I Am Not a Rocket Scientist.

I am woman, therefore I am obsessed with my weight.  The two go together:  being a woman and being obsessed with weight, right?  Okay, so maybe it isn't just because I am a woman, but it IS because I am overweight.  This is exacerbated because I am very conscious of fat's ill-effects on one's health and face it - I want to look good!

I have been fighting the weight battle since I graduated high school and spent most of my twenties overweight with the exception of when I married my husband.  I lost weight for my wedding but quickly gained it back.  I had my first son and then ballooned to a number I will not say out loud in conversation nor will I mention it here.  Finally, I decided I didn't want to begin my thirties fat.  I knew that in the shape I was in, I was not living my life to its fullest.

So, I joined Weight Watchers and lost fifty pounds.  And it was easy. Honestly.  I remember that as the pounds came off, I was astonished at how simple it seemed.  I followed the plan and walked a few times a week.  That's it.  After I lost it all, I never felt so good, so beautiful and so energetic.  After a while, though, I did get tired of going to meetings and counting every point, so a few pounds crept back on, but they were nothing I couldn't deal with.

Another beautiful baby boy later, and I am overweight again.  Not fifty pounds but still more than I should be.  My son was born almost two years ago, and despite how simple it was then, it is really hard now.  I can't explain it, but it is.  I have rejoined WW TWICE since his birth.  I just couldn't get myself to count the points and stick on plan, despite how easy I know it is. 

Here I am.  This entry marks a [another] new start.  With my two past attempts under my belt, I won't be going the Weight Watchers route again because of seem to have developed some sort of mental inpass.  It will have to be the old fashioned way:  watching what I put in my mouth and getting my butt moving.  By choosing to write about it here, I'm hoping it will help keep me more accountable.

I've learned certain things work for me:

1.  Before I eat something that doesn't fit into the plan, thinking to myself, "Is it worth it?"

2.  Walking every other day at least.

3.  Drinking LOTS of water.

4.  Writing down what I eat.

See, I know what works, but despite all of my knowledge and experience, this past year and a half have been a struggle.  Seeing the needle on the scale go down, just to go up again makes me want to pull my hair out.  I've thought about just giving up and eating whatever-the-heck I want and not care what size I end up to be.  Then seconds later, I remember how great I felt when I was twenty pounds lighter and all of those clothes in the back of my closet I want to fit into again.

My excuses are many:  I am too busy with the family, work, housekeeping, LIFE.  When I have the time to workout, I choose to take nap because I'm tired.  When I cook, I cook foods that are not necessarily healthy because I "think" they are easier or quicker to make.  In my head, I know these are just excuses, but give me a chance and I can justify every one. 

Really, weight loss isn't rocket science.  It is easy. But, right now, why is it so hard?

Bedtime Rituals

Last night, just before I went to sleep, I checked on my sleeping children.  I opened the door to my toddler's room and lightly rested my hand on his back to check if he was okay.  Then I did the same with my seven-year-old. I developed this habit the minute my first was born.  Every night I would touch him, make sure he was breathing, and just watch him for a few seconds.  Seven and a half years later, I still practice the ritual.

During that first year of his life, and the first year of my toddler's life, I did this because I was petrified of SIDS.    But why have I continued?  There is no longer a risk of SIDS and my children have no health risks that would make me (logically) worry.  Still, I feel compelled to peek in on them every night, and, if for some reason I wake in the middle of the night, I check on them again.   Will I continue to do this two years from now or even when they are teenagers? (Let's not even touch on the fact that I still use a monitor in my 7-year-old's room). It seems completely ludacris that I feel this compulsion to do so, but I can't help it.

When I see them sleeping, so calm and tranquil, it sets my mind and my heart at ease.  I feel like all is well with the world - their world.  When I feel that silent rise and fall of their back, I can breathe easier.  The peace I feel washes away whatever that day held. 

I remember when I was pregnant for the first time, and when both my boys were infants, I would read EVERYTHING I could get my hands on about what I should feed my baby, how I should bathe him, how I hold him.  When it came to bedtime, all of the magazines and books said to develop bedtime rituals to encourage your baby to fall asleep easily and to sleep through the night.  So, of course we came up with a routine:  bathtime, book, and a lullaby.  I have found that although the books don't mention it, the same works for me.  Every night they go to sleep after a series of events that is (for the most part) pretty similar every evening.  For me, there is only one nighttime ritual I need in order to fall asleep.

Nice Work If You Can Get It

I love my life.  Even I am amazed that I can say that and that statement is actually true.  I have a fulfilling job, two amazing boys and an incredible husband who loves me.  I think I have it all.  I have even had the idea that if Heaven is anything like my life, I am just fine with that for eternity. 

That isn't to say that there are times when things are less than perfect - I am normal after all.  I work for a non-profit where I hope our work makes a difference in our community, but by its very nature (it being a non-profit) there are times when it's difficult.  I work full time and throughout the year the year there are several times when I have to work evenings.  I do this gladly, but it is more than difficult knowing on a normal night, I have only three hours with my seven year old and even less with my toddler. 

These few hours are precious and more than I'd like to admit, I find myself trying to pack it all in - cooking dinner, helping with homework, bathtime and cleaning up after dinner, all before 8:30, the time my oldest boy goes to sleep.  Then, in times like this, I feel guilty because I should have spent more time with my boys. 

I think it is a farely common assumption that being a working mom - simply means that at times you feel guilty.  "I should have planned it out so that I could stay at home with my kids." "I don't have a lot of time to cook the best meals for my family."  "I should be doing more with my kids."  "I should be spending more time with my husband."  Once we decided to have kids, I was determined to be the perfect mother and wife.  I would be able to work nine to five, cook a four course dinner, get my kids to all of their after school activities - you know, music lessons, sports, boy scouts - have playtime, read them books,and, after they are sung to sleep with a lulliby, have a romantic evening with my husband.  That nightly routine is frankly not possible.  On most nights that don't include any afterschool activities, it is still a trial to get dinner on the table and the kids to bed on time.  Romantic evenings? What are those?

Being a working mom means exactly what it is - I work at a job and I work at being a good mom and wife.  It is WORK.  It is trying and tiring but rewarding and comforting.  Just like any good job, it has great pay and even better benefits.