I’m Beautiful Like Me.

On Saturday, we went to Iroquios Park for the Mountain and Hammered Dulcimer concert at the Amphitheater. It was nice, but much smaller than I had expected. T and the boy were bored and the whole lot of them were on my nerves, so we opted to walk over to the park instead. The boy needs more outdoor time these days, what with all his energy. He needs some place to put it that doesn’t involve climbing my furniture or destroying Husband’s computer parts.

But he loves exploring.

And checking out the water feature,
as long as he doesn’t get too wet.

He talks up a storm these days. His vocabulary includes several words that are very easy for anyone to understand: “hi,” “hello,” “daddy,” “mama,” “eat,” “please,” “thank you,” “up,” “down,” “uh-oh,” “no-no,” “eat,” “more,” “bye-bye,” “cup,” and a few others that currently elude me. He also says a number of words that only I seem to be able to understand. He has a distinct way of saying T’s name that everyone else thinks is “daddy.”

He loves bathtime and is generally intrigued with water, although he usually approaches it cautiously unless it’s bathwater. P took him with her to the pool last night and said he wanted nothing to do with the pool, but sat quietly with her poolside and watched others in the water intently for 45 minutes. Anyone who knows Buddha knows that he is typically far too high-strung for sitting long spells contently!

Getting him to sleep is a nightmare (pardon the pun). I am so unaccustomed to this, as Joy has always been a dream (sorry - couldn’t resist) when it comes to bedtime. Every night is a literal battle over getting him to rest. Even naptime has escalated into hellish torment. The boy will be so tired and cranky but still refuse to lay and rest. Husband and I have wondered if perhaps he is plagued by bad dreams or if he is just afraid of sleep. And now that he has figured out how to get up and down out of our bed, we have decided that it is time to get him sleeping in the crib. I am every bit as unhappy about this development as the boy is. He screams as though he is being tortured, despite the fact that we are right there, coddling and patting him, whispering unheard reassurances that all is well, hush now, it is time for bed. This leaves me stressed out and unable to sleep for several hours thereafter.

His appetite has been fluctuating like that of a toddler: one day he is fine with eating very little and the next day, he is a bottomless pit. He has several teeth coming in and it’s getting very uncomfortable to nurse. He has punctured the skin on my left nipple with those tiny teeth of his, despite the fact that he didn’t actually bite me. I suppose it is just friction that accompanies the suckling motion of his mouth. In any case, the past few days I have dreaded nursing, as this is his preferred side. Wouldn’t it follow that he has wanted to nurse more these past few days? He really loves bananas and he enjoyed helping me eat the Rainier cherries (see last post). He likes sausage and chicken and french fries (well, any sort of potato, really) and pasta and olives and fish. His dislikes seem to be more about texture than taste.

He loves watching Jack’s Big Music Show and Blue’s Clues. He loves music. He likes books. But he still prefers throwing things best. Unfortunately, he is usually throwing his heavy toys (like the flash light the in-laws sent to him for his first birthday) at people or our computers. He likes being outside or going for a ride in the car. He wanders around aimlessly like a butterfly when we go to the park. He likes drinking (only water!) from a cup.

Nursing this morning.
What’s daddy doing?!

I’m the youngest of 3. My brothers are 7 and 6 years older. My daddy was in the army and we moved a lot, never living close to my younger cousins for very long at all. I did not ever like younger children that I can think of - even when I was very young, my friends were always the older kids. And never had much opportunity for seeing anyone grow up until my eldest niece was born when I was 14. At the time, my mom and I lived in Florida and she was born here in Kentucky. She was several months old before I met her. I turned 18 a few years later and missed out on a lot of her younger years because I was busy with my own life.

Neither of my children were planned.

When I became pregnant with Joy, I was pretty scared. I wasn’t nervous about the pregnancy or labor, but the bringing her home and being responsible for her part terrified me. In fact, I had very vivid dreams about having a girl and just what sort of example I intended to set for her as a woman in this time, in this culture. They were not pleasant dreams.

Her first few weeks were the definition of “baby moon.” I loved her instantly and had an intuition about her cries and her needs. I was totally unprepared for how hard it was all to be, though and it wasn’t long before I would be totally consumed with overwhelming feelings of inadequacy, frustration and depression. I didn’t know what the hell I was doing and got very little support from her dad or extended family members. I’m still not entirely sure how I got through the toddler years. I’m sure I could pin a gray hair or two on that kid!

I didn’t want any more children after her. Her dad and I were in agreement of that much. I’ve always had this generally icky feeling about parents (my own included) playing favorites when they have more than one child. I understood that it isn’t necessarily deliberate - after all, humans are dynamic creatures and some people naturally get along better than others. Still, I didn’t want to be that mom. We were careful and I never became pregnant again.

As they often do, things changed. Joy’s dad and I split up. Money became tight for me, so I stopped taking birth control. A few months later, when I first met Husband, I started on a less expensive birth control.

A few months after that, I became pregnant with the boy.

Joy was 7 and half years old. I couldn’t believe that I was going to do all this all over again.

My pregnancy was harder, but not difficult by any means. Labor and delivery was smooth and swift. Again, I loved this new baby instantly and had a lovely baby moon.

When I was 6 weeks postpartum, I had a tubal ligation. No more babies for me, thanks.

Perhaps it is the years, the experience, the fact that I cannot have more children… but this boy has taught me so much. I have been far more patient with him than I ever was with Joy. I am enjoying him more, relaxed about things that caused me undue amounts of stress with the girl (like, say, eating food off the floor), and most importantly, learning to appreciate all the things I’ve taken for granted with the girl (like, say, how wonderfully she has always been with regards to sleep).

I still worry that she will think I favor him because he has required so much of my attention the past 16 months that she otherwise would’ve gotten all to herself, because he’s a baby and babies are more easily forgiven for driving one crazy with their incessant curiosity and getting into things they should not get into when they flash you a smile and produce a giggle, because she and I do have a hard time getting along these (and most) days, because I do love my children the same but perhaps I like him just a hair more… I hope that she understands why it is so when she is old enough and doesn’t hold any resentment toward me for it.

* * *

This post is written after spending close to an hour trying to get the boy to sleep. He’s 16 months old and still sleeps in the bed with Husband and I and will not go to sleep for me unless he is nursing.

Joy has slept through the night since she was about 4 months old. She began sleeping in her crib in my room when she was a month old and in her own room when she was 6 months old.

I’ve been thinking a lot about the title of my blog, what it means to me and where it comes from.

“I’m not beautiful like you, I’m beautiful like me” comes from the song Beautiful by Joydrop. It’s important to me for a number of reasons. Firstly, it tackles my own issues with self-image. Next, it is a voice of dissent in a culture that places value on the impossible: physical perfection. Finally, I hope that those words touches others and helps them recognize their own beauty.

As mama to both a girl and a boy, exploring my attitudes about appearance is something that I’m greatly concerned with. With Joy, I’m worried about the impact that television, movies, advertisements and magazines will have on her own self-image. With Buddha, I want him to grow up sensitive to and understanding of the impact that these mediums have (especially on women). I want to discuss with both of my children why beauty is so adamantly emphasized - and therefore pursued - in this culture.

When I was a little girl, I didn’t have many self-image issues. I was active, I ate a well-balanced diet. When I became a preteen and entered middle school, I became more aware of my own appearance and noticed a subtle form of competition that took place amongst my peers. It was a competition that I reluctantly joined. It continued well into high school and even beyond, but it’s impact on me was most negative in those precarious 7 years. It’s a time when children start to develop their own identity within the greater world (as opposed to within the confines of family). I felt awkward and out-of-style. I struggled to fit in. I learned to hate my uncooperative hair. I studied my flaws with a critical eye in the mirror. I’ve always struggled with my weight, too.

I’m not entirely sure when it happened, but things changed. I found that I had confidence. I saw a pretty girl in the mirror - not perfect - but certainly not ugly and definitely worthy of love and respect. Instead of seeing a broad forehead and a too-soft-not-flat belly, I saw long, slender legs and full, pouty lips. I somehow learned to focus on my qualities that I thought of as my physical strengths. It was serendipitous. Discovering a healthy self-image I wasn’t exactly searching for led to suddenly being asked out a lot, too. Turns out that men (and a few women) are really into a self-confident girl. I daresay it quickly became my best quality, outshining even my legs.

Today, I’m a good 30 lbs. (give or take) heavier than I was then. I gained close to 50 lbs. in my pregnancy with Joy and only lost 8-10 lbs. after she was born. It took me many years to find the motivation to do something about it. I lost 30 more lbs. just a few years before getting pregnant with Buddha. I gained less weight with him and lost more directly after his birth, but I’m still heavier than I’d like to be. This has less to do with the way I look than the way I feel (see this post for more info).

At the tender age of 9, Joy is already thinking about her appearance. She has commented to me a number of times that she thinks of herself as fat or that she needs to lose weight. This saddens me and it also angers me. First of all, she is perfect in my eyes! The poor darling inherited her mama’s body and her daddy’s sweet tooth - a toxic combination in this day and age. But she does eat very healthy most days and is very active. I fear that others have corrupted her self-image because of their own exposure to unhealthily thin celebrities. I know too many women who hate their freckles (what is up with that?!) so I’ve made it a point to drill into her head that she is a beautiful girl and that her freckles are among her best features. Fortunately, she loves her freckles.

I happened to catch an episode of Oprah wherein a panel of guest experts discussed the book The Secret. One woman from the audience talked about hating her figure, despite the numerous other ways her life was successful. One of the panelists responded to this woman, stating something to the effect of “Hey, your arms work, your legs work. Learn to love that they can do the things that you need them to do!” I thought that was pretty damn profound!

A few years ago, there was a great (albeit short-lived) TV show called Boomtown. One of the characters on the show, a cop named Fearless, carried a list of Things to Do Before He Died and inspired me to start my own. Topping my list is something I’ve yet to do: own a pair of tailor-made pants. I’ve developed and nurtured a loathing for clothing manufacturers, particularly those in the business of making pants and jeans. Every woman I discuss this matter with agrees that shopping for jeans is a total pain in the ass. Personally, I find that pants that fit my waist are typically way too baggy in the butt, crotch and thighs. While it may be true that many women have a certain body type, I’d argue that it’s absurd and preposterous to expect women to tailor their bodies to fit in clothing items that are mass-produced. Companies ought to tailor their apparel to fit us, not expect us to tailor our bodies to fit their clothing. It’s a major contribution in the movement of our culture that - whatever it’s intentions - is making women hate themselves.

One of my guilty pleasures is America’s Next Top Model. I can’t help but feel drawn to the show. Perhaps it is my own experience in the industry. When I was young, I danced ballet. However, I stopped when we moved to the States, because I just couldn’t get into the groove of the new teacher. Instead, my mom got me involved in beauty pageants and eventually, Barbizon Modeling School (I don’t recommend them). It was an interesting experience and though nothing much ever came of it for me, I am pleased to report that it didn’t have the negative impact on my self-image that it very well could have had. In any case, this year’s Cycle 10 had me cheering for Whitney Thompson. She’s considered “full-figured” at size 10. And believe it or not, she won! I’m hopeful that this is a step in the right direction that our culture (and other cultures, particularly those that admire ours) will lay off emphasizing stick-skinny figures as being more beautiful and therefore more valuable.

Finally, if you haven’t yet heard of Dove’s Beauty Campaign, I strongly recommend checking out their site, Campaign for Real Beauty, just after you watch the video below.