One Year Later

I haven’t looked at this blog in about a year.  Shortly after beginning the ‘cleanse’ – I became pregnant and gave birth to a baby girl in May.  Crazy.  I am enjoying getting to know my little bundle of pinkness.  She is my sweet baby girl.

My boys are getting big.  They fight with each other most of the time.  It has been challenging for the last six months or so.  I think the little one is just adjusting to no longer being the baby of the family.  I’m hoping things get better between them when school starts in a couple of weeks.  JK for the little guy and grade six for the big guy.

I have lost most of my baby weight.  But, my belly still looks pregnant-ish even though I’ve lost the pounds per the scale.  I don’t know what to do.  Could my uterus still be swollen slightly 14 weeks later?

Who knows…

I am looking at life a bit differently (most of the time) as I almost bled to death eleven days after having my daughter.  I had retained placenta.  It was such a whirlwind of a month.  I’m feeling pretty normal now though.  I sympathize / empathize with people who are hospitalized now for sure.  How brutal.  I just wanted to yank out all of the tubes etc and run home.  I was starved (on purpose) in preparation for surgery and couldn’t sleep well (as I was attempting to nurse my newborn).  It wasn’t the easiest time but we survived.

Here I am.  Back in action.

Motivation

I am thinking that if I write a few goals down… they may come to fruition.

• Learn to play a song on my guitar by heart (no notes in front of me).
• Learn to knit a scarf by the end of the year.
• Start walking for at least 20 minutes daily (starting today).
• Get back to the gym (in April when my work schedule slows down).

Feeling like a bit of  a scatter-brain lately.  Hoping clarity and calm will come with exercise.

High School Hauntings

I did not enjoy high school.  I was miserable for most of the experience.  I never really asked for guidance and should have because it would have made the move to university easier.  Then, when I got to university, I never really asked for guidance until the last semester of school.  If I had only met my mentor the first semester of school… life would likely be a lot different for me now.  But, I’m okay with where I’m at.  I do not have a Dr. Tom time-travelling therapist like ‘Being Erica’.  But, don’t we all wish we could be given the chance to go back and do things differently just to see where we would be today.  I could possibly be in the very same spot.  It’s hard to say.

I see people from high school around town here and there… they possibly know my name but they don’t say hi.  How awkward.  It makes me feel like I’m in high school all over again.  It makes me feel about one inch high.  I hate it.  Unfortunately, that is what you get for never leaving the place that you grew up in.

The other torture that I’ve subjected myself to is Facebook.  Adding old high school ‘chums’ as friends… risky business.  I commented on one old ‘friends’ photo that she looked great as she always did.  She defaced me the next day.  I guess I should not have looked at her newly posted photo which popped up in my freaking news feed.  When I discovered the defacing… I felt like I was back in high school.  I felt the same angst and heart palpitations.  Why do I let these ghosts from the past bother me?  Do we ever really get over high school and it’s torturous memories?  I thought I had moved on but there seem to be a few old wounds that haven’t healed.

My advice to current high schoolers… be true to your own interests and ask for help, go to ‘guidance’ to help you with your future.  Don’t look to your peers for guidance.  Follow your own path.  Your peers will likely go their own way and they seem to be able to sniff out posers who are lost – the lost posers get left behind.  Lastly, like yourself, love yourself.  You are number one.  Do what is best for you (even if your ‘friends’ get sulky about it).  These ‘friends’ will not be around forever.

Renovation Station… Demolition Daddy

We are building a new deck… ahem… I mean my husband and my dad are building a new deck.  I watch them from the kitchen.  Our 8 year old son is helping too… I better not forget to mention him because he is quite the little helper… hardhat and all.

It feels good to tear something down and start fresh… clean slate… from the ground up… new – even though I am just watching from the kitchen.

February Fah-rumpiness

I miss fresh air walks.  It looks beautiful outside but the sidewalks are icy and chunky, not ideal for my stroller wheels… therefore I am housebound with my 15 month old boy.  He must be getting tired of looking at my pasty mug.  Some warm spring sunshine would feel good about now… but I believe we have six more weeks of winter according to the majority of the ground hogs.  What a boring bunch of words… kind of like my life currently.

Niche

If I had a daughter, I would sign her up for dance lessons.  I always wanted to take dance lessons.  When I was a little girl, I dreamt of learning ballet.  Instead, I figure skated for a bit, took guitar lessons and played baseball in the summers.  I was pretty good at guitar, not bad at baseball but sucked at figure skating.  Loved to skate but didn’t enjoy the jumps etc. 

I have tried to introduce my 7 year old boy to a bit of everything here and there… but it is tough because he doesn’t really like to play sports.  He is terrified of the ice, of swimming.  He is getting better with the water but on his own terms… not on the instructor’s terms.  I don’t want him to be a quitter… but he would prefer to give up after one session of something because he is just not all that interested.  It’s weird.  I had no choice with what I was signed up for (at least that is what it felt like).  Maybe I had the same attitude as him… maybe that is why I stopped figure skating after four years.

Soccer was a disaster.  I coached the team.  My son was digging in the dirt at the far end of the field.  Or, he was laying in the grass whining.  He hated it.  Swimming was a nightmare.  Parents felt sorry for him because the instructor was so mean to him.  It was like watching a car crash.  Tears and all.  Basketball was not so bad.  He just wasn’t that great at it – which is fine.  But, he didn’t want to sign up for the following session.  There were no tears with basketball at least.  I hope someday that he finds his niche in life.  I am still looking for mine.

The Power of Positive Thoughts

I am poisoned by negative self-talk.  Over the past year and a half or so, I have made a real effort to change the constant attacks on my self by my self.  It is tough though.  I don’t know where I picked up this self-loathing… but it’s gotten old.  I think when I hit thirty, I decided that I needed to heal the wounds of the past and move on.  I couldn’t continue like this.  But, the universe or whatever really puts my attempts at positivity (is that a word?) to the test. 

An old co-worker once told me that the key to changing my life was to get rid of negative self-talk.  A priest once told me that with true love of self – all of the answers will come to me (what do I want to be when I grow up etc).  I think that I am afraid to admit that I might like myself.  I’m afraid to admit that I might be attractive, that I’m thin, that I’m smart… it seems to come so easily for other people.  Why isn’t it easy for me?  Does it start with your parents?  I sort of think that this is where it began – but I don’t want to blame anyone else for who I am today.  I have made my own choices.  I am who I am because of my own actions.  Living in the moment.  Loving myself.  Being grateful for what a beautiful life I have been given. 

Enough about me…

Every time I watch a news story regarding Canada’s apology to the native people – I want to cry.  I just cannot believe that this happened here in Canada.  It breaks my heart that for so many decades children were taken from their parents.  My heart breaks for the parents, my heart breaks for the children, my heart breaks for the culture.  The abuse that these children suffered… living in fear, living terrified.  How could this have happened?  I hope that the wounds of the past will eventually heal for the native people of Canada.  I hope that the apology will at least bring some peace to the ghosts of the children of the residential schools and to the native people that continue to struggle day to day with their scars.