I Ain't Got No Alibi.....

I took a picture yesterday of two of my friends. The way they just settled into each other, immediately positioning themselves in flattering poses in a manner of a millisecond caught my attention. 
I was envious of them. 
It takes me at least a minute to get into a pose where I hope it turns out half decent. Is my head cocked enough? Do I have my jaw stuck out enough so I'm not giving myself a double chin? Are my arms and legs at an angle that provides a more slimmer appearance? And how the hell are these women standing cross legged without shaking so much they look fuzzy in the picture? Lets not even get started on the ones who do it on their tippy toes. 
We all have those times in our life (or at least I hope it's not just me!) where we just feel....junk about ourselves. My hair is laying too flat, my curls won't hold shape, why can't I have waves like that girl? Old pictures I thought were cute suddenly aren't today.... the list just goes on and on. I've been feeling that way the past day or so. 
I hate those moments. I try to think about the days when I'm feeling great about myself, try to conjure up the happiness I felt. On those days I'll even stop and say to myself "capture this moment, remember how it feels for when the bad days settle in". It rarely works.
When I hit that wall there is nothing I can do but stare at it and feel miserable and I tell myself "you're just gonna have to ride this out". It sucks and it's no fun but what other choice is there but to keep going? Maybe avoid mirrors for the day, avoid social media for the inevitable comparison I'm going to put myself through, and just keep going. 
It's something I learned when dealing with my depression and anxiety 10 years ago (the tools of which I'm so glad remember because lordy I have been using them during all this pandemic craziness), is that sometimes I just have to let it go. If I can't avoid a trigger then I silently affirm to myself that this isn't permanent, just get through this and tomorrow is a new day. 
Just like every day can't be a  good day, the bad days won't stay around forever either. 

Are You There Blog? It's Me, Nicole

Over three years...that's how long since I posted something on this blog. Honestly, I just figured that post would be the last. A nice little end cap on the part of my life I chronicled on this blog. Starting with me figuring out who I am (still working on that), to my miscarriages and trouble conceiving, to me becoming a mommy to a little girl. All wrapped up in a neat little bow. 
But sometimes I get that niggling voice in my head. The one that wants to post something, even though I know the chances of anyone reading it are slim. So I come back here and read posts to try to quiet the voice. I cringe at the "promotional ones", the ones that I posted to build up blog traffic and reminisce over the personal ones, the ones that I should have written more often. 
Like the one about my grandmother, or the one where I talked about my 2nd miscarriage and wondering what it would be like to have a daughter (now I'm the lucky mama of two strong, smart, brave little girls). I've realized this blog is a nice little time capsule of 3-ish years and someday maybe my girls will want to come here and read about me. 
So, when the moment strikes, I'll write and if somebody reads it, drop a line, say hello...and if no one else does, there's always me. 

Please Don't Let Me Forget This...

Of course she likes books, she's my kid...

Emily turned 8 months old yesterday...to say that time has flown by would be a serious understatement. 
It's all so bittersweet. Part of me is so excited to see her grow and learn new things (who knew watching someone discover "nose" would be so incredible?). But there is another part of me that feels like I can't keep up with it all. I'm so worried I'll miss something or forget something I love that she does. 
For example, when she was first born right before she'd poop (I know, I'm sorry, stick with me on this) her little forehead would wrinkle up, her eyes would go wide, and her little mouth would form an "O". It was the cutest thing in the world to me at the time. But then she stopped one day. I don't know when, I don't know the last date I saw her do it, all I know is that I miss seeing that face...and those little forehead wrinkles. 
There's so many things that were new that now Emily just"used to do" in a short 8 months, it's insane. 
One night about a week ago, she was really fussing in the middle of the night. We utilized the cry it out method earlier this month so for her to be consistently crying meant that she truly needed Dave and I. So I went into her room and changed her diaper, she was wide awake and I decided to hold her to help her fall back asleep. She fell asleep within a few minutes and I watched her sleep for a bit, thinking who knows when I'll be able to do that again. While she slept she smiled a little smile, much like the ones she used to do when she was a newborn. Then she giggled a soft little giggle. It was the purest, sweetest sound I've ever heard in my life. I put her down shortly after that, and went back to bed. 
As I began to fall asleep I said a silent little prayer: "Lord, please don't ever let me forget the sound of  that giggle and the look of that smile". I really hope I never do. 

Sometimes You Just Need a Reminder

Source

When I was younger (like early twenties, instead of early thirties--yipes!) I used to wear heels all day, every day. I swore they were comfortable (I was young, stupid, and didn't know any better), and I loved how my legs and ass looked in heels, especially with longer pants (still do!). 
But then one day I wore a pair of flats and at the end of the day my feet weren't aching and I realized maybe the pain wasn't worth the beauty? I dressed for myself and no one else, there wasn't/isn't anyone in my office I dress for so why would I make myself uncomfortable for the sake of a cute butt I couldn't personally see anyway. So I stopped wearing heels and starting wearing flats.
This means my closet is full of beautiful heels that never see the light of day anymore. It just isn't fair to them. So yesterday I decided to bring out a pair of heels to wear, yes they looked nice, yes my butt looked good, but you know what didn't look good? My mood at the end of the day. You see a typical "short" 8 hour day for me turned into a very long 13 hour day. In heels. Which I'm not used to wearing. 
As my aching feet settled into bed last night I thought to myself, this, my friend, is why you don't wear heels anymore. Which means my beautiful pumps won't see the light of day for a long time again. Currently, I'm okay with that, but ask me again in 6 months and I might have forgotten about this little episode. 
oh, and hi, I'm back. At least for this post. Because sometimes you can't shut the nagging voice in your head that says HEY PLEASE WRITE SOMETHING. 

Doh!

One of the few things that makes me cringe on a regular basis is seeing what I've posted over the years on Facebook. About 3 years ago, I made a concerted effort to watch what I post on any social media, because once it's out there, there's usually no turning back. I seemed to have forgotten that notion on Friday when a post that wasn't necessarily terrible, ended up being a bit embarrassing. 
I've lived in my house for nearly 7 years. About a year after Dave and I moved in, a couple moved in a few houses up the street from us. Their house number ends in 1, ours in 7. Shortly after they moved in we started to get packages from the popcorn factory delivered to our address but to a name we didn't recognize around every holiday (Easter, Christmas, Thanksgiving, 4th of July, etc). The very first package we received I took the time to hunt down the address for the name on the package and learned it was our neighbor up the street. I didn't think anything of it at the time and happily gave them their package. The next holiday, I did the same thing again. And again, and again for the next 6 years. If that isn't enough of a nuisance, when we do take the package to the neighbor, they always answer the door and seem perturbed and inconvenienced by us dropping off the package.
Over the years, we've learned it was the grandmother of one of them who keeps sending the packages, so the last few times that we dropped the package off, we asked them to let grandma know that she's sending it to the wrong address. Each time we've asked, they've just brushed us off, saying things like, oh she's old, she'll never remember, etc. 

Which leads us to Friday, Dave came home and found another package on the doorstep. Dave is very patient and it takes a lot to frustrate him but seeing the package on the doorstep just really bothered him so he tried to call the Popcorn Factory to try and explain that they're sending it to the wrong people and to either note the account or to notify the sender, something, anything! Popcorn Factory refused to talk to Dave since we was neither the intended recipient or the sender. So I decided to post to a Facebook group I recently joined that is full of women who post questions, encouraging stories, rants, whatever to get their opinion. 
The post itself wasn't mean, it explained the situation, including the off putting attitude of our neighbors, and questioned whether or not it was wrong of us to keep the package or throw it out. I know, it sounds terrible, but we were just so fed up! For the next two hours or so, I was getting all different types of feedback from the women in the group from yes you should keep it! to return to sender, or it's not that big of a deal suck it up and keep walking it up to them, when I got a message request from Facebook messenger. I accepted the request and then my heart dropped at the name I saw. It was my neighbor. I never even took a moment to think that she may very well be in the same women's advice group that I was in. Her message was polite, but it definitely showed a bit of hurt or embarrassment:

I felt like such an ass. Regardless of what had transpired, this was no way to address the issue. If someone had posted something on a group site of over 4,000 women complaining about me, I would be hurt and humiliated. Not only does it make any future interactions with the neighbors awkward but  it leaves a bad taste in all our mouths. I promptly deleted the post and replied to our neighbor that I appreciated her taking care of the situation and for understanding our frustration. I had already given the package to another neighbor to drop off prior to all this happening so I also let her know that she should be getting it from the other neighbor shortly. 
I thought that was the last of it until the husband knocked on my door Saturday morning looking for the package since my neighbor forgot to drop it off **face palm**. Well if it didn't look like I was trying to keep the damn package before, it definitely looked like it now! Needless to say, he got his Easter package from Grandma, with a side of humble pie for all of us. Maybe this whole embarrassing situation will be a lesson learned for them as well and I won't see anymore of these packages? 
Moral of the story? Watch what you post on any social media since you never know who it's going to affect. Oh, and find out how to return to sender via UPS and FedEx for future unwanted, wayward packages.