I think the repeat references to my husband in this blog are starting to make him a little nervous. The first few (many) weeks I was blogging, I had to beg him to read my blogs and, to be honest, this was frustrating and, therefore, inspired me to antagonize him with what I wrote. Then, about six weeks into my blog, he said, rather offhandedly as he was looking at his FaceBook page, "can you not tag me in your posts anymore?". I, of course, feigned ignorance. Why ever not, my dear? And was informed, ever so kindly, that he didn't need or want his friends or coworkers reading the intimate details of his life. (For the record, the post that day had been in relation to Micah's birth and JMahl's wariness of the soft spot on her head.)
I was shocked. Why, dear, I was only ever complimentary! And besides, why you would be concerned about your coworkers and friends reading that you have a ____ inch ____? I mean, they're going to somewhat assume anyhow, considering you wear a size 13 shoe and have a 3.5 inch long thumb. And, we can't avoid the most obvious stereotype of all...
What's the most obvious stereotype of all, Katryn?
Oh, well, I don't know. I guess it's your shoe size. I wouldn't know. I don't pay attention to stereotypes.
uh. huh.
So, I quit tagging him in my posts... so now only my friends and family can read my posts. (or those of JMahl's friends and family that have friended me on Facebook- isn't FB great? Takes "my friends are your friends and your friends are my friends... the more we get together the happier we'll be" to a whole new level.) But he's still nervous. Today I got an email from him: "did you post today? I didn't see one. Can I read it?"
Not yet. Too bad. Not until I write it. But hey, the laundry's done!
Because, while I definitely respect my husband's privacy and humility, I also have to satisfy my own primal urges to write what is in my head and heart. And very often, it is my husband (I will not mention his anatomy) that is in my head and heart. (Honey, that's a sweet comment, so take it as such.)
But this has also worked well in my favor; because, you see, knowing that there is a great potential for his being the antagonist in my weekly "story", JMahl is attempting to ensure his role as protagonist, and is starting to go above and beyond. And I like this. Call me manipulative-- heck, you can even say I'm blackmailing him- but he's now got to make sure that anything I could potentially write about him will be entirely complimentary, since he doesn't have the option of telling me I can no longer write. Or write about him. That could be considered too controlling, and he doesn't want to ever be perceived in a negative light.
In the last few weeks, whenever I've informed him he needs to apologize to me (because that's what I do when I'm tired of fighting: "just apologize already. you know you're going to do it eventually, and I'm tired of being mad and I won't apologize until you do.")- I get a heartfelt apology almost immediately. It used to take a few hours and a small bribe. He's called before leaving work to ask me if I need wine (I do tonight); he's given me shoulder and neck rubs without me having to ask. He even brushed my hair for me the other night- something that rarely happens. And I saw potential here. Potential for an improved husband (I mean "relationship", of course. Relationship.) But I still felt the need for a test. Something to prove that he was going to do whatever it takes to make me feel good- and, therefore, make him look good to anyone still reading this post.
So I asked my husband the other night as I climbed into bed- do you see the difference, the tightness, the firmness in my body since I've been working out? His response was spot on. YES.
And when I asked him if he thought I could ever get rid of the excess belly as a result of four children.. again, I got a YES. (the fact that he never took his eyes off his iPad for any of this conversation is not going to figure into this post).
And when I moaned and complained that when I got on the scale it told me I'd gained six pounds over the weekend, he didn't start listing off the entire package of pizza rolls, the excess amount of chinese food, and ho-hos and the ice cream that I'd consumed over the course of the weekend. Instead he said "The scale's off."
Baby, you keep this up, and you've got nothing to worry about.
Showing posts with label weight loss. Show all posts
Showing posts with label weight loss. Show all posts
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
Friday, March 18, 2011
OH, what a tangled web we weave...
I weighed myself this morning, right after eating three poppyseed muffins and right before stepping into the shower to wash off the crumbs (and two other days accumulation of crumbs... sometimes you just don't have time or energy to shower). Apparently, I've lost four pounds in the six weeks since I've started to do any form of exercise. I guess this is progress, but I don't really measure my progress by my weight. I'm more concerned with minimizing the muffin top that springs up over my jeans which I refuse to replace with a larger size. But seeing the number did inspire me to try on my skinny jeans (which are size 11- long gone are the days of fitting into the size 4 Arden B's that, yes, are still in my closet). I couldn't button the size 11, so I went back into my "other" jeans which, oddly enough, are size 8. Got to love women's sizing.
Just for the record, I blame my husband for all of this.
I know all of this squeezing into jeans would not be necessary if we'd followed the advice of my doctor way back when. And by doctor, I mean my Ob/Gyn. When I was pregnant with Micah this doctor, who I loved, informed me that my labor and delivery and post-pregnancy weight loss would all go much smoother if I had a lot of sex while pregnant. She also suggested this in order to speed up my going into labor. I was well into my third trimester at this point and, dealing with some erratic pregnancy hormones, was ready to do anything to make this baby come on schedule. Therefore, I thought this was pretty good advice. My husband, sitting next to me in the examination room, did not. You see, she said this moments after withdrawing her fingers from my "examination" and exclaiming "I can feel the baby's head!". The look on JMahl's face said it all: If she can feel the baby's head with her three inch long fingers, then you better believe I'll be able to feel the baby's head with my ________ inch long _______.
I knew at that point that I wasn't going to be having any sex for the next few months. Granted, it's probably my own fault. You see, I took it upon myself after Kolbie was born and JMahl noticed the dent on her head to tell him exactly why that dent was there. (Yes, it was there with the other two- and pretty much all babies the world over, but for some reason he didn't notice it until Kolbie-- maybe because it took him three babies to feel comfortable holding one?)
And, maybe it was post-partum hormones, or my sick sense of humor, but, well, yes, you can figure out pretty easily exactly what I told him.
Granted, it's not as though he was dying to have sex with me when I was nine months pregnant with Kolbie-- nor was I dying for that either. Those women who say they loved sex while pregnant, well, that wasn't me. And I know there's a big porn base that supports this as well, but again, not me. My husband did try to convince me that the benefits of sex could be obtained via oral transmission (ahhem), but I'm not quite as gullible as he, so that idea fell through the cracks. And for those of you who may be offended by that comment, hey, we're married, and it's not like any 9 month pregnant woman is sticking with straight missionary position. Missionary position while 9 months pregnant is like trying to sink a putt with a yoga ball covering the hole. But when desperate to try anything to go into labor (which pretty much all women are at 9 months), a pregnant woman will muster up what energy, imagination, and endurance she has and give it a valiant effort. So, at least with Kolbie, I got "some loving" while pregnant, even if we had to be inventive. But between my (somewhat sick) explanation of Kolbie's fontanel and my doctor's excited discovery of the baby's dropping, well, my chances to get nine month pregnant sex were shot.
But my joke post-Kolbie's birth completely backfired on me after Micah was born since JMahl, refusing to lay so much as a finger anywhere near where the baby's head may or may not feel it, was not pleased to find a rather large, very soft dent on top of Micah's head. I had a lot of explaining to do. Luckily, I had my Doctor nearby to verify that I was, in fact, telling the truth.
But, long story short, that explains why all of this is my husband's fault. Or maybe it's mine.
Just for the record, I blame my husband for all of this.
I know all of this squeezing into jeans would not be necessary if we'd followed the advice of my doctor way back when. And by doctor, I mean my Ob/Gyn. When I was pregnant with Micah this doctor, who I loved, informed me that my labor and delivery and post-pregnancy weight loss would all go much smoother if I had a lot of sex while pregnant. She also suggested this in order to speed up my going into labor. I was well into my third trimester at this point and, dealing with some erratic pregnancy hormones, was ready to do anything to make this baby come on schedule. Therefore, I thought this was pretty good advice. My husband, sitting next to me in the examination room, did not. You see, she said this moments after withdrawing her fingers from my "examination" and exclaiming "I can feel the baby's head!". The look on JMahl's face said it all: If she can feel the baby's head with her three inch long fingers, then you better believe I'll be able to feel the baby's head with my ________ inch long _______.
I knew at that point that I wasn't going to be having any sex for the next few months. Granted, it's probably my own fault. You see, I took it upon myself after Kolbie was born and JMahl noticed the dent on her head to tell him exactly why that dent was there. (Yes, it was there with the other two- and pretty much all babies the world over, but for some reason he didn't notice it until Kolbie-- maybe because it took him three babies to feel comfortable holding one?)
And, maybe it was post-partum hormones, or my sick sense of humor, but, well, yes, you can figure out pretty easily exactly what I told him.
Granted, it's not as though he was dying to have sex with me when I was nine months pregnant with Kolbie-- nor was I dying for that either. Those women who say they loved sex while pregnant, well, that wasn't me. And I know there's a big porn base that supports this as well, but again, not me. My husband did try to convince me that the benefits of sex could be obtained via oral transmission (ahhem), but I'm not quite as gullible as he, so that idea fell through the cracks. And for those of you who may be offended by that comment, hey, we're married, and it's not like any 9 month pregnant woman is sticking with straight missionary position. Missionary position while 9 months pregnant is like trying to sink a putt with a yoga ball covering the hole. But when desperate to try anything to go into labor (which pretty much all women are at 9 months), a pregnant woman will muster up what energy, imagination, and endurance she has and give it a valiant effort. So, at least with Kolbie, I got "some loving" while pregnant, even if we had to be inventive. But between my (somewhat sick) explanation of Kolbie's fontanel and my doctor's excited discovery of the baby's dropping, well, my chances to get nine month pregnant sex were shot.
But my joke post-Kolbie's birth completely backfired on me after Micah was born since JMahl, refusing to lay so much as a finger anywhere near where the baby's head may or may not feel it, was not pleased to find a rather large, very soft dent on top of Micah's head. I had a lot of explaining to do. Luckily, I had my Doctor nearby to verify that I was, in fact, telling the truth.
But, long story short, that explains why all of this is my husband's fault. Or maybe it's mine.
Thursday, February 10, 2011
Yoga Bare
No, no... before you start wondering if this is "that" type of blog, I was not naked. My husband insists that I could make quite a bit of money if this were that type of website, but I tell him we should revisit that subject at a later date when my body is back to its former stellar form (My memory is surely biased.) And by "revisit this subject" I do not mean to imply that there will ever be such a website out there-- especially since my mother, brothers, and various other relatives out there may be reading this-- but sometimes with husbands I've learned that a "maybe later" (especially in the realm of husband-wife exercise) is a lot better received than a resounding "No!"... often followed by a "Who do you think I am? What type of woman do you think you married? I'm your wife, not some girl you picked up at a college party." The things we do for love (in this case, let them believe there's a slight chance out there that that particular fantasy might come true...)
So I was not naked, but both of my exercise buddies were. (and are, as I type this). Kolbie is going through a phase (if phase can be defined as going on two years now) in which she likes to be naked. Oh, she'll put her clothes on, but slowly, throughout the morning, they start to come off. Then, after a few hours of me: "Go get dressed, Kolbie" and her: "No, Mommy. I don't want clothes", she'll put a new outfit on, only to begin slowly shedding it over the next hour or so.
This morning she started out in a cute little pink dress with purple stockings, but by the time we started our exercise, she had used the bathroom once (and who wants to put back on your stockings after taking them completely off to use the loo?) and within twelve seconds of exercise she discovered that her cute pink dress was getting in the way of her flexibility. So off it came.
I wish I could strip naked and have increased flexibility, but I think that only works at her age...
Being the good mommy I am, and recognizing that you may be getting bored on day three of the same old exercises, I asked Kolbie what exercise she wanted to do. Her answer: eat cereal. So that we did. Hey, breakfast is important. By this time Micah had already eaten four breakfasts, so she was impatiently waiting for us. So I distracted her by giving her breakfast number 5. But she got distracted during the feeding, turned her head, and breakfast landed all over her pjs. Which explains why she was naked. She, at least, was wearing a diaper.
After Kolbie had eaten the standard four bites of her full bowl of cheerios (I will never learn), I repeated my question. She actually thought about it for a second before opening the game cabinet (which is really the bottom half of the $1100 tv cabinet that my husband fell in love with and insisted on buying about six years ago before middle-class-peons such as ourselves could afford flat screen tvs. Soon after the purchase, flat screen tvs became affordable, and I have since listened to JMahl complain constantly about why we can't get a wall-mounted flat screen for the living room- to which I reply "because you insisted on buying an $1100 tv cabinet and, by golly, I'm going to get my money's worth!) and settling on, of all things, yoga. And before you question how yoga fits in the bottom half of my tv cabinet, I will explain.
You may be already aware that our seven year old son, Mason, was born with bilateral clubfeet. (Bilateral means Both). We discovered this via ultrasound when I was 20 weeks pregnant. If you've been through something similar, you will understand the immense pain, to which little else compares, of knowing that the child you are bringing into the world will be crippled. All the doctors telling you that "this can be corrected" does not make up for the crushing fear and pain- and guilt- of knowing your child is hurt in this way. You know how when your baby is born you can't help but do the cliche "count fingers, count toes- Perfect!"? Well, with Mason we didn't get to do this. Within an hour of his birth (and due to his prematurity, he was whisked away after a quick peep to prove I had a son) his feet were in casts- starting the journey of his lifetime. Literally.
Fast forward through years of casting, minor surgery, bending, braces, more casting, more bending, etc., when Mason was five, we decided to go ahead and try some physical therapy. We checked with our insurance company and found a local pediatrics PT clinic. I'm going to name neither the clinic nor the PT, but suffice it to say, it was quite a waste of my 3 day a week, $20 copays. But, before learning this, I was in the throes of "this is going to help him!" and when the PT suggested we try yoga, I went out and purchased Yoga Pretzels flash cards. Now-- for the purposes of yoga, well, I guess that's more my fault than the fault of the cards. But for a fun game with the kiddos- yoga pretzels is the best. Basically, we take turns picking out brightly colored flashcards of fun yoga positions like "Warrior", "Lizard on a Rock", or "Plank", and having the other person do that position. Kolbie loves this. She has better flexibility, but I'm the only one of us that actually follows the step-by-step instructions on the back of the cards. We intersperse the stretches with relaxing cards like "Elephant Breath" and "Like a Rainbow", and don't really get much exercise or stretching done. But for the purposes of this blog, it counts!
(If you prefer exercising with your spouse and don't have yoga cards, the Kama Sutra will work just as well.)
While Kolbie and I opened our minds and released our bodies according to the instructions on the card, Micah crawled around gleefully throwing the flashcards this way and that. I think her exercise was called something like "scatter the cards as fast as you can before Mommy can get out of that position and pick them back up". Made for quite the fun time... and messy living room.
Yup- -still some cards under the couch.
In conclusion, I did take some measurements this morning (two days down, I was optimistic), and I have lost 1/2 inch around my waist. Or maybe I was sucking it in...
P.S. Since the time of the waste-of-time PT, Mason has gone through major corrective surgery on both feet-- determined to be successful by Dr. Stephen Tuck of Shady Grove Orthopedics-- Strong recommendation! -- and has been undergoing non-waste-of-time Physical Therapy with Mr. Kelly Sykes of Touchstone Therapy and Wellness. If you're looking for a great PT, give him a call-- although, he has not yet recommended yoga as a cure for clubfoot.
So I was not naked, but both of my exercise buddies were. (and are, as I type this). Kolbie is going through a phase (if phase can be defined as going on two years now) in which she likes to be naked. Oh, she'll put her clothes on, but slowly, throughout the morning, they start to come off. Then, after a few hours of me: "Go get dressed, Kolbie" and her: "No, Mommy. I don't want clothes", she'll put a new outfit on, only to begin slowly shedding it over the next hour or so.
This morning she started out in a cute little pink dress with purple stockings, but by the time we started our exercise, she had used the bathroom once (and who wants to put back on your stockings after taking them completely off to use the loo?) and within twelve seconds of exercise she discovered that her cute pink dress was getting in the way of her flexibility. So off it came.
I wish I could strip naked and have increased flexibility, but I think that only works at her age...
Being the good mommy I am, and recognizing that you may be getting bored on day three of the same old exercises, I asked Kolbie what exercise she wanted to do. Her answer: eat cereal. So that we did. Hey, breakfast is important. By this time Micah had already eaten four breakfasts, so she was impatiently waiting for us. So I distracted her by giving her breakfast number 5. But she got distracted during the feeding, turned her head, and breakfast landed all over her pjs. Which explains why she was naked. She, at least, was wearing a diaper.
After Kolbie had eaten the standard four bites of her full bowl of cheerios (I will never learn), I repeated my question. She actually thought about it for a second before opening the game cabinet (which is really the bottom half of the $1100 tv cabinet that my husband fell in love with and insisted on buying about six years ago before middle-class-peons such as ourselves could afford flat screen tvs. Soon after the purchase, flat screen tvs became affordable, and I have since listened to JMahl complain constantly about why we can't get a wall-mounted flat screen for the living room- to which I reply "because you insisted on buying an $1100 tv cabinet and, by golly, I'm going to get my money's worth!) and settling on, of all things, yoga. And before you question how yoga fits in the bottom half of my tv cabinet, I will explain.
You may be already aware that our seven year old son, Mason, was born with bilateral clubfeet. (Bilateral means Both). We discovered this via ultrasound when I was 20 weeks pregnant. If you've been through something similar, you will understand the immense pain, to which little else compares, of knowing that the child you are bringing into the world will be crippled. All the doctors telling you that "this can be corrected" does not make up for the crushing fear and pain- and guilt- of knowing your child is hurt in this way. You know how when your baby is born you can't help but do the cliche "count fingers, count toes- Perfect!"? Well, with Mason we didn't get to do this. Within an hour of his birth (and due to his prematurity, he was whisked away after a quick peep to prove I had a son) his feet were in casts- starting the journey of his lifetime. Literally.
Fast forward through years of casting, minor surgery, bending, braces, more casting, more bending, etc., when Mason was five, we decided to go ahead and try some physical therapy. We checked with our insurance company and found a local pediatrics PT clinic. I'm going to name neither the clinic nor the PT, but suffice it to say, it was quite a waste of my 3 day a week, $20 copays. But, before learning this, I was in the throes of "this is going to help him!" and when the PT suggested we try yoga, I went out and purchased Yoga Pretzels flash cards. Now-- for the purposes of yoga, well, I guess that's more my fault than the fault of the cards. But for a fun game with the kiddos- yoga pretzels is the best. Basically, we take turns picking out brightly colored flashcards of fun yoga positions like "Warrior", "Lizard on a Rock", or "Plank", and having the other person do that position. Kolbie loves this. She has better flexibility, but I'm the only one of us that actually follows the step-by-step instructions on the back of the cards. We intersperse the stretches with relaxing cards like "Elephant Breath" and "Like a Rainbow", and don't really get much exercise or stretching done. But for the purposes of this blog, it counts!
(If you prefer exercising with your spouse and don't have yoga cards, the Kama Sutra will work just as well.)
While Kolbie and I opened our minds and released our bodies according to the instructions on the card, Micah crawled around gleefully throwing the flashcards this way and that. I think her exercise was called something like "scatter the cards as fast as you can before Mommy can get out of that position and pick them back up". Made for quite the fun time... and messy living room.
Yup- -still some cards under the couch.
In conclusion, I did take some measurements this morning (two days down, I was optimistic), and I have lost 1/2 inch around my waist. Or maybe I was sucking it in...
P.S. Since the time of the waste-of-time PT, Mason has gone through major corrective surgery on both feet-- determined to be successful by Dr. Stephen Tuck of Shady Grove Orthopedics-- Strong recommendation! -- and has been undergoing non-waste-of-time Physical Therapy with Mr. Kelly Sykes of Touchstone Therapy and Wellness. If you're looking for a great PT, give him a call-- although, he has not yet recommended yoga as a cure for clubfoot.
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
The morning after...
I was surprised to wake up this morning with a sore stomach. Yes, I know. You just realized that I only did 2.5 minutes of exercise (and that's 2(point)5, not 25) minutes, and I am sore. This should serve as your reminder about quality over quantity-- or at least give you more proof of just how out of shape I am. So my stomach muscles were sore, but I consider this a good thing, since that means my 2.5 minutes were beneficial. Yeah!
It took me a while to get around to my exercises this morning. Primarily because I was reading a relatively good book (L. Pitts, Jr. "Before I Forget"), about a man struggling with his diagnosis of early-onset Alzheimer's and trying to get things right with his family before he forgets (see where the title comes from? such smart people write books.) Alzheimer's, as most of you know, hits home for my family. Some people have cancer, others have diabetes and heart disease-- we have Alzheimer's. And it's a B$#TCH, I tell you. Less so for me than for my mother, her siblings, and my grandfather, but not easy at all. To see a person you love forget that you love them... that they love you. That they even know you. It's a hard thing to watch, and I constantly remind my mother that she'd better be good to my father now. She in turn reminds me of the same. I believe JMahl (my husband) is taking notes and at some point down the road will sit down with tea and gold-rimmed reading glasses. He will have grown out a full beard at this point because he thinks it makes him look distinguished. He'll remove a thick binder of notes from his mahogany desk drawer and, speaking mostly to himself, say "ok, she made dinner every night, but no credit for experimental recipes. Deduction for not ironing my shirts with starch the way I like them, but credit for me always having clean underwear. Credit for sex and for children... deduction for four children total.... The nagging costs her some, but overall, she was a good wife... so....I think she's earned a moderate to nice Alzheimer's home... wait, not covered by medicare? Well, she did constantly throw my socks in the big basket with all the kids socks which I told her not to do... so I can definitely justify putting her in gov't assisted care."
This reminds me, I need to start cleaning as soon as I'm done with this post...
But back to my exercise regime. I finished the book and immediately took up position on the floor with the kids. Micah was already giggling by this point; Kolbie just wanted to play Scrabble. (By play, she means take turns reading the letters on the tiles and putting them haphazardly on the board-- where SHE wants them of course.)
First exercise was bum crunches. Feet up on couch, Micah placed giggling on my belly, and I began to lift. Reps of 14-11-15-5. Because that's how many I could manage each time. Sometimes because I was tired; sometimes because my baby was falling off. 50 total.
Next exercise was crunches. Still on my back with my knees touching my chest, I lay Micah across my shins, holding onto my knees, and I did 30 crunches. To do this exercise properly you have to either kiss the baby's head or stick out your tongue or yell boo or something to that effect every time your face approaches hers. Which, if you are properly crunching, should happen.
That was fun. But tiring. I have a feeling I held my neck wrong and will probably have a sore neck in the morning.
Last floor exercise was a double whammy. I placed Kolbie on my shins (where Micah was previously) and lifted Micah in my arms. I extended my legs out as far as I could (keep in mind, Kolbie is almost 30 lbs) while extending my arms over my head-- while holding Micah. This one is fun for the two kids to kiss and head butt and yell boo at each other. Keep in mind, though, the more excited the kids get about this exercise, the more likely the chance of A/ one of them falling and B/ you getting a mouth full of happy drool. Be prepared to move quickly either way (in which case the drool will just drizzle down your cheek and neck) or suck it up. Literally. Not recommended.
I can't remember how many of these I did- I think only 15. I was tired.
And then, because we all know that you can only firm up so much-- sometimes you've got to get cardio involved, I decided to go for a jog. With Micah held longways, snuggled against my chest.
Now, for some reason I've found that the house shakes less if you jog on your tippy toes. So, for three minutes, I jogged around the downstairs, on tippy toes, holding Micah with both arms tightly against my chest. Holding her this way accomplishes three things: 1/ it fulfills the unstated necessity to have a child involved in each exercise; 2/ it removes the risk of shaken-baby syndrome; and 3/ I was not wearing a bra.
Now, to the third point, this may have not been ideal, since she was being held in breastfeed position with only a thin t-shirt separating her from the source of life's purpose (to her). This meant that I was constantly pulling her little hands away from my shirt, which was moving upward at a miraculous speed, and trying to remove her nose from beneath my shirt- little pug nose that knows how to get where it needs to be-- all while jogging on tip-toes. But I don't include THAT as part of this exercise- unless, of course, some hoity-tv doctor comes out and says that nursing while exercising will quadruple your rate of weight loss. In which case, you heard it here first!
It took me a while to get around to my exercises this morning. Primarily because I was reading a relatively good book (L. Pitts, Jr. "Before I Forget"), about a man struggling with his diagnosis of early-onset Alzheimer's and trying to get things right with his family before he forgets (see where the title comes from? such smart people write books.) Alzheimer's, as most of you know, hits home for my family. Some people have cancer, others have diabetes and heart disease-- we have Alzheimer's. And it's a B$#TCH, I tell you. Less so for me than for my mother, her siblings, and my grandfather, but not easy at all. To see a person you love forget that you love them... that they love you. That they even know you. It's a hard thing to watch, and I constantly remind my mother that she'd better be good to my father now. She in turn reminds me of the same. I believe JMahl (my husband) is taking notes and at some point down the road will sit down with tea and gold-rimmed reading glasses. He will have grown out a full beard at this point because he thinks it makes him look distinguished. He'll remove a thick binder of notes from his mahogany desk drawer and, speaking mostly to himself, say "ok, she made dinner every night, but no credit for experimental recipes. Deduction for not ironing my shirts with starch the way I like them, but credit for me always having clean underwear. Credit for sex and for children... deduction for four children total.... The nagging costs her some, but overall, she was a good wife... so....I think she's earned a moderate to nice Alzheimer's home... wait, not covered by medicare? Well, she did constantly throw my socks in the big basket with all the kids socks which I told her not to do... so I can definitely justify putting her in gov't assisted care."
This reminds me, I need to start cleaning as soon as I'm done with this post...
But back to my exercise regime. I finished the book and immediately took up position on the floor with the kids. Micah was already giggling by this point; Kolbie just wanted to play Scrabble. (By play, she means take turns reading the letters on the tiles and putting them haphazardly on the board-- where SHE wants them of course.)
First exercise was bum crunches. Feet up on couch, Micah placed giggling on my belly, and I began to lift. Reps of 14-11-15-5. Because that's how many I could manage each time. Sometimes because I was tired; sometimes because my baby was falling off. 50 total.
Next exercise was crunches. Still on my back with my knees touching my chest, I lay Micah across my shins, holding onto my knees, and I did 30 crunches. To do this exercise properly you have to either kiss the baby's head or stick out your tongue or yell boo or something to that effect every time your face approaches hers. Which, if you are properly crunching, should happen.
That was fun. But tiring. I have a feeling I held my neck wrong and will probably have a sore neck in the morning.
Last floor exercise was a double whammy. I placed Kolbie on my shins (where Micah was previously) and lifted Micah in my arms. I extended my legs out as far as I could (keep in mind, Kolbie is almost 30 lbs) while extending my arms over my head-- while holding Micah. This one is fun for the two kids to kiss and head butt and yell boo at each other. Keep in mind, though, the more excited the kids get about this exercise, the more likely the chance of A/ one of them falling and B/ you getting a mouth full of happy drool. Be prepared to move quickly either way (in which case the drool will just drizzle down your cheek and neck) or suck it up. Literally. Not recommended.
I can't remember how many of these I did- I think only 15. I was tired.
And then, because we all know that you can only firm up so much-- sometimes you've got to get cardio involved, I decided to go for a jog. With Micah held longways, snuggled against my chest.
Now, for some reason I've found that the house shakes less if you jog on your tippy toes. So, for three minutes, I jogged around the downstairs, on tippy toes, holding Micah with both arms tightly against my chest. Holding her this way accomplishes three things: 1/ it fulfills the unstated necessity to have a child involved in each exercise; 2/ it removes the risk of shaken-baby syndrome; and 3/ I was not wearing a bra.
Now, to the third point, this may have not been ideal, since she was being held in breastfeed position with only a thin t-shirt separating her from the source of life's purpose (to her). This meant that I was constantly pulling her little hands away from my shirt, which was moving upward at a miraculous speed, and trying to remove her nose from beneath my shirt- little pug nose that knows how to get where it needs to be-- all while jogging on tip-toes. But I don't include THAT as part of this exercise- unless, of course, some hoity-tv doctor comes out and says that nursing while exercising will quadruple your rate of weight loss. In which case, you heard it here first!
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
Ten months out...
I am a 32 year old wife and mother to four children, ages 8, 7, 3, and 10 months. Five, if you count my 10 month old dog. Six, if you count my 36 year old husband-- which I do at times. I have a Masters in Management, a Bachelors in English, and career experience-- but these days I pretty much do nothing that I couldn't have done for $60k less straight out of high school. Heck, who am I kidding? You don't even need to go to HS to have kids, do laundry, and make dinner. Ahhh... one day... one day I'll be back in business suits and using big words (without having to define them)...
But to the point of this blog: I am tired of hearing people say (in an entirely complimentary way, of course) "You look great for having four kids!" OR "Don't be too hard on yourself, you have had four kids, you know!" (Yes, I know. I was there for all four of them.) So, I'm ready to work toward "looking great (period)". Ie, I want to hear someone say "There's no way you have four kids-- you look like a supermodel!" Oh, not because I really want to be skinny. I haven't been skinny since I hit puberty and my breasts decided to try for a marathon without any prep or warm-up before hand. And not because my husband likes the supermodel thin body. He actually prefers me with some cushion for the... baby's head to lay on. No, I'm doing this because I can not afford to buy a whole new closet of larger sized clothes and, darn it!, I like (some of) the clothes I already own and can no longer fit into. And because muffin tops just aren't cute, no matter how much cushion your husband is into.
So I'm starting this blog as a motivator. And as a record of my weight loss plan. Which includes my kids (if you read the title of this blog, you've probably already figured that out.) And no, I am not going to get rid of some of the kids, although that option does cross my mind on occasion.
All right. So, introductions complete, let's have at it. My two oldest children go to school every day, therefore they are mostly exempt from the activities that will be discussed on this blog. It is, therefore, my 3 year old and my 10 month old that have the luck to be used in place of a medicine ball. And let's start off the honesty here by saying they love it! Heck, what kid doesn't like being tossed around by his/ her mom? (unless the tossing lands them into a wall, but I've learned my lesson since then)
And I do need to insert in here a quick comment-- after my second child (my only son) was born, I was at a great weight. Probably my best/ healthiest ever. So it's only fitting that my two youngest children get used as barbells, since they are to blame for the current state of my body.
And use them as barbells.. and medicine balls... and hand weights I will indeed. And they'll love it. They'd better.
Another quick comment before I start giving stats: I'm too cheap to go to a gym that offers childcare, I don't use strollers-- besides the price of a double stroller, I can't go for a walk without my dog (feel guilty about that) and I can't manage a stroller and a leash, and it's often too cold, snowy, wet to take two kids out-- so walking is out. I don't have an indoor gym system, other than a bike that annoys me, and while I was persuaded to buy a pilates video from tv once, I can't do that (or yoga) without being climbed on by one or more of the kids... which leads me to my current exercise plan called
"Who needs a medicine ball when you have a baby?". Also known as "medicine baby" and "baby ball" and "who needs a baby?" and, by 8pm, "who needs medication right about now?".
This blog is going to keep track of my measurements, and I'm going to describe just what I did each day in the form of exercise (with my kiddos).
Please don't expect results and don't swear by this plan until we see results.
And I will be honest. To prove how honest, I'm going to post a naked picture of myself right now, and again in six months. Just joking. That would violate my terms with Google Blogger. But I did take a very unflattering underwear picture that I will hold in reserve until we have an "after" picture to compare it to.
But, to prove my honesty, I have taken my measurements as of 9:30 this morning. Ten months out from baby #4.
32 years old
5 feet 8 inches tall
167 pounds naked
waist 33"
hips 42"
thigh (just one) 24"
chest (under the breasts) 32"
chest (over the breast/ under arms) 37.5"
breasts (breast-feeding breasts) 41"
upper arm 12"
around bum 43"
Now, some could argue that those are perfect hourglass figures, but when I'm still trying to squeeze into a size 8/10, that hourglass gets a little bumpy.
After taking all those measurements (nothing motivates you and depresses you at the same time like taking your measurements), I lie down on the floor with the kiddos-- one hand holding my 50lb tension weight (our 10 month old black lab puppy, also known as "Dugan") who thought this was daddy-dog wrestle time-- and started my exercise regimen for today:
30 leg lifts-- flat on back, with 3 year old (28lb) child sitting on my feet and hugging my knees, I extended my legs out as far as I could, then brought them back into my chest. I ended this exercise by flipping her upside down over my head and onto my couch. From here on out, we'll refer to 28lb, 3yr old weight as "Kolbie". She wanted me to do more, but I physically could not.
Then, while holding Kolbie in the same position, legs partially extended (since that's all I could manage), I did 10 presses with my 10 month old, 16lb weight, who we will refer to as "Micah". I would have done more, but she started to squirm.
Last exercise of the day was to schooch on over to the couch, put my feet on it, Micah on my belly, and do 50 bum-lifts. I actually did 30, then took a break for a few seconds, then 18 more. Then two more. Micah loved that. She continued to bounce up and down on my belly as I gasped on the floor.
Keep in mind that these were all done with one hand holding Dugan back from the party. So that's day one of this agenda and post one of this blog. We'll try to make it to 2-2 tomorrow!
But to the point of this blog: I am tired of hearing people say (in an entirely complimentary way, of course) "You look great for having four kids!" OR "Don't be too hard on yourself, you have had four kids, you know!" (Yes, I know. I was there for all four of them.) So, I'm ready to work toward "looking great (period)". Ie, I want to hear someone say "There's no way you have four kids-- you look like a supermodel!" Oh, not because I really want to be skinny. I haven't been skinny since I hit puberty and my breasts decided to try for a marathon without any prep or warm-up before hand. And not because my husband likes the supermodel thin body. He actually prefers me with some cushion for the... baby's head to lay on. No, I'm doing this because I can not afford to buy a whole new closet of larger sized clothes and, darn it!, I like (some of) the clothes I already own and can no longer fit into. And because muffin tops just aren't cute, no matter how much cushion your husband is into.
So I'm starting this blog as a motivator. And as a record of my weight loss plan. Which includes my kids (if you read the title of this blog, you've probably already figured that out.) And no, I am not going to get rid of some of the kids, although that option does cross my mind on occasion.
All right. So, introductions complete, let's have at it. My two oldest children go to school every day, therefore they are mostly exempt from the activities that will be discussed on this blog. It is, therefore, my 3 year old and my 10 month old that have the luck to be used in place of a medicine ball. And let's start off the honesty here by saying they love it! Heck, what kid doesn't like being tossed around by his/ her mom? (unless the tossing lands them into a wall, but I've learned my lesson since then)
And I do need to insert in here a quick comment-- after my second child (my only son) was born, I was at a great weight. Probably my best/ healthiest ever. So it's only fitting that my two youngest children get used as barbells, since they are to blame for the current state of my body.
And use them as barbells.. and medicine balls... and hand weights I will indeed. And they'll love it. They'd better.
Another quick comment before I start giving stats: I'm too cheap to go to a gym that offers childcare, I don't use strollers-- besides the price of a double stroller, I can't go for a walk without my dog (feel guilty about that) and I can't manage a stroller and a leash, and it's often too cold, snowy, wet to take two kids out-- so walking is out. I don't have an indoor gym system, other than a bike that annoys me, and while I was persuaded to buy a pilates video from tv once, I can't do that (or yoga) without being climbed on by one or more of the kids... which leads me to my current exercise plan called
"Who needs a medicine ball when you have a baby?". Also known as "medicine baby" and "baby ball" and "who needs a baby?" and, by 8pm, "who needs medication right about now?".
This blog is going to keep track of my measurements, and I'm going to describe just what I did each day in the form of exercise (with my kiddos).
Please don't expect results and don't swear by this plan until we see results.
And I will be honest. To prove how honest, I'm going to post a naked picture of myself right now, and again in six months. Just joking. That would violate my terms with Google Blogger. But I did take a very unflattering underwear picture that I will hold in reserve until we have an "after" picture to compare it to.
But, to prove my honesty, I have taken my measurements as of 9:30 this morning. Ten months out from baby #4.
32 years old
5 feet 8 inches tall
167 pounds naked
waist 33"
hips 42"
thigh (just one) 24"
chest (under the breasts) 32"
chest (over the breast/ under arms) 37.5"
breasts (breast-feeding breasts) 41"
upper arm 12"
around bum 43"
Now, some could argue that those are perfect hourglass figures, but when I'm still trying to squeeze into a size 8/10, that hourglass gets a little bumpy.
After taking all those measurements (nothing motivates you and depresses you at the same time like taking your measurements), I lie down on the floor with the kiddos-- one hand holding my 50lb tension weight (our 10 month old black lab puppy, also known as "Dugan") who thought this was daddy-dog wrestle time-- and started my exercise regimen for today:
30 leg lifts-- flat on back, with 3 year old (28lb) child sitting on my feet and hugging my knees, I extended my legs out as far as I could, then brought them back into my chest. I ended this exercise by flipping her upside down over my head and onto my couch. From here on out, we'll refer to 28lb, 3yr old weight as "Kolbie". She wanted me to do more, but I physically could not.
Then, while holding Kolbie in the same position, legs partially extended (since that's all I could manage), I did 10 presses with my 10 month old, 16lb weight, who we will refer to as "Micah". I would have done more, but she started to squirm.
Last exercise of the day was to schooch on over to the couch, put my feet on it, Micah on my belly, and do 50 bum-lifts. I actually did 30, then took a break for a few seconds, then 18 more. Then two more. Micah loved that. She continued to bounce up and down on my belly as I gasped on the floor.
Keep in mind that these were all done with one hand holding Dugan back from the party. So that's day one of this agenda and post one of this blog. We'll try to make it to 2-2 tomorrow!
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