What is money really worth?

It’s interesting to hear how many people tell me that I am entitled to money from my ex. He is after all my daughters father and he should bear at least some of the responsibility.  I don’t deny that at all but sometimes I wonder if the battle would really be worth it.

Yes, I did recently find out he just dropped a large chunk on his brand new $50,000 Mustang. I knew he was a car guy when I met him. I knew he had 6 cars, lived only in the wealthiest neighborhoods, and enjoyed expensive steaks as well as extremely rare vintage whiskeys. Is that a thing? Whatever type of whiskey it was it was some sort of pricey nonsense. I don’t discredit it because it is and forever will be out of my budget, I just don’t understand pricey things all the time. I used to like expensive purses and sunglasses – I still love Chanel sunglasses, I just can’t justify the cost anymore. I feel like there are more important things in life and my old sunglasses still work just fine.

I believe in living within my means. I don’t want thousands of dollars of debt, it’s why I chose not to follow through on a master’s degree. I had spent so much on a useless bachelors degree how could I responsibly take on another $60,000 in debt without being assured a job any better than the one I have now? I do know people who live in constant debt, and they seem perfectly happy but, it’s not for me. As I sit and think back on it, I wonder now if it was insulting to him that I never acted impressed by his pricey car, his $250,000+ salary, or the fact that the last raise he told me about was more than I make in a year. Was it wrong that I told him that if I ever loved him it would be him and not his money? For all the times he asked me to hook his rich friend up with one of my friends and then reminded me to make sure I choose an attractive friend because, well, let’s face it he makes enough money to have a beautiful woman. I believe my friend Sabrina would deem this #misogyny, she’s much more politically adept with terminology than I am.

It makes me wonder just what AM I entitled to?  I know that his money could make her life better. It would put her in a private school, hopefully away from the bullying, violence, and rampages associated with public schools. It would let me take her to Disney at some point on every little girls princess filled fantasy trip. It would mean she could have designer clothes I suppose, rather than home-made ones and hand me downs. Even the crafty fun upcycles I will be making her won’t always be able to compete with what the other girls are wearing. Even though as a hairdresser I can always make sure she has great hair, that won’t be able to make up for the dance lessons and over priced recital outfits I won’t be able to afford to give her.

What about peace? safety? calm? What about never having to worry that he will try to make her life the hokey-pokey dance he tried with me? Isn’t that worth something. There is little worse than a father who shows up in his child’s life only when it is convenient for him. I would hope that having an absentee father he would know better than to put his own child through that. I have recently had the unfortunate pleasure of watching my friend and her son go through a custody battle. Her ex-husband was caught lying about his employment status to avoid paying child support for his special needs son. Having been ordered to start paying every month and pay for all the months he claimed to be unemployed he decided he wanted to fight for custody. I know how hard it is on her but, her son, his son, what he is going through is unreal. He has severe anxiety and depression leading up to any type of interaction with his father. Normally a straight A student with a bit less than average social skills he just bottoms out. What parent really chooses to put their child through that? I mean seriously? How could you do that to the child you claim to love.

And safety, I already know I’ll have to fight aggressively if he decides he wants partial custody so that he can keep his money. Because as he so aptly pointed out previously his lawyer is a hell of a lot better than anyone I could ever afford.  It honestly comes down to does our daughter really need his money that badly? Is it worth putting her in a car with a man who has had well over a dozen serious traffic violations that he has simply paid his way out of? Combined with his ptsd, his poorly trained, aggressive tendency dog, and a job that works him 60+ hours a week how safe and supportive of an environment does he truly stand to offer her just so that he can pay less money in child support. It’s at this point that I start to wonder do I really want to go to court, even though I would love to laugh when the judge reads the paternity test I am no longer sure if it’s worth it. The peace of mind knowing that my daughter will never be involved in an accident where her father was driving 120 mph, or never be mauled because he set her down and when she cried it upset his nutso dog seems a hell of a lot more valuable than the cash he might have to pay me every month.

It’s been almost a month since I last spoke to him and I can’t describe the calm I feel. Some nights I do wonder what it would have been like if we had tried to work it out. But mostly I just realize it’s all good, he’s the one missing out. Me? I’m the one looking up cute onsie how-tos, and making the things that will decorate my daughter and her room. … Serenity, it’s what counts now.

Remembering to breathe,

DL

This is how it goes

I know, I know. I’m supposed to be enjoying my pregnancy. These little kicks to my bladder, the strange, ripple -y, pokey, sensation that freaks me out instead of bringing me a smile, all of this nonsense it’s just lost on me. While I’m still fearful, I mean I don’t think I’ve ever so much as held a fresh born baby let alone fed or changed one, the anxiety is passing. I’ve been spending an hour a day cleaning out my life, trying to decide what no longer fits and what needs to go. Trying to come to terms with the things I need to accept and make room for is just as difficult.

I’ve spent the past several years trying to pull my life together. I learned to admit that my life has basically been one big cycle , failure, disappointment,  try again. The things that happen to me have been known to turn people who don’t believe in luck to tell me I have the worst luck they’ve ever seen. And it’s OK.  I learned to pick myself up, dust myself off and move on- and I’ve gotten pretty darn good at it. But this current situation, I’m really struggling with it. I can’t find the words to explain it. To communicate the anger, the frustration, the fact that some days I just want to lay on floor and cry hysterically about how unfair life can be. How was it that  I was just getting things together, I was finally learning who I was, how to be comfortable in my skin, perfecting my budgeting skills, and growing up and then it all fell apart again.

And then I turned up pregnant.  In the beginning I had more faith in the father. He was a good guy, he’d served 4 tours in Iraq, he had a much better than average job, all in all any girl couldn’t have asked for more. But then things changed. We revisited the fact that he was still recently divorced. That his ex-wife was a cheating skank. That she had delivered him a non-viable baby, the details not shared with me, only explained away that she had delivered another to her lover. And I tried to understand his anger. I tried so hard to see his point of view that I forgot my own for a while. I understood  the fact that these occurrences were why he’d had a vasectomy. That they led to his mistrust of me and disbelief that my child was indeed his child. But, the more I tried to understand the more anger grew in me. The more frustrated I became and  I cried over my pregnancy more than I should. The more I resented being pregnant, and I began to see it as the ultimate failure and I wondered why  my life always seems like punishment.  And it was all misplaced. It’s not the baby I’m mad at. It’s him. While I have to give up everything I enjoy, throw any dreams I had in the trash bin, and stay cemented in the same place he gets to move on.  My dream trip to Europe I had been saving for for 2 years? Trash bin. Savings into my retirement so I wouldn’t have to cut hair for jackasses who talk to me like I’m an uneducated yokel for the rest of my life? Out the window. But not him, as I write this he’s preparing to take a massive promotion that will move him into western Europe.  Last month he wanted to take the baby and I along. This month we are out with the trash on the side of the road.

My friends laugh when I get upset about my dog sitting in my “spot” on the couch. But it’s because they see it as just that – a spot on a couch. For me though, it’s safety, it’s a corner that hugs me without ever judging me, I can cry into the pillow and it just absorbs my tears. It doesn’t try to tell me that everything will be fine. It doesn’t lie to me saying you going to be okay. It doesn’t spout gibberish about god  only giving you what you can handle. It just sits there, inanimate holding me and wiping away the tears that the baby’s father causes. It is in fact, for all intents and purposes, at this point in time the support I need.

Maybe this isn’t punishment at all. Maybe my child is on its way to teach me to branch out. It will show me that shutting most of the world out because sticking to myself is better than risking getting hurt isn’t worth it. And maybe it will prove that when my mother tells me I am much to hard on myself she is right, after all she is my mother.

Remembering to breathe,
DL

Me, myself, and I

Amongst the chaos of every day life I often forget about myself. After the last meeting with my baby’s’ father  my wheels started turning, looking inward. This meeting had been a last-minute impromptu occurrence and I arrived in sweat pants, a tank with a hoodie over it and no make-up. I usually always have my make- up done unless my allergies are bothering me. This night though, I just had no interest and let’s face it, if we decide to make this work sooner or later he’s going to see me sans decorations.  I was taken off guard when he told me I looked pretty, I can’t recall any man in my life ever telling me that -even with make-up. The discussions were haphazard that night touching on random topics that also included what I thought I would look like post-pregnancy. I had thought about it, not hard, but I had thought about it. I had imagined that breast-feeding would help me drop some of the excess weight and I would obviously start working out again. After all I had been on my back into my size 6 jeans when I got pregnant. But this got me thinking, what was I waiting for? Studies show that most fit moms have healthier babies and better deliveries. Not always ,but, most of the case studies I read indicated these results were typical.

In all honesty my workouts had become quite lax over the past few months. I had sunk into a depressed rut and had just stopped caring. I was knocked up, what did it matter if I looked good or not? My body was most likely going to be ruined and no one would ever notice me again anyhow, I would just fall into the barrel with the majority of other average moms -not the shot glass of post-baby supermodel moms. But, wait, that doesn’t sound like me. At all. I’ve spent years running races trying to hit every state, I even spent several years lifting with a competitive body building team. Only I can say who I become post baby. I could let myself become a sluggish mom, requiring a leash for my child or I could utilize a jogging stroller and then have the babes father or a family member hold it on the sidelines of a race while I run past waving and crying. Because let’s face it, I don’t think I’ve ever run a race where I didn’t cry at least a little bit.

The next morning I woke up and revamped my entire diet. I’m not talking about a diet diet I’m generalizing about the food I put in my mouth every day. I reloaded Myfitnesspal onto my iPhone and adjusted the calorie intake to 2000, it seemed like a round about goal. They say every pregnant woman has different needs but, on average an extra 300 calories a day should do it. I went to the grocery and bought more veg and made dishes or smoothies I could hide them in. I replaced my new favorite milkshake with the “skinny frosty” which is essentially 2%milk, a tablespoon of chocolate syrup, a teaspoon of vanilla, and a lot of ice. It’s not as skinny as it could be but it’s a hell  of a lot fewer calories than that cookies’n’cream shake I love. And today I wanted cookies so I made a batch of my favorite high fiber oatmeal chocolate chips. I’m not saying I haven’t indulged at all in the past week(I totally gorged on a box of mac’n’cheese one day) but, black bean, corn, and quinoa tacos with baby spinach, avocado, and 0% greek yogurt have definitely made a return.

That monday I called and asked my doctor if it was acceptable to start lifting again. Obviously not as heavy as I used to but, honestly the first week back my 8 pounders left me tired, sore, and aching for more. I changed my sluggish 2.5 walks at a 1 degree incline on the treadmill up to 3.5 walks on various inclines with some backwards work mixed in. Thanks to Bille Piper and the cast of Secret Life of a Call Girl for keeping things interesting. After my workout that day I cranked up the stereo and mixed up a face mask to scrub off all the dead skin and brighten my complexion just like I used to do every week. I sat down and gave myself an adorable manicure and then a good pedicure before hopping in the shower to scrub the rest of the depression off with a good coarse brush and finally rinse all the goo off my face.

When I dried off and moisturized I took a good look in the mirror. It was me again. And you know what? That little baby in my abdomen, it didn’t care one single bit that I was taking care of myself.

Put your left foot in , you put your left out

My life isn’t the Hokie Pokie but, there are days where it sure feels like it. And I just don’t mean my on and off again feelings about my pregnancy. Some days I feel like there is no one there with me and there are days I feel like everyone is there, also known as bad days and good days. Then there is my baby’s father – some times he’s ready to give it a go and then there are time spans that he can’t even respond to a simple text.

Last week I had a first meeting with my baby’s father in a few months. It had seemingly gone well, we got along as though nothing was well, wrong I suppose is the word. He was kind, non aggressive, and made it easier for me to his side of things. I knew heading into our previous relationship that he was big business guy, coming off a divorce that should have been over a while ago had the ex-wife not dragged it out guy, amongst other things guy. And that was fine then, dating him was fun, then the pregnancy reared its ugly head and I was no longer wanted baggage. Two months later though I was wanted again. It was hard not knowing where to go from there. But the meeting cleared things up and we started moving down the “maybe we should try this trail”.  But he travels a lot. And me being a naturally lonely soul who, let’s face it, I’m relatively sure my family doesn’t even want half the time, can sink into feeling unwanted quite quickly. Sometimes I’m not sure if he is honestly so busy that he just forgets to check in on me or he’s testing my loyalty after his ex-wives infidelity, or he just doesn’t care at all.  Last week he was full of suggestions and I really mulled some of them over, this week he’s out-of-town again and I haven’t heard a peep from him in 3 days…

Then there is me, myself, and I. Some days  I think I can be a good mom and I’ll be alright. Other days I can’t stop thinking about how horrible I’m going to be. What if I put the baby carrier on top of the new baby friendly vehicle I bought and drive off?  Or what if I look away and the poop eating dog licks the baby and gives it some sort of disease? There are days I am absolutely certain I am going to be HORRIBLE at the whole mom thing. I was walking along on my treadmill this morning (yes, I have been reduced to walking) and all I kept thinking was how thankful I am that babies nap so much that maybe I can double down on my runs which if I combine it with breastfeeding I can get myself back down to a size 6 pair of jeans in a decent amount of time. That way if he decides to stick around I’ll still be at least attractive enough that he would admit to being the father of my child and if he doesn’t maybe someone else might want me – right? It’s all utter neurosis and yet it’s still in my head. The one piece of me that can’t seem to Hokie Pokie itself out of me for even one minute is my insecurity which has increased almost 10 fold since becoming pregnant.  Then I start thinking of the baby, and how as it grows it will do the same thing. It will love me, then hate me, want me and then want nothing to do with me all in one big repetitive cycle from toddler to twenty something.

Everyone wants to know what I want. What do I want to do. And it’s so much more than a simple question for me. I want to raise my child with its father… but not if it’s father doesn’t want to be with me.  I can’t tell people what I want though because I can’t see all the pieces to the equation. I often feel like I am trying to build a puzzle without a picture. I’ve managed to get the outline together, as well as a few large chunks but I can’t figure out where I, I mean the pieces belong inside the border. I was offered the possibility to be a stay at home mom if we work things out but, what if we don’t? then where does that piece go? If it does work out do I sell my house and replace that piece with his house? So many choices and all I can do is lay on my floor and cry it out alone because, what else CAN I do? I can’t see the future, I can’t decide which pieces I need to keep and which I need to put out for the rubbish men in the morning…If I manage to get up in time that is.

Maybe my destiny is to live a life like the Hokie Pokie. Always being good enough to jump in for a while, shake it all about, spin around in circles, and that is what it’s all about.

Trying to Breathe,

DL

Dread… cue the Jaws movie theme…

It has honestly been a week of nothing but anxiety and panic attacks.  I started my week knowing that it would be the first week of snow in the city which, obviously, causes problems here in Pittsburgh. Two snowflakes in the air and the entire city is in an uproar. For me though, most of the anxiety started with, and ended with for that matter, the impending meeting with my baby’s father. It was true he had never done anything to physically harm me but, he had some pretty deep cuts with a few harsh accusations. What he might possibly say to me left me anxious and full of dread. To boot my abdomen had finally started to pop last week and when I went to my doctor’s appointment I was told “there you go, finally getting a few pounds!” O-U-C-H. For real I thought the woman had hit me with a baseball bat. I’ve spent a large portion of my life battling my weight and pregnant or not I visibly winced at that statement.

The meeting of course was preceded by a flurry of texts discussing the difficulties he had been going through in the past month or so. I don’t deny that he had some medical hardships and I do believe him when he says he had some inner conflicts over the entire situation. Finally a few nights before the big night a precursory phone call occurred. I bit my tongue, as sharp as it is, I knew it was for the best. Of course within a few hours I was hysterical and began feverishly texting him and unloading all of the massive fears and anxiety I had developed since he had chosen to waltz back into my life. My biggest personality flaw I have to say is my ability to store the things that are bothering me until I turn into a bottle of soda that has rolled down a flight of stairs and then when my lid is just unscrewed in the slightest bit I *pop*! Every random disconnected thought rattling around in my ever spinning brain fizzes out in all directions leaving those around me shocked, soaked, and sticky. It was indeed better to happen now than at the meeting which would take place in a public location though right?

The day of the meeting finally arrived and I left work a bit past 5 so that I could go home before the 7 o’clock meet time.  He had one final meeting for the day but after that we would finally see each other after almost 3 months time, or basically my entire pregnancy thus far. When I got home and changed out of my work clothes something told me he was going to be delayed and I ought to put on comfy clothes and read a bit. 7 o’clock.    8 o’clock. Boy, was I hungry. 9 o’clock. Might as well have a bowl of cereal this meeting isn’t happening. 10 o’clock. 10:45 *ding ding* says the phone, “I’m sorry” says the text. For some reason I seem to be able to remain calm in these situations, I suppose that somewhere in my brain there is a little voice reminding me to be an adult and not a hysterical teenager. I simply finished my chapter and went to bed not acknowledging the text(blast you iPhones letting people know when you’ve read their messages!) and not replying.

“Do me a favor and imagine that instead of meeting me last night you were supposed to attend our childs’ school recital.”

Could a sentence that simple get my point across? I’m a big girl I can handle getting stood up. Does it sting? Yes. But nothing near so painful as it would be to a child looking for their father in the crowd and realizing that not only did he not show up, he didn’t even bother to call. Surprisingly he understood completely. The meeting was rescheduled for that night with the knowledge that this was the last chance. After another no-show this time I would be letting my lawyer handle everything. As difficult as that is to say it was really the most logical thing I could say. I’m not sure if it is just me but, making decisions while having an excessive amount of hormones fueling your emotions is a very difficult thing.

For my own privacy and sensibility I won’t go into the details of what was said. What I can say though is that it felt as though no time had passed. Almost as though it was just the date following the last one we had gone on. Well, once I defrosted a bit and lowered my defenses it felt that way. Sitting at the table I felt perfectly comfortable eating which is often a task I have trouble performing around men. The relaxed tone and ease of conversation left me with a lot of thoughts and questions, there are so many roads I could walk down at this point. I can only be thankful that my inability to jump head first into anything had remained in tact and I have to hope that it won’t make me miss a valuable opportunity. When I came home that night I stumbled upon a blog written by a coupled mother describing how much she dislikes single moms. How they have it so easy. They get to do everything by themselves, make all the decisions, and they don’t have to worry about pleasing their husbands on top of everything else they do.  My initial thought was “is this woman for real?”. Then I thought about how I felt the night before when he hadn’t shown up for a meeting of what was to me of great importance. Maybe I was better off alone.

Or maybe he really did make a mistake he regrets and I should just  put my neuroses aside and give the guy a chance.

Remembering to breathe,

DL

Picking up

As in where we left off? The broken pieces? And moving on? Any one of these questions could begin with the phrase picking up. And yet every single one leads to a different ending. A different outcome that could be good. Or bad. Or down right ugly.

Do you remember those books from the ’80 ‘s where you picked your own adventure? You would read a few pages and then come to several options. After reading the options you would chose one and turn to the corresponding page. I loved those books. I would read them over and over until I had exhausted all my options and explored all the possible outcomes. I feel like I’m living in one of those books now,  only I can’t go back and make a different choice.  Whatever I choose now will affect not only my life from here forward but the future of the small person currently residing in my abdominal cavity.

I’ve been accused of being vague and indecisive but I find it so hard to make large decisions in a short time or under pressure.  Often I make myself lists of pros and cons when I get stuck but this, this is just to big of a choice.  I had been so ready to go this alone.  Why did he decide he wanted back in?  I find myself unable to sleep at night  wondering how I can possibly make the right choice now.  I am the type of personality that will let a wound fester and build until one day I just rip it open and drain the pus. All the things he said to me in anger, in frustration, they will sit in the back of my head bubbling and stewing until the day I flip my lid.

And now that he is offering me an olive branch my convictions are faltering. Just last week I was absolutely sure we would be fine. Mom and baby, a new family model, independent of social convention we would be a-o-k.  I had discussed a care share with a friend whose daughter is due three months before my baby. I had finally committed a room to a nursery and cleaned it out. My friends were deciding who would attend birthing classes with me and ultimately who would be my coach. I was so sure I had chosen the right path.

But now I am wondering is this  a man I can trust after all?  While he is asking for nothing more than the smallest amount of faith and the chance to “pick up where we left off” I am terrified.  Can I handle another bout of rejection if this time around doesn’t work? I do understand that people make mistakes, after all, we are people. When I listen I think I hear sincerity, that he truthfully does want to try again. My mind though, it reminds me of cancelled plans, stood up dates, and upsetting statements. The good times, the fun, that all seems to be lost and buried in the recesses of my mind.

How can I willingly set myself up for what almost promises to be an epic failure? I know that I should give him a chance, I should meet him at least once. The real question I suppose is how do I convince myself to open up to the possibility.  I  think a father figure is a good idea, although the statement that ” fathers are a biologic necessity but a social disaster” still resides in my thoughts. I know for a fact that he could offer the child things I alone never could. And the opportunity to be a stay at home mom definitely has its appeal. What I wouldn’t give to be allowed a peek at a few of the possibilities before I make my final decision.

Remembering to breathe,

DL

Damaged goods

I’ve spent most of my single life always feeling I wasn’t worth anyone’s affection. Growing up I wasn’t pretty. I was always a bit chubby and I had brown hair when all the other girls in my middle school were blondes. In high school dating wasn’t really on the top of my list, I would much rather have fun with my friends. I remember watching what I ate though and trying various at home exercise videos and diets. Body image wasn’t the issue then that it is for girls now, it was just in the beginning stages. Super models and actresses still weighed over 100 pounds and female athletes were emerging. Of course there was no Facebook, twitter, or Instagram for people to continually post selfies for others to comment on and criticize.

I nice chunk of my twenties was spent with a platinum blonde mohawk and more girls asked me out than guys. Moving through those years I developed an awful self-image, I always thought I was too fat and even working out 5 or 6 days a week couldn’t get me below a size 6. I dated guys who would say things like “if you would just drop 10 pounds you would be so hot.” I even dated one who planned my meals and my workouts for me. When my weight didn’t go down he would accuse me of cheating on my diet. Finally I couldn’t take it anymore and I walked away. I lost all interest in dating and stopped until I hit my late 20’s and when that didn’t work I stopped again. I figured I was just bad at dating.

I spent a few years pulling myself together. I finished college, took my daily runs out onto the fun run and race circuit, bought a house and settled into a life of my own. Eventually I felt good enough about myself to think maybe now, maybe with my life together I was worth someone’s love. I still wasn’t attractive enough though to catch anyone’s attention out in the real world though. The more people I talked to the more I thought maybe I would try the internet thing. I did my research and chose the popular site Match.com. It wasn’t long before I began receiving emails and started “interacting” with guys. I met a few, only one that I found appealing and got along with.

With this new turn I find my self wondering if now I am permanently damaged goods. It is an awful sentiment to have towards myself and pregnancy but, it is there none the less. I find myself wondering, if I wasn’t pretty enough for any man to want before I was pregnant how or why would anyone want me after I have a child? For as tired as am some days I still find myself chugging along on my treadmill, sometimes walking hills with weights, fueled by the terror of being obese and ugly after the baby is born. My mother keeps reminding me to watch every morsel of food that goes in my mouth but, some days I just really want a cheeseburger and fries. I remember Mike asking me if I had a friend I could set up with one of his friends. The one I suggested wasn’t  acceptable because she has a child from her first marriage and no guy wants to clean up another mans mess. It was a thought that stuck with me until I thought about some of my other girlfriends. More than one of them are divorced and some are just single moms. The catch is though, they all found someone else. And even if the hadn’t they all still had happiness with their child/children. Just because society still idealizes the nuclear family with its 1 mom, 1 dad, and 2 children,  it is a reality that has been left by the wayside for a good portion of families.  As I discussed the idea of being damaged goods with a friend one after noon he could do nothing but laugh. He pointed out that we don’t live in that era anymore, the same way my fear of asking out a guy is outdated.  The statement that “… we are too old to consider a parent damaged goods. The right guy will likely be more attracted to you when they see your mom skills.” I think he is right. And while I still have to meet with Mike I feel that I should stand my ground and know that my plan to be a single mom is better than being in a miserable relationship of sorts for the next 18 years.

Remembering to breathe,

DL

Are you Ok?

Everyday I hear the same question over and over again.  I imagine it seems like an innocuous question. Three simple little words, what harm could they really do. I              D-R-E-A-D them. I absolutely, 100% abhor them, they are the last thing I ever want to hear as they send my brain off to the races.

Of course the simplest and quickest answers are yes, I’m fine, and of course. Are anyone of them truthful? not in the least and at the same time completely so. Physically I feel pretty good most of the time. Other than a bit of cramping and some moderate to severe sciatic pain which, at its worst causes the lower half of my left leg to go tingly -numb I feel like a slightly fatter version of myself. For a while there I was having some sinus issues which were unresolved due to my pharmacist claiming my doctor was an idiot to tell me I could take my antihistamine and my doctor replying that the pharmacist was stupid. Luckily I have a wonderful aunt who is a pharmacist who not only took the time to answer the question but, also explain why a half a zyrtec when I need it is perfectly ok. Now, if I could just find someone to explain the yes/no debate on blue cheese and salmon sushi…

Mentally is a completely different story. I become easily stressed out which manifests itself as pure unadulterated aggression.  I have a history of being a passive aggressive personality which, despite my best efforts, I can’t always keep under control.  Lately I can’t go more than 2 hours asleep without nightmares or hysterical crying. I had been getting better for a while there and then out of the blue Mike (made up, fictional name) contacted me. I’d gone almost a whole month with a single word. Then I woke up the morning of my last doctor’s appointment, impeccable timing if I do say so myself, to a missed call and a friend request. W.T.F??? Really, really, I thought you had chosen to walk away. And the weekend before christmas no less. Because the holidays and work this time of year aren’t stressful enough.  All the anger, abandonment, sadness, and all the associated bad emotions that had subsided over those three weeks came rushing back causing esophageal spasms that left me gasping for air on and off all weekend.  That day I swore at no less than a dozen people while I was on my way to the doctor. By the time I got there my blood pressure had almost doubled, which, ironically gave me a “normal” blood pressure reading. My doctor, bless him,  quietly suggested I take some time off and consider giving up driving for a bit just until I could manage my stress levels. I thanked him for his suggestion while secretly laughing at the idea of asking my boss for time off during our busiest time of year.

It wasn’t till several days later when I had to work at our other location that I realized why he suggested I quit driving. It is a drive I have anxiety about any way due to bad memories on the main road I travel to get there. I found myself pushing through traffic, weaving, and tail gating, all characteristics I possess only when I am emotional.  I normally drive a high-end European turbo which allows me to weave gracefully and out run most other cars on the road. This particular day though I was driving my truck, which, is in no way graceful but, fills me with a sense of invincibility because it can crush most other cars on the road monster truck style. By the time I left that night I was so full of negative emotion and I was so sick that my normal 50 minute return trip took closer to an hour fifteen because I had to pullover to get my hyperventilating under control.  The next morning a co-worker was kind enough to publicly humiliate me and my inability to do simple math proving to me that no, I am not OK emotionally.

And though, I did have a wonderful, calm, joyful christmas day I have to admit that most days are not ok. Maybe the doctor is right, I do need some time off, maybe Mike is right I do need a “real” job, and maybe, just maybe I do need to stop driving for a while if not for my own safety but, the safety of those around me.  No matter how I look at it the nightmares about monsters, crocodiles, and other horrors in the night need to be gotten under control, even if it means putting something else a side. The good news is New Years is only 5 days away and happen to be a master of setting and achieving resolution goals.

Remembering to breathe,

DL

Pregnancy and fitness er, fashion I mean

Wait, what is this nonsense? I recently purchased a new issue of Fit Pregnancy at the grocery store. The title seemed like it would contain topics that would appeal to me. Normally I love Oxygen fitness magazine but, they don’t offer a pregnancy version. This magazine seemed like it might fill in nicely for a few months.

I expected it to have a few fluff articles just like Shape or Fitness for Her magazine but, Fit was right in the title so it should have some fitness articles right? Let’s talk about disappointment. Not a single article discussing safe fitness practices. Not one single one on adjusting your normal fitness routine to the new changes your body is going through. Now, there was one about fashion and one about bras but, it was evening wear (including one midriff revealing cocktail dress? wtf?) and the bras were about normal everyday bras. Now sure these are good articles. For a PLAIN pregnancy magazine!!! but one called fit pregnancy should talk about how to add a bit of extra cushion to your running shoes. How about an article on how to find an awesome sports bra that supports your increasing bustline? Do you know what I would have loved? An article on safe lifting techniques and exercises that help to strengthen the lower back and upper body because let’s face it these areas are getting extra work and will continue to do so until such time that you stop picking up and carrying your child around.

How about what types of fuels are healthy for you and baby? What about the vanilla whey protein I often make smoothies out of, can I still toss it in the blender with mixed berries, spinach and milk? There are tons of food articles out there all over the place. From Pinterest to Weight Watchers, to What to Eat When You are Expecting( the companion to What To Expect When You Are Expecting). And every single one of them offers the exact same generic advice. Eat more whole foods and less junk foods. Well duh. For me the biggest issue was dairy. I switched to soy milk years ago and now suddenly dairy is on my mind ALL the time. I understand there is no one size fits all, the lovely folks at Myfitnesspal let me know that when I asked if their app had a pregnancy companion. Talk about underserved market, if anyone reading this is an app designer, food journal for pregnant ladies should be your next program to write.  While my current fix is a milkshake and a fried pickle I would love to know if there is a healthy alternative. I’m not saying I’m dieting because this is the first time in my adult life I am actually enjoying eating but, advice on which nutrients I need more of would be a much appreciated article…

And while we are at it let’s interview a fitness celebrity. How about Kourtney Kardashian? She is a fitness celebrity after all. Huh? How about the eternal fitness icon Jaime Eason who not only recently became a mom but is a breast cancer survivor? What about olympic runner Kara Goucher? Or better yet Lee-ann Ellison who caught flack for lifting heavy almost all the way up to her due date? Let’s not forget Tosca Reno, who didn’t get fit till later in life but is an excellent author and dietician.  Now those are fit women worthy of being interviewed by a pregnancy magazine with the word fit in the title.  And I am sure that every one of them has great tips and tricks they  would love to share.

I guess I will just have to keep following them online because it doesn’t seem that there are any magazines out there for actual fitness oriented pregnant women. And yes I am still running and lifting, lighter than normal but, still being activate is part of my life and it is something I like to think I won’t leave behind.

Remembering to breath,

DL

Congratulations?

As I move forward people are constantly congratulating me. As much as I wish I had an excited thank you to give them the best I can muster seems to be a half-smile, a shrug and a mumbled thank you. I keep waiting for some stronger emotion to kick in but, it just hasn’t shown up yet. Is this normal? Would it be different if he were still in the picture?

It’s hard to describe to people why I am not excited. People call to encourage me. Text me little bits of encouragement. People tell you what an awesome adventure this will be. How you are now joining the ranks of womanhood. That leads me to wonder, what was I before? I’m well into my thirties, but, was I still a girl, or was I a lady? Is having a child the difference between woman and lady -inquiring minds want to know. My friends with children all tell me how my life is going to change, things will never be the same you know. Some flat-out scare me, like the one who keeps telling me about how my adorable little feet will swell, that my skin will break out, how much cellulite I’m going to develop. I’ve never considered myself to be a vain personality but, like any other female I do worry about my appearance. Does this mean I’m going to be a fat, ugly cow for the rest of my life? Like, all of a sudden I will just stop caring about my own health – give up running, washing my face and brushing my teeth because,well, I really don’t see that happening.

How about when one tells me that my idea of using cloth diapers is ridiculous. Is my life of caring about nature and the environment over as well. Am I going to turn into one of those women that carelessly stuffs landfills with slow degrading diapers, non degradable plastic shell cases, and *gasp* stops recycling all together? As if my acknowledgement that this one planet is all we have and we need to protect and care for it and its other inhabitants will no longer matter to me because I have added one more human life to an already ballooning population will change my morals and ethics. Is it ridiculous to think of this so early on,  are congratulations really in order if I can’t pass on my own beliefs and morals to my own child? A child that will be part of a generation cleaning up after its elders, searching for replacements for exhausted resources, and learning to live with a planet in flux.  I mean why do we really congratulate people on reproducing anyway, it’s not like they’ve cured a disease or found a source of non-polluting renewable energy or that humans are an endangered species, in all reality we’ve just made the world a more crowded place.

Luckily I had one friend who had similar feelings during her pregnancy. In fact, she admitted that she had suffered severe depression while she was pregnant. For some of us the reality of having a baby doesn’t mean our lives are now complete. There are in fact days that I think about how “ruined” my life is now. But then I remember that it really isn’t, it’s not like I go out partying anymore, in fact I haven’t done that in years. It’s not as if I’m a teenager or a college student still trying to set up a life. I have a home, I have a job, I have a college diploma( a useless one but, still), and I have a family who is somewhat supportive and friends who make up a great support system. And a lot of people tell me that being a single pregnant lady/ single mom isn’t the same as having the plague, other people will in fact still associate with you.

While I know that my lack luster enthusiasm is disturbing for some, like the P.A. who nearly dropped the doppler when I told her I’d rather go grab a meatball sammie from the italian deli down the street than listen to the heartbeat again. I mean it sounds pretty much the same every time we listen right? It’s good to know that I am not the only one who just isn’t ready to be congratulated yet. In the mean time I’m going to knit some baby clothes and stitch some wall hangings and hope that the “AHA!” moment hits me sooner or later.

Remembering to breath,

DL