day 82: sew co

I adore knitting and lifting is my life blood. With motherhood, these three are certainly “enough.” Nonetheless, I yearn to expand. In addition to tiny-home-building, I would love love love to be a seamstress for my family.

I’ve never been much for clothes. The reasons vary: from feeling awful and ugly in anything off the rack, to flighting freedom whilst half naked, catching waves, basking in the summer sun. Moreover, nothing seems to “fit” quite right, neither in cut nor spirit. Making clothes though; I would be proud to wear something I made. Choosing fabrics, cutting samples, practicing stitches, groaning at my mistakes and grinning at what little progress I make.

I bought a pattern for tiny boxers for bean. I’ve yet to commandeer my father’s sewing machine, but maybe this weekend I’ll be able to borrow it. I have a few old t-shirts that I mean to use for practice. I’ll pad the “fly” with more cotton to catch the leaks. The floors will soon be pee-free!

How grand would it be to have a homemade wardrobe? Well, aside from technical gear that is. Oh who am I to limit myself? Give me ten years and I’ll have it down.

day 81: saint

“Whenever you feel guilty, even if it is because you have consciously committed a sin, a serious sin, something you have kept doing many, many times, never let the devil deceive you by allowing him to discourage you. Whenever you feel guilty, offer all your guilt to the Immaculate, without analyzing it or examining it, as something that belongs to her…
My beloved, may every fall, even if it is serious and habitual sin, always become for us a small step toward a higher degree of perfection.
In fact, the only reason why the Immaculate permits us to fall is to cure us from our self-conceit, from our pride, to make us humble and thus make us docile to the divine graces.
The devil, instead, tries to inject in us discouragement and internal depression in those circumstances, which is, in fact, nothing else than our pride surfacing again.
If we knew the depth of our poverty, we would not be at all surprised by our falls, but rather astonished, and we would thank God, after sinning, for not allowing us to fall even deeper and still more frequently.”
— St. Maximillian Kolbe

day 80: poopful

Yesterday bean had TWO poops. Both were accompanied by screams and the saddest tears there ever were.
Poor sweet boy. I wish we could figure out how to fix his gut so pooping is smooth and happy as opposed to whatever it is now (painful, clearly, but since the stool is soft it’s not constipation!)

Both episodes were stressful in the moment but, looking back, comedy abounds.

The first: I’m pooping, and bean comes crawling toward me as fast as he can screaming his poop cry. I know instantly what’s happening, dash off the toilet, pick him up and turn around only to aim him onto the seat instead of into the bowl! Poop is everywhere: his shirt, my shirt, all down his legs, my arms; it is a crazy amount. He stops screaming (though the crying continues) and finally with a lot of shushing and a lot more poop spread he calms down. We both hop into the shower and bean is thrilled by the water! He is completely enthralled by the streams splattering his hands.

The second: I’m getting ready for the gym when I hear it again: that desperate cry that borders panic before sheer pooping pain. I race to rescue bean only to slip on boomer’s blanket and fall flat on my face, jamming my finger in the meantime. Bean is prairie-dogging, and the 20 foot trip from the kitchen to the bathroom never seemed so lengthy. Failure was inevitable. A little log (a soft one mind you) lands right next to my yoga mat (at least it wasn’t near the oly mat!) before we make it to the bathroom. I yelled my apologies to A as I forged onward with my distraught babe. My aim was particularly bad yesterday; we ended up in the shower once more. We had fun splashing around, and bean was smiling once more.

day 79: when I’m alone

To continue this soul-bearing series, the bubbles of evil that surround me are just that: bubbles. They only occur when I’m alone. Rather, they occur when bean isn’t around. He seems to be my blinders. When I’m with him, when I’m taking care of him, that’s what I do and I don’t worry about the flab that hangs over my waistband.

I had no idea motherhood would change me so. I was convinced I had to change in order to be a mother. That’s true, and I will always strive to be a better person, but bean came along and just seems to let me be a better person without the tears and anger that usually accompany the process of getting there.

Why? How? Well, first I have to thank A for even making our beautiful relationship possible. If I were at work or school I would be crushed by guilt, so much so that I know it would pervade every moment, even those I did share with bean. His support throughout my short stint in motherhood is invaluable. Without him I would not have been able to survive my career crisis which coincided with pregnancy, I would not have been able to deliver at the birth center (a partner is required and I don’t feel comfortable with anyone else), I wouldn’t have conceived (bean wouldn’t be here at all,) and I would not have been able to breastfeed. This last (just the last listed; A’s support transcends numerical count) has altered the physiology of my brain. According to Kim et al. (2011), “breastfeeding mothers show greater activations in the superior frontal gyrus, insula, precuneus, striatum, and amygdalia while listening to their own baby cry…” These regions are responsible for empathy. 

day 78: 15.4

Right on the heals of my current (lengthy) paleo sweet addiction is my predictable ignominy, now swelled to obloquy by the cruel chorus in my head.

I can usually escape these in the gym. But they’ve grown so persistent, so deafening, that “in the gym” isn’t enough. I have to be working so hard that I can hardly think.

15.4 (scaled) offered one of these instances. After a seeming eternity of berating myself for failing at hand stand push ups (it really only lasted on the walk from the wall to the barbell but such distances are long with vicious voices mocking you for having a tummy too big to lift) there was a 3 2 1 GO and I began 8 minutes of 10 push presses (#65) and 10 cleans (#75.) The cleans were a gift, the push presses not so. #65 still feels heavy overhead when more than 5 are required.

I completed 75 reps.

Someone took a picture of my cleans and while those voices swirl on about fat and fluff and pigs whenever I see these images, A helped a lot by turning my focus toward my positions throughout. In the midst of an exhausting workout, I kept my form relatively clean. The weight was light and when I’m out of breath I tend toward slop. It’s good to see the positives. Once I would have shuddered at the thought that these were readily available for anyone to see. The fact that I can recognize some good gives me hope. Not all is lost. I am not who I once was.

day 77: cookie monster

I have a feeling I’ve used this title before. In any case, I’ve certainly been a cookie monster before. But this current cookie habit is out. of. control.

My sweet tooth returned once my appetite returned (about four months postpartum.) However, it is ALL of my appetite. It seems I’ve lost my steak tooth, my poultry tooth, my veggie tooth, my egg tooth, my coconut tooth, even my sashimi tooth, and all have been replaced by sweet tooths. (Sweet teeth.)

I look at bean and to my brain, my logical brain, I know that he is the only sweet I want in my life. I shudder at the thought that I am offering him less than the optimum. And I look at myself, my cookie-full tummy, and think “geese get a grip!” Yet I still make those paleo cookies and I still buy that coconut ice cream and I still scarf down Power Snacks by the pound. I’ll go a few days before the urge becomes overwhelming, but then I always give in!

Our farm pick-up is but a few weeks away. With it will come copious amounts of meat, and I intend to replace my sweet tooth with a meat tooth. I am not so concerned about my food intake (though goodness knows I have a well-honed ability to eat until I’m sick) and know I need to support bean as he is still nursing with no end in sight! But it’s necessary for both of us that I reign in my sugar addiction and turn back to super foods that make me a super person.

day 76: tangle

One ritual necessarily precedes a project’s commencement: winding the center-pull ball. Three hats into my knitting career (and several hours spent in tangles) I finally asked the google machine why knitting was so much time spent undoing unintentional knots versus lovingly ordering them like soldiers at attention.

Google understood my plaintive cry and responded with directions to make one of those cute little balls that kittens bat around.

Now, I generally spend half an hour per skein, winding and winding: time well spent. If I am impatient, I find I tangle even in the process of ensuring I don’t.

The funny thing about tangles is, they really can be undone. All it takes is a little time. I think that’s the case with every problem in life. Sure, it’s best to avoid them. But if I find myself trapped in a giant knot, I’ll move forward with the knowledge that I’ll find my way out of it eventually.

day 75: projects

On the needles:
Margaret’s scarf. Coming along beautifully, but I’ve set it aside for other more pressing projects. Due in November.
e’s sweater. As above. Due when bean is five inches taller than he is now.
e’s owl. Finally began. Amazing yarn. The softest I’ve ever felt and so very large and squishy. Due in two months. (HOW can my little baby be almost one year old?)

To be on the needles:
e’s diaper covers. Hoping to switch back to cloth very soon. Wool covers a definite possibility. Bought a few, and would like to make at least one to see how it hold up. Will be useful as he grows and if we are blessed with another little in the future.
e’s blanket.
A’s scarf.
Gift scarf. for someone I don’t know yet.
My hat.
My tank.
A’s sweater.
So many more!

I’m blessed that such joy can come from just a bit of string.

day 74: elimination communication

Bean has been peeing and pooping on the toilet since he was two weeks old. We didn’t “catch” everything but it was part of a game and a way to break up the cycle of nursing and sleeping, nursing and sleeping, cuddling and nursing and sleeping. He seemed to have fun. We sure had fun. All was well.

Fast forward four months (right after his second DTAP and rota by the way) and he broke out in awful eczema, the worst being in his diaper area. The doctor said it was yeast and gave us a prescription. We used it for two months with no improvement. We switched from cloth diapers to disposable. Still no change. I eliminated even more from my very strict diet. Still no change.

It cleared up on its own (maybe with a little help from a magical concoction of beeswax, olive oil, and lavender but also maybe it had just run its course) but by eight months, the potty had turned into a “once in the morning” type of thing rather than an “every hour, half hour, ten minutes, two hours” type of thing. The disposables were so absorbent, bean no longer squirmed when he was wet (or about to be) and my instincts were completely dulled to his pee times.

Once the big scare came around, and the eczema reemerged and every single one of his little poops turned into pure torture for him, and my heart broke and my mind spun, I figured why not add a bit of spice to life and let bean go without a dipe. And that’s how things are now. He’s free, and peeing everywhere. Everywhere, that is, except the toilet. And the bathroom sink. He doesn’t mind the kitchen sink though (the window helps.)

A insists he wears a diaper when he’s home (bean’s peed on him twice, once in his work clothes.) The funny thing is, bean’s figured out how to take his diaper OFF, which he usually does right before he makes another puddle.

We’re still working on the toilet stuff. It’s not so hard to clean up pee, and he rarely poops (maybe once every four or five days. Or ten.)

It’s just a little humor as I find that the world is a much much much scarier place than I ever knew it was. Kind of like bean’s pee, I have little control over where or when anything happens. But with love, with attention, with patience, I can get it going to the right place eventually (the pee, not the world.) At least there’s that.

And really, when you’ve got someone to love, what more can you ask for?

day 73: 15.3

With this, my (very short) rein of RX’d workouts come to an end. Muscle-ups are not yet mine.

The scaled version was a little too “easy” and I wanted to get a good workout in, so I went ahead and simply subbed pull-ups for muscle-ups. Those were fine. My wall balls were horrendous. I think I strung together four of them at one point, but the rest were singles. This is definitely something I need to practice. It’s been a good year since the last time I did wall balls, and the lack of dedication shows. I did get a cool picture out of the debacle.

Someone else in the household got his first Rx WOD this open season though!!! Since his shoulder injury two years ago, A has had trouble overhead; snatches and overhead squats at the programmed weights just aren’t worth re-injury. I cautioned him against the muscle ups as well; he hadn’t even tried them since he was hurt! But he knew himself, he believed in himself, and he did them anyway. He got his first one six minutes into the workout, and proceeded to get seven more, resulting in one full round of seven muscle ups, 50 wall balls, and 100 double unders and then one more muscle up in eight minutes! Boy am I proud!