OBSESSED

Now that it's summatime, I am a free woman (whoo for being a teacher!). And since I no longer have 25 little loves in my life, I have to fill the void with something.

And that something, my friends, happens to be a little show they call "What Not to Wear".

It's true: I'm hooked!

And lucky me, it's on not once, but TWICE a day. Mmhmm, at 11:00 and 2:00.

So aside from taking fashion notes from Stacy and Clinton, I'm also plotting my own debut on the show.

I'm thinking the way to go would be to make seasonal sweaters (complete with matching turtlenecks, of course), apple earrings the size of 50-cent pieces, and denim jumpers staples in my wardrobe. I'll also have to let my hair air dry everyday (that would be the real ticket. My new third graders would probably go home and cry each day because they have a swamp monster for a teacher. Whatevs -- it'd be worth it for the $5,000 makeover, right?).

So now I think that's on my summer "to-do" list: make my wardrobe and physical appearance atrocious enough that my friends and family would secretly feel sorry for me and covertly video tape how awful I look in order for me to be on the show.

Excellent.

Honest

I chose the title of today's [long overdue] blog post because that's exactly what this will be. Honest.

I've written a number of entries regarding this, but found it too close for comfort to share. And when you blog, you put pieces of yourself "out there". Once "there", they are free for others to judge, pity or not believe. I simply write this evening for anyone who has gone through something similar. And I write, as always, for myself. Maybe tonight, it will give me some comfort. Maybe tonight, it will give me some sleep.

For the past year, I've been sans my monthly friend. For some, this might elicit a fist pump. Lord knows there have been times when we women wish our monthly gift would just stay away on that summer day when we're going to the beach or on the day you chose to wear khaki pants to work. Unfortunately, I'm not fist pumping.

And I haven't been all along.

No one can quite seem to put their finger on why she's gone. Initially, my doctor, a trainer and a nutritionist all suggested my weight. "Gain 10-15% of your current body weight," they instructed (but NO whipped creme Santas, remember? Because they'll go straight to my rear. HA! I maintained my nasty one-a-day habit and haven't noticed any size change yet...). "And while you're at it," they explained, "why don't you cut back on your weight lifting, too. Just to be sure."

And I did as they said.

I stuffed my face.

Little by little, that little number on the scale increased.

And little by little, my pants got smaller and tighter.

I won't lie: it wasn't fun. In fact, there were days that I looked at myself in my spandexy exercise clothes and saw my tummy spilling a little over the edge of my pants. And days when I was stuffing myself into certain pants. On those days, I felt like Jessica Simpson when she wore those mom jeans, minus the great hair she has... and the multi-millions. Don't remember? Let me jog your memory:

Regardless of how I felt about my changing body on some days, I was happy. I was happy to know that this might get me one step closer to having the choice and the ability to have a baby. I was happy to have gained the weight -- after all, it certainly didn't hurt me to put on a little more.

Unfortunately, nothing happened.

When I saw my doctor in April, she was thrilled with the 12 pound gain and told me I should see my monthly friend soon. But, she put me on some progesterone to hopefully get things started, because sometimes when your body's been out of "whack" for awhile, it takes awhile for the hormones to catch up and I might not see 'results' right away.

Unfortunately, still -- nothing has happened.

I cut back on my workouts more now. No more weight lifting for me :( Only yoga. Which is dandy. But lifting was something I really enjoyed, even if it was just once a week.

So I don't think it's my body weight.

They've done a few blood tests -- everything's normal.

So what now?

Just wait and see, my doctors say.

But I've been patient for a year, waiting to see if she'd arrive. And I'm starting to lose that patience.

It plagues me constantly, wondering what's wrong with my body. I go to sleep at night and the last thing I am thinking are prayers that God will fix it.

And I think that's the hardest part. I've learned it before, but apparently have forgotten in the moments that I can't help but tear up over my hopelessness with the whole thing because it seems like "nothing" is working and "no one" has an answer:

God has a plan.

And even though I don't get it right now and I'm frustrated and sad and tired of waiting and I think it pretty much sucks...

He's got a plan.

One day we'll see it.

And hopefully we'll see it in the smile of a baby girl. Or maybe a baby boy.

Hopefully in little eyes that look just like my husband's.

Or in a peanut-sized little girl, just like me.

Hopefully in four or five or however many little ones the Lord blesses us with.

And I'm not going to lie... hopefully we don't have to wait too long to know what that plan is.

Patience.


So. How's that for honesty?