Crunchy ‘Nanas

Though it’s only been a week, it feels like a lifetime since I blogged about food and cooking. I haven’t seen much of either this week. My running shoes have taken an unplanned mid-summer break, while I have tried to get my energy back and feel a little better.

But, on the bright side, this week was one of those weeks that improved as it went on. I was nauseous and ill at the beginning, which felt familiar at first, but it wasn’t (for anyone reading and hopeful). It was a mean bug. It’s taken me days to get back to the place where I can look at food and eat it without my stomach turning. You know it’s bad when you can’t stomach ice cream. I couldn’t. (But, I’m fine now. Ben and Jerry’s can relax. We’ll be stocking up at the store today.)

Amidst trying to take care of a toddler while running on empty, I’ve had some really positive things happen. My mom’s here now for three weeks and is soaking up the Noodle and all his goofiness as fast as she can. We live in a world where you’ve got to make the absolute most of it, when we’re together, because it’s feast or famine. All or nothing. My mom wasn’t planning to come visit now, but then she decided she couldn’t wait until we make it back to California for a visit in the fall, that she was missing too much of the baby time she’d never get back. It might sound crazy, given the price of airfare, but I understand. Family’s important. But, I think the airlines should thank their lucky stars. This family keeps them in business. Majorly.

Also this week, I was fortunate enough to be able to reschedule a job interview (for some part time work) from Tuesday to Thursday and am now back to doing a little bit of what I love for money again. Not much, but I think it will work out well, given my situation as a mom, and I am really looking forward to it.

It took me a long while to decide whether I would even apply for the job, given our current situation and the fact that I can no longer be as flexible as is ideal for the post. (It would be super if low tide could be at 10 a.m. every morning. That would work out very well for me now. Moon? Earth? Can you work together and make that happen? That’d be great, thanks!) But, in the end, I finally decided that I would be really disappointed if I didn’t go for it, especially if it turns out Crunchy husband’s job is saved and we are stable again, which is more of a possibility now that the site is not closing after all. To be honest, I’m getting tired of waiting. We are so very fortunate in a million ways, but life on hold can start to bring you down.

So I went for it. And now things are going to change a little bit around here. I really want to continue running and blogging, but once I have a clearer idea of my new schedule, I will have to amend my calendar (and my expectations). It’s a good thing. It keeps life interesting.

My mom has always said she started cooking when she had kids. Whereas I haven’t eaten crap for my whole life, I can see where she was coming from. The burrito, pasta, some sort of chicken dish rotation doesn’t quite cut it once you are cooking for a little one.

I mean, it does. There are always vegetables involved and it’s all at least semi-balanced. But, I’ve come to feel like we need more variety to make sure we are eating right, and enjoying it. When the Noodle began to eat solids last year, I firmly decided I would make all* of his food. Part of this was determination not to be lazy – I am his mother, I should be able to prepare meals for him (since I wasn’t also going to a job for 8 hours or more a day). Part of it was just the idea that the less processing there is, the better. But, I think a main driver was the transition between him eating through me and him eating independently of me. I had nourished him for 41+ weeks inside me, and then nourished him with milk from my body for another 25 weeks. I didn’t stop breastfeeding completely until Noodle was 9 months old, but it felt like that was the “cord cutting” for us, that was when he became separate from me.

The weaning was hard at first. But then I realized that I could still be that food making factory of nourishment, I just had to approach it from a different angle. And not only could I, it had to be me. My 1-year old was not going to stand in the kitchen and say, “Burritos again? Mommy, you are not feeding me right.”

We found a bargain cookbook at WH Smith’s one day, and I have to say, I think it is the best cookbook ever. We don’t have any another where I have made so many recipes. My mom is coming next week, and I don’t think she is going to know what hit her. Chicken and artichoke pie, mango chicken and quinoa salad, Mediterranean chicken. I’m on a roll. I’m even making additions, improving on the recipes. (Like, come on, if you are going to make sesame beef with pak choi and spring onions, how hard is it to throw in carrots, mushrooms and red chillies – yes, I feed my toddler food spiced with garlic and chillies. He likes it.)

I made lasagne this week. As I was stirring the bolognese sauce, I realized, “in my whole life, I don’t think I have ever made lasagne.” I’ve eaten it plenty of times, and had it lovingly made for me, but I cannot picture myself in any of my kitchens layering out the pasta and baking up the dish. It wasn’t bad. Not great. It needed way more cheese, and dare I say more bechamel sauce on the top layer (I’m not a big fan), but that can be accomplished next time.

I’m so proud of myself. This “best bagel toaster in the world” is moving up. But, to be fair to myself, I’ve never been a bad cook. Even Crunchy husband jumped to my defence the other weekend when one of our friends, when trying to understand the situation, started to say I wasn’t good. I can cook. I just don’t like to. It bores me. I can think of so many other ways I’d love to spend my time. But, it has to be done. So, I guess it has to be done right.

*There were always food pouches and baby food jars in our kitchen for times when we were traveling over night, or just in case, but for the most part, I did it.

Tuesday: Run – 30.14
Friday: Run – 30.28

Seal of approval - a happy boy after his lasagne

Okay so the run didn’t happen on Friday. Nor did a blog post. To be fair, those activities were supposed to be replaced by an extra morning of volunteering this week. Which was then superseded by a fever and a poorly, clingy Noodle.  I knew something was wrong when I took the little boy swimming on Thursday afternoon and not even launching himself off the wall like Humpty Dumpty made him smile.  We didn’t stay long once it clicked that he was not well.

So, no run or blog post or clean house on Friday morning. (Which doesn’t excuse the rest of the weekend, but let’s just over look that for a minute.) But, I feel like I had quite a bit of exercise pushing the Noodle all around the village on Wednesday, Thursday and Friday trying to get him to nap, so at least I made it up a bit. (I only had to admit defeat 1 out of 5 tries. Yeah, baby!)

I fully intended to go out Saturday morning, but then we decided to head out to the Cherry festival at Brogdale Farm, which Crunchy husband pointed out was weird because I don’t even like cherries. (Subconscious procrastination, perhaps?) And then Sunday fell to a very weird morning schedule trying to catch up on sleep and deal with a little boy who is still waking at 5 a.m. like clockwork. Once everyone was up and accounted for, there was no way I was stalling on the day. We hit the beach to play in the sand and to take in some of the beach volleyball tournament. And then it was dinner time. And time to track the USA women’s world cup game on fifa.com. (Yeah, ladies!) Just like that, the day gone. (I won’t mention I snuck in a few minutes to paint my toenails last night. Which was weird, since I never paint my toenails.)

Oh well, it happens. I am now making up the blog post. And will feel suitably “made up” once I hit publish.

Bring on the week!  I am feeling ready for it, despite the fact that my baby has started the back arching, shoulder blade dropping, butt to the floor antics of resisting a pick up when he’d prefer to be running around getting into trouble at the grocery store. I have a toddler, oh yes, I do!

Bring it! (Granny’s coming next week.)

Tuesday: Run – 32.15

Some days can just suck the will to live right out of you. I’ve had three this week. I’m not complaining. I’m just sayin’. I feel like I am at the end of my rope. I know it’s not unique to me. I know it’s what we signed up for. I’m just sayin’.

This has been a long week. The period of getting the Noodle down for a nap with relative ease was a short and fleeting phase. It seems that once we turned that corner, we turned it right back again. So we are cranky. And disheveled. And tired. And emotional. There have been tears shed. Some of them by the Noodle. I was just starting to settled into those couple good weeks, where I felt like things were lining up, getting organized, and under a bit of control, if only in my mind.

We are clingy, but then we are not clingy. Up, down. Up, down. Help me, don’t help me! Again, I know it is not unique to me and my child. I know it’s normal and healthy. I love him and I am glad he is starting to push boundaries. And I know it’s only the beginning of a long haul. I know this. But, I’m just sayin’. I’m tired. I need a break. Bring on the weekend, and hopefully I can regain a little bit more patience to be a better mom. Maybe if I do, he will say my name rather than shaking his head “no”, smiling his gorgeous smile with that mischievous look  in his eyes and stating quite distinctly, “Daddy!”

Tuesday: Run – 30.14
Friday: Run – 30.58

It’s Friday. I will not let this day go by without a post. Even if this is it. I feel like I have to do it, for myself, even if it’s nothing. Even if I have to do it with one hand. Hey kid, I guarantee you, you’ll have more fun if you go play with your toys. Or go rip up important papers somewhere else. Whatever. Why do you have to sit here on Mommy’s lap at this exact moment? Up down, up down. Yeah, there you go. Go use the vacuum cleaner as a walker. Push-a-push-a. That’s responsible parenting for you, eh? Hmmm…well, it’s not plugged in or turned on.

And, he’s back. Hello, Noodle. I love you.

My morning didn’t go exactly to plan. I was nearly out the door when I received a message that had to be replied to with a phone call, and it had to be right then. Had to. Otherwise, I would have bursted. I would have run down the street, shouting to strangers like a mad woman. So, I was 45 minutes late out the door. But, I got my run in. But, it also meant if I was going to also get some gardening done before the rain, I had to do it in my writing time spot. I was nearly as dry for ideas then as I am now, so hey, it felt like a good compromise. By the time the gardening was done and I was clean, it was time to go pick up the Noodle.

The news of the week, from this side of the pond, is we have received the Noodle’s crash helmet. And I can’t get it off the kid’s head. He’s diggin’ hats right now (or anything he can put on his head, including my bras, the crazy kid!), so really I think it’s excellent timing to start this whole bike helmet thing. And now thanks to the folks at Wiggle that ship so quickly, we have his first helmet – the pirate one by MET, argh! (Or, I should say the “pirata” one, as it’s printed in Italian. Do Italian pirates say “argh!”? We must find out.) Now, we’ve just got to get the bike seat installed on my mountain bike and we’re there! Ahoy matey, I can’t wait!

Tuesday: Run – 30.23
Friday: Run – 30.14

Not Quite Road-Safe Yet: Hold Ye Still Thar, Pirata!

It’s been a while since I have been here, and an even longer while since I have been here in more than a drive-by fashion. A lot has happened since I blogged consistently. (And since I ran consistently. Or did anything consistently. I would like to think that might change, but we shall see where the wind blows. The priorities, they happily lie elsewhere!)

Since my blogging presence faltered, a lot has happened in my life. I gained 45+ pounds over nearly 42 weeks and then lost most of it in a very short time. And then waited a year until my bones decided to realign themselves enough that I could maybe get back into my favorite jeans.  (It’s close.  Close enough that the last time I tried, I decided I could put the jeans into my drawer.) I traded running for swimming, yoga and, well, a whole lot of walking.  First wearing the baby on the inside, and then after the noodle was born, wearing him on the outside. (So even though it feels like I haven’t excercised in years, Crunchy husband claims I have. My lungs would disagree, but there you go!) I traded work for motherhood for 9 months, went back to work part time for three months to finish up my contract, and am now back to motherhood full time.

My brain is now actively trying to settle into the role as a SAHM. Luckily for me, the noodle settled really well at nursery school, and we’ve decided to keep him in 3 mornings a week (for the time being – many more changes are on the horizon), so I have some room to play with. I have already committed Monday mornings to volunteering where I was working, which I think is going to be really good. It’s some semblance of professional continuity without the stress, overwork and sparse pay. But, Tuesday and Friday mornings are mine – just mine – and I am starting to get myself into a focused groove on that.  On Friday morning, before I clean the toilets and vacuum the house, I am going to run. Not far, and not fast, but it will happen.

I will report back. And maybe that will be the beginning of something!

It’s an eerie feeling when your child sleeps during the day on his own, when it’s been so long since he’s done it. I feel a little unsettled, a little giddy, and a little like a deer caught in headlights all at once. (Oh my god, what do I DO now?)

On our way home from baby clinic, I pushed the noodle up the hill, babbling to him and listening to him babble and shake his jingle bells back, until he fell asleep right as we got two steps from our front door (always happens). I figured pushing him into the house would wake him up. I can never count on him to stay asleep if the stroller or the car or the chair or my body’s not moving. But, today we’re going on half an hour. It’s kind of funny really, because I just had a discussion with the baby nurse about our struggles for the rock-less, sling-less daytime nap, and she suggested, among other things, cutting out the morning nap.

There is no way I am going to wake him up to cut out the morning nap today!

I sat there staring at him a minute, trying to figure out what to do next. I delicately unzipped his sweater and pulled his hat halfway off his head, in my head stuttering out a list of things I could do. When I am wrapped up in caring for him, there’s always a load of things on my mind that I wish I could do, but now that I have a chance, I am stuck on what to do next.

So, I let habit take over and turned on the computer. I logged on, checked some email and blogs and then thought “aha! I could blog myself.”

But, as you can see I didn’t really have very much to say.

So you got this post.

Sorry!

Baby boy has just turned 30 weeks old. He will be seven months on Sunday. On Tuesday Crunchy husband very nicely arranged to get off work in time for me to go to an evening yoga class. It felt like such a treat. With no family here and no one really to leave baby boy with, it was the first time I’ve felt I’ve had back to myself to exercise since he was born. (I just realized this is a lie. We did a baby relay bike ride where I had a 30 minute loop before switching off with Crunchy husband.)

I love this kid, and I love every minute I spend with him, even when I am pulling my hair out (or he’s pulling my hair out), but I’ve been desperate to figure out a way to get some time out to exercise without him. I walk with him a lot, so at least I’m not completely stagnant, but I need more. We tried baby yoga together, but he is way too demanding of a baby to lay there while mommy does some poses. And even if he would lay still and happy, my mind would be on him and not on the yoga.

The problem is that I am tired when Crunchy husband gets home from work. This kid keeps me busy. A run is the last thing on my mind at that point. Plus, now it’s getting to be winter and dark by 4.30pm. I’ve always felt like weekends are family time together, to walk and get out together, but I think I might start to revise this a little, especially now that I am beginning to drop nursing feeds for the bottle during the day. (Which is even more reason why I need to exercise, I feel my hormones right now and they be not happy!)

We always thought we’d get a jogging stroller, but I am rethinking this. With limited cash at the moment since we have kept the airlines in business these last few months, I don’t want to spend a lot of money to find out he won’t ride happily in it (highly probable) or running with it changes my gait in a way that strains or injures me. And even if these things did not prove to be issues, a jogging stroller does not resolve the issue of me time. Though it would be great to be able to run, I kind of want to do it on my own.

We’ll see. No decision is ever final, as he grows and changes and we grow and change too.

I know I’ve promised the rest of the birth story. It’s been written for so long, I have just not had a fresh moment to look it over for typos and order before putting it up.

Baby boy’s napping in his cot (!?!?!) at the moment, so I thought I would use the time to put it up. But, upon reading through it, I’ve realized I am not sure I really want it up anymore. It feels so personal and so ‘mine’ that I feel strange putting it up on the web. Maybe this feeling will pass and one day I will put it up, but for now, it doesn’t feel right. However, if you’re curious, send me an email. I’ll copy it into a reply.

Sorry for the cliff hanger!

I have wanted a child for as long as I can remember. Which, at 32 years of age, is a long time. We had some hurdles to cross, but I was overjoyed the day I found out I was pregnant. And yet, it felt unreal. In the beginning, I was quietly excited. I remember looking out the window across the fields on the morning of the positive test, and just feeling calm. I didn’t want to be too excited, in case I miscarried, so I played it pretty cautious with my emotions. It was a bit of a rollercoaster, actually. After that first day, I didn’t really feel like I expected to feel, both emotionally and physically, until late in the pregnancy.

I thought I would love being pregnant. Foolishly, up until I became pregnant, I equated maternal desire with pregnant bliss. I thought I would glow, that I would be sick and tired but it wouldn’t matter because I was going to have a baby, so I would therefore be infused with energy and happiness. I now realize what a misguided notion that was. I was fortunate to have a healthy pregnancy, but man, was I wiped out. I didn’t really feel comfortable in it until deep into my third trimester. (Which, as it happens, coincided with my maternity leave. I love my job so much, but I was pretty worn out.) I get a bit nostalgic now when I see pregnant women, and I wonder if part of that is because I only felt at home in the pregnancy in the final weeks.

Besides feeling sick and tired in the beginning, I realized I had to come to terms with the impending labour and childbirth. This baby was going to have to come out of me somehow. But, even more than how the baby was going to get out of me after growing for 40+ weeks, it was the thought of the epidural that really freaked me out. The thought of a needle being inserted into my spine really scared me. I didn’t know if I could trust any anaesthesiologist enough. Before getting pregnant, I’d always put childbirth and epidurals hand-in-hand, the one came with the other. But now, I started to wonder if I would be able to weather the labour and delivery without one, or if I was foolish to even think I’d be able to tolerate the pain. This quandary kind of set my research in motion. I had until the end of March to figure out what to do, what to prepare myself for.

I took some good natured teasing in our NCT antenatal class about all the reading I did, but for me that was the only way to manage the fear of the unknown, to try to be confident and positive, to feel empowered and, above all, to feel as fearless as possible. It was the reading that started to help me feel like a natural childbirth, or at least one without an epidural, might be possible. (I definitely recommend Ina May Gaskin’s Guide to Childbirth, with the positive birth stories in the first half, to any pregnant woman approaching childbirth.) I decided I wanted to be active in labour and that I really wanted to labour, and possibly deliver, in water. I grew more confident about aiming for as natural a childbirth as possible. (An epidural wouldn’t allow me to be active or in water, and I just did not like the sound of pethidine for me or my baby. Although I was open to changes in my birth plan, these things were not things I went in planning for. )

So, I bought the natal hypnotherapy cds from the NCT shop, and was disciplined about setting aside time to do the hypnotherapy and relaxation sessions, even though I was skeptical they were actually working. I tried to make the antenatal yoga class a routine for me, and when I wasn’t doing yoga, I made sure to go swimming on that weekend instead. I tried to walk as much as possible throughout the pregnancy, which was difficult through the icy winter, but in the last 6 weeks of my pregnancy I walked a decent amount, trying to make sure I did everything possible to ‘make it easy’ on myself and to get the baby positioned well.

I felt ready, or I felt as ready as I could feel for something I had never experienced. Toward the end of the pregnancy, I really felt like I was training for a race, a longer distance I had yet to run. I was apprehensive, but also looking forward to the challenge of race day, to see how it would all pan out. I even did what I would do in training for a race – I made myself a play list – my birth energy play list.

And yet, I still had the niggles of fear of the unknown. I felt like I was waiting to take an AP test in high school. You can prepare your heart out, you can feel ready, but really you’ll never rest until you get that bad boy over and done with.

They say you should have your hospital bags packed by 36 weeks gestation. So we did, or mostly. We had my bag, the baby’s bag, Barry’s bag, the bag with the snacks and juice boxes all lined up in the front room. When my mom arrived, she laughed (it really did look like we’d be moving into the hospital!) and then promptly added her bag to the mix, never really dreaming the labour wouldn’t start until after she left for her cruise in Holland (12 days after my due date).

And then we waited. And waited. And waited. It became clear that I wasn’t going to have this baby before my mom left again, and it was probably going to take an induction. (In the end, I escaped the induction by about a day!)

The waiting’s hard. You know you are going to have to endure great pain, and yet you don’t know when. It could happen any time. And any time, in my case, lasted nearly 6 weeks.  With the exception of one friend, who was due March 26th (the same day as me), all the other expected March babies greeted the world, and I just couldn’t wait to meet my baby.  I also couldn’t wait to get my ‘race’ going. You know all along the due date’s just an estimate, but that makes no difference in the waiting game. It’s still hard.

On day 11 past my due date, the midwife attempted a cervical sweep, but I was still sealed solidly shut, so she wasn’t able to do much. She said even though she wasn’t able to perform it, it still might get things going.

And so I waited.