If you know me, you know that working out and physical fitness and all that shiz has never been my top priority. Do I want to be skinny? Yes. Do I want to look good naked? Sure do. But if it's at the expense of giving anything up anything that I love (booze, saturated fat, etc) then count me out. My history with working out has been spotty at best. I will work out consistently for a few months, and then I will let it go and not do a single exercise (other than walking to the bar) for months, until something motivates me to drag myself back to the gym or to the park to run with the dog. The sad part is that when I was working out consistently in college or in my twenties, I actually saw real results, which was awesome. But again, working out has never meant as much to me as it does to some.
Fast forward to two years post-baby and my late thirties, and I'm learning quickly that working out has become more of a crucial necessity than a laissez-faire attitude. Now that my kiddo is 20+ lbs, and with the specter of a second baby lurking in the back of my mind, I've realized that I absolutely have to make my physical fitness and strength more of a priority now than I ever have. And with that realization, I'm happy to report that I have actually managed to integrate this into my life rather successfully. And it's all due to an article I read on NPR's website about a little 22-minute workout.
I used to assume that in order to get an effective workout in, you had to be able to devote at least an hour or two at the gym. Because that's what I used to do when I was working out consistently. Whether it was in college or my twenties when I had both the time and inclination to spend it at the gym, I would usually spend a minimum of an hour on my workout. Since becoming a mom, I'm lucky if I have half that amount of time in the daylight to do jack shit for myself.
Disclaimer: I am totally the mom that spends just about all of my time with my kid or doing stuff for my kid, and yes, that makes me totally lame. I pass up opportunities all the time to go to Pacer games or concerts because it's bath night, or because my kid will die if I'm not there to put him to bed. Or maybe it's me who will die if I'm not part of every single minute of my kid's existence. Yep, that's me. Winner. Right here. But I digress.
So I read this article on NPR about how a 22-minute workout is just as effective as, say, an hour-long workout in terms of improving physical fitness, weight loss, etc. And since time for myself is at a premium these days, I thought why the fuck not. The reality is I do not have two hours to spend at the gym. We joined the YMCA back in December, and if I'm being honest with myself, the most ideal time for me to go and get a decent workout in is early in the AM before work. Talk about a daunting task. So I started to implement this 22-minute workout on the evenings that my husband put the kid to bed. I would quickly kiss my kid goodnight, rush to change into workout clothes and dash downstairs to the treadmill where I would do about 10-15 minutes of cardio, then 10 minutes of weights and then a few minutes of stretching. That routine would vary; sometimes I would spend more time on cardio if I was feeling particularly energetic or motivated. Sometimes I would get interrupted during strength training because my kid would start crying for me to come and rock him to sleep. Sometimes I would forget to stretch because I would get distracted by dishes or laundry. But the point is this: I was moving my fat ass and finally focusing on my body.
Some people can't relate to this reality: pregnancy fucks you up. Forever. Unless you're a teenager and your body bounces right back, carrying and birthing a baby will have significant effects on your body. Boobs sag and never come back up. C-section scars will magically push those mom guts out and over your waistband. Bladders will never feel quite right and you'll pee yourself when you sneeze. It's really easy to become very disheartened by this and, as a result, just not give a shit about how your body looks. If you're me, after doing the most major shit I've ever done, I just flat out didn't give a fuck about how I looked anymore. I didn't care about my gut or my saggy boobs or my ugly skin or my unkempt appearance or the spit-up stain on my shirt. I approached it with a "what? fight me" attitude. I had a baby, and these were my battle scars. This was my reality now, and I silently dared anyone to criticize my appearance. In hindsight, I'm sure I was also subconsciously (ok, consciously) making excuses for letting myself go. Though, I will defend the fact that having a C-section is a major fucking event and is not to be taken lightly.
Finally, two years after having a kid, I've decided that I'm sick and tired of still not fitting into some of my pre-pregnancy clothes or having to size up in pants because of my mom gut. I'm worried that when it comes time to have another baby, my sciatica with constantly flare up because I've failed to move my body in any meaningful way. And even after just a few months of working out whenever I possibly can find time to do so, I'm thrilled to report that I feel so much better, in every way possible. I feel empowered by the conscious decision to exercise, even if it's for a mere 45 minutes. I feel the bliss of devoting 100% of however much time I have to me and only me. I feel a sense of achievement when I push myself a little more at the gym. I feel pride when I wear workout pants to the store because I've actually just finished a workout, as opposed to when I wear them because I just don't want to wear real pants (which is most of the time). I walked around today consciously aware of the fact that even though I didn't necessarily look any thinner in the mirror, I actually felt thinner. I felt like I was walking around with better posture and an engaged core. Me. The girl who hates working out. I know, right.
I guess the point I'm trying to make here is this: It's never too late to care about your body and your wellness. It's never a waste to spend even the smallest amount of time on your body, and it may just motivate you enough to get you to a point where you actively seek out time for exercise, wellness, meditation, or whatever you feel like you need to feel your best. The other night, I felt a little guilty because rather than jump on the treadmill for fifteen minutes when I had the opportunity, I opted to lay in bed and finish reading my book instead. But I eventually reminded myself that my needs and priorities for my wellness go way beyond just a physical, aerobic expression. Contributing to my wellness may mean some quiet time reading or browsing aisles at Target or potting some indoor plants. Fitness doesn't always limit itself to gross motor activity. You absolutely have my permission to skip the gym today and spend some time reading or getting a massage or catching up on sleep. Do what you gotta do.
Wednesday, April 24, 2019
Tuesday, April 9, 2019
Pregnancy loss (warning: some graphic details about miscarriage)
I've posted about my previous two miscarriages that occurred prior to having my son, and for some reason I thought after having a healthy pregnancy and birth with him, there wouldn't be any more major hurdles to jump when the time came to try for another. As usual, the universe was like "HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAAHHAHAHAHA, fuck you."
Late last year, I experienced a chemical pregnancy. This is a very early miscarriage where you are technically pregnant and that pregnancy is viable enough to show up on a pee test, but then something happens and the pregnancy just goes away and you have your period instead. If you're not tracking things closely enough, you probably wouldn't even know you're pregnant and just assume your period was a few days late. Because of my previous multiple miscarriages, I get early blood draws to make sure the hormones are at a good level based on how far along I am and that the HCG then doubles every 48 hours as it is supposed to do. If I recall correctly, it was maybe only an hour or so after that second blood draw that I started to spot and then bleed. I figured I was having a miscarriage, contacted my doctor and was confirmed in my assumption when the blood draw results came back and showed that my levels had already started to decrease. It was a blow to the old psyche, for sure, but I was grateful that it happened as early on as it did. Miscarriages are so much easier to deal with when you're not far along in your pregnancy (at least for me) and haven't gotten hopes up too high yet.
Skip ahead a few months, and I get another positive pregnancy test. I was a little more cautious this time and I didn't tell my husband right away, for fear that it would just be another chemical. After a few days, though, when my tests continued to show relatively strong lines, I shared the news with him with some optimism behind it. But again, I had to face the dreaded blood draws to see if hormone levels were good and doubling. First draw: good levels. Second draw: levels had risen, but not doubled. Third draw: levels had a good rise, but still not doubled. Fourth draw: levels had almost doubled, and the doctor was optimistic for a healthy pregnancy. With excitement and a positive attitude, I scheduled my first ultrasound for the next week, what would've been my 7th week of pregnancy. And then the other shoe dropped.
I woke up on a Friday morning with a moderate amount of bleeding and cramping. As soon as I saw the nature of the bleeding, I was almost positive I was miscarrying. I shared the news with my husband and decided that I was going to stay home from work and contact my doc to see what I should do. As the day progressed, so did the bleeding. It was extremely heavy and like nothing I'd ever experienced, not even after having given birth. I could literally feel the blood coursing out of me, along with medium-sized clots that would just fall out of me while I sat on the toilet. I remember thinking there's no way this is anything but a miscarriage. My doctor's office ordered a blood draw to see what my hormone levels were, and if they were good, I would most likely then have an ultrasound to see if the bleeding had any other cause. I was barely able to make it to the lab for the blood draw; I had to stop on the walk to the lab from the car to change my pad because I was bleeding so heavily. Afterwards, I went home and continued to hemorrhage blood and have heavy cramping. I just laid in bed, only getting up when necessary to change my pad, since it was pointless to move around or do anything; that only exacerbated the situation. Later that afternoon, I called my doctor for the results of the blood draw. The levels had only risen a little since the last blood draw; they hadn't even doubled. So it was clear at that point that I was definitely miscarrying. I was given instructions for monitoring the bleeding and had to schedule an ultrasound for early next week to make sure I had passed all the products of conception.
For the rest of the afternoon, I laid in bed, bleeding and wishing for those huge phone book-sized diaper pads you get in the hospital after you give birth. Up to this point, I had actually been relatively calm through it all, considering the circumstances. I was, of course, extremely sad and disappointed at this turn of events, but it wasn't my first walk down this road. My catharsis, though, came when I drifted off to sleep at one point and then later woke up to find that I had bled through my clothes and onto the bed. It so happened that the mattress protector we normally have under our fitted sheet had been taken off earlier that week to be washed, so I was pretty upset when I saw the mattress had a blood stain on it. I tried to get as much of the stain off, but it wasn't really coming up. At this point, it was time to change my pad again, and as I was walking into the restroom, I felt my body pass a large amount of something. Upon sitting down on the toilet, I observed a large piece of tissue or something like it in my underwear. I remember thinking it looked like it could've been a piece of umbilical cord but I had no idea if the umbilical cord was even formed or could be that large at 6 weeks pregnant. It was at that point that I lost my shit, and everything crashed down.
For a few minutes, all I could do was sob hysterically. A thousand things were going through my mind, and I felt so many emotions all at once. Grief and sadness for my loss, regret and anger at myself for letting myself think this pregnancy would work out, frantic confusion about what to do with this "thing" in my underwear...this "thing" that had been a part of the life growing inside me and was now dead and evacuated from my body. I remember closing my eyes while I sat there crying and hoping so badly that when I opened them, this piece of me would be gone and I wouldn't have to deal with it anymore. I felt scared and unsure about what to do with it--do I just flush it down the toilet where all the other clots and tissue that had been falling out of me all day went, too? A part of me felt like that was a horrible thing to do; after all, even though this wasn't the actual embryo it was still a part of the whole being. However, on the other hand, I figured the embryo had probably already been expelled during one of the numerous trips to the toilet that day, so what was the big deal to just place this in the toilet and be done with it. I wanted so desperately to have someone there with me to tell me what I should do, what the right thing was. After some time, I eventually decided to flush the tissue down the toilet since I didn't want to just put it in the trash can. I wrapped it up, crammed my eyes shut and placed it in the toilet. A fresh wave of sobbing commenced as I flushed the tissue down the toilet, and I felt a profound sadness in my heart that I was wholly unprepared to experience.
As traumatizing as the above incident was, it was also the catalyst I needed to actually grieve my loss in a real, tangible way. Throughout my multiple miscarriages, I internalized so much of those experiences, so the act of sobbing and shaking and feeling all those things I did while I sat on the toilet for those few minutes was actually a welcome reprieve from the stoic tension I had been holding onto all day. My guess is that so many women go through their pregnancy losses feeling that tension, and hopefully they get to release it and grieve, but maybe they don't for whatever reason. I just know that for me, I needed that hysteria to work through this latest miscarriage and to allow myself to feel a multitude of emotions.
After the miscarriage, I decided that I wanted to take some time off from trying to get pregnant. At first, I wasn't entirely convinced it's really what I wanted deep down, but it seemed like the appropriate thing to do after two losses. Plus, after a miscarriage, the OBGYN will usually advise you to have one or two cycles before trying again, which mine did. So I put everything fertility-related out of my mind; I didn't chart a goddamn thing or pee on a single stick. After some time, I did chart any menstrual activity, just so I would have some idea of where I was in my cycle. Miscarriage can fuck your cycle up for a little bit or a long time, depending on how far along you were. My cycle got back to normal relatively quickly, probably within a little over a month.
The farther I get from my most recent miscarriage, the more I realize how stressful this latest saga of trying to get knocked up has been on me and how much I really just needed a break from it. It was a crushing blow, but in the aftermath, I focused more on my kiddo and my husband and I indulged the fuck out of some wine and sushi. And let me tell you, when sex isn't primarily about conceiving and more about just being with your partner, it's pretty great. As I type this, I'm ovulating. And enjoying a beer. And I have no plans to try and get my hubs to have sex with me tonight, because I'm actually in a pretty good place right now, and it has nothing to do with being pregnant or trying to get pregnant. It has everything to do with the fact that I'm taking care of me in whatever way is necessary. I went to the gym today for the first time in more months than I care to admit, and it was FUCKING AMAZING. Anyone who knows me knows I hate working out, but the forty minutes I spent at the gym today felt like I had found a golden ticket. It was the first time since my son was born that I really felt like I was reclaiming time for myself with zero guilt about anything. I recently changed my work schedule, and it allows me to leave work an hour early three days a week, which I plan to spend that extra "me time" working out or doing whatever I feel like doing. That freedom and opportunity is exactly what I need right now, and perhaps a pregnancy will eventually come back around as the priority. For now, though, it's all about me.
Late last year, I experienced a chemical pregnancy. This is a very early miscarriage where you are technically pregnant and that pregnancy is viable enough to show up on a pee test, but then something happens and the pregnancy just goes away and you have your period instead. If you're not tracking things closely enough, you probably wouldn't even know you're pregnant and just assume your period was a few days late. Because of my previous multiple miscarriages, I get early blood draws to make sure the hormones are at a good level based on how far along I am and that the HCG then doubles every 48 hours as it is supposed to do. If I recall correctly, it was maybe only an hour or so after that second blood draw that I started to spot and then bleed. I figured I was having a miscarriage, contacted my doctor and was confirmed in my assumption when the blood draw results came back and showed that my levels had already started to decrease. It was a blow to the old psyche, for sure, but I was grateful that it happened as early on as it did. Miscarriages are so much easier to deal with when you're not far along in your pregnancy (at least for me) and haven't gotten hopes up too high yet.
Skip ahead a few months, and I get another positive pregnancy test. I was a little more cautious this time and I didn't tell my husband right away, for fear that it would just be another chemical. After a few days, though, when my tests continued to show relatively strong lines, I shared the news with him with some optimism behind it. But again, I had to face the dreaded blood draws to see if hormone levels were good and doubling. First draw: good levels. Second draw: levels had risen, but not doubled. Third draw: levels had a good rise, but still not doubled. Fourth draw: levels had almost doubled, and the doctor was optimistic for a healthy pregnancy. With excitement and a positive attitude, I scheduled my first ultrasound for the next week, what would've been my 7th week of pregnancy. And then the other shoe dropped.
I woke up on a Friday morning with a moderate amount of bleeding and cramping. As soon as I saw the nature of the bleeding, I was almost positive I was miscarrying. I shared the news with my husband and decided that I was going to stay home from work and contact my doc to see what I should do. As the day progressed, so did the bleeding. It was extremely heavy and like nothing I'd ever experienced, not even after having given birth. I could literally feel the blood coursing out of me, along with medium-sized clots that would just fall out of me while I sat on the toilet. I remember thinking there's no way this is anything but a miscarriage. My doctor's office ordered a blood draw to see what my hormone levels were, and if they were good, I would most likely then have an ultrasound to see if the bleeding had any other cause. I was barely able to make it to the lab for the blood draw; I had to stop on the walk to the lab from the car to change my pad because I was bleeding so heavily. Afterwards, I went home and continued to hemorrhage blood and have heavy cramping. I just laid in bed, only getting up when necessary to change my pad, since it was pointless to move around or do anything; that only exacerbated the situation. Later that afternoon, I called my doctor for the results of the blood draw. The levels had only risen a little since the last blood draw; they hadn't even doubled. So it was clear at that point that I was definitely miscarrying. I was given instructions for monitoring the bleeding and had to schedule an ultrasound for early next week to make sure I had passed all the products of conception.
For the rest of the afternoon, I laid in bed, bleeding and wishing for those huge phone book-sized diaper pads you get in the hospital after you give birth. Up to this point, I had actually been relatively calm through it all, considering the circumstances. I was, of course, extremely sad and disappointed at this turn of events, but it wasn't my first walk down this road. My catharsis, though, came when I drifted off to sleep at one point and then later woke up to find that I had bled through my clothes and onto the bed. It so happened that the mattress protector we normally have under our fitted sheet had been taken off earlier that week to be washed, so I was pretty upset when I saw the mattress had a blood stain on it. I tried to get as much of the stain off, but it wasn't really coming up. At this point, it was time to change my pad again, and as I was walking into the restroom, I felt my body pass a large amount of something. Upon sitting down on the toilet, I observed a large piece of tissue or something like it in my underwear. I remember thinking it looked like it could've been a piece of umbilical cord but I had no idea if the umbilical cord was even formed or could be that large at 6 weeks pregnant. It was at that point that I lost my shit, and everything crashed down.
For a few minutes, all I could do was sob hysterically. A thousand things were going through my mind, and I felt so many emotions all at once. Grief and sadness for my loss, regret and anger at myself for letting myself think this pregnancy would work out, frantic confusion about what to do with this "thing" in my underwear...this "thing" that had been a part of the life growing inside me and was now dead and evacuated from my body. I remember closing my eyes while I sat there crying and hoping so badly that when I opened them, this piece of me would be gone and I wouldn't have to deal with it anymore. I felt scared and unsure about what to do with it--do I just flush it down the toilet where all the other clots and tissue that had been falling out of me all day went, too? A part of me felt like that was a horrible thing to do; after all, even though this wasn't the actual embryo it was still a part of the whole being. However, on the other hand, I figured the embryo had probably already been expelled during one of the numerous trips to the toilet that day, so what was the big deal to just place this in the toilet and be done with it. I wanted so desperately to have someone there with me to tell me what I should do, what the right thing was. After some time, I eventually decided to flush the tissue down the toilet since I didn't want to just put it in the trash can. I wrapped it up, crammed my eyes shut and placed it in the toilet. A fresh wave of sobbing commenced as I flushed the tissue down the toilet, and I felt a profound sadness in my heart that I was wholly unprepared to experience.
As traumatizing as the above incident was, it was also the catalyst I needed to actually grieve my loss in a real, tangible way. Throughout my multiple miscarriages, I internalized so much of those experiences, so the act of sobbing and shaking and feeling all those things I did while I sat on the toilet for those few minutes was actually a welcome reprieve from the stoic tension I had been holding onto all day. My guess is that so many women go through their pregnancy losses feeling that tension, and hopefully they get to release it and grieve, but maybe they don't for whatever reason. I just know that for me, I needed that hysteria to work through this latest miscarriage and to allow myself to feel a multitude of emotions.
After the miscarriage, I decided that I wanted to take some time off from trying to get pregnant. At first, I wasn't entirely convinced it's really what I wanted deep down, but it seemed like the appropriate thing to do after two losses. Plus, after a miscarriage, the OBGYN will usually advise you to have one or two cycles before trying again, which mine did. So I put everything fertility-related out of my mind; I didn't chart a goddamn thing or pee on a single stick. After some time, I did chart any menstrual activity, just so I would have some idea of where I was in my cycle. Miscarriage can fuck your cycle up for a little bit or a long time, depending on how far along you were. My cycle got back to normal relatively quickly, probably within a little over a month.
The farther I get from my most recent miscarriage, the more I realize how stressful this latest saga of trying to get knocked up has been on me and how much I really just needed a break from it. It was a crushing blow, but in the aftermath, I focused more on my kiddo and my husband and I indulged the fuck out of some wine and sushi. And let me tell you, when sex isn't primarily about conceiving and more about just being with your partner, it's pretty great. As I type this, I'm ovulating. And enjoying a beer. And I have no plans to try and get my hubs to have sex with me tonight, because I'm actually in a pretty good place right now, and it has nothing to do with being pregnant or trying to get pregnant. It has everything to do with the fact that I'm taking care of me in whatever way is necessary. I went to the gym today for the first time in more months than I care to admit, and it was FUCKING AMAZING. Anyone who knows me knows I hate working out, but the forty minutes I spent at the gym today felt like I had found a golden ticket. It was the first time since my son was born that I really felt like I was reclaiming time for myself with zero guilt about anything. I recently changed my work schedule, and it allows me to leave work an hour early three days a week, which I plan to spend that extra "me time" working out or doing whatever I feel like doing. That freedom and opportunity is exactly what I need right now, and perhaps a pregnancy will eventually come back around as the priority. For now, though, it's all about me.
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