WFMW: Weight Loss (Real and perceived)

Ah, it’s that time of year again. Carbo heaven in November, cookie kingdom all through December; cream cheese-laden appetizers and desserts, multiple family feasts…and even as we gorge our way through the holidays, we cringe inwardly, knowing that there is a price to pay for all that richness.

It’s January when everybody gets “serious” about weight loss, but I have a better idea: keep it under control as you go.

Now, there are the really obvious things—portion control, diet, exercise, and all that—but here are three evening techniques that I find helpful:

  1. Eat early, & go to bed hungry. It seems like the dinner hour is 7, 8, 9:00 for a lot of people. I grew up having supper promptly at 6, but now, with three nights a week taken up by lessons and choir, dinner is at 5:30 (or as close as I can make it). This means that I’m finished eating for the night by 6:15 p.m., which lets me run off some of the meal before bedtime. For people who work, I have three words: CROCK POT—LEFTOVERS. You may roll your eyes at the stay-at-home mom, but I teach three afternoons a week, and I can’t cook on those days. So I cook on the days I can, and when I can’t, it’s CROCK POT or LEFTOVERS.
  2. Go to bed a little bit hungry. Whenever I do that, I find that my weight inches downward the next morning.
  3. Brush your teeth. In college I had a roommate & best friend who brushed her teeth every time she got ready to practice. If you are like her and don’t mind brushing your teeth often, I can’t help you. But I hate brushing my teeth. I do it in the morning and at night, and I will pass up food and drink if I’ve already brushed my teeth. So if I know I’m baking bread or working in the kitchen at night, where there are cookies lying around, brushing my teeth saves me a lot of calories.

Now, let me share one other nugget: it’s not all about real weight loss. Sometimes it’s about perceived weight loss.

I am 8 ½ months postpartum, and flirting with my pre-pregnancy weight. I haven’t made any significant progress in about two months…and yet all of a sudden, in the last week, everybody keeps saying, “Kate, you look great!” How to explain this?

(Disclaimer: In real life, I am a very down-to-earth person who has no problem talking about earthy subjects. After all, I teach Natural Family Planning. We use words like “mucus” all the time—without blushing. However, in “print” I usually try to be a little more circumspect. So I apologize for this, but…)

It’s the bra.

Out of the last 5 ½ years, I’ve been pregnant for 2 ¼ and nursing for well over 3. And I have three nursing bras. One for exercise, one for wearing in the early days of engorgement (meaning minimal support); and one that I wear every day. I mean every day.

I needed a new bra even before Julianna weaned, but I didn’t want to waste the money just in case we never managed to get pregnant again. Plus, I wanted to wait to replace it until I had another baby, and the milk came in, because that’s when the breast size is the biggest. I know from unhappy experience that tight bras cause plugged milk ducts. So I waited till Nicholas was born, and I could drive again…and then, Julianna was in the hospital, and then I didn’t have the money in my budget, and…well, you get the idea. Here I am, 8 months in, wearing the worn-out Medela nursing bra with holes in the band.

And then, last week, I cleaned out my drawer and discovered a nursing bra buried in the bottom. I bought it while I was still pregnant with Alex, and it turned out to be WAY too small for the early days of nursing. But at this stage, it fits great. I put it on, and suddenly…well, rather than get too explicit, let’s just say my body shape has improved dramatically.

And that is what Works For Me.

For more Works for Me Wednesday tips, visit http://www.wearethatfamily.com/.

Published in: on December 2, 2009 at 10:06 am  Comments (5)  
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Stir Up Your Power

Advent. It’s a time of new beginning, a time of expectation of great things. I want to be renewed, God, but I’m so worn down right now, I’m having trouble being thankful, despite all my efforts to adjust my attitude to match the holiday we just celebrated.

At times like these, I am so painfully aware of my own weakness, my own brokenness. Yes, I enjoyed Christmas shopping with Christian yesterday…but I’ve spent so much of the last few days not feeling good. Why, oh why won’t my body go on and adjust to this stupid metformin? It’s worse when I don’t sleep—so much worse. And what is going on with Nicholas? How can a child go from sleeping peacefully from 7:45p.m. to 6:30 a.m. to waking up six times a night? How can a child suddenly decide that he isn’t going to sleep at all, day or night, for longer than an hour at a time? Doesn’t it stand to reason that at some point, he’s just got to crash? Why, oh why isn’t he reaching that point?

I’m tired, God, and whenever I’m tired, the metformin reaction is so much worse. And we’re at the end of Christian’s vacation now, and I feel more worn down than when we started. This should have been a week to relax and renew. Instead I feel more than ever like I’m scrabbling at the edge of the cliff. I haven’t even tried to write this week…I’ve barely kept up on my blog. On this side of Thanksgiving, all those January deadlines seem a whole lot closer. How can I be stretched so thin when I’ve accomplished so little?

Well, I know the answer to that one. Family visits are enjoyable, but they are also frequently stressful. There’s the disruption to the routine, and the staying up late, the lack of down time, the extra noise, the kids’ excitement and subsequent refusal to sleep…though that still doesn’t explain Nicholas’s lingering agitation.

And why isn’t he feeling better, anyway? It’s been three weeks since Nicholas has acted like himself. Is it that rash? Is the rash indicative of something else? Something more than penicillin reaction or food reaction?

I keep thinking that by the time my third child is 8 months old, I ought to have some idea how to problem solve these things. But the reality is that things just keep getting more complicated. With the first two, I could stick them in their rooms and teach them to put themselves back to sleep in the night by just closing the door and refusing to pick them up. But Nicholas is sharing a room with Julianna. I can’t just walk out and let him cry himself back to sleep. But I want to be done with night nursing, and the last two nights, he’s nursed and still been awake! If even nursing doesn’t put him back to sleep, where does that leave us?

And he is so clingy. I don’t know how much longer I can take it. He’s so crabby all the time! Angelic, smiley, as long as he’s being held, or if I’m sitting on the floor beside him…but my gosh, if I go to grab a pencil, he starts shrieking!

I want to feel better, God. And I know that at least part of it has to come from me…but I feel so powerless right now. So helpless. So angry and overwhelmed. And guilty for feeling so. After all, I chose to have my kids close together; I feel like I need to be a model of with-it-ness. A bad day is one thing, but a month?

Stir up your power, O Lord, and come to dwell in me. Please. In my darkness, I really need to feel the light of your presence, leading me toward the dawn.

Published in: on November 29, 2009 at 6:34 am  Comments (9)  
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The Strike Is O’er

Hallelu–jah, Hallelu–jah, Hallelu–jah!

In the early morning gloom, I sat in my nursing chair beside the window and said a prayer before gently, oh so gently, drawing Nicholas down into nursing position. When he opened his mouth and began to nurse, I almost cried. Six squares of dawn crept up the wall, brightening from rose to copper to molten gold, and my baby held tight to the breast, drawing peace and comfort from the touch of skin to skin. And I, too, drew comfort from that touch…afraid to move, for fear of shattering a fragile moment.

I never really appreciated nursing as  the gift it is to me. I rear up like a mother bear in its defense; I deliver impassioned orations on the subject… But until a few days ago, the full import never sank in. Not until Friday afternoon, when Nicholas saw me coming and arched his back, screamed, and pushed me away. And repeated the performance at 7:30 p.m. And at 9:30. And in the middle of the night. And Saturday morning, and noon, and afternoon, and evening, and all day Sunday. But long before then, I knew what was going on. It’s called a nursing strike. I knew it from reading Dr. Sears, and it was a textbook case: “They’re not very happy about the situation, but nevertheless they refuse to nurse.”

From Friday evening to Sunday night, I pumped every drop of precious milk and fed it to him in cups. Pumping is not a life-giving activity. Actually, it is for the baby. For Mommy…no. It takes twice as long for electricity and mechanics to draw out the milk as Baby does, and in the meantime, instead of cuddles and soft skin to hold, I had hard plastic, and a baby sitting in front of me screaming, desperate to be held. I called lactation consultants and friends, my mom and my sister, seeking advice. I found myself staring down the next four months, going, What if he weans himself? Am I going to have to spend this extra time every day for the next four months, pumping, and then turning around and having to feed it by cup? I don’t think I can do this!

Plus, there was the emotional toll. I knew he had an ear infection, and it probably hurt him to suck. I didn’t feel rejected…but I felt bereft. I have come to take that cuddle time for granted…to wish it away in pursuit of other activities. But now, as I held him against me, as I felt him growing more and more clingy by the hour, until I felt that I was being strangled by it…as he demanded the reassurance of closeness to Mommy while simultaneously refusing the best comfort Mommy has to offer…

Let’s just say it was a rough few days. There were some expletives. Some tantrums (the adult variety). Not my best days as Mommy. Or wife. Or human being, for that matter.

And so today, two days before Thanksgiving, I am so thankful. The strike is over. Hallelujah!

Note: for other thankful moments in the everyday, see “Tuesdays Unwrapped” at ChattingattheSky.com.

Published in: on November 24, 2009 at 8:54 am  Comments (8)  
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Letters to my Children, Part 3

Dear Nicholas,

In some ways, it is much harder to write this third letter than the first two. For one thing, five a.m. came far too early this morning, and I’m having trouble thinking clearly. But mostly it’s because babyhood is a time of great simplicity, and virtually your entire life still stretches out before you. You haven’t yet revealed much of the boy and man you will become.

Your grandma Sander once told me that a baby’s nursing habits predict his later personality. In your case, that would be lazy. So far, she’s been right. When, at five months you were still lying contentedly on your back staring at the world, we had to invoke the aid of your sister’s PT to remind us how to teach a baby to roll over. As Charlie Brown would say, Good grief.

On the other hand, it’s not such a bad thing to be easygoing, to be satisfied with being adorable and having women of all ages going gaga over your long, come-hither eyelashes.

Hammin' it up for the camera

Hammin' it up for the camera

Although I must admit, you are capable of just as much drama as your sister. You suffer from the misfortune of having a mommy who has a much higher tolerance for whining and crying than she once did. I have a lot more to do these days, and it takes a lot more to force me to your side if I’m otherwise committed. But you rise to the challenge admirably.

On the other hand, being the third in line means that we’ve really mellowed about some things. TV, for instance. Alex was not allowed to face a TV screen until he was two years old. You are already drawn like a moth, lying on the floor and craning your neck to see behind you…and it’s a battle we just don’t have the energy to fight. Especially since you are so cantankerous about going to bed at night. We have enough battles as it is.

In seven days you will be six months old. How is that possible? I actually have the sweet potato that you will eat for your first meal sitting on the counter.  You’re ready to eat and have been for ten days or so, but I groan at the thought of even more food prep…nursing is so simple…so I’ve been putting it off. Things are coming to a head, however. I bought a few days by putting you in your high chair at the table, so you felt like you were part of things. It was just as well; that allowed us to go ahead and rearrange the seat assignments at the table so that everybody was settled in when it came time to start feeding you solid food. (I had to expend several minutes’ worth of creative energy to come up with a new seating chart, one that allowed me to deal with both you and your sister, who still won’t use a spoon. She can…but she doesn’t. Stinker.) But the last two nights, you’ve been sitting on my lap, your head twisting wildly as you watch every bite travel from the plate to my mouth. Depending on logistics, you will get your first solid food either today or tomorrow.

And last night you got your first haircut. It had reached the point where even I had to admit that the poof of curls in the front of your head looked ridiculous (I mean, they were standing three inches off your crown!), so I let Daddy take a scissors to them.

Well, it’s Saturday morning and the cinnamon rolls are calling. There are no deep profundities in this letter, but that’s what makes the baby stage so nice…it’s time intensive, but it’s simple. Your needs are simple, and the most complicated part about filling them is juggling them with the needs of your older siblings. If the last six months are any indication, that will change soon enough.

Published in: on September 12, 2009 at 4:54 am  Leave a Comment  
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A Kid Moment

Scene: Overland Park Arboretum, my cousin’s baby shower
Time: mid-afternoon nursing

KATE retreats to a park bench out under some trees, a little removed from the family and friends opening baby gifts, and covers up to nurse Nicholas.

Heedless of privacy, NOAH COPPLE AND COUSINS come running over. NOAH yanks the blanket back. “Aunt Kate!” he gasps. “Nicholas has got his mouth on you!”

KATE (chuckling): “Yes, I know.”

NOAH: “Yuck! That’s gross!”

KATE (trying to be cool aunt and not crack up): “Um, well, this is how Nicholas eats.”

NOAH (jaw drops): “What? Does he bite your skin, and then you BLEED all OVER THE PLACe?????”

KATE: 

 Kate laughing

The cousins had a great time together, but they were only so-so about having their pictures taken:

Eva Williamson, Alex, Julianna, Noah Copple (holding Nicholas)

Eva Williamson, Alex, Julianna, Noah Copple (holding Nicholas)

At the end of a long day, I pull into the garage and open the doors to find this:

Ah...peace and quiet, at last....

Ah...peace and quiet, at last....

Published in: on August 17, 2009 at 7:09 am  Leave a Comment  
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Breastfeeding and cancer

This week, CBS “discovered” that breastfeeding cuts the risk of breast cancer:

http://www.cbsnews.com/stories/2009/08/11/earlyshow/health/main5232807.shtml

In all fairness, this is a new study, but still, we’ve been hearing this in NFP circles for years.

The past two weeks have been the busiest of the entire summer–I’ve been running from one appt. to another, culminating in a drive to Jeff City today to play for a Mass with the Bishop this morning (and have lunch with a good friend we hardly ever get to see anymore). So this little video link is all I  have time for today…I have a house that hasn’t been cleaned since before we painted the kitchen…oh yes, I never mentioned that we painted the kitchen last week, did I? :) …and kids that have spent an awful lot of time with a babysitter this week. Time to focus elsewhere for a while.

Published in: on August 13, 2009 at 1:48 pm  Comments (1)  
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Confessions of a Stay-at-home Mom

I am omnipresent in Nicholas’s world. Throughout the day his bright little eyes remain fixed on me, following me from one side of the kitchen to the other, until I sit down beside him, or put him on my lap to nurse. Then, secure in the knowledge that Mommy is nearby, he turns his attention elsewhere, always keeping me in his peripheral vision.

“Yeah, you know where your mommy is,” my dad tells him. “You know you’ve got a good one.”

It’s not the first time someone has said that to me. I squirm every time. Yes, I think I’m a reasonably good mother, but…but I’m also painfully aware of how much more and better I could be.

Where is the balance between teaching independence and not playing with my kids enough? Between setting high expectations and making outrageous demands upon them?

When the whining begins, do I hold firm and teach them that whining does not yield results? Or is it a sign that I haven’t been giving them enough attention? When Alex piddles around in the morning and is still running around half an hour after being told to get dressed, am I justified in losing patience and shouting to achieve the necessary results, or am I training him to respond to nothing but anger?

If I was such a good mother, wouldn’t I put all my creative energies into finding ways to teach these lessons without resorting to raised voices—without getting angry, without making them angry? Sure, the occasional bad day is inevitable, but wouldn’t a really good mother figure out ways to get done what needs doing without making a battle of it?

For instance: Julianna is on amoxicillin three times a day. Julianna detests medicine. I tried the squirt syringe and ended up with sticky pink all over her face, neck, chest, and my hands and arms. (Yuck!) I tried using a spoon, with the same result. So I got creative. Yesterday I discovered that if I put the spoon in her mouth and leave it there till she swallows around it, she doesn’t fight me.

Encouraged, I started brainstorming ways to deal with Nicholas waking up at night. I decided he’s old enough to be a little more structured with his daytime eating habits, so instead of attempting to feed him whenever he got fussy, I made him wait 2-3 hours between feedings. Miracle of miracles, instead of endless noodling, we got six good solid feedings. (And he didn’t “strike” on the right, either, which was a relief.) And although the night wasn’t ideal, it was significantly less high-maintenance than the last several have been.

So far, so good. This morning, however, Alex completely stymied my problem solving skills.

He has a rescue rangers king with a sword that clicks into his fist. A few minutes ago, Alex tried to find a place for the king to hide/store the sword. So what did he do? He stuffed it down the crack between the arm and the overstuffed back of the couch. And lost it.

Inside the frame of the couch.

And then proceeded to completely fall apart.

I went digging and found the hole it fell into, but I’ll be darned if I can find that plastic sword by feel. And now Alex blames ME for his lost sword.

Aaagh!

Published in: on July 29, 2009 at 7:15 am  Leave a Comment  
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Ah, Nicholas

Since returning from NPM, my baby boy has become a demanding child. By which I mean to say, he wants to be held ALL THE TIME. While we were away, just the two of us, it was a Heaven-sent opportunity to bond. Back in the real world…it’s kind of a pain in the you-know-what. I find myself saying, “Nicholas! You are not the only child that needs Mommy!”

He’s a stubborn little boy, and no matter how tired he is, he will not latch on if he’s not ravenous—a switch that can flip in ten minutes. The last few days, things have been escalating. He doesn’t really eat during the day—just noodles here and there every forty-five minutes.

In fact, lately he does the vast bulk of his eating at night. The last two nights, he’s dragged me out of bed four times a night. Yes, I said—FOUR. Combine that with Julianna waking, with back door partying, and my usual neurosis about sleep, and my night, which may only last from midnight to 5:30a.m., is interrupted four to six times. I long—I positively salivate—for eight uninterrupted hours of sleep. Heck, I’d settle for six and a nap.

I’ve stopped checking the clock, because it just makes me mad, which further robs me of sleep. I gauge the time based upon whether the sky is getting light, but this morning it was still dusky when Christian’s alarm went off at 5:30. We are over the solstice hump and headed for fall. Pathetic, that I knew the days were getting shorter even before David Lile brought it up on the radio this morning.

Last night Nicholas woke the (um, let me count) third time with a stuffy nose. So now I know he has a reason for waking up, which does nothing to help me feel rested, but at least it makes me feel less resentful.

After I put Alex and Julianna down for nap today, I tried to nurse Nicholas to sleep. Naturally, he wanted nothing to do with that. As I stood rocking him beside my bed, the phone rang. I grabbed it and plopped down against the pillows with the baby against my chest. It was Christian. We talked for two minutes and got off the phone. Poor baby, he was so shot that he was already asleep. I almost rolled over and laid him down, making good my escape, but something whispered in my brain: Don’t waste this moment. You’ve done lots of work already today. And so, for a just a few minutes, I drank in the weight of his body on mine, the softness of his hair against my cheek, the quiet rhythm of each breath. It was a fleeting moment, but a moment of beauty nonetheless. Surely someday, Mommy will get some nice long moments of beauty at night, too.

Published in: on July 27, 2009 at 1:27 pm  Leave a Comment  
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Before and After

Before Children, or when you have only one, and you get sick, you whimper and moan and wake up your husband in the middle of the night so he can try to comfort you.

When you have multiple children, you swallow your whimpers so that at least one of you can be rested tomorrow to take care of the kids.

Before children (or when you have only one),  you lie on the couch and watch movies and sleep, and when your stomach decides it no longer cares to have matter in it, you do your business in the bathroom and then clean up and go back to the couch, moaning at the tears streaming down your face.

After children, you care for the baby, who is also not feeling good, right up to the moment when you can’t put off the trip to the bathroom, at which point you drop him on the floor and ignore his heartbroken sobs while you empty your insides. When you’re done, you return to changing his diaper.

Before children (or when you have one), you do only what you absolutely have to with the child: i.e. nurse. Daddy does diapering, dishes, and dirty laundry.

When you have more than one, you run laundry, fix lunch, rinse dishes (holding your breath so the smell of food doesn’t make you hurl again), read books and change diapers, pump the milk the baby is too sick to eat himself, and only when you know you simply can’t do it anymore, do you call your husband at work and say, “Honey…please come home.” At which point he makes dinner, argues the kids through the meal by himself, and deals with the older two so all you have is the one who can’t accept a substitute for Mommy.

(Incidentally, most of the above applies to the husband, too. Moms don’t have a monopoly on martyrdom. ;) )

I always wondered how it worked when the parent gets sick. I don’t remember my parents getting sick like this until I as old enough to take care of myself. Now I know.

Now the next question is, what happens when both parents are sick at once?

(Hint: God, can you just leave me in the dark on that one?)

Published in: on June 23, 2009 at 7:05 am  Comments (2)  
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Heart To Heart

To Nicholas

The connection between us stretches back to the moment you finished your journey through a dark tunnel and tucked yourself into a corner of my womb. Before I knew you existed—so tiny that you were scarcely there—you were already attached to me…a physical bond whose days were numbered, prefiguring an emotional bond that will live beyond the grave.

My body nourished yours. The noise of my blood pumping was the first sound you heard; my heartbeat was your first lesson in rhythm. It lulled you to sleep, accompanied you as you danced within me…a sensation both wonderful and at times uncomfortable.

The trauma of birth severed that physical connection. Other, more distant, bonds replaced it. Smell. Taste. Sight. Touch. And yet we cling to the memory of a time when I was your whole universe. We lie together, heart to heart, and the twin beating calms us. At three months, the pulse of my body still lulls you to sleep.

I don’t know how long it will last. Physical bonds become less potent the older we grow. But here in this moment, my beautiful boy, life is perfect.

Heart to heart

Heart to heart

Published in: on June 19, 2009 at 1:13 pm  Comments (2)  
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