I didn't know it at the time, sitting in the restaurant at Simon Pearce in Queeche, VT and drinking a chaste sip of wine, how my life would change after my pregnancy. I didn't know the full implications of my decision then.
A baby was only an abstract thought to me. I had very little morning sickness and for the first 12 weeks of my pregnancy, it was easier for me to believe that I had ovarian cancer than a child. All of the pregnancy tests in the world couldn't convince me that I would be able to carry a growing infant to term in my body.
Then I did. Zac came and he was beautiful, if completely unknown and foreign to me. I wish I could have those early days back with him. I would give almost anything to hold him against me and feel his soft, downy head. It's probably the most accute form of revisionist history to wish that I could look down and see him nurse again. I miss the unbelievably small onesies and sleeping next to him throughout the night. I see little babies in the mall or in the waiting room of my organization and think, "How was he ever that small?" Even at one month old, he looked like a little mini adult, fully formed and ready to play.
Now he wakes me up by coming as close to my face as possible, with our noses almost touching, and yells, "HA!" as soon as he sees my eyes open. His mouth hangs open in a goofy grin and he opens his eyes as wide as possible to greet me good morning.
I get up, turn on some cartoons for him to watch, get undressed to take a shower and am once again faced with my post-pregnancy body. It's covered in stretch marks and parts hang lower than I think they should. My stomach has the odd dual lumps, with my belly button in the middle, separating the twin hills. When I spin around to turn on the shower, I remember why I turn out the light before I get undressed.
Trying to date with this body is like trying to write a novel with a worn down nub of a pencil. It's possible to do it, just not easy. The pencil can form words and convey the thoughts of the author, but its a dull instrument when compared to a computer or even a pen.
It's not that I want to trade my body or even go back to the body that I had before Zac, it's that I wish I could embrace the beauty of this pencil, bitemarks and all.
Showing posts with label Weigh too much of me. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Weigh too much of me. Show all posts
Tuesday, February 20, 2007
Tuesday, February 06, 2007
2/06
Last night I found my exercising nirvana. I went to B*ally's after work to pay my overdue bill and to get rid of some of my karmic guilt. Two weeks before Christmas, an ATM ate my debit card (or I forgot to take it out of the machine, either one). I ordered a new card and received it just before New Year's Eve.
Since all of my automatic bill payments come directly out of my checking account, it wasn' t a huge deal that I now had a new card number. Except at B*ally's, where they charge the number on your card, instead of withdrawing it from your account.
Between my post-holiday breakdown and Zac's sinus infection turned bloody ear escapade, it's taken me this long to get over to the damn gym to pay my bill. I finally did last night.
While my various cards were being processed, I dropped Zac off in the Kids Club area and sneaked into a step class, right as the class was about to begin.
Normally when I'm at a step class, I'm in the back row, turning the wrong way, clapping at the wrong time, kicking with the wrong foot and/or completely falling off my step and catching my spiraling body with my arms just before I slam my nose into the ground. I did gymnastics for thirteen years and was on the dance team in high school, yet step moves confuse the crap out of me, especially when they are shouted out one beat before you are supposed to perform them.
Apparently, some of the other gyms that I've gone to had professional steppers in the classes. These women knew every move and performed them effortlessly, stopping only to take a sip of their bottled water and pat themselves with a towel. Last night, though, for the first time, I found myself in a room with other step misfits such as myself. It was amazing. Gone were the skinny women in spandex. In were the well-padded, curvy women that hid behind baggy t-shirts and basketball shorts.
I think I'm in love with this class. After 30 minutes, my legs were tired and my dignity was pleasantly still intact. Zac stopped crying as soon as I left the Kids Club and was happy to see me when I went over to pick him up. My cards were processed at the front desk and everything seemed to be alright with the world, just for those 30 minutes at least.
Since all of my automatic bill payments come directly out of my checking account, it wasn' t a huge deal that I now had a new card number. Except at B*ally's, where they charge the number on your card, instead of withdrawing it from your account.
Between my post-holiday breakdown and Zac's sinus infection turned bloody ear escapade, it's taken me this long to get over to the damn gym to pay my bill. I finally did last night.
While my various cards were being processed, I dropped Zac off in the Kids Club area and sneaked into a step class, right as the class was about to begin.
Normally when I'm at a step class, I'm in the back row, turning the wrong way, clapping at the wrong time, kicking with the wrong foot and/or completely falling off my step and catching my spiraling body with my arms just before I slam my nose into the ground. I did gymnastics for thirteen years and was on the dance team in high school, yet step moves confuse the crap out of me, especially when they are shouted out one beat before you are supposed to perform them.
Apparently, some of the other gyms that I've gone to had professional steppers in the classes. These women knew every move and performed them effortlessly, stopping only to take a sip of their bottled water and pat themselves with a towel. Last night, though, for the first time, I found myself in a room with other step misfits such as myself. It was amazing. Gone were the skinny women in spandex. In were the well-padded, curvy women that hid behind baggy t-shirts and basketball shorts.
I think I'm in love with this class. After 30 minutes, my legs were tired and my dignity was pleasantly still intact. Zac stopped crying as soon as I left the Kids Club and was happy to see me when I went over to pick him up. My cards were processed at the front desk and everything seemed to be alright with the world, just for those 30 minutes at least.
Wednesday, January 31, 2007
1/31-2
Ok, I promised that I would do a Jenny Craig expose on the costs of the program at the end of the month.
JC expenditures for the month of January 2006:
Program sign-up fee: $59
1st week of food: $99.84
2nd week of food: $90.84
3rd week of food: $98.28
4th week of food: $37.89
Total for Jenny Craig food: $385.63
Supplemental fruits, vegetables and fresh dairy products:
Total for the month: $174.42
Other food and hygiene products for Zac and I: $209.12
This is one of those times that I wish this blog wasn't as frightfully honest as it is. My whopping grand total for food and hygiene for the month is $769.17. Yeah, ummm....yeah. If we put that into perspective for a moment, I'll just say that's more than I spent on rent this month.
Let's go to some of the better news. I will need to be weighed in on Saturday for the "official" weightloss total, but it's somewhere between 10-12 pounds in five weeks. I lost six pounds the first week and was starving the entire time. In week two, I lost another two pounds. Then I entered into the maelstorm of stress and hormones. In week three, I lost .2 pounds. In week four, I gained that back and then a little bit more. My emotional affect was so flat at my consultation that my Jenny Craig counselor told me that she was worried about me. She said that I should call her anytime I wanted, just to talk. Not even about food, just about my life.
Even though I had purchased Jenny Craig food for week two and three, I had hardly eaten any of it. I was too busy binging on pizza and nachos to bother heating up my pre-packaged, two-bites of nothing. Crying while hungry has to be the worst thing that someone could do, so I didn't. I comforted and congratulated myself for submitting my the federal proposal with food. My negative food habits reamined intact, regarless of the amount of money I spent on healthy food and nutritional counseling.
It's only in the last week or so that I started to re-evaluate what I've been doing with food. Since I had so much Jenny Craig food leftover, I only had to buy $38 worth of meals the last week. I spent $30 to purchase a motivational CD and DVD called, "Touchstones to Success". Before you roll your eyes, just know that it is actually good. It has helped me at least notice the cycle of binging, even though I haven't been able to completely end it. I'm not sure I'll ever really be able to think of food as something other than a way to soothe and comfort myself.
That's my ultimate goal and I'm working towards it. Did I mention that my double chin is more of a chin-and-a-half now? :)
JC expenditures for the month of January 2006:
Program sign-up fee: $59
1st week of food: $99.84
2nd week of food: $90.84
3rd week of food: $98.28
4th week of food: $37.89
Total for Jenny Craig food: $385.63
Supplemental fruits, vegetables and fresh dairy products:
Total for the month: $174.42
Other food and hygiene products for Zac and I: $209.12
This is one of those times that I wish this blog wasn't as frightfully honest as it is. My whopping grand total for food and hygiene for the month is $769.17. Yeah, ummm....yeah. If we put that into perspective for a moment, I'll just say that's more than I spent on rent this month.
Let's go to some of the better news. I will need to be weighed in on Saturday for the "official" weightloss total, but it's somewhere between 10-12 pounds in five weeks. I lost six pounds the first week and was starving the entire time. In week two, I lost another two pounds. Then I entered into the maelstorm of stress and hormones. In week three, I lost .2 pounds. In week four, I gained that back and then a little bit more. My emotional affect was so flat at my consultation that my Jenny Craig counselor told me that she was worried about me. She said that I should call her anytime I wanted, just to talk. Not even about food, just about my life.
Even though I had purchased Jenny Craig food for week two and three, I had hardly eaten any of it. I was too busy binging on pizza and nachos to bother heating up my pre-packaged, two-bites of nothing. Crying while hungry has to be the worst thing that someone could do, so I didn't. I comforted and congratulated myself for submitting my the federal proposal with food. My negative food habits reamined intact, regarless of the amount of money I spent on healthy food and nutritional counseling.
It's only in the last week or so that I started to re-evaluate what I've been doing with food. Since I had so much Jenny Craig food leftover, I only had to buy $38 worth of meals the last week. I spent $30 to purchase a motivational CD and DVD called, "Touchstones to Success". Before you roll your eyes, just know that it is actually good. It has helped me at least notice the cycle of binging, even though I haven't been able to completely end it. I'm not sure I'll ever really be able to think of food as something other than a way to soothe and comfort myself.
That's my ultimate goal and I'm working towards it. Did I mention that my double chin is more of a chin-and-a-half now? :)
Tuesday, January 09, 2007
1/09-2
Zac and I had an eating contest tonight (because we're crazy like that over here.) I put a Jenny Craig meal in a head to head battle with a Gerber Graduates meal. Both meals were pre-packaged in didn't require refrigeration, which is just a little freaky if you consider that they both included a meat product. Both meals involved some kind of pasta with a tomato-based sauce and both meals needed to be heated up in the microwave to become edible to those not legitimately starving.
Let's meet the contenders! On my right hand, I have a Jenny Craig Chicken Parmasian meal weighing in at 200 calories:
On my left hand, I have a Gerber Graduates Microwave, Spaghetti with Mini Meatballs & Sauce, weighing in at a light 80 calories:
Just to give the Jenny meal a fighting chance in the beauty and fitness category, I'll show you what she looks like with a side of steamed green beans with 2 tablespoons of margarine:
It's really no suprise that JC recommends that you serve their meals on plates. She looks so much prettier this way.
In the first round, JC went down fast and hard. I was finished in under 10 minutes and hungry again in under an hour-and-a-half. The meal tasted like a more adult version of Spaghetti-O's with the tell-tale smell that accompanies a canned tomato product. Zac on the other hand, enjoyed smearing his meal over every available surface for a good 25 minutes. At the end of the fight, here is what each contender looked like:
Notice the green beans in the bowl that clearly weren't eaten at the end of this very colorful meal. Notice also that he somehow avoided getting spaghetti sauce in his eyes, leaving him looking like some kind of toddler raccoon.
Let's meet the contenders! On my right hand, I have a Jenny Craig Chicken Parmasian meal weighing in at 200 calories:
On my left hand, I have a Gerber Graduates Microwave, Spaghetti with Mini Meatballs & Sauce, weighing in at a light 80 calories:Just to give the Jenny meal a fighting chance in the beauty and fitness category, I'll show you what she looks like with a side of steamed green beans with 2 tablespoons of margarine:It's really no suprise that JC recommends that you serve their meals on plates. She looks so much prettier this way.
In the first round, JC went down fast and hard. I was finished in under 10 minutes and hungry again in under an hour-and-a-half. The meal tasted like a more adult version of Spaghetti-O's with the tell-tale smell that accompanies a canned tomato product. Zac on the other hand, enjoyed smearing his meal over every available surface for a good 25 minutes. At the end of the fight, here is what each contender looked like:
Notice the green beans in the bowl that clearly weren't eaten at the end of this very colorful meal. Notice also that he somehow avoided getting spaghetti sauce in his eyes, leaving him looking like some kind of toddler raccoon. It's clear who the winner of this competition was:
He looks so much happier than I do after eating.
Sunday, January 07, 2007
1/07
Ok, I've "officially" been on Jenny Craig now for a week. Here is the honest truth: I'm starving. The 1500 calorie diet is incredibly hard. I find myself to thinking about food all the time and I've succumbed to late-night binging twice this week.
Somtimes I'm just so hungry. When I weighed in on Saturday, I had lost six pounds. My counselor told me that the first week was the "dramatic weight lost" week. I would like to officially rename that week as, "WTF" week. Every day, that is what I kept thinking. Really, "WTF? Is that all the food I get? Is there another course somewhere that I'm missing?" Lunch has been the hardest, going back to my desk still hungry. I've gotten a little panicky, looking around for more food, wondering how I was going to ever make it through the afternoon knowing that an orange and non-fat yogurt for an afternoon snack might meet an ugly end when they are thrown against the wall of my office in frustration. Of course, though, I wouldn't do that because then I would probably roll my eyes, let out a long sigh, and then walk over to the wall to lick it off.
Every Jenny Craig meal is between 190-300 calories, supplemented by fruit, vegetables, and dairy products to average out to 300 calories, five times a day. Go ahead and try to feel full off that amount of food. It's difficult. It can be done, but it's difficult.
The pattern of using food for comfort and protection against my insecurities has intensified by the lack of caloric intake. I've found myself not necessarily hungry, just craving that full feeling, the feeling that everything is alright within my body and within the world. I'm so used to eating when I'm bored or just eating to feel better that I have no idea what my body actually needs. Hunger sets off the, "Good Lord, what I am doing?" feelings that I want to immediately quash with food, preferrably with something salty and a little savory.
Is losing weight really this important to me? I feel like I'm in some kind of shock therapy treatment. After awhile, maybe the ice baths won't hurt so much and I can focus on the bigger picture of achieving a healthy, more active lifestyle. At this very moment, I would take fat and happy over skinny and neurotic.
Somtimes I'm just so hungry. When I weighed in on Saturday, I had lost six pounds. My counselor told me that the first week was the "dramatic weight lost" week. I would like to officially rename that week as, "WTF" week. Every day, that is what I kept thinking. Really, "WTF? Is that all the food I get? Is there another course somewhere that I'm missing?" Lunch has been the hardest, going back to my desk still hungry. I've gotten a little panicky, looking around for more food, wondering how I was going to ever make it through the afternoon knowing that an orange and non-fat yogurt for an afternoon snack might meet an ugly end when they are thrown against the wall of my office in frustration. Of course, though, I wouldn't do that because then I would probably roll my eyes, let out a long sigh, and then walk over to the wall to lick it off.
Every Jenny Craig meal is between 190-300 calories, supplemented by fruit, vegetables, and dairy products to average out to 300 calories, five times a day. Go ahead and try to feel full off that amount of food. It's difficult. It can be done, but it's difficult.
The pattern of using food for comfort and protection against my insecurities has intensified by the lack of caloric intake. I've found myself not necessarily hungry, just craving that full feeling, the feeling that everything is alright within my body and within the world. I'm so used to eating when I'm bored or just eating to feel better that I have no idea what my body actually needs. Hunger sets off the, "Good Lord, what I am doing?" feelings that I want to immediately quash with food, preferrably with something salty and a little savory.
Is losing weight really this important to me? I feel like I'm in some kind of shock therapy treatment. After awhile, maybe the ice baths won't hurt so much and I can focus on the bigger picture of achieving a healthy, more active lifestyle. At this very moment, I would take fat and happy over skinny and neurotic.
Thursday, January 04, 2007
1/04
I love that 1976 ABBA song, "Money, Money, Mon-ey!" There is a long-standing joke that when you meet an American outside of our fair country the first thing they will ask you is how much something cost. Example:
Englishman: Good day. Lovely weather were having to-day!
American: Yes, it is. I like your coat. Where did you get it?
Englishman: Uh *stammering a bit* I think I got it at Harrods.
American: Really! I was just at Harrods last week. How much did it cost? Did you get it on sale?
Englishman: *turning red now* Um, well, it was on sale and I don't know, really, my wife does all my shopping for me."
American: Well, they always say that Englishman are a bunch of limp-wristed puffs. Good day. *walks away*"
We are by far the most offensive creatures known to any culturally sensitive population. I personally cherish Americans love of getting a good bargain. It seems like we are always curious about the price someone paid on something; like we are constantly scouting for a better deal by comparing what other sods had to pay for something that we could have got at half the price. We admire someone that consistently gets the best deals for the best products and cheap(ish) gasoline prices let us keep the habit of driving around town looking for a better deal.
This is a long winded way of saying that I will tell you what it cost me to join Jenny Craig. I was going to wait until the end of the month, but I am nothing if not accomodating.
Initial Cost: $49 for a 60 trial membership. It was part of the "Lose All the Weight You Want for $49" promotion.
Cost of Jenny Craig Food for First Week: $100.09
Cost of Additional Groceries that I had to Purchase to Stay on the "Plan": $38.24
Total Cost to Date: $197.33
So, there you have it. That's what it cost me so far. The way the program works is that you eat 100% Jenny Craig food until you reach your half-way goal (which for me is roughly 20 pounds less than I currently am). Then you prepare your own food for 1-2 days per week, eventually transitioning into your own meals entirely.
I'm not going to defend my choice here to spend this money on my health. It's an intensive program (much more so than Weight Watchers, which costs $39.95 per month) that includes a nutritional counseling component and a 1-800 help line. I've already called it twice to ask about substituting food because I'd rather jump off a small bridge than eat a grapefruit in the morning.
The-Blogger-Who-Shall-Remain-Nameless coincidentally wrote that being thin and healthy is an investment in your body. I drive a five year-old car that won't be paid off for another three years. I live in an apartment that is 10 minutes from where I work because I hated spending all my time and money on a shitty commute. My biggest expense right now is daycare for my son so I can continue to go to work and pay for my priorities. All of the electronic gadgets that I own were purchased circa 1999, when apparently I had an influx of discretionary cash.
I know you can lose weight for little, if no money. I know that I need to control my portions, exercise more, and eat lots of whole grains, fresh vegetables, low-fat dairy products, and lean meats. But what do you do if you tried that and it's failed. The numbers on the scale kept creeping up and everyday I started beating myself up a little more. What then?
Englishman: Good day. Lovely weather were having to-day!
American: Yes, it is. I like your coat. Where did you get it?
Englishman: Uh *stammering a bit* I think I got it at Harrods.
American: Really! I was just at Harrods last week. How much did it cost? Did you get it on sale?
Englishman: *turning red now* Um, well, it was on sale and I don't know, really, my wife does all my shopping for me."
American: Well, they always say that Englishman are a bunch of limp-wristed puffs. Good day. *walks away*"
We are by far the most offensive creatures known to any culturally sensitive population. I personally cherish Americans love of getting a good bargain. It seems like we are always curious about the price someone paid on something; like we are constantly scouting for a better deal by comparing what other sods had to pay for something that we could have got at half the price. We admire someone that consistently gets the best deals for the best products and cheap(ish) gasoline prices let us keep the habit of driving around town looking for a better deal.
This is a long winded way of saying that I will tell you what it cost me to join Jenny Craig. I was going to wait until the end of the month, but I am nothing if not accomodating.
Initial Cost: $49 for a 60 trial membership. It was part of the "Lose All the Weight You Want for $49" promotion.
Cost of Jenny Craig Food for First Week: $100.09
Cost of Additional Groceries that I had to Purchase to Stay on the "Plan": $38.24
Total Cost to Date: $197.33
So, there you have it. That's what it cost me so far. The way the program works is that you eat 100% Jenny Craig food until you reach your half-way goal (which for me is roughly 20 pounds less than I currently am). Then you prepare your own food for 1-2 days per week, eventually transitioning into your own meals entirely.
I'm not going to defend my choice here to spend this money on my health. It's an intensive program (much more so than Weight Watchers, which costs $39.95 per month) that includes a nutritional counseling component and a 1-800 help line. I've already called it twice to ask about substituting food because I'd rather jump off a small bridge than eat a grapefruit in the morning.
The-Blogger-Who-Shall-Remain-Nameless coincidentally wrote that being thin and healthy is an investment in your body. I drive a five year-old car that won't be paid off for another three years. I live in an apartment that is 10 minutes from where I work because I hated spending all my time and money on a shitty commute. My biggest expense right now is daycare for my son so I can continue to go to work and pay for my priorities. All of the electronic gadgets that I own were purchased circa 1999, when apparently I had an influx of discretionary cash.
I know you can lose weight for little, if no money. I know that I need to control my portions, exercise more, and eat lots of whole grains, fresh vegetables, low-fat dairy products, and lean meats. But what do you do if you tried that and it's failed. The numbers on the scale kept creeping up and everyday I started beating myself up a little more. What then?
Tuesday, January 02, 2007
1/02
I've avoided writing any, "End of 2006, Beginning of 2007" posts because I've been too busy trying to figure out why Zac is screaming at the top of his lungs for hours at a time. I've also just never been much of a New Year's Resolution type of person. It might be a lack of optimism on my part or maybe just the knowledge that I'm not very good at following through on things.
That isn't actually true, though. It's just that I have a hard time admitting, out loud, that I want to change something in myself. It feels intensely private and I wrestled with acknowledging my desired changes on this blog. Then I realized that it would be ridiculous for me to write everyday and try to pretend that I wasn't making major changes in my life. It would almost invalidate what I was hoping to accomplish.
So, my New Year's Resolution for 2007 involves taking better care of myself. While Zac was at my parents' house in between Christmas and New Year's, I realized how much time and energy I spend taking care of him, cleaning our apartment, trying to keep the cat from running out the front door, managing our finances, doing the dishes, watering the plants, and basically keeping everything from molding or dying. Taking care of myself, mentally, physically, spiritually, was always the last on the list, if I even managed to make it on the list.
No more.
I realized that I couldn't keep living my life the way I had been. When I looked in the mirror, I saw a woman that was prematurely aging, who looked unhappy and, more importantly, unhealthy. The fear and shame of having to admit that I need more support to reach my health goals kept me from even discussing my desire to move beyond Weight Watchers or casual dieting. Add in the significant cost of the program and the prepackaged foods and you can quickly see why the edict of: I will take better care of myself, feels so huge. I've made a financial and emotional commitment to use my actions to mirror my belief in my own self-worth.
On January 1st, I joined Jenny Craig. On January 2nd, I went to the dermatologist to get the weird bumps on my arms looked at and to get my elbows to stop itching (keratosis and ecsema, respectfully) and walked to the daycare with a stroller to pick up Zac instead of driving. I have an appointment to get new contact lenses next week and need to schedule a follow-up appointment with a dentist to get the permanent crowns put on my three post-root canal teeth. I've stopped dating at the moment and plan to use this time to focus on loving myself and being the best parent that I can be.
I've decided that I'm going to use this blog to track my progress in keeping my resolution. It involves a lot more than just weight loss, but right now (since I'm hungry and I'm not scheduled to eat again for another 30 minutes), the weight loss program is weighing most heavily on my mind (pun intended).
Here are my assumptions about Jenny Craig and my weight loss:
Assumption #1: I will have more time to exercise and be with Zac if I don't have to prepare my own meals every day. (This was the number 1 motivator for me to join).
Assumption #2: It will be easy for me to lose weight on this program, which automatically sets my daily caloric intake to 1500 calories with a combination of prepackaged, frozen and dry, foods and fresh fruits, vegetables, and dairy.
Assumption #3: I will have more energy and more desire to exercise once I lose weight.
Assumption #4: The cost of the program will only be slightly higher than the cost of me shopping and preparing for all my own food.
Assumption #5: I have a history of issues with food that I might be able to resolve with one-on-one counseling and personalized support.
I'll leave it at those five assumptions for now. My decision to join a hugely successful marketing campaign (hi Kirstie Alley! Don't listen to the haters. I loved you on Oprah), is only part of my resolution. I'm focusing on it because it felt the hardest to do and the hardest to admit to my friends and family. I cried on the way home in the car after my counselor gave me the "Before" profile shot of myself. Hopefully, over the coming months, I will be able to finally affirm my final assumption:
My self-worth is not tied to my weight loss. I am not my body, although I need to cherish and respect the body that supports me.
That isn't actually true, though. It's just that I have a hard time admitting, out loud, that I want to change something in myself. It feels intensely private and I wrestled with acknowledging my desired changes on this blog. Then I realized that it would be ridiculous for me to write everyday and try to pretend that I wasn't making major changes in my life. It would almost invalidate what I was hoping to accomplish.
So, my New Year's Resolution for 2007 involves taking better care of myself. While Zac was at my parents' house in between Christmas and New Year's, I realized how much time and energy I spend taking care of him, cleaning our apartment, trying to keep the cat from running out the front door, managing our finances, doing the dishes, watering the plants, and basically keeping everything from molding or dying. Taking care of myself, mentally, physically, spiritually, was always the last on the list, if I even managed to make it on the list.
No more.
I realized that I couldn't keep living my life the way I had been. When I looked in the mirror, I saw a woman that was prematurely aging, who looked unhappy and, more importantly, unhealthy. The fear and shame of having to admit that I need more support to reach my health goals kept me from even discussing my desire to move beyond Weight Watchers or casual dieting. Add in the significant cost of the program and the prepackaged foods and you can quickly see why the edict of: I will take better care of myself, feels so huge. I've made a financial and emotional commitment to use my actions to mirror my belief in my own self-worth.
On January 1st, I joined Jenny Craig. On January 2nd, I went to the dermatologist to get the weird bumps on my arms looked at and to get my elbows to stop itching (keratosis and ecsema, respectfully) and walked to the daycare with a stroller to pick up Zac instead of driving. I have an appointment to get new contact lenses next week and need to schedule a follow-up appointment with a dentist to get the permanent crowns put on my three post-root canal teeth. I've stopped dating at the moment and plan to use this time to focus on loving myself and being the best parent that I can be.
I've decided that I'm going to use this blog to track my progress in keeping my resolution. It involves a lot more than just weight loss, but right now (since I'm hungry and I'm not scheduled to eat again for another 30 minutes), the weight loss program is weighing most heavily on my mind (pun intended).
Here are my assumptions about Jenny Craig and my weight loss:
Assumption #1: I will have more time to exercise and be with Zac if I don't have to prepare my own meals every day. (This was the number 1 motivator for me to join).
Assumption #2: It will be easy for me to lose weight on this program, which automatically sets my daily caloric intake to 1500 calories with a combination of prepackaged, frozen and dry, foods and fresh fruits, vegetables, and dairy.
Assumption #3: I will have more energy and more desire to exercise once I lose weight.
Assumption #4: The cost of the program will only be slightly higher than the cost of me shopping and preparing for all my own food.
Assumption #5: I have a history of issues with food that I might be able to resolve with one-on-one counseling and personalized support.
I'll leave it at those five assumptions for now. My decision to join a hugely successful marketing campaign (hi Kirstie Alley! Don't listen to the haters. I loved you on Oprah), is only part of my resolution. I'm focusing on it because it felt the hardest to do and the hardest to admit to my friends and family. I cried on the way home in the car after my counselor gave me the "Before" profile shot of myself. Hopefully, over the coming months, I will be able to finally affirm my final assumption:
My self-worth is not tied to my weight loss. I am not my body, although I need to cherish and respect the body that supports me.
Friday, December 29, 2006
12/29
One of the best presents I received this Christmas was an unintended gift from my friend Andre-ah (true spelling of the name has been altered to protect the innocent pronunciation of a beautiful name). We went out to lunch before Christmas and she was telling me about the new healthy-living hypnosis cds that she had loaded onto her MP3 player. She liked to listen to them at night before she went to sleep, although she doubted whether they were working or not because she didn't think that she was open to suggestion very easily, especially subconsciously.
I grew up as the youngest child with a very smart, clever older sister. I know exactly how easily suggestable I am. Growing up, I would have jumped off the nearest cliff if my sister had told me to. My best friend, Jenny Evenson, used to torment me by telling me long, complex stories about the dead guy that was found behind the woods of our elementary school. I listened in wide-eyed horror, believing every word she said. We used to go into the woods behind the school on long summer days and get lost in the tangling underbrush. The school has since built a wire, chain-link fence around the school playground to specifically keep highly suspectible to suggestion kids like me from getting lost and accidentally finding a dead person lying around.
Gullible should be my middle name (please reference all posts under the category, "FOB Sucks" for further proof). I knew that I would be highly susceptible to suggestion and I asked her for a copy of the cd. She happily obliged me and left her house with a copy.
You're supposed to listed to the hypnosis while in a relaxed state. I don't have too many relaxed states, so I started listening to it in the car on the way to and from my parents' house. Clearly, it is single Mom multi-tasking at its best (read: worst) to listen to a relaxing hypnosis cd while driving in Houston rush hour traffic. The irony didn't really strike me until my friend A. mentioned that it might be a little...I don't know...dangerous to try and subconsciously change your life while driving.
The cd is amazing, whether I'm listening to it in the car or before I go to sleep. The producers of the cd layered tracks of the therapist's (I'm going to call him that because the phrase, "disembodied voice telling me what to do" sounds disconcerting) voice over each other. So the whole thing is a patchwork of his voice. It sounds something like this:
"You are now letting your mind drift *peeeacefully* to the place where you are warm *safe*, comfortable *secure* to allow yourself time to make permanent *safe, natural* change for a healthier lifestyle"
My favorite part is when the therapist validates that you may actually NOT be getting relaxed and that, "It's OK." While one version of his voice says: "You may find one side of your body getting heavier and relaxing into a deep state of awareness and unconsciousness," the other version of the layered track pipes up with the occasional "or not". As in, "You are drifting further and further *or not* just as the snow falls over a flat plain you can relax and begin to embrace your deep desire to live a healthier *happier* more fulfilled life *or not*."
Seriously, I can't get that kind of validation from anywhere else. Not only am I a perfectly-formed creature with a fundamental human right to be physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually healthy *and happy*, he even tells me that it's ok to NOT be feeling like that. It's even ok to think that the whole hypnosis, relaxation thing is a bunch of crap.
I for one, think that everyone should be hypnotizing themselves *or not* everytime they leave the house *or not*.
I grew up as the youngest child with a very smart, clever older sister. I know exactly how easily suggestable I am. Growing up, I would have jumped off the nearest cliff if my sister had told me to. My best friend, Jenny Evenson, used to torment me by telling me long, complex stories about the dead guy that was found behind the woods of our elementary school. I listened in wide-eyed horror, believing every word she said. We used to go into the woods behind the school on long summer days and get lost in the tangling underbrush. The school has since built a wire, chain-link fence around the school playground to specifically keep highly suspectible to suggestion kids like me from getting lost and accidentally finding a dead person lying around.
Gullible should be my middle name (please reference all posts under the category, "FOB Sucks" for further proof). I knew that I would be highly susceptible to suggestion and I asked her for a copy of the cd. She happily obliged me and left her house with a copy.
You're supposed to listed to the hypnosis while in a relaxed state. I don't have too many relaxed states, so I started listening to it in the car on the way to and from my parents' house. Clearly, it is single Mom multi-tasking at its best (read: worst) to listen to a relaxing hypnosis cd while driving in Houston rush hour traffic. The irony didn't really strike me until my friend A. mentioned that it might be a little...I don't know...dangerous to try and subconsciously change your life while driving.
The cd is amazing, whether I'm listening to it in the car or before I go to sleep. The producers of the cd layered tracks of the therapist's (I'm going to call him that because the phrase, "disembodied voice telling me what to do" sounds disconcerting) voice over each other. So the whole thing is a patchwork of his voice. It sounds something like this:
"You are now letting your mind drift *peeeacefully* to the place where you are warm *safe*, comfortable *secure* to allow yourself time to make permanent *safe, natural* change for a healthier lifestyle"
My favorite part is when the therapist validates that you may actually NOT be getting relaxed and that, "It's OK." While one version of his voice says: "You may find one side of your body getting heavier and relaxing into a deep state of awareness and unconsciousness," the other version of the layered track pipes up with the occasional "or not". As in, "You are drifting further and further *or not* just as the snow falls over a flat plain you can relax and begin to embrace your deep desire to live a healthier *happier* more fulfilled life *or not*."
Seriously, I can't get that kind of validation from anywhere else. Not only am I a perfectly-formed creature with a fundamental human right to be physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually healthy *and happy*, he even tells me that it's ok to NOT be feeling like that. It's even ok to think that the whole hypnosis, relaxation thing is a bunch of crap.
I for one, think that everyone should be hypnotizing themselves *or not* everytime they leave the house *or not*.
Thursday, December 28, 2006
12/28
In between my three hour naps and pumpkin pie-filled afternoons, I had a lot of time to reflect about how I'm currently living my life.
All and all, I like myself. I'm kind to others, good to my son, treat animals with compassion, and enjoy most home improvement projects.
With the wonderful gift of a digital camera for my birthday and the knowledge that Christmas would be spent in a haze of flash bulbs and phrases like, "Get Zac to turn this way. I can't see what he's holding!" and, "Why is it that this kid always smiles after I've taken the picture?" I started thinking about my relationship to the camera. Much like every other person that has gained and lost weight, I shy away from group photos and rarely let someone capture a candid shot of me. When potential internet daters ask to see more pictures of me, they end up getting photo after photo of Zac smiling up at camera with my arm around him or the reassurance that, "I'm the person in the back. You can see my foot between those big columns."
I got dressed up for Christmas Eve and decided that Zac and I were going to pose for some pictures together. My Dad took this shot:
I love it because if you were to visit Zac and I on any given day, that's what you would see. You would see a little boy playing with his Mom's necklace and his Mom smiling at him.
What I don't love is the woman in the photo. By not looking at pictures of myself, I can somehow convince myself that the weight loss hasn't really stopped. That I haven't really regained 10 of the 15 pounds I lost. That somehow I don't mind being the weight that I am.
Here is the truth, though: I do mind. I feel tired and lethargic most days. I haven't had much success with "changing my eating patterns" or stopping when I feel full. I will just eat and eat until I feel sick.
All and all, I like myself. I'm kind to others, good to my son, treat animals with compassion, and enjoy most home improvement projects.
With the wonderful gift of a digital camera for my birthday and the knowledge that Christmas would be spent in a haze of flash bulbs and phrases like, "Get Zac to turn this way. I can't see what he's holding!" and, "Why is it that this kid always smiles after I've taken the picture?" I started thinking about my relationship to the camera. Much like every other person that has gained and lost weight, I shy away from group photos and rarely let someone capture a candid shot of me. When potential internet daters ask to see more pictures of me, they end up getting photo after photo of Zac smiling up at camera with my arm around him or the reassurance that, "I'm the person in the back. You can see my foot between those big columns."
I got dressed up for Christmas Eve and decided that Zac and I were going to pose for some pictures together. My Dad took this shot:
I love it because if you were to visit Zac and I on any given day, that's what you would see. You would see a little boy playing with his Mom's necklace and his Mom smiling at him.
What I don't love is the woman in the photo. By not looking at pictures of myself, I can somehow convince myself that the weight loss hasn't really stopped. That I haven't really regained 10 of the 15 pounds I lost. That somehow I don't mind being the weight that I am.
Here is the truth, though: I do mind. I feel tired and lethargic most days. I haven't had much success with "changing my eating patterns" or stopping when I feel full. I will just eat and eat until I feel sick.
I want to feel better about myself. I want to feel healthy, centered, and content. These past two days have shown me what it's like to take care of myself, again. I've flossed more this week than I have in the past year. It isn't Zac's absence that I want to celebrate, it's his presence. I want to be around to see this guy grow up and I need to find a way to balance his needs with mine:
Tuesday, October 03, 2006
10/03
Number games:
When I graduated high school, I weighed 160lbs. I remember that distinctly because S. Zugschwerdt (real last name, although probably not spelled right. T. can you help me out here?) weighed 130lbs and I remember thinking how nice it would be to weigh that.
In college, I went up to 165-170 by eating four enormous meals a day, working out every morning, six days a week, and most afternoons, 3-4 days a week. Rock solid was how I looked by April every year.
In England, I rode my bicycle around Oxford, which is deceptively large for such a small country. I consumed warm beer and not much else, dropping my weight down to 155 or so. That summer I lived in Houston, rode my bike to work in 100+ degree heat, waiting tables at Red Lobster, and going 8-10 hours without eating.
Senior year of college, I made up for the weight loss and bounced back to 185.
I stayed at 180 for my first year of Peace Corps in Mongolia. I hated weighing that much and remembering wondering if J. would notice the stretch marks forming and spreading on my butt.
Then I hit a deep depression that involved a lot of running (for 30-45 minutes every day, I could only dream to be that lucky again to be seriously depressed and actually WANT to run) and not enough food. I constantly worried about not having enough food or water for myself and my cat, Buddy, who was killed during my trip to America in late summer. In the hospital in D.C., I stepped on the scale in the dining room (don't ask me why there was a scale there, it seemed weird for me to considering what floor I was on) and I weighed 155 and fit into a size 10.
In New Hampshire, I drank large amounts of freshly brewed light beer, fried foods, and pizza and went up to 182, which is what I weighed on the Planned Parenthood scale the day that I got the prescription for the birth control pill (which (ha!) ultimately failed).
Then I got pregnant and I don't talk about those weights or how big I actually got. I saw the number on the scale once and then never again. I'm embarassed and ashamed when I think back to then. I had Zac in July of 2005 and lost 40lbs my first week post-partum. Aunt Jen put it nicely when she said that I looked "squishy", like if she were to poke me with a pin, water would squirt out of the hole.
When I started Weight Watchers in April 2006, I weighed 197. I didn't fit into most of my size 16 clothes and I couldn't imagine being anything other than a lactating woman that still couldn't bend over. I threw away all my "skinny" clothes, including most of what I wore in New Hampshire (although clearly I wasn't that skinny then. I just didn't have the flap of extra skin around my belly button and the enormous breasts). Everything I owned was a size 16-18.
This morning, I stepped on the scale and it read 180, exactly. It was a little mind boggling because I don't feel like I've been doing that much differently lately, just trying not to binge. I was tempted to abuse my body after my conversations with J. the past couple of days but I've done well staying focusing and not eating hard foods (dental problems, not eating ones).
______
Throughout most of my teenaged and adult life, my life has been dictated by these numbers. I can't believe that I'm actually going to post them because I work so hard to hide what I actually weigh and coyly avoid discussing metrics of size and shape. This is Weight Watchers has given me - it's given me the confidence to say: I've lost 17 pounds and I feel better about myself at this weight. I have a long way to go, but I'm getting there.
When I graduated high school, I weighed 160lbs. I remember that distinctly because S. Zugschwerdt (real last name, although probably not spelled right. T. can you help me out here?) weighed 130lbs and I remember thinking how nice it would be to weigh that.
In college, I went up to 165-170 by eating four enormous meals a day, working out every morning, six days a week, and most afternoons, 3-4 days a week. Rock solid was how I looked by April every year.
In England, I rode my bicycle around Oxford, which is deceptively large for such a small country. I consumed warm beer and not much else, dropping my weight down to 155 or so. That summer I lived in Houston, rode my bike to work in 100+ degree heat, waiting tables at Red Lobster, and going 8-10 hours without eating.
Senior year of college, I made up for the weight loss and bounced back to 185.
I stayed at 180 for my first year of Peace Corps in Mongolia. I hated weighing that much and remembering wondering if J. would notice the stretch marks forming and spreading on my butt.
Then I hit a deep depression that involved a lot of running (for 30-45 minutes every day, I could only dream to be that lucky again to be seriously depressed and actually WANT to run) and not enough food. I constantly worried about not having enough food or water for myself and my cat, Buddy, who was killed during my trip to America in late summer. In the hospital in D.C., I stepped on the scale in the dining room (don't ask me why there was a scale there, it seemed weird for me to considering what floor I was on) and I weighed 155 and fit into a size 10.
In New Hampshire, I drank large amounts of freshly brewed light beer, fried foods, and pizza and went up to 182, which is what I weighed on the Planned Parenthood scale the day that I got the prescription for the birth control pill (which (ha!) ultimately failed).
Then I got pregnant and I don't talk about those weights or how big I actually got. I saw the number on the scale once and then never again. I'm embarassed and ashamed when I think back to then. I had Zac in July of 2005 and lost 40lbs my first week post-partum. Aunt Jen put it nicely when she said that I looked "squishy", like if she were to poke me with a pin, water would squirt out of the hole.
When I started Weight Watchers in April 2006, I weighed 197. I didn't fit into most of my size 16 clothes and I couldn't imagine being anything other than a lactating woman that still couldn't bend over. I threw away all my "skinny" clothes, including most of what I wore in New Hampshire (although clearly I wasn't that skinny then. I just didn't have the flap of extra skin around my belly button and the enormous breasts). Everything I owned was a size 16-18.
This morning, I stepped on the scale and it read 180, exactly. It was a little mind boggling because I don't feel like I've been doing that much differently lately, just trying not to binge. I was tempted to abuse my body after my conversations with J. the past couple of days but I've done well staying focusing and not eating hard foods (dental problems, not eating ones).
______
Throughout most of my teenaged and adult life, my life has been dictated by these numbers. I can't believe that I'm actually going to post them because I work so hard to hide what I actually weigh and coyly avoid discussing metrics of size and shape. This is Weight Watchers has given me - it's given me the confidence to say: I've lost 17 pounds and I feel better about myself at this weight. I have a long way to go, but I'm getting there.
Wednesday, September 27, 2006
9/27
Tracey (it turns out that she doesn't actually spell her name with an "i", much to my dissapointment) was good to me last night. I had to follow her around for an hour while she said things like, "This is a Nautilus machine. It's usually easier for people to start out training on them becauase they keep your body in proper alignment. Now I'm going to show you how to work your ab muscles, which are the ones in your stomach."
Uhhhhh......
I wanted to tell her that I used to lift weights three times a week for three years in college, but now I'm an overweight Mommy with a layer of blubber (referred to as a "shelf" by other Mommybloggers) that overhangs my sweet-ass C-section scar. I did what most people should do in that circumstance - I kept my mouth shut and nodded.
My stomach and legs are feeling my workout from yesterday, even though it was minimal. I just have to look at a flight of stairs and my quads start shaking and my calves say, "Don't do it. I'll be so sore tomorrow you will regret that you didn't take the elevator." Calves are usually one of the only muscles that I listen to unquestionably.
In other Mommy-helper news, I've had a couple of people interested in the world's easiest position, also known as: sitting in my apartment making sure nothing happens while Zac is asleep. I'm interviewing this week and taking a serious look at my finances to make sure that I can do all of this. Sometimes my grand ideas don't match the realities of my bank account. As I found out earlier today when I realized that I couldn't double all of the payments on my credit cards AND pay for my car repair deductible and inspection fee AND pay for my initial dentist visit AND buy a dental savings plan in the same month. I suck. I'm trying to learn more as I grow older and mature into this whole, "responsible for someone" business of being a parent. I wish I was better at it.
Fortunately, I'm feeling pretty good about things, even if Zac refused to take a nap yesterday at daycare and was the world's crankiest child at the gym yesterday. It's a fine line to walk between, "Ok, baby, you didn't sleep well? We'll stay home and watch 'Dancing with the Stars'," and, "Tough shit, kid. Mommy hasn't slept well in almost two years. Get your little diapered butt into the car seat."
Uhhhhh......
I wanted to tell her that I used to lift weights three times a week for three years in college, but now I'm an overweight Mommy with a layer of blubber (referred to as a "shelf" by other Mommybloggers) that overhangs my sweet-ass C-section scar. I did what most people should do in that circumstance - I kept my mouth shut and nodded.
My stomach and legs are feeling my workout from yesterday, even though it was minimal. I just have to look at a flight of stairs and my quads start shaking and my calves say, "Don't do it. I'll be so sore tomorrow you will regret that you didn't take the elevator." Calves are usually one of the only muscles that I listen to unquestionably.
In other Mommy-helper news, I've had a couple of people interested in the world's easiest position, also known as: sitting in my apartment making sure nothing happens while Zac is asleep. I'm interviewing this week and taking a serious look at my finances to make sure that I can do all of this. Sometimes my grand ideas don't match the realities of my bank account. As I found out earlier today when I realized that I couldn't double all of the payments on my credit cards AND pay for my car repair deductible and inspection fee AND pay for my initial dentist visit AND buy a dental savings plan in the same month. I suck. I'm trying to learn more as I grow older and mature into this whole, "responsible for someone" business of being a parent. I wish I was better at it.
Fortunately, I'm feeling pretty good about things, even if Zac refused to take a nap yesterday at daycare and was the world's crankiest child at the gym yesterday. It's a fine line to walk between, "Ok, baby, you didn't sleep well? We'll stay home and watch 'Dancing with the Stars'," and, "Tough shit, kid. Mommy hasn't slept well in almost two years. Get your little diapered butt into the car seat."
Tuesday, September 26, 2006
9/26
I went to the gym last night.
I don't usually like to plug the establishments that I go to, especially because people then tend to find me on Google and giving a multi-million dollar company free advertising feels weird to me, but I have to say, that Bally's pretty much rocked my boat. There is no processing fee, no initiation fee (both of which I had to pay at Not-Really-Open-24-Hours-Fitness), AND I get to try out the gym for a month for $5. The only thing they wanted from me as a commitment that I would try and go there at least 12 times in the month.
*pause for internal dialogue*
12 times! That's a big commitment. I can't even commit to pooping twelve times in a month. How am I going to be able to go to the gym that much? That's a little less than every other day. Hmmm.....
*internal dialogue over*
So I decided to join. It's a remodeled facility in a crappy stip mall in my part of Houston. I don't have to drive on any major freeway to get there, which is so beautiful that I almost cried. I live in an older part of Houston and there are almost no stores close to me that don't involve me driving on the most crowded freeway known to mankind. The freeway also goes in a giant circle, which Houstonians happily refer to as a 'loop'. As if humans were supposed to drive in circles and never really get anywhere.
Crazy.
I'm going back tonight for my free, hour session with my personal trainer: Traci. Wish me luck.
I don't usually like to plug the establishments that I go to, especially because people then tend to find me on Google and giving a multi-million dollar company free advertising feels weird to me, but I have to say, that Bally's pretty much rocked my boat. There is no processing fee, no initiation fee (both of which I had to pay at Not-Really-Open-24-Hours-Fitness), AND I get to try out the gym for a month for $5. The only thing they wanted from me as a commitment that I would try and go there at least 12 times in the month.
*pause for internal dialogue*
12 times! That's a big commitment. I can't even commit to pooping twelve times in a month. How am I going to be able to go to the gym that much? That's a little less than every other day. Hmmm.....
*internal dialogue over*
So I decided to join. It's a remodeled facility in a crappy stip mall in my part of Houston. I don't have to drive on any major freeway to get there, which is so beautiful that I almost cried. I live in an older part of Houston and there are almost no stores close to me that don't involve me driving on the most crowded freeway known to mankind. The freeway also goes in a giant circle, which Houstonians happily refer to as a 'loop'. As if humans were supposed to drive in circles and never really get anywhere.
Crazy.
I'm going back tonight for my free, hour session with my personal trainer: Traci. Wish me luck.
Thursday, September 14, 2006
9/14
Well that was fun. I had just finished composing a post here and my work computer decided to play the "Let's shut off randomly while she's typing" game. They have a contract IT guy here that doesn't return phone calls. My computer has been doing that every day for almost two weeks now. I've been reduced to schlepping my laptop computer to and from work everyday, which is both heavy and annoying.
Anyways, I was writing that I rejoined the cult known as Weight Watchers after a month abscence from attending meetings. I regained 1.8 lbs, which isn't that bad considering how much I've been binging. Lately, I've been sitting down with my computer on my lap, playing with a blog template or IMing friends, with a bag of baked Cheetos beside me. When I look up, the bag is empty, which leaves me wondering, "Who ate all my chips?"
So, yet again, I pick up Zac, put him in the car, drive to the meeting, take him out of the car, and spent the next 45 minutes trying to keep him both occupied and quiet. The only problem is, my son loves to hear his own voice. He babbles, shouts, growls, and roars and chases after balls, pushes his toy trucks on the floor, and generally makes a big nuisance out of himself. I also want to start exercising again. I
've been taking walks with Zac in the jogging stroller that my friends got me for my baby shower, but I can't maintain enough enthusiasm to walk in Houston for the amount of time I need to get in shape. Running is especially difficult while holding onto a handlebar and trying to navigate traffic and 2ft sidewalks. Mostly, I want to take an aerobic or spin classes. Do 45 minutes on a eliptical trainer while watching the Today show. I want to share my sweat with other people who want to get in shape!!
Certainly, I can hire a babysitter to watch Zac, or even use the childcare facilities at the gym. It's just that he spends the E-N-T-I-R-E day at daycare, around other kids, sharing germs and head butting each other, away from Mommy. Most days, I think he likes day care. He seems to get bored on the weekends when he only has adults and toys to play with. It's just the thought of putting him back into that situation again, even to take care of my body, makes me cringe.
What I really want is someone to share the parenting duties with. I don't want someone to "watch" Zac while I'm not around, I want someone to love him. *Here is where the pity party starts in earnest. You might want to shield your eyes from direct exposure to my self-pity*
I want to be able to say: "Here. Here is my son Zac. He likes to eat at 5:45pm and you should hide all the bananas in the room if you want him to focus on eating dinner. He likes Hamburger Helper and sliced pears. Don't ask me why. He likes to throw balls on the floor and he will expect you to throw it back. Bathe him, love him like he is your own, and put him to bed. I'll be back in two hours." But there is no one there most days and those words die on my tongue, while I sit down to eat another bag of Cheetos.
Anyways, I was writing that I rejoined the cult known as Weight Watchers after a month abscence from attending meetings. I regained 1.8 lbs, which isn't that bad considering how much I've been binging. Lately, I've been sitting down with my computer on my lap, playing with a blog template or IMing friends, with a bag of baked Cheetos beside me. When I look up, the bag is empty, which leaves me wondering, "Who ate all my chips?"
So, yet again, I pick up Zac, put him in the car, drive to the meeting, take him out of the car, and spent the next 45 minutes trying to keep him both occupied and quiet. The only problem is, my son loves to hear his own voice. He babbles, shouts, growls, and roars and chases after balls, pushes his toy trucks on the floor, and generally makes a big nuisance out of himself. I also want to start exercising again. I
've been taking walks with Zac in the jogging stroller that my friends got me for my baby shower, but I can't maintain enough enthusiasm to walk in Houston for the amount of time I need to get in shape. Running is especially difficult while holding onto a handlebar and trying to navigate traffic and 2ft sidewalks. Mostly, I want to take an aerobic or spin classes. Do 45 minutes on a eliptical trainer while watching the Today show. I want to share my sweat with other people who want to get in shape!!
Certainly, I can hire a babysitter to watch Zac, or even use the childcare facilities at the gym. It's just that he spends the E-N-T-I-R-E day at daycare, around other kids, sharing germs and head butting each other, away from Mommy. Most days, I think he likes day care. He seems to get bored on the weekends when he only has adults and toys to play with. It's just the thought of putting him back into that situation again, even to take care of my body, makes me cringe.
What I really want is someone to share the parenting duties with. I don't want someone to "watch" Zac while I'm not around, I want someone to love him. *Here is where the pity party starts in earnest. You might want to shield your eyes from direct exposure to my self-pity*
I want to be able to say: "Here. Here is my son Zac. He likes to eat at 5:45pm and you should hide all the bananas in the room if you want him to focus on eating dinner. He likes Hamburger Helper and sliced pears. Don't ask me why. He likes to throw balls on the floor and he will expect you to throw it back. Bathe him, love him like he is your own, and put him to bed. I'll be back in two hours." But there is no one there most days and those words die on my tongue, while I sit down to eat another bag of Cheetos.
Tuesday, September 05, 2006
9/05
I'm back! Although I never really left. Can you hear Madonna starting to swell in the background as I type?
"Don't cry for me Argentina! (Texas) The truth is I never left you. All through my wild days, my mad existence, I made a promise...don't (please) keep your distance"
I spent the weekend watching movies - alternating between four hour naps on my couch and waking up every fifteen minutes throughout the night with Zac, who just wanted confirmation that I was still there. I think I heard him murmur, "While you are up, do you think that you could just rub my back a little? Ahhh...that's nice, thanks Mam...*snore*" He had large quantities of fluid leaking out of his right ear and my Mom was worried that Zac would go deaf while I was walking around assuring everyone that leaky ears were normal for a sick baby/toddler. Her reply was something along the lines of, "EARS SHOULDN'T LEAK!"
Hmmm...maybe she had me there. Self-doubt creeped in, followed by the words, "This could be why Zac isn't talking yet. He could have hearing loss." There is no rational argument to that.
I drove down Saturday morning to the pediatrician by my parents' house and left Z. in the care of a sweaty Grandma and Grandpa, who took him to the doctor after their morning run. I was lucky enough to drive up to the Saturn dealership and spent the next fatigue-laced three hours finishing up, "The Time Traveler's Wife," which everyone should read, and the latest issue of People, which no one should read - ever, unless you've lived abroad and can fully appreciate how asinine the whole thing is.
Zac got better news than my car. The fluid meant that his ear tube was working correctly by stopping the fluid from collecting behind his ear drum and causing an infection. They gave him ear drops, just to make sure that the ol' tube kept up its good work and sent Z. home for a three hour nap. I found out that extended warranty shops take the ENTIRE weekend off for Labor Day. I spent my entire, weary, cranky morning waiting for that little nugget of information. I couldn't get my car fixed, even if I wanted to.
Personally, I've been struggling with some issues for a couple of weeks now. After two months of not getting my period, my beloved pill, is causing me to have some spotting. This normally wouldn't be a big deal, but the hormonal changes that occur while that is happening have caused some problems. I hate to chalk everything up to hormones because all of my underlying issues are still there, they are just exacerbated by the chemical changes. My face has been breaking out, horribly. I've been overeating because -ha!- if, "I'm ugly and miserable, why not be fat too?" I've gained back some of the weight I lost earlier in the spring and summer. Zac's constant need to explore everything, including all objects strategically placed on the tops of tables, has been getting under my skin. He's pushing more buttons than I knew I even had. Last night, he was tired, cranky, and started crying everytime I said the word, "No," which I said approximately thirteen hundred times. I started crying. Then I ate some more pizza and felt sick to my stomach.
"Don't cry for me Argentina! (Texas) The truth is I never left you. All through my wild days, my mad existence, I made a promise...don't (please) keep your distance"
I spent the weekend watching movies - alternating between four hour naps on my couch and waking up every fifteen minutes throughout the night with Zac, who just wanted confirmation that I was still there. I think I heard him murmur, "While you are up, do you think that you could just rub my back a little? Ahhh...that's nice, thanks Mam...*snore*" He had large quantities of fluid leaking out of his right ear and my Mom was worried that Zac would go deaf while I was walking around assuring everyone that leaky ears were normal for a sick baby/toddler. Her reply was something along the lines of, "EARS SHOULDN'T LEAK!"
Hmmm...maybe she had me there. Self-doubt creeped in, followed by the words, "This could be why Zac isn't talking yet. He could have hearing loss." There is no rational argument to that.
I drove down Saturday morning to the pediatrician by my parents' house and left Z. in the care of a sweaty Grandma and Grandpa, who took him to the doctor after their morning run. I was lucky enough to drive up to the Saturn dealership and spent the next fatigue-laced three hours finishing up, "The Time Traveler's Wife," which everyone should read, and the latest issue of People, which no one should read - ever, unless you've lived abroad and can fully appreciate how asinine the whole thing is.
Zac got better news than my car. The fluid meant that his ear tube was working correctly by stopping the fluid from collecting behind his ear drum and causing an infection. They gave him ear drops, just to make sure that the ol' tube kept up its good work and sent Z. home for a three hour nap. I found out that extended warranty shops take the ENTIRE weekend off for Labor Day. I spent my entire, weary, cranky morning waiting for that little nugget of information. I couldn't get my car fixed, even if I wanted to.
Personally, I've been struggling with some issues for a couple of weeks now. After two months of not getting my period, my beloved pill, is causing me to have some spotting. This normally wouldn't be a big deal, but the hormonal changes that occur while that is happening have caused some problems. I hate to chalk everything up to hormones because all of my underlying issues are still there, they are just exacerbated by the chemical changes. My face has been breaking out, horribly. I've been overeating because -ha!- if, "I'm ugly and miserable, why not be fat too?" I've gained back some of the weight I lost earlier in the spring and summer. Zac's constant need to explore everything, including all objects strategically placed on the tops of tables, has been getting under my skin. He's pushing more buttons than I knew I even had. Last night, he was tired, cranky, and started crying everytime I said the word, "No," which I said approximately thirteen hundred times. I started crying. Then I ate some more pizza and felt sick to my stomach.
Thursday, July 27, 2006
7/27
Someday, I know that I will be writing posts about how hard it is now that Zac doesn't need me to wipe his butt or calm his fears. Someday, I will reminisce about how much I miss hearing his cries as I walk out of the room or see his cute face dissolve into a teary, oh-so-relieved smile when he sees me again. Someday, he will walk on his own, talk on his own, poop on his own, and maybe even have kids of his own.
That day is not today.
I love my son. That much should be obvious by the acres of archives that I'm starting to build on this site. No amount of love, though, can make up for the fact that I miss going pee by myself. I miss closing the door without hearing him scream like I just cut off his left hand. I miss gallivanting from home from the grocery store without strategically planning how I'm going to get the groceries in the apartment while still being attached at the hip to a one year-old. Occasionally, mommy needs two hands. Hell, occasionally mommy needs five hands, eight feet, and two heads. Maybe then I could finally get my living room vacuumed or take the load out of the washing machine. Maybe I could watch a full episode of "So You Think You Can Dance?" without wondering what song the people are dancing to.
My self-pity culminated yesterday evening when Zac and I were asked to leave our Weight Watchers meeting. How can you be asked to leave a place whose slogan is, "Come Join!"? WTF. The irony was driven even further home because the visiting instructor's 'message' for the evening was group support. She even drew the stupid flying-V on the white board and retold the lame Canadian geese metaphor. We get it. We're stronger as a team, supporting each other, achieving our weight loss goals. "Gooooo TEAM!" and all of that. I guess single Moms that can't leave their teething kids at home won't get picked for that team.
Where I am supposed to go for support? I pay the same $10 a week that every other person in that room paid to be told that I'm a success. I don't care if you have to scream over my child to make yourself heard. Welcome to my world. Do you have any idea how crazy I get after listening to him scream (in this order): at his toys, at me, at the cell phone I'm trying to have an adult conversation on, at me again, and then crumple onto the rug in a wet heap of screaming toddler? Let me tell you. It's pretty crazy. Maybe a couple of my five arms and eight legs could stay home with him while the other appendages try to lose weight.
That day is not today.
I love my son. That much should be obvious by the acres of archives that I'm starting to build on this site. No amount of love, though, can make up for the fact that I miss going pee by myself. I miss closing the door without hearing him scream like I just cut off his left hand. I miss gallivanting from home from the grocery store without strategically planning how I'm going to get the groceries in the apartment while still being attached at the hip to a one year-old. Occasionally, mommy needs two hands. Hell, occasionally mommy needs five hands, eight feet, and two heads. Maybe then I could finally get my living room vacuumed or take the load out of the washing machine. Maybe I could watch a full episode of "So You Think You Can Dance?" without wondering what song the people are dancing to.
My self-pity culminated yesterday evening when Zac and I were asked to leave our Weight Watchers meeting. How can you be asked to leave a place whose slogan is, "Come Join!"? WTF. The irony was driven even further home because the visiting instructor's 'message' for the evening was group support. She even drew the stupid flying-V on the white board and retold the lame Canadian geese metaphor. We get it. We're stronger as a team, supporting each other, achieving our weight loss goals. "Gooooo TEAM!" and all of that. I guess single Moms that can't leave their teething kids at home won't get picked for that team.
Where I am supposed to go for support? I pay the same $10 a week that every other person in that room paid to be told that I'm a success. I don't care if you have to scream over my child to make yourself heard. Welcome to my world. Do you have any idea how crazy I get after listening to him scream (in this order): at his toys, at me, at the cell phone I'm trying to have an adult conversation on, at me again, and then crumple onto the rug in a wet heap of screaming toddler? Let me tell you. It's pretty crazy. Maybe a couple of my five arms and eight legs could stay home with him while the other appendages try to lose weight.
Monday, June 05, 2006
6/5
I recently had a decision to make. It was a decision that pained me because, let's face it, spending money to lose weight sucks. But, here was my decision. I could either look at this every day for the next 15-20 years:
or at this:
I couldn't fiancially do both. The self-portrait was taken while Aunt Jen was visiting and for those of you that have seen the pictures of me pregnant in Hawaii, you might recognize that bathing suit. Yep. That is my maternity bathing suit. It still fits. I see no point in getting a new suit while the old one works just as well and highlights my gigantic, floppy Mom boobs. I also like that the skirt is long enough that it covers most of my baby-induced stretch marks on my hips and thighs.
Charlie, the dog, is currently at the Houston SPCA. Sorry, guy.
So, Weight Watchers it is. I'm thiiiisssss close to losing 10 pounds in 8 weeks. Even my binging over Memorial Day weekend hasn't completely stopped the weight loss. People are beginning to notice, as well, which scares the crap out of me. You see, if no one notices that I've lost weight, no one will notice when I (inevitably? Jeez, I have a bad attitude about this) gain it back. It has taken so much work to lose even the amount that I have that I can't imagine continuing to care this much about my weight and my body.
My clothes are also getting bigger. Right now I'm wearing a pair of light beige trousers that are rolled at the waist so they will stay up. All of my clothes are this big and while, to most people, that would mean, "Shopping spree!!! Go and celebrate by buying yourself a new outfit!" (as the Weight Watcher's leader always tells the group) for me it means, "Be creative with what you can do with belts and safety pins." Sometimes I wonder if I should hold off on the whole trying-to-lose weight thing until I can afford buying new clothes. Fortunately, most of my wardrobe contained clothes that I hoped one day I would fit into again. For now, I can deal with rolled waistbands and button-down shirts that don't gape open in the front.
Thursday, May 18, 2006
5/18
Around the Not-so-Pregnant household, weight loss is more like weight, "I'll think about leaving your body when I'm good and ready, but don't think that you are permanently getting rid of me. I am not lost! I am waiting to be rediscovered." And I so much want to rediscover the satisfying feeling of mindless eating. There is really nothing I like more than opening up a full pantry, rummaging through the contents inside (minus ants, mind you, a feat that the pantry in my new apartment has yet to manage), and grabbing the first piece of fattening, salty goodness I find.
I hate being hungry. Hate it, hate it, hate it. It doesn't help that I work for an organization that is dedicated to eradicating hunger and food insecurity. Do you have any idea how hard it is to diet in a place that routinely uses the phrase, "helping feed the hungry."
How about you feed me? I'm hungry.
I've lost 3.7 pounds to date in five weeks. For the more mathematically challenged, that is less than a pound a week, a.k.a: the slowest weight loss in history. I might have lost a little bit more than that, but I couldn't go to my Weight Watchers meeting this week to be officially weighed. The main problem is that I can't really afford spending $12 a week to get weighed, when, really, they should be paying me for that kind of torture. Kind of makes me want to buy a scale and forgo the meeting part. But, we all know that my self-control isn't at peak performance level, which is how I got to this weight to begin with (that and the 9 pound baby). I neeeeeed to go to the meetings. I've become a Weight Watchers junkie.
Give me another hit of self-love! Someone tell me that I'm a success just because I put down the fudge brownie and made it to the meeting. Someone tell me that drinking more water will increase my energy and pave the way to healthy weight loss. Someone tell me that I need to love myself before I can expect my body to lose the weight. Anyone?
See, I told you it was a cult.
I hate being hungry. Hate it, hate it, hate it. It doesn't help that I work for an organization that is dedicated to eradicating hunger and food insecurity. Do you have any idea how hard it is to diet in a place that routinely uses the phrase, "helping feed the hungry."
How about you feed me? I'm hungry.
I've lost 3.7 pounds to date in five weeks. For the more mathematically challenged, that is less than a pound a week, a.k.a: the slowest weight loss in history. I might have lost a little bit more than that, but I couldn't go to my Weight Watchers meeting this week to be officially weighed. The main problem is that I can't really afford spending $12 a week to get weighed, when, really, they should be paying me for that kind of torture. Kind of makes me want to buy a scale and forgo the meeting part. But, we all know that my self-control isn't at peak performance level, which is how I got to this weight to begin with (that and the 9 pound baby). I neeeeeed to go to the meetings. I've become a Weight Watchers junkie.
Give me another hit of self-love! Someone tell me that I'm a success just because I put down the fudge brownie and made it to the meeting. Someone tell me that drinking more water will increase my energy and pave the way to healthy weight loss. Someone tell me that I need to love myself before I can expect my body to lose the weight. Anyone?
See, I told you it was a cult.
Friday, April 21, 2006
4-21
If you've been reading this blog for a while, you know that I have some...well...self esteem issues. When I was pregnant, I would readily call myself a giant whale with a large fetus inside my swollen uterus, supported by 2 x4s that used to be ankles. Now that I'm not pregnant, and the Z man is healthy and happy, I try to be kinder to my body. I mean, it created life. I don't want to take that for granted. I know that I will never have perky breasts (I never did to begin with) and I know that the stretch marks over 75% over my body won't go away anytime soon, or really ever.
On most days, I'm ok with that. As I'm getting older, I'm getting more comfortable with myself: my sarcasm, humor, bluntness, and ability to love those that are important to me. Conversely, as I'm getting older, I'm getting more and more uncomfortable with my weight. Everyone told me that I if it took nine months to get that big, then it would take nine months to take the weight off. Well, it's been nine months and I'm not back into my pre-pregnancy clothes, most of which I don't even own anymore because I had to buy new clothes to wear to work.
I also saw this picture, which made me cringe.
This was taken last weekend when Ms. 110% and Melissa were in town for a wedding. Now, I get it, I have really skinny, feminine friends that anyone would look big in comparison. HOWEVER, I am not comfortable being this weight. I'm afraid to look in the mirror before I get in the shower and I'll step into my bedroom to avoid catching a glimpse at myself while putting on lotion.
I fantasize about having this surgery and losing 60 pounds, although since I'm not 100 pounds overweight, I don't qualify. I probably don't have to tell you that there are dark days where I've thought that since I'm so good at gaining weight, I could easily gain 30 or 40 more pounds and have my health insurance cover the surgery. Then I get real. I don't want to do that.
I do want to take steps to get control over my eating habits and my weight. I joined the cult also known as Weight Watchers. I've been to two meetings, with Zac babbling at the top of his little lungs during the second. I've started counting points and I've lost 1.8 lbs so far. It's a start.
I've never wanted to turn this blog into a "weight loss" blog because people complaining about their weight is only interesting for so long, which isn't very long at all. I'm sharing this part of myself with you all, though, because I'm asking for your support along this journey. Now, pardon me, while I go shred some carrots for today's lunch.
On most days, I'm ok with that. As I'm getting older, I'm getting more comfortable with myself: my sarcasm, humor, bluntness, and ability to love those that are important to me. Conversely, as I'm getting older, I'm getting more and more uncomfortable with my weight. Everyone told me that I if it took nine months to get that big, then it would take nine months to take the weight off. Well, it's been nine months and I'm not back into my pre-pregnancy clothes, most of which I don't even own anymore because I had to buy new clothes to wear to work.
I also saw this picture, which made me cringe.
This was taken last weekend when Ms. 110% and Melissa were in town for a wedding. Now, I get it, I have really skinny, feminine friends that anyone would look big in comparison. HOWEVER, I am not comfortable being this weight. I'm afraid to look in the mirror before I get in the shower and I'll step into my bedroom to avoid catching a glimpse at myself while putting on lotion.
I fantasize about having this surgery and losing 60 pounds, although since I'm not 100 pounds overweight, I don't qualify. I probably don't have to tell you that there are dark days where I've thought that since I'm so good at gaining weight, I could easily gain 30 or 40 more pounds and have my health insurance cover the surgery. Then I get real. I don't want to do that.
I do want to take steps to get control over my eating habits and my weight. I joined the cult also known as Weight Watchers. I've been to two meetings, with Zac babbling at the top of his little lungs during the second. I've started counting points and I've lost 1.8 lbs so far. It's a start.
I've never wanted to turn this blog into a "weight loss" blog because people complaining about their weight is only interesting for so long, which isn't very long at all. I'm sharing this part of myself with you all, though, because I'm asking for your support along this journey. Now, pardon me, while I go shred some carrots for today's lunch.
Monday, July 18, 2005
7-18
Boy do I have a weight-loss plan for you all! Granted, it comes with stretch marks, swollen ankles, and a belly that might never go back to "normal", but you get a really cute baby at the end. I went back to the OB-GYN today for a one-week checkup on my blood pressure and I found out that I had lost 44 pounds in one week. Yup, you read that right, 44 pounds. Jeez, no wonder I've been so frickin' tired all the time. It's hard work losing that much weight and keeping up the strength to provide Peanut with enough boob milk to keep him healthy and happy.
Speaking of boob milk, apparently mine must be working for him. Zac also got a clean bill of health today at the pediatrician. The doc said that he looked wonderful and was happy that he hadn't lost any weight since being discharged from NICU.
That is great news for me considering our first foray into breast feeding went very poorly. In the hospital, Zac latched on to my nipple like he was born to suck. I let out a sigh of relief knowing that he would be a productive nurser, but that was before my milk "came in". Three days after delivering Peanut my breasts swelled to twice their normal size and became rock hard. The baby couldn't latch on anymore. He would look at my nipple, get this horrible frown on his face, and start screaming as loud as humanly possible. It was incredibly discouraging to have a newborn reject my nipples. The next day, we both went to a lactation specialist to relearn how to breast feed. Who knew that such a natural process would be so challenging for both of us? I was given a nipple shield, which extended the length of my nipple into his mouth, and he started sucking again. Just for M., I'll post a picture of the prosthetic nipple soon.
Until then, I'm going to go pump my breasts, lay on the couch, and try not to lose another 40-odd pounds or so in the next seven days.
Speaking of boob milk, apparently mine must be working for him. Zac also got a clean bill of health today at the pediatrician. The doc said that he looked wonderful and was happy that he hadn't lost any weight since being discharged from NICU.
That is great news for me considering our first foray into breast feeding went very poorly. In the hospital, Zac latched on to my nipple like he was born to suck. I let out a sigh of relief knowing that he would be a productive nurser, but that was before my milk "came in". Three days after delivering Peanut my breasts swelled to twice their normal size and became rock hard. The baby couldn't latch on anymore. He would look at my nipple, get this horrible frown on his face, and start screaming as loud as humanly possible. It was incredibly discouraging to have a newborn reject my nipples. The next day, we both went to a lactation specialist to relearn how to breast feed. Who knew that such a natural process would be so challenging for both of us? I was given a nipple shield, which extended the length of my nipple into his mouth, and he started sucking again. Just for M., I'll post a picture of the prosthetic nipple soon.
Until then, I'm going to go pump my breasts, lay on the couch, and try not to lose another 40-odd pounds or so in the next seven days.
Sunday, July 03, 2005
7/03
THREE MORE DAYS!
I can't write for long because the numbness in my fingers and wrists is really bothering me today, but I wanted to update and let everyone know that the doctor has set a date for my progeny to come into the world. I will go into the hospital in the evening on Wednesday, July 6th for a ripening procedure (....will they leave me out on the counter overnight....maybe put me next to some bananas.....rub me with coco butter and throw me outside until I'm "done".......) Alas, the procedure isn't nearly as fun as any of those things. I'll get a softening medication rubbed directly on my cervix and then wait twelve hours for the magic to happen. Let me just say that cervixes don't really liked to be touched. They are up high for a reason.
Then on Thursday, July 7th, provided everything has gone well up to that point, the doc will administer pitocin through my IV at 7am. Then the fun really starts. Anyone who has any vague knowledge of pitocin tells me that it is one knock-down-drag-out-kick-you-while-you're-down drug that doesn't take any prisoners. Contractions? Here I come.
Only three more days until the human that I've carried for nine months comes out and becomes his own person.....I'm scared shitless.
I can't write for long because the numbness in my fingers and wrists is really bothering me today, but I wanted to update and let everyone know that the doctor has set a date for my progeny to come into the world. I will go into the hospital in the evening on Wednesday, July 6th for a ripening procedure (....will they leave me out on the counter overnight....maybe put me next to some bananas.....rub me with coco butter and throw me outside until I'm "done".......) Alas, the procedure isn't nearly as fun as any of those things. I'll get a softening medication rubbed directly on my cervix and then wait twelve hours for the magic to happen. Let me just say that cervixes don't really liked to be touched. They are up high for a reason.
Then on Thursday, July 7th, provided everything has gone well up to that point, the doc will administer pitocin through my IV at 7am. Then the fun really starts. Anyone who has any vague knowledge of pitocin tells me that it is one knock-down-drag-out-kick-you-while-you're-down drug that doesn't take any prisoners. Contractions? Here I come.
Only three more days until the human that I've carried for nine months comes out and becomes his own person.....I'm scared shitless.
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