The Diet

I am on a diet. I know, I know, who isn’t these days, right?  I also know that some of you (mostly my family) are rolling their eyes and calling me crazy. Unless you are my Mom and then you would be calling my psychotic, that’s her favorite way to describe my diet and exercise routine lately.

I will admit I am not overweight. I amwas, errr..still am sometimes an unhealthy eater. I have been pretty good about exercising since I was in college. Something about dating a bartender and drinking multiple vodka lemonades several times a week followed by a frozen pizza at 3am that add up to one giant ass. So I have been good about getting to the gym since that guy.

I have always been a crappy eater. My diet was the equivalent to a toddler’s. I ate mac n’ cheese, grilled cheese, cereal, pancakes and pb & j. I loved to chase it all down with a Mt. Dew (since I gave up that guy and the twice-weekly vodka lemonades.) As I got older I started eating more dinners out like pastas and pizza but I don’t eat meat and I was never a cooked veggie eater and honestly only ate a few select raw veggies.

I knew it was a poor diet, but I also knew if I busted my ass at the gym I didn’t gain weight and my pants still fit so sure, I will gladly celebrate with an Oreo Blizzard, thanks!

I survived this way for a long time. Got married, went through two pregnancies and was still able to get back down to my pre-baby weight with minimal effort. Until one day I noticed my pants getting tighter…and tighter. Before I knew it I was up 10lbs and rapidly gaining. I didn’t get it since I was working out more than ever and wasn’t eating more calories, just the same old crappy diet.

I headed to the doctor all “something must be wrong with me because look at my ass!” and after several tests the results were shocking. He explained I had so many vitamin deficiencies and that my diet was to blame. I explained that although Frosted Flakes were my dinner at least twice a week that was better than a burger and fries and I hardly ate any fast food and, and, and....

No luck. It was official I was a horrible eater and it was catching up to me. The truth was no amount of exercise and no multi-vitamin were going to help. I needed to change my diet.

I hired a nutritionist and officially became “on a diet.” Yes, I wanted to lose the 10 lbs that I had gained but I really wanted, needed, to learn how to make healthier meal choices. This was a challenge since I am the pickiest eater – ever. I have to weigh in every week and I have to log my meals (which I will admit I am better at doing this some days than others.) The only other part of my food nazi’s (that is what I call my nutritionist since, well, that is what she is) plan was I had to run twice a week and she gave me a schedule of what I had to do in terms of miles and pace, etc. I am not a runner. I don’t get a runner’s high; I get shin splints and pulled groins. This was hard for me at first but crucial to my calorie burn. My food nazi was also a personal trainer so she created a workout plan to go along with my food plan and, abracadabra! I am trying to be healthy.

It is hard. There are days I am so, so hungry and then there are the days I silently tell my food nazi to go f herself because I am eating ice cream.  So, I do. Then I feel horribly guilty and head to the gym. It is an addictive thing, being healthy. Since you put so much work into it and the rewards are hard (and slow) to come by, you feel that much better when you see it working. I love the days my pants feel a little loose and hate the days the scale says I am up but both of those things is what keeps me working hard (well, that and I am scared of my food nazi, of course.)

No, I am not crazy (or psychotic, MOM) and I eat plenty of things I shouldn’t. I am also not trying to be a size 0 skeleton of a person. I just want to be healthy and feel fit for me. I also don’t want to have a big ass because come on; no one wants a big ass.

No Guarantees

I don’t know what it is about that place that makes me want a baby the minute I walk in the office. I am pretty sure it is a place most women dread going to, even put off because ugh, really who wants an appointment that involves a speculum? Yet for the past two years I have gone to my annual OB/GYN appointment and the minute I walk into the all too familiar office, I yearn to be pregnant.

The place must pump something into the air.

Maybe it is because I am so wishy-washy on the have a baby, don’t have a baby crossroads Jay and I are currently standing at. We just don’t know, for sure 100%, which is the right path for us to take. Or maybe it is because I get to see all the people, my doctors, nurses, ultrasound techs, that I saw every week for so many months that they became like friends and family to me.  It is because of all of them that I made it as far as I did in my pregnancies and ultimately had healthy (enough) babies. They fought each week with me and they listened to my complaints and then quickly reassured me that yes, I could hold on one more week. When I was tired of it all and wanted to give up, they wouldn’t allow me to quit.

I go back and forth almost weekly on whether or not having a third baby is worth the risk. The hardest part was I really believed when I was done having kids I would know. I would have no doubts or second thoughts, but I would be 100% sure of my decision. Is that really how people know they are done having kids?

I am not sure, one way or the other. I am however aware that because of my pregnancy complications and premature babies I may not get to be the one to decide that I am done. My body may be making this decision for me and it will just have to be something I have to be okay with. Which I think I could be, but again, I’m not sure.

Most days I struggle to keep my head above the water with my boys and on those days I think, this is enough. It is, they are. I know how lucky I am that my situation had the outcome it did and that my babies were healthy. I also know that there is a chance that I may not be so lucky next time. There are no guarantees.

What gets me is my doctor telling me he thinks we can do it again. He thinks I could have a third, healthy baby. He admits it will be hard and that there will be struggles, but that at the end of it all I could have a baby. That’s the best prize ever.

As he talks and reassures me that I could do it again if we wanted to, I need to listen to my little voice reminding me that if I don’t get as lucky as I did before, I would be the one heart broken. My family would be hurt in a way that might never heal.

I am so thankful for the family I have and I might just be too chicken to try again, I just don’t know.

That Day

If I had been there
on the saddest of days
would I have left here knowing
I had nothing left to say
or is that never really the case
are there always words unsaid
I wonder what you were thinking
the last thoughts left in your head.
I cried and prayed for you,
the faces I never did know
and I ached for your loved ones
who wondered why you had to go.
I honored all your bravery
as you ran up, never looking down
and I cringed at the thought of the ledge
you stood staring, jumping to the ground.
As it all fell apart
my world was wrapped in you
and all that you never got to be
and all the horror you went through.
But, you are not forgotten
in fact you are very much alive
in the hearts of all Americans
your honored memory will survive.