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
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
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
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
Rackin' up the NSV's
In the journey of weight loss there is something that everyone reaches -- the dreaded plateau. Now, I can't even spell the word without the help of spell check, but I sure can feel it and it seems my weight loss has hit the dreaded, un-spell-able word.
I am sitting at 194.4 lbs. I am not complaining. When I get down about it I remember I was 224lbs. the day of my surgery. I can't give up now. So, today in the interest of not letting the plateau get me down I am listing my NSV's (non scale victories for those who have not read this blog before.)
1. My replacement wedding rings are getting loser. I really miss my original rings and I am looking forward to having them sized.
2. I can dance around a lot with the kids and not get winded.
3. The other day I felt something on the side of my thigh and I couldn't figure out what it was. It felt like a ridge or something. I panicked--was it a tumor? Wait, tumors are round not usually long. I tried the other side attempting to compare only to realize it was the same at the right leg. Then it dawned on me--it was the muscle. I could feel a muscle in my leg. I don't remember when the last time that happened.
4. I can lay on my back, put my knees up and have Max sit down in my lap with his back resting on my thighs. I COULD NOT do that with Nala at all, or with Max when he was first born.
5. Today I am wearing one of Tim's t-shirts. It is a sized Large. In boy size. That is no small feat.
6.My sized 16 pants are loose. Not around the waist as that appears to be the last place that I lose weight, however, the back part is sagging and the thighs have a lot more room in them. I noticed it today and it surprised me.
7. I am beginning to notice my chin getting smaller and the cleft/dimple really is becoming more pronounced. I think I am beginning to see the emergence of cheekbones.
8. I can actually suck in my stomach and have it make a difference. Prior to my journey if I sucked in my stomach the fat didn't move away;-)
9. The other day I had to run from the car to the store because Nala was on the side walk and I didn't want to leave her there for too long by herself. I ran to her and it was as easy as walking. I never even thought about being out of breath.
10.My BMI was 40.7 when I went to my consultation in November. My BMI now stands at 34.4. It's great to see the numbers go down.
Well, folks that is all I have for today. I am still excited about my journey and looking forward to my fourth fill.
Until the Next Time,
Your Recovering Fat Girl
Mikki
I am sitting at 194.4 lbs. I am not complaining. When I get down about it I remember I was 224lbs. the day of my surgery. I can't give up now. So, today in the interest of not letting the plateau get me down I am listing my NSV's (non scale victories for those who have not read this blog before.)
1. My replacement wedding rings are getting loser. I really miss my original rings and I am looking forward to having them sized.
2. I can dance around a lot with the kids and not get winded.
3. The other day I felt something on the side of my thigh and I couldn't figure out what it was. It felt like a ridge or something. I panicked--was it a tumor? Wait, tumors are round not usually long. I tried the other side attempting to compare only to realize it was the same at the right leg. Then it dawned on me--it was the muscle. I could feel a muscle in my leg. I don't remember when the last time that happened.
4. I can lay on my back, put my knees up and have Max sit down in my lap with his back resting on my thighs. I COULD NOT do that with Nala at all, or with Max when he was first born.
5. Today I am wearing one of Tim's t-shirts. It is a sized Large. In boy size. That is no small feat.
6.My sized 16 pants are loose. Not around the waist as that appears to be the last place that I lose weight, however, the back part is sagging and the thighs have a lot more room in them. I noticed it today and it surprised me.
7. I am beginning to notice my chin getting smaller and the cleft/dimple really is becoming more pronounced. I think I am beginning to see the emergence of cheekbones.
8. I can actually suck in my stomach and have it make a difference. Prior to my journey if I sucked in my stomach the fat didn't move away;-)
9. The other day I had to run from the car to the store because Nala was on the side walk and I didn't want to leave her there for too long by herself. I ran to her and it was as easy as walking. I never even thought about being out of breath.
10.My BMI was 40.7 when I went to my consultation in November. My BMI now stands at 34.4. It's great to see the numbers go down.
Well, folks that is all I have for today. I am still excited about my journey and looking forward to my fourth fill.
Until the Next Time,
Your Recovering Fat Girl
Mikki
Thursday, May 22, 2008
In the interest of skinny jeans...
I am not sure how it happened, or from where the idea originated. Certainly, it could not have been my own doing. A month or so ago, I was trolling the LBT board in the exercise section and came across this catchy title: Couch to 5K.
Couch to 5K? How could a girl not look into the possibility of sitting on the couch and making 5 thousand dollars? I just couldn't understand why such a surefire scheme to fatten my pockets would be found under the exercise section?
Then I read on.
5K was not five thousand dollars but short for 5 Kilometers, 3 miles for us non metric user friendly individuals. I said what I always said when confronted with the notion of running/jogging. Why in the world would I run unless I was being chased by something evil and ugly? Even then, the thought of running perplexed me. I was convinced that, unless the person chasing me had a weapon, we could talk it out and come to some conclusion that would not lead to bodily injury, and more importantly, would allow my feet to stay firmly on the ground or at least move at a leisurely pace.
So imagine my surprise when I got this crazy notion to read more about this Couch to 5K endeavor. I scanned the nine week program. It is designed to be done three times a week using a combination of walking and running in 60 second intervals, then increasing to 90 second intervals, etc.
I found every excuse to put off starting this program. I had to charge up my Ipod and make sure I had music. I had to have the "right" kind of music, therefore, I dug into my old cd collection and loaded them onto my new fangled device. Then, I had to buy a sports bra (this truly is a necessity) however, I could never remember to get one when I did venture to the Evil Empire or the Mart of K. What about my shoes? They were from Target and not that comfortable, would I be able to run in them?
The truth is, I needed motivation and it couldn't come from anyone else except me. One of the lessons I am learning in this journey of healthiness and weight loss is I am truly the master of my own fate. I am the one who controls the numbers on the scale and how they fall. There is no magic person inside the digital read out that decides to make me happy or sad as I place my size 8 1/2 feet on the shiny silver surface. I decided to stop making excuses.
I loaded up my Ipod, found an old sports bra that I had abandoned long ago because it not longer fit. The funny thing is, when you lose 32lbs, the clothing that was too tight starts to fit, or was too big. It happens with sports bras, too. I strapped up my $20.00 sneakers and went on my way.
Tim and the babies accompanied me on my first trip. I requested they come for two reasons.
One: to hold me accountable and make sure I went through with it.
Two: To dial "the 911" if I fell out!
The good news is, I made it. I walked/ran for a total of 20 minutes. I didn't cheat. I did what I was supposed to do. And I have done it since. My distance and endurance is getting better each time I go to the wild life preserve. The other day I went farther than I ever had before, and with each bead of sweat that pops onto my forehead and runs down my back, something miraculous happens.
I am happy. Happy that I have two legs to run, that I have eyes to see the Egrets and bunnies that hop along the path. During my walk/run time its just me, the beautiful scenery, my ipod and the gravel beneath my feet.
I always thought of running as a chore. I am pleasantly surprised that it not only makes me happy, but capable, competent and strong.
No cookie, brownie, or bowl full of buttery mashed potatoes has ever made me feel like that.
I am on my second/third week of the program and am aiming towards a 5K race in September or October. I am not looking to win the race, just to finish. Even if I am last, that is ok with me. I am not competing against anyone other than the person wearing my ipod and my sneakers.
Maybe in a year or so I will be able to consider myself a "runner". And to think, I won't be running from anyone, and the only thing I will be negotiating is how much farther until I reach the finish line that has been designated by me.
Until the next time,
Your Recovering Fat Girl
Mikki
Couch to 5K? How could a girl not look into the possibility of sitting on the couch and making 5 thousand dollars? I just couldn't understand why such a surefire scheme to fatten my pockets would be found under the exercise section?
Then I read on.
5K was not five thousand dollars but short for 5 Kilometers, 3 miles for us non metric user friendly individuals. I said what I always said when confronted with the notion of running/jogging. Why in the world would I run unless I was being chased by something evil and ugly? Even then, the thought of running perplexed me. I was convinced that, unless the person chasing me had a weapon, we could talk it out and come to some conclusion that would not lead to bodily injury, and more importantly, would allow my feet to stay firmly on the ground or at least move at a leisurely pace.
So imagine my surprise when I got this crazy notion to read more about this Couch to 5K endeavor. I scanned the nine week program. It is designed to be done three times a week using a combination of walking and running in 60 second intervals, then increasing to 90 second intervals, etc.
I found every excuse to put off starting this program. I had to charge up my Ipod and make sure I had music. I had to have the "right" kind of music, therefore, I dug into my old cd collection and loaded them onto my new fangled device. Then, I had to buy a sports bra (this truly is a necessity) however, I could never remember to get one when I did venture to the Evil Empire or the Mart of K. What about my shoes? They were from Target and not that comfortable, would I be able to run in them?
The truth is, I needed motivation and it couldn't come from anyone else except me. One of the lessons I am learning in this journey of healthiness and weight loss is I am truly the master of my own fate. I am the one who controls the numbers on the scale and how they fall. There is no magic person inside the digital read out that decides to make me happy or sad as I place my size 8 1/2 feet on the shiny silver surface. I decided to stop making excuses.
I loaded up my Ipod, found an old sports bra that I had abandoned long ago because it not longer fit. The funny thing is, when you lose 32lbs, the clothing that was too tight starts to fit, or was too big. It happens with sports bras, too. I strapped up my $20.00 sneakers and went on my way.
Tim and the babies accompanied me on my first trip. I requested they come for two reasons.
One: to hold me accountable and make sure I went through with it.
Two: To dial "the 911" if I fell out!
The good news is, I made it. I walked/ran for a total of 20 minutes. I didn't cheat. I did what I was supposed to do. And I have done it since. My distance and endurance is getting better each time I go to the wild life preserve. The other day I went farther than I ever had before, and with each bead of sweat that pops onto my forehead and runs down my back, something miraculous happens.
I am happy. Happy that I have two legs to run, that I have eyes to see the Egrets and bunnies that hop along the path. During my walk/run time its just me, the beautiful scenery, my ipod and the gravel beneath my feet.
I always thought of running as a chore. I am pleasantly surprised that it not only makes me happy, but capable, competent and strong.
No cookie, brownie, or bowl full of buttery mashed potatoes has ever made me feel like that.
I am on my second/third week of the program and am aiming towards a 5K race in September or October. I am not looking to win the race, just to finish. Even if I am last, that is ok with me. I am not competing against anyone other than the person wearing my ipod and my sneakers.
Maybe in a year or so I will be able to consider myself a "runner". And to think, I won't be running from anyone, and the only thing I will be negotiating is how much farther until I reach the finish line that has been designated by me.
Until the next time,
Your Recovering Fat Girl
Mikki
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
Coloring outside the lines
Prior to having children, I thought I possessed patience. I sat in meetings listening to people's problems, no matter how mundane and figured a way to solve them. At one point, I was a therapist to women who suffered from drug, alcohol, and mental health issues which meant you had to be bordering on sainthood to get through the sessions.
Therefore, I thought having patience with my children would be a breeze.
Once again, I had given myself a little more credit than I deserved.
In the above mentioned scenarios, there was a respite between the tests of my patience. Now, some little person who inhabits our house finds a way to test me several times per day.
I try to keep my foot tapping under control as Nala insists on zipping her coat and everyone else's coat in the house even though the clock reads 7:21 and we should be in the car on the way to school. I find myself hurrying Max up the stairs when he breaks free and begs me to follow him with his little silly grin and infectious laugh.
This brings me to my latest test in patience and my growing list of lessons learned.
One of the activities that tests my ability to be quiet and patient is the occasional homework assignment given to Nala.
From time to time Mrs. Carrubba, Nala's teacher, sends a homework assignment for them to complete to be discussed at circle time during the week. The assignment usually consists of my pre-schooler telling a story through a picture they draw and then color.
Tonight was our homework night, and Nala had to draw a picture of her Teddy Bear and what she liked to do with him. Nala decided her favorite thing was to play with Max and the bear.
Nala picked up her blue crayon and went about the business of drawing herself, Max and the bear. I looked at her paper and realized Nala's "people" didn't look like people at all. There are random ears floating about the sides of what looks to be a face that is encased in a semi-circle shaped head, while long lines float from the square body without feet.
She picks up the green crayon then blue crayon. Colors run together, and the lines are not boundaries just another spot on which to color. Nala colors the insides of their eyes then their faces until the eyes are blurred beneath a yellow streaked with green and blue.
My patience is wearing thin for some reason, and I am tempted to stop her and steer her back inside the lines. I want her to start over again on a fresh piece of paper to make it a little neater, to keep the colors inside the lines she has drawn, to make everything on the page more recognizable.
Before I begin my descent into pre- school homework madness, something tells me to just stay quiet. I am able to stop myself from saying "no" and handing her the colors I want her to use.
Why was I bothered by this picture? She is almost four years old, certainly I was not expecting her to be Titian in her color choices and attention to detail. Was I bothered because I thought her teacher would think I didn't take enough time with her to make the picture resemble something like a teddy bear? Could I really be that shallow to think that her lack of advanced art skills would reflect poorly on my parenting?
What made me think my way of seeing this picture was the right way? Or worse yet, what made me believe that how Nala saw herself, her brother, and her teddy bear was wrong?
The exchange at our kitchen table helped me realize something I have always known; being a parent is an awesome responsibility. There is no guide to parenthood, no index to lead you in the "if this happens then go to page 20" in the back.
If I was ever asked to contribute to the official handbook on parenting I would include two chapters:
Chapter One :
The All Too Forgotten Joy of Parenthood:
The ability to look at the world with a new perspective from a fresh pair of eyes.
Not only do our children learn from us, we grow from knowing them. In our rush to get to the next task, mop the next floor, or worse yet taking the time to examine what others may think of us we sometimes throw away a much needed different perspective on our world.
Children are not tainted by what others may think or feel. They possess a view that, for better or worse, is pure, unfiltered and honest. It is strictly their own. Maybe we should take a hint.
Chapter Two:
The Subtle Art of Saying No
How it effects decision making skills
As adults, we understand why we say "no" so much. It is usually in the interest of keeping them safe, on the right track and sometimes keeping our sanity, as in "No, you can not have Cheetos and Pepsi for dinner."
However, I believe that hearing "no" all the time could possibly , unfairly, alter a little person's view of his or her world .
I want more than just "no"s for Nala. I want her to be confident in her choices and decisions, whether she is choosing the green crayon instead of the blue one, or deciding on which college she wishes to attend. Children are not born with the ability to make sound, confident decisions. We, as parents, are responsible to introduce the concept of sound decision making skills and to our children it is more important to understand that we cultivate and validate their decision making skills by our reactions.
If my daughter can choose her crayons and color her own creations both inside and outside the lines with confidence in her abilities and perspectives at three, imagine how awesome she will be at thirty.
When she is finished, Nala holds up her masterpiece, smiling broadly.
"Look, mommy. Do you like my picture?"
I readjust my vision. The paper before me no longer has oblong circles with random ears floating somewhere on the sides of their heads. The eyes of the teddy bear are no longer located somewhere by the outside of his head. I worry not about what anyone might say of her art work.
Before me I see Nala, Max and the Teddy Bear that roars, playing at her picnic table.
"Oh, Noodle, it is beautiful! I love it. "
"I love it, too. It's pretty. Can I go play now?"
With that, she hops off the chair and runs along to play with Max.
I am grateful the homework ordeal is over, my patience and sanity in tact.I am grateful I did not press the issue of reality with Nala and not at all surprised that she did not seek an explanation from me.
Reality isn't going anywhere, we have plenty of time for explanations later.
Therefore, I thought having patience with my children would be a breeze.
Once again, I had given myself a little more credit than I deserved.
In the above mentioned scenarios, there was a respite between the tests of my patience. Now, some little person who inhabits our house finds a way to test me several times per day.
I try to keep my foot tapping under control as Nala insists on zipping her coat and everyone else's coat in the house even though the clock reads 7:21 and we should be in the car on the way to school. I find myself hurrying Max up the stairs when he breaks free and begs me to follow him with his little silly grin and infectious laugh.
This brings me to my latest test in patience and my growing list of lessons learned.
One of the activities that tests my ability to be quiet and patient is the occasional homework assignment given to Nala.
From time to time Mrs. Carrubba, Nala's teacher, sends a homework assignment for them to complete to be discussed at circle time during the week. The assignment usually consists of my pre-schooler telling a story through a picture they draw and then color.
Tonight was our homework night, and Nala had to draw a picture of her Teddy Bear and what she liked to do with him. Nala decided her favorite thing was to play with Max and the bear.
Nala picked up her blue crayon and went about the business of drawing herself, Max and the bear. I looked at her paper and realized Nala's "people" didn't look like people at all. There are random ears floating about the sides of what looks to be a face that is encased in a semi-circle shaped head, while long lines float from the square body without feet.
She picks up the green crayon then blue crayon. Colors run together, and the lines are not boundaries just another spot on which to color. Nala colors the insides of their eyes then their faces until the eyes are blurred beneath a yellow streaked with green and blue.
My patience is wearing thin for some reason, and I am tempted to stop her and steer her back inside the lines. I want her to start over again on a fresh piece of paper to make it a little neater, to keep the colors inside the lines she has drawn, to make everything on the page more recognizable.
Before I begin my descent into pre- school homework madness, something tells me to just stay quiet. I am able to stop myself from saying "no" and handing her the colors I want her to use.
Why was I bothered by this picture? She is almost four years old, certainly I was not expecting her to be Titian in her color choices and attention to detail. Was I bothered because I thought her teacher would think I didn't take enough time with her to make the picture resemble something like a teddy bear? Could I really be that shallow to think that her lack of advanced art skills would reflect poorly on my parenting?
What made me think my way of seeing this picture was the right way? Or worse yet, what made me believe that how Nala saw herself, her brother, and her teddy bear was wrong?
The exchange at our kitchen table helped me realize something I have always known; being a parent is an awesome responsibility. There is no guide to parenthood, no index to lead you in the "if this happens then go to page 20" in the back.
If I was ever asked to contribute to the official handbook on parenting I would include two chapters:
Chapter One :
The All Too Forgotten Joy of Parenthood:
The ability to look at the world with a new perspective from a fresh pair of eyes.
Not only do our children learn from us, we grow from knowing them. In our rush to get to the next task, mop the next floor, or worse yet taking the time to examine what others may think of us we sometimes throw away a much needed different perspective on our world.
Children are not tainted by what others may think or feel. They possess a view that, for better or worse, is pure, unfiltered and honest. It is strictly their own. Maybe we should take a hint.
Chapter Two:
The Subtle Art of Saying No
How it effects decision making skills
As adults, we understand why we say "no" so much. It is usually in the interest of keeping them safe, on the right track and sometimes keeping our sanity, as in "No, you can not have Cheetos and Pepsi for dinner."
However, I believe that hearing "no" all the time could possibly , unfairly, alter a little person's view of his or her world .
I want more than just "no"s for Nala. I want her to be confident in her choices and decisions, whether she is choosing the green crayon instead of the blue one, or deciding on which college she wishes to attend. Children are not born with the ability to make sound, confident decisions. We, as parents, are responsible to introduce the concept of sound decision making skills and to our children it is more important to understand that we cultivate and validate their decision making skills by our reactions.
If my daughter can choose her crayons and color her own creations both inside and outside the lines with confidence in her abilities and perspectives at three, imagine how awesome she will be at thirty.
When she is finished, Nala holds up her masterpiece, smiling broadly.
"Look, mommy. Do you like my picture?"
I readjust my vision. The paper before me no longer has oblong circles with random ears floating somewhere on the sides of their heads. The eyes of the teddy bear are no longer located somewhere by the outside of his head. I worry not about what anyone might say of her art work.
Before me I see Nala, Max and the Teddy Bear that roars, playing at her picnic table.
"Oh, Noodle, it is beautiful! I love it. "
"I love it, too. It's pretty. Can I go play now?"
With that, she hops off the chair and runs along to play with Max.
I am grateful the homework ordeal is over, my patience and sanity in tact.I am grateful I did not press the issue of reality with Nala and not at all surprised that she did not seek an explanation from me.
Reality isn't going anywhere, we have plenty of time for explanations later.
Monday, April 7, 2008
Welcome to Onederland
Hello everyone.
I know I have not been around for a while. There is something about kids and a house and cats and a husband that make it impossible at times for a second to write out ones thoughts.
I have had many thoughts lately, ranging from being accosted by some eight year old girl at the Evil Empire (Wal*Mart), Obama's speech on race and perception, going to work versus staying at home with my babies, closing schools and cell phones not keeping a charge.
I will tackle the above at some later date, but today I want to talk about the scale. And my clothes. And my face. And my fears, triumphs, and the realization there really is a difference between the journey and the destination.
As of today, I weigh 198.6 pounds. For the first time in at least eight years, I no longer weigh as much as the average football player. "1" might be the loneliest number but it's one I will take any time.
The feeling when the "1" was revealed was not as much of excitement as it was disbelief. Oddly enough, I did the usual scooting the scale around the bathroom floor to make sure it was not broken. It is sad and funny how when it read 201 the day or two before I didn't do the two step with the scale.
I am not sure why I am surprised.
I wore a sized 16 pair of jeans to the Jay Z/MJB concert. The shirts at Lane Bryant and The Avenue were too big even in the smallest size. I have had to put my wedding rings away as they are too loose to keep them safely on my finger anymore so I have had to replace them for the time being. I actually purchased a Joe Boxer shirt from KMart (for $2.00) in an XL and it fit.
Now what?
I know I should go through my closet and give away some clothes. For example, my two favorite, most comfortable pairs of pants that are NOT elastic have literally fallen off of me while walking through the house. So why do I insist on wearing them and not giving them away via the clothes drop box?
I am afraid to throw them away. I want to believe that I will never have the need for these clothes again. I honestly believe I will not allow that to happen. And then, here comes the doubt. What if I am being too sure of myself? What if I am being cocky and the Pucca Pele Fat gods punish me by breaking my band and having me gain the weight back again?
Once again, I find myself surprised at how daunting a task letting go is for me. I understand I need not only to shed the clothes that no longer fit, but the fear and doubt that go along with the change. It is time to clean out the closets.
So, today, before I lay my head on the pillow, I have vowed to go to my closet and pack up the clothes I can no longer wear. The ones that have the tag 18/20 or 2x or XXL. I am not going to keep them "just in case".
I am a firm believer in a back up plan, however, going back to being fat is a plan I can surely do without.
Since it is not only the physical but the mental closet that needs a good spring cleaning, I am doing something for me today. I am going to make the honest effort to publish my writings. There is a local newspaper in town that I feel strongly could use my services *smile*. The worse thing that could happen is that they say "no thank you". The best thing they could say is "well alright, come on in."
If the latter does not happen I do have a back up plan. It does not involve drowning my sorrows in cookies or ice cream, nor will I be stashing an old pair of clothes in the back of the closet for just in case.
Maybe having a back up is a cop out. Well, lets not be hasty. How about Il make plans that have low failure rates , therefore, making a back up virtually obsolete?
Right now, I plan to take Max to the Wildlife Preserve where he can chase birds and frogs that we encounter on the trail. I plan to finish Nala's wake up chart that will incorporate any grumpiness she needs to get out of her system and maybe even a good morning dance.
I will ask Tim to set the alarm for five minutes earlier so we can have time to talk and tell each other our dreams before we forget them and the kids wake up. And I plan to enjoy my gradual dissent into "Onederland".
Until the next time,
Your Recovering Fat Girl
Mikki
I know I have not been around for a while. There is something about kids and a house and cats and a husband that make it impossible at times for a second to write out ones thoughts.
I have had many thoughts lately, ranging from being accosted by some eight year old girl at the Evil Empire (Wal*Mart), Obama's speech on race and perception, going to work versus staying at home with my babies, closing schools and cell phones not keeping a charge.
I will tackle the above at some later date, but today I want to talk about the scale. And my clothes. And my face. And my fears, triumphs, and the realization there really is a difference between the journey and the destination.
As of today, I weigh 198.6 pounds. For the first time in at least eight years, I no longer weigh as much as the average football player. "1" might be the loneliest number but it's one I will take any time.
The feeling when the "1" was revealed was not as much of excitement as it was disbelief. Oddly enough, I did the usual scooting the scale around the bathroom floor to make sure it was not broken. It is sad and funny how when it read 201 the day or two before I didn't do the two step with the scale.
I am not sure why I am surprised.
I wore a sized 16 pair of jeans to the Jay Z/MJB concert. The shirts at Lane Bryant and The Avenue were too big even in the smallest size. I have had to put my wedding rings away as they are too loose to keep them safely on my finger anymore so I have had to replace them for the time being. I actually purchased a Joe Boxer shirt from KMart (for $2.00) in an XL and it fit.
Now what?
I know I should go through my closet and give away some clothes. For example, my two favorite, most comfortable pairs of pants that are NOT elastic have literally fallen off of me while walking through the house. So why do I insist on wearing them and not giving them away via the clothes drop box?
I am afraid to throw them away. I want to believe that I will never have the need for these clothes again. I honestly believe I will not allow that to happen. And then, here comes the doubt. What if I am being too sure of myself? What if I am being cocky and the Pucca Pele Fat gods punish me by breaking my band and having me gain the weight back again?
Once again, I find myself surprised at how daunting a task letting go is for me. I understand I need not only to shed the clothes that no longer fit, but the fear and doubt that go along with the change. It is time to clean out the closets.
So, today, before I lay my head on the pillow, I have vowed to go to my closet and pack up the clothes I can no longer wear. The ones that have the tag 18/20 or 2x or XXL. I am not going to keep them "just in case".
I am a firm believer in a back up plan, however, going back to being fat is a plan I can surely do without.
Since it is not only the physical but the mental closet that needs a good spring cleaning, I am doing something for me today. I am going to make the honest effort to publish my writings. There is a local newspaper in town that I feel strongly could use my services *smile*. The worse thing that could happen is that they say "no thank you". The best thing they could say is "well alright, come on in."
If the latter does not happen I do have a back up plan. It does not involve drowning my sorrows in cookies or ice cream, nor will I be stashing an old pair of clothes in the back of the closet for just in case.
Maybe having a back up is a cop out. Well, lets not be hasty. How about Il make plans that have low failure rates , therefore, making a back up virtually obsolete?
Right now, I plan to take Max to the Wildlife Preserve where he can chase birds and frogs that we encounter on the trail. I plan to finish Nala's wake up chart that will incorporate any grumpiness she needs to get out of her system and maybe even a good morning dance.
I will ask Tim to set the alarm for five minutes earlier so we can have time to talk and tell each other our dreams before we forget them and the kids wake up. And I plan to enjoy my gradual dissent into "Onederland".
Until the next time,
Your Recovering Fat Girl
Mikki
Friday, March 21, 2008
Smoke and Mirrors
As of today the scale reads I am down 29lbs. since my LapBand consultation, and 23lbs since surgery. Those numbers, while not to be taken lightly, are a drop in the bucket to the 71lbs I have remaining until I get to my goal weight.
While I have enjoyed the numbers on the scale going in the downward spiral, my eyes have had a tougher time adjusting to the change. I can see the numbers on the scale, but can't really tell anywhere else. Yes, I realize I can no longer fit into my maternity clothes (insert dance here), and I know I have to keep pulling my pants up when I walk. I am happy to report that I can button up my denim jacket from top to bottom, something I have not done since I have owned it.
A week ago, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and thought, "maybe my clothes are getting a little too big for me." I asked Tim his opinion to which he replied "you look like you are five years old playing in your mother's clothes."
So last week, I did the unthinkable. While taking the kids to see the Easter Bunny and get the cheesey pictures taken, I found the Lane Bryant store.
I went to the rack and pulled two outfits. One in the size I wore prior to surgery (yes, I am going to divulge the size. I am doing this not to put my business out on Front Street as the saying goes, but to reiterate to myself that I am not defined by my clothing size. It does not make me a bad person, a lazy person, or an uneducated person who can't read a food label. It makes me determined never to see the size again.)
I picked up a shirt and a pair of paints size 18/20 as well as a size 16 pants and a 14/16 shirt.
Before I went to the dressing room I asked Tim to be brutally honest because, despite my having two eyes that work relatively well (as long as I have on my glasses) I really could not tell what was too big or not on me. He promised to be honest and off to the dressing I room I went with clothes of varying sizes and Nala jumping up and down behind me.
I tried on the size I had come to know so well.
When I showed Tim he said I looked ridiculous. They were too big.
I tried on the smaller size thinking the entire time there was no way I was going to fit into these clothes without a fight.. The pants fit. I could button the pants and not suck in my tummy to do it. The shirt was not too large, but it wasn't too small. I could lift up my arms and it it didn't raise up to show my tummy.
And even as I knew the sizes I could now wear were smaller than the previous one, I still couldn't really see the difference. I never understood people who said that after they lost weight, they still felt fat. What a crock! I would exclaim judgementally. How do you go from a size 18 to a size 4 and not see the difference?
Now I know.
The sad part is, I have lived in this body for so long, I don't remember what I looked like, or even really felt like when I was thinner. I see pictures of myself when I was in high school and I am amazed. I thought I was so fat back then, and now I would give someone's left arm to look like that.
I realize I can not visualize myself 70lbs. lighter than I am today. To try and do so is daunting to me, overwhelming even, and makes me want to eat. Why? Because those 29lbs. that have since gone by the way side were not comfortable for me, but familiar.
I knew what to expect from my body. I knew what I was going to look like in my jeans and oversized shirt. I knew that I could comfortably be invisible to those around me when I wanted to be.
Now, with my cheek bones beginning to show, the dimple in my chin making a reappearance, and the scale only two pounds away from "Onederland" my constants are becoming not so constant anymore.
As much as I want this new body, both inside and out, I must admit that its scary to me.
I am afraid that somehow, I will not be Mikki anymore. Somehow, people will really see me and actually listen to what I have to say and my weight is no longer something by which I will be judged. The judgement will then be of me. No buffers.
I have encountered this fear before, in varying degrees. Usually, its the fear of failure that keeps me from moving forward. So what makes this time different?
I would like to say I have some brilliant answer to this question, something that will assure me success in my journey. I don't. I can point out how very different my life is now. Since traveling down this road a time or two, I have added a few more titles to my name;wife to Tim, mom to Nala and Max. I have dropped the title of the traditional working woman. During this journey something amazing happened in that the more I gave of Mikki, instead of their being less of me I inexplicably found more.
I have discovered more of who I am and how I choose to define me.
I am reminded of the quote that states "many a false step has been made by standing still." I no longer want to stand still. I feel that I can not make a false step as long as i am moving SOMEWHERE in this journey.
Therefore, I will not be afraid of stepping on the scale and seeing the numbers go down. I will rejoice in every pound lost, every time I can pull on my pants without unbuttoning them. I will do the happy dance when I can twirl around to the music while holding both of my kids little longer each day. I will smile on the outside when I can make it up two flights of steps to see Elmo Live carrying Max and not get winded, and challenge my husband in basketball because I really do think I can beat him.
This journey is one day at a time.
Today, I will not seek the buffer. Today I will believe what I see in the mirror. I will believe the scale is not broken.
Today, I will be fearless. And tomorrow I will be, too.
Until the next time,
Your Recovering Fat Girl
Mikki
I have discovered more of who I am and how I choose to define me.
I am reminded of the quote that states "many a false step has been made by standing still." I no longer want to stand still. I feel that I can not make a false step as long as i am moving SOMEWHERE in this journey.
Therefore, I will not be afraid of stepping on the scale and seeing the numbers go down. I will rejoice in every pound lost, every time I can pull on my pants without unbuttoning them. I will do the happy dance when I can twirl around to the music while holding both of my kids little longer each day. I will smile on the outside when I can make it up two flights of steps to see Elmo Live carrying Max and not get winded, and challenge my husband in basketball because I really do think I can beat him.
This journey is one day at a time.
Today, I will not seek the buffer. Today I will believe what I see in the mirror. I will believe the scale is not broken.
Today, I will be fearless. And tomorrow I will be, too.
Until the next time,
Your Recovering Fat Girl
Mikki
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
Our Amish Weekend and other horrors
Monday morning was a good morning. The sun was shining, Noodle was being a great almost four year old, getting dressed with NO complications and jumping around the house in a good way. Maxwell was talking in the back seat of the car, Steve Harvey played "Just to Be Close to You" as his brown liquor song of the day, and Nala didn't even ask me to turn the radio station as I sang along doing my best Lionel Richie imitation, twang and all.
Yes, it was a good day. A far cry from the weekend.
You see, that past Friday the unthinkable happened. The AC Adapter to our computer died, therefore rendering our computer a useless, non-energized mess. It happened suddenly while I was lurking on the LBT board (Lapbandtalk.com). The screen went darker. I checked to see if it was plugged in and it was. I knew we were in trouble.
I called Tim.
I informed him the cord was in peril. I heard the nervousness in his voice. He stated he would go to the same place he went to the last time this happened. I agreed, hung up the telephone and put the computer away.
Tim came home later than usual as he had gone forging for the precious cord. He comes in to his theme music, Nala cheering "yeah, daddy's home" , Max shrieking showing all of his seven teeth in various stages of growth from his little pink gums and my romantic cry of "did you get it?"
Tim greets Nala with a hug and calls in to me "Nope, I didn't get."
All activity stops in the house. I believe the Backyardigans stopped singing. Max stopped showing his teeth. Nala stopped jumping up and down.
"What do you mean you didn't get it? They didn't have it?"
"I didn't get it on principal."
Funny thing about standing on principal. Not that I haven't done it on occasion but I am reminded of what I once told my mom about standing on principal. Standing
on principal is like standing on Jello. Sure you COULD do it, but its easy to fall off, its messy and whats the point?
I remain calm. "And what principal are we standing on?"
"It was $75.00. I ordered it on line for $39.00. With shipping" he adds as if reading my mind.
Given our finances I realized this was Jello worth squishing.
"Are they smokin'? Well, the other one will be here soon. If you can help me find the black electrical tape, perhaps I can fix it."
We both laugh because we know nothing is ever found in this house. The truth is, I would make a much better housewife if I didn't have kids to take care of, but that's another story all together.
Tim is taking this surprisingly well. He goes as far to say "well, maybe a weekend without the computer is not the worse thing in the world" or something to that effect. I start to check his neck for the tell tale white dot on the back of his neck to see if my husband has been abducted and then replaced by aliens, but I refrain.
So began our journey for a no computer weekend.
It started out well enough. It was Friday night and we decided to grab a bite to eat and Nala asked could we get a movie. We found Scooby Doo and Barney and then realized that downstairs was uninhabitable, thanks to my cat not being able to find the litter box lately. I have to scrub, we can not go down there.
I have a brilliant idea. We don't have to go downstairs, the DVD player is portable! We can just hook it up in our room, climb in the bed and watch a movie. No go. I forgot Tim's television doesn't have room for any cables of any kind.
Visions of my throwing the television down and breaking it in the hopes of getting a new one start to race through my mind. It's already on its way out, and the fact that we can't hook a DVD player to it is making the trip to the door shorter.
Next option. What about Nala's portable DVD player.
"Mommy, it doesn't work, remember. Its on its last leg."
How does my three year old know something is on its last leg I don't know. But she still wants to see Scooby. Tim can't find the Play Station that he unhooked when we were moving furniture.
I put my mommy senses to work and find it. Now we are on our way.
The Play Station has other plans. It won't work. Tim unplugs it and tries again. It comes on but does not recognize Scooby, or any other DVD.
A long sigh and grunt comes from Nala. "I'm frustrated! I want to see Scooby Doo!"
I am proud that she used her words instead of crying and that she told us how she felt. I let her know. She didn't care. She just wanted the brown dog.
"I have an idea" Nala chimes up "We can watch on the computer!!"
I look at Tim, and he at me and I laugh.
"What are we, freakin' Amish! We can't even see a movie!!"
I think he may have started rambling on about not being able to update his fantasy team but I was not listening. I was too busy rolling around on the bed holding my ever shrinking stomach laughing. The tears began to roll mercilessly down my cheeks.
No one else saw the humor in this except Max who took the opportunity to give me open mouth, slobbery kisses and then bite my chin.
Lucky for us Scooby was on the regular channel at 9:00. Noodle watched Scooby and then headed off to bed.
Somehow, for better or for worse, we survived without the computer.
The weekend was good.
Tim and I actually talked. We all played. We slept. We communed. It was beautiful.
I kind of liked being Amish, but I was quickly ready to give it up when our friendly mail man rang the doorbell Monday afternoon with package in hand. I phoned Tim to tell him we had "gotten the goods" I heard the relief in his voice. We are now back on line.
Goodbye, our Amish existences. See you again at the next power outage.
The Message
In the past week I have had three consecutive conversations with my Grandma Ruth. So why is this even remotely significant? Grandmother's talk to their grandchildren all the time. I agree, but you see, Grandma passed away in June of 2005. She has come to me in dreams, but they aren't dreams. They are real conversations.
The first two times she appeared are a bit fuzzy, but the last time we talked it began as the last hospital scene that played out in real life. My sister, my niece and I stood around her bed and struggled to hear her speak. We told her not to talk, but she ignored us because she had something to say.
She told us to be good. To take care of each other and stick together. She told us she was ready to go.
As that scene played out in my dream, she appeared to me the picture of health wearing the blue dress she made to go to my uncle Rusty's wedding. It was a beautiful dress and she was sharp in it. She told me she was well, and that she thought Nala was beautiful, and how very handsome Maxwell was. She asked when were we having another baby and I told her we weren't sure. She laughed and said, "oh you will. You will have a boy."
And then she went on to say again that we had to stick together. I saw images of my dad and uncle, but then that was it. She said goodbye and I woke up.
I told my mom that she visited me. She wasn't surprised, she didn't ask me had I taken some unauthorized medication that morning. I told her all I could remember from our encounters and what did she make of it.
Her explanation was simple. She came to me because my dad and uncle are feuding and have not spoken to each other in over a year. My father told my mother just days before my visits that he had no intentions on going to the family reunion. My mother, frustrated by my dad's stubborness said "I give up. I'm not trying anymore."
I am the most sensitive one, according to my mother, therefore, Grandma came to me.
Once again, why me? Because my dad and his brother can't get along, I have to be haunted?
I think that must have been the point of Grandma's visits because she didn't return last night. But I am left with the message she gave as she lay on her death bed.
I am reminded of how stubborn both my dad and uncle can be. I am reminded of how death can bring about ugliness, how very easy it is to point fingers when feelings are hurt and words are spoken that should not have been.
What I have learned, however, after finding out about Bobby's death is we truly are not promised a tomorrow to make the phone call, to mend that fence, to pour ones heart out.
I don't know if I ever had serious intentions on contacting Bobby, but I must admit I always thought if I ever got around to it, it would always be an option. And now it is not. Like it or not, I regret not having that option.
I would hate for something to happen to either my dad or my uncle and have them live with the heavy burden of regret on their shoulders. It's easy to say you don't care what happens when the other person is breathing. It becomes an altogether different story when one ceases to exist.
It was good to see Grandma again, and I am going to do what she wants me to do. I am going to make sure my dad and uncle know what she wants them to do.
Be good. Take care of each other. Stick together.
Those seem like really simple things to do to me.
Until the next time,
your recovering fat girl
Mikki
Yes, it was a good day. A far cry from the weekend.
You see, that past Friday the unthinkable happened. The AC Adapter to our computer died, therefore rendering our computer a useless, non-energized mess. It happened suddenly while I was lurking on the LBT board (Lapbandtalk.com). The screen went darker. I checked to see if it was plugged in and it was. I knew we were in trouble.
I called Tim.
I informed him the cord was in peril. I heard the nervousness in his voice. He stated he would go to the same place he went to the last time this happened. I agreed, hung up the telephone and put the computer away.
Tim came home later than usual as he had gone forging for the precious cord. He comes in to his theme music, Nala cheering "yeah, daddy's home" , Max shrieking showing all of his seven teeth in various stages of growth from his little pink gums and my romantic cry of "did you get it?"
Tim greets Nala with a hug and calls in to me "Nope, I didn't get."
All activity stops in the house. I believe the Backyardigans stopped singing. Max stopped showing his teeth. Nala stopped jumping up and down.
"What do you mean you didn't get it? They didn't have it?"
"I didn't get it on principal."
Funny thing about standing on principal. Not that I haven't done it on occasion but I am reminded of what I once told my mom about standing on principal. Standing
on principal is like standing on Jello. Sure you COULD do it, but its easy to fall off, its messy and whats the point?
I remain calm. "And what principal are we standing on?"
"It was $75.00. I ordered it on line for $39.00. With shipping" he adds as if reading my mind.
Given our finances I realized this was Jello worth squishing.
"Are they smokin'? Well, the other one will be here soon. If you can help me find the black electrical tape, perhaps I can fix it."
We both laugh because we know nothing is ever found in this house. The truth is, I would make a much better housewife if I didn't have kids to take care of, but that's another story all together.
Tim is taking this surprisingly well. He goes as far to say "well, maybe a weekend without the computer is not the worse thing in the world" or something to that effect. I start to check his neck for the tell tale white dot on the back of his neck to see if my husband has been abducted and then replaced by aliens, but I refrain.
So began our journey for a no computer weekend.
It started out well enough. It was Friday night and we decided to grab a bite to eat and Nala asked could we get a movie. We found Scooby Doo and Barney and then realized that downstairs was uninhabitable, thanks to my cat not being able to find the litter box lately. I have to scrub, we can not go down there.
I have a brilliant idea. We don't have to go downstairs, the DVD player is portable! We can just hook it up in our room, climb in the bed and watch a movie. No go. I forgot Tim's television doesn't have room for any cables of any kind.
Visions of my throwing the television down and breaking it in the hopes of getting a new one start to race through my mind. It's already on its way out, and the fact that we can't hook a DVD player to it is making the trip to the door shorter.
Next option. What about Nala's portable DVD player.
"Mommy, it doesn't work, remember. Its on its last leg."
How does my three year old know something is on its last leg I don't know. But she still wants to see Scooby. Tim can't find the Play Station that he unhooked when we were moving furniture.
I put my mommy senses to work and find it. Now we are on our way.
The Play Station has other plans. It won't work. Tim unplugs it and tries again. It comes on but does not recognize Scooby, or any other DVD.
A long sigh and grunt comes from Nala. "I'm frustrated! I want to see Scooby Doo!"
I am proud that she used her words instead of crying and that she told us how she felt. I let her know. She didn't care. She just wanted the brown dog.
"I have an idea" Nala chimes up "We can watch on the computer!!"
I look at Tim, and he at me and I laugh.
"What are we, freakin' Amish! We can't even see a movie!!"
I think he may have started rambling on about not being able to update his fantasy team but I was not listening. I was too busy rolling around on the bed holding my ever shrinking stomach laughing. The tears began to roll mercilessly down my cheeks.
No one else saw the humor in this except Max who took the opportunity to give me open mouth, slobbery kisses and then bite my chin.
Lucky for us Scooby was on the regular channel at 9:00. Noodle watched Scooby and then headed off to bed.
Somehow, for better or for worse, we survived without the computer.
The weekend was good.
Tim and I actually talked. We all played. We slept. We communed. It was beautiful.
I kind of liked being Amish, but I was quickly ready to give it up when our friendly mail man rang the doorbell Monday afternoon with package in hand. I phoned Tim to tell him we had "gotten the goods" I heard the relief in his voice. We are now back on line.
Goodbye, our Amish existences. See you again at the next power outage.
The Message
In the past week I have had three consecutive conversations with my Grandma Ruth. So why is this even remotely significant? Grandmother's talk to their grandchildren all the time. I agree, but you see, Grandma passed away in June of 2005. She has come to me in dreams, but they aren't dreams. They are real conversations.
The first two times she appeared are a bit fuzzy, but the last time we talked it began as the last hospital scene that played out in real life. My sister, my niece and I stood around her bed and struggled to hear her speak. We told her not to talk, but she ignored us because she had something to say.
She told us to be good. To take care of each other and stick together. She told us she was ready to go.
As that scene played out in my dream, she appeared to me the picture of health wearing the blue dress she made to go to my uncle Rusty's wedding. It was a beautiful dress and she was sharp in it. She told me she was well, and that she thought Nala was beautiful, and how very handsome Maxwell was. She asked when were we having another baby and I told her we weren't sure. She laughed and said, "oh you will. You will have a boy."
And then she went on to say again that we had to stick together. I saw images of my dad and uncle, but then that was it. She said goodbye and I woke up.
I told my mom that she visited me. She wasn't surprised, she didn't ask me had I taken some unauthorized medication that morning. I told her all I could remember from our encounters and what did she make of it.
Her explanation was simple. She came to me because my dad and uncle are feuding and have not spoken to each other in over a year. My father told my mother just days before my visits that he had no intentions on going to the family reunion. My mother, frustrated by my dad's stubborness said "I give up. I'm not trying anymore."
I am the most sensitive one, according to my mother, therefore, Grandma came to me.
Once again, why me? Because my dad and his brother can't get along, I have to be haunted?
I think that must have been the point of Grandma's visits because she didn't return last night. But I am left with the message she gave as she lay on her death bed.
I am reminded of how stubborn both my dad and uncle can be. I am reminded of how death can bring about ugliness, how very easy it is to point fingers when feelings are hurt and words are spoken that should not have been.
What I have learned, however, after finding out about Bobby's death is we truly are not promised a tomorrow to make the phone call, to mend that fence, to pour ones heart out.
I don't know if I ever had serious intentions on contacting Bobby, but I must admit I always thought if I ever got around to it, it would always be an option. And now it is not. Like it or not, I regret not having that option.
I would hate for something to happen to either my dad or my uncle and have them live with the heavy burden of regret on their shoulders. It's easy to say you don't care what happens when the other person is breathing. It becomes an altogether different story when one ceases to exist.
It was good to see Grandma again, and I am going to do what she wants me to do. I am going to make sure my dad and uncle know what she wants them to do.
Be good. Take care of each other. Stick together.
Those seem like really simple things to do to me.
Until the next time,
your recovering fat girl
Mikki
Sunday, March 2, 2008
The Little Victories...
*warning*
If there happen to be any men reading this, allow me to alert you. I am going to reference my cycle. I know how you all are. Ok, not all of you, I do not want to be unfair and generalize. But I am going to talk about this for a second. You can choose to read on and learn some stuff or say "forget this" and run away now. I won't blame you either way. Thank you.
Now back to our regularly scheduled program.
My menstrual cycle has always been a source of agony, worry, and embarrassment for me. I have never been regular, save my various stints on "the pill"--which by the way is very evil to me.
From the beginning, it stayed on way too long, didn't come on at all ( I never missed it by the way) and caused too much pain for what I considered to be worth it.
One of the most frustrating parts of my reproductive journey was the inconsistency. Very few times in my life did I have the luxury of counting days to when it would come on, and when it did I assure you it was always unannounced, uninvited and most inopportune.
After years of doctors telling me I was just young and eventually my body would regulate itself, and my constantly telling them something really was wrong with me--they figured if it wasn't cancer, then why was I worried I did as much research as I could and found I had "Stein Leventhal disease" or "Polycystic Ovarian Disease."
At the age of 19 I went to my doctor armed with a blurb from a medical book found in Hood's library and said "this is what I have." They looked at me funny and said ok, wrote out another script for birth control pills and sent me on my way.
I waited an additional six years to be diagnosed by an Endocrinologist/Fertility Specialist who realized that PCOS is not only real, but effects a lot more than just your menstrual cycle. It took years for me to find a GYN who specialized in this field and who LISTENED to me. (Thank you Dr. Dellabadia)
There is no cure for PCOS.
In fact, the only way it is controlled is through diet and exercise. Gaining weight makes it worse. Here is the cruel part. It causes you not only to gain weight, but makes it harder to lose it. It is not only a disease that causes irregular periods, but insulin resistance, helps aid in diabetes, heart disease and stroke, and infertility. Not to mention, due to the overdose in male hormones it can cause male patterned baldness and unwanted hair in places where women don't want it !
Therefore, my having PCOS played a major role in my having this surgery. I am deathly afraid of being diabetic. I am afraid of having heart disease. I went through two procedures and two medications to get pregnant with Maxwell. I know my share of heartache from the disease, but I am not complaining.
Despite my struggles with PCOS I really am healthy. And it could be a lot worse!
And now for my little victory. I lost six pounds prior to surgery and my period came on January 1, by itself. It amazingly left as quietly as it popped up. I thought it a fluke, so didn't get too excited. Since having surgery I have had TWO regular cycles 30 days apart.
I am almost normal. I might actually be able to count and know when its supposed to be here. I can MAYBE plan my life around the monthly event.
I am so happy I could scream. And I did when it happened the second time. I actually did a dance. I hope to be doing it again soon.
My scale needs a new battery, so I am not sure the last reading was accurate before it started reading Lo, but if it was I am down 22lbs. I will reveal my weight to the whole blogging world when I lose three more. I figure by then the number will not be so embarrassing. At least not to me.
I have a house waiting to be picked up and sleeping babies, so I had better hop to it.
Until the Next Time
Your Recovering Fat Girl
Mikki
If there happen to be any men reading this, allow me to alert you. I am going to reference my cycle. I know how you all are. Ok, not all of you, I do not want to be unfair and generalize. But I am going to talk about this for a second. You can choose to read on and learn some stuff or say "forget this" and run away now. I won't blame you either way. Thank you.
Now back to our regularly scheduled program.
My menstrual cycle has always been a source of agony, worry, and embarrassment for me. I have never been regular, save my various stints on "the pill"--which by the way is very evil to me.
From the beginning, it stayed on way too long, didn't come on at all ( I never missed it by the way) and caused too much pain for what I considered to be worth it.
One of the most frustrating parts of my reproductive journey was the inconsistency. Very few times in my life did I have the luxury of counting days to when it would come on, and when it did I assure you it was always unannounced, uninvited and most inopportune.
After years of doctors telling me I was just young and eventually my body would regulate itself, and my constantly telling them something really was wrong with me--they figured if it wasn't cancer, then why was I worried I did as much research as I could and found I had "Stein Leventhal disease" or "Polycystic Ovarian Disease."
At the age of 19 I went to my doctor armed with a blurb from a medical book found in Hood's library and said "this is what I have." They looked at me funny and said ok, wrote out another script for birth control pills and sent me on my way.
I waited an additional six years to be diagnosed by an Endocrinologist/Fertility Specialist who realized that PCOS is not only real, but effects a lot more than just your menstrual cycle. It took years for me to find a GYN who specialized in this field and who LISTENED to me. (Thank you Dr. Dellabadia)
There is no cure for PCOS.
In fact, the only way it is controlled is through diet and exercise. Gaining weight makes it worse. Here is the cruel part. It causes you not only to gain weight, but makes it harder to lose it. It is not only a disease that causes irregular periods, but insulin resistance, helps aid in diabetes, heart disease and stroke, and infertility. Not to mention, due to the overdose in male hormones it can cause male patterned baldness and unwanted hair in places where women don't want it !
Therefore, my having PCOS played a major role in my having this surgery. I am deathly afraid of being diabetic. I am afraid of having heart disease. I went through two procedures and two medications to get pregnant with Maxwell. I know my share of heartache from the disease, but I am not complaining.
Despite my struggles with PCOS I really am healthy. And it could be a lot worse!
And now for my little victory. I lost six pounds prior to surgery and my period came on January 1, by itself. It amazingly left as quietly as it popped up. I thought it a fluke, so didn't get too excited. Since having surgery I have had TWO regular cycles 30 days apart.
I am almost normal. I might actually be able to count and know when its supposed to be here. I can MAYBE plan my life around the monthly event.
I am so happy I could scream. And I did when it happened the second time. I actually did a dance. I hope to be doing it again soon.
My scale needs a new battery, so I am not sure the last reading was accurate before it started reading Lo, but if it was I am down 22lbs. I will reveal my weight to the whole blogging world when I lose three more. I figure by then the number will not be so embarrassing. At least not to me.
I have a house waiting to be picked up and sleeping babies, so I had better hop to it.
Until the Next Time
Your Recovering Fat Girl
Mikki
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
Revealing the beginning....
One thing I have learned in my 35 years on this planet, is that there will be many conversations in which we will engage that would be considered, unpleasant or uncomfortable.
We've all had them. There is the conversation your parents have with you to tell you where babies come from, the first time you tell someone you "like them, like them" or the " I don't think I love you anymore" talk.
I have engaged in my share of tough conversations.
I have had the I -like-you- like you-talk with someone who did not feel the same way and I have also filled the other's shoes on occasion. I have had to terminate people from their employment cutting off their livelihood (although I must say I had to get to a point where I realized I didn't fire people, they fired themselves.)
Nothing, however, prepared me for the conversation Tim and I had with Nala yesterday evening.
It isn't as if we didn't try to prepare ourselves. We took the classes, we talked about it, talked to others who had done it before and finally, bought the books. But when it came right down to it, I felt horribly, inexplicably, unprepared.
Last night we let Nala know that she did not grow in my tummy. We told her that she grew in someone else's tummy.
The conversation came about after the books we read concerning adoption. One, entitled Tell Me Again About the Night I was Born, by Jamie Lee Curtis was the first pick. I enjoyed reading my part in the book (Tim read the other pages. We took our cues from Nala who orchestrates bed time reading as if she is conducting a symphony) and she seemed to enjoy it.
Once we had read it a couple of times, we told her that some babies come from mommy's tummy and some come from another tummy, but we get to raise the babies. Or something like that.
She smiled the entire time, kind of a nervous smile believe it or not and even asked whose tummy was she in? I could not bring myself to call her the birth mother, as I didn't want to confuse her. I called her by name.
Nala asked was she too young to take care of her(like in the book) and my first response was "yes". It was easy. Convenient. It was a lie. She is two years older than I am. I recanted and said that she could not provide for her, she didn't have enough money so we took care of her instead.
I told her about the phone call I received asking was I ready for a little girl and I said yes. We told her the next day she came home to us.
The next three minutes seemed like three days as Nala rambled on about doctors and hospitals and tummies and Max. I think it was a mini anxiety attack. We asked her did she have any questions and she said yes, and then went on another three year old rant involving something important to three year olds.
And then she requested the usual things on her bedtime chart, conned Tim into reading one more story and went to sleep.
Tim and I didn't discuss it after it happened. Truthfully, I just wanted to go to bed. And I did, drifting into a sleep that was full of dreams of Nala and myself at an amusement park with roller coasters and lakes in the distance.
It was, by far, one of the scariest conversations I have had to date. The challenge with any conversation you may not necessarily be dreading, but definitely not looking forward to is gaging the reaction of other said party. Trying to figure out a three year old's reaction is impossible.
I also realize that the biggest issue of our letting her know is my (and perhaps Tim) fear she will reject me because I didn't grow her. What if she all of a sudden felt no connection to me? What if she no longer thought of me as her mother? What if she just didn't understand?
Sure, I told her last night that before she came I prayed every night for God to send her to me. That made her smile. Sure, I can tell her of all the things she did when she first came home, how she always waited until I changed her wet diaper and then pooped, or even how I stayed up for two days straight staring at her as she slept because I was afraid something would just happen and she would stop breathing.
Would that be enough?
This morning I woke her up as usual, kissed her up telling her it wasn't me giving her kisses but my lips who had gone awry. She laughed like she always does.
I found myself looking at her, waiting for her to ask something about last nights conversation. I looked to see if she treated me or Tim the slightest bit differently. The morning went by smoothly, even when we put on her socks and shoes (which is easily a time for melt downs in our house for no real reason).
We drove to school and she chuckled in back seat because the woman on the radio could not sing. She talked to Max like she does every morning.
As we approached the front door she asked her usual "Is Sister there?"
"She sure is. Let's go."
I gather her up and walk her to the gate and give her kiss and tell her its my lips not me. She laughs again. I bid her good day and start to walk away when she calls me back. " I didn't kiss you back" she says.
I go back for my kiss and she hugs me real tight, walks to the door and then shouts
" I love you, Mommy!"
" I love you, too, Noodle."
And I do. With all my heart.
My tummy never entered the conversation.
Until the next time,
your recovering fat girl
Mikki
We've all had them. There is the conversation your parents have with you to tell you where babies come from, the first time you tell someone you "like them, like them" or the " I don't think I love you anymore" talk.
I have engaged in my share of tough conversations.
I have had the I -like-you- like you-talk with someone who did not feel the same way and I have also filled the other's shoes on occasion. I have had to terminate people from their employment cutting off their livelihood (although I must say I had to get to a point where I realized I didn't fire people, they fired themselves.)
Nothing, however, prepared me for the conversation Tim and I had with Nala yesterday evening.
It isn't as if we didn't try to prepare ourselves. We took the classes, we talked about it, talked to others who had done it before and finally, bought the books. But when it came right down to it, I felt horribly, inexplicably, unprepared.
Last night we let Nala know that she did not grow in my tummy. We told her that she grew in someone else's tummy.
The conversation came about after the books we read concerning adoption. One, entitled Tell Me Again About the Night I was Born, by Jamie Lee Curtis was the first pick. I enjoyed reading my part in the book (Tim read the other pages. We took our cues from Nala who orchestrates bed time reading as if she is conducting a symphony) and she seemed to enjoy it.
Once we had read it a couple of times, we told her that some babies come from mommy's tummy and some come from another tummy, but we get to raise the babies. Or something like that.
She smiled the entire time, kind of a nervous smile believe it or not and even asked whose tummy was she in? I could not bring myself to call her the birth mother, as I didn't want to confuse her. I called her by name.
Nala asked was she too young to take care of her(like in the book) and my first response was "yes". It was easy. Convenient. It was a lie. She is two years older than I am. I recanted and said that she could not provide for her, she didn't have enough money so we took care of her instead.
I told her about the phone call I received asking was I ready for a little girl and I said yes. We told her the next day she came home to us.
The next three minutes seemed like three days as Nala rambled on about doctors and hospitals and tummies and Max. I think it was a mini anxiety attack. We asked her did she have any questions and she said yes, and then went on another three year old rant involving something important to three year olds.
And then she requested the usual things on her bedtime chart, conned Tim into reading one more story and went to sleep.
Tim and I didn't discuss it after it happened. Truthfully, I just wanted to go to bed. And I did, drifting into a sleep that was full of dreams of Nala and myself at an amusement park with roller coasters and lakes in the distance.
It was, by far, one of the scariest conversations I have had to date. The challenge with any conversation you may not necessarily be dreading, but definitely not looking forward to is gaging the reaction of other said party. Trying to figure out a three year old's reaction is impossible.
I also realize that the biggest issue of our letting her know is my (and perhaps Tim) fear she will reject me because I didn't grow her. What if she all of a sudden felt no connection to me? What if she no longer thought of me as her mother? What if she just didn't understand?
Sure, I told her last night that before she came I prayed every night for God to send her to me. That made her smile. Sure, I can tell her of all the things she did when she first came home, how she always waited until I changed her wet diaper and then pooped, or even how I stayed up for two days straight staring at her as she slept because I was afraid something would just happen and she would stop breathing.
Would that be enough?
This morning I woke her up as usual, kissed her up telling her it wasn't me giving her kisses but my lips who had gone awry. She laughed like she always does.
I found myself looking at her, waiting for her to ask something about last nights conversation. I looked to see if she treated me or Tim the slightest bit differently. The morning went by smoothly, even when we put on her socks and shoes (which is easily a time for melt downs in our house for no real reason).
We drove to school and she chuckled in back seat because the woman on the radio could not sing. She talked to Max like she does every morning.
As we approached the front door she asked her usual "Is Sister there?"
"She sure is. Let's go."
I gather her up and walk her to the gate and give her kiss and tell her its my lips not me. She laughs again. I bid her good day and start to walk away when she calls me back. " I didn't kiss you back" she says.
I go back for my kiss and she hugs me real tight, walks to the door and then shouts
" I love you, Mommy!"
" I love you, too, Noodle."
And I do. With all my heart.
My tummy never entered the conversation.
Until the next time,
your recovering fat girl
Mikki
Monday, February 25, 2008
Happy Birthday
Well, let me just get this right out of the way, as I know you all have been waiting with breath that is bated to know if Billy Blanks wore that same leotard that showed those oh-so-sexy nipples. Your guess is as good as mine!
Obviously, holding myself accountable is not working so much. I could use the excuse that I didn't have sneakers that fit (this is very true. Since being pregnant with Max my right foot has expanded on one side, making shoe shopping kind of impossible), that I don't have anything to wear to the gym or downstairs to play with Billy ( at last glance at the scale I have lost 21lbs and my pants are sagging), or that I just didn't have the time to do it.
Lets put it this way. I didn't make myself do it, so I didn't. My dear husband, bless his heart threw me out of the house tonight and said "take thy booty to the gym). I kissed him, grabbed my iPod (which I have finally figured out) and then realized some things.
My sneakers hurt my feet, my sports bra is too big as are my pants, and I really don't have anything to wear that will not embarrass me. So, I went to Target, my favorite store which is now my "splurge" store since we are down to one income.
There, I purchased all the essentials except a new sports bra. Why in the world did they have sports bras with spaghetti straps? I am not looking for a prom dress, people, I am attempting to purchase hardware that will keep "the girls" in one place. No offense to women who have an "A" cup, but some of us have a little more than that and spaghetti straps are not an option.
The good news is I am ready to hit the gym tomorrow. I could make a promise to you all and myself that I am going, but it probably won't work. However, I talked to Nala who wants to know if they have a lot of "cool stuff" at the gym? I told her they sure do and she said could I take a picture of the coolest thing. I told her yes. Have you ever had to disappoint a three year old?
Therefore, tomorrow will be the day.
Tomorrow is also Maxwell's first birthday. I can not believe that a year has passed by so quickly. It seems like yesterday I was still waddling around thinking I had some time before this baby made his or her appearance.
I still remember waking up that Monday morning and thinking "this is definitely my last day." I scooped my hair up into a really curly afro puff, slid my feet into sneakers that were already tied because Tim had left the house before he could tie my shoes, and climbed up into my pseudo SUV. I distinctly remember saying out loud to no one in particular, "this is it for this craziness. I am outta here after today!"
Little did I know that when I went to work and announced to Nancy that I was going to finish up everything today and I was going to work from home until Wednesday and then I was officially out on maternity leave I was closer than I knew.
Max had other plans, however. As I sat in a meeting with Kyle and Jamie something happened. My water broke. What? Could that be what I think it is? It can't be, I'm not ready! My bag isn't packed. My hair isn't done and I look a hot mess. Not to mention the car seat is not in Sherry's car yet. We were doing that today.
But it was and I was on my way.
Now, while I had been a mommy for almost three years, I didn't know nothin' 'bout birthin' no babies. So I did what anyone would do. I asked Nancy (who has five children) what do I do next?
She laughed and said "call your doctor, you have some time."
I called the doc who said to come on in, and then I called Tim.
"Hey. What are you doing, Schrodel."
" I am just finishing up my last bite of my lunch. What's Up?"
"Well, my water broke and I called Dr. Monzo and she said to come in and see where we are."
"I'm on my way."
The next hour or so happened in a flash. Word spread around the office that my water broke, but I refused to go anywhere until after I my fish sandwich had arrived, because gosh doggone it I was hungry and I KNEW they were not going to let me eat when I got to the hospital. Tim came running in, a blur of red coat wondering why I was signing time sheets (uhh, people must be paid and they aren't going to care if the "boss" was in labor or not) and not waiting at the door. He couldn't believe that I was actually waiting for a fish sandwich. He obviously did not understand the hunger of a pregnant woman.
We were off to the car and I was making phone calls arranging to have Nala picked up from school when my cell rang. It was Nala's day care calling to tell me that she was "itchy, so could you pick her up early today?" I look at that phone.
"Actually, my water just broke and we are on our way to the hospital, so no we can't. But my sister will be picking her up she should be fine until then."
We made it to the hospital at 1:30 where Dr. Monzo said, "yep, lets speed this up. I will meet you all in labor and delivery."
And there we sat for NINE hours. So much for speed. It seems that the baby was not making his/her dissent. I was only 5 cm dialated.
"Well, Kiddo. It does not look like this baby is coming down on his own. We can wait a little while longer or take the baby now. Its up to you."
I look at Tim and he looks at me. We look back at her.
"Well, what do you think? Does this baby have a chance of coming down on its own?"
"Ummmm, probably not."
"Then let's get this baby out!"
After ten hours of waiting, Maxwell Philip came into the world at 11:44pm, February 26th, 2007 via cesarean section. It was not until later that we found out he wasn't making his grand dissent and entrance the old fashioned way because the cord was wrapped around his shoulders and then down his back. I think it was all the tugging he would do on the cord when he was hungry.
I remember when the nurse held him up he looked huge, although he was only six pounds 7 ounces. He looked like his daddy, still does. His eyes were shockingly blue to which Tim exclaimed "Oh my God. Look, Mikki. His eyes are blue! How did that happen?"
I just looked because it certainly did not come from my side of the family *smile*.
It was a good night.
And now, here he is a whole year old. I don't know where the time has gone, but I am glad that he is doing well and growing and walking and being the best bratty baby he knows how to be.
So Happy Birthday, Maxi Max. And here is wishing you many more.
Until the Next Time,
your recovering fat girl,
Mikki
Obviously, holding myself accountable is not working so much. I could use the excuse that I didn't have sneakers that fit (this is very true. Since being pregnant with Max my right foot has expanded on one side, making shoe shopping kind of impossible), that I don't have anything to wear to the gym or downstairs to play with Billy ( at last glance at the scale I have lost 21lbs and my pants are sagging), or that I just didn't have the time to do it.
Lets put it this way. I didn't make myself do it, so I didn't. My dear husband, bless his heart threw me out of the house tonight and said "take thy booty to the gym). I kissed him, grabbed my iPod (which I have finally figured out) and then realized some things.
My sneakers hurt my feet, my sports bra is too big as are my pants, and I really don't have anything to wear that will not embarrass me. So, I went to Target, my favorite store which is now my "splurge" store since we are down to one income.
There, I purchased all the essentials except a new sports bra. Why in the world did they have sports bras with spaghetti straps? I am not looking for a prom dress, people, I am attempting to purchase hardware that will keep "the girls" in one place. No offense to women who have an "A" cup, but some of us have a little more than that and spaghetti straps are not an option.
The good news is I am ready to hit the gym tomorrow. I could make a promise to you all and myself that I am going, but it probably won't work. However, I talked to Nala who wants to know if they have a lot of "cool stuff" at the gym? I told her they sure do and she said could I take a picture of the coolest thing. I told her yes. Have you ever had to disappoint a three year old?
Therefore, tomorrow will be the day.
Tomorrow is also Maxwell's first birthday. I can not believe that a year has passed by so quickly. It seems like yesterday I was still waddling around thinking I had some time before this baby made his or her appearance.
I still remember waking up that Monday morning and thinking "this is definitely my last day." I scooped my hair up into a really curly afro puff, slid my feet into sneakers that were already tied because Tim had left the house before he could tie my shoes, and climbed up into my pseudo SUV. I distinctly remember saying out loud to no one in particular, "this is it for this craziness. I am outta here after today!"
Little did I know that when I went to work and announced to Nancy that I was going to finish up everything today and I was going to work from home until Wednesday and then I was officially out on maternity leave I was closer than I knew.
Max had other plans, however. As I sat in a meeting with Kyle and Jamie something happened. My water broke. What? Could that be what I think it is? It can't be, I'm not ready! My bag isn't packed. My hair isn't done and I look a hot mess. Not to mention the car seat is not in Sherry's car yet. We were doing that today.
But it was and I was on my way.
Now, while I had been a mommy for almost three years, I didn't know nothin' 'bout birthin' no babies. So I did what anyone would do. I asked Nancy (who has five children) what do I do next?
She laughed and said "call your doctor, you have some time."
I called the doc who said to come on in, and then I called Tim.
"Hey. What are you doing, Schrodel."
" I am just finishing up my last bite of my lunch. What's Up?"
"Well, my water broke and I called Dr. Monzo and she said to come in and see where we are."
"I'm on my way."
The next hour or so happened in a flash. Word spread around the office that my water broke, but I refused to go anywhere until after I my fish sandwich had arrived, because gosh doggone it I was hungry and I KNEW they were not going to let me eat when I got to the hospital. Tim came running in, a blur of red coat wondering why I was signing time sheets (uhh, people must be paid and they aren't going to care if the "boss" was in labor or not) and not waiting at the door. He couldn't believe that I was actually waiting for a fish sandwich. He obviously did not understand the hunger of a pregnant woman.
We were off to the car and I was making phone calls arranging to have Nala picked up from school when my cell rang. It was Nala's day care calling to tell me that she was "itchy, so could you pick her up early today?" I look at that phone.
"Actually, my water just broke and we are on our way to the hospital, so no we can't. But my sister will be picking her up she should be fine until then."
We made it to the hospital at 1:30 where Dr. Monzo said, "yep, lets speed this up. I will meet you all in labor and delivery."
And there we sat for NINE hours. So much for speed. It seems that the baby was not making his/her dissent. I was only 5 cm dialated.
"Well, Kiddo. It does not look like this baby is coming down on his own. We can wait a little while longer or take the baby now. Its up to you."
I look at Tim and he looks at me. We look back at her.
"Well, what do you think? Does this baby have a chance of coming down on its own?"
"Ummmm, probably not."
"Then let's get this baby out!"
After ten hours of waiting, Maxwell Philip came into the world at 11:44pm, February 26th, 2007 via cesarean section. It was not until later that we found out he wasn't making his grand dissent and entrance the old fashioned way because the cord was wrapped around his shoulders and then down his back. I think it was all the tugging he would do on the cord when he was hungry.
I remember when the nurse held him up he looked huge, although he was only six pounds 7 ounces. He looked like his daddy, still does. His eyes were shockingly blue to which Tim exclaimed "Oh my God. Look, Mikki. His eyes are blue! How did that happen?"
I just looked because it certainly did not come from my side of the family *smile*.
It was a good night.
And now, here he is a whole year old. I don't know where the time has gone, but I am glad that he is doing well and growing and walking and being the best bratty baby he knows how to be.
So Happy Birthday, Maxi Max. And here is wishing you many more.
Until the Next Time,
your recovering fat girl,
Mikki
Thursday, February 21, 2008
Waiting on a Snow Day
Helloooooo...
today was a better day, eating wise. I actually did the right things by drinking most of all my fluid today. 40oz of water is not only nothin' to sneeze at, but mighty impressive if you ask me. I suggest you keep sneezing to a minimum when you find you have to pay the water bill so often, but I digress.
For some reason, I am really tired today, and really not in the best of moods. I don't know why. Maybe its PMS. Hmmmm, a regular cycle. That's just downright curious! Anyway, I have vowed to snap out of it by going to sleep. That is just sooooo healthy.
Oh, tonight we are expecting snow and then ice. Tim is doing the secret "no school dance" that all Education majors were taught upon obtaining their degrees. I am not sure what it is exactly, but I think it involves baby oil, a hockey puck, and three ice cubes taken from an enemies freezer and a feather.
I had plans for tomorrow. Max and I were going to find a cake for his birthday celebration on Sunday, and some Elmo plates and hats at the party store. Then we were going to find me some work out clothes since Tyra (Banks) has informed me of the correct sports bra I should be wearing. Then we were going to JC Penny and my favorite new store National Wholesale Liquidators to look for curtains for the bedroom. Nowhere in these plans did we ask for the companions of snow and ice. Something tells me I will be in the house all day with the rest of my family. Luckily, I have removed all dangerous food (save the sugar cookies ) from the house.
And now its confession time. I have not exercised (save the dancing around Max and I do during the day) since this whole endeavor started.
I don't have an excuse. I actually own a gym membership. On Monday we purchased Tae Bo DVD's which I have done in the past. So what the heck is wrong with me?
I should be running from the house to get some Mikki time away from my crazy children. Instead, I am obsessed with keeping a bedtime chart and helping Max learn to soothe himself to sleep, and the stupid gym does not have day care for children under two years old. Ugggg
Tae Bo was good to me and for me when I did it back in the day.
I do remember being slightly traumatized by his outfit back in the day. He used to wear this electric blue unitard thing that stopped just below the nipples. It took me quite a while to get over the shock.
I think I lost more weight laughing than kicking and punching my way to a fitter me. So, tonight, I am writing this down in order to be held accountable to myself and to anyone who is reading this. Tomorrow, February 22, 2008, I am going to reacquaint myself Billy Blanks. Hopefully, in the new tapes/dvds he is not wearing that electric blue uni-tard that only covered half of his nipples. I remember being so distracted by that in the beginning. I just kept asking "was this intentional? Does he think this is sexy?" I can assure him its not.
I will be sure to give my fashion preview of the Billy Blanks dvds.
Time for bed.
Until the next time,
Your Recovering Fat Girl,
Mikki
today was a better day, eating wise. I actually did the right things by drinking most of all my fluid today. 40oz of water is not only nothin' to sneeze at, but mighty impressive if you ask me. I suggest you keep sneezing to a minimum when you find you have to pay the water bill so often, but I digress.
For some reason, I am really tired today, and really not in the best of moods. I don't know why. Maybe its PMS. Hmmmm, a regular cycle. That's just downright curious! Anyway, I have vowed to snap out of it by going to sleep. That is just sooooo healthy.
Oh, tonight we are expecting snow and then ice. Tim is doing the secret "no school dance" that all Education majors were taught upon obtaining their degrees. I am not sure what it is exactly, but I think it involves baby oil, a hockey puck, and three ice cubes taken from an enemies freezer and a feather.
I had plans for tomorrow. Max and I were going to find a cake for his birthday celebration on Sunday, and some Elmo plates and hats at the party store. Then we were going to find me some work out clothes since Tyra (Banks) has informed me of the correct sports bra I should be wearing. Then we were going to JC Penny and my favorite new store National Wholesale Liquidators to look for curtains for the bedroom. Nowhere in these plans did we ask for the companions of snow and ice. Something tells me I will be in the house all day with the rest of my family. Luckily, I have removed all dangerous food (save the sugar cookies ) from the house.
And now its confession time. I have not exercised (save the dancing around Max and I do during the day) since this whole endeavor started.
I don't have an excuse. I actually own a gym membership. On Monday we purchased Tae Bo DVD's which I have done in the past. So what the heck is wrong with me?
I should be running from the house to get some Mikki time away from my crazy children. Instead, I am obsessed with keeping a bedtime chart and helping Max learn to soothe himself to sleep, and the stupid gym does not have day care for children under two years old. Ugggg
Tae Bo was good to me and for me when I did it back in the day.
I do remember being slightly traumatized by his outfit back in the day. He used to wear this electric blue unitard thing that stopped just below the nipples. It took me quite a while to get over the shock.
I think I lost more weight laughing than kicking and punching my way to a fitter me. So, tonight, I am writing this down in order to be held accountable to myself and to anyone who is reading this. Tomorrow, February 22, 2008, I am going to reacquaint myself Billy Blanks. Hopefully, in the new tapes/dvds he is not wearing that electric blue uni-tard that only covered half of his nipples. I remember being so distracted by that in the beginning. I just kept asking "was this intentional? Does he think this is sexy?" I can assure him its not.
I will be sure to give my fashion preview of the Billy Blanks dvds.
Time for bed.
Until the next time,
Your Recovering Fat Girl,
Mikki
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
And now the hunger
Hi folks!
When we last left our hero, she was lamenting her lack of planning skills, and vowing to not only make a plan, but stick to it.
How is our heroine doing now?
Picture it. Afternoon. She has written down everything she has put in her mouth, and much to her dismay she realizes she really does not have much restriction anymore. She has planned her meals and measured out the half cup of food that is supposed to satisfy her only to realize she is hungry. Still. Uh Oh.
Dr. Boe's words echo in her ears. "Usually, proper restriction is obtained between the third and fourth fills."
My next fill is April 4th. That is approximately five weeks away. Let it be known, that unless I am one of those people whose fills "kick in" two weeks after the initial fill, I might be in trouble. I, however, am not deterred. I have made better choices the past two days, focusing in on protein and not carbs that are my friend. I think I have some type of carb dependence or something.
Once a piece of bread passes my lips its hard to say no to the rest.
Not only is my band filled, my heart is filled with anxiety. Why you ask?
Because, any day now, Tim and I are going to have the "you-didn't-come-from-mommy's -tummy talk." The truth is, I am so apprehensive about this I am not too sure where to begin.
Yes, we took the 16 hour adoption classes. Yes they addressed it, but its different now that the time has come.
Yesterday, I spent some time in the morning at Borders. As I scanned the books from Fertility and Conception to How to be a Teacher, I see what I am searching for.
There is "Adoption for Dummies", All you need to know about Adoption", "Adoption, is it for you?" and the like.
As I thumb through the books I get advice on how to introduce the subject of Adoption to your adopted child. They suggest that you should introduce the concept from the very time you bring them home.
I appreciate their openness, but Houston, we have a problem. Our Adoption was made final ten months ago just shy of our daughter's third birthday. Our Adoption was not one where a couple picked Tim and I out of a book. As a matter of fact, we had very little control over the situation at all.
There were times when we really weren't sure Adoption Day would come.
As I find suggestions as to how to introduce these other persons into our daughter's life I read phrases like "Sheila gave you this blanket. She made it for you when you came home with us from the hospital." and "Beth nursed you and held you and loved you before you came home to our family."
Then I find myself angry.
My baby didn't come home in a cute pink outfit picked out especially for that purpose. No one took the time to get her anything.
My baby came home with clothes from the hospital down to the cap on her head. The hospital was kind enough to send her home with a diaper bag full of pampers and ready made formula. My baby was supposed to be with us for a weekend, a week tops. Thankfully, that weekend turned into three years.
The studies in these books did not have the endless court cases, the continuances, the weekly and then bi-weekly visits. They address these types of situations for children that were once with their birth parents and then adopted at a later date. That also, does not address our situation.
What I got from the books, was something I already knew. We are to make this experience positive. We are to tell her what she needs to know and not sugar coat the truth, but make sure we are age appropriate. And we are not to convey negative feelings about her birth parents to her in anyway.
I have had time to truly examine how I feel about them. (This whole not eating a bowl of ice cream with cookies and dealing with one's feelings is exhausting. No wonder people over eat :-)
I believe that her birth mother loved her. I believe she made poor choices through out her life, and her inability to take care of Noodle was a result of her poor choices.
I have to believe that she was just unable to make the effort to do the right thing by her children.
I will not make excuses for the three visits she made out of the fifteen that were required. I can't explain that. I will not make excuses for the court hearings she missed. I can not fathom why she chose not get any prenatal care, siting she didn't need any. Nor can I commiserate with her addiction that led her to use while she was pregnant with Noodle. I can not explain any of this phenomenon. They were not my choices to make.
As for her birth father, I really can't muster up anything positive at all to say about him. But I will work on it.
But we do have control over telling her the truth which she deserves to know. Wish me (us) luck. Shop Rite really may need to hide the ice cream on this one.
Until the next time,
Your Recovering Fat Girl,
Mikki
When we last left our hero, she was lamenting her lack of planning skills, and vowing to not only make a plan, but stick to it.
How is our heroine doing now?
Picture it. Afternoon. She has written down everything she has put in her mouth, and much to her dismay she realizes she really does not have much restriction anymore. She has planned her meals and measured out the half cup of food that is supposed to satisfy her only to realize she is hungry. Still. Uh Oh.
Dr. Boe's words echo in her ears. "Usually, proper restriction is obtained between the third and fourth fills."
My next fill is April 4th. That is approximately five weeks away. Let it be known, that unless I am one of those people whose fills "kick in" two weeks after the initial fill, I might be in trouble. I, however, am not deterred. I have made better choices the past two days, focusing in on protein and not carbs that are my friend. I think I have some type of carb dependence or something.
Once a piece of bread passes my lips its hard to say no to the rest.
Not only is my band filled, my heart is filled with anxiety. Why you ask?
Because, any day now, Tim and I are going to have the "you-didn't-come-from-mommy's -tummy talk." The truth is, I am so apprehensive about this I am not too sure where to begin.
Yes, we took the 16 hour adoption classes. Yes they addressed it, but its different now that the time has come.
Yesterday, I spent some time in the morning at Borders. As I scanned the books from Fertility and Conception to How to be a Teacher, I see what I am searching for.
There is "Adoption for Dummies", All you need to know about Adoption", "Adoption, is it for you?" and the like.
As I thumb through the books I get advice on how to introduce the subject of Adoption to your adopted child. They suggest that you should introduce the concept from the very time you bring them home.
I appreciate their openness, but Houston, we have a problem. Our Adoption was made final ten months ago just shy of our daughter's third birthday. Our Adoption was not one where a couple picked Tim and I out of a book. As a matter of fact, we had very little control over the situation at all.
There were times when we really weren't sure Adoption Day would come.
As I find suggestions as to how to introduce these other persons into our daughter's life I read phrases like "Sheila gave you this blanket. She made it for you when you came home with us from the hospital." and "Beth nursed you and held you and loved you before you came home to our family."
Then I find myself angry.
My baby didn't come home in a cute pink outfit picked out especially for that purpose. No one took the time to get her anything.
My baby came home with clothes from the hospital down to the cap on her head. The hospital was kind enough to send her home with a diaper bag full of pampers and ready made formula. My baby was supposed to be with us for a weekend, a week tops. Thankfully, that weekend turned into three years.
The studies in these books did not have the endless court cases, the continuances, the weekly and then bi-weekly visits. They address these types of situations for children that were once with their birth parents and then adopted at a later date. That also, does not address our situation.
What I got from the books, was something I already knew. We are to make this experience positive. We are to tell her what she needs to know and not sugar coat the truth, but make sure we are age appropriate. And we are not to convey negative feelings about her birth parents to her in anyway.
I have had time to truly examine how I feel about them. (This whole not eating a bowl of ice cream with cookies and dealing with one's feelings is exhausting. No wonder people over eat :-)
I believe that her birth mother loved her. I believe she made poor choices through out her life, and her inability to take care of Noodle was a result of her poor choices.
I have to believe that she was just unable to make the effort to do the right thing by her children.
I will not make excuses for the three visits she made out of the fifteen that were required. I can't explain that. I will not make excuses for the court hearings she missed. I can not fathom why she chose not get any prenatal care, siting she didn't need any. Nor can I commiserate with her addiction that led her to use while she was pregnant with Noodle. I can not explain any of this phenomenon. They were not my choices to make.
As for her birth father, I really can't muster up anything positive at all to say about him. But I will work on it.
But we do have control over telling her the truth which she deserves to know. Wish me (us) luck. Shop Rite really may need to hide the ice cream on this one.
Until the next time,
Your Recovering Fat Girl,
Mikki
Monday, February 18, 2008
Have a Plan or Plan to Fail
Then again, the best laid plans.....
I really don't remember the last part of that saying, but I do remember it didn't end well.
Alas, I have not planned very well.
Today, I had an Auntie Anne's pretzel. No sugar or cinnamon, just plain with some cheese in the interest of protein. I am sure this was not the best choice of food. Then I had some chicken and vegetable potstickers. I did not drown them in the sugar laden sauce they come with, however. Yay for me (note the sarcasm)
I am not eating six small meals a day. And this not drinking while eating and five minutes before and thirty minutes after is a LOT more challenging than I would have thought. No. I am not whining at all, I am just being truthful.
I am convinced whoever made up the "eat six small meals a day" did not have children. Or a life.
First of all, I am not really hungry in the morning at all. I do well to remember to feed Max. Then again, he doesn't really let you forget that.
Yogurt has become my favorite meal. It allows me not to have to think about what I eat. That is the problem. Today, even though it is not over, has been a little crazy food wise.
This is the hard part. So tonight, before I go to bed I am going to plan what I eat and the time I eat them for tomorrow.
While I am not that thrilled with myself for the past two days with my food choices, I am happy about a couple of things.
On Saturday, Bobby's mother called me (technically, she is my grandmother, but since it was the first time I ever spoke to her she still remains Bobby's mother for now) and I did not feel the need to get a bowl of ice cream topped with a warm, crumbly brownie on top. Instead, I told Tim and we talked about it. I did not stuff any feelings with food.
I only have two more pounds to lose until its an even twenty pounds. I can not remember the last time I lost twenty pounds---not unless you count after I had Maxwell and then I only gained 18, so I guess that really doesn't count.
And lastly, my latest non scale victory (NSV for future reference), my rings are starting to get too big. They were never too tight, but they are definitely loosening up. I am not in any danger of losing my rings, thankfully, but I am looking forward to having them resized one day.
Until the next time,
Your Recovering Fat Girl,
Mikki
I really don't remember the last part of that saying, but I do remember it didn't end well.
Alas, I have not planned very well.
Today, I had an Auntie Anne's pretzel. No sugar or cinnamon, just plain with some cheese in the interest of protein. I am sure this was not the best choice of food. Then I had some chicken and vegetable potstickers. I did not drown them in the sugar laden sauce they come with, however. Yay for me (note the sarcasm)
I am not eating six small meals a day. And this not drinking while eating and five minutes before and thirty minutes after is a LOT more challenging than I would have thought. No. I am not whining at all, I am just being truthful.
I am convinced whoever made up the "eat six small meals a day" did not have children. Or a life.
First of all, I am not really hungry in the morning at all. I do well to remember to feed Max. Then again, he doesn't really let you forget that.
Yogurt has become my favorite meal. It allows me not to have to think about what I eat. That is the problem. Today, even though it is not over, has been a little crazy food wise.
This is the hard part. So tonight, before I go to bed I am going to plan what I eat and the time I eat them for tomorrow.
While I am not that thrilled with myself for the past two days with my food choices, I am happy about a couple of things.
On Saturday, Bobby's mother called me (technically, she is my grandmother, but since it was the first time I ever spoke to her she still remains Bobby's mother for now) and I did not feel the need to get a bowl of ice cream topped with a warm, crumbly brownie on top. Instead, I told Tim and we talked about it. I did not stuff any feelings with food.
I only have two more pounds to lose until its an even twenty pounds. I can not remember the last time I lost twenty pounds---not unless you count after I had Maxwell and then I only gained 18, so I guess that really doesn't count.
And lastly, my latest non scale victory (NSV for future reference), my rings are starting to get too big. They were never too tight, but they are definitely loosening up. I am not in any danger of losing my rings, thankfully, but I am looking forward to having them resized one day.
Until the next time,
Your Recovering Fat Girl,
Mikki
Thursday, February 14, 2008
Valentine's Day
Happy Non Existant Holiday. I used refer to this day, lovingly of course, as "kill Cupid Day". Granted, this was before I met Tim and actually had an official Valentine. In my heart, I still feel its "Kill Cupid Day", but I must admit its alot more fun with Tim and the kids around. The pressure is off, if that makes any sense.
So here I sit, still filled up. With no real appetite. I have now realized that its hard to make breakfast, lunch and dinner for others when you really have no interest in eating. In the interest of being a good sport and semi romantic, I prepared homemade crab and shrimp ravioli with a lemon butter sauce. Sounds gourmet. Tim loved it, I ate two which took me thirty minutes, and Nala was more interested in the bag of candy she received from school for Valentine's Day.
My mind is still learning to catch up with my stomach and the full feeling. The truth is I am not really sure when I am full. I feel like I need to hiccup which helps me know I need to stop eating, however, I do not have the feeling of fullness in my lower stomach like I did prior to surgery.
Having said that I have begun to take stock of when I eat just out of sheer boredom or emotional eating. I hate to admit it, but I do that more often than not. I guess thats where the "therapy" part of this journey is supposed to come in.
Well, between me, you and the keyboard I am done with therapy. I am in no mood to pay $25.00 a week to dredge up stuff that happened years ago that may now cause me to overeat. That is what the blog is for. I understand that I eat emotionally. I understand that I eat when I am frustrated, bored, or upset. My surprising revaletion is I eat when I am tired. I recognize these issues. Instead of going to a therapist to tell him or her these things when I can tell everyone else who is willing to listen for free!
I will put the $25.00 per week aside for the hot new wardrobe I will be buying this time next year.
Until the next time,
Your recovering fat girl
Mikki
So here I sit, still filled up. With no real appetite. I have now realized that its hard to make breakfast, lunch and dinner for others when you really have no interest in eating. In the interest of being a good sport and semi romantic, I prepared homemade crab and shrimp ravioli with a lemon butter sauce. Sounds gourmet. Tim loved it, I ate two which took me thirty minutes, and Nala was more interested in the bag of candy she received from school for Valentine's Day.
My mind is still learning to catch up with my stomach and the full feeling. The truth is I am not really sure when I am full. I feel like I need to hiccup which helps me know I need to stop eating, however, I do not have the feeling of fullness in my lower stomach like I did prior to surgery.
Having said that I have begun to take stock of when I eat just out of sheer boredom or emotional eating. I hate to admit it, but I do that more often than not. I guess thats where the "therapy" part of this journey is supposed to come in.
Well, between me, you and the keyboard I am done with therapy. I am in no mood to pay $25.00 a week to dredge up stuff that happened years ago that may now cause me to overeat. That is what the blog is for. I understand that I eat emotionally. I understand that I eat when I am frustrated, bored, or upset. My surprising revaletion is I eat when I am tired. I recognize these issues. Instead of going to a therapist to tell him or her these things when I can tell everyone else who is willing to listen for free!
I will put the $25.00 per week aside for the hot new wardrobe I will be buying this time next year.
Until the next time,
Your recovering fat girl
Mikki
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
Fill Me Up
Yesterday was my first appointment to have my deflated band inflated. I would like to report that I had absolutely no apprehension about this endeavor, but I would like to be honest. For those who have no clue about this band, let me give you a brief lesson.
I liken it to a napkin ring that is placed around your upper stomach. It is put in place with a little clamp. Think of plastic handcuffs they use at amusement parks when you have been naughty, or the ties they put on toys to keep them in place. Ok. Inside of the napkin ring are little pockets that are filled with the saline solution. This allows for the band to tighten around your stomach and make your stomach pouch smaller. Therefore, you can eat very little at a time, become fuller faster and stay that way longer and lose weight.
Now onto my first fill.
I busied myself in order to not really think about what was going to happen. Then, as they left me in the room before Dr. Boe came in I saw the table. Two packaged needles, both with liquid. I didn't see past the needles. I was mesmerized. I look over to Max and Mikaela, the baby and toddler who have accompanied me on my journey. " I don't even LIKE needles? Why would I even sign up for this?" Max responds with "na na na na naaaaaaaaaa". Mikaela looks at me like I have four heads. and opts not to respond.
WONDERFUL! Perhaps, I should have gone for gastric bypass. Granted, they rerout your insides, and you might miss some important nutrients, but its a one shot deal with no needles involved.
Then there is the fear of throwing up. I have read too many posts where some people are too tight and they can't even swallow their own saliva right after a fill. What if this happens to me? I can't afford to vomit. It's so unfabulous and Tim just cleaned my car. Oh my GOD what have I done?
Before I can have a full on anxiety attack, Dr. Boe comes in all goodness, cheer and light.
"Mikki! How are you?"
I tell him I am doing well, he congratulates me on my 14 pound weight loss (I will stop for applause here. I am not too proud to prompt.) and tells me to lie down. I can no longere see the needles, but I know they are there.
"Ok, you know, I am not a fan of needles." I blurt out.
Dr. Boe laughs and tells me not to worry and he will talk me through it. And he did. First is the betadine, the next will be the first needle. You will feel a pinch, a sting and burning, and then it will be over. Then will be the needle with the saline and we will fill you up.
The whole ordeal took about two minutes from start to finish, give or take thirty seconds. It was relatively painless and I even told the Doctor he remained on my Christmas card list. He laughed and said he was relieved.
I drank some water before I left to make sure I was not too tight and then I was released into the wild world of food with a partially filled band.
So far, so good. Yesterday, I existed off of two Dannon Lite N Fit vanilla yogurts, some fish chowder, and a protein shake, a far cry from the six small meals and 64 oz of fluid I am supposed to consume per day.
Today I have done better. Ok, thats not entirely true. I had my yogurt, and a protein shake. I just am not hungry. Its very hard to think of food when you are not hungry. I can't say I feel too much restriction yet, but I can say I could easily forget to eat.
I just need a couple of days to adjust and I will keep you posted.
Your recovering fat girl,
Mikki
I liken it to a napkin ring that is placed around your upper stomach. It is put in place with a little clamp. Think of plastic handcuffs they use at amusement parks when you have been naughty, or the ties they put on toys to keep them in place. Ok. Inside of the napkin ring are little pockets that are filled with the saline solution. This allows for the band to tighten around your stomach and make your stomach pouch smaller. Therefore, you can eat very little at a time, become fuller faster and stay that way longer and lose weight.
Now onto my first fill.
I busied myself in order to not really think about what was going to happen. Then, as they left me in the room before Dr. Boe came in I saw the table. Two packaged needles, both with liquid. I didn't see past the needles. I was mesmerized. I look over to Max and Mikaela, the baby and toddler who have accompanied me on my journey. " I don't even LIKE needles? Why would I even sign up for this?" Max responds with "na na na na naaaaaaaaaa". Mikaela looks at me like I have four heads. and opts not to respond.
WONDERFUL! Perhaps, I should have gone for gastric bypass. Granted, they rerout your insides, and you might miss some important nutrients, but its a one shot deal with no needles involved.
Then there is the fear of throwing up. I have read too many posts where some people are too tight and they can't even swallow their own saliva right after a fill. What if this happens to me? I can't afford to vomit. It's so unfabulous and Tim just cleaned my car. Oh my GOD what have I done?
Before I can have a full on anxiety attack, Dr. Boe comes in all goodness, cheer and light.
"Mikki! How are you?"
I tell him I am doing well, he congratulates me on my 14 pound weight loss (I will stop for applause here. I am not too proud to prompt.) and tells me to lie down. I can no longere see the needles, but I know they are there.
"Ok, you know, I am not a fan of needles." I blurt out.
Dr. Boe laughs and tells me not to worry and he will talk me through it. And he did. First is the betadine, the next will be the first needle. You will feel a pinch, a sting and burning, and then it will be over. Then will be the needle with the saline and we will fill you up.
The whole ordeal took about two minutes from start to finish, give or take thirty seconds. It was relatively painless and I even told the Doctor he remained on my Christmas card list. He laughed and said he was relieved.
I drank some water before I left to make sure I was not too tight and then I was released into the wild world of food with a partially filled band.
So far, so good. Yesterday, I existed off of two Dannon Lite N Fit vanilla yogurts, some fish chowder, and a protein shake, a far cry from the six small meals and 64 oz of fluid I am supposed to consume per day.
Today I have done better. Ok, thats not entirely true. I had my yogurt, and a protein shake. I just am not hungry. Its very hard to think of food when you are not hungry. I can't say I feel too much restriction yet, but I can say I could easily forget to eat.
I just need a couple of days to adjust and I will keep you posted.
Your recovering fat girl,
Mikki
Monday, February 11, 2008
Telling the World of my latest adventure
"So, what is it that you wanted to tell me, Mikki?"
As Nala jumped around our room, and Max babbled on our bed, I turned the computer screen around so that Tim could see.
"Now, before you get all freaked out make sure you read the whole thing. The one on the right, not the left. I've researched it and I think its a good idea, but I need for you to be ok with this also. It doesn't affect just me."
I wait as Tim reads and busy myself with caring for children who are not paying me the least bit of attention. I don't know why I am nervous. Tim has always been supportive of me no matter what it was I wanted to do. We talk about everything, we share everything, having our most intimate conversations in the most unconventional settings. We are married for goodness sakes. He has seen me hang over the toilet with morning sickness, cry, fall, walk around nude.....so why did I suddenly feel so utterly exposed and vulnerable?
I can feel my heart beating in my ears and I am not sure if I am even breathing. I look up when I believe he is finished."Well?" I say as I pick up Max using him as a security blanket.
Tim smiles, leans over and gives me a kiss and says "I support you one hundred percent. I want to keep you around for as long as I can."I smile. That's why we're married.
And so began our journey into Weight Loss Surgery.On November 12, 2007, Tim and I sat through a seminar to hear about the Lap Band procedure at the Barix Clinics in Langhorne, Pa. It answered our questions and gave us what we needed to make an informed decision. After hours of research, some doctor's appointments and awesome insurance my surgery was performed on January 4, 2008.
I struggled in the beginning of who, if anyone ,I would tell besides Tim. Did I really want to answer all of those questions? What if I failed? Did I want people looking at absolutely everything I put in my mouth? Was I willing to share how I got to this point? What could I possibly say to those who would have absolutely no way of understanding the battle of the bulge? Then I thought about it. Here I was taking a positive step towards a healthier me, why would I not be proud of myself and want to share my news?
Losing weight is a very complex issue. It's more than numbers on the scale. It affects the way others view you and most important how you view yourself. The person you are on the inside is never accurately reflected on the outside. If you are overweight you are viewed, by some, as being less intelligent, less active, less attractive, and somehow inferior. I understand I am none of those things and after a while refused to diet or address the issue. If I lost weight was I not then buying into the myth that my happiness was entwined with numbers on the scale? If I strived to achieve the lofty size 4 was I not giving into the pressure that is put upon us by society ? Was I then admitting that something really was wrong with me the way I am? Have I sold out?
Then there is the issue of other people. What would they think or say? Admittedly, I did not think of this at first. The people who I needed to be on board with this were, so it never dawned on me that there would be any reaction that was less than supportive, but it turned out I was wrong. For those who do not understand my undertaking I recognize they just do not understand this battle. They probably did not have their first organized diet of Weight Watchers in the fifth grade. They did not have to find creative ways to hide the V8 juice in the thermos from their arch nemesis before she realized you were on a diet and then all hell broke loose.
They have not sat in the dressing room of the fat girl store and cried because, for better or for worse the clothes actually fit! Nor have they encountered the great aunt who, after not seeing you in years greets you not with "hello" but "why are you so fat?" Those traumas are now pretty laughable to me,however they were not at the time they happened. And I will not have them happen to me again.
There is nothing wrong with being apart of the big girl club, I am just ready to turn in my card.
So what lead me to this point? Despite turning points in my life in the past there was no one specific event. Instead, I have three reasons.Tim, Nala and Maxwell. I owe Tim a lifetime that we promised to spend together.
We cannot have 58 more years on our contract if I am not here to honor my part. I owe it to my children to be as healthy as possible so that I can raise them, love them, play with them, cry with them and grow with them. I do not have any intentions on being the "fat mommy" picking up her babies and watching them from the side of the park. I want to be there to play with them and enjoy good health. And if it means I get to bypass the fat girl store and buy off the rack in the normal store then so be it.
I have finally realized that I have not sold out; instead, I have bought into a future that I deserve.
The process of losing weight via any surgery is not the "easy way out" as some suggest. When drinking nothing but protein shakes and broth for two weeks becomes "easy", when you look at your tummy and see five little incisions decorating your outside becomes "easy" someone please let me know. Losing weight with any undertaking, even surgery, is not easy. The Lap Band is not gastric bypass and the weight will not fall off over night, nor is the Lap Band a cure for any food issues I may have. While it will help me control how much I eat, it will be up to me to decide WHAT I put in my mouth.
Most important, I do not believe for one moment that losing weight will make me happy. Lucky for me, I am not only happy already, I am content. I love my life. I have a husband who adores me and supports me even through my craziness. I have two children who drive me crazy and make me laugh daily. I could not be more proud of them. I have parents who love me and support me, parents-in-law who support me and with whom I am proud to share the same name. And for the first time in my life, losing weight is merely an important journey in my life but it is by no means all consuming as it was in the past.
It is no longer about the size of my pants or what store I can "fit in to".It is about being true to myself, feeling that I deserve all things that are good to me and for me. It is about being healthy. It is, thankfully, no longer about being loved.
If you would like to know more about the Lap Band surgery, you are welcome to check out Lapbandtalk.com. They have a wealth of information on this procedure.
As Nala jumped around our room, and Max babbled on our bed, I turned the computer screen around so that Tim could see.
"Now, before you get all freaked out make sure you read the whole thing. The one on the right, not the left. I've researched it and I think its a good idea, but I need for you to be ok with this also. It doesn't affect just me."
I wait as Tim reads and busy myself with caring for children who are not paying me the least bit of attention. I don't know why I am nervous. Tim has always been supportive of me no matter what it was I wanted to do. We talk about everything, we share everything, having our most intimate conversations in the most unconventional settings. We are married for goodness sakes. He has seen me hang over the toilet with morning sickness, cry, fall, walk around nude.....so why did I suddenly feel so utterly exposed and vulnerable?
I can feel my heart beating in my ears and I am not sure if I am even breathing. I look up when I believe he is finished."Well?" I say as I pick up Max using him as a security blanket.
Tim smiles, leans over and gives me a kiss and says "I support you one hundred percent. I want to keep you around for as long as I can."I smile. That's why we're married.
And so began our journey into Weight Loss Surgery.On November 12, 2007, Tim and I sat through a seminar to hear about the Lap Band procedure at the Barix Clinics in Langhorne, Pa. It answered our questions and gave us what we needed to make an informed decision. After hours of research, some doctor's appointments and awesome insurance my surgery was performed on January 4, 2008.
I struggled in the beginning of who, if anyone ,I would tell besides Tim. Did I really want to answer all of those questions? What if I failed? Did I want people looking at absolutely everything I put in my mouth? Was I willing to share how I got to this point? What could I possibly say to those who would have absolutely no way of understanding the battle of the bulge? Then I thought about it. Here I was taking a positive step towards a healthier me, why would I not be proud of myself and want to share my news?
Losing weight is a very complex issue. It's more than numbers on the scale. It affects the way others view you and most important how you view yourself. The person you are on the inside is never accurately reflected on the outside. If you are overweight you are viewed, by some, as being less intelligent, less active, less attractive, and somehow inferior. I understand I am none of those things and after a while refused to diet or address the issue. If I lost weight was I not then buying into the myth that my happiness was entwined with numbers on the scale? If I strived to achieve the lofty size 4 was I not giving into the pressure that is put upon us by society ? Was I then admitting that something really was wrong with me the way I am? Have I sold out?
Then there is the issue of other people. What would they think or say? Admittedly, I did not think of this at first. The people who I needed to be on board with this were, so it never dawned on me that there would be any reaction that was less than supportive, but it turned out I was wrong. For those who do not understand my undertaking I recognize they just do not understand this battle. They probably did not have their first organized diet of Weight Watchers in the fifth grade. They did not have to find creative ways to hide the V8 juice in the thermos from their arch nemesis before she realized you were on a diet and then all hell broke loose.
They have not sat in the dressing room of the fat girl store and cried because, for better or for worse the clothes actually fit! Nor have they encountered the great aunt who, after not seeing you in years greets you not with "hello" but "why are you so fat?" Those traumas are now pretty laughable to me,however they were not at the time they happened. And I will not have them happen to me again.
There is nothing wrong with being apart of the big girl club, I am just ready to turn in my card.
So what lead me to this point? Despite turning points in my life in the past there was no one specific event. Instead, I have three reasons.Tim, Nala and Maxwell. I owe Tim a lifetime that we promised to spend together.
We cannot have 58 more years on our contract if I am not here to honor my part. I owe it to my children to be as healthy as possible so that I can raise them, love them, play with them, cry with them and grow with them. I do not have any intentions on being the "fat mommy" picking up her babies and watching them from the side of the park. I want to be there to play with them and enjoy good health. And if it means I get to bypass the fat girl store and buy off the rack in the normal store then so be it.
I have finally realized that I have not sold out; instead, I have bought into a future that I deserve.
The process of losing weight via any surgery is not the "easy way out" as some suggest. When drinking nothing but protein shakes and broth for two weeks becomes "easy", when you look at your tummy and see five little incisions decorating your outside becomes "easy" someone please let me know. Losing weight with any undertaking, even surgery, is not easy. The Lap Band is not gastric bypass and the weight will not fall off over night, nor is the Lap Band a cure for any food issues I may have. While it will help me control how much I eat, it will be up to me to decide WHAT I put in my mouth.
Most important, I do not believe for one moment that losing weight will make me happy. Lucky for me, I am not only happy already, I am content. I love my life. I have a husband who adores me and supports me even through my craziness. I have two children who drive me crazy and make me laugh daily. I could not be more proud of them. I have parents who love me and support me, parents-in-law who support me and with whom I am proud to share the same name. And for the first time in my life, losing weight is merely an important journey in my life but it is by no means all consuming as it was in the past.
It is no longer about the size of my pants or what store I can "fit in to".It is about being true to myself, feeling that I deserve all things that are good to me and for me. It is about being healthy. It is, thankfully, no longer about being loved.
If you would like to know more about the Lap Band surgery, you are welcome to check out Lapbandtalk.com. They have a wealth of information on this procedure.
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