Blocked

I have so much to write about and yet I have nothing to write about. The material is there, but the words aren't coming. Maybe this is writer's block?

I could write:

about the untimely and tragic death of a friend's husband.

about M turning nine months.

about my frustrations with E.

about not wanting to visit my parents this weekend.

about feeling vaguely dissatisfied with my marriage.

about the ongoing struggle to lose weight.

about being happy that my television programs are all ending this week.

about the structural repairs our home requires.

about trying to embrace my research.

about being nearly ready to day wean.

about the Ann Taylor spree I intend to have when I lose five more pounds.


Clearly I have plenty of material. Perhaps the thing to do is to choose one thing from my list and write about it each day. Yes, that is what I'll do.

Tomorrow I will write about the death of my friend's husband. It isn't an uplifting story, of course, but it has me thinking about what I would do if the unthinkable were to happen.

Why is it. . .

that my very short bad haircut can't grow out fast enough, but the hairs on my chin are working on some kind of growth record? Why?

Let's Review, Shall We?

In December, I wrote my list of wishes for the next year. I hesitate to call them resolutions because I find resolutions too depressing. So how am I doing? Let's review:


That I find the will to finish the text.
Ummm, no. I did, however, find the will to admit that the situation was untenable.


That the publisher is nicer.
Right.


That my daughters are healthy.
Let's see. If we exclude ear infections, the girls are doing well. If we include ear infections, then this isn't going particularly well. E, who had tubes placed last summer, had a very bad ear infection in February. Other than that, she has just had a few colds. Poor little M, on the other hand, has hopped on the ear infection band wagon. She has been on four rounds of antibiotics since February 21 and her hearing tests came back abnormal because of the fluid. She will get tubes on May 2. I haven't talked about this yet (probably because I am in denial), but she has not hit some verbal milestones (our pediatrician calls it a mild delay at this point) so I am hoping that once the fluid is clear, she will be able to hear and to catch up.

That daycare is more traumatic for me than for Baby M.
This one has turned out pretty well. I'm a control freak and it has been hard to come to terms that my instructions may or may not be followed (I must say this part was easier when we had a nanny). I am all for schedules, so I'm also not pleased that some days she naps and some days she does not. On the bright side, she seems happy when I pick her up and I am glad that she doesn't seem bored.

That E figures out the potty training thing.
Oh. God. No. Not yet.

That J and I have time to reconnect.
Ha ha. Part of the problem here may be that by "reconnect" we mean different things. When I think of reconnecting, I think of having meaningful conversations about non-child subjects and maybe a little cuddling (preferably in the form of a massage). When J thinks of reconnecting, he thinks of sex. I don't know if it is the breast feeding, the fatigue that comes with raising a toddler and a baby, or if I am just deflicted, but the last thing I want--and I mean the last thing-- is sex. I don't want to be touched. In fact, I get annoyed and even angry when he attempts to initiate.

That I can breastfeed M until she is one or until I feel good about stopping.
Except for the recent biting, this is working. Pumping for daycare is hard work for me, but each week I somehow have enough. I plan to start introducing whole milk (cut in with breast milk) in a sippy around 11 months so that she can be day weaned by her first birthday.

That I lose the baby weight.
Um. No. I lost several pounds when I had pneumonia, but I think I have gained them back. I am getting back on the exercise wagon because swimsuit season is upon us.

Peace on Earth.
Sigh.

That I become better organized.
Yes! I have been slowly, but surely improving. I'm still pretty pathetic, but my paperwork is under better control, the finances are under control, and I'm starting to declutter the nooks and crannies of the house. Being more organized has given me a huge boost. I have a long way to go, but it feels nice to feel more in control.

That I keep writing in this space for therapy.
Yes!

That fewer hairs show up on my chin.
Sadly, no. While it probably isn't noticeable to anyone but me, I seem to be sprouting more chin hairs. I don't want to be one of those older women (my grandmother was one and my mother-in-law is on her way) who are oblivious to the inch long gray hairs making little curly cues off their chins. I may be a sucker, but I just ordered this.

That I give more to worthwhile causes and charities.
Except to make a few trips to Goodwill and to donate a dollar now and again to March of Dimes I've not done much. Wait! I did give to Walk for Autism because my neighbor is walking in it (her son is autistic) and I did make a donation to the local rape crisis agency. Still, I should do more.


So that's my first quarter report. How is your year going?

Escape

Have you ever had the impulse to run away from those things about your life that you find distasteful? In high school I would sometimes get in my car and drive the 45 minutes through the swamp that separated my smallish hometown from the city. I always turned around, but just knowing I could leave helped.

I have occasionally followed the impulse to get away. I moved from my parents' home the morning after I graduated from high school. It was a good decision. I made a painful break with my first dissertation advisor when he became too close and personal. Another right decision.

More often than not, though, I have not followed the impulse to leave. When I was unhappy after my first semester in college, I went back. When the dissertation was miserable, I kept at it. When I was most unhappy with my marriage, I stayed. These were the correct decisions.

Now I am experiencing that urge to bolt again. This time, it is the text that has me down.

I've had some time this week to contemplate the text, my excruciatingly slow progress on it, and my mental health. And I want out. This isn't worth my sanity. Only my children are worth my sanity, and they are already chipping away at it. I don't need an evil publisher to help them.

The whole project is troubled. First, the timelines were never realistic. There is subtle, but real pressure for me to plagiarize in order to speed things up. I won't do it. Second, the publisher won't allow me to communicate with my editor unless she is copied on every message or conferenced in on phone calls. This is bad on so many levels I don't know where to start. Third, the publisher is unpleasant (my former coauthor calls her “psychotic”) and is extremely aggressive. Utterances like, "We own you" don't help.

I read my contract this week. Yes, I signed it two years ago, but I only read it today. Brilliant, I know. The thing is riddled with the word "exploit" which makes me uneasy. Is this regular legalese or was it a warning that this would be a hellish endeavor? If I understand my contract, then the only penalty for withdrawing is that they can take my work. I can live with this. I faxed the contract to my brother, the hot shot attorney. After he tells me how stupid I was to sign it without running it by him first, he'll interpret it for me.

I've already written a letter to the publisher. In it, I explain that it isn’t feasible to have this complete this summer because I know she wants it to be well-researched and original. In it, I say that I’m increasingly anxious about the project and don’t wish to continue in this manner. I give her three scenarios. In the first, they identify a new coauthor. In the second, we reevaluate deadlines and come up with something a year out so that the content can be strong and original. In the third, we cut our losses and part ways.

I don’t know if I’ll send the letter. My former coauthor (who left the project with a letter to her that ended with a “You aren’t the kind of person I can work with”) said that I should expect her to react with fury and to expect a storm. Am I up for that?

High School Reunion

My 20 year high school reunion is coming up this year. I am somewhat ambivalent about attending. I never even considered going to my 10 year reunion, probably because I could still remember why I hated most of those people. But now, I am oddly tempted to attend. Why? I think I'm just feeling curious about how my classmates have turned out. Is Trevor really obese now? Is Christie still an alcoholic? Were these people as horrible as I remember?

The event isn't until October, so I have time. I know this: If I do decide to go, I must look better than I look right now. Sure it is vain, but I don't want to be the one who is really showing her age.

I also must lose this weight by then. Why, why is it so stubborn? Why, why am I always so hungry? I honestly think breastfeeding is the culprit. Not only is it not sparing poor M from a series of ear infections and colds, but it is making me fat.

Also, I'll have to grow my hair a bit. I cut it off a few months ago and I'm wearing a short crop. On one hand, it is easy. On the other hand, it only looks good for a week after a cut and then it looks dreadful. I think my stylist isn't good with short hair, but I hate to leave her because we are from the same hometown and because she is very pregnant and freaking about money. Maybe I'll leave her while she is on maternity leave. That would be very awful wouldn't it? Anyway, I am thinking that if I start growing it now, maybe I can get it to a just below the earlobe bob by October.

My face needs some TLC, too. I'm not normally one for cosmetic treatments, but I think I would consider teeth whitening and some restylane.

Clearly, I am seriously considering attending. Have you ever attended a reunion? Was it fun or just sad?

That's a Man for You. . .

I recently decided it is time to get fit, lose some weight and become reacquainted with my prepregnancy wardrobe. About the same time, J decided he needed to lose some weight as well. He has been diligently weighing in each morning and has upped the exercise and cut back on what E calls "goodies."I've been walking more, visiting the gym, and trying to make healthier choices.

So how has the weight loss gone?

I've lost half a pound. J has lost ten pounds. How is this fair?

What? Another month gone?

Dear Madame:

I am writing to request a do-over. That is correct: I want the month of January back. I'll do better this time, I promise.

Specifically, I'll learn to write faster. I'll pump more milk in less time. I'll stop eating m&ms. I'll watch less TV. I'll cook dinner more often. I'll exercise more regularly. I'll stop and smell the roses.

Eagerly awaiting your decision,

Em

Exercise Gives Me Hives

Really. It sounds like a bad excuse to get out of eighth grade gym, doesn't it?

I have exercise induced asthma and exercise induced urticaria. The former is treated with albuterol and the latter is treated with antihistamines (right now Claritin because of breastfeeding, but Zyrtec works best). Unfortunately, I took neither before leaving the house this morning. I'm not sure what I was thinking other than, "I need to get out now before someone needs me."

My lungs didn't get too bad, but about four minutes into my walk, I felt the familiar creepy crawly sensation on my torso and before long the itch had spread down my legs all the way to the soles of my feet. Misery, I tell you.

I pressed on, but I took a shorter walk than originally planned. Still, I logged 5000 steps on my pedometer, which beats the zero I would have logged otherwise. Tomorrow I will take Claritin and albuterol in advance of my departure.

Despite the minor setback, I'm excited to get moving again.

Mama's Got Back

Oy vey.

Today I tried on some pre-pregnancy pants just for kicks. It has been five months after all.

Oh

My

God

I am turning matronly. There were ripples-- fat bulges-- where my thighs meet my hips. My "touch of stretch" pants are no longer my best friends. They are the enemy.

What did I see today? My butt. Very large. My stomach. Soft. Poochy. My arms. Flabby. Swinging in the breeze. My thighs. Jiggly. My body image. Bad. My spirits. Low.

All this is to say that I have decided that it is time to do something about this. I made a feeble attempt to start a walking program a few weeks ago, but I quit when the temperature dipped and it rained. What a wimp.

But now I've decided that this is war. And I'm going to win.

Truthfully, it should be doable. I'm only about eight to ten pounds over my pre-pregnancy weight, but the distribution of fat around my thighs and tummy have given me a whole new shape that I do not much appreciate. This isn't just about fat distribution and weight, by the way. It is also about feeling better and having some confidence. I used to run marathons. I was strong and toned, and I felt healthy. I want to feel that way again. I don't have to be marathon ready, but I want to feel fit.

I've not been giving myself time to exercise. Everyday feels like a race of sorts: wake at 5:30 with the baby, nurse her, try to get her to sleep with me for a little while, wake with E at 6:30 if J is still out running, fix bottles for daycare, dress children, dress self, nurse baby again, take girls to daycare, drive home, fire up computer, clean breakfast mess, try to write, pump, try to write, throw in a load of laundry, try to write, pump, vacuum, try to write, pump, go get girls, play, nurse baby, fix dinner for E, bath time, reading time, nurse baby, bedtime, try to write*, pump, 11:30 p.m. collapse into bed.

J thinks I should use daycare time for going to the gym, but I feel like daycare time should be work time. I think I'm going to have to get over it once in a while. Mostly I'm going to make myself take a midday walk or run starting immediately. I'm also going to watch what I eat, but not start any defined diet plan as I'm certain I won't stick to it for long, and that will just depress me.

I'm writing this here to keep myself motivated. I hope that by sharing my desire to get fit I will be too shamed to let a little cold and rain dissuade me. I'll post my stats every few days just for the sake of public humiliation.


*Or watch Top Chef, 24, Lost (soon!) or other programs I should really be ignoring.