Change of pace

Up until now, my blog entries have been about Charlotte. Grief for Charlotte, frustrations with our new babylost life, so on.

Today I'm writing about weight loss.

I've struggled with my weight my entire life. I was a heavy child and teen, heavy right through university and grad school (with the occasional 20-30 lb loss here or there, with immediate regain), and finally, about 3 years ago, I lost it all. For good, or so I thought.

There were no pills, no gimmicks. I cut out processed food. I went for walks. That was it, and it worked.

Well, this year, it all came back. The day Charlotte was born I weighed in at somewhere around 218 lbs. A week later when I came home from the hospital I was 204. Another 7 dropped quickly. I was 197 for awhile. I modified my nutrition which wasn't hard as I had lost all my interest in food.

In May I rejoined my gym, beginning with a mere 3 or 4 mins at a time on the treadmill in a slow walk. The months of bedrest and the extra weight had taken a toll on my ankles- they could no longer support me very well. Slowly I worked myself up to longer walks, then started the elliptical machine and gentle weight training. I stalled a month or two later between 188-190 lbs. I stayed there for 6 or 8 weeks. The scale finally started moving again the beginning of August.

Well, now I'm at about 179 lbs, give or take a pound depending on the day. My MFM suggested a BMI of 25, which means I have 24 lbs to go. I've been lighter than that in my adult life, so I know that's not unreasonable for me. It's just going so so slowly, I feel like I'll never get there.

I obviously have metabolic issues. I would imagine anyone would after months of bedrest, then emergency surgeries, etc. The emotional side is that I have no appetite and rarely get hungry, although I'm eating textbook perfect these days- all whole, unprocessed foods- lots of lean protein, fruits and veggies, whole grains. I go to the gym 4 or 5 days a week, although I've been lazy lately, and really have to force myself. When I get there I like it. It's a true "adult" space; no children or babies in sight. I lace up my shoes and pound the treadmill. I'm up to running for 20 minutes straight now, with walks for warmup and cool-down. I alternate a minute of jogging with a minute of sprinting and I love how the sprint feels- heavy, solid, rhythmic and punishing, with the slow burn in my chest getting stronger by the end of the 60 seconds. I slow back to the jog, then rinse and repeat, minute after minute.

I follow that run with some intense circuits of free-weights, and I can see myself getting stronger. I'm mastering the plank, the squat, dumbell presses. I'm learning burpees and the bosu ball and all kinds of things I never ever thought I would do.

The doctors told me to exercise. So I'm exercising.

I can't say I hate it. I like the feeling of being tired, of being proud of what I accomplished that day. While I'm in the middle of the workout I'm looking forward to the end, when I can hobble back to my car and go home.

In the past exercise has revitalized me, allowed me to face the remainder of the day with new focus. Not anymore. I'm tired, drained, and lethargic when I'm done. It drains me rather than gives me new energy. Another side effect of being babylost.

But I'm glad I can go. As I run I imagine having a baby that makes it, and I run harder. Sometimes I imagine losing another, and I run even harder. The physical exertion feels good. There are times when I want to hit things, and there are things in the gym that are designed to be hit, which feels good. Release of energy. Whatever works.

In the end though it doesn't feel like me, the real me. I'll go to the gym. I'll work hard until I'm sweating and my heart rate is high. I'll eat the prescribed bland diet and go from there. I'll do what I'm told. Eventually I'll be back into a single-digit size and my BMI will be considered "normal" and this project will take the backburner. For now, the motivation of seeing the scale dip another number or seeing a smaller result with the measuring tape is enough to get me through some days.

Whatever works, I guess.

Any other babylost mamas struggling with weight stuff? What's your method?

Sunday

Earlier this week I got a call from the minister at my church, wondering if M and I were available to attend church today. As the organist, I'm usually there, but today was my scheduled Sunday off. She wanted us there because the little plate the church donated in memory of Charlotte was ready; there was a baptism today, they wanted to present it and use it.

I had forgotten the church was doing this. It was mentioned to me mere days post-Charlotte, while I was still in the hospital and the world had crashed down around my ears. I heard, but did not really hear, and like so many other things right now, I forgot.

I heard the voicemail on Tuesday. I mentioned it to M. He thought it would be really sad, what do we have to do? I don't want to go up or anything.

I called back the minister to ask what she had in mind. Whatever we were comfortable with. There was no standard protocol.

We were uncertain about the accompanying baptism. As we told our psychologist on Thursday, we expected that to really suck. I mean, here's the little plate. Charlotte's name is on it. Here's a living healthy baby. She gets the baptism. With Charlotte's plate.

Guess what? It did suck.

We sat in the balcony to have a bit more distance, more breathing room. The presentation was near the beginning of the service. The minister presented the little plate, explained how it would hold the oil, dedicated in memory of Heather and M's daughter, Charlotte Molly. The word daughter still sounds unnatural to me. I call her my baby. My baby girl.

In a moment the prayer was over, and on we moved to the living baby, in her white christening gown. And M and sat hand-in-hand through the baptism (it's so much easier when I'm behind the organ). I wiped away the scattered tear and sat there, moving from one breath to the next. They sang the requisite little song we sing for every baptism. The one we sang at Charlotte's funeral.

In an hour we were home again. Drained. Struck by the unfairness and injustice once again.

Our baby has a plate. Babies should have a life.

We're everywhere

The wedding was lovely. It turned out, well, not as I expected. The loveliness I expected. The weather was great, the bride's dress was gorgeous, the meal delicious. There were also a few surprises that threw me off balance a bit.

M and I arrived for the ceremony at 3:00, and found a inconspicuous seat by the wall. The venue was an odd shape, not a traditional church layout, so I could only see about half of the congregation on the other side. No baby in sight. No baby mama in sight.

Then, I saw the stroller being wheeled in, right to the front row of chairs. The carrier lifted out. I could see K., the mommy, out of the corner of my eye, rocking the carrier on the floor in front of her with her foot. A friend in front of us turned around, Doesn't K look fabulous? Gosh, you'd never know she just had a baby....

It's little things like that that sting when I wish they wouldn't. I wish I wasn't jealous. I still have 20 lbs to go, and no baby to show for it.

I asked M to switch seats with me. He was against the wall and couldn't see them. I managed ok after that.

We were one of the last to leave the hall, hoping that baby and mama would be gone ahead. No such luck. Baby was of course the center of attention, and there was no avoiding. I walked by, caught K's eye and said hi. Your hair looks great, she said, in between descriptions to baby admirers of sleeping and feeding patterns.

Yeah, that was me and my fabulous hair on Friday. (You know, I don't actually own a camera? That is the funny thing about me. And my inlaws own a professional camera store, so I have no excuse. Family gatherings are like the papparazzi around here. Quite funny actually. I'll have to get one just for the purpose of keeping my blog entertaining!)

We returned at 6:30 for the reception. K. was in the lobby, we made small talk as we found our table. I was eternally grateful to the bride, for seating us with M.'s engineering friends instead of the babyland crew. We actually had a nice meal, great conversation, no baby talk. I assumed the baby wasn't there, although I was proven wrong after dinner. I saw the mother of the groom carrying around a little dark haired person, and I though, yup, there she is. Then her dad was carrying her, showing her off to every table.


They never came to our side of the room, thank God.


After dinner we heard they were leaving to drop off the baby at K's parents. Whew. Crisis averted. I can now relax.

We headed to the lobby again while the venue was transformed from dinner to dance, and we chatted with the newlyweds, who seemed genuinely glad to have us there. We ran into other acquaintances and chatted some more. We got a drink from the bar. The mother of the bride came over, beautiful in an emerald green gown; I had never met her before. She took both my hands in hers and looked at us, I heard about your misfortune this year, she started. I wanted to say how sorry I am, and I know, because I had a baby boy, full term, that died after 11 hours....

I know how hard it is for you. You don't know if you are a mother or not, you feel like your body betrayed you. And of course, you're at the age where everyone is having babies and that makes it even more difficult. People stay away, avoid seeing you. It's not because they don't want to see you, they just don't know what to say, how to handle it. Do you have pictures? They'll mean a lot to you in years to come. M's mom told us it was a terrible, terrible day. I'm so sorry.

I nodded, and agreed. She asked M how he was doing; he said it was really hard. What else is there to say, really?

The conversation went on for some time. I felt out-of-body; the words coming out of my mouth in response to her questions, but not really being processed by my brain. Autopilot reactions.

I wrote about it, she said. Five or six years later I sat and wrote about it, and that was tremendously healing.

I said nothing. No one knows about my blog. This is my space IRL; not even M knows about this. She was right, of course: writing is tremendously healing.

She talked about how she had gone through nine pregnancies in all, resulting in three girls. 2 miscarriages before the lost baby boy who was her first, more after.

I didn't think I'd end up with the three I have now, she said, motioning to the bride and her two sisters. Good luck to you. Good luck to you.

When she left I broke down. M and I went outside for some air, and to avoid the curious eyes of strangers wondering what was wrong with me. I took my time, breathed.

When I felt ready we headed back inside, in time to watch the bride and groom's first dance. A couple of dances later the lyrics to a sappy song "Child of Mine" set me off again. Back out on the patio. Rinse and repeat.

We left really early. It wasn't even 10 o'clock. The babyland friends had not yet returned. We said goodbye to the bride and groom, who didn't seem surprised we were dipping out so early. I gave her a hug, told her how beautiful she was. I'm so glad you came, she said. I really miss hanging out with you guys. I was glad she said that.

So, home it was, to a busy house with mom and dad visiting and everything seeming too loud. I tried to sleep. I was up half the night. M was too.

On Saturday I was exhausted, both emotionally and from not sleeping. I struggled through the funeral (sad), and the wedding (tiring) that I was playing for. I fell asleep really early and got up feeling slightly better on Sunday.

And now it's back to "normal", where everyday feels the same. Detached, mundane, bleak.

I keep thinking about the bride's mother. Her little boy from 30+ years ago. The five miscarriages apart from that. How, on such a happy day in her life, the wedding of her oldest daughter, she gave comfort and hope to another babylost mama. How we're the same. We're all the same.

And I'm so so saddened, because after all that, she never did get to raise a little boy.

Wedding Day

I sit here with two hours to go before I head to this wedding. I just got back from the hairdresser, and my hair is fabulous. I usually don't care too much about such things, but damn it, if I may be in for a torturous day surrounded by babies and friends who ignore us, I'm going to do it with fabulous hair.

I'm probably being way too harsh. This wedding could end up being tons of fun. We'll see; I hope so.

I finished up my first week of classes. I am somewhat organized. Forgetful, yes. But the materials themselves have finally started to make sense, and the class is small this year, making names and faces easier to remember. A dear dear friend from undergrad is home from an almost-completed PhD, and is also doing some adjunct teaching. It was absolutely wonderful to have an old, pre-baby friend to spend time with. It's been years since I've seen him, but this week was great. I'm really glad to have a buddy on campus this year.

All in all, this weekend is turning out to be busy, over-stimulating. The wedding today. Tonight my parents show up to spend the weekend, tomorrow I'm organist at another wedding and a funeral. The funeral will be my first since Charlotte's. I don't know the family, and the service is very standard, so I'm hoping I will get through unscathed. I'll be relieved on Sunday when everything calms down. I'm not much for busyness nowadays.

M came home last night sad and defeated. He had accompanied his parents to the wake of long-time neighbour who had passed away. What he did not know was that it was at the same funeral home where Charlotte's service was, and when he got there, it was in the same room. He found that really hard. I could only stay 5 minutes, he said. I had to get out of there.

I know the feeling, all too well.

I have officially lost the week count since Charlotte. For months, every Friday I would relive that day hour by hour, thinking ten weeks ago right now...., sixteen weeks ago, etc. I lost count a couple of weeks ago, and I was glad. I'm counting months now, which is slightly less neurotic and a little more manageable. It was 5 months yesterday. I'm dreading six.

Any progress is good, I figure. I count "losing the count" as progress.

My hair and I are in for an interesting day. I will report later.

More of the same

So, it's Sunday. I'm home. Alone. I did not go to the bachelorette party. She is indeed there with the baby, right now. You know, breast feeding amongst the shooters and penis-shaped ice cubes. I'd much rather be here, sitting in my den in emotional comfort. Did not need to put myself through that. Thanks to G. and Jen who chimed in on my last post. I think we will still go to the wedding; I heard through the grapevine that the baby may not be there. Even if she is there, I would hope that we can manage to avoid direct contact.

I've been wrapped up in work the last couple of days. The university semester starts this week and I'm trying to finalize my lectures. A whole bundle of ideas, floating around in my head and the organization is not coming, which is unusual for me. I can't say I'm really surprised. I can't organize a grocery list these days, let alone lecture notes.

To you other babylost mamas out there: Has anyone else completely lost their mind?

I don't mean running-through-the-streets-shouting-craziness, but general absentmindedness. I have no short-term memory anymore, I can't keep anything organized or neat, it's very hard to follow the plot line of anything but the simplest of books or television, and I'm generally confused about most things. I've starting making lists, but I forget I've made them. I really feel like I've lost it.

My husband laughs at me because he has to repeat everything three times before I really hear it. I tune out entire minutes of phone conversations until the person on the other end notices I missed everything they just said. I'm not preoccupied with something else; it's like my brain just decides to shut down for a minute. Blank.

And yes, ladies and gentlemen, I will be responsible for the higher learning of a group of undergrads and grad students starting next week.

Good luck to me!

The isolation factor

Last night M decided to forego the baptismal service but he did go to the post-christening party at the friends' house. I stayed home, was happy to do so. I encouraged him to go if he wanted to.

He was gone almost 2 hours. I figured it must be going well. When he got home he seemed saddened, spent. It was ok, he said. I only saw the baby from a distance. I only talked to K & K (the Babyland friends) at the very end when I was leaving. I talked to mom and dad all night; I hung out on the patio. It was uncomfortable. Awkward.

Our other couple friends were also in attendance, having been named god-parents. Good to see you, buddy. That was it from them. On his way out, the new mommy handed him an envelope saying You don't want to open this. It was a picture of the baby. Of course I opened it when he got home; it felt like a dare. See, I'm opening it. Ha ha. I can't believe she said that to you. Why would she give that to us and say that? Well, it's opened. There. I'm still alive. See. Ha.

I'm getting so angry. I hate it.

I feel for him. He feels rejected, left out. The circle has moved on without us.

We're friends with another couple who actually introduced us, and we're the godparents for their baby boy that's almost one now. They know the BabyLand friends through us, but now with babies in common, apparently they've been getting together more often and do things all the time. We haven't seen them in two months. I called her a couple of days ago and we had a long chat, with the underlying theme being you need to move on. That's a whole other blog entry.

We saw our psychologist on Tuesday. We talked about the monotony of it all; my analogy of my little fish moving rocks around his tank. She talked about a book she had read, written by a widow about the first year after losing her husband. How every day was a repeat of the day before, how each day was the same. That's exactly how I feel. Get up, eat, exercise, work, eat, tv, bed. On the rare days that the sequence changes the moods remain the same. Still nothing is different.

Is this it? Is this the new normal I've been promised?

So, the next dilemma is:

I was invited to a bachelorette party on Sunday for the future sister-in-law of the BabyLand friends. I replied yes, looking forward to seeing the girls sans baby, and anxious to have a night out. M overheard a conversation last night that implied that she is indeed bringing the baby to the bachelorette party. I assumed this would have been safe territory. I jumped the gun.

Then, of course, there's the wedding itself, which is next weekend. The invitations have been in play for months, long before this drama ensued. We replied yes, months ago. Now I'm not sure. I don't want to have an emotional breakdown in the midst of someone's wedding. I don't want to spend an entire day uncomfortable and worried about who I'm sitting with for dinner. I don't want to send in a last minute regret either, as I feel like that could be a last straw in the remaining threads of this friendship. But at the same time, I'm thinking, what do we really have to lose?

What would you do?

Strange parallels

Well, it turns out that C.'s fiance just wasn't ready to get married.

If he wasn't ready to get married, he shouldn't have given her the ring.

Anyway, that's that. Thanks to all of you for your comments on the matter.

August is almost gone, kids will be back to school in a week, and M and I are still plodding along, day by day. We're nearing the 5 month anniversary of Charlotte now. I can't say things are easier; if anything, more complicated, as we try to juggle what's expected of us in a normal life to what we're actually experiencing. It's hard. It sucks.

M thinks his relationship with his Babyland friends is pretty much over. We're trying, but since my disastrous attempt at visiting a month or so ago I haven't had the courage to try again. Neither has M. We heard the baby's christening is scheduled for Wednesday; we weren't invited (and I was glad). The mass email was sent out to the circle of friends, even my inlaws got it. Apparently word made it's way back to our friends that we knew that we had been left off the invite list, and we got the obligatory phone call last night, You're welcome to come if you like.... For a while M considered it. He doesn't want to lose them as friends. I encouraged him to go if he felt like he could. I can't. A baptismal service with 4 babies, with every member of the congregation there beaming with pride for the new addition to their family. No way. I can't go. After he thinks about it some more, I'm not sure if M will go either.

God, I feel like I'm back in Junior High and am dealing with cliques and popular kids and hurt feelings and all that drama. It's exhausting.

M and I ordered some movie channels, taking our already ridiculous cable bill to new highs. We're restless. A bit bored, maybe. The distraction of 24/7 movies is working, especially now that the Olympics is over. We're watching all kinds of things that we probably wouldn't bother to rent, but that are fun if they're already on TV. Any distraction from real life is welcome.

M has handled his grief in a very physical way up until now, like a lot of men do. We have, since Charlotte, a completely developed basement, a new fence around the perimeter of our property, new brick stairs and walkways, new trees, shrubs and flowers everywhere, a thriving vegetable garden, the list goes on. He's now out of projects. There is nothing left to do. Now he's starting to reorganize things just for the sake of doing it. He can't stop, can't sit down and let things sit. As soon as he started running out of things to do he ordered the movie channels. He can't take any quiet time just yet.

When I was in university I had a pet fish, Stan, who for entertainment in his little tank would relocate his rocks, one at a time, from one end of the tank to the other, until he had a mountain at one side. Then he'd move them back to the other side. To keep his sanity, I guess. I always felt so sorry for that poor little fish. He had eaten all the other fish so he was all alone in his tank, and he lived for years. Well past the lifespan for a little fish. Oh, and he finally died when I cleaned out his tank one day and the pH changed. I killed him.

Wow, our lives are just like Stan's. Pushing rocks around. Eating our friends. Dear God.

Tomorrow we're back to the psychologist. Topic of the day- I'm now comparing my life to a dead fish.