Blogging in 2018

Well hello there, dusty old blog. A couple of days ago, I received an email informing me that my domain name was expiring soon. I barely blog anymore. It’s a dying art form. I don’t read other peoples’ blogs. TLTR. Say it in 140 characters or don’t say it. Even better, just post a picture with a caption. But I can’t bring myself to let that old domain and blog go, for nostalgia’s sake. So I think I’ll keep it.

I’m sure you all follow me on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, whatever… so I don’t feel the need to give life updates. But since a lot of you aren’t big on posting personal stuff, I’d REALLY love to get life updates from you all! Send me a FB message, comment below, or send me a carrier raven! xox


I have arrived. I’m living my best life. I have never felt this beautiful in my life, ever. I feel like a goddamn goddess. A bad ass one, with tattoos and pink and purple strands of hair. I catch glimpses of myself in the dirty, broken mirror that is propped up against the wall to my left, and I think vainy thoughts. I’m sitting at my computer, in my office. It’s one of my favourite places in the world. Looking at yourself bang on the side, sitting down, isn’t usually a flattering image. But when you have lost 125lbs, you start to get conceited. I know I do. I think that’s why I feel the urge to write on my little dusty blog. Because it’s not normal to say out loud that you think that you look like a goddamn goddess.

Don’t get me wrong, I have armfuls of hanging skin, stretch marks, and saggy bits, but my body has carried and given birth to two beautiful, healthy children. My life-long dream. My body is awesome. I’m more motivated than ever to feed it healthy nutrients and exercise it, to thank it for everything it has done and is doing for me. When I do yoga, I thank my body for the amazing ride.

I often just think about my life and can’t believe how it turned out. A few years ago, I was 350 pounds, I was unhappily married, and I was existing rather than living life. I thought that was it for me. Work and pay bills until the day I die. I know that I worked my ass off to have what I have now, and it wasn’t easy, but I’m sure there was some magic and luck involved also. The kind of in love that I am, I know it’s rare.

I started writing this blog entry a few days ago. You know how it is, with a 5.5 month old and a toddler. I was feeling so cocky as I was writing that, that I nearly deleted it. But I didn’t. In case I felt like I feel right now.

I’ve been swallowed whole by a huge wave of anxiety, depression and panic. I feel crappy about myself. I stayed home from something fun last night. I hid in my bedroom from people today.

I feel ugly. I feel fat. I feel stupid. I feel out of control.

I know… yin and yang. The previous energy and frame of mind will return. I hope it’s fast.

I’ll think of a title later, because I want it to be a good one, but I’ll probably forget.

I often ask myself if I really want to keep writing blog posts, or just continue doing micro blog posts aka social media posts. Sometimes, the urge to write, to purge my thoughts is strong. Sometimes, the thought of organizing my thoughts to do so is too overwhelming. Since my last blog post, Melody has grown a bit and still has a very full head of hair. She will be 3 months old in a weekish. I’m now down 40 pounds since pre-pregnancy weight. I feel pretty fucking amazing. My husband is down 50 pounds. 90 pounds between the two of us so far. That’s really, really wild to me. I am 104 pounds less than my highest non-pregnant weight and 80 pounds less than when I graduated high school. I joined a real yoga studio. I bought a one month unlimited pass for new yogis. Tonight, I tried yin yoga for the first time. I discovered that I can’t do Rock pose. Oh yeah, I also fit in freaking size 18 jeans! I didn’t buy them, they were way too muffin toppy.


Tomorrow is our third wedding anniversary. Can you believe it? I can’t! Three years! Seven years together, two beautiful kids and one fat cat. Life is so wild. I’ve been seeing my psychologist for one year now. Just as I was wondering if it was worth all of the money, two weeks ago she told me that she thinks I have ADD. She loaned me this book to read and wow. It all makes so much sense now.

Maybe if once in a while I don’t force myself to organize my thoughts, maybe I will write blog posts more. Writing has always been pretty therapeutic.

Melody’s Birth Story

I was 36 weeks and 4 days pregnant. I had been followed very closely since the beginning because of my health issues. (Diabetes, PCOS, hypothyroid, past blood clot, etc.) I was now at the point where I was going for blood tests before every round of appointments, and they had the results while I was hooked up to my weekly fetal non-stress test (monitors baby’s heartbeat, movements and possible contractions). January 3, however, I was not prepared to be admitted at all. I didn’t think it was even a possibility. I was just going to a routine growth monitoring ultrasound at the high risk clinic at the other hospital. I wasn’t even going to my hospital! At my appointment, they said that baby looked fine, but that I looked like my eyes were swollen and they were going to take my blood pressure. It was really high. They told me to go sit in the waiting room, that they were going to call my hospital and my doctors and have a chat. That if it was up to them I would be admitted right away. They told me to sit there and in 10 minutes, they would re-take my blood pressure. Of course 10 minutes later it was even more through the roof. They told us to go to my hospital right away, we did, and Melody was born that night.


My ultrasound appointment was at 1:45pm. It was now 5pm and I was lying on the bed, in a hospital gown, being poked and tested… and in those moments in between nurses coming in the room to take my blood pressure, swab my butthole, shave my hoohah, or start another fetal non-stress test, I kept panicking about the things that hadn’t been done before I had this baby. “OH NO! The dishes from lunch are all over the counters and sink. And they are covered in CHEESE!” “OH NO! I didn’t finish laundry!!” Julien kept laughing and reassuring me that none of that mattered. At around 6pm, we were told that the baby would 100%, definitely be born tonight or tomorrow. I was freaking out so much, and Julien was trying to convince me that this was better than having to wait for days at the hospital like the last time.. the anticipation and not knowing was so hard. At least the waiting part and worrying part would be over soon. He was right. Melody was born at 8:52pm that night, January 3, 2018.


Because of my health issues, I was not given other options than a repeat c-section. I was hoping for it to not be an emergency csection this time, but I guess my babies take after me maybe, and don’t like waiting. The actual birth was much harder and more painful this time. It’s like she was stuck inside of me. I had 2 doctors pulling on her, and one nurse pushing on her from the top, and they still had to use forceps. While they were pulling and pushing inside of me like that, and I was trying to breathe and stay calm, Julien looked at me and told me how tough I am. Like the last time, I had to go to the ICU for 24 hours after my csection, because they gave me magnesium sulfate again. (Risk of seizures is a side effect.) But unlike the last time, Melody didn’t have to go to the NICU. I was allowed to hold her in the recovery room for 2 hours before going to the ICU, and that time was magical.


The recovery, however, so far is going soooo much better than last time. I am 10 days post-partum today, I no longer have a vac dressing, my wound is healing well so far *knock on wood!*, and I am 20lbs down from my pre-pregnancy weight. (I was eating a strict ketogenic diet while pregnant, on the advice of my diabetes specialist (and still am), and wasn’t losing weight while pregnant, but I must have been swelled up. (Julien lost 40lbs doing this diet with me during the pregnancy.)


Baby Melody is doing great. She loves to sleep all day and part all night! Julien and I have figured out sleeping shifts and are figuring this family of four thing out as we go. Brother Jerome is doing good, giggles with delight after giving sister Melody a kiss, but is pretty bummed out that maman can’t pick him up for 6 weeks. It really sucks at bedtime because in our normal bedtime routine, I’m the one who picks him up and holds him while we do kisses and goodnights. I’m sure that 6 weeks will be here before we know it though, and hopefully we’ll be pros by then hehe. PS – I have to continue taking my blood thinner shots twice a day for 6 weeks, and they wrote the end date : February 14. Seeing my husband being such an amazing father is making me very much look forward to the other thing I’ll be allowed to do on valentine’s day!! 😀

The Mommy Hat vs the Employee Hat

It’s hard.

This morning, I walked gently and quietly into my son’s room, hoping and wishing that he was feeling a lot better than he did yesterday. I held my breath, partly because it reeked of sour vomit in there. Yesterday was so hard. Newborn days kind of hard. There was so much crying, and so much vomit.

He was awake, looking up at me with his red swollen eyes. I said “Allo mon amour!” and he replied with vomit. I can tell that he’s better than yesterday, but he can’t go to daycare for sure. He is still running a fever. I ask him if he wants to come out of bed and he answers with a little squeaky “No”.

I go in the kitchen to pace and think. Pace and think. My mother in law told us last night that she could not miss today’s work day, so that’s out. He can’t go to daycare. We have no other family close enough. Julien could take the day off, but then he would still have to drive me to work and come get me, on top of other errands that have to be run today, so that could mean a puke filled car. I could take a second day off in a row to stay home with my sick son, but I’ll be judged by my coworkers.

When Julien walked into the kitchen, I was just standing there crying, not knowing what to do. We decided to get Jerome from his crib and bring him to the living room, to further assess his health and mood. He stayed glued to us and hung on for dear life, like yesterday. When I tried to get up off the couch to pace some more, he started crying. Looking at him with his little red crying face, reaching out for his mama made the decision easy for me.

I have wanted to be a mom for too long to not be a mom when my son needs me. I emailed work to let them know I’d be taking another day at home with my sick child. My beautiful, burning child has stayed glued to me since.

And my insides have been twisted with guilt and anxiety and fear of jugement since.


Mother’s Day

Today is Mothers Day. I slept in, I received red roses from the love of my life, a handmade card that my son made at daycare, I watched Netflix all day and I’m currently sitting here watching “Being Erica”, looking ridiculous with my oily coconut-smelling hair mask, wrapped up in Saran Wrap. Earlier I also had a mud mask. My son is in bed and my husband is cooking us steaks and potatoes on the BBQ. Mmm.

I still can’t believe that I finally get to be a mom, to have a piece of my heart beating on the outside, all while being head over heels with his daddy. There is not a day that goes by without my having a burst of gratitude for my life.

I am so thankful that I get to be your mom, Jerome. Happy Mother’s Day to all the women in my life!


A little while ago, I realized that my husband and I needed a mini getaway. Away from cleaning, laundry, work stuff, cat hair, etc. Not long after that discussion, we realized that Mastodon was playing tonight in Portland, ME, and here we are.

Typing this while listening to my child cry his head off in his crib, refusing to nap. He was super sick yesterday and daycare called to go pick him up at 10am. He’s feeling better today, we totally could have gone… but I would have felt way too guilty leaving if he hadn’t been better today. We would have had to leave before fully knowing if he was indeed better, to make it work last minute.

Ah well, if everything happens for a reason then I was meant to be here, with my sick child.