I am late blogging today because I spent my entire morning preparing for a 20-minute work out DVD. Today I started my first day of Jillian Michael’s 30-Day Shred. With Bean’s first birthday, I realized I was rapidly running out of time to use to “New Mom” excuse for my body. Plus, I’m tired of complaining about how I look and spending too much time thinking about how to hide my flab. If I put half as much time into working out as I do shopping for moo-moo dresses, I’d own my own work out video empire.
Just. Like. Jillian.
So, today I quit complaining (well, not really) and I started using this 30-Day Shred thing. I wish I could tell you that I feel refreshed and that I have more energy than before, but that would be a lie. The truth is that I don’t know if I am refreshed or if I have more energy because I can’t get up off the floor. Thankfully, Bean is still napping and so I will probably continue to lie here until he wakes up. After that, it’s anyone’s guess as to how I’ll feel. But I’m betting it ain’t gonna be good.
I pretty much hate Jillian Michaels. And, yes. I am aware that “hate” is a strong word. But I would never use it towards a living person. The Jillian Michaels that I hate lives inside my television and is trying to kill me, so I think that the use of “hate” here is not out of the realm of appropriateness.
But I’m going to wake up tomorrow and do that damn DVD again. And I’ll do it that day after that. And then, according to Oprah, it should get easier because Day Three of any major change is always the worst.
(Unlike Jillian Michaels, Oprah loves me and wants me to live a happy, balance life.)
I’m going to stick with this stupid thing for a few reasons. First, I’m tired of Bean’s foot sinking into my mushy stomach when he crawls all over me. Secondly, I do not want to dress like a soccer mom yet. Third, it has recently dawned on me that I am approaching 30 years old and while that isn’t that old in age, it’s older when you have heart disease in your family. My dad had his first (of several) heart attacks in his 40s. And that’s not too far away for me. So, all joking aside, it is time for me to take care of my ticker.
However, this does not mean that I am going to enjoy one single minute of this whole new working out thing. When I think about it though, there are lots of things in my life that I have to do that I don’t want to do. Such as:
- Pay taxes
- Buy gas
- Wear a bra
- Change diapers
- Shave my legs
- Balance my checking account
- Pay bills
- Go to funerals
- Give Bean a bath
- Give my dogs a bath
- Mop
Sadly, I must do these things. Just like I must continue with Jillian Michaels stupid work out DVD. BUT THAT DOESN’T MEAN I’M GOING TO ENJOY ONE MINUTE OF IT!!!
What about you? What is something that you have to do but would rather not?
Last week I came home from running errands with Bean Man and I found this on my kitchen floor.
I couldn’t tell what it was at first, so I did the natural thing. I started screaming bloody murder. And throwing things at it. And jumping on furniture.
But the bugger never moved, so I got a little braver and stepped into the kitchen only to find it was a gator from the top of Bean’s animal birthday cake last week.
Clearly, I have not quite adjusted to my new environment just yet.
I’m in my second week of stay home alone with Bean during the day since Chris has gone back to work. People ask me how it’s going and I smile and tell them I’m loving this time I get to spend with Bean. And that’s true. I do love the time I get with Bean. But the whole truth and nothing but the truth so help me God is that I really want to go back to work.
Every couple of years I get this thought in my head that, “Gee…I’d love to be a stay at home mom.” I picture myself volunteering and joining mothers and babies groups, having play dates, and spending lazy afternoons doing laundry while watching Ellen and Oprah. But the truth of the matter is that I am just not cut out to stay home for two very important reasons.
First, I really don’t like being by myself. I mean, I need time to myself just like everyone else, but I can’t go for long without talking to someone. And – no offense – but you imaginary friends in Internet Land don’t count. I like talking to real people. I like collaborating to solve problems. I like office supplies. I like letterhead on good paper. I like quick lunches with co-workers. I like sitting in meetings. I like catching up on someone’s weekend in tiny office kitchens. I like my phone ringing. I like cute shoes and doing my hair every day. I like my office door opening. And that doesn’t mean that I like those things MORE than I like spending time with Bean, but it means that I miss them in my life.
And secondly, I am completely not self-motivated. I know that about myself now. Every SAHM I’ve talked to has said the same thing. You have to get up and get moving every day. Get up, get dressed, and get out of the house. But the problem is, I have no motivation to do that. Unless I have plans or unless someone is coming over or I have to be somewhere, I just can’t get myself moving. And that is TOTALLY unlike me. I’m a go-getter. A mover and a shaker. I hate being idle and I hate not being productive. But for some reason, when I’m staying at home, I just can’t find the initiative to be productive and get going. And that drives me crazy. I work so much better when other people are depending on me to do things. And Bean? He’s not so picky about if he gets dressed for the day or if we get to the park before 11:00am. He pretty much just goes with the flow. If he were a little more demanding, I might be more motivated. But he’s pretty good with just hanging out doing whatever we’re doing. Darn little laid back, sweet, undemanding, unselfish Bean Man.
Now that things seem to be falling in place with my book (I’ll have some exciting news to report later this week!), that has given me some sense of purpose at the house and I’m really thankful for that. But it’s hard to write and concentrate with Beaner digging through my Tupperware cabinets and climbing up the bookshelves (true story). I’m sure it’s just something I have to adjust to – working and watching Bean – but right now it is just frustrating and so instead I sit on the couch with him in our jammies watching Sid the Science Kid (“I’mmmm lookin’ for my friends, I’m lookin’ for YOU!”). I keep trying to remind myself that I am in the process of finding a job and that one day soon, I’ll look back on the days where we just sit around together and I’ll miss them. But right now, in the moment, I’m having a little trouble.
To make myself feel a little more regimented and scheduled, I have been sticking to a little routine while I’m home during the day. It’s pretty good in theory and on the days where I actually stick to it, I’m pretty happy and feel good about myself. But on the days where I think, “Who really cares?” I tend to wallow a bit more.
7:30 – Bean wakes up. I change him and set him up with his first bottle.
8:00- 9:30 – I blog while Bean plays and/or pulls on my clothes until I pick him up. In that case, I blog holding him while typing with one hand. Takes much longer.
9:30 – Bean and I eat breakfast. Our favorite right now is blueberries and cheese toast. Yummy!
10:00 – I get Bean dressed and then bring him into my room to play and watch TV while I get dressed, make my bed, and straighten up my bedroom.
10:30- 12:00 – Bean usually goes down for his morning nap. That’s when I clean the kitchen up from breakfast, do a load of laundry, and then answer emails or work on the blog in some way.
12:00 – Bean usually wakes up around lunch time. I give him a bottle and then he plays while I get lunch ready.
12:30 – Bean and I have lunch together.
1:00 – If we have errands to run or if we want to go play somewhere, this is when we go as long as Bean took a good long nap that morning. If Bean didn’t take a big nap or if we don’t have anywhere to go, we play at the house until Bean gets tired again.
2:30 – Bean usually goes down for his afternoon nap and I work on my book, either editing or writing.
3:30 – Bean wakes up and has a little snack with me.
4:00 – Bean plays and I watch Oprah while getting the house straightened up.
5:15 – Chris gets home.
I mean, it’s not a BAD schedule. But it’s hard for me to find the motivation to stick to it because who really cares?
I’m hoping that this is just part of adjusting. Surely I’m not supposed to be good at this and fully adjusted by two weeks in, right? RIGHT? RIGHT?!?!?
(sigh)
I need a job.
(UPDATE: I just re-read this post and I hope that it doesn’t offend anyone. I certainly am not passing judgment on SAHM’s and I would hate to think people read that into this post. To clarify, I just don’t think it’s right for me. Oh, man. Did I just put my foot in my mouth with this one?)
Last week Bean had a cold, which means that this week I have a cold. Ahhh…the joys of parenting.
Chris is really great when I’m not feeling well. He makes sure that I get enough rest and that I am taking my medicine. He pitches in more around the house and he watches Bean while I take naps.
He would be the perfect nurse.
If only he wasn’t trying to kill me.
Chris and I handle sickness very differently. When Chris is sick, he takes his medicine religiously. Like a clock, every four hours he takes his two cold pills and they do everything they advertise for him. His coughing, sneezing, aching, stuffy head, and fever subside so he can rest. But for me, if there are any side effects from medication then I’m going to get them. You know that warning that says not to operate heavy machinery? That warning is for me. I get so woozy when I take anything. In fact, I react so oddly to medication that I have to take daytime cold pills at night and nighttime cold pills during the day. But even when I do that, it still doesn’t seem to ever make me feel better. I’m not sick for any less amount of time and my symptoms don’t go away. So, I try to not take it. It makes me loopy and it doesn’t help.
And that’s when my nurse starts to hound me. And hound me. And hound me. He calls me from work all day, making sure I’ve taken my medicine. And when I lie and say that yes I took it, just so he’ll get off my back about it, he comes home and checks the pill count. A loving, caring husband trying to get his wife better? Possibly. OR, he’s trying to keep me loopy so he can steal my last box of Girl Scout cookies…
We also differ in where we are sick. When I’m sick, I want to be in my bed. Cozy under my covers and sleeping for hours. In Chris’ house growing up, when you were sick you got a Sick Bed. A Sick Bed is a bed made up on the couch for you during the day. You go to your own bed at night, but during the day you lay around on your Sick Bed on the couch. Now, personally, I don’t want to be in my living room with the dogs and the baby and my husband and the television when I’m not feeling well. I want to hide from the world in quiet solitude. But every time I try to go to bed, like a normal sick person, Chris tries to keep me out on the couch. He forces me into a Sick Bed. Which means I sit on the couch, sick and slightly pissed off, while Bean violently pats my face and the dogs lick my feet. And when I’ve had enough and I get up to go to bed, my nurse starts whining, “Don’t go to bed yet! Not yet! Stay out here! You need your Sick Bed!” A sweet husband who wants to spend more time with his wife, even while she’s sick? Possibly. OR, he wants me to stay close so he can make sure I stay medicated and loopy so he can steal my last box of Girl Scout cookies…
Now, I am generally a good sport about Chris when he’s “taking care of me.” He takes his nursing job very seriously and he gets his feelings hurt if I don’t accept his help when I’m not feeling good. So, I take my medicine when he’s standing over me shoving it down my throat and I stay on my Sick Bed during the day when he’s home. But I draw the line at the Sweat It Out theory.
At some point in Chris’ life, someone told him he needed to “sweat it out” when he was sick one time. Ever since, Chris believes that when you are not feeling good – and especially if you have a fever – you should do the following steps in the following order:
1. Take Tylenol.
2. Put on winter, wool socks.
3. Put on flannel pajama pants.
4. Put on a short sleeve shirt.
5. Put on a long sleeve shirt.
6. Get under at least three blankets.
7. Sleep through the night.
In these conditions, you will sweat out your sickness overnight and will wake up refreshed and healthy. The thing is that the two times you don’t ever want to talk to me are when I’m either sick or too hot. So, Sweating It Out is like waking a sleeping bear with me. I’m hot and feverish already and there is no way in God’s green earth that I am going to wrap myself in wool anything and crawl under layers of blankets. I get claustrophobic and I feel like I’m dying.
The ONE TIME I did this was the first few months we were married. I thought it was soooooo cute that Chris was trying to help me get better. So, I let him feed me cold pills and I happily climbed into my Sick Bed and when he pulled out my camping socks good for weather below 30 degrees I laughed, told him he was silly, kissed him, and put on the socks. I climbed in bed that night feeling happy from all the love my newly minted husband was giving me.
I woke up at 1:00am that morning in a pool of sweat, dying of thirst, and feeling 100 times worse than when I went to bed earlier. In the middle of the night, I peeled sweaty, wet clothes and socks off of my body, dragged out my fan, and slept naked with my fan in my face for the rest of the night. I didn’t speak to Chris for three days.
Ever since, I won’t even let him hint about Sweating It Out. I don’t care if it’s the right thing to do. I don’t care if the Surgeon General of the United States came out with a statement that said, “Katie, you need to Sweat It Out.” I don’t care about any of it. I’d rather be sick for the rest of my life.
So, as you can see, I try not to get sick. It’s just better for my marriage if I stay healthy and Chris doesn’t have to be my nurse. Then, he doesn’t get his feelings hurt and I don’t have to call my sister, crying, telling her that I think my husband is trying to nurse me to death. Chris says this makes me the worst patient ever and he’s probably right. I just don’t like to be taken care of or messed with when I’m not feeling good. So for now, Chris will have to find someone else to nurse.
I’d love to see him try to sweat out Lucy. Chris would be the only grown man I know to be mauled to death by a Chihuahua-mix dog.
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