Mud Flaps

My brain is a highly-functioning self preservation organ. 

 

Here I am, 7 months post-partum and I can’t remember feeling this awful about the state of my body at 7 months postpartum with Charles.  Oh, I know I probably did, as I have agonized over my weight and appearance most of my adult life (there was a nice period right before I got married and then until I conceived Charles during which I was at what I consider to be my ideal weight).  But, you know what?  I don’t actually remember it.  I don’t remember what my body looked like at that stage, when Charles was chubby and learning to crawl.  If I looked then like I look now, then I can tell you that I felt awful about it, so it’s just as well that I don’t remember.

 

I didn’t work out then like I do now.  Though I was about to start, since when Charles was 7 months old it was the beginning of summer and I could go for long runs with the dog and I started doing The 30-Day Shred and I walked all the time.  I also don’t have many photos of myself before about 9 months postpartum, since that’s when I started to feel good enough about myself to not duck out of them.

 

So I don’t know if I am on track to get back to that size 6, that 135 lbs, or not.  The body in the mirror does not look anything like the picture of me in my head.  This is, for all intents and purposes, a good self-defense mechanism (thank you again, brain).  When I go out, I don’t think about how jiggly I am.  I forget that every item of clothing I own has spit-up stains on it.  I’m merely focused on getting the kids where they need to be, swim lessons or gymnastics or various appointments, or going to the grocery store, or getting as much work done as I can in the time allotted, or going back to work with the kids because there’s always more to do, or thinking about what to make for dinner, what order to do the laundry so we have clean diapers to get through the night, who needs a nap and who needs a snack, and so on, and so on, and so on.

 

But when I’m in my room, having torn off my sweaty running clothes before I get in the shower, I look at my body and I don’t even recognize it.  And it is so ill-proportioned, and so flabby, and just so wrong that I’m hit with a wave of futility.  What’s the point?  What’s the point of all the running if I am still so far from looking like me?  Why do I have a gym membership if there’s no hope of me losing any weight before Jamie is done nursing?  Is it even possible to lose the extra stomach skin/fat after two babies?

 

Also, I have very little willpower when it comes to food – oh, I eat well, I don’t eat junk, but I can’t limit myself.  And I can’t eat only veggies.  I just can’t.  You try nursing a baby and dieting at the same time.  Probably not impossible, but it is miserable.

 

*Sigh*  There’s just no winning this right now.  I know that I have to keep going, keep working out, keep ignoring the jiggle when I’m out, because only time is going to help me lose weight and inches.  Still, it’s hard to have your worst fears about how you look confirmed by your child.  This morning, Charles said, “Mommy, you got a BIIIIIG butt!”  Yeah, sweetie.  I know.  I’m working on it.

Not Quite Seven Months

Jamie:

He used to sleep well, and now he doesn’t.

He still doesn’t have any teeth, but he worries his gums as though all sixteen will come in tomorrow.

He likes bananas and squash and green beans and bell peppers, but not applesauce.

But he loves apples, preferably shared with his big brother.

He loves his big brother.

He kicks and flails his feet madly whenever someone he likes comes near.

He likes everyone.

He especially likes the dog.

He pulls hair, so I never wear it down.

He goes to daycare three days a week and never cries.

He can sit up without support, but he can’t get there on his own.

He’s not nearly as loud or expressive as Charles was at this age.

Which is not to say he isn’t expressive, quite the contrary.

He’s just not so… exuberant.

He’s a snuggler, except when he’s not, and then he’s not happy unless he has his space (frequently in the middle of the night).

He looks really great in all shades of blue.

His hair has a dark red tint.

He’s really ticklish.

He makes faces when he eats, even if he likes what we give him:

He’s hitting all the milestones there are for kids his age, and he’s on the big side (16.5 lbs, 27 in).

He’s mellow.

He’s happy.

He’s up for anything.

I love him so, so much.

There’s no business like SNOW business!

This morning we got a pretty good bit of snow…about 2-3”. Not a lot, but enough to use the sled Grampa Joe gave us for Christmas. I must say: He hit it out of the park on this one! Evidence below…

 

 

That Makes Me SICK.

So much has happened recently that I don’t know where to begin.  And yet, it’s all boring, run-of-the-mill stuff that goes along with kids getting older and new jobs and new years, except for the fact that I got horribly ill this weekend.  That wasn’t normal at all.

 

I had a pretty nice Saturday.  I took Jamie to a baby shower in Bellevue, and the drive both ways was nice (if a bit lonely, but hey, I don’t get much alone time, so I’m not complaining).  I went on a 2.25 mile run when I got home and then we ate a “whatever” dinner (as in, eat whatever you want to eat).  I had cereal, because my stomach had started to feel a bit loopy, but I thought it was just the rich shower food getting to me.  My in-laws showed up and we all went to bed.  Not an hour after lying in bed, I got up for the first of many times and proceeded to spend the entire night clearing out my digestive system from both ends.

 

I think I told Tony at an early point in the evening (before things got violent in the bathroom) that this felt an awful lot like food poisoning.  I didn’t really chronicle it much at the time, but Tony and I both got sick from something horrible at his office party a couple of years back and frankly, I’m glad we have more than one bathroom.  I just can’t imagine the kind of carnage that night would have seen otherwise.

 

Fortunately for our bathrooms, this time it was only me.  And I’m pretty sure it was from the cream cheese I had on my bagel that morning.  It tasted pretty awful, but I sorta thought that was just because it was the WalMart store brand, and I figured that I would use the rest of it in a recipe where I could cover it up with some extra garlic or something.  I guess even WalMart cream cheese isn’t supposed to be that bad.  (Worry not, it’s in the trash now.)

 

I missed out on Sunday in its entirety, as I confined myself to my bed.  I missed my kids.  I thought about how we haven’t taken enough photos of Jamie and he is really getting big.  He goes to daycare now, three times a week for about four hours at a time.  I miss him then, too, but he likes it there and besides knowing that the socialization is good for him, the concentrated time at work is good for me. 

 

Charles gets bigger every day, too.  He had to get a new bike helmet because his helmet from this summer is now too small.  He’s all legs, lanky, strong legs that like to jump and run and bounce off of things.  We are starting gymnastics tomorrow because he is MUCH too big for the watertots swim class we were attending (though Jamie is now old enough, so he and I will keep going when we can) and he will start real swim lessons in February, and I just really need to keep him active.  I’m hoping new, strenuous activities will help with his half of the sleep thing because… 

 

Neither of the boys is sleeping.  Jamie faked us out with almost two weeks of sleeping 11 straight hours right around Christmas, but now he is up all night long, in our bed because he screams as soon as he is put into the crib, and still crying plenty in our bed and with a nipple in his mouth most of the night.  I think it’s teething, but who can tell?  Tylenol helps some, but I don’t really want to drug him into sleep for eight hours.  And his cries wake up Charles, who also wants to crawl in with us and snuggle up.  It’s a sleepless world around here, folks.  And Tony, oh.  He gets so frustrated with the not sleeping.

 

So that’s it, internet friends.  Fun times.  Let’s hope this week includes less illness, hmm?