I miss my old body. The one I had before I had my baby. I gained SIXTY pounds in my pregnancy and so far, in two years, I have only lost forty. The first 30 were easy to lose. And the next 10, not really that hard. But now I'm stuck on the last twenty. Actually more like they're stuck on me. Around my belly mostly. The lack of skin tone around that area since having a 9lb+ baby is not helping to keep that fat under control either. It kind of hangs and jiggles all day long, making clothes fit REALLY weird. I've also got a lot of body fat on my upper body. Its weird. I look kind of like a linebacker with skinny legs.
I"m really sick of the excess fat on my tummy. I'm having back problems because of it. I actually had back problems during pregnancy but they've not gone away on account of the belly fat I still have. I have ugly clothes because nothing really fits properly. I'm kind of normal across teh shoulders, and from my feet up to about my crotch level, but in between there are a few too many rolls.
Having this weight definitely makes me less happy to be who I am. I'm really ashamed of the way I look. I gained about 30 lbs in my 2o's and I amazingly lost it back in 2001. I looked REALLY good and was REALLY happy with my appearance. I put some back on in the early 2000's and then lost most of it before my wedding. Before pregnancy. Before my life as I knew it smashed apart.
Now I dont look much thinner than 7 years ago, when I absolutely HATED myself. I'm not so happy in my own skin right now either. Major health problems and a feeling of incapacitation during my pregnancy started me down the road to postpartum depression. But considering everything I've been through, diet and weight loss was just not in the cards for me this past year. Whether it be the antidepressants I was on (I'm sure they messed up my metabolism), my gallstones, dealing with my dad's death, or just the ongoing stress of being a newly minted, stay at home mom with easy access to a freezer full of food, I didnt lose the weight I wanted to in my first postpartum year.
So why can't I be easier on myself? I went through a lot. I am lucky that I'm up and around and mentally ok considering everything.
Why is weight loss always so diffcult for me? I used to be so happy with my appearance. Never had a weight issue. But since my mid 20's its been a battle over the last "thirty" pounds over and over again. Is it purely metabolism? Aging? Or am I really eating more crap and exercising less than I used to?
I know a lot of this has to do with anxiety. Sure I could join weightwatchers again but last time, my stress level went through the roof. Seeing as I"m just getting through a major postpartum anxiety disorder, do I really want to go back there again right now? Not really.
On that note, how do I beat this? Why does anxiety manifest itself in me as hunger pangs? Why do I robotically, unthinkingly, reach for whatever snack is in front of me?
Blah!!
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
Monday, March 05, 2007
I keep thinking that things will "return to normal"...
This morning coming into work I was thinking of years past, what kinds of things I'd do on a weekend. I've been living very close to my parents (within 1 hour drive) so for many years I often went to see them on weekends.
Even though I'm heading into the big 4-0 soon (3 years) things hadn't seemed to change much - the usual "fab four" (my immediate family of origin) was still doing things together on weekends. I got married late in life (34) so many weekends up until recently, I'd go to see my parents and we'd hang out just like old times. So many of the things were so usual and so familiar. Grocery shopping on weekends, doing errands together, going for drives, going out for dinner, etc. All of it was so familiar. The sound of my dad's booming voice permeating everything that we would do.
This past weekend was tough for me. A massive spring snowstorm caused a fairly major roof leak in our kitchen which freaked us both out. Water was pouring through a wet spot in the ceiling of our kitchen when we all woke up from our naps on Saturday afternoon. My dad always knew what to do in situations like this, especially in this situation, as the roof on my parents house always seemed to leak in one particular spot.
In a panic, my H and I flailed around the kitchen for awhile, trying to figure out what to do. We went to ask advice from friends and neighbours. Usually in a situation like this I'd dial "daddy 911" and he'd be up to our house in a jiffy.
But the reality of my dad's death really hit me in this situation. My father in law, although a kind and gentle soul, is really not handy. In fact, he's anti-handy. We can't really rely on him for home improvement advice. My husband never had a chance to "apprentice" under his dad to learn how to care for a home. My dad was very handy, but he's gone now. And when situations like this arise, I tend to really panic. We don't know what to do.
We are new to the world of home ownership, and having a house built in 1966, we defintely have our share of fixer-upper situations that keep presenting themselves to us.
After poking a few holes in the ceiling to let the water drain (and then watching parts of the saturated ceiling drywall fall down in goopy splatters) we talked to a few friends and neighbours for advice. We decided that on Sunday morning, My H would peek into the attic to assess the damage, and then go to the Home Depot to ask for advice. (Funny anecdote: my 20 month old daughter calls Home Depot "Home Pee-poh" (Home People)).
As we were leaving to go to the "Depot", the song "Sweet City Woman" by the Stampeders came on the radio. That song really reminds me of times when I was not much older than my own daughter, dancing with my dad around the kitchen (I really remember my dad's smelly when he was dancing with me to that song, for some funny reason. He used to wear some gnarly smelling brown dress socks.. )
Anyhow, in one moment through the banjo-inflected notes of that song I was reminded that I was no longer the child, that I was now the parent, and I now was the owner of the leaky-roofed house, AND my dad was no longer alive. It really hit me like a ton of bricks.
The magnitude in which my life has changed in such a short time still takes my breath away. In Spring 2004, I was still living on my own. 18 months later, I'm a wife, a mother, and I've buried my father.
It's been such a long road, such a difficult journey. Every other difficult journey I've been on had a logical start and end point. Eventually I graduated from High School. And University. I started and ended relationships and jobs. And every time I ended one of these difficult journeys, I had my parents and their house to go "home" to for some familiarity, some carefree "down time" and some breathing room. But that "home" is no longer there.
Sure the house is still there, my mom still lives there, the furniture, dishes, pictures, most stuff is pretty much still the same as they were before my dad died. But the "home" - the things my parents used to do, the good old reliable old-people behaviour, the quirks, the patterns, the habits they exhibited with us and with each other, is gone.
Gone forever.
Yes some of that behaviour was irritating, and downright maddening at times, but it was FAMILIAR. The things they used to spend their time doing was so regular and so reliable. And that's all changed. There's no break from the fact that my father is dead. Going "home" to that house makes it all the more real and more painful sometimes. There's nowhere I can go to get a break.
I'm learning to make my "new home" my HOME. And my husband and my family are my "new" family. Its going to take awhile to get used to that, to them. To have a "regular" family life again. To take on the role of "mother" and "parent" instead of the baby of the family. To adapt to the massive amount of work it takes to be a co-homeowner, working mother and wife.
No wonder I take naps on weekends.
Oh and on an up note, my sleep is improving. I even fell asleep on the couch in front of the Sens game on Friday night. I think the reduction in the antidepressants is helping. Go figure, antidepressants that CAUSE insomnia, prescribed to relieve a case of depression that has its number one symptom - you guessed it - insomnia. How stupid and circular is that? But that's for another ranty-post on depression, anxiety and the mental health system.
I fell asleep in front of the Sens game. For an hour.
Do you realize how much of a major breakthrough that is??
I'm baaa-AACK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Even though I'm heading into the big 4-0 soon (3 years) things hadn't seemed to change much - the usual "fab four" (my immediate family of origin) was still doing things together on weekends. I got married late in life (34) so many weekends up until recently, I'd go to see my parents and we'd hang out just like old times. So many of the things were so usual and so familiar. Grocery shopping on weekends, doing errands together, going for drives, going out for dinner, etc. All of it was so familiar. The sound of my dad's booming voice permeating everything that we would do.
This past weekend was tough for me. A massive spring snowstorm caused a fairly major roof leak in our kitchen which freaked us both out. Water was pouring through a wet spot in the ceiling of our kitchen when we all woke up from our naps on Saturday afternoon. My dad always knew what to do in situations like this, especially in this situation, as the roof on my parents house always seemed to leak in one particular spot.
In a panic, my H and I flailed around the kitchen for awhile, trying to figure out what to do. We went to ask advice from friends and neighbours. Usually in a situation like this I'd dial "daddy 911" and he'd be up to our house in a jiffy.
But the reality of my dad's death really hit me in this situation. My father in law, although a kind and gentle soul, is really not handy. In fact, he's anti-handy. We can't really rely on him for home improvement advice. My husband never had a chance to "apprentice" under his dad to learn how to care for a home. My dad was very handy, but he's gone now. And when situations like this arise, I tend to really panic. We don't know what to do.
We are new to the world of home ownership, and having a house built in 1966, we defintely have our share of fixer-upper situations that keep presenting themselves to us.
After poking a few holes in the ceiling to let the water drain (and then watching parts of the saturated ceiling drywall fall down in goopy splatters) we talked to a few friends and neighbours for advice. We decided that on Sunday morning, My H would peek into the attic to assess the damage, and then go to the Home Depot to ask for advice. (Funny anecdote: my 20 month old daughter calls Home Depot "Home Pee-poh" (Home People)).
As we were leaving to go to the "Depot", the song "Sweet City Woman" by the Stampeders came on the radio. That song really reminds me of times when I was not much older than my own daughter, dancing with my dad around the kitchen (I really remember my dad's smelly when he was dancing with me to that song, for some funny reason. He used to wear some gnarly smelling brown dress socks.. )
Anyhow, in one moment through the banjo-inflected notes of that song I was reminded that I was no longer the child, that I was now the parent, and I now was the owner of the leaky-roofed house, AND my dad was no longer alive. It really hit me like a ton of bricks.
The magnitude in which my life has changed in such a short time still takes my breath away. In Spring 2004, I was still living on my own. 18 months later, I'm a wife, a mother, and I've buried my father.
It's been such a long road, such a difficult journey. Every other difficult journey I've been on had a logical start and end point. Eventually I graduated from High School. And University. I started and ended relationships and jobs. And every time I ended one of these difficult journeys, I had my parents and their house to go "home" to for some familiarity, some carefree "down time" and some breathing room. But that "home" is no longer there.
Sure the house is still there, my mom still lives there, the furniture, dishes, pictures, most stuff is pretty much still the same as they were before my dad died. But the "home" - the things my parents used to do, the good old reliable old-people behaviour, the quirks, the patterns, the habits they exhibited with us and with each other, is gone.
Gone forever.
Yes some of that behaviour was irritating, and downright maddening at times, but it was FAMILIAR. The things they used to spend their time doing was so regular and so reliable. And that's all changed. There's no break from the fact that my father is dead. Going "home" to that house makes it all the more real and more painful sometimes. There's nowhere I can go to get a break.
I'm learning to make my "new home" my HOME. And my husband and my family are my "new" family. Its going to take awhile to get used to that, to them. To have a "regular" family life again. To take on the role of "mother" and "parent" instead of the baby of the family. To adapt to the massive amount of work it takes to be a co-homeowner, working mother and wife.
No wonder I take naps on weekends.
Oh and on an up note, my sleep is improving. I even fell asleep on the couch in front of the Sens game on Friday night. I think the reduction in the antidepressants is helping. Go figure, antidepressants that CAUSE insomnia, prescribed to relieve a case of depression that has its number one symptom - you guessed it - insomnia. How stupid and circular is that? But that's for another ranty-post on depression, anxiety and the mental health system.
I fell asleep in front of the Sens game. For an hour.
Do you realize how much of a major breakthrough that is??
I'm baaa-AACK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
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