My body after baby: A look in the mirror

Meeting Dallas at a DDPYoga workshop
in January of 2014.

So many things in life are a blessing and a curse.

One of those qualities for me is my unbelievable drive to succeed. I am one of those people who decides I want something and then do whatever it takes to get it. While this leaves me extremely disciplined, it also leaves me unable to relax. My husband in particular does not enjoy that aspect of my personality. (Also truly fitting that I would have a cat on Prozac)

I am planning on blogging my journey to getting back into shape, but it won't be a typical one. I am a unique individual with unique obstacles when it comes to this. While this may result in some cursing my name, it may also allow me to connect with a personality type that isn't typically targeted when it comes to getting into shape: the psycho exercisers.

Taking a quick look back at my getting-into-shape history, I did try eating right while I was in college. What it ultimately created in my 20-year-old self was an absolute obsession with food and an insatiable hunger. All I thought about was what I was eating and when I would eat next. I did lose weight for a time, but it didn't last. I was quickly burned out.

Now 32, I've come to learn more about myself, which has helped me become successful in regards to my health and nutrition.

First off, I don't try to eat perfectly because it creates such a high level of stress in my life. This means that, despite starting my get-into-shape plan a week ago, I have also consumed a full pint of Ben & Jerry's Half Baked over the course of the last 16 hours.

An aside: while the founder of my workout plan of choice -- Dallas Page -- may not approve of that dietary choice, it does clearly state on the package that all ingredients are Non-GMO ... so there's that.

Second, I recruited my husband to be my exercise pulse. I obsess about exercise to the point of mental exhaustion.

Should I work out? I should work out. I need to work out. I'm so tired. I should work out, but it's 11 pm ... should I work out?

(As evidence to my self-diagnosed insanity, I will confirm that I have, in fact, worked out many times at 11 pm.)

My husband gives me one of the following responses:

1. "Don't work out, but I know you're going to anyway"
2. "Just work out, you'll feel better"
3. "You're not working out, have a beer"

He really is the best.

Meeting Dallas has been a great experience,
sparking what I hope will be a lasting friendship.

Finally, I try to make generally good food choices. Meeting Dallas did raise my awareness of chemically-treated food and GMO, but if I tried to eat perfectly (see my first paragraphs), I would go insane and -- probably -- broke.

My solution was to buy organic produce and meats and do the same in other areas when necessary. This has allowed me to make slow change over time. So, sorry Dallas, but Ben & Jerry's is here to stay ... for now.

What I don't strive to be is one of those celebrities in a fitness magazine who boasts about substituting tofu for chocolate cake ("it's her favorite healthy treat!") or "splurging" on pizza and ice cream one day a week. I eat what I want, but what I find is that exercise helps me eat better. When I feel better, I want to eat better.

This lighthearted attitude is a must for me, or I will drive myself crazy. To lose the weight I had put on after my first two kids, I ultimately instilled the help of MyFitnessPal because I recognized the exercise was making me stronger, but not thinner. Right now I can't do that because I'm in the first months of nursing.

(By the way, why can't I be one of those women who "magically" loses all baby weight by breastfeeding? Probably because breastfeeding has me feeding way more than I need to be ...)

So, I'm a week and a half into DDPYoga, which got me into kick-ass shape a year ago. I took my "before" pictures, but went all the way and am only wearing a sports bra in them (don't worry, I'm also wearing pants), so I'm going to hold off sharing them until I have a progress picture to compare.

For now, I'll try to make decent food decisions while doing my diamond cutters diligently.

BANG!

A cat on Prozac? No, I'm not surprised.

Almost a year ago to the day, I had an incident online that shied me away from posting my personal content online.

Thanks to encouragement from an online acquaintance (Scott Stratten), and a "professional reset" so to speak, I have decided to fire this blog back up. For the past year, I have attempted to publish quality content in other realms in which I have interest -- sports, business -- but the best stuff that I write comes from my day-to-day experience with my kids (and my pets). Oh, and my husband. He counts too.

This brings us to present day.

I am going to have to change the header of this blog because we have added another child: a four-week-old girl. Yep, we just threw her onto the pile and -- so far -- she's surviving amidst the chaos.

Today is a fair representation of my life as I know it. Abby probably has pink eye and both kids have had green snot erupting from their noses for over a week, so all four of us are home together and we will head to the doctor shortly.

I am attempting to write while "Mommy?" "Mommy?" "Mommy!" is being peppered in my direction.

My delivery of "what?" has evolved from patient and loving to carrying a WTF-do-you-want-now tone after they have requested/stated the following:

• Jack: "I love you."
• Abby: "Can I have more waffles?"
• Jack: "Can I have more waffles?"
• Abby: "I want the iPad!"
• Jack: "I love you."
• Jack: "Can I watch Planes?"
• Abby: "Will you play with me?"
• Jack: "Are we there yet?" (We're in the living room)
• Jack: "I love you."
• Abby: "Can you put the iPad in here?"
• Abby: "Can you get me a snack?"
• Jack: "I love you."

I am one who does not do well while being verbally badgered. It is this fact that would cause my husband to dissolve into fits of laughter if he heard me tell someone that I have a "zen mode" when it comes to parenting.

Luke in his immature bliss.

Anyway, to my cat.

This past year can be easily summed up by telling the story of Leia being prescribed Prozac.

Our household had been stressful to say the least and -- apparently -- Leia was having a rough time with that. She was so high strung that she was constantly attacking Luke following any sudden noise, sideways glance or jolting movement. Unfortunately for her, she also isn't the stealthiest kitty, so she would get her tail handed to her (pun intended). After multiple fights in which Luke would essentially own her, she began to resemble Joaquin Phoenix, and now sports a gash of a scar across her nose.

Leia's issue became our issue due to the fact that she was also peeing all over the place while engaging in these fights. Mornings feeding the cats became increasingly stressful for my husband. I would be upstairs in the bedroom and hear a utensil hit the kitchen floor. My husband would then scream, "NO!" and shrill cat noises would follow. I would then come downstairs to find him on his hands and knees, scrubbing the carpet with a foul look on his face. He would then ask if we could sell the cats.

I finally took Leia to the vet. The prognosis? She was so tightly wound, it would be in her -- and our -- best interest to put her on Prozac. To say this amused me is an understatement. I believe my first comment to the vet was, "Well, it runs in the family."

The kicker here was that I had to fill the prescription at a regular pharmacy. Yes, I had to walk into Walgreens with a prescription for an anti-depressant for my cat.

When I handed the pharmacist the slip of paper from my vet, I immediately digressed to make light of the situation.

"Yeah, I'm just here to fill a prescription for Prozac for my cat."

The girl wasn't really fazed. She began typing into the computer. I just sat there. Wondering how this was going to go down.

"Do you happen to know the cat's date of birth?"

Okay, really? Actually, I did.

Also contributing to Leia's stress levels: my refusal to give her snacks.

I was furiously texting this hilarity to my best friend when the girl turned to me and asked, "Does she have any known allergies?"

Okay, this was happening? I said no ... and resisted the urge to state that she was a known allergy, but that probably wouldn't have been as funny out loud as it was in my head.

I said I would wait in the store while the prescription was filled. I walked around for upwards of 20 minutes and my name still hadn't been called. I walked back up to the counter to inquire.

"Um, yeah, I'm waiting for a prescription?"

The gentleman at the counter got my name and then said, "Oh, for the cat?"

It apparently wasn't quite ready yet. So I waiting right by the counter. After a few minutes, he came back and said, "For Leia ... the ... cat?"

This was flat-out ridiculous. If it wasn't so funny, I may have been slightly embarrassed. Okay, not really.

I grabbed the prescription and paid. As I was walking back to the car, I did, in fact, burst into laughter when I saw the name on the slip: "Leia Wywrot Cat".

You'll be happy to know that the Prozac has done wonders for Leia. Thankfully, she has avoided a therapist for now and the medication has given her the ability to relax.

And, yes, it hasn't seemed to change the integrity of who she is as a cat -- she's still got that great personality we've all come to know and love.

So, at least one member of our family is calmed down and in more of a zen state.

As for the rest of us, that is still up in the air. My intention is to get back to writing regularly, so stay tuned to stay updated.

Examples of the amazing content I don't get around to posting (but should)

I look back on this blog and see that there are 37 posts from 2012.

There are only 14 from 2013.

Coincidence? Random happenstance?

Definitely not.

You see, my friends, there was a major event that happened midway through 2012. One Jack Robert Wywrot was born.

While that resulted in a steep increase in blog posts as I tried to find some semblance of sanity during my maternity leave with two under two, that has since become a strong decline in the area of writing for pleasure.

Two children with two working parents is tough. Throw in the fact that Tom and I don't have typical jobs and it's like having three children. Rarely are all four of us together at home at the end of the day.

There are plenty of times I wish I had the time (or energy) to write down awesome moments taking place in my day-to-day life with the kids, but ultimately (and unfortunately) I don't.

I'm going to try and recall some gems now. Lord knows the passing of time could have the same impact as trying to deliver a message through a game of telephone ("No, really, Abby was hanging from the light fixture!), but I'll give it a whirl nonetheless. Could make for even higher levels of entertainment.

THE NAPTIME EXCHANGE
I do have the benefit of G-chat archives, so I can pull up my moment-by-moment account of a "conversation" between Abby and Jack yesterday during naptime.

I had the lofty goal of both my kids sleeping in the same room at the same time. I know. Stupid.

At any rate, I had the pleasure of witnessing this exchange over the monitor.

Jack: ::gibberish::

Abby: "Jack did you throw up? You throw up EVERYWHERE! Do not throw up ANY. MORE. It will get the house all dirty." 

Abby (cont.): "I asked you FOUR TIMES already. FOUR."

Jack: "FOUR."

Abby: "Lay down so you don't throw up again."

Jack: ::gibberish::

The best (or worst) part of this was that Jack had, in fact, thrown up a little bit. I didn't think Abby was right because I didn't hear any throwing up and he wasn't upset. It was just a little bit of throw up. Really. Nothing major. Naturally, when I told Tom he had thrown up a little, he said, "So she was right."

Whatever. Yes. The three-year old was "right". If that's what you want to call it.

I APPARENTLY HAVE FOUR "ELBOWS"
There are those awkward moments when a small child asks about something beyond his or her years.

Abby frequently asks about feminine products and I have no idea what to say. It's not like I'm ashamed or anything, but I don't want to scare the kid. My responses end up being absolutely ridiculous and make zero sense.

Me (stupidly): "Those are ... for ... cleaning."

Abby: "Cleaning?"

Me: "Is that a bird?" (Okay, I didn't really say that)

Well, today, Abby came across a bra and asked if she could put it on. I told her no. I also took note that Abby holding up my bra is the only time it will ever appear incredibly large, but I digress.

After I told her no, she puffed out her stomach and said, "Why, Mommy? I have elbows."

I guess that is what she has decided a bra is for. To hold up "elbows". She then asked to touch mine, confirming (by her grabbing) that she was, in fact, referring to "elbows".

Ah, kids.

SAD, BUT TRUE
There are moments like these that happen almost daily that I don't sit down and write about. I really should. Maybe if I set some sort of alarm to remind me to write about the mundane, but hilarious, things that happen I'll actually do it.

If anything, it can help me feel better about neglecting those baby books I have lying around. Every time Jack smiles I feel guilty that I haven't noted the emergence of his most recent teeth.

I'll just guestimate, he won't know the difference, ultimately. It's really only the first four that matter anyway, right?

Well, we'll see if my post average gets off to a solid clip in 2014!

Yes, I'm aware I'm being judged

What turned out to be Abby's outfit.

Now that Abby is three, there are plenty of moments in our everyday lives where I know other people are judging us.

That reality doesn't so much upset me because I'm concerned about what others think as much as I feel awful for the judging I've done in the past.

Case in point:

I asked Abby what she wanted to wear today and -- for the second day in a row -- she wanted to wear a skirt without any tights. So, she was wearing nothing on her legs when we were leaving the house at 34 degrees.

On top of that, she didn't want to wear a coat. Peachy.

I wasn't up for starting up a tantrum over her walking from the house to the car, so I let her get in the car coat-free.

We get to school and are heading up the walkway. Abby is wearing a skirt without tights, a long-sleeved t-shirt and sunglasses. She looked like she was going to the beach, yet we could see our breath.

Jack was wearing about five layers.

As much as I didn't want to, I was justifying the issue as soon as we walked into school. By the time we got to her class, I told one of her teachers that I, in fact, brought tights she was refusing to wear.

On my way out, I saw her primary teacher. When I mentioned that I left the tights, she was clearly concerned and said, "Yesterday at recess we felt so bad for her poor little legs."

Outstanding.

I'm the awful parent for not dressing her properly when she INSISTED on wearing nothing on her legs.

Now we get to the dilemma.

Chrissie-sans-children thinks, "Come ON. You are the parent, here. Really? You are letting HER dictate that? You just put the tights on her!"

Chrissie-plus-Abby thinks, "Okay. So she'll be cold. It won't kill her. I'm not up for us being another 20 minutes late because Abby will literally drop to the floor in a fit and refuse to do anything until she wears herself out or we give in. Cold legs it is."

I ultimately recognized that Abby didn't want to wear tights because, a) they are boring (they're white ... how lame is that?) and, b) they have feet and she loves her some fun socks.

The leggings I found at Target.

I found myself at Target, searching for leggings. I ended up with five pair, two skirts and two shirts.

Back to Abby's school I went, armed with purple leggings and polka dot leggings. I pulled Abby out of her class to put them on her. She picked purple.

She had to take her skirt off to put the leggings on because the skirt has built-in shorts. I took the skirt off and put her leggings on. At that point, she refused to put her skirt back on.

Abby's reasoning?

"Mommy, the skirt will make me cold."

She has this condescending, you're-an-idiot tone that I really admire in a three-year old. I mean ... she sounds like she has everything figured out. It's impressive.

I finally gave up with my kid wearing leggings and her long-sleeved t-shirt.

When I got back to pick her up at the end of the day, she was, in fact, wearing her skirt. I was relieved my child was at least decent upon my arrival.

Looking forward to tomorrow's wardrobe, when we have countless patterns to choose from.

The paradox of being needed

Everyone needs to be needed.

Even those who claim they would be happy flying solo ... everyone needs to be needed.

I do have a confession, though. Sometimes being needed can get to be a little much. Especially when there is that transition from kid to cat.

My daughter needs me to do everything. Brush her teeth? "Mommy do it!" Hand her a cup? "Mommy do it!" It's taxing, even if we combat it because ... well ... then we're combating it.

As much as we love our children there is that moment at the end of the night when we take a collective sigh of relief at the quiet.

Then the meowing starts.

It's as though an alarm goes off in Luke's kitty brain the second the children are securely in bed. It is his time. Nothing will deter him. It's as though I am walking catnip.

I suppose it's endearing. I love Luke. He's really annoying, though. Like ... really annoying.

I could walk from the living room to the kitchen with him at my heels.

What happens when I try to exercise.

"MOOOOOW. MOOOOOW. MOOOOOW."

For the love.

It's not so much the need for attention as much as it's the need to be intrusive.

Apparently, sitting with me, purring, is out of the question. He must be biting, clawing, head-butting.

"Cat people" hear my stories and I can tell they're judging me. Then they come to my house and experience the craziness. I have literally had people look at me with wide eyes and say, "Wow."

Yeah. It's that bad. I wasn't lying.

It is impossible for me to do any sort of exercise in the living room because he attacks my head. He jumps on furniture so he can bat at my shoulders. He claws my legs. He bites my arm.

Ah, Luke.

Then when I'm sitting peacefully (the rare occurance), where is Luke? Snuggled peacefully on a chair, or the floor, or ... somewhere. He couldn't hang with me then. When it's convenient for me.

No, he has to make sure he gets his attention when it's really tough to handle.

And people don't think you can compare kids and pets.

Why ... Why not?

Okay, so there are a lot of cliche things about being a parent. One of them is that your child constantly asks, "Why?"

I kid you not, I thought this was a piece of parental folklore. I didn't think it really happened the way it was spoken about. I figured there had to be some exaggeration in there someone.

There isn't. It's real. God help us all.

Our child has been in the "Why" phase for awhile now. It's mind-numbing. At least for me. For an easygoing guy like Tom (self-professed "glass-half-full"), this isn't a big deal. In fact, he finds it funny. Entertaining even.

Me? I find it as pleasant as no air conditioning on a 100-degree day.

"Abby, you can't play with scissors."

"Why?"

"Because I don't want you to cut yourself."

"Why?"

For the love.

For my husband, this is nothing. For me, it's like Chinese water torture.

Then it got worse.

I write and edit for a living. I like to be grammatically correct. I'm one of those annoying people who can't stand it when people don't hyphenate properly.

Well, Abby (fittingly) decided to play on this when she took the "Why" phase to the next level.

She started asking "Why not?" in completely the wrong context.

"Abby, I need you to throw that away."

"Why not?"

Just consider me defeated.

"Abby, don't jump in the bath tub, I don't want you to slip."

"Why not?"

This is when prayers go up.

It's funny ... but it's not funny. For the love, child, don't injure yourself. Do you want to injure yourself? I didn't think so. STOP. ASKING. WHY.

I doubt this will actually stop anytime soon. In the meantime, throw some positive vibes my way.

Me, According to Abby

I'm at that point where I really should be jotting down small notes and interactions with my children, but I ultimately don't and then don't remember what I'm supposed to write down.

Then I feel guilty for not remembering and thinking that I'm failing my children and this blog for not writing down the cherished memories that I will ultimately forget.

My daughter in particular offers a lot of material. She picks up on words and terms that I never thought she would (e.g. "silky", "sour"), though the best has to be when she uses phrases that I use on a regular basis.

It is at those moments when you realize just how you come off to your children.

As far as Abby is concerned, this is me:

Name: Mommy, Chrissie, Mama

She has also called me ChrissieTom. Not really sure where that one came from. Well, I mean, I know where it came from, but I don't know why she used it.

Anyway, moving on.

Interests: Drinking coffee, running, exercising, working, finishing my work, text messaging

It is in this category that you, as a parent, recognize what is important to you.

Examples:

• Abby was playing in a car and declared she "had to go to work". She had to rush because she was running late. She still stopped for coffee.
• Sometimes I ask Abby to do something and she tells me she "just has to finish some work" and that she'll "be done in two seconds."
• Abby enjoys putting the heart rate monitor band around her waist and then telling me she's going to exercise.
• Abby does a mean downward dog.
• If I'm pushing her and Jack in the double stroller and I'm walking, she will ask, "Mommy, why are you not running?" Other times she will just yell, "Mommy, run! Run faster!"
• I get ready to walk out the door for work and Abby tells me not to "forget my phones" (yes, plural).
• My phone went off the other day in the other room and Abby brought it to me.

Habits: Tardiness, forgetfulness

Examples:

• Through tears because she doesn't want me to leave, Abby will say, "Mom--sniff--sniff--my ... don't ... forget ... your purse and your phones."
• She has told me not to forget my keys.
• I have then had to ask her if she'd seen my keys.
• She tells me not to forget my sunglasses.
• I have then had to frantically search for said sunglasses. Then I declare I'm late.

Traits: Loving, encouraging, demanding, others that I don't need to get into

Examples:

• Abby quickly learned to say, "GET DOWN!" to the cats when they are on the table. Best part is, they listen to her.
• The other day I handed Abby something and she exclaimed in an exaggerated tone, "Oh, Mommy, that was so nice of you!"
• I put a puzzle piece in the proper place and she said, "Great job, Mommy!"

I have to say that seeing myself through my child's eyes has to be one of the best parts of being a parent ... though I know the not-so-flattering traits and habits will continue to surface.