Fabulous Miss S.

Except for the septic tank breaking it was a good weekend

We spent some time in the country again this weekend soaking up the last bit of the horrid sweat-soaked humidity for which my dear Washington, DC is known.  We had a record-heat day (in the 90s) but I suspect it won't get this hot again until next year so I tried not to curse the heat gods too much. 

I ate more than my fair share of some awesome Mexican Layer Dip and Key Lime Pie but I did put in some good time at the gym today. 

We bought a rug for the new room and I finally got a  Kitchen Aid.

Noah rode on a tractor and was scared of a horse.  We sat in the grass and enjoyed a late summer weekend as much as possible. 

I took a nap today because I've been a wee bit exhausted lately.  The exercise, the ants, the crawling-non-stop baby. 

I'm sure you'll forgive me for this terrifically boring post if I serve up some excessively cute baby pictures?  Okay, here.

I get by with little help

It was ONE OF THOSE DAYS.  It must have been written in the stars, or at least that's how it seemed when it loudly and rudely began before seven o'clock in the damn morning.

Marc was making coffee and knocked over the spice rack breaking several glass jars.  As if that wasn't enough to jolt me awake his yelling loudly for me to get the fuck down here right now was enough to move my ass out of bed.  I wasn't the only one who woke up to this and I don't think I need to tell you it was not a cat or a dog. 

I've also been battling a little, vaguely minor, ANT problem this week.  A few in the kitchen, random ones on the floor in the living room. No real pattern. No real worries. But OH LORDY-E-DEE! This morning there was a festival of them on the floor by the front door.  Swarming! Millions and Go-Jillions of ants inside my house! 

After a frantic nap-time intruding trip to Target in search of ant-killing products I set up a full-on frontal assault at the front door and in the kitchen and I'm happy to report it well under control after a mid-afternoon surge and change of attack.  I have also been vacuuming all day.  Ants and broken glass.

Let me paint you a picture here:

Me, on my hands and knees with a flashlight in one hand searching for the origin of the ants and the vacuum hose in the other frantically sucking them up into the purgatory that is the dust bag. The baby is just behind me in the walker. Screaming. And the dog is next to him, BARKING.  It was a pleasant family moment that I'll treasure for many many Chardonnay benders to come. 

The day never really improved much.  It was just a bad cycle Noah crying, Noah trying to stand and falling over, me vacuuming ants and rescuing Noah from falling into the metal frame of the dog-water-bowl-holder after he crawled over and splashed in the water bowl for five hundred-millionth time since lunch. 

I was calm. Really. I hadn't yelled. I was just internally stewing.  I don't really show anger much around Noah.  I think this is a good thing.

While I was feeding Noah dinner a few jars of baby-food fell onto the floor and spilled and I meant to say "SHIT" but it came out as a deep, guttural, unstoppable scream.  And then I looked at Noah. And he looked back at me. And  he crumbled into a fearful quivering cry and I felt so guilty that I cried too and I held him tightly and whispered that I was sorry and at this moment I KNEW it was time to throw in the proverbial towel and just write off the entire day as FAIL WHALE.

I ended up calling my neighbor friend and I went over and sat on her floor with Noah for about an hour and we played with our babies and laughed about our amazing good fortune, guilt and craziness.

And then I felt better.

Goal one, Goal two

I said I wouldn't but I did. I gained fifty (50) pounds while pregnant with Noah last year.  It was a fun fifty pounds let me tell you!  I had Oreos and Vienna Fingers in the house at all times.  I cleared my dinner plate and went back for seconds.  I ate everything nutritious and then some.  I had a hearty breakfast and a 10am bagel with double cream cheese, courtesy of the Au Bon Pain at 10th and Pennsylvania.  I felt guilty and ate fruit and yogurt and soup for lunch but I'd buy a pretzel, okay two, with dip for the train ride home.  I ate a lot and if felt so good.  And I knew I would have to reconcile it later and I didn't care.

I left for the hospital with broken meconium-water at midnight on December 20th and I weighed two hundred pounds (200).

Certain that I had a twenty pound baby in there I was shocked SHOCKED when Noah was only a mere six pounds five ounces.  Actually I was a little miffed too.  It was so unfair of me to keep all that good fat on my own thighs!

I didn't get serious about my weight loss until the weather turned to Spring and the postpartum fog lifted enough for me to move off of the sofa and feel like I deserved it.

So here I am today.  Almost nine months later (huh, nine months up nine months down, turns out the fuckers who said that were right) I am essentially at my first goal.  I have lost fifty pounds.  But actually, if we're being honest here and I am telling the Interwebz my weight and GASP! measurements, I am 151.4 pounds.

I have spent most of my life on the thicker side, heavier than most, at the top of my weight range bracket and a few pounds over where I should have been for my height.  I spent years telling myself that I was big boned and that the charts just didn't apply to everyone and that I was a nice person and it didn't matter if I had a not so wee little spare tire around my waist.  I also gain my weight in my waist, hips and ass. I envy those who just get saddle-bags because dammit! you still have a waist line.

I was never particularly athletic either.  As a pre-teen I played softball and I was sort of a joke.  I never really got the "hustle" part of running the bases and I preferred the outfield where I didn't actually have to pay attention to the game and could stand there and pick at my cuticles.  In high school I joined a summer-league swim team and LOVED IT.  It was very unorganized so I never had the chance to get into great shape but I did do pretty well and more importantly, my love for the water was renewed and I kept swimming on and off through college.  I hated gym class because it messed up my hair and I didn't like to sweat when I couldn't shower. Essentially, us Jews are not known for our athletic prowess, although, there are certainly a few great exceptions.

I like to eat. I like popcorn and nachos and Velveeta-salsa queso with dippy chips.  I like cool whip on graham crackers and spoonfuls of peanut butter.  I like cheese and crackers and cookies and brownies are good too, I have a special love for Italian sandwich meats on big hoagie buns and Chinese food is good too.  I could eat macaroni and cheese with a side of something spicy every night.  But, I wouldn't feel too good. 

In reality, for the past few months I have eaten oatmeal for breakfast every morning (Kirkland/Costco Organic Instant Oatmeal, 45 packets for $10.99) and I add a tablespoon of brown sugar, ground flax, a dash of cinnamon and vanilla extract and a handful of dried or fresh blueberries.  It tastes good!  And I have been eating it for months now.  I try to make pancakes for the family on Saturday because I think that is a nice family tradition.  I am realistic with my eating.  I don't starve and I don't deprive myself.  I eat what I want and then workout to burn it off.  I have weeks where I snack way too much and I feel lethargic and weak and worthless.  I try to snack on low-calorie but not low-chemical snacks like South Beach Peanut Butter 140-calorie bars.  I drink A LOT of Crystal Light Iced Tea because I drank so much plain water while pregnant that I just can't get it down right now.  I love the 60-calorie pudding snack cups and I add a heaping healthy serving or two (maybe, three) of cool whip to the top, those 100-calorie packs of microwave popcorn are excellent when you add that butter-flavored fake-salt seasoning, and yes, a few times, I broke down and added actual melted butter. But, you get the idea that I try. And also the idea that I eat. 

Getting back to the main point here: I have reached my first goal. (more or less, give or take)
When I first got serious about getting back into my body I took these measurements:

MARCH 24, 2008 (Baby: 3 mos. old)
165 lbs
Hips: 41 inches
Waist: 38 inches
Thigh: 25 3/4 inches
Arm: 12 inches (of soft shaky flab)

And last week I took these:
SEPTEMBER 1, 2008 (Baby: 8.5 mos. old)
150.2 lbs
Hips: 39.5 inches
Waist: 34
Thigh: 24 1/4

TOTALS: 15 pounds. 5 months. 4 INCHES off my waist

I know it took a long time and I had a few setbacks including life, a new baby, three websites on which I provide content, Sunday dinners with my Mom's homemade ice cream, some minor bouts of postpartum depression and a few flare ups of old man anxiety.  Did I mention LIFE?

I actually took measurements every few weeks but the change is very very slight.  I didn't join a gym until July (158 lbs). 

Somewhere around mid-August I bought and started doing Jillian Michaels' 30-Day Shred.  My new goals are this: 145 lbs by Oct 1. 135lbs by December 21, Noah's first birthday.

I am being honest about my numbers and my lifestyle because I want you, other bloggers to see me as a real person, a normal person, just like you, who has struggled with weight in the 148-155lb range for at least a decade now.  I spent a lot of time before I got pregnant hovering at 158 lbs but a post-baby 158 pounds means your stomach is much flabbier and ... softer?  Sharpei-like, if you will.

I love feeling strong. I love feeling capable. I love swinging my 22-lb baby in the air. I am now able to do that.  I try to go to the gym on Monday and Friday nights.  I do about 30-45 minutes of cardio on the elliptical machine or a split from the bike and the elliptical.  Then I go into the group fitness room which isn't being used for a class and I do as much of the Jillian workout as I can remember. I do jumping jacks and dumb-bell rows and crunches and I jump rope. And a few times in between Monday and Friday, or more like Friday and Monday -- I try to workout when Marc can watch the baby.

This post is getting incessantly long and I think I want to make this a new section of my blog so I'm going to end this here and promise to add more. 

You can do what I have done so far. 

I am NO different than you.

I have felt the immense, intense lows of postpartum depression and right now while I'm not in the best of moods, I can go to bed honestly feeling strong and on the way to GOAL #2. 

I have a lot more to gain lose achieve physically and I need your support.  Are you with me?  Will you make an effort to get health? Get strong? Make time for yourself?  You know, we can do this together!

Jillian Michaels 30-Day Shred: Day 1

I've heard nothing but fabulous things about Jillian Michael's 30-Day Shre DVD and by "fabulous things" I mean hateful bad not-for-children's-ears types of things and that only made me more interested in trying this workout.  I also bought it because I had a giftcard and because I had heard the workouts were only twenty minutes. TWENTY MINUTES!  I can DO twenty minutes.

After my first attempt at Level 1 I was in pain, dude! PAIN. My legs were burning like they haven't in years.  I don't even recall being that sore after I finished my first AIDS Ride. Or my second AIDS Ride.  It hurt and I was a sweaty mess on the floor. On the floor. Inhaling dog hair and pubis and not caring because I was THAT sore. Did I mention it kicked my ass.

Jillian definitely earned my respect and I went back for a second beating and then a third and now it's been about three weeks and I moved on to Level 2 just last weekend.  I've done Level 2 twice now and it is hard! OHMYGOD. Level 1 was more fun and I felt better able to do the exercises but Level 2 is where I need to be to keep getting results.  I really do feel stronger and there is a slight, ever so slight oblique emerging from behind my ribs and my legs are looking rather awesome I might add and I'm also fitting into about 95% of my pre-pregnancy clothes and I'm 1.5 pounds away from my first weight loss goal. 

A few gals over on Twitter mentioned doing the 30-Day Shred together, you know for support, when we fall over and cannot breathe the urge to Twitter-away our pain will pull us off the floor in a collective urge to keep the Interwebz informed of our struggles accomplishments. 

Foodmomiac started today and I am on-board too. 

30 days. One month. I can do this!

Because I'm going to Florida and I want to wear this.

Tell my why I do the things I do

For the past eight and a half months I have been a stay at home mother to my first and dearest son, Noah.  As the first of all of our friends to have a child we often get asked the basics like "How is life with a child?" or "What's really different?" and "Do you miss being alone?" and the answers go something like this: It is a totally unpredicitable chaotic round of absolute sheer joy so startling that you cry and lows of spit-up covered exhaustion so deep that you weep with the fatigue of a thousands hours of sleep; the difference is that YOU remember the last time you brushed your teeth and do I miss being alone?  DO I MISS BEING ALONE?  Holy blue FUCK yes!  I wasn't alone at all, ever really for Noah's first few months.  In July I joined a gym and now I leave the house two nights a week and go sweat along with a bunch of high school boys who unlike me, choose to workout at ten o'clock at night.  And I am alone then.  Just me.  I open the sunroof and the widows and blast the music really loudly.  The entire time I miss my family and my home and my husband and my Noah.  I am recharged when I get home but I miss them.  So, that's a tough one to answer really. Right this very minute I'd kill to be alone to not have to make dinner tonight or bathe someone else, but now that I know how wonderful things are when I do have to do all that stuff, being alone just pales in comparison. 

I have wanted this stay-at-home thing since before I can remember.  I have always wanted to be a mom.  Now I am one and in all honesty I love every minute of it.  Even the spit-up covered moments and the times when Noah poops on the floor and the times when he pees on the wall while standing and looking out the window.  Each of those moments happens only once and I am grateful to my soul that I am able to be here to experience each of those events. 

Lately though, my heart is here but my mind is moving a thousand miles a minute with thoughts that I need to say, need to write.  I enjoy writing.  It gives me an out, a place to vent, a place to grow and a place to mingle with people who won't spit-up or poop on me.  But I don't know how much more I can manage.  I will always write here but there are these  other sites that I provide content for and sometimes the stress of it all leaves me a blubbering crazy screaming mess. 

I am addicted to checking my stats.  I love my stats and on days when my stats skyrocket I get a thrill that I am almost ashamed of feeling.  It tells me that I matter. That someone was interested in me. Interested in what I had to say.  Not just needing me to prepare a meal or drop off dry-cleaning or change a diaper.  I like being recognized for my thoughts and my dare I say it, intellect.  I know that my nourishment-providing breastfeeding matters more to my son in the long run than what I had to say on my own stupid blog any day but it doesn't always feel that way. 

Constantly striving for ... what? I don't know,is leaving me too mentally detached from reality.  I'm doing a half-assed job of writing right now and an even more half-assed job of parenting.  There's just not enough TIME in the day and I don't like feeling as though I'm phoning it in. 

So I don't know what I'm doing to do or how I am going to adjust my writing schedule.  I sometimes think about getting a babysitter for like three hours a week.  Problem is, the money I would make in those three hours wouldn't even pay for the babysitting. And I didn't sign on to be Noah's mother to pawn him off on someone else so that I could keep ASPIRING to be a freelance writer.  I'm still feeling like my needs and time aren't as important because I don't contribute financially to this family.  I don't know how to get past that and value myself for just being here and taking care of my family. 

I know that I matter most to that little guy asleep upstairs right now and I want that.  It might be years from now but I hope one day he'll tell me I mattered to him because I gave him everything I could.