So I've been doing a lot of thinking lately about the direction my life has taken.

I am unbelievably happy.

Yes, I get stressed.  Yes, I get cranky.  Yes, I occasionally fight with my husband.  Yes, I feel overwhelmed sometimes.  Yes, my dog sometimes pees where I don't want him to.

My life's not perfect.  But it is pretty damn good.

As I think about this, I can't help but wonder how/if my life would be different if things had gone the way I imagined they would.

In an effort to be transparent and not to "vague-blog," let me share a little background information.

After a brief courtship, Jeffer and I got engaged in March of 2009 and hitched in May of 2010.  He's a liiiiiiiittle bit older than me, so we pretty much started trying to have kids right away.  Actually, like 6 months before we even got married (see you in hell!).  After a couple years of this, we went to the doctor to figure out why we hadn't gotten pregnant yet.

Turns out, we can't have kids.

A legitimate medical condition, and people will act like if you just "relax," it'll go away.

Words can never describe the devastation we felt at hearing this news.  It was soul-crushing, isolating, and unbelievably painful.  Every pregnancy announcement felt like a knife in my heart.  Every baby shower invitation got thrown away, ignored, or lit on fire (seriously, this was really therapeutic for me and was a tiny joy in my pit of infertile despair).  I cried ALL the time.  I took ten tons of crazy vitamins.  Jeff had surgery.  We tried some more, trying to be hopeful.

Still, no baby.  All in all, we tried for over 3 years and spent a ridiculous amount of money to do something that drunk high schoolers on prom night somehow achieve with puzzling regularity.

The good news is, we're at a point now where we're actually really happy we couldn't have kids.  Except for feeling invalidated as a woman by many people (honestly, if you have kids you can't possibly understand this part, but people - even "enlightened" people - view you as incomplete until you've pushed a human out of your body.  It's insulting, demeaning, and infuriating), we have no complaints.  Our only regret is not figuring this out BEFORE we spent so much time, money, and energy on trying to produce an heir.

Now, what in the eff does this have to do with the rest of the blog?

EVERYTHING.  Also, nothing.  But really, EVERYTHING.

If we'd had a child, I can pretty much guarantee our lives would be worse, and that includes our health (not trying to insinuate that kids ruin lives, 99% of my friends who have kids are very happy with their decision to procreate...just saying our lives are spectacular right now and I can't imagine a tiny human improving matters at this point).  When you're a parent, you come last.  Your kids and usually your spouse come first, all the time, no questions asked.  It's not a bad thing, it's just the way it is.

I already work in a profession where I put my needs after everyone else's.  It's the very nature of nursing!  I don't need that kind of environment in my home, also.  

As I said, I've been doing a lot of thinking about the direction my life has taken, and I'm so thankful things turned out the way they did.  It was impossible to see at the time, but I think the universe (or God, Jesus, Allah, Tom Cruise, the Flying Spaghetti Monster, Ganesh, the Goddess, Bigfoot...whoever you think runs things) was steering us in another direction and we were too focused on babies to see it until that option was completely taken off the table.

Since then, our lives have changed a LOT.  We have made amazing strides and improvements in our health.  Our marriage has never been better.  We are boring and spend most of our time at home, snuggling with the dog.  But we make each other laugh every day.  I've gone back to school, yet again, to achieve a long-time professional goal of mine (and am kicking ass at it, so far).  I volunteer with Big Brothers/Big Sisters and have an awesome little brother.  We adopted a dog who otherwise would have been put down.  We save tons of money by not needing birth control.

Here's the moral of the story:

God, the universe, Allah, Jesus, Tom Cruise, Bigfoot, the Flying Spaghetti Monster, Ganesh, the Goddess...whoever or whatever you think is in charge.

If things aren't going your way right now, don't freak out.

Something better is coming.

Can we just take a minute to talk about my parents?

Can we just take a minute to talk about my parents?  It's not really health and fitness related, but it has to be said.

BEHOLD, MY WORLD-TRAVELLING MOM AND DAD.

Aren't they the cutest?????  Look at my mom's hat and my dad's walking stick.  I mean, come ON...they're the CUTEST.

Let me tell you a few things about them:

1) My pops is a marathoner.  Even though I hate running with a fiery passion, I feel like my newfound obsession with fitness may be partially genetic (so I guess this is sort of health and fitness related).

2) They grew up in two little northern Minnesota towns, about 15 miles apart, but didn't meet until graduate school.

3) My mom is a champion for justice.  She always fights for what's right, even if it's the wildly unpopular thing to do.  I remember when I was in grade school, we always had a Christmas concert.  My mom didn't think it was fair that some students couldn't participate in this huge school event because of religious or other reasons, and fought to get it moved to a spring concert that everyone could participate in.  People were PISSED.  She is amazing.

4) My dad is a cancer survivor.  He retired shortly after his diagnosis and has spent his retirement travelling the world with my mom, and writing books about fishing and his life, the proceeds of which are donated to the American Cancer Society.

5) They volunteer for the American Red Cross.  Whether this means they are woken up by a 2am phone call to help out at a local house fire, given two days notice to be in Louisiana after a hurricane or Missouri after a tornado, or, like this week, asked to go to Buffalo, NY to help out after the massive snowstorm, they donate a lot of time and energy to helping others.  Sometimes they go solo, if they're not both available, and sometimes they are able to go together.

6) They always, ALWAYS support my sister and I.  If criticism is given, it's constructive.  I had no idea when I was growing up that there are people out there with shitty parents.  Parents who don't support them, who disown them, who say or do hateful, abusive things to them.  I'm so, so thankful I don't know what that's like...it's a completely foreign concept to me.  Though we don't agree on everything, they're constantly able to help me see things clearly and from a different point of view.

7) They're wicked smart.  Any time I don't know something and can't find a reliable answer on Google, I call my parents.  They will almost invariably know.  If not, I know I can count on a wise-ass, bullshit, hilarious answer from my dad.

8) They have "adopted" my sister's and my spouses like two extra children.  I know a lot of people who have strained relationships with their in-laws and I'm happy to say, that's not the case at casa Senarighi.

9) I inherited my mom's beautiful face and my dad's amazing sense of humor.

10) Their marriage is a shining example of equality.  There were times when my mom worked more, times when my dad worked more, times when mom would cook dinner, times when dad would cook dinner, etc.  Gender roles are largely absent at their house.

11) They took my sister and I on so many adventures growing up.  If there was a conference they had to go to, we went along.  We saw so much of the country and even foreign countries as kids, and I feel really fortunate for all of those experiences.

Circa 1984

Thanks for everything, mom and pops.  We're lucky to have you.

This post was going to be about compulsive weighing but then I got pissed at a stock photo and the theme changed

Does anybody else feel chained to their scale?  Or weigh yourself frequently?  Like...daily?  Or even multiple times a day?  Just to see how things change throughout the day?  Or find out how much your clothes weigh?  Or how much that burrito sitting in your stomach weighs?

I can't decide if it's out of sheer, morbid curiosity, or if I am legitimately addicted to my scale.


**But now, a rant.**

I had a lengthy blog post planned regarding frequent weighing, and how I'm ridiculous and step on my scale out of habit like 5 times a day, because I'm weird and I love to weigh myself.

Instead, I bring you this:

I hate this graphic SO MUCH.

I found this image while searching for suitable stock photos or memes to use for this blog entry.

For some reason, it made me irrationally angry.

Does the number on the scale immediately make you feel the need to exercise?  If it does, exercise is your punishment for being "fat," and that is seriously messed up.  First of all, being "fat" is NOT SOMETHING THAT DESERVES PUNISHMENT.  It is a state of being.  Lots of people on this wonderful earth are fat, and they do not deserve punishment simply for being fat, or eating bad food, or gaining a pound.  

STOP USING EXERCISE AS A PUNISHMENT FOR "BAD" BEHAVIOR!  Exercise, while not always fun, shouldn't be used that way.  How do you expect to enjoy an activity when you feel like you have to do it because you were "bad?"  Exercise is an amazing privilege.  Even when I am silently cursing my trainer for making me do those Roman chair ab thingies that make my shoulders scream and I look like a moron, at least a teeny, tiny part of me is glad I can use my limbs (however feebly) to do them (like 4 of them at a time, on a good day...but still).  Every time I am forced to run, I hate it so fucking much.  My shins hurt, my hip hurts, I get out of breath.  It's awful.  But guess what, I can move one leg in front of the other.  Tons of people probably wish they could run, and can't.  So I'm going to suffer through it and then appreciate that I did it.  Even though it's the worst thing ever.

Gah.  I hate that frickin image so much I could spit.

This is more like it.  Enjoy your body and USE IT!

This, I love.  Don't take it for granted, indeed.

My apologies if this entry makes no sense...I was absolutely hell-bent on writing about frequent weighing and why I think it's the devil but I love it so much...but that image just struck a chord with me and I couldn't stop myself.

Getting compliments and insults at the same time is so very unpleasant and awkward

So.  I am starting to feel weirdly naked.  Even when fully dressed.  I feel exposed and vulnerable and it's bizarre.  Eventually, I think it will be liberating and freeing, but I'm not quite there yet.

I've shed a small portion of my fat suit of armor and I feel like a naked little baby animal, all new and awkward and exposed.

"Hey everybody!  Come see how naked I am!"

I'm not deluded.  I know that I have a lot of "armor" to go before it's completely shed.  Trust me, my eyesight is fine.

It's challenging, however, make this transformation.  It's bizarre to go from being viewed negatively to viewed negatively AND positively simultaneously.  When you're fat, people view you as one of a few things:

1) Invisible

2) Disgusting

3) Someone to be pitied

4) Asexual

5) Lazy/Slovenly

Think I'm kidding?  Do a google search for the phrase "fat people are."  It will auto-fill with some horrible things.  Even worse is if you just search for the phrase "fat people."  You don't even need to hit "enter," the auto-fill suggestions are bad enough.  Go ahead.  I'll wait.

After awhile, you get used to being seen this way.  That doesn't make it okay, but it does make it routine.  The people who shout horrible things at you still hurt, but they no longer surprise you.  In fact, it surprises you when you can walk down the street without getting judgemental looks or words hurled at you.

During the weight loss process, you are in limbo.

Strangers still play Judgey-McJudgerson; staring at you, peering into your grocery cart (and being shocked that a fat girl is buying organic chicken, almond milk, and veggies instead of Cheetos and two-liter bottles of Coca-Cola), laughing, taking pictures of you on their phones (we see you, by the way), shouting things at you from their cars or porches, offering unsolicited weight loss advice, telling you that you could be pretty if you lost a few pounds, etc.  It's the same old crap.  Because to them, you're still a slovenly, disgusting fatty.  Because they can't see your beautiful heart and whip-smart mind and loyalty and revolting sense of humor.  You're just an anonymous fat girl, and must therefore be harassed and verbally abused and "helped" immediately. It's their duty!

On the other hand, people who know you tell you that you're motivating them.  They tell you you're an inspiration, they're proud of you, and that they look up to you.  This is really flattering and nice and SO AWKWARD AND UNCOMFORTABLE because you have no idea how to process people saying nice things about your appearance other than your parents (obligated by blood or adoption paperwork to think you're beautiful), sibs (obligated by years of torment as children to think you're beautiful), and spouse (who you somehow duped into thinking that you're beautiful - probably with sex and amazing cooking skills.  Sucker).  

And you want to say thank you but it feels awkward to accept compliments because you're not that used to them.  Then you feel like a giant tool for awkwardly smiling and saying "uh...thanks" because you have no idea how to process this without turning it around and finding a way to focus the attention elsewhere.  

And it's so goddamn nice to hear nice things about the way you look that it makes you mad at yourself and feel a little less like a feminist for being so happy that somebody praised your appearance (even though the people who know you are praising not only that, but your dedication and hard work as well).  And it's so nice to hear that you kind of want to cry, and that makes you feel even MORE awkward because you cry all the time as it is and that makes other people feel uncomfortable which makes you feel EVEN MORE FRICKIN AWKWARD, if that's possible.

Have I mentioned how awkward I am?

It kind of makes you want to make business cards with pictures of your formerly fatter self on them that say "FUCK YOU, I AM IN THE PROCESS OF BETTERING MYSELF, ASSHATS.  What have you done to improve yourself today?  NOTHING." to hand out to mean strangers.

But that would be mean, and it's not polite to call people names.

Even if they are asshats.

It's challenging to have this evolving vision of yourself while being viewed in two completely different ways based on your physical appearance by those who know you and those who don't.  Also, you are used to having a fat suit of armor on to keep observations and judgement away from your fragile little heart.  And as I mentioned at the beginning of this post, the armor is melting away and you feel naked and weird.

And awkward.

If I didn't say that already.