5 Day Clean Eating Challenge Recap

So I was in a friend’s clean-eating challenge group this week and she’s asked us to recap. I have a lot to reflect on and felt it was too long for a Facebook comment (lol).

1. What is one thing you enjoyed about the group?

I enjoyed seeing how other participants were planning their day, because it encouraged me to make similar plans for myself, reassured me that I was on the right track, and gave me ideas for my own meals and snacks. I liked the intro to clean eating document and the sample meal plans, even though I was unable to follow any of them. Looking at them gave me an idea of the overall goal and structure of the clean eating philosophy, and gave me good ideas for snacks and meal sizes.

2. Share one thing you learned about yourself.

I learned a lot and I am more aware of what I have yet to learn.

I lost a LOT of weight, before I was pregnant, using Weight Watchers — and at that point in my life, the restrictiveness of the WW plan was really good for me. After River was born, and I was shifting the pregnancy weight, I rejoined WW with the idea of jump-starting weight loss and resetting in my head my thinking about proper eating — and it FAILED. The tracking was annoying. I found the program over-restrictive and downright naggy. The “clean” eating approach, however, is not as restrictive and it allows for a lot of freedom and personalization that WW doesn’t. I learned that I need the freedom to be creative and personalize my meals/snacks. WW makes much of fats, but clean eating doesn’t as long as they are in logical amounts. I can eat a whole milk yogurt and not feel like I am falling down on the job. I am not made to feel guilty about what I eat. I am not made to feel pressure to “count points” and “play the numbers game.” I answer to myself and I am asked to be knowledgeable and responsible for myself. This is the way better approach for me right now.

The most important things I learned and internalized:
1. Drink water. Drink water. Drink water. Drink MORE water.
2. I can’t eat large evening meals. I don’t sleep well afterward, and if I don’t sleep soundly enough, the following day I am dragging, mentally fogged, and sad. Even if the meal I eat is a small, “clean” meal, if it is larger than a bowl of cereal or a few crackers with cheese and salume, I am in trouble for the next day.
3. I think I am going to have to seriously start giving up animal meat proteins. I think they contribute, even in small, 2 oz portions, to my feeling of over-full-ness and my bad sleep. Getting my protein from eggs, cheese, and nut butter was much better. I have been telling myself I should push more toward vegetarianism, but I’m seriously reluctant to give up bacon, chicken, and turkey. We’ll see how that goes!

I lost a few pounds and I think a lot of that has to do with drinking large amounts of water and really keeping my cells hydrated and my body systems lubricated. If I can keep it up and lose a couple more pounds, I’ll have dropped in to the next “decade” of pounds, and once I do that I swear to myself I won’t go back up to the next decade. So far sheer willpower has worked for me on that front. About 3 1/2 pounds more and I’ll be in the next “safe” zone!

3. Complete the sentence: I am worth it because ____________.

This is a tough one. The trite, expected answer is “because I’m investing in my health” or something. I don’t know how to answer this without being trite. Because I have a family to take care of? But that ignores who I am. Because I’m worth it? That’s a marketing slogan. I don’t know how to complete this sentence because I don’t know what I’ve yet to accomplish.

But I can say this.

I deserve to be in my best potential health.
I have the right & responsibility to choose what and how I eat.
I can make intelligent choices that take in to consideration both my physical and mental health.
I can get up when I stumble, and I don’t have to hold grudges against myself for being human.


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What They Still Don’t Teach You at Harvard Business School

This. All this. Killer interesting.

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UnSocial Media

A lot has happened in the news/the internets in the last week. Mother Emmanuel. SCOTUS. #LoveWins. My Facebook feed went berserk and riotously rainbow-colored, and only one person expressed a hateful opinion. And I’m related to that person, if a bit distantly, so I can’t say I picked them. But I myself haven’t said a peep. We didn’t discuss political issues in my house when I was growing up because it’s bad form to disagree with the Commander in Chief, AKA the boss. And this aversion has carried over in to my adult life. You will never see a political sign in my yard; my vote is between me and my ballot. Maybe it also has to do with the introvert in me; you will almost never catch me openly telling someone that something they’ve said has caused me any offense, because I don’t want to get in a sniping match over social media. One of my friends commented today that she felt her amazing education was useless if all she did was stay home and raise a family; she feels really, really strongly about this. I resisted the urge to comment with links to articles about the positive effect a mother’s education can have on a child’s long-term health and educational outcomes; I resisted the urge to message her privately saying that her words, her beliefs, were hurtful to me. My ongoing friendship with her is more important to me than telling her these things.

I did not speak up for myself; and I am okay with that at this moment. If I think I am living my best path, then another’s words and thoughts are of no harm to me; I can acknowledge their beliefs and then say, “I do not choose to embrace this.” I can also say, “I choose to live in opposition to this and oppose it with actions and being, not petty words.” If I have learned one thing, it is that I have learned that talk is one thing, and actions another; I can’t just say what a good life is, I must live it. I strive to live my goodness and hope others will strive to do the same.

(My, that’s sentimental, innit?)

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Hey, woah.

Are we there yet? And by there, I mean here? The winter was deep, and dark, and bitter cold, and windy, and everything horrid. Now it’s May, and cold, and raining, but “at least it’s not snow.” I’m itching for warm weather, sunshine, and the right time to go plant-crazy. I’m looking at you, middle-of-May.

I feel like I’m spurred on by purpose now. Jim is all set to go to England this summer for a wedding. I am totally jelly. Last week was a whirlwind of versing myself in passports, international airlines, and London’s neighborhoods, and I really only have two months to master outlet adapters, international cellphones, the Underground, packing, wedding gifts that can survive in a carry-on, and what to wear to a summer afternoon wedding in London. The last has me turned on my head, because I have a hard enough time dressing for evening weddings here in the States. I mean, for guys it’s pretty simple, a dark suit goes a long way and I’ve hauled out the suit Jim wore for our wedding a handful of times over the last 6 years, changing it up with different ties and accessories to fit in at each new event. But I feel like something so off our usual radar deserves Something Special That Can’t Be Botched Over 3,275 Miles. Time to start scouring the internets.

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Birth and Re-Birth

The moment a child is born, the mother is also born. She never existed before. The woman existed, but the mother, never.
A mother is something absolutely new.
Bhagwan Shree Rajneesh

There’s a lot of pressure on American women these days to “go back” after having their babies. Back to work. Back to their pre-pregnancy weight. Back to “normal.”

What a lot of people don’t seem to see is that there is no “going back.” I didn’t really see it myself until I was on the “motherhood” side of the divide. I can start working again and I can lose the weight I gained during pregnancy, but I can’t “go back” to who and what I was before giving birth because that person and that place just don’t exist anymore. “Reclaim your body!” the doctor said at my six-week postpartum checkup. What he should have said was, “Claim your new body!” Yes I’ve lost the majority of the weight I gained, but my hips and spine will never be the same (curse you, back labor!), and my core muscles are all out of shape from being stretched by growing baby. Things I could do a year ago, I can’t do now.

And on the flip side, things I couldn’t do a year ago, I can do now (thanks, relaxin!). So while my yoga muscles are out of shape, my yoga joints are bendy in all new ways. I can survive on slightly less sleep. I’m getting the hang of what we call “winging it.” I’m getting the hang of the thing called “patience.”

River gasped the first time she really saw a tree. I could tell she was truly seeing it, not just registering it visually, from the look on her face and the gurgle-ah sound she made. She made the same sound at the tree that she makes when she gets ready to smile at mommy. Maybe I can get the hang of gasping at the sight of a tree, too.

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To My Fellow Whovians

So, I’ve been thinking about the Twelfth Doctor today. First of all, big congratulations to Peter Capaldi, the new face of Who. I’m chomping at the bit to see what he brings to the role, even at the same time as I know I am going to be weeping openly watching Eleven regenerate and leave.

Anyway, I’m thinking about Twelve, and my thoughts go all the way back to Ten — specifically to the circumstances surrounding his regeneration.

pause for moment of silence in remembrance of Ten

In particular I am thinking about “The Waters of Mars.” Ten had lost The Doctor Donna, the companion who could have been the closest to him if it hadn’t meant her brain having a nuclear meltdown. He becomes a wicked, cold fish, untouchable by that all too human emotion, love. Do you remember that cavalier bastard who walked in to the Mars base like he owned the place? And who can forget the startling lesson that Adelaide Brooke teaches him at the end? Sacrifice — and above sacrifice, family.

In “The End of Time,” for whom does the Doctor die? Family. He realizes, finally, that he doesn’t want to go because he squandered his chances to love purely, for the sake of loving, as though every person he met was family.

And then comes Eleven. The first person he meets is this brave little girl living all alone in a big scary house with a crack in her bedroom wall, and he has to save her. Despite his apparent childishness, his instinct is to care for that frightened little girl, even when she’s a frightened adult. In “The Beast Below,” we begin to realize that what appears as childishness is actually joy in the ability — and right — of children to live life without fear, to live with childish abandon — to be child-like. He is a hurt man, a broken man, and he chooses to redeem himself through love.

Seriously, think about how many times Eleven has gone out of his way to save, protect, care for, or show love to a child.

The Eleventh Hour
The Beast Below
The Vampires of Venice
The Hungry Earth/Cold Blood
The Lodger (Stormageddon!)
The Pandorica Opens/The Big Bang

The Impossible Astronaut/The Day of the Moon
The Curse of the Black Spot
The Doctor’s Wife (poor child-like Idris)
A Good Man Goes to War
Night Terrors
The God Complex

The Doctor, the Widow and the Wardrobe

Asylum of the Daleks (souffle girl!)
The Snowmen

The Rings of Akhaten
Nightmare in Silver

Am I right?

Eleven is, at the very core of his being, a father to all the wounded, frightened children in the universe. The First Doctor was, lest we forget, a grandfather. The Doctor’s been around the block a few times, and in this twelfth regeneration, he looks old and venerable again. I think this regeneration is going to age him in more ways than one — the Doctor who tries so hard to hang on to a child’s innocence would die to protect it.

I am also hoping six ways from Sunday that Alex Kingston comes back at least a few times for the Twelfth Doctor. I think this older, dashing, debonair Doctor could very well be her Doctor, the one she meets and falls in love with. How fitting, then, that her last Doctor — Ten — is truly young, in years and in face, and innocent. How glad would she be, to see him so happy? Even if he hadn’t met her yet….

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No power in the ‘Verse — River’s Birth Story, Pt 2

June 22, 2013
11 AM: This is where I start to lose all sense of the passage of time. There, in Labor 1, kneeling on a rolled-up yoga mat at the edge of the bed, answering questions about allergies and family history. I know that it was about 11 o’clock because that’s the time printed on the blood-draw wristband I would wear for the next three and a half days. The room has no windows, and the clock on the wall is hidden behind things (and I couldn’t see it if I wanted to anyway). The L&D nurse tried to place an IV lock in my left hand, but I think she missed the vein and hit a nerve because the pain of the IV needle is worse than the contractions. She doesn’t believe me and keeps telling me that no IV should be a 10 on the pain scale, much less worse than contractions. I started to panic because the pain in my hand was distracting me from concentrating on the contractions, and I wanted to focus on what I was there to do — labor! So the nurse had to recruit the obstetric anesthesiologist to come place the next one IV, and it took her another 4 attempts, including one blown vein (the bruise just cleared up in the last two or three days). Mentally I congratulated myself on having decided well in advance to avoid an epidural, because this woman can’t seem to hit the broad side of a barn, much less a vein.

The OB came by occasionally to see how I’m progressing, and it’s a centimeter or two at a time. Slow and steady wins the race…?

At some point in the afternoon, around 6 or 7 cm, crazed by a lack of sleep, we made the decision to administer a mild painkiller just so I could rest for a while. It wouldn’t affect River for more than a few hours, but I did have to remain hooked up to fetal monitors until she showed signs of being awake after it cleared our combined systems. I went in and out of a serene doze, not really sleeping, and at some point — the middle of the night, I think — I knew my water broke. I could feel it being on the verge of breaking, and swam up out of the sea of serenity long enough to talk to Jim. I woke up my labor team and they helped me back in to the soothing hot shower, then back to bed, where I waited patiently in a daze for River to wake up too.

June 23, 2013
Probably between 5 and 6 AM: The on-call OB was going to go off his 24-hour shift in the next hour or so, and came by to see how we’re progressing and ask how we’d like to proceed. I’m 9.5 cm but — what the heck?!? — he insisted my water had not broken. I’m pretty sure I didn’t hallucinate the sensation of my water breaking overnight, so the news my water didn’t break made me a little hysterical. It’s too late to administer pain medication per se, but they could give me Benadryl and break water artificially. I wanted to crawl back in the shower again, and we all expected we’ll see the OB again in an hour or so before he goes off shift, so we asked for half an hour to clear my head and talk. But we decided quickly that breaking the water was the best thing to do at this point. I couldn’t believe it hadn’t broken already, because the contractions got noticeably stronger after what I thought was my water breaking overnight.

Sometime around 9 or 10 AM maybe?: We got a new nurse, and apparently the news that I wanted my water broken a few hours ago was never fully realized by the medical staff, because we had been left alone since the OB left earlier in the morning. Whatever, I told myself, Miscommunication sucks but I’m not going to dwell on it. Let’s do it now! The new nurse, who turned out to be a fabulous asset, and the new OB broke the water bag and that sensation convinced me that yes, my water did already break overnight, but I can’t dwell on what did or didn’t happen and make a mental note to ask about it when I’m fully lucid again.

The next two or three hours…: Nurse Patti worked some magic on the hospital bed and transformed it in to a stepped-level surface for resting and reclining and also for squatting using a birth bar that she installed at the end of the bed — almost not in time, because she was still scrambling to latch it when I really wanted to push. And as it turns out, River is facing the wrong direction, with the soft part of her head against my cervix and the hard part against my spine, which explains in retrospect the painfully slow labor and the intensity of the contractions, and the coupling contractions, and the fact that my contractions never came around the front as I’d been led to expect, but stubbornly remained in my lower back and hip bones. I concentrate on the encouragement coming from my support team, while a rational corner of my mind observes the proceedings. I’m convinced that the nurse is telling me I’m doing a great job because that’s her job, whether or not I’m really doing so great, so I put more weight on the things my husband and friend are telling me. I’m completely aware of the OB standing there impassively for a while, not speaking, just watching silently, and I am quite aware that I regularly give her a vicious look (made more absurd, in retrospect, by the fact that my glasses were off and in order to see her clearly at the foot of the bed, I had to squint), waiting for her to say SOMETHING positive. I was depending on her for an idea of how well things were really going, and the state of River’s health, so I needed to see some encouraging sign from her as well. At some point she says something positive, and my friend stage-whispers, “She’s been waiting for you to say that.” I’m aware of Nurse Patti massaging me to make way for River’s head; I’m aware of a second nurse, Nurse Kara, coming in with the blanket warmer, scale, and hospital bassinet to wait for baby; Jim’s commenting on her dark hair, Patti is already comparing her nose to mine; Kara is cheering from the sidelines and telling me how strong I am (the rational part wonders if she means physically or spiritually? I never find out). Patti tells me not to retreat from the pain that is about to come because it’s going to be more intense than the pain I’ve been having (the rational part exalts to know I’m so close to the finish line, and also says Why would I retreat from what I am well aware is the very last pain I’m going to feel?!). And then…

12:43 PM: River is suddenly laying on my chest, and we’re being wrapped in blankets fresh and hot from the blanket warmer, and Jim is moving off to cut the umbilical cord and all I can say is, “Hi! Hi! You’re here! Hi!” because after 34 hours of work, it’s a bit stunning to have her on the outside, where I can see and touch and HEAR her, instead of inside, where she is a total mystery. Someone calls out, “Time! Time!” and someone responds “12:43!” and I want to ask — AM? PM? Sunday? Monday? FOR THE LOVE OF GOD WHAT DAY IS IT?! And yes, the pain completely disappears when she slides free and in to the world. Like someone threw a switch, poof.

Over the next couple of hours…: The nurse and OB finish removing the placenta, which is examined for tears or damage, and Kara discovers (I notice Jim is over there in a heartbeat examining it with her) that the typical double wall of the membrane is separated a bit, which explains why it felt like my water had broken, but then it hadn’t — a high leak somewhere along the membrane spilled amniotic fluid in between the double walls, creating a “fore-bag” that descended ahead of the main bag, FURTHER slowing the progress of labor. Double whammy — the soft part of River’s head and the double bag, double the slowed labor. Then they checked me for signs of damage, finding, to everyone’s surprise, none. We all suppose that the combined slow descent due to her bad position and the fore-bag, despite prolonging labor, gave all my parts a chance to adjust slowly and kept me from being torn or requiring a surgical cut. Whatever the cause, no stitches is a great relief to me. We make all the phone calls, send the emails, peek at Miss River caterwauling away on my chest under a pile of blankets, and eventually she leaves for a bath and evaluation in the nursery, and I get packed up to move to post partum.

The wheelchair they brought for me ended up being a baggage cart for all our things. As for me, I walked the length of Labor & Delivery to my room in post partum. Damn right I did. 🙂

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