Plateau. Mesa. Tableland. Butte. Oh, whatever.

So, about my postpartum weight loss... Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha.

Getting back into shape this time around has not been easy. After my first pregnancy, I experienced a fairly steady and easy return to my pre-pregnancy size and shape. By six weeks postpartum, I was in non-maternity clothes, by twelve, when I returned to work, I was in my "fat" clothes (one size up from usual). I don't remember, but if I had to guess, I'd say I was in my normal clothes by the time the Monkeyboy was four, maybe five months old tops.

This time, at nearly six months postpartum, I'm still not in my fat clothes. I lost weight steadily at first and at my six week checkup I was at the exact same point I was six weeks after my first pregnancy. I thought I was going to be treated once again to a fun ride on Jen's Quick and Easy Lose the Baby Weight Experience* But since then, I haven't lost any weight. I've held steady at just-slightly-too-fat-for-fat-clothes weight. (Meaning I had to endure the torture of purchasing new, larger clothes in order to return to work this fall in something other than pajamas or sweatpants).

I'm really not justified in complaining, though. I haven't done anything about it. My weight loss plan has been merely to stop being pregnant. Obviously, this laissez faire attitude isn't going to work. I need to do something to kick my metabolism in the metaphoric ass, thereby slimming my literal one. Somehow, I'm going to have to carve the time out of my days to start running and lifting again, which I haven't done since the summer of '07 when I stopped exercising during my medicated cycles and never started up again.

Truth be told, I miss exercising. Since I do it alone, it has a meditative quality. Sometimes I use the time to watch DVDs of television series, either favorites I'm rewatching or new series I've borrowed from Netflix. Either way it gives me a chance to do something merely for my own enjoyment. As toddlers like to say, all by myself.

The most challenging part of this... well, challenge, is going to be finding the time. If I can do that, everything else should work itself out. (Go ahead, groan at the pun. I couldn't help myself).

*Disney's been trying to get me to sell them this ride for their theme parks, but I'm holding out for more money.

Why I use the term "Recovering Infertile."

This past weekend, Walt Disney's Dumbo (1941) was on TV. I haven't seen it since I was probably just about the Monkeyboy's age, but since he's been getting into the Disney flicks recently I thought he would like it, so we tuned in together. I didn't make it past the first five minutes.

The opening scene is quaint. Twee, even. Storks fly through the night sky bearing blanketed bundles of babies.* Soon enough, we realize that they are heading for a circus. As each stork gently drops its bundle, the blanket opens to show a baby bear, tiger, giraffe, or other cute circus babe which is greeted enthusiastically by their waiting mothers.

Except for the elephant, Mrs. Jumbo.

The look of despair on this cartoon elephant's face as she waited and realized she was being passed over undid me. Even though I knew what would happen, I sat there, rigid in my seat, until the ancient, tardy stork finally caught up with the circus train and delivered Dumbo. At this point, I exhaled and left the rest of the movie to the Monkey while I went about my business.**

Though my infertility journey wasn't as long or difficult as that of many others, it's still part of who I am. I hear echoes of it nearly every day. Case in point: I'm brought to tears by the reproductive struggles of a seventy year old cartoon elephant.

*Alliteration free with purchase today only!
**Not the greatest idea, as parts of it kind of freaked him out.

Nothing to fear but fear itself. Oh, yeah... and robots.

The Monkeyboy has started to be fearful. It's not all that surprising, given that this all began on the tails of October, the scary-things month, when kids are bombarded with all sorts of potentially frightening sights and sounds. The first mention he made of his fears was about a month ago one night when I rocked and sang to him before bed.

"It's dark in here." He said. I assured him it was only dark because it was nighttime and that made it easier to go to sleep. And, as Annie so chirpingly sings, the sun will come out tomorrow. "Who's that over there?" He then asked, pointing. "Over there, in the dark, in the corner!" There are few things creepier than a small child who purports to see something you don't. Shades of The Sixth Sense, that's for sure.

"It's a skeleton!" Okay, at this point I was fairly certain that it was an imaginary fear and not that my kid was... creepy. And although I assured him that it wasn't, over the next few weeks he'd sometimes be okay with merely that, sometimes we'd have to turn on the light to check, and most nights he let go of his fears fairly easily.

Until a few weeks ago.

Just going to prove that you can’t predict what kids will be afraid of, he has latched on to robots as his biggest fear. As far as we can determine, this all stems from the Backyardigan’s Front Page News episode. In this episode a robot “attacks” a city, repeating “cheese… cheese… cheese...” since his real motivation turns out to be having his picture taken for the newspaper. The Hubster is the one who figured out the source of the robot fear and complained that children's television (teeee-veeee, the Monkeyboy calls it) seems to believe that 22 minutes of scary can be wiped out at the end by 3 minutes of rational explanation that it wasn't anything scary after all. You know, that it was really the groundskeeper dressed as the Hound of the Baskervilles and in order to cover up a real-estate scam. Anyone who knows toddlers knows that rational creatures they are not. All your average three year old remembers is the 22 minutes of slavering beast.

After that episode, Monk started asking, “Are there robots out here?” every time we left the house, searching the sky for imminent attack. "I want to go in the house!" He began resisting leaving the house at all. When we forced him to go somewhere, he either wanted to be carried or he ran to the car. At daycare he pitched a fit several times when it came time to go outside and play.

It's taken a lot of talking and slow desensitization to get him comfortable with being outside again. Although he's not focused on his fear daily, it still comes up. Then the other night a helicopter flew directly and loudly over the house. As it passed, flying low over the treetops of our woods, I looked out the window. "Was that a robot?!" the Monkeyboy asked, joining me at the window with a look of worry crossing his face. Although he seemed initially satisfied when I told him it was a helicopter (he was too late to see it), he still woke three times in the night, crying and confused. Now in addition to worrying about future interrupted nights and the effects of sleep deprivation (on myself as much as on him), I'm concerned about him becoming a mama's boy fraidy cat. I fear the fear.

I can't recall if I had any debilitating fears when I was a child.* Maybe a couple of horror movies that stuck with me and gave me nightmares, but what had the most effect on me was my incapacitating shyness (which most people who know me as an adult cannot believe due to my current abrasively outspoken personality). I'm not sure what else we can do to help him work through this, other than keep up the reassurances that there are no robots outside. I'm not particularly comfortable with this tactic, either. It seems dismissive of something that I'm sure to him seems very real.

What were your fears as a child? And what (if anything) helped you overcome them?


*Of course, as an adult I have my paralyzing phobias of spiders and sharks.

The Great Coffee Experiment

I’ve recently declared my intention to become addicted to coffee. I already -- through heavy usage of Pepsi -- appreciate a good caffeine high. However, using Pepsi as a caffeine-delivery method is turning out to be less than ideal. First of all, each 12 ounce can of Pepsi delivers 38 mg of caffeine and 150 calories. Even if I only drink two cans a day, that’s 300 empty calories I don’t need. By contrast, an 8 ounce cup of coffee has anywhere between 60 – 120 mg of caffeine but only 2 calories. And second, as I learned this September when I went to a conference at a local private university, pop* isn’t available everywhere. Coffee, on the other hand, seems to be omnipresent.

However, I’ve never cared for coffee. It doesn’t taste the way it promises to taste when you smell its rich, strong odor. When I’ve tried it here and there, I’ve never gotten past the first sip. I bet it’s been since grad school that I’ve even bothered to try it at all. Since the Hubster has similar feelings about the brew, we are not a coffee drinking household. But as my need for caffeine increases, I’m more convinced than ever that I need to grow up and become a coffee drinker.

So, as anyone might do when planning on taking up a new addiction hobby, I’ve discussed it with my friends who are coffee drinkers. Long ago at a 24-hour mountain biking race, when my team and I sat huddled around a campfire at 2 a.m. waiting to start our next laps, I clutched a cold can of Pepsi in my hand while nearly everyone else drank something hot. Beamer commented that as much as I liked caffeine, I really ought to start drinking coffee. Naturally, he was the first person I consulted. He suggested a breakfast blend, something mild to start, and recommended a few brands.

Then I talked to a friend at work. He was torn. He said he thought maybe I should start with lattes and the like. However, he said that espresso was “all that you think coffee should be.” Rich, strong, with an underlying sweetness. So when we carpooled to another conference together last week, he stopped at Starbucks and bought us each an espresso. A quad espresso. It was like drinking the water lying pooled in the ruins of a burned-down house after the fire department has gone. Very hot, very smoky... very not me. It was an experience I hope not to repeat.

When I told Beamer about this, his exact comment was “Espresso for a coffee virgin? That’s like skipping alcohol or weed and going straight to hero.in!” So I’ve backtracked to Plan A. I bought a small bag of breakfast blend and a couple of those flavored creamers to sissy it up. We’ll see where this takes me.

*Or “soda,” if you lean more East Coast than Midwest in your colloquialisms.

Why I hate NaBloPoMo

I know, I know… from the point of view of so many people it’s fun, it’s a challenge, it will change the way you blog, but I have come to hate NaBloPoMo.

From where I sit, it’s not that much fun. I have a just large enough list of favorite blogs that NaBloPoMo wears me out from a reading standpoint. Every time I open my reader, it seems that dozens more blogs have updated. It’s just too much to read every day. I try to keep up, but if I don’t read blogs for one day, I’ll fall behind. Far behind. It sort of makes me feel like blog reading is homework. I don’t want to feel that way.

Of course, the real truth about why I hate NaBloPoMo is that makes me face my own shortcomings. Last year’s NaBloPoMo? A bust by day ten. I discovered that it is virtually impossible for me to post on the weekends. (I’ve since come to accept that.) Also, November contains the Monkey’s birthday, Veteran’s Day, Parent-Teacher Conferences and Thanksgiving (which extends the normal weekend to six days!). NaBloPoMo? For me, it would be more like NaBloPomostweekdays butcertainlynotallofthem althoughItry thankyouverymuch. So I didn’t make even the pretense of trying this year. But the reality is that I do need to set some sort of blogging goal, because it seems that since the baby was born, I’ve lost my way. I’d really like to do a little housekeeping around here, upgrade my design, personalize my header or get a new template, maybe move to my own domain. Lots of things I need to learn a little more about.

(Wow. A post about blogging. What could be more boring?)

Yes, we can!

I spent today showing Obama's victory speech to my classes, analyzing both the text and historical significance of it, and discussing the history that was made this week. It was inspiring watching Obama's speech again and again. I fell asleep Tuesday night during election coverage and missed the speech live, although I managed to force myself to stay awake at least until I saw McCain concede with my own eyes. I was so afraid that somehow there'd be a replay of the 2000 election.

As happy as I am that the election went the way it has, I still feel the need to acknowledge that the glass ceiling still exists in the executive branch. Three times now women have been candidates of one of the two major parties*, within reach of the presidency or vice presidency, but it's never been attained.

I'm also disappointed in some of the referendums that were held in various states. Although it seems like reproductive rights did not take the hit that they could have, gay rights were dealt a blow. Mark my words: this is the civil rights issue of the twenty-first century. I see Supreme Court cases coming soon.

So, although I'm mostly happy/relieved/insert-positive-synonym here about this election, I'm remaining cautiously optimistic that not only does our new found progressiveness stick, but that it continues to advance.

*If we include third parties, then I lose count.