Memories of Us

Next Time Around

This is our third month of trying for a baby.  That scares me a little.  It happened so easily and so quickly with both of my other pregnancies.  I know the doctors say not to worry unless you've been unsuccessful after a year of trying, but that fact gives me little comfort.  Because that's just not how we worked in the past.  And despite reassurances from my doctor that my miscarriage would have no impact on my ability to have more children, I feel uneasy.  What if it changed me?  What if I don't work the same way anymore?  It's hard not to think that way after two months of disappointment.  But it's also not unreasonable to think that my body just needed a little time to recover.  I mean, 6 months ago I had a baby, 3 months after that got pregnant again, and then a month later had a miscarriage.  That's a lot of hormone fluctuations and body changes in a short period of time.  So I guess I just need to chill and cut my body some slack.

I've been cutting my body some slack in other ways as well.  Though I've decided to put that to an end.  I'd like to introduce you to my new best friend.

We got a treadmill.  And thanks to an awesome year end sale, we got a brand new one!  It's so nice to be able to put Will down for a nap, put on my running shoes, turn on the TV, and just go.  We have a great jogging stroller, but it always seemed that when weather permitted, Will didn't.  But now, I have no excuses.  So, finally I can work in earnest on losing those last 10 lbs of baby weight.  Or, if I manage to get pregnant this month, I will have an excellent tool to aid me in keeping my weight in check this time.  Because last time, things got a little out of control.  See this?

This was during what I think of as my "Pretty pregnant" phase.  I was 23 weeks along and definitely showing, but not swollen at all.  I was cute, if I do say so myself.  That picture actually makes me WANT to be pregnant.  If not for the other crappy phases, pregnancy would be great!  Because this phase followed the "Actually pregnant but I just look fat" phase, and worse was yet to come.  The lovely, glow-y part is just like a little break in the crappy.  Unfortunately my "Pretty pregnant" phase didn't last long.  Maybe only 2 months.  After which point the definition in my feet, ankles, calves (and eventually my knees, egads!) slowly began disappearing and my face became increasingly puffy.  I think of this as my "Uncomfortably pregnant" phase.  See?

And people, I was only 35 weeks in that picture.  I still had FIVE to go!  I was SO over my appearance (and pregnancy in general) at that point that I stopped taking pictures.  However, I did take one more at week 39, to document my hugeness.  I refer to this as my 'GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT" phase of pregnancy.

Looking at that picture reminds me of why I'm not 100% psyched about getting pregnant again.  But you know, it's what you have to do to get the baby, and I AM 100% psyched about that.  Anyway, so as demonstrated in my pictures, I gained those recommended 35 and just kept on going from there.  I estimate that by the end, (and I say "estimate" because it got too demoralizing to weigh myself at that point) I had gained around 60 lbs with Will.  I'm not going to feel too bad about that because I retained water like the Hoover Dam.  About half of that weight was gone within a week of delivering with zero effort on my part.  And, from what I've heard, a lot of women gain more with their first babies than with the ones that follow.  Whether that's from greater self restraint or because your body gets better at it, I don't know.  All I know is that I am going to exercise THE WHOLE FREAKING TIME next time around.  But seriously, I'm 6 months out and only 10 lbs away from my pre-pregnancy weight.  I'm satisfied with that, especially considering all that's happened.  They say 9 months on and 9 months off (unless you're a Hollywood celebrity and look normal 2 weeks later - in which case you are a freak and are hated by normal women everywhere).  I'm on track to meet that goal.  Unless I get pregnant.  Either way, that treadmill is going to come in handy.

Present

Today, I went jogging.  It was horrible.  I am so pathetically out of shape and it is very easy to feel overwhelmed when I have so FAR to go in order to regain my former glory (that was sarcasm - I wouldn't consider my former glory all that glorious, just thinner).  I couldn't even jog a mile without walking periodically.  Folks, I used to go for 5 miles, sometimes even 7 at a time.  I'm a slow runner, but still, my endurance was pretty good.  That was a while ago, mind you.  When I was single.  Priorities changed when Jamie came around.  Spending my free time with him was so much more attractive an idea than working out.  Plus, I got really into Yopilates and often chose that over running.  But ironically, I lost about 15 pounds because of it.  My mom says that happens when you fall in love, but I  think it was the Yopilates, personally.  And then I was planning for our wedding while  Jaime was deployed and I lost 10 extra pounds from the stress of it all.   Then I got married and put that 10 lbs right back on.  But I was maintaining a comfortable, reasonable weight with relatively little effort for quite a while prior to getting pregnant.  Unfortunately I gained the recommended 35 lbs and just kept on going from there.  I'm not sure, in the end, how much of it was from the swelling.  Because I was swollen people.  I. Was. Swollen. Anyway, none of that really matters I guess because as of this moment, I'm about 20 lbs away from my pre-pregnancy weight.  And up until now, I've only been half-heartedly trying to work on fixing that.  I think that, because we had such a rough start and I was in survival mode for so long, that I got it in my head that this whole baby thing was just too hard to be able to spare any time or energy to take care of myself.  Plus, I was hoping for magic to occur.  But I realized just in the last few days that this motherhood thing is really hard, but not impossible.  And that I'm good enough at it now (and Will is easy enough now) that I can leave that "Just get through it" mentality behind and start working my way back to normal.  So today, I went jogging.  I think Will even liked it.  The jogging stroller allows him to face forward and watch the world go by.  He didn't make a peep the whole time.  Although, every time I looked down, his little hands were up by his ears, gripping the fabric sides of stroller, as though he were on a roller coaster.  So either he was scared, or thrilled.  I'm just going to assume he's his father's son and was loving every minute.  I took a picture from my point of view for your amusement.

In addition to realizing that I have the ability to make time for myself, I also discovered something else much more important.  I have the ability to make time, to take time, to enjoy being a mother.  To cherish my son.  Last week I read the blog of a woman who lost her 4 month old baby to SIDS.  I have a hard time not crying just thinking about her, remembering the things she wrote, about how she still can't bear to pack up his things, how his car seat is still sitting on their kitchen table, how she still daily buries her face in the last onesie he wore so she can remember his smell.  It breaks my heart that anyone would ever have to bear that kind of loss.  But it made me wake up to the fact that I need to savor every second I have with my own sweet son.  Because I can.  I owe it to myself to slow down and simply be present with him.  To appreciate the gift that God has given me.  I get so caught up in the laundry waiting to be done, in the pile of dirty bottles on the counter needing to be washed.  I wake up at night to feed Will and find myself falling asleep while he eats, hurrying back to bed once he's finished.  But last night I wasn't struggling to stay awake.  Last night I was thinking about how soft his silky baby hair felt against my skin as I rested my cheek on his fuzzy little head.  I was breathing in the smell of my son and memorizing the way he sighs each time he swallows.  And once he was finished, I didn't rush back to bed.  I stood by his crib holding him in my arms, enjoying the warmth of him draped over my shoulder, his legs dangling down to my hips, his breath against my neck.  I just held my sleeping son.  I held him longer than I had to.  And I will remember that forever.