Sunday, June 29, 2008

Happy Half Year

I had many thoughts earlier today that ended with, 'yeah, that'll be good to blog about.' Sadly though, I can't remember too many of those.

Maybe it was the tortuous 3-hour car ride with screaming baby, chatty 3-yr-old and highly anxious husband, or the ill-planned Sunday night trip to Whole Foods to join the throng every annoying self-centered urbanite joined by - once again - screaming baby who it turns out is teething, or the scramble that was quickly cook dinner but try to entice 3-yr-old to poopy on the potty, or the well-deserved and must-needed glasses of Chardonnay. Regardless, the brain is fried. But I will leave you with this:

The baby is now Six Months Old. Yes, a big milestone. A half year. Six months. Wow. Can't believe we've made it this far. Everyone always says -- and even I've even taken to repeating it -- that the first six months is the hardest. Make it past that, and it's all downhill from there, they say.

Wonderful. But the 6-month mark has been a slap in the face to me. A bit of a wake-up call. Basically this gave me an okay-you-haven't-just-had-a-baby reminder. Yep. No more excuses. The baby weight needs to come off. I'd hate to be one of those women who complains about their baby weight when in fact her baby is. Seven. Years. Old.

So much for 'finding time' to work out. I now realize there is no such thing. I need to MAKE time. It may mean a few hours less sleep. It may mean a few hours less work - and a few more to-dos not done. It may mean a few hours less hanging out with the husband or a few hours less sitting on the porch drinking wine. But, it's gotta happen.

I'm tired of "empire waist" being my saving grace. At some point, I need to get back to being me and shed the post-baby weight. I'm giving myself another 3 months. That will be a full 9 months post-partum. I figure it took me 9 months to get here, so I at least should give myself a full 9 months to get out of it.

I feel like half the battle is realizing that the weight isn't just going to fall off by itself. It's going to take some work. And it's going to take some tough decisions to actually MAKE time. But I think I'm ready.

Tuesday, June 17, 2008

And the first shall be last

Over the weekend a friend and co-worker jokingly mentioned that she was basing her self-worth on the number of social media followers she had. I had to laugh because I realized that even more sad was what I use to evaluate my self-worth on a daily basis: number of ounces.

Lately it's been a measily 6 oz per day. Back in the day I could easily produce 12 or 15 oz.

Of milk that is. (Most of you are getting totally grossed out right about now.)

Of all the jobs I have, being a mammalian mother may be the toughest. I'm not discounting the hard work that ALL mothers have to shoulder. What you feed your kids -- whether it be the purest drawn breastmilk, Gerber baby formula, or Doritos and Diet Coke -- has little to do with the bulk of the effort. It's a hard pill to swallow when you realize that even after the pregnancy is over, it's still not my body, my choice. Having to think about what I can and can't put into my body, having to force in pumping time at work, and having to wake up at odd times in the middle of the night for months on end can take a toll on a gal.

Maybe the hardest thing about breastfeeding is the knowledge that you've got to take care of yourself in order to nourish the baby. And as all my mom friends will agree, one of the hardest things is trying to figure out where they stop and you start -- or maybe it's where they start and you stop.

Taking the time to exercise or eat a healthy meal or - gasp! - put my feet up is nearly impossible at worst and a selfish indulgence at best when the baby needs feeding, the 3-yr-old needs corraling, the laundry needs folding, the dinner needs stirring, the dog needs relieving, the husband need loving, the bills need paying, the report needs proofing and the dishes need washing.

So, ok, I guess it's not a breastfeeding thing. And maybe it's not even a mom thing. Universally we all struggle with where to put ourselves. First certainly doesn't work, but too low on the list ain't a good thing either.

For now, I'll try to keep up the breastfeeding gig. For all it's annoyances, it does guarantee some sweet cuddle time with the little guy and it does help out in the cleavage department. Speaking of which...