Birthday Nails

Pinkie Pie inspired nails

I don't normally do things for my birthday. Since I was little, I've believed I was hexed. Bad things just seem to happen around my birthday, either to me or the people I love. After last year with the broken ankle and one of my cats being a problem child, I again thought that maybe, just maybe, this one might be different.

While I was 2 weeks out of surgery, my nail lady and I discussed having my birthday at the salon. They actually do do parties there. So, I set it up. I wasn't in my right mind when I did either so it never made it into my phone.

Fast forward to this week. I had no memory of even setting this up. None. Wednesday, family was asking about times and what not right after a day where I'd forgotten had a physical therapy appointment and how to do a major part of my job. To top things off, to calm down after the pt incident, I went for a long walk in my beloved graveyard. It was to much. I had a meltdown. I told everyone where to shove it and that all I wanted was a happy meal in a pink Draculaura bucket, an ice cream cake and to be left alone. So my sister planned my party.

It was wonderful. Miss Christina had cake and even got me a new little stuffed friend. There was wine... well I had half a glass, wine isn't one of my things. I wanted to enjoy time with my mom and sister and brother's girlfriend. I was happy and little and giggly.

Birthday goodies!!!

New little friend!

 The downside. The night before one of my sister's childhood friends took a turn for the worst. She's loosing her fight against cancer. Her birthday is on the 31st and if she makes it, she'll be 27. I told my sister that we can do my party another day. I insisted in fact because I knew she wasn't going to be up for it. She pushed that it was my birthday and since I don't party hard, the nail date was happening. Before we even left the house for the spa, my mom had a meltdown of her own and was miserable almost the whole time. There was a brief moment when she fell asleep that she seemed happy. Nothing could cheer her up. By the end of it, I was just ready to go home and take a nap and be done with the day.

My dinner wasn't much better. Talk revolved around death and how the sister's friend was fairing. Mom was still in her own little meltdown and then booze started flowing. So... I went into hiding. Shadow was over and hanging out with the men folk. I don't think he caught how shattered I was until late into the evening and that's when he decided I needed sake.

Today wasn't much better and I know Shadow tried. I'm not doing this again next year. What makes me more upset about the whole thing is that I was little. I was excited and happy and wanted this to be a good thing. I turn 30 next year and I'm not celebrating it. I'm not having my little girl heart shattered again because things fall apart around me and everyone feels like shit because they've ruined my birthday. When booze was thrown into the mix, it just made me feel more awkward around my family because I don't really care to drink. It really makes it hard to have discussions with people when they are mourning a life being cut short and your thinking of how awesome it would be to have a bed with guard rails. (seriously, I want a crib. Think of how awesome that would be! And how safe you'd feel!!! ok... maybe it's just me)

I need to make big changes for 29. Big, just for Ania changes. I know I pledge that every birthday, but this time it has to happen. My arm is healing, even though it's slow. I'm looking at it as a sign things will get better and that I can get back to that happy little carefree place again.

Lines on paper

It’s October, my favorite month of the year. I decided way back in June I was going to be Alice again. I love Halloween, so I’m usually planning for the next one in December. Since I sew, I always tell myself I will start in September, but every year, it seems I’m working like a made women the last few weeks of October. Last year’s dress was sewn in a weekend. I had planned on just reusing it this year after tearing the top of it apart and fixing the goofs, but then I remembered just how much work it would be to trim it down to my current size, fix the things I massively messed up, and possible dye it a darker shade of blue. I scrapped that idea and decided it would be much less work to start from scratch.

I bought fabric in a beautiful shade of deep blue. It is a texture fabric, but it works well for what I have in mind for this version of Alice. I want to be darker and more gothicy. Plus, I have darling new Mary Janes that really needed to be shown off with a dress deserving of their awesomeness. After buying my fabric and things yesterday and washing everything, I decided today was the day to cut things out and hopefully sew.

Now, recently I’ve lost a lot of weight. Something I wasn’t trying to do at all either, which has been very nice. Today while taking out the old pattern from last year, I realized just how much weight that was. When you buy clothes, I don’t think many people realize what a huge difference sizes a couple of sizes are. I recently had to buy new things because things where falling off. My default response was, ‘Meh, you’ve just stretched out the old stuff cause you where it all the time.’, but today while cutting the pattern, it really hit home. I had made the first dress a 22 ½. I often resize patterns as I go because, well, patterns are great as a base but I customize things. The first dress was one of these Frankindresses. I also hate cutting paper patterns to size, but realized today I would have to to make the dress a size 16. When I had laid out the bodice pieces I realized just how much that was off the pattern. A 22 to a 16 was a big gap. A huge gap. Was I really that big? Needless to say that this caused a slight meltdown to where I sat and cried. I hate cutting patterns I buy, but I had to to make the dress the right size for me. But how could I have ever been that huge!? 

When I accepted the fact I was little, things like looking in the mirror took on a whole new meaning. I loved myself on the inside. So I didn’t look at the outside with the scrutiny of the average women. I loved my face and my eyes and my curves. I knew I was curvy, but I never saw myself as being huge because for the first time in forever I was happy with me, inside and out. So when I started losing weight, I didn’t notice. I honestly don’t keep track of the numbers because I think it’s stupid to stress over a number. I’ve spent so much of my life hating me, fighting with eating disorders, addiction and mental abuse that now I tend to not look at things that can cause a relapse. I am beautiful, my dress size didn’t need to tell me that.

The last month or so my parents have been raving about how great I look. That I look so much healthier and better and beautiful. I try and shrug it off because I find it a tad offensive. Wasn’t I beautiful before? I felt beautiful before. After wearing my favorite apron the other day and being told that it looks so much better on me now that it doesn’t look like it’s pasted on me, I’ve been just smiling and nodding when parentals start raving. 

I really don’t need to be on another self-hating spiral. I also know that one way or another, I’m getting out of this house early next year. No more triggers to worry about. No more being compared to siblings. My kittens will remember who their mom really is. Most importantly, I can have sippy cups and kids dishes out in plain sight without having to worry about getting the dreaded look or snide remark!

Its such silly things, I know. The past few years have been an emotional rollercoaster and honestly, I’m ready to be off of it. I’m ready to be the big little girl in the big wide world.