The baby's napping, so I might as well get cracking on my back-story while I can! As I said in my previous post, there *was* a time when I was well on my way to my healthy weight. From 2009-2010, I lost about 40 pounds, had some pretty excellent eating habits, and exercised almost every day. I dabbled a bit in the Couch to 5K program, but never really became a "runner." I think at best I could run 3-5 minutes, but any movement is better than none. We had a recumbent bike that I used quite a bit, and also utilized some Tae Bo and Jillian Michaels/Biggest Loser DVDs.
Somehow, all of these great habits came to a grinding halt when I started my current job in September of 2010. My work day shifted from a 9-5, Mon-Thurs. schedule to a 10-6 Mon-Fri. schedule, and for some reason I just stopped exercising. In the beginning I assumed I would just exercise in the morning, since I was losing an hour of my evening, but that never happened. I simply slept a little later, said "Oh, I'll exercise tonight" and got around to it MAYBE once a week, which eventually devolved into "never-per-week." As a result, from September 2010-January 2011, I put on about 20 pounds.
Then, in early January 2011, I got pregnant. I found out on February 11, and of course vowed to eat better and start exercising again. I vowed these things, until, of course, the first trimester nausea kicked in, and all I could stomach every morning was Cheerios. For a while it was Cinnamon Cheerios...which now the thought of them makes my stomach turn. Never. Again. I was lucky, I never actually threw up, but it was a good solid 13-14 weeks of morning nausea. I'd have enough in me to shower and make breakfast and get ready for work, but then for an hour before I left all I could do was lay on the couch and hope I wasn't going to vomit. Those were some fun days, I tell ya.
Through the pregnancy I was rarely active, developed a good bit of low back/sciatic/hip pain, and then had severely swollen feet and ankles for the last month to month-and-a-half, which seriously limited my desire or ability to go for a walk, never mind stand up and cook a healthy meal. I seem to remember a lot of macaroni and cheese and spaghetti? I'm not sure, most of my pregnancy is a fog as far as those details go.
I know that most women don't enjoy the last month (or four) of pregnancy, and I was right up there with them, however a couple of things happened which really complicated things. There was the usual pregnancy-related pain and swelling I described, but there were also a lot of very emotional things happening. On August 28th, my mom called to tell me that my grandma and grandpa were on their way to the hospital because my grandpa wasn't acting right. Over the following week, he was sent home and later returned to the hospital, and they eventually discovered that he had experienced a series of small strokes. He was eventually transferred to a rehabilitation center, and around the time of his transfer, my father was also hospitalized. Here they were, father and son, both in the hospital. This all, of course, brought a great deal of anxiety and stress on us all as a family, and I remember a lot of emotional eating going on in the midst of it.
The details that follow are part of a much longer and more complicated, emotional story, which I may or may not share in full in the future. Bear in mind that these details of my father and grandfather were all happening at the time time, even though I'm stating them separately. It's impossible to separate the details chronologically. The long and short of it is that my grandfather didn't do too well in the rehab hospital. We were unsatisfied with his care there, and eventually he was transferred back to the hospital. Meanwhile, the doctors could not figured out why my dad was feeling so terrible. It had been a very difficult year for him health-wise, but doctors had not yet figured out what was happening to him. Over the course of a week he was first admitted to the Beverly Hospital Cardiac ICU, and then transferred to Mass General's Cardiac ICU, about a day or two before my baby shower on September 10, 2011. I went with my mom and grandma to see him after the shower, and at the time there was hope for improvement. All of this came to a crashing, shrieking, grinding halt on September 12, 2011. That afternoon, my father passed away from cardiomyopathy due to Becker's Muscular Dystrophy. He was surrounded by his family, myself included, and he was conscious and lucid several hours before his passing. I don't know that I properly said goodbye, because I think I refused to believe that was what needed to be done. But that's another story for another time.
Three weeks later, on October 7, 2011, my grandfather, whose health had not improved, and whose heart had been completely broken by the loss of his own son, also passed away. I was with him the day before his passing, and even though he was not conscious, I was able to say goodbye. He passed in hospice care that Friday morning. He and my father are both buried in the same cemetary, with just one plot between them.
On October 16, 2011, we welcomed a bit of sunshine and joy into our lives in the form of Amy Danielle, named for my dad, Daniel. There were some non-life threatening complications, and it wasn't the perfect hospital stay that I expected, but everybody was okay. Since then, there have been ups and downs, and I've experienced quite a bit of sleeplessness and some severe postpartum depression. I'm sure you can imagine how complicated it must be to sort out such great loss, followed by joyful birth, in the midst of sleep-deprivation and postpartum hormones.
All of these things, this "brief" history I have compiled for you, have brought me the place I stand today. I am unhappy with my weight, none of my clothes fit well, and I am not the joyful, confident woman I used to be. I have a beautiful, sweet, darling little girl who is my sunshine and my joy, and who I want to stick around for. I have a loving husband who cares for us and supports us, and I'd like to stick around for him as well. That is why I am on this mission to lose the weight and finally get healthy. For me, for Amy, for Adam. I have struggled with my weight my entire life, and I don't want Amy to have that experience. I also don't want her to lose her mother from some tragedy like a heart attack. It's time to get healthy, to improve my life, and don't worry, I'm planning on getting some help for the PPD as well.
I am reminding myself that every day is a new day and that I can do this. I am also reminding myself (and seeking reminders) that the God I know is a loving God who I can turn to. That is something I haven't done a whole lot of in the past few difficult months, but hope to do a lot more of in the coming months.
So here I am. 30-40 pounds heavier than I was in 2010, 80 pounds heavier than my ultimate healthy weight. I hope to share my struggles and triumphs with you as I go, as well as chronicle my habits and other life-improvements.
I am a woman on a mission.
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