When does our whole body image go awry? Having a daughter has made me think about this quite often - and not because I'm not worried about Jack, but because I know the agony of being a girl. Being a girl is ridiculously hard - it has to be worse than being a boy. Boys don't examine their cellulite in the mirror (Frankly because they are far less likely to get it due to fat cell make-up or something. Assholes.) and stare at their naked bodies, mentally examining and critiquing every inch of skin (maybe just one piece of skin, but let's not go there). There's no pressure on guys to be a certain body type, to regain their figure after having children, or stop traffic in a bikini. It's impossible not to be insecure about your body in a world where exercise, weight, and perfect bodies are thrown in our faces every day. And try as I might, those things are impossible to ignore. I look at people obsessing over exercise and food and I get so angry thinking there's more to life! Then I sit back and realize I do the same thing - I just don't advertise it.

I think about ways to save Charlotte from having the hideous body image that I do and I'm not sure how to do it. My mom never seemed negative about her body and certainly was never negative about mine. I thought my issues began in college, but really it was high school. My summer softball teammates had a tendency count the fat grams in everything...a habit I picked up quickly. I'd pick cheese off of everything to avoid extra fat. Even pizza. I'd eat fat free everything (which we know is super healthy these days) and if I thought I had eaten too much, I'd go run an extra mile or two in addition to whatever workout I may have done before.

In college, everyone is skinny and pretty. They have perfect skin. I'd stare at these gorgeous girls with their tiny bodies and I know I reeked of jealousy. What was wrong with me? I had the wrong clothes, the wrong everything. The only thing going my way was that I was blond. I hated my big boobs. I couldn't get a guy to notice me - which, let's face it - at that time in a girl's life, it's important. I'd get glammed up for a night out and see pictures later - only to wonder what the hell I was thinking wearing that outfit looking the way I did.

Cut to a several years later and I'm married with two gorgeous kids. I should feel amazing about these two wondrous creatures. I love my babies but my body is another story. The thing is, I'm smaller than I was then. Does it get worse as we get thinner? Is there more pressure to maintain? I didn't want to be the wife "let herself go", or the woman who couldn't get the baby weight off. All I know is that I hate the guilt I feel after a big meal or having to miss a workout. I hate having to put in an extra 30 minutes or more just to make up for it. I hate feeling like shit the minute I take a bite, thinking what it's doing to my body. Is this an eating disorder? Body dysmorphia? I will examine every flaw, refusing to see the good. My belly is too soft, my thighs aren't muscular enough. My arms are too flabby, my butt and boobs are sagging. Just when I find something I think is passable, the goggles start creeping back on and I change my mind. I wonder if sometimes it doesn't matter... are we destined to have the bodies we have no matter what?

I definitely don't have a problem eating but maybe that's it? I feel so guilty because I have no willpower. I can work out all day long but can't motivate myself to stop eating when I'm full or when I know I've eaten enough calories to feed a small village. Do I have to survive on lettuce and ice chips just to lose a pound or two? I think it gets worse because I compare myself to others and constantly size myself up against other women. I never mentally criticize others - it's always me beating myself up. I want to nail down exactly why we do this to ourselves and how it can get better. I'm not even sure it's a weight/body issue as much as maybe it's something else. Something is missing that's not completing the picture (wise words spoken by my sister in a rant). I think we could lose 30 pounds, 10 pounds, 70 pounds and if something isn't right, it won't matter. We'll still be trying to figure it out. One thing I do know is that I'm going to try to make Charlotte as healthy and positive as I can about herself and hope that maybe some of it will come back around my way.

Happy 2011, folks...here we go.

Jack is in his fifth month of preschool and continues to enjoy it but never shares what he does. When we ask he simply says, "I played." I guess that's what you do at age three in preschool, but I know there's more because I've seen various art projects - a stocking, star, turkey, bear mask, ornaments, and countless other goodies that I pull out of his bag in a rumpled mess. He has two best buddies and I wonder if he chats his teachers up like he does everyone else? He is full of hot air and he's getting a bit of a temper. We're trying to fix that...I find myself having nights where I swear all I do is yell at him...probably not helping matters. I hate those nights - and feel like the worst parent ever. He's also tenderhearted, wild, sweet, anal, and extremely witty. For example, in trouble, I say, "No more arguing. Stop." To which he says, "but I was going to tell you I love you." The get out of jail free card. Or: "Jack, sit down and eat your dinner, you are going to fall out of your chair and get hurt." "But I was going to come give you a hug and a kiss." An answer for everything, he's taking after his mother, which could be to his detriment! The majority of his traits that make a mother crazy are from me, so maybe I should do a 180...

I can no longer keep up with Charlotte. She's climbing on chairs, desks, tables, benches, toilets...she has fallen off chairs so the lesson about letting her fall (or something) does not apply. She cries for a minute, hops back up and goes again. I turn my back for one second and she's on the kitchen table, playing with a screwdriver I'd left out from when I was removing light covers the night before. I look down to put on my shoes and she's on top of the toilet tank or teetering between the seat and the counter. I've removed furniture, rearranged, stacked and somehow she still finds a way to the top of the heap. She loves to dance in the backseat with Jack and the key to her heart is through her stomach. Any mention of food and she's all yours. Any mention of leaving and she's at the closet waiting for her coat and putting her hands on her head and saying, "hat!". So smart, but Jack does enough talking for the both of them. Their differences are fun to see...but at this age Jack was talking like a big kiddo and she's just saying a few words and that's difficult at times, but I think we can generally figure her out. She loves to sit on my lap and look at books - she roars and oinks (which is really just panting) and is getting smarter by the minute.

They are exhausting and fun and silly and I love them. I am thrilled to say we purchased a shiny new Nikon and pictures will be more abundant now. Or maybe not - I have 600 on the camera and none of them have made it to the computer...so I'll take more and do even less posting, probably. The weekend is here and the kids and I are in for a painting party, snowmen, and possibly some cookies added to the mix. Hubby's new job with youth sports has him working Saturday basketball so mama is going to have to start getting creative! See you soon, all!