And then comes baby.

Just me, my sidekick and Target. Yup, a happenin’ Wednesday night. You can tell we’re moms, even without the kids around.  We were in our natrual habitat, Targ-ay. “I could so see you in this!” sidekick says. She beams from ear to ear as she holds up the vibrant orange fringed vest that reminds me of my grandma’s afghan. “Try it on.” “I don’t know if I like the color,” I say meekly.  I give in and try it on. I squirm as I look at myself in the mirror. I actually dig the afghan, I mean vest. Sidekick is right. “Why are you squirming?” I tell her I’m just not sure about the color, but that’s a lie. I’m squirming because I don’t like what I see in the mirror. It’s not the vest. It’s me and my postpartum body that briefly housed two children. My hips are wider, my breasts are less perky and beneath the vest, beneath my shirt,  are stretch marks that adorn quite a bit of my belly. Not exactly a highly sought after accessory.

And then comes baby. Babies. I have two. They’re pretty amazing; however, nothing ever prepares you for the aftermath. The fluctuating hormone levels that contribute to your not so nice mental state, weird appetite, lack of sleep and abrupt changes in your body. Some women take it better than others. Me, I don’t know. I’m still struggling. Realistically I should cut myself a break. After all, I’m only 5.5 months postpartum with my second child. I grew two babies within 21 months of each other for 9 months. My body made them, nourished them and brought them into this world. Pretty amazing thing, birth.

Rewind back to me standing in front of that mirror. I take off the vest. It’s placed back on the hanger and put back on the rack. We move on to another aisle and eventually leave (after much meandering on sidekicks part. Love ya girl!). Now, after some reflection I wish I could say I’m magically at ease with my body, because it’s responsible for some pretty amazing work (sassy girl 1 and sassy girl 2). That’s just not my reality. What I can say is this, I am beautiful. I am strong. I am a mother. I may not be okay, just yet, but I’m getting there. That southern gumption is a hard thing to tame.

M

Like, share and follow. Until next time…

 

*To be clear…NO, I’m not prego again. Silly people.

 

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Adulthood: Everyone Makes Mistakes

To outgrow something, is to not have a use for it any more. I have no use for shenanigans and foolery, because being an adult is hard enough.

I’ve finally met my match. No longer in the “shiny and new” phase and yet I still can’t get enough. It really is an awesome feeling, but know this…every relationship is FUCKED UP. Ignore the glamorous honeymoon shots and cheesy status updates. No couple is perfect. Here is the shit they never tell you.

  • High school sweethearts will not last. You are still growing as people and haven’t discovered who you really are yet.
  • Most likely during your marriage (whether 2 years in or 20 years in) someone will emotionally or physically (or both) cheat if their is a break down in communication.
  • Every person has their own love language. Whether they are into words of affirmation, gifts or dedication of time, it is imperative to find out how your partner defines love.
  • Loving someone with the utmost passion is still not enough to save a relationship. Having the same morals, beliefs and general interests will.
  • You must be able to go out alone with your partner and still be able to have a great time.
  • You must tell your partner everything no matter how much you may hurt them. If your relationship is honest, open and loving, you will overcome any obstacle.
  • Throw away your stupid check list. The super good looking ones treat you like shit and the average ones with the amazing sense of humor will rock your cerebral socks off and bang it out like a champ.

One of my favorite posts.

Self Combusting Divorcée

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I lay alone in a borrowed bed. The lights are off and the only comfort I find comes from the radio softly playing on the night stand you bought me. I’m staring at the ceiling now. I wonder what you’re doing. I begin to cry. The tears flow hot. My breath catches and I cry out in the dark. You aren’t here. You can’t hear me. There’s only the sound from the radio; all voices from people I’ve never actually met.

It’s not my heart that bleeds, but my soul. I feel the need to scream at the top of my lungs, but who would hear me? I’m no longer comfortable in my own skin. It itches. My insides are twisted and I’m on the edge of convulsing. I understand why people become drug addicts. They have pain they can’t shake. They cut…they bleed. They poke…they inject. For a brief…

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My Best of 2012. What a Crap Year!

Change is inevitable. We all change everyday in some way or another.

Some by choice, some by accident and some by divine intervention.

My "Best Of 2012" list written on NYE.

My “Best Of 2012” list written on NYE.

As I bathe in the light of the morning in nothing but my “Love Kills” t-shirt and skimpy panties, I begin to reflect upon the many life changes I have gone through in 2012. New Years Eve 2012 was an adventure to be sure. In an attempt to pay homage to the passing year, my boss suggested we write our best 2012 moments on the wall in the bathroom of the warehouse we worked in (see above picture). Classy I know.

2012 has gone down as the worst year of my life, but as I was forced to stop and think, the “best of” moments floated to the forefront of my mind. Unlike my boss, I didn’t have a laundry list of exotic places I had visited or names of famous people I had met, but rather pivotal rites of passage. Each item on my list not as painful as the first, but each as equally important.

The script entitled “Life & Times of Morgan (Megan)” has once again been flipped and sections temporarily omitted, but for once in my life I feel okay about it. I have moved off the island I had a brief and riveting love affair with. My “awesome” job has since been dissolved. I have said goodbye to the unique apartment I lived alone in and I lost the custody battle on the cabbie I had the pleasure of partying with.

I bet you’re wondering where the hell I am now. It’s funny actually. I now reside in the one place I told myself I would never want to live.  The thing is…I not only have found how to love again, but someone else to love entirely. As for my dreams, each is slowly coming to fruition, just not in the order I planned. Go figure.

I’m still 23 and on the verge of self-combustion, but isn’t every twenty something these days?

-M

Do me a solid and hit share…won’t ya?

A Borrowed Bed.

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I lay alone in a borrowed bed. The lights are off and the only comfort I find comes from the radio softly playing on the night stand you bought me. I’m staring at the ceiling now. I wonder what you’re doing. I begin to cry. The tears flow hot. My breath catches and I cry out in the dark. You aren’t here. You can’t hear me. There’s only the sound from the radio; all voices from people I’ve never actually met.

It’s not my heart that bleeds, but my soul. I feel the need to scream at the top of my lungs, but who would hear me? I’m no longer comfortable in my own skin. It itches. My insides are twisted and I’m on the edge of convulsing. I understand why people become drug addicts. They have pain they can’t shake. They cut…they bleed. They poke…they inject. For a brief moment time is irrelevant and the pain is masked.

I see your face. I remember it well. You tease me in my dreams and when I wake I’m alone. I’m alone in a borrowed bed with just the radio softly playing on the night stand you bought me. 

I drift back to sleep. My soul sighs in relief. You are sitting on a park bench waiting for me. The sun shines bright and warm just like your smile. You are smiling down at me. You are laughing at my jokes. You take my hand in yours and you utter the same words you whispered in my ear on our wedding night. “I love you Morgan. I don’t tell you that enough, but I truly do. I’m happy.” I look at you and I blush. Your hazel eyes capture mine and it’s as if I’m staring at you for the first time. Suddenly I’m very cold. I’m chilled to the bone.

I wake up. I roll over. I’m alone. It’s just me and the radio that softly plays on top of the night stand you bought me. It’s just me; all alone in a borrowed bed.

-M

Pregnancy & Alcohol…They Really Do Go Hand In Hand

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My compliments to FB and these two love birds for the photo. Hey, it’s public information when it’s on the web.

Today…today is… The words seem to come to mind, but fall short. My lips part, but nothing comes out. I found out today that the ex and the woman he had an affair with are pregnant. It’s only been 6 months since the divorce; however, when you think about it they have been “together” for about a year since they were seeing each other the last 6 months of our marriage included.

You always hear of things like this happening, but I never imagined this would happen to me. I now wonder how the women before me made it through this part. The divorce was a brutal blow because of the deceitful affair, the manner in which I was used to obtain matching motorcycles (yes, they have matching motorcycles) and overall lack of emotion from the man I said “I do” to; however, nothing could have prepared me for this part.

What do you do when the person you envisioned having children with has them with someone else? How are you suppose to feel? How do you overcome the grief? I never chose this; decisions were made for me and now I have to just deal with the fallout.

Here is my plan:

  1. Drink
  2. Drink
  3. Drink a little more.

I know drinking won’t solve anything, but it will numb the pain at least for today. As for the days after today, I will deal with them as they come and all of the pain associated with the big P. Don’t feel sad for me either…I’ll recover. I come from a long line of bull headed Texas women, so weak isn’t really my shtick.

-M

Splitting at the Seams (my life, not my waistline).

Living alone isn't cute.

Living alone isn’t cute.

 

Cold weather has finally arrived and so has this funky feeling that I can’t seem to shake. I just feel down and have for several days now. I struggle with being alone. Honestly, I sincerely believe that I am the kind of person who was never meant to be alone, live alone, eat alone, drink alone. I am attempting to embrace the idea, but I find myself sitting alone on the couch in my apartment staring up at the walls and the one solitary red place mat that marks my spot on the six-person table that never gets filled anymore. I guess it could be much worse. I could be naked, face down, ass up, hugging an empty wine bottle with chocolate wrappers littered around my body.

Like this, but minus the clothes and with wrappers everywhere.

Like this, but minus the clothes and with wrappers everywhere.

How the hell do people survive alone!? I know some who actually enjoy this lifestyle; however, I am most definitely not one of them.  I know this experience will shape me positively in some way, I think I’m just having growing pains at the moment. The nights I sleep alone I find myself reliving moments in my past and wondering what if I would have chosen another path, another person another career. I begin to examine and dissect my life piece by piece as the what ifs roll into the forefront of my brain. The biggest what ifappears. What if by God or grand design ALL of this is exactly as it should be? Every experience up to this moment was intended and is suppose to mold me into the person I was created to be; every scar, every disappointment, every wound inflicted upon me.

In my past relationship I was doomed to never discover my full potential and never to take risks. My ex will most likely re-marry eventually, never go to college, live in the burbs, have a kid or two and stay at the same job until he retires to his piece of land in the Texas Hill Country. It sounds attractive to some, just not to me. I think part of the reason we didn’t work out was because he saw it in me. He knew I craved more than he could ever offer. I have this feeling; this deep desire to be someone, to create something and to change lives. Ultimately, I would like to attend grad school, re-marry a person who will grow with me, obtain a job revolving around my greatest passion and have kids. In-between each of the aforementioned life markers I will travel, encounter interesting people, experience different cultures and absorb my surroundings.

If there is one thing I have learned though…never expect anything to go as you planned. On that note, I think it’s time to get another healthy dose of java served piping hot by the cutie at the corner coffee shop. I bid you all adieu.

-M

Gambling to Win.

Love entangles, ensnares and is never black and white. 

When I was a little girl I always thought of love as a fairy tale in which some deserving man would win me over, whisk me away to some exotic location and we would live happily ever after till the end of our days. Even as a teen I would watch these hopeless romantic comedies and scream at the t.v. when there was a conflict between the main love interests. “Hello he’s hot, you’re hot and he loves you! Get over your petty differences and hit the sheets! That’s what I would do!” Fast forward to the twenty somethings. I’m divorced from my high school sweetheart, moved from the city that all of my friends reside in and am completely petrified of not finding the right person. When do you know? How do you know? Do you really know or is it just a gamble? A roll of the dice, a rub on the lucky rabbits foot or a delicate kiss on the Blarney Stone?

My biggest fear is the uncertainty of it all. I had this master plan and knew (or at least thought I did) how my life would unfold. Now, I am just living life the best I can and trying to experience all of the beauty marks life has that I glanced over in my past life. I also have this other dilemma. I have feelings for someone who doesn’t live near me. I could see myself being with him longterm, re-building a life with him and I know he would love me unconditionally. Here’s the thing, I’m not sure I’m ready for that life just yet. I also have feelings for someone else that does live near me; however,  how I feel for him isn’t the same and I do not see myself with this man long term. When you have found the “one” you shouldn’t have any type of feelings for another…right?

I’m emotionally stunted, wishy washy and uncertain of my future. I honestly feel ruined from my last relationship. I no longer wear my heart on my sleeve, I’m almost cold and calculated; numb to an extent. I thought of running to another country just to remove myself from the situation; however, a certain business venture came up that I feel compelled to give a try.

The love I once held could be considered consummate love. These days my insides feel like a glorious game of table tennis or Monopoly. “Do not pass go, do not collect $200.” How many rounds around the board before I land in jail?

I foresee a drink at the local pub in my future.

-M

The Worm Hole II

Galveston…where dreams don’t come true, but they come to light. 

A picture can capture a moment in which words fail. Click. Click. Click. While the moment you experience may be fleeting, the picture memorializes it. Forever remembered, easy to share and helpful when words just can’t depict the situation.

This is my life as a self combusting 23-year-old divorcée temporarily marooned on an island called Galveston. Kick back, relax and enjoy the ride. We’re on island time baby.

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Ted & I for a pub night.

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I can write on the walls at work! Gotta love chalk walls.

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Fellow Galvastonians strolling their dogs. This made my day.

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My masterpiece.

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Halloween 2012 Island style.

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Buddha.

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late nights…

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Armed with caffeine and a dream.

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This was taken at the corner store by work. Swanky.

These are my adventures, my experiences and my moments. Full speed ahead!