Week in Review…

Last week was stellar, even by my standards.  Let’s see… what went down…

I introduced myself to our new church family by bursting into tears at the potluck.

I learned that just because you’re Canadian doesn’t mean you can tell the difference between an elk and a moose.  Duh…

I learned that if you send your kid to the church nursery wearing white, it’s just your own stupid fault.

I told a client to eff off when she announced that she was pregnant.  Yep, just came right out with it.  It was said in a super excited way, of course.  A very non-threatening inflection.  Thankfully she’s a saint and forgave my white-trash moment.

I learned that you can’t consider yourself ‘post-partum’ anymore once your baby is 12 months old.  After that, you’re just old and crabby.

But then, some other things happened too…

Charlotte started using her potty!  I know, this may sound lame but if you have kids you totally get it.  The elation! The victory! The end of diapers is in sight!

We went outside one morning to find 8 or 9 deer in the backyard, just hanging out.  Then we got to watch them all pop over our 5ft fence.  I don’t imagine this will ever get old.

We took a really nice hike (Panorama Point Trail – Corwina Park) and got to explore some beautiful places.  Such a balm to the soul…

I started making my own granola.  Oh, wow.  Yum.  I will never buy a box again!

I learned, yet again, that there are good people in the world who are willing you stand beside you when you are having a really, really hard time. 

And I remembered that there is always tomorrow, with no mistakes in it.

A Month in Virginia…

(or, The Hardest, Loneliest, Sweetest, Best Month Ever)

This post has been floating around in my head for weeks.  Well, ever since I got back from Virginia at the beginning of October.  Today seems like a good day to get it on the books. 

Flash back to Sept 7^th.  We had just moved out of our house in Lakewood and back in with my sister.  We were exhausted, kind of bummed to be without our house, and looking forward to a few days at a cabin the following week.  Then we got a phone call.  It was Stacy.

“You guys need to come right now.  I don’t have much longer.” 

When someone with stage 4 cancer calls you and tells you it’s time, you have to go. 

So we did.  Me, Justin and the baby.  Driving across the country.  Again. 

Well, it turns out it wasn't her time.  We arrived in Virginia on Wednesday and she was back home from the hospital on Friday morning.  Confined to her recliner in the den, Stacy needed help with everything.  She could only stand for short periods and could only get around with the help of a walker.  Even then, someone had to walk behind her holding a folding chair in case she became dizzy or short of breath and had to sit down.  Justin's parents both work and it became apparent that Stacy needed someone to be with her, to get her meals, do her laundry, make sure she took her meds every day, and just be there for her.

I didn't want to be that person.  I wanted to go back to Denver with Justin, make some sense out of our messy life, and just go back to normal.

But this little voice kept saying, "Stay... stay... stay..."

  I didn’t want to.  We had just moved, I would miss my husband, and it would mean a lot of work caring for her and a one year old at the same time. 

But I stayed anyway.

And it changed me forever.

When you measure your own relative discomforts and inconveniences against someone who is fighting for their life, your problems just don’t seem important. 

Got a headache?  Stacy has seizures.  Late for work again?  Stacy would love to get back to her normal life of working, getting stuck in traffic, and getting her ass chewed by 8 different bosses for forgetting the cover page on her TPS reports.  Sick of the lines at WalMart?  Stacy can’t get out to shop and dearly misses the simple pleasure of choosing her own groceries and perusing the aisles.  

So if you get up every day and are able to shower by yourself and go to work and get your ass chewed and can stop for groceries on the way home to your family, you’ve got it good.  Stop complaining about stuff.

There just isn’t any way to feel sorry for yourself because you’re tired or missing your husband or are bummed about selling your house when the person next to you is talking about how they don’t want to leave their kids when they die or their face is 10 times its normal size because they are taking a massive dose of steroids every day to prevent seizures or they just hurt all over from the cancer that riddles their body…

You just forget all about yourself.  And sometimes that’s just what you need.

My month with Stacy was raw and hard and real.  And it was so wonderful to be able to spend every day with this beautiful, brave girl who repeatedly stated, despite her pain, confinement and the knowledge that she was soon to leave this world behind,

“It’s all in God’s hands Nancy.”

My month with Stacy put so many things into perspective for me. 

But more than anything, I learned that I am stronger than I thought.  And even though our circumstances are far from perfect, and our future is completely up in the air, we have much to be thankful for.

“It’s all in God’s hands Nancy…”

Stacy isn’t gone.  Not all of her.  I brought a little of her brave and beautiful back with me.

It would be impossible to spend a month with someone like Stacy, who never gave up and hardly ever complained about the hand she'd been dealt, and was so excited to meet her Lord and Savior, and not be changed, at least a little.

  And in that way, she’s still here…

Off the grid...

Wow, I haven't blogged in ages.  

But I'm busy.  I have a baby ya know... geesh.

This weekend we went off the grid.  

That means no TV, no phones and no internet.

It was awesome!

Sometimes it takes a little time off the grid to realize how much time you spend emailing, tweeting, texting, insta-graming, surfing, checking your email, Facebook page, looking for affirmation, validation, etc.  It's sickening how out of touch with our own reality we've become.  I've become. Yep, me too. 

Guilty as charged.

That's why this weekend was so great; it put everything into perspective.  I'm going to cancel my cable and delete my Facebook page right now.

Well, ok... I'm not going to go that far.  But I definitely have a newfound appreciation for the simple things, the real things.  Like watching Charlotte learning to appreciate a beautiful view.

She spent quite a bit of time standing on the couch looking out the window.  I spent as much time as I could (which was alot, seeing as how there was no TV, internet, phone, etc) with her, just watching her watch.

Charlotte was cutting her bottom teeth this weekend, but she was a trooper and agreed to hike The Crags with us.  If you live in Colorado and have never hiked The Crags, slap yourself in the forehead and immediately get in the car and take Hwy 67 to the entrance to Mueller State Park, keep going a quarter mile, then turn left at the road that leads to the trailhead.  And prepare to be blown away.  

The first 1.5 miles is fairly easy, and meanders through open field and forest alike.  Then, you start climbing.  And wish you hadn't had such a hearty breakfast.  And that there were front carriers for adults.

But it's all worth it, even if you do chuff your cookies.  The view from the top is one of the finest in the state.  Charlotte woke up from her nap to check it out...

I'm getting that tooth fixed next week.  Finally!

And yes, I still eat Jolly Ranchers.  I'm a glutton for punishment I guess...

After a long hike we all needed a snack.  We were almost back to the car but Charlotte wouldn't wait.

Once we got back to the cabin, Charlotte found her second wind, and spent the better part of an hour swinging like crazy in the bedroom doorway.

And then decided to give the dog a little attention, since Zoe didn't get to go with us on our hike.

I know, I felt bad too.  But she's too friggin' old.  Last time we took her hiking she limped for a month. 

As you can see, there is plenty to do with yourself  if you don't have access to artificial forms of entertainment.  Gosh, go make your own fun.

Swing, play with your dog, get out and enjoy God's beautiful creation, whip up a blueberry crisp, get comfy on the couch and stare out the window...  

As for me, I'm going to take a cue from Charlotte and just enjoy the simple things more often.  Life is too short to spend it in front of a screen.  

“Body after Baby…”

My baby is proof that I used to be reasonably attractive.  She’s pretty cute, so it stands to reason that her parents are reasonably attractive people, right?

 (although I have seen some unattractive people make some cute babies, and vice versa.  Let’s admit it: we all have.)

  Before I got pregnant I was looking pretty good.  I had just lost 30 pounds and again, felt reasonably attractive for a woman nearing 40 years old.  I had finally conquered the little fat, tuba-playing kid I grew up being.  (yes, I played the tuba. for real. in the band.)  I was mountain biking, uphill and off-road.  I was hiking all the time, working out like a fiend 6 days/week and in general feeling pretty good about myself and the way I looked. 

 

Fast forward to February, 2012.  Pregnant.  And from there all my hard work started to unravel in spectacular fashion…

I only gained 30 pounds while I was pregnant, but after a traumatic birth that left me feeling entitled to any comforts I felt I deserved after having gone through such a harrowing ordeal, I gained back every pound I lost while in the hospital.

Cinnamon rolls.  Lots and lots of them.   They are not your friend.

So, take a good, healthy dose of post-partum depression, add a liberal sprinkling of self-loathing, a few cups of new-mom-induced anxiety and mix in a few weeks of sleepless nights and you have the recipe for a hot mess.  Yup, that was me.

At about 12 weeks post-partum I took the plunge and stepped onto the scale.  And absolutely pooped my pants.  Upon further inspection, my hair was dry and frizzy, my skin was blotchy and my eyes were red from either crying or not sleeping.  To top things off, Charlotte and I were in a race to see who could grow the most chins.  I’m still winning.  And somewhere, a baby kangaroo is hopping around looking for it's pouch.  If you see him, send him my way. 

It’s a testament to my husband’s character that we’re still married.

Now, I read somewhere that Victoria’s Secret model Miranda Kerr got into shape after having a baby by eating two handfuls of protein a day.  That’s it.  And most celebrity moms have a trainer to put them through their paces, a nanny to watch baby while they are working out 4 hours/day, and a chef to cook them delicious and healthy meals.  Not so me.  Or anyone I  know.

A client told me that breastfeeding was a great way to lose the pregnancy pounds.  Yeah, it’s great if you have a milk supply that hasn’t been compromised by emotional trauma and medication.  So that was a no-go too.   

But I’m generally not one to make excuses, so I made up my mind to get the weight off and get healthy, for myself, my marriage and my daughter.  I stopped comfort-baking, started eating more salads and lean protein, and started working out 5x/week.  How foolish I was. 

Turns out that was just enough to maintain my weight.  I did this for a month and lost nary a pound.  Not a one.

Emergency measures must be taken.  Enter the Breville JE98XL.  After watching Fat, Sick and Nearly Dead a couple weeks ago, I decided that only by eating FAR FEWER calories and working out MUCH HARDER will I achieve the results that I am seeking.  So we’re going to juice every day for lunch and then eat a healthy dinner.  Oh, and we’re buying a treadmill too so I can start running at home. 

 

Yes, it would be cheaper to invest in a running stroller but we live in Lakewood, home of the pitbull-at-large.  Not even kidding.  I carry pepper spray when I go for walks around here.  It sucks.  I tried to go for a walk the other day and I turned the corner off our street and there was a huge pitbull just hanging out in the road…

 

He looks cute, but he wants to eat your baby.   And you.

But I digress...

I am completely committed to doing whatever it takes to get healthy again.  And you can all keep me accountable by asking me how it’s going.
 

But hopefully that won’t be necessary.  Turns out, wanting to see this little girl grow up is all the motivation I need.

 

 



 

 

I'm probaby doing it all wrong...

 

There are some unwritten rules about parenthood.  And I’m probably breaking most of them.

 

 Charlotte loves raw cookie dough.  Oatmeal raisin is her favorite.

 

 

 We have one of those Bumbo chairs. The ones that got recalled because people put them on counters and tables and when their babies rocked back and forth they fell off.  We’re going to keep ours.  And we’re going to use it.  Along with some common sense.

 

 

 

She drinks goat's milk so she always smells like a dirty, French farmer.

 

 

 

 

And she naps on her tummy.

 

 

 

All.

 

 

 

The.

 

 

 

Time.

 

 

 

 

She also listens to the Irish Rovers and has watched COPS with me almost every day since she was born. 

 

 

 

But we’re having fun.  And after our traumatic beginnings, we’re finally starting to bond.

 

 And for now that’s enough to make me feel like I’m doing a friggin’ fantastic job.

 

 So we’ll take our chances thank you very much.  Cause we’ve already beat some much narrower odds.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 



 

"Don't pimp out my baby on Facebook."

 

 That's what I told my sister when I was pregnant.  "If people want to see Charlotte they can either come over or they can call me and I'll email them pictures."  How foolish I was.

 

No one calls me anymore.  In fact, whenever my phone rings these days it gives me a start, because who on earth could it be, and what on earth could they want?

 

I’m old-school.  I don’t know how to play video games.  I can barely use the Blu-ray player.  My phone doesn’t have a data plan.  I’ve been a Facebook holdout for as long as Facebook has been around, preferring old fashioned flesh and blood interaction over social media and cyber communication.  It’s great to stand by your principles, but what that means for me is that I’m sitting here in the house all week completely cut off from the outside world and am clueless as to what’s going on with all my friends and family.  Because they’re all on Facebook.  And I’m not. 

A couple weeks ago, feeling quite the social outcast,  I finally joined the Dark Side and it’s been a revelation.  People still know who I am!  Now not only is Janet pimping out Charlotte on Facebook, but I’m doing it too.  How quickly we turn…

Fast forward to yesterday.  I had a few errands to run and I took Charlotte with me because no one else was home and well, you can’t just leave your baby at home while you run errands.  I know some people do it, like the guy in Florida last month who left his 10-month old baby at home with the family pit bull while he went to the pub. 

So I went through the whole riggamarole of bundling up Charlotte, putting her in the car, all the while gritting my teeth through another flare-up of sciatica (another by-product of pregnancy) and headed to Whole Foods for some nice steaks for our dinner. 

Now, I don’t usually garner much attention while out shopping.  I’m probably in sweats, hair in a ponytail and no makeup to speak of.  Just barely presentable.  But take even the most non-descript woman and plunk a little baby in her arms and you can watch the magic unfold. 

While at the meat counter, I noticed that grass-fed, local ground beef was on sale so I asked for 2 pounds, wrapped separately.  The butcher commented that Charlotte was so cute and was being so good.  “She looks like she’s starting to get sleepy,” he remarked.  “Yes,” I replied.  “It’s almost her nap time.”  He handed me my two packages of ground beef but before I could walk away he said, “Wait a sec.  I think I labeled one of those wrong.”  Sure enough, one of them priced at $9.99/lb instead of the sale price.  He took it from me and wrote something on it with his Sharpie and I said thank you and walked away, thinking he had just manually corrected the price.  When I got up to the cashier, I noticed that it was marked No Charge.  He could have taken the time to print a new label, but who makes a sleepy baby wait? 

 

Stop number 2 – Mile High Liquors to pick up a nice bottle of wine to go with our dinner.  The owner stopped me on my way in to admire Charlotte, ask how she was doing, if I was having fun being a mom, etc.  He suggested a nice bottle, rang up our purchases and sent us on our way.  When I finally had everything settled in the car I looked at the receipt.  10% off.  Right friggin’ on.  Thank you Charlotte.

Lesson learned.  There is nothing wrong with pimping out your baby if it means discounts on groceries and liquor.  And renewed contact with the outside world.  I now intend to take Charlotte with me everywhere I go, regardless of who is home.  Cause I love me a good bargain.  And naps are so overrated.

 

 



 

This is me.  This is my baby.  And this is my blog.  Never thought I'd be doing this, but since she's here and all and I have some time on my hands...

 

 

 

She's a pretty good baby.  And I have it pretty easy as far as infants go.  But let's face it.  This is tough.  I'm 39 years old.  I've been doing my own thing for a long time now. 

 

Enter Charlotte.  And she's not gonna cramp my style.

 

I know a couple moms who have blogs.  It's all pictures of apple-cheeked, perfect Aryan specimens, all gathered around a perfectly made-up and impossibly slim woman who looks like she just slept 10 hours on a bed of baby rabbits.  And the text reads something like, "Today we made blueberry muffins - so fun!"  And the comments read like, "Oh, you're such a good mom!  The kids look so happy and you've obviously got it all together!"

 

Not so much around here.  Case in point, the picture above.  Charlotte cries and I smile.  Sometimes that's just the way it is. 

 

This blog will chronicle, with honesty that is sometimes stark and raw and send all my childless friends heading for the hills, the real goods about what goes on around here.  Because it's not all rainbows and lollipops.  And no blueberry muffins either.  Cause I've still got about 20 pounds of baby weight to lose.

 

And double chins only look good on babies...

 

So stay tuned for semi-regular updates from an old first-time mom struggling with hormones, self-doubt and the challenges that go along with fitting this new little person into an already well-established life. 

 

Sound like fun?  Yeah.  Welcome to my world.