I remember working out in January, February, March of 2011. I remember thinking about how I needed to, in order to be able to hoof it all over Ireland. I was being extra vigilant about my no sugar no processed foods diet, because I knew I was going to behave badly when I was in Ireland (Ireland without scones YEAH RIGHT).
We got quite a bit of exercise in Ireland, walking and biking almost everywhere. We ate well, and for the first time in a long time, I ignored my rules. We came back to the states. My mother in law had surgery for breast cancer within three weeks of getting back. I tried to return to my normal way of eating, but I felt constantly off, nauseous. Then, of course, the day before my mother in law’s surgery, I took that lovely little test, and that delightful pee stick later became Hershey who became Lis.
So, the exercise routine was off, because I felt terrible and was exhausted and had no time after work. And since I threw up everything, even water, my diet was wacked. Even once I was (heavily) medicated to prevent malnutrition and dehydration, the only things I could keep down were spinach, boiled chicken, bread, and strawberries. Even then, the spinach and chicken weren’t okay until well into the third trimester.
What I’m saying is, pregnancy sucked and threw off my exercise and diet. End of story.
You know what? It is freaking hard to be a new mom and get back in the exercise swing of things. It’s even harder once you’re back at work. It’s hard being off the bandwagon for a year or more and then dragging yourself back on. Toss in things like, oh, I don’t know, BRAIN SURGERY and you have a recipe for disaster for me—I have not taken care of myself in ages. Vor basically has to drag me into the bedroom like he is a caveman, hit me over the head with a club, and leave me in the bed to sleep, because I always feel like I should be doing something for Lis, for him, for the house, for work. And when I do relax and vegetate, I read or watch an episode of some sci-fi show. I don’t sleep, or work out, or do any of the things I should.
My family was here last weekend. After what was otherwise a delightful trip, some of them had some choice comments about my weight (keep in mind, my family is all freaking tall and size 0-4. Except me. So excuse me for getting the short end of the stick genetically to begin with. I have to work four times as hard as they have ever had to do in the life in dealing with weight). Let’s ignore the whole hurtful and unhelpful part of that. The essence—that I was not taking care of myself—is true. The idea of exercise has been a joke. I have not gotten any manicures or pedicures in a year (these are usually a 2-3 times a year treat for me). I have not had my hair cut in MORE THAN A YEAR PEOPLE. For someone with curly, thick, wavy hair, that is nasty. It was a nightmare. I have no clothes that fit me.
So, enter hurtful comments. Enter sad Grace, enter raging Vor. It resulted in me reactivating a gym membership on Tuesday, and setting up a schedule with Vor to make it possible for me to go twice during the week and once on the weekend. On Wednesday, when my mother in law said she wanted to pick up Lis from daycare, I jumped, said yes, and called in a last minute haircut. It was glorious, and my hair looks delightful. I promptly turned around and booked another haircut for November, because I am not letting that happen again.
I made to the gym this morning, and into the office on time. I’m exhausted from another night of a wakeful Lis, but at least I am not harboring that awful feeling of resentment—not against Lis or Vor, more of a resentment against my past self, who had time to do these things. Now that I am doing them, I don’t resent my past self anymore. And it’s only been a week.
Over the next two weeks, I fully intend on getting my hands and feet tended to (this is usually a once in a while treat for me anyways), and I am buying some clothes that fit. Yeah, the point of the gym is get into my normal clothes, but you know what? Nothing fits right now. And the more I punish myself right now, the less inclined I am to do anything to fix it. So, just a few tops, and a few pairs of pants.
Care and love and attention given to all, including me. I have to remember that part.
Okay, fine, you can email me at graceandpressure [at] yahoo [dot] com. Don't all flood me with emails at once, you know. If you're emailing about craniosynostosis, put it in the subject, and I'll respond quicker. Deal? Deal.