All I've Got Is A Photograph

 

Sorry for the long absences, friends and fellow denizens of the internet. Turns out kids take up a lot of time. Who knew? Sure as hell not me. If you'd asked me before Sophie, and I'm basing this on the behavior of the soap opera watching baby sitters of my early youth, taking care of kids was a piece of cake. The reality is, this stuff is work. A lot of it may be fun work, but make no mistake, it puts a real damper on a person's laying around, bonbon eating time. So fun stuff, like writing blog posts, talking on the phone (I used to talk on the phone?), and most other forms of normal human interaction have been abandoned.
 
I have a metric ton of stories of the goings on around here lately. Visits to the nature center. Camping on the surface of the sun, also known as Virginia in May. Touring amazing natural wonders. We've spent a little time in the Emergency Room. Not to worry, we're all fine. At some point, I will post about that. There's blood and drama, the very hallmarks of a fine blog post, if I do say so myself. My weight loss journey continues, successfully, but I won't really talk much about that now because, SNORE, aren't you all tired of hearing me go on about it? I'm tired of talking about it and I love talking about me. Obviously.

So anyhoo, this was just a quick HI! to let you know that we're all still alive. And that hopefully I can get my diminishing posterior in gear at some point and write some posts, because I miss this. And all of you.

*In case some of you were fooled by my masterful Photoshop skills, that is not an *official* Def Leppard Size 3T concert tank top. I KNOW. It's uncanny. I am an artiste.

Last Dance

The good news is that we spent three hours yesterday out of diapers and there were no accidents. The bad news is that at the end of those three hours, she was crying and pleading and screaming for me to put a diaper on her. She even got one out and sat down on it for me to do up the tapes.

I think I've been pretty cool on the subject of potty training. All of the parents that I have talked to, particularly those that have 3, 4, 5 kids, have said that it happens when the kid is ready. It's like AA, they're never gonna give up the diaper until they're good and ready to quit. Some kids that's 18 months. Some, like mine, that's 42 months. SIGH.

I remember when she was much, MUCH, younger and she showed interest and I was so excited that she would be an early adopter. Alas, that was not to be the case. Despite constant encouragement and more than a little cajoling mixed in with a healthy dose of peer pressure from all, and I do mean ALL, of her potty-using friends, that interest dried up faster than you can say "tinkerbell underwear." Except when stalling bedtime. Then, why she's all about the potty. Even cries in mock distress that the "poopie is coming!" Which, of course, it never is.

When she's sitting on the toilet, and we do a fair amount of that, I'll run the faucet and make the appropriate facial expressions associated with the activity, maybe even throwing in a grunt for good measure. But still nothing. We sit there, read a few books, maybe do a puzzle as it teeters on her little knees, and then she declares herself done and we go about our day.

I've been patient, but I am so done with changing diapers. More importantly, I am sick to death with BUYING them. Mama needs a new pair of espadrilles and they cost about the same as a box of diapers. I want to do a three day commando bonanza where diapers aren't even an option, but I feel like if she's screaming and crying for a diaper that she's not really ready. I was never good at "cry it out," in sleeping or anything and it goes against my nature to do it now, but am I doing her a disservice?

So I put it to you, friends and denizens of the interwebs, do I force it on her? Or do I wait just a skosh longer and see if the lightbulb goes off? But the bigger question is should I go ahead and buy those espadrilles? They're really cute. Parenting is hard.

Smiles

There's a lady at my gym. She's 85 if she's a day, her back is hunched, there's more hobble than walk in her gait, and I have never seen her without a smile. I've spoken with her briefly on a few occasions as we came or went in the locker room. She's quick to laugh and easy with a story in her thickly German-accented speech.

She makes me smile. Even when we don't talk. Just the sight of her working her way across the main gym floor makes me happy. I've always been intrigued by older people. I love their feathery skin and crinkly eyes. The personality in their hands. There are those that will bend your ear as long as you'll allow to detail their many ailments and there are those that will regale you with tales of tragedies or victories of days long gone.

I see this lady, with her smile, and I wonder about her. Is it a magic of biology that she survived the sorrows that any lifetime will dish out and still finds so much joy in every moment? Is it sheer force of will? Are there tears hidden away when others aren't looking? I see so much unhappiness. For every person like my smiley gym lady, I see a dozen sour folks. Faces pinched. A lifetime of sucking on life's lemons.

I lie in bed at night, the day's events running through my head and I find myself too often having to relax my tightly pursed mouth into a more natural pose. They say kids laugh a hundred times a day but as we grow up that diminishes until we're lucky if we get even a couple belly laughs out of every day. Do I laugh enough? Do I spend too much time frowning, yelling, scowling? I don't want to be one of those pinched face old ladies and I'm afraid that's the path I'm headed down.

So I'm making a choice to be happy, to smile as much as I can. Life is just too short, no matter how long you live, to be miserable. And you know what? Laugh lines? Are gorgeous.

Watching

If you are watching your weight now, you will be watching it for the rest of your life. 

The leader of one of the first Weight Watcher's meetings I went to said this. Maybe all WW group leaders say this at some point, I don't know. At the time, I heard it, but I was too busy taking in my surroundings for it to really register. In the weeks since then, it has marinated in my brain. I have said the words out loud to myself on a number of occasions driving in my car or looking in the full length mirror in our bedroom. I have rolled them over in my head a hundred times. Dissecting each word.

When it finally sank in, its simple profundity took my breath away. The fact is that without voicing it or ever really even thinking about it, I had fully expected that once I lost the weight, I could go back to my carefree life. I could eat whole pizzas and super size Big Mac meals. Drink Dr Pepper by the gallon. And when I realized that this really did have to be a lifestyle change, that I could NEVER do that again, that is, if I wanted to not weigh 200 pounds, it was the quintessential come to Jesus moment.

But for this instant gratification junkie, the real surprise is that the last eight weeks haven't actually been that hard. In fact, easier than I ever expected. I think the divorce from McDonalds has been harder on my child than me. We drive by almost every day. She will look upon those golden arches longingly and say "freeeench fries." At first it was with expectant suggestion and then enthusiastic hope and now it is mostly in sad remembrance, tasting the salty words in lieu of the actual thing.

But that meeting leader's words were rolling around again in my head tonight as I tried on pair after pair of pre-baby pants and they were fitting. Not just fitting, as in I could get them on but I would never leave the house in them because they were really too tight, but FITTING, like my regular pants are just too big now and these smaller ones are the ones I should be wearing. Anyone who has ever struggled with their weight, and how many of us haven't at one point or another, can appreciate the jubilation of fitting into the next size down.

I am the lightest I have been since before Sophie. I am looking in the mirror and not cringing. In fact, some days, I actually even think I look good. I'm a long way from skinny. In fact, I was this size when a former friend told me REPEATEDLY that I was a BIG girl. So I'm not letting this go too much to my head, but I am trying to revel in my success just enough to keep me motivated to push on further.

My goals when I began this journey were modest. But now I'm starting to think bigger. Or smaller, as the case may be. And I will meet them.

Recital

This past weekend, I visited my cousin in Rochester, New York. She is graduating from the Eastman School of Music and it was the occasion of her senior recital. She is an extremely talented violinist and my heart was swelling with pride when I saw her perform. Of course I've seen her play at family functions since she was old enough to hold a bow, but seeing her up on that stage in an unbelievably beautiful performance hall very nearly brought me to tears.

After her performance, we went to a friend of my cousin's for an after-party. At my aunt's request, my cousin and one of her friend's sang a few songs. These "kids" are just full to bursting with talent. My uncle, himself an extremely gifted musician, took up the guitar after and played while the whole room sang, myself included, although quietly so as not to embarrass myself too badly. We sang and laughed until nearly 1am, when the old fogies, my aunts and uncles and myself, had to abandon the younger crew to their fun.

My own college experience was not the most traditional. I started out at one school but after a year I left to "find myself." When I returned at a different school a few years later, I was past the magic of the experience. At that point, I was just ready to do what I needed to do and be done with it. So I didn't form the kind of deep relationships that I saw so clearly between my cousin and her friends. Most of the time, I don't really think about this. It is not the sort of thing that haunts me. I have enough real regrets that I won't waste time on stuff like this. But on the occasion when it is placed in front of me, I can't help but be nostalgic for something that never was.

It was a long drive for what amounted to less than a 24 hour visit, but to get to spend time with some of my favorite people and to share space with that kind of energy, every mile of the journey was worth it.

Weighty Matters

So I know I've talked about weight loss a lot on here. And for a long time. A depressingly long time. Actually, I would have been writing about it since I was 25 if I'd had a blog back then. Ironically, the weight I was then is my target weight now. But that's a whole different body image kettle of fish.

Anyhoo, since I had Sophie, I have really struggled to lose weight. I gained 45 pounds when I was pregnant with her and too many of those pounds stuck around. Not to mention that I needed to lose more than a couple (dozen) when I got pregnant with her. I began working out more than TWO YEARS ago, with the expectation that by hopping on the treadmill or elliptical five times a week, the weight would just drip off and I would be a svelte goddess in no time.

This did not happen.

I may be in better shape than I was two years ago. I can run a 5K without dying. But I'm only one size smaller. At this rate, it will take me ten years to get to my target size and that just isn't going to cut it. Last year I started counting calories and had some success. But I plateaued and lost my momentum. Slowly over the last year, I have gained much of that back and that is not acceptable to me. So last week I finally admitted that I can't do this on my own and joined Weight Watchers.

I went to my first meeting on Tuesday. I got weighed in. Ouch. And got all of the materials. I sat in the back of the room and took it all in. Listened to people talk about how they combated cravings or substituting healthier options for the bad stuff. I giggled a couple times as I spotted the "women of Weight Watchers." But overall, I'm glad I went to the meeting because I think it was the introduction I needed.

I went home with my booklets in hand, downloaded the app for my phone and fantasized about all the weight I was going to lose.

Six hours later, I started puking. I went on to spend the rest of the week mostly in the bathroom. In four days, I didn't meet my daily points total for one day. And I'm pretty sure any points I did consume went right down the toilet. I'm mostly better now, but my appetite hasn't returned and I suspect that when I go in for my weigh in tonight, I will have hit my initial 5% weight loss goal.

I wouldn't recommend it, but as far as jump starting your diet, you just can't beat a good stomach virus.

Flying Bean

For the seven of you that don't follow me on Twitter (and why aren't you?) or a Facebook friend, here's the result of a rainy afternoon, a new flash and a queen sized bed in the Land of Bean.