Its 6:12am and I have been up since 3:00am. This early rising is kid induced of course. So, here I sit after having gone through the ShopRite circular to see what is on sale and what meals I can get out of it for the week.
I feel like I am struggling to get back on track. I realize that my energies are scattered and I am not exactly sure why. Could be a number of things. I am readjusting to not working anymore, dealing with this pregnant for four days then not so much, the school year winding down, the want and need to put Max in daycare knowing we can not afford to do so and not succumbing to the pressure to do so anyway, feeling like I am not taking time for me.
It is funny how things seem so clear in the wee hours of the morning. All of the possibilities just exist. I have decided to stop putting exercise off until the middle of or end of the day. I realize I do my best in the morning first thing. Now to make it happen.
So, both children are up watching Wow Wow Wubbzy. We have gone through the books, looked for stuff in Shop Rite, made a list....and now....they are sleepy.
I am going upstairs to put on some work out clothes (heck, maybe I will stay in my pajamas and put the kids on the jogger and we are going to go running. It will put them to sleep and allow me to start my day. It can't hurt any.
ShopRite will be there after the run. Maybe a little more crowded, but being around people is not always bad. Most times, but not all the time.
Today, I refocus on the good stuff and I am going to stop stressing about everything and nothing. There really is no need for that.
Until the Next Time
Your Recovering Fat Girl'
Mikki
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Sunday, April 19, 2009
Down that road again....
I should have known something was amiss when I awoke with the dull ache in my lower back. It was a familiar ache and in no way welcomed. I waited with my eyes closed waiting to feel the nausea that had been with me for the last six or seven days or the tale tell dizziness I had been experiencing for what seemed forever.
I ignored it. I had already claimed "Boog" to make it. Surely, nothing bad would happen again. I am a good person. I do good things. I hold doors for old people, I tell people when their tires are flat when I am driving, I go to church and listen when Max allows me to do so. The odds of this happening AGAIN are slim to none. For this to happen again would mean there was truly a problem. I did not want to pretend that what I had been through and lived with medically was unspeakabley horrendous, because in truth, it was not.
And so it happened again. The medical people term it a "chemical pregnancy" because for whatever reason the ball of cells never fully implants and out it goes. The logical thing would be for me not to test early at all. I get that. But here is the thing about knowing your body as well as I know mine. I knew I was pregnant before I ever took the test. I know how things work in there. I know the tell tale signs. The dizziness that only happens when another is on board. The mouth full of saliva. The extra vivid dreams that usually have to do with bags of fish and death. I knew before the friend was due and that is rather hard to turn off.
I attempted to hold it in, not to tell Tim this time because I didn't want him to be dissappointed again. I feel bad thinking he can't handle it. Or maybe its my being selfish and unable to share that hurt. I don't do crying well and to feel that vulnerable about something over which I have absolutely no control drives me crazy.
But I told him anyway, that our "Boog" didn't make it. Again. We hugged and I suggested maybe it was time to see Dr. Minassian again. Tim agreed. Even though he has moved his practice to an hour away in another city. Tim said he is more than willing to do the driving. I agree that I am willing to sit in the passenger seat. Our eyes get moist but we don't cry. I don't do crying, and Tim won't really in front of me.
We gather up our already here kids and head to the park on a beautiful day.
Once there we swing and slide with the kids, run around and keep them safe. I still have that horrible, nagging, dull ache in my back that feels most unfairly like labor pains. I allow myself the minute or two to feel sad about it, but no more than that. Wallowing is only productive if you're a piglet and there is dirt around, and even they have to stop at some point. I take the advice my grandma gave me long ago as I lamented some man/boy I thought I loved and perhaps I did but he did not love me in return.
"Do you still love him?" she asked "Yes" I replied. I was expecting a "well go get him" or some asnwer to that effect. In stead she said "Well, give yourself three days and you will get over it. Any thing after that is just wallowing in it and there is no sense in doing that."
WOW. I thought. That was harsh. But in reality, she was correct. I gave myself 72 hours and truthfully I really was over it. The time I spent talking about it afterward really was an exercise in self pity.
So no self pity here. By Thursday it will be over. In the mean time, I have doors to hang, clothes to wash, kids to take care of, oh yeah, and trails to run. Even in the rain. This will not defeat me. Nothing will.
Until the Next Time
Your Recovering Fat Girl
Mikki
I ignored it. I had already claimed "Boog" to make it. Surely, nothing bad would happen again. I am a good person. I do good things. I hold doors for old people, I tell people when their tires are flat when I am driving, I go to church and listen when Max allows me to do so. The odds of this happening AGAIN are slim to none. For this to happen again would mean there was truly a problem. I did not want to pretend that what I had been through and lived with medically was unspeakabley horrendous, because in truth, it was not.
And so it happened again. The medical people term it a "chemical pregnancy" because for whatever reason the ball of cells never fully implants and out it goes. The logical thing would be for me not to test early at all. I get that. But here is the thing about knowing your body as well as I know mine. I knew I was pregnant before I ever took the test. I know how things work in there. I know the tell tale signs. The dizziness that only happens when another is on board. The mouth full of saliva. The extra vivid dreams that usually have to do with bags of fish and death. I knew before the friend was due and that is rather hard to turn off.
I attempted to hold it in, not to tell Tim this time because I didn't want him to be dissappointed again. I feel bad thinking he can't handle it. Or maybe its my being selfish and unable to share that hurt. I don't do crying well and to feel that vulnerable about something over which I have absolutely no control drives me crazy.
But I told him anyway, that our "Boog" didn't make it. Again. We hugged and I suggested maybe it was time to see Dr. Minassian again. Tim agreed. Even though he has moved his practice to an hour away in another city. Tim said he is more than willing to do the driving. I agree that I am willing to sit in the passenger seat. Our eyes get moist but we don't cry. I don't do crying, and Tim won't really in front of me.
We gather up our already here kids and head to the park on a beautiful day.
Once there we swing and slide with the kids, run around and keep them safe. I still have that horrible, nagging, dull ache in my back that feels most unfairly like labor pains. I allow myself the minute or two to feel sad about it, but no more than that. Wallowing is only productive if you're a piglet and there is dirt around, and even they have to stop at some point. I take the advice my grandma gave me long ago as I lamented some man/boy I thought I loved and perhaps I did but he did not love me in return.
"Do you still love him?" she asked "Yes" I replied. I was expecting a "well go get him" or some asnwer to that effect. In stead she said "Well, give yourself three days and you will get over it. Any thing after that is just wallowing in it and there is no sense in doing that."
WOW. I thought. That was harsh. But in reality, she was correct. I gave myself 72 hours and truthfully I really was over it. The time I spent talking about it afterward really was an exercise in self pity.
So no self pity here. By Thursday it will be over. In the mean time, I have doors to hang, clothes to wash, kids to take care of, oh yeah, and trails to run. Even in the rain. This will not defeat me. Nothing will.
Until the Next Time
Your Recovering Fat Girl
Mikki
Sunday, March 22, 2009
Getting restarted
I started to write yesterday and realized, after three or four lines that I was whining about not having exercised and the house being stirred up. I then grew some handles and got a grip and started to rewrite what really happened. By that I mean if you write it, or speak it, it exists in your reality. Therefore, instead of talking about how stirred up the house is I am focusing on the fact that I have done major spring cleaning in our room and the bathroom and stocked the snack cabinet in the kitchen.
Also, I started yesterday's entry lamenting the fact I had done nothing in the form of exercise, I got up, put on my ipod, laced up my sneakers and went running. I am still not in as bad a shape as I thought I would be and can still run further than I thought. I have noticed changes in my body due to my inactivity over the past two months and I am not happy about it.
However. I am not bummed or sitting Shiva for what it used to be. I am keeping it as a wake up call for where I could be AGAIN if I am not careful. Once again, seeing others go back to bad habits and putting on weight is not helpful for me. It is helpful, however, when it happens TO me. I am not a sideline observer in this weight loss game, I am an active participant. Therefore, I am back on track, focusing on the positives.
I am happy that this is my last week of work. Tonight is a fun night and really I am not working just going skating and can take my kids too (if Nala feels better that is) and then I have only Tuesday through Thursday to worry about.
Last night Tim and I had a conversation and I told him my revelation. I understand that women work and raise families every day and some do it with much grace, understanding, and most important well and my hat is off to those women (and men) who accomplish this feat. I, too, worked and raised a child under stressful circumstances since my first baby was just "penciled in" for the first two years and ten months of her life. However, just because it is done this way does not mean I should have to make it harder than it needs to be.
This conversation came about after I admitted to Tim that I felt like a failure for not being able to do everything. Take care of Max during the day, run the household and work at night and then find time to get enough sleep and still be healthy. I look back and say, well my mother did it, and a whole bunch of other women did it also. Why can't I?
I guess it comes down to my not being able to do anything well enough for my standards. And honestly, just because you CAN do it does not mean that you SHOULD do it. I need to lay down the guilt that is only kicked up when I listen to others who shed light on my doubts or fears that I am not doing enough professionally to warrant my existence. Perhaps, it is the unspoken belief (that maybe I secretly hold) that raising kids and keeping a household together isn't REAL work just merely something you do.
Realistically, I think this is the toughest job I have ever had and the most important. I have learned to redefine myself from titles that are smiled upon and impressive to everyone who hears them. It isn't as if I am never going back to paid employment, because I will. But if I don't do it at this very moment, or even in the next three months does this mean what I contribute is any less important because I don't bring home a paycheck and pay taxes?
Somehow, I don't think that is the case. I need to keep that in the forefront of my mind when asked what it is I do or when I plan on going back to work. Hell, I am at work all day long, 24/7. What I am "going back to" is a vacation in comparison.
Ok, having unburdened my soul I need to get up and get my body moving and finish cleaning this house as stirred up surroundings means a stirred up mind and I really am NOT in that space today. I don't want to be, therefore, I will not be.
Until the Next Time
Your Recovering Fat Girl
Mikki
.
Since I am aware of the "Have a plan, or plan to fail" I am goin to finish up my plan for meals for the rest of the week tonight when I finally get a chance to get in bed. I really
Also, I started yesterday's entry lamenting the fact I had done nothing in the form of exercise, I got up, put on my ipod, laced up my sneakers and went running. I am still not in as bad a shape as I thought I would be and can still run further than I thought. I have noticed changes in my body due to my inactivity over the past two months and I am not happy about it.
However. I am not bummed or sitting Shiva for what it used to be. I am keeping it as a wake up call for where I could be AGAIN if I am not careful. Once again, seeing others go back to bad habits and putting on weight is not helpful for me. It is helpful, however, when it happens TO me. I am not a sideline observer in this weight loss game, I am an active participant. Therefore, I am back on track, focusing on the positives.
I am happy that this is my last week of work. Tonight is a fun night and really I am not working just going skating and can take my kids too (if Nala feels better that is) and then I have only Tuesday through Thursday to worry about.
Last night Tim and I had a conversation and I told him my revelation. I understand that women work and raise families every day and some do it with much grace, understanding, and most important well and my hat is off to those women (and men) who accomplish this feat. I, too, worked and raised a child under stressful circumstances since my first baby was just "penciled in" for the first two years and ten months of her life. However, just because it is done this way does not mean I should have to make it harder than it needs to be.
This conversation came about after I admitted to Tim that I felt like a failure for not being able to do everything. Take care of Max during the day, run the household and work at night and then find time to get enough sleep and still be healthy. I look back and say, well my mother did it, and a whole bunch of other women did it also. Why can't I?
I guess it comes down to my not being able to do anything well enough for my standards. And honestly, just because you CAN do it does not mean that you SHOULD do it. I need to lay down the guilt that is only kicked up when I listen to others who shed light on my doubts or fears that I am not doing enough professionally to warrant my existence. Perhaps, it is the unspoken belief (that maybe I secretly hold) that raising kids and keeping a household together isn't REAL work just merely something you do.
Realistically, I think this is the toughest job I have ever had and the most important. I have learned to redefine myself from titles that are smiled upon and impressive to everyone who hears them. It isn't as if I am never going back to paid employment, because I will. But if I don't do it at this very moment, or even in the next three months does this mean what I contribute is any less important because I don't bring home a paycheck and pay taxes?
Somehow, I don't think that is the case. I need to keep that in the forefront of my mind when asked what it is I do or when I plan on going back to work. Hell, I am at work all day long, 24/7. What I am "going back to" is a vacation in comparison.
Ok, having unburdened my soul I need to get up and get my body moving and finish cleaning this house as stirred up surroundings means a stirred up mind and I really am NOT in that space today. I don't want to be, therefore, I will not be.
Until the Next Time
Your Recovering Fat Girl
Mikki
.
Since I am aware of the "Have a plan, or plan to fail" I am goin to finish up my plan for meals for the rest of the week tonight when I finally get a chance to get in bed. I really
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Getting Back on Track
The title should tell it all. I am off the beaten track. Derailed. Knocked off my square. Plodding along....you get the idea.
Ok, let me just get this part over with before I start making excuses. Today I stepped on the scale and it read 190.2. *OUCH*. I thought about lying or at least omitting my weight but to be dishonest with myself is the worse thing ever. So, I realize I need some help, here.
Hence, I am back at the blog, which, hopefully for me at this entry no one reads *smile*. No, that is not fair. I need to be honest about this weight loss journey, not try to make myself look good no matter what.
I can not believe its already March and a lot has happened.
First off, this working thing. So not happening for me now. I am not getting enough sleep and that has really affected my weight. I have been so tired that I can't always get myself together to do anything. Its been cold and I can't get out to run so I have, at least, been introduced to Comcast On Demand and Jillian Michaels. I like working out with Jillian, but I will be honest---and Lord knows I never thought I would be saying this--it does not give me the same satisfaction as running.
Luckily, its getting warmer and I can take Maxwell out to go running when I can convince myself that five hours of sleep really is enough on which to exist.
Life has been crazy around here.
Working from 6pm-12am has taken its toll on me. I have to admit something to myself that I don't like to admit....I really am not Superwoman. Tim said it best that I "work" all day taking care of Max while Noodle is at school, taking care of our kids full time and part time, making dinner, taking care of a household is a lot of work. I didn't realize how much until I started working outside again.
I understand that women do this all the time and if it had been a job with traditional hours that would have been a little different.
Whatever the case, the job is going by the way side next week and I will be happy to be home once again. I feel as if I am on a treadmill and not the kind that helps you lose weight.
I see how very easy it is to get away from what makes you successful in any endeavor. The difference is, while this time I am dissappointed in how I have allowed things to progress in the past three months I am happy that I am not letting it dibilitate me to the point where I have the "whatever, man. I may as well just bag this" attitude I had in the past.
For example, I did not want to make my appointment with Dr. Boe and have to tell him I got pregnant at eight months out (and again in January that also ended in a very early miscarriage. I don't even know what THATS about) and that my weight loss has all but stopped. He was more understanding than I thought he would be and filled me some more.
My weight is due to my poor food choices and eating late at night and believe it or not, not consumming enough quality food. I have already identified one of my triggers as eating when I am tired as if that is going to stop me from being tired instead of just getting more sleep. And boy have I been tired. Nope, not excuses, just realities that I am going to have to find an effective way to deal with is all.
Easier said than done, my friend.
What is the point of therapy through blogging if I am not going to be honest about it? Its better than paying my copay and lying to a therapist LOL
So here I sit, committed once again to being healthy and on track and blogging daily to keep me honest. Having said this (it has taken me three hours to write this between running after Max, reading him books, attempting to pick up the living room and making doctor's appointments for the boy) I am going to put on something in which to run and go to the wildlife preserve to run and show Maxwell signs of spring. It won't be long now.
Until the Next Time,
Your Recovering Fat Girl
Mikki
Ok, let me just get this part over with before I start making excuses. Today I stepped on the scale and it read 190.2. *OUCH*. I thought about lying or at least omitting my weight but to be dishonest with myself is the worse thing ever. So, I realize I need some help, here.
Hence, I am back at the blog, which, hopefully for me at this entry no one reads *smile*. No, that is not fair. I need to be honest about this weight loss journey, not try to make myself look good no matter what.
I can not believe its already March and a lot has happened.
First off, this working thing. So not happening for me now. I am not getting enough sleep and that has really affected my weight. I have been so tired that I can't always get myself together to do anything. Its been cold and I can't get out to run so I have, at least, been introduced to Comcast On Demand and Jillian Michaels. I like working out with Jillian, but I will be honest---and Lord knows I never thought I would be saying this--it does not give me the same satisfaction as running.
Luckily, its getting warmer and I can take Maxwell out to go running when I can convince myself that five hours of sleep really is enough on which to exist.
Life has been crazy around here.
Working from 6pm-12am has taken its toll on me. I have to admit something to myself that I don't like to admit....I really am not Superwoman. Tim said it best that I "work" all day taking care of Max while Noodle is at school, taking care of our kids full time and part time, making dinner, taking care of a household is a lot of work. I didn't realize how much until I started working outside again.
I understand that women do this all the time and if it had been a job with traditional hours that would have been a little different.
Whatever the case, the job is going by the way side next week and I will be happy to be home once again. I feel as if I am on a treadmill and not the kind that helps you lose weight.
I see how very easy it is to get away from what makes you successful in any endeavor. The difference is, while this time I am dissappointed in how I have allowed things to progress in the past three months I am happy that I am not letting it dibilitate me to the point where I have the "whatever, man. I may as well just bag this" attitude I had in the past.
For example, I did not want to make my appointment with Dr. Boe and have to tell him I got pregnant at eight months out (and again in January that also ended in a very early miscarriage. I don't even know what THATS about) and that my weight loss has all but stopped. He was more understanding than I thought he would be and filled me some more.
My weight is due to my poor food choices and eating late at night and believe it or not, not consumming enough quality food. I have already identified one of my triggers as eating when I am tired as if that is going to stop me from being tired instead of just getting more sleep. And boy have I been tired. Nope, not excuses, just realities that I am going to have to find an effective way to deal with is all.
Easier said than done, my friend.
What is the point of therapy through blogging if I am not going to be honest about it? Its better than paying my copay and lying to a therapist LOL
So here I sit, committed once again to being healthy and on track and blogging daily to keep me honest. Having said this (it has taken me three hours to write this between running after Max, reading him books, attempting to pick up the living room and making doctor's appointments for the boy) I am going to put on something in which to run and go to the wildlife preserve to run and show Maxwell signs of spring. It won't be long now.
Until the Next Time,
Your Recovering Fat Girl
Mikki
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
You Can't Go Home Again
A couple of weeks ago I was talking to a friend from college. She and I speak periodically, usually once a year as our birthdays are two days apart. The last time we spoke she filled me in on her life in the brief two minute way to which I have grown accustom. She told me that she was now on the mornings in radio and was still active in theater and then implored me to tell her of my life.
I, in turn told her of my life in the brief two minutes she allotted to me. Married, two babies, doing, for the most part the at home gig to concentrate a bit on the little ones, yadda yadda, but while life was crazy I was enjoying the whole crazy bit.
She then said she hoped I was not one of "those people" who never went anywhere or did anything unless it was kid related and that I (we) lived for our children. "Tell me you go out?" she implored. " Please tell me you have friends." I hesitate. Is she nuts? We have jobs and kids a nd lives, who in the hell has time for fostering friendships?
I respond with something that I hope makes me sound a little less pathetic than I actually am and chalk up our supposed lack of social life to just being busy, not necessarily because we are parents.
I realized once our conversation ended that I was guarded with my answers of my current life situation. Not because I am unhappy with the current status of my existence, but I recalled a conversation she and I had years ago.
At one point in my young twenties, I auditioned and was accepted into the American Academy for Dramatic Arts in New York city. Many applied, however, only 20 people were accepted and I was among the lucky few.
Upon telling my friend of my news she congratulated me and stated "You do know you are doing what the rest of us wish we had the guts to do?" I was taken aback as I had never considered myself a trail blazer, let alone fearless.
My Academy days never came to pass, however, as I allowed other people's fears and doubts to become my own and I chose what most people do: what is safe and familiar. I sold out for being comfortable.
Now, I find myself at a crossroads once again, professionally.
Personally, I have absolutely everything I ever asked God to graciously bestow upon me. I have a loving husband whom I adore and can laugh with at 2:30 am, and two lovely, crazy, funny children to occupy my days and time. I find great pleasure in doing for them and teaching them to hopefully, become pleasant, productive and caring little humans.
Recently, I rejoined the ranks of the paid employed as I took a job part time. Once again, I opted for the familiar. I began working at a recovery place for women with concurring disorders of substance abuse and mental health issues. I was hired as "parent support" in the 6pm-12am shift Monday through Friday. I can do the job without much effort or thought and did not expect to learn anything from my new gig.
However, after 2 months and one week of working there I have learned one very important lesson.
You can't go home again.
My days of direct care are over. I only have limited patience which seems to be reserved for little people, preferably my own. Where I used to lend a sympathetic here with no strings attached, I find myself secretly judging the decisions they have made. Of course, I am aware of the diseases of substance abuse and the complexities of mental illness. I do, in theory, understand the hardships they face in fighting their addictions and the complex inner workings as they come to terms with living with a mental illness that is sometimes very misunderstood.
Somewhere in my life experiences I think I may have seen and heard too much. I see too many of the same faces and hear too many of the same stories. Perhaps the most heartbreaking of all are the children I encounter. I see the hope in their eyes that this time will be the last time in treatment. This time mom will get it together. This time I will not be dragged from place to place. This time we will keep the house, and she will not put a man, a woman, a drug, a situation in front of me again.
My heart always goes out to the children and I feel it is my obligation to help them through. I am more touched now because of my Noodle as that very well could have been her life. She could have easily been in the very same house in which I work for her first stop in a string of homes she would live in, none of which she could call her own. Knowing this and seeing the process from the other side makes it difficult for me to be the cheerleader I believe I need to be for the women in the programs care.
Not that I would do anything to jeopardize their stay or recovery. They are quick to thank me for taking good care of their babies and lending a listening ear even though I have not been there that long. And there in lies the rub.
Do I stay with the familiar? Do I squash my misgivings about the profession and continue because its safe, easy and I can make a living?
Or do I strike out for something truly different? Will I be the person I want Nala to be and Max to be? Fearless in their decision making and confident in what they would like to do with their lives despite what others may think. Will my telling them be enough or do I need to lead by example?
Going into 2009 I suppose I have some decisions to make. In 2008 I started to tackle the biggest issue of my life with losing weight. I feel if I can tackle that I should be able to tackle anything.
You can't go home again. The beauty is, if you search long enough you can find another home.
Happy 2009 everyone. I hope its healthy, and happy and full of fearlessness.
Your Recovering Fat Girl
Mikki
I, in turn told her of my life in the brief two minutes she allotted to me. Married, two babies, doing, for the most part the at home gig to concentrate a bit on the little ones, yadda yadda, but while life was crazy I was enjoying the whole crazy bit.
She then said she hoped I was not one of "those people" who never went anywhere or did anything unless it was kid related and that I (we) lived for our children. "Tell me you go out?" she implored. " Please tell me you have friends." I hesitate. Is she nuts? We have jobs and kids a nd lives, who in the hell has time for fostering friendships?
I respond with something that I hope makes me sound a little less pathetic than I actually am and chalk up our supposed lack of social life to just being busy, not necessarily because we are parents.
I realized once our conversation ended that I was guarded with my answers of my current life situation. Not because I am unhappy with the current status of my existence, but I recalled a conversation she and I had years ago.
At one point in my young twenties, I auditioned and was accepted into the American Academy for Dramatic Arts in New York city. Many applied, however, only 20 people were accepted and I was among the lucky few.
Upon telling my friend of my news she congratulated me and stated "You do know you are doing what the rest of us wish we had the guts to do?" I was taken aback as I had never considered myself a trail blazer, let alone fearless.
My Academy days never came to pass, however, as I allowed other people's fears and doubts to become my own and I chose what most people do: what is safe and familiar. I sold out for being comfortable.
Now, I find myself at a crossroads once again, professionally.
Personally, I have absolutely everything I ever asked God to graciously bestow upon me. I have a loving husband whom I adore and can laugh with at 2:30 am, and two lovely, crazy, funny children to occupy my days and time. I find great pleasure in doing for them and teaching them to hopefully, become pleasant, productive and caring little humans.
Recently, I rejoined the ranks of the paid employed as I took a job part time. Once again, I opted for the familiar. I began working at a recovery place for women with concurring disorders of substance abuse and mental health issues. I was hired as "parent support" in the 6pm-12am shift Monday through Friday. I can do the job without much effort or thought and did not expect to learn anything from my new gig.
However, after 2 months and one week of working there I have learned one very important lesson.
You can't go home again.
My days of direct care are over. I only have limited patience which seems to be reserved for little people, preferably my own. Where I used to lend a sympathetic here with no strings attached, I find myself secretly judging the decisions they have made. Of course, I am aware of the diseases of substance abuse and the complexities of mental illness. I do, in theory, understand the hardships they face in fighting their addictions and the complex inner workings as they come to terms with living with a mental illness that is sometimes very misunderstood.
Somewhere in my life experiences I think I may have seen and heard too much. I see too many of the same faces and hear too many of the same stories. Perhaps the most heartbreaking of all are the children I encounter. I see the hope in their eyes that this time will be the last time in treatment. This time mom will get it together. This time I will not be dragged from place to place. This time we will keep the house, and she will not put a man, a woman, a drug, a situation in front of me again.
My heart always goes out to the children and I feel it is my obligation to help them through. I am more touched now because of my Noodle as that very well could have been her life. She could have easily been in the very same house in which I work for her first stop in a string of homes she would live in, none of which she could call her own. Knowing this and seeing the process from the other side makes it difficult for me to be the cheerleader I believe I need to be for the women in the programs care.
Not that I would do anything to jeopardize their stay or recovery. They are quick to thank me for taking good care of their babies and lending a listening ear even though I have not been there that long. And there in lies the rub.
Do I stay with the familiar? Do I squash my misgivings about the profession and continue because its safe, easy and I can make a living?
Or do I strike out for something truly different? Will I be the person I want Nala to be and Max to be? Fearless in their decision making and confident in what they would like to do with their lives despite what others may think. Will my telling them be enough or do I need to lead by example?
Going into 2009 I suppose I have some decisions to make. In 2008 I started to tackle the biggest issue of my life with losing weight. I feel if I can tackle that I should be able to tackle anything.
You can't go home again. The beauty is, if you search long enough you can find another home.
Happy 2009 everyone. I hope its healthy, and happy and full of fearlessness.
Your Recovering Fat Girl
Mikki
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Back from hiatus...
Boy, talk about life happening!
When I began this journey of weight loss and blogging about it, I promised to do it openly and honestly, to share my successes as well as my bumps in the road. So, the proverbial bump has been hit. Not too badly and I am happy to say I believe this bump has not derailed me and I am back on track and thankful that the slide was not a great one.
Everything was going along swimmingly and I had my fourth fill in August. I was praying to find the sweet spot. Running was going well, although with four children in the summer as oppossed to just our two sometimes there were challenges.
And then in September, just prior to Noodle going back to school it happened. I was "late". I didn't feel right. Tim gave his nervous laughter and said "Oh Mikki, you're just being paranoid. You know you aren't regular."
Au Contraire mon frere. Since losing weight every 28-32 days I was visited by the unwanted. It didn't hit him until he saw the two lined test and the other that read "pregnant"that he believed it. Honestly, we were both shocked. Word to those who want to know about birth control. I have a secret. It only works if you use it! Who knew?
So, there we sat, shocked. Wow. We didn't have to do anything this time. No pills, no threatened injections in the butt, no fertility doctors--nothin'. Just good old fashioned date night.
I was mortified having to tell my surgeon that I had gotten pregnant 8 months out of surgery when he said wait two years for maximum weight loss. Truthfully, we had planned on trying after my year bandiversary, but not in the summer. I wasn't sure how it would play out. As if on queue, once I got used t the idea of having another little person running around, the scale broke. I realized my biggest challenge would be getting used to the idea of having the scale go up from my then 184.5/ 185lb scale reading.
Tim went with me to the first appointment. We sat in the room chatting it up with my doctor, talking about how I was feeling and babies and the economy and then we got down to the business at hand. The first ultrasound. There we were, in the room looking at a screen. The doctor got quiet. I was looking. As if she was reading my thoughts she said " I don't see anything here. This is not an eight week sac."
And in an instant our world was turned upside down. We had gone from disbelief to looking forward to telling our parents we were going to make them grandparents again to landing on the block of "Empty Sac Street and the Intersection of Not Eight Weeks Along Avenue."
She urged us not to worry, to go in for a Level2 ultrasound and maybe something could be found. Maybe my dates were off.
I knew in my heart the dates were not off. Tim and I looked at each other when we left the office. One of stated "this doesn't look good, does it" and the other hastily agreed. And the news wasn't good. The pregnancy failed to progress after the sixth week. My body being the trooper that it is did not recognize the pregnancy as not being viable, so I still suffered from all day sickness. My doctor's office, erring on the side of caution, had me wait a couple of weeks (mostly in the dark) to confirm what I already knew.
Finally, they conceded defeat. The last ultrasound showed the sac had collapsed and there was nothing but tissue left. Ten days ago, on the day of what would have been my 11th week and 4th day of pregnancy, they performed my D&E. And then like that, I wasn't pregnant anymore.
We are thankful that it happened early. If there was a chromosomal abnormality, which is usually the case in early pregnancy lost or missed abortions, my body did what it was supposed to do--it reject it. We are thankful that it happened early enough that a decision did not have to be made later on if something had been terribly wrong. The Lord knows my heart, and the thought of an extremely ill child scares me to no end.
Having said all of the above, being thankful for the two wonderful children we already have, I am still amazed that I am still saddened by the loss. Not that I am callous, but I only a had a little time to get used to the idea of "Tres". Now, the option is gone.
During my all day sickness I ate stuff that made me able to live. Mostly Tostito chips and salsa. It stayed down when nothing else would. That and orange juice. I certainly got in my vitamin C. Note to self: the first 13 weeks of pregnancy are a wash for me. I am ok with that.
The result was a 4 pound weight gain and a tummy that protruded earlier than I could have ever anticipated. The good news is my tummy has started to get back to my new normal, and the scale read 186 this morning. Gone is the nausea and the copper taste in my mouth and for the first time in weeks I ran this past Sunday morning. I was not nearly as out of shape as I had anticipated. I realize I actually missed running and that was cool.
I am still sad over our loss. I can admit that as I don't want to drown my sorrows in a bowl of ice cream or gooey chocolate chip cookies. I want to be able to share my sadness instead of feeling alone about it and stuffing my feelings with food. Isn't that what therapy is for? As stated before, I am keeping my copay in a savings account for when I go shopping again for clothes.
We have not given up on "Tres". We would like to add to our family, I guess this just was not the right time. So, once again, my efforts are concentrated on losing some more of me and gaining more stamina running. Things will work out, they always do. And the next time I go get a brandnew wardrobe, I will be shopping in the Maternity section at Target in a size Medium or even Small.
And that is a goal worth reaching.
Until next time,
Your Recovering Fat Girl
Mikki
When I began this journey of weight loss and blogging about it, I promised to do it openly and honestly, to share my successes as well as my bumps in the road. So, the proverbial bump has been hit. Not too badly and I am happy to say I believe this bump has not derailed me and I am back on track and thankful that the slide was not a great one.
Everything was going along swimmingly and I had my fourth fill in August. I was praying to find the sweet spot. Running was going well, although with four children in the summer as oppossed to just our two sometimes there were challenges.
And then in September, just prior to Noodle going back to school it happened. I was "late". I didn't feel right. Tim gave his nervous laughter and said "Oh Mikki, you're just being paranoid. You know you aren't regular."
Au Contraire mon frere. Since losing weight every 28-32 days I was visited by the unwanted. It didn't hit him until he saw the two lined test and the other that read "pregnant"that he believed it. Honestly, we were both shocked. Word to those who want to know about birth control. I have a secret. It only works if you use it! Who knew?
So, there we sat, shocked. Wow. We didn't have to do anything this time. No pills, no threatened injections in the butt, no fertility doctors--nothin'. Just good old fashioned date night.
I was mortified having to tell my surgeon that I had gotten pregnant 8 months out of surgery when he said wait two years for maximum weight loss. Truthfully, we had planned on trying after my year bandiversary, but not in the summer. I wasn't sure how it would play out. As if on queue, once I got used t the idea of having another little person running around, the scale broke. I realized my biggest challenge would be getting used to the idea of having the scale go up from my then 184.5/ 185lb scale reading.
Tim went with me to the first appointment. We sat in the room chatting it up with my doctor, talking about how I was feeling and babies and the economy and then we got down to the business at hand. The first ultrasound. There we were, in the room looking at a screen. The doctor got quiet. I was looking. As if she was reading my thoughts she said " I don't see anything here. This is not an eight week sac."
And in an instant our world was turned upside down. We had gone from disbelief to looking forward to telling our parents we were going to make them grandparents again to landing on the block of "Empty Sac Street and the Intersection of Not Eight Weeks Along Avenue."
She urged us not to worry, to go in for a Level2 ultrasound and maybe something could be found. Maybe my dates were off.
I knew in my heart the dates were not off. Tim and I looked at each other when we left the office. One of stated "this doesn't look good, does it" and the other hastily agreed. And the news wasn't good. The pregnancy failed to progress after the sixth week. My body being the trooper that it is did not recognize the pregnancy as not being viable, so I still suffered from all day sickness. My doctor's office, erring on the side of caution, had me wait a couple of weeks (mostly in the dark) to confirm what I already knew.
Finally, they conceded defeat. The last ultrasound showed the sac had collapsed and there was nothing but tissue left. Ten days ago, on the day of what would have been my 11th week and 4th day of pregnancy, they performed my D&E. And then like that, I wasn't pregnant anymore.
We are thankful that it happened early. If there was a chromosomal abnormality, which is usually the case in early pregnancy lost or missed abortions, my body did what it was supposed to do--it reject it. We are thankful that it happened early enough that a decision did not have to be made later on if something had been terribly wrong. The Lord knows my heart, and the thought of an extremely ill child scares me to no end.
Having said all of the above, being thankful for the two wonderful children we already have, I am still amazed that I am still saddened by the loss. Not that I am callous, but I only a had a little time to get used to the idea of "Tres". Now, the option is gone.
During my all day sickness I ate stuff that made me able to live. Mostly Tostito chips and salsa. It stayed down when nothing else would. That and orange juice. I certainly got in my vitamin C. Note to self: the first 13 weeks of pregnancy are a wash for me. I am ok with that.
The result was a 4 pound weight gain and a tummy that protruded earlier than I could have ever anticipated. The good news is my tummy has started to get back to my new normal, and the scale read 186 this morning. Gone is the nausea and the copper taste in my mouth and for the first time in weeks I ran this past Sunday morning. I was not nearly as out of shape as I had anticipated. I realize I actually missed running and that was cool.
I am still sad over our loss. I can admit that as I don't want to drown my sorrows in a bowl of ice cream or gooey chocolate chip cookies. I want to be able to share my sadness instead of feeling alone about it and stuffing my feelings with food. Isn't that what therapy is for? As stated before, I am keeping my copay in a savings account for when I go shopping again for clothes.
We have not given up on "Tres". We would like to add to our family, I guess this just was not the right time. So, once again, my efforts are concentrated on losing some more of me and gaining more stamina running. Things will work out, they always do. And the next time I go get a brandnew wardrobe, I will be shopping in the Maternity section at Target in a size Medium or even Small.
And that is a goal worth reaching.
Until next time,
Your Recovering Fat Girl
Mikki
Thursday, July 10, 2008
It's been a long time
Well, I looked back and realize that I have not posted in over a month. Why have I been so remiss in my duties as Weight Loss Blogger number One?
Life has been happening.
My fourth fill was on June 26th. I weighed in at 193lbs. He was pleased and said I am right on target to lose 50lbs within the first year which is what he asks as the second year of weight loss goes slower. ( I didn't want to tell him that I thought this was going pretty slow). I had lost 37lbs to that point, therefore I only had 13 more pounds until I reached his expected goal.
Dr. Boe, gave me .5cc's in my band taking me up to 6. I wanted more. Did he not understand that I had hardly any restriction? That the weight I lost was really due to running to no place in particular and my ability to stop eating at some point. I wanted a whole CC. He smiled and said, "lets just see where we are."
Now, one thing I have noticed about the phrase , "let's see" is that it means no. Tim has taught me that. True to man form, Dr. Boe gave me what he had intended .5cc, told me to make an appointment at the desk before leaving, shook my hand to congratulate me on my weight loss progress , warned me not to run alone and bid me a good day.
He didn't want to see me again until AUGUST! EIGHT WEEKS OUT! Was he crazy?
Did he really believe that I would acheive restriction with a mere half a cc? Why had this man forsaken me so? He seemed so understanding about my weight loss plight before. How could he do this to me? To think , I had placed him on my Christmas Card list.
I felt no difference for the first three days with the fill. Had it not been for the band aid that sat on my tummy I wouold not have even known I had a fill. The scale was not budging from 193 unless it was at 194.
I spent a couple of days at the intersection of Dissappointment Street and Pittyville Avenue but built a bridge and got over it. I recommitted myself to amping up the exercise (which is not easy when you have four children lurking around the house wanting stuff like food, water, a bath, trips to the park, to the pool outback, refereeing fights over who has more juice) and really watching what I ate (I will admit that snacking has been an undesirable habit I have acquired post band and having a bunch of children around. It is not their faults, but I have to blame them for something.)
Well, it turns out that Dr. Boe knew what he was doing. I have found true restriction. This could very well be, the elusive sweet spot the LBT boards talk so much about. Just a side note on this "sweet spot" terminology.This is the sometimes mythical place where you can eat a half cup of food or less and feel full.
Prior to being banded, I would never have put the phrase "sweet spot" along with my inability to eat for a number of reasons, none of which I will go into as this is a family blog.
I am now one of the cheapest dates ever. I ate two ounces of salmon yesterday and felt like I had eaten a school of fish.
This morning it was an egg. I was finished after three bites.
Fab---uuuu--luuuus!
Now, all I have to do is master the "head hunger" that plagues me. It is challenging not to eat whever there is food around especially for the kids. It is a constant struggle for me not to pop stuff in my mouth and chew recklessly without thinking. The good news is I really can't eat a lot of whatever I have eaten absently. The bad news is its uusually something that gets stuck and sits in the center of my chest for a while or makes me slime. Neither are particularly exciting times to deal with and what makes it worse is that I did it to myself so I don't feel as if I should complain.
Having said all of the above today when I stepped on the scale it read 191.8. That is so close to having an "8" in the middle that I could just scream for joy. No tears, however, that is reserved for my goal weight, which I am not sure I have settled on yet.
I am being pestered to write something about "Nutrition Day" for the kids. It was my idea. These ideas always seem like good ones until I actually have to implement them.
Until the next time,
Your Recovering Fat Girl
Mikki
Life has been happening.
My fourth fill was on June 26th. I weighed in at 193lbs. He was pleased and said I am right on target to lose 50lbs within the first year which is what he asks as the second year of weight loss goes slower. ( I didn't want to tell him that I thought this was going pretty slow). I had lost 37lbs to that point, therefore I only had 13 more pounds until I reached his expected goal.
Dr. Boe, gave me .5cc's in my band taking me up to 6. I wanted more. Did he not understand that I had hardly any restriction? That the weight I lost was really due to running to no place in particular and my ability to stop eating at some point. I wanted a whole CC. He smiled and said, "lets just see where we are."
Now, one thing I have noticed about the phrase , "let's see" is that it means no. Tim has taught me that. True to man form, Dr. Boe gave me what he had intended .5cc, told me to make an appointment at the desk before leaving, shook my hand to congratulate me on my weight loss progress , warned me not to run alone and bid me a good day.
He didn't want to see me again until AUGUST! EIGHT WEEKS OUT! Was he crazy?
Did he really believe that I would acheive restriction with a mere half a cc? Why had this man forsaken me so? He seemed so understanding about my weight loss plight before. How could he do this to me? To think , I had placed him on my Christmas Card list.
I felt no difference for the first three days with the fill. Had it not been for the band aid that sat on my tummy I wouold not have even known I had a fill. The scale was not budging from 193 unless it was at 194.
I spent a couple of days at the intersection of Dissappointment Street and Pittyville Avenue but built a bridge and got over it. I recommitted myself to amping up the exercise (which is not easy when you have four children lurking around the house wanting stuff like food, water, a bath, trips to the park, to the pool outback, refereeing fights over who has more juice) and really watching what I ate (I will admit that snacking has been an undesirable habit I have acquired post band and having a bunch of children around. It is not their faults, but I have to blame them for something.)
Well, it turns out that Dr. Boe knew what he was doing. I have found true restriction. This could very well be, the elusive sweet spot the LBT boards talk so much about. Just a side note on this "sweet spot" terminology.This is the sometimes mythical place where you can eat a half cup of food or less and feel full.
Prior to being banded, I would never have put the phrase "sweet spot" along with my inability to eat for a number of reasons, none of which I will go into as this is a family blog.
I am now one of the cheapest dates ever. I ate two ounces of salmon yesterday and felt like I had eaten a school of fish.
This morning it was an egg. I was finished after three bites.
Fab---uuuu--luuuus!
Now, all I have to do is master the "head hunger" that plagues me. It is challenging not to eat whever there is food around especially for the kids. It is a constant struggle for me not to pop stuff in my mouth and chew recklessly without thinking. The good news is I really can't eat a lot of whatever I have eaten absently. The bad news is its uusually something that gets stuck and sits in the center of my chest for a while or makes me slime. Neither are particularly exciting times to deal with and what makes it worse is that I did it to myself so I don't feel as if I should complain.
Having said all of the above today when I stepped on the scale it read 191.8. That is so close to having an "8" in the middle that I could just scream for joy. No tears, however, that is reserved for my goal weight, which I am not sure I have settled on yet.
I am being pestered to write something about "Nutrition Day" for the kids. It was my idea. These ideas always seem like good ones until I actually have to implement them.
Until the next time,
Your Recovering Fat Girl
Mikki
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