Maybe a New Me

Here I am. I am alive and well and still kicking and screaming and rejoicing and crying - sometimes all in the same day.

I have had fabulous plans of blogging all about our holiday adventures - our first holiday as a family of four - and that has been just a big fat fail.



I wanted to write all about our fabulous plan to take both babies up into the Blue Mountains to cut down our Christmas tree, all in the name of family tradition, and about how Noah layed flat on his back on the sled like the jolly, old man that he is, and about how Nico wailed at the top of his lungs when his papa disappeared into the forest for at least half an hour while I just stood there, staring at my friend Alissa, who kept telling me everything was going to be okay. AWESOME.





I wanted to write about how good it felt to stay home this year, to host a Christmas Eve dinner for family and besties, to wake up on Christmas morning in our own bed, to carry our babies down our own stairs, and to eat cinnamon rolls made in our own oven while opening Christmas presents under our own tree. Nico and Noah loved the wrapping paper more than life itself, Trevor has yet to put down his Nook Color, and I was shocked my husband had somehow remembered that I said I wanted a pair of Toms. But while those things were nice and lovely and oh so fun, nothing compares to crashing on your own sofa in front of your new fireplace while your beautiful babies sleep upstairs and your beautiful husband lets you do just that. HEAVEN.





I wanted to write about time with family in Seattle over the New Year and about how every time I leave my brother and sister and their families, I miss them terribly. We gorged on an incredible Cuban feast made by my sister and played a few games on my niece's new Wii...I might have even accidentally smashed her head with the controller while playing a rousing game of tennis, but hey, no blood, no foul. We walked the zoo with family and dear friends, which with an 18-month-old is soooooo much fun! He ooohed and aaaahed at every living being while his brother slept peacefully in the stroller. Perhaps the highlight of the visit was my dear friend's
5-year-old son profound discovery (said while sitting on a sculpture of a nest of eggs):"Hatching an egg really hurts my privates!" AMEN.





So now it is 2012 and I find myself ready for a new me. In a measly 18 1/2 months, I have been blessed with two baby boys - boys I dreamed of and prayed for and, let's be honest, begged the heavens for. In the end, I find myself at times feeling blissfully happy, yet excruciatingly exausted; completely redefined, yet a little bit lost. And after fertility drugs, miscarriages, adoption, and then pregnancy, I also find myself packing around 30 pounds that at one time, weren't there. It happened slowly but surely and I hate it. LOATHE it.

I used to look like this (the third one from the left)...



The funny thing is, this picture was taken at hands-down the worst time of my life. WORST. I was barely hanging on and it was time to celebrate the marriage of my baby brother to my beloved sister-in-law Dianna. So I stuffed myself into the bridesmaid dress and referred to myself as "The Walking Sausage," when clearly I was not.

I was cute and 30 pounds lighter. And I was miserable. Absolutely miserable.

For once and all I want my outside to match my inside. And the thing is, despite the exhaustion and confusion and self-doubt, I really am so, so, so happy. This is the life I always dreamed of. This is the husband I pictured in my head and these are the children who are even better than my dreams. I have a cheering section that any professional sports team would die for. It is time to do something about this outside, for what it is worth, and so the journey of eating better and moving more begins. NOW.

Maybe, just maybe, a new me is just around the bend.