Six going on Sixteen

My son has a teensy crush on Taylor Swift. Which is cute for a six (almost) 7 year old.

Note to family and friends:  David is asking for Taylor Swift pencils for his birthday.

Heck, I may even have a crush on Taylor Swift (in a I-wish-I-had-a-daughter kind of way). It’s nice to know that there are some celebrities that aren’t wading knee-deep in the “look at me, I am so much more important! and relevant! than you!” stage…. ala Heidi Montag, who, while no longer a teen has somehow reinvented herself into a Frankenstein’ish 40 year old.  Scary.

Note to older adult David:  This is not the girl you want to marry.

Did she realize she looked younger BEFORE the plastic surgery??

Anyway, certain milestones such as “crushes on teen queens” phase reminds me that my little guy is not so little anymore.

As evidenced by his pants size. At the beginning of the school year, I hemmed his uniform pants which were too long (then). Now? Just 7 months later, he has grown at least an inch and a half. Which means I have more hemming in my future. I should also mention that I never even knew how to hem until the last two years. Domesticated, I am not. The only reason I self taught myself is sheer laziness… if I knew a tailor I would pay to have it done.

Do you remember this picture?

One of my favorites. I want to say he was maybe 18 months here- sitting with Daddy on his new motorcycle.


If you are a Facebook friend, you saw that I posted a picture of S. giving David his first “real” ride on the Harley last weekend.

What a difference 5 years makes…

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This past Monday was quite a day. I should have known it would be a fitting beginning to another step forward in the healing process. I woke up to the windows rattling, and rain pelting against the glass. It was the kind of day best served not opening your eyes at all, but rather a day where you pull the covers up over your head and sleep in.

I returned from driving David to the bus stop. Soaking wet… umbrellas aren’t very handy when 50 MPH winds are mocking you. After the garage door was closed, the wind whistled between the open gaps and made an eerie sound. I fully expected the house to lift into the air and be whisked to The Emerald City. Then, a brief roll of thunder- weird and unexpected on a January day in NJ. As I drove to meet Anne, (not her real name) my therapist, it was raining buckets.


It was a mostly one-sided conversation… her getting to know me. When she did speak, it was kind, and deliberate. After she got the big picture as to why I ended up in her office, she stopped and said… “I want you to know I do understand your feelings. I myself experienced primary infertility, and after 7 years of heartache I stopped treatment and I adopted my little girl a few years ago.”

Pin drop.

and then, a big sigh of relief swelled up in my body.

This is someone who understands, who “gets it” AND can help me.

I didn’t even wince writing out a check at the end of the session. Although it does feel a little weird to be PAYING to talk to someone, and even weirder trying to sum up my failures in 45 minutes.

Curiously, when she gave me my receipt on the way out I noticed it had a field for my insurance company (NOTE to self- figure out if I can get this covered) which had a hand-written note:

Diagnosis: Adjustment Disorder

For five years, I have been “unexplained” in the realm of infertility. Talk about an open-ended diagnosis. It mocks you. It provides no explanation other than the unexplained. I am my own mystery. We will sooner find truth to the existence of aliens in space before we ever find out what happened to me.

Forcing that part to the side and looking at that new text left me with a thought…

If I am having trouble adjusting to my new life, then that certainly means that there will be a time when I can make peace with it and not carry the label to my grave.

This part of my healing is temporary and doesn’t define me.

At the end of the day, I am okay with that.

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A warm wind blowing

“… it’s been such a long time, and I really do miss your smile.”

Bonus points if you know what line that song is from. (also, a hint in the title of this post).

So I’ve been implementing changes over the last week. Getting my life in order. First order of business was getting my ass back on the healthy eating train. I really blew it over the holidays. I fully admit to drowning my sorrows in lots of high fat and carbs. I figured I earned it. No holiday cookie was safe in my eyesight.

I had stopped my vitamin regimen as well. And exercise was non-existent.

Let’s see, poor diet, no exercise, depression. Check. Even my hair was falling out again, no doubt from the withdrawal of copious amounts of fertility drugs that have invaded my system the last few years.

Yep, I am in pretty bad shape.

Beyond the mental, I need to also work on the physical. So I am back to eating sensibly and back to my favorite hangout (weight w.atchers). Taking my vitamins again. My hair FINALLY is growing in and staying in. I also got my Wii Fit hooked up and easing myself back into exercise. Contemplating going to a gym, but not getting too far ahead of myself…. I mean, Rome wasn’t built in a day.

And I have plenty of time on my hands.

My body is no longer a trash heap.  I’ve made countless commitments to getting healthy, but honestly, I think now is the perfect time to really get down to business.

If you want to follow my progress, I’ll be posting over here at a new blog focusing just on my weight loss and exercise journey.  

No worries…  I’ll still be here, at BagMomma, providing deep contemplative thought along with bad humor.  I just need to have a place to fully immerse my new project. 

It’s nice to feel….  engaged again.

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Live to tell the story

A few weeks ago, I was channel surfing on TV and stopped at a show I wouldn’t ever normally watch… one of those religious based shows best suited for middle-of-the-night viewing.

Don’t get me wrong… I’ve got nothing against people who love to shout about their religion.  In fact, I admire the passion exuded from someone who truly “believes” in something. I just find these types of shows a little creepy.

So I paused on this particular show really just to reach for my glass of water, and I started to listen to a woman talking about her life. She had been on the fast track in the entertainment industry in her twenties and got mixed up in “the lifestyle”- that one of hedonism and excess. I found her personality to be likeable, and she was very well-spoken, so I continued to listen.

Of course, you know where this is leading- she hit rock bottom and was incarcerated. You would think that would be enough to shake the cobwebs from anyone’s life, but no… she continued to act out in jail and spent many years in solitary because of her bad behavior.

One day, she was allowed to obtain a book, and, of course it was The Bible. And then the story becomes predictable: she found God and changed her life, as well as many of the other inmates she bunked with.

The thing I found interesting, though, was how she interpreted the Bible as if it was meant as a direct message to her. I’m not an expert on religious text, but I want to say she likened her incarceration to the incarceration (and re-education) of the Isrealites. And, in that, she began to think that God delivered his message to her in this manner because there was no other way to get her to LISTEN. As he did with the Isrealites, he had to resort to extreme measures to get his point across to her.

Jail=vehicle to deliver message=God=love=PURPOSE

She went on to talk about her purpose in life. How clear it is now. How she can assist others in finding their own purpose. The great things she’s done with her life since then. Letting go of the past and forging a new road to contentment.

And I thought only fertile women made me jealous!

It got me to thinking. What is our individual purpose? How do ordinary people find it? Do you really have to hit rock bottom to get the “wake up” call, or is there another way to enlightenment?

I think it’s rather easy to hit rock bottom and use religion as the vehicle to chart your course to a better place. After all, it’s JAIL for pete’s sake. It’s a place where you start with nothing, so of course it’s easier to start a new path or a dream when you are stripped down to nothing.

I do find that when I meet people, the most interesting are the ones with a story to tell. Overcoming adversity, living through tragedy…who doesn’t love a little inspiration?

To be honest, more than once I’ve had random people praise me for my steadfast commitment to trudging though infertility hell, much like how I feel admiration for that woman. The difference is I am still in the muck. I am like a drunkard navigating a straight line on the pavement at a DUI checkpoint. I sway, I stutter, and limp my way down the line. My path is dimly lit.

I wish I had the same conviction as that woman on TV. I am too jaded to put all of my eggs in the basket of religion. Admittedly, I identify myself as “somewhat” religious in that I do believe in God and attend church, but I find it very difficult to accept religion as the answer to all my questions. I’m too busy poking holes in theories and playing the critic.  That’s part of the old me I still have in spades.

I guess this means I’m probably not susecptible to falling into something really radical like a cult.

Well, that’s a good thing, right?

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