Gigi was born on this blog 8 years ago. How insane is that?

She was born here and grew up here, and then in the last few years, I’ve stopped coming, and taken her (and Jude and Wyatt and Andy) away, and that’s unfair. Because they are really fucking amazing people.

Like, I’m pretty damn impressed with myself in regards to this whole parenting thing.

I miss talking about them (and me). I need to talk about them (and me). I have stuff to work out about them (and me).

This is my subtle way of admitting that non-writing Brittany is not a good version of myself. Writing lets me be the excited extrovert my introverted brain holds captive in a pit, throwing lotion at every morning and blaring weird German music.

See, I sorta tripped into this advocate suit, and I like it, it fits nice and everything, and it makes me feel really good, both internally, and when I think about the world outside myself. I have a daughter, I need the world to be okay for her, ya know?

But, I miss just being able to be an asshole sometimes.

I miss being gross and shameless and talking to you too closely.

I’ve been so afraid to do or say anything for a good… 2-3 years?

My engine used to idle at “too much,” and I want to be that person again, and you can be okay with it, or not, I don’t know. But, being “too much” in personality, in issues and in thighs is a place I enjoy being.

I swear to God, you guys, I thought I had writer’s block for almost a year and a half. Every day I sat here, writing one or two sentences and then suffocating under a comforter of Impostor’s Syndrome. I read actual books about how to cure writer’s block.

I turned a first draft in for my second book that I hated, but what could I do? The well was dry. I had no more new words, just repetitive ones that I kept rewriting over and over and over.

And then I realized, today actually- how weird is that, that I wasn’t blocked, I was mourning.

My friend Matt once said that he loved listening to my podcast because it’s the only place he got the old version of me. Nothing anyone has said to me over the course of a year has stuck with me like that has.

Sidenote: You should totally be listening to my weekly podcasts, by the way. They are hilarious, and they make me so happy.

It’s like Matt could tell how unhappy and terrified and bored and angry I was, but was afraid to admit because it felt like I couldn’t be both versions of myself, and that I’d let people down and have my advocate sash snatched away. I wanted to tell him all of that when I saw him for lunch in Florida last year, but I chickened out, smiled, and assured him I was fine.

Everything was fine.

All of this is amazing.

Narrator: Things were not fine.

So here’s the deal.

I like my body most days, and still going to talk about it lots.

I’ll also talk too much about the times when I struggle with it, because that still happens and it’s messy as hell (bring the Pringles and the wine and meet me on the couch).

I like your body, too, and I really want to hear about it, especially when you struggle with it, or feel empowered in it, those are hard but important conversations to have, and I am here for them all day. I will also post clothing pictures and blab on and on about things that I find that make me feel gorgeous, because I’m a woman, and that shit is hard, like, 75% of the time.

But it’s the life that happens outside that outfit that I stopped talking about, and that has been 1. boring and 2. unhealthy for me.

So let’s catch up.

I just got home from Spring Camp Throwback, and I’m still in the honeymoon period of that week. It hasn’t gotten less emotional for me to see strangers come to camp and have it change their lives the way it’s changed mine, and I sob on the last day when they leave. Like Jackie O glasses sob.

Adults making friends is fucking hard. People can be mean and terrible, and the cliques just don’t go away after you graduate high school. But, my camp friends are for life. I’ve cried talking to them under the stars and they’ve watched me pull my pants down and pee next to a tree when I couldn’t make it to my cabin.

You can’t just unlive those experiences, you know? So now I relax until the August session.

If you are interested, tickets for next year go on sale next week, you should go.

Andy was promoted to the head of his department across multiple cities, and I am so proud of him, but admittedly still have zero idea what he actually does for a living.

Like Chandler Bing, but with robots… I think? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

We also aren’t having sex every day anymore, and as much as I would love to rehash how that happened with kids or what I did while on my period, I’m going to politely decline. So apologies in advance for every cheap click-bait website that steals my story and photos to pass off as their own three years later that comes across your timeline.

I have nothing to do with it.

Jude (11) and Wyatt (10) are really cool guys, and I like them a lot as people.

As a parent, you work really hard to raise kids other humans like to be around because they are kind and polite and fun, and I think we’re doing a spot on job with that whole thing.

They are also crazy athletic, and bad ass basketball and soccer players. I made them pick only two sports to focus on, and they’ve chosen wisely.

Baseball wasn’t an option though, because the games last 5-7 years, and I don’t like sitting in the sun.

I had my first OH SHIT 2000’s ERA BLOGGER moment a few weeks ago when one of Jude’s friend’s added a photo he’d found of Jude from the internet at the end of a PowerPoint presentation for class as a joke. But, Jude thought it was hilarious and then spent the next 3 days googling himself.

Crisis averted.

But he is a touch more camera shy these days, which I am totally trying to respect. I blame hormones, and I can say that to you because he’s right next to me reading this.

Also, his armpits stink.

The boys share a bedroom and I dread going in there because it smells like the room people are led into in Fabreze commercials, only without the Fabreze, just fish heads and body odor.

Aside, I am calling bullshit on that whole thing.

There is no way you can walk into a room of clumped of kitty litter and 3 month of sippy cups and simply not smell them thanks to Fabreze.

Two years ago, I bought 20 pounds of crabs with my friend Sarah while we were renting a house in Florida. I didn’t realize it at the time, but a pointy crab claw had punctured the plastic bag, and some crab water had dripped out onto passenger side carpet.

The next morning when I opened the door to drive to Universal, it was like there was a dead body inside, and that smell went away never. I drove back to Ohio with 7 Fabreze car vent clips, and there was not a moment of that journey that I didn’t want to vomit.

Gigi (8) is a gymnast and cheerleader, which I am being really excited about and not projecting any repressed feelings on, at all.

It’s pretty amazing to watch her, because she has my complete body, down to my very thick thighs, and they make her so insanely strong and brilliant on the mats. It’s like I’m watching her and going, “oh! So that’s what they were for!”

Watching her is like getting a do over, but not in a desperate way, more like… I get to see her thrive and kick ass in a body I never properly appreciated.

It’s very healing. Gigi heals me.

We bought a giant dream home a little over a year ago that we’d begun to update.

It’s for sale now.

There’s a story there, you’ll get it soon. I have no idea where we’ll go next, but that’s part of the fun, right? *dumps bottle of tums into mouth*

Alright, that is everything I have time to write at the moment.

Oh my God, look at all of these words, you guys!

Feels good.

 

 

 

 

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