After attending a Memorial Day swim party, where T and I spent much of the day telling A, "no," "stop," "We don't hit, A," and putting her in timeout twice, I arrived home feeling guilty that maybe we are too hard on her. After all, she is only two. And, at home, much of what she was doing, I wouldn't have considered true misbehavior, but for some reason when there are other children and parents involved, you feel like if you don't do something, you aren't "parenting" appropriately. Of course, I couldn't let A clock her friend in the head and not do anything, or hit adult guests, eat off a chip and put it back in the bowl, but seriously, did I mention she's only two. For some reason, I think our expectations as adults of children often exceed reality.
Anyway, I just felt like I sometimes write a good deal about the challenges of parenting a toddler, and today, I wanted to write about how truly wonderful it is to be the mommy of a fantastic two-year-old. Every morning, I look forward to A's little feet running to the bedroom door (after her dad gets her out of the crib), opening it wide, and climbing into bed with Mommy for "snuggle bunny" time. She crawls in next to me, looks over and says, "Morning, mommy" and grabs my hand.
I love how when I am sitting in the floor with A putting together puzzles, reading, or coloring, she'll get up and walk around behind you, throw her arms around your neck, and then pat you on the back and say, "Hi, mommy." Sometimes she'll hug extra hard and say, "sqeeze," which means squeeze. When T and I are working in the yard, she always has to have sunglasses and gloves, just like mom and dad, and she always pushes her bubble mower right behind her daddy when he mows.
She also says the sweetest and funniest things. When I put on my bathing suit for the beach or the pool, after hearing her father one day call me "hot mama," she always looks at me and says "hot mommy." Hilarious and her attempt to both be like her daddy and be super sweet. She's also really into trying to share. She gives bites of her food away, always makes sure an unattended sippy cup immediately makes it back to its owner, and gives you the crayon that is the same color as the one she is using, so you both have blue, red, or the color of the day.
When I think about how wonderfully blessed I am that God allows me to be the mother of this little girl, I am simply overwhelmed with joy and gratitude. Sure there are spills, marks on things that aren't paper, like the walls for instance, and whiny, grumpy moments, and while I write about these too often and fail to reflect on the wonders of parenting, I can't express strongly enough how much I love being A's mother. And I know I'll feel the same way about our new baby. Parenting is tough, really tough, and you want so much to do it right, whatever right is. All I can do is trust God to guide T and me and spend more time enjoying and thinking about all the rewards that come along with giving it your true all.
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
Friday, May 23, 2008
On the Run, Okay Jog
I am not Paula Radcliffe.
Many of you are probably saying, "duh?!", while others are asking, "Who?" Ms. Radcliffe is the British marathon extraordinaire, who managed to run 7 to 8 minute miles while 7 months pregnant. I like to refer to her as superwoman! I planned to run throughout my second pregnancy, but when I concocted this brilliant plan, I was not yet pregnant. As with all great ideas, I'm sure it sounded brilliant at the time. After burning up the track today with 12 minute miles, a heart rate of 155, and incredible nasuea, it doesn't sound like as much fun anymore.
Seriously, I do plan to try and continue running with this pregnancy. I like a challenge, and since my doctor has given his okay, and I know it is safe, I think it will be fun to push my changing body, ever sluggish as it may be. But, it is so much harder now that I am expecting. My heart is racing before I even begin, and I feel like I am literally trudging my growing body through sludge with every step. Add to that the stroller, and I really just feel like whining. "It's toooo haaarrd!!!" Since we're trying to break our sweet girl's habit of whining, I try to keep my own to a minimum, but the frustration of having to back off so much to keep my heart rate in the safe range and the added difficulty of just being pregnant is bringing out the whiner in me.
What is wrong with me? I see pregnant women running all the time with a spring in their steps and a smile on their faces. I almost passed out when upon finishing a 10-K with a decent time, a woman at least six months along finished not too far behind me. And I wasn't expecting at the time! I've read stories written by women who raved about their ability to run right up until delivery with no trouble. Are they serious? Was their run really a fast walk with a bit of a kick? Who knows?
I think I've just decided that attempting to work out during pregnancy, much less run, is of great benefit to the baby and me regardless of the intensity. I pledge during this pregnancy not to be so hard on myself, to quit comparing my current fitness level to my pre-pregnancy fitness level, to stop comparing my pregnant running self to the expectant sprinting of professional atheletes, and to just enjoy the fact that pregnancy allows me to take it a little easier. Before I know it, A and her new brother or sister will be begging for mom to make the stroller go faster, and I'll be back to my sprinting shape in no time.
Many of you are probably saying, "duh?!", while others are asking, "Who?" Ms. Radcliffe is the British marathon extraordinaire, who managed to run 7 to 8 minute miles while 7 months pregnant. I like to refer to her as superwoman! I planned to run throughout my second pregnancy, but when I concocted this brilliant plan, I was not yet pregnant. As with all great ideas, I'm sure it sounded brilliant at the time. After burning up the track today with 12 minute miles, a heart rate of 155, and incredible nasuea, it doesn't sound like as much fun anymore.
Seriously, I do plan to try and continue running with this pregnancy. I like a challenge, and since my doctor has given his okay, and I know it is safe, I think it will be fun to push my changing body, ever sluggish as it may be. But, it is so much harder now that I am expecting. My heart is racing before I even begin, and I feel like I am literally trudging my growing body through sludge with every step. Add to that the stroller, and I really just feel like whining. "It's toooo haaarrd!!!" Since we're trying to break our sweet girl's habit of whining, I try to keep my own to a minimum, but the frustration of having to back off so much to keep my heart rate in the safe range and the added difficulty of just being pregnant is bringing out the whiner in me.
What is wrong with me? I see pregnant women running all the time with a spring in their steps and a smile on their faces. I almost passed out when upon finishing a 10-K with a decent time, a woman at least six months along finished not too far behind me. And I wasn't expecting at the time! I've read stories written by women who raved about their ability to run right up until delivery with no trouble. Are they serious? Was their run really a fast walk with a bit of a kick? Who knows?
I think I've just decided that attempting to work out during pregnancy, much less run, is of great benefit to the baby and me regardless of the intensity. I pledge during this pregnancy not to be so hard on myself, to quit comparing my current fitness level to my pre-pregnancy fitness level, to stop comparing my pregnant running self to the expectant sprinting of professional atheletes, and to just enjoy the fact that pregnancy allows me to take it a little easier. Before I know it, A and her new brother or sister will be begging for mom to make the stroller go faster, and I'll be back to my sprinting shape in no time.
Monday, May 19, 2008
Iron Man
1.2 mile swim, 56 mile bike ride, 13.1 mile run. I stare at the numbers in awe, mouth gaping. A runner only, and having completed one 26.2 mile race myself, I still look on at the athletes surrounding my daughter and me and feel incredibly intimidated. I couldn't imagine running 1.1 miles after spinning for 60 minutes, much less biking 56 miles and then running a HALF MARATHON! In a few short hours, my husband would be testing the limits of his physical endurance by pushing his body 70.3 miles along with 1,300 other incredible athletes.
It is an incredibly warm day, and after three hours riding in a car, A and I, who have both apparently had a run-in with melted chocolate, decide to walk around the expo instead of waiting in line with T. A is running and screaming, shouting no to anyone who stops to comment on her cuteness. I'm beginning to think with A 's antics plus the fact that we have chocolate all over the back of our shorts and A's shirt, that keeping us from embarrassing T, might actually be a more difficult feat than the half-Iron. So, I take A to the lobby to wait for her daddy. The sweltering weather does not look like a good indication for the next day's race.
A and I sleep through the early morning wake-up call and miss seeing T off for the big day. Fortunately, his dad accompanies him to the start of the swim. T's mom, A, and I hurriedly get ready, though, and wait for the phone call to let us know that T is out of the water and on his bike. The heat and humidity are already high at 7 a.m., but the clouds block the sweltering rays of the sun. I say a small prayer and hope that T can get through the run before the sun breaks through the overcast sky. Papa calls to let us know that T is finished with the swim and should be passing us shortly on the bike. I breathe a huge sigh of relief (sharks, hundreds of people swimming in the rough surf at once), and A, Gigi, and I run outside to cheer for T. He zooms by on his bike looking strong and content.
Just a few hours later, we are able to watch him pass back by on the bike, and we rush toward the transition to see him start the run. By now, the sun is breaking through the clouds. The temperature is easily 85 degrees. My husband smiles and waves, as he passes, though, so I push the worries to the back of my mind, for now. After a 1 hr. 30 min. finish in the Mercedes, I plan on trying to make it back to the transition in about 1 hr. and 45 min. The time passes quickly, at least for A and mom. I coat us in sunscreen, and T 's parents, A , and I head back out to the finish line to watch for T . We have a lime green sign with sentiments of our support ready to wave when he passes by.
The heat is oppressive and the worry begins to creep back into my mind. The first aid golf cart has made several trips to the course, and it has been more than two hours since T started the run. We each take turns leaving our shady spot to go watch for him. Finally, I see his bright yellow shirt. "Here he comes!" I scream to the others, and we all crowd the street waiting to watch him cross the finish line. As I see him, I am suddenly overcome with emotion and pride and begin to cry. I squeeze A 's hand, lean over, and whisper, "That's your daddy little girl. That's your daddy."
T looks exhausted, and I know it has been tougher than any of us could have imagined. I am so overcome with pride knowing what he has just accomplished that I just embrace him. He's done it, a half-Ironman, and he finished in the top 1/3 of the competitors. After a shower and lunch, he tells us about how tough the bike ride was with the wind and how miserable the run was with the sun and heat, but I know he, too, is proud of his accomplishment. Just a few hours removed from that race, though, he is already talking about what he could do differently next time and starting to plan for a full-Iron. Like a true athlete! I just smile and think of how I can support him even more this time. I just ask that he waits until after our new little one arrives, so we'll have an even bigger cheering section.
It is an incredibly warm day, and after three hours riding in a car, A and I, who have both apparently had a run-in with melted chocolate, decide to walk around the expo instead of waiting in line with T. A is running and screaming, shouting no to anyone who stops to comment on her cuteness. I'm beginning to think with A 's antics plus the fact that we have chocolate all over the back of our shorts and A's shirt, that keeping us from embarrassing T, might actually be a more difficult feat than the half-Iron. So, I take A to the lobby to wait for her daddy. The sweltering weather does not look like a good indication for the next day's race.
A and I sleep through the early morning wake-up call and miss seeing T off for the big day. Fortunately, his dad accompanies him to the start of the swim. T's mom, A, and I hurriedly get ready, though, and wait for the phone call to let us know that T is out of the water and on his bike. The heat and humidity are already high at 7 a.m., but the clouds block the sweltering rays of the sun. I say a small prayer and hope that T can get through the run before the sun breaks through the overcast sky. Papa calls to let us know that T is finished with the swim and should be passing us shortly on the bike. I breathe a huge sigh of relief (sharks, hundreds of people swimming in the rough surf at once), and A, Gigi, and I run outside to cheer for T. He zooms by on his bike looking strong and content.
Just a few hours later, we are able to watch him pass back by on the bike, and we rush toward the transition to see him start the run. By now, the sun is breaking through the clouds. The temperature is easily 85 degrees. My husband smiles and waves, as he passes, though, so I push the worries to the back of my mind, for now. After a 1 hr. 30 min. finish in the Mercedes, I plan on trying to make it back to the transition in about 1 hr. and 45 min. The time passes quickly, at least for A and mom. I coat us in sunscreen, and T 's parents, A , and I head back out to the finish line to watch for T . We have a lime green sign with sentiments of our support ready to wave when he passes by.
The heat is oppressive and the worry begins to creep back into my mind. The first aid golf cart has made several trips to the course, and it has been more than two hours since T started the run. We each take turns leaving our shady spot to go watch for him. Finally, I see his bright yellow shirt. "Here he comes!" I scream to the others, and we all crowd the street waiting to watch him cross the finish line. As I see him, I am suddenly overcome with emotion and pride and begin to cry. I squeeze A 's hand, lean over, and whisper, "That's your daddy little girl. That's your daddy."
T looks exhausted, and I know it has been tougher than any of us could have imagined. I am so overcome with pride knowing what he has just accomplished that I just embrace him. He's done it, a half-Ironman, and he finished in the top 1/3 of the competitors. After a shower and lunch, he tells us about how tough the bike ride was with the wind and how miserable the run was with the sun and heat, but I know he, too, is proud of his accomplishment. Just a few hours removed from that race, though, he is already talking about what he could do differently next time and starting to plan for a full-Iron. Like a true athlete! I just smile and think of how I can support him even more this time. I just ask that he waits until after our new little one arrives, so we'll have an even bigger cheering section.
Raving Cravings
Pregnancy cravings. ARRRGH! Pregnancy cravings. How could someone who just wants to sleep all day be so hungry?! And not just hungry, no, it is a fixation on a certain food that borders obsession. Saturday it was Panera bread's Smokehouse Turkey. Sunday night, taco salad. My husband wanted to grill out for me on Saturday, and I literally had to bite my tongue to keep from making sure his meal plan fit my craving of the day. We had grilled chicken and it was wonderful.
I have actually convinced myself that peanut M & Ms are good for me. Seriously. And I assure you that will not be the only junk food that rises in nutritional merit during this pregnancy. No, there will be others, like cherry-chocolate ice cream. It has the antioxidants of chocolate plus the fruity benefit of cherries! Did I mention that ice cream has calcium?? I'm still working on how I can up the nutritional value of barbecue and hamburgers. Isn't pork the new chicken?
Just shy of ten weeks, and I've already gained five pounds, despite running, spinning, and chasing A . Oh well, as long as oatmeal raisin cookies qualify as health food, it looks like I'll be in for quite a weight loss plan once the baby gets here. I think training for a marathon did wonders last time, and just imagine how many calories I'll burn running with two babies!
I have actually convinced myself that peanut M & Ms are good for me. Seriously. And I assure you that will not be the only junk food that rises in nutritional merit during this pregnancy. No, there will be others, like cherry-chocolate ice cream. It has the antioxidants of chocolate plus the fruity benefit of cherries! Did I mention that ice cream has calcium?? I'm still working on how I can up the nutritional value of barbecue and hamburgers. Isn't pork the new chicken?
Just shy of ten weeks, and I've already gained five pounds, despite running, spinning, and chasing A . Oh well, as long as oatmeal raisin cookies qualify as health food, it looks like I'll be in for quite a weight loss plan once the baby gets here. I think training for a marathon did wonders last time, and just imagine how many calories I'll burn running with two babies!
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
Memory Lapse
I was in labor for 13 hours with A , so I know that I've been pregnant before. Yet, for some reason, I seemed to have blocked all memories of pregnancy from my mind. I'm beginning to see why.
I had forgotten how the scents of coffee, ice cream (yes, ice cream has a scent), and cut grass made my stomach churn. Although cloudy, I do vaguely recall being too exhausted to cook, clean, workout, or even get out of bed. And did I mention the 24 hour a day nausea. I apparently blocked that memory, as well. Add to the mix an energetic toddler, and I am literally walking around in a foggy haze. I have to write down when I take my vitamin, so I don't take it twice. How sad is that!
It appears that all I do have the energy to do is eat. Was I this ravenous with A ? My fifty pound first pregnancy weight gain should answer that question. I am trying to be good and pry myself off the couch for runs and spin, but wow, it is hard to ignore the hunger pangs. And while I'm sure an apple or grapes would suffice, for some reason it must be barbecue or hamburgers. My body will accept nothing less. Sorry, Dr. , it looks like you might be getting on to me again this time about the weight gain. I did lose it last time, though.
Right now, my clothes are becoming snug, but I'm still not showing. The casual observer might assume that I'm just adding a few pounds, most of which have gone to my belly. I really want to pull out stretchy waistbands, but I don't think it is time, just yet. Ahh, the first trimester.
And while I have blocked much of the first pregnancy discomforts from my mind, I do remember why it is the most wonderful experience. The second trimester does get better, less nausea, more energy. How often does your body get to experience a true miracle? And, at the end of that nine month body-altering adventure, God blesses you with the most wonderul little person you ever imagined, and that makes every pound, every minute of nausea, every second of exhaustion worth it!
I had forgotten how the scents of coffee, ice cream (yes, ice cream has a scent), and cut grass made my stomach churn. Although cloudy, I do vaguely recall being too exhausted to cook, clean, workout, or even get out of bed. And did I mention the 24 hour a day nausea. I apparently blocked that memory, as well. Add to the mix an energetic toddler, and I am literally walking around in a foggy haze. I have to write down when I take my vitamin, so I don't take it twice. How sad is that!
It appears that all I do have the energy to do is eat. Was I this ravenous with A ? My fifty pound first pregnancy weight gain should answer that question. I am trying to be good and pry myself off the couch for runs and spin, but wow, it is hard to ignore the hunger pangs. And while I'm sure an apple or grapes would suffice, for some reason it must be barbecue or hamburgers. My body will accept nothing less. Sorry, Dr. , it looks like you might be getting on to me again this time about the weight gain. I did lose it last time, though.
Right now, my clothes are becoming snug, but I'm still not showing. The casual observer might assume that I'm just adding a few pounds, most of which have gone to my belly. I really want to pull out stretchy waistbands, but I don't think it is time, just yet. Ahh, the first trimester.
And while I have blocked much of the first pregnancy discomforts from my mind, I do remember why it is the most wonderful experience. The second trimester does get better, less nausea, more energy. How often does your body get to experience a true miracle? And, at the end of that nine month body-altering adventure, God blesses you with the most wonderul little person you ever imagined, and that makes every pound, every minute of nausea, every second of exhaustion worth it!
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