Fresh content today from me on The Huffington Post ALL about some truths breastfeeding moms may face. Including but not limited to, the painful mid-sleep rollover and milk hubris. Oh and the fact that you can look like you got implants on the way home from Publix!
It’s all in there!
My mother likes to take credit…for pretty much everything.
I’m not kidding. Whether you scored a great deal on a pair of shoes, or won the Nobel Peace Prize, it’s somehow linked to her.
And she’s serious.
100%.
Not only does she like credit, but she will change the details of stories around to make it so that she is fully responsible for whatever awesomeness you have just achieved. She will also do the reverse and claim she had nothing to do with it if your luck goes south.
Need some examples?
That’s just a small sampling of her credit-mongering, but make so mistake that it’s pretty much part of daily conversation and there is no statute of limitations. She’s still talking about things dating back to when I was 14. And it happens with little things too, like telling me how amazing my hair looks and then swiftly reminding me that she’s the one who always tells me to keep it long. Or complimenting a pair of shoes and reminding me that she was the one who told me to look in Bloomingdale’s to find them. Or commenting on how much better Sienna’s fussiness is ever since I bought new bottles like she told me to. It goes on and on and on.
As much as I tease her and bust her balls, I do have to give credit where credit is due. You see, Arlyne is not just a main character in my blogs. She’s not just accidentally hilarious and totally gangster. She is, undoubtedly, the best fucking mother on the planet. She also happens to be the best mother-in-law and grandmother. And, I fully giver her credit for the following, which is by no means an exhaustive list.
I think one of the most important lessons she’s bestowed on me is to not take shit from anyone and not to let anyone bully you or knock you down. Along this same lines, she is the epitome of a mama bear. She taught me to fiercely protect my young and to destroy anyone who tries to mess with them. This woman will hold a grudge against you for the rest of your life if you even look at either of her children sideways.
She’s also the best cheerleader. She celebrates my successes and kvells, no matter how small. She loves me so hard and I feel it in every fiber of my body. I want my girls to feel that same way about me. She has always gone above and beyond for her kids and spoils the shit out of mine. Ava lives for her and to see the bond they have makes me burst with pride. I know Sienna will feel the same. She’s the fun grandma. The one who teaches you how to make prank phone calls and will use the word “fart” in a game of hangman.
She taught me all the “mensch” things like never showing up to someone’s home for an event/dinner/whatever, without something for them. To always write thank you notes when someone gives a gift. She’s not a regular mom, she’s a cool mom. She’d never be caught dead in a sweater set from Chicco’s or Ann Taylor and rocks a black beater and skinny jeans pretty much every day. She’s probably the reason I don black nail polish and skull & cross bone tanks in the carpool line.
She’s hilarious and doesn’t even understand why we are laughing half the time. The things that come out of her mouth are sometimes hard to mentally prepare for, but also the best. Watching her go through an ugly divorce and surviving breast cancer showed me by example what a fighter looks like. She’ll hug me and let me cry if I’m at a low but in the same breath tell me to get my ass up and remember who I am – the little girl who pushed her way to the front of the group in a dance recital when I was like 4, because I wanted to be front and center.
One of the things I admire most about her is the fact that nobody keeps it realer than her. She tells it like it is and owns who SHE is, no matter what. You can’t rattle her and if she feels under attack she will defend herself, strike back and take you down.
There is nobody on the planet like her and I’m so glad she’s ours. Happy Mother’s Day Mom. We love the shit out of you!
I love the internet.
Not only can you use social media to stay connected to people you don’t see in real life, but you can basically find anything (and I mean ANYTHING) your heart desires on Etsy, Groupon and Amazon. I’m sure we can all agree that Amazon Prime is the best thing to happen online since AOL chatrooms back in the day (may they RIP).
Speaking of things that are no longer on the internet…I started to think about all of the things that I wish would just go away every time I log onto Facebook. So I thought I’d pen a quick and dirty post, dedicated to those atrocities. In no particular order, here we go.
April the Giraffe. Listen, giraffes are my FAVORITE! Like I almost had a Kristen Bell sloth moment when I got to feed one for the first time. But can we be done with April? I wish her all the mazels, and her calf has one hell of a punim. But it was bad enough to see the live stream as every other post on my feed for the last several months. Give that giraffe a push present and send her on her way.
The colored square status updates. I don’t get it? What’s wrong with a regular update? What’s so great about putting a colored background up with the same words on it. Am I missing something?
Pimple popping vids. Seriously. GTFO with these disgusting things that just all of a sudden show up in my feed because one of my friends liked it. They are gross and I just can’t. Ever.
The “you can cook too”, vids. I was ALL about these when it there were just a couple of players, like Tasty, showing how to make a yummy meal in 3.5 milliseconds. So many looked delicious and I even tried a couple. But I found them to be like the annoying sister of Pinterest fails. AH-Mazing in theory, but never panned out for me. Really what annoys me about them though, is that they have taken over and are like 80% of my feed.
Game requests. Listen, if you want to play candy crush or some other game, go for it. But please stop posting your results and sending me requests. I don’t want to play.
Nick Viall. He’s a douche. Move on Bachelor Nation
Anything Kardashians. I don’t care what bikini Kourtney is wearing, what Kim eats to lose weight, or what makeup secrets Kylie and Kendall have. I just don’t.
Cash me ousside chick. Lock her up already and throw away the key…Howbow Dah?
Share this message or something terrible will happen, messages. Spoiler alert, nothing terrible is going to happen if you don’t share it. These are like modern-day chain letters and need to stop.
OK. End Rant.
But to end on a positive…here are things I LOVE seeing and never get sick of.
Your beautiful families.
Hilarious stories about REAL life and not Facebook fantasy land.
People (especially women) who are KILLING it at life – personlly and/or professionally – and others supporting the shit out of them.
Basically anything my mom posts because it’s usually hilarious without her even realizing it.
Oh, and videos of people falling down, off treadmills (my mom actually did that btdubs), or general klutziness. Because really, do those every go out of style?
During pregnancy, you spend 9 months (or an eternity if you are April the giraffe) watching your body expand in ways you didn’t think possible.
With both of my pregnancies I pretty much peed on a stick and as soon as the tests were positive, I had offensively huge boobs, my waist was gone, and the “birthing hips” emerged.
Approximately 7 months
I’m also petite, ringing in at a whopping 5 foot 1, so there’s only so much real estate on my body. I tend to show later – like after 18/20 weeks, but once that happens I basically can’t breathe because my stomach is up to my throat.
With my first pregnancy, eight plus years ago, I gained a total of 25 pounds and hung on to the last 8-10 pounds for about a year. I blame it on living in Boston at the time and needing insulation from the cold. I knew nothing of post-partum girdles and corsets back then. Nothing.
My most recent pregnancy was MUCH different. First of all, I was 39 and I honestly feared how my “advanced maternal age” would affect weight gain and weight loss. Plus, at 32 weeks I got thrown for a loop when I was put on bedrest for the remainder of my pregnancy because of some spotting. Up until that point, I clocked an hour on the treadmill (just walking) every. damn. day…trying to maintain an active lifestyle.
Still, with life as a mom, running a very energetic 8-yr-old from school, to dance, to playdates, etc., coupled with a two hospital visits, a first trimester of dry heaving and puking, and a dash of someone looking down on me saying, “she’s been through the ringer…let’s throw her a bone”, I only managed to gain a total of 18 pounds and still birthed a healthy, 8-pound, baby girl.
I had the balls to allow a film crew in my house to film something for our alma mater (Go Gators) at nine months preggo, even though it’s a known thing that the camera adds 10 pounds.
All of that being said, I turned 40 just two weeks after delivering, and that was looming in the back of my head. EVERYTHING is harder when you’re older, including losing baby weight. Thankfully, you lose a significant amount on the table, which provides a nice running start. But then this thing happens to your body. In minutes you go from having a hard round belly filled with a baby, to an empty one that is so bejiggly (don’t fake the funk, mamas), that you don’t even know what to do with it. And it happens no matter how much weight you’ve gained. It can be a confidence killer.
This is where I discovered the magic of Bellefit. And it is magic, IF you use it as directed.
I received a bundle, which contained a dual-closure girdle and a corset. The website is great and walks you through exactly what size to order, but I did speak with a real person because I was cocky and thought I for sure would need a small. Pffft. Spoiler alert – I was wrong.
With this bundle, you get two sizes so that you basically ease into wearing it and tighten it as you go along. So I started with a large girdle and worked my down to the medium corset. I had no idea how long it would take to see results, nor when I should tighten things up, so I just went with what felt right. I began wearing it the day I was discharged from the hospital (two days postpartum), from the moment I woke up to the second I went to bed. I did not sleep in it (although some people do). There’s also an accompanying free app that helps track progress. (Sidenote: My phone used to be filled with nothing but an iTunes account brimming with 90s hip-hop and multiple photo filter apps to give the appearance of Botox. Now it’s filled with apps to track baby weight loss, the last time I fed my child, and live baby monitor feeds.)
Then….when I had a photographer in my home to do a newborn shoot/family photos seven days after delivery, something happened that rocked my world. I took my favorite AG skinny jeans out of my closet and had a stare down with them. In my head, this voice was saying, “Back away from the skinny jeans…you are only setting yourself up for disappointment.” But I flicked that voice off and started one leg at a time…fast like pulling off a band aid. And…They. Effing. Fit. No shimmying, no lying on the bed, nada. They slid right on like I hadn’t skipped a beat and I wanted to cry.
That’s when I started to do measurements. I’ve never been one to weigh myself or attach a number to anything physically, because it messes with my sanity. I much prefer to judge how I’m doing based on how I feel, look and how my clothes fit. So busting out the measuring tape and scale was out of character for me, but I felt like I needed cold, hard, quantifiable evidence that this was really happening. It went something like this…
Here are some other deets and a timeline for my experience.
2/8/17: (two days postpartum) I started wearing the dual-closure girdle on the looser hooks. You will have to lie down to get it closed at first, and it is tight. But not debilitating tight. It actually feels really good and supportive keeping you all sucked in. It feels good from a posture perspective too.
My experience was definitely faster than I anticipated. On day 4, I no longer had to lie down to get it closed. That was so motivating, I did the jig in front of my mirror.
2/18/17: Graduated to tighter hooks on dual-closure girdle without lying down!
3/6/17: (one month postpartum) This is when I measured my hips. At 39 weeks pregnant, my hips were 41 inches. At one month postpartum, wearing Bellefit, I was at 38 inches and graduated to the medium corset on the looser hooks. And hips don’t lie…ask Shakira.
3/25/17: Graduated to tighter hooks on corset and continue to wear it presently and track my progress.
Guys, even my newborn can’t believe it!
A few more things to know.
This is NOT one of those Kardashian-esque waist trainers. It’s a legit post-partum support system made of medical grade materials.
I wear Bellefit like its my religion. It’s the first thing I put on when I wake up, after I pee holding one child with the other one yelling at me to pour her milk. I am better at sticking to my Bellefit regimen than I am at remembering if I brushed my teeth or put on deodorant before I head to the carpool line (#newmomprobs).
Speaking of peeing…In the interest of full disclosure, I am telling you now to allot time to get the hooks undone before you have to pee. Even if you are the queen of kegels, sometimes you are ready to pee before you realize it. Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about, mamas.
*****GIVEAWAY TIME!!!*****
Bellefit is, without question, one of my favorite things on the planet and their customer service is just as good as their products. They’re supportive and knowledgable and, such an awesome company. So awesome, as a matter of fact, that they are allowing me to give away a Bellefit bundle (1 Bellefit Corset & 1 Bellefit Dual-Closure Girdle, retail price $254!) to one lucky reader!
To enter, head over to my Instagram (@whineandcheezits) and follow the directions on the post there. It will be the one with the picture from this post of me wearing my skinny jeans and shocked look, because I live for that picture and that moment.
You can also receive $20 off your Bellefit order, using the promo code RACHEL20. So really, everyone is a winner!! Use this link to order >> https://www.bellefit.com/a/6/
The Bellefit Bundle giveaway is open through Friday, April 14th and the winner will be announced on Instagram shortly after.
Good luck!!
Did you know that as a mom, you totally hone superhero-like skills that you probably never knew you even had?!
It’s true.
Read all about it in my latest article for the Huffington Post.
CLICK HERE TO READ >> http://www.huffingtonpost.com/entry/58caaf07e4b0e0d348b340ea
Who’s ready for another collabo with my boys over at Daddy Mind Tricks!?!?
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Welcome to our monthly joint venture we like to call, Yo! Momma. We open up the mailbag to answer the questions from our most faithful readers and bring definitive resolution in the age-old battle of the sexes.
We do so in the only way we know how: with zero filter and 100-percent brutal honesty.
In our last edition, we took on the topic of contributing more around the house and how to avoid looking like a bumbling, stumbling, moronic father figure that a TV sitcom would proudly feature.
In the latest edition collaboration of the best parenting bloggers on the Internet, we’re discussing the idea of co-sleeping and how it can wreak havoc on a couple’s opportunities to enjoy a little sexy time.
You ask. We attempt to answer … and then Rachel from Whine & Cheez(Its) drops some knowledge on your ass to provide the feminine point of view that we all truly need in our lives.
Welcome to another edition of … Yo! Momma.
My wife is all about the co-sleeping with our 13-month old and I’m ready to resume irregularly sexy time stuff. How the hell do I get the kid out of our bed so I can finally have some fun with wifey?
Pete: Welp, this sounds like the perfect chance to get a little creative outside of the bedroom, if you ask me. We don’t have to hit the time machine on sex life and travel back to the days of missionary position only pleasure under the lights before retreating back to our separate beds after an evening of the Donna Reed Show.
Not having enough sex in your own bed at night because your kid is in the way? Turn up the heat on some daytime fun whenever you can get the chance. Hire a babysitter and get it on in a Burger King bathroom like Humpty (Shock-G) from Digital Underground. Ship the kid off to family member for a night. Get a hotel and fuck like rabbits all over some freshened towels.
My point: don’t be afraid to find some creativity in the game of romance.
Now, that being said, why the hell is your toddler still sleeping in your bed and not in his or her own? Handle that. Perhaps a romp or two in your kitchen while the kid is watching Sesame Street in the other room will help unload some stress and provide clarity into how to get this little one doing 10-12 hours nightly in another bed.
Putting first things first, though – have a conference with wifey, get on the same page about the sleep training situation and get out of the hell that is co-sleeping with a toddler … before your little general can no longer stand tall and proud.
Rachel: First of all – back the fuck up. Chances are she’s not co-sleeping because she enjoys that hot furnace of a baby body all up on her, with sporadic kicks to the gut, arms across her face and a general disrespect for personal space. She’s basically at her “personal touch” limit.
Navigating the ever-changing sleeping patterns of an infant/toddler (among all of the other shit) is no joke and can make you feel like you’re taking crazy pills and hallucinating from sleep deprivation. She’s also probably bombarded by those passive-aggressive “sanctimommies” on the regular, about how their little angel was sleeping alone, through the night at 6 days old. That’s always super fun.
Bottom line? She’s fucking exhausted and tending to a child in those first few years leaves little time for rest, and yes even regular sexcapades. She wants to have sex with you, I promise (unless you’re a raging asshole). She’s just trying to figure it all out. Maybe instead of making her feel like all you want is to boot the kid from the bed so you can knock some boots, show some compassion.
Ask her what you can do to help with the transition. Offer to take another feeding. Do things proactively … sink filled with bottles? Clean it. Running low on diapers? Grab them at the store. Show her you are all about the co-parenting thing and that she has a partner, not just a sex-deprived spouse.
Nothing is more of a panty dropper than a partner who’s understanding AND all-in and hands-on with the kid stuff. It will happen. I promise.
Now it’s YOUR turn. Do you have some more questions for our crackpot team of experts? Drop us a line in the comments section, or hit us up on email at DaddyMindTricks [at] gmail.com and maybe we’ll feature your question in the next edition of Yo! Momma.
You ever have one of those days? You know…the kind where it doesn’t even seem like real life and if someone were to tell you what was going to go down you would never believe them?
That was today.
It started like any normal day…as they do at 9-months pregnant, with an internal at my OBGYN (which is SUPER fun) to check for any progress. From there, I had grand plans to go home, get some work done, do laundry and continue nesting.
However, I walked in to see our chihuahua in position to poop right there on my floor. I rushed him outside, with the grace of a hippo, and we made it just in time. Then when I put the little fucker down, he proceeded to puke all over the floor. Guess he traded one bodily function for another.
I texted Jason and he asked me to drop him at the vet. BTdubs, you should also know, that our other dog just came back from the vet yesterday after having ANOTHER surgery from tearing a second ACL in a month. We singlehandedly keep the vet in business and he’ll probably be able to retire 10 years earlier because of us. You’re welcome, doc.
So here I am, already deviating from my plan, and en route to the vet, when it happens. Spike (the chihuahua) pukes all over my seat…right between my legs, which are in a semi-permanent ajar position on account of my protruding belly.
I moved him over to the passenger seat and that’s when he began to shit his brains out…all over my seat…as I’m driving and simultaneously screaming. Because he wasn’t just expelling waste from his body, he was stepping in it, getting it in between every crevis of his tiny paws.
But wait, there’s more.
I put him in the backseat just praying for traffic to let up so I could get to the fucking vet and he then performs shitshow part deux ALL over the back seat, and then jumps on the center console and drops more between my seats. I’ve never seen so much poop come out of an 8lb dog.
At this point I am crying and dry-heaving. I pull over into a random office parking lot, call my husband and start speaking in tongues. I was 100% hysterical. Jason is no moron, heard my voice and left work immediately (probably because he was a little scared of my exorcist-level emotion…as he should have been at that moment).
As I waited for him, I tried to clean up with the travel-size packet of baby wipes I had in my car, gagging the whole time, and having cars pull up asking if I was ok. I’m guessing the scene of a very pregnant woman, outside her car, all doors open, with a dog on a leash and handfuls of shit-covered baby wipes, is cause for concern.
When Jason arrived, I passed that dog like a dirty fucking baton and peaced-out to the car wash. Obviously I had to drive with the windows open because of the smell, and as I was on the phone crying to my mother, what happens?? A bird, on a wire above the red light I was waiting at, took my cracked window as an open invitation to ALSO take a shit right on my headrest. I wish I was kidding. When I told my mom what was happening through my ugly crying, she was laughing so hard she could not form a coherent sentence and most definitely peed her pants.
At the carwash, I pulled up and they greeted me with the obligatory, “How’s your day?” They did not get the obligatory, “Great! How about you?” in return. What they did get was a rant about how my car was covered in dog puke and shit (did I mention my seats are perforated?) and I needed them to make it like brand new. They just stared at me…then at my belly…then at me again.
I had texted a couple friends about my current situation and one of them basically saved the day (at least for the 2+ hours my car was being detailed). Shirley came to get me so I wouldn’t have to wait.
Friends pick you up in times of need. Good friends snap a picture of your misery.
My spirits were IMMEDIATELY lifted just being in her presence, because she does shit like put our karaoke song on without missing a beat.
I accompanied her to the mall where she had some business to take care of, and also hoping that the walking would put me into labor. Almost from the moment we got there, I got looks from mall goers ranging from horrified to lascivious. I don’t know why there is a fear of very pregnant women in public, but there is.
In addition to the crowd ogling me like my baby was crowning, we also saw the usual onslaught of Boca’s finest carting their dogs in strollers. But today was different, because there was a woman pushing around a cat. A CAT, you guys. So naturally we had to follow her into the AT&T store for Shirley to covertly get a picture of her, because how do you not?!?
When my husband called to check-in (read: make sure I wasn’t humming and rocking myself in a dark corner), I told him I might not come home and may either check myself into a mental ward or spa… game-time decision.
But instead, after Shirley sniff-inspected my newly washed car like McGruff the Crime Dog, I gave myself a small pat on the back for supporting a local business…
And said “Boy Bye” to shitmageddon.
Spike is currently on car probation until I emotionally heal.
Here’s to a brand new, shit-free day, tomorrow!
Hi, my name is Rachel and I am super Type A and have a hard time relinquishing control of mundane household and kid-related activities…
So when my brothers from another mother, Pete & Mark from Daddy Mind Tricks tackled THIS reader question…I was ALL over it!
Check out the latest installment of Yo! Momma, about pitching in around the house.
Oh, and got a question you want to submit to get the he said/she said take? Send it our way (see info at the end of the post to submit).
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Welcome to our monthly joint venture we like to call, Yo! Momma. We open up the mailbag to answer the questions from our most faithful readers and bring definitive resolution in the age-old battle of the sexes.
We do so in the only way we know how: with zero filter and 100-percent brutal honesty.
Last time, we took on the topic of sensitive boobs and how to navigate around a perennially sore subject.
In the latest edition collaboration of the best parenting bloggers on the Internet, we’re discussing the tactful approach for men to get more involved around the house, even when wifey isn’t too keen on the concept.
You ask. We attempt to answer … and then Rachel from Whine & Cheez(Its) drops some knowledge on your ass to provide the feminine point of view that we all truly need in our lives.
Welcome to another edition of … Yo! Momma.
Mommy wants to get everything done around the house and won’t let me chip in to help – admittedly, I’m awful at just about everything outside of boiling water, so I need her to Yoda me. But, I want to have a bigger role, so how do I respectfully tell her that I’m game for more stuff without hurting any feelings or getting in the way?
Pete: Okay, my dude. Time to play a little tough love. You’re going to have to suck it up, put the big boy pants on and learn how to get some shit done around the house – at least learn how to cook a damn meal because that’s some ridiculous shit.
I do applaud that you recognize this flaw in the gameplan and would like to call an audible here to get more involved. Here’s a three-step plan for success that will help ease the transition from bumbling dude to super dad.
First, time to have a chat with wifey. Teammates gotta talk to one another. LeBron James and Kyrie Irving communicate to each other in practice, on the sideline and most definitely on the court. Let your partner know that you want to contribute some more and that you are going to try to improve. Maybe offer to start small and take over a task here or there – like boiling some water to make some pasta at least once a week to cook some dinner.
Second, probably time to learn how to get some things done around the house. Ask wifey to show you some of the smaller things to establish the trust. In all likelihood she’d love to have some assistance in the day-to-day, but just gets caught up in getting it done herself because it’s easier than having to teach someone else and go through the growing pains. Be sure to reinforce that it’s okay if it doesn’t come out totally her way, as long as the kids survive, the house doesn’t burn down, and everyone still has their sanity.
Lastly, read more of this website. Starting with our New Rules to Fatherhood. Take that shit to heart and be ready to step up to the plate to be a fucking father worth crushing the competition by this time next year. Hell, make it part of your New Year’s Goals to find some measurable traits where you can improve.
Your wife will thank you.
Rachel: Wait, did you write this about me?!?! Because this is a real struggle of a Type-A chick. We want to do everything a specific way and can be a royal pain in the ass (guilty). It’s really not that we don’t WANT help from you, it’s just a little challenging to relinquish control after growing a tiny human in your uterus and then pushing it out. Since we did that part totally by ourselves, I think there’s this weird thing that happens that makes us feel nobody could possibly do things the way we would or want to. Yes it’s crazy unrealistic and a little dumb, but it happens.
I think the fact that you even want to have a bigger role and are not just sitting scratching your balls while she’s pumping, or nursing, or washing bottles, etc, is HUGE. When it’s time to feed or bathe the kid, don’t “ask”, just say…”Babe, let me give her a bath and you go sit down for a while.” Or if she’s REALLY a control freak (guilty), tweak it to, “Babe, I want to do bathtime with you…let me help.”
Sure, the first couple of times, she may shoot you down. But if at first you don’t succeed, try, try again. Eventually, she will take you up on it. The worst thing you can do is to just give up and get laser focused on fantasy football while the black circles under her eyes grow to epic proportions. I promise that once she sees you pitch it (and do it well), she’ll let that, “I’m just going to do everything” schtick a rest and be happy to have you on board.
Now it’s YOUR turn. Do you have some more questions for our crackpot team of experts? Drop us a line in the comments section, or hit us up on email at DaddyMindTricks [at] gmail.com and maybe we’ll feature your question in the next edition of Yo! Momma.
So, a while back I penned a brief blog post about some of the perils of pregnancy. But as I approach the finish line of my second pregnancy, I’m reminded about all of the things (really gross things), that most women don’t discuss. And I still don’t get why.
I mean, women are worse than men in terms of the things we talk about (at least my girlfriends are), so why are people so coy to talk about what happens to a woman’s body during pregnancy and labor.
Eff that!
Remember when I posted on Facebook asking for your gross stories? Well, I took them and wrapped them into a disgusting little package with a cute little bow for my latest Huffington Post story.
Read it, share it, own it.
You can click any of the links in this post or use this link>> http://huff.to/2jhI6rW
Just remember to always keep it real mamas!
My January article for Lifestyle Magazine (page 15) is all about a New Year and New Perspective.
Particularly…PEACE. And not just the kind of peace you have when you get to pee alone.
Happy New Year!!
xx
Rachel
