http://instagram.com/p/udPnlsr0bW/
Wednesday, October 22, 2014
Monday, October 13, 2014
Neurotic Monday morning
I'm not sure where the first half of October went. I've been busy with work, but my paychecks don't think I've been that busy. I've had a few doctor appointments, done some craft projects, went to a conference, and somehow the month's half gone.
I have spent a fair amount of time feeling guilty for not being busier, though. Like this morning. I didn't want to get up at 5 and freelance, so I lay awake just long enough to justify staying in bed. Basically what I came up with was this: I likely would not have taken on anything I could finish by tomorrow, which is the last day before invoicing. Conversely, my daughter was snuggly and my son was wiggly, and my opportunities for cuddling them both simultaneously are numbered. (I just have this feeling that she's not going to want to sleep in our bed once he arrives. She may not want to sleep in this house for the first few months. Just a hunch.)
Unfortunately, by the time I justified sleeping in, I was awake. So I lay awake, cuddling my kids and thinking thoughts. Many, many thoughts. Enough that I wonder if I was truly awake for all of it. I finally decided that I must be; I don't worry about the kinds of things I worried about this morning while I am asleep. In my sleep, I worry about exams in college classes I didn't know I was enrolled in, or exes that pop back into my life for no reason whatsoever. I don't worry about professional stagnation, or neglecting my side interests, or missing out on my kids' toddler years in my dreams. But I'm certainly good at fretting over them while staring at the ceiling at 5 in the morning.
So I decided I'd get up and blog about it. At least that's productive fretting. Right?
I just feel like I've dropped the ball on everything. In trying to do everything I want to do, I'm accomplishing nothing. And it feels like half an effort is worse than none at all.
And then I remind myself that I am pregnant. I really should cut myself some slack.
It's actually nice in a way, all this worry. Keeps me preoccupied, so I don't fret about the baby so much. He's not as wiggly as his sister was (yet, my mother says), so it's easy for me to jump to the conclusion that there's something wrong. If I had more free time, I'd probably sit and stew about that all day. As it stands, it's more of a passing thought in the ocean of panic.
Sometimes I wish I could harness this nervous energy and do something outstanding with it. Seems such a waste to burn it all worrying.
But the extra snuggle time with Anya was nice.
I have spent a fair amount of time feeling guilty for not being busier, though. Like this morning. I didn't want to get up at 5 and freelance, so I lay awake just long enough to justify staying in bed. Basically what I came up with was this: I likely would not have taken on anything I could finish by tomorrow, which is the last day before invoicing. Conversely, my daughter was snuggly and my son was wiggly, and my opportunities for cuddling them both simultaneously are numbered. (I just have this feeling that she's not going to want to sleep in our bed once he arrives. She may not want to sleep in this house for the first few months. Just a hunch.)
Unfortunately, by the time I justified sleeping in, I was awake. So I lay awake, cuddling my kids and thinking thoughts. Many, many thoughts. Enough that I wonder if I was truly awake for all of it. I finally decided that I must be; I don't worry about the kinds of things I worried about this morning while I am asleep. In my sleep, I worry about exams in college classes I didn't know I was enrolled in, or exes that pop back into my life for no reason whatsoever. I don't worry about professional stagnation, or neglecting my side interests, or missing out on my kids' toddler years in my dreams. But I'm certainly good at fretting over them while staring at the ceiling at 5 in the morning.
So I decided I'd get up and blog about it. At least that's productive fretting. Right?
I just feel like I've dropped the ball on everything. In trying to do everything I want to do, I'm accomplishing nothing. And it feels like half an effort is worse than none at all.
And then I remind myself that I am pregnant. I really should cut myself some slack.
It's actually nice in a way, all this worry. Keeps me preoccupied, so I don't fret about the baby so much. He's not as wiggly as his sister was (yet, my mother says), so it's easy for me to jump to the conclusion that there's something wrong. If I had more free time, I'd probably sit and stew about that all day. As it stands, it's more of a passing thought in the ocean of panic.
Sometimes I wish I could harness this nervous energy and do something outstanding with it. Seems such a waste to burn it all worrying.
But the extra snuggle time with Anya was nice.
Saturday, October 11, 2014
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
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)