The Outsider

i am listening to Christmas music these days. feeling sad and lonely. i miss the snow and the scents and the general atmosphere of the "magic" of christmas that exists only in the northern hemisphere. feeling like i have to force the sensation of "christmas spirit". being pregnant and caring for two little ankle-biters, i am feeling more and more left out. rarely are we invited to eat at anyone's home, or even to dine out with them due to the complications of needing to safely and humanely tie down two tornadoes of destruction. not blaming anyone... just the truth. feeling further and further from humanity in general... and not sure that i want to put in the work to inch my way back. i'm tired and feel like an alien. which i am. the more i know of australia, the more i realize the nuances of our cultural differences; being american, myself. somehow i feel like i will only ever be half in half out, because i will never think like an aussie. my mind will always be american at the nubs. i am far from my family and, in this season of joy and silent nights (i defy you to find a christmas album that does not have that meaningless song on it) i am so aware of the distance.

somehow the ache of homesickness brings Emmanuel closer. God with us. in this season of consumerism and "getting" there is One, silently, patiently, and oh so beautifully present. He was an alien too. He was far from his home. He wandered aimlessly, sometimes hated, and sometimes loved to tiny little pieces of giving, just as a mother of a toddler who can rattle off 15,000 demands in 30 seconds flat. the God who made the world, felt sad and far away. He too was exhausted by the never ending stream of demands on Him. He felt alone, far away, and friendless. He, too, was never far enough, fast enough, high enough. He, too, cried alone.

And because He did, i do not. His hand is on the shoulder of this alien. The God with us. God with me.

tonight my son looked at me and said "mom, i love you because you are good."
Emmanuel, i love You because You are Good.

Monster Madness

I have a few friends who are pregnant now with their first babies. There is something so thrilling about the first pregnancy. I suppose it's because it's all new. There is more energy and brain cells to put into contemplating the life change that is about to come. I remember in my first pregnancy, I touched my belly all the time, and felt I was "showing" much earlier than I really was. I tried really hard to listen to people's stories about becoming parents for the first time and use those stories to prepare myself. I thought that maybe the lack of sleep would be my biggest transition, and was curious how I would handle it. In the end though, the real surprise was not so much what happened in my life, but what happened to me. As soon as I saw my son's periwinkle body there awoke in me a monster that I had not been aware of. I had a keen sense that, if needed, I was capable of superhuman feats to protect my son. I KNEW that if there was a threat, without a blink, or even much effort, I could rip someone's head from their shoulders. I never anticipated the "Monster Mom" effect, and could hardly believe that something so potent could be fueled by a love so new and painful. All of a sudden, my heart was ripped from my chest, and tied to the wrist of this little being who was careless of it. My sense of protection is as much for him as for myself. If something happened to my children I would not continue to breath. I never could have anticipated how intrinsic to my life my children are.
I know now that the lack of sleep goes on for years after they have begun to "sleep through". The Monster always sleeps with one eye open. I wake now worrying and wondering if someone, tonight, is going to try to snatch them from their beds. I worry about their eating and activities. I know, all too keenly, that my sleep will never be what it once was. When they are teens, I will lay awake wondering if I am loving enough, or firm enough. I will ponder in the depths of the night what they are up to while at a sleep-over. The rest of my life will be deprived of the once energizing sleep, and will be energized instead by the Monster. The Monster itself is fueled by a bottomless pit of this new painful, potent, and powerful love. It is not the "love" of Huggies commercials in glowing white rooms, and adoring smiles (that's only a minor part.)No no, it is a dark and lurking, sometimes ugly love. A Monster love. It's the kind of love that only God could fill a mother with. So, I guess maybe God is a Monster Mom too. His dark and lurking Monster love weeps with us, and for us. He is obsessed enough to count our hairs, and catch our tears. He never slumbers, and He watches our every move day and night. The Monster Mom in me is comforted to know that, even if my super-powers are not enough to protect my children, they are guarded and watched by an even more powerful, and obsessive Monster God.

An Attitude of Gratitude

I am naturally a very negative person. I like to think it's "realistic", as all of us pessimists would say. If something bad happens in a day I will usually define my day as "sucky". As a pessimist, I tend to fear the worst and dread the best. But 12 years ago, God rained a little irritating sunshine into my miserable existence and ever since I have been doing battle with a perpetually positive and perky individual. She stormed my life with her cheer and constant annoying habit of finding something good in everything. She was a Pollyanna to my Grinch. What I have at times thought of as "fake" I have now realized in simply innate in her. As I put my energies into twisting everything into being a "sad reality" she puts her energies into finding the "good in it". In the 12 years of knowing her a little of this pleasantness has gratefully begun to colour my thinking. As I began to realize that things are how we choose to see them, I have realized that my reality is as real as hers and her reality could be mine if I was willing to put the energy into it. I have found myself at times thinking, "How would Becca think about this?" I have even startled myself by actually choosing her thoughts over mine. I find more and more I WANT to think positively. I WANT to see the good in things. I WANT to be grateful. I have spent so much time miserable that it is so easy to go there, but part of me is caught up in the sunshine and wants to stay there. I hope that more and more of me will get dragged there, and that I can begin to see things with the glorious "attitude of gratitude" which I believe is a Biblical view of the world.

I have begun to ask God to show me things to be grateful for. I don't want to miss even the most minute things, and so far I have seen with new eyes the tap in my house that provides me all the water I need. It is drinkable, and can be hot or cold on demand. I have seen with new eyes the roll of toilet paper that is an absolute luxury. I am so grateful to have decorations in my house that are an absolute ostentatious display of the wealth of our household, but, I think, make it a beautiful little home. Even on my hard days with the kids, I am so thankful that I have them as I know too many people who have not been able to keep theirs.

Many times this gratitude is of a forced and concerted effort, but I think it is enriching my life and makes it no less "real". I am so grateful for my beautiful friend who has seen my in my most monster-ish form, loved me anyway, and was bold enough to force me to see some of her reality for myself. Although I have been a storm cloud in her sky many times, she doesn't hold this against me, and has even thanked me (yes, it's true) for being an influence in her life. I think God grants us friends like this to colour our lives for the better, but I hope never to diminish her light. I am grateful to have someone show me the way to a new perspective, a holier perspective, one filled with more light and more beauty that I ever thought my grumpy little self could manage.

Yummy Mummy

I was flipping through a magazine the other day full of expensive things that one may choose to purchase for their impending little one. As I flipped I came upon an advertisement from MILK. It featured a perfectly tanned, non-stretchmarked "sexy" body of a pregnant woman advertising maternity undies and bra. Initially, as one is supposed to, I thought, "Oh she's beautiful. If only I had those undies." Then I pictured my pregnant body in reality; a glowingly white, alien brains for a belly, flabby thighs and arms, and general puffiness kind of body. I felt a flush of shame, (also, I think, the general intent of those ads). Then, I felt raging anger. Here I am, in a time of my life when growing larger is entirely out of my hands, it's a good thing, a sign of my miracle and gift to be able to carry another little Loftis, feeling shame that I am "ugly". Now there is a reason I no longer read Cosmo, or any of those other "10 ways you're too fat and ugly" magazines. I realized a long time ago that that is never going to be my reality. That looking at how fat and ugly I am has never helped me to be more beautiful or thin. I have also avoided parenting magazines for the same reason. I get so tired of being reminded how I don't measure up. My children are not potty trained by the time they are 6 months, in fact, my 16 month old is not even walking yet (pause for shock) and my 3 year old is not toilet trained yet.

In reading that magazine and seeing that image, I felt like my safe place, my feeble self-image and confidence had been invaded. It made me angry that once again, I was not measuring up. Once again, even in the midst of pregnancy, I was too fat and ugly. Then it dawned on me, I AM fat and ugly. Pregnancy is not sexy. I have NEVER seen a pregnant woman and thought to myself "Wow! She's so sexy!" I mostly look and think that "Oh, She looks cute for being pregnant." Pregnancy mutates our bodies, it damages bladders, causes yeast infections, dental decay, nose bleeds, stretch marks (which by the way are NOT the cause of a lack of hygiene, but simply genes which some of us are lucky enough to have been given), flabby bellies, hemorrhoids, and a myriad of other very UN-sexy things. Pregnancy does not make me feel beautiful, and definitely not sexy.

Pregnancy has, however, given me many things which make me value even this fat and ugly time. I have been gifted with two children, and two healthy pregnancies. Pregnancy does make me feel feminine, as I defy any real man to bear a child. I have come to appreciate my femininity and role in my world, thanks to my super-human ability to make people from nothing but another cell. So although I have failed in so many ways, I can make people. And that's pretty awesome. My maternity undies campain would include swollen women with stretch-marks, pregnancy pimples and capes! Super hero capes! Because pregnancy is not sexy (we all know that) but it is SUPER human!

Top Ten Baby Must Haves

Okay, there are probably not really 10 must haves of anything in the world, but in our materialistic culture, there are lots of things that are convenient and great to have when bringing home little people. So, with that little aside, we westerners shall indulge in a little "Top Ten" baby must haves.

1. Baby carrier- This is my personal #1. I am a huge proponent of baby carrying, it's a great way to bond with baby and get some things done while baby is happy. There were several brands mentioned on my FB request for ideas so here they are: Kozy wrap ( a bit of a twist on a mei tei carrier), moby wrap (personal fave... wanna make your own? I can tell you how!) Ergo carrier, or Baby Bjorn.

2. Stroller- I think it is great to have a slim, easily handled, multi-position stroller that will allow for a toddler seat. Especially as babies are a little older, they are able to eat snacks and look at the elephants without having to worry about Mummy's hair getting in their bikky. Mum can go on long walks without having to visit the Chiropractor after, and everybody gets some good fresh air.

3.Port-a-cot (pack and play)- A fantabulous way to keep little newbies safe from their older siblings. Great for naps away from home, too. Just be sure to bring the smelly blanket from their bed.

4. Velcro-swaddling blanket- This one was recommended on FB again as a big fave for newbies. Keeps baby tucked in their blanket with no escaping. Show 'em who's boss from the very beginning. (Insert evil chuckle) Never used one myself.

5. Baby monitor- Depending on the size of your house, this could be the difference between boring hours spent outside baby's door, and actually getting something done... like brushing your teeth.

6. Breast-pump- This is quite a handy little thing to possibly assist in staving off mastitis (be sure to fully empty breast, and use at the same time everyday!) and also a great way to boost supply. However, I have one that requires 2 hands and I would definitely recommend one that is only one hand or no hands!

7. "Baby Love"- Or some great reference book. It is invaluable to have a book at the ready to give you some tips in raising your little monkey, everything from feeding (bottle or boob) to rashes. "Baby Love" was given to me while Leif was in the hospital and the pages are browning with referencing. It is moderate in opinion and gives many options and solutions all the while empowering Mummy to make wise choices. A great buy!

8. Baby aspirator- I have a baby booger sucker, a.k.a. aspirator and I'm so glad. My fingers don't fit...and I don't want them to.

9. Thermometer- The best ones are the ones that are quick and involve as little skin contact as possible. I have two under-pit-up-the-bum-sit-still-for-20-minutes-add .5 thermometers. Needless to say, we have not had any accurate temperatures measured in this house. Spend the $80 and get a good one... Don't do as I do.

10. Baby sleeping bag- these are great to keep little guys warm during the cooler months without having to worry about blankets. I found these to be fabulous until the kids begin on their journey towards independent movement. Then the bottom can be snipped off to make a nightgown.

Additionally mentioned, are things like "boppy pillow" a curved breastfeeding pillow (highly recommended, although in Australia these are common shaped pillows and not called "boppy" which is a very embarrasing name), baby book (need to get me a couple), baby swings or rockers, and dummys or pacifiers.

All this said, there is very little that is essential for babies but food, drink, and cuddles. So no need to panic if you can't afford the $10,000 stroller that has a cup holder, or the baby monitor that electronically reassures you baby is still living. Children have survived for decades, possibly even further back than that, without velcro swaddling cloths, and polar fleece sleeping bags. We will just sit back and relax with our Boppy pillows in position and Kozy wrap at the ready and be grateful what a great age we live in that luxury allows us such fabulous things for our kids.

Heartbeat

At the ultrasound on Tuesday morning, I saw my little rice grain, thriving and healthy. Right where a little baby should be. All is well, and the previous pain was obviously something not related in a harmful way to this little nugget. The little guy had a heart beat (oh what a glorious thing to behold!) that was strong and perfect. It struck me, how much I truly love this little creature. I have only just become aware of it's existence, and I LOVE it. I was devastated at the vague suggestion that there could be something wrong. The mere thought of it sent shudders down my spine and immediate tears to my cheeks. It is a strange but wonderful thing to be so tied to a person who is a big as a rain drop. A love like that is not an earthly love, as any mother can attest.

AS I gazed at the beautiful sight on Tuesday morning, with tears running down my cheeks, I ached for all the children with heartbeats who will never see the world. My child is well within the range for an abortion, and could easily be sucked out, with nary a thought from any party. A woman even said, "They aren't really people until the 3rd month." Our government doesn't recognize their "person-hood" until 6 months. But I saw the form of MY child, and I saw it's heartbeat register on the screen and there is NO ONE who will convince me that that being is not a person. It is not a "person" because I want it, it is a "person" because it has a heart beat. However, he/she will see the sun, because I DO want it. Evidently in our very civilized society, people are only people who are wanted people. The unwanteds should have their brains sucked out, or their bodies dragged apart.

I am so grateful that I get to keep my little person, and that it wasn't taken from me. And I continue to pray that the sad practice of infanticide will end in my lifetime and that worldwide, civilized societies will take up the cause of children, great and small.

In the way you look

Saturday I went to the Dr. with lower abdominal pain. It was not excruciating, but was of concern since I am pregnant. In the two days that have passed there have been major upheavals of positivity swinging back to "freak-out". Everything could be normal. There could just be a cyst... or it could be catastrophic. It could be ectopic. I can tell myself it will be fine, and I can sit on that for a couple of hours... but then the thought sneaks in that maybe I will lose this baby. And then the hysterics begin, and once those are over I am able to talk myself back into a state of calm. I'm embarrassed to be so emotional, but then remind myself that there is so much at stake. Not only will I definitely lose the baby, an ectopic pregnancy will surely effect my chances to have children in the future, and if not found before it ruptures I could bleed internally and inch very close to death. Sounds a bit dire, but then everything could be fine. Oh I'm sure it's all fine... but what if it's not.
I have spent some time, however thinking things over, and have come to the conclusion that I have many things to be grateful for. For one, I have two glorious children. Not only are they perfect specimens of cuteness, but they are enjoyable to be around. I am grateful that for the 7 weeks of this pregnancy I have been able to take everything for granted. I have not been petrified that things will go wrong, as my other 2 pregnancies progressed perfectly, and my daughter was born without a bowel disease, and so the thought had not even crossed my mind that this little rice grain might have it. I am so glad that I got to enjoy the first 7 weeks with this little person, and if I am not able to keep it (sob coming on) than I am thankful for that time.

This Wonderful Life

I recently read an article by a person who referred to herself as a "Non-Breeder". Her article was a recounting of various stories she has collected from friends of the "gore" of motherhood, the long and painful pregnancies followed by long and painful labour followed by long and painful months of sleeplessness, puke, poo, etc. Her well written and humorous article relieved a bit of the sting I felt as being referred to as a "breeder" and it reminded of the importance of proclaiming the beautiful things of parenthood. I am passionate about parenting. I am passionate about the importance of children in the world and about people not being afraid to have children. So, instead of a tyrade about how children are not appreciated in this child-hating society, I decided to list off my top ten reasons why my children are great.

1. They have taught me about God in a way I never could have experienced Him. I know that God loves me more than I love my children...that's a lot. It's so much that it almost hurts to think about.

2. My children have taught me to find delight in the most broken things. Leif's favorite thing in the world is "treasure" (what I call rubbish) that he finds on the footpath. Who would have ever looked at that used straw and thought "Fun!"?

3. My children have taught me the amazing power of a cuddle. One voluntary snuggle from Piper and my day is a miracle.

4. My children have offered me the satisfaction of living for something bigger than myself. If i do a good job now, just imagine the incredible impact that 2 healthy God-fearing, human-kind loving people can do in this world. I've multiplied any impact I could ever have had.

5. My children have reminded me that imagination has no bounds. We regularly have tea flying over our house, or Willy (most noted for his movie "Free Willy") visiting us in the park, or water horses left on the ground everywhere. My world has never been so colourful or fun.

6. There is NOTHING in the world so amazing as kids giggling. Nothing.

7. My children have helped me to know myself better. I never thought I could have made it nearly a year without sleeping a whole night through, but I have, and am a stronger more worthwhile person because of it. My understanding and sympathies have deepened. I have my kids to thank for that, as nothing else on earth would have survived me in that state.

8. My children have helped me take my husband less for granted. He is an amazing father and I LOVE watching it.

9. My children have gotten me out of awkward social engagements. Let's be honest here, if you have nothing to talk about, the kids are always there either being "cute" or just needing to go to bed.

10. My children get me out of bed at a reasonable time every morning and make each day unique.

I adore my children. I love being a parent, and although it may be a little "boring" or " mindless" to some, I find it a stimulating job that will only last for a few short years.

No Help, Thanks.

Yesterday was my worst (or best) day in a very long string of bad days. My children tag team all night and it has been getting more and more difficult as the months drag on and the glimmer of hope I once had is fading. I am tired to put it mildly. I proclaim on a daily basis that I can do it no longer. Yesterday, I meant it. I was literally at the end of myself, my mind was racing to find a way out, a way to fix it, a way to change...and I was coming up with nothing.
Having confessed my desperation to my amazing sister-in-law at playgroup (which was quite enjoyable) she concocted a plan to help. It was a plan that involved sacrifice on the part of several people. As she told me her idea I was tempted, as dictated by my deep cultural regulations, to say "No, no. I'll be fine". We both knew, however, that aside from accepting help, I had no hope of making it another minute. I could only nod with both touched and humiliated tears streaming. She arranged for people to come and sleep with my kids so that hubby and I could sleep a whole night through.
I have accepted help in the past, a lovely girl from my Bible study watched my kids for a whole day while I did whatever I needed to do, my in-laws have watched the kids as well; but there was something particular about this time. The level of sacrifice was so great and in my normal state I would never allow people to do something like this. As I thanked them, they all said,"It's no big deal." But it is. It is a big deal to be willing to stay up all night with someone else's children. What they meant was, "It is a sacrifice I am willing to make because I love you." And as much as it hurts my pride to need help in the first place, it feels good to accept help and love in the sacrifice of another. I've allowed them to have a measure of power in my life, and in the end that is what real relationship is all about.
I feel like that night of sleep, given so graciously, is enough to help me carry on a bit longer. I have hope again. And I feel I have learned a huge lesson in what it means to love, help, and be helped. So, help? Yes, thanks.

Beer Lahai Roi

You are the God of Hagar, The God who sees...
Do You see me? As I weep on my knees...
Do You see me? As my fatigue grows fangs
Do You see me? As my list of victims grows

I am beyond myself by miles. Do you see it?
Did You know I can't take another step? But you demand it.
Did You see me stumble? Did You watch me fall?
I know You know it all... Did You know that?

Why do You make us wait? The waiting is killing us.
We wait for a time when things will be better, when night again will be friendly.
We wait for a time when things will change, when You will storm in, sword blazing, and save us.
We wait to sleep.

Oh God. The God who sees. See me.

The Story of my Life

My Brightest Diamond, an album given to me by a friend, is filled with highly personal songs. The singer screams about pain of loss, but also the beauty of it too. It made me wish that I could write an album just simply as an outlet for the things in my life that still haunt me. So, since I am not a song writer, I came up with some titles for an E.P. Of course it is not entire, just a work in progress. (Damn, I really wish I could write music.)


Blackhole of Years- A moody and despairing depiction of my years spent in the utter lost-ness of depression and suicidal tendencies.

True Love (Buttercup's Ballad)- A tender melodic description of my first encounter with real love in my soul mate, Chad.

The Artist's Widow- An angry recounting of my most painful introduction to being married to an artist.

My Beautiful First- An emotional song of the beauty, joys, and fears of the first pregnancy.

F*** U Hirschsprungs- (Not sure how I would get "Hirschsprungs" into a lyric, but with a little dedication, anything can happen) An orchestral raging about my first introduction to Neonatal units, diseases, and the aftermath. My son was born with Hirschsprungs disease, and we still battle many of the effects of it.

The Girl- A fun, and sunny song about how my daughter has stormed my life with her cheery disposition and has forced me to face myself and my view of all things "girl".

Where Does It Stop?

This morning a woman stood up in church and shared her story of losing her little son at 23 weeks gestation. She shared her agonizing and grief, her deep hurts and questions, and also her deep and abiding peace. Later, I spoke with a woman who lost her son in the recent fires. Another friend recently went to her mother's home country to bury her grandfather, and still another is battling an eating disorder. After my conversation with the grieving mother, I spoke with a friend about sex trafficking in Melbourne. I felt crushed. My heart is overwhelmed by all the pain and suffering in the world. I have carried it around all day and, honestly, I am crushed by it. I feel powerless against it all, and I don't want to know any more. I try to avoid the news in order to shield myself from the mighty weight of the world. But I do want to help. I so desperately want to fix everything for everyone. I want to save all the victims, and be understanding to the misunderstood. I want to feed the hungry and clothe the naked. But where does it stop? I am not able to do it all. Even with all the money in the world I can not fix it all. What is my role and responsibility? I crave to be bigger, more powerful, more influential, more energetic, more capable...but I am not. I am only me. So now, I suppose I will just weep. I am not able to do more.

A Moment

This morning, I had a mommy moment. I had packed the kids, a blanket and some breakfast to head out to the park for a brekkie picnic. My son inhaled half a piece of toast and then set about burning it off. He raced around the park with a huge grin on his face. His fuzzy little hair billowed around his head while he was yelling his running commentary about everything he did. All the while his pink face shown with his delight. As he raced, my precious baby girl busied herself investigating rocks and tiny plants. She dragged her little body as fast as she could to get as much rock matter in her mouth before I caught her. As I watched my children enjoying themselves, just reveling in their experiences, my heart surged with love for them. It flowed out my eyes as I gazed at my amazing kids. How is it, that I, of all people, could be abundantly blessed to have under my protection such amazing people? My blessings are too many to number.

Breastfeeding

Although I have already steered one child through baby-hood and should be an old pro, I feel way out of my depth with my second. Unlike her brother, she is a nature baby. She will take no dummy, she was solely breastfed, and came out the right hole. Also, unlike her brother, she struggles to gain weight properly and is very tiny. I was led to believe that breastfed babies are the healthiest, but all I have found is exhaustion on behalf of all of us. It seems that Piper has never really gotten enough and so she doesn't sleep well through the night. Breastfeeding is a beautifully emotional experience, and is intimately connected to my sense of myself. We bonded beautifully thanks to being able to breastfeed. She never really had any latching problems, but I have always struggled to make enough. I assumed that once she was eating solids that all our problems would be fixed, but as I relaxed about it, I made even less. As I have wrestled with whether to bottle feed or breastfeed I have become more and more obsessed and confused and not a little hormonal. I wonder now if the benefits of breastfeeding have actually outweighed the benefits of bottle feeding. Leif was a robust baby, despite his disease, and my little nature baby is still battling to gain weight and develop.
I have felt a little misled and disappointed. Piper at 7 mos is smaller than her 5 month old cousin (who was lucky enough to be breastfed and get sufficient amounts!) I adore her fat counter-part, but it always makes me a little sad. I wish that I could have made her fat too. Now that she is nearly entirely bottle fed, I hope that she can give up her battle to get enough food and just focus on sitting up and crawling!

A Woman's Glory

I have, for a long time, like most girls, struggled with my appearance. I was always too fat and didn't have the defined chin and cheek bones I craved. My true bane, though, has always been my hair. I decided that this year would be the year that I would really tackle my insecurities and do something I have always wanted to do, so on January 1st I shaved my head. This year, I decided, would be the year that my self-loathing would stop. After all, I have had a daughter and it would break my heart to hear her say things about herself that I say about me. I need to show her and my son the way. My hubby also reminds me that it would be good for him too. So, I have set out on my adventure of self-acceptance.

I would love to proclaim that I am well on my way and that I am learning to "inhabit" my body. I would love to say I have found a way to accept my thin and lifeless hair, but indeed I feel as far from these things as ever before. I feel frustrated that I can't accept what God has given me and just say thank you. I wish I could not think about it.

Since having had my daughter I have not lost a single kilo, and will not be able to try until she is fully weaned. On some level I am thankful to have this experience as a larger person. I realize that this is God's gift to me to be less judgmental and to learn to accept this gift of my body, the one that He chose to give me. But at the same time, often I just feel like I am wearing a fat suit. I hate dressing it everyday, I despise buying clothes that fit it, and I hate looking at it in the mirror or pictures. I wonder if this is how all overweight people view themselves. Trapped in a body that does not represent them. Somehow I am determined to find a way to make my fat suit fit me, without waiting to lose the weight.

So, although having no hair has allowed me a slight reprieve from the hair issue (which will be sure to resurface in a few months though I feel fabulous without it now), I can't seem to leave my fat suit behind...and it certainly won't shave off on our budget. I'm not really sure that I want it to. Otherwise how will I ever hold someone's hand as they go through the journey of self-inhabiting?