Life does not end at 30 -- or so my mother says...

Well butt, you've finally done it; you can't even squeeze into the largest pair of jeans we've ever owned. 

That's how it all started.  Wait, no.  This is an introduction between you and me, right?  We'd better make it good.  Let's back up to how it *really* all started. 

I lost the genetics lottery at some point during gestation.  Somewhere in my DNA is imprinted the unfortunate trait to gain weight if I so much as smell a food that tastes like heaven...

But, now, we've probably gone too far.  Let's just fast forward through the adorable pudgy toddler years, fast-er forward through the considerably less adorable pudgy adolescent years, lightspeed forward through my yo-yoing teen and young adult years (though there was a time during my sophomore year of college, before I dropped out to get married, when I weighed 140 lbs.  That's the smallest I've ever been in my "adult" life.  It feels like it doesn't count though, as I pretty much never ate.  All my money was going to cigarettes and Coke...as in soda). 

So, speed through all of that, right up to -- STOP!

2006

I'd had two kiddos by then and I was weighing in somewhere around 180 lbs.  That is the year I separated from my first husband.  We'd been married for just over 5 years.  I won't get into the particulars of that separation, and subsequent divorce, here.  Let's just say, we were young (married at 19) and stupid (married at 19!) and married life did not work well between us.  Suffice to say, those five years were a mess. 

I high-tailed it to my parent's house to recover, a four- and a two-year-old in tow.  After a few months of muddling through my day to day, avoiding looking in the mirror for fear of the overweight stranger I would see, I started exercising - regularly - for the first time in my life.  I walked every day, pushing those kiddos in a double stroller for an hour or two, even when it was 90 degrees and humid as all get out, listening to a playlist of songs designed to help motivate me out of my post-divorce funk (think, Kelly Clarkson's Since You Been Gone and Whitesnake's Here I Go Again).  Then, I started popping in an exercise DVD when I got home from the walk. 

I'd never been so committed to an exercie regimen.  Imagine my surprise when it started effecting what I ate during the day!  I no longer wanted to eat a handful of cookies in the middle of the day.  No way!  I'd just busted my butt to get rid of those calories!  Heaven in my mouth or not, I wasn't throwing away all that effort!  I became very strict in my eating habits, essentially eating the same breakfast and lunch every day.  Boring, but effective.

And, over the course of a year and a half, that effort showed...

That's when I met my current husband.  We met on match.com.  We fell crazy in love.  We called each other "lovin," and never our actual names.  We threw caution to the wind and got married a year later - on the exact date of his first message to me. 

It was my fondest dream come true.  Finally, fate had acquiesced and turned the movie of my life into the Romantic Comedy I'd always secretly wanted it to be.

And as I fell more in love with him, I fell out of love with paying attention to what I ate.  I wanted to spend time with him, not exercising for hours. And let's not kid ourselves, I was with someone again, not trying to catch someone's eye, right?  You never work as hard when you feel secure ...and the inevitable inflation began. 

Get out that remote again -- it's time to fast forward to the next chapter.

Approximately three months ago, another separation, two more kiddos, and 200 lbs. later.  You may be asking yourself, what happened?  Well, so am I.

The first year and a half were fantastic.  Then, the middle year, not as fabulous but livable.  The last year or so, unbearable.  Hence, this separation.  This disintergration of another marriage was absolutely devastating for me.  My feelings for my husband (they change daily -- or more acurately, minute to minute) aside, this is my second failed marriage.  It's difficult to come to terms with that.  To live with it daily. 

And yet, live on I do, with my kids in my parents' home.  Three adults (my mother, father, and I) and five children (my 13-year-old sister -- please don't tell her I called her a child, my two daughters - aged 9 and almost 2, and my two sons - aged 7 and about 8 weeks) all under one roof.  It's crazy, but it works.  For now...

So, now you are up-to-date.  If you're still reading this, Bravo!  You've really gone the distance with this first post.  If you're not, well, why am I talking to you?  You're not here anyway...

So, patient reader, what's the point, eh?

The point is, I've got to find my rhythm somehow.  Pick up the beat I used to march to when I was just...me.  Not someone's wife, not just these kiddos' mum.  I used to have aspirations, hopes, dreams, a set path...

Yet, somehow, *again* I've lost it.  I am none of the things I thought I would be - and many things I thought I never would.  I thought I would be an actress, or an artist, or a singer, or a writer...well, I suppose I thought I'd be all of them, a real Renaissance Woman.  I thought I would have gotten my eating/exercising under control - and kept it there!  I thought I would fall in love with and marry the man (okay, at one time I would have replaced that with "woman") of my dreams, have some awesome babies that we would raise together, and live happily ever after.  Basically, I hoped I would have my sh*t together!

Unfortunately, wishes and hopes are delicate things, and I have not been a mindful caretaker of mine.  The only bit I have been able to acheive is the awesome babies, but even that has pitfalls.  The rewards far outweigh the costs, but there are costs.  As any parent knows, your time is no longer your own.  There are tantrums, boundary testing, sibling smackdowns, messes, and wake-up calls for midnight vomitting, early bird awakenings, and two-hour interval feedings.  On the flip side, there are just as many instances where they just want your time, but in a positive way:  Look at this picture I drew, Can I have a snack?, I need help with my homework, Outside! Outside!... either way, it's every day, all day.  And I wouldn't change it for anything.  I couldn't imagine my life without them. 

However, I need to find some balance. I need to be their mum and ME.  Whoever that person is. 

As of a week ago, I was clocking in at a rotund 200 lbs. at 5'3.  Ugh!  Those jeans in my closet, the size 16s that my butt refuses to squeeze into, are staring me down -- and I refuse to let them win.  I have no career of which to speak.  I've never lived on my own. I'm raising four kiddos with no partner (but a wonderful family who provide daily support), and I'm pretty sure I'll never believe in romantic love again.  Okay, "never" is a strong word but, two failed marriages later, I'm feeling pretty strongly...

So, the point my friends (bless your hearts for continuing to read this meandering trip down unwanted-memory lane), is this: I'm writing to make myself feel better.  I've got some goals in mind already, but I'll save that for another post. 

If you'd like to join me while I try "Starting Over," I welcome the company. 

All "unromantic" love, :)
nik*