With my first son I was completely paranoid and didn't run at all in the first trimester of my pregnancy. I tried to find some sort of guidance on running while pregnant, I searched the Internet, Amazon, for something titled "Running while pregnant." Turns out, research was limited and running while pregnant to some was still considered a taboo.
So with a heavy heart I hung up my running shoes until the second trimester, thinking I would never forgive myself if something happened. Once I was in the second trimester and I was cleared by my dr. that I would not be a high risk pregnancy, I started to run again. Although I was slow, I felt amazing.
It seems that running while pregnant has often been frowned upon by those in the medical community, particularly those with the "old school" mentality that you are week and frail when you are pregnant, and you should do nothing to over exert yourself. Now I am not saying if you have never been a runner the minute you see the two pink lines you should lace up and run a marathon. My personal belief is that when you are pregnant, if you were a runner before, running is still a possibility. The good news is more evidence is coming out as time goes on to suport this theory.
Two months prior to finding out I was pregnant Running Magazine published an article on Paula Radcliffe and Kara Goucher and how they both trained through their pregnancies. The article was very candid and explored the challenges they faced while continuing to train while pregnant. They both talked about how they just listened to their bodies and how they tailored their training program to the way they felt. They also expressed the freedom they felt no longer running to be competitive, but to maintain their fitness levels. I was ecstatic to read about these female athletes publicly speaking about their experiences openly and both had healthy babies. It let people know that running while pregnant can actually be done.
Now I know I am no Olympic athlete, and I don't have an underwater treadmill, but I wanted to BLOG about this pregnancy and running while pregnant to let other runners know that becoming pregnant is not a nine month death sentence. I am not a dr., so none of this should be taken as medical advice. I am just your average runner, addicted to the sport and looking to prove that I can run through this pregnancy and have a healthy beautiful baby!
Tales from a running now Pregnant mama!
Thursday, December 9, 2010
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
Where did I go?
I was out for my daily run and saw a car drive by with plates that read "BRADSMOM," and I thought to myself... really? As if we wouldn't get the picture when your son comes barrelling out of your car and screams "Mom, where's my soccer bag?" It's as if we as mothers trade in our old identity with a new one pre-approved with a stamp that says MOTHER, in case the Mini van and ponytail, didn't give it away.
Although the license plate annoyed me....... it made me think. This year my little man turned two, and I had a revelation. After two years of pouring my devoted new found motherhood into him, I stopped and wondered.........where did I go?
Looking in the mirror I still see traces of me, maybe a frazzled less stylish me, but something inside me did start to wonder, where did I go? It was as if all the pieces that made up who I was were scattered about waiting...... calling to be put back together.
It's funny how I used to focus on the milestones of my own life, college, marriage, children. Now my milestones are focus more on the when to take the bottle away, graduating from the crib and potty training. It's as if time has transformed into something different for me, a portal of self-sacrifice and apathy for the person I used to be.
Since my son has developed new independence, he even brushes his own teeth( with strawbeery flavored toothpaste of course), suddenly have a little more free time. Now, don't get me wrong chasing after a toddler after an eight hour work day can still be relentless, but the other day I realized I have spent the last two years loving every ounce of this little person, and being "Brody's Mommy, " worrying about his ears, his sippy cups, his blanket, his potty, and whether I was being a good mother. I realized I forgot that although I am a mom, I'm also me. I realized my soul needed feeding, reawakening and nurturing.
Back in the day I don't remember telling my husband.........not now honey I am trying to brush Brody's teeth, or no we can't go there because there is no potty. I'm pretty sure my reply was usually "That sounds lovely, lets pack, and oh grab a bottle of wine." I painted, I baked, I even wrote thank you cards. Now I am lucky if I get fifteen minutes to read prior to passing out before bed, that way I might have something more interesting and intellectual to talk about, other then what my kid ate for breakfast.
It's amazing how your individuality can slowly disintegrate leaving you wondering what you did before you had a child. I know now, I'm still me, it's just some of my personality traits needed to be revived and allowed to resurface. I realize now I can still be me and an even better me because I am " Brody's Mommy,"and that piece of the puzzle only compliments the other pieces.
Although the license plate annoyed me....... it made me think. This year my little man turned two, and I had a revelation. After two years of pouring my devoted new found motherhood into him, I stopped and wondered.........where did I go?
Looking in the mirror I still see traces of me, maybe a frazzled less stylish me, but something inside me did start to wonder, where did I go? It was as if all the pieces that made up who I was were scattered about waiting...... calling to be put back together.
It's funny how I used to focus on the milestones of my own life, college, marriage, children. Now my milestones are focus more on the when to take the bottle away, graduating from the crib and potty training. It's as if time has transformed into something different for me, a portal of self-sacrifice and apathy for the person I used to be.
Since my son has developed new independence, he even brushes his own teeth( with strawbeery flavored toothpaste of course), suddenly have a little more free time. Now, don't get me wrong chasing after a toddler after an eight hour work day can still be relentless, but the other day I realized I have spent the last two years loving every ounce of this little person, and being "Brody's Mommy, " worrying about his ears, his sippy cups, his blanket, his potty, and whether I was being a good mother. I realized I forgot that although I am a mom, I'm also me. I realized my soul needed feeding, reawakening and nurturing.
Back in the day I don't remember telling my husband.........not now honey I am trying to brush Brody's teeth, or no we can't go there because there is no potty. I'm pretty sure my reply was usually "That sounds lovely, lets pack, and oh grab a bottle of wine." I painted, I baked, I even wrote thank you cards. Now I am lucky if I get fifteen minutes to read prior to passing out before bed, that way I might have something more interesting and intellectual to talk about, other then what my kid ate for breakfast.
It's amazing how your individuality can slowly disintegrate leaving you wondering what you did before you had a child. I know now, I'm still me, it's just some of my personality traits needed to be revived and allowed to resurface. I realize now I can still be me and an even better me because I am " Brody's Mommy,"and that piece of the puzzle only compliments the other pieces.
Monday, March 8, 2010
MY Little Black Hole
I used to wonder why my friends with small children suddenly turned into hermits. It was like as soon as their child became a toddler they entered the world of social leprosy and fell down a little black hole. I thought to myself, really how bad could it be, and why couldn't’t you just teach your children to behave?
After having a toddler of my own I realized quickly why people with two year olds, took a “time out,” from the social scene they used to frequent. Taking a teething, nap deprived, off schedule, hungry toddler any where is enough cause even the most patient parents to immerse themselves into hiding watching DVR repeats of Sesame Street. Now I’m not talking about the grocery store, my child can usually stand a trip there, with the help of a small bribe in the form of animal crackers. I am talking about social events, dinners, public functions.
I remember when my son was an infant I would take him to public functions, parade him around and everyone would stop and coo over him, and I would smile back at them as the proud new mama. There is something unappealing about stopping to coo over a toddler, covered in dirt, shirt stained, holding a germ infested coke can he found on the ground, licked and is now trying to hand you, and is squirming to be free of his mother as swiftly as possible. Toddlers are no longer babies, but they aren’t children. They are little people with big ideas swirling around in their head, released only in the form of a temper tantrum.
After taking my toddler on a trip anywhere, especially after he has been in a car seat for a long time (which I firmly believe he thinks is a straight jacket,) he is ready to run. In fact he often runs to the first sign of danger, moving objects, or anything that could potentially take him out. My son often reminds me of that dog you see on the side of the road, trying to cross the road with no concept of the fact there is a vehicle moving toward them at 70 mph. A toddler is much the same, a mobile menace, running toward danger at steadfast pace ignoring you and your; don’t, come back, be careful, slow down, stay here, you can’t, MOMMY SAID NO!
When I come home from a trip I am spent! Not only from packing and unpacking a loot of what looks like a car full of things for 20 children, but from trying to keep up with my toddler. We pull into our driveway and he squeals with excitement, as if devil child has freed the fun loving happy toddler who is the child I have come to know. I grab him and take him into our child proof home and I sigh in relief, letting him run free, where I know there is no danger. We curl up, watch a DVR episode of Sesame Street and I realize we are comfortable, familiar and happy in that little black hole we call home.
After having a toddler of my own I realized quickly why people with two year olds, took a “time out,” from the social scene they used to frequent. Taking a teething, nap deprived, off schedule, hungry toddler any where is enough cause even the most patient parents to immerse themselves into hiding watching DVR repeats of Sesame Street. Now I’m not talking about the grocery store, my child can usually stand a trip there, with the help of a small bribe in the form of animal crackers. I am talking about social events, dinners, public functions.
I remember when my son was an infant I would take him to public functions, parade him around and everyone would stop and coo over him, and I would smile back at them as the proud new mama. There is something unappealing about stopping to coo over a toddler, covered in dirt, shirt stained, holding a germ infested coke can he found on the ground, licked and is now trying to hand you, and is squirming to be free of his mother as swiftly as possible. Toddlers are no longer babies, but they aren’t children. They are little people with big ideas swirling around in their head, released only in the form of a temper tantrum.
After taking my toddler on a trip anywhere, especially after he has been in a car seat for a long time (which I firmly believe he thinks is a straight jacket,) he is ready to run. In fact he often runs to the first sign of danger, moving objects, or anything that could potentially take him out. My son often reminds me of that dog you see on the side of the road, trying to cross the road with no concept of the fact there is a vehicle moving toward them at 70 mph. A toddler is much the same, a mobile menace, running toward danger at steadfast pace ignoring you and your; don’t, come back, be careful, slow down, stay here, you can’t, MOMMY SAID NO!
When I come home from a trip I am spent! Not only from packing and unpacking a loot of what looks like a car full of things for 20 children, but from trying to keep up with my toddler. We pull into our driveway and he squeals with excitement, as if devil child has freed the fun loving happy toddler who is the child I have come to know. I grab him and take him into our child proof home and I sigh in relief, letting him run free, where I know there is no danger. We curl up, watch a DVR episode of Sesame Street and I realize we are comfortable, familiar and happy in that little black hole we call home.
Monday, September 21, 2009
Day Care
Daycare. For a mother this word can have so many meanings. To some it is a taboo, to others it is a chance to go back to work and help out with the family income. Regardless of how you might feel about day care, the truth is more women are taking their children to day care just to make ends meet.
For women like me it isn't a choice to take my child to day care. Of course I would love to stay home with him. I want to be there to wipe his nose, band aid his cuts, clean cheerios off the floor. Unfortunately, it just isn't feasible for me. I am not one of those people who lives a lavish life style, I 'm not going to work so I can drive an Escalade, I'm working to help pay the power bill. Although I know this every time I leave him, I know he doesn't know this.
Before taking Brody to day care I spent an hour at the facility checking every crack, step and toy for suspicious culprits. Deep down I knew her house was just like my house. Like a CIA investigator I spoke with the Babysitter and asked her a million questions, trying desperately not to interrogate her. After leaving the place, I felt good. The children there seemed happy and content. I came away feeling as good as I could after leaving a daycare.
Still I dreaded the first day of daycare. I couldn't sleep for days. I had his bag packed two days in advance with all his emergency phone numbers, and his special food, just in case he wouldn't eat anything else. Before I knew it the day had come. We drove to the day care , I took a deep breath and walked inside.
I plopped Brody down on the floor and another child greeted him with a "Hi Brody." He shied away for the first few minutes and before I knew it he was in the corner pulling every toy off the shelf, tossing blocks, and pressing his face up against the large fish tank with a little swimming turtle. I kissed him goodbye dreading the classic cling to the leg, mommy don't leave me behavior. I was shocked to discover he ignored me, and I walked out with ease. No heart wrenching goodbye, no heavy guilt weighting on my shoulders as I walked out. Still I stepped into my car and began to cry.
I was amazed at how well Brody adapted in just a short amount of time. I asked myself are we as mothers really worried about them, and if they will survive. Is there some secret voice lurking with in us that says "My baby, needs me, and once goes to day care, or school , he won't need me anymore, not the way he needed me before. " Gone were the days of him as a helpless breastfeeding infant. I realized Brody was becoming a wonderful little boy and he was already learning to be social, friendly and to share with others.
At the end of the day, when it was time to pick Brody up I walked through the door. The minute he heard my voice my eyes met his and he smiled. He ran over to me and squealed in excitement. I scooped him up into my arms as he pointed at the fish tank and began to babble on. I like to think he was trying to tell me about his day. I like to think it really didn't matter. I had my little man back in my arms and we would go home where he would once again be my baby.
For women like me it isn't a choice to take my child to day care. Of course I would love to stay home with him. I want to be there to wipe his nose, band aid his cuts, clean cheerios off the floor. Unfortunately, it just isn't feasible for me. I am not one of those people who lives a lavish life style, I 'm not going to work so I can drive an Escalade, I'm working to help pay the power bill. Although I know this every time I leave him, I know he doesn't know this.
Before taking Brody to day care I spent an hour at the facility checking every crack, step and toy for suspicious culprits. Deep down I knew her house was just like my house. Like a CIA investigator I spoke with the Babysitter and asked her a million questions, trying desperately not to interrogate her. After leaving the place, I felt good. The children there seemed happy and content. I came away feeling as good as I could after leaving a daycare.
Still I dreaded the first day of daycare. I couldn't sleep for days. I had his bag packed two days in advance with all his emergency phone numbers, and his special food, just in case he wouldn't eat anything else. Before I knew it the day had come. We drove to the day care , I took a deep breath and walked inside.
I plopped Brody down on the floor and another child greeted him with a "Hi Brody." He shied away for the first few minutes and before I knew it he was in the corner pulling every toy off the shelf, tossing blocks, and pressing his face up against the large fish tank with a little swimming turtle. I kissed him goodbye dreading the classic cling to the leg, mommy don't leave me behavior. I was shocked to discover he ignored me, and I walked out with ease. No heart wrenching goodbye, no heavy guilt weighting on my shoulders as I walked out. Still I stepped into my car and began to cry.
I was amazed at how well Brody adapted in just a short amount of time. I asked myself are we as mothers really worried about them, and if they will survive. Is there some secret voice lurking with in us that says "My baby, needs me, and once goes to day care, or school , he won't need me anymore, not the way he needed me before. " Gone were the days of him as a helpless breastfeeding infant. I realized Brody was becoming a wonderful little boy and he was already learning to be social, friendly and to share with others.
At the end of the day, when it was time to pick Brody up I walked through the door. The minute he heard my voice my eyes met his and he smiled. He ran over to me and squealed in excitement. I scooped him up into my arms as he pointed at the fish tank and began to babble on. I like to think he was trying to tell me about his day. I like to think it really didn't matter. I had my little man back in my arms and we would go home where he would once again be my baby.
Neglected my blog.
I have been neglecting you dear Blog... please accept my appology. Brody has started walking, been to day care and I haven't documented any of it. I promise dear blog to be good to you!
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
Dealing With my Injury
Having a running injury can bring down the spirit of a runner. An injury that knocks you down for a significant amount of time can make you feel "off," for weeks. Most competitive runners are addicts, in need of an escape, in need of a high. When facing an injury you are struggling to find a replacement for your high, only I have come to find there is no replacement.
Much of the behavior of struggling with an injury is similar to what a recovering addict struggles to overcome. You are in love with your drug of choice only you can't do it, and you can't do it for a significant amount of time. You start out in the first phase of denial............ it will go away, I'll run it out, it's all in my head, I'm not injured. Then you try to stop for a little while thinking you might just give it a day or two, let it's persistence die down. After a few days you wake up, craving your morning run and longing to get back out on the road. Basically, you fall off the wagon. You ignore the signs. You lace up, get moving, and your injury robs your mental state of readiness and throws you a fat reality check. You will be out of commission for a while.
Just like an addict you loose contact with your old friends, because they are all still addicts. They are planning there next races and improving their times. You separate yourself because with each mention of the "next race," your yearning grows steadfast and you begin to think again "Maybe it is all in my head," then you remember the sharp pain you felt ten minutes out into your last run.
Just like a smoker turns to nicorette, you try and find a replacement for your addiction such as swimming or riding a bike. Just like a smoker chews massive amounts of gum only to realize the buzz is weak, cycling and swimming for me just don't make the cut. I am lost, I can't find my rhythm. These actives were great on my "off days," sometimes they even helped to loosen up my legs. When doing these activities I never quiet reach that euphoric state, somehow I remain just bellow the threshold of bliss, a steady pace, going nowhere.
Treating a running injury is different from a regular addict in one way. Usually a regular addict, such as a alcoholic wants to quit their drug of choice forever. They realize in order to quit, they must quit hole hearted and completely. With a running injury you must quit, and for a significant amount of time so you can become an addict again. Your mental drive remains the same, with no desire to subdue. You realize you must submit to your injury, listen to your body, turn off your drive and know in order to start again you must quit.
I don't have all the answers on how to retain perseverance. Right now I am struggling to feel right, not running. I know with time I will heal and once again feed my hunger to stride across another finish line. In my heart I can only believe this to be true.
Much of the behavior of struggling with an injury is similar to what a recovering addict struggles to overcome. You are in love with your drug of choice only you can't do it, and you can't do it for a significant amount of time. You start out in the first phase of denial............ it will go away, I'll run it out, it's all in my head, I'm not injured. Then you try to stop for a little while thinking you might just give it a day or two, let it's persistence die down. After a few days you wake up, craving your morning run and longing to get back out on the road. Basically, you fall off the wagon. You ignore the signs. You lace up, get moving, and your injury robs your mental state of readiness and throws you a fat reality check. You will be out of commission for a while.
Just like an addict you loose contact with your old friends, because they are all still addicts. They are planning there next races and improving their times. You separate yourself because with each mention of the "next race," your yearning grows steadfast and you begin to think again "Maybe it is all in my head," then you remember the sharp pain you felt ten minutes out into your last run.
Just like a smoker turns to nicorette, you try and find a replacement for your addiction such as swimming or riding a bike. Just like a smoker chews massive amounts of gum only to realize the buzz is weak, cycling and swimming for me just don't make the cut. I am lost, I can't find my rhythm. These actives were great on my "off days," sometimes they even helped to loosen up my legs. When doing these activities I never quiet reach that euphoric state, somehow I remain just bellow the threshold of bliss, a steady pace, going nowhere.
Treating a running injury is different from a regular addict in one way. Usually a regular addict, such as a alcoholic wants to quit their drug of choice forever. They realize in order to quit, they must quit hole hearted and completely. With a running injury you must quit, and for a significant amount of time so you can become an addict again. Your mental drive remains the same, with no desire to subdue. You realize you must submit to your injury, listen to your body, turn off your drive and know in order to start again you must quit.
I don't have all the answers on how to retain perseverance. Right now I am struggling to feel right, not running. I know with time I will heal and once again feed my hunger to stride across another finish line. In my heart I can only believe this to be true.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
I owe you an apology
I remember seeing her in the grocery store thinking, "She could have at least left the house in something other then sweat pants." I never said it,but I thought it. Then she approached me as her snotty nosed one year old reached out to touch me with his gram cracker encrusted grin. Damn I thought, she always wants to chat forever, and I need to get my shopping done and get the heck out of Walmart.
What I didn't know is that in between bottles and chasing her infant around, she was lucky to have had a shower. What I didn't know is that more then likely she had been at home all day with only a one year old vocabulary to entertain her, and a chat with me would feed her need to be recognized as someone other then mommy.
There were so many times I made the comment "I mean honestly, she doesn't work, she just stays at home and plays with her kids all day." The truth is, I am busier now then I ever have been. When I was at work I could come in clear off my desk and feel a sense of accomplishment. Then I would sigh, my work for the day was done, heck, I might even have time to surf the internet, check my Facebook. At home, my work was never done. There was always a project, always someone needing me, always something else that could be done.
Ah nap time, when I must choose. Take a shower or clean the house? Mow the lawn or run on the treadmill...? Hardly what I envisioned. I thought I would run my house like my work office. Everything would be organized, we would stay on task. My kids would be Baby Gap model look alikes with freshly combed hair and clean faces . I would be that peppy fun mom, we'd make cookies and do art projects every day.
Then I realized I was that lady in Walmart. I was a sweatpants worshiper. I might even have a stain down my shirt, and my child was the one reaching out to strangers with an animal cracker stuck to his forehead. I now considered Walmart an "outing," and I enjoyed talking to anyone who might stop and chat, because frankly I'd been watching Baby Einstein all day.
To all the mothers I judged I owe you an apology. I never knew. I never knew how precious time would become. I never knew that frankly I wouldn't give a damn if my hair wasn't done and I smelled like sweet potatoes and desitin. I didn't give a damn because I was at home enjoying every moment with my son. I never knew that I would surrender my vanity to experience the pleasure of motherhood.
What I didn't know is that in between bottles and chasing her infant around, she was lucky to have had a shower. What I didn't know is that more then likely she had been at home all day with only a one year old vocabulary to entertain her, and a chat with me would feed her need to be recognized as someone other then mommy.
There were so many times I made the comment "I mean honestly, she doesn't work, she just stays at home and plays with her kids all day." The truth is, I am busier now then I ever have been. When I was at work I could come in clear off my desk and feel a sense of accomplishment. Then I would sigh, my work for the day was done, heck, I might even have time to surf the internet, check my Facebook. At home, my work was never done. There was always a project, always someone needing me, always something else that could be done.
Ah nap time, when I must choose. Take a shower or clean the house? Mow the lawn or run on the treadmill...? Hardly what I envisioned. I thought I would run my house like my work office. Everything would be organized, we would stay on task. My kids would be Baby Gap model look alikes with freshly combed hair and clean faces . I would be that peppy fun mom, we'd make cookies and do art projects every day.
Then I realized I was that lady in Walmart. I was a sweatpants worshiper. I might even have a stain down my shirt, and my child was the one reaching out to strangers with an animal cracker stuck to his forehead. I now considered Walmart an "outing," and I enjoyed talking to anyone who might stop and chat, because frankly I'd been watching Baby Einstein all day.
To all the mothers I judged I owe you an apology. I never knew. I never knew how precious time would become. I never knew that frankly I wouldn't give a damn if my hair wasn't done and I smelled like sweet potatoes and desitin. I didn't give a damn because I was at home enjoying every moment with my son. I never knew that I would surrender my vanity to experience the pleasure of motherhood.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)