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Kangaroo Spotting

30 31 32 36 32 36 37 38 Kangaroo Spotting: July 2014

Wednesday, July 30, 2014

Get into the Spirit of Self Confidence

Forty Weeks
Four Weeks 

I’m pleased to be taking recess from therapy for a few weeks. My last visit sounded more like a gossip session because not much was troubling me.

My reactions are becoming much more appropriate to specific situations these days. It is normal to freak out about taking Lavinia to the emergency room, not about going for a drive. Progress.

I went from having a couple good days now and then, to a couple bad days now and then.

Since my brain is behaving, I am devoting my energy to physical health. After all, the two are not separate.  

I’m at an age where I place no faith in diets. Tell me I can’t have something and I want it all the more. Over the years I have learned that as long as I move my body, I can pretty much eat what I want. When I go overboard I repent- yesterday's nachos are today's steamed veggies.

I enjoy a mainly healthy lifestyle. Cooking relaxes me and exercise is my stress reliever (when I have time and motivation for it). Don’t get me wrong, I indulge. I looooove food. Any meal can be made better with melted cheese on top. Carbs are not the devil. And don’t forget the wine. "Everything in moderation, including moderation itself," (Oscar Wilde).

Because I battled with a thyroid disease since age 14 I understand the emotional ups and downs that accompany numbers on a scale. As a result I don’t do scales either. No diets and no scales. I try to tune in to what my body craves, put on my sneakers and run from temptation...most of the time.

When I got pregnant just shy of my 32nd birthday I wigged. At 30 I was finally comfortable in my own skin and now this innocent little intruder was going to wreck it. A big, fat, test of my body-image belief system.

After weeks of struggling internally I was forced to let the pregnancy do it's natural thing while I adjusted my ideas of what health and beauty looked like. Society expects pregnant women to be these buff little Momma's with toned arms. Two long legs with a beach-ball stuffed beneath a fashionable figure-hugging maternity top. Well guess what? That's not how it works.  

Every pregnancy is as unique as every human body. Rather than try to look like that ideal svelte-figure smuggling a soccer-ball, I decided to focus on the health of the little nugget inside me. I exercised, not to prevent weight gain, but to get oxygen flowing through my blood and into my fetus. I gulped down vitamins, drank spirulina smoothies and nettle tea (and of course, gave into my cake cravings).

I lovingly absolved myself from pressure to bounce back after Lavinia was born. It takes nine months to put the baby-weight on, it’s only practical that it should take another nine to remove it.

Fast forward: Now that I finally had the time to think about myself again, I felt weak, squishy and fatigued.  Rather than a focus on 'losing those last few pounds' my goals became- better sleep, better moods, more energy.

I joined a gym with child-minding and a month ago started training with a female bodybuilder. It’s really hard work trying to catch up to where I was before I got pregnant. Every training day I wake up and want to cancel...but I haven’t missed one session. My strength and confidence are returning with every bench press.

Forget ideals, forget unrealistic expectations or comparisons. Worship at the alter of good health and well-being!  

I will be sharing before and after photos at the end of October. Check out my results here!

One week before Lavinia was born

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Wednesday, July 16, 2014

The Easy Tears of a New Mother

I sobbed this morning after dropping Lavinia at day care for the third time.  Not sure why because on the first two occasions I was fist-pumping.

To begin with, it’s been over a month since she attended.  She was sick for a few weeks plus the centre was closed during school holidays.  My mother-in-law has been helping out heaps so I didn't feel the desperate need for a break.

That last longing glance over my shoulder, I saw my baby looking back at me.  Sigh.

The lip quiver started while I walked, baby-less, to my car. Parents weaved around me rushing to drop-off their own kids.  Not one tear between them.  I’m sure it gets easier over time. Yet still not sure about the day three waterworks? I’ve always been a slow emotion-processor (my darn stubborn-Italian half.)

I drove home among commuters with a seriously ugly, wet, cry-face. And even after a good sesh at the gym I still felt a bit weepy.  

So with sore quads, a clean kitchen, and a few nights meals socked away, I excitedly went to grab my little bug hours later. Two or three of the carers commented on Vinnie’s boundless energy one referred to her as a “pocket-rocket” (now I feel justified for being exhausted all the time!) 

They told me about her day and that they let Lavinia crawl laps outside and apparently she freaking loved it.  During the car ride home she babbled to me sternly..Telling me all about it maybe? (I always think she sounds like she’s chastising me for leaving her but maybe it’s because she’s unhappy about being strapped into her car seat).

When we arrived home she started tearing around the house making brand new sounds.....After one afternoon!  This kid is going to be speaking in sentences soon, thanks to her new friends.  No doubt childcare is good for her development, I can see it before my very eyes.

She’s still quite overstimulated and it's late in the day.  Right now she’s lying in her crib, babbling, but at least she’s not yelling and gnawing more paint off the bars.  Go to sleep kid, you need to recharge!  She doesn't seem to think so.  Guess we can live without an afternoon nap.

Overall today was a great day.  I'll chalk my unexpected emotions up to what I call, 'The New Mom Shift,' its when you cry during commercials, the evening news ect.  Becoming a parent makes you soft.  It connects you so deeply to the world that you feel like your heart is made of porcelain.

Fingers crossed, the fourth time will be a tear-free charm.

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