Sunday, March 25, 2007

My Big Fat Boring Life

Things are moving along in my life in a way that is astoundingly normal. Comfortable. Regular. Ordinary.

I love it.

We've had Frodo and Mini-Me here for the majority of the last four weeks. That's been a combination of their regular time with us, March break, their mother having commitments that has taken her out of town, and them just wanting to be here. It's been really good because it's allowed us to finally settle into a place where we can have our lives go on when they are here. Normally everything stops and the world revolves around them while they're here - but that's not normal living. We have gone through major guilt of not wanting to either go out when they are here because we only have them a few days a week (although by extension, that means so does their mother, right?) or because we're not sure how they will behave if we take them with us wherever we are going. Both ended this past month. We've taken them with us to places that we normally wouldn't, and they've behaved like normal kids. We've had people into our homes and told them that, like other normal families, we'd be chaining them to the wall hooks we had installed in the basement for precisely such an occasion, and they complied willingly.
In short, it feels like we've been a normal family this last month, and it is tres cool. Last night while we were at my parents' place, Frodo actually put his arm around me on the couch. I tried to let on like it was an every day occurrence, but everyone in the room knew it was monumental.
As I said, tres cool.
In other news from my big fat boring life, I'm seeing the finish line for this semester's courses. They've been a huge amount of work - mostly reading and group work - both of which bore me to tears. I have given up on my goal of maintaining an A average, and had to take my well earned "told you so's" from colleagues who are a year ahead of me in the program. I guess every new grad student in this program enters with the "I'm gonna maintain an A average" attitude, and those that have gone before sagely nod their heads while assuring us that this too shall pass. Why, just the other day I found myself counselling a new student in just that manner. Yep. We are counselling our own future to underachieve. Impressive eh?
I hit a plateau with my weight loss journey - 30 lbs and holding. I had sought some nutritional counselling from the fitness coach I've been seeing at the gym, and she told me that my body was storing because I wasn't getting enough protein or complex carbs to support the workout regime I now have. I took that advice to the weight loss center, and asked to be moved to another level of the program that would meet this nutritional need. Now, this is a great program, but a canned one, so here's what happened. They called their nutritionist, who said to move to a program that would give me "one more starch and 1/2 a protein". I was delighted! Finally, an advertisement that was actually true! They do indeed tailor the program to meet your personal needs! I took my new information booklet and ran home to plan out my new meals.
Imagine my surprise when I did the math. Why yes, I did indeed have a new half circle under the protein column, but all it was good for was colouring in. Let's take chicken as a protein example. Under my old program, I could eat 16 oz of chicken in a day and call that 2 exchanges of protein as each exchange of chicken was 8 ounces. Under the new program, with 1/2 an exchange more of protein, I could eat 14 oz of chicken in a day and call that 2 1/2 exchanges of protein. Why? Because although I had an "extra 1/2 of a protein", the protein size was reduced!
Well, I'm right S-M-R-T and caught onto that quick like!! I'm still kind of blown away that they think we're fat AND stupid.
Anyhow, I realized that I'm not going to break this plateau unless I follow the nutritional advice I'm being given by a nutritionist who has nothing to gain from me financially. I decided to put this program on hold, and pick up my old WW materials. This allows me to stay within a reduction range while at the same time making my own choices of protein and carbs. I've already dropped another 3 lbs just in the week that I've been following this new plan, and let me tell you......skim milk never ever tasted so good! I didn't realize how much I missed having a wider choice of dairy. Under the other program I could only have 1 dairy exchange per day, so by the time I ate my yogurt and had cheese with my melba toast, that was gone!
And finally, last Sunday HB proved once again why I completely and absolutely adore him. We were out at a function where people were sharing their experience of a weekend they had just completed. One of the guys was speaking, and he looked at his girlfriend, who was standing at the back of the room and said "all I can tell you is that you and I are going to be the happiest couple in the world", which of course put all the women in the room into a swoon.
But none swooned as much as I did ... because HB, without missing a beat, leaned into me and said "how can that be, when we already are?".
I do love that man!
Oh the excitement. It just never ends at Casa Dawg!!!

Wednesday, March 14, 2007

Handing it over.....

Last time I blogged, I mentioned that I had an appointment made to discuss a tubaligation. And I did have an appointment. What I didn't say was that the appointment wasn't with a medical professional, but rather with my parish priest. Although I am firmly decided that I no longer wish to become pregnant, I have still been struggling with the whole concept of taking surgical action to prevent pregnancy.

I am a practicing member of the Catholic religion, but more importantly to me, I am a Christian person. There are many, many things about the formal teachings of the Catholic Church with which I struggle, and many with which I just plain don't agree. I don't condemn anyone who chooses to whole heartedly believe in the teachings of the Church, but personally I am one of those Catholics that does tend to question. Not outwardly so much, as inwardly .... in my private moments with the God of my own understanding, and occasionally with friends who are ordained priests or deacons.

I believe in God. I believe in the example of Christ and I wake up every day, determined to be able to discern what God's will for me is that day. I want to be the best person that I can be, and to carry out the actions that He is calling me to take that day.

For the longest time after we lost Brodie, I was consumed with becoming pregnant again. I would go to Mass, sit and pray very specific prayers. I wanted to become pregnant .... carry to term .... and have a healthy baby of our own. Nothing short of that would do as answered prayer.

Slowly I began to understand that I needed to look at how I was praying. And I realized that I was completely praying for MY will to be done. With great struggle, I fought to hand that over, and instead to pray for the knowledge of God's will for HB and I with regard to biological children of our own.

When I became pregnant again this past summer, I was surprised. I really felt that I had already received the answer to my revised prayer - that we were not intended to have children of our own. So this pregnancy was a blip in my understanding.

HB has tremendous faith in God. He is an amazing example of faith in action to me. He encouraged me to be happy about the pregnancy, and to continue to wait to understand what God's will was for us.

Now this next part is what gets dicey because of course, that pregnancy ended in miscarriage as well. What amazed me was that this time, I understood that I had indeed been shown God's will for us. Of course we were deeply saddened by the miscarriage, but somehow there was a difference in the aftermath this time. There was a certain peacefulness. I can't even begin to explain it in a way that makes sense to anyone - even myself sometimes. I still can't talk about losing Brodie without crying, and trust me, I felt no less connected to and happy about this last pregnancy. Yet my reaction is completely different this time.

I don't for one moment believe that the God my understanding is a hurtful or vengeful God that intends for me to continously experience the physical and emotional pain of death through miscarriage. But my physical body is still capable of achieving pregnancy, and so as long as we continue to not take precautions, there is the physical chance that I will again become pregnant....remote though it is.

Thus the struggle within myself regarding taking surgical steps to prevent that pregnancy. We've discussed other methods, but to be honest, HB is not interested in vasectomy; neither of us are interested in condoms and all that entails; I can't do the pill without a whole bunch of side effects that drive me up the wall. We won't even talk about the one time I tried to use the sponge and ended up in at my doctor's on an emergency basis to have it removed, ok?

So I really kind of felt like my options were limited. Yet, there was something not sitting right with me. And I was fighting it because I didn't want to believe that little old radical me was succumbing to what I have always maintained is a man-made teaching of a patriarchial church.

I really like our parish priest. He's young, somewhat traditional, but has a good sense of humour and openness about him. We've had him over for supper and hung out with him a few times, and he was with us when we lost this last baby. I felt comfortable to speak openly with him about my struggle.

He gave me no advice. He did lead me through some dialogue, though, that has caused me to decide to leave it alone for now .... and trust.

I'm terrified. But I do believe, and I do trust. So for now, my decision has been made. No surgery.

This, my friends, is a huge leap of faith for this control freak.

Sunday, March 04, 2007

I'm ready for 9 to be over

I am a terrible stepmonster. We have Frodo and Mini-Me here every Thursday evening, and then every other week they hang around for the weekends. Mini-Me is going through the terrible period that kids go through at age 9, of turning into the demon seed. I have to stop regularly and remind myself that this behaviour comes with being nine years old. I am so ready for 9 to be done. Frodo is 11 now, and is a nice, reasonable person. I know that this too shall pass as he heads toward the hormone dripping teen years - but for now, I'm hanging onto the adorableness of 11 with him and drawing strength from remembering when I was ready for his 9 to be over too.

And then I realize that while Mini-Me has turned into the demon seed, I have turned into my parents. I have long, drawn out discussions with HB where I insist that I never behaved like this at age nine. And I hear my father's voice in my head, reminding me of how he walked barefoot in the snow to school. Uphill. Both ways. Dragging his six siblings behind him in a sled lined with aluminum foil and heated rocks.

It is in the solitude of Sunday, when Frodo and Mini-Me have left the building, that I feel some gratitude for not having children here full time. I know that stepmonstering is a different ballgame because there's all the other stuff that goes along with it. The "you're not my mother" glares. But I'm not convinced that we wouldn't be going through this very same stuff if I was their mother and they were here with us full time.

Which makes me realize that I am indeed too old and cranky to be anyone's mother. I turned 44 two weeks ago.

I have an appointment on Tuesday to discuss tubaligation. I'm seeking some counsel on it from a trusted source before I move to speaking to my doctor about it. It feels like the biggest and most final move I've ever considered making. For me, it's huge.