Tag: Mom Life

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Mom Life

Can I Really be a Pinterest Mom?

Photo by micheile henderson on Unsplash

I so badly want to be a Pinterest mom. Not badly enough to stress myself out and ignore my own rest breaks, but badly enough.

I love looking up cute holiday crafts to do with my daughter, or for when we have playdates. I love balloon arches. I love the little wooden toddler knife I bought her. I love the tiny footprints I had made when she was an itty bitty newborn. I love scrolling Pinterest to find cute things to do and cute décor for every occasion.

What I don’t love is the pressure.

The pressure to have to do these things. To look like a good mother if I cut her food into cute shapes. For some, it helps those picky eaters. For most, it’s just more damn work on an already busy day. Every time I see pancakes in the shape of candy canes or snowmen, I think I could totally do that. Then, I wonder why I would take the time only for her to eat it in three seconds, demanding more. Pancakes are like cocaine to toddlers.

Maybe my comparison there is why I can never be a Pinterest mom.

Sure, I can put in the extra work and make things more things special in her life. But, could I mentally handle it? Probably not.

I’m a big fan of mixing things, though. When she was a baby, I breastfed and formula fed. I’m a stay at home mom, but she also goes to her grandparents two days of the week so I can write (and, to be honest, take a break). I plan fun parties with tons of balloons, streamers, AND a balloon arch, but we don’t have 1,000 activities or so much specialized décor I’m stressing the entire time. She gets healthy snacks for school packaged in a bento box, complete with little appetizers picks (I found this was great for her to keep her hands a little cleaner when eating certain foods), but there are also gushers or just a buttered piece of bread some days.

As she’s gotten older, I’ve realized that I can do the Pinteresty things without going fully overboard. I can buy a 3 foot Christmas tree for her room, let her pick out decorations, and decorate it. I don’t need to make every decorate, or have it be themed (what’s the fun in that for a child, anyways?). I can bake the cookies with the fancy sprinkles and try a new recipe, but I don’t need to make frozen whipped cream snowmen for hot chocolates.

I can save the receiving blankets and sleep sacks of hers, but maybe wait until she’s a little older (and thus giving me more time to do projects) to finish the quilt. I can have the aesthetically pleasing wooden toys and hand-made items, but also the plastic toys that make wild amounts of noise.

I can protect my time because who is going to make these crafts with her if I’m too stressed from the one last week? I can take a little bit of everything, like I love to do, and go at my own pace, making sure to keep my own sanity.

Until I get caught up in the next fun Pinterest project.

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Life

Working Through the Brain Sludge

Photo by Mikhail Nilov on Pexels.com

I’ve been at this writing thing for quite some time. I used to scribble stories in journals when I was younger. I’d write down my feelings and day-to-day happenings in my diary, something that wasn’t always as fun as telling stories. Maybe that’s why I got bored of the regular lifestyle blogging that pulls so many in. I don’t care about the day-to-day activities or hashing about it all every. single. day. I love stories.

But, what happens when your brain suddenly turns off and it’s impossible to tell any type of story? It’s been weeks since I’ve posted on here, mainly due to sickness just before Christmas and then the excitement of the holidays. Though ours weren’t particularly packed with plans, I felt content with the few things we had on our calendar and the rest of time was taken up with relaxing, family outings, and cleaning.

Eventually, my basement will be clean and more useable. Maybe even cute and not filled with stacks of crap everywhere. Eventually.

But, as my English professor used to say after every 10 minutes…I digress.

The start of the fall had me feeling on top of the world. I had got going on this blog, hoping to reach a few people, maybe – eventually – make a little bit of money from it. I started a business with my pal, Sarah, doing editing and writing projects (psst it’s juniperandoakediting.ca if you want to check it out). I added two more books to my name on Amazon, bringing the Baby Paris series to a close, but ready to create more travel kid’s books.

It was all feeling great. I had the motivation. I, somehow, had the time. And then….

Well, it all kind of took a turn. I couldn’t seem to think of anything to say. Everything sounded forced and stupid and just…not right. Luckily, I had an arsenal of posts already written and at the ready to go live. But, I was feeling incomplete. I had no more outlet for my creative feelings, feelings that were still living inside of me, but were being tamped down with so many other things.

Social media scrolling. Toddler shenanigans. Sickness. Busyness cleaning. TV watching. Imposter Syndrome.

My mind was constantly running. Even at the gym, I started playing mahjong on the elliptical instead of mindlessly staring out the window. I stopped listening to music at the gym, stopped reading books while on the bike. I wanted to just take a minute to free my brain, but somewhere in all the messiness that is life I couldn’t let it happen.

I used to meditate before bed. I would meditate in the evening or the morning, sometimes sitting on the dock of my pond before I went to work. I haven’t even tried to get back into that rhythm. Though it would look very different with a toddler about, and I could probably only get a good meditation in before bed, I didn’t even try. I had been in survival mode since my daughter was born and kind of didn’t think to get out of it.

Though I haven’t felt the need to go to bed at 7pm just so I could get more sleep, or take multiple naps during the day, or feel so touched out that I just sit and stare at a wall for 10 minutes every night, I still wasn’t doing what I wanted. Or, rather, doing things that matter to me. Because I’ve been doing what I wanted: watching TV, seeing friends every so often, scrolling, making travel plans. And, doing things that I thought I should do: cleaning the house, working as much as I could to get a business off the ground, posting here, but not really feeling it the last month.

I’ve been doing things, but just nothing that truly matters. And, it’s been affecting my brain. How I’ve been feeling.

I sort of made some New Years’ resolutions, even though I don’t really like them. I think it’s better to make changes to your life when you need it, rather than a list of things you think you should be doing just because the clock has struck midnight on the previous year. My resolutions are less list-y and nothing is centered around weight loss (such a population resolution), they’re more of things I’m going to continue working on in my life.

I’m going to just go for it all. I’ve been stuck in Imposter Syndrome for a long, long time. I was worried that I wasn’t as cool as other bloggers out there when I was working on The LT Edit and I didn’t go hard enough on it. I haven’t hit my writing goals because I’m afraid that if I’ll fail. I struggled with starting my business because I was worried it would fail.

What silly thoughts that kept me from achieving success. This blog isn’t the same as my previous lifestyle one, but maybe it’ll morph into something different over time. Right now, it’s for me to tell stories, and for people to (hopefully!) enjoy them. I’m not going to worry about sounding silly, or whether or not I’m cool enough to blog. I’m just going to do it.

I’m going to go for my writing goals. Work on it and just do it. I was worried my business would fail, and while we’re not making millions, we’re just starting out with lots of room to grow. I was worried about publishing a children’s book, but every time someone buys it I get excited. We definitely haven’t hit any high sales, but I did it. I have an author page on Amazon and GoodReads and that’s pretty fucking cool.

I’m going to be more chill about things and try to worry less. Last year saw a lot of growth in my therapy for OCD. I want to continue to work on that and become less anxious. It’ll be what it’ll be.

And, lastly…

I want to be myself, again. Motherhood is hard and you end up losing yourself along the way. While I’ll never be the same person I was two years ago, I can do the things that I enjoy. Which means a trip to Paris with friends, no husband or child (something I’ve excited and nervous for!). It means making cute outfits just for the grocery store. It means indulging in things I used to love (like ordering a FabFitFun box, again. I stopped because products contained palm oil, but it looks like they’ve moved to cleaner products. We will see how it goes). It means working out, going outside more, gardening, and meditating.

We need to let our minds wander a bit as creative souls. Being so ‘ON’ all the time is exhausting. If we don’t get bored every so often, or quiet our thoughts down, how are we going to pick out the good ones?

So, I’m going to focus on letting my mind wander. I’m going to do things just because they bring me unfettered joy. I’m going to post things and not worry about if it’s rambling or stupid or if anyone will read it. Because it feels right. Hopefully, something exciting comes out of it all. And, if not, at least I’ll be beyond happy.

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migraine life Mom Life

Stress, Self-Care, and Finding a Way out of the Storm

Photo by Hassan OUAJBIR on Pexels.com

I wrote most of this a few years ago, and man, did SO much happen since. Lots of great stuff, then a pandemic changing everything, pregnancy, my now 2 year old daughter. I can pin-point what was happening that made me write this, but it also holds true for times during the pandemic AND into motherhood. The idea that there isn’t enough time to do anything, and the world feels like it’s crumbling is something most of us have become accustomed to. Anyways, here’s my old take on a different type of self-care routine, and how it looks very similar to my self-care routine as a busy mom.

I’m a big believer in Self-Care. Most of what you see on your feed and magazines is all about masks and bubble baths and going to get your nails done, but that’s not the type of self-care I’m talking about. Yes, those all help if that’s your jam (and you can afford the extras), but it’s not the self-care that hits home for me. My self-care includes those things, but a little more, like acupressure mats, nature, meditation, and therapy.

The stress of trying to do everything all at once is crushing us. Pursuing our dreams, working a 9-5 if our dreams have not yet been realized, being the best partner, being the best friend, being the best parent, being the best mentally and physically. PLUS keep a work-life balance AND look good on Instagram? Impossible. Where do we fit in the time for self-care if we’re doing so much to achieve all of the above? Where do we fit in the time to just sit and stare at a TV and decompress?

As a migraine sufferer and someone with extremely high anxiety, I am all for self-care. I think it’s wonderful to sit down at the end of the day with a face mask and read before bed, giving myself that extra time to do what I love instead of chores or work (even if that work is my passion). It’s amazing to take a meditation session on the dock on my pond, listening to the birds chirp and the grasses and leaves blow in the breeze. That’s my self-care. I use it as a preventative ‘medicine’ coupled with my real medicine to keep my migraines at bay and myself sane.

A lot of people take self-care a little too seriously and a little too far (see: calling into work ‘sick’ or bailing on friends because you’re feeling a little stressed and ‘deserve’ a spa day). We’ve gone from having a hard time saying no to anything to thinking we need to say no to everything. At least, that’s the consensus on Instagram posts.

Feeling like we’re having to do absolutely seemingly has caused us to burn the fuck out and backtrack. But, in order to get back on track we’ve begun to think that we need entire days, weekends, weeks, of doing all of these amazingly blissful things. Obviously caught on camera, because then it doesn’t count.

But, here’s the thing: you can get through it. Without the full spa days and the binge-watching or the numerous yoga sessions. Are they amazing? Yes. Has a festival changed my entire life after putting things into perspective and allowing me to just breathe? Also, yes. But, we can’t be heading off to festivals every single weekend, or month. At least, I sure as hell can’t.

These last two months have been horrible and amazing. So many great things happened, so many things to celebrate and be happy for. An equal amount of terrible things have happened that made our lives busier, more stressful, and shook us. I’m penning this post the day after the storm has ended. There’s still a straggler stressing me out, causing me grief, but the busy schedule and the don’t-stop-keep-going is over.

Guys, I didn’t think I’d make it. Not in a suicidal sense, but in a sense that my body and mind was about to give up and I’d have a nervous break-down. It was too much to handle and one thing after the other kept piling up (much like my laundry and my kitchen table during these last two months). I had written in my notebook at work, usually kept to make lists of things to do that day, that I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t keep going. I was starting to break, but I couldn’t show it because there was too much going on, both wonderful and horrible, that I needed to make it through, enjoying what I could.

Looking at the words today, I’m surprised by how broken I had felt. I don’t feel that way anymore; I feel as if I can take on the next big issue and work through it without falling to pieces over something as simple as an e-mail (which had happened in the last couple months). I definitely know that all of that stress wasn’t healthy for me, that some of the food choices I made in the quick minute I had weren’t the best, that skipping a de-stressing routine wasn’t doing me any favours. And, of course, that only added to my stress.

So, where does self-care come in through all of this? It does, and it doesn’t. I didn’t do as much yoga (really, barely any), I didn’t meditate as much as I should have, I didn’t spend mornings or evenings reading on the deck, enjoying those beautiful sunsets I love so much. But, I did sneak in 5-10 minutes on the dock, just listening to nature and letting my feelings be heard and start to work themselves out, unraveling the little balls of stress my brain was storing.

I stretched out my neck and did a sun salutation or two, resulting in a 3 minute yoga session. Not 30 minutes or an hour, like normal. I put on a face mask and read for 30 minutes before bed at the start of my most hectic weekend, carving out just that small amount of time specifically for a minute of solitude and comfort. I wrote down my stress and my feelings while at work to keep myself going. It wasn’t the ‘normal’ self-care that everyone talks about.

The hours, or days, that I must take to self-actualize and regenerate. It was 2 minutes here, 5 minutes there, 30 seconds on some days. It was catching my breath to ensure that I could keep working on the tasks at hand. It was the idea that, eventually, everything would right itself – it had to – and that the little stresses barely registered. I used what little time I had to sneak in sessions to just breathe and right my brain.

While the stress and schedule isn’t feasible in the long term, I now know that I can get through insanely busy and stressful times by sneaking in time for myself, even if it’s not as long as it normally is. And, because I finally have one, an extra session with my therapist. The ultimate self-care.

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Mom Life

Living with that Mom Belly

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A woman’s weight. You’d think we’d be over this obsession, this thought that it is more than her worth, that it makes up her worth, and yet…

There’s nothing like putting your body through an absolute wringer. Getting pregnant, watching as your belly swells and all kinds of crazy shit happens to your body. People compliment you, tell you how beautiful you look, how you’re absolutely ‘glowing’. They cherish your body, worship it for bringing life into this world. And then, the birth comes and a month or two passes and it’s no longer beautiful. It’s no longer worshipped for bringing life into this world. It’s viewed at as disgusting, as lazy, as the thought that the ‘wife’ let herself go, that her husband must be just beside himself with disappointment that his partner’s body has not ‘snapped back’ yet.

There is so much that happens to your body when you’re pregnant, it’s wild. From organs rearranging themselves to your uterus expanding, to your brain, basically, short-circuiting itself, it’s a wonder why anyone would call pregnancy, and the days after birth anything but extraordinary. The fact that my body makes actual food is insane. Bodies are like that. They’re mind-blowingly extraordinary and wonderful.

We need to start thinking of our bodies in those terms. Extraordinary. Wonderful. Think about what your body has done for you today. Think about everything it has done for you in the past, whether it’s getting pregnant and birthing a whole damn human, or you’re participating in a triathalon. Bodies. Are. Extraordinary.

Unfortunately, the mass media and social standards we have adhered to for decades thinks otherwise. Yes, there seems to be a pretty big shift in how bodies are viewed nowadays, as people become more comfortable in their skin, but we’re not there yet. We’re not in the place where we can sit and love and our bodies unconditionally, never worrying about stretch marks (which happen to everyone, whether or not you’ve gotten pregnant), never worrying about cellulite (anyone remember the early 2000s? As a teenager — a fucking teenager — I was using anti-cellulite cream on my thighs so as not to look dimply), never worrying about a soft belly and a belly button indent showing through a skirt, dress, or shirt.

We have fallen in love with women of all shapes and sizes, and yet, when it comes to our bodies after birth, we revert back to those stupid social standards we’ve obsessed over. We wonder why our body is so squishy, as our baby nestles happily in our arms, laying their soft little head on our soft big bodies. We look at our breasts and remember when they used to sit upright without any help at all, as our baby finds nourishment. We lament the stretch marks, coating ourselves in creams and butters and oils that tell us everything will be alright again, that our bodies will go back to exactly how they were before, even though they are nowhere near how they were before.

We don’t want to give our bodies time to heal, time to nourish our babies, time to nourish ourselves. We want to look how we did pre-pregnancy. We want to wear the clothes we used to fit, and want them to fit just as comfortable as before. We want our partners to lust after us like they did before, even if they are still lusting after us; we assume everything has changed. Because that guilt creeps in. That idea that we need to look a certain way. That this celebrity or that celebrity has the most perfect body you’ve ever seen, and she just gave birth three months ago, all the while forgetting that said celebrity has money to throw at every problem that arises, has help around the clock so they can work out until their bodies look how they think they should look, how media tells them to look, starting the vicious cycle all over again.

So where do we go from here? We stop hiding what our bodies look like. We start to love what our body has done for us, everything it can do. We stop attacking ourselves, attacking our bodies, just to look a certain way. We start realizing that a little bit of a mom belly isn’t the end of the world. When dad bods are trending, it’s time to take a step back and wonder if we’ve really just fallen off the map as people. Because if a dad can not have birthed a human being but still have a belly, still be a wonderful person, still love his children, and still be sexy to not only his partner, but to others? Then moms can, too.

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Toddler Favourites

Toddler Favourites

Photo by cottonbro studio on Pexels.com

Some links are part of the Amazon affiliate program, and if you buy something from the link, I will make a bit of money.

Go Coconut Play Couch
I absolutely love this thing. I was super excited to buy my daughter one as it looked so fun, and it’s come in handy so many times! We both sit on it when we play on the floor, it’s been used as a makeshift bed when we were trying out a floor bed before buying a full frame (and would be perfect for any sleepovers or mini guests!), my daughter loves to climb all over it, it’s been used as a tunnel and fort set-up, and now it is sitting in the corner of our living room, set up like a little chair, perfect for adults and children alike to sit and read or play on.

We’re not millionaires, so we only bought a half coconut, which has been great! Do I wish we could have had a full one, complete with the fun extras? Yes. If you can afford it, go for it all! But, if you’re wondering if even spending a few hundred bucks on a play couch is worth it, just do the half. Still tons of fun and so useful – without fully breaking the bank.

Oh, and it’s Canadian, so yay! Shop here.

Pikler
I saw one of these on Instagram and thought how ridiculous it was that someone had this in their living room…and then, my daughter got older and I realized how amazing it is to have a tiny climbing structure for her to play on and get her energy out – especially in the winter months. We’re building a kind of playground downstairs so that when we get snowed in, we won’t lose our minds.

Anyways, this is the pikler we have and we love it!

Toddler Cushion
We have a pretty low table (the plain pine table from IKEA), so she outgrew her Stokke Clikk high chair quicker than she should have. Her knees started hitting the table and didn’t look very comfortable, at all. So, we bought her a little cushion, in this super cute design, to put as a booster seat for her on a regular ‘big girl’ chair. It’s perfect! Easy to wipe clean, and the cover can be washed.

Indestructible Water Bottle
At first, I thought it was a bit much spending over $20 on a water bottle for my 1 year old, but it turned out to be the best thing. She has thrown that thing all over the place, and yet, it’s still looking fine! Yes, a couple of dents, but they’re small and at the bottom, and the function is a-okay. I didn’t want a plastic bottle, and love that it’s stainless steel.

Mega Blocks
My daughter got a pack a of these for her birthday and she absolutely loves them! They’re easy for little hands and do not hurt if stepped on, like Lego does. Buy them here.

Goodnight Goodnight Construction Site
A bedtime favourite in this house. It’s fun to read, long, without being too long, and my daughter loves it. One of our favourite books, for sure!

Also, need another book recommendation? What about the one that I wrote and my friend illustrated! Check it out here. And, buy a copy, if you want to be cool.

Magnetic Tiles
These things are seriously cool. I love playing with them, my uncles love playing with them, any engineer will love playing with them. Most importantly, toddlers love them. They’re also perfect for road trips as you can fit them into a small bag and they stick to one another. Buy them here.

Fat Crayons
I got these fat crayons at Zellers (a Canadian staple that needs to come back fully, not just a small pop up!), and they’re perfect for little hands. For those worried about what the crayons are made out of, these look great! I haven’t tried them, as the price tag is a liiiitttle more than I care to spend (and I already spent more than I needed to on crayons in a children’s store in Antibes), but for those with the right budget, something a little better for everyone sounds lovely.

Crayola also makes these egg shaped crayons that are perfect for little hands that aren’t yet sure as to how to hold a pencil or a crayon properly just yet. Perfect for scribbles and learning fun. These were in my daughter’s stocking last year and they’ve lasted a loonnng time!

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Mom Life

I Used to be a Person

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I used to be a person. I used to have my own dreams, my own desires, my own time, my own identity. I used to do things for myself, working hard on those dreams of mine, wondering if they would be attainable.

I’m now a mother and no longer an actual person. My time is eaten up by minding a — now — toddler, cleaning, cooking, taking care of everyone, and forgetting about myself. Even when you have all of the support in the world, it’s easy to get lost in it. Get stuck in motherhood and forget who you are, who you used to be. Because you’re not that person anymore. You’ve changed, some of it for the better, some of it not. There are so many things I’m happy for now, and yet, I’m missing the things that make me…me.

I used to be a person, but now I’m bogged down. I guess that’s the best way to describe it, because we know that other moms have done just fine and gone on to jobs and worked and achieved their dreams and goals. I try not to think about that, not just because it makes me feel like a shitty person overall for not doing everything so ‘perfectly’ or for getting so exhausted by day to day life, but because I still label those moms as career oriented women and moms separately. I still feel like my ‘regular life’ and my ‘mom life’ are two separate things needed to be kept apart so that both can flourish, and yet one of those quietly fades away.

The ‘mom life’ is always there because it is life, it is the mundane, the daily tasks, the behind-the-scenes work. There is the never-ending list of chores, the fun activities that take up most of my energy and day. The guilt that eats away whenever I do something for myself besides sleep.

It’s hard not to yearn for the person that I used to be. For the carefree life I used to live, for the freedom I had before everything revolved around one tiny creature. I know that some things will get easier in time, like drinking my coffee while it’s still hot, but will the person I used to be be waiting for me? Will she have turned, too tired of waiting for the ‘next weekend’ or the ‘tomorrows’ that always get pushed aside because something more important came up?

I worry that she will get lost, never to be found, while this newness and wonderfulness takes over my whole life. You better not forget the wonderfulness, because you’re not allowed to yearn for different times while you’re a mother. You’re not allowed to be the person you once were, barely allowed to be your own person. So, I tell her to hold on, that’ll one day I’ll reach out and take her hand, bringing her back to the here and now, but for now, she just needs to wait. Wait for a time when life isn’t so chaotic, isn’t so new, isn’t so all consuming. Like that time will actually come.

Once upon a time I used to be a person, but now I’m just mom.

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Mom Life

The Best Mom Advice, Ever

Photo by Du01b0u01a1ng Nhu00e2n on Pexels.com

The best advice you’ll ever get as a parent: take the entire day, and night, to yourself.

Whenever grandparents would babysit, I would rush around trying to do everything. I’d clean the house, workout, work on some writing, study a bit of French. In the early days, I’d either sleep, or lay on the couch watching TV, half asleep, just trying to survive. There is no better feeling than sitting on the couch in your jammies, eating snacks no one is stealing, and watching your favourite TV show. To think I took this type of relaxing for granted.

I may have been getting some things done, but I still felt exhausted and like I was drowning, constantly. It didn’t seem worth it to continue to try to get everything finished as fast as I could in the little time that I had to myself. Besides, my house was completely trashed in ten seconds once my toddler returned home. The level of clean and tidiness I was reaching for when she was away was not sustainable, which is a completely different topic. So, when my husband was away on a trip and my daughter was at her grandparent’s for a sleepover, I did something I hadn’t done in a very long time: I did absolutely nothing.

I did some things that needed to be done like making supper and a few dishes, but I didn’t try to write 5,000 words, or study, or run myself into the ground trying to clean the entire house from top to bottom. I sat on that couch and watched TV and read and did everything I used to do when my husband went away on his annual snowboarding trip.

At first, I felt weird. The house was too quiet. I felt like I was wasting my time and that I should be taking advantage of the free time by trying to make last minute plans with friends, or do something productive. But, I held steady. I told myself to just relax and do whatever I wanted to in that moment. That meant lying on the couch, eating snacks, and watching that TV. It also meant that my mind start get bored (I also got a little fidgety and twitchy, which is a little concerning that that was my body’s response to total quiet and relaxation) I felt like I could write, again. So, I did that. Because it felt right.

I went to bed that night feeling a little weird, but relatively satisfied with my evening. The next morning, I woke up feeling refreshed, cheerful, and exactly how my old self used to. I got up and had my coffee, still hot, and read a magazine. Don’t worry, the lazing stopped there as chores needed to be done, but they didn’t feel quite as ‘chore-y’. I scooted through the list of to-dos, stopping to watch an episode of TV or read a little more. Even though I was being productive like I had originally that I had to be every single second away from my child, it felt good. I didn’t mind the chores because my mind was well-rested, and I had some actual time to myself.

It’s so easy to get caught up in the trap of trying to be as productive as possible every waking second, kid(s) or not. Once you have that free time as a mother, the whole perspective changes. What are you going to do with those few hours? See friends? Hang out with your husband/partner? Workout? Relax? Sleep? Work on fulfilling projects? The list is endless on what we feel like we have to do, but not what we want to do. It’s time we started thinking about ourselves and letting our own wants and needs take over. If all you want to do with your free time is absolutely nothing, then do it. You’ll reset your mind and feel a whole lot better about everything. Trust me.

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Mom Life

You’re not a Bad Mom if your Daughter Plays with Barbies

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I loved Barbies growing up. Loved them. I loved the creativity that came with making up stories to go with each Barbie. I loved making up their houses, perfecting them to my 8 year old mind’s dream. Obviously, it’s where I figured out sex, smashing my dolls together in fits of passion.

I also loved climbing trees, riding my bike, playing sports, watching WWE, and watching my favourite movie: Top Gun. All relatively ‘non-girlie’ things when all is said and done. I didn’t think it was weird that I played Barbies one day and scraped my knee climbing an apple tree the next.

My neighbour, and best friend growing up, was a boy. We’d constantly play together, running around playing X-Men (literally just us yelling Rogue! Gambit! Essentially playing a cross of tag and Marco Polo. Kids, amiright?), riding our bikes to the park and back. We’d play with his Action Toys, killing each other, playing the boy version of Barbies. Then I’d go home, bust out the Barbies and her dream home and decorate and make elaborte stories.

I never felt like I couldn’t do anything simply because I was a girl, simply because I wanted an Easy Bake Oven or a Barbie cruise ship for Christmas. I also received a microscope, Lego, science experiment kits, and rocks. All deemed ‘boys’ toys. It was a different time in the 90s where toys focused on learning were geared towards boys and housekeeping ones towards girls. It didn’t seem to matter what I was playing with, as long as it made me happy.

For years, my dad would be the one to play Barbies with me. My mom hated the idea of Barbies and would only play if my dad couldn’t and I wanted someone other than my imagination. She didn’t push me not to own Barbies, she didn’t push me to hate them like she did, instead she just opted out of playing with something she called ‘nauseating’ whenever she could. She simply let me play and explore the world of creativity.

Nowadays, the Barbies look vastly different from my childhood. They come in various skin tones and Barbie has a whole slew of accomplishments and careers she can choose from. While it’s awesome to see that they’re trying to be inclusive of body types and races and show that women can be what they want, they’re still what they are, what they have always been: Barbies. They’re still an instrument for children to explore creativity. Just a little more real life than before.

Never once did I think I couldn’t be anything I wanted to. When told from my dad that there would be hardships and stresses as a woman police officer, not just from criminals but inside the department as well, I scoffed and rolled my eyes. I would do what I wanted and any man who insulted me would live to regret it. A mindset I wish I had kept well into my 20s when my self-esteem could be shattered from a drunk 19 year old calling me a slut for doing nothing but kissing his friend (grown-ass men, amiright?).

Clearly, there were some errors in my ways of maturing. What adult doesn’t make mistakes in their youth? It’s how you learn, grow. My self-esteem had nothing to do with me playing Barbies in my childhood; it had more to do with society once you’re done playing with Barbies.

I had a great body not from starving myself, but from being healthy and working out. But, I still thought I was fat. I had to look great, even if just going to class, and I used tanning beds regularly to look better.

Besides feeling the pressure to look perfect, I still lived with the same type of mindset like I did as a child — for the most part. I drank with the boys and worked out harder than most of them in the gym, often benching more than they could and reveling in the glory. I rolled my eyes at their antics, then joined in, filling up the beer bong dutifully as our friend was, once again, scored on in NHL ’03.

Besides the fact that I wore a dress to the bar and took 30 minutes to get ready, and they just threw on jeans and maybe used some mouth wash, I felt as I had when I was younger. When I would play with Barbies and then go ride my bike with my best friend, arm wrestling with him to prove I was stronger. I could be that girlie girl, the one who was fine staying home and cooking, and yet the one who knew she could also go out there and be whatever, do whatever she wanted. It was a weird mix of low self-esteem and extreme confidence that got me through my 20s.

It was the obsession from fashion magazines, from the rest of society, that made me feel inadequate. From Cosmo, read early as a 16 year old that made me feel like I HAD to be the best I could be in bed. Even though I wasn’t actually having any sex. I had to be good my first time, though, Cosmo said so! I had to look great and talk beautifully, yet not too smart, never making a man feel like he wasn’t as good as, or better than I was.

Magazines have turned to social media, a place that’s constantly in your face, a place that can be toxic for adults’ self esteem. Think of how young girls feel as they watch their celebrities promote diet teas and take perfectly crafted photos of themselves. I never felt like I didn’t measure up when I played with a Barbie, when I looked at her — clearly — disproportional body, but I felt that way when looking at the women in magazines. I feel that way as an adult, when I look at certain celebrities on Instagram, their face filtered and angled to the nth degree trying to look as perfectly alluring as possible.

There was a time I wanted to look like a Barbie, but less in the flawlessly sculpted way she did and more in the fantasy life that Barbie built for me. I wanted the life I had made for her. Of course, I also wanted the blonde hair and perky breasts, too; what 12 year old girl doesn’t yearn for large, perky breasts? But, the constant need to look perfect never came when I was a kid, making up stories, it came from reading articles telling how to look perfect.

Just like a boy isn’t going to turn gay if he plays with dolls as a kid, a girl isn’t going to be a vapid idiot going nowhere in life if she plays with Barbies. So let her play, because a girl doesn’t need to hear, yet again, something else she can’t do. Simply because she’s a girl.

Categories
Life Mom Life

Why I Don’t Care if my House Looks Messy, Anymore

Photo by Andrea Piacquadio on Pexels.com

Our home. Is there anything so wonderful and comfortable? The feeling of throwing yourself on your own bed with your own comfy blankets and pillows after travelling is one of the best feelings in the world. Sitting on the couch, snuggled in a nest of blankets and pillows (perhaps there’s a theme here at my house) reading or watching TV for hours on end is one of life’s greatest joys, even if it sounds so simple. Our houses are meant to be our safe space, our comfiest spots to relax and unwind after the stressors of dealing with the public, co-workers, the elements. 

So, why have we started to turn them into museums?

I used to gobble up home decor magazines like mad. My Pinterest page has boards specified to certain types of renovations or decorating tips, and others just for things I’ve found interesting. I won’t lie, a lot of them I don’t look at again, but it sure feels exciting to look at perfectly manicured houses with perfectly decorated walls and furniture. 

I’m the type of person who changes out their throw pillows in the spring, summer, fall, winter, and Christmas. I have seasonal tea towels and hand towels. I love decor that give you clues to what season it is. When we used to own a coffee table, I’d change out the decor that would sit in the middle when the weather started changing. It always ended up messed up and full of plates and cups as we lived our lives, pushing the centerpiece over when more space was needed, but I still maintained the idea that the coffee table needed to be beautifully decorated at all times. Because that’s all I saw on Pinterest and in magazines. 

My house needed to look picture-perfect like I had Better Homes and Gardens coming over to do a spread. 

Then, I had a baby. 

Yep. That old tale. 

I was exhausted and something had to give. It wasn’t going to be my time with my child, giving her the attention and care that she deserved and needed, so out went the floors. What used to be washed two to three times a week was now washed once a month. The dishes were done as often as needed simply so we would have things to cook with, and the laundry was the same. Our house got cluttered and messy and so very lived in. 

And, I realized that it didn’t really matter. Not one fucking bit. 

So, once we came out of that newborn stupor and things got a little easier as the months went by, and even easier over a year later, I changed my habits. The dishes are done more frequently, as is the laundry, but those floors? They’re now only washed once a week, instead of my favourited — at minimum — twice a week. 

There are cheerios stuck in every single corner or cranny of this house, no matter how often I sweep and vacuum. My living room is littered with toys and doesn’t look very Better Homes and Garden-esque even when they’re put away in a, reasonably, pleasing arrangement. Yet, it feels less stressful and better than before. Because we’re living. I’m not so hyper-focused on what my house looks like, anymore, as I choose to live my life instead of clean and place baubles so perfectly here and there. 

Yes, I made myself a cleaning list. Yes, I’ve started to add seasonal decor back into my life, again, but it’s not as obsessive as it used to be. I no longer stress about the fact that my door has no hanger or wreath on it in between Christmas and Spring, having to run out and find, or make, the perfect piece that fits in between that weird time where it’s still snowy, yet not as festive as December. It no longer matters. 

We spend far too much time trying to make our homes absolutely perfect, and yes, adding our own style and flair to the place makes it feel homier and more wonderful to come home to, but it still needs to fit our lifestyles. 
When we can’t enjoy ourselves, sitting comfy on the couch because we’re too busy worrying about whether or not the decor is perfectly centered, or if it’s not on trend, anymore, then what’s the point?

When we’re already so overworked everywhere in our lives, trying our best to do everything better than we did the day before and the generation before us, why are we adding more stress to ourselves? Why are we killing ourselves to have a picture-perfect house, especially if we have kids? Homes are meant to be lived in and comfortable. A few toys on the ground and a couple of dishes in the sink from yesterday’s supper isn’t going to ruin our lives. If anything, it’ll allow us to start to actually enjoy it. 

Categories
Mom Life

Living with that Mom Belly

Photo by Karolina Grabowska on Pexels.com

A woman’s weight. You’d think we’d be over this obsession, this thought that it is more than her worth, that it makes up her worth, and yet…

There’s nothing like putting your body through an absolute wringer. Getting pregnant, watching as your belly swells and all kinds of crazy shit happens to your body. People compliment you, tell you how beautiful you look, how you’re absolutely ‘glowing’. They cherish your body, worship it for bringing life into this world. And then, the birth comes and a month or two passes and it’s no longer beautiful. It’s no longer worshipped for bringing life into this world. It’s viewed at as disgusting, as lazy, as the thought that the ‘wife’ let herself go, that her husband must be just beside himself with disappointment that his partner’s body has not ‘snapped back’ yet.

There is so much that happens to your body when you’re pregnant, it’s wild. From organs rearranging themselves to your uterus expanding, to your brain, basically, short-circuiting itself, it’s a wonder why anyone would call pregnancy, and the days after birth anything but extraordinary. The fact that my body makes actual food is insane. Bodies are like that. They’re mind-blowingly extraordinary and wonderful.

We need to start thinking of our bodies in those terms. Extraordinary. Wonderful. Think about what your body has done for you today. Think about everything it has done for you in the past, whether it’s getting pregnant and birthing a whole damn human, or you’re participating in a triathalon. Bodies. Are. Extraordinary.

Unfortunately, the mass media and social standards we have adhered to for decades thinks otherwise. Yes, there seems to be a pretty big shift in how bodies are viewed nowadays, as people become more comfortable in their skin, but we’re not there yet. We’re not in the place where we can sit and love and our bodies unconditionally, never worrying about stretch marks (which happen to everyone, whether or not you’ve gotten pregnant), never worrying about cellulite (anyone remember the early 2000s? As a teenager — a fucking teenager — I was using anti-cellulite cream on my thighs so as not to look dimply), never worrying about a soft belly and a belly button indent showing through a skirt, dress, or shirt.

We have fallen in love with women of all shapes and sizes, and yet, when it comes to our bodies after birth, we revert back to those stupid social standards we’ve obsessed over. We wonder why our body is so squishy, as our baby nestles happily in our arms, laying their soft little head on our soft big bodies. We look at our breasts and remember when they used to sit upright without any help at all, as our baby finds nourishment. We lament the stretch marks, coating ourselves in creams and butters and oils that tell us everything will be alright again, that our bodies will go back to exactly how they were before, even though they are nowhere near how they were before.

We don’t want to give our bodies time to heal, time to nourish our babies, time to nourish ourselves. We want to look how we did pre-pregnancy. We want to wear the clothes we used to fit, and want them to fit just as comfortable as before. We want our partners to lust after us like they did before, even if they are still lusting after us; we assume everything has changed. Because that guilt creeps in. That idea that we need to look a certain way. That this celebrity or that celebrity has the most perfect body you’ve ever seen, and she just gave birth three months ago, all the while forgetting that said celebrity has money to throw at every problem that arises, has help around the clock so they can work out until their bodies look how they think they should look, how media tells them to look, starting the vicious cycle all over again.

So where do we go from here? We stop hiding what our bodies look like. We start to love what our body has done for us, everything it can do. We stop attacking ourselves, attacking our bodies, just to look a certain way. We start realizing that a little bit of a mom belly isn’t the end of the world. When dad bods are trending, it’s time to take a step back and wonder if we’ve really just fallen off the map as people. Because if a dad that has not birthed a human being but still have a belly, still be a wonderful person, still love his children, and still be sexy to not only his partner, but to others? Then moms can, too.