Yesterday, while looking over my Google Analytics summary, I noticed that one particular Google search was leading unique readers to my blog.  This Google search was “pale cleavage”.  The search brings readers to this blog post and I was a little stunned at first.  Who on Earth actually sits down and searches for “pale cleavage”?  Is it some sort of new fetish that I am unaware of?

Well yesterday, I was #4 on the list of the search.  Today, I am #1.  That’s right, when you search for “pale cleavage” I am the number one site delivering the goods.  I’m so moved that I’m thinking of changing my blog name to PALE CLEAVAGE:  The Home of Pale Cleavage!

I must protect my place in the blogosphere, people!  I must make sure that I am always the #1 place to go for pale cleavage!  (Have you noticed yet that I’m soaking this post with the phrase “pale cleavage”?)  Aside from writing more about pale cleavage, I thought I might do the internet a favor and actually post some pictures of real live pale cleavage.

This is my “Oh dear, I have pale cleavage!” look.

“Dude, my pale cleavage is totally metal.  It will rock your face!”

“Yoo-hoo!  Have you seen my pale cleavage?”

“I want to tell you a secret!  I have pale cleavage!”

Waxing philosophical about my pale cleavage.

Eeeeeevil pale cleavage.

And the best pale cleavage of all:

“My wife made me do it” pale cleavage.

I am righting a major wrong here.  No longer are people craving cleavage of the fair-skinned type forced to dig and search for pictures.  I have provided a service.  Now the weirdos actually have something to look at on the first try!

I think that New Year’s resolutions can be phooey sometimes.  We make them and for the rest of January are totally amped up to make our resolutions reality, but as the year wears on, things kind of fall to shit.  I refused to make any resolutions on New Year’s Eve.  I didn’t do it.  I mean, what will I “resolve” to do for the coming year?  Lose weight?  Well, yeah, but that’s aside from the point.

Actually, I am SICK TO DEATH of hearing about weight loss and diets and all that.  Not from those of you who are currently on the path to healthier habits (YAY ASCHLIE!), but with news and magazines and all that.  Every month, my mom gives me her back issues of Woman’s Day magazine.  I like to flip through and read the articles, but I always get annoyed because EVERY issue has a new diet inside.  I mean, I avoid fashion magazines with mannequin-thin models and actresses on the covers simply because I don’t want to read about how to “please my man in 10 new ways” (WHATEVER) and I don’t care about the new diet craze!  But Woman’s Day?  WHY?  We complain about body image being something that is slowly killing us women who simply cannot fit into a size zero and yet even the most innocent looking magazines are constantly reminding us of how we need to rethink low carbs, low fat, 1/3 fat, calories, Weight Watchers, Jenny Craig, NutriSystem, Slim Fast, Dexatrim, etc.  How can  we fit back into our “skinny jeans”?  How can we look fabulous for our upcoming reunion?  How can we feel better about ourselves?  It’s all about dieting.

Now I’ll be the first person to attest to the benefits of eating better and exercising.  Honestly, you really do feel better.  Your body feels better.  But where are the articles in these magazines telling us to see ourselves as beautiful in a size 12?  Where are the articles telling us that real sex appeal is in confidence and not in size 2 skinny jeans?  It’s not healthy for our psyche.

So in a complete rebellion with the diet industry and with society’s “standards of beauty”, I am refusing to make a resolution to lose weight.  I’m going to lose weight, that’s a fact, but it’s not a resolution.  My extra weight was put on because of mental problems and it is mental healing that will take some of it off.  (I’m going to give numbers here folks so if you’re a judgemental bitch, go the fuck away.)

At my thinnest, I was 115 lbs.  For the past few years, I have been unhappily sitting between the 140-145 lbs. area, wishing desperately to get down to 125 lbs.  After the stress of the move from Washington to Pennsylvania and being sedentary at my mom’s house for 3 months, I hit 165 lbs.  After two months in my own place and doing absolutely nothing (no exercise or diet) I am down to 153 lbs.  I suspect that the additional weight will continue to fall off on it’s own until I hit about 145 lbs.  I need to get my treadmill set back up and start watching what I eat during the day, but I can get back down to 140 lbs. rather easily.  I’d still  like to get down to 125-130 lbs.  but I’m not going to base all of my self esteem on a number any more.  I want to feel better.

Now even though I have technically resolved to lose this weight, I am not calling it a “resolution”.  I am sick to death of that word always going hand-in-hand with weight loss.  Let’s just call it a “goal”.  Let’s call it a “mission”.  Let’s call it a bit of mental healing.  Anything but “resolution”.

Last night I had a dream that I gave premature birth to quadruplets.  I was initially told that they had all died.  Of course, I was destroyed from this.  About 3 weeks later, we got a call from the hospital asking us when we were going to come and visit our baby.  We rushed to the hospital and they handed me a very tiny blond baby boy.  A doctor came in and was talking to us about how miraculous his growth has been and that is has been significantly faster than the others’.

“My other babies are alive, too?”  I asked.

“I can’t say right now.”  The doctor said.

“YES you can!  These are my babies!  I deserve to know at least if they are alive!  I deserve to see them and hold them!”  I said.

“I’ll keep you updated,” he said coldly and left.

We kept asking the nurse to tell us stuff, but she refused as well.  We kept asking when we could take the one baby home and they kept saying that they didn’t know.

It was an infuriating dream.  I’m so tired of having these sad dreams about babies.  But pretty much any dream that I have of having another baby is sad.

Not a day goes by (and I mean this, literally…I’m not just telling a story…it’s every day) where I don’t struggle with the decision of whether or not to have more children.  The decision has been left 100% up to me by my spineless husband.  Ok, that’s not fair.  It should be my decision.  I’m the one that has to be pregnant again.  I’m the one that will be doing the reorganizing of our home and lives so that we could fit one more.

Jessie has given me his input which basically said, “I’m perfectly fine with it just being the three of us.  But if another baby should come along, it’s only good news.”  That sounds like the perfect and wonderful thing to say…and that’s exactly why he said it that way.  Because it sounds perfect.  The truth of the matter is that Jessie is a little hesitant to have me pregnant again.  The first time scared him to death.

I still get a little defensive about that first pregnancy, and with good reason.  People have listened/talked about my first pregnancy and the sickness with either complete ambivalence or have been cold about the subject in a way that would suggest that perhaps it is thought that I was lying.  The reason why this pisses my off royally is because NOBODY was there.  I was 3,000 miles away from everybody!  Nobody could see how freaked out Jessie was.  Nobody was at my doctor’s appointment when the nurse said to me,

“You’re 4 months pregnant, your clothes are hanging off of you and your skin is completely gray.  You need help.”

Nobody was with me on those days where I sat in bed and cried because I couldn’t even keep down the two sips of water that I had just had.  Nobody saw me lying in bed for 12 weeks.  Nobody was there with me when I cried what water was left in my body when they told me that it was a disease and that it was more than just morning sickness.  People heard about it from Jessie (who tells things in a cold manner.  It’s just his way) or read about it in blogs.  Nobody was there.

Nobody was with me when I found this site almost a year after my first baby was born and read that studies have shown that in all likelihood, if you suffer the sickness in one pregnancy, you can expect to suffer it in any subsequent pregnancies.  Nobody saw me sitting at my computer crying.

The most painful part of the aftermath of that sickness was the lack of support from family that I received.  People looked bored when I talked about it.  People made hints that perhaps it wasn’t as bad as I was making it out to be.

Surprisingly, the most sympathetic person was my mom.  My mom had no “advice” for me such as the whole toast and crackers thing.  My mom listened to me with pure sympathy in her voice.  My mom listens to me talk about it to this day.  She is active in these conversations, meaning she doesn’t just stare at the ground and wait for the subject to change.  This is because my mom could relate.  Studies have found that the disease may be hereditary.  My mom had two kids and experienced the sickness twice.  The first time was bearable, the second time was more like what I went through with Lukas…..except she never got any medication and she got even less support and sympathy.  My mom was the only person besides Jessie who even tried to listen to me.

In case you’re new here or have forgotten, the disease that I’m talking about is Hyperemesis Gravidarum.  I wear a little blue rubber bracelet on my wrist to show that I support the research going towards this sickness so that it is more recognized.  I am am member of the community behind this research to give support to people currently going through the sickness and, like me, have people who believe that they are being overly dramatic about run-of-the-mill morning sickness.  Truthfully, it is that lack of sympathy and support from family that is the most hurtful.

So back to my dream and the debacle of whether or not to have another baby.  I’d love to have another baby.  I love being a mom.  I had one beautiful baby, so logic would dictate that I could possibly have another beautiful baby.

My current answer when asked about whether or not I’ll have another baby (asked by people who weren’t there the first time and still look at me with skepticism) is that I’m not going to think seriously on the matter until Lukas is old enough to understand that Momma is sick and why Momma is sick.  And although I think about having another baby everyday, it is the truth.  I can’t seriously consider having another baby with Lukas being so dependent still and still needing so much attention.

If I’m lucky, I’ll get a new OB/GYN who will talk to the doctor who treated me the first time (she ordered me to have the next doc call her if I get pregnant again…I was the first case of HG she had ever seen, so I’m sure she’ll remember me) and who will give me the medicine that I need to keep me from vomiting so much.  I can’t start taking the medication until at least 8 weeks of pregnancy.  With Lukas, I started getting nonstop sick at 6 weeks.  If I’m lucky, that’s only 2 weeks of hell.  I can’t do that while chasing a toddler around, though.

I honestly don’t know what I’ll decide in the end.  By the time Lukas is at a point where I can make the decision, I may decide that I like this dynamic of a three-person family.  However, I may start thinking about how great it would be to have a baby in the house again, a little bundle of squishiness and farts who has toothless smiles and tiny toes.  I guess we’ll see.