I have a secret.

I’m a nerd.

No, no! Don’t be so quick to refute my claim, as I’m sure you are refuting vehemently.

When you look at me there are things you see on the outside that seemingly give a pretty clear impression of who I am on the inside.  When I present myself to the world I want people to feel comfortable and open in my company.  So I wrap my personality around me like a warm coat and suddenly the introspective, almost shy me becomes boisterous and witty and quick with a joke.  Once I have people laughing I feel safe – I know that introverted Katie can stay hidden and let the comedian take the reigns.  In these moments I love to be noticed, I don’t wonder if people are looking at me and thinking I’m beautiful because I feel it in myself and  I relish being the center of attention. In these moments I am the outward definition of confidence. I’m not presenting a false self to the world, just an extroverted version of myself that only gets to come out and play on special occasions.

When I put “spotlight-me” back in my pocket I reach a point of pure comfort.  There is no show, no protective coat.  This is secret me — the me that people meet once they climb over my protective barriers.  This me is private, special. This me doesn’t care about my hair, or make-up or wearing flattering clothes or tossing around witty banter.  This one is quiet and cares passionately about how other people are feeling. This one wants to see past the down-filled coats of personality worn by those around me and see into their truth.

The secret me is in love with language.  I find it miraculous that a string of words placed in the correct order can evoke deep and resonating feelings from a reader.  I don’t read books, I consume them, craving well-written sentences like others crave chocolate or alcohol or nicotine.  I know that this piece of me is nerdy, a touch reclusive and sometimes quite irritating (I’ll correct your grammar and your spelling.) I am in the middle of a book that is written so beautifully it simultaneously makes me want to cry and causes my mind to wander with inspiration for my own writing…which means I have to re-read entire pages lost through daydreaming but I don’t want to miss a single, delectable description. It is insane. Not everyone wants to meet this version of me.  But that’s okay. I find no shame in this version of myself. I am actually rather proud of my linguistic proclivities…but also understand it doesn’t mean anyone else wants to sit around and discuss the intricacies of the onomatopoeia.

So, it’s out. I am a proud, full-fledged, card-carrying nerd.  I laugh at inappropriate jokes and watch movies on the family channel. I’ve read the Harry Potter series four times and Twilight series twice. If I ever lost any of my hundreds of books I would mourn them with sincere emotion. When I write I use music in order to alter my mood to match my subject matter and a lot of the music in my playlist would not earn me a nomination for awesomeness. I am not hip. I am definitely not cool. I am quirky and weird and a little odd.  And I am more comfortable and confident as a nerd than I am when wrapped in my personality coat.

What’s the point?  Confidence doesn’t come in a specific package.  Some days make it impossible to radiate confidence: when you’re knee deep in diapers and hissy fits and to-do lists feeling good about yourself can get lodged between a balled-up size 5 huggie and that laundry you’ve been meaning to do all week.  When that moment hits think of your secret confidence and draw from that your strength to get through the day.  Because you, and I, am awesome in all our individuality.

And if you ever feel like talking about onomatopoeia, I’m available.

Why is it that when we spend time caring about how we look we are branded as vain?  There is this stigma attached to putting effort into our exteriors that I REALLY do not understand.  As women we are bombarded with messages telling us how to be prettier, younger looking, thinner, how to have fuller hair, clearer skin and less bumpy thighs.  But then as soon as we start to put effort into our appearances BOOM!  Vain.

I admit this sounds like a defensive reaction to someone calling me vain. It isn’t.  I have, as long as I can remember, put effort into my appearance and have fielded accusations of vanity.  They don’t bother me anymore but I HAVE used them to fuel my passion to convince other women that personal pride does NOT equal vapid selfishness.  It makes me incredibly sad to see women feel that they are not beautiful.  All of the messages convincing us to look better are doing double duty convincing us that we are never going to be good enough.  That is so depressing.

It is one of my main goals in life to be an advocate of confidence.  When we feel good about who we are and how we conduct ourselves throughout our lives our impact on the lives of others becomes positive and resounding.  Sometimes we need to work on believing in the decisions we make as mothers, other times we need to find a new haircut or shade of lipstick – having confidence in OURSELVES is so vital to living our lives to the fullest.

The last week in January I spoke at a women’s retreat about how redesigning your closet can start you down the path to self-acceptance and self-assurance.  We talked about how caring about our appearance does not automatically represent vanity and self-involvement but that it allows us to present our best selves to the world.

This is all sounding a little “Dr.Phil-ish” I know, but I believe in the importance of self-confidence to my very core.  If we don’t give ourselves the time of day, no one else will either.

Take care of you.  Allow yourself the time to figure out what makes you feel beautiful and proud of how you look.  It is not about size and it is not about what OTHER people think about you.  What I pray we ALL find is the ability to look in the mirror and see something we love BEFORE we start noticing the things we want to change…if we see those things at all.  I usually try to keep these posts from being preachy but this is just too important.  Don’t get dressed in the morning to attract attention OR to blend into the background, choose an outfit that flatters your shape or the color of your beautiful eyes or one that just feels great when you move.  Think about that one outfit that makes you feel like a million bucks and allow yourself to feel like that everyday.

Then tell me that you are not happier in other aspects of your life.  It works, I promise.

I gonna stop lecturing now, but I want you to do one last thing: go to a mirror and list all the wonderful, beautiful things you see. Is it your lovely skin? Long eyelashes? Great legs? Strong arms? Hips that sway when you walk? Appreciate ALL of it!  Don’t say anything negative. Really look at what you see in the mirror and start on the path to self-confidence.

I care about the way I look.  I am important to ME.  And I refuse to feel bad about that.

Early in our relationship Chris and I would cuddle together and talk about what we wanted our family to look like.  It was so easy to believe that those plans would never change. We both wanted two kids, one boy and one girl if possible, but if not possible then whatever happened would be perfect. We talked about timing and how we didn’t want them too close in age, 3 1/2 or four years between them would be perfect. The first one would be out of diapers and bottles and could help with the second one. They wouldn’t have to go to high school or college together. They would have enough time between them to really become themselves, and not “so and so’s” sibling. I could envision how complete we would feel with all our plans realized.

But I don’t feel like that anymore. Addie just turned two and I just want to focus on her. I just got my body back to the point that I feel that its MINE and not at the mercy of anyone else. We live on a very workable schedule just the three of us. I can’t imagine traveling with a toddler and an infant. I can’t imagine traveling with two kids at all. The unbelievable love I feel for Addie is so much bigger than I ever thought I was capable of – how could I ever love another kid this much? I know the answer, I understand that a second door will open in my heart and that second baby will have it’s very own well of unending love of its very own. When I picture our future I want there to be two kids but I’m certainly not ready yet…but I don’t want to wait too long either.

When we were on vacation in Disneyworld this past week I had the (rare) opportunity to lounge by the pool. As I was soaking up the warmth I realized that I hadn’t relaxed by the water since before Addie was born. Two summers had passed since I relaxed outside! Then I started thinking about how fun it would be to take Addie to Hawaii and let her play on the beach…we’re so close to the age when she can play a little more on her own and I can close my eyes for a few minutes! She’s done with bottles, we’re working on the potty and being done with diapers, she finally likes to eat and she can tell us what she’s thinking rather than the constant guessing game of infants. Our family life is reaching this awesome equilibrium that just feels awesome…and hard won.  When we decide that we’re ready to start planning on another baby…that means we’re starting all over again.

This isn’t about complaining, it’s about having my planned reality shaken up.  I have no idea how I feel about this anymore! I don’t think about it on a daily basis – I’m usually too busy enjoying my time with Chris and Addie Goose.  But sometimes something happens that forces me to stop and think about what our next few years will look like. Sometimes it’s a friend having their second baby, other times it’s just seeing a random baby and feeling that (currently rare) twinge of wanting to hold a newborn.  And when I DO stop to think about it I just get so confused.

I know, at least I assume that when we’re ready it will just kick in and we’ll know.  I imagine the day I wake up and long for the squeak of a new baby that means we should start trying.  But what if that never happens? Do I go with the cerebral plan of mom, dad, two kids and a picket fence or do I (we) follow our instincts and stick with our perfect little Addie Goose? I know that there are no answers to this, that I have to wait and see what happens.

I suppose it fits with our lifestyle…we don’t know when we’ll be home and when we’ll be traveling three months from now, so why should we be able to plan years into our future!

What’s the point of this post? Just venting I guess.  There are so many of you out there who have had multiple children, how did YOU know?

Parenthood is such an incredible whirlwind of love and compassion and questions.  I don’t think it’s getting any easier from here!

My bangs.  That’s what you get.  Don’t worry, I didn’t hand Addie a pair of shears and tell her to go at it.  No, I went to an expensive salon – the same one I have gone to for the past four years – and I am not happy.

I walked in with long, flowy, pretty hair.  I was sick of my color (blonde in front and dark in back) and desperately needed a trim (it had been over three months) so I knew I would be walking out with a slightly shorter do.  Everything went smoothly, although I have to commit half a day whenever I want to get a cut and color on the same day.  Color ended up looking nice, kinda dark, but its pretty.  I lost almost two and a half inches off my length (sad) but that was kinda my fault because I hadn’t gotten a trim for so long that the ends of my hair were totally dead.  But my bangs….OH MY BANGS!

I have always had problems with people messing with my bangs. I have naturally very curly hair and my bangs seem to have a mind of their own.  So I was V-E-R-Y specific with my requests for cleaning up the front of my hair.  When the shears hit my hair I was watching carefully and everything seemed okay, but as the snips continued I could tell that it was an issue making them even and they just kept getting shorter…and shorter.  Looking back I know when I should have said, “that’s enough! they’re looking a little shorter than I wanted, let’s just stop here.” But my stylist has become somewhat of a friend and I was feeling a mixture of trust and trepidation about hurting her feelings.  So I kept my big mouth shut. And now I look like a fifth grader who cut her own bangs.

But here is the meat of the issue for me: we are going to Disneyworld in four days.  For Addison’s 2nd birthday. This will be the biggest photo opportunity for us all year and I am going down in history with this hair.  Gimme a week more and it will probably grow out enough that I won’t start to cry whenever I try to style it…but I have four days. And my hair – the way it was before – made me feel pretty and sexy and young.  Now, I feel like a frumpy MOM.  Not that being a mom is bad, you know that’s not how I feel.  It’s the capitalized MOM, the stereotypical mom who loses her vitality and jois de vivre and starts wearing pleated khaki capris .  If that’s you, I sincerely apologize, but lose the pleated capris.  Before, I felt like my hair made me stand out…now I feel average.

I’m supposed to be confidence mama! How can one bad haircut make me feel so CRAPPY?  Simple.  It doesn’t change how I feel about who I am…I’m just a little shaken about how I look.  We all have our confidence cornerstones when it comes to our appearance: something that even when nothing else is working for us this ONE thing reminds us that we’ve got something great.  Some people have great skin, some have long legs, others have beautiful eyes.  I have my hair.  So when something happens to change my hair dramatically it has a pretty surprising affect on me.  Granted, it is only my appearance and hair grows back, but (insert whiny voice here) I really liked my hair before I went to the salon! So it’s not that it looks so ridiculous that other people are going to look at me and wonder how I got my hair caught in a weed whacker, its that I look at myself and want to see something different.

I’m trying.  Instead of flipping out about something that I can’t change, I’m trying to remind myself that it is not that important.  Maybe it will force me to try some new styles after having the same style for so long.  Maybe there is a hidden reason in this situation somewhere…

The moral of the story is that even something as frivolous as hair can shake us off our confidence center.  Mine did.  It’s not going to change my life, but acknowledging that my hair means something to me – rather than scolding myself for being so vain – lets me accept a bad haircut for what it is.  Upsetting, but temporary.

The other moral of the story?  I’m never letting anyone touch my bangs EVER AGAIN.

Addie threw the biggest fit I had ever seen today.  We were in the middle of Target after running a couple of other errands and she had been in an okay mood but had been on the edge of getting upset all day.  She wanted to walk on her own – I let her walk as long as she stayed with me.  She wanted to wear a princess backpack and push a Hello Kitty rolling suitcase around the store, so I said okay.  If she wanted to stop and look at something, we stopped.  I figure that she has to do what we want all the time, so when I am out with Addie I always listen to what she wants and make sure I make it equal between what’s best for me and what’s best for her – and this has always kept her happy and helped her develop into a little shopping buddy. The suitcases were actually a big help. Whenever Addie would dawdle or wouldn’t listen to me I would ask her if it was time to but her suitcase away. Her eyes would get wide and then she’d do exactly what she was supposed to.

But today….oh today….

I was carrying a full basket while searching for a skirt in Addie’s size (for our upcoming Disneyworld trip) and then we were heading to the check out.  I figured I would deal with the suitcase and backpack situation at the last minute.   When Addie left the rolling bag by the clothes racks and started walking toward the registers I figured I was home free! Only one bag to say no to…

But no.  She remembered the suitcase and when I told her that we weren’t going to get it she FLIPPED OUT.  I’m talking screaming, flailing, tears pouring down her cheeks, she even wound up and took a swing at me.  She was pissed off. So I took her to a little aisle between the watches and the jewelry and talked to her in a very calm voice asking her to calm down.  Usually, she’ll quiet down enough to hear my voice and then I’ll ask her to tell me with words why she’s so upset – by then she’s pretty much calm.  But noooo, THIS time she was so mad that when she couldn’t squirm her arms out from my “hug” she grimaced and then head butted me.  That’s right, head butted. It hurt. A lot.  At this point I was starting to get mad at her because she was intentionally hurting me, but I know that if I get upset she’ll only get MORE upset so that is never the answer.  I knelt down with her, holding her arms by her side as gently as I could and told her very calmly and quietly that if she didn’t calm down and talk to me then we would have to put all our fun stuff back and leave without buying anything.  No dice. The decibel level just kept going up.  And then she head butted me. Again.

At this point I am starting to wonder what other people were thinking as they walked by.  It could very easily look like she was crying so hard because I was scolding her, or maybe hurting her because I was holding her arms.  The thing is, I know that as soon as I start focusing on what other people are thinking then I start to adjust my parenting to what I think they need to see – and that should NEVER be the case.  So I steeled my resolve and coached myself in my head: stay calm, it doesn’t matter what they think, focus on Addie and what she needs, calm her down, help her learn how to do this, you are a good parent. So I picked her up, held her close to me so she could feel how much I loved her (and so she couldn’t hit me again.) When we got to the shoe aisle she was still at level ten and wasn’t slowing down. I sat on the floor and held her on my lap while she squirmed and flailed trying to get away.  But I stayed calm, spoke to her quietly and just did my best to get her to chill out enough that we could check out and go home.  I did not want to make good on my threat of leaving without any of the stuff in our basket…that would only mean we would have to come back again to get all the stuff I needed!

Luckily, she eventually calmed down.  We checked out with just a little whimper rather than a full blown, angry rant and I never compromised my parenting.  In a demented, painful way, it was a successful trip to Target.

Next time I’m wearing a helmet.