We are never ever ever getting back together...

I've had a tumultuous relationship with my scale for years. Sometimes I love it. Sometimes I hate it. Sometimes I swear it's lying to me. Sometimes I wish it would lie to me. The scale and I are in an abusive relationship, and it's time to break up.

I've got this ritual. Every morning. Wake up. Head to the bathroom where my scale sits in its place of honor in front of my full length mirror. (Clearly, I am a glutton for punishment) weigh myself. Pick apart all the things that need work. Get ready for the day.

Sounds healthy...

For years I have had this number in my head. This apex of perfection. Sometimes I am there. Sometimes I'm not. The fact remains, even when I reach this number I'm not happy. There's always something wrong. Something is not tight enough, or perky enough, or tan enough, or whatever. It's all BS.

So imagine my horror when I completely lost control of my body during my pregnancy, and had so much water retention I could feel my feet "sloshing" when I took a step. I hated my body every day. I couldn't even enjoy my pregnancy because this stupid scale was reminding me every day of my inadequacy. I didn't glow like a pregnant Giselle, and life wasn't fair. I cried. A lot. I picked apart my body, despite the fact that I was growing new life inside of me. It sucked.

After Lukas was born, something happened. My feet stopped sloshing after a week or two. (35 pounds of water retention will do that) While, I was still covered with reminders of this child I carried, I was far less critical of myself. My stomach, that was now riddled with marks where my skin stretched to hold my boy, reminded me of what a powerful creature I am. My nose that I wished for years was my mother's, I began to love, because I gave it to my son, and he is perfection. My thighs that I cursed while trying to squeeze into the latest skinny jeans, I love as I watch my son rest on my lap.

Loving this precious boy has done something remarkable. It has taught me to love myself. Every nook and cranny.

So I've decided it's time to commit 100% to loving myself, in order to be the best mother I can be. That means breaking up with my scale. The fact is, that number doesn't matter. I feel good, I am healthy, and I have a husband who thinks I am smoking hot. In the end, that's all that should matter.

I got this...

Let's talk.

There is a phenomenon I truly don't understand. I hear moms and dads talking about it all the time, and I don't get it.

Self doubt.

I don't claim to be the most confidant woman on the planet. My thighs aren't as tight as they once were. My stomach isn't as flat as it once was. I get nervous before I go into a business meeting. In spite of all this, there is one thing I don't question... I am a rock star momma.

Maybe it's because I'm the oldest of four. Maybe it's because people always told me I would be a great mom, and I believed them, but I don't doubt the majority of parenting decisions. I know that I probably don't make the right choices 100% of the time. I know that life is not always perfect. (As evidenced by my last blog) But you will not catch me doubting my parenting.

I truly believe that my instincts are on point. I truly believe that I know my baby better than any other person or book. So I don't sweat it.

Yes, I make my son's baby food. Yes, we cloth diaper. (And we use disposables too) Yes, I'm still breastfeeding my 10 month old son. (But we supplement too) Yes, I swat my son's hand when he's about to get into something dangerous. Yes, we opted out of several vaccinations. Yes, I work full time. Yes, we co-sleep.

These are some of the few choices every parent makes. These are choices that I have been ridiculed over. (sometimes from both sides of the argument) These are choices that I am 100% confidant that we made the absolute best choice we could.

I don't doubt it. I don't dwell on it. I decide. I move on. Period.

Here's the problem I see. Our society is instilling an attitude of self-doubt among new parents and it is (pardon my French) bullshit.

"You're a horrible parent if you do this."

"Why would you want to do that?"

"You'll regret that later."

We need to come together as a community and say enough is enough. My child is fed. My child is healthy. My child is loved. How you arrive to that place is up to you, and nobody should make you doubt your abilities... Ever.

In the end I wish all parents could feel the way I do.

I know without any shadow of a doubt that I am making the best decisions for our family.

I know that my son doesn't question that his dad and I love him.

I know that I am a rock star.

In the end, that's all that matters.

Baby blues?

I'm irritated.

There I said it.

My sweet little baby is driving me crazy.

I'm tired. I'm stressed. Everything is bugging me. Life is not rainbows and butterflies. It's wet diapers and no wine in the house.

Is it still baby blues if it's 10 months postpartum?

I need a break.