breastfeeding with the nurses and didn't have any success... but I was aware enough to know that it was all so hectic with people coming and going and visiting and god knows what else, chances are that it might be easier at home.

It wasn't.  I mean, it really wasn't...  I became engorged two days after M was born, and it was so uncomfortable and so, so, so painful.  I tried to use the manual breast pump that I'd bought (NEVER EVER BUY A MANUAL ONE!!), but nothing came out and I only succeeded in chafing my already bleeding nipples.  My son was cluster feeding all night, and on my breasts in one way or another non-stop for about five hours.  The pain involved in trying to get him to latch literally made my toes curl...  but I thought it was normal, since we were told it would be very uncomfortable in the beginning and there was bound to be a learning curve for both mom and baby.

After two days at home, my right breast was still hard as a rock and no amount of feeding seemed to help.  And I was in so much pain.  My breasts were killing me,  both nipples were scabbed and bleeding, and since I couldn't do anything other than sit in the rocking chair and try to feed my son, by nether regions were taking a beating from all the sitting.  We rented an hospital-grade breast pump from the pharmacy to try and stimulate my milk production.  And we decided to call a lactation consultant to try to figure this breastfeeding business out once and for all.

The lactation consultant we called was able to come over pretty much right away, which was a huge relief.  The first thing she said was that my son had a very obvious tongue-tie situation going on, and she was surprised that it wasn't picked up on in the hospital.  Basically, his tongue was too short to be able to latch on properly.  And then she said "Has anyone ever told you that you have pretty flat nipples?  It's one of the reasons that your baby is having a tough time latching on".  Um, nope... I can't say that anyone has ever commented on my flat nipples before... 

She felt around both breasts, and told me that I had severe duct blockage in my right breast.  She made it her mission to unblock my ducts through massage.  Believe it or not, it actually worked... it took a long time, probably almost an hour or so of her rubbing and pulling my breast this way and that.  You'd think that I would be embarrassed to have a woman I didn't know from Adam massaging my bare breast, but I wasn't at all.  I didn't care about anything other than fixing the problem, and my dignity had disappeared when I was lying on a hospital bed spread-eagled delivering my son.

We ended up making an appointment to get my son's tongue tie fixed.  The procedure went well, and he was fine pretty much right away.  Still, as much as I kept trying, the breast feeding was not going as I thought it would be, after having spent literally hundreds of dollars on a breast pump, a lactation consultant and fixing my son's tongue tie. 

In fact, over the next few days I developed mastitis in my right breast and was put on a course of antibiotics to clear it up.  Because I'd been on antibiotics during the delivery, I think it was all too much for my exhausted and run down body.  So my system couldn't seem to process the antibiotics, and I developed an all over rash pretty much immediately.  The rash was red and ugly, but that didn't even bother me all that much.  Like I said, my dignity was gone and I'd looked like shit for almost three weeks at this point anyway.  But the rash was itchy.  Really itchy.  And it was all over my body, including inside my poor bruised and battered and stitched lady parts... which I couldn't scratch because of the stitches.

Looking back, I think that the rash was my body's way of saying: " Wake up, sister!!!!  Stop this insanity now!!"!  I couldn't handle my son being on my breasts once the rash cropped up, so I stopped breastfeeding him altogether them.  I did keep pumping for about a month afterwards and feeding him my pumped milk, hooked up to the machine while wearing a homemade contraption using a sports bra with nipple holes cut out so that I could pump both breasts at once, probably about five times a day.  After six weeks, I was done and we switched to formula.  It was the best decision that I'd made since my son was born.

All of this to say that as much as I'd decided I would be OK with bottle feeding prior to having my baby, that was a decision that was in no way based in reality.  There was no way that I could have predicted how hard it would be to feed my son, and how much guilt I would have because of it.  I felt wholly 100% responsible for not being able to feed my son in the way that was supposed to be "easy and natural... the most natural thing in the word". 

The only thing I was able to do for the first six weeks of his life was try to stay on top of feeding him in one way or another.  I didn't have the energy for anything else, since it was the only thing that I was doing: either trying and failing to get him to latch onto me, or hooking myself up to the breast pump and praying that I would produce enough milk to feed him.  The only way that I can even bring myself to write about it is almost to detach myself from the experience.  Those first few weeks were absolutely heart breaking.  I didn't enjoy being a new mom.  I wasn't able to fully appreciate each and every moment of M's first few weeks. 

Throughout the whole ordeal, my husband was my rock.  He did whatever I needed him to do: from anything at all that would get the milk production going, to doing everything to keep the house running smoothly.  He massaged my breasts while I was pumping to get the milk flowing, he held me while I sobbed, he ran to the pharmacy to get Benadryl in the middle of the night when I developed a reaction to the antibiotics.  I was completely unprepared for how all-consuming and completely overwhelming breast feeding would be for me, and he helped me to see a light at the end of the tunnel.  Thank god for him, seriously.

Why would this story be something that I would want to write about and share with a bunch of friends and blog readers?  I guess it's because I was completely unprepared for just how bad it could get... nobody told me that it was possible for a woman to try literally 24 hours a day to feed her child and still not succeed.  Nobody told me how I would be completely immersed in Mom Guilt 24/7, so that the idea of switching to formula was equal to failing my child.  Nobody told me that it was possible for my body to literally shut down from exhaustion and not be able to process medication designed to help it.  That's the thing: Nobody Tells You!!!

After sharing my story with a few other moms, I've come to realize that difficulties breastfeeding are a hell of a lot more common than we realize.  It makes me sad to now know that there was probably a whole bunch of women in similar situations to mine feeling as incompetent, frustrated and alone as I was.  I wish that more women were comfortable talking about their baby and child-related issues, so that we could support one another and confide in each other without judgment.   For every person who told me I was nuts to keep trying to breastfeed in the face of so much failure, there were another ten who told me that "Breast Is Best", and that my son would not reach his full potential if he was formula-fed. 

I'm not here to advocate for one way to feed our children over another.  If you chose to breastfeed your children, more power to you!  If you choose to breastfeed your children and it comes easily and naturally, you are truly blessed.  But if you decide that you'd rather feed your baby formula, then that decision is yours alone to make.  Maybe you 've tried and it doesn't work, or maybe you'd just rather not.  I don't think it's in anyone's interest to pass judgment on someone's very personal decision.  Or at least, it shouldn't be.

When I see new moms in Walmart, shopping with a completely glazed look in their eyes, staring at the Folgers display for three full minutes, I want to tell them that I get it.  So many of us have been there, and so many of us know exactly how they're thinking and feeling.  It's just a matter of talking about it, and normalizing it so that we as moms don't feel alone.  And instead of putting each other down, let's stand together and support each other on the epic journey of motherhood. 

Hang on to you granny panties ladies, 'cause it's gonna be one hell of a bumpy ride!

 

Those of you who have been reading our blog have probably noticed two things:

1. We are hilarious (obviously)
2. We are bitter (obviously)

I've been thinking of how and when to talk about something that I struggled with for the first year or so of M's life.  I had post-partum depression, and it was everything and everywhere.  It was there first thing in the morning when my beautiful newborn son woke up to feed; it was there at lunch time when I struggled to seem put together and "normal" in front of my new mom friends; it was there when I fell into bed exhausted at 7:30PM and cried myself to sleep.

Right?

How do you put into words something (that luckily is becoming more talked about) that we don't feel comfortable sharing with others?  I've been wondering who would read about this blanket of darkness that some new moms struggle with, and also asking myself if anyone would care.  But that's not really the point, is it?  The point is that if just one mom reads the following article and can relate to it, then that's all that matters.  I questioned if I could, and also if I should, share something so personal with my friends, most of whom had no idea that I was struggling.  But again, that's not really the point, now is it?

Here's an article I found on Scary Mommy's website by Janelle Hanchet: http://www.scarymommy.com/new-mom-misery/  From the beginning to the end of the article, I found myself thinking: "That's me.  Exactly.  Me.".  So thank you Janelle for having the courage to talk about what most of us don't, and thank you for putting into words what I could not.  If you can find five minutes to read her article, it will be worth it.

No matter how overwhelming and scary it can seem: we are not alone.  Ask for help.  When the CLSC nurse comes to your house a few days after the baby is born and asks how you're doing: don't lie and pretend everything is OK if it's not (like I did).  Take people up on their offers of help.  Don't try to be superwoman and do it all, because you can't and you don't have to.

The light really and truly is right around the corner.

How many of us are trying to start the new year off by trying to be better at something?  I sure am, the list of what I feel I can improve on is pretty long.  I figure if I can tackle things one at a time, I just might make myself happier... I wish I had the dedication to start something life changing like Gretchen Rubin's "Happiness Project" (have you read it?   Do it!!), but between juggling raising a toddler and trying to get my shit together...  well, let's just say that lower expectations might lead to a happier and more stable state of mind

1. Eat Better & Exercise

This is a no-brainer for me.  I work out regularly, and I love to break a sweat.  Unfortunately, I also eat like a pig every day.  So all the hard work amounts to nothing in gains.  For example, I've already had one slice of chocolate cake today.  Perhaps I won't have a second.  Seems reasonable, but time will tell.  I guess it's a matter of math in my case: eat less, weigh less!  Sadly, I suck at math. 


Mere minutes before I literally induced my own Food Coma

2. Spend More Time Doing What I Enjoy

Seems easy enough, but it really is hard to make time for yourself when there's so much going on all the time.  My son stays home with me, so the day is full of playing with him.  Plus cleaning.  Plus meal preparation.  Plus errands.  By the time naptime rolls around, it's all I can do to lie on the couch and check Facebook.  Like right now. 


Indeed

BUT, the more effort I makefor myself, the happier I am.  Even if it's just heading out to the library for half an hour with M and then reading a few pages of a new book while he's engrossed in Lego once we get home.  The time that I have with M at home before he starts school in a couple of years is precious.  However, I've finally realized that my own state of mind is precious too.  So whether it be taking the extra thirty seconds to grind fresh coffee beans (thank you, Teena), or plunking M down in front of the TV so I can actually blow dry my hair: if it makes me feel good, it just might be worth it.  If mummy's not happy, ain't nobody happy!

3. Acceptance

(a) As much as I do want to get back myself more on track with my eating, I'm trying my best to let go of the unrealistic expectations I have about my ideal body.  When Hubs and I met, I was living alone and working three jobs, with both disposable income and time to spare.  I was thin and strong, well-groomed and pretty fabulous (obviously).  I need to remind myself that I may no longer be as thin as I was, but I'm still strong as hell.  I grew a baby inside of me!!!  Let all of us mommies shout it from the rooftops: "WE GREW A HUMAN BEING INISDE OUR BELLIES!!!"!!  My body will never look like it did before I had my son - and I'm learning to go with it.  Unrealistic expectations lead to disappointments, and I'm just not into it anymore.  And honestly, I'm almost forty and I don't think I look bad at all.
(b) It's not all about managing my weight and clean eating and all the rest of it.  I'm not religious, but I truly DO want to have the serenity to accept the things I cannot change in my life: awkward relationships with different people in my life; strained familial dynamics; wanting the best for my friends despite them being in difficult situations; etc. etc., etc.  I can either drive myself crazy worrying and analyzing, or I can accept it all and move forward.  Challenging for sure, but I could use a bit of serenity, so I'll keep trying.

4. Purge

Now, this doesn't refer to the purging I used to do in my twenties when I would drink too many pints of cider at the pub (Ah, the Good Old Days!  Yeah, I say that now...so what?!?).  Or even in my early (mid) thirties, truth be told.

Don't judge - we've all been there, right?  Right?!?

This is what I'm calling my acts of letting go.  The stuff that you hang onto, and hang onto and then hang onto some more that doesn't do you any good?  Yeah, that's what I'm talking about.
For me, this means a LOT of things need to be kicked to the curb.  I hang on to a lot of baggage, grudges, people and material stuff.  I have clothes in the back of my drawers from when Hubs and I were dating and I was a size 4.  I have "friendships" with people who make me feel like shit every single time I see them.  I hold a grudge on the first girl to ever break my brother's heart twenty-five years ago - and I'm not even kidding!  What good can any of this stuff be doing me?  I need an extra strength colonic to get rid of this toxicity!  Maybe all of the purging will make me feel lighter - it certainly used to.

So I think that's about it as far as my resolutions go.  It actually felt cathartic to write them down, and I feel as though I'm more accountable now.  But I'm pretty tired too.  Time for another slice of chocolate cake and some Facebook stalking?