The Battle of the Bulge: Week 10 (Say What?)

One-hundred-sixty-whaaaaa????

Before I get to that, I want to say this - I have received a surprising amount of compliments the past two days. Our daycare provider said, "You're looking really good!" and of course, my husband said something along the lines that if someone told him I weighed 160-some pounds he wouldn't believe them. I have seen a large number of students on the past few days, most of which have mentioned something about how I look "really good for just having a baby" and my neighbor mentioned something last night. With everything I have been up to in the past few days I didn't realize that today was "weigh-in" day. So I just went and stepped on the scale.

161.8.

Seriously? How did that happen? Three pounds might not make a difference but maybe it does in this case. I was floored.

In reading about how to balance my hormones while breastfeeding (avoiding certain foods etc. and when they are most likely to fluxuate) I read that somewhere between 2-4 months, your hormones balance out and you're able to better lose weight. I'd say, so far, that's an accurate statement.

So here I am, within 2 pounds of pre-pregnancy weight and within arms reach of where I want to be. It was my goal to be at my pre-pregnancy weight by the time school starts and I will hopefully be there. But if I am not, its OK because today, looking in the mirror, I feel like I look good. Albeit orange since I have a sunburn on top of my tan... But good, nonetheless...

Here's to week 11, and less than 2 weeks to the start of school!

The Haircut

You don't know how far you've come until you know where you've been. 

Or something like that. 

It's funny when someone tells me that they were "on the verge of a panic attack" in regard to something they have experienced when I know full well they have no idea where that precipice actually lies. It somewhat pains me to have to throw my head back and let out a chuckle at their dramatic rendition of the time they forgot to add theeeee key ingredient into a dish they were making for Thanksgiving, and they were "on the verge of a panic attack" in thinking that they weren't going to get to the store in time when they realized that the store was actually open later for the holiday season. But I respond that way because I know they are simply using verbage to make their story somewhat entertaining. They aren't doing it to spite me, egg me on, make fun of me or anything of that sort. They are simply telling a story. 

But I know what it's like to be on the verge of a panic attack all too well, which usually shocks some people. My pride doesn't appreciate the fact that at one point in my life I was so broken that my mind would actually dissociate, or disengage, to protect me if I ever sensed any danger. Yet, that's what happened. It took a long time to be able to bounce back from that, and even now, I'm still not where I was before. I doubt I ever will be. 

Last night, I cut the last of James' baby hairs off the top of his head. His hair grew in weird so that he had more hair in the back and on the sides than at the top. So although I've cut his hair three times, before last night, I had never cut the top. 

That haircut sent me into a tailspin. At first, I was gung-ho about cutting his hair. His little curly locks were getting so long and with summer coming to an end, I knew those curls would only last as long as the humidity did, which isn't for too much longer. So I gave him four freezie-pops and told him to sit out on the deck in his chair so I could cut his hair. He was all for it. 

I started with the sides and worked my way back. And then I cut the top. I was sad, and by that point, James was through all four freezies and I was getting tired, so it was a quick snip-snip here and there and it was over. 

Panic attacks sneak up on you. You can't see them coming and you have no idea they are about to occur. You only recognize them when you are in the middle of one. Then you can begin to calm yourself down. 

So last night, I was jittery giving James a bath. I was jittery while nursing Catherine. I was jittery after Catherine went down for the night because she went down all too easily and I thought for sure she was going to start crying, which was going to feel like nails on a chalkboard. I couldn't sleep and kept tossing and turning. And all of a sudden I was crying. 

I tried to center myself and calm myself down. I asked Eric to rub my back and I'm sure sensing something was wrong, he did. And then I just started talking. 

I talked about how I cut the last of James' baby hairs off the top of his head. And that once I did, I couldn't go back. Which got me thinking about how in everything we do with him, we can't go back. We have the ability to screw up his entire life with one simple decision if we want. And it makes me sad. It makes me sad that I can't go back after those quick snips, or after the decision to put him in time-out or the decision to put him in a real bed or the decision to let him go to bed without supper if he refuses to eat what we put in front of him. 

And at that moment, in talking everything through, I actually talked myself down. There was a time when i couldn't do that. 

Panic attacks have grown further and further apart, and less severe with each one, but they still have the ability to squeeze me so tight that I feel like I can't breathe. What-if scenarios repeat themselves over and over, so far into my sub-conscious that I have no idea I'm even doing it. 

As an exercise during counseling for my PTSD, my counselor had me write whatever was on my mind for one minute. In reading it afterward, I was shocked at how much negative self-talk there was. Almost every sentence had something that was wrong, and why it was my fault. She had my highlight all the "but if I" and "what if I" and "I should" sentences, and eventually, I wound up highlighting almost the entire thing. It was then that I realized I am my own worst enemy.

After three hours of tossing and turning, and eventually getting up to nurse Catherine, I was able to fall asleep, if only for a few hours. Luckily, I woke up less anxious, just a little sad, but thankful that I am not where I used to be. I always tell my students that the lovely thing about being you is that in whatever you do, there is always someone worse than you. So no matter how you do on something, someone out there has done much worse. However, in everything you do, there is also always someone better, so you have to strive to better yourself every day to remain a contestant against those that are better, and hopefully, you can become one of the best. 

I try to make myself better every day, and working out my negativity about myself and the way I do anything is a struggle. But it's a struggle that I'm dealing with and trying to change and striving to better every day. 

It's my struggle that makes me who I am. And I'm ok with that. 

  

The Battle of the Bulge: Week 9

As James would say, "yyyyuck!"

That's what I thought looking in the mirror this morning. I have bags under my eyes from being up twice in the middle of the night with Catherine, and to top it off, I couldn't sleep in between those two feedings... So I am looking mighty fine this morning. Furthering my negative thoughts is the above "selfie" I chose to take of myself from the front rather from the side. Again, as my little handsome-pants would say... "Yyyyyyuck!"

The thing I think I hate most about poat-pregnancy is the extra skin. If you think about it, your skin stretches an extraordinary amount while pregnant. For Gods sake, I have had two human beings between 8 1/2 and 9 pounds stretch that skin out. Its bound to take a while to bounce back.

But while I sit here at 164.4 pounds and say that, it's hard to look at. I am not used to having things jiggle or clothes look bad. I am not used to having to carefully dress myself so all the right parts look good and all the bad parts don't look so bad. O am used to throwing on clothes and walking out the door.

So, for fun while Catherine takes her 3 hour morning nap, I threw some outfits together - mainly ones that I would wear to work and the one I am wearing now.

Don't mind the spackle and mud - welcome to home remodeling. Also, the ugly green walls will eventually be white/grey. Of e ever get around to it!

So there you have it. The two above outfits are what I would wear to work and the third is the one I am wearing to Catherine's doctor's appointment today. I don't know what I look like to the outside person but to me, I look like ten pounds of shit stuffed into a 5 pound bag. But in all, looking back at professional family photos taken when James was 3 months old, I look smashing compared to that. So really... I can't complain too much.

Here's to week 10! Onward!

Chiropractor or Quack-torpractor?

Eric has had back problems since I can remember, made worse by the fact he walked around on a torn MCL for two years, using only a knee stabilizer on really bad days. So when I suggested maybe a chiropractor might help, he scoffed at me. But we came across a Groupon for a consultation and in he went. Following a few appointments, I decided maybe it would be beneficial for me to see the chiropractor as well.

My consult revealed that I have scoliosis, and a pretty severe case at that. So she adjusted my back and for three weeks, my back killed me. I even went back a few times to be adjusted, thinking that I just needed to get through the pain, and it was only worse. So I stopped going and eventually, so did Eric.

Fast-forward to this last week, which I would dub "The Week From Hell." Catherine has been progressively getting more and more fussy as the week goes on. It was getting to the point that my anxiety was sky-high and every time she cried it was like nails on a chalkboard. After last night, which consisted of swaddling, the swing, and even driving around for an hour, I was done. I called a chiropractor.

Catherine barely slept all day yesterday and this morning after she fed, she stayed awake until I fed her again a few hours later. Once we got to the chiropractor, she became fussy and I knew that if this didn't work I didn't know what I was going to do.

He adjusted her and she cried. I had heard from friends that once their kids were adjusted, their kids went limp. That was not the case. She actually started to fuss more. But after he calmed down a bit and I put her in her car seat she fell asleep.

She has been asleep ever since. She has only woken up to eat every three hours and she hasnt cried. Not once.

The silence is wonderful. We have a follow-up appointment next week, so we will see what this week entails. All I know is that I am eternally grateful for this one "easy" day in a good while.

The Battle of the Bulge: Week 8

Well, cutting dairy, soy and egg out of my diet sire has decreased my bloating! I didn't realize how bloated you would get by eating that stuff! However my weight hasn't really gone anywhere. Sitting between 165 (last weekend and yesterday) and 167 (today). Weird how it moves around so Mich. Last week, I got the flu and when I went to the doctors office, I was 165. So we will go with that.

I know I have been eating much healthier thanks to this terrible diet, but it's helping Catherine so I will keep on it. Wahoo!

Til next week!

With or Without

A lot of people have no idea that my husband is a recovering alcoholic. I had no idea, either, until we moved in together after two years that he was, at that time, an alcoholic. I always thought he really liked to have a good time and I couldn't ever really tell how drunk he was. I would rarely spend the night at his place so I would usually leave to go sleep in my own bed before the "witching hour" or when the alcohol would really start to take hold.

5 months before we got married, the truth was inevitably staring me in the face. To save a long story for another day, we decided to still get married, but even walking down the aisle to say my vows I had no idea if this marriage would work.

Now eight years of marriage, and sobriety, later, I can say that my husband has not had one slip. When offered a beer at a party, he will simply explain that he's 'not very good at drinking' and I have never seen one person scoff or reject that answer. When at a bar, which is less and less as we get older, he will tell me when he needs to leave because as he says, "If you in the barber chair long enough, you are bound to get a hair cut."

I have always been so proud of him, but have never truly known what its like to give something like that up. I am Methodist and never had to give anything up for lent. So when the doctor told me that I had to give up dairy and soy, and then on my own accord, I didn't really imagine how difficult it would be to do.

It is harder than shit. I have noticed in the few days that I have been on this special diet that soy is in everything. If I want to eat anything, I have to check the label first. It means watching my husband put Velveeta on his burger... And then watch him enjoy eating it. It is hell.

And yet, I am doing it because I know I have to do it for my daughter. It's harder than I imagined. I am thankful I only have to do it for the time that I am breastfeeding. I don't have to do it any longer than that. I can't imagine having to do it for the rest of my life!

But here we are. And I will keep going, just like my husband, because I have to. It's empowering, but also one of the hardest things I have ever done. At least I still have my peanut butter captain crunch...

The Battle of the Bulge: Week 7 (The No Dairy/Soy/Egg Edition)

I just had an allergen-free Caramel Apple granola bar and it actually wasn't that bad. For $5.59 for 5 bars, it better not be that bad.

I have officially become a label-reader. It's almost worst than becoming a formula-user. Luckily, I have a dear friend who was also a label-reader for several years thanks to a daughter that was premature and allergic to everything. So we just spent and hour and a half in Hy-Vee with our daughters so she could show me the ropes. If I would have had to start this journey on my own, it would have began with tears.

Yesterday we had a weight check for Catherine. She is a hefty 9 pounds, 11 ounces...at the doctors office. At the Gastroenterologist she was only 9 pounds 4 ounces. Either way, it's improvement which is what we wanted to see. So the pediatrician asked, sine Catherine has also been having regular bowel movements, we still needed to see the gastroenterologist. I said I didn't think so but also just wanted to make sure that everything is OK. The pediatrician agreed and off we went to the GI doc.

Last Tuesday, I decide I wanted to see exactly how much food Catherine was eating everyday. So I fed her formula all day and just pumped. I pumped more than she ate, and she only ate about 16 ounces. I pumped more than that, so I was concerned. The I internet says that she should be eating 24-30 ounces at this age. The doctor agreed but she was gaining weight so she didn't worry too much. Later that day at my breastfeeding support group, the lactation consultant said that 24-30 ounces is a lot! 16 ounces, for the size she is, is just fine and case-in-point, she ate 3 ounces while we were there.

So fast forward to our GI appoinent, where the doctor tells me that he isn't getting enough calories based on her birth weight. But she also left the hospital almost a full pound below her birth weight. So to gain 2 pounds in less than 2 months isn't great, but not terrible. In trying to tell him that, it seemed as though he acknowledged it, but didn't want to factor it in. Instead, he wanted to see better weight gain and when approaching that subject, asked me how I felt about breastfeeding.

Ohhhh no. We are not going there. I proceeded to tell him that I have worked too hard and would like to continue breastfeeding. If I need to add something to the breatmilk, I would gladly pump, bit I have invested too many tears to NOT breastfeed anymore.

So he told me to nurse only 10 minutes total and supplement the rest with formula. But because of the freaky out-the-nose reflux, he deduced she is allergic to the formula I have been giving her. So I get to use the neat $50/can-that-fits-in-my-hand formula. Awesome!

Then he tells me that I need to cut dairy and soy from my diet. Because if she's reacting this poorly to the formula, she is most likely allergic to dairy I eat as well.

Awesome!

When I got home, I thought a lot about what the doctor had said, and really about our journey to this point thus far. My pediatrician says she snow getting enough. The GI doc says she IA getting enough to eat, she is just not getting the calories she needs. The lactation consultant says she is getting enough to eat.

Since last Wednesday, her diapers say she has been getting enough to eat...in fact, sometimes twice a day. But something resonated with the food allergy. So like anyone curious about anything, I googled the shit out of it.

And it wasn't until I read an article by a mom with the same problem. The same problem with her second she had with her first. Then it hit me -

 James is allergic to eggs. 

So I called my good friend Heather, who had to go on a total elimination diet when her daugter was a preemie. So she knows it all. We went to lunch at Wendy's, since thy have a great dairy/soy free menu and then she took me to Hy-Vee. We scoured the aisles of the "health market" and she gave me the best fake dairy, soy and egg products she had discovered in her two years of living this diet. God bless her.

So tonight for dinner, I ate a peanut butter and jelly sandwich on special white bread with Frito's. Yep, all of that is dairy, spy and egg free. So is my Peanut Bitter Captain Crunch, hallelujah.

So long post made longer, it will be interesting to see where the Battle of the Bulge goes from here.

Hopefully down, especially considering I am still at 167! 'Til next week!

Beauty Had a Blow-Out

It doesn't look like she just had a blowout, does it?

I don't think that I have ever been more happy to see a diaper filled with yellow, nasty poop. But that's exactly what I got and I'm pretty sure I did a little dance when it happened.

We've been battling constipation issues with Catherine, and with those constipation issues have come issues with weight gain and acid reflux. It seems as though we are finally on the mend, and my anxiety levels have greatly decreased since our doctors appointment yesterday.

Thanks to Karo syrup and supplementing with formula, Catherine has been pooping everyday and has put on a half pound. The goal from here on out is a half pound every week and if I have to supplement with formula in order to do it I will.

In supplementing with formula and pumping regularly, I have discovered that I actually am producing enough milk. I have also noticed that when the flow of the nipple on the bottle is too slow Catherine will stop feeding. I'm wondering if it's the same while breastfeeding.

For now I will continue to supplement with formula, I will continue to pump, and I will continue to breastfeed.  It's nice to know that we are on our way to a healthy, happy baby girl.

Time to go change a diaper...

The Battle of the Bulge: Week 6 (Hormones)

I stepped on the scale yesterday morning. 168.2. I stepped on the last night and I weighed 168 .2. How is it that in one entire day I did not gain any weight? Beyond that, how is it that in one entire week I gained 1 pound?

Hormones, that's how.

to say that I have been a crazy bitch is an understatement. My hormones have been so out of whack that at any given moment I cannot possibly be responsible for anything that's coming out of my mouth. At one moment I'm incredibly happy and another moment I'm about to rip my husbands head off.

I try really hard to keep myself in check but there are times where it sincerely is it possible. I cry at really weird times while thinking about really weird things, and at other times the simplest thing can set me off. I feel like I'm 14 again.

So while I was feeling down in the dumps last night about my one pound gain, somebody posted an articleabout the exact same thing that I've been feeling. A blogger just like me (although I really wouldn't call myself a "blogger") in her 15th month postpartum. And here she was in the exact same boat as me wondering why the hell she was gaining weight. The difference between us is the fact that she's still breastfeeding. I hope to god I'm still not breastfeeding at 15 months postpartum.

but we're both gaining weight and what do we have to blame? Hormones. You gain weight when you get your period, and you lose it again when your hormones balance out. I'm not saying that this is an excuse, what I am saying that it is a reasonable explanation.

So this blogger goes on to explain all about hormonal imbalance, and how it greatly affects weight gain and weight loss. So yes I have gained 4 pounds but at the same time I'm producing milk for my child.

For me, that's worth 4 pounds.