baby maker

This is the only picture I have of my beautiful pregnant belly. And the only time it's been shared.

A good friend of mine recently found out she is pregnant with her first baby. I am so happy for her and her husband and it got me thinking, rather fondly, about when I was pregnant. Which brought me full-circle to an email conversation I had with a LDBFF (shout out to Amber in CA) about weight.

If you've known me for at least five minutes, you know that being a mother is all I've ever wanted to do. It's something I am proud of and eager to share. Yes, it is the most fun, most rewarding job I have ever had. No, I do not get bored. EVER. Seriously. It is my dream. Understand this. There is one part of this dream that took me by a pleasant surprise and that's losing the baby weight. Where do I start...

I'll try to get to the point like Joey has taught me to do. I have a sorted history with weight gain and loss. My weight tends to fluctuate very easily. In fact, I thought my weight fluctuated more than anyone else I had known, until I married Joey. That boy can gain and lose anywhere from 4 to 8 pounds in a single day. No lie. Anyway, I am 5 foot 7 inches. Normal. Mom has always been obsessed (you have, don't argue) with nutrition, calories, fat grams, weight loss, fat burn, you name it. Needless to say, it is somewhat ingrained in me. When I was in high school, playing volleyball, I was in the best shape of my life. Maybe slightly on the skinny side, which made my nose look bigger (Once after looking at a high school photo of me early in our relationship, Joey asked if I'd had a nose job. Sure.) When high school ended and the real fun began at The Loveliest Village (insert sarcasm), I put on weight like it was my job. Do to stereotypical circumstances, I blew up from a measly 130 to a hefty 190, pushing 200. And fast. We're talking skinny fall 2001, chunky fall 2002. No kidding.

The actual times get a little fuzzy here, but I think it was the end of my sophomore year that I went to some weight loss place with a friend and was flabbergasted when they told me my actual weight. I scooped my jaw up off the floor and marched to the car, more determined than I had ever been to return to my high school jeans. I had recently moved back home with Mom and knew I had a chance living under her low-cal roof. I joined a gym and hit the ground running...or waddling.

My enthusiasm didn't last a long time. I was still going to Auburn on the weekends, first to visit my best friend Jessica, then to see Joey. My weight wasn't exactly dropping like I hoped, but I wasn't gaining anymore either. And I was in love. December my Junior year, Joey took a job that took him to Panama City Beach. The following summer, I went to stay with him for a few months and met Angie (the same Angie mentioned frequently in these pages.) Perky, out-going, tan, girl-ripped, slightly physically intimidating, but insta-friend. I guess I complained to Angie enough that she decided to do something about my weight for me. She showed up to get me every morning at 7 a.m., whether I wanted her to or not, and we walked 4 miles. Every day. Soon enough, I started to care more about what I was eating and the weight began to fall. I moved back to Birmingham with Mom again and continued to lose more and more weight until I was down to about 140. The closest I had been to high school since I graduated.

I was still walking miles and miles a day and eating healthier than ever before. I enrolled in UAB to finish school. Mom got remarried and moved to Auburn. I moved in with Dad, went to school full time and worked part time. Joey and I got engaged in May, married in September. At our wedding, I was still between 140 and 145, a solid size 8, healthy, happy, in great shape and loving life. Marriage brought with it a few pounds of its own for both of us, so we joined a nearby gym and got back to fighting shape again.

I started working at the salon, eating salon chocolate and drinking salon coffee and crept back up about 10 pounds. During the year that it took me to get pregnant, I was desperately trying to lose 30 pounds so that I wouldn't look like a bad food allergy reaction throughout my pregnancy. Needless to say, that didn't happen and I ended up gaining a hearty 50+ pounds over the course of nine months. What's weird is that I didn't feel all that big. I felt great. I loved being pregnant. (You could've guessed that, right?)

I was on the path to motherhood and no amount of nausea or swelling was going to rain on my parade. I remember feeling sorry for women that got huge while they were pregnant and grateful that I was not one of them. Ha. I loved my body in spite of itself. I was carrying my child. Every time he moved, my heart skipped a beat. Every hiccup made me smile. I would sit for hours with my hand on my belly so I could feel him from the inside and out. I was growing a life and I was in awe. And then it got even better.

I never quite topped 200 pounds before Waylon was born. 199 was the closest I got. I had plans for how I would lose all that weight. I recruited Kyle to come up with a plan for me. This was serious. It was going to be long and hard, but it had to be done and a.s.a.p.

I labored for 14 1/2 hours, pushed for 2 1/2 and delivered (to our surprise) a healthy, beautiful baby boy. It took weeks to recover (more on that some other time) and breastfeeding was not the bliss I expected it to be, which ended with me pumping for 5 months and nursing from 5 months to present day. After Waylon was born, my weight was the last thing on my mind. I guess you push that baby out and feel lighter and skinnier by default. Due to breastfeeding, which burns crazy calories, and considering the fact that I was producing enough milk for twins, I began to see my weight fall. Fast.

Today, almost 10 months later, I have still not dieted, only eaten healthy and have started preliminary training for a marathon coming up in February. I have gotten back down to my 140, size 6, sometimes 8 and could not be happier. But, I could not really care less either. I'm pretty certain that I could be a size 12 and be just as content. I'll tell you why...

I have never, ever been more in awe of my body. It did and continues to do amazing things. I grew a person and am making milk that keeps him alive. Absolutely blows my mind. The love and appreciation I have for my body now is like none I have ever had before. I hope it never goes away. (Considering the fact that I will be making and feeding babies for the next 7+ years, I don't expect it to. If it does, and we're still talking, please remind me to read this blog.) I am so grateful that I am a woman, that I am privileged to experience all of this. I am so sorry that Joey will never get to feel any of our children inside him, living and moving. I can only try to describe it to him.

I am so grateful for God's immaculate, detailed orchestration that brings every life into being from the moment of conception and for His grace that our own little life was carried and brought to this world healthy and safe. By the same grace, I will carry more lives in my own amazing body and by the same grace, they too will come to this world in the same way. I am grateful every time I sit down to nurse Waylon that this amazing thing is happening. It is beautiful and sweet and not to be taken for granted.

I have tried every diet I have ever heard of. I used to write reminders on my own hand to eat less, work out more. I have lived on bananas and coffee for weeks. And I am so sorry now. I am so sorry for all the unhealthy, selfish decisions I made that put my body at risk. I have seen what it can do, what it was made to do, and am struck with wonder. It truly is a temple.

And I can't wait to be pregnant again.

june

Two peas...

Grandpa and his boys...

I forgot to mention that Waylon's nine month check-up (on the 9th) went well. The only minor trauma was a 'circumcision adhesion' that Dr. Wilson had to pull back apart. Yes. It was awful. He weighed 22.8 pounds and was 30.5 inches long, 75th and 95th percentiles, respectively. Still perfect.

A couple of firsts yesterday: he consumed a wad of paper and sat up all on his own, from belly to bottom. Both have been a long time coming. He loves paper - magazines, letters, mail, books - and inevitably puts it directly into his mouth. I have fished out many a slobbery bite over the last few months. But this time I left him in the living room for a minute, looking at a magazine (USAA, learning early). When I came back, Waylon was smacking his lips and there was a big plug of page missing. I'm sure it won't be the last time.

And bless his heart. You can tell he is trying desperately to crawl, but still hasn't quite got it. He knows, without a doubt, that he can get from point A to point B on his hands and knees. He will get up on all fours, but when he starts to make a move, he splats. It was a big deal for him to go from lying on his belly to sitting on his bottom. Progress.

Kyle has bestowed Jersey Shore names to both Locke and Waylon. Locke's is The Attitude and Waylon's is Double Down. (This also happened a while back, but I forgot to share.) Something tells me that one might stick around through college.

Angie just got back from Orange Beach and said the beaches are closed. They are covered in oil. This breaks my heart up. Mom thinks it will not be in her lifetime that things get back to normal. Joey says nobody will even be talking about it in three years, tops. I fear both. I am afraid it will be decades before the economy and the environment are reestablished, and that as soon as the leak is stopped, it will slowly fade from the headlines, replaced by some other two-bit story about Brangelina's seventh puppy. 72 days. That's how long oil has been gushing into the ocean, at who-knows how many gallons a day. I don't think that's ever been established. They say BP is now spending $100million a day to 'fix' it. That's a heck of a lot of money to have not made an ounce of progress. They say it will be at least August before they hope plan whatever-letter-we're-on-now works.

Frankly, I think that's pathetic.

every once in a while

I've established the fact that Waylon is the dreamiest baby around. Every once in a while, we have one of those days. Like yesterday: We started with a healthy breakfast and a lovely (read:hot and sweaty) walk, which ended in a massive blister on my heel. (I can run 14 miles in a week with little more than a sore calf; I walk three and end up limping. Go figure.) Waylon fell asleep somewhere along the way, which is nice during the walk cause I can go further, but a little tricky after the walk. If ever Waylon falls asleep pre-naptime - whether in the car or stroller - he is a pill to put down for a real nap at real-naptime. We get home, cool down, watch Elmo's World on S.S. and head for bed. An hour later, Waylon is still tossing and turning, rambling on about something or another, which turns into fussing, which digresses to full-blown take-your-breath death screams. I relent. I rescue him from his bed (a mere 30 minutes before he usually eats again) and lie down with him in my bed. He finally settles down and we both take a 1 1/2 hour nap, pushing our schedule back an entire hour.

I know some of you (ahem, Angie) are probably reading this thinking, See, that's why we don't do schedules. Why doesn't she just go with the flow? I did go with flow. Granted, I was flopping and flailing a little trying to bend the stream back my way. But I flowed. I did.

Noon: wake, lunch, head to the grocery store. *Side note: my coupon clipping and sales ad comparing is finally paying off. Major success this week at CVS and Publix. I think the Publix customer service people would have given me my entire cart of groceries if I would just leave the store.

Waylon is usually (surprise, surprise) a dream at the grocery store. That was, before we started shopping through his mid-day nap and before he figured out how to make Mama fetch. So, fetch I did, through most of the store. He batted his baby blues and flirted with many a shopper. One man asked if he was a boy or a girl. Seriously?? I took too long comparing coupons and sales and ran a little over, you guessed it, schedule. W snoozed in the car on the way home. We get home by 4:15, put the groceries away, have a 'snack', visit neighbors, start dinner. It's tricky these days when Waylon skips his late afternoon nap, but it was just too close to dinnertime and bedtime. So we skipped. For the second time. Big mistake.

First he's in the jumper with Cheerios. Meanwhile, I'm chopping, stirring, sipping a Miller Light, talking on the phone, boiling water, shucking corn, passing out Cheerios, tripping over Stella...just a jumble of noise and bustle for a good 30 minutes. My dinner-cooking is usually much less hectic. Sometimes it's just me and the Miller Light. Other times, Waylon's around but he's had a little more nap earlier in the day and is a better sport. Not this day.

He's finally had enough. Chug the beer. Hang up the phone. Grab the baby. By this time, it's almost 6, which is at least 30 minutes to an hour later than Daddy usually gets home, and around the time Waylon usually eats dinner. About that time, Dad's truck roars up the driveway. Tag team.

We greet Daddy at the door, with Brock and Stella in tow. He's got a sinus headache; it's been another stressful day; his clothes are wet with sweat. He's going to take a shower and change.

I decide to feed Waylon early. (A new favorite is chick peas/garbanzo beans.) Before he's done, Joey and I join him. Finish dinner (which I realize a little too late was too complicated and took too long for the time crunch we were experiencing). Clean up kitchen. Walk dogs. Play with Daddy while Mama showers... All the while growing more and more ill by the minute. We're talking about a kid that gets three naps on the perfect day, and he's only slept maybe two hours all day today, mostly before lunchtime. He's done. d-o-n-e.

Everything's making him cry. Walking around with Daddy = crying. Sitting down on the floor = crying. Changing a diaper = crying. Putting on pj's = crying. There is no question we're going to bed early. Last thing to check off our list is brush the teeth. I set him on the counter with is sock feet in the sink (what else do you do with a baby while you toothpaste the brush?) He makes a diving reach for something on the other side of the sink, slips and face plants onto the edge of the sink. Serious crying ensues.

I scoop him up and console him. Daddy comes to investigate the screams. By the time he gets there, Waylon's mouth is full of blood. It's running down his chin. Daddy takes him...from me...away. I was horrified. I know he wanted to help and console and, really, to make sure we didn't need to get in the car, but I was jaw-dropped. I wanted him back. It was my fault. I let him fall, I had to fix him.

He finally stopped bleeding and settled down. Joey decided it was just a little busted baby lip and that I/we was/were lucky he didn't go the other way (backwards with a busted baby head). I was so rattled and guilt-ridden that I cried as I nursed him to sleep. The perfect ending to this challenge-day. I replayed the whole thing - slow-mo slip, scared-face, bloody mouth and all - as I lie in bed willing myself to fall asleep. Waylon slept like a...baby...through the night and woke with a swollen baby lip reminder this morning, at the sight of which I encored my profuse apologies from the night before.

This transition phase - not-quite-crawling-still-kinda-wobbly-sitting-up-thinks-he's-walking-fearless-and-indestructible - is exhausting. I hope it passes quickly. I'm thinking crawling or walking would pose fewer health risks. I could be wrong. I probably am.

walk hard - the waylon james story

I'm pretty sure Waylon has decided to skip crawling. He's walking. Let me clarify. He can't even pull up, stand up, stand up holding on to something, etc. The kid has no balance. Nonetheless, he literally thinks he can run. We are currently lapping the house. It's exhausting...and adorable.

He takes a huge step with his right leg (usually more to the side than to the front), and his left leg comes up to meet him. The whole time wobbling and swaying and dipping. We've tried to encourage the crawl. We've set him up on all fours and even helped him move one limb at a time, but he will have none of it. Walk.

I wish I had video. You'd laugh.

My lower back and neck remind me how close I'm getting to 30 and make me wonder how older/handicapped/lazy people do this. **Not that one of those qualifications necessitates the others. Don't read into that. If you know me, you know I would never...** And Waylon's increasing enthusiasm clues me in to the impending change - this kid is fixin to be out of control. Stuff's about to go down.

After more than a couple brutal days of running in scorching heat and stifling humidity, I have decided to postpone my marathon training until, say, September. I'm hoping I'll be feeling it a little more then. Surely. Anything's got to be better than running slathered in petroleum jelly, wrapped in cellophane with a handful of cotton balls stuffed in my throat (that's exactly what it feels like to me). Oh, and with a 'flying nun' hat of tinfoil to attract the sun. Death.

At this exact moment, Waylon's snoozing, there's an Alabamasummertime thunderstorm creeping in and a stack of magazines resting seductively on my coffee table. I give in.

el nine-yo

Waylon is nine months old yesterday and I feel like I just posted the eight-month round-up. My life... I am realizing more and more that we are quickly moving out of the baby phase toward the toddler phase. Last night, as I was attempting to snuggle Waylon before bed and he was attempting to throw himself anywhere but in my arms, I said to Joey, 'What am I going to do with this boy when he actually can move around on his own?' Silence. So, Waylon's nine months old now, and he...

SAID MAMA!!! That's right! He did! Yesterday afternoon, as we were having a Cheerio pic-nic, he said MAMAMAMA... I cried. (I think it might have just been perforated mmm's.)
has a total of six teeth
claps
waves...sometimes
actually converses with us, or responds to us, instead of constant babble
fed Joey a bite of food (I can't remember what it was, but Waylon didn't really want to do it. I think he just wanted Joey to get away from his plate.)
laughs at things now, instead of laughing because of things (does this make sense?) What's funny is that it sounds like a courtesy laugh.
loves things with buttons - remotes, phones, toys
loves balls and can actually throw a ball (really hard) back and forth
is very observant - picks up on the tiniest things, like a little mouse on a big page of a book filled with lots of other things
stays in the church nursery with his 'friends'
seriously hates to have his diaper changed on his beautiful changing table. He hates that thing.
finds his 'privacy' whenever it's available. So early for a lifetime of obsession.
is almost crawling and pulling up. He wants to so bad it hurts.
loves meal time. Favorite foods right now are tomato, olives, mushrooms, fruit, cottage cheese
loves bath time, play time, run time. does not love nap time. still.
loves life

Waylon enjoys a good tv show from time to time. His favorites are Wonder Pets, Backyardigans, Elmo, Baby Einstein (video). I think his favorites are the computer animated ones with lots of singing. He does not like cartoons (thank goodness) or Yo Gabba-Gabba. We only watch tv for about an hour a day, and even then, it's only in the background as we are playing with toys. The rest of our days are largely spent outside (swimming, swinging, walking the dogs, running, checking the mail, looking at things like birds and flowers). The kid is a nature lover. I'm so glad.

I am trying to mentally prepare myself for what it's going to be like when he's crawling. Life is going to be drastically different, I think. There is so much to baby proof, so much to clean. Oh, so much to clean. That will be the demise of my sanity, I'm afraid, and possibly the dogs. I'm sure there is a good book out there on raising a baby with OCD (the mother, not the baby. Lord, please don't let me raise Waylon to have OCD.) I heard once that your house should be clean enough to be healthy and dirty enough to be happy. But, is there a happy dirty? That's an oxy-moron if I've ever heard one. Like jumbo shrimp.

Someone asked me the other day if I had learned a lot from being a mother. I thought for a moment and decided that I discover something at least every waking hour of my days. Sometimes more often, I'm sure. I've never had a greater teacher than this baby. I think soon I'll make a list of all that I've learned or discovered during Waylon's life. I'll share it.

I forgot to mention, I think, that Joey and I started training to run the Mercedes Marathon next February. So far, the furthest I've run at one time is five miles. I think I'm quitting already. I hate hate to run. It's miserable. Who are these people that love to run? And what's wrong with them? Thing is, the whole thing was my idea. Right?

I proposed to Joey, to help us get in shape, that we run the half marathon. This would be a monumental accomplishment for me. At first he thought I was nuts. Understandable. I have always hated running. Well, after a moment of contemplation, Joey grabs this marathon thing by the horns and away he goes. The boy has become obsessed. He hasn't talked so much since...I don't know what. He has done hours of research on everything from when and how to train, to what to eat and drink, to how to tie your running shoes. It's out of control. Well, needless to say, it didn't take him long to decide that a half-marathon is only half a marathon, which is quitting half-way through. He decides to run the whole thing. No pressure. Then, the biggest losers run a whole dang marathon! They used to be 400 pounds, completely out of shape, never worked out, barely walked a mile, and they ran a whole dad-gum marathon. I decide to run the whole thing that episode.

I am crazy competitive and have made Joey's and my weekly running totals somewhat of a competition. I am struggling to keep up with him and it's driving me nuts. Joey could care less. I just don't know how in the world I will run 26 miles. I don't know how. I'll keep you posted.

Which reminds me. Quick grocery update. I just discovered SouthernSavers.com. I am hoping this website will revolutionize my grocery shopping. We'll see.

new wave

I have delayed this post because I don't have the proper pictures to accompany it. Nonetheless, it must go up, lest I forget.

It's time I confess...I applied to be a freelance blogger for one of my favorite websites recently. As of yesterday, I was officially rejected. Let me say here that there have been few (really, I can't think of a single one) jobs that I have applied for that I did not get. Perhaps I have a way of convincing people that they can't live without me. I'm not sure. But, I do know that rejection stings. Bad. I was sure this was the job for me - that God had placed this in my lap, sat back, crossed his arms and grinned, pleased with Himself for the amazing things I was about to do, thanks to Him and the abilities He's given me. Not so. Maybe God did place the opportunity in my lap, but it was not so that I would get the job. I don't know why, but He did not want me there. So, I move on. Rejected. And perhaps a little turned off of my own blog...thus the lull.

We all know I don't want a job outside the home. But when it comes right down to it, I really would love to be back at dL Salon. It has been my most loved job since forever. My friends are there. The blog thing would have been nice on the side, is all.

We got a new pool. (Wouldn't it be great if I was talking about a real-deal-holifield in-ground pool??) It's one of those 8-or-so-foot inflatable pools from WalMart. It's fun. We've already had to purchase chlorine to combat the algea and will soon be purchasing a tarp and a skimmy-net to combat all the junk that falls in that I obsessively try to scoop out instead of enjoying the wade. Needless to say, it's become a bigger hassel than I expected. I'm pretty sure Joey expected it. He's such a dad.

I've told you before that Waylon loves swimming. He does. He is a swimmer, without a doubt. Sitting in this little inflatable pool, however, is not swimming. I'm virtually positive he's just wondering what we're doing taking a cold bath...outside...together...with our clothes on. hmph. We got him a swimg ring, so now when he sits in the pool I don't have to hold him up the whole time. Which gives me more time to scoop bugs out and focus on my tan. It suits us fine.

It's hard for me to believe that May is officially over (for a few days now, even). It was super busy and went by super fast. We spent Memorial Day weekend in Auburn at Lolly's house. We had lots of big plans with Auburn friends that all fell through, but our time with Lolly was as sweet as ever.

Kyle has been in China with Aunt LeAnn (Dad's other sister) for the last week and I am anxiously awaiting notification that he has made it home safely today. You won't catch me there. China's a little too restless for me.

About a week ago, I cut my hair even shorter than it was originally. I told you I would. I like it, mostly. I look like I'm four most of the time, and I can't pull it back. Mom says it chic and likes it better like this than long, which is saying a lot.

It's the Katie Holmes cut. I confess.