Tilling

For years, I've dabbled in gardening. I enjoyed my flower beds at my old houses, and even grew flowers on the balcony of our apartment.

Our new house has 3 acres. Some of it is level. So in spite of the fact that there are at least 6 rabbits living in our yard and deer in the vicinity, just for starters.... I am attempting my first large vegetable garden. It's about 25x30 feet. My little 4x4 and 4x2 square foot beds at my old house were fun, but this is a new territory for me. OH, I remember picking tomatoes, crimes, or green beans off the plants in my parents' garden and snacking. But in all honesty, my little square foot plots yielded a few tomatoes and peppers, a few herbs, and some leaf lettuce. I even had okra one year. But this...

Our neighbor brought over 5 or 6 scoops of old manure in his tractor over the past 2 months. My husband tilled the first batch for me, and I'm hoping my improved soil will help the rest of my crops.

Milestones...

I'm relieved to check in and document that as of Sunday, I set a new distance record for myself. 9 miles.  I'm also oh so thankful that instead of being upset, hurt, or angry that my last post included a bit of venting and some indirect criticism, after reading it, my husband gave me a huge hug and said he was sorry I felt neglected, and he would help make sure I can train.

The race is just over a month away. Whaaaat?

Stepping up the distance  is really hard.  I miss the security of having a running partner on my long runs.  Now that I'm in the country, I feel somewhat isolated and prefer driving into town to run where there are more people around. Paranoid, perhaps. I love aspects of running on country roads. The tranquillity, the scenery, the lack of traffic whizzing past.  On the other hand , the isolation of running alone can be a bit daunting.

That being said, I'm pretty excited that I'm almost 3/4 of the way to my target distance.  I struggle with setting goals and following through, so this is huge.

New Year, New Goal

Operation 13.1 Before 40

There are days more frequently than I'd like to admit that I'm tired of being a stay at home Mom. It breaks my heart to type that even more than it would break my kids' hearts to read it if they ever would.  The degree I worked hard to earn so many years ago seems worthless, and the mundane duties are overwhelming and often thankless. My motivation has waned, and the thought of seeking inspiration from Mom blogs or books makes me want to puke. Unfortunately, at this point I don't know what I would pursue if I did have the opportunity to find a career for myself outside the home. I've spent years cheering on my husband, trying to encourage him, and supporting his goals and dreams, while neglecting my own and having what attempts I've made to do something good for my own well being be pretty much ignored.

I love my family deeply and am very thankful for them, but my identity somehow got buried in the piles of laundry, puke on the bedding, and 5 moves chasing the ever elusive perfect job for the main provider in 16 years. I know that we are where we're supposed to be, and this move has been better than expected, but it doesn't mean it hasn't been hard on us.

This year,  I am taking a step to change that. Last year's futile attempt was therapy... clearly that didn't work because I'm back where I started before we sunk hundreds of dollars into that.  In fact, the only thing that has consistently helped me feel better about myself and refocus has been my running.  So, this year, I'm going to tackle my biggest running related goal yet and hope that in the process, I find myself again. Because quite frankly, I don't like who I  am right now. I don't remember who my husband fell in love with so many years ago, but it certainly wasn't the person I am now.

There, I said it. If you know me and are reading this in real life, you can pray however you see fit.  It is what it is, I don't expect you to understand.  And you certainly can't fix it.
As I mentioned in my previous post/virtual journal entry, running has become a kind of therapy.  It has helped me set goals, dream beyond my expectations, and push myself farther than I knew I could go.  I have found unexpected friends who have encouraged me when I have felt like quitting, but learned that ultimately, the distance I cover is my own choice.  My own calling. In this past year of instability and transition, I ran when I could, which wasn't much.... less than 250 miles  But every mile counted. Every mile kept me from giving up.

I know I sound like a sulking teenager, but believe it or not, this year is a milestone birthday.  And since I can't decide on a career that utilizes my abilities, and I'm pretty much failing miserably at the homemaking gig and need a distraction, and I just need something for myself (as selfish as that sounds and feels when I feel like I do nothing else right, anyway), I have set a goal.

This year, I'm going to finish a half marathon, hopefully injury free.  I may journal my training progress on here occasionally... so that some day, I can look back and see how far I've come... literally and figuratively. Training takes discipline.  

That's one of my biggest weaknesses. Oh, I was an education major, I know all about the concepts of goal setting, breaking things down into manageable steps, etc.
I fail at the execution.  I'm more like an absent minded philosophy or literature professor who enjoys discussing concepts and ideas.

This won't be easy.

There was a day when I said running a mile was harder than a natural childbirth. Praise the Lord, that day has passed.  The farthest I have ever run is 9 miles, and that was a year and a half ago with my faithful running companion who pushed me to challenge myself.
I haven't run more than 4 miles in over a year, and by run, I mean run some and walk some.  I will always mean that.  It counts.  I'm not in it for speed, I'm in it for distance.

I will do it whether or not anyone cheers for me along the route or at the finish line.6 races down and not once has my family met me at a finish line. Not a single one.  Not even the 10k.  Oh, I tried not to let it bother me.  We had family in town, it was early, it would be hard to wrangle the kids, etc... 

No wonder I feel like what I do doesn't matter.  The most my family could do was step outside the front door and wave as I passed by during the race that went through our neighborhood, which was my very first. Well, it would be nice to be supported, but I'm not going to count on it. Period. I know better. Of course, if I do share this, then if they come, I'll probably feel like it is just out of duty.  Catch 22.

Everything has a price.
I'm tired of believing I'm not worth it. Of living like I'm not worth having my own goals and dreams, family comes first.  Somewhere down deep in my soul I believe that my Creator loves and redeems me, and it's time to show it. At least, I tell people I believe it.  To trust that He will help me reach this goal, and in the process work through some of my other baggage and find healing.  Some things cost monetary value, other sacrifices are personal or emotional. It's hard to be a light for others when your smothered by darkness.
While I publish this?  I don't know yet.  It's raw, it's vulnerable, it's honest. 
It reflects where I am at this point and some of what has happened. Nothing is exaggerated.
Operation 13.1 before 40 has officially commenced.... I've paid my registration and chosen my training plan.  Bring it on. I'm going to prove to myself that I can do it.
 

My daughter and I did one 5k together last fall, which was amazing to do with her. I hope she is able to move past her insecurities better than I have as she matures. I hope, at the very least, she knows that her Mom will always be cheering for her in whatever she does, believing she can do so much more than she realizes.

****

4/8/16  

I just realized I never did post this.  I originally wrote the above in February.  Well... here it is. I am pleased to report that 3 weeks into my training "plan" (I use the term loosely, it's quite modified) my completed distances are right on track for where I should be according to my target distance chart.  I'm off to a good start. The family is supposedly planning on meeting me at the finish line, but to be honest, I am not holding my breath on that.

 

Therapy

Approximately a year ago, I sought professional counseling for my anxiety and depression for the first time.  I'd like to see I reached some breakthrough and snapped out of my melancholy.  Unfortunately, time and circumstances did not really allow that.

What counseling did was give me a safe place.  For each session, I knew I had that time to myself, to say aloud whatever I wanted about how I felt, to cry, to yell, to sit and be listened to uninterrupted.   It helped.  In the middle of the beginning of yet another transitional stage in my life, it helped.

Counseling was one form of therapy, but I have sought other forms throughout the years.  For a time, blogging was one.  Then I decided it's not really safe to share my deepest, darkest secrets in the abyss of the internet.  Before the internet, I journaled.  I have several.  When I struggled with post-partum depression, that is what my OB/Gyn recommended alongside medication, when the idea of coordinating counseling stressed me out.  Yep, it did.

And then came running.  Or walking. Both, really.  Intentional setting aside of time for my physical and mental health.  In addition to the physical benefits, the time to myself has been priceless. Whether it's been through our neighborhood, on a road, on the elliptical or treadmill at the gym, or my favorite, with my running buddy who met me for our first 5k and just completed her first marathon this Winter (while pregnant with TWINS, she's superwoman)... No matter where I am at, if I want to fit it in, I can.

Here are some reasons I love running:

1) It doesn't require special equipment, other than good shoes. Oh, there are tons of gadgets and apps, but really... you don't even have to have a watch if you don't want one.
2)  It comes naturally,.  Well that's not quite true.  I remember posting to Facebook that running 1/2 mile was harder than delivering a child without an epidural.  And in all honesty, I still run intervals.  My asthma and my joints require that I take walk breaks, and I prefer not to injure myself.  So far, so good.  I have two legs, it doesn't require extra special coordination.  I don't even have to run in a straight line.  I also have fairly long legs, at 5' 7", and my stride is long to begin with, which does help. But the more I train, the more I find that I want to press toward that next goal.  Once I hit the 5k mark, I wanted to try a 10k.  Now I am aiming for a half marathon.  Lord know I never imagined that for myself.  I doubt I will want to do a full marathon, but I have learned to never say never.
3) It challenges me.  I am not a great goal setter.  When I was a teacher, I was more of the creative thinker/absent minded professor.  In a world where assessments and deadlines prevail, it's no wonder I did not last very long in that profession.  Lesson planning is my weakness.  However, with running, if I want to improve, I need a plan.  I am a procrastinator, but in order to succeed injury free with more difficult goals, I HAVE to take it step by step.
4)  It's given me community.  I remember sitting in my Bible study small group hearing friends talk about their training and upcoming races and thinking, "I could never do that."  Those friends became cheerleaders. Other friends who run cheer me on, and I cheer them on, as we pursue our individual goals. While my own success or failure does not directly impact others (unless I do a relay), the encouragement we glean from each other is significant. On race day, that smile from a stranger, encouraging word, or even sarcastic joke may be just what I need to keep going or push farther.
Online forums through MRTT (Moms Run This Town) offer encouragement and opportunities to meet for training runs or meet in person at local races.  Even though I live an hour from the nearest chapter, that online support has kept me from quitting since my move to a new state.
5) It lowers my blood sugar.  It doesn't mean I can eat whatever I want, but it does make me feel less guilty for over-indulging. Sometimes. I don't want to know what my A1C would be without consistent exercise.
6) It offers solitude and reflection. I am not a gym rat.  I use the gym because I have to until I get acclimated to the Northern climate, and they have child care so I can run without pushing my 3 year old in his stroller at least a couple of times a week. In all honesty, our local gym is a little awkward for me.  I am one of the few patrons under 50 because most women my age work outside the home during the times I go, unlike the suburban South where there were lots of stay at home moms.  My favorite runs our outside, on a street or trail, where I can use landmarks to set that next goal and get my vitamin D therapy. When I ran with a buddy, sometimes we talked, which was often therapeutic and I do miss, but when I run alone it's me, my thoughts, the wind, and God. Outdoor running or walking is by far my favorite.

Right now, I would rather carve out time for this kind of therapy than any other. It helps.

Different House, Same Problem

Insomnia.


Nearly 3 months ago, we moved 700 miles away from our large, comfortable suburban home on 1/3 acre down South to the medium sized Midwestern farm house with one tiny bathroom on two hundred-ish acres. We live 60 miles from the city, 25 miles or so from the nearest Wal-Mart, and 4 miles from the closest village.

So many aspects of our lives have changed. Some have not.

I smiled as my insomnia led me to pull up my all but abandoned blog at 3 a.m. The last substantial post was nearly 2 years ago.  I am so glad I wrote it, as my memory has already faded.

It appears that I had an episode of insomnia the night before my first 5k race, just as I have tonight.  I am not planning to race tomorrow. However, I just ran my first 5k in our new state this past weekend.

Yay! In fact, I have run 6 more races since my first, including a 10k last Thanksgiving morning.

Clearly, running has not cured my insomnia.  It has, however done so much more.

1) It has given me a personal goal.
What started as "Finish a 5k" because if I delivered an 8 pound 9 ounce baby without an epidural and a 7 pound 7 ouncer with half of one, sure ly 5k is not beyond the realm of possibility" has turned into a personal quest to find health as I approach age 40. My current goal: get that 5k time down to 30 minutes.
2) I have children who look up to me.
My oldest has developed a love for Gymnastics. She's strong, and she is driven. She inspires me to encourage her dreams and find my own. My parents were wonderful, but when U was her age, that was an area that went largely ignored. Sorry Mom and Dad, but it's true. Sure, I can play just about anything in the key of C on the piano and fumble through the hymnal. I often enjoy doing so. But piano lessons were a chore, not a passion of mine. My kids see me struggle, and sometimes that struggle becomes success. Furthermore, it is becoming something we can do together. My girl, who turns 10 in less than 2 weeks, joined me for my race last Saturday. She even asked if we could do another race together. Absolutely, my love. That's a PR moment in itself, one that is better than the elusive pace.
3) Running has become my therapist.
During the process of my husband's job change and this recent move, I saw a therapist to help process everything. It was great to have an objective 3rd party listen.  She stressed the importance of self care.  Physical and psychological.  Running is effective in both of those areas.  I feel better when I run consistently. My body is stronger, AND as I read my post from 2 years ago, I realized that my asthma has improved tremendously. I rarely use my inhaler during a 5k run/walk anymore.  Out here in the country, I have unlimited roads and natural beauty in which to reflect on life, the Creator, or just taking one more step before my next walking break.  It's pretty amazing.
4) I gained a new circle of friends, and one closer friend.
The running community is incredibly welcoming. Online encouragement through advanced runners whom I once thought were crazy, support groups like Moms Run This Town, friendly co-racers, and running buddies.

My cousin in Massachusetts as well as my Uncle's colleague became 2 of my strongest cheerleaders across the miles, and I got to run with my cousin on the Cape Cod Rail Trail during my family's vacation.

Initially, my desperate plea for companionship on my first race was met by one newbie and some friends who encouraged us. That fellow newbie is now, 2 years later, training for her first marathon.  We became training buddies and our friendship strengthened as we shared life  and she pushed me forward on the trails. She even helped us pack up for our move when I was almost too overwhelmed to do it. Who says running is a solitary sport?

Will this insomniac rambling be a blog revival? Who knows. But if you're still here, I'm still wandering along. If you're not, then I have a public journal of sorts. Good night.  Rather,  good morning.

Trick or Treat- 5k style

I find it funny that my last blog post was shortly after I had officially decided to run a 5k before the end of this year.

I did it.  Today.

Did I train consistently?  Hardly.  I am walking and running proof that something is better than nothing.

Something is ALWAYS better than nothing.

Two nights ago, on Halloween, I laughed as my triathalon running friend and another neighbor discussed our town's upcoming 5k and whether or not they would run it today.  One was planning to, with husband and baby in the Bob stroller.  Our other friend and I were both on the fence.  In fact, I had pretty much decided not to to it by that point.  I had slacked on training.  Evenings are tough with two kids in school.  I have been exercising 1-2 times at week at most for the past 2 months instead of my goal of 3-4.

Something is better than nothing.  Trick or treat.

The idea was again implanted in my mind. I remembered setting the goal, telling myself and others that, "If nothing else, there is a 5k that goes through my neighborhood, so I'll run that."  It wouldn't stop haunting me.  That "what's your excuse?" ghost from past goals and present failures that holds me back far too often.  I tried to make the excuses.  Then I decided to do it.  But I needed accountability.  After all, that same 5k has passed my mailbox for 2 years.  I have thought, "That's SO great for them.  I could never do that."  Last year, it was more like, "I just need sleep."  This week, my objections were, "I have not trained consistently.  I can't find my running belt and I need it to hold my inhaler.  I don't know if I can do it.  I have not run a full mile yet." (I found it yesterday, and then they gave us another today.)

"I'll just go to Memphis and do the Grizzly House in December."  That's the same weekend as my niece's birthday party, not in Memphis.  This was my last chance.

Impulsiveness needs confirmation.  All my running friends had said find a race, commit. I had held this race in the back pocket of my mind for months, I had no excuse.  But I know myself.  I am not a morning person, especially on a weekend.  I'd rather be sleeping.  So what do all passive aggressive procrastinaholics who finally make a decision do?  I don't know, but this one jumps on Facebook and enlists other friends.  And calls the neighbor who was on the fence alongside me on Halloween night.  Trick or Treat.  I even set out to do a slow stroll with my 15 month old and did that... 3.3 miles in 58 minutes.  (I said I was slow.)

My friends affirmed my decision.  Soon, there were 4 of us.  I called the event organizers, who said we could have a team rate if there were 4 of us, as mentioned on the website.  And I think I dropped the ball and we could have had 5 team members, but I got the #4 stuck in my head and unintentionally blew her off.  OR maybe I was intimidated because she is a REAL runner in my mind.  (Sorry, other friends, I'm psychoanalyzing here, don't take it personally.)  Sigh.  Kicking myself because she has been a huge encouragement at various stages of my running journey this past year.  Maybe next time.

Anyhow, I am thankful for my support group.  I drank water and peed all day yesterday.  I went to bed by 10:30 last night.  I set my alrarm for 6 and 6:30 am.

I woke up at 4:30, and fell back asleep.  I woke up again at 6:50. 10 minutes before registration time.  It takes me 10-15 minutes to walk to the park from my house.  I had made it clear to my team that I planned to be there to register at 7 because I wanted the T-shirt.  My neighbor called as I was getting dressed.  She was at our kids' bus stop.  My wonderful husband had just made me two eggs really fast, I scarfed them down with some lemonade and a banana, and off I went in the dark.  My neighbor met me and we walked the half mile or so to the park together.  Our teammates were there, and we registered.  I got my number. 3072.  My contact lens was inside out.  I fixed that, fortunately our park service keeps the bathroom at the park clean enough to not gross me out. 

The sun came up while we chatted and waited, and headed down to the starting line.  It was a small, friendly town-sponsored race, proceeds going to an educational grant fund and a service dogs' charity.  I don't know how many, but my guess is less than 100 runners.  We ranged from ages 2  (our neighbors' daughter in her stroller) to 82... ok, maybe not.  Probably 72.  Young looking 72.

Did I mention that it was a good 1/4 mile walk to the starting line from registration?  I had already walked from my house, so what did it matter?

The initial stretch up to my neighborhood entrance is all uphill.  My first goal of the race was to actually jog it.
I did.  I thought I was going to die at the top, but I did it.  My other goals were to run in front of my kids as I passed my house, and finish in under 36 minutes.   After taking a walking interval, I ran the 4 houses to them and around the cul-de-sac, then opened my arms and gave them big hugs while my husband took pictures.  From our front yard.  We had agreed that they would stay home, and as it turned out, baby boy was still asleep. I had not actually RUN 5k since June.  I should say I had not actually walked and run 5k.  It was barely under 36, and lately my average pace has been between 12-13 min/mile.  I walked over that distance in 58 minutes yesterday, albeit a slightly different route.  Around 1/3 of  the way in, I needed my inhaler desperately.  It helped tremendously.  I think the cooler air helped, too. 
 
My other first time 5k runner friend and I kept together the first half or so.  It was surreal to run my normal route with so many other people.  And have people in fuzzy footed smiley face pj's cheering me on.  And it was very surreal to hear that my first mile was under 12 minutes... 11 something.  By my 2nd mile, I had been running 22 something.  That meant my pace was better than I'd expected.  I kind of like not having all the techy gear yet, or a smart phone.  All I could do was do my best and not worry about it, no clock watching, no guilt tripping, just do it.

The 2nd big hill came just after the halfway point.  I tried to run that one, but walked it, as I normally would.  I waved at neighbors I did not know and friends I did know as I passed their houses and their kids peered out through their storm doors.

The 2nd half was mostly downhill.  A few small slopes, but thankfully no more big extended inclines.

I approached the park, decided to walk.... instead of crawling over the finish line, I wanted to run.  So I regained some strength, sipped some water, enjoyed the changing color of the leaves, and smiled as a runner I had been running near passed me and said, "We're almost there... we can do this!"

She passed me, and stayed ahead, but we did it.  I pushed harder and faster and experienced that runner's high as I saw my friend's husband waiting with their daughters and he asked where she was.  "Not too far back."  I kept going.  I loved the orange and white balloons over the sidewalk and the HUGE numbers on the time clock as I approached.   34:28  For the first time ever,  I experienced that runner's high that everyone talks about.

Trick or Treat?

I'd have to say it was a treat.  A big treat.  To set aside what so easily entangles and keeps me from pursing goals.  To have friends impulsively jump along side and agree to do something less than 2 days in advance.  To ignore the excuses that perpetually haunt my mind. To not just meet, but surpass a goal. To give and get hugs at the finish line, and cheer in those who finished behind me.

Yes, my first 5k was definitely a treat.  The Krispy Kremes and turkey sandwich and free massage from a chiropractor at the end were not so bad, either.

step by step

In spite of my addiction to social media, I am fairly technologically challenged.  I can get around your basic word processing program or spreadsheet (maybe), but my cell phone is not what's considered "smart" these days and I don't own an iPod, iPad or anything "i" for that matter.  I also don't own a stopwatch, or a digital watch of any type.  So my "training" to run a 5k has been somewhat haphazard to this point.  I am utilizing a website that maps my distances for me and tracks my pace. After I do my walk/run/walk/jog/walk combo of the evening or elliptical workout, map the route, and it does the math for me.  I love it.  I had been using another site to track my nutrition, but I have slacked off on that.  (I just ate a whole mug of chocolate cookie dough ice cream to reward myself for this evening's workout.)

Anyway, mid-week I decided my goal for the week would be to log 6 miles.  I surpassed my goal tonight, logging about 2.25 miles with a pace of 13:17/mile.  My total for the week is 7.89 miles in 5 workout sessions.

I compare myself to others and am prone to being a "defeated perfectionist."  Someone who, instead of relying on the strength of the Holy Spirit to do things, dwells on what they want to do but is afraid they can't do it perfectly so they stagnate.

I am working toward my goal of being able to run a 5k step by step.  I haven't chosen an event yet, but my goal of  averaging 3-4 workouts per week is becoming a reality.  I alternate between focusing on running one longer stretch and increasing my overall distance but doing more intervals of running and jogging.

Step by step.

I have a mental list of areas that I need to improve in my role as a Mom, Wife, and Homemaker.  This goal of running a 5k is one that I am tackling with more consistency, partly due to the whole gestational diabetes/prediabetes scare.

Whether it's the running (or wannabe running, in my case), the housekeeping and organization (or embarrassing lack thereof), the intentional parenting and training of my blessings (which I'm also slowly tackling, step by step, although some days it seems like they are teaching me,) or the balancing of all of the above and partnering with my husband as we cultivate our relationship and seek God's will in various aspects of our life together.... it's going to happen step by step. 

be specific

Our pastor's sermon last Sunday was about Hannah, the mother of Samuel.  One thing that struck out at me was that she prayed specifically.  The odds were against her, her rival taunted her, yet she prayed from the depths of her soul and dedicated the result of that prayer to the Lord, Jehovah Jireh.  After Samuel was born, she literally gave him back to the Lord's service at an age when most of us are just starting to get a glimpse of our little ones' personalities

There are so many applications, the most obvious being waiting for the gift of a child (or another.)  I have so many friends who have struggled with infertility or pregnancy loss and perhaps that story will provide some encouragement.

For me at this point in time, the reminder is much more general.  Be specific.  Pray specifically.  Philippians reminds me,  "6Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. 7And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus."  Hannah was anxious, but after she gave that anxiety to the Lord (Eli thought she was drunk when she was praying at the temple,) her answer eventually came.  How often have I been drunk with uncontrolled anxiety or fear?  Sometimes that seems to be my dwelling place far more than life in the Spirit.

When Status Quo Isn't Good Enough

Anyone who knows me, knows that my battle with allergies and upper respiratory crud are my arch-nemesis.  Allergies kick in, asthma kicks in, upper respiratory crud kicks in.  Well, in the past 2 years, my older two have been to the doctor for upper respiratory crud 3 times each.  They take zyrtec, sometimes it seems to help, sometimes it doesn't.  At our list visit, the pediatrician said that studies show that honey is more effective for coughs than a lot of pharmaceutical cough syrups.  So guess what we are using for cough syrup?  Honey, sometimes with lemon.

About a month ago, my sister in law introduced me to Essential Oils by doTerra.  My sister apparently was also introduced to them and has seen her friends' daughter's health improve drastically.  Sis calls them hippie oils.  And honestly, my first thought of them when I heard about them was the memory of patchouli wafting down the hall from certain students' rooms in the college dorm 17 years ago.  I couple of months ago, a friend that I met online also posted a picture of her stash of oils that she was packing in fer toiletry bag for her family's vacation to Disney World.  Come to find out they have not been on antibiotics in 18 months. She has been using them for 2 years.

Anyway, my point is that modern medicine is not working for my family.  My kids don't even get fevers often, they just get this really bad crud that takes 2 weeks to shake.  Like their mama.  Antibiotics kill good and bad bacteria.  And sometimes it takes 2 rounds for us to knock out the nasty cough.

There has got to be a better way.  Will essential oils be part of that better way?

When my introductory kit of lavender, peppermint, and lemon oils arrived, I decided to try the lemon in my water and the lavender on my daughter at bedtime.  Honestly, that first night I did not notice a difference.  She doesn't fall asleep easily, and that night was no different.  A couple of days later, she requested that I massage her feet with those oils again.  And again the next night.  Both of those nights, she did settle and stay asleep better.

My personal usage... well, I have simultaneously begun drinking more water and using coconut oil in my coffee, so who knows.  But the past 2 days, my mid-afternoon pick me up of lemon water and peppermint oil inhalation have certainly not hurt.  I didn't even feel like I needed a nap yesterday.  Coincidence?  I don't know. 

But status quo is not good enough, so in conjunction with trying to eat right and exercise, it's worth a shot.

Flashback

http://awanderingheart.blogspot.com/2009/03/training-has-begun-ive-been-doing-my.html

The last time I said I wanted to do a 5k... in 2009.

perhaps it's time to revive an old dream, instead

In 2009, I decided I wanted to try to run a 5k.  I don't know what happened, or how that dream fizzled, or when I stopped believing it was worth the effort involved.  But I did.  Or maybe, I just didn't think I COULD do it, so why bother?

Fast forward... my cousin, who I mentioned yesterday... caught the dream.  With an awesome, trusted friend mentoring her, she trained relentlessly.  Then injury delayed her dream of running the Boston Marathon just 1 year after finishing the BAA 5k.  (Read her guest post over at Middle Places... it is awesome.) 

I ran tonight.  Not just on the elliptical in the basement.  After dinner, I left the kids with Daddy and ran out my front door.  I didn't stop for almost 1/2 mile.  And then I walked briskly home.  I haven't run a mile since PE in high school.  I probably have not run 1/2 mile since then, either. 

Freshman year... 1991... that was a long time ago.  A couple of years before that, I had wanted to try to run middle school track.  Alas, some grades dropped from A's to B's, my asthma and allergies kicked in, and instead of figuring out how to manage them, I quit before the first meet.  (What ever happened to "I don't expect perfection, I appreciate the effort," the mantra that I heard growing up?  I guess it did not really apply to athletics in our house.)

Anyway... the run felt good.  My goal is to run farther every time I get out there (3 times a week to start?) and not worry about speed.  Even if it's just 10 yards farther. I have an inhaler and I am not afraid to use it.

I bet I could search back in my blog and find posts from 2009 describing my idea of trying to run a 5K.
I do have another motivation in this.  Blood sugar.  I am prediabetic and do not want to get type 2 diabetes.  Nor do I want to HAVE to track every single morsel that enters my body.  I love food.  I have been blessed with a high metabolism in addition to a long torso for some reason, so during all 3 pregnancies I got funny looks when I told them how far along I was.  The 3rd pregnancy, people didn't seem to believe that I could have gestational diabetes, but I did. 

A friend told me to choose an event and make that my goal, otherwise I won't actually get around to doing it.  So I guess that's the next step.

it's time for a new goal

I write this at risk of being a little too transparent, but I'm going to do it anyway.

My cousin Marissa was supposed to run the Boston Marathon this week.  Alas, she had an injury that kept her from running, so she, her husband, and my Uncle went to the route to support our friend Lisa, Lisa's husband, and Lisa's Dad.  Thank the Lord, they are all okay.  Lisa's husband and Dad were within feet of the explosions, they are fine.  If Marissa had been running, my Uncle, Aunt and Marissa's sweet babies might have been in the area that was blown to shreds, and her finish time would have been around the time of the blasts.  Talk about bittersweet divine intervention... who knew a fractured pelvis would turn out to be a blessing in disguise?

Anyway, Marissa and I have become good friends through the years, and part of our journey is that we set a similar goal for ourselves in labor and childbirth.  Even though the details were different, having a sounding board in that journey that was not critical and encouraged my choices was huge.  A year ago, my cousin ran her first 5K- the Boston 5K before the marathon.  She set a new goal and went for it.

Almost 5 years ago, I set a goal to do my best to deliver my son without the epidural.  Today I realized that that was the last major goal I've set for myself and followed through on. 

That's depressing.

I am the middle sister in my family.  Ironically, I have always felt just in the middle... oh, I have done well in some areas.  I was raised to do my best, but somehow along the way that translated into just being good enough.  Ironic.

So, it's time for a new goal.  Or maybe a couple.  I am notorious for having ideas (I cannot really call them goals) and not following through.  Perhaps it's fallout from that era of legalism in which I felt I could never be good enough so I would settle for what appeared to be my best, I don't know.  Perhaps it's from not really having an example of setting goals other than getting the house clean and taking care of the kids.  Those are good things, and I am thankful for my Mom, but I wish she had taken time to cultivate personal interests in addition to the home and garden.  I think it would have been good for her... the example of having goals set by other people in front of me would have been good.

Now it's my turn to show my 7 year old daughter than being a stay at home Mom does not mean that is all I do.  Who coined that phrase, anyway?  I don't work outside the home, I don't go to school... instead of focusing on the "don't" it's time to find my drive to "do."  Including the housework.  Have I mentioned I really hate housework?

elementary decisions

My daughter is 3/4 of the way through first grade.  Her birthday is at the end of October, so I did not have to choose whether or not she was ready.  She went when she was almost 6, at the time the enrollment cutoff on our state was September 30th so she was not allowed to go when she was almost 5.
Socially, she was ready.  Academically, she was ready according to the checklist, but let's just say the adjustment to Kindergarten... 7:45 to 12:00 noon kindergarten at that, not a FULL day, was a challenge.

This year, the school system changed kindergarten hours to 7:45 to 2:30, just like the other elementary students.  This coming year, the enrollment cutoff is August 30th.  The next school year, the enrollment cutoff will be August 15th.  Why not just change it to August 15th and be done with it? My middle child's birthday falls in between those to August dates, as did my own birthday.

I honestly don't think I ever realized I was among the youngest in my class until I went to college.  It just did not seem significant.  Yeah, so some people drove first, and I recognized that.  But it didn't matter.  We were in the same grade, I made decent grades.  I WAS shy and quiet and everyone told me so in my yearbooks, except for a few closer friends.   At my 10 year high school reunion there was at least one guy who swore he would have remembered me.  (Let me flash my wedding ring on your face.  I remember you, er, your face, and from what I remember there is a reason you don't remember me.  I wasn't your type, nor am I now.  Our class was small, but we did not hang out with the same people most of the time.)  Anyway, I did well academically, I struggled with confidence but made a few close friends and had a lot of acquaintances.  My young-ish age was not an issue.

Fast forward 30-ish years.  The current trend in our vicinity is to hold a kid back.  At first glance, it seems like an age issue.  Digging deeper, the nuances of social and academic development and the combination of expectations, large class sizes in public classrooms, and individual needs of each student are at the heart of the decision.  I know more people whose kids, especially boys, started kindergarten closer to their 6th birthday than 5th. And every single one of them is glad they delayed.

But is that what's best for my child?  Looking back, my daughter needed the extra year.  God knew that when He decided my body should cooperate and get pregnant.  She was not (and still is not) interested in reading much.  She enjoys to be read to, but to ask her to read, well, she enjoys wiggling her loose teeth far more.  She is a people pleaser.  She usually does her best because she wants those in authority to be happy, she wants other kids to like her.  Just tonight, we had the conversation that ended with me telling her that while it is nice that she throws away another student's trash for him after snack, if she does not want to, it is ok for her to make him do it.  And better yet, she should ask him to return the favor some time.  She has a servant's heart, but I don't want her getting stepped all over.  I also told her she should at least ask him to say "thank you" if she doesn't mind helping him out every day.  Manners are important.
She came home from Kindergarten last year exhausted, and the adjustment to the intensity and expectations of 1st grade has been even more harsh.  She mourns that fact that she does not get all "E's" for excellent but has several "S's."  I tell her that we are proud of her and the most important thing is that she is doing her best.  Her teacher even said she is a good example for other kids on her last report card. She is my child who napped until she was 4 1/2.  Yes, it is a good thing her birthday kept her from going to Kindergarten before she turned 5.

My middle child... my first son.  He quit napping by the time he turned 3.  Nap time became rest time, which was really quiet time to look at books or play quietly and let mommy have a break (or even a nap.)  He is pre-reading... identifying initial consonant sounds 50 times a day or more, asking how words are spelled, and using his Tag Reading Pen, which he calls his Magic Pen, to read to him when I don't have time.  He wants to go to kindergarten, or he thinks he does.  He can count from 0-30, with a couple of slips here or there.  He knows his alphabet and the sounds they make, although I am not sure if he can distinguish between the ones that look alike but are just reversed when they are not in a word yet.  He writes his name, shaky, sometimes backwards, but he is on his way to mastering it.  He ASKS to do his Homework books (workbooks from the Dollar Tree.)

But... at his evaluation last month, just prior to enrollment time for preschool and Pre-K next fall, his teacher recommended giving him the gift of time.  His motor skills need improvement, and a full day at school will wear an adult out, not just a kid.  (I remember the first week of the school year as a high school teacher.  Pain.) IF he happens to be interested in an activity, he will focus, but he absolutely will not if he is not interested.  But he will randomly tell you a story or he may make a connection to that activity 30 minutes later, so he was paying more attention than you think.

I have agonized over this decision.  He is the youngest in his preschool class... in fact, one boy turned 5 just after school started but his Mom did not want him to go to Kindergarten yet, and she also did not want him in a 5 day Pre-K.  I a with her on that.  If it's the gift of time, why am I going to give him the gift of 5 days in a classroom, even if they ARE just 3 hours... why not keep him home with me part of the time?  I have talked to friends, his nursery teachers at church, the director of his preschool, his classmates parents, anyone who would listen.  And I have noticed things about him.  How he has begun to cling to my leg when I drop him off.  How he craves my affection and attention and tells me I'm the only Mama God gave him.  This morning he was excited that he did not have to go to school, even though her really does love his preschool.  "Yes!  I get to stay home and hang out with you, Mama!"  How 7 times out of 10, his crafts are either incomplete or scribble scrabble when I pick him up from church nursery because he would rather play with toys.  How I have to ask him to try to color in the lines in his coloring books (then he gets all creative and uses different colors within the sections... works for me, I love that.)  How he still wants me to "dot" his letters to trace when he is writing his numbers in the dry erase activity book or his name on a sheet of paper.  How he needs me to put the straw in his capri sun or open his snack or zip up his jacket.  (Today he said I could just start it for him, that's improvement.)

I remember how the intensity of Kindergarten picked up last year and she somehow got away with not completing all of her journals, and I hear that expectations have been raised and that will not be so easily accepted anymore.  Kindergarten is the new first grade.  When I went to nursery school, I remember a nurse coming and talking to us, and then we got to squirt water at each other with syringes (without the needles.)  My daughter and I struggled whenever I tried to do school time with her before kindergarten; homework is still a struggle.  She's just not that into academics.  Art?  Yes.  Music?  Somewhat. She is only 2 months younger than the cutoff date, but that extra year before Kindergarten was soo good for her. 

When he does get overtired and frustrated, he zones out.  He could think you are looking at him wrong and forget it...  We enrolled him in a 2 day, 9-2 program at a different school for next fall just in case, so he will have a spot.  The 9-2 will get him used to a longer school day, the time with me and baby brother will be just fine. And the closer we get to that decision, the more I suspect that is where he will be.  In the past, Kindergarten teachers were expected to assist in the social development/skills.  Now the curriculum has changed so much that the kids are expected to act older than they really are, which is a shame in some ways.

I think I'll let my kid be a kid for another year.  At least that's where I am today.  Ask me again in August.

Pondering

I am pondering Hebrews 12 today.

I've found myself in an all-too-familiar rut and vicious cycle of emotions and personal struggles.
It has been a long time since I set a goal for myself and actually followed through or made it happen.  I'm not talking about small goals, though I suppose I should start there.

Maybe I should name the list of unfinished projects...
... housework- obviously it never ends.  I need to force myself into a routine so I don't nearly have a panic attack any time someone wants to visit.  Yes, the clutter and dirty get that embarrassing around here.
... crochet- I haven't started anything since I finished my son's blanket the night before he was born.
... cooking-  I swear I rotate through the same 5 or 6 meals because everyone will eat them, or at least part of them.  I backed off pinterest upon realizing it was becoming another addictive time sucker and NOT helping me.
... couch to 5k- We have an mp3 player now... and a jogging stroller.  and prediabetes.  I need to do this.
... scrapbooking- most of our pictures are on the computer.
... the list goes on in my head

At this exact moment, I am typing with my 3 1/2 month old in one arm, having just picked him up off his play mat.  He is drifting to sleep.  I am keenly aware of how quickly time flies, but I also realize that my current lack of discipline and recurring struggles need to be overcome.  I need to set a better example for my kids, to dig through the piles and bring order to my chaos.  For my own sake and my family.  I need to unplug, set limits and stick with them so the quick check-ins don't become wasted hours.   I need to throw off what so easily entangles.

What a difference a month makes

My little Micah is 3 months and 12 days old already.  He is thriving, he is adored by his older sister and brother, and I could not have asked for a better baby.  He slept for 11 hours last night!
I found some old pictures from when Brandon was 2-3 months old and wow, they look alike.  As I type, the big brother is trying to wrap his little brother in a soft blanket on his lap.  He loves him so much.

I am still trying to settle into my new normal.  Post-partum testing has shown that I am pre-diabetic and have to watch my diet and exercise.  I am not a dieter, so this just stinks.  I also don't need any help finding something else to be anxious about.  So, here we go... time to be good, eat whole grains and lots of "real" food instead of the junk food that I want to snack on, and see what happens.

A month ago, I was still mourning my inability to feed my baby, all 3 really, the way I always expected to.  I didn't expect that.  I expected to try and be done in 2 weeks if it didn't work out, yet for whatever reason, once again, I gave it more than my best shot. 

I am so relieved to have a break from the baby check-ups this month.  He is doing great, eating, peeing, pooping, sleeping, protesting tummy time.... he giggles and coos some, his eyes track objects and faces (he loves lights and ceiling fans).  His grin could melt an iceberg, his eyes dance with that sense of wonder that only an awakening child can have.

closure

The hardest part about breastfeeding for me was the constant uncertainty that struck after I learned my child was not thriving by doing what was "supposed" to be natural.  Whether my milk ducts are too far back for my kids to stimulate until they have grown, I make glorified water, or whatever the case may be, there is nothing worse than looking at your child and seeing the jaundice return faster than it had crept away. 

The most difficult aspect of pumping was the roller coaster.  Knowing he was getting valuable antibodies, yet wondering if perhaps the next time he might suddenly start sucking effectively.  Finishing what seemed like a good feeding... latch looked good, I felt let down, and even saw milk in the corner of his mouth... yet he was truly hungry 20 or 30 minutes later (after a 45 minute or hour long nursing session.)  Knowing what I was trying to do was good for his health if it would work right, but recognizing that my other children needed me as they snuggled close with a book or grew frustrated because I couldn't do something they needed.  When Mommy's nursing 12 hours a day there is not much time left for the other kids.  When those 12 hours result in no visible benefits and frustration as the newborn exhibits signs that while he likes sucking, likes to be at the breast, the efforts are not fulfilling his needs, the emotional ride spins out of control.

I tried the combo.  I had hoped it would work longer term for us, but it did not.  Each pumping session served as a reminder that for whatever reason, my children did not get enough at breast.  Eventually, each nursing attempt resulted in dashed hopes that he would be satisfied by breast alone.  The Lactivists (nursing Nazis) tout the convenience and comfort of nursing, if you just try hard enough to make it work you will get there.  Maybe, maybe not.  That place in between where you are washing bottles and using nipple cream and your breasts hurt but baby is still not satisfied without supplementation nor relieving the pressure from them... that place is an emotionally and physically draining purgatory. To have to pump instead of meeting your family's needs?  As close to Hell as I want to get.  Drastic comparison, perhaps.  But that was my reality at certain moments during 2 of the 4 weeks doing the pumping and nursing attempt combo.  But that craziness is precisely the reason I came to my conclusion.  In spite of my desire to breastfeed and the encouragement from friends and family and my pediatrician, it was time to replace the dream of snuggling with my child at the breast as he nursed with the reality of snuggling my child at the breast as he is nourished in a different way.  And now that the stinging pain of weaning has passed, we are both on our way to being healthier and happier.  I can either continue to live in the struggle or move past it to a new beginning.

of milk and motherhood... part 2

I just typed my most recent Facebook status with tears streaming down my face:

Packed away the pump. For the 3rd time. If anyone dares ask questions that imply I did not try hard enough to feed my child in what they deem is the best way, the short answer is "it was not best for us."

 The long answer is 7 years in the making, probably longer if it were to be analyzed by a psychiatrist. One of the things I had most looked forward to about mothering was the miracle of breastfeeding.  

Episode 1: Child would not wake up, no matter what. When said child did wake up, she could not latch well.  Lactation consultant set me up on a regimen of finger feeding/pumping/supplementing with pumped milk.   Dear daughter did not gain weight until we began supplementing. When she did finally latch on, her suck was weak and she nursed for an hour and a half and was hungry 15 minutes later.  I ended up pumping and bottle feeding her breastmilk for 3 months.  I cannot remember having a truly successful nursing session with her ever, and the post partum depression that accompanied the struggle was as close to Hell as I ever want to get.  Two things stand out at me from the so-called professional support that I received.  At the hospital, I had overheard the nurse tell someone else "I told her what she needs to do, she just needs to do it" when I asked for additional help with positioning, etc.  When I returned the rental hospital grade pump to the Lactation consultant, she said something that implied I was doing something terrible.  The reality was that I was going to use another pump as long as I could.  She had a system in her mind, but given the crazy circumstances that surrounded our family, she had absolutely no compassion or ability to help me see past the struggle or communicate how her system could potentially help get my baby to nurse.

Episode 2:  Because the lactation consultant had partially attributed my daughter's lethargy and inability to nurse to the pitocin that had been in her system, I was determined to give breastfeeding another shot and to minimize interventions.  My son was born at 40 weeks 6 days in his own time.... and with a natural vaginal delivery.  We did it.  He seemed to start out nursing ok.  About 10 days in I could tell looking at him that he was jaundiced.  (My daughter had had minor jaundice that resolved itself in sunlight.) Someone brought me a meal and commented how orange he looked, and I freaked.  I was determined not not let him fail to thrive like his sister had, and to not fall into PPD again.  He began nursing longer and getting hungry more quickly after feedings, and I decided to pump.  My 3 year old walked in on me pumping one day and I heard the newborn crying in the background and I knew the ideal of feeding my baby breastmilk was not working.  His jaundice cleared up when I fed him his breastmilk from the bottle, and pumping interrupted my valuable time with my kids as their Mom.  Again, I pumped 10-12 weeks, mostly out of guilt because I still thought "breast is best."

Episode 3:  We induced this baby due to gestational diabetes.  Yes, I know there are differing opinions regarding whether or not induction is necessary.  Yes, I chose to do it anyway.  He seemed to latch on well at first, peed and pooped sufficiently at the hospital.  Bilirubin was 7.8 the morning we went home, not bad.  Weight was down to 6 lb 12 oz from 7 lb 7 oz.  By the time we went to the pediatrician for a checkup 2 days later, he had dropped another ounce and his bilirubin level was 18.4... indicating a need for phototherapy.  Phototherapy=heat=potential for dehydration.  Finger feeding, here we came again.  This little guy's suck and latch were better than the other two, I felt my uterus contracting, etc.... however that did not mean he was gaining weight.    We followed directions, finger fed, did just one night of phototherapy and his bilirubin dropped down around 15.  AND he gained up to 6 lb 15 ounces.  I began to think that perhaps I could do this and the pediatrician said I could stop supplementing and give it my all.  That mean long nursing sessions... on demand.  Gradually I noticed his diapers were not as wet.  He was pooping more infrequently.  When it came time for his 2 week checkup, I was not sure if I was imagining things, but I thought he looked more orange.  I told myself I was being paranoid, he was fine.  But he was also becoming increasingly less satisfied after feedings.  Nothing is more heartbreaking to a mother who wants to feed her child "the way God designed" than to have her baby crying out of hunger 15 minutes after a feeding session has ended.  Sure enough, bloodwork showed his jaundice level was back up to 17.4... not bad enough for phototherapy, but not good in light of the fact he should have been flushing it out with all the nursing we were doing.  And he had gained only 1/2 ounce in 4 days... up to 6 lb 15 1/2 ounces.  Even all the pro-breastfeeding sites like kellymom.com say to get help if your baby is not back up to birthweight in 2 weeks.  I knew that "help" would say to pump for 10 minutes after every feeding.  I knew that I could not logistically do that.

So there I was again.  Little M loved nursing.  But it wasn't nourishing him.  All that time... 12 hours of nursing a day... futile efforts.  The closeness and snuggles were not doing what he most needed.. they were not helping him grow.  So I decided to combo it as long as I could.

That meant about 4 more weeks for us.  He was inevitably hungry within  an hour and a half after a 3 or 4 ounce bottle of breastmilk.  And a slow sucker on the bottle as he had been at the breast.  So with pumping, feedings were still long.  I began to wean of pumping around 6 weeks and by 7 weeks was down to a session or two a day. Now, just past 8 weeks, I have not pumped in several days and have cleaned and packed the machine up and put it away.

Some women can emotionally hook themselves up to a milking machine with confidence that their body is supplying their child's physical needs.  I can't.  I also can't believe that insurance does not cover lactation support, but it doesn't... or else my insurance reps are clueless.  I should not have to chase down provider ID numbers and in the midst of fluctuating hormones beg for help.  Our local chapter of the La Leche League meets at 6 pm once a month.  Um, I have a first grader and a 4 year old and evenings are my baby's fussy time.  Really?  No, it's not worth it to me to drive 30 minutes for support under those circumstances.  If meeting were at 10 am I might have considered going to the meetings.

I have friends who came out of the woodwork and internet offering support and encouragement, and for that I am thankful.  I am feeding my son the last 20 ounces of pumped milk this week.  I am still leaking a little bit and may even latch him on for comfort if all else fails, because dang it if I have to wear a nursing pad then there must be something there... some amount of antibodies he gets from it.

But we are basically done.  3rd time, it's time to let go and move forward.  It's time to not wonder if his weight will be down at his next checkup and to only have to go in for monthly visits instead of 3-4 times a week like I did the first couple of weeks.  

It's past time for my older kids to have their Mommy back and my husband to have his wife back.  The emotional and physical roller coaster of breastfeeding just does not work for my children or me.  If we ever have a 4th child, I may not even bother trying again, even though I know how beneficial the antibodies are for my baby and was once convinced that "breast is best" and I would never have chosen to give my baby formula. Funny how experience changes you.

My baby boy is now thriving on mostly formula, and I will gladly snuggle him during feedings and have my older children turn pages while we read a book together. 

I will wholeheartedly encourage women in whichever birth choices or feeding choices they make, because I have learned that the ideals don't always work out and options are there for a reason. 

 

of milk and motherhood....

I have been meaning to blog our most recent birth story for over a month now.  I cannot believe how quickly this month has flown by!  Our 7lb 7 oz baby boy who dropped down to 6 lb 11 ounces is now thriving.

If I have learned anything from becoming a mother and all that entails three times in seven years, it is flexibility.  When I was a Teacher many years ago, I learned to adapt my lesson plans in order to help my students learn. Ok, in all honesty, I often flew by the seat of my pants or deviated from my plans anyway, but don't tell anyone.  I have learned that adaptation is critical for survival as a Mom, too, and more importantly, for my children.  In my next few posts I hope to revisit my ideals, preconceived notions about labor and delivery, breastfeeding, and post-partum life and share how my reality has become a unique and beautiful blend of ideas and practices.


If you are still checking my blog, thanks. :)  I hope to come back a little more often, but we'll see.  I am full of good intentions, it's the follow through that often eludes me.

healthy experimentation

Creamy broccoli lentil soup

In my efforts to eat a more healthy diet for this baby and myself, I searched the internet for some healthy soup recipes.  I came across one for Creamy broccoli lentil soup and added it to my list of things to make when my husband, who is slightly less adventurous than I am with food, would be gone.

The recipe came together fairly easily.  I made a few minor adjustments... I used 3 minced fresh garlic cloves, 2 tsp grated parmesan, and ended up adding at least 2 cups of water at the end because it was so thick.  (I may have left too many broccoli stems on, but I couldn't let good broccoli go to waste.)  I sipped on the broth throughout the simmering process, and it tasted delicious.  But I knew the kids would not eat it if they saw all the chunkiness.  Sure enough, my daughter declared that it smelled delicious, but when she peered over the edge of the pot, she wince.  "Mom, it looks like cow poop!"  She did have a point.

So, my final adjustment to the recipe was to puree the soup in my blender.  I then poured the soup back into the pot and rinsed the blender, adding the water to the soup and returning to a simmer.  It turned out perfectly smooth and edible. We garnished our bowls with oyster crackers and called it a meal, much to my relief.  After calling it "guacamole soup, "  my 3 1/2 year old boy even had a small second helping. (No, it does not contain avocado.)  It reminded me a bit of split pea soup, but with more flavor. (And minus the fat from ham.)

Paradigm shift

I am one of those people who has never been on a diet on 35 years of life.  I lack the self control, and up until this point, I have lacked the need.  Dubbed "chicken legs" by some of the other RA's in my dorm during college, even after both of my first two children were born I managed to (slowly) shed the pounds with basic exercise and common sense cutting back on junk food.

Apparently the glory days are over.  I have joined the other 3-5% of pregnant women who has been diagnosed with gestational diabetes.    I never had it with the other two, although I vaguely remember that I may have been borderline with Buddy... but obviously not borderline enough to cause too much concern, and he was born healthy. 

I am still waiting for the diabetes clinic to schedule my appointment with the nutritionist, but in the meantime, I've been following tips on the Diabetic Mommy's page for gestational diabetes.  Or trying to.  I've joined a board with other Moms who are due around the same time, and have gotten some really good ideas from them.

And while I have FINALLY cracked open the prenatal exercise dvd's that my friend Jodi brought to me... 2 months ago. 

Other than this, my pregnancy has gone well so far.  So here's to a happy and healthy 12 1/2 more weeks.