http://instagram.com/p/tlok5pr0VA/
After:
http://instagram.com/p/tlozhZL0VV/
Tuesday, September 30, 2014
Monday, September 29, 2014
Tuesday, September 23, 2014
More thoughts on jogging
I've always known I was fairly unathletic, but I assumed it was my fault somehow. Like, I didn't care enough to do what other people do, so over time, I became unable to. Or something like that.
But I mean I could never do what other people can, physically. Even as a kid. And watching my kid (who is perhaps a bad example; if she doesn't get enough exercise that day, she literally jogs around the couch), I realized that the fact that I couldn't do what others my age could do as a child was a pretty big indication something was up.
This morning, I was editing some nursing questions about the circulatory system, and saw the symptoms of exertion in someone with mitral valve prolapse. And realized that's exactly what happens to me when I run. Now, I'm not in the best shape -- I'm not even in my best shape -- but I'm not sedentary. I have a 3-year-old. Who is over half my height, a quarter of my weight (and I'm 4 months pregnant!), and runs around the couch for fun. I'm doing okay. But let me run a quarter of a mile, and I literally feel like I'm dying. I can't catch my breath. I pour sweat. And it feels like my heart may just pound right out of my chest.
What made this so shocking is not the realization that those symptoms are related to mitral valve prolapse, but that I forgot I had MVP in the first place. I used to worry about it, shortly after I was diagnosed as a teenager, but I've had so few problems related to it that it just dropped off my radar. Instead, I blamed my allergies, which are usually uppermost on my mind when it comes to chronic health issues. (If you woke up congested 365 days of the year, allergies would be your go-to explanation, too. I don't have "seasonal" allergies...I have all-year, everything allergies.) Or my desk job. Or (gulp) my laziness...if I really pushed myself, I could run, too.
Well, maybe not.
I'm not entirely giving up. I've watched me do things I never thought I could do. Like touch my toes. (I can't do it right now, obvs, but I could before my belly popped out to say hi. Really, I could!) And tree pose. And get up at 4 a.m. to go for a 5-mile walk and like it. So I may still jog someday. It just may take me longer to get there than most.
That's okay. I'm patient.
But I mean I could never do what other people can, physically. Even as a kid. And watching my kid (who is perhaps a bad example; if she doesn't get enough exercise that day, she literally jogs around the couch), I realized that the fact that I couldn't do what others my age could do as a child was a pretty big indication something was up.
This morning, I was editing some nursing questions about the circulatory system, and saw the symptoms of exertion in someone with mitral valve prolapse. And realized that's exactly what happens to me when I run. Now, I'm not in the best shape -- I'm not even in my best shape -- but I'm not sedentary. I have a 3-year-old. Who is over half my height, a quarter of my weight (and I'm 4 months pregnant!), and runs around the couch for fun. I'm doing okay. But let me run a quarter of a mile, and I literally feel like I'm dying. I can't catch my breath. I pour sweat. And it feels like my heart may just pound right out of my chest.
What made this so shocking is not the realization that those symptoms are related to mitral valve prolapse, but that I forgot I had MVP in the first place. I used to worry about it, shortly after I was diagnosed as a teenager, but I've had so few problems related to it that it just dropped off my radar. Instead, I blamed my allergies, which are usually uppermost on my mind when it comes to chronic health issues. (If you woke up congested 365 days of the year, allergies would be your go-to explanation, too. I don't have "seasonal" allergies...I have all-year, everything allergies.) Or my desk job. Or (gulp) my laziness...if I really pushed myself, I could run, too.
Well, maybe not.
I'm not entirely giving up. I've watched me do things I never thought I could do. Like touch my toes. (I can't do it right now, obvs, but I could before my belly popped out to say hi. Really, I could!) And tree pose. And get up at 4 a.m. to go for a 5-mile walk and like it. So I may still jog someday. It just may take me longer to get there than most.
That's okay. I'm patient.
Wednesday, September 17, 2014
Tuesday, September 16, 2014
Monday, September 15, 2014
Busy-ness
If there's anything I rail against as a mother, it's busy-ness. Too much to do, not enough time to do it in. It leads me to mornings like this:
in which I nestle the kiddo in my office recliner with a pillow, blankie, tablet, and sippy cup while I tackle the day's 10 hours of work. I work from home so I can spend more time with her, and sometimes she insists that time happen while I work because...well, because I work most of the day.
So she watches Barney. And I work. And also knock out some personal business (appointments, requests for freelance gigs). And eat breakfast. And shave my legs left-handed with an electric razor while editing points on a graph in PowerPoint with my right hand, because we have to leave for an appointment immediately after I get off work and I look like a yeti. I do anything I can do sitting at my desk, so I can maximize my working hours. All in the hopes that later I might have uninterrupted time with her.
After a while, she gets tired of Netflix and breaks out the washable markers. I allow this because a) washable (I learned the hard way), and b) it keeps her happy, which allows me to get more work done.
(Yes, she gave me tiger stripes. And growled at me after she did it, so I knew they were tiger stripes. Can't say my kid's not awesome.)
Soon, we'll have lunch. Then I'll work some more. After work, we'll drive an hour to speech therapy, and an hour back, and spend at least half an hour there. Last Monday, we were there an hour and a half because they were running late. That's a long time for a 3-year-old. So I take plenty of kid-amusing gear, but also brace myself for the fact that afterwards, she may be too grumpy for quality time. Which is fine, because I'll likely be too tired. I am 4 months pregnant, after all, and work 60-hour weeks.
I think fondly back on my life before I worked from home, where I had a clear division between work and personal time. But then I realize I'm painting those days in rosier tones than they deserve; sure, I only worked the one job, but it was way more taxing mentally and emotionally than my current job, and it often took a full 8 hours to decompress from it -- 8 hours I didn't have, because I was commuting and then playing catchup with laundry and dinner in the few remaining hours before bed. The work I do now, while there is way more of it, is far less stressful. It's mostly the amount of it that bothers me. The number of hours a day I must function at full speed.
And don't even get me started on what I'm not doing. I've not done a single sensory play project with my kid, her whole life. I have Pinterest boards full of projects I've yet to attempt. I just finished my first book of the year. I got it for Christmas. I haven't plucked my eyebrows since 2013.
Part of me wishes, deep down, to be "just" a mommy. For my job to be cleaning and cooking and snuggling my kid. I don't want to work and freelance and network and stay on top of the house, my family, my hobbies and interests. I'm tired. I'm pregnant. And my kid won't be 3 forever; soon she won't ask me to lay down and cuddle her back to sleep anymore.
Why must we all be so damn busy all the time?
in which I nestle the kiddo in my office recliner with a pillow, blankie, tablet, and sippy cup while I tackle the day's 10 hours of work. I work from home so I can spend more time with her, and sometimes she insists that time happen while I work because...well, because I work most of the day.
So she watches Barney. And I work. And also knock out some personal business (appointments, requests for freelance gigs). And eat breakfast. And shave my legs left-handed with an electric razor while editing points on a graph in PowerPoint with my right hand, because we have to leave for an appointment immediately after I get off work and I look like a yeti. I do anything I can do sitting at my desk, so I can maximize my working hours. All in the hopes that later I might have uninterrupted time with her.
After a while, she gets tired of Netflix and breaks out the washable markers. I allow this because a) washable (I learned the hard way), and b) it keeps her happy, which allows me to get more work done.
Soon, we'll have lunch. Then I'll work some more. After work, we'll drive an hour to speech therapy, and an hour back, and spend at least half an hour there. Last Monday, we were there an hour and a half because they were running late. That's a long time for a 3-year-old. So I take plenty of kid-amusing gear, but also brace myself for the fact that afterwards, she may be too grumpy for quality time. Which is fine, because I'll likely be too tired. I am 4 months pregnant, after all, and work 60-hour weeks.
I think fondly back on my life before I worked from home, where I had a clear division between work and personal time. But then I realize I'm painting those days in rosier tones than they deserve; sure, I only worked the one job, but it was way more taxing mentally and emotionally than my current job, and it often took a full 8 hours to decompress from it -- 8 hours I didn't have, because I was commuting and then playing catchup with laundry and dinner in the few remaining hours before bed. The work I do now, while there is way more of it, is far less stressful. It's mostly the amount of it that bothers me. The number of hours a day I must function at full speed.
And don't even get me started on what I'm not doing. I've not done a single sensory play project with my kid, her whole life. I have Pinterest boards full of projects I've yet to attempt. I just finished my first book of the year. I got it for Christmas. I haven't plucked my eyebrows since 2013.
Part of me wishes, deep down, to be "just" a mommy. For my job to be cleaning and cooking and snuggling my kid. I don't want to work and freelance and network and stay on top of the house, my family, my hobbies and interests. I'm tired. I'm pregnant. And my kid won't be 3 forever; soon she won't ask me to lay down and cuddle her back to sleep anymore.
Why must we all be so damn busy all the time?
Thursday, September 11, 2014
Wednesday, September 10, 2014
Tuesday, September 9, 2014
Monday, September 8, 2014
Sunday, September 7, 2014
Saturday, September 6, 2014
Working in the junk drawer
My office, the house junk drawer: http://instagram.com/p/smpftML0VP/
I spend most of my waking hours in...this. I should do something about it.
I spend most of my waking hours in...this. I should do something about it.
Friday, September 5, 2014
Documenting my world
I've decided to take on an Instagram project: Documenting my world. A photo a day of...well, stuff in my life. I'd like to say I'll do this for 365 days, or that all of the photos will be meaningful, but I'm not making any promises. I'll try, though. Because that sounds like fun. I just remember what life with a newborn was like, and know that there will be days when I won't find time to brush my teeth, let alone blog.
Anyway. First installment: Reading glasses
Anyway. First installment: Reading glasses
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