I had about 121 more interesting things I wanted to blog about today. But instead I’m going to focus on the most immediate, most pressing matters.
Which is how my day has gone. I started jotting things-to-do down as I ran around like the proverbial headless chicken. Things I was sure to forget before I made the requisite three trips past the trashcan I was meant to pick up and put away, but kept forgetting as I saw other things that were more important – by which time I would have forgotten the important things I thought of while heading towards the trashcan in the first place. Some days this is about distraction. Today it was just…fate.
But it was really this evening that’s thrown me off course. See, I tried to go for a walk.
There is a reason I haven’t lost the remaining 18 pounds of pregnancy weight. (I had a rather dismal trip to the doctor’s office scale to confirm this. I did the math the other day and figured that I gained 34 pounds, birthed a baby that was 8 pounds, give another 3.5 pounds for just the placenta and amniotic fluid…and I’m only down 4.5 pounds. Or, if you use another way of estimating pregnancy gain, I’ve actually gained a pound. Dismal, very dismal. Luckily people like to tell me that I look really good. I appreciate this even while thinking that they must have never looked at me too closely pre-pregnancy or have just conveniently forgotten.)
So I thought, wow, I should really make an effort to go for a walk. On my own. Cause we all know that if I try to line up available husband for crowd control and conversation, cool outside temperatures, and bedtimes…it’ll never never happen.
Well, we made it to the sidewalk. And down the sidewalk about 50 feet. And back.
But that included screaming baby in the stroller. Screaming baby out of the stroller. Screaming baby back in the stroller. Screaming baby back out of the stoller. And at the one time when I had managed to put happy baby into the stroller, Lia fell on a rebar sticking up out of the ground (she now has an ugly bruise on her hip), and I had crying baby AND crying 4 year old … in the stroller.
There comes a point when the better part of valor is not to try, try again, but to abandon ship, abandon ship!
And it didn’t ever really get better from there. Until now. Because they are all asleep. Asleep too late for the girls and too early for the baby. But they’re asleep, so I’m taking what I get.
And this is how every single walk I’ve tried to take with my children has gone post-birth. There’s always someone crying or complaining. Hence the 18 pounds.
It’s not really the 18 pounds that bother me (nine months up, nine months down, I always say) so much as the way I feel. (Just in case you were concerned, Mom.) I went from walking alot, plus yoga, to walking none, plus yoga. This makes a difference.
I’m tempted to throw in the towel. My usual technique for avoiding crazy frustration is to … avoid it. Works very well. But I’m going to try again and see if I can’t by sheer willpower influence my children to sit quietly in the stroller and let me push them around. I’m remembering that I couldn’t take Lia or Amelie for walks that were physically beneficial to me until they were past six months. But I’m going to conveniently forget that and, yes, I’m going to try, try again.
When I get over my trauma and muster up sufficient courage, that is.