This week will be my last week of a 9 week fitness boot camp session. Friday we will test out. (Test out means we’ll get measured, weighed, and tested on our push-ups, sit-ups and timed mile.)

Have I lost weight? I have no idea. After week four, I decided to stop weighing myself. I absolutely refuse to let the numbers on a scale mess with my head. I am putting in the work, five days a week. I am giving it all I have. If the scale doesn’t budge, and with my thyroid condition, that’s a huge possibility– I don’t want it to discourage me.

Have I lost inches? I can’t be sure, but I think so. I can feel my body changing. Clothes definitely fit me a little bit differently. People have started making comments like “your waist looks smaller” and “you have more definition in your legs” or “Damn, girl, you’re ass is looking REAL GOOD. Come over here and let me feel it!” (One guess who said that. He gives the BEST compliments.) But I have not done any measuring of any kind, so I can’t be sure.

Do I feel better? Absolutely! I remember the very first class I attended 8 weeks ago after not having worked out for MONTHS. When it was time to do a run, my instructor sent me with the advanced runner group. (The advance runners always go longer distance than the beginners.) I was stunned– surely I belonged with the beginners! I hadn’t run for months! I was out of shape and huge and no possible way could I run 2 miles, uphill, NO POSSIBLE WAY. “Are you sure I belong with that group?” I asked, while trying not to cry. “Oh, I’m sure.” She said. “You’re stronger than you think. You can do it.” As I was running uphill, I felt like I was going to die. My lungs were burning, my legs were aching, I couldn’t catch my breath. I started to walk. “Come on, you’ve got this!” My instructor said. “No! I don’t. I feel like I’m going to die!” I replied. “You’re not going to die. Just push yourself. You’ve got it.” He was right. I did have it. It hurt and it sucked, but I did finished it, and NOT in last place, and best of all? I DIDN’T DIE. Since then, I’ve improved tremendously. I am running 2.5 miles at a time without an issue. I mean, it still sucks because IT’S RUNNING AND RUNNING IS THE WORST. But I’m doing it. I’m not the best, I’m not the fastest, but I am better than I was 2 months ago.

Do I feel stronger? Last week, I pushed a truck, uphill, across a parking lot, THREE TIMES. Hell yes, I feel stronger.

I’ve chosen to make this journey all about improving myself, learning lessons, about not being afraid to fail. I want to be healthy, I want to be strong, I want to be fit. Mostly, I want to strive to be better than I was yesterday.

Getting leaner, weighing less than I do now, will just be a bonus.

Bringing the baby home from the hospital is an exciting adventure! I will always remember the pride that I felt as I was being wheeled from my hospital room with my newborn baby snuggled in my arms. Continue reading →

Our daughter was born seven years after our youngest son. It had been a very long time since we had done the whole “baby thing.” One would think that once you have a baby, you always remember all of the things you’re supposed to do to take care of a baby, right?

(Wrong.)

Our daughter was born just after midnight after more than twenty four hours of labor. The few hours after her birth were exhausting. She would cry, I would feed her. After I would feed her, my husband would take her to burp her so I could get some sleep. Then, when she’d cry again, he’d hand her back to me and he’d sleep while I nursed her. As the hours passed by, her crying became more intense. Feeding her wouldn’t help. She was screaming and crying and nothing I did would comfort her. At some point, I started to cry. “I don’t know what to do.” I sobbed. The nurse walked over and asked if I had fed her. “All night!” I said. “Did you burp her?” She asked. “Yes!” I replied. “Did you change her diaper?”

Ummmmm. I looked over at my husband. “Oh my God. DIAPERS! We forgot about diapers!” We were both mortified. My poor baby was soaking wet. We hadn’t even THOUGHT about changing her diaper. Apparently, we forgot about the whole “changing the diaper” thing.

It’s crazy, right? That we forgot that we would have to change our baby’s diaper? I mean, that’s something you wouldn’t think a parent would forget, right?

But let me tell you, once we were reminded, it all came flooding back to us.

When you have a newborn, you will be changing diapers a lot. Every day, all day and all night long. How often? You may ask. The answer is, well, it depends. You’ll definitely be changing diapers 24 hours a day in the beginning. Sometimes once an hour, sometimes three times an hour. When you leave the house, always be prepared with plenty of diapers so you’re never caught off guard and without a diaper to change the baby.

I’m pretty sure you’ll never forget that your baby needs to be changed like we did. No one could possibly be as forgetful (dumb?) as we were!

Check out the Huggies Mommy Answers Facebook app and find more posts from bloggers sharing their experiences of motherhood on the Huggies page on BlogHer.com.

Andrew recently graduated from Military Combat Training at Camp Pendleton. We were going to drive out for his graduation ceremony and would get to spend a couple of hours with him before he was shipped out to MO to continue his training.

“Would you like for me to bring anything for you, son?” I asked.

I was thinking maybe he’d ask for me to bring food, or his favorite candy.

“Please just bring my guitar so I can play for a little bit before shipping out.” he replied.

I was so moved by his simple request.

I brought his guitar as he requested. After the ceremony was finished and photos with the family had been taken, my son was able to play for a few minutes before shipping out to MO.

I can’t wait until I can hear him play again. Hopefully in time for Christmas.

Just shortly after our one year anniversary, my husband and I began our journey to try to get pregnant and start a family. Little did we know how long it would take for me to actually conceive or how many pregnancy tests I’d be buying and taking.

I still remember the very first pregnancy test that I took. I bought it at Formerly Known As Thrifty’s. I felt nervous, excited, happy, scared, thrilled and terrified all at once. We had “tried” pretty much every single day and every single night. (TMI? Sorry! But it’s true) Surely, the test was going to be positive! I peed, dipped the stick into the cup and waited. (Because back in The Olden Days– as my daughter says– we had to wait an entire THREE minutes for the results.) Negative. Not pregnant. Or! Maybe the test was wrong?

Because I was a day late, I just had to be pregnant! I bought another test and took it the next day. The results were the same. Not pregnant. This story repeated itself for the next what felt like ten years, but was about nine months. Every month, if I didn’t start the day I was supposed to, I’d go buy another test. And for nine months the test was negative.

But then, one day it happened. I was one day late. I pulled out a pregnancy test from the bottom of the bathroom cabinet, peed and waited. Two lines appeared. IT WAS POSITIVE. I ran out of the bathroom screaming, crying, laughing all at the same time. “I’M PREGNANT! THE TEST IS POSITIVE. WE’RE HAVING A BABY!” I showed him the pregnancy test. He hugged me. We were so thrilled.

Finally, it happened. And then I did what any reasonable person who just found out they were pregnant would do. I grabbed my car keys and headed out the door to my mom’s house with the pregnancy test that I had just peed on in my hand. When I arrived at my parent’s house, I ran through the door, stick held high in the air, shouting “I’m pregnant!” And after everyone congratulated me, they made fun of me for the rest of the night for bringing my pee stick with me.

The next day, I scheduled an appointment with my doctor to confirm that the test was correct. It was. I was pregnant. And for the next two years, I didn’t buy a single pregnancy test.

Do you have a Pee on the Stick story you’d like to share? I’d love to hear it!

Check out the Huggies Mommy Answers Facebook app and find more posts from bloggers sharing their experiences of motherhood on the Huggies page on BlogHer.com.

Write something. Write anything. Just write.

This is what I tell myself every day. Then, I sit down to write and I’m frozen with fear. Overcome with insecurity. Paralyzed with self-doubt.

I’m not smart enough. I’m not funny enough. I’m not clever enough.

I’m irrelevant.

But you love to write. I tell myself. So, just do it. Just write.

There are so many things I want to write about, so many things I should write about.

Like the heart warming visit I had with my son at Camp Pendleton this weekend. Or the conversation I was forced to have with my daughter about wearing deodorant at eight years old. Or how I have committed to another six weeks of fitness boot camp.

I should write about everything. I should write about nothing. I should write like I used to. I should write like I love to. I should write like I want to.

Tonight I’m doing it. I’m writing. But more importantly, I’m going to hit publish and then do it again tomorrow.

Even if no one is reading. Even if everyone is reading.

Write. Just write, dammit.

A couple of months ago a friend of the family told me she was getting remarried and asked if I would be her wedding photographer.

“I just love your photos.” She said. “I know you’ll do a wonderful job.”

This woman has been like a second mother to me. I love her dearly, so I wanted to say yes, of course I’ll take your pictures! But, I’m not a professional photographer and well, it’s a wedding. A wedding requires a professional.

I told her that I was flattered, but I also reminded her that I was not a professional, that photography is something I love, but not something I get paid to do.

“I trust you.” She replied.

Because she is dear to me, and because she did so much for me growing up, I agreed to do it. I had no intention on charging her because again, not a professional. I was going to do it because I love her and because it was something she really wanted me to do.

The wedding was on Sunday. On Saturday night, I’m not sure I slept for more than 3 hours. I tossed and turned all night. I was terrified, nervous and insecure. I did not take this job lightly. My called my sister and expressed my concerns. “Be confident, own it and kill it.” She said.

I arrived an hour earlier than they asked me to be there so I could check the venue out. I was sweating before I had even taken my camera out. I was nervous as hell.

The bride arrived and I just started shooting. She didn’t have specific requests (aside from traditional family type poses before the wedding.) So, I just watched and tried to capture the beauty and details of the day. I’m telling you, the next day, every muscle in my body ached from standing, squatting, laying on the ground and running. My respect level for wedding photographers went up by the BILLIONS.

I posted the album of photos the day after the wedding. I was nervous, afraid I had missed things or not done a good enough job. Then, she left a comment (and later that day, left me a voice mail) that said the following:

“Yvonne I don’t know what to say… Every picture is perfect. You are the best! Another talent you have you have been blessed with.”

It wasn’t until I read those words that I realized just how stressed out I was. I actually cried with relief to know that she was happy with what I had captured. I was happy to do that for my dear friend, but I don’t think I’ll be doing that again for anyone any time soon, or probably ever. I’m way too big of a wimp to deal with that kind of pressure.

After seventeen days, Andrew’s leave ended today.

We left the house at 6am and just a few hours later, I was saying goodbye in a parking lot. As I walked around the car to give him a goodbye hug, I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes, but I fought them back.

“Stay strong. Son.” I said. “Make me proud. I love you so much.”

He hugged me, I hugged him back.

“I will, Mom. I love you too.”

He turned and walked away carrying all of his things. I sat in the car and watched him walk away.

“He’s a man now. My son is a man.”

I wanted to roll down my window and shout out “I love you! I’m going to miss you!” like I used to do when he was just a little guy. But I just sat there, watching him, proud of him. And then, I drove away and left him to do continue his journey.

His time here with us was simply wonderful, but the days flew by too quickly. He’s gone again and his presence here is already missed deeply. I can only hope the next three months pass as quickly as the last seventeen days did.

Guess what? I’ve gained 20 pounds.

I’m not happy about it, but I’m not going to beat myself up about it. I could write a long, thoughtful post about why I gained the weight, but I’ll spare you the excuses. I gained weight because I’ve not been eating healthy food and I’ve not been working out. (And maybe, just maybe I stopped taking metf*rmin without my doctor telling me to do so and well, I probably shouldn’t have done that.)

Today, I’m putting a stop to being unhealthy and unkind to my body. Today, I stop focusing on the “how I got here’s” and put all of my energy into “how I’ll change going forward.”

Here’s the plan.

I want to lose the 20 pounds I gained over the next 3 months.

How do I plan on doing that?

I’m going to put spiders in all of my food and drinks. Just kidding. Although, not my worst idea ever.

It’s simple, really.

A liiiiiiiiiittle less caramel cheesecake bites and a lot more fruit and vegetables.

A liiiiiiiiiittle less sitting on the couch watching Real Housewives of Everywhere and a lot more running, squats, sit-ups and push-ups.

Also? I will take all medications that have been prescribed to me by my endocrinologist until I am told it’s okay to stop taking them.

Dealing with Hashimotos and insulin resistance and my other health problems makes losing weight complicated, but I’ve done it before, I can do it again.

I will do it again.

Yeah hear me? I’ve got this.