Baby Faced

Alright. So I've been told before that I look "young" in contexts such as, "Wow, you're married? You look too young to be married" or "You are my baby's nurse? You look so young." While I might appreciate these comments later in life, right now I find myself wondering if people take me seriously or if everyone thinks I'm some girl who has somehow managed to get a college education, land a job and a husband all before being legally able to vote. Since having Mason I haven't gotten as many of these comments. Probably because people don't want to say anything in case I turned out to indeed be a teenage mom. I was appreciating everyone's silence, that is until last week when that silence was broken. Twice. The first instance took place at a Reading Phillies game. We were there with Nic's co-workers and I was sitting behind Nic letting Mason walk up and down the row of seats. It was obvious that I was with the group (which consisted of people close to my actual age) and it was also obvious that the small child was with me. However, this didn't prevent a young girl, clipboard in hand, approaching me and asking if I was in high school. She was doing a survey of sorts and needed to talk to kids in high school. Okay. So I look like I'm in high school. I guess I can deal with that. It was the second instance that really creeped me out. We have a cute elderly couple who live beneath us and last week while we were visiting them we were reminiscing about when Nic and I moved in a year ago. Frank (our neighbor) was like, "I saw you unloading boxes (motioning to me) and then I saw Nic and I have to tell you, I thought you were his daughter!" Wow, really? Come on now. First of all, thats gross. Second, does everyone who sees us think that? And third, um...gross. So in response to all of this, I'm getting my hair cut tomorrow. Nothing crazy, but maybe it will help. I'm also planning on changing my wardrobe to include festive vests and real light-up earrings. Because really...what teenager wears those? Any other hints or suggestions are welcome. Just don't ask me to start flatulating in public, drinking metamucil or wearing adult diapers because I just won't do it.

I Have a Date with Billy

I've always been a fan of exercising. Not only do I feel better about myself when I do, but I tend to eat better, be in a better mood, etc. etc. I ran track and danced in middle school. Then once I reached high school I began doing stuff like rollerblading, running, attempting (very unsuccessfully) to play tennis, and so forth. It was at this stage of my life that I met billy.

If you don't know Billy you are missing out. Although I forsook him in college for a real kick-boxing class and my beloved spinning classes (oh how I miss those), he made a reappearance (resistance bands in hand) right before I graduated from Penn State. Aside from some outdoor running and a few trips to the gym, Billy and worked together almost nightly until I was feeling great about life and overall was pretty healthy. Then I started working in the NICU. Night-shifts and overtime took its toll and Billy and I grew apart. I still went to the gym on a semi-regular basis, but it just didn't provide me with the same motivation that Billy did. After a few years of this I got pregnant, and although I tried my best to make a daily trip to the gym to use the bike or elliptical, Billy was just a little too "high impact" for my humungo belly to handle. So we broke it off completely. You may be asking yourself, "Well, Mason is almost 15 months old now, why haven't you reconnected with your beloved Billy?" I cannot answer that question. Maybe you should ask the jar full of cookies in my kitchen. I will say, however, that Billy and I have a date. We spent some time together last night, and although I'm feeling a little pain today, I have decided that it is time we see more of each other. I hope to get together with him at least 3-4 times a week, and maybe I can get into a spinning class once we move to SLC. I have to get my body back in shape. I have to be able to run a mile without feeling like I might die. This is necessary, for my sanity as well as those around me. So here I come Billy. If I knew the word that you yell repeatedly during your workouts I would yell it here. But I don't. So I'll just say, "Yipee!"