Beach bumz

Can we go back here now please? OKAY THANKS.

c + h + c + beach
{Cait, me, my sister}


Pi's new milestones

So I PROMISE a Michigan post (actually, two) will be up soon but first, hi, I'm back in Beantown, and second, PIUS ROLLED OVER!

He's not quite 4.5 months old now, and he's been THISCLOSE for several weeks. So on Friday when I was at his house, I was on the floor with him and trying to get him to roll over and HE DID! HE ROLLED! Back to front, rolling to the left, nanny's little genius boy! He rolled over FIVE TIMES after that. I'm calling Harvard -- this kid needs to apply STAT.

(He also figured out how to start sucking his thumb on Friday, which is entirely the most adorable thing EVER.)

These kind of nanny moments are bittersweet for me. I'm thrilled beyond thrilled that Pi rolled over (except oh shit, now he's mobile, HALP). But I'm also really sad for his mom and dad, who were both working when it happened and didn't get to see.

Likewise, when my nanny girls A. and E. took their first steps, I was there. I've witnessed new words, new milestones, lost teeth...so many things. And I'm so happy to be there for those experiences, but also sad knowing that if I was the mama or the daddy I'd be devastated I wasn't there.

I have no clue if this makes sense at all, cause it's 7:46 a.m. and I'm procrastinating getting ready for work and (HORROR OF HORRORS) there is no coffee in the apartment (I KNOW) but I did want to brag on my little Pi-boy for a bit. He makes me smile every day, and I just. love. him. SO. MUCH.


Numbers (don't) lie

Sooooooo. I've never been good with numbers. Or at math. Which is one of the main reasons I ended up at DreamSchool — no math! #WINNING!

However, the lovely presence of a certain eating disorder in my life has brought numbers back with a vengeance. I tally calories EVERYWHERE — in the margins of books, on my phone, on random slips of paper, on my fingers. I'm obsessive about knowing exactly what's in my body. Those numbers...I deal with, because if I know numbers-wise what's in my body, I'm less stressed (read: cray-cray).

But there's another area where things just don't (excuse the pun! or don't!) add up.

From my highest weight, during my senior year of high school, until last Thursday (when I last weighed myself), I've lost 49 pounds.

I've lost a good 25 of those since January of this year.

SO. I know, I know, logically I'm smaller than I used to be. I've lost weight. *None* of my clothes fit me anymore (but I'm too terrified and broke to buy more). I've seen my jeans decrease 8 sizes in four years, and I need a size smaller than I currently have, but again, am too scared (and broke) to buy them. I'm smaller. That's inarguable.


I don't see it. I look at my body, and I honestly, honestly, honestly cannot see it. I still see my fat inner thighs, my wide hips, and my bulky stomach. I still see my flabby arms and my chipmunk cheeks.

(And I also panic, thinking where the hell I used to store 49 extra pounds. IS FUN.)

Tomorrow I leave for our yearly trip to Michigan to see family. I absolutely can't wait — I haven't seen my parents and sister in entirely too long. But...Michigan also means two things:

1) going to the beach. Which means wearing a swimsuit. HOLY HELL.

2) I'm petrified that my extended family (aunts, uncles, grandparents) will make comments on my body or my weight. I honestly don't think I could handle that. Anytime anyone says ANYTHING about my body (including compliments) I nearly have an anxiety attack. And there's also my new tattoo which, for some reason, I'm perfectly happy to explain to strangers but can't fathom explaining to my aunts and uncles.

One thing I'm beyond grateful for is that I'm going with my best friend. I can't wait for that.

So. It's frustrating, knowing numbers-wise I'm not the same size I was several years ago. But not, for the life of me, being able to see that.

Here's me at my heaviest, hiding behind my cousin:

And here's me a few weeks ago (photo taken by Cait:

I know there's a difference. I know there is. I just can't see it.

On a "how am I doing with my eating disorder" note, I'm doing pretty well. Every day is a struggle, without question — but I've made a huge amount of progress in fighting it (thank you god for my amazing, amazing therapist). I'm fighting. I'm not perfect, but I'm fighting.


...and it's a...

BOY! C's mommy delivered a healthy TEN POUND baby boy this morning! I'm thrilled to have another little boy to love on :)

charley grins!