You know how I'm losing weight?
Because I am really good at holding a grudge. Bear with me.
When I was about 12, I got mad at my mom for something and decided that I wouldn't tell her when I got my first period. Several months passed, and when that finally happened, I didn't tell her. I actually never told her myself, she sort of found out. But that's how good I am at holding a grudge. I'm not necessarily proud of that, but in this case, it's working in my favor.
The last time I lost a big chunk of weight was in 1998. I had just had my heart broken, I was facing my 10-year high school reunion the following year (at which I'd be one of three girls without a ring, and one of the other two was gay), and I'd just attended the wedding of my rail-thin cousin two years my junior. I finally got angry. I got really pissed at the way I looked, angry and SICK of looking and feeling bad and ashamed. So I dropped 18 lbs. It took me like ten weeks. It was much easier then, because I was only responsible for myself and could exercise anytime I wanted and eat whatever (and however little) I wanted. I could also afford and freely attend Weight Watchers meetings. But still, it was anger that drove me through all those runs. (Gah! I just realized that my starting weight was roughly what I weigh now! Ah, youth.)
I think it's the same thing this time. I'm the coach of the science team and they had a rather unsuccessful bake sale a few days ago. They stored the leftovers in my classroom, right on my lab table, within smelling distance. I didn't eat a single bite. For three days I put up with this, put up with selling these things to my students all day. But every time I was tempted, a tiny anger bubble would rise inside me and I'd go "NO, dammit, I'm not doing it."
Maybe it's determination, but it feels like anger. Call me simple.
Due to the weight loss, I have had this ti-i-i-i-iny little nagging thought in the back of my head. Would it be the worst thing to stop at one child? It is soooo nice to be getting my body back. It is so nice that she can feed herself and talk, sort of. I'm teaching a unit on the environment, and it's looking like humanity may wipe itself out sometime during her generation, so do I want to make another person suffer through that? Now that I'm getting in shape, my bitterness about never breastfeeding is being replaced with, well, vanity. And I'm not caring about it as much. What if we just had one? We could travel with her. The three of us. We could afford her-- college, wedding, helping her buy a house. I wouldn't have to deal with three months of horrible nausea again. I wouldn't cry for six solid months again after the newbie is born, and OHH all that horrible post-partum pain with the incision and boobs and thrown-out spine not letting me breathe. I wouldn't be re-confined to the house for three more years. I'd never have to go through the agony of wondering if my "advanced maternal age" was creating some sort of genetic monster in my womb. I could drink wine every single day, and sleep every single night for the rest of my life. I'd never have to deal with another miscarriage (which I am so afraid of). Never have to feel that cosmic drumroll every month that we try to get pregnant, feeling like such an old dried-up failure when my period arrives. I wouldn't have to start from scratch always feeling like the Suckiest Parent in the World. Wow, that feeling would be doubled with a second kid because there would be two kids I wasn't playing with. I'd be the double-suckiest parent. Oof.
I could give away all of my maternity and baby clothes and just get on with my life. Move forward. I have been ugly and crazy for almost three years. I am almost pretty and somewhat sane again. Do I want to give that up? Again?
Right now I'm just sitting on these thoughts and seeing where they go. April is the month that we'll start trying again, so I guess I have until then to mull it over.
Friday, February 27, 2009
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Dear Diary,
What is it, like May already? I haven't posted in ages. I am dying from The Tired. I keep thinking of things I want to write about, and then I don't get the chance, and none of them are related to each other, so I'm going to organize my thoughts here:
1. Last week's funeral. BRUTAL. My grandmother's funeral a few years ago was lots of sniffing and tear-dabbing and wistful-sighing; a bittersweet celebration of her life. This was a different ballgame. My aunt was 58. She has three kids, two of whom had birthdays this week-- one is 19 and one is 28. The oldest is 35 and was sobbing openly, which (naturally) is contagious. My other cousins and I were clutching each other and whimpering quietly, "how in the hell are we going to do this?" Because my aunt was the first of our parents' generation to go, and we will all be attending our parents' funerals. It redefined the word hard for me. I talk about losing weight, parenthood, winter being hard. Burying your mother? Just... No. No. I had two large coat pockets completely filled with soggy tissues.
2. I am still keeping my head down, nose to the grindstone to (A) lose weight and (B) get through winter. It's going. It's going about as fast as winter is going, and if you're in New England, you know how slow that is. But it is going. I am finding "The Biggest Loser" on TV to be a big motivator. I love that show. I've given up "Idol" for it. It's so positive and everyone is so supportive. But maybe what I like so much is that they are all working so hard, and dropping impressive amounts each week, and yet they don't look all that different. It's like there's someone else out there who is working really hard (way harder than I am), and the result still takes f o r e v e r. And they still keep going. It's great. I've been doing this now for almost seven weeks, and I've lost about 8 or 9 lbs. I'm giving it 4 or 5 more weeks. It's so hard to keep it up. I bought myself a very expensive chunk of super-dark chocolate to help me through the harder times. (Nick, if you're reading this, I hid it away while you were in the other room being the better parent. Not that I'm the best hider. But still, hands off the Scharffenberger. You stick to your chips, skinny.) Half an ounce of that and a small glass of wine, and all is right in my little world.
3. I recently joined Facebook, and found that it's so much easier to write one sentence in the status bar than it is to blog. Also, over the past few months, through the miracle of the internet I've come across a handful of old flames. This is how I know I married the right man. It's great to touch base with those guys again, but I realize now how wrong they would have been for me. I'm surprised to find out that they are not as witty or intelligent I thought they were. Nick also won the Perfect For Me award last weekend when I watched "Vicky Cristina Barcelona." First of all, what a great movie. The story was meh, but the scenery-- ohhhh. Just like "Mamma Mia" and "Hideous Kinky," I wanted to crawl inside my TV and live in this movie. Nick and I talk about being expats someday, and this movie confirmed that for me. I think the movie was trying to send a message of "marriage is lame and boring; go be a free spirit and have a wild fling with an artist!" And I thought... Nick is a tortured writer, and as much as that annoys me sometimes, it still makes him an artist. But he's also employed. Best of both worlds. And when I dream of moving to Spain, I think about how much I want to do that with him, no matter how smoking hot Javier Bardem was. Last summer I had coffee with a friend of mine who moved to France and married a winemaker. (I know.) She lives a ten-minute walk from the beach in the south of France. There is no word that accurately describes my envy, but as she was talking about her life, I was thinking "I want that. I want to travel again. And I want that with Nick." Ahh... I married the right guy.
4. I am brain-dead because I can't remember what else. Especially since I mentioned wine and dark chocolate. In short, life is kicking my ass right now. I've spent all my free time at school planning lessons for biology, and then when I get home there's grocery shopping/dinner/packing lunches/bedtime routine to deal with and I don't get a minute to think until about 8:30. That's my life in a nutshell right now: work and carrot sticks. It's real exciting.
5. Oh yeah! Trivial, but: my hair. Still growing it out. I looked in the mirror at school today, and three words instantly popped into my head: Frampton Comes Alive.
I would go dig into that chocolate but it wouldn't be appreciated as much right now because I'm so tired. I ran after school today, which was delicious-- I love to run so much, but it always kills me with exhaustion at the end of the day. I'm going to crawl in bed and watch The Office.
1. Last week's funeral. BRUTAL. My grandmother's funeral a few years ago was lots of sniffing and tear-dabbing and wistful-sighing; a bittersweet celebration of her life. This was a different ballgame. My aunt was 58. She has three kids, two of whom had birthdays this week-- one is 19 and one is 28. The oldest is 35 and was sobbing openly, which (naturally) is contagious. My other cousins and I were clutching each other and whimpering quietly, "how in the hell are we going to do this?" Because my aunt was the first of our parents' generation to go, and we will all be attending our parents' funerals. It redefined the word hard for me. I talk about losing weight, parenthood, winter being hard. Burying your mother? Just... No. No. I had two large coat pockets completely filled with soggy tissues.
2. I am still keeping my head down, nose to the grindstone to (A) lose weight and (B) get through winter. It's going. It's going about as fast as winter is going, and if you're in New England, you know how slow that is. But it is going. I am finding "The Biggest Loser" on TV to be a big motivator. I love that show. I've given up "Idol" for it. It's so positive and everyone is so supportive. But maybe what I like so much is that they are all working so hard, and dropping impressive amounts each week, and yet they don't look all that different. It's like there's someone else out there who is working really hard (way harder than I am), and the result still takes f o r e v e r. And they still keep going. It's great. I've been doing this now for almost seven weeks, and I've lost about 8 or 9 lbs. I'm giving it 4 or 5 more weeks. It's so hard to keep it up. I bought myself a very expensive chunk of super-dark chocolate to help me through the harder times. (Nick, if you're reading this, I hid it away while you were in the other room being the better parent. Not that I'm the best hider. But still, hands off the Scharffenberger. You stick to your chips, skinny.) Half an ounce of that and a small glass of wine, and all is right in my little world.
3. I recently joined Facebook, and found that it's so much easier to write one sentence in the status bar than it is to blog. Also, over the past few months, through the miracle of the internet I've come across a handful of old flames. This is how I know I married the right man. It's great to touch base with those guys again, but I realize now how wrong they would have been for me. I'm surprised to find out that they are not as witty or intelligent I thought they were. Nick also won the Perfect For Me award last weekend when I watched "Vicky Cristina Barcelona." First of all, what a great movie. The story was meh, but the scenery-- ohhhh. Just like "Mamma Mia" and "Hideous Kinky," I wanted to crawl inside my TV and live in this movie. Nick and I talk about being expats someday, and this movie confirmed that for me. I think the movie was trying to send a message of "marriage is lame and boring; go be a free spirit and have a wild fling with an artist!" And I thought... Nick is a tortured writer, and as much as that annoys me sometimes, it still makes him an artist. But he's also employed. Best of both worlds. And when I dream of moving to Spain, I think about how much I want to do that with him, no matter how smoking hot Javier Bardem was. Last summer I had coffee with a friend of mine who moved to France and married a winemaker. (I know.) She lives a ten-minute walk from the beach in the south of France. There is no word that accurately describes my envy, but as she was talking about her life, I was thinking "I want that. I want to travel again. And I want that with Nick." Ahh... I married the right guy.
4. I am brain-dead because I can't remember what else. Especially since I mentioned wine and dark chocolate. In short, life is kicking my ass right now. I've spent all my free time at school planning lessons for biology, and then when I get home there's grocery shopping/dinner/packing lunches/bedtime routine to deal with and I don't get a minute to think until about 8:30. That's my life in a nutshell right now: work and carrot sticks. It's real exciting.
5. Oh yeah! Trivial, but: my hair. Still growing it out. I looked in the mirror at school today, and three words instantly popped into my head: Frampton Comes Alive.
I would go dig into that chocolate but it wouldn't be appreciated as much right now because I'm so tired. I ran after school today, which was delicious-- I love to run so much, but it always kills me with exhaustion at the end of the day. I'm going to crawl in bed and watch The Office.
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Vacation
This week we've been out of school, along with the rest of Massachusetts (maybe New England, not sure). I love February vacation. Unfortunately, the longest and hardest stretch of the school year is the time between now and April vacation. It's the end of winter, and it's like 8 solid weeks with no days off. I know, all of you with regular jobs do it all the time, but I'll say it again... teaching is a whole different ballgame. Remember Arnold Schwarzenegger collapsing on the bed after his first day in "Kindergarten Cop"? Yes. Yes, yes, and yes.
Anyway, I've been slacking on the blog. Not much going on. Dieting is a boring storyline because it is slow as molasses. It's also part of the ugly side of being an American woman. European women don't talk about their weight. It's disgusting that we do as much as we do. I am convinced that body image is America's answer to the burqa. It's just a more subtle way of keeping us disempowered.
I've had to let go of the endeavor recently anyway, due to a horrendous cold I've had. It's been awesome to eat normally again. Back to the grind next week.
Let's talk about the kid.
She ROCKS MY SOCKS. We took her to the aquarium in Boston today, and she killed me with cuteness. Afterwards, we went to the North End for pizza. After an inital tantrum and time-out (which was me taking her outside-- it worked!), she was great. Great when we got home. Great all afternoon. She has started doing this thing where she lifts up her leg behind her and says "ballet!" thanks to Zoe on Sesame Street. When we read books to her, a lot of the time we'll leave the last word off each sentence for her to complete. Tonight at bedtime, she was reading the book to me the same way, so that I would say the last word. Funny. Kid has a sense of humor already. She still has enough of a temper to remind me that she's the same kid I gave birth to, but if she didn't, I'd be skeptical. She is actually turning into someone whose company I enjoy.
I realized how far I've come when we had to make sudden plans to go out of town this weekend. My lovely, funny, snarky aunt died yesterday morning and her funeral will be on Saturday. She'd had cancer for years and it finally got the best of her. It is so sucky and unfair since she was only 58, but somewhat of a relief since she was suffering so much at the end. Anyway, the question was whether we would all go down (it's a four-hour drive) or if I would go with my parents and Nick would stay here with Sascha. Against my better judgment, because I knew she would hate the long drive and sleeping in a strange house, I lobbied for them to go (and lost)... because I will miss her too much. Six months ago, or even two months ago, I'd have been all "oh, sorry Nick, I have to go" and be secretly happy about getting away for a few days. Now, we haven't even left yet and I already miss her. I never thought I'd get to this point.
This is unrelated, but I have to throw it in: I am so excited about Carla on "Top Chef." I haven't mentioned this before, because I didn't think she'd get this far, but she was in the class before me in culinary school! I know her! Not well, but I know her. I remember that she was very nice, very classy, and about six months after graduation she was already an executive chef at some hotel in DC. It is so fun to watch her succeed on that show, to know where she learned how to do certain things, and imagine how proud our instructors must be. L'Academie!! Represent!! Go Carla!!
Anyway, I've been slacking on the blog. Not much going on. Dieting is a boring storyline because it is slow as molasses. It's also part of the ugly side of being an American woman. European women don't talk about their weight. It's disgusting that we do as much as we do. I am convinced that body image is America's answer to the burqa. It's just a more subtle way of keeping us disempowered.
I've had to let go of the endeavor recently anyway, due to a horrendous cold I've had. It's been awesome to eat normally again. Back to the grind next week.
Let's talk about the kid.
She ROCKS MY SOCKS. We took her to the aquarium in Boston today, and she killed me with cuteness. Afterwards, we went to the North End for pizza. After an inital tantrum and time-out (which was me taking her outside-- it worked!), she was great. Great when we got home. Great all afternoon. She has started doing this thing where she lifts up her leg behind her and says "ballet!" thanks to Zoe on Sesame Street. When we read books to her, a lot of the time we'll leave the last word off each sentence for her to complete. Tonight at bedtime, she was reading the book to me the same way, so that I would say the last word. Funny. Kid has a sense of humor already. She still has enough of a temper to remind me that she's the same kid I gave birth to, but if she didn't, I'd be skeptical. She is actually turning into someone whose company I enjoy.
I realized how far I've come when we had to make sudden plans to go out of town this weekend. My lovely, funny, snarky aunt died yesterday morning and her funeral will be on Saturday. She'd had cancer for years and it finally got the best of her. It is so sucky and unfair since she was only 58, but somewhat of a relief since she was suffering so much at the end. Anyway, the question was whether we would all go down (it's a four-hour drive) or if I would go with my parents and Nick would stay here with Sascha. Against my better judgment, because I knew she would hate the long drive and sleeping in a strange house, I lobbied for them to go (and lost)... because I will miss her too much. Six months ago, or even two months ago, I'd have been all "oh, sorry Nick, I have to go" and be secretly happy about getting away for a few days. Now, we haven't even left yet and I already miss her. I never thought I'd get to this point.
This is unrelated, but I have to throw it in: I am so excited about Carla on "Top Chef." I haven't mentioned this before, because I didn't think she'd get this far, but she was in the class before me in culinary school! I know her! Not well, but I know her. I remember that she was very nice, very classy, and about six months after graduation she was already an executive chef at some hotel in DC. It is so fun to watch her succeed on that show, to know where she learned how to do certain things, and imagine how proud our instructors must be. L'Academie!! Represent!! Go Carla!!
Thursday, February 12, 2009
A milestone!
Sascha peed in her little potty!
(Oh god, I sound like one of *those* parents.)
Bear with me though, it's funny. She's had this little potty for weeks now. We're in no rush to train her, because she's still pretty young, and lord knows if we push that little Scorpio she will push right back. We put her on it every night before her bath just to get used to the ritual of sitting on it. Tonight, Nick said "I wonder what would happen if you put her hand in warm water, like that slumber party trick." He was joking, but I was sitting right next to the tub, so-- why not? I scooped up a cup and put her hand in it.
Lo and behold! Looks like we did learn something when we were ten! She peed. It was awesome.
Still slogging through the shit-yourself-thin diet (sorry, but I have to call it what it is). I'm about to hit a wall because we have a week off school next week, during which I have at least all of the following plans: drinks with girlfriends, a date out with my husband (decadent Valentine's Day restaurant meal), a potluck gathering/playdate, lunch with another girlfriend, and two friends over for dinner. I'm also doing a little baking for a few people for Valentine's Day tomorrow (don't ask, the idea snowballed) and don't think I won't be sampling my own wares. Oh, and then there's a full day toodling around Boston with Nick on Friday when we will not be eating ry-krisp bread, lowfat cheese sticks and snap peas. It is not going to be a pretty week on the scale. But whatever-- I'll pick up where I left off, I'll have more time available to run, and I am going to enjoy every bite. Oh, and I am the most excited about our plans to take Sascha to the aquarium... her first time! Wheee! We get in free with our teachers' union cards, so it's low-risk in case she flips out in the first five minutes.
(Oh god, I sound like one of *those* parents.)
Bear with me though, it's funny. She's had this little potty for weeks now. We're in no rush to train her, because she's still pretty young, and lord knows if we push that little Scorpio she will push right back. We put her on it every night before her bath just to get used to the ritual of sitting on it. Tonight, Nick said "I wonder what would happen if you put her hand in warm water, like that slumber party trick." He was joking, but I was sitting right next to the tub, so-- why not? I scooped up a cup and put her hand in it.
Lo and behold! Looks like we did learn something when we were ten! She peed. It was awesome.
Still slogging through the shit-yourself-thin diet (sorry, but I have to call it what it is). I'm about to hit a wall because we have a week off school next week, during which I have at least all of the following plans: drinks with girlfriends, a date out with my husband (decadent Valentine's Day restaurant meal), a potluck gathering/playdate, lunch with another girlfriend, and two friends over for dinner. I'm also doing a little baking for a few people for Valentine's Day tomorrow (don't ask, the idea snowballed) and don't think I won't be sampling my own wares. Oh, and then there's a full day toodling around Boston with Nick on Friday when we will not be eating ry-krisp bread, lowfat cheese sticks and snap peas. It is not going to be a pretty week on the scale. But whatever-- I'll pick up where I left off, I'll have more time available to run, and I am going to enjoy every bite. Oh, and I am the most excited about our plans to take Sascha to the aquarium... her first time! Wheee! We get in free with our teachers' union cards, so it's low-risk in case she flips out in the first five minutes.
Monday, February 09, 2009
Funny
In the spirit of this blog, there is this article from The Onion. For the record, I didn't feel exactly like that. But I will say that I get it, even if it is parody.
Saturday, February 07, 2009
What Terrible Twos?
Today was another one of those rare days, a day that was The Reason I Had A Kid.
SHE RULED.
I took her to a birthday party. I was very nervous because the party was during her prime nap time, and I hate to deprive her of sleep. She got about 45 minutes of crap sleep in the car on the way there and then she clung to me when we arrived. After surveying the crazy scene for a few minutes, she started this heartbreaking sad-cry, with real tears, saying "go!! go!!" Killed me. I just held her tightly and let her crawl under my skin for a half-hour or so, loving every second of it since she's normally not so affectionate. After a while, she came out of her shell. Just thinking about the sweet way she played by herself makes me want to cry. She was so awesome. And, I got to hang out with my friends-- bonus! When it was time for cake, I sat on the kitchen floor and we shared a piece (okay, two pieces between us) and it was my favorite moment of the whole day. We giggled like we had an inside joke, like stoners, high on sugar, and stuffed our gobs with cake and champagne (wait, that was just me-- and don't get hysterical, I didn't get drunk). She felt like my little buddy. On the way home, we sang along together to her CD, then we stopped at the store and she was an angel again. Wow. Just wow.
She's in bed now. I feel all swoony like I just had a first date that went really well. I'm infatuated. I wish I could post pictures but my camera is broken.
On the boring weight-loss front: as of this morning, I've lost 7 lbs-- roughly the halfway mark. Of course, after today's cake binge, I'm probably back up by two, but whatever. It is really hard to keep this up because it takes such a long time, but dammit, I am determined. I feel good, and I feel like I'm losing it in places I really wanted to: my back, under my arms, my neck (sounds disgusting, and it is-- I was feeling smothered by myself). The only thing that's disappointing is that my clothes don't feel any looser, and that's a bummer. I know I weigh less; I feel good and look better; but my regular size 12s still fit perfectly. And I'm just under 5'2; seven pounds is a good amount off this body. I'll get down to my goal and screw it if my clothes are still double-digits. Whatever.
SHE RULED.
I took her to a birthday party. I was very nervous because the party was during her prime nap time, and I hate to deprive her of sleep. She got about 45 minutes of crap sleep in the car on the way there and then she clung to me when we arrived. After surveying the crazy scene for a few minutes, she started this heartbreaking sad-cry, with real tears, saying "go!! go!!" Killed me. I just held her tightly and let her crawl under my skin for a half-hour or so, loving every second of it since she's normally not so affectionate. After a while, she came out of her shell. Just thinking about the sweet way she played by herself makes me want to cry. She was so awesome. And, I got to hang out with my friends-- bonus! When it was time for cake, I sat on the kitchen floor and we shared a piece (okay, two pieces between us) and it was my favorite moment of the whole day. We giggled like we had an inside joke, like stoners, high on sugar, and stuffed our gobs with cake and champagne (wait, that was just me-- and don't get hysterical, I didn't get drunk). She felt like my little buddy. On the way home, we sang along together to her CD, then we stopped at the store and she was an angel again. Wow. Just wow.
She's in bed now. I feel all swoony like I just had a first date that went really well. I'm infatuated. I wish I could post pictures but my camera is broken.
On the boring weight-loss front: as of this morning, I've lost 7 lbs-- roughly the halfway mark. Of course, after today's cake binge, I'm probably back up by two, but whatever. It is really hard to keep this up because it takes such a long time, but dammit, I am determined. I feel good, and I feel like I'm losing it in places I really wanted to: my back, under my arms, my neck (sounds disgusting, and it is-- I was feeling smothered by myself). The only thing that's disappointing is that my clothes don't feel any looser, and that's a bummer. I know I weigh less; I feel good and look better; but my regular size 12s still fit perfectly. And I'm just under 5'2; seven pounds is a good amount off this body. I'll get down to my goal and screw it if my clothes are still double-digits. Whatever.
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