will the real Josh Ramsey please stand up?

okay, so by now you’ve figured out that Spencer Pratt is not my husband’s real name. No, I am not actually married to the loser Spencer Pratt from the Hills. Yes, he could be my husband’s doppelgänger. Yes, he gets told this all the time in public. No, it doesn’t drive me nuts — I actually laugh every time this happens because he hates it. It’s died down quite a bit so now he groans every time I mention him in my blog as SP because, “nobody knows who he is, Hannah. he’s not famous anymore.”To which I reply, “you’ll always be famous in my heart, Spencer Pratt. You’ll always be famous in my heart.”

Now in the age of Twitter, Josh Ramsey (former alias Spencer Pratt, twitter name @joshramsey) has a new online nemesis — Josh Ramsay.

It seems this gentleman is a Canadian Rock star from a band called Mariana’s Trench. I had no idea who he is, so I had to google him. He’s your average rocker — drugs, sex, and rock ‘n roll. He wrestles with the usual problems the every day individual battles with –heroin addiction, problem with bulimia, and adoring fans all over Canada. These Canadian fans are the ones cyber stalking my Josh on twitter — and it’s gotten out of control.

Examples:
- “the highlight of my day was touching @joshramsey’s nipple”
- “@joshramsey you killed it tonight in toronto! amazing <3 love you… P.s. Your hot”
- “@joshramsey is that they key to your heart in the fallout video? I’ll take it and never let go<3″

I could go on and on and on and on with random tweets from random girls who apparently cannot spell the name of their favorite celebrity, nor can they really spell in general… however, it makes for hours of endless entertainment (and i’m certain a huge ego boost for my Josh Ramsey).

 

this is NOT Josh Ramsey.

this is NOT Josh Ramsey, but he looks a lot like him.

THIS is Josh Ramsey

so, listen up teeny-bopper Canadian chicks. i’m okay with you tweeting ridiculous things to my husband. you live very far away (too far away for me to beat the crap out of), and you don’t sound incredibly intelligent on Twitter, so you’re not an immediate threat. Plus, I think he enjoys the idea of being hailed as a Canadian rock star.

The real Josh Ramsey enjoys a fine cigar and glass of scotch. He spends his time brainstorming crazy, hair-brained ideas to take over the world and save humanity. He loves to run for long periods of time and travel the world so he can run there as well. He works hard and doesn’t get much credit for how amazing his he, but he too, deserves a fan base for his level of supreme excellence.

So, tweet on, awful tweeters. However, you do need to learn how the crap to spell your favorite celebrity’s name. i mean, i could not only spell the first, middle, and last name of my teenage high celebrity crush, but could also tell you where he lived and what he was doing at that exact moment in time (not really, but I wish). Let’s get real, cyber-stalkers, you aren’t bringing your A-game. Bully for both of the Josh’s. Meaningless flattery for one, and avoidance of crazy stalkers for the other. Win-Win.

In other news, Jack is growing hair and I couldn’t be more proud.

also, NOT Josh Ramsey, but a product of him.

-hannah.

you need a mother, very badly.

One of top 10 favorite movies happens to be Hook. I can remember seeing it for the first time when we were stationed with my dad in South Korea. Now, as an adult the movie makes me cry. every. single. time. when Peter is figuring out how to become a Lost Boy again and nobody has any idea who he is, while simultaneously, Hook is trying to convince his son (ironically, named Jack) that he isn’t Peter’s son anymore. Maggie, the little girl, is immune to all this change and holds true to who she is, her brother is, and who her dad is. But she mostly holds on to how evil Captain Hook is, screaming, “YOU NEED A MOTHER VERY BADLY” when Hook tries to convince her & Jack that their parents don’t really love them.

Most of you have met Barb. She’s my only real follower. She comments on everything (when she can figure out how) whether it be a picture on Facebook or a blog, especially if the photo includes Jack in it. She wants to be involved in every facet of your life — whether it be “Why the hell you’re doing a stupid food challenge for 30 days?” (more to come on that) or read the same book series you’re reading just to have something else to talk about. We teach the same fitness classes. We love chips and salsa. We like to go for long walks when we talk because we both hate sitting still. we miss the crap out of KC Barbie because life simply isn’t the same without her around. And we laugh at each other a lot.

beautiful Barb & baby Hannah

Don’t we all need mothers very badly? I mean, I sit here with a few moments to type while Jack sleeps before he wakes up and wants me to hold him, cuddle him, nurse him, and help him discover the world around us. He just rounded the 4 month mark, and aside from being GIANT, he is still the same easy-going, laid back, super happy baby he’s been since day one. And as I stare at his beautiful face, I’m reminded that just as he needs me every day, I still need my mom. I need her to help me navigate having a baby. I need her to remind me it takes 9 months to get my body back and that I look great. I need her to tell me to cut Spencer Pratt slack when I’m being a shrew of a wife. I need her to help me be the best person I can be — even at the age of 24. And I don’t think I’ll ever stop needing her.

isn't she lovely?

I’m not saying my relationship with my mom is always sparkles, rainbows, and butterflies. In fact, when we fight, it’s not very pretty, but it never lasts very long. High school presented the usual challenges like, “Oh mom, you have NO idea what you’re talking about. I know everything. I’m a genius super-human. How have you not figured this out yet?” To college, “Oh mom, you have NO idea what you’re talking about. I know everything. I’m a genius super-human. How have you not figured this out yet?” To currently: “Oh mom. I can’t believe I didn’t listen to you about XYZ. You’re right. You’ve always been right. Damnit.”

can YOUR mom do that? didn't think so.

She’s picked out Spencer Pratt to be my husband before I even liked him as a friend. She let me cry when junior high and high school were absolutely miserable because people suck. She helped me pursue different passions to avoid those people and figure out that I was pretty awesome even though they made me think other wise. She verbally slapped me when I needed to be slapped a few years ago. Prayed fervently for me when I ignored all wise counsel. Then let me cry and opened her arms to me when I finally repented to those around me and realized that I do need a mother badly.

welcome baby Jack into the world.

She’s not Jesus. But, she’s pretty close to sainthood. I mean, she IS married to MY DAD. And if you’ve spent any time around him, you know that that alone deserves a seat right next to Jesus in heaven. She doesn’t realize what a great mom she is though. She grieves over something she said when I was in 8th grade. She apologizes for transferring her idiosyncrasies to us. She thinks she could’ve done so much better if she had done this and this and this. But in reality, she’s effing awesome. she’ll get into your chili. threaten to break your fingers when you smoke a cigarette. tell you when you’re about to royally screw up your life. cheer you on as you run a marathon. run 3 miles of it with you. coach you through labor. listen and love all your crazy ER stories. watch you raise her first grand baby. let you ask a million questions and call her at 3am. and still let you come sit on her bed and tell you about your day. again, i tell you. awesome.

the whole damn fam.

So, mom (since I know you’ll read this), i love you. you don’t hear this enough from any one, but i appreciate how hard you work to make sure i felt loved, secure, safe, and happy growing up. i know i wasn’t an easy child to raise (even though i am the best one you have), but from the bottom of my heart, i want to say “thank-you” for giving me the best years of your life and encouraging me to do the same with my baby. i love you thiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiis much.

-hannah.

Jesus Panties.

I work in a really busy trauma center as a nurse. Like every person on this planet, my job is tough. At any given moment in time I am saving a life, comforting someone hurting, providing tender love and care for the sick, and playing counselor to someone on the brink of despair. Okay, I laughed really hard when I typed that sentence, but it’s a slightly embellished truth. Somedays you feel like a rock star, and some days like a legalized drug dealer and babysitter. The silver lining to my crazy job is the people I’m blessed to work along side. Like I’ve mentioned in previous blogs, I make amazing friends at work. Some of them have become my closest friends — people I call when I have my own emergencies or when I need a babysitter just for an hour so I can go work out real fast (that’s as close as family in my book). These people do not get the recognition they deserve for the level of extreme awesomeness they put into this world. I’d like to share with you one person in particular who has made my work life a whole lot brighter and happier. We’ll call her, Lola. 

When you enter the ED, you’re greeted by a clerk who will tell you where your family member is being treated and the easiest way to get there. They answer your call lights. They relay information. They organize your chart. They send you to the right place in the hospital. They keep the nurses’ heads on straight. Lola is a super clerk. She knows EVERYTHING about EVERYTHING. Phone numbers, special charting packets, how to order tests/procedures, and where the best coffee is. Even better, she knows you. Even if you’ve only been working in our department for a few weeks, she knows your name. And she’ll use it. When I was miserably pregnant during the last few months and continued to work my encounters with Lola were like this:

me: *grumbling to self about how my job is the 7th layer of hell when you’re pregnant and hate humanity.*
Lola: “HI HONEY BUNNY. HOW’S MY BABY? YOU LOOK SO AMAZING. LET ME RUB YOUR BELLY. YOU’RE SO BEAUTIFUL. YOU’RE GOING TO HAVE SUCH A BEAUTIFUL BABY! YOU’RE DOING A GREAT JOB CARRYING THAT BABY!”
me: (*beaming. thinking to myself, “i AM awesome, aren’t i?! i can do anything! i can conquer the whole world. i can even clean my house tonight and do laundry! i’m superwoman! i’m going to be the best mom ever! and my hair looks great too!”) “Thanks, Lola. I needed that.”
Lola: “No problem, sugar. See you tomorrow.”

So, I’m not making this stuff up. If I could describe her in three words they would be: gracious, feisty, and genuine. Lola genuinely cares about YOU. She wants to know how your life is. She loves your baby more than you do. She is so mad that fat patient in C32 told you you needed to wear a girdle because you still look pregnant even though you just had a baby 16 weeks ago so you should be allowed some flex room to get back to normal. She will tell that crazy patient who keeps screaming at you to bring them a snack tray or turn on their TV that they need to use their inside voices and be nice to their nurses because we have hard jobs and want to be the best nurses for all our patients. But who cares about Lola?

we do, damnit! we love this hardworking, selfless woman. we love that she makes fun of the fact that we’ve treated everyone in the city of Dallas for STD’s twice. She says, “I’ll never be smelling funky like these girls because I’m wearing my Jesus panties. No one gets in the Jesus Panties. These are my purity panties!” we love that she works two jobs (one during the day and one at night) AND is finishing up her degree in social work because she really loves people and wants to help them. we love that she knows everything but won’t admit it. we love that she’s in our business. we love that she’s willing to get up IN our business if she needs to. we love that she cracks the whip on whatever team she’s on and runs a tight ship.

She’s an unsung hero. She saves lives every day — the nurses’ lives, by keeping our heads on straight and making us laugh, and yours, by keeping us sane when you piss us off.

I told her I was going to write a blog about her, but didn’t tell her why. It’s because she deserves recognition for being so real and so amazing. I wanted to take a picture of the two of us together because I wanted you to see how beautiful she is on the inside and outside. But Lola doesn’t see how amazing other people see her, so she wouldn’t let me even though I chased her with my iPhone for about 30 minutes at work tonight. Even when I threatened her with withholding photos of Jack from her because I know she loves them so much. She just laughed at me because she knows that it’s impossible for me NOT to show people my photos of Jack and she loves them the most. She hates Facebook and avoids it like the plague. But she is aware that I was going to tell everyone how incredible she is and how she makes the ER and better place to be.

Here is my interpretation of who Lola reminds me of:

Lola is the ER's Oprah.

So, Lola, go on with your bad self. You make the ER a much better place. We are lucky to know you.

-hannah.

SP vs. the Tejano music.

our humble abode deep in the heart of OC.

our house is in the middle of the ghetto. my husband claims this isn’t true. he proclaims we are “urban pioneers.” granted, we have an amazing area of local restaurants and shops, including a wine bar with an adjacent bakery & grocery store, and a organic food co-op where we get vegetables and fruit from local farmers.  like any area of our city, one street is incredibly nice and then the next street over is horrible. our street is an excellent example of this amalgamate. we have a nice, re-modeled, older home that we put a lot of work, time, and money into. our neighbors, even though they speak NO English, take amazing care of their house as well. they put up a fence. they have a dog. they mow their lawn. the wife came over to attempt to communicate to me that my car lights were on and i left my keys in my front door (i blame it on the fact that i just had a baby and was sleep deprived). anyways, they are pretty awesome.

however, the neighbors next to them are building a meth lab. they have foil on their windows and shady people driving by. i mean, there is some real “Breaking Bad” crap going on in that house. and the neighbors next to us have about 20 people in their house at any given time and blast tejano music at all hours of the night. they also got the neighbors behind us in on the gig, because they, too, blast their crappy music whenever the hell they want to.

to me it seems perfectly ILLOGICAL to open up all the doors of your truck and then turn your radio up to the loudest volume possible just to hear some really awful tubas, trumpets, and singing. plus, when you’re in front of your truck and not inside or next to it you aren’t hearing the music anyways. YOUR NEIGHBORS ARE.  and this pisses me off. first of all, you have no basic concept of sound travels, and second of all, you have the worst taste in music ever.

i’m an awesome neighbor. i don’t blast music. i keep my yard clean. i make sure my dog doesn’t eat you. and this is how you repay me? i came to terms with this before Jack was born and now i’m so tired that even sleeping in the truck with the tejano music wouldn’t bother me. but Spencer Pratt hates it.

If you know my husband, you know he is super even and calm. I am the dramatic, over-zealous, in-your-face confronter of our relationship. for obvious reasons, our neighbors are pushing his buttons. he tries to combat it in a peaceful manner. he blasts classical music when we hang out outside. he tries to nicely ask them to turn it down. he even still smiles and says ‘hello’ when we’re outside. but no more. he is angered. the sleeping giant is awake. For example, I came home from work at 4am last weekend and found both husband and child awake in bed eagerly waiting my glorious return. Jack was happy as a lark and Josh had a nervous twitch and was pacing back and forth in our house.

me: “What’s wrong?
SP: “the music. it won’t stop. it’s 4am.”
me: “yeah, it’s kinda loud. i noticed it when i drove up. did it wake jack up?”
SP: “yeah. and i walked with jack over there to ask them to turn it off and the guy pretended not to speak english. when i know he can clearly understand me. he gave me some pretty dirty looks.i”
me: “wait, you walked over there with jack? what if they shot you and took my baby… that could’ve gone bad in so many ways.”
SP: “i wasn’t worried. i had a can of gasoline in the other hand to send a message. turn off your music or i’ll burn down your house. then i called my cop friend. he said they feign ignorance with them as well. so, i’m waiting for them to send someone over to talk to them. i feel like a real helpful citizen. i’m protecting my neighborhood by increasing police patrol in the area and awareness for the current state of our street.”
me: “…okay… but the music is still playing.”
SP: “I KNOW.”

we’ve become THOSE neighbors…

so the cycle continues. we relax. music blasts. josh flips. jack wakes. neighbors pretend. cops show. music stops. until the next weekend.

but ever faithful SP continues his vigilant fight against the evil is loud tejano music with the hopes of promoting neighborhood peace and tranquility. i’m praying imprecatory prayers that they move soon.

so, who wants to be our neighbors? you can kick out the meth-heads or music-haters (because it’s obvious that anyone who hates music will blast the worst kind possible as loud as they can to punish the rest of society). take your pick. i can’t promise we won’t call the cops on you.

-hannah.

p.s. Spencer Pratt is no longer allowed to watch “Sons of Anarchy” anymore. He’s getting into some real deviant behavior to solve his problems (ie., gas can messages). Don’t piss him off, please.

everything’s changed.

as the new year approaches i’m reminded of two things:

1. i have a baby, and

2. wait… i have a baby?!

2011 has been the year of Jack. From zygote to infant, my life has had a complete makeover in the heart department thanks to pregnancy & birth. God knew the desires of my heart before I knew them. The selfish aimless wanderings of a 23 year-old, transformed into a thoughtful, less-selfish (not quite selfless) 24 year-old. He is faithful & gracious to a sinner like me.

So, I accomplished as much as a pregnant woman can accomplish with her 2011 resolutions.  Insert 2011 flashback here.

1. Worked out harder and smarter. With the mentality of training for labor, I worked hard to be the best. according to my amazing OBGYN, i was the best. and her favorite. which made for an amazing birthing experience.

2. Ate semi-horribly. Being sick for 3 months means you eat whatever you can keep down. Aka, tons of potatoes. Gross. Still – managed to keep the weight gain minimal and enjoy eating whatever I wanted. Kicked the diet coke habit for 9 months. Now, I love it so hard approximately 2x a week. Baby steps.

3. Didn’t run any more 1/2 marathons, but kicked off being unpregnant by beginning to run again and trying to keep up with distance-lovin’ Spencer Pratt.

4. Tried my hardest to love God and SP well. Failed miserably at both. haha

5. Became domestic by having a baby, keeping it alive, and working just enough to pay for my hair upkeep and cleaning lady. I think both of those things are domestic.

6. Josh finished Harry Potter — big accomplishment! we are so proud of him. It only took him 6 years.

2012 resolutions:

1. Enjoy the hell out of this precious boy. He’s moving so fast. He’s already doing trigonometry and quoting shakespeare. Next month he’ll be in college and I’ll be lost. That may be a hyperbole, but you get the drift. Kids grow too fast.

2. Be active as a family. we run together already, but we’re ready to be more adventurous. skydiving is next on the agenda. i hear they let you wear a baby in your Moby wrap.

3. Cook at home more. Enjoy local produce and meat and eat as close to the source as possible.

4. To not obsess about weight, but be more focused on being healthy, happy, and loving my body just the way it is (and hopefully look good in a bikini by next September when we go to Hawaii with baby Jack).

5. Simplify. Life, house, work,etc. Just keeping it as simple as possible and not worrying about the rest.

Recap of 2011:

january 22. the day i found out i was pregnant josh & i babysat for some close friends. we were pretty excited.

then we decided to get a new puppy. because that's the smartest thing to do when you're pregnant. not.

spencer pratt turned 27 this year.

20 weeks pregnant and really showing. Lady Daga is already a giant. I still have a crappy iPhone 3.

june 2011. 22 weeks pregnant and getting to see my sweet boy's face for the first time.

29 weeks pregnant! didn't know i'd be meeting Jack in a mere 10 weeks!

i turned 24 old this year. poster cred to SP. well done.

i continued to work up until 3 days before i delivered Jack. my co-workers had to remind me to be nice to patients by making me smiley faces to wear on my belly.

being wheeled to Labor & Delivery by some of my work friends. please notice that my hair is very nicely straightened. i did this while dilated 6cm. and screaming. but it was worth it!

with my hero bringing our first baby into the world.

HE'S HERE! best day of my life.

Christmas came early in October! Jack 5 days old AND an iPhone 4s, now I can say goodbye to crappy iPhone 3 pictures!

jack at 2 weeks old. this photo was NOT taken by an iPhone 4s, obviously. haha.

photo cred to the ever-talented Lindsey Joy. Thanks for capturing such a special moment in time.

jack at 3 months. we love you, Spud.

Ramsey Family 2011. best year of my life. hands down.

2011 was an incredible year of growth — spiritually, emotionally, and physically with the birth of Jack. i’m so thankful for the friends that stuck with us through the pregnancy and came out alive in the end. here’s to an amazing 2012!

-hannah.

“if you’re feeling like a pimp, go’n brush yo’ shoulders off.”

jack is 10 weeks old today.

that’s right. i’ve keep a child alive for 10 whole weeks. i haven’t even kept a plant alive for 10 weeks.

that being the case, one of my favorite things about being a mom is the kid clothes. i’m talking baby gap, crew cuts (jcrew for kids & babies), and any random boutiques with cute crap that’s waaaaay over-priced. Spencer Pratt won’t let me buy most of it, but I still manage to talk him into one or two things.

growing up, playing with Barbies was definitely number 1 on my “Play with until I’m 13 list.” (Yes, that’s right. I just took my home-school coolness to an all time high by admitting I played with Barbie until the end of junior high. I’m that awesome). She had cool outfits and limitless events to wear these outfits.

Fast forward to today, now I have a live human dress up in cool clothes. I’m glad I didn’t have a girl, because some how I’d be making lululemon fit her tiny body. Jack is one well dressed kid. However, I have huge issues with the child clothing market.

Why the hell are there animals on everyone’s pants?

I can deal with the animals on the feet. I mean, Jack even has an outfit with pumpkin feet (it’s totes presh). I CANNOT deal with random animals on the ass. I especially hate the monkeys. hate hate hate hate hate.

that's right, spider monkey, i'm talking about you.

Monkeys have always had a special place in my heart where I absolutely hate and loathe things. They are ugly. They’re weird. I don’t care that we share 98% of the same DNA with chimpanzees; I 100% hate them. When we lived in Korea, the amusement park Yongin Farmland (sadly, now called Everland) we spent many weekends going to this wonderland of joy and danger. Some of my most memorable childhood moments stemmed from this park:

1. almost being eaten by lions and bears on the safari ride of death. they hung slabs of meat outside the open windows of the bus to encourage the animals to climb on the bus. AMAZING!

2. being too short to ride the big rides but still being let on.

3. eating at the only foreign Wendy’s I can remember.

4. the damn monkey sanctuary. what is the best idea ever? i know, let’s get a million capuchen monkeys and put them all together in a large area enclosed by chain-links and let them roam free. Want  to take it a step further? Let’s allow people entrance into this thing to PLAY with these monkeys!

needless to say, one of my dad’s friends was bit by a monkey during this adventure and had to receive rabies shots for awhile.

included are unacceptable vs. acceptable outfits:

unacceptable.

acceptable (ignore the fact we don't have socks/shoes on our feet. we pooped on them).

even more acceptable. it glows in the dark.

best of all, this is.

so, i’ll continue to dress Jack in things I would wear (uhm, I was Princess Leia for Halloween to compliment his costume & if they had a skeleton onsie in my size I’d probably wear that too).  and i’ll be pretty proud of myself for keeping him alive — all 15 lbs of him. And if you send me any monkey crap i’ll make sure to pray imprecatory prayers against you that you are excoriated by a million screaming, scary death monkeys.

-hannah.

Spencer Pratt loves Pinterest.

my husband is the one dressed up as an incarcerated Martha Stewart with red lipstick and my mom's apron.

Let’s get real.

Pinterest is dumb.

Like, seriously. It’s a giant waste of time. You beg for a membership. They put you on a waiting list to make it seem that much better, because the anticipatory build up is the best part. Then, you stalk friends and family through the things they post trying to get a glimpse into their lives wondering who has better taste in crap- you or them?

I have no taste in crap.

I’m serious. I don’t do ANY DIY stuff and all my home organizational tips are “If you don’t use it than why the hell is it in my house?” I’m the opposite of a hoarder. I’m more of an, “Oops, sorry, SP. I threw out your letter jacket from high school. I figured you’d never wear it again.” (true story. i’m a bad wife.)

I got suckered into Pinterest because, I too, desperately wanted admission into this secret club. When I got it I had no idea what to do with it. Pinterest Barbie showed me this awesome app to put on my phone that allows me to pin crap at all hours of the night when I’m breast feeding Jack, who also has his own board. UGH. So, I sit on my phone and die laughing at the humor section and wishing I had two hands to do a “waterfall braid” (google it- it’s amazing looking. sigh).

Spencer Pratt has this dirty little secret. He logs into my Pinterest account. I caught him on my phone and was all like, “Why you up in my business, SP?” And then he says, “I’m on Pinterest.”

Wait- what?

So, turns out he’s highly interested in the Home Decor, DIY, and Architecture stuff. And he has his own board on my Pinterest account. Why doesn’t he get his own account? Oh, he’s still on the damn waiting list.

But just you wait. You’ll start seeing your Pinterest feed blow up with pins by SP and you’ll laugh like I do. Then you’ll be pissed because you realize he’s so much better at all of the DIY stuff than you are and you’ll cry to yourself when he SMOKES you in any Pinterest challenges. Because Mr. Martha Stewart is the BOMB at DIY stuff.

But, hey, I made meat loaf the other night! Score one for domesticity.

- hannah.

P.S. He read the title of my post and already yelled at me for exposing him to all five of my readers. It’s okay, SP. You can keep your man card.

run, forrest, run.

it's a love/hate relationship.

If I could make that photo take up my entire blog, I would.  I hate running. Like, running makes me want to pull out my toenails with pliers. But, I’m committed to two things: being a good mom and being healthy. Being a good mom means that when I haven’t had ANY sleep the night before it’s not socially acceptable to be found in the corner sucking my thumb and rocking back and forth while mumbling to myself.  So, what do I do? I work out.  It solves both problems.

Day four of post-partum, I was blessed to have my mom staying with me.  She echos my sentiment of needing exercise for sanity. I got weird looks in my neighborhood as I carried around my new baby while I got some Vitamin D and increased my serotonin levels. I got some side-eyes and interesting comments when I went to a spin class at 4 weeks post-partum, but I felt like  a million bucks after I finished. I’ve been working out since day 4, but just in the past two weeks have I started being hard core again.

On Saturday, I got my trash kicked. In about a million directions. By a former Army officer who is twice as tall as I am. And he was teaching MY CLASS. And I ate it. I was a slow runner. It hurt. It was humbling and humiliating, but I left beaming. I am still limping about my house and cringing every time I laugh because my abs hurt so much, but when I got home from that workout I was giddy to see Jack because I felt semi-normal again and I knew I had done something good for BOTH of us.

Just to prove I’m not crazy:

http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC2077351/

exercise is to me what breast milk is to Jack. Okay, maybe a little cray cray…

So, here’s some unsolicited fitness advice from me to you:

1. Find something you love to do. If you force yourself to do something you hate, you won’t stick with it.  Hardcore bootcamps that I teach aren’t for everyone. I can’t stand Zumba. Some people love taking long walks every day. You find your niche and you make it a habit.

2. Get your family involved. Josh comes to the classes I teach so we can do something fun together. We run the Turkey Trot 8 mile every Thanksgiving. We find parks and hiking trails on every vacation. We want to teach our kids to be adventurous and active. To make healthy choices but not be slaves to the scale or what society says they should look like.

3. Your eating habits are 70% of a healthy lifestyle. This doesn’t mean you cut out your happy foods (yes, I admit, food makes me happy). It means you eat them sparingly. Healthy can be delicious too!  My favorite foods are avocados, sweet potatoes, and fish. All delicious. All healthy. Now, pass me a slice of pumpkin pie (which I eat without the pie parts and put Fiber One cereal on top to make it crunchy. Thanks, mom!).

4. Everybody has to start somewhere. Don’t compete with anyone but yourself. It’s not about how hot you look while working out, or how fast the person next to you is running on the treadmill. It’s about building a healthy lifestyle and having fun while doing it.

5. Laugh at yourself.

a t-rex doing pushups. hilarious. even the dinosaur is laughing at himself.

So, I’m throwing down a gauntlet: challenge yourself to do something physically active before Christmas. My goal is to run every day (even if it’s a only mile) until I go back to work in January. What are you going to make yours?

-hannah.

p.s. i’m obsessed with Pinterest fashion. so, in honor of being able to proudly wear pre-pregnancy denim again here is my new favorite fall outfit.

my breast friend.

who likes baby heroin? this 'ole guy here.

Warning: in this post I am going to talk about boobs and other stuff. If you hate boobs don’t read this blog. If you don’t like weird things, don’t read this blog. I am turning into a hippy momma and La Leche says I can talk about (and publicly show) boobies any time I want to. Be grateful these are just words.

Jack is four weeks old today. He’s definitely quickly become my little sidekick – and right fully so, because he is attached to me a large portion of the day. This child is not lacking in the food department, which is awesome. People’s favorite question to ask me (both men and women) seems to be, “So, are you breastfeeding?” And when I reply, “Hell, yeah!” they always follow up with, “How’s that going?”

I will admit that even as a female, breast feeding blows my mind. To think that I’m producing a life-sustaining substance that is not able to be re-created by scientists in the form of formula is amazing. However, breast feeding is hard work. And I’m turning into a hipster mom, so I have no problems discussing why I love breast feeding, but why it’s been one of the hardest things to do.

A. It requires patience. If you’ve met me (or even read my pregnancy posts) you know I lack in that department. God has a sense of humor and graciously teaches us the things we lack most and spent the first few weeks of motherhood teaching me this one.  Breast feeding at the beginning of Jack’s life was like really awkward first dates. You are trying to get to know each other. You feel way out of your comfort zone. You’re unsure of what to do. What to say. How to position yourself. “Does my hand go here? How am I supposed to hold him? What do I do if he doesn’t like me?”  It takes at least a few weeks to figure out YOUR THING with your baby. And those few weeks feel like eternity.

B. It requires a lack of modesty. Lactation consultants. Spencer Pratt. My mom. My sister. Various close friends. They all have now seen the goodies. I love modesty. I love layering. I’m a very mysterious woman. First you tell me I have to take all my clothes off and put on this dumb flimsy hospital gown when I just want to wear Nike shorts with a snap-crotch so I can rip them off when it’s time to push. Then you tell me to push so hard I may or may not poop while nurses, doctors, AND MY HUSBAND are watching (I did NOT poop- by the way. I think this was the happiest moment of my life besides having a child and marrying my rock star husband). Finally, you expect me to show everyone and their mom how I’m awful at breast feeding my 2 hour old child and have no idea what I’m doing. Luckily, you’re so tired and have such an innate desire to be the best mom ever that you throw modesty out the window and let people help you in any way possible. Also, you nurse at home and discover your creepy next door neighbor is standing on top of his fence and happens to be glancing your way while your blinds are pulled up and you are nursing. You can’t drop your child and run for your bat to beat the crap out of the creep. Instead, you proudly carrying on feeding your child and scream for your husband to do his man-job and bust some skulls.

C. It requires humility. Also something God likes to hilariously teach me. It forces you to reach out to women around you who have been where you are and are willing to help you get through it and persevere. I feel like I’m in an elite club now. The Breast Friends Club. Where you share how sore your boobs are but how your child finally can nurse without a nipple shield and OMG he even slept four hours the past two nights. WHOO HOO. Lifelines are essential to be successful. I’m so grateful for my mom, Emily, Gabby, and Lauren O. who have encouraged me and let me cry a lot when I thought my child hated my boobs (he didn’t- they are just bigger than he is and he needed to big some baby muscles before he could handle them) and told me to suck it up and keep trying.

D. You burn mega calories. Wanna be a hot mom? Wanna be totes skinny? Wanna feel semi-normal again quickly? Breast feed. Burning 500-600 kcal/day, I’m back in all my old clothes. Yeah, stuff is still a little softer than it used to be, but I’ve been working out since day 4 post-partum and feel great. I even tackled a spin class two days ago! I’m a wee bit more obsessive about fitness and health than the average person, so this was one of my personal goals, but even if you aren’t working out like I am you will still lose weight and feel fabulous if you breast feed. No, your milk supply doesn’t dry up. I’ve been over-producing since day 4 and my child can’t keep up with me. Mommy is sorry she squirted you in the eye, Jack. Now pass me a slice of pumpkin pie.

E. You feel like super woman. Yeah, that’s right. I am a woman and I can carry a life and then when I pop it out while running a marathon backwards I can keep it alive with just my boobs. Hear me roar. Already at four weeks of life, Jack knows my voice (I don’t shut up), my smell (this can go both ways), and what I look like (I’m hot, SP is hot, Jack is hot. We’re just a hot, attractive family). I feel incredibly connected with my baby to know that when he’s crying and needs to be consoled, I am THAT person. I never thought a baby would like me, but he does. And I like him. A whole effing lot. Thanks to breast-feeding (and carrying him for almost 10 months). Skin-to-skin contact is not a joke. Even SP feels super bonded to the party burrito because of laying around with him without shirts on their bodies. It’s really special. Also, you’re making your baby more of a genius than he already is.

F. It’s free. Which means I can sucker persuade Spencer Pratt to buy me an amazing Vinyasa scarf from Lululemon because in addition to being insanely soft, cute, and durable, it will also double as a nursing cover. Oh, did I mention I need some new tank tops to go with it since after all, I do need easy access to the goods? Check. Mate.

every nursing mother has there own preferences to what essentials they have while breast feeding and these are mine:

Mother Love (Josh sings the SNL song every time I pull it out). Makes everything feel all better. and it's organic. and it smells good.

Netflix Instant. 3 am feedings are a piece of cake while watching LOST from beginning to end. And Felicity. And a million other shows.

Lululemon Vinyasa Scarf. OBSESSED. you can wear it so many ways. it has SNAPS, people! snaps!

a great support system. i couldn't have done any of this without the encouragment and guidance from these two amazing people. love.

Breast feeding rocks. End of story.

-hannah.

for better, worse, and zombie apocalypses.

my little non-nightime sleeping love nugget. ignore the grainy old iPhone photo. my new iPhone is obviously still not activated.

i am in love with baby Jack.

that being said, i am le tired.

this is me and Spencer Pratt. this is what we currently look like. we need some sleeps.

this is a conversation between my sleep deprived husband and myself:

me: “if I turned into a zombie during the apocalypse would you be able to kill me if need be?”
Spencer Pratt: “yeah. easy.”
me: “…”
SP: “bahaha. wait. is there a cure?”
me: “CDC says they’re working on it, but so far there isn’t one. Also, Jack is still alive with you.”
SP: “Are you trying to kill us?”
me: “I’m a zombie. You’re food.”
SP: “Can I lock you in a shipping crate or anything?”
me: “Good question. I’m sure you could. I don’t see why not.”
SP: “I’d probably keep you locked up and feed you animals and stuff. And I’d definitely try to get a cure.”
me: “Lies! You’d kill me to protect our son. I demand it. Think of the psychological damage inflicted on Jack if his mom is a zombie locked in a crate by his dad.”
SP: “I’d put you in a shipping container away from us and not tell him where you were. I couldn’t kill you. I’d feel kinda bad if I did and then they found a cure for being a zombie.”

And there you have it folks. Sweet SP would feel totally okay “kinda bad” if he killed me during a zombie apocalypse. That is true love, folks. True. Love. Our conversations are quickly digressing into more and more weird topics as our lack of sleep quickly increases.

the answer is yes. thanks to my wonderful husband and our enlightening conversations.

Send provisions – aka Netflix recommendations and food.

- hannah.

P.S. I highly recommend “Walking Dead” on Netflix instant que. But not at 3 am when you’re nursing. Then I recommend “Emma” or “Pride and Prejudice.” Isn’t there a zombie version of P&P? I think so. Totes awesome.

seeeeee? i'm not making this stuff up.