I'd totally have that guy's love child

Words. So many words.

 To give you an idea:

That's the book I'm working on. Is it amazing? No. What's taken me nearly six months to do other writers who get to do this full-time and have help with the kids or just have older kids who are a little more self sufficient could probably whip out 46,000 words in a month or two. I'm not going to fault myself for not being further into this story because I love it, I love my characters, I love my writing partner's ability to get me back on track and storyboard with me day or night from California.

That same friend introduced me to Ed Sheeran. No, not *the* Ed Sheeran, but his music. And not that tune he sings with Taylor Swift. Just him.

His voice. *shivers* If I wasn't madly in love with my husband I'd totally offer to have that guy's love child.

He could probably hum the alphabet and it would make the creative parts of my brain explode (which is pretty much an orgasm because it gives you all the feels), and because of that I'll finish writing my first novel before the kids are in college.

It's going to all be Ed Sheeran's voice's fault.

All of that up there ^ is basically what's been happening since my last post - writing, and a lot of it. When I'm not writing, music is on or I'm reading or momming like a boss or cooking things or at the gym.

I'm busy. It's not an exaggeration. If I'm not doing something, I feel like I should be. Sitting still pretty much only happens if I'm working and even then I'm fidgeting, or drumming my fingers or in deep thought (usually about The Book or food, because I love food) or folding laundry. By the time I actually get time to "relax," I just want to fall in a heap so I can get up and do it again the next day.

I've been staying busy because I know these long days are soon going to be shorter. The sun's going to set earlier in the evening. School is going to start. Dance will be back in full swing. My long busy days will just be busy and exhausting because it will be dark at 4 p.m. and it will snow and my knees will hurt and there will be a lot of running around ... because, kids.

The girls and I have made going to the gym a priority again; it gives them social interaction, it gives me a break. Every day I go, I hate my body a little less and not for the reasons people might think. If anything I've gained weight since starting back, but it's muscle. It's toned. It's getting there. Going to the gym makes me happy because even if I'm not losing inches or pounds, I'm working through my fears, my anxiety, my depression, my anger and my hurt.

This morning the kids dragged their feet and were miserable with me and before we even left the house I'd raised my voice eight times and almost cried three. We have a routine. It was raining. I didn't want the rain to fuck up my routine; I didn't want a whiny 2- and 4-year-old to screw it up, either. I didn't want to be the reason we had a bad day, and the best way to make sure that did not happen was to just go.

And this happened:

My husband, a man of very few words.

Every time I go to the gym, I send him a series of numbers. I'm sure by now he knows exactly what they mean, so I don't put the words next to them anymore. But I also don't send them to him for him ... I do it for me. So I can see what I accomplished.

It's the same thing with posting my word counts on Facebook and Twitter.

It's to prove I accomplished something, and it's only to prove it to myself.

This is a replacement for fretting and wringing my hands over what my weight is or was or could be tomorrow.

I'm learning to love my body. I'm 100 percent fine with never having a thigh gap. I've worked hard to stop looking in the mirror and thinking, "That's the ugliest thing I've ever seen."

What to know what I thought today when I got ready to get into the shower?

"Damn, girl. That body made babies! You're looking healthy!"

It's not because my body looks significantly different now from when I started going to the gym again four weeks ago, because it doesn't. I just feel better, physically and emotionally, and when you feel better you stop picking yourself apart as much. I still ask my husband if I look OK, he knows I still have a lot of insecurities, I know those insecurities are things I will probably battle for the rest of my life. But I'll battle them by trying to think a little more positively about my body. Kill 'em with kindness and all that stuff.

I've come a long way to get to this point, especially considering I only opened up about it in this space a handful of months ago, but dealt with it and internalized for years before that.

The thing is, though, I didn't just open up about this topic. I've opened up about a lot of topics over the last 19 months, most recently talking about my creativity, my need to be creative and because of this space I finally was able to start letting all of that out.

Oh, and Ed Sheeran's voice.