All the Feels

Thanks to a friend's request, I'm getting my shit together and sitting down at the computer.

Quite honestly, I have no decent excuse for not writing sooner (unless "avoiding your feelings" is a decent excuse?).  After all, I've been doing a whole lotta sitting for the past five weeks...

Let me back it up a minute.  On November 29th, knee surgery happened.  Arthritis has been bothering me for years.  I was a young 29 years old the first time I saw a doctor for knee pain, and x-rays showed osteoarthritis then.  My mom's joints have also suffered for years, so it's definitely in the genes.   

At the time of the initial diagnosis, I used knee pain as an excuse to pretty much sit on my ass and do nothing (and we all know how that worked out).  Even though I added a bunch more weight to my already heavy body, hey, at least my knees didn't hurt!  We also all know that one day I got fed up with the way I looked, and worked really hard to get into shape.  That meant a lot of crazy workouts, and eventually a lot of running.  And then a lot of knee pain.

SO...after an amazing finish at my second half marathon this year, I headed into surgery the following week.  The doctor expected to be able to just clean up some damaged cartilage and send me walking on my way, but unfortunately, the damage was worse than expected, resulting in a microfracture procedure.  This means that I am now five weeks into six weeks of post-op crutches while my knee heals...and about a month into the 6-9 months before I'll be allowed to run again.

So now you're caught up.        

I've been working through a whole lot of emotions since the procedure.  I knew there was a slight chance that the surgery could go down this way.  (I remember coming out of anesthesia and immediately mumbling "microfracture?," and then bawling when they told me yes.)  However, the doctor made it seem like a pretty remote chance.  And I knew that running would be a far way off if the microfracture were required, but I had no idea that I wouldn't be able to walk without crutches for six weeks post-op.  So yes, I've shed more than I few tears lately.

I cried first of all for running.  Running has most definitely become more than just a form of exercise that lets me eat dessert and drink beer and still maintain my weight loss.  Running has become a passion, a part of my life, a part of who I am.  It took months of regular running and even finishing a half marathon before I could refer to myself as a runner, but I got there.  I earned it.  And I loved it.  I improved so much over the past year.  I got stronger and faster.  And I loved it.  So to have that taken away for such a long time, when I was expecting to only be sidelined for 4-6 weeks, was very hard.

But I'm working through that.  I am learning to look to the long-term.  You know, the whole "short term loss, long term gain" state of mind.  I want to run for years and years.  And in order to ensure that can happen, this surgery was necessary.  It will also be necessary for me to back my mileage way down, which means this past half marathon was quite likely my last.  That fact required a mourning of its own, but I'd rather be able to run a few miles at a time than none at all.

After I cried many tears for running, I started to cry tears of helplessness.  I am a mom of young children.  I am the keeper of our household.  I am the one who handles things when things need handled.  Crutches pretty much brought that to a screeching halt.

I can use neither my feet, nor my hands.  I can hobble from one place to another, but I cannot carry anything other than my crutches.  I can shift laundry from the washer to the dryer, but I can't get it to the laundry room when it needs to be washed or to the kids' bedrooms after it's been dried and folded.  I can probably put something into the microwave, but I can't stand on my feet long enough to bake all of the Christmas cookies that Margot and I usually bake together at Christmastime.  I can give hugs, but I can't pick Charlotte up.

Feeling helpless has been extremely difficult.  But I know this is temporary, and I have gotten to see how amazing my husband is on a whole new level.  He has stepped up and taken care of EV-ER-Y-THING.  He puts the kids to bed every night so I don't always have to navigate the stairs.  He picks up the house after they get to sleep so that the mess won't make me crazy (or trip me while I'm trying to crutch around).  He cooks meals (with direction).  He drops Margot off at preschool on his way into the office and runs my errands on his way home.  He pushes me around Target in a wheelchair when I need a minute to get out of the house.  I didn't know it was possible to love him more than I already did, but I sure do now. 

I have also cried tears of anxiety.  Anxiety over what is happening to my weight while I'm doing all of this sitting.  And while I know it's not healthy, I eat my feelings.  I'm feeling sad and sorry for myself, so I eat something crappy.  And then I'm sad because I ate something crappy and can't run it off.  And then I'm sad that I can't run, so I eat something crappy.  See where I'm going here?  It's a downward spiral.

But I've lost weight before, and I'll lose it again.  I am DYING to get into the gym.  Thankfully, although I won't be allowed to run for several months, I will be able to bike and swim ahead of that.  I bought a new swimsuit and some goggles, and I'm excited to make swimming a part of my workout routine that is easy on my joints.

So there you have it.  The whole sea of emotions that I've been wallowing in over here.  Thank God that Christmas was thrown in as the ultimate, weeks-long distraction, otherwise I'd be drowning by now!

Now count it down with me...SEVEN more days until I can toss these crutches outta my life and try to regain a little bit of the normalcy that I've lost!  Until then, there will probably be some more crying over here.

The Most Vulnerable Post Ever

Post-weight loss plastic surgery.  I had it.  I wrote about it here and here, and a bunch of other times.  And today you get to hear about it one more time.

Today I had my 3/5 month follow-up visit with the surgeon (we combined follow-ups so that I didn't have to live at the office).  This is the visit where they took the 'after' photos to accompany the 'before' shots that were taken at my pre-op visits.  These are always a good time- I get to wear tiny disposable thong underwear and stand in awkward positions while a nurse takes my picture.

These pictures, guys.  They threw me for a loop.

Recovery from these operations was hard.  Some days, really really hard.  There were days when I wondered if I'd done the right thing.  I hated the forced laying around, I felt depressed because of all of the pain every minute of every day for weeks on end, I missed picking up my babies, I wanted to get up and run but couldn't.  These were some rough days.  

Now that I've made it to the other side, I have worries of a different kind.  I worry about gaining the weight back.  I get concerned about eating too much or not working out enough.  And because I am a woman, I still sit in judgement of my body every day. 

Sometimes, if I let myself, I can get caught up in all of that.

Today, these photos brought me back to reality.

Reality is that my body is amazing.  It is strong.  It is healthy.  And I put a helluva lot of work into getting it to that point.  The reason I had these surgeries in the fist place is because it sucked to work so hard to lose so much weight, and still hate the way I looked in the mirror.  My body was strong and healthy then, too, you just couldn't see it beneath the extra skin and loose fat deposits that no amount of exercise would get rid of.

You can see it now.

When the doctor showed me these photos in his office today, I broke down and cried.  I can't even put my finger on why.  Pride for accomplishing a goal, relief that this chapter of my life is behind me, joy that my outward appearance finally matches my inner strength.  The photos put things into perspective somehow, and I'm an emotional hot mess over here.

I can't believe I'm putting this out there for the world to see, but here you have it- my 'before' and 'after.'  I think J probably put it best when he said "worth every penny."  If you need me, I'll just be here staring at these pictures and crying all day.

    

I'm Not Dead

I promise, I didn't bring the blog back just to disappear for another three years!

Surgery, part deux, happened, and well...my legs have looked better.

Bruising and swelling and oozing, oh my!  I will spare you the gory details, but the short version is this: the extra elephanty skin that was hanging around my thighs is outta here.  Yes, this summer I will resemble Frankenstein, but this monster will be running in shorts!

I will fill you in on a few things I've learned this go 'round:

1. When given the opportunity to trash my healthy eating habits, I will take it and run.  (Haha...run!)  My brain has pretty much shut down the corner that puts thought into the food going into my mouth.  Dessert after every meal?  Yes, please!  And before you say that there's no such thing as breakfast dessert, a good friend once taught me that ordering a chocolate chip pancake after you've finished your omelet is the perfect way to accomplish breakfast dessert.  I'm blaming the pain for my lack of self-control.  Which brings me to my next point-

2. Grilled cheese and crinkle cut fries are my ultimate comfort food.  Two surgeries in two months, and both times, when I've finally come out of the post-surgical stupor enough to want sustenance, grilled cheese and crinkle fries have been my meal request.  My poor, sweet husband has gone on the hunt twice now.  He's narrowed down the best sandwich, the best fries, and these may or may not be located at the same restaurant.  He's even learned to keep the takeout container open during the car ride home, lest the extra-crispy fries get soggy.  Which brings me to the NEXT point-

3. My husband is the best husband.  He bankrolls my procedures and then takes care of my unreasonable specific requests afterward.  I love him so.

4. And finally, the most important lesson I've learned.  DO NOT, under any circumstances, shop online while under the effects of anesthesia.  Anesthesia amnesia is a real thing, and I know because I experienced it just two short months ago.  I remember very little from either surgery day.  I do remember that it occured to me once I got home last week that my fancy compression garment, which I am forced to wear for every day for the next six weeks, covers about 80% of the skin on my body.  What is a girl to wear over such a garment?  Especially when summer is coming, and it ain't getting any cooler outside!  I thought maybe I should order a few things, so that I could safely leave the house.

And order I did.

I keep getting notification after notification about items that have shipped from here, there, and everywhere.  UPS started delivering today.  It's like Christmas!  I don't remember what I ordered or from where.  Who knows how long the deliveries will continue?  I'll live it up until I have to start returning.

          

Post/Pre

Yesterday I had my 6 week post-op appointment with the plastic surgeon- combined with the pre-op appointment for my next surgery, which will happen in a few weeks.

Talk about mixed emotions.

I have officially been released to resume any and all types of exercise that I'd like.  Yay!

After the next surgery, there will be no exercise of any kind for at least four weeks, and I will not be able to lift anything heavier than 10 pounds (including my Charlotte) for at least as long.  Boo.

The worst of the pain is over, my healing is going as expected, and my incision looks as it should at this point.  Yay!

The incisions for part 2 are much more precarious, prone to reject stitches, "gnarly" looking (as the nurse put it), and with my fair skin, will probably take two full years to not look so red and angry.  Boo.

The next procedure is so much easier than the first!  Yay!

By this, I'm pretty sure that they mean the initial pain won't be as bad, and I won't have so much trouble getting around.  But the pain is nagging and lingering.  Perhaps for months.  Boo.

Guys, I am so anxious to have this behind me.  And I know in the end it will all be totally worth it.  But this part is hard.  Maybe even as hard as it was to pass up all those french fries and ice cream that helped get me to this point.

I hate that I'm not going to be able to pick up my daughter.  I hate that just as soon as I'm closing in on a pain-free normal that I'm heading right back into the daily pain.  I hate that I won't be able to run for so long, because as it turns out, I'm kind of a crabby bitch some days when you take running away from me.  I hate that my scars are probably going to frighten my children (and innocent bystanders!) this summer.  I try not to complain about this, since it is fully elective and I brought this on myself.  But day after day after day of pain is hard.  Boo.

But my stomach is FLAT, and my legs will have lost all of the wrinkly elephant skin that is clinging to my thighs.  Yay!

I'm in full steam ahead mode.  Let's get this over with.

Let's Get Real

I've been thinking a lot about this lately, and I've decided that I'm coming out.

Here goes...

I had plastic surgery.

Whew.  I said it.  (And I'm a little terrified that it's out there now.)

I haven't been very open about this decision.  As a matter of fact, when I decided over a year ago that this was something I was going to do, I was scared to tell anyone.

I was scared to tell my mom and my sister, I was scared to tell my closest friends, I was even scared to talk to J about it at first.  These are people who have always loved and supported me, yet I was hesitant to tell them that I wanted to do this.  I was scared for two reasons:

1. I was afraid people would think I am vain.
2. I was afraid people would judge me for spending such a large amount of money on my appearance.

Like it or not, there is a major stigma attached to cosmetic surgery, and I'm sure these are the two reasons why.

Let's talk vanity.  By definition, being vain is being excessively concerned with one's appearance.  That is exactly how I would qualify my feelings.  I worked so, SO hard to lose as much weight as I did, and the fact of the matter was, I still didn't like what I saw in the mirror.  And that feeling sucked.

There was loose skin, excess fat, and just a lot of "extra" literally hanging around my abdomen.  There is no amount of exercise that could fix that.  You can't put your body through excessive weight loss all in the midst of three pregnancies and expect your skin to bounce back.  At least not when you're thirty-something.  It just ain't gonna happen.  Surgery was my only option.

So I guess that makes me vain.  But I've had a lifetime of low self-esteem tied to body issues, and dammit, I want to wear a bikini (FOR THE FIRST TIME IN MY LIFE!).  And I want to like how I look in it.  I guess I am excessively concerned with the appearance of my body.  Yep.

Let's talk money.  My chosen career was teaching.  Teaching.  You don't get into teaching for the big paychecks.  And now I don't even work!  There's some guilt involved when I think about the chunk of household income that just went into feeding my so-called vanity. 

But as scared as I was to broach this subject, in reality, when I finally did get brave enough to tell those few people, they were nothing but supportive.  They've seen me work hard to get to this point, and they want me to feel good about myself, because I've earned that.

And that's just it, folks.  I've earned it.  Me.  This isn't about anyone else.  Who do I have to impress??  My husband?  He thought I was beautiful on our wedding day, when I weighed almost 230 pounds.  My friends?  Please.  They've always loved me, regardless of my shape or size.  I don't care how anyone else views my body.  I care about how I view my body.  So I did this for myself.

I may have needed a little surgical help, but for the first time ever in my life, I am learning to love the body I'm in.  And that makes it all worth it.

This is definitely not me.

  

I'm BAA-ACK!

So, it's been awhile.  Over three years, as a matter of fact.  Looks like the last post I wrote was a happy FIRST birthday to my firecracker Margot.  Hmm...things have changed around here.

I'm not sure what happened to my poor blog.  Life happened, I guess.  Two little ones keeping me on my toes, didn't have the time to devote, blah blah blah.  But the truth is, I liked writing here.  It gave me a little bit of a creative outlet, and something to exercise my brain.  It gave me something to look at other than Facebook.  (I think I have an addiction, but that's for another post.)  It made me part of a little blogging community.  It was fun to read other blogs, and know that other people out there were reading mine.

Sorry I forsook you, blogosphere. 

In any case, I've decided to make an effort to revive the ole' blog.  I certainly can't promise daily postings (life is still busy), but I can promise to not wait three years in between posts.  And in case I have even one follower out there who has been waiting for an updated post on their reading list- this one is for you.

Let me start with the big updates:

1. The house.  Remember back here when I was talking about selling our house and building a dreamy new one?  Well, it happened.  Just not on the timeline we expected.  The sale of the house went through just like we wanted, and American Homes 4 Rent DID lease back to us for another six months...and then for another year after that.  We thought we'd be breaking ground in November or December of 2013.  That ended up happening in July 2014.  And then delay after delay after hold-up after longer building schedule than we were originally told...

We finally closed on our new home in December 2014.

BUT, even though it took longer than we expected (guys, I mean SO MUCH LONGER than we expected!), the wait was worth it in the end.  I love our new(ish) home.  We have so much more space than the old place, an AMAZING backyard for the kids to play in, and a sense of community here that definitely was not present in our old 'hood.  I am now in the (continuous) midst of painting/decorating/organizing/perfecting the space, and desperately trying not to drive my sweet husband crazy in the process.

2. The job.  I am still at home with the wee ones.  Some days I sit back and realize how lucky I am to be able to spend these days with my littles.  Other days I am watching my phone like a hawk, waiting for the text from J that he is on his way home so that I can pass some parental duties off to him.  Some days I look at my kids and get emotional thinking about how much I love them and how fast it's all happening.  Some days, I want to day drink.  But that's the life of a stay at home mom!  And truthfully, I wouldn't have it any other way.

3. The kids.  They haven't stopped growing and changing and becoming these little people, right before my eyes.  Gabe (who is still my tiny nugget) is in KINDERGARTEN now, and totally rocking it.  Margot is still the fiercest little lady this side of the Mason-Dixon.  She loves preschool and dance class.  They are both completely wonderful in their own unique ways.  And, oh yeah...meet Charlotte.

Yep, since my last post, the family was completed with our third wee one.  She turned two last month.  She appears to have every ounce of sass that her sister has, but she also has a sweet and cuddly side like her brother.  She is just the icing on the amazing cake that is my little family.

This is seriously the best picture I have of my three little minions.  Getting a picture of all three at once is like herding cats.

4. The ME.  I wrote several times over the years about trying to live a healthier life and lose some weight in the process (Here, here, here, and here...what can I say, I've been a work in progress for a long time.)  I had a few promising starts here and there, but always in between pregnancies.  I hung onto the excuse that I was just going to have another baby, so I didn't want to put in the hard work when I was just going to get big and fat again, growing another baby.  But after the birth of my sweet Charlotte (and I was officially cut off from having anymore babies), I got serious.  I mean REALLY serious.  And I did it.  I look back at pictures of myself at the time of my last blog post, and I barely recognize that person.  I started paying attention to every bite of food that I put into my mouth.  I became a runner, and raced my first half-marathon last year.  And I lost somewhere in the neighborhood of 85 pounds.  I did it!   

So there's the long and short of it.  I really have missed this little spot over the past three years.  (Cringing and embarrassed over here.)  Really hoping to not let you down, long lost readers! 

JEANS

Looking back on pictures of when  J and I first met...we were both a little skinnier.  After we fell in love and passed the jittery, twitterpated stage of new romance where you just can't eat, we settled into a more comfortable routine (i.e. one that included eating).

My weight has been such a roller coaster!

Twitterpated= lost weight.
Comfy in love= gained weight.
Tried to get healthy= bought an elliptical, lost weight.
Got pregnant= lost my appetite and puked my guts out, lost more weight.
**Insert maternity clothes here.**
Had a baby= lost more weight.  Never gained weight during pregnancy, and then lost 20 pounds by delivering.
Recovered from pregnancy= started eating again.  Gained weight.

I'm sitting about five pounds below where I was when I got pregnant.

SO WHY IN THE HELL DO NONE OF MY JEANS FIT?

If I were mannequin-shaped, these jeans would fit perfectly!

Jeans, we have a very serious love/hate relationship.  I love that you are casual, can be worn with just about anything, and in theory, are comfortable.  But I loathe how you refuse to fit my body.  Gain weight, lose weight, it doesn't seem to matter.  Somehow, you are just off.  The waist, the hips, the thighs...there is always some area that just isn't right.  (And don't even get me started on the length.  I'm quite sure I've never been able to buy a pair of jeans that didn't need to be hemmed.)

This makes me unhappy.

We seem to be in a never-ending cycle of home repair (this summer alone, we've had an HVAC guy, a plumber, and now a roofer hit us up) , so spending $100 on some new denim is just low on the priority list.  But oh, how I crave the perfect pair of jeans.

Does it exist?  Is there really a pair of jeans out there that will just fit me comfortably?

I believe them to be mythical.  But I want them to be mine.  Please advise.

**EDIT- after this post was originally written, the one pair of jeans that I had that semi-fit (as in, were the least uncomfortable of all my choices) were destroyed.  The friction from my thighs rubbing together finally did its damage, and a gaping hole now exists where denim once covered my leg.  DAMMIT.  To those of you women whose thighs don't touch?  I hate you.

And now I really need some new jeans.  Sigh.