I excel at pity parties...

Yesterday I was thrown into a full blown pity party for one, the kind where I miss "me," the pre-baby/kid me that had time to relax, was skinny (though I didn't think so) and had a clean and controlled apartment (I was the only one making a mess.) This was all triggered by the enormity of work needed to be done around the house and frustrations with that (like a toilet with broken innards) and by my waist and hip measurements being more than my self-image allowed for. With our house, I usually keep blinders on and I just ignore a lot of what needs to be done. With Eric home more during the summer, I try to get more done because the babies can hang out with him while I do things like scrub the sink or tub or organize something (or write a blog entry.) Our house was a rental before we moved in and has been neglected for a very long time. We chip away at it but... So that makes me wish for the controlled environment of my little apartment with only me making a mess. I could clean and it would stay clean. And if it got messy again, there was nobody else but me to blame. On to reason number two for self-pity party, I had a sewing lesson with my friend Meghan yesterday and measured my waist and hips to see what size I needed to make. I'm making myself a very lovely skirt and hope it turns out as lovely as I picture it in my head. I used to be anorexic and less than a hundred pounds back in college days. I know in my head that I'm not fat in the least but I get caught in the "I know I'm not fat but I'm fatter than I want to be" trap and can very easily fall into not wanting to eat so that I can be skinnier - something I watch and guard against. So seeing my waist and hip measurements being more than several inches bigger than they used to be and seeing the number 20 for my size (even though I know that sewing pattern sizes are way different than store bought clothing sizes) just made me fall into the old trap of negative body image and eating disorder crapola. So I sit and writhe and squirm in self-pity and self-criticism.

And then I remember that I wouldn't have this house or this figure if I didn't have the girls and that doesn't even compare to living in an apartment by myself having self-pity parties because nobody loved me (except my family and they didn't count.) I must be unusually gifted at self-pity parties.

So now to get over it and love my house and my body in spite of their faults. What good do pity parties do anyway? Well, I guess they can be a reminder to be grateful but it would be better to remember to do that before starting the whine-fest.

Ten things I'm grateful for (not in order of importance):
1) A little girl named Gemma and
2) a little girl named Oona, neither of whom I can now imagine life without.
3) A home that I will eventually make exactly how I want it.
4) a husband who stretches me to be a better person than I ever would have been otherwise.
5) A teenage boy named Jack and
6) a tweenage boy named Pat who teach me about boyhood and about being popular and being nice, which I had always thought were mutually exclusive.
7) Knitting and crochet and now maybe even sewing - great hobbies where you can make beautiful things and that fulfill so many purposes like relaxation, meditation, creativity, excitement.
8) Friends - I feel very very lucky and blessed in my friends right now, especially my Mom friends.
9) A reasonably healthy body which if I treat right will be even more healthy.
10) A career path that is flexible enough that I can be there for the babies and have time away to follow my own goals.

See, I really am quite lucky and blessed.