Didn’t mean to get so emotional-like on my previous posts. I’m realizing in the email replies and comments you all so graciously left that I got a little sad there for a minute. NO MORE SADNESS!

By the way, seriously, thank you all for your feedback. You are the reason I love to blog and love to read other blogs. The community; it’s unreal.

Onto business.

Daddy kiss tired baby face.

Daddy nibble on baby cheeks.

Baby suck on daddy’s cheeks.

Baby EAT DADDY’S NOSE.

(You missed the part where IMMEDIATELY after this photo, D vomited all over Daddy. It was a moment.)

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FOUND. Old photos of my boyfriend and I. Back when I was the weight I’m trying to get back to.

Also, my hair was long. And without style.

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Also found, a series of b&w’s I took when my friend Sona was dating my cousin. Their romance didn’t end well (meaning, they’re not together NOW), but I loved the photos I took of them and his son.

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That time I went to the Seahawks training camp, flirted with one of the assistant coaches and met Marcus Trufant. If you can’t see me in the following photo, click on through!

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Dude! You’re getting a PIECE OF SHIT Dell! (Not a deal, mind you, a DELL.)

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Several things need to be said about the following photo.

1. Yes, Stephen’s hair is reddish pink. It was from a mohawk recently shaved off, a mohawk I had bleached and dyed pink (staining his scalp in the process). We did it in honor of the Red Sox game we’d attended a week prior (the weekend I walked around Boston, 40ish weeks pregnant OMG).

2. Our photographer promised to fix it in Photoshop, which, clearly, she didn’t. But, she took these for free.

3. I AM ENORMOUS. Like, I should have looked into applying for my own zipcode. I don’t even know whose body that is, honestly. I’m stunned.

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My husband looks naked here. But he isn’t. He just isn’t wearing PANTS. My kid on the other hand, IS naked.

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Hope you enjoyed the random.

Stephen found out on Friday, his first day with his new National Guard unit, that they would be deploying next September. So now his weekend warrior deal will be UTA-6s or UTA-8s (All day Friday-Sunday or Thursday-Sunday) and next August he’ll have AT (Annual Training) for three weeks and then he’ll be home for one week before departing for his Mob station for deployment. This deployment means a few things.

1. Dublin will be 15 months old when he leaves and will be almost 2 and a half when he returns.
2. His unit is an artillery unit, which means he’ll be doing combat this go-around.
3. Dublin and I will be moving back to Vermont for the year or so he’s gone, to be around all of his and my family.
4. He’s excited. He enjoyed both of his last two tours to Iraq and has kind of yearned to go back.
5. Baby number two plans have been put on hold indefinitely.
6. Though I knew this was coming, it’s a little bit of a sinking feeling.

The sinking feeling has more to do with Dublin than anything. I grew up on Treasure Island, California which is a now-defunct Naval base. My mom tried her best to familiarize me with my father while he was away, on his tours. She’d point my father out in all the photos she had of him, which were mostly him in his uniform. Since we lived on a base, whenever we’d leave our little house and walk around the neighborhood, I’m told that I would point to every seaman in uniform and exclaim “daddy!”

I recovered okay, of course and have fond early memories of my dad’s elaborate reunion home, walking aboard the USS Enterprise (yes, the one from Top Gun!). But I can’t help but worry about Dublin handling the whole situation. As I mentioned in point 3, we will be spending his entire deployment in Vermont. It’s a lot of change for a child so young, so I’m worried to how he’ll adjust, especially since Steve is the clear “favorite” parent in our house. There’s just no point in us staying in Idaho for that duration, away from our family and friends. Dublin deserves a chance to get to know his family. I’m going to do my best at reminding Dublin of his father all the time, but pictures are no substitute for the real thing, you know?

The unit Stephen has transferred into is an artillery unit, which was different than his prior engineers unit. While in Iraq, with his former unit, they built a bunch of buildings and he maintained the heavy vehicles. But this unit will be more infantry; he’ll be more involved with heavy shooting. Maybe it’s weak of me or maybe I am unpatriotic, but that scares me. I can’t help it. He still has a few long term injuries from his last tour. He had a piece of shrapnel lodged in his eye and his back is forever messed up from carrying heavy packs and jumping out of tall machinery carrying said packs. He’s supposed to have that worked on at some point, but he uses electrodes for the moment to help rebuild the muscle in his lower back.

Which brings me to my fifth point. We had talked about trying for baby number two sometime later next year, after Dublin’s first birthday, but there is absolutely no way I can be pregnant, with a toddler, living out of a suitcase of sorts in Vermont, while he’s away. I had a complicated pregnancy with Dublin and my team of doctors predicted further pregnancies would have similar complications. Steve was my major support during my hospitalizations and I don’t think I could do it again without him.

I realize all of this is rather self-centered and I’m sorry for that. Simultaneously, I have a feeling of ease over me about him leaving. I know that the Middle East is not as dangerous as it was before. And Steve is excited about going. So I feel better knowing that he’s leaving on a good note. He enjoyed his two tours before and is more than ready to return, especially with the guys in his new unit who he dubs a bunch of badasses. Naturally, that’s a relief. And I’m very proud of him, proud that he’s excited to serve our family, our country, in a hostile environment. That’s honorable. I supported my husband in his decision to reenlist for another six years this past spring. His plan is to continue until he can retire, so I know, for certain, that there will be several deployments in our future, as long as there is conflict in our world.

So really, it’s okay. I’m proud to have a husband who enjoys serving for our country, a husband who has already spent nearly 7 years in the National Guard and is looking at another 18 or so more. But I married the guy because I like having him around; I will miss the hell out of him.

Besides, while he’s deployed, I have the go-ahead to visit all my favorite bloggers (or BLIGGERS!). That’s my husband’s super generous way of telling me to take a break and not worry so much and meet all of you wonderful people.

So on that note, any couches I can crash, friends?

Here’s the thing, sometimes I let my feelings get hurt way, way too easily. And I’m WHINY about it. Publicly. Through twitter or facebook. I let other’s judgements affect me too deeply, I wear my heart right on my sleeve.

Case in point, that anonymous commenter, “Smith.” I can laugh at any mean comment from some obscure troll like the rest of them, but it genuinely hurt that he called my husband white trash. Initially, it bothered Steve a bit too, until he said, “Who gives a flying [rhymes with duck] what some random commenter thinks of me?” I wish I could adopt his attitude, because really, I have so many other things to be concerned about than the thoughts of someone who doesn’t even know me or my family and spends their time insulting other people.

Remember the crazies from Facebook? Yeah, well, them too. I posted my thoughts on parenting a couple months ago, right before I stumbled across the Crazies Craigslist ad. No matter what I said about how I raised Dublin, I was WRONG. Because she’d been there before (w/a 2 year old) and that made her the author of “How To Be A Parent” I guess. It ranged from the brand of formula we bought “Oh, we NEVER bought our daughter anything less than [insert the crazy/rare expensive formula]!” Or “wow, plaid clothing is a trend really? I thought that only existed among lumberjacks” < that last gem said as I was wearing this shirt. Sidenote, look how tiny Dublin was, SOB!

But the thing that hurt me the most was when Stephen’s maternal grandmother questioned my patriotism and support of my husband’s military career, publicly, on Facebook, admonishing me by telling me of all her family members who served for our country and how I should be grateful.

Dublin’s middle name, Russo, was my great-grandfather’s last name. He passed right before I could tell him I was pregnant. Here’s a photo of him.

This was around 1940, I’m assuming. You can’t really tell, but he’s wearing an Army uniform in this photo. He served in WWII. I am immensely proud to have known him and respected him a great deal.

My father served in the U.S. Navy, and was on tour throughout my mom’s entire pregnancy with me, arriving home JUST before I was born. I was born on Travis Air Force Base and spent the first 6 years of my life traveling around the U.S. with my parents, in support of his military career.

One of my very best friends, Sona, is currently serving in the U.S. Marine Corps, based in Quantico, Virginia. I’ve flown down there several times, even did the 10 hour drive from Vermont to Virginia with her once. WHICH WAS TERRIFYING. She was born in Iraq to Christian parents and spent most of her life in the Middle East, persecuted for her religion. Her story is here. Nothing made me prouder than when I flew to South Carolina in 2005 to cheer her on at her boot camp graduation ceremony.

If you’ve been reading this blog, you’d know that Stephen is in the Army National Guard. His MOS (Military Occupation Specialties) is in heavy-wheeled vehicles. Basically, he fixed things like these during his two tours in Iraq. He does the weekend warrior thing you hear on commercials (one weekend a month, two weeks a year) and was set to deploy again this coming January, had we not moved to Idaho. We finally found a unit in Idaho that was in need of his skills and this weekend he had a UTA-6, which means 3 days of classwork, and typically he stays at his armory overnight.

This weekend conflicted with his regular job hours, so he had to make up a bunch of hours here and there throughout this week, working 16 hour days to compensate. He had one day off in the last two weeks of 16-hour days and as soon as this weekend of Guards is finished he has 16 hours nights (5 PM – 9 AM). My husband works very, very hard, and all of that came through this week when he arrived home, completely wiped out and dreading going to work the next day. He never complains, so I knew that he had to have been worn out.

I said something on Facebook, about how I felt bad for him, working so much and then right to Guards for three days straight and back to work again with no break. I felt bad for him, because he works so damned hard for this family and doesn’t get to see Dublin on the days he works; he’s gone before D wakes up and comes home after his bedtime. And with Guards, he wouldn’t see either of us. He doesn’t mind Guards, let me get that straight. He says he signed up and will never, ever complain, it’s the not seeing his family that affects him.

I won’t quote the comment I received from Stephen’s grandmother, but it effectively said I didn’t support my husband’s military career, called me unpatriotic and told me to get a hobby. It hurt. I called my mom in hysterics, Sona called me when she read the comment and I received a bunch of emails and @ replies on twitter, asking, essentially, WTF?

When Steve came home, he read the entire thread, including all the supportive comments I received, (namely from Annie, who put it in complete perspective, articulated it better than I could have) and he looked at me like, “Seriously?” I suggested it was misplaced anger. Stephen called his mother and basically received a brick wall, she fully supports her mother, even after Steve defended me and said I did nothing wrong. He even said that the comment was completely random, I wasn’t complaining that he had Guards, I was complaining that he was over-worked and exhausted.

I deleted the thread already, it bothered me too much to even look at. But I spent nearly the entire day crying. Why? I shouldn’t let things like this bother me, but I do. I’d like to think that I brush off a lot of petty things and that I can get over things pretty easily, but it seems I can’t. I know that my future relationship with Steve’s mom and grandmother will be strained at best, because I will have a very hard time getting over it.

Please tell me I’m not the only one here that gets their feelings hurt so easily. I hate to hold grudges but these sorts of things go hand in hand, at least for me.

I’m really good at making a resolution and initiating all the start up details. Especially when it comes to losing weight. But I’m bad, no, I’m atrocious at the follow-through.

I bought the weight watchers membership, I bought the 30-Day Shred, sanitized my yoga mat and acquired simple weights.

And so far, I’ve kept track of points for one day, have done the Shred once and haven’t even taken my handweights out of their packaging.

It started on Thursday. See, I purchased Jillian Michael’s 30-Day Shred back in, uh, MARCH, when I was pregnant and round and full of, “oh! I will get back into my clothes NO PROBLEM!” and “it’s not THAT hard to lose weight!” And I let it sit there, on my tv stand, gathering dust until three months later, when we started packing up to move to Idaho. Yes, I got rid of my nearly brand new Yankee Candles, my dining room table and 2 month old living room set, but I kept the Shred and threw my yoga mat into the car as an after thought, vowing to implement them once I arrived to Idaho.

Two months after that, we flew back to Vermont and got married. And I’m sharing the following photo, to reiterate my point. (Btw, the woman in the middle is my mom, she officiated our wedding – cool, right?)

I was ten weeks postpartum, but I looked pregnant and bloated and really, the thing I regret about my wedding day is that I felt FAT. And the feeling fat overshadowed some of my excitement and frankly, that kind of bums me out.

And, do you want to laugh? Because I just found this photo from the wedding after-party on my Flickr:

But back to the fat. There are other photos – I still haven’t seen my professional photos, it’s been almost 3 months – like these (sorry for the side boobage):

That I prefer, but still, I feel overwhelmingly large, especially next to my slender husband. And since that photo, I’ve lost some of the bloat but none of the weight.

In fact, since I wrote this post, I’ve managed to gain five pounds. I can blame it on the stress of trying to find a tenant for a property 3,000 miles away, or how busy I am taking care of Dublin, but really? I’m on here, commenting on other’s blogs, updating my Facebook status with unimportant details or tweeting about something that no one, including myself, really cares about.

What I’m saying is that in all reality, I DO have the time to take better care of my body, but I’m not. And I don’t know what to do to change this, or how to better motivate myself from this point.

First off – thanks all for the feedback on my last post. I’m probably going to take the password off, because I don’t really care if they read it anymore. The whole thing was pretty elementary-school like, and while it did spice up my monotonous stay-at-home mommy day-to-day routine, I’m happy to be past it.

I’ve always wanted a tattoo, ever since I was 12 and I saw one of my mom’s for the first time. We were at Myrtle Beach for the summer and her swimsuit clearly revealed what was on her upper thigh:

For those of you unfamiliar, this is logo for The Rolling Stones. My mom loves their music and did when she got the tattoo at seventeen. For her, it is a symbol for a middle finger to authority, sexy and iconic of her years-long crush for Mick Jagger. She’s 43 and doesn’t regret it; I don’t think she ever will. I kind of think my mom is badass, even when she is wearing a bra on her head.

It’s no secret that Stephen has tattoos. I’m not really sure, exactly, how many. He has a few singular tattoos, but he has the beginnings of an accidental sleeve – a mish-mash of random tattoos that have worked together in one localized place, on his upper left arm. Currently, there is two koi fish (one almost completed, one not), water lilies, a lotus flower, daisies and a bunch of outlines for water, waves, etc.

Here it is two years ago, with the addition of the lotus:

Here it is (without flash on the camera, so the color is more dull) today, and as you can see, there have been additions since then below and around the flower:

Here is a koi fish, almost completed:

And here is the penis-headed koi fish. Please tell me I’m not the only one who sees a resemblance (or maybe I’m just perverted? Quite a possibility!):

Clearly, some parts of his arm are unfinished, there are outlines all over the area:

Ignore the face, I was interrupting a very DRAMATIC Halo (on xbox live) game – he also has two nautical stars on his upper chest:

He has a panther on his left calf. It was his first tattoo, the mascot for his Army platoon:

Also, forgive my photos. I should have taken these with the flash and the macro option on my camera turned on, but I’m a dunce, so these tattoos look rather dull.

His other tattoo is his dog tag. It has his full name, birth date, social security number and blood type, an exact replica of his actual dog tags. For those reasons, I took a photo, but it’s very blurry. This is on the left side of his torso, over his ribs.

I post all of this, because we’re making a trip very soon to add to his tattoos. He’s getting Dublin’s name in large script on the right side of his torso, stretching from his pecs to his hip bone. I KNOW. HUGE.

But, guess what? I’m getting my very first tattoo, too! I’ve given tattoos a lot of thought, I always knew I would get one. The plan a few years ago was to get the date I was saved in roman numerals on my upper back, but I didn’t want to get a tattoo in a place I couldn’t cover.

My plan is to also get Dublin’s name in script, though not nearly as large. It’s simple, kind of cliched, I know, but it’s meaningful for me. My idea was to get it on the underside of my wrist, right below my palm, and I could always cover it with a watch or bracelets. Now, I’m not so sure, though!

Do you have any tattoos? And where would you recommend I get mine? I’m swearing off my stomach or pelvic area and my chest. Also, should I do color or black with shading?

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I am tired.

I’ve spent the past two weeks, awake until 3 or 4 AM every night, which normally wouldn’t be a bad thing, except, you know, I sort of have a kid. A kid who has taken to waking up three hours earlier than usual, SCREAMING his head off for a bottle. There’s been two nights that I simply did not sleep, because I couldn’t.

Steve wakes up at 4 every morning and as the kitchen and Dublin’s room are next to one another, Steve usually ends up waking Dublin up. But then, he’s out the door and I’m left with said screaming baby.

I avoid soda at night and I read a few books that aren’t completely snooze-inducing, but still. No sleep. I’m wondering if it’s due to my change in diet, since going on Weight Watchers. But really, no clue.

As a result of 2-3 hours of sleep every night (or none at all), the migraines I had pre-pregnancy have come back, full force. I had a prescription for Maxalt and Lexapro that I took simultaneously before, but once I learned I was pregnant, I had to go off of both of them. And of course, since we moved from Vermont, I lost my old bottles.

Normally, I could handle the migraines, but it’s getting to where I spend my days slurring my words and squinting and sometimes the left side of my face goes numb. I’m lacking in wit and energy and, well, I’m just kind of over it.

I have an appointment with a new doctor coming up, since I never had my six-week follow-up (due to our move) and I’m thinking of asking the doctor to put me back on meds. But that appointment is three weeks away and I’d rather try other things to put me to sleep.

What helps you sleep at night? I could use all the suggestions you have!

1. I was blown away by the support I received on last week’s post. Thank you all, for your support, through the emails or comments you left me. It’s embarrassing to admit it got so bad, that I actually have reached 200 pounds, even. But it feels so wonderful to have such supportive readers. I’m feeling the urge to put a smiley face at the end of that last sentence, but I will RESIST. MUST RESIST!

2. Steve had Fri-Tuesday off from work as he transitions to the 12-hour shifts at work. This means he works four days from 7 a.m. – 7 p.m. this month with four days off, then four days of the same, four days off, etc. His work, however, is a two hour bus drive away, so he will be leaving at 5 a.m. and not returning home until 9 p.m. Next month, the same thing except he’s doing the night 12-hour shift (7 p.m. – 7 a.m.). Basically, he’ll be a ghost. He works Halloween day, Thanksgiving night and Christmas day. Ick.

3. He still has not been assigned a unit for National Guard, so we’re going on 3 months of make-ups he’ll have to do. Plus the two-week jaunt he missed when we moved. To add to this, he’s applying for a Special Forces unit, another state away. I really won’t see him once he starts up Guards again, which kind of sucks because I’m pretty isolated at home during the day. That’s what the Internet is for, though, right?

4. Weight Watchers is going well. The thing about dieting for me is that I didn’t want to diet for the sake of losing weight over a stated period of time. I wanted to diet in a way that I could continue these habits for life, so I don’t end up back where I started. I don’t want to deprive myself of the things I like to eat. For example, I’m still having steak, pasta, etc, but I’m doing it in much smaller portions. I think this makes it easier for me, because then I don’t beat myself up over enjoying a cookie, as long as I stop at one.

5. Steve and I are SLOWLY turning our new place into a home. When we moved from Vermont, we decided to start fresh, whereby we got rid of everything we owned, except clothing, my computer, a tv and Dublin’s pack-n-play. It’s amazing, when you start over, all the little things you find you need. For example, spices. Spices are expensive when you have to rebuild your spice cabinet! And little utensils, like whisks. Or a can opener. Tubberware, ice cube trays, muffin pans, pillows, chairs, tables, lamps, towels…it adds up so quickly. We made a trip to Target to pick up a few things with a gift card and came across this rug. The 5′x8′ size had a tag of $24.99, even though all the other rugs in the same size were $99.99. I knew that it was too good to pass up, and it was exactly what I wanted (squares, with a lot of coordinating colors). When the cashier scanned it, however, it came up as $99.99, OF COURSE. I wasn’t up for spending that much money, so I almost passed on it, before the cashier sent someone for a price check. A few minutes later, someone garbled over the radio “the customers are correct, we marked it wrong, give it to them for the $24.99. We’re fixing the price tag now.” DUDES. You should have seen my face. What a steal!

6. Dublin FINALLY rolled over last week, which was a big deal in our house. The kid is in the 95th percentile for weight for his age, and he had a lot of trouble doing the mini-pushup (that’s a lot of weight to support for a little guy) so when he finally succeeded, a month late, it was a joyous occasion. And now, rolling over! I can hardly contain myself.

7. After a year of not reading due to time constraints, I now am reading a TON. I finished the four Twilight books in four days and have devoured another 5 novels by various authors since. I could use some suggestions. I’m open to pretty much anything. My favorite book (or books, I should say) is actually The Once and Future King. I finished The Time Traveler’s Wife a few months ago, and I like books of that genre too. So tell me, what should I be reading? It doesn’t need to be a recent release, as long as I can find it on Amazon or eBay! Thanks in advance, peeps!

Today, I’m 23. I’m a 23 year old wife and mommy. I’m an overweight, 23 year old wife and mommy. And being the latter? A wife to my amazing husband and a mom to this perfect, little person I’ve created… It makes me unbelievably happy. But the fat? The fat that doesn’t fit into my pre-pregnancy pants, the fat that turns every shirt I wear into a sausage casing for my fat… Well, that doesn’t make me so happy. Or healthy for that matter.

I had kidney failure, just five months into my pregnancy. I was hospitalized for a week, twice. My body wasn’t ready to carry my son, and I can’t tell you how grateful I am that he is okay, that the rounds and rounds of harmful medications I was hooked up to didn’t damage him.

But I want, eventually, to make my son a big brother. But I don’t want to do it in my current, overweight, unhealthy body. And I want to feel confident in my clothing, in my own skin.

Five years ago, I weighed 150 pounds, which, at 5′10 is a pretty healthy weight. My arms were thin, my stomach was flat and my chest…well, it was not obnoxiously large. I had a lot of muscle definition, from walking 10-15 miles every week.

As of this morning, I weigh 200 pounds. TWO-HUNDRED. That’s an embarrassingly large number for me, a number I never imagined myself reaching. I was just over 200 when I gave birth to my son, 20ish weeks ago. That number represents more than the number of donuts and nachos I consumed during my pregnancy; it represents a lot of stress over my pregnancy complications, fear of my son’s well-being and sadness upon moving away from all of our family three months ago.

This morning, I joined Weight Watchers. This is my second time as a member (I had to quit due to pregnancy before), but the first time I’ll take it seriously. I’m overweight today, and I will be tomorrow. A week from now, I will still be overweight. I know it will take a while, but I’m using my 23rd birthday as incentive to lose this weight, the baggage I’ve carried with me for too long.

My goal is to lose roughly 50 pounds, but more importantly, I’d like to fit into jeans that aren’t in the double digits in size. I’d like to have photos taken of me holding my son without cringing at the rolls of mine I see. Rolls are only cute on Dublin these days. To be honest, I would love to be able to see myself in the mirror the way my husband sees me every day. And when I decide to try to fall pregnant again, I hope to have a body that is much more well-equipped to handle it. I owe it to my possible, future, unborn child and I owe it to myself (and my insurance company!).

The incentive for you, to have to listen to my whining and moaning, will be gift card giveaways. For every 10 pounds I lose, I’m going to host a giveaway on my blog. My idea is that this will help keep me accountable and plus, it’s been a long time since my last giveaway.

So stick around, will you?