Too bad I won't get it til August 29th!
Friday, February 15, 2013
Saturday, July 21, 2012
On or Off? I'm not a light switch.
I grew up in the fat free 90's, and was in grad school in the carbo-phobic 2000's. Most of the women in my life were (and are) ON or OFF diets all the time, and I fell victim in my teens and 20's.
As Scott Abel (www.scottabel.com) has said, I was looking for the 'sizzle' and not the 'steak'. I wanted my weight loss plan to begin with an expensive box of glittery weekly menus, power foods, rules, and regulations. I wanted to start on a Monday and see results by Friday. Not sure how many weeks slipped by where that plan was in place, but there were a lot of them. The diet would lose its mystique and I would want a beer or a burger, which meant I was OFF plan. I couldn't get back ON plan until Monday, for fear of screwing it up again and failing... again.
The fact is that we don't live in an environment where villainizing a certain food or food group is going to work long-term. If you don't see yourself abiding by your current glitzy, glamorous, start-on-a-Monday food rules until you're 80 -- you're "ON" the wrong plan.
I've said that same thing to many, many clients - all of them highly intelligent people, but some just don't believe that, as un-sexy as it sounds, moving more and eating a little less is going to work over time. Somehow, even the smartest smarties are still looking for a gimmick or a restriction. Some restrict carbs or wheat. Some believe (as Dr. Adkins said long ago) that they can eat endlessly as long as they only eat certain foods from certain food groups. My belief is that the ones who seek the restriction are looking to be hailed as food martyrs while the gimmick-seekers are still trying to find a way to stuff their faces without consequence. There is a consequence to both stances: no maintainable long-term habits OR results. How do I know? Been there, done that.
There are some exceptions. Folks who have a certified food allergy or diagnosed/well established intolerance for dairy, soy, corn, wheat, tree nuts or food dyes. Cool, man. Do your thing. You've got a HEALTH-RELATED reason to shun certain things. For those seeking simple weight loss - you don't HAVE to jump through those hoops if you don't have a HEALTH-RELATED reason. If you enjoy an occasional beer or burger like I do, do it - but be accountable for it.
On the accountability front, I've been counseling my clients to journal their food. For 80% of them, I've given them no 'shiny glamorous magical mystical diet plan'. They just log their food and exercise, stay within a weight loss appropriate calorie range, and voila! Those who stick with it daily are experiencing relatively EASY attainment of physique goals, without having to avoid bread, red meat, or the occasional fro-yo (guilty!). They aren't imprisoned by their food. They aren't ON or OFF a plan. They eat well and workout.
As a person who has participated and witnessed a LOT of fad dieting in the last 32 years, I vowed, when I was prego with Tyson, that I would never be ON or OFF a plan again. I understand food metabolism, calorie consumption, and fat storage. There are no loopholes to hard science. Calories in, calories out. If you eat healthier foods, you eat fewer calories and feel more satisfied. By journaling your food, you make the smarter choices because you WANT to, not because a TV personality told you to.
The way you think about food is important - even if the 'mechanics' look the same on paper, a person who enjoys their food because it tastes good and makes them feel healthy is going to stick to their plan more effectively than their friend who eats a certain way because 'she has to stay ON plan'. Think about it. Mindset determines behavior.
As Scott Abel (www.scottabel.com) has said, I was looking for the 'sizzle' and not the 'steak'. I wanted my weight loss plan to begin with an expensive box of glittery weekly menus, power foods, rules, and regulations. I wanted to start on a Monday and see results by Friday. Not sure how many weeks slipped by where that plan was in place, but there were a lot of them. The diet would lose its mystique and I would want a beer or a burger, which meant I was OFF plan. I couldn't get back ON plan until Monday, for fear of screwing it up again and failing... again.
The fact is that we don't live in an environment where villainizing a certain food or food group is going to work long-term. If you don't see yourself abiding by your current glitzy, glamorous, start-on-a-Monday food rules until you're 80 -- you're "ON" the wrong plan.
I've said that same thing to many, many clients - all of them highly intelligent people, but some just don't believe that, as un-sexy as it sounds, moving more and eating a little less is going to work over time. Somehow, even the smartest smarties are still looking for a gimmick or a restriction. Some restrict carbs or wheat. Some believe (as Dr. Adkins said long ago) that they can eat endlessly as long as they only eat certain foods from certain food groups. My belief is that the ones who seek the restriction are looking to be hailed as food martyrs while the gimmick-seekers are still trying to find a way to stuff their faces without consequence. There is a consequence to both stances: no maintainable long-term habits OR results. How do I know? Been there, done that.
There are some exceptions. Folks who have a certified food allergy or diagnosed/well established intolerance for dairy, soy, corn, wheat, tree nuts or food dyes. Cool, man. Do your thing. You've got a HEALTH-RELATED reason to shun certain things. For those seeking simple weight loss - you don't HAVE to jump through those hoops if you don't have a HEALTH-RELATED reason. If you enjoy an occasional beer or burger like I do, do it - but be accountable for it.
On the accountability front, I've been counseling my clients to journal their food. For 80% of them, I've given them no 'shiny glamorous magical mystical diet plan'. They just log their food and exercise, stay within a weight loss appropriate calorie range, and voila! Those who stick with it daily are experiencing relatively EASY attainment of physique goals, without having to avoid bread, red meat, or the occasional fro-yo (guilty!). They aren't imprisoned by their food. They aren't ON or OFF a plan. They eat well and workout.
As a person who has participated and witnessed a LOT of fad dieting in the last 32 years, I vowed, when I was prego with Tyson, that I would never be ON or OFF a plan again. I understand food metabolism, calorie consumption, and fat storage. There are no loopholes to hard science. Calories in, calories out. If you eat healthier foods, you eat fewer calories and feel more satisfied. By journaling your food, you make the smarter choices because you WANT to, not because a TV personality told you to.
The way you think about food is important - even if the 'mechanics' look the same on paper, a person who enjoys their food because it tastes good and makes them feel healthy is going to stick to their plan more effectively than their friend who eats a certain way because 'she has to stay ON plan'. Think about it. Mindset determines behavior.
Friday, July 6, 2012
So THAT'S what I've been missing
Being a parent has taught me a lot in a few short months. Parenthood has given me a new role to play, new responsibilities, and a lot more happiness. Being happy makes you feel good, confident, worthy, and fulfilled. Skinny doesn't. I always thought that being thin would make me happier and more confident. It's just the opposite... finding happiness made me feel more confident in my own skin than ever before. I'm not saying you have to have a baby, but you should really look into the whole 'happy' thing. I highly recommend it.
When I thought skinny would make me happy, I used to obsess about what I ate and how much I worked out. Everything was meticulously planned out, each gram of protein accounted for, each body part worked at least once a week, mile times recorded, i's dotted, t's crossed. Back then, I thought deviating from the plan was just me being weak. Try harder, Leigh Ann. How badly do you want it?
When I found out that the overexercising, over-planning and regimented diet were the reasons that I couldn't get prego, I gave in and let go... for the most part. My weight was climbing, and while I knew that was a 'good' thing fertility-wise, I had BIG TIME trouble letting go of my physique ideals. I thought I'd lose clients. I thought I'd lose credibility. I thought wrong.
No, literally... my thinking WAS wrong. Fear was freaking me out, and there was no evidence to support any of the things that worried me. My thinking wasn't just wrong... it was vain and immature. Beyond that, it was unhealthy. That is why my body was screaming at me to deviate from the plan, eat more, and exercise less.
Finding out that I was pregnant changed my attitude towards food completely. When I became responsible for that little baby, I started thinking about the quality of the things that I was eating, not just the grams of protein or the calories. Also, portion control came more easily since I wasn't constantly starving. I could eat 1 slice of pizza instead of 5 or 6, which would happen a lot if I went 'off plan' when I was competing. Fortunately, these abilities have stayed with me.
Although I'm still not, and will never be, a size 4 again, none of my fears have come true. I'm still a trainer, I still work with all my clients, and I'm still credible.
I weigh 144 lbs. I like who I am. I like the way I look. I like that I don't have to think so much about my food and my workouts as I used to. I like exercising for FUN! I like my new confidence. I like that I'm a mom. I like the new CALM.
I have now lost 40 lbs twice in my life (granted, this one involved a baby!). I'm still 30 lbs higher than my competition weight. And I will be. Forever. For me, being that small is not healthy - and being healthy is something that I want to model for my clients and my kiddo.
Tuesday, March 13, 2012
Holy crap. We're having a baby.
At 35 weeks pregnant, you pee. And pee. AND PEE. 1 liter of water equals about 32 trips to the bathroom. Gives you a whole new reason to embrace expensive toilet paper.
Thursday, March 1st 3:00pm
I sat down to type an email to Jesse. Mid-email, I thought I peed my pants. Really? Has it come to this? Not only do I feel bloated and huge, but now I get to pee my pants, too. Try to resist me, Jesse Yeager!
Then it happened again. It occurred to me than my water might have broken, but I didn't want to be Paranoid Patty and jump the gun (see previous post, written when I started to worry about this). Risking total embarrassment, I sent a text to Dr. Katie. She wasn't convinced either, so we agreed to meet up at my scheduled appointment the next day and check things out. In the meantime, for me, it was business as usual... teach my cycle class, see clients, etc. I used the rest of my energy googling information about how to decipher amniotic fluid from pee. Yes, blog readers... I was a panty sniffer.
Friday, March 2nd 10:35am
I arrive for my appointment with Katie, convinced now that my water broke but trying to talk myself out of it. 'You're not in labor, Leigh Ann. You haven't had any pain at all. Maybe there is some other explanation.'
Katie came in the room and I tried to play it cool. Baby Tyson looked great on the ultrasound and he had plenty of fluid around him. See, Paranoid Patty!! Maybe you just need to get some poise pads.
To be safe, Katie began a battery of tests to see what kind of fluid we were dealing with... and they came back inconclusive. The final test would tell us without a doubt if my water broke or not. Katie told me she would 'text or call' with the results, and I knew what that meant. Text for no baby, call would mean that we would meet baby Tyson well before we'd planned to.
Friday, March 2nd 12:30pm
Katie's number comes up on the caller id. HOLY CRAP. We're having a baby. My heart started racing and I burst into the UGLY cry while driving to my house from the hospital. I called Jesse and could barely squeak out 'We're having a baby' between scared, panicky sobs. I also called my mom and sisters and desperately tried to hold my shit together when all I wanted to do was scream and cry. I assured them that the baby would be fine (even though I was freaked about this) and that I was fine (I was NOT fine... I was a wreck).
I wish someone had taken a video of me packing a bag for the hospital. I had no idea what I'd need or want. I hadn't bought any nursing tops or bras. I didn't even know what the weather would be like in 24 hours. When in doubt, go with the important stuff: flat iron, hair dryer, make-up. Check. Even in my haste, I knew I didn't want any busted, raggedy pictures of me and my baby on FaceBook.
Friday, March 2nd 2pm
I drove myself back to the hospital and after my 'last meal' (grilled cheese, in case you're curious), I was admitted to labor and delivery and was instructed to don the LOVELY hospital gown and mesh hospital issue undies. Mesh. On a pregnant ass. Awesome.
Let me take this opportunity to tell you that I hadn't taken any of those childbirth classes, hospital tours or read any books on breathing techniques, epidurals, or pushing. I just kept repeating to myself: If the people on Teen Mom can do this, I can do this.
The nurses started me on Pitocin (inducing labor) and couple of other IVs. I hate needles, and hate being poked and prodded. I also hate sitting still, which is all you can really do when you are strapped to IVs and monitors.
The nurse finally came in with some wireless monitors, which she attached to me with a stretchy piece of fabric that looked like a tube top. The last time I was in mesh undies and a tube top was Spring Break. The outfit was no longer quite as flattering.
Friday 8pm
The Pitocin isn't working. The nurses took me off Pitocin and let it 'flush out of my system' for an hour before we tried round two. Good news? I got to eat dinner. Better news? It was a COLD turkey sandwich. I moaned while I ate it. No real chance of giving Tyson listeria by that point. YUM-O.
Friday 9pm
Pitocin, round two.... aka 'my lady parts are retarded'. ALL NIGHT LONG the doctors and nurses tried to get me to dilate beyond a pitiful 3 cm. This may or may not have involved a device resembling a balloon. I shit you not.
Then, I had my first 'real' contraction. I am pretty tough when it comes to pain, but I wasn't prepared for what Pitocin-induced contractions (more painful than the non-Pitocin induced ones) were going to do to me. It felt like my body was being ripped apart. Epidural, please!
Saturday morning sometime... I have no clue about time at this point
My epidural was in place, and the man who administered it was the attending who is rumored to be 'the man' when it comes to this particular procedure. More on that later.
Something I didn't know about the epidural was than it blocks pain but not pressure. Also, most of my back labor was around the height of my kidneys and the epidural didn't really cover that. Oy vey... back labor will toughen you up, quickly.
Saturday morning, 7am
Pitocin, round three. No kidding. Fingers crossed that it magically works this time, but we are in serious talks about a c-section. As scared as I once was about a c-section, I just can't wait for sweet relief from 'all this back pain'.
Saturday, 2pm
I didn't know what back pain was at 7am. The epidural is no longer working (okay, my legs are totally numb, but my back (the entire length of it) is totally NOT NUMB! I can now feel everything from my hip bones up and it ain't pretty. My Pitocin was cranked up pretty high (and it's finally working!) but my contractions are coming one after the other with no break between. By 4:50pm, I'm ready to tap out.
Saturday, 5pm
We are in the process of giving bolus doses of meds to make the epidural more effective. That works for about 15 minutes at a time. I was also given Fentanyl (which Jesse described as being 'like heroin') which made me feel like I'd had a glass of wine for about 5 minutes then we were back to mind-blowing back pain. I can't even do heroin right! Dammit! Good news? 6 cm and progressing....
Saturday, 7pm
Dr. Katie checks me, we're at 7.5cm. DOOK game begins (of COURSE I was watching). Katie makes a plan to come back and check me at 9pm (convenient timing, don't you think?). Contractions are getting worse. I tell Jesse that our next kid will be adopted.
Saturday, 9pm
UNC up by 18. Suck it, DOOKIES. Katie comes back to check me and, low and freaking behold, 10 effing cm. By 9:25 we are ready to push. I tell the nurse that the baby will be out by 10:30. She's skeptical and warns me that it may be after midnight. I think to myself, if it's after midnight, lady, you can just take me to the effing morgue. I'll be dead by then. We're nearing 48 hr with no sleep.
Side note - ladies who haven't had babies, don't be afraid of the pushing part of this process. It is the most gratifying part. You won't be in pain, you won't feel the contractions, and the end is near. It's like the high you get after a long run when you can see the finish line.
Saturday, 10:12pm (yeah, note... NOT after midnight, and 18 minutes before I thought. BOOYAH)
The most surreal moment of my life was seeing the baby emerging... I mean, I 'knew' there was a baby in there... but nothing prepares you for that moment.
Moments later, Baby Tyson is here, pink, screaming, and healthy, weighing in at 5 lb almost 13 oz... I silently thanked God that he 1) was healthy and 2) didn't go to 40 weeks... he would have weighed 9 lbs by then! Katie respected my request to, and I quote "not throw him on me like Wild Kingdom before someone hoses him off", and when I held him, all the sleepiness and pain went away, as did my concern about being covered in vag juice.
I was holding MY baby.
I just had a BABY.
I felt like a superhero.
Thursday, March 1st 3:00pm
I sat down to type an email to Jesse. Mid-email, I thought I peed my pants. Really? Has it come to this? Not only do I feel bloated and huge, but now I get to pee my pants, too. Try to resist me, Jesse Yeager!
Then it happened again. It occurred to me than my water might have broken, but I didn't want to be Paranoid Patty and jump the gun (see previous post, written when I started to worry about this). Risking total embarrassment, I sent a text to Dr. Katie. She wasn't convinced either, so we agreed to meet up at my scheduled appointment the next day and check things out. In the meantime, for me, it was business as usual... teach my cycle class, see clients, etc. I used the rest of my energy googling information about how to decipher amniotic fluid from pee. Yes, blog readers... I was a panty sniffer.
Friday, March 2nd 10:35am
I arrive for my appointment with Katie, convinced now that my water broke but trying to talk myself out of it. 'You're not in labor, Leigh Ann. You haven't had any pain at all. Maybe there is some other explanation.'
Katie came in the room and I tried to play it cool. Baby Tyson looked great on the ultrasound and he had plenty of fluid around him. See, Paranoid Patty!! Maybe you just need to get some poise pads.
To be safe, Katie began a battery of tests to see what kind of fluid we were dealing with... and they came back inconclusive. The final test would tell us without a doubt if my water broke or not. Katie told me she would 'text or call' with the results, and I knew what that meant. Text for no baby, call would mean that we would meet baby Tyson well before we'd planned to.
Friday, March 2nd 12:30pm
Katie's number comes up on the caller id. HOLY CRAP. We're having a baby. My heart started racing and I burst into the UGLY cry while driving to my house from the hospital. I called Jesse and could barely squeak out 'We're having a baby' between scared, panicky sobs. I also called my mom and sisters and desperately tried to hold my shit together when all I wanted to do was scream and cry. I assured them that the baby would be fine (even though I was freaked about this) and that I was fine (I was NOT fine... I was a wreck).
I wish someone had taken a video of me packing a bag for the hospital. I had no idea what I'd need or want. I hadn't bought any nursing tops or bras. I didn't even know what the weather would be like in 24 hours. When in doubt, go with the important stuff: flat iron, hair dryer, make-up. Check. Even in my haste, I knew I didn't want any busted, raggedy pictures of me and my baby on FaceBook.
Friday, March 2nd 2pm
I drove myself back to the hospital and after my 'last meal' (grilled cheese, in case you're curious), I was admitted to labor and delivery and was instructed to don the LOVELY hospital gown and mesh hospital issue undies. Mesh. On a pregnant ass. Awesome.
Let me take this opportunity to tell you that I hadn't taken any of those childbirth classes, hospital tours or read any books on breathing techniques, epidurals, or pushing. I just kept repeating to myself: If the people on Teen Mom can do this, I can do this.
The nurses started me on Pitocin (inducing labor) and couple of other IVs. I hate needles, and hate being poked and prodded. I also hate sitting still, which is all you can really do when you are strapped to IVs and monitors.
The nurse finally came in with some wireless monitors, which she attached to me with a stretchy piece of fabric that looked like a tube top. The last time I was in mesh undies and a tube top was Spring Break. The outfit was no longer quite as flattering.
Friday 8pm
The Pitocin isn't working. The nurses took me off Pitocin and let it 'flush out of my system' for an hour before we tried round two. Good news? I got to eat dinner. Better news? It was a COLD turkey sandwich. I moaned while I ate it. No real chance of giving Tyson listeria by that point. YUM-O.
Friday 9pm
Pitocin, round two.... aka 'my lady parts are retarded'. ALL NIGHT LONG the doctors and nurses tried to get me to dilate beyond a pitiful 3 cm. This may or may not have involved a device resembling a balloon. I shit you not.
Then, I had my first 'real' contraction. I am pretty tough when it comes to pain, but I wasn't prepared for what Pitocin-induced contractions (more painful than the non-Pitocin induced ones) were going to do to me. It felt like my body was being ripped apart. Epidural, please!
Saturday morning sometime... I have no clue about time at this point
My epidural was in place, and the man who administered it was the attending who is rumored to be 'the man' when it comes to this particular procedure. More on that later.
Something I didn't know about the epidural was than it blocks pain but not pressure. Also, most of my back labor was around the height of my kidneys and the epidural didn't really cover that. Oy vey... back labor will toughen you up, quickly.
Saturday morning, 7am
Pitocin, round three. No kidding. Fingers crossed that it magically works this time, but we are in serious talks about a c-section. As scared as I once was about a c-section, I just can't wait for sweet relief from 'all this back pain'.
Saturday, 2pm
I didn't know what back pain was at 7am. The epidural is no longer working (okay, my legs are totally numb, but my back (the entire length of it) is totally NOT NUMB! I can now feel everything from my hip bones up and it ain't pretty. My Pitocin was cranked up pretty high (and it's finally working!) but my contractions are coming one after the other with no break between. By 4:50pm, I'm ready to tap out.
Saturday, 5pm
We are in the process of giving bolus doses of meds to make the epidural more effective. That works for about 15 minutes at a time. I was also given Fentanyl (which Jesse described as being 'like heroin') which made me feel like I'd had a glass of wine for about 5 minutes then we were back to mind-blowing back pain. I can't even do heroin right! Dammit! Good news? 6 cm and progressing....
Saturday, 7pm
Dr. Katie checks me, we're at 7.5cm. DOOK game begins (of COURSE I was watching). Katie makes a plan to come back and check me at 9pm (convenient timing, don't you think?). Contractions are getting worse. I tell Jesse that our next kid will be adopted.
Saturday, 9pm
UNC up by 18. Suck it, DOOKIES. Katie comes back to check me and, low and freaking behold, 10 effing cm. By 9:25 we are ready to push. I tell the nurse that the baby will be out by 10:30. She's skeptical and warns me that it may be after midnight. I think to myself, if it's after midnight, lady, you can just take me to the effing morgue. I'll be dead by then. We're nearing 48 hr with no sleep.
Side note - ladies who haven't had babies, don't be afraid of the pushing part of this process. It is the most gratifying part. You won't be in pain, you won't feel the contractions, and the end is near. It's like the high you get after a long run when you can see the finish line.
Saturday, 10:12pm (yeah, note... NOT after midnight, and 18 minutes before I thought. BOOYAH)
The most surreal moment of my life was seeing the baby emerging... I mean, I 'knew' there was a baby in there... but nothing prepares you for that moment.
Moments later, Baby Tyson is here, pink, screaming, and healthy, weighing in at 5 lb almost 13 oz... I silently thanked God that he 1) was healthy and 2) didn't go to 40 weeks... he would have weighed 9 lbs by then! Katie respected my request to, and I quote "not throw him on me like Wild Kingdom before someone hoses him off", and when I held him, all the sleepiness and pain went away, as did my concern about being covered in vag juice.
I was holding MY baby.
I just had a BABY.
I felt like a superhero.
Thursday, March 1, 2012
Preggy Paranoia
Dear Dr. Katie Borders,
I would like to apologize in advance for my new found baby-related neuroses, and for any and all subsequent frantic text messages about baby Tyson.
Love,
Your formerly sane friend, Leigh Ann
-----
A wise client of mine told me that the smart patients are the hardest to deal with... I must be a freaking genius. I do try to keep myself informed about mommyhood and all things related to pregnancy, and as a result, I can get a little worried when things are not going 'by the book'. Actually, I worry even when I AM going by the book. I think the next BOOK needs to be entitled Preggy Paranoia - Preparing New Moms for the Crazy That Lies Ahead.
At first, it was the fear of exercise killing my baby. When I first found out I was pregnant, I realized that I had been running timed miles at the gym all week long - an exercise that I was certainly not used to. Great, I thought... I actually GOT pregnant but I've starved the embryo of oxygen. Way to go, mom.
Then, once I realized the little bugger was okay, I was convinced that I was going to contract listeria (and I'm still convinced of it). Me, who used to eat fish from her purse, scared of a food-borne illness. I haven't touched soft cheese or cold cuts since early July. I even skipped out on the turkey and ham (HoneyBaked... MY FAVE!) at Christmas while everyone else made fun of me.
Once we got to the later stages of the second trimester, I started freaking out about Braxton Hicks contractions... I just knew vacuuming or being on my feet for too long would make the baby come early. For the record, I'm still conducting training sessions from a stability ball.
The new paranoia has to do with Tyson's movements... or lack thereof! A few weeks ago he was so active and now (since he's running out of room) I don't feel him moving as much. It's gone from full blown roundhouse kicks to little flutters in about 3 weeks. Lately, I have been known to give him a little nudge on the butt to make sure I get a reaction.
Does this mean I'm going to be one of those moms that put a mirror under their infant's nose to make sure it fogs as they exhale? As he gets older, will I assume that he's in a ditch somewhere if he doesn't call to check in? Will I even be able to receive his calls from my room in the psych ward?
I would like to apologize in advance for my new found baby-related neuroses, and for any and all subsequent frantic text messages about baby Tyson.
Love,
Your formerly sane friend, Leigh Ann
-----
A wise client of mine told me that the smart patients are the hardest to deal with... I must be a freaking genius. I do try to keep myself informed about mommyhood and all things related to pregnancy, and as a result, I can get a little worried when things are not going 'by the book'. Actually, I worry even when I AM going by the book. I think the next BOOK needs to be entitled Preggy Paranoia - Preparing New Moms for the Crazy That Lies Ahead.
At first, it was the fear of exercise killing my baby. When I first found out I was pregnant, I realized that I had been running timed miles at the gym all week long - an exercise that I was certainly not used to. Great, I thought... I actually GOT pregnant but I've starved the embryo of oxygen. Way to go, mom.
Then, once I realized the little bugger was okay, I was convinced that I was going to contract listeria (and I'm still convinced of it). Me, who used to eat fish from her purse, scared of a food-borne illness. I haven't touched soft cheese or cold cuts since early July. I even skipped out on the turkey and ham (HoneyBaked... MY FAVE!) at Christmas while everyone else made fun of me.
Once we got to the later stages of the second trimester, I started freaking out about Braxton Hicks contractions... I just knew vacuuming or being on my feet for too long would make the baby come early. For the record, I'm still conducting training sessions from a stability ball.
The new paranoia has to do with Tyson's movements... or lack thereof! A few weeks ago he was so active and now (since he's running out of room) I don't feel him moving as much. It's gone from full blown roundhouse kicks to little flutters in about 3 weeks. Lately, I have been known to give him a little nudge on the butt to make sure I get a reaction.
Does this mean I'm going to be one of those moms that put a mirror under their infant's nose to make sure it fogs as they exhale? As he gets older, will I assume that he's in a ditch somewhere if he doesn't call to check in? Will I even be able to receive his calls from my room in the psych ward?
Sunday, January 15, 2012
Mission Baby Room Prep: Take TWO
The whole pregnancy-induced ability to smell things that dogs can't track is funny sometimes. Most of the time, though, it sucks.
Jesse ran with the dogs on Friday night. I'm super grateful that he's able to give our doggies some love because, with their super-doggie pit bull strength, I just don't feel comfortable taking them out, even for walks. A squirrel rustling leaves could cause me to become a speed bump with pigtails on Fayetteville Rd. Thanks to Jesse, I'm not worried about my doggies going crazy from the boredom of being house bound for 9 months. When he came home, I asked if we could continue cleaning out the closet in Tyson's room and he agreed. I went upstairs to get a jump start, and soon after, Jesse entered the room. Unshowered. In sweaty running clothes. Socks removed.
Anyone who has been around a person (let's say a MALE) who comes in from hard work outdoors knows that funk. Even the cleanest person (MAN) is going to smell pretty nasty. Multiply that odor by 1000 for a preggy and you understand my predicament. I'm standing in a 3 x 3 closet with a 200lb armpit.
I'm not sure how to play this one. I'm grateful that he runs with the dogs and is helping clean, but if I throw up in the closet it will only prolong the cleaning process. Order him to shower and risk losing his help? Politely spray him with Febreeze when he's not looking? Hang an air freshener from his running shorts? I mention that he could take a shower first because we weren't in a huge hurry to get things done that night, to which he replied that he didn't want to move boxes and get sweaty all over again after showering. The message wasn't getting through.
I'll tough it out, I thought. This whole progesterone poisoning thing is something he can't understand, so I'll just suck it up.
Or not.
I had to retreat. Mission aborted. I busied myself with work in the neighboring bedrooms, but the damage was done. The smell was up my nose, coating my nasal passages, and taking over my body. I was starting to sweat. I was sick to my stomach. I had to go downstairs and huff some Lysol, or garlic, or coffee... anything to get the funk out of my nostrils!
Finally Jesse took a shower and I made a lap around my house, striking my best Statue of Liberty pose with Lysol above my head, finger pressing on the nozzle, until I couldn't smell that outdoor-man-funk any more. When he emerged from the bathroom, clean, and choking on Lysol fumes, I explained to him when was wrong... and he laughed at me! Laughed!! I couldn't even eat dinner that night because of the sick feeling in my guts and he finds humor in the situation.
Perhaps he shows no sympathy because he found out I posted his spandex cowboy picture in my last post. Guess we're even.
Jesse ran with the dogs on Friday night. I'm super grateful that he's able to give our doggies some love because, with their super-doggie pit bull strength, I just don't feel comfortable taking them out, even for walks. A squirrel rustling leaves could cause me to become a speed bump with pigtails on Fayetteville Rd. Thanks to Jesse, I'm not worried about my doggies going crazy from the boredom of being house bound for 9 months. When he came home, I asked if we could continue cleaning out the closet in Tyson's room and he agreed. I went upstairs to get a jump start, and soon after, Jesse entered the room. Unshowered. In sweaty running clothes. Socks removed.
Anyone who has been around a person (let's say a MALE) who comes in from hard work outdoors knows that funk. Even the cleanest person (MAN) is going to smell pretty nasty. Multiply that odor by 1000 for a preggy and you understand my predicament. I'm standing in a 3 x 3 closet with a 200lb armpit.
I'm not sure how to play this one. I'm grateful that he runs with the dogs and is helping clean, but if I throw up in the closet it will only prolong the cleaning process. Order him to shower and risk losing his help? Politely spray him with Febreeze when he's not looking? Hang an air freshener from his running shorts? I mention that he could take a shower first because we weren't in a huge hurry to get things done that night, to which he replied that he didn't want to move boxes and get sweaty all over again after showering. The message wasn't getting through.
I'll tough it out, I thought. This whole progesterone poisoning thing is something he can't understand, so I'll just suck it up.
Or not.
I had to retreat. Mission aborted. I busied myself with work in the neighboring bedrooms, but the damage was done. The smell was up my nose, coating my nasal passages, and taking over my body. I was starting to sweat. I was sick to my stomach. I had to go downstairs and huff some Lysol, or garlic, or coffee... anything to get the funk out of my nostrils!
Finally Jesse took a shower and I made a lap around my house, striking my best Statue of Liberty pose with Lysol above my head, finger pressing on the nozzle, until I couldn't smell that outdoor-man-funk any more. When he emerged from the bathroom, clean, and choking on Lysol fumes, I explained to him when was wrong... and he laughed at me! Laughed!! I couldn't even eat dinner that night because of the sick feeling in my guts and he finds humor in the situation.
Perhaps he shows no sympathy because he found out I posted his spandex cowboy picture in my last post. Guess we're even.
Monday, January 9, 2012
Mission Baby Room Prep: Take One
I understand nesting, and I'm familiar with that sense of urgency. I'm a terrible procrastinator (proposed and defended my thesis in the same semester while taking 12 hrs of graduate classes and planning my wedding!) because I work well under pressure (I graduated and I'm still married!). The baby situation is no different. The 'what if's' keep you from working too far ahead, and just when you feel assured that you will, in fact, be having a baby, you have less than 15 weeks to prepare your home for another human, for whom you have NOTHING. Pressure's on. I'm 27 weeks prego, so I figure I've got 9 weeks or so of productivity until I'm too huge (um, great with child) to be any help at all. Five of those weekends are booked, so unless the kiddo is going to sleep in a dog crate, Jesse and I have a lot of work to do. That work began this weekend when we cleaned out the closet in what will be the baby's room... well, that's not exactly how it went.
Every household has that closet which is the black hole for those all-important I-might-need-this-again-someday items. That closet is in Tyson's future nursery and it became the genesis of Mission Baby Room Prep last weekend. I do not have any issues throwing things away when the time comes. I already had a full trash bag awaiting Jesse when he appeared upstairs to 'help'. I had this day pictured as a streamlined attack on clutter. Find junk, put it in a bag, eliminate junk - BAM! Clean room. Jesse, on the other hand, preferred to sift through the bags and ask me why I was throwing _________ in the trash. Can't we donate/sell/use/save/re-gift this? So much for streamlined - and that was just my stuff.
WAY TOO MANY MINUTES LATER, we reached 'his' section of the closet. I took a couple of his boxes out for him to sift through as I continued to bag up my items to be thrown away. I like to go item by item, creating 'keep', 'toss', and 'donate' piles (yes, just like Clean Sweep. It works. Jesse should watch more HGTV). Jesse prefers to sit in a pile of trash reminiscing about where each piece came from. Honey! It's my ticket stub from when I got kicked out of a Bills game for throwing snowballs at the ref! BABE! It's my number from a track meet in high school! LOOK! It's an ornament from 1987! WOW! My running tights (from when he weighed 150lbs). If he lived alone, he would build a shrine to his childhood.
After three hours or so, I had to take a break so I left Jesse (and his pile of 'memories') and went downstairs, hoping he was making some progress. Instead, he was engaging in a ritualistic farewell to some of his favorite 'finds' from the black hole closet. I may never get the image out of my head.
Every household has that closet which is the black hole for those all-important I-might-need-this-again-someday items. That closet is in Tyson's future nursery and it became the genesis of Mission Baby Room Prep last weekend. I do not have any issues throwing things away when the time comes. I already had a full trash bag awaiting Jesse when he appeared upstairs to 'help'. I had this day pictured as a streamlined attack on clutter. Find junk, put it in a bag, eliminate junk - BAM! Clean room. Jesse, on the other hand, preferred to sift through the bags and ask me why I was throwing _________ in the trash. Can't we donate/sell/use/save/re-gift this? So much for streamlined - and that was just my stuff.
WAY TOO MANY MINUTES LATER, we reached 'his' section of the closet. I took a couple of his boxes out for him to sift through as I continued to bag up my items to be thrown away. I like to go item by item, creating 'keep', 'toss', and 'donate' piles (yes, just like Clean Sweep. It works. Jesse should watch more HGTV). Jesse prefers to sit in a pile of trash reminiscing about where each piece came from. Honey! It's my ticket stub from when I got kicked out of a Bills game for throwing snowballs at the ref! BABE! It's my number from a track meet in high school! LOOK! It's an ornament from 1987! WOW! My running tights (from when he weighed 150lbs). If he lived alone, he would build a shrine to his childhood.
After three hours or so, I had to take a break so I left Jesse (and his pile of 'memories') and went downstairs, hoping he was making some progress. Instead, he was engaging in a ritualistic farewell to some of his favorite 'finds' from the black hole closet. I may never get the image out of my head.
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