Today my Shape magazine came in the mail. I'm sure the mailman looks at me with my extra 15 or so pounds and wonders why the heck he needs to lug that magazine to my door each month! I've had the subscription for almost 5 years. After my second bed rest (with my third and final child) I decided it was time to take back control of my body. I hated that it had let me down and that I'd had so little control over what was happening to me and now that I had no choice but to be done having kids, it was time to get in shape. Plus, I was turning 40.
I did get in shape. I looked the best I had in ages - for awhile. Then I had some surgeries and now I'm back to square one.
This month's issue reminded me of all of you stuck in bed. One of the success stories was about a woman who after being on bed rest with two of her kids found herself 100 pounds overweight. She mentioned how everyone who visited her brought food. Of course she lost all the weight a few years later - it wouldn't be a success story otherwise - but her story reminded me of how happy food made me when I was on bed rest! Everyone who visited would bring me little (and not so little) treats. My regular visitors would call before they came and ask what I was in the mood for. I ate so many french fries, turkey reubens, brownie sundaes, pop tarts...you get the idea. If I didn't truly understand the meaning of comfort food before, I sure did then.
Luckily, somehow I didn't gain an extraordinary amount of weight. I'm not sure how - I didn't really pay much attention. I figured if food made me feel better, I deserved it. Maybe because I also made sure to eat things that were good for the baby, my portions of the bad stuff weren't so bad.
I still think you do whatever makes you feel better. But I also think since it doesn't last forever, you don't want to have to spend three years trying to undo your few months of indulgence. Whatever your diet, I think you just do not feel guilty about it. We're women, mothers or soon to be mothers, and daughters. We already feel guilty about more than enough things.
Bon Appetit!
How has your diet been while you've been on bed rest? Has your relationship with food changed since your bed rest? If you're eating a lot of junk, do you feel guilty, entitled or indifferent?
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
Monday, August 6, 2007
WHY IS THIS HAPPENING TO ME?
I wonder how many times a day those words are sent into the universe. I said them myself today and it made me think of all of who are currently on bed rest.
Though not on bed rest myself, in the last twenty-four hours my life has been completely disrupted and I've been somewhat stranded and left wondering why my life turned as it did.
I was involved in a car accident yesterday and though luckily no one was hurt, the car will be in the shop for a while.
While I realize this is in no way a close parallel to the feeling of isolation and disconnection you feel while on bed rest, it does provide some lessons for me at least.
We don't even recognize the extent to which we settle into and depend on our routines--or the ability to spontaneously decide to go for groceries or coffee or to the pool--until they're altered.
And then, even when there's a bright side to the situation--no one was injured in the accident in my case and your illumination might be that you are aiding your body in the process of incubating new life--it can be hard to keep the bright side in front of your mind.
Even as little bursts of good luck accompany the bad, I can't shake the dread I feel, the weightiness of what might have happened if...
For example, my in-laws are lending us an old car they had in the garage and I think, how lucky is that? I mean, really lucky. And then I find out that the air-conditioning in it is broken. Ugh, do you know hot it is in Pittsburgh? And I wonder what that's all about--my being forced to sweat my ass off as I run errands and live my life on top of everything else. All I can figure is that there is some lesson I haven't learned yet--something to be revealed from my sweat glands and pores gaping wide, sending forth moisture and odor. There's a lesson there, beyond the obvious, I'm sure.
There are very few people in the world who actually say, "There is nothing in the world worse than what I'm going through." And I try very hard to remember that. Sometimes it doesn't matter what other people are experiencing if your pain is great enough. And we all get through the rough times using different tools.
For now, I can look at my situation and know it's nothing compared to what mothers with children who are ill are going through, or those of you worrying about your pregnancy, any number of things compared to my relatively minor distruptions are really and truly problems.
But, my problem at hand does the job of making me remember how hard it is to be on bed rest, to not know when life will be normal again, or even remember what it felt like to have a normal existence.
So, here's to all you mothers on bed rest. I'm thinking of you from afar.
Though not on bed rest myself, in the last twenty-four hours my life has been completely disrupted and I've been somewhat stranded and left wondering why my life turned as it did.
I was involved in a car accident yesterday and though luckily no one was hurt, the car will be in the shop for a while.
While I realize this is in no way a close parallel to the feeling of isolation and disconnection you feel while on bed rest, it does provide some lessons for me at least.
We don't even recognize the extent to which we settle into and depend on our routines--or the ability to spontaneously decide to go for groceries or coffee or to the pool--until they're altered.
And then, even when there's a bright side to the situation--no one was injured in the accident in my case and your illumination might be that you are aiding your body in the process of incubating new life--it can be hard to keep the bright side in front of your mind.
Even as little bursts of good luck accompany the bad, I can't shake the dread I feel, the weightiness of what might have happened if...
For example, my in-laws are lending us an old car they had in the garage and I think, how lucky is that? I mean, really lucky. And then I find out that the air-conditioning in it is broken. Ugh, do you know hot it is in Pittsburgh? And I wonder what that's all about--my being forced to sweat my ass off as I run errands and live my life on top of everything else. All I can figure is that there is some lesson I haven't learned yet--something to be revealed from my sweat glands and pores gaping wide, sending forth moisture and odor. There's a lesson there, beyond the obvious, I'm sure.
There are very few people in the world who actually say, "There is nothing in the world worse than what I'm going through." And I try very hard to remember that. Sometimes it doesn't matter what other people are experiencing if your pain is great enough. And we all get through the rough times using different tools.
For now, I can look at my situation and know it's nothing compared to what mothers with children who are ill are going through, or those of you worrying about your pregnancy, any number of things compared to my relatively minor distruptions are really and truly problems.
But, my problem at hand does the job of making me remember how hard it is to be on bed rest, to not know when life will be normal again, or even remember what it felt like to have a normal existence.
So, here's to all you mothers on bed rest. I'm thinking of you from afar.
Wednesday, August 1, 2007
What artist?
One of the suggestions that Regina and I offer on how to survive bedrest is to "Expose the Artist in You." I sort of cringed writing that, because I wondered how many people would read it and think, "What artist?" A few years ago, I would have had the same reaction.
I'll never forget the first time someone pointed out to me that being "artistic" didn't mean "can draw more than stick figures."
I was attending a teacher workshop while interning in a swanky school district and we were told to do some sort of artsy thing and though I don't remember exactly what I said to the assignment that I can't remember but I remember the presenter's response:
"Of course you're artistic. Look at your hair (don't look at it now, it's been years since I put the kind of time into my lid that would elicit the notion I was doing something artsy), the way you put your clothes together, the way you write." Well, I thought that was certainly scraping the bottom of the artsy barrel, but as time plodded on, I began to see the art world differently.
It might be a matter of the way someone puts together their furnishings, plays with colors, painting to create something that communicates a mood more than a "picture," or the way a person approaches their life as a whole.
Dipping into your artistic stores might seem more like work than fun. But, we think that once you've settled into bed rest and found pockets of time where you feel antsy but willing to do something different, a glob of clay, a pack of markers or painting wooden treasure boxes for your other children might seem like a good outlet rather than a curriculum for pain.
How do you see yourself or someone else as artistic? What would you like to try if you were in the right frame of mind?
I'll never forget the first time someone pointed out to me that being "artistic" didn't mean "can draw more than stick figures."
I was attending a teacher workshop while interning in a swanky school district and we were told to do some sort of artsy thing and though I don't remember exactly what I said to the assignment that I can't remember but I remember the presenter's response:
"Of course you're artistic. Look at your hair (don't look at it now, it's been years since I put the kind of time into my lid that would elicit the notion I was doing something artsy), the way you put your clothes together, the way you write." Well, I thought that was certainly scraping the bottom of the artsy barrel, but as time plodded on, I began to see the art world differently.
It might be a matter of the way someone puts together their furnishings, plays with colors, painting to create something that communicates a mood more than a "picture," or the way a person approaches their life as a whole.
Dipping into your artistic stores might seem more like work than fun. But, we think that once you've settled into bed rest and found pockets of time where you feel antsy but willing to do something different, a glob of clay, a pack of markers or painting wooden treasure boxes for your other children might seem like a good outlet rather than a curriculum for pain.
How do you see yourself or someone else as artistic? What would you like to try if you were in the right frame of mind?
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