Dear asshole,

Fiancé sent me an article today about stretch marks and how they didn’t happen to ruin this one fitness bloggers life and they most likely won’t ruin mine. If he could just take away pain, stress or discomfort from me he would, but in true male fashion since he can’t… he is constantly “fixing” problems that just may not have a solution. I believe he will love me no matter what. Saggy skin and “tiger stripes” as I’m so sick of hearing them being referred to, will not keep him from wanting to fuck me. However, I cannot promise that the insecurity they will bring won’t keep me from wanting to fuck him.

I’ve always been pretty. I may have been awkward or chubby before a growth spurt here and there… but the unattractive times were far fewer than the “too cool for school” times. I’ve always been confident. Big fish in a small pond. Went to private school. You get it. My point is… my identity has always been connected largely in part to the way I look (isn’t everyone’s though?). I was smart enough to know even at a young age that people treated me different because I was pretty. For that same reason I thought from a very young age that I had to always look pretty and stay pretty in order to have people like me or keep liking me. My few heart aches left me thinking that I could’ve changed the outcome with my “desirability” rather than acknowledging poor timing or douchery on the part of my not so significant other at the time (God forbid any relationship failures were my fault) 😉 Let’s shorten this up. I’m vain.

A combination of the above mixed with a lack of education on healthy eating and dieting has resulted in years of being either way too thin or a tad chubby. I’ve just finally gotten my body exactly how I want it since competing in bikini competitions (nationally qualified by the way…toot toot) and I feel I can keep it this way due to the education I received about proper nutrition during prep. This has all happened just in time to have a human go tearing through me. You might say…. Then don’t have one. Then wait. Then shut up. But I’ll be honest, in 5 years I’d rather have a 3 year old than more bikini trophies. That shit doesn’t matter; these are just some frustrated thoughts that are the love child of unfortunate life timing. Upside- I’ve gotten to experience all these amazing things. Optimistic side- I’ll be a super “fit mom” who magically avoids skin tearing, vagina ripping, stretch marking, adult acne producing, boob sagging aftermath… I’m just mentally preparing myself to look like Shrek afterwards with the hope that I’ll be pleasantly surprised.


Terrified of being gross



Dear asshole,

You haven’t been born, or conceived… You’re an idea at this point. One that fiancé is surer of than I am. I nod and agree, yes yes, we’ll have a baby. Yes yes, right after the wedding. But I’m not 100% confident it has completely sunk in. I know it’s time; I’m almost 29 years old and literally every experience and goal I’ve set forth to conquer in my short and ambitious life has been crushed with success and hustle. I’ve completed my MBA, I have a great job, health coverage, competed and placed in NPC body building competitions, traveled internationally, have a good savings, fiancé and I have a great house and two rentals, my life… is in order. With the exception of earthy paint on the walls and some ridiculous pink carpet in the master bedroom (because fiancé likes to torture me) our home is ready… it just needs you.

I like to be alone. So much. I love fiancé but plan little dates with myself when I know he’ll be working swing shift. I treasure eating dinner in bed, smoking out and falling asleep to the noise of netflix reruns harmonizing with the sweet rumbles of my bulldog’s snoring… its pure heaven. I’m no bum…On average I accomplish what it takes 2 or 3 fully functioning adults to do daily. I keep a clean house, cook from scratch, prep meals, work out once or twice almost every day, get up incredibly early, work a full time job at an administrative level, and have just recently completed my Masters in business with high honors and congruently smashed the aforementioned bikini prep while ALL this was going on (most of what I just listed off was completed in the span of the last 10 months). I’m what you might call- wound tight. And this “me time” I speak of. I need it. You unborn little robber, I need it bad.

I know that the minute you get here, no …the second, everything will change. Fiancé is wonderful and a real team player, but I know that the majority of your care (because I make the milk) along with current house duties, cooking, and full time job will still belong to me after the dust settles. I know that my work outs will suffer; I will eat on the fly due to exhaustion and lack of preparation. I’ll become self conscious about my body and God forbid even resentful of you and fiancé sometimes. I will struggle for balance and I also know… That I’ll succeed. My needs will come after yours (and rightfully so) and most likely after fiancés. But if history has taught me anything it’s taught me that I’m gonna mother fucking rock motherhood. I’ll be armed with love, sacrifice and hard work… and if history has taught me another anything, I also know it won’t be easy. I traditionally don’t start anything I can’t finish or anything I don’t already know ahead of time I’ll be good at. Well… I suspect this is why my fear was conceived and why you haven’t been. I don’t know if I’m going to be any good at this you little asshole.

-scared shitless