Hello I'am Meggan Welcome to my website.
Vroom Vroom….
A traffic jam…toddler style. I lived in Los Angeles for five years and I know from traffic jams! They never made me smile though, like this toddler traffic jam. Lucas loves to line all his “wheels” up. At 22 months he is already more organized than I will ever be.
M
A new take on MILF
We have all heard the term MILF. Mom I’d Like to F**k. What about stepmoms? Are hot stepmoms a SMILF? I thought of that the other and I burst out laughing at the term…SMILF. I have to admit the whole sexy Mom to teenage sons creeps me out!! I like to be attractive, just not to my stepsons and their friends. To my stepsons I would rather be a:
SMILHWD…Stepmom I’d Like to Help With The Dishes
SMILNMWDS…Stepmom I’d Like to Not Make Worry and Drive Safely
SMILSMGG…Stepmom I’d Like to Show My Good Grades
SMILIBCMORWHBA…Stepmom I’d Like to Impress By Cleaning My Own Room Without Having to Be Asked
Now that sounds exciting!
Thank You Jean Runyon
My friend just died. She was 82 and she was everybody’s friend, or I should say everybody wanted to be her friend.
The legendary Jean Runyon.
Jean was a powerful woman with a resume and charm that was envied. Accomplished actress, founder of powerful public relations firm, philanthropist, mentor, woman of the year, businesswoman on the year… and the list goes on. The City of Sacramento even named a theater after Jean, The Jean Runyon Theater.
Jean was intelligent, lovable, generous, shrewd, calculating, successful, funny, and deadly serious. Behind her “Carol Channing” funny lady was a brain and wit that could stop you in your tracks.
She owned a painting by Picasso and displayed it next to a painting by her grandson. Jean made me smile when she would shrug and with a wink say she couldn’t tell the difference between the two (often neither could her guests). They both were priceless to her. Point made.
I had the privilege to know Jean in the final years of her life. She adored my husband Ettore, and through Ettore and our good friend Eric, I got to know Jean in the last years of her life.
Despite being in her 80’s and in frail health, Jean came to see me in the play The Vagina Monologues. She didn’t mind the sirens outside the theater, the dingy seating, or my bad New Jersey accent. She laughed at my jokes, cried at the end, clapped the loudest, and took me for champagne afterwords praising everything about my performance. Jean was always encouraging me to continue in the arts and was delighted when I started this blog. Every time I went to see her she asked how my website was going.
About 6 months ago when I went to visit Jean I asked her for a piece of advice. I had contacted a cosmetics company that I liked in New York called ELF Cosmetics inquiring if they could use a mommy perspective on their cosmetics blog. ELF wrote back and said they were interested in my writing and they wanted my best writing sample, hence my dilemma. My best writing sample happened to be a humorous story about my battered vagina after childbirth and post-birth vagina surgery. Doesn’t exactly make you want to jump up and buy lipstick, or jump up at all really.
I went to Jean seeking clarity on what direction to take. Send a cosmetics company a writing sample about my “down there parts” or send them something less risque and watered down, but most likely more appropriate for a cosmetics website.
Jean was clear in her answer.
She said, “Never live in fear. Go big. Never compromise your voice…AND IF THEY DON’T LIKE YOUR VAGINA…THEN SCREW THEM! You don’t want to write for them!”
Got it. I went home and I followed Jean’s advice. I sent ELF my funny story about my beat-up, tore up from the floor up, sewed up vagina….AND THEY LOVED IT!
That post got the ball rolling. In addition to writing for ELF cosmetics, I now also write for Safeway, momversation.com, and aiminglow.com…and more to come…never once changing a word. My site continues to grow and I will always remember the words of advice Jean gave me and I took to heart…her vagina version of be true to you. It is good advice for us all, even if you never pushed out a 9lb. 11oz. baby, wrote a story about it and then sent that story to a cosmetics company in New York.
THANK YOU JEAN RUNYON, for believing in me, my vagina, my voice.
I’ll never forget you honey.
Love,
M
Quiet Time
Ettore just got these wireless headphones for when he watches television. He lovingly told me that the headphones would benefit the FAMILY because this way we won’t be disturbed by the television.
I actually think they benefit Ettore so he won’t be disturbed BY THE FAMILY when he is watching television.
I swear I am going to catch him wearing those and the T.V. won’t even be on. Ettore probably stole those headphones off a guy directing planes in at the airport.
Yes, we are that loud.
I’m Bringing Sexy Back?
Day ten of no Zoloft. It is going well. I was only on Zoloft for about seven weeks, so it is not too difficult to come off of it. I have been sticking true to the plan of more intense exercise to combat the anxiety and so far so good. I went to another Body Attack class and there was slightly less blubbering about on my part than last time. I have lost seven pounds of Zoloft weight gain and only have eight more pounds to go to be where I was before I started the meds.
I am feeling good…dare I say…sexy.
Looking pretty, sexy, feminine is all a new thing for me. Don’t get me wrong. I am not sipping the self Hatorade. I think I am an attractive person. I don’t think I am ugly or unattractive or any other self loathing labels. It has just always been important for me to be strong, not pretty. I always thought those two were separate things.
Growing up my heroes were Wonder Woman and The Bionic Woman. I loved those bitches. If I was the Bionic Woman and the Bionic Man came around looking for loving, I would be more concerned with kicking his ass in the 100m run. Superman may be able to leap tall buildings in a single bound, but my Wonder Woman would beat him to the punch in her invisible jet, while wearing wicked red boots and gold wrist cuff bracelets.
I have always been tall and stood out for my height. Once and old man in San Diego came up to me in a line for coffee and said, ”Honey, you broke the mold. My God, I didn’t think they made them like you anymore.” He then kicked me like he was kicking a tire.
I think he thought I was a Buick.
Being strong, tall, better than the boys made me feel safe. I remember when I was modeling when I was younger. I loved it, until I got good at it and started to be recognized more and more for how I looked. It made me soo uncomfortable and I felt out of control. I have been a performer my whole life and I loved being up on stage as an actress, and I was/am still very good at it. There was something though about getting attention for how I looked that made my skin crawl. I could not stand ALL THOSE EYES ON ME. I felt I was being watched, but not in a good way. I felt so vulnerable, like people were penetrating me with their eyes and I felt naked. I have talked about the sexual abuse I had suffered through as a child and adolescence. Attention for my looks brought up all the unresolved emotions and hidden fear from the abuse. At the time I did not process that the abuse had nothing to do with how I looked. It was all sickness, power, rage, and control. I felt if I stood out for my looks, then I would be abused all over again. Pretty didn’t equal power.
Pretty made me feel weak.
Still I was young, tall, and thin with a stage presence and big smile that came across on camera. After a mall fashion show in Chico, California I was scouted by Click Models from New York and offered a chance to go to New York and audition for the fashion shows.
I never called.
I never went.
I quit modeling right then. It is one of my biggest regrets of ”what if.”
ALLLL of that is slowly changing as I enter into motherhood, wifehood…and some good old fashioned intense therapy. I told and let go all the secrets. Step one in taking control and getting my own power back. Secrecy creates control and power. If the secrets are out, then there is nothing to hide from. Suddenly as myself and as a wife and a Mother I have never felt more beautiful. Amazing since I always seem to be unshowered and covered in someone else’s food, dirt, and bodily fluid.
I am changing and growing. I am part of an exciting TV project. I will be shooting and doing one minute Mom videos that have the possibility to be sold to TV stations across the country. I was talking with the owner of the company, Jennifer. Jennifer had auditioned for the company a woman named Shana that I use as a make-up artist. Shana would report on make-up and fashion tips etc. Shana is WONDERFUL. She is beautiful and sexy too boot. I asked how Shana did in her audition. Jennifer said Shana did well and she tested great with the guys. She brings the sexy factor to the table.
I laughed and said to Jennifer, “You know just once I would love to hear that about myself….you know Meggan really brings sexy to the table…men love her.”
I told Jen, usually with the guys I bring arm wrestling to the table. For some odd reason men want to arm wrestle me and then do my best friend. That is how I test.
Jen laughed and I laughed. It is so true.
The I had an Oprah Ah-ha moment. I think I am ready to let some of that old behavior and protection go. I can be funny and feminine. Taking care of myself doesn’t necessarily mean I am weak or vain or selfish or vulnerable. I am seeing how gaining the weight, even before the Zoloft was a means of self protection. I remember when I got my first job as a television reporter. Those old fears kicked right up and I immediately gained 25 pounds!! I had worked so hard for that opportunity and was self sabotaging…again…just like when I was modeling. I progressed rather quickly and soon started to work on air in San Francisco and true to form…I quit. I quit tv all together. I couldn’t stand it. The success, the attention. Sad.
Not anymore. That was so FIVE years ago. This blog is helping me take the right. I have found my voice and am slowly finding myself. I am learning to be pretty and strong and have it all be o.k.
I want to continue my journey of weight loss and stepping out more into my light and what it means for me to feel sexy, attractive, present. It seems so simple, but just getting photographed and my make-up done for this website was a HUGE deal. It was a major barrier to overcome. To take the right to be photographed in a way that I wanted. To take the right to say I would like my make-up done to look good. OMG! I thought I was going to PUKE the whole time, but I didn’t puke. I did it! The photo I had taken is on my About Meggan page and I am still here. I survived and I want to do more.
All this is so new. It is scary and new, but wonderful and exciting too. I feel like I am shedding more than just physical weight, I am shedding emotional weight as well. Despite my new found feminity, I will still try to bring the funny and I will always love to try and beat the boys, at least now I will do it in lip gloss and a great pair of heels.
Justin Timberlake may be bringing sexy back, I’m just starting to bring it.
M
Thank You Mrs. Stanley
It has been a few days since I posted. I have decided to go off the Zoloft and fight the anxiety with less caffeine and more intense exercise. Cut to my husband taking me to something called Body Pump. Body Pump is code for a bunch of 60-year-old women (who are in way better shape than I will ever be) kicking my ass in a combined cardio/weight lifting class.
I HAVE NEVER BEEN SO SORE!
I literally have not been able to move since Thursday. I was the youngest person in the class by a good twenty years and the only person who looked and sounded like a dolphin that had beached itself. The entire class, all I did was moan in agony and thrash about. The 60-year-old female instructor looked and moved like a dancer in her early 20’s. I looked and moved like Flipper caught in the shallow end.
The class began at 9:30 a.m.
By 9:31 a.m I knew I was in trouble. There was no way I could take twenty-nine more minutes of this. My eyes feverishly searched for the clock. How much longer did I have to endure cardio and weight lifting simultaneously? The instructor was practically twirling her barbell like a baton while I was missing my bottle of Zoloft and reconsidering my decision as my thighs scorched like fire and I bellowed from the pain.
Ah-ha! Found it. There was the clock! O.K. plain sight. Twenty-nine more minutes. All I could think was THANK YOU Mrs. Stanley, my kindergarten teacher, for teaching me how to tell time. Thank you, because of you I know exactly how much longer this evil Body Pump will last.
Big hand on the nine, small hand nearing the ten. Thank you Mrs. Stanley 9:45 a.m., only fifteen more minutes to go till I am free.
Big hand on the twelve, small hand on the ten. Thank you Mrs. Stanley it is 10:00 a.m. I survived. Praise Jesus, Mother Mary, Oprah, and Dr. Phil Dr. Oz. I made it.
With the exception of heavy breathing from lungs desperate for air, everyone had stopped moving. I didn’t waste any time. I painfully picked up my weight bar, my hand weights, the cardio steps and was making a bee line to put all my stuff away and get the hell out of there when I realized I WAS THE ONLY ONE MOVING.
This was just a break…the class was not over!!!!! I had to go tIll the big hand was on the six and the little hand was on the ten???!!! Damn you Mrs. Stanley. The big hand looked like it had to travel a mile before a half an hour passed.
Empty of Zoloft and filled with disbelief, rage, and pain I mouthed to my husband, “half and hour right?”
He mouthed back, “no one hour.”
I then mouthed off, “SON OF A BITCH!”
Which again reminded me of Mrs. Stanley and my one blemish on an otherwise stellar kindergarten career. Mrs. Stanley wrote on my report card…”Meggan sometimes uses inappropriate language.”
Well duh. Inappropriate language seemed completely appropriate when you quit your anti-depressents, your husband takes you to a torture chamber thinly disguised as an exercise class run by senior citizens who could bench press a minivan, and you are the jerk that thought the class was only a half an hour.
Shucks didn’t seem like it was the word I was looking for. I survived the class and four days later still cannot walk down a flight of stairs my legs are so sore and to sit on the toilet I have to leverage myself by holding on to the sink as I lower myself down. I was proud of myself though for finishing and only complaining to myself and the voices in my head.
Where is that bottle of Zoloft?
Tears On My Keyboard
Waiting to deliver a bottle of Zoloft and a pizza
There is no other way to start this post except to jump right in and get to it. The other day, during a routine baby appointment, LUCAS’ PEDIATRICIAN, ”DR. S.” ASKED IF I WAS PREGNANT!!!!!!
I’m not.
Shit.
Nobody has ever asked me that before. Even when I was pregnant, nobody asked if I was pregnant. It was obvious, but nobody asked. Even when I was four months pregnant and my belly and butt had registered for new zip codes, nobody asked if I was pregnant.
WHY NOW!?!
Here is the skinny, scoop. Truth be told, I have gained weight recently. Along with my beautiful baby boy, I had another arrival in the household.
Anxiety, and lots of it. To combat the anxiety I went on the anti-anxiety medication Zoloft, which caused me to gain weight in a short period of time. Fifteen pounds in six weeks. YIKES!
The anxiety was bad. Not just “oh, gosh I am a little nervous” anxiety. NO, it was crushing, frightening, debilitating, terrifying, choking, deep seeded fear and anxiety. I was one night terror away from losing it, getting a bunch of cats, never leaving the house, and ordering Christmas sweaters on QVC.
After Lucas was born I began to struggle with fear and anxiety. It is no secret that I see a therapist, referred to on my site as Therapist Richard. He is awesome (and can work a sweater…sassy). Richard explained to me that often emotions are heightened during and after pregnancy and that any unresolved emotional episodes or things from the past often bubble to the surface and trigger the anxiety.
He was not joking.
All my hidden dark secrets came pouring out. Things I NEVER told anyone. I was the peace keeper with the big smile and funny personality, which I was and still am, except until very recently I was hiding in agony. As a child I was repeatedly molested by a male neighbor. Also, my Mother’s second husband was sexually aggressive towards me. He never crossed the line to molest, but never let me forget he was watching me ALL the time and could cross the line if he wanted to. For YEARS I twisted into a pretzel to disappear and get away from him. My Father, who was an alcoholic and drug addict, adopted me as an infant despite never truly wanting me. He told me he just wanted to make my Mother happy. They divorced when I was three. My Father told me this point blank through out my life, both in words and in actions. All of this I NEVER NEVER NEVER said a word to anyone. I stuffed it, buried it, HID it, put on a smile and stayed out of everyone’s way. Nobody knew, about the molest, the abuse, the things my Father told me, nothing.
Needless to say, molest, parental abandonment, constant threats and inappropriate behavior from adults toward me left a BIG FAT MARK.
Richard was right, the pregnancy brought all that up at 35 years old. I cracked like an egg and all my secrets and more came pouring out. I told my Mother everything. I told everyone everything. I cried endlessly, held my pregnant stomach and emotionally freed myself and my baby. I COULD NOT continue the hidden secrets eating my soul with a baby inside me. I did not want Lucas to be born to secrets and lies. Together we freed me from my past. The day Lucas was born we both got a fresh start in life.
How does this all relate to Lucas’ pediatrician thinking I am pregnant 19 months after Lucas was born. When you hide such devastating things for so long (35 years) and suddenly release them to the world, it can be emotionally overwhelming. Couple that with a new baby and WHAM I was in full blown anxiety attack mode. Something I had never experienced before. After trying to work through the anxiety that was worsening as the months went by, Therapist Richard and I decided to start me on Zoloft, an anti-anxiety medication.
I was very hesitant and reluctant at first. I fought going on the medication for a good long time, but the anxiety was not getting better. I was crying all the time, thought the end was always around the corner, and I was googling about cat ownership late into the evening.
I started Zoloft just six weeks ago. My personal doctor was very supportive about the medication. As she rattled off the boring side affects…thoughts of suicide, nausea, insomnia I blanked out. Once I heard weight gain though, I shot to attention. Apparently weight gain is a fairly common side affect. Assuring myself that I was exempt from side affects and would have no problems, I filled my prescription.
Cut to six weeks later. Night terrors gone, fifteen pounds of weight gain in my belly arrived. I feel terrific about my brain, but I feel horrible about my stomach.
I have gained 15(!!!) mother fucking pounds of hard fought and lost baby weight in six weeks. I might be no longer anxious, but I am now depressed about the weight gain. This must be the tummy Lucas’ pediatrician, Dr. S. saw on our appointment.
THE ZOLOFT BELLY.
After Dr. S. asked if I was pregnant it was so uncomfortable. Before Zoloft Belly we had perfection, now we have a “thing” between us.
BEFORE “the question” Dr. S. was the kind Indian pediatrician with long flowing black hair, a gentle yet professional demeanor, who worked with me on my son’s vaccine schedule without a negative attitude, patiently walked me through Lucas’ first ear infection, and adored my son.
NOW she is the kind Indian doctor with long flowing black hair, a gentle yet professional demeanor, who worked with me on my son’s vaccine schedule without a negative attitude, patiently talked me through Lucas’ first ear infection, and adores my son…and asked if I was FUCKING PREGNANT! Come on, seriously.
Dr. S. could barely look me in the eye after “IT” happened. I knew, that she knew, that she committed the verbal cardinal sin against women. Never ever ever ask a woman if she is pregnant. If you are wondering…and you are on the fence…and you are not sure if she is or isn’t pregnant, even if the she is your wife…DON’T ASK. Just hit the woman with your car instead, it will be less painful for her.
The only person who should ever ask if you are pregnant is your Ob/Gyn, and even then the doctor better be DAMN sure you are. Like in the hospital birthing room with your legs in the air staring at your vagina while your baby is crowning sure. Like your Baby Daddy is standing there with a video camera, your Mother is standing there crying, and your vagina looks like Stretch Armstrong sure. Otherwise it might just all be gas.
Dr. S. apologized and I fought back tears. I will admit it, I got a little misty eyed. The worst was disappointing Dr. S., whom I love. She was so excited for me. Her face lit up when she saw me and excitedly asked if I was pregnant.
No not pregnant with a baby, just filled with humiliation, Zoloft, and chocolate chip cookies.
It is all good. The anxiety has lessened a lot, I am switching to a mediation that my doctor thinks will help with the weight, and it makes a funny story.
I’m laughing all the way to the gym.
M
From The Heart
My Ettore love "tattoo" courtesy of Magic Mountain
![Julie_and_julia[1]](http://meggansamom.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/08/Julie_and_julia12-161x240.jpg "Julie_and_julia[1]")
- Click above for more information on the movie Julie and Julia
My heart is racing. I just saw the movie Julie and Julia. It was great. An unconventional love story. A story of the love of life, love of food, and love between husband and wife.
I wouldn’t be the introspective Mommy blogger I am if I didn’t admit I saw bits of my own story in both Julie and Julia. Thankfully I didn’t identify too much with the lost, unfulfilled, under-employeed, whiny, and mental meandering of thirty year old Julie. That was so six years ago for me.
I am more of the lost, unfilled, under-employeed, whiny, and mentally meandering of thirty-six year old Julia Child, as we meet her in the film.
Yes and no actually. I have come to accept that there will always be a part of me that is searching (and underemployeed) except to be honest I feel a lot less lost now. I am not talking driving though, forever confused and U-turning I will be. Not meaning to I found my meaning and direction within my blended family. I followed my heart.
I have a Swiss husband who is twenty years older than me and has no idea what I am talking about half the time. Ettore says things like “cheap goat” for “cheap skate” and he always uses woman as a plural. For instance, “woman like shopping.” I don’t poke fun because it is adorable and I don’t speak German. Plus it makes me fall in love with him all over again. My stepsons are fantastic and I get to be a part of all the fun of being a teenager again. Most of which I missed out on, but I get to be a positive adult in their lives. Finally my baby boy completes the circle. Who knew that one little smile could change my whole feelings about life…for the better.
We are not conventional, but we are real. We make mistakes and we try to correct them. We hurt and we try to mend. We take for granted and then we learn to appreciate. There are some that criticize us/me for being a blended family and for “stepping” in. It used to really bother me, mostly my own feelings of guilt. Not anymore. Like Julie and Julia I followed my heart, found my calling and my love, and TOGETHER as a family we created something delicious….and I didn’t have to cook!
M
What? I Can’t Hear You…
It has been a few days since I posted and I must apologize, seems we have ALL come down with some sort of illness and all movement at my house came to an abrupt stop with the exception of hands going towards Kleenex boxes. I was on point taking care of everyone when I was struck down. No good. It has been MISERABLE in the House of Ick! It was all very snotty, drainy, and dramatic with yours truly ending up in the ER last night at 2:00 a.m. with a raging ear infection. With the exception of a few self induced cruel tequilla hangovers in my early 20’s I had never had so much pain in my head. I honestly thought I might be having a stroke. 36 and a victim of a stroke…maybe I could get on Oprah after all. Sick I know, but it always goes back to Oprah.
An Oprah show appearance will have to wait, it was not a stroke, just a crushing ear infection. I think my ear drum burst, because I was fine and then a tearing sound and extreme ear pain. I thought to myself that I must of pissed some one off. It was/is still soooo painful. Was Jesus mad that I called the tomato a slut? I meant it in the most endearing way. Just trying to get people to be interested in reading about produce eating vegetables. Don’t hate…appreciate.
Numbing ear drops, antibiotics, and some pain killers later (which I HATE to take) I am on the mend. Just in time for flu season….
P.S. Jesus if you are reading this, my next video is on the onion and there is nothing sluttly about the onion. I will keep it “G.”
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