My pants look weird

In February I committed myself to a goal of 4 workouts a week at Crossfit. Work and family got in the way a few times, but I've been going between 2 and 4 times a week for two months now. The result: I'm now working at prescribed weights for a number of workouts, I haven't had shoulder or back pain in months, and I'm noticeably more toned. One suit jacket is done for - my shoulders are too broad. I keep making A feel my biceps and I don't even care how much he teases me for it.

My jeans, though. My jeans are a problem. I've gained muscle and dropped a little fat in my thighs.. which means I'm constantly pulling up the saggy seat of my pants. It is not attractive (as a habit, that is. The shape of my ass is much improved.) Two more months and I should be changed enough to justify the new clothes but for now I'm doing a bad Justin Bieber impression. Super hawt.

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A told me last week that he thinks it will take him at least 6 months longer than he'd hoped to finish his PhD. I'm not surprised - despite his assurances and certainty over the last few years, I always mentally added on a year or two to his estimates - but I can't say I'm thrilled. My morale is low at work. Part of me had May 2014 as my goal, make it to A's graduation and then assess. Now I have to be realistic and stay engaged with my life rather than somehow wait out the clock.

Honestly, my morale is low in general. I don't know where to begin to fix my bad attitude. I'm lonely, cranky, dissatisfied. Emphasis on lonely. It's not the job - I like the work. It's something in the details. Where I work, the current atmosphere in my court... something. It's impossible to blame this general malaise on anyone else. After all, what makes me miserable at work is fine for someone else. But I've been sinking slowly for a while now. 

I've tried working more hours, devoting more time to research, having set times with Baz to provide us both with structure. Still my dissatisfaction lingers. I feel like I'm corroding, and if I don't turn it around I'm never going to make it through another year. How do I fix a problem whose effects are so pervasive, but whose root is a mystery?

I'm not sure what to do next, but I need to do something.

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On the home front, exciting things are afoot. We've got birthdays coming, new cousins for Baz on the way (finally!), and I get to take two long weekends away with friends soon.

Baz turns three on Sunday! More on this, but suffice it to say that A and I clearly do not have a future in event planning. We got invitations out starting last Friday through this Monday, but we still have no idea how many people will be attending. 5? 20? No clue. Our only excuse is that we were distracted by work (me, three trials; A, his FE exam in addition to research and coursework) and didn't concentrate on the fine print. Oops.

Luckily, Baz is so excited to have a party that anything with balloons and cake will get us his seal of approval. His stock answer for what he wants for his birthday is CAKE, though he wants all the flavors of cake, including the improbable 'chair' and 'curtain' flavors. In an unbearably cute and unselfconscious moment, he told my parents that for his birthday he wants, "You! and You! And all my friends, and mama, and papa, and BEAR!" You want to hear two out of state grandparents' hearts swell and break in unison? That's a good way to do it.

Well, ok then.

Baz: You go put on a bra.
Me: What's that now?
Baz: You put on a bra right now, please.

Cut Mama Some Slack

I can't possibly love Julie at A Little Pregnant more.

I also saw the "Oh momma, you misguided smartphone-using ninny" thing going around Facebook. And as a mom who was 100% isolated from the world for almost two years, I very nearly lost my head what with the almost-screaming and the wanting to go all crazy on the guilt-tripping internet creeps. Because I loathe those sanctimonious jerks who perpetuate the idea that having children drops a woman's own needs off the list entirely. What's that? You want a break? You want good mental health and the ability to pick yourself up in the morning and do it all over again with a dang smile on your face? Selfish.

Hoooo. Ok, not going crazy on the internet. Deep breath, and link to Julie.

No exaggeration, I sometimes went weeks without seeing another adult person. Just check my 2010 and 2011 archives and see how bustling the social life of a nursing and quarantined mom of a micro can be. In that isolation, I was trying to feed a micro who vomited multiple times a day - often all over me - and was under tremendous pressure to somehow find a solution that would keep him alive and growing. It was hard, horrible, and I can't even begin to revisit that time without acknowledging how alone I was -- but for modern technology. I had books on my ereader (because I couldn't expose Baz to germs at the bookstore or library). I had email (because my friends and family lived states away). I had the internet (because you all were often the only ones sending notes in a bottle, telling me I wasn't actually alone). My phone and computer were the only connections I had to the world and often the only things keeping me upright.

But hell. It's not like you need to be three steps from the looney bin to deserve a dang break. Get off Momma's back, dude. I'm pretty sure no one is going to be harsh with the lady 30 minutes later while she's driving her kid down the freeway or cooking dinner or anything else adults have to do and generally unable to give 100% attention and adoration for the kiddo whenever it is demanded. Because it's demanded all the time. For pete's sake.

Now all I need is someone to ask, "Have you tried getting him to eat with the 'here comes the airplane' trick?" and I'll be speaking in tongues. My mother's cousin was the last to suggest it and I think she's still in traction.

Transcribing the two year old experience

[Talking to himself during some complex lego construction]

Where's my baby? Here's my baby. He's sad, he has no feet. Poor baby. Where is my mango?

Time to stand up! Hmmmm. Do you know where your underwear are? I don't know. Mama! You gonna be a princess!! You gonna be a zombie!!

I wanna get up here!

I wanna get on the table and go see you and put this on you!!! UP!!!!

[enter Papa, returning from work]

NOOOOO!! No, Papa! I don't like you.

A: Well, ok. I will say hi to the dog.

I like you, Papa. I'm a princess! I put my princess in there, I carry it. A fairy princess.

A: A fairy princess?

NOOOO!!! Mama!!! NO! Hm. It's too big, I can't carry it. I can't carry things. One thing is too big. AAAAAAAAHHHHH. I like you!

I was eating..... what is that?

Elapsed time: 3 minutes 45 seconds. 

Happy place.

My stress level has been spiking above the red line a lot lately.... again. Only this afternoon, when three of my sure-fire trials disappeared in a blissful hour, did I realize that I had good reason. Trials, refinancing the house, Baz's school fall trimester tuition in full on April 15 (three months of childcare, 5 months in advance and on the same day taxes are due? Awesome! Thanks, hippies!) Stressful.

My happy place in the midst of this stress is a parallel life I've created entirely in my head. In my happy place, I work part time. Sometimes I have a little bakery, nothing fancy but still an informal hub for our small town where people meet up for good coffee and warm pastry. Baz goes to preschool but we're together through the rest of the day, aside from times when family or friends come to borrow him.

We live in rural Vermont (though upstate New York, New Hampshire, or Maine would suffice). Ours is a rambling farm house very like the one my father grew up in. Two dogs and a truck, naturally. We have a barn for A's many projects, soon to be Baz's projects as well. Sometimes I throw in a cat as a concession to A. Down the road are friends from college, running their own businesses and raising their children. We're close and, knowing my friends, art and creativity are powerful elements in our lives. A has a great research job, doing exactly what he loves to do. We live modestly, with enough to pay bills and save wisely.

I'm pregnant in that happy place and totally unconcerned. I haven't worked out whether I'm happy and pregnant because Baz was born without complication in that alternative universe or because I'm healed and optimistic. Probably the former. Either way my problems are not problems in my happy place.

All our wonderful, supportive family members live nearby, too. The stressful ones lead happy lives just far enough away to visit only with ample warning. Holidays are big events, hosted at our house and attended by neighbors, family, and friends. Dogs and kids run wild together outside before dinner is served. Lots of people stay overnight.

A farmhouse in a green wood filled with books, children, and friends. It's not so farfetched. I like to think that we might begin to build elements of it in the next few years. In fact, moving together to a rural area is already a much-discussed possibility with some friends.

For now, with my most immediate trials off the burner and the appraisal behind us, at least I'm back toward my baseline.

The good and the unexpected

I've been trying to keep my enthusiasm quiet, but I'm ready to confess. I'm a Crossfit fanatic. For real, if the people at Crossfit told me tomorrow that I need to cut off all contact with friends and family in order to focus on my PRs, I would do it. Sign me up.

I started Crossfit because I wanted to feel good about my body again (red flag: Repeatedly thinking of one's body as a 'baby-killing pain machine.' Talk about a shout from the id). I also wanted to make friends. Check and check. 

There is a reason Crossfit inspires such cultishness. First: I have gone from a sway-backed pony to a 80 lb snatch and a 95 lb clean and jerk. It feels really goddamned good to have muscles. Lord. Last night I lifted the same amount of weight as a girl with powerlifting experience and enviable muscles. 

Better still, the environment is so freaking friendly. I live in a notoriously athletic state, in a county that attracts an unbelievably large number of pro athletes. (A ran a dinky workplace 5k which was won by a three time Ironman Champion who happened to work nearby; I know pro climbers, pro mountain bikers, you name it.) You can imagine the kind of fitness I see at my Crossfit gym. Every woman at my gym can do handstand pushups. Instead of feeling outclassed and insecure, I've got world-class athletes coming over to cheer me on as I finish out my set. It's freaking awesome. The girl with the enviable muscles came over to congratulate me. People cheer for each other, they'll come over to introduce themselves. I'm going to get a special marital dispensation from A to go out Friday nights for drinks after the workout.

I want to be a good example for Baz, too. I want him to grow up thinking of women as strong, positive, and able. He still struggles to do things that ought to come easily - jumping, balancing, eating. After all his surgeries his digestive issues can make him frantic. We always tell him how proud we are that he keeps trying, even when things are difficult. I had A bring Baz by my Saturday class so he could see me lifting - I want him to see that I keep trying, no matter how difficult something is for me. 

He tells me now that he wants to lift weights like Mama, biiiiiiiig weights. 

TM Baz

Just now:

Me: *munch munch munch girl scout cookies*
Baz: (locking on laser beams) Can I have a bite?
.. He takes it. 
Baz: I hold it for you.
.. He contemplates the cookie.
Baz:  You go get a new cookie.
Baz unapologetically runs away with my cookie.

*Scene*