Monday, 18 February 2013

I'm waddling off the rails of the gravy train

Apologies to Ozzy.*

Anyhoo.  Let's just say that nine months of eating for two, 11 weeks of bedrest (instead of intense daily workouts), the holidays, and of course the awesome legendary Huff Candy Basket (which is still overflowing from Christmas) have done nothing for my fitness level, mood, or ability to fit into pants. 

I have, literally, 3 pairs of sweatpants and 2 pairs of maternity jeans that I wear.  It's not good.  There is, let's say, more of me to love.

But, 11 weeks or so after the birth, I'm starting to feel pretty good about my back-in-shape efforts...after about 5 weeks of 3-times-a-week workouts (a combination of Kinect, Jillian Michaels** and a less-than-triumphant return to weight/cardio intervals at the gym), I'm gearing up to teach my first Attack class at the end of the week.  In that vein, I thought I'd attempt some non-stretchy pants. After all, I was getting stronger! Slimmer! Less cuddly!  I decided to start with what I liked to call my Last Remaining Pair of Normal Pants - the last ones that fit before I was fully into maternity clothes.

Urk. 

Ok, ok, so it's been, oh, 22 weeks or so of poor eating habits, with a 16-week stretch of no working out whatsoever.  Not to mention that my "good metabolism" was apparently actually the result of eating well (plus chocolate) and hardcore dedication to the gym, 5 days a week.  Dammit.  I thought I could coast on the losing-weight-by-breastfeeding propaganda, but the scale says no.  Also (and here's where the excuses begin), I have been afraid to clean up my diet or work out too hard, since Tamsin has required supplementation with formula - I didn't want to jeopardize my milk supply even more. 

But again, with the return-to-GoodLife looming (and the image in the mirror depressing), I've decided that I'm getting back on track.  I've been still eating pregnancy-sized portions - like at Montana's the other day (kids' choice, I swear), when I had the quesadillas (with water, thank you very much), and shared one of my triangles with Ailsa... and then was still starving after eating the other three.  Um, usually I'm stuffed after two.  It was a bit of a wakeup call.  Also, true confession time, I don't usually snack with the kids, preferring to grab a cookie, or chocolate, or (gasp!) PopTart instead, when they're napping. 

So, the plan goes a little something like this:  Although I can't commit to increasing the frequency of workouts right now, I'm adding more snacks in... snacks with the kids, that is, morning and afternoon.  The days of eat what I say, not what I eat are over (wine, aside, of course), so I'll be increasing my fruits and veggies (with a bit of protein in the form of yogurt, cheese, nuts-and-seeds or milk).  No more crap-on-the-couch every night (note: wine is not "crap").  I'm also going to add in a protein shake with breakfast to up my protein intake further, and increase my water intake exponentially.

The goal?  Losing 8 pounds by the time my mother goes on another cruise.  (Don't ask).***

And, of course, fitting into my damn fat pants. 


* And I apparently have to start avoiding the gravy boat, as well.  Boo.
** Yep, still hate her.
*** It's on.

Tuesday, 12 February 2013

Someone saved my life last night... Sugarbear...

If that's not the actual Elton John lyric, please don't disillusion me. 


Things were getting worse day by day.  Chris was in Australia.  With two sick kids, a screaming baby, and just generally being totally overwhelmed, overtired and miserable, I was heading to bed around midnight. 

Vaughn has started "school", actually a school readiness program, so it's a bit of a dash to get all of us dressed and out the door by 8:40 every morning.  With the winter weather we've been having, I've been juggling naptimes for Tamsin with outdoor playtimes for the kids (ie. shovelling the driveway time), and had had enough.

I decided to try to reconnect with the gratitude exercises that helped get me through the Summer of Bed Rest.  But I'm so frickin' tired, I thought.  Ailsa has woken up crying twice already, Vaughn has gotten up once, screaming and coughing, and it won't be the last time tonight.  And Tamsin will be up for a feed in half an hour.  What can I be thankful for? 

I started making a little list.  Overall, good health for all of us.  A nice house (which is getting nicer, thanks to my dad).  Support from my parents.  Good friends.  Enough money to not worry too much. 

At that moment, I heard the plow going up my street.

Oh God, I thought.  It's too much.  I can't do this.  I can't get up even earlier and shovel us out.  I just can't.

I peeked through the blinds and saw the plow at the foot of my driveway.

It scooped up the snowdrift that it had created, and drove away with it, leaving my driveway clear.  The kids kicked into self-preservation mode, and all of them (yes, all three) slept until 7 am.

Thank you, thank you, thank you.


Sugarbear, you're the best.

Wednesday, 6 February 2013

Maybe she's born with it...

...Maybe it's Maybelline...


("It" being eyebrows, that is.)



I actually managed to have a shower in the middle of the day today!  And then I decided that, with the older two napping, I would take advantage of the quiet and do some horizontal parenting with Tamsin.  And then I guess I was a bit bored.

Above, someone is Not Impressed by my artistry with an eyebrow pencil. 

In my defence, she is very wiggly.  Oh, fine.  I'll cross "baby makeup artist" off my list of fallback careers.  Sorry, Toddlers and Tiaras.  You'll have to find someone else to do makeup slapplication on wee ones.

However, we did have a fun afternoon/evening of saying things like, "Tamsin, you'd be surprised to hear that..."  and "Why does that surprise you so much?".



Yes, yes, she's gorgeous au naturel (without eyebrows).  But it was funny.

Tuesday, 5 February 2013

At least I'm succeeding at flossing

This is going to come out wrong no matter what I do, but here goes:  I think of Michael Buble in the shower every day. 

Wait.  Maybe I should clarify.  I don't think about Michael-Bublé-in-the-shower.  He's not my type.  But I suppose saying that when I'm in the shower, and I mean every time I'm in the shower, I think about him, sounds just as bad.

No, I said he's not my type.

See, we have a large, loud Musical Bubbles Octopus in our bathtub (as one does).  It plays annoying songs, blows annoying bubbles, and the kids love it to bits at bathtime.  But when I see the word "Bubbles", it makes me think "Bublé".  And that makes me think of a sketch that SNL put on, starring Michael Bublé and Jon Hamm, about a pork-and-champagne restaurant, naturally called Hamm and Bublé.

Now, I have never seen this sketch.  Maybe someone told me about it, or maybe I overheard it mentioned on the radio.  But for some reason, every time I get in the shower, I can't help thinking about Hamm and Bublé and pork and champagne.

...

Ok, now I've watched it, and man, that is funny stuff.  And I don't expect to not think of Mr. Bubbly in the shower from now on.  In fact, I believe I'll be singing along.*  Awesome.  I highly recommend clicking that link.


So, to sum up, yes, I am totally, completely exhausted.  The kids are sick, and have been up all night for, oh, 9 days in a row now.  Tamsin doesn't like napping between 1 and 8 pm, and I'm barely holding it together...but the one thing I'm doing well at is flossing.  Huzzah for dental success!** 


*Delicious ham, refreshing champagne, ah what a wonderful restaurant!

**Overtired, delirious, silly, silly success.