Mommy Thighs

I made the mistake of walking past the long mirror in Kayla’s room this morning wearing nothing but my granny panties. It is now the only full length mirror left in the house and I kind of like it that way as this accidental view of myself happens much less frequently. I stopped and stared at my hardly recognizable post-baby body. So close yet so far away from my first goal. “I’m a size awesome.” I whisper half heartedly under my breath trying to convince myself as I stare in disbelief at my still pale soft belly and touching thighs. Luckily I couldn’t stand there long torturing myself as Asher started crying and Payten was needing to be up for school. I am up to 10 minutes on this couch to 5k program. I about died when I saw this week it went up from running 8 to 20 so I slowed my pace and went 10 before stopping. The path I run is absolutely beautiful this time of year and I find it an addicting atmosphere. The leaves are starting to fall and if you go early enough, it’s cool and damp and you can see the fog lifting off of the lake. The cold air in my lungs is so refreshing and it feels so good to rip off that sweatshirt once you start working up a sweat. My face forces a smile at other passerby’s through the pain as I push the double stroller. Should I say hi, should I not say hi? It’s so awkward. But I am grateful for the strangers anyway as the numbers make me feel much safer. (Don’t worry, my mom bought me some pepper spray to take with me.) Usually the other runners give me a sympathetic look. I imagine they’re thinking “Awww poor Mom of twins, working so hard to get that baby weight off.” I don’t know whether this assumption is a blessing or a curse as of course only Asher is actually mine. Some of the walkers are even kind enough to cheer me on. “Keep up the good work!” they say. Or, “Look at the smoke comin’ off of those wheels!” I chuckle and press on just trying to make it to my next walking interval. Today I wore the wrong underwear and had to keep looking behind me so I could discretely adjust them. This morning I looked back, no one was there, picked the wedgie, and 2 seconds later a bike came up behind me, ‘Good morning, on your left!’ Oh for crying out loud, no way they didn’t see that one. Woops. I make a mental note to be more careful choosing my undergarments in the future. I have to pee, because it has been 20 minutes by now (30 is about the max I can go after my coffee in the morning.) and I consider just going right down my leg, but then I remember I only live 10 minutes away and I’m not a marathon runner so it would be slightly less acceptable and perhaps more noticeable then I’m presuming. Plus, once you make that decision, there’s no going back. I push it to the back of my mind and start thinking about those bad ass chicks I know that can run an entire 5K like it’s nothing. Maybe I’ll be one of those chicks one day. I try not to let my negative thoughts trump my positive ones and finish strong. I get home and after finally relieving my bladder, I immediately do my work out video of the day. I try to get in 30 minutes, doesn’t always work that way with the babies. Once I have collapsed on the ground I know that I have done everything I could for one day and carry on living the rest of the day for the little people that need me. You see, this hour of brutality, is crucial to my survival. It is the ONE thing I do for myself each and every day. It is what gets me up in the morning. Waking up and lacing up. I think, today is an opportunity that I have to be better than I was yesterday. Today I am grateful that I have arms and legs and that I can use them. Working out is a privilege that I have with being a work at home mom that I did not have at the office. Wow, listen to me, I sound like a rockstar! Well wait for it…my downfalls are coming. Every night it’s the same routine. Get naked and get on the scale before getting in the shower. The scale has hardly moved the past 2 months. It is torturous and mocks me. Yet I cling to it with all of the hope I can muster. I watch and wait, so desperate for that number to fall again. I was feeling pretty down on myself but my before and after photos quickly remind me to just keep on keepin on and trust the process. I am not ready to show them yet as I haven’t committed to the idea of my whole world seeing them, but maybe one day when I don’t look anything like that person anymore. Every time I hear those poems about embracing your stretch marks, I think “Yes! Yes, that’s the attitude of someone much less vain than me! This is how I should feel too! These aren’t battle wounds; these are badges of honor that I should wear with pride!” Great concept there, but let’s get realistic. I want the beach babe body. I want to not only rock those old jeans but to keep going, and rock NEW jeans. Oh and while I’m asking for things, I want to eat whatever I want too. So… now that my run is over, it’s pizza rolls and brownies. Life is about the balance, right?

Mommy Guilt

He's crying. We're practicing the cry it out method. Suddenly the boy has reverted. He stopped sleeping through the night. Stopped taking naps in his crib. Just wants to be held while he sleeps at all times. So naturally, we've decided we need to let him cry.
It kills me. His sobs. His coughs. The little choking noise he makes because he's gotten himself so worked up. And don't even think about crying Mommy.
Shit...spoke too soon. Now my heart is in a knot.
Why do we do this to ourselves? I mean really...it hurts us worse than him. Most of the time he wins anyway. I want to run to him and comfort him. Kiss his sweet cheek and rock him. He's so tired, he's just fighting it, all kids do it, let's get him out. My mind is going back and forth playing good cop\ bad cop. My husband and I look at each other, both of us desperate for sleep. Both of us ready to snap at any given moment.
I'm whispering to myself
Phil 3:14 ~Press on toward the goal to win the prize.
Alas...the crying stops!
My husband and I kiss each other goodnight. We don't dare speak a word. Just roll over and feel our bodies relax beneath us. I drift off into R.E.M. within seconds.
Exactly 8 minutes later. He's back up. With a vengeance too!
I go in to console him and he's smacking the bottle out of my hands, throwing his pacifier, and everything else within his reach onto the floor. What happened to my sweet little angel and who is this crazy child?
I toss my hands in the air. (As if 'giving up' is an option when it comes to parenting.)
I get in bed and listen to his cries. I wonder what the neighbors must think. What horrible parents we must be. Tony and Jill didn't have these issues with Kate. Lindsey's baby is sleeping through the night. Our niece doesn't do this. Where did we go wrong? I read every book. He did fine for months! Why is my baby broken? I think about every possible thing that might be wrong with him. Wonder if he has gas...maybe he's teething...is he too cold?
The Mommy guilt paralyzes me in my exhausted stu-per. I feel so damned if I do, damned if I don't.
People offer up advice. They're constantly watching...judging. Gasping. "What? He's not sleeping through the night?? Maybe you should try <insert blah blah blah. (More words that only make you feel worse about your choices.)"
Finally I give up. I get him and put him in bed with us. 2 minutes later he's completely out but we are too afraid to move him at this point. I start thinking 'what if we roll over on him? What if my pillow slips? What if a blanket covers his face?'
Even in peace the paranoia and guilt live on.

P.S. If your reply to this blog is offering up some kind of words of wisdom regarding sleep training I'll punch you in your stupid well rested face!!! This is for the other sleep deprived moms' out there needing to know they aren't alone in this world!

That is all. Thank you, please drive through.

Mommy Brain

First of all let me just say that I never wake up and think, 'Oh yay, I get to start another day!' I wish I were that person. But instead...I wake up and think 'coffee… coffee… coffee… coffee… coffee.' And that is enough to get my feet going. I come downstairs, I drink my coffee, and I start out with my very long daily to do list. You see, if I don't write it down, I will forget completely to do it. Some things are more important than others and so I prioritize them in that way. Often I start my list out with showering, because if I leave it to the end, I might not get to it in in a days time and I will smell like moldy cheese. (I know this from experience.) I put the most mundane things on that list. Any and everything I can think of that needs to be done. Such as, bring up paper towels from the basement, feed the kids lunch, pick up Payten from school, mop the floor, workout, etc.. Sometimes I even have on the list to make another list. (i.e. make grocery list, or diaper bag check list) The list is long but it keeps me from feeling overwhelmed and just walking around the house in circles wondering what it was I was supposed to be doing. You see my brain just pretty much is consistently on repeat. Questions like…Where did I put my phone? Why was I going in this room again? What's that doing over there? Distraction is everywhere here. The voices don’t help the matter either. The voices (also known as children): Have you seen my phone? Can I go in Katie’s back yard? Where are the snacks? The voices are so easy and yet so difficult to drown out. The voices are who I blame for the complete and utter lack of focus going on up there. So anyway, what was I talking about? Oh yea, I make my list first while I drink my coffee. Every now and then I even check my facebook or watch a little bit of the tele but most of the time my 15 minutes of peace are interrupted by the voices. Again, this is where your list comes in handy. “Mooooom, have you seen my library book?” I’m armed and ready, “Sorry chickadee, I’m…(*checks list) loading the dishwasher, you’ll have to find it yourself!” I go through my entire day like this. Drop the kids off at school. Check. Feed the babies breakfast. Check. I get on a roll and pretty soon I’m adding things to the list I did in between items just so that I can mark them off and stand back at the end of the day and look at my list, sitting there in all it’s glory. This list is what makes me a work at home mom. I didn’t sit one time today. Look at everything I accomplished! I didn’t watch t.v. I didn’t have any adult conversation. I didn’t go out to lunch. I shoved a few pretzels in my mouth while I simultaneously gave a kid a bath. There’s nothing glamorous about it. I’m usually covered in spit up, I LIVE in my work out clothes, and I’ve become rather fond of my pony tail, but hey…this is my life. So now that you have a pretty good mental picture, this afternoon I'm sitting on the floor doing yoga. (because being a super mom isn’t enough pressure all on it’s own, I need to also obsess over my I-just-had-a-baby-10-months-ago-and-still-look-pregnant body.) I look down and I'm completely covered with dog hair. Gabby has it in her mouth and Asher (who happens to be wearing black) looks like he’s wearing a sweater. Nasty. Who can do yoga at a time like this?? I have to vacuum! So I pause the yoga, get up, and go get the 400 lb Kirby. I run it throughout the entire house all the while Asher is trying to tackle it, lunging at it exuberantly as if it’s a new puppy that he must get his hands on. He diligently tries wrapping himself up in the cord, while Gabby takes her turn gnawing on it. I’m vacuuming away, trying to save their little ungrateful lives. Finally finished and sweating, I wrap the cord up and put it away. I go back to the floor, trying to continue my yoga, and realize the floor is still absolutely freaking disgusting. So I pull it out again, unravel the cord, and realize the effing thing wasn't even in the drive position the entire time. As it turns out, if it’s not in drive, it doesn’t vacuum. So I wash, rinse, repeat, the whole shebang all over again. This is when I realize another hour has passed and kids have not yet been fed. Oh crap! No wonder they are being such brats! (The old me would never refer to my kids as brats though, only trashy people do that!) So I begin to cook lunch for them and realize I’ve completely forgotten about my list. As SOON as I’m done feeding them, I’m going back to my list. The dogs start barking. Yes! The mail is here! Now that I’m home all day I live for these little stupid things. OH shit, what is this bill??! I rush through feeding the kids so I can further investigate the bill that I obviously do not feel is warranted. What feels like 15 seconds later, I realize I have forgotten to pick up the kids from school. I rush the babies into the car, and get to the school by the skin of my teeth. When we get back the voices want things. “Where are the popsicles? Can I eat this in the living room? Luca isn’t being nice to me!” My husband comes home and I’m sitting there in my dog hair covered yoga pants. There are fruit loops on Asher’s shirt, lunch strewn about the kitchen, and Gabby is in the corner chewing on a flip flop. This is when I realize the yoga still paused on the television. Do you see how his perception of me (a.k.a. super mom) is altered by things completely out of my control here? I was doing so well staying on task until one thing led to another and well… here I am. Mommy Brain is an epidemic people. No no.. a pandemic. Mommy Brain is a pandemic people… we must find a way to beat it. If you have a way to beat it other than the list, please… share the secret with me would ya? Meanwhile.. Ginko biloba anyone?

Mommy Adrenaline

When my husband goes on business trips, I lie awake at night listening for the slightest noise. I know without a doubt that I have locked the doors & I’ve checked windows ten times. I purposely left on all of the lights, and the televisions. Even after all of the preparation, my heart completely stops beating at the slightest huff from one of our two dogs. Every worst case scenario plays out in my mind. When I was younger, I would lie in my bed after having nightmares of intruders & practice ‘playing dead.’ I would lay there and see how long I could go without breathing so the bad guy would think, “Oh, this girl is already dead; we might as well just go home now.” I would find hiding spots all over the house- I always had an escape plan. Now my mind races with endless horrid thoughts, so much worse than the ones from my childhood. How could I ever escape with three kids in tow? What could I use as a weapon? How could I protect them? I considered buying some wasp spray just in case so I could at least knock someone off their kilter. I was far too apprehensive to use any kind of bat, or knife, or anything that could be turned back against me. The dread is so paralyzing I had to stop watching 48 Hours Mystery and Dateline… even the 6 o'clock news. Paranoia only got worse with children as suddenly it was not myself that I was concerned for anymore. Even as I’m writing this I’m thinking… Who is going to read this? They already know too much! This brings me to a defining moment in my life that changed my way of thinking forever. It was the exact instant that I had to decide if I was going to hide under my sheets, or pull the wasp spray out, put on my big girl panties, & prepare for battle. Asher was only four months old. We were going on a month of sleepless nights. He would pull his legs up into his chest & cry in pain and we could not figure out what was wrong with him, or how to help. The sleep deprivation was making me walk into walls, and yell curse words at inanimate objects. A red leathery eczema rash blanketed Asher’s body from head to toe. We must have bought seven different lotions trying to appease his desire to itch. He slept with mittens on. We limited his baths to lukewarm water only for 10 minutes each night. We googled every home remedy there was. We got rid of any ‘smelly good’ laundry items, or lotions and kept him dressed in only cotton. He was like a greased up pig at all times, nearly impossible to hold without slipping out of your arms. I took him to the doctor three different times. Each time I just knew they were putting me down on a ‘that mom’ list, as if I was just another hypochondriac mother. They continued to increase the topical steroid and gave us a liquid medication that would help with his itching at night. Finally on the 4th visit... I had mentioned his weight continually decreasing. He lost 1.5 lbs in 3 weeks. After a few allergy tests were done, it was confirmed; my son had an allergy to the milk protein in cow milk. You would have thought it was a death sentence for me. I researched the hypoallergenic formula- it would cost us $75 a week. I had just quit my job of 7 years a month before all of this, and we were depending on my nursing to supplement some of our income loss. I figured it was at least worth trying, murmured the serenity prayer & right then vowed to not let dairy touch my lips until Asher was at least 6 months old. I was like a lost puppy dog at the grocery store. I needed to develop an immediate plan of action. What do people eat when they don't buy four bags of shredded cheese a week to hold their casserole together? My vegan friends reached out to me. “It’s not that bad!” they encouraged. I pressed on, but after the first week I was so overly emotional about everyone else being allowed to eat deliciousness that I had a complete melt down to my husband in the kitchen one day. “I just can’t do this. I can’t watch you at Easter this Sunday eating my grandma’s mashed potatoes!” I blurted. My husband, as if it were no big deal, didn’t even bat a lash, “O.K. I’ll do it with you.” After a week, I was ready to climb Mt. Everest for a piece of chocolate. I have grown accustomed to just having one small piece after each meal. I searched every aisle of the grocery store, reading label after label, beckoning three different store employees for help, desperately seeking some kind of dairy free chocolate. Alas, I settled on some soy faux Oreos. They were $4.99 for a handful in the health food section. Highway robbery, but at that point, I would have traded my first born for them. I got home and my husband and I were anticipating a new hope. I took one bite.... he took one bite... it was everything you imagined sawdust to be. Nothing resembled a chocolate taste. It was definitely not the milky sweet richness of what I was craving. It was a few weeks later when I found out real Oreos are on the accidentally vegan list and I could have had them all along. Seriously?! Certain foods I had to give up altogether. What was a burger without cheddar? What is a pizza without mozzarella? What is spaghetti without parmesan? I substituted rice milk for cow milk in almost everything. I found a butter that I could withstand. But my heart longed for the intangible. I dreamt about clouds made of Gouda... trees with feta where berries would grow... rivers of Velveeta. Everyone told me about all of the weight I would lose. You would think when you stop dipping every single thing in ranch dressing that surely you would lose some weight. Not me though. I had to fill a void. I replaced almost everything with chicken wings and french fries. For two long months that was almost all that I ate. I wasn't gaining but I certainly wasn't losing. I took my ‘new life’ day by day, checking each one off on the calendar. At times I wondered if God was punishing me. Doesn’t he know how I feel about cream cheese? Maybe this is what withdraw is. Had I really grown that dependent on my sour cream? A relapse would be comparable to punching my baby in the face so it just wasn’t an option. My road to recovery began on March 6th, 2013. It was one of those unusual hot spring days. The kids were out in the neighborhood playing. Asher and I sat on my front porch swing watching our girls draw on the sidewalk with chalk. I looked at my beautiful boy... suddenly healthy. His skin was soft and his breath was sweet. His little face was starting to fill out and he was well rested. I couldn't believe that I had actually made it to the six month goal. I silently thanked God for these beautiful healthy children…and in an instant, I looked up from my son, and off in the distance, I saw a little white truck headed toward us. I could hear music getting louder and louder as it neared us. Could that be what I think it is? I had butterflies in my stomach & goose bumps on my arms. A sound I had resented so many times before, but this time...it was nothing but pure joy. The heavens opened up and birds started singing. It was as if I was 8 years old again. I rushed inside & pulled out a $5 bill from my purse. I quickly gave it to the oldest. “Better make it THREE drumsticks this time Sis.” All of those sleepless nights worrying about what I would do in the event of emergency to protect my kids from harm were wasted. The bottom line is, when you’re up against a wall- your maternal instinct will somehow someway kick in & you will do everything within your power for them. You will make the impossible possible. This is how Mothers run into burning buildings; This is how Mothers pick up a 500 pound bus; This is how Mothers use their body as a human shield from gunfire; This is how Mothers keep their kids alive for weeks in a snowed in car on nothing but ketchup packets; and this of course… is how Mothers give up cheese.