I’m taking the theory of the 5 minute stream of consciousness thing from Fadra, despite today being a Thursday and not a Sunday, to talk about the Llama Llama books. I’ll probably do this more often as an effort to stop writing what JB calls, “funny, but still too damn long” posts.
Children’s books can be done well or horrible. The in-between kid’s book? I haven’t met that one. I’ve met the ones that I don’t love because they are too long, but that’s a me thing and can’t technically be blamed on the book. Otherwise a small child’s book should be full of rhyme, rhythm and repetition. They have like 30 words– do them well.
Last night when I went to pick up the next 15 books for us, the librarian said– “Oh, you’re Stephanie. I see your name every day, nice to meet ya!” Why? Because I sit on amazon, looking for books and then go over to the library website to check them out. I felt like someone famous– even if only in my own little world.
I’m totally in love with Anna Dewdney, author of the Llama Llama series. More importantly E loves her, too and identifies much with Llama Llama’s misbehavior. Llama Llama MAD AT MOMMA– I hear this a lot. And he hears, Enough of the Llama Drama. I’m now looking for a Llama doll that is both cute, cuddly and not $50. Let me know if you find one.
I sure hope that the red pajama one keeps him in bed at night. As much as I love snuggling with sleeping kids, I’m sort of done with the 3am snuggle with giggle-child-who-pulls-hair.
It’s even funnier to me because back in the day, Other Self had decided to leave corporate America to raise Llamas. Not just for the fur, but because of a random article in Scientific American about using their blood to fight some superbug. I think, I can’t find the original article in my self-induced time limit. Anyway, it led to a lot of work jokes about me the Llama farmer and my friends included a teeny-tiny Llama doll in my random Baby Basket of gifts.
Alright- my time is up and it’s time to get everyone off to the park. Z decided he wanted to stay quiet yesterday after overdoing it the day after his surgery. Now he and E have two days worth of gee-gee-gee energy to get rid of. Me too, honestly.
If Facebook burned calories then I would have no need to write this post. I wouldn’t be getting ready to call myself a fat ass on the internet. Because if it did then all of those hours spent updating my statuses (status-i?) bemoaning and/or cheering the nuances of my day would have eliminated all this baby weight.
If it did, I wouldn’t have to yell “FAT ASS” at myself in the mirror in order to go downstairs and run. And before anyone simpers on about how it’s not nice to talk about one’s self in this manner I have to inform you that anger is—and always has been—my greatest motivator. Tell me I can’t teach myself web design? Screw you, I’ll teach myself in a weekend. Tell me that no one fights the Veteran’s Administration and wins, I’ll show you a reversed decision that only ate up 5 years of my life (and a fair chunk of my soul) to get. So you see, for this battle–since no one is saying “you can’t do that”–my acrimonious self view is the only thing that’s going to get me motivated.
And while some might say my mindset is slightly unhealthy…at least I’m funneling my anger into something I can control.
Because I can’t the other things that make me angry right now—a huge oil spill off the coast of Louisiana, poisoning water already toxic to begin with; Glenn Beck and anyone that thinks he cares about anything but his own paycheck; and people—both American and otherwise—dying in a war for oil that we could be replacing with other energy sources; off-shore drilling on my beautiful coastline (hmmm…I’m really angry about oil stuff right now). Look…a squirrel. Sorry, got distracted.
A few weeks ago I went to the doctor for my annual check-up, complaining of mysterious back pain (self-diagnosed as a bad gall bladder), exhaustion, and other assorted aches and pains. I’m not going to lie, a big part of me was smug in my certainty that I had developed a thyroid issue and all of my problems would be solved with one eensy-weensy prescription.
And, dammit, other than being overweight, there’s NOTHING WRONG WITH ME. Nada, zip, zilch. And since there is nothing medically wrong with me that means my sluggish weight loss is nothing more than a simple case of surf-the-internet-and-eat-too-much-itis. It’s an epidemic disease in our country, so I’ve been told by the same folks who provide the solution–exercise and a healthy diet…yeah, yeah.
Gah- this one’s going to be long. Remember my Other Self? Sniff, she was so thin (not that I thought so at the time). She was rocking a size 8 (which is as small as I ever want to be—any thinner and I’d look sickly). She had perky boobs and a mostly flat stomach. Her butt was not suffering from approaching-mid-thirties-white-woman syndrome.
Then she got pregnant and sat her ass on the couch and ate. And then ate some more. She gained 16 pounds from the moment she found out she was pregnant (at 8 weeks) to her first OBGYN appointment at 12 weeks. She had convinced herself that she was having twins.
She was wrong. But still she reveled in her gluttony, remaining blithely unconcerned, even when the well-meaning doctor mentioned eating more vegetables and less pizza. After all, she had just polished off a bag of M&Ms while waiting for him. Then she hit 199 lbs at 6 months pregnant—but by then the train had left the station, so to speak, and there was no stopping it. The end result of her first pregnancy was a weight gain of 80-ish pounds. She is 5’4. Without doing any final math, we can assume that 80-ish pounds on someone that short is not graceful.
At this point, Other Self had morphed into someone else. She was now Dumb Ass. Dumb Ass immediately started exercising after the 6-week go-ahead from the same OBGYN that tried to warn her before. Postpartum weight loss victory was going to be hers!! Dumb Ass found out that she was not one of those women that shed weight while nursing and thus decided not to waste her time with it.
Nursing stopped, weight started coming off, and Dumb Ass went and got pregnant again, still needing to lose 30 lbs to be back at pre-pregnancy size. I’ll give Dumb Ass a little credit here; she did SO much better with the weight gain the second time around—constant puking and having a toddler who refused to take 5 hour naps helped. Dumb Ass only gained 35 lbs. Dumb Ass was ecstatic with this because she lost 28 lbs from labor to birth with Baby #1 and fully expected to repeat this pattern.
Dumb Ass was surprised and horrified when she only lost 7 lbs with the birth of her second child. Seven. Pounds. The BABY weighed 7 lbs. What about the rest of that…stuff?
Dumb Ass bought a new scale, because surely there was a malfunction with the one she had. Nope, no malfunction.
Ahh…but Dumb Ass (who is going to morph into Current Self, stay with me—I know it’s all a bit Sybil-ish) was more determined to lose the weight this time. She was recruited into a nutrition study thanks to her impressively bad BMI. Current Self signed up for 5K training at the local Fleet Feet. She ran on the treadmill, did pilates, and ate healthy foods.
Imagine her shock when she gained 5 lbs, her milk supply tanked and her youngest son was diagnosed as failing to thrive. She stopped exercising, cut the most common food allergens out of her diet, and lost 8 pounds while her youngest gained two. The universe righted itself—after all her child’s weight gain was infinitely more important than her own weight loss.
All of that was exactly a year ago. Since I quit nursing—for good—last June, I’ve shaved another 35 pounds off. Yippee me. For the past 2 months I’ve been wearing jeans and shorts that I could pull on and off without unbuttoning them. I finally went out last Friday and bought the next-size down pair of shorts. It feels really weird to wear pants that fit…like self-conscious weird. But, hell, continually wearing baggy clothes means you have room to grow…I don’t want that either.
Current Self is angry at Other Self for gaining the weight to begin with. Current Self is angry at Dumb Ass for getting pregnant for the second time without losing all the weight first. Current Self is especially angry at the hours wasted on Facebook. If only Facebook burned calories.
Current Self loaded Pandora with a Korn-based radio station and pounded her anger out on a squeaky, neglected treadmill tonight. Current Self is feeling better about the likelihood of getting back into Other Self’s pants. See her down there–all smiling and happy? She has no idea that a fatter, future-her is coveting her body. Poor girl.