Five minutes

One goal I have for myself in the coming year is to make more time for self care. To start, I am promising myself 5 minutes a day. In that 5 minutes, I can:

• Meditate for 2 minutes
• Plank for 60 seconds 
• Do 2-4 yoga poses 

It's not much, I know. But I've had trouble making time for a 10-minute meditation or 30 minutes of yoga. I can always squeeze in 5 minutes.

I know from past experience that just 60 seconds of planking a day makes a serious difference in my core strength. I imagine that I will see equally impressive results with 2 minutes of meditation and yoga if I stick with them.

And as I get better about upholding that 5-minute promise, I can extend it to 10, then 15, then 20. From small things, big things grow.

What I want (the 2016 edition)

I want to get back in shape. In some ways, I am already in shape -- at the very least, I can lift and carry way more than I ever could. And thanks to the pounds I lost to the stomach flu, I can see that yes, there are still abs in there under the loose skin. But there are refinements to be made, certainly. Also, much of what I need to accomplish is maintenance; if I do not exercise regularly, my old injuries flare up. So I need to make time for yoga, for planks, for walks. If I can get my allergies under control, I may even give running another shot.

I want to get my allergies under control. Resume immunotherapy, keep the house cleaner, buy a dehumidifier. I am tired of my itchy eyes and runny nose, tired of feeling bad so much of the time.

I want to feel better. I want to get enough sleep and eat better food and meditate. I don't like the cranky person I have become of late. I want to be a better me.

Because I want to do more. So much of my daily activity is...mundane. Not the kind of stuff I'm going to lay on my deathbed and think, "My gosh, I am so glad I kept my kitchen floor so clean all those years!" I want to write more. Practice graphic design more -- I've been doing some design for my day job and finding I have really, really missed it. I've also been designing jewelry in my head; I'd like to make at least some of it. 

There are other things on my 2016 list. Things like scaling back my debt. But while it is a high priority and I am especially motivated, it's not an interesting goal. Not to me, anyway. It's about hard work and discipline and curbing thoughtless spending. So don't expect blog entries on it, because while it needs to get done, it doesn't exactly melt my butter.

Now, the things I can do once my debt is under control...that is a different story. But those are off on the horizon. I'm trying to rein myself in on the long-term focus. I don't want to get so caught up in 5 years from now that I miss today.

Boredom

Looking back, I think much of the angst I experienced when I was younger was a product of boredom. Not that busywork cures boredom -- more like the more you try to accomplish, the more you want to accomplish, and before you know it, you're too focused on what you want to achieve next to be bored.

Or maybe that's just me.

And of course nothing fills your days like being a parent. I set out immediately after work the other day to do a little early Christmas shopping for Thing One, because I can't very well shop when she's with me (and she is always with me). So I snarfed down a bowl of cereal at 3 to tide me over, dashed into Cordova, shopped Michael's and Target, then zipped home ahead of the storm. Hugged my babies, fed Kai, showed off the non-gift purchases I made, ate a little dinner, showered, and went to bed.

Today will likely be more of the same, only with added guilt because Mimi and Kai will be going with me.

So between the must-do list and the want-to-do list, I am rarely bored. And I am still not doing everything on the want-to-do list. Currently falling through the cracks are my daily yoga and meditation sessions. I've been too tired to get up and do yoga, and haven't had time to sit still long enough to meditate.

The funny part is that after I returned home last night, my daughter complained "Where'd you go, Mommy? I missed you. I was so bored."

I'm actually kind of jealous of her boredom.

5:30 a.m. sounds so much better at bedtime

When I go to bed, a 5:30 wake-up sounds utterly doable. I'm going to bed at a very reasonable hour these days (9-9:30). I just haven't been getting much sleep. Kai is in power nurse mode, and has also been incredibly gassy. I'm thinking the culprit may be all the dairy he's eating. (Which would just figure; I bought him a bunch of yogurt at the store last night.) When my alarm goes off, I mentally give it the finger and snooze until time for work/Anya wakes me.

Kai is never the first one up. He is nothing like his sister in that area.

But even when nobody is kicking me in my Cesarean scar (Kai) or attempting to stick their little toes up my nose (Anya), I don't get up. Because my kids tend to make a cozy Mumma sammich while they sleep, and that feels pretty darn nice. I know that it won't be too long before they no longer want to snuggle with me, so I'm soaking it up while I can. Me time can wait.

That's all well and good, but I need to squeeze the yoga in somewhere. I'm working on it.

Or I will be, once I get a little more sleep.

Spinning plates

I am currently trying to accumulate good habits. Not all at once, but a few at a time. I think of them as my spinning plates.

First, after having Kai, I had to incorporate New Baby into my routine. If you've ever had a new baby, you know that everything from eating to bathing to using the restroom is challenging. Especially if you have a brand-new abdominal incision to contend with. Incorporating New Kai was far easier than incorporating New Anya, mostly because with New Kai I got plenty of sleep. But it was still a process.

Once I had regular meals, showers, and bathroom breaks under my belt, I worked on keeping normal hours. With Anya, I was tossed unceremoniously back into the land of the living when my maternity leave ended. I was adrift in a sea of dirty laundry and dirty bottles, sleep deprived and overcaffeinated, armed with nothing but an empty fridge and an expression of exhausted bewilderment. With Kai, I wanted to do better. So I worked at getting up at the same time each day, eliminating naps, and then pushing back my wake time until it was where I needed it to be for work.

Then I started work. It was a bit of a challenge at first, mostly because Kai didn't understand what was going on. Working from home made it infinitely easier, because I was right down the hall. I tried, and pretty much failed, to pump milk and bottle feed him during the day. (He is not a fan of the bottle, and thinks the pump is stealing his food.) So I learned to work while breastfeeding.

After I got that down, I worked in eating. Then cooking. Then cooking regularly. Menu planning (which I am still working on). House cleaning (ditto). R got a job, and we worked around his schedule (which, happily, balances mine so that we don't need much in the way of daycare). I'm even working in a little freelancing.

Regular exercise is next on the list. I've made working out on the weekends a habit. Now I'd like to add daily yoga and meditation. To accomplish this, I am getting up an hour and a half early Monday through Friday. I've only been at it three days, but so far it's working out well. One or both kids usually wakes up before I complete the meditation -- sometimes before I even complete the yoga. But that's okay. It's a work in progress.

I'm willing to take the time to fiddle with the routine to make it stick. I feel so much better about life, the universe, and everything when I have the basics down. And next year, I'd like to start tackling new goals, instead of circling the same maintenance goals all the time.

Me time

I suck at me time.

It's not that I don't get any; I steal moments here and there throughout the day. But they are inconsequential minutes. A stolen cookie. A little Facebook while the kids are otherwise occupied. A 2-minute yoga session while making a cup of tea.

I need more. I need a 3-mile walk, 30 minutes of yoga. I need 10 minutes of meditation. A long drive. I need time to read books, time to daydream, time to game. Time to recharge. Or just time to fix my hair and put on makeup.

Some moms are good about taking that time, so that they return to their offspring refreshed. I am not that kind of mom. I feel too guilty.

But I am working on it. Because I have seen the difference my me time has on my children. They may protest in the moment, but they are happier when I've had time to myself. Because I am happier. It's true what they say: When Mama ain't happy, ain't nobody happy.

So I am shooting for a balance. Spending quality time with the kids -- not staring at Netflix for hours on end, but watching an episode or two of Reading Rainbow while cuddling and talking about what we see. Getting down on the floor with Kai for half an hour and looking at the world from his angle. Instead of insisting on a 3-mile power walk* every day, mixing it up with yoga or Wii Fit games that she (and even baby Kai!) can participate in. Taking the time for a mani-pedi session with Anya.

Such intense togetherness satisfies their need for me far better than hours of less hands-on attention. And with the time I have left over, I can do something for me. (In theory. I haven't actually managed that yet. Usually I just clean, or go to bed early.)

*Walking is the only true alone time I ever get. I pop the earbuds in, crank the music, and walk until my calves start shaking. It is my drug, my forbidden fruit. I feel strange just thinking that, but it's true. 

Something to work toward

I remember summer vacations as a child. They were boring as hell. I used to set myself a schedule just to give myself something to do.

8:00 Get up (yes, I set an alarm on summer vacation)
8:30 Eat
9:00 Shower

I would schedule which game shows to watch, riding my bike to the post office to get the mail, lunch with a similarly bored friend, things like that. Nothing pressing, enriching, lasting. Just killing time.

I loved being free of the rigid schedule of the school year, but I needed something to look forward to. Three months of nothingness wore on me.

It took me a ridiculously long time to realize that what I need is not structure, but goals. Something to work toward. Which is nice, because there is no end to the things I would like to do in this life. I will never run out of goals. How cool is that?

I used to avoid trying things I thought were beyond me, until I realized that I gain far more satisfaction from improving at something I formerly sucked at than maintaining a stellar track record at something that comes easily to me.

In that vein, here are some things I would like to accomplish. No time limits; I'll do them when I do them. The fun is in the trying.

- Learn to draw
- Jog a mile
- Do a proper cobra pose (I could before the c-sections, but no longer)
- Learn to play drums
- Visit more national landmarks (Mt Rushmore, Yellowstone, the Liberty Bell, etc.)
- Shop local farmer's markets
- Own my own home
- Get a bike; use it

See? I do think about things other than my kids sometimes.

Meet Kai

My stormy boy entered the world at 9:28 a.m. on March 18. He weighed 7 lbs, 7 oz, and was 20 inches long -- not as big as I anticipated, but no lightweight.

My Kai.

A photo posted by Nicole (@nmb1974) on Mar 18, 2015 at 12:04pm PDT

I had a little meltdown before the procedure (conscious surgery is unnerving), and had some hypothermia and iron level issues afterward, but otherwise the procedure was unremarkable. (Medically speaking, of course. Nothing that ends with a new life can really be called unremarkable.)

Impossibly tiny.

A photo posted by Nicole (@nmb1974) on Mar 19, 2015 at 11:11am PDT

Kai had a little fluid in his lungs, and was very mildly jaundiced for about a day, but was otherwise completely healthy. He was back up to his birth weight by his 2-week checkup, and had grown nearly an inch. So while he may not be as stocky as his sister, he is thriving.

Bright eyes.

A photo posted by Nicole (@nmb1974) on Apr 2, 2015 at 3:51pm PDT

For the most part, so am I. I feel much better than I did after having Anya, and am far more mobile. (Too mobile, maybe; I rushed my return to exercise and triggered another bout of bleeding. It's tapering, though.)

Thought I would post an "after" pic in the same outfit for comparison. This is 2 weeks 5 days postpartum. I've lost almost all of the baby weight, but my belly is still pretty swollen - especially today, as I spent most of yesterday on my feet.

A photo posted by Nicole (@nmb1974) on Apr 6, 2015 at 1:57pm PDT

The homecoming has also been fairly smooth. With the exception of his cluster feeds, he only wakes once or twice at night. He has some gassy episodes, but the probiotics seem to be helping. He wants to be held pretty much all the time, but I am fine with that.

Bedhead selfie time.

A photo posted by Nicole (@nmb1974) on Apr 3, 2015 at 7:32am PDT

So while there were bad moments, and I have zero desire to ever have another c-section, I am deliriously happy with how things have turned out. This little guy is pretty amazing.

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.

How many jogs make a jogger?

I've been wanting to get into jogging for a while now. I work ten hours (sometimes more) a day on weekdays, and at least four hours every Saturday and Sunday. I have a toddler, a partner, and a house that does not clean itself. (R tries, but it's a lot for one man to handle while simultaneously watching a 2-year-old.) I also am trying to get back into cooking actual food at least one meal a day. And I need to sleep sometime. So my free time is, suffice to say, limited.

Which is where jogging comes in. I can, and do, walk for fitness, but even at the (fairly fast) pace I set, it takes a while. Jogging can net me more distance in less time. It also provides a greater bang for my buck, exertion-wise. So I'm definitely interested.

I'm also recovering from injury (sprained ankle), have a bad knee (for which I've done physical therapy in the past, and therefore don't want to anger again), and have endometriosis -- sometimes walking is the best I can do. I get that. But I am trying to work in more jogging. On my good days. Just to start building my stamina.

I've now jogged three times. Roughly half a mile each time -- nothing big. (I also walk a mile or three on these outings; I don't just do a couple laps and call it a day.) Does that make me a jogger now? Or do I need to jog a few more times? If so, how many? Will it ever stop feeling weird to use the word "jogger" in association with myself?

Perhaps this will influence my jog cred: The other day, I slipped out while my child and her father napped to squeeze in a jog. Today, I got up at 4 a.m. to do so.

I'm not sure what I think about that.

But working out at 4 a.m. makes sense in the same way jogging makes sense: It saves time. If I save my workout for the evening, I have to contend with my child, who has been without me all day and is ready for some Mumma time. Even if I can get her to play at the playground while I work out, she usually wears out before I do. If I do it before she wakes up, she never knows I'm gone. And I can still start freelancing at 5 a.m. as usual.

So I do understand the early-early-morning joggers. I'm sure their circumstances aren't much different than mine. I'm just not really sure how I went from computer chair potato to someone who goes jogging in the middle of the night.