The Scale

I am having a love hate relationship with the scale again. It calls my name, gets my attention, entices me with the hopes of a smaller number. I so want to feel that excitement that I’m overcome with when the number is lower. But each time I give in and step on that scale I risk the number being the same and the feelings of guilt and laziness that envelopes me is overwhelming. I have failed. I am worthless. I have to work harder. I want to restrict more and work out more. I hate feeling like this. I hate the scale. Yet I can’t get rid of it because I love it. I love when it is kind to me. I love how it validates my hard work. I love how it makes me happy. So, I go on, letting it dictate what my day will be like. Because I need to see that number. Good or bad. 

Crazy thing called my life.

Well, its been a couple weeks. Let me explain why. My life has been crazy! I will start where I left off.

So, after my sweet baby girl was born, the doc noted that I had no tearing or anything but I had a somewhat large amount of bleeding that needed to be watched. They did the usual checks on bleeding. Women who have given birth know what I am talking about. The nurses come and push down on your belly to make sure the uterus is going back and to see how much bleeding there is. Well, the first time the nurse did that I knew I wasnt doing good. Large amounts of blood came gushing out. The nurse tried to cover up her worried look by making a comment like “Hey you, don’t you know you arent supposed to do that? ” She noted it in the chart. Every time they came to do it, I could feel it gushing out. And towards the end of the day, I was feeling more and more weak. My doc came in and said that I have more bleeding than normal, possibly due to my iron levels never getting high enough and because posterior babies can cause more bleeding. My plan was to leave the hospital in one day, but my doc said I was hemmoraging and had to stay until that was under control. Luckily, by day two, it had slowed enough and I was able to take baby home with me. I was so happy to be going home although I was tired from blood loss. My plan was to get home and rest. I know I shouldnt have, but the first thing I did was get on the scale. I was down 15 pounds. I didn’t like the number I was at. But I was happy to be at a smaller number than I was. Right then, I knew that I had fanned the ED flame. I told myself that I was gonna focus on getting back into shape the healthy way. By using moderation. But, as I checked over my body in the mirror the thoughts of doing anything and everything to speed up weight loss was all I could think about. The only thing that drug me away from the mirror were the cries of my hungry baby. The next day, my kids came home from Grandma’s and with them came the stomach flu. Remember in my last post how my 4year old had thrown up in the night before I went to have baby? Well, it spread. My kids were all taking turns being sick, and then I caught it. It took me 3 days to get over it. I was so dehydrated. Trying to nurse and not being able to keep anything in me. I was so nauseous that it was difficult to even sip water. My milk was drying up and baby was losing weight. It was a long miserable week. And my ulcer pain had tripled due to it all. The only silver lining to it was that I dropped another 15 pounds. By the end of the third day of sickness I finally started to feel better. I had started supplementing bottles because baby was not getting enough from being nursed and she got happier and satisfied and quit losing weight. At her 2 week check the doc said I did the right thing. She weighed 6 pds 14 oz. Still wasn’t back to her birthweight. So have to give her more formula. My milk supply is not coming back and I for some reason have very little fat in my milk. Baby cannot grow just by me nursing her. I have always had to supplement with formula for my babies. Just not this soon. Oh well, i dont like having big boobs anyway. I am slowly weening baby. She will be on bottles only within a week or so. 

This last week has been much better. I have felt great and I have started exercising and doing yard work again. It has felt so good. My garden is planted. My lawn is mowed. My flower beds are weeded and planted. And I have been running every day on the elliptical or outside with baby in the stroller. I am so happy to be active again! 

Yesterday my mom told me she is worried that I’m jumping back into obsessive mode. That I look like I’m dropping the weight too fast again. She warned me to watch myself. I told her that I am just fine. She said the amount of exercise and work I’m doing doesnt seem fine to her.  That it is too soon. I told her that I am just excited to be able to be active again and then changed the subject. I know that she just wants to help, and frankly would be a bad mother if she didn’t say anything. I just didnt want that wake up call. I would much rather live in my world of denile. 

The arrival!

I got the call from the hospital’s labor and delivery unit just before 10am on Friday, May 31st. They asked for me to come in at 10:45. I had been up and ready to go since 6:30 and had been staying busy by cleaning the house. My mom-in-law had already come and taken my kids about an hour earlier so I was getting extra stuff cleaned and organized by the time the call finally came. I took the remaining time to catch up on laundry. My 4 year old had thrown up in the middle of the night last night and I now had many blankets and sheets and towels that needed to be done. I finished as much of the laundry as I could and at 10:40 my hubby and I loaded my bags into the my truck and drove the 2 minutes to the hospital, rode the elevator up to the 3rd floor and was buzzed into the labor and delivery unit. I signed in and they took me to delivery room #7. My nurse was named Pamela. She asked me what my birthing plans were. I gave her the very easy run down. I was to lay in that bed, go unmedicated and hopefully pop out a baby in a very short time. She was a sarcastic, quick witted lady. And was the first delivery nurse that I had that I didn’t want to punch in the face. She seemed shocked and impressed by my wanting to go natural. Apparently most women go the epidural route. Said she’d never do it by choice, especially when being induced, but made it clear that she would be supportive either way and if I at all changed my mind that was okay. I told her I had done it with baby #5 who was a 8 pound 7 ounce boy with such wide shoulders that he got stuck (shoulder dystocia) and that if I could do it during that very painful and emergency type situation I could do it this time. After all, this one is a girl and surely her shoulders won’t be as wide as her brother’s were right?  I explained that I have never had an epidural that worked correctly with the first four. Every time it only worked on one side of my body, but never took all the pain away on that side. I hate that it makes my whole body itch like crazy and gives me the shakes. I hate that I’m allergic to adhesive tape and that I get a rash from the tape they use to hold the epidural line into my back. And I sure as heck don’t like paying for something that doesnt work correctly on me.  But most of all, I hate that the epidural, no matter how well it worked or didn’t work took away some of the control that I have over my body. I hate being too numb to walk or move myself. I hate not knowing if I am moving what I want to move. Losing that connection to the brain. Losing that control. It bothers me. So, I was committed once again to go unmedicated. By 11:10 I was wearing a hospital gown, was laying in the bed and had an IV that was sending fluids and the labor inducing pitocin into my body. I started having contractions immediatly. Nothing bad though. I was still happy and chatting away with my two sisters and hubby. About an hour later I was at a 4 and the doctor had broken my water. A bit after that, my mom got there. (She had been down in same day surgery with my brother who was having pins put into his broken pinky finger.)  It started to speed up after that. When I hit a 6 and was really starting to feel it, I knew it wouldnt be long. I lay there breathing through the contractions that were one right on top of the other. When I hit a 7 about 10 min later, the doc confirmed what I was wondering about. The baby wasnt dropping . She was posterier. ( This means that baby is trying to come out face up instead of face down. It’s harder for the baby to move down because  the baby doesn’t fit as well which prolongs the labor and needs stronger contractions to work baby out. ) I had had this slight complication with 3 of my other children.  My wonderful nurse told me that sometimes a shift in the mothers position and with pressure on the mothers back, it can help the baby drop and speeds up dilation and delivery. By this time the contractions were intense. So I said lets try it. I rolled to my right side and held my hubby’s hand as the nurse started applying downward pressure on my back. I immediatly felt the baby dropping and no more than a few minutes later I told the doc that it was time to push this baby out. He checked me as they got the room ready to deliver and I was complete at a 10. I began to push through the contractions. It feels so much better when you can finally work with the contractions, work through the pain. It took about 5 big pushes and my sweet girl was born at 2:29pm. My hubby cut the cord and I heard her cry for the first time. Then my doc laid her on my chest. I held her close and looked her over from top to bottom. She had a little bit of dark hair. Her poor face was so puffy and swollen and bruised from hitting into the pubic bone because of being born face up. But other than that she was perfect in every way. Her little cry was music to my ears and I started to tear up and cry as I felt so grateful that I was chosen to be her mother. That the Lord trusted me to care for and raise up this child. That somehow, even though I’m in the midst of the biggest struggle of my life, I am good enough to be her mother. I cannot put into words the love I felt in that room as I held this precious miracle with my husband by my side and my dear mother and sisters looking over us. I have captured that moment in my mind forever. A few moments later, they took my girl to weigh and measure her. She weighed 7 pounds 4 ounces and was 19 inches long.  Completly normal. Completely perfect. I did it. I got my baby here safe and sound and healthy! I am overjoyed! I am so blessed!