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.
Thursday, January 5, 2012
Baby Etiquette, because someone NEEDS to do it.
As with many areas of life (marriage, finance, nutrition, fitness...) there seems to be a lack of common sense in pregnant women and those that surround them. I'm no parenting expert, but when it comes to the common sense arena, I've been blessed. Since no such manual exists, I took it upon myself to make some guidelines for those who might have lackluster street smarts. I still can't figure out why it's called 'common' sense when it seems so scarce!
#1: The same rules of etiquette you use for the general population apply when addressing a pregnant woman. There is no way you would sit in front of the Great American Cookie Co. at the mall and yell out 'HEY LARD ASS' at the people buying their double doozies and butter cookies. Therefore, you don't need to inform me every time I look larger. Refrain from comments like 'you look bigger than you did two days ago' or I might respond 'you look uglier than you did two days ago'. If you can't say something nice, button it. I'm supposed to be getting bigger, smarty. There's a HUMAN in there. Why comment on the inevitable? No one yells 'HOLY SHIT' every morning when the sun rises.
#2: Pregnant women - don't be dumb. We all have 'oopsie' moments where we do something not-so-smart like picking up a heavy bag of dog food (guilty!) or wrestling down a poodle-hungry pit bull (um, yeah, that was me too), but these are things that we do instinctively or absent-mindedly... and we all make mistakes. The issue I'm addressing here are moms-to-be who TRY to achieve amazing physical feats while pregnant, then post about it on FaceBook hoping for kudos. I ran a marathon, finished in under 3 hours, and had my baby at mile 24! How about expectant mothers who shun carbs or count calories? SERIOUSLY? Ladies, there is a BABY in there. A BABY. Since you peed on the stick, it has been YOUR job ALONE to take care of him. You have the rest of your life to diet and set marathoning records. Can't it wait nine months? Don't be dumb.
#3: Have a little sympathy for pregnancy-related changes, like increased sense of smell or sleeplessness. I had an acute sense of smell pre-pregnancy, and now I could work part time as a drug-sniffing police dog. As a personal trainer, this new-found super power can be a little inconvenient. To make it even more complicated, I work at 5:45am, when some believe workouts can be 'hygiene-optional'. Please brush your teeth and use deodorant. And take Beano, where applicable. I can't explain how bad fart, funk, and garlic smell to me right now. 3 minutes of your life. That's all I'm asking for!
I used to have an amazing ability to sleep thru anything... until the achy-hip-no-lying-on-the-back-constant-baby-gymnastics thing kicked in. Oh yeah, and Jesse took up snoring, you know... just for fun. He, however, could teach folks a thing or two about hubby etiquette. He will send himself to the guest bedroom if he knows he's keeping me up, which keeps me from putting his pillow over his face! THAT is definitely a good thing.
#1: The same rules of etiquette you use for the general population apply when addressing a pregnant woman. There is no way you would sit in front of the Great American Cookie Co. at the mall and yell out 'HEY LARD ASS' at the people buying their double doozies and butter cookies. Therefore, you don't need to inform me every time I look larger. Refrain from comments like 'you look bigger than you did two days ago' or I might respond 'you look uglier than you did two days ago'. If you can't say something nice, button it. I'm supposed to be getting bigger, smarty. There's a HUMAN in there. Why comment on the inevitable? No one yells 'HOLY SHIT' every morning when the sun rises.
#2: Pregnant women - don't be dumb. We all have 'oopsie' moments where we do something not-so-smart like picking up a heavy bag of dog food (guilty!) or wrestling down a poodle-hungry pit bull (um, yeah, that was me too), but these are things that we do instinctively or absent-mindedly... and we all make mistakes. The issue I'm addressing here are moms-to-be who TRY to achieve amazing physical feats while pregnant, then post about it on FaceBook hoping for kudos. I ran a marathon, finished in under 3 hours, and had my baby at mile 24! How about expectant mothers who shun carbs or count calories? SERIOUSLY? Ladies, there is a BABY in there. A BABY. Since you peed on the stick, it has been YOUR job ALONE to take care of him. You have the rest of your life to diet and set marathoning records. Can't it wait nine months? Don't be dumb.
#3: Have a little sympathy for pregnancy-related changes, like increased sense of smell or sleeplessness. I had an acute sense of smell pre-pregnancy, and now I could work part time as a drug-sniffing police dog. As a personal trainer, this new-found super power can be a little inconvenient. To make it even more complicated, I work at 5:45am, when some believe workouts can be 'hygiene-optional'. Please brush your teeth and use deodorant. And take Beano, where applicable. I can't explain how bad fart, funk, and garlic smell to me right now. 3 minutes of your life. That's all I'm asking for!
I used to have an amazing ability to sleep thru anything... until the achy-hip-no-lying-on-the-back-constant-baby-gymnastics thing kicked in. Oh yeah, and Jesse took up snoring, you know... just for fun. He, however, could teach folks a thing or two about hubby etiquette. He will send himself to the guest bedroom if he knows he's keeping me up, which keeps me from putting his pillow over his face! THAT is definitely a good thing.
Saturday, December 31, 2011
You've got it all figured out, until you find out you've got it all wrong.
Fill in the blank: ___________ is the thing that makes me happy.
Right now, you are sitting there, over-thinking that little riddle. You are searching for big words in that mental thesaurus of yours, trying to be the one to leave the answer with the deepest meaning, the most thought, the most creativity. Before your head explodes, I'll give you the answer that I came up with: BEING HAPPY is the thing that makes me happy.
Being in the health and fitness industry, and being a former fat kid, I used to believe that skinny would make me happy. Don't tell me that sounds vain! I bet you have seen plenty of folks posting their 'rah rah' weight loss quotes on FaceBook, like 'Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels' or 'A moment on the lips, a lifetime on the hips'. Maybe, like me, you have a lot of physique competitor friends who write their whole food diary online in hopes that they'll get some 'likes' and their crew of online homies will keep them on track during the holidays. How does eating bland grilled chicken and skipping out on your favorite once-a-year indulgences make you happy? Again, stop searching for the deep, creative answer. The answer is IT DOESN'T. It makes you feel like you're in control, but it doesn't make you happy.
Being a part of the 'vanity' industry (let's be honest!), I was a little worried about how the pregnancy weight gain would affect me emotionally. We all know from previous blog posts that I was at my former high school 'fat weight' before I could even GET pregnant, and now the scale will continue upward until the baby is here. I used to put so much emphasis on my physique that gaining a couple of pounds would send me into a tailspin when I was competing. How would I react to the inevitable weight gain that comes along with pregnancy? Surprisingly, to this point, I've handled it very well! It's as if it doesn't even phase me, really. As the scale went up, a light bulb went off in my head: Hey smart girl! If being skinny is the key to being happy, then why are you so amped to be wearing those awesome preggy stretchy jeans?
Is it just the hormones? No. It's because I can focus on being healthy without worrying about being skinny. It's because I can miss a workout to spend time with my husband without freaking out about it. It's because I do my workouts to do something FOR my body instead of doing something TO my body. Simply, it's because being happy is the thing that makes me happy.
Right now, you are sitting there, over-thinking that little riddle. You are searching for big words in that mental thesaurus of yours, trying to be the one to leave the answer with the deepest meaning, the most thought, the most creativity. Before your head explodes, I'll give you the answer that I came up with: BEING HAPPY is the thing that makes me happy.
Being in the health and fitness industry, and being a former fat kid, I used to believe that skinny would make me happy. Don't tell me that sounds vain! I bet you have seen plenty of folks posting their 'rah rah' weight loss quotes on FaceBook, like 'Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels' or 'A moment on the lips, a lifetime on the hips'. Maybe, like me, you have a lot of physique competitor friends who write their whole food diary online in hopes that they'll get some 'likes' and their crew of online homies will keep them on track during the holidays. How does eating bland grilled chicken and skipping out on your favorite once-a-year indulgences make you happy? Again, stop searching for the deep, creative answer. The answer is IT DOESN'T. It makes you feel like you're in control, but it doesn't make you happy.
Being a part of the 'vanity' industry (let's be honest!), I was a little worried about how the pregnancy weight gain would affect me emotionally. We all know from previous blog posts that I was at my former high school 'fat weight' before I could even GET pregnant, and now the scale will continue upward until the baby is here. I used to put so much emphasis on my physique that gaining a couple of pounds would send me into a tailspin when I was competing. How would I react to the inevitable weight gain that comes along with pregnancy? Surprisingly, to this point, I've handled it very well! It's as if it doesn't even phase me, really. As the scale went up, a light bulb went off in my head: Hey smart girl! If being skinny is the key to being happy, then why are you so amped to be wearing those awesome preggy stretchy jeans?
Is it just the hormones? No. It's because I can focus on being healthy without worrying about being skinny. It's because I can miss a workout to spend time with my husband without freaking out about it. It's because I do my workouts to do something FOR my body instead of doing something TO my body. Simply, it's because being happy is the thing that makes me happy.
Thursday, December 29, 2011
"I didn't know I was pregnant"? Seriously?
It's pretty freaking obvious that the people on the TV show "I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant" rank right up there IQ-wise with the guests on "Maury". Have you ever sat thru an episode? Me neither - I'm afraid it'll make me dumber - but I've seen enough highlights on "The Soup" to get the idea. "I thought I had to go to the bathroom really bad, when PLOP!, I pooped out a baby." Beyond the mistaken poop-cramp, did you not have any other signs that you might be, I don't know, growing a human? Just in case a potential TV starlet is reading this, I've made a list of 'pregnancy symptoms' so you can save yourself the embarrassment of reenacting your baby's toilet-birth.
#1: I suddenly hate foods I used to love
Gee whiz, I used to love lasagna, but ever since I stopped having my period I can't seem to stand the smell of it. All I want are crackers and ginger ale, yet I seem to be getting fatter. Maybe I have figured out how to create mass out of nothing! Anyone have the phone number for NASA? They'll TOTALLY want to know about this.
#2: Such weird indigestion!
I seem to have indigestion ALL THE TIME, whether I've eaten anything or not. All these gas bubbles keep churning, even though I'm not really passing gas. Strangely, some of them look like elbows, and it feels like something is kicking me, but from the INSIDE! My stars, I wonder what that could be?
#3: This is not what Sir Mix A Lot liked, and I cannot lie.
I used to be the 'little in the middle but she got much back' kind of girl, but MAN! my waist looks bloated and swollen! Maybe it's the indigestion, but I can't believe how much weight I've gained in my belly. It's so weird, because I used to gain all my weight in my butt. I can't wear any of my pants any more and all my shirts are too short. Maybe I should get some of those maternity tops and not tell anyone, just until this bloat goes away.
#4: The accumulation of pillows
I've always been such a hard sleeper, but suddenly I developed this awful acid reflux (maybe back to the swollen-belly elbow-indigestion?) so I have to have two pillows under me to sleep at an incline. Then, out of nowhere, my hips started to ache in the middle of the night so I had to have a pillow between my knees. Then, for whatever reason, lying on my back became uncomfortable, almost like there is some heavy object in my abdomen (weird, I know!) so I had to get a body pillow to help me sleep on my side. Maybe I should do a sleep study or something - there is just no good reason I should go thru this much trouble to sleep!
#5: Velcro shoes
I seriously need to lose some weight! My belly is so darned big that I can't tie my shoes anymore. It's like there is this big thing in my belly preventing me from reaching (or seeing) my feet. Maybe it's a bowel obstruction. Yep, that's totally it. I almost miss all that unexplained vomiting a few months ago!
And last but not least...
#6: Expired tampons
Hmm. That's curious. I have all these new boxes of tampons that are past their expiration date. Come to think of it, I can't remember the last time I had my period. SCORE! Who wouldn't be jealous of that?
#1: I suddenly hate foods I used to love
Gee whiz, I used to love lasagna, but ever since I stopped having my period I can't seem to stand the smell of it. All I want are crackers and ginger ale, yet I seem to be getting fatter. Maybe I have figured out how to create mass out of nothing! Anyone have the phone number for NASA? They'll TOTALLY want to know about this.
#2: Such weird indigestion!
I seem to have indigestion ALL THE TIME, whether I've eaten anything or not. All these gas bubbles keep churning, even though I'm not really passing gas. Strangely, some of them look like elbows, and it feels like something is kicking me, but from the INSIDE! My stars, I wonder what that could be?
#3: This is not what Sir Mix A Lot liked, and I cannot lie.
I used to be the 'little in the middle but she got much back' kind of girl, but MAN! my waist looks bloated and swollen! Maybe it's the indigestion, but I can't believe how much weight I've gained in my belly. It's so weird, because I used to gain all my weight in my butt. I can't wear any of my pants any more and all my shirts are too short. Maybe I should get some of those maternity tops and not tell anyone, just until this bloat goes away.
#4: The accumulation of pillows
I've always been such a hard sleeper, but suddenly I developed this awful acid reflux (maybe back to the swollen-belly elbow-indigestion?) so I have to have two pillows under me to sleep at an incline. Then, out of nowhere, my hips started to ache in the middle of the night so I had to have a pillow between my knees. Then, for whatever reason, lying on my back became uncomfortable, almost like there is some heavy object in my abdomen (weird, I know!) so I had to get a body pillow to help me sleep on my side. Maybe I should do a sleep study or something - there is just no good reason I should go thru this much trouble to sleep!
#5: Velcro shoes
I seriously need to lose some weight! My belly is so darned big that I can't tie my shoes anymore. It's like there is this big thing in my belly preventing me from reaching (or seeing) my feet. Maybe it's a bowel obstruction. Yep, that's totally it. I almost miss all that unexplained vomiting a few months ago!
And last but not least...
#6: Expired tampons
Hmm. That's curious. I have all these new boxes of tampons that are past their expiration date. Come to think of it, I can't remember the last time I had my period. SCORE! Who wouldn't be jealous of that?
Thursday, December 15, 2011
Guess what, dumbass? You're pregnant.
I have a problem with mediocre. When I send Christmas cards, I make my own and I throw away the ones with mistakes. My decorated cookies need to look professional. When I clean the house, I wash the baseboards. Same happens in the gym. I spent so long making fun of the cardio addicts and half-assers at the gym when I was competing that it is hard for me to find an 'off switch'. Recently, I participated in a workout with my sister in law, my husband, and a few other folks. Once Jesse committed to the workout, I was committed to beating him at it. I lunged faster, ran harder, did much better deadlifts, and managed to come in on his heels. For the next 4 days, I could hardly walk. That was the first time that I said to myself 'Guess what, dumbass? You're pregnant.'
I also have trouble asking for help (GASP!). I'm not the kind of girl who gets valet parking or waits for some guy to move my luggage for me. I guess it's the youngest child syndrome, and I still have a major case of the 'I can do it myself-itis'. I was at the vet the other day to pick up Webb's $4000 per serving hypoallergenic yuppy puppy dog food, chatting up the lady behind the counter. After the (large, strapping, handsome) vet tech brought the bag out, and I paid, I picked up the 36lb bag and threw it over my shoulder like I always do. It didn't occur to me until mid-toss that, 1) that didn't feel so good and 2)oh yeah, I'm still pregnant. Dumbass.
Everyone gets into a rhythm at work where certain tasks become routine. Same with personal training. I have certain ways I breakdown and demonstrate exercises, and with group fitness, it's almost like a script. I have to speak efficiently and quickly, and I rely on physical demonstrations to make sure that everyone understands the exercises. About a week ago, I was preparing to demonstrate a suspended plank on the TRX. After I got my feet into the TRX, I realized that I normally roll onto my stomach before going into plank. Uh oh. Literally, I was in front of 20 people with my feet dangling, thinking... OH SHIT! What do I do? I was somehow able to whip myself around from seated to plank without lying on the floor (whew!) but I still felt like a dumbass.
It seems like with all the baby stuff in the house and the physical changes, the fact that I'm pregnant would be ingrained by now. Feeling the baby move should make it all real, right? I think I'm still in complete disbelief! By the time I get used to this idea, Tyson will probably be in Kindergarten.
I also have trouble asking for help (GASP!). I'm not the kind of girl who gets valet parking or waits for some guy to move my luggage for me. I guess it's the youngest child syndrome, and I still have a major case of the 'I can do it myself-itis'. I was at the vet the other day to pick up Webb's $4000 per serving hypoallergenic yuppy puppy dog food, chatting up the lady behind the counter. After the (large, strapping, handsome) vet tech brought the bag out, and I paid, I picked up the 36lb bag and threw it over my shoulder like I always do. It didn't occur to me until mid-toss that, 1) that didn't feel so good and 2)oh yeah, I'm still pregnant. Dumbass.
Everyone gets into a rhythm at work where certain tasks become routine. Same with personal training. I have certain ways I breakdown and demonstrate exercises, and with group fitness, it's almost like a script. I have to speak efficiently and quickly, and I rely on physical demonstrations to make sure that everyone understands the exercises. About a week ago, I was preparing to demonstrate a suspended plank on the TRX. After I got my feet into the TRX, I realized that I normally roll onto my stomach before going into plank. Uh oh. Literally, I was in front of 20 people with my feet dangling, thinking... OH SHIT! What do I do? I was somehow able to whip myself around from seated to plank without lying on the floor (whew!) but I still felt like a dumbass.
It seems like with all the baby stuff in the house and the physical changes, the fact that I'm pregnant would be ingrained by now. Feeling the baby move should make it all real, right? I think I'm still in complete disbelief! By the time I get used to this idea, Tyson will probably be in Kindergarten.
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
SO much to be THANKFUL for
Not only am I married to an amazing man, we are having a baby. AND the baby is healthy. AND it's a boy. Every day, I feel like the luckiest person on the planet, considering last year this time, we had no hope of having a baby - ever.
Being 'thankful' for our healthy baby boy (to be called Tyson, by the way) is a big understatement. Seeing the detailed ultrasound makes you realize what a MIRACLE it is to have a healthy baby. I laid there, looking at the screen in awe -- had all of these things developed in 18 short weeks? How is that possible? Two perfect kidneys, two perfect feet... (that look like Jesse's, by the way)... Simply amazing.
I'm also thankful for my mom and sister who helped me register for baby gear at Babies R' Us... for four hours. I didn't know anything about baby stuff. What's a 'layette'? The mattress doesn't come with the crib? RIP OFF! Why would anyone buy a bumper pad? What exactly am I to 'receive' in this blanket, and why do I need so many of them? Who thought of 156 different types of bottles and 87 different types of pacifiers? Is there really a whole section for boob accessories? Taking a bath seems pretty straight forward, so why are there 43 different types of tubs? That velcro swaddler thingy has DSS written ALL over it. Crack cream probably doesn't do what I think it does. Clearly, I needed some assistance. I am forever in their debt for patiently explaining everything to me, telling me the pros/cons of one brand versus another, and pushing onward thru the whole store when I had become BEYOND saturated with all things decor, toy, and dirty butt clean-up. My mother in law also bought us some baby swag at IKEA... a place where I wasn't SUPPOSED to understand the words on the products. Whew.
Seems like when baby number one cometh, so does the generosity of friends. One friend (or pair of friends, really) said she had 'some baby stuff' we could look thru. She (they) proceeded to provide Tyson's wardrobe for the first 6 months of his life, diapers, and lots of baby accessories and would not take a DIME from me. There was so much there that I got home and started to cry when I sorted it out (yes, I'm preggy and cry sometimes now, but seriously - I was humbled by the donation). I will find a way to pay them back... I'm thinking baked goods or free personal training... or both.
If Jesse and I list everything we are thankful for this year at dinner tomorrow, it may prove to be the longest meal ever... well, second longest ever, next to the Thanksgiving dinner that began with my cousin James' 10-verse solo of 'We Give Thanks' years ago...
Being 'thankful' for our healthy baby boy (to be called Tyson, by the way) is a big understatement. Seeing the detailed ultrasound makes you realize what a MIRACLE it is to have a healthy baby. I laid there, looking at the screen in awe -- had all of these things developed in 18 short weeks? How is that possible? Two perfect kidneys, two perfect feet... (that look like Jesse's, by the way)... Simply amazing.
I'm also thankful for my mom and sister who helped me register for baby gear at Babies R' Us... for four hours. I didn't know anything about baby stuff. What's a 'layette'? The mattress doesn't come with the crib? RIP OFF! Why would anyone buy a bumper pad? What exactly am I to 'receive' in this blanket, and why do I need so many of them? Who thought of 156 different types of bottles and 87 different types of pacifiers? Is there really a whole section for boob accessories? Taking a bath seems pretty straight forward, so why are there 43 different types of tubs? That velcro swaddler thingy has DSS written ALL over it. Crack cream probably doesn't do what I think it does. Clearly, I needed some assistance. I am forever in their debt for patiently explaining everything to me, telling me the pros/cons of one brand versus another, and pushing onward thru the whole store when I had become BEYOND saturated with all things decor, toy, and dirty butt clean-up. My mother in law also bought us some baby swag at IKEA... a place where I wasn't SUPPOSED to understand the words on the products. Whew.
Seems like when baby number one cometh, so does the generosity of friends. One friend (or pair of friends, really) said she had 'some baby stuff' we could look thru. She (they) proceeded to provide Tyson's wardrobe for the first 6 months of his life, diapers, and lots of baby accessories and would not take a DIME from me. There was so much there that I got home and started to cry when I sorted it out (yes, I'm preggy and cry sometimes now, but seriously - I was humbled by the donation). I will find a way to pay them back... I'm thinking baked goods or free personal training... or both.
If Jesse and I list everything we are thankful for this year at dinner tomorrow, it may prove to be the longest meal ever... well, second longest ever, next to the Thanksgiving dinner that began with my cousin James' 10-verse solo of 'We Give Thanks' years ago...
Sunday, September 25, 2011
Revelations of the First Trimonster... er Trimester
I like being in control, but I no longer know what that feels like. A few times in my life, I've wished I could be more carefree - less of a planner. Well, looks like all I really wanted was to be pregnant.
A week by week of my internal pregnancy dialog:
Week 4 - Week 5.5: I don't get what all the craving/nausea/food aversion crap is about. Clearly that's an excuse for people to be lazy and eat pizza whenever they want to. I'm going to eat a little red meat and a whole egg every day for choline, 3 cups of baby spinach for folate, iron, and calcium, 32 oz of almond milk for more calcium, and plenty of colorful veggies to make sure I get a variety of antioxidants and other nutrients. I don't think I want to eat bread or crappy carbs, either. Surely I can get by with fruit, oatmeal, and potatoes! I'm going to go to the grocery store and stock up on chicken, veggies, and a few other staples.
Week 5.5-Week 6: Why does that chicken taste funny? And why don't I want to eat my sweet potatoes? Why does the gym smell so freaking bad? Do these people not shower?
Week 6 - Week 9: GET THE CHICKEN OUT OF MY FACE!!! I don't even what to talk about chicken, or beef for that matter. Don't even get me started on those nasty ass sweet potatoes (that I loved a week ago). Why does the ice in my water smell gross? All I want to eat is saltines. And pizza. And hot ham and cheese. Thank God for prenatal vitamins because unless flour and cheese comprise whole food groups, this is not going well for the baby. I definitely don't miss drinking because this whole experience so far is like a hangover that will. not. stop. I'm dizzy, craving greasy food, not thinking clearly, I have a headache and I need quite a bit of sleep. And I'm probably dehydrated.
Week 9 - 12: Thank goodness I have to pee a lot or else I wouldn't wake up to eat. Or work. Or take my dogs out. I've got the eating thing under control a little better (if 'eating chicken' is better...even if it MIGHT come from Chik-Fil-A) but my naps last for 3-4 hours. Placenta building is a JOB. Thankfully, it's a job I can do while I'm sleeping.
A week by week of my internal pregnancy dialog:
Week 4 - Week 5.5: I don't get what all the craving/nausea/food aversion crap is about. Clearly that's an excuse for people to be lazy and eat pizza whenever they want to. I'm going to eat a little red meat and a whole egg every day for choline, 3 cups of baby spinach for folate, iron, and calcium, 32 oz of almond milk for more calcium, and plenty of colorful veggies to make sure I get a variety of antioxidants and other nutrients. I don't think I want to eat bread or crappy carbs, either. Surely I can get by with fruit, oatmeal, and potatoes! I'm going to go to the grocery store and stock up on chicken, veggies, and a few other staples.
Week 5.5-Week 6: Why does that chicken taste funny? And why don't I want to eat my sweet potatoes? Why does the gym smell so freaking bad? Do these people not shower?
Week 6 - Week 9: GET THE CHICKEN OUT OF MY FACE!!! I don't even what to talk about chicken, or beef for that matter. Don't even get me started on those nasty ass sweet potatoes (that I loved a week ago). Why does the ice in my water smell gross? All I want to eat is saltines. And pizza. And hot ham and cheese. Thank God for prenatal vitamins because unless flour and cheese comprise whole food groups, this is not going well for the baby. I definitely don't miss drinking because this whole experience so far is like a hangover that will. not. stop. I'm dizzy, craving greasy food, not thinking clearly, I have a headache and I need quite a bit of sleep. And I'm probably dehydrated.
Week 9 - 12: Thank goodness I have to pee a lot or else I wouldn't wake up to eat. Or work. Or take my dogs out. I've got the eating thing under control a little better (if 'eating chicken' is better...even if it MIGHT come from Chik-Fil-A) but my naps last for 3-4 hours. Placenta building is a JOB. Thankfully, it's a job I can do while I'm sleeping.
Thursday, September 22, 2011
The Low Cost Fertility Solution...
It's funny how something that ALMOST makes you lose your mind can eventually help you get your head on straight.
Growing up, as most of you know, I was never the skinny friend. Even when I got to my smallest, there were friends around me who were thinner, almost effortlessly. Maybe I didn't show it at 15 years old, but I was FIGHTING everyday to stay in my size 3 Levi Jeans. Every meal was a calculated decision, turning each day into a math problem, never allowing my brain to shut down from diet mode. What I didn't know was that this MENTAL hang-up would materialize as a physiological problem in my late 20's: no period, no ovulation, no chance for a baby without the help of IVF.
The cumulative effect resulted in Hypothalamic Ammenorhea (HA). Those words carry a heavy meaning for me because this condition is brought about by ME... not genes or chance or plain bad luck. Prior to the diagnosis, I thought I had PCOS, which is an easy diagnosis to accept for a gal in my position. The condition happens at random, causes you to be especially prone to weight gain, and most importantly... isn't your fault. That means I could (without guilt or responsibility) continue to train as hard as possible without consequence... right? When I realized (in part, thanks to Scott Abel) that I don't have PCOS and that the HA had been brewing since my teens, I knew I had work to do.
My concerns about my physique ALMOST cost Jesse and I a lot of money, time, and left us with no real guarantee of having a baby. I knew I needed to lay off the workouts a bit and relax my regimented dieting, but a big part of me was still caught up in the jealousy I had of my friends who were lean, active, and still had their periods regularly. When I thought about that, it took me to a very dark, ugly place where I asked "why me?" instead of taking action. Looking back, it's hard for me to believe that I thought people (like my friends, clients, co-workers, etc) would judge me for gaining weight and working out less (since I'm a trainer), but that was a HUGE fear for me. From August to January, I muscled through the fear and did what I needed to do.
None of my clothes fit. Shopping was no longer fun for me. I distanced myself from my friends and weaseled my way out of social situations. I wondered if Jesse would still feel the same way about me as my weight climbed. I began the journey in August at 128 lbs.
I finally accepted myself at 145lbs in January when, miraculously, my period came back. I was in AWE. After not ovulating for 12 years, my body just picked up where it left off. Amazing.
That moment made me do a lot of thinking about my fears. Had I lost clients? No. In fact, I had more than ever. Had I lost friends? Nope. Was Jesse disgusted by my new, fuller figure? Not at all. In fact, our relationship was better than ever. The best part was that gaining weight, i.e. "The Low Cost Fertility Solution" was working.
I learned that taking care of my physique and taking care of my body, at least for me, were separate endeavors. Before you give me your 'I didn't have to do anything special to get preggy' story, shut it. Everyone is different.
I know some of the fitness fanatics out there want to know the mechanics of what I did, i.e. 'what did you eat' and 'what were your workouts like'?
I had backed off to doing 3 cardio sessions (my cycle classes) and a few haphazard weight training sessions here and there. I ate healthy foods but didn't obsess (as much) about the portions or about having a slice of pizza here and there. Learning to keep everything moderate was VERY VERY HARD FOR ME! In the gym, I am normally a 'go hard or go home' kinda gal, but I knew I had a bigger plan for my body than just growing my biceps and shrinking my ass. I was ready to have a baby and I wanted to be able to give that gift to myself and Jesse the old-fashioned way (because, hey, we CANNOT afford anything else!). That goal had to be at the forefront of everything I did, nutrition and workout-wise, to keep my focus away from my thighs.
My period was gone in February, back in March and April, gone in May and back in June. I refused to live and die by ovulation kits and calendars and cycle length.. ugh. Talk about taking all the fun out of this. Besides, my busy mind was the problem in the first place, so why would I fill it up with more math? As luck would have it, I must have ovulated in July because on the 28th, I found out that I am pregnant.
If I was blown away in January by getting my period back, imagine my COMPLETE SHOCK in July when I found out the big news. Every pound, every missed workout, every extra carb, every pair of jeans I took to Plato's closet was suddenly worth it.
-------------To Be Continued---------------
Growing up, as most of you know, I was never the skinny friend. Even when I got to my smallest, there were friends around me who were thinner, almost effortlessly. Maybe I didn't show it at 15 years old, but I was FIGHTING everyday to stay in my size 3 Levi Jeans. Every meal was a calculated decision, turning each day into a math problem, never allowing my brain to shut down from diet mode. What I didn't know was that this MENTAL hang-up would materialize as a physiological problem in my late 20's: no period, no ovulation, no chance for a baby without the help of IVF.
The cumulative effect resulted in Hypothalamic Ammenorhea (HA). Those words carry a heavy meaning for me because this condition is brought about by ME... not genes or chance or plain bad luck. Prior to the diagnosis, I thought I had PCOS, which is an easy diagnosis to accept for a gal in my position. The condition happens at random, causes you to be especially prone to weight gain, and most importantly... isn't your fault. That means I could (without guilt or responsibility) continue to train as hard as possible without consequence... right? When I realized (in part, thanks to Scott Abel) that I don't have PCOS and that the HA had been brewing since my teens, I knew I had work to do.
My concerns about my physique ALMOST cost Jesse and I a lot of money, time, and left us with no real guarantee of having a baby. I knew I needed to lay off the workouts a bit and relax my regimented dieting, but a big part of me was still caught up in the jealousy I had of my friends who were lean, active, and still had their periods regularly. When I thought about that, it took me to a very dark, ugly place where I asked "why me?" instead of taking action. Looking back, it's hard for me to believe that I thought people (like my friends, clients, co-workers, etc) would judge me for gaining weight and working out less (since I'm a trainer), but that was a HUGE fear for me. From August to January, I muscled through the fear and did what I needed to do.
None of my clothes fit. Shopping was no longer fun for me. I distanced myself from my friends and weaseled my way out of social situations. I wondered if Jesse would still feel the same way about me as my weight climbed. I began the journey in August at 128 lbs.
I finally accepted myself at 145lbs in January when, miraculously, my period came back. I was in AWE. After not ovulating for 12 years, my body just picked up where it left off. Amazing.
That moment made me do a lot of thinking about my fears. Had I lost clients? No. In fact, I had more than ever. Had I lost friends? Nope. Was Jesse disgusted by my new, fuller figure? Not at all. In fact, our relationship was better than ever. The best part was that gaining weight, i.e. "The Low Cost Fertility Solution" was working.
I learned that taking care of my physique and taking care of my body, at least for me, were separate endeavors. Before you give me your 'I didn't have to do anything special to get preggy' story, shut it. Everyone is different.
I know some of the fitness fanatics out there want to know the mechanics of what I did, i.e. 'what did you eat' and 'what were your workouts like'?
I had backed off to doing 3 cardio sessions (my cycle classes) and a few haphazard weight training sessions here and there. I ate healthy foods but didn't obsess (as much) about the portions or about having a slice of pizza here and there. Learning to keep everything moderate was VERY VERY HARD FOR ME! In the gym, I am normally a 'go hard or go home' kinda gal, but I knew I had a bigger plan for my body than just growing my biceps and shrinking my ass. I was ready to have a baby and I wanted to be able to give that gift to myself and Jesse the old-fashioned way (because, hey, we CANNOT afford anything else!). That goal had to be at the forefront of everything I did, nutrition and workout-wise, to keep my focus away from my thighs.
My period was gone in February, back in March and April, gone in May and back in June. I refused to live and die by ovulation kits and calendars and cycle length.. ugh. Talk about taking all the fun out of this. Besides, my busy mind was the problem in the first place, so why would I fill it up with more math? As luck would have it, I must have ovulated in July because on the 28th, I found out that I am pregnant.
If I was blown away in January by getting my period back, imagine my COMPLETE SHOCK in July when I found out the big news. Every pound, every missed workout, every extra carb, every pair of jeans I took to Plato's closet was suddenly worth it.
-------------To Be Continued---------------
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