So I lately I keep having small panic attacks that usually stem from spending time with my children. I do not exaggerate.
Years ago I used to have occasional panic attacks and it took me a while to figure out what was going on. I went to the doctor and was given some pills that I only took one time; they made me feel dizzy and tired and my vision got blurry. My heart rate slowed a bit and I had to sleep. Not a good choice for a mother of two.
Yeah so that wouldn't be an option for me now as a mother of three. Almost every day for the last week I have had a period of time where the stress has been too much for me. My chest tightens and I start to hyperventilate. I feel super short of breath and I can't think clearly. As a matter of fact, this is exactly how I feel right now at this moment while I am typing this post. I'm kind of freaking out a little bit.
The thing that freaks me out the most? The fact that it's only little, everyday, normal things that are setting me off. It's just small conflicts with my kids. Hearing them argue sets it off. Hearing a whine sets it off. Seeing that they didn't close the back door and are letting in all the flies sets it off. Asking me a question sets it off. Hearing them ask me for the third time if they can play on the ipod sets it off. Seeing a mess sets it off. Heck, hearing a loud noise sets me off. And most of all having them climb on me and touch my face insistantly sets it off.
Keep in mind that these specific things don't always set off a panic attack. These things are the last straw. To what you ask? I don't know. That's what is so bothersome. I don't really see a pattern here except that my children are always involved.
Now Farm Boy is waving a toy in my face and the pain has started again. Ugh, I need a day at the spa or at least an hour to myself. Really though, I don't know if that will make any difference.
I've done a lot of thinking (and starving) lately and have made a few decisions for the present time. I've decided to go off of grains for awhile in order to cleanse my body of the unhealthy effects of polluted grains that I constantly am taking into my system. Also it should help drop some weight pretty quickly, which I am all about. Don't freak out, it's really nothing extreme! I can't explain the benefits that well since I don't speak Science, but I got a lot of eye-opening information at wellnessmama.com.
I've been pretty good at keeping my diet goals the last two days. Still, I haven't been 100%--I tasted a roll last night and this morning as I fed them to my children. (Seriously, if I wasn't a short order cook I think this healthy diet thing would work out so much better. But keeping only insanely health food in the house doesn't fit into my job description. I know I should just force my children into the healthy stuff, but truly they are the pickiest eaters since I myself was young.... younger.)
So I ate a roll. And then I felt guilty.
And then I felt like I had blown The whole Plan.
And then I got over it.
Exercise: I did walk around the block last night in the dark with a fabulous friend. I wore my flip flops and of course my knees began hurting before I could turn a corner, but I sucked it up and finished the job. It was really a delightful stroll/hike, and I probably damaged my knees worse. Ah well. I'll get into some real exercising soon--probably next week when I get Buttercup and Lou Lou back into school and settled and I can then focus on working out. I thought I would put Farmboy in the stroller and go all around my beautiful mountain neighborhood for an hour every morning--while wearing my good tennies with the inserts of course. Please bless that my knees won't hurt.
Anywho, so now I'm thinking I will still eat my sensible meals, but with more protein and less carbs--almost like an Atkins thing. I have high hopes as long as I can find something to do with myself when I'm feeling emotional. My first thought is always to go straight to the cupboard/freezer/whatever, but this is also no longer an option. I need a hobby. Perhaps I should actually do some of the crafts I've pinned from Pinterest.
Also, my most darling sister The Princess has just joyfully informed me that she most likely will be coming to stay for the weekend. Wonderful news--however, my way of entertaining and celebrating usually involves meals smothered in butter and chocolate chip cookies galore. I have really got to find an alternate way of feeling happy--or expressing happiness. This is not easy. This is one of the hardest things I've ever tried to do.
As of late it has become exceedingly apparent that I have been eating way too many spoonfuls of peanut butter (see previous post). As a matter of fact, peanut butter and other such comes-from-a-can-and-very-quickly-puts-a-smile-on-my-face foods are about all I remember of the last year. Just as 1+1=2, peanut butter (etc.etc.) + no exercise = larger body and smaller wardrobe. In turn, this leads to a very tired and sloppily dressed megs.
I can point my finger wherever I like to place blame, and so I will.
First and foremost, I am hungry. You can find me at any hour of the day planning what my next meal (or snack) will be while simultaneously nibbling on a few cups of chocolate chips. (Hey, they're small. Don't give me that.) Will the universe just make me full already?
Secondly, I am emotional. The reasons for this hideous problem I could name by the thousands, but today I am going to highlight my crazy hormones as the main culprit. If you'd like to know more please feel free to call me while I sob into the phone for an hour or two. Or maybe we'll just go shopping... Anywho, the point is that I literally eat my emotions and they've built a homestead on my thighs. And my chin.
Thirdly, I have three babies. Well, they're not all babies currently, but they once were and they've taken a toll on my poor body. And can I just say that I have an eternal hatred towards women who look like models from the back and are 8 1/2 months pregnant in the front. My body however is under the impression that babies are to be carried in your bum, and so it would naturally follow that my bottom would sag just as any mother's post-partum belly would.
Fourthly--and really this reason could fit into excuses numbers 1,2, and 3--I miscarried a baby earlier this year. Hungry, hormones, babies. Nuff said.
Fifthly, I walk funny and my bones and joints are all in wonky places. This has been confirmed by my physical therapist husband Charming--and for good measure, a chiropractor. Almost all exercise attempted results in much pain. Like me screaming that my knees are going to explode kind of pain. Whatever.
And sixthly, MY BODY HATES ME. This is a proven matter of fact. Perhaps I haven't given it enough reasons to love me, or perhaps it's still mad about those ballet lessons in 2nd grade. Whatever the reason, it wants to torture me. The end.
Well, not necessarily the end. I mean, chubby megs is fine and all to be for the moment, but after a moment or two you could say it gets annoying having to wear a skirt because none of your pants fit you. And having four gorgeous not-that-much-younger sisters constantly reminding me of what beauty and athleticism look like. Sigh.
Hence The Plan.
The Plan is not that finely tuned as of yet, but I'm here today to say that I'm working on it. I am going to be dieting myself into a better body image, as well as adding exercise (it tends to help).
In the past I have done Weight Watchers and was very successful. However, WW is getting a little old to me and I am sick of counting Points. For a week or so I am going to be seeing how strong my willpower is (and I think I'm frustrated enough that it might be pretty strong). WW might make a triumphant return if I can't seem to get a handle on
things on my own. Counting calories may also be an option.
I plan on eating three super-sensible meals a day with free fruit whenever I like. Usually I don't like fruit--I would prefer a large scoop of Nutella thankyouverymuch, but obviously this can't happen anymore.
I will be drinking lots of water and starting small with walks around the neighborhood. That will gradually build until I can get back into step aerobics and riding my stationary bike. I'll aim for exercising 30 minutes, 5 times a week, to start.
Also, I have a bottle of "natural" diet pills that I will be taking starting in a week after I see how I've done on my own. This first week will be a control to see if the pills are really doing anything. And please don't tell me not to take the pills. You can tell me to be careful, but I think these pills are pretty organic and will not be hurting me. If they hurt anything it will be my pocketbook.
I've decided to use my blog as another way to check in and keep me motivated. Every Monday I'll be weighing myself in and reporting my weight loss. No, you don't get to know my original poundage because that is a rude question and how embarrassing! Let's just say it's somewhere between ouch and ludicrous. This week I haven't lost anything--the scale has just confirmed my worst fears. Meh. Continuing on. Once a month I will post a current picture of myself, so we can see the progress. (Picture coming soon.)
And when I say we, I mean anyone who is interested. I understand that just because you are my cousin or my friend from highschool you still may not be interested in the mundane details of my hopeful attempt to get in shape #183. Feel free to run away and check back in a year to laugh at me.
Not. I am gonna be so hott. Ahem.
As for those of you who feel supportive or just curious even--welcome. I could use all the help I can get.
So the last five years or so have been dramatic for me in the whole "body weight/happy self image area". Just before that time I was traipsing around college, feeling comfortable enough in my own skin when WHAM! Suddenly I'm engaged (well there's more to it than that, but let's not get into it here), freaking out and realizing that I've got to lose about 10-15 pounds FAST! I immediately put myself on what my cousin Joseph has dubbed the "See Me Naked Diet", and fasted myself down to a hot-to-trot size for my wedding and *cough cough* honeymoon.
But you know, a girl like me can't stay small forever (I have a love/hate relationship with food). My new father-in-law bestowed upon Charming and I a joyfully large jar of his secret recipe chocolate truffle sauce. I know. We totally didn't stand a chance. I honestly believe that I gained 20 pounds within the first four months of my marriage--that's almost more than one pound a week! What can I say? Charming and I were living a life of pure pleasure.
Still, I had terrific plans for that summer to get in shape while Charming and I lived in California while he was installing satellite systems. After all, what was I going to do with all that spare time? I accomplished two big things that summer, and neither of them was losing weight. Number 1 was I learned how to cook; a fabulous skill mind you, but not handy in the weight loss department. Number 2 I. got. pregnant. And then my entire world fell apart. Please know, this was a planned pregnancy, not that it's any of your business, but I've found that people are often curious. However, I didn't plan on being nasty sick for 4 months and only being able to hold down sugary, fatty foods. After the main nausea went away all I had to do to keep it at arm's length was to keep my stomach full. Very full. So full that it didn't just go straight to my hips but it went straight everywhere. I think it's safe to say I gained about sixty pounds before the baby was born. Yich. Might as well crumple up my self-esteem and throw it in the trash.
After motherhood struck I still had high hopes for getting rid of all that "baby weight" (more like pizza, chocolate shakes, and apple pie weight--I mean good grief, the baby only weighed 7 lbs. I guess I was hoping for a sixty pound baby...). I hoped and hoped and hoped. I hoped so much that I did early morning aerobics for about three weeks before PPD set in too strong for me to get out of bed. So I continued to live my life and hope that somehow that nasty weight would drop the heck off my bottom and help an anorexic or something.
AND THEN....tada! I was pregnant again! (Yes, also planned.) Luckily I was already so overweight I just kind of lingered around my starting weight. I maybe gained about 10 pounds overall--which, on top of what I was already carrying, seemed like no big deal. And then the baby came out and she was only 7 lbs too! (Somebody in heaven, throw me a bone.)
Hallelujah for my mother who offered to sign me up for WeightWatchers online. It gave me the boost and real hope I needed to get moving. It took me a super long time, lots of sweat and tears (the tears were a result of all the chocolate I wasn't eating), but I once again became Megs, comfortable in my own skin and with who I am. YAY!
But now for the last year I've still had that love/hate relationship with my food. I'm constantly working out, but apparently it's not enough for my body to love me (see here). I'm doing my best to live healthy and I think I'm doing an okay job. But I'm still yo-yoing here and there. It just feels like I have an appetite that won't be quenched. For years I've referred to myself as the bottomless pit--I can eat and eat and eat and only regret about six hours later for about five minutes. But on to happier thoughts...
Lately I've started two new medications that have had an interesting affect on my appetite. The first makes most foods seem disgusting (unless of course it's fatty or full of sugar). The second has strangely decreased my appetite (who knew it was possible?) and yet somehow has given me a nice full-perkiness in my womanly areas. I honestly think that without even trying I have lost about 4-5 pounds in the last two months (well, I guess I have been trying, but just doing the same ol' thing). Hurray! Now my only issue is, even though I get full super quick, if I do happen to like the food I've been eating, I'll just continue to feast until my plate is clear, or the pan is clear, or whatever. And then I'll feel very sick the rest of the day. Geesh--you'd think WeightWatchers had taught me more control than that--and that I'd take better advantage of such a situation?!
I'm working on it, I really am. Problem today is that I got home from a morning jaunt to the library famished, and proceeded to devour the leftover Chinese Chicken Salad from last night. The thing about salads is you think they don't matter, or count, or whatever. So of course I ate most the entire thing (hey--gotta leave something for Charming!) and now I feel sick.
Oh well. It was delicious. You should all partake.
My sister Jayni set up a cooking blog (yes, I know, another cooking blog, but this one is awesome! Or will be awesome when it gets going. The link is here, and also on the sidebar--Baking With Belle) for a class and made me a co-poster. The plan is to have a new post everyday, with different authors posting weekly. I love the idea because I've always got something new I've tried and want to share with the world, or some kind of an old favorite recipe that will change your life as you know it.
I've just posted the Chinese Chicken Salad recipe today and I'm pestering Jayni about setting the rest up. GOT THAT JAYNI? FINISH SETTING UP YOUR BLOG ALREADY SO PEOPLE CAN ENJOY THE DELICIOUSNESS!!!
I hope you all enjoyed my five-year weight loss history. Now I'll just go hide in a corner and be embarrassed because I've realized I probably said too much again.
Why do you hate me? It is a question I have been longing to ask throughout the years, ever since I noticed the continuity of really ugly, loud, repetitive frog-like hiccups and torturous periods.
Did you not see what a sweet toddler I was? Instead you cursed me with nightly leg-aches that plague me to this day (and then decided to pass them on to dear, sweet Buttercup I might add). You filled my teenage years with acne and klutzyness. Why do you still insist on daily stubbing my toe and kunging my elbow on a passing wall/dresser/lamp? It would be nice if once in awhile you would kindly do your job and send my brain a signal that my limbs are so long and there are big objects obstructing my path and thus my arm/leg/head/hip perhaps ought to move over a bit to make room.
I have tried so hard to be kind to you--reaching out to you with the hand of friendship by doing endless step-aerobics, washing my face nightly, and eating vegetables. But those gestures of love you have thrown back in my face like a slap. What was with those terrible pregnancies and the so-not-necessary extra weight gain? Why?
I will never give up, because that would mean the war is over and you have won. But I do have a small request for you. It shouldn't be too difficult to handle. When you decide to smite me with a physical abnormality/disease/bothersome random symptoms, could you please make it clear what the actual underlying problem is? I'm really sick of these guessing games, so really it would help us both out if you could just be open and honest. And then give the doctors proof that I'm not a hypochondriac the next time they decide to do an expensive test/procedure.
Body, I know we've had some rough times, but we could start over and begin a new relationship right now if you're willing to cooperate. I want to love you. Please trust me. Please stop the madness.
