I Need A Break

I swore to myself that when I started this blog I wouldn't get behind. I told myself that I would blog 3-4 times a week. I also swore I'd never write an entry about how it's been so long since I've posted. Hi, here it is. I'm afraid it's to the point that people don't read anymore because they've forgotten.

Life is just moving so fast. Mister is almost 6 months old and I don't know how that happened. I'm back to seeing a million doctors and getting blood drawn all the time and having tests done. I really thought I was over that. Working two jobs is going to be the death of me soon.

I haven't really slept much in the past two weeks. It's taking it's toll. I'm over emotional and crabby and seriously seriously can't function well without a constant supply of coffee. I have to remind myself to get a glass of water between cups of coffee. Coffee has also all but replaced food. The upside to that is I'm losing weight.

Did Your Mother Teach You Anything?

The general population frustrates me. I swear people have no manners anymore. I can't count how many times today I called someone a jerk or had some sarcastic sassy remark, in my head of course.

I had a lot of errands to run today so Mister and I loaded up and headed out. I didn't even get to the first store before someone cut me off on the road. At the store people walked right in front of me only to slow down and get in my way. Pet peeve? People who stop in the middle of the aisle. It's like they don't think there is two way traffic. They stop and stand in exactly the right spot so you can't get your cart through. Same goes for people walking through the parking lot. Get over to one side or I will run you over. Who walks down the middle of a parking lot row?! I watched someone knock something off a shelf, look at it on the floor, and walk away. I wanted to say "Don't worry, you can borrow my integrity," as I picked it up. The guy who didn't open the door for me when I was carrying a car seat, the lady who saw me reaching for a box and took it for herself instead, the list goes on.

What ever happened to courtesy and common decency? The worst part is that most people aren't acting this way to be malicious. They're just idiots. And we're feeding them and letting them breed.

Gees, I'm crabby.

One Carrot, Please.

Why do I feel bad when I eat? Not physically bad like I’m going to be sick. Mentally, I feel bad that I’ve just consumed any amount of calories.

I count every single calorie that crosses my teeth and track it all in a food journal. I read every single nutrition label before I purchase anything at the supermarket. I weigh and measure all my food before I eat it and count the number of slices of turkey on my sandwich without condiments. I consume about the same amount of calories in an entire day that most people eat by 11am.

Still, every time I eat I feel like I’ve done something wrong. Fat girl is eating again? What’s that, yogurt? You know how many carbs are in that? A granola bar? Are you kidding, that’s full of sugar. I don’t even drink real milk, not even skim.

I hate grocery shopping. Why should I spend money on food when I don’t enjoy eating it? I’m an educated medical professional and I fully understand how to balance my nutritional needs. I know that not eating enough calories will actually do more harm than good. I’m aware of the need for a healthy combination of diet and exercise in order to build lean muscle and burn fat and calories.

My scale does not understand.
My pants do not understand.
My self worth does not understand.

My calorie intake runs my life. It’s no way to live and it makes me unhappy. But I’m unhappy about being this size too. What’s a fat girl to do…

Where Is My Caramel Frappuccino?

You know that McDonald’s commercial where they all say “My me time is when…” I’ve decided that me time doesn’t exist for moms. I have an ever growing list of things I want to do that will never get done because they require me time. Examples include painting my toe nails and catching up on missed episodes of Glee (which I wouldn’t have missed if I had me time in the first place). None of it HAS to get done. But it would be nice if I has just a few minutes to do something just for me, just because I wanted to.

Our household is backwards from the typical single income home. I work while my husband stays home with the baby. I love my job, but that’s what it is, a job. It’s not relaxing, it’s work. When I come home I’d like to wind down, maybe have a glass of wine, browse the internet. Instead when I come home I clean up a days worth of dishes and bottles, tissues and dog toys, start a load of laundry and dinner.

I also understand that The Captain has been at home all day with Mister and he needs a break. I was home with the baby all day during my maternity leave while The Captain worked. I get it. I completely understand and I am more than happy to kiss and squeeze my little boy after a long day. Taking Mister of his hands means I’m typically doing all of those household chores with a baby on my hip. It’s hard not to grumble and think “If I can do this one handed why can’t he?” And then I remind myself that it’s because I’m superwoman.

The Captain usually plays video games after dinner and I’m in charge of keeping Mister entertained until it’s time for a bath and bed. I try not to get frustrated because he’s had the baby all stinkin’ day and now it’s my turn. But I’ve been at work all day, it’s not exactly leisure. So how come The Captain gets me time and I don’t? Where’s my caramel frappuccino?

There's No Place Like Home

Homesick [hohm-sik]
–adjective: sad or depressed from a longing for home or family while away from them for a long time.

This time of year is always especially hard for me to be away. I love autumn and everything that comes with it. I even love window shopping at this time of year because everything that the stores put out as seasonal merchandise is in my favorite colors.

But California does not know the meaning of autumn. There are no cider mills, no leaves changing color, no brisk air that makes me want a scarf around my neck. MacIntosh apples are rare and my pumpkin came from a grocery store parking lot. It’s just not the same. October hold something special in Michigan and I hate that I’m missing it.

Aside of not getting any hot apple cider and a wagon ride out to a patch of ripe for the picking gourds I miss my family a lot. My sister-in-law is having her baby shower soon and I hate that I won’t be able to be there. My niece is on the swim team and my nephew is playing his senior year of high school football. I’ll never see them compete. When I do get a chance to visit home my youngest nephew hugs me and then says “What’s your name again?” A good friend of mine is going through a hard time right now and I can’t be there to support her. “It’ll be ok” sent via text just doesn’t cut it.

Michigan may be at the top of the list for unemployment, the schools may be going downhill quickly, the housing market may be tanking faster there than anywhere else in the country, but it’s home. As much as we’ve moved I’ve never felt like anywhere else was home. Michigan is where my heart is and right now it’s broken.

A Baby Is A Baby Is A Baby

Warning: Very long controversial rant ahead

Can I get on a soap box for a minute? I see a lot of miscarriages in my line of work. Most often I’m the first person to confirm or deny that a pregnancy is viable or if there is a problem. I’m the one they call when they don’t know how far along they are. I’m the one who has to make the gut wrenching call that a baby doesn’t have a heart beat. But I also get to tell people the gender of their little pumpkin, I get to tell them they’re having twins, I get to show them a cute little nose and fingers.

It breaks my heart when a woman comes in who desperately wants to have a baby and I find that she has or will soon miscarry. She’s done everything right; seen a doctor, stopped alcohol consumption, taken prenatal vitamins. No one knows why it happens but I believe that God knows what’s best. I believe that some of those babies that don’t survive would have had severe deficiencies and chromosomal abnormalities and a poor quality of life. God has promised us that He will never give us anything that we cannot handle (1 Cor 10:13). This also means that if we are presented with that situation, He will take it away. Sometimes I think it’s better that those little babies go right to heaven than ever be a part of this world.

And then there are the women who come in and have a perfectly normal pregnancy with a healthy little peanut and they just don’t care. They continue to drink and smoke, shoot heroine, they may even abort. And that just infuriates me. Now, I have no place to judge a person, but those people probably wouldn’t make the best mothers anyway. There is a thing called adoption and there are thousands of couples who would love that little baby more than anything.

I say all that to say this; I just don’t understand how anyone could kill a baby. Yes, I said it. Abortion is killing a baby. I don’t care how far along you are a baby is a baby is a baby. From the moment of conception there is a life inside that body. “It’s just a cell.” Seventh grade science class taught us that cells are living things. “I’m only 5 weeks pregnant, that’s barely anything.” Five week old babies have a heart beat. Seven week old babies have arm and leg nubs. Eight week old babies have bones. Bones. Don’t tell me that’s not a person.

When a woman comes in and is less than thrilled about her pregnancy or doesn’t care to take care of herself (side note: you become a mom at the moment of conception too and need to start taking care of that baby from day one by taking care of yourself) you can tell when a patient is considering abortion. I am not allowed to tell those people my opinion on the matter and it’s not my place to judge them. Believe me, though, I make sure I show them what that little bean looks like inside them. I make sure they know it’s real, I make sure they see the heart beat and watch it jump around.

That life is a little miracle created by God, and God doesn’t make mistakes. He knows exactly what He’s doing and has a perfect plan. So when people say they “accidentally got pregnant” I just don’t believe that. Babies aren’t accidents, God made that! Maybe you can’t take care of a baby, maybe it’s just not the right time for you. But who are we to decide that that baby shouldn’t live?

I have a rare opportunity that most people don’t get a chance to experience. I have seen the beginning of life and I will tell you that it is amazing. It is incomprehensible to me that anyone could deny the medicine behind conception, that it is not a fetus but a living baby, or that anyone could take that life away.

Fill In The _______

Life is moving a long and I'm going with it. My sister-in-law said the other day that she "keeps thinking life will slow down after ____ but then there's another ____." And I thought, yes. There's always another ____ because that's what life is. It's a bunch of ____s, one after another. I worry about what would happen if it ever stopped.

As much as we say we want life to slow down, hold on, relax a minute I think that if we didn't have school and work and a doctor's appointment, soccer practice, play group, that party you said you'd plan, your second cousin's wedding you can't remember why you said you'd be a bridesmaid for.... If we didn't have all of that we wouldn't really have a life, would we?

When you're 80 do you want to say you spent your life slowing down sitting on a couch? No. Sure a Saturday doing that is fantastic and we all need it. Believe me when I get a day when I don't HAVE to do anything it's amazing. But without the _____ I don't know what would keep me going. So I say don't stress about it. Enjoy it. Know that all the _____s make your life your LIFE and look forward to the next one, even if it blindsides you.

I Should Get a Betty White DVD Instead

I’ve been spending the past week hobbling and icing my knee and ankle. Why? Because I tried too hard to work out. See what I get? It’s so much easier to just be lazy!!

So here’s what really happened: I like doing workout dvds as opposed to the gym because I don’t have to brush my teeth or put on shoes to workout. Therein lies the problem, because I should wear socks and supportive shoes while exercising. It says so right in the dvd disclaimer. So in all my barefoot efforts I hurt my ankle doing some of the cardio and compensated for it with my knee. Now they both hurt. But I didn’t want to give up, I swore I was going to shred every day for 30 days. I was the little engine that could… until I couldn’t.

It got so bad that I started limping around long after the workout was over. Laying in bed at night requires motrin and ice to fall asleep. The dvd said “if you feel pain, stop.” I didn’t. It got worse. The Captain, my fitness guru, agreed that I should give the joints a rest.

Welcome to Weight Obsessor’s Anonymous. It’s been two days since I’ve shredded and I feel like a failure.

Not only did I not shred, I went out to dinner and blew my diet. It’s been a rough week. So while I’m benched I’m watching The Captain effortlessly do p90x every single night and wishing I had half that kind of ability and motivation. I bet it’s because he wears shoes.

A Mother's Love

I am so emotional about babies. When I was pregnant I cried at Huggies commercials and blamed it on hormones. The Gerber baby would giggle and I would start bawling. What’s my excuse now? I’m a mom. That’s my excuse.

Some of you are moms and know what I’m talking about. Some of you are mommies-to-be and are hoping you’ll never be as crazy as I am. For those of you who don’t have kids I don’t know how to explain the change that happens in your heart when you have something that is living and breathing and is a part of you. The deepest love you can imagine doesn’t even compare to the love a mother has for her baby.

It sounds so cliché but it really is something you cannot comprehend until you feel it yourself. You’ve heard it a million times, “a mother’s love.” It is somehow its own definition of love. It’s an amazing thing, an uncontrollable thing, and absolutely consuming. It works miracles. I didn’t know this kind of love existed until I became a mom. Why does our language only have one word for love? It’s not enough to describe it.

In church we are taught that God loves us unconditionally, agape love. Yes, I believe that. But I don’t think I understood what unconditional meant. Of course I know what it means; there is nothing you can do to make God not love you. He will always forgive you, always receive you, always be there no matter what. I’m not trying to compare my love for Mister to the love of God, that’s impossible. I think it’s also impossible to fully understand. But now that I’m a mom I think I have a better comprehension of it than I did before.

This mother’s love is something you cannot know until you know it. No one can tell you what it feels like. Not everyone wants children and that’s ok. I’m not here to preach about having babies, some people really shouldn’t. Now that I know what my heart is capable of I can’t imagine going through life not feeling this love. For those people who don’t want children or who can’t have children, I think they would be in agony if they were able to comprehend this and never feel it. A hole exists in their hearts and they don’t even know it’s there. I suppose that’s a blessing in disguise.

Slow and Steady Wins the Race.... I Hope

It’s Monday again. That means two things: a) all the guys I work with crowd the break room watching Monday Night Football so I have no where to eat lunch in peace and b) I meet the scale.

Since my initial weigh in at the doctor’s office at the end of June I have lost 15lbs. When I say it like that it sounds like I’ve accomplished something. It seems like I should feel better about it than I do. But I don’t feel like I’ve lost 15lbs. I’m still not comfortable in my own skin and my pants still don’t fit. So until I can wear the clothes that are hanging in my closet and until I feel like a person and not a blob, 15 is just a number that doesn’t mean anything.

So I’ll keep doing the 30 day shred even though the sound of Jillian’s voice makes me shudder. I’ll keep dieting even though I really, really want all that Halloween candy at Target. I’ll keep on keeping on because I have 21 more pounds to lose. That’s so much. But 21 is just a number and it doesn’t mean anything, right?

After the scale and I had our date I had a breakfast date with The Captain. He made me blueberry pancakes (my favorite) from scratch. The kitchen was a war zone of flour, egg shells, and batter splattered everywhere. He got up early and tried so hard I couldn’t say “I’ll just eat half of the small one, no syrup please.” He knew I was trying to figure out how many calories were in each bite and said “I won’t tell you how much butter is in there.”

Thank you, honey. Breakfast was wonderful but now I can’t eat for a week.

9/10 Is Better Than 7/30

I’m on day nine of my ten day working stretch. My brain is on autopilot and I’m surviving on coffee and under eye concealer. My shoulder aches and in my profession that is as good as a death sentence. People in my field don’t recover from shoulder injuries. Do I think I need physical therapy? No. Not yet. But the aching tells me I’m working too much, too hard, and over doing it. If I don’t knock this off I’m going to end up out of commission and that doesn’t help my bank account.

I’m also on day seven of thirty of my shredding. That doesn’t sound as good as 9/10. I’ve done it every single day, even when I really, really, really didn’t want to. I started doing it in the morning but there were a couple days that I had to be up for work at 4:00am even if I didn’t do the work out. I set the alarm even earlier to get the work out in too. Yeah, that happened. I ended up doing it in the evening a couple times. Once I was going to skip it. I was completely wiped out, it was 11:30pm, getting up at 4:00am and I just couldn’t fathom being able to grip the weights. The Captain wouldn’t let me come to bed without doing it. “You’ll thank me later.” He’s right, I really didn’t want to miss a day but when Jillian was telling me to “punch through the pain” I was punching him in the face. I probably got a better workout.

I’ve been doing great on my diet, except for Sunday which was my birthday dinner. My brother smoked salmon (A.Mazing.) My dad made baked potatoes, salad, broiled asparagus (which sounds healthy until you smother it in olive oil and parmesan), grilled zucchini (again, healthy until you soak it in garlic butter), and more. I ate so much food. The Captain even made a cheesecake from scratch so I HAD to eat it.

Do my pants fit? No. Not even close

The Summer of George!

I’ve been finding it hard to get to the gym but I really want to make a better effort to get this baby weight off. Yeah, let’s just keep calling it baby weight. To aid in my quest my best friend got me a few work out DVDs for my birthday 2 weeks ago and I’ve been staring at them as long.

One of them was Jillian Michaels 30 Day Shred. Can I really commit to doing it every single day for an entire month? September has 30 days, what better time to start than September 1. I declare this The Month of Jillian!!

I asked The Captain to take care of Mister in the morning while I’m shredding and also not to come up stairs. I look like a drunk penguin trying out for the Olympic gymnastics team when I work out. No one wants to see that.

My first workout was not as intense as I thought it would be. Not only is it Jillian Michaels but I don’t think I’ve moved much faster than a spectator at an amateur bowling competition in over a year. I was prepared for the worst. There are three levels so I started with level one and I did surprisingly well. Today my muscles are on strike but I pushed through the picket line and I’m 2 for 2. So far so good, although my quads would disagree.

2/10 And It's Only Going To Get Worse

I’m spent. I wish I were talking about money. I would enjoy all the new things I purchased, including some shiny things for my ears and strappy things for my feet. I would have spent hours at the outlets looking for bargains, sipping an overpriced pumpkin spice latte and texting photos of myself in a dressing room in a green dress asking my best friend if the bow makes me look fat. I would be exhausted.

Sadly the only true part of that is the exhausted bit. On top of Mister not sleeping well for the past week I feel like I live at the hospital. I worked 6 days last week, had one day off and now I’m on day 2 of a 10 day stretch. Who decided money was important? Oh, my landlord did.

The precious moments I’m not at work I’m trying to spend with Mister and The Captain and not on the computer. As you can tell (oh ye faithful few) my blog is suffering. As is my sex life. By the time I get home Mister is already asleep which is the only time The Captain and I get to ourselves. The best line in our house is “Hey, the baby’s asleep. You wanna?” But last night when I came home he was watching a documentary on the Waco, Texas disaster and I said I’d watch it with him just to spend time together. I got as far as “Wa…” and I was out cold on the couch. Apparently cult-like massacres don’t make efficient aphrodisiacs. Who knew?

Tomorrow, day 3/10, I anticipate heavy eye lids, dragging feet, constant caffeine intake and a lack of any resemblance of patience. Look out world, I’m here and I’m crabby! Now someone bring me a pumpkin spice latte.

What Do You Do?

I’ve learned that there is a difference between liking your job and liking what you do. I’m happy in my career but I sometimes wonder what it would be like to do something else. Or more specifically, what makes people pursue the odd jobs that they do.

Picture yourself in a lounge in a little black dress and pearls sipping a glass of white wine and someone in a blue blazer with a cigar and Johnny Walker on the rocks says “What do you do?” This happens to me all the time. Don’t you want to respond with something that makes their eyes squint and the corner of their mouth curl up a little? You know by his shoes that he is an investment broker and a hundred people he talks to that night will respond with something equally as boring. What if you said “I buy shoes for Suri Cruise.”

What about the guy that changes the light bulbs on the New Years Eve ball? Did you know that when they build a new athletic stadium (and I assume any major public structure) that all the toilets need to be flushed multiple times before opening day to ensure they work properly and can handle high volume usage? Who does THAT job?

I’m not saying I want to change careers or do any of these things. But seriously, how do you get to be the guy that tests massage tables? I think I’d like that job.

I Married My Best Friend

When it comes down to it, you really just want your best friend by your side. In my 28 years I’ve gotten this advice many times. “Marry your best friend.” Of course you marry the person you love, but love isn’t always as easy as it is when you’re dating or even newlyweds. Love that used to be romantic dinners and roses becomes eating leftovers you don’t like and picking up wet towels off the floor for the 8,257,496 time without complaining (it won’t do any good anyway).

A friend of mine recently got into a tiff with her significant other, whom we’ll call John. Without going into details, she.was.pissed. Then she said “But at the end of the day I only want to be pissed at John.” And that’s exactly it. No matter how bad things get, when it’s all said and done there’s just that one person who you still want to wake up next to regardless of what happened when you went to bed.

Some day when we’re old and crabby and all we do is complain about the weather and our orthopedic shoes you want someone who is still willing to listen to all your crabbiness, provided their hearing aid works. And that’s your best friend. I worked retail during college and I was helping an elderly woman once when out of the blue she said, “Someday, honey, you’ll be old like me and all you’ll have left is conversation. Marry your best friend so you always have someone to talk to.”

Looks fade. Hip replacements and the need for extra oxygen make sex a thing of the past. Even when our hearing goes and we can’t get out of bed anymore what you want is your best friend holding your hand. At some point without realizing it the love that used to be leftovers and wet towels is simple again. It’s a cup of coffee and a kiss on the forehead. And it’s exactly enough.

Happy Birthday To Me! And My Stomach!

Yesterday was my birthday. I decided that calories don't count on your birthday so I went crazy. You would have thought I hadn't eaten in 3 weeks, I definitely binged. I had cereal with real milk for breakfast. I love almond milk but I miss the creamy goodness of real milk. I don't even remember what else I ate before work but I stopped at Starbucks and treated myself to a venti toffee nut white mocha with whip before my shift. I packed my lunch/dinner which included left over baked mac and cheese. I made it, I know how much butter is in it.... Then I went down to the cafeteria and got myself some raspberry crumb cake. You have to have cake on your birthday right? When I got home I went overboard on butter snap pretzels and then had some cookies and cream ice cream. Today, I feel sick.

Back to my black coffee and oatmeal.

It's Monday which is actually my Saturday. By the time you read this it will probably actually be Tuesday/Sunday because I'm posting this so late. It's almost 10:00pm and this is the first time I've had both arms free and the computer free at the same time. It feels good to sit.

Back to my original statement: It's Monday. Mondays are stressful days for me for one reason... I face the scale on Mondays. I was convinced that today I would hit a milestone, today's weigh in would be better than all the rest. I was so sure that after I stepped onto that cold silver platform I would be able to shout from the rooftops (er, basement bathroom) “I'VE LOST TEN POUNDS!” It's not a lot but it seems significant. Once you lose ten you feel like you've really accomplished something and you can keep going, the next 5 or 10 seem easy. I was ready for it, The Captain even mentioned the other day that I looked thinner. In hind sight he may have just wanted me to make him breakfast. But this was it, today was the day. I looked down...

Nine.

Seriously? Nine pounds? I know it's only a one pound difference but I feel like nine is just as bad as zero and ten is epic! I feel like a failure. I mourned by making baked macaroni and cheese with croissants for dinner. Because that'll help me lose weight....

I Might Be Hungry

I love oatmeal. I eat it every single day for breakfast, literally. Every day. Sometimes when The Captain is gone I have it for dinner too. Part of it is because I also have a deeply rooted affection for carbohydrates but also because it’s warm and comforting. Something about tucking my sweat pant covered legs under me while snugged in the corner of the couch holding a hot bowl of oatmeal just makes my morning.

I suppose it’s healthy for me too. Oats are supposed to lower your cholesterol and be great for your heart. That is, of course, if I don’t add a cup of brown sugar. Actually, the Quaker instant low-sugar packets are my favorite. I can be completely satisfied with those 120 calories and a cup of coffee. Way better for me than a stack of blueberry pancakes, my first love.

I’m high maintenance about my blueberry pancakes. The berries have to be cooked in the batter, none of this goopy processed pie-filling-compote junk. No. Real blueberries cooked right inside buttermilk batter. If we go out to breakfast I always ask and if it’s “fruit on top” I don’t even bother. Egg white omelet it is. And hash browns. Did I mention I love carbohydrates? Did I also mention I’m on a diet?

Have you ever heard of a baby teething at three months? My son must be in some kind of hurry to grow up. Ok, I don’t know for sure that he is teething but my Google-educated guess is that he is. Here’s why I think this:

*While he is not actually cutting any teeth his gums are white. At his two month check up the pediatrician said “look at all those teeth!”
*He is sleeping more than usual during the day and when he’s awake all he does is fuss
*He is more attached to his binky than ever
*People who come over swear I am the owner of a St Bernard based on the amount of drool all over my house

But really, isn’t it a bit early for all this? I’m also convinced that he will walk before he crawls. If you try to set him on your lap or on the couch in a sitting position he’ll have nothing of it. He locks his legs up and stands. Mister’s idea of tummy time is 1.8 seconds on his belly followed by screams that make my neighbors dog howl. My neighbor’s dog howling makes my dog bark. My dog barking makes the upstairs neighbor’s dog scratch and dig at the floor. The screaming, howling, barking and scratching makes The Captain turn up the volume on his first person shooter xbox game. It sounds like a whore house in Detroit in my living room.

I’m really in no hurry for Mister to grow up. I love that he snuggles with me and that when I kiss him instead of wiping it off he just giggles. He doesn’t know that there are bad people out there or that the world can be a mean place. He doesn’t worry about how much money is in his college fund and he could care less about what he’s wearing as long as his diaper is dry. He has no idea that someday his heart will be broken. Political issues mean nothing to him. The fact that he doesn’t understand the War On Terror is not naivety, it’s innocence.

All he knows is love and I’m determined to keep it that way as long as possible

Who's That Girl in the White Coat?

4:00am
Wake up!!! Today is my first day back to work. I’m excited to be back. I’m anxious too. I feel like a kid on the first day of school, I even bought a new lunch box. I set out my scrubs and ironed my lab coat last night. I really miss work and I feel blessed to be able to say that. I love what I do. More than that, I love my job. I work at a great place with fantastic people and we’re a little family. I’ve missed them.

6:15am
I’ve already realized that I’ve forgotten all my passwords and door codes and I had 270 emails in my inbox to sort through. So far there is only one patient for me to see and I’m so happy to be doing it that I don’t even mind that I have to haul my monstrous machine upstairs to do the exam at the bedside (he is unable to leave his room). Normally this is a huge inconvenience but today I am pleased to accommodate his needs. I bet that feeling won’t last…

10:30am
Still have only seen that one patient. At first I was thankful that my boss scheduled my first day back as a Sunday because they are historically slow. I thought that would make it an easy transition back to work but Good Lord I didn’t want it to be THIS slow.

1:30pm
My co-worker has arrived and I have to go home an hour early because I still have only seen one patient. Packin' it up

Overall I'll say it was a successful first day. Uneventful is sometimes the best you can ask for. I rewarded myself with ice cream after dinner. Don't worry it was a little individual serving of Skinny Cow. Hey, chocolate fudge chunk is chocolate fudge chunk.

Don't Judge Me

First Order of Business: Comments are now open to all. I was unaware that the default setting only allows blogger account holders to comment. My apologies if you tried unsuccessfully. I changed the settings so now anyone may leave me love notes.

Onward and forward to New Business: Just because I have a baby doesn't mean I'm breastfeeding.

When I was pregnant complete strangers would always ask me two questions: When are you due? What are you having? I didn't mind, I was excited. Now that I tote the cutest little accessory around people still ask me two questions: How old? Are you breastfeeding? I mind.

I'm sorry but asking a woman about her breasts and if she is using them to sustain life is a pretty personal thing to ask a total stranger in line at Panera. But really, I think that I hate when they ask because I hate saying no. Then I get “the look.” You know, that one that says 'I can't believe you'd deny your child of the most important nutrients and probiotics for a healthy immune system and start to life that you could possibly give him you're the worst mother in the world and a horrible selfish woman.' That look.

Now this whole thing with Gisele Bundchen saying that breastfeeding should be international law has sparked so much controversy. I nearly started crying when the news was on this morning and had to change the channel. I want to breastfeed, I do. I am fully aware of how important it is and all the benefits that come from it for baby and mother. I took a breastfeeding class, I had three different lactation consultants counsel me and coach Mister before we left the hospital and all systems were go.

At his first visit with the pediatrician he had lost more than 10% of his body weight and was dehydrated. I fed him and they weighed him again and he hadn't gained a single ounce which meant he was getting nothing. Absolutely nothing. This was devastating to me as a new mom. I was starving my baby. What kind of person starves their baby? What kind of mother doesn’t know that their baby isn't getting enough food? I cried and cried and sunk into a depression.

I was producing plenty of milk so the doctor said to breastfeed and then always offer a bottle of formula to supplement. He got used to the bottle and wouldn't latch on anymore so I started pumping and we just gave him bottles of breast milk. The Captain loved this because he could feed him too. This worked for a while until I just couldn't keep up with Mister. He was still taking formula after every feeding and eating every two hours. Every third feeding was just formula, then every other. I pumped and pumped and got less and less and Mister was eating more and more. By the time he was 4 weeks old I was completely dry and he was on 100% formula.

As much as I want to say that I'm ok knowing I tried and did the best I could and at least he got breast milk for 4 weeks, I'm not ok. I had an extremely hard time knowing that I couldn't provide for him and give him what he really needed to thrive. It kills me and makes me feel like a failure. The one semester I spent as a college freshman psychology major taught me that this anxiety is linked to more primitive times when the woman's roll in life was to procreate and take care of her children. It's what we were perfectly designed for. I couldn't take care of mine and therefore I have somehow failed not only him but the entire colony because without breast milk he won't grow up to be a warrior, er something.

It sounds ridiculous but I'm very sensitive about it and I hate telling people that I'm not breastfeeding. I hate the look, I hate the judgment, I hate that I'm having a harder time losing the weight (ok that one is selfish), and I hate that I couldn't do my job as his mother.

He's doing absolutely fine. He's gaining weight like it's cool and growing like a weed. He's developing at an accelerated rate and is loved more than any baby in the whole world. I will give him everything I possibly can, everything that I am capable of I will do for this little miracle. So don't judge me or my ability as a mother because I can't breastfeed. It's not easy to do and it's not easy to deal without doing.

Beyond the emotional trauma we both went through, what really sucks is that he's not being breastfed and my boobs are still saggy and ruined.

Crosspost Much?

The Captain came home and said to me "Do you have anything nice to wear?" I suppose that sounds a little insensitive but I knew what he meant, especially since I've been living in cotton shorts and t-shirts for the past 2 months. Thinking there is a function I need to be at I say "I suppose I could find something," knowing full well I do not own anything that fits beyond my bathrobe. He says, "Good, I want to take you out."

Insert shocked face.

But here's my problem, I really don't have anything that fits. You think I'm kidding. I have sweats and The Captain's t-shirts and if I must leave the house I wear my maternity jeans and one of two tops that I recently bought just so I would have SOMETHING. The second I get home I put the sweats back on.

When I lost 40 pounds during the last deployment I got rid of all my "fat clothes" vowing to never be that size again. I had gained a few pounds back and was determined to get back to my old routine during this deployment and be better than ever. I hadn't counted on getting pregnant and I certainly hadn't counted on not being able to diet or exercise for 9 months and then 6 weeks after. I let go.

The day of my 6 week postpartum visit my doctor told me I had no restrictions and I hit the ground running. I went to the gym that afternoon. I went to the grocery store and started my diet. I was on fire. It lasted a week.

So now here I am feeling sorry for myself again, finding it very difficult to get to the gym on a regular basis with a new baby and nearly impossible to stick to a diet when my meals are determined by when Mister lets me eat. I went to my closet to see what in the world I could wear when my wonderful husband (who loves me and understands and doesn't care that I am a whale, but supports my efforts) takes me out. I know none of it fits but I decide to commit suicide and try some things on anyway. "It's a reference point," I tell myself. At least if I go into it expecting it to be the equivalent of stuffing an elephant into a Maserati maybe I won't cry.

I gained 35 pounds during my pregnancy, which is perfectly acceptable. I felt good about that until 10 weeks later I am only 13 pounds less than I was when I delivered. Mister was 7lbs, plus water, plus placenta... you get the idea. I haven't lost an ounce. Actually, I think I've gained weight since I had him. But here's my goal: I want to get back to my original goal weight that I had during the first deployment which means losing 36 more pounds. Since I've been allowed to diet and exercise (notice I said 'since I've been allowed' and not 'since I've been doing it') I've lost 4.

It's a start, I suppose. I just hope the next 4 don't take so long.

The Story of My Keurig

For those of you who don't know, the Keurig is the Lexus of coffee makers. My in-laws got my one for my birthday last year and I absolutely love it. As much as I abuse it on a daily basis now, I actually didn't use it much right away. When I got it we were in the process of packing for our next move and I didn't want to take it out of it's perfectly cushioned shipping box to put it in another box. So it sat on the floor with the other ready-to-load-in-the-truck boxes until moving day.

Unpacking is always a slow and (not-so) methodical process. The Keurig box made it to the kitchen and that's about as far as it got for a few weeks. I finally cleared the other boxes enough to have counter space for the Keurig and set it up. I think I used it twice before I found out I was pregnant and was forbidden from even thinking about caffeine. I tried making decaf but it's just not the same. Sigh, see you in nine months my friend.

Fast forward. Welcome to the world Mister and welcome back Keurig! Oh how I've missed you! I have absolutely overworked and abused my beloved gourmet coffee maker in the past 10 weeks. New mommies need -NEED- coffee. As much as I thought I was an addict before, this doesn't even compare.

Then. It happened. A disaster of epic proportions. My Keurig has died. The lights are off, the buttons don't work. I changed plugs, checked the circuits, hit the power button repeatedly (because maybe if I hit it one more time, this time something different will happen), opened and closed the lid, checked the connections, checked the water level. Flat line.

Don't panic. Don't panic. Don't panic. Because I save everything I still have my old coffee maker from before I was married. My old room mate and I brewed a lot of great pots with that trusty old gal. I brought it down from the top shelf, excited to see an old friend and ready for a cup of fresh ground beans when I realized... I have no filters. The Keurig doesn't use filters so I haven't purchased any in over a year. I tore my cupboards apart looking for anything that resembled a size 4 cone. Paper towel... nylons...I have nothing. Ok, panic!

So here I sit, waiting for The Captain to wake up and stay with Mister so I can go to The Coffee Bean. Wake up, wake up, wake up....

Slower Traffic Keep Right

Hello,  I'm new here. I feel like that's become my catch phrase. My life is constantly changing and we are forever relocating. We don't ever intend to stop and I'm not complaining. It's sort of exciting, actually, a constant adventure.

Locations/moves to date: Michigan, Virginia, North Carolina, California, California, California. We've been at our current address for a year and I'm bored.

Welcome to my outlet. Stories, laughs, tears, rants and everything you didn't want to know about a small town girl livin' in a bright big world, taking the midnight train goin' everywhere.