Atomic Tonic

If something happens three days in a row, does that mean it's a routine? Because the last three mornings, Matilda has woken up and been all "I'm awake. Let's get a move on." And the last three days, I've gotten up and put her in her crib while I went to the bathroom. These last three days, she's put up with it and folks, I think that means we have a routine. It only lasts 10 minutes, but it's 10 minutes that I'm not required to hold her. My arms thank the routine.

This morning, after The Routine and the morning nursing, I handed Matilda over to Niclas and fled the house. I went to the gym because I figured, hell, I feel great! And these pounds are not just melting off on their own. Guess what, though? 15 minutes on a cross-trainer and I was pretty much cross-eyed. BUT. Niclas managed to get The Fist of Fury to nap, in the sling, around 10AM. It's 1:26 and she's Still! Napping! On him! Which means I've had my limbs and my boobs to myself all morning and now well into the afternoon!

He got her to take a pacifier somewhere in the middle of this epic nap. This is good and bad. It's good for now as it means we're not required to be within boob or finger reach from her, but it also means she might get used to the pacifier and then we'll have to break that habit down the line. But one step at a time here, and right now I'd like that step to involve a little sleep.

What if I told you I have a cold but Matilda, as of yet, does not? Would you suggest I start pumping breast milk for my own consumption as clearly that's what's keeping her from getting sick? Because I'm not about to drink breast milk. But having a head cold on top of The Parental Tired is so not fair.

Matilda's Swedish Grandmother and Aunt arrived on Thursday night. I was a little worried that all they were going to see of Matilda was the back of her head for a week and a 1/2, what with the previous four weeks of constant eating. Thankfully, Matilda has been in rare social form so far. Niclas changed her diaper and with an audience of 6, she kicked her chicken legs and made adorable infant faces and basically was as cute as humanly possible in something not nearly big enough to be considered a human. *wipes brow*

She's also continued to use the pacifier. I think this is the first official instance of I Can't Believe I Have a Kid Who Does That. And I can't believe I'm the mother who gets up from the dinner table to shove the pacifier back in her mouth when she pushes it out and starts making noises. Am totally that mother. What? It's either that or I'm eating risotto with my boob hanging out and I'd really like to keep The Mystery alive for someone I meet in the next few months. My only hope is that we wean Matilda off the pacifier before she hits the toddler years.

Now we can talk about me. Went to the gym again yesterday. 20 minutes on a cross trainer and aside from having to blow my nose the entire time, it went a little better. The yellow brick road is long, but at least I'm on it. Plus, I made an appointment to color my hair. Last time I did this was 11 months ago, so you can imagine how overdue this is. VERY OVERDUE.

Friday evening, Matilda hung out on the train tracks, waiting for my commuter train to come in.

Saturday morning, Niclas took Matilda to the beach while I went for a run.

Later that day, family came over for a little BBQ.

Before bathtime, she tried out her Wonder Woman outfit.

Sunday morning, damn early, Matilda organized her crayons.

Then we went to the beach.

And finally, we rounded out our vacation with Matilda's first race this morning.

She's a blue ribbon winner!

I'm officially off bedrest as of midnight. Unofficially, I got off bedrest two days ago as it was driving me up a tree and right back down again. All that resting was working a little too well. Not only had the real contractions stopped ages ago, but the Braxton Hicks ones had pretty much called it off as well and seeing as I'm hugely pregnant and also just plain huge, I didn't want to take it so easy I'd end up being pregnant for another 6 weeks.

So I had my 37 week check-up today where I had to request to be checked. Niclas and I both decided beforehand that there would be no change (see above re: all contractions coming to a full stop) and we were right. 37 weeks pregnant, 3 cm dilated, 80% effaced and given the greenlight to resume normal living, including exercise. Aside from the smallish human being I'm carrying around doing a number on my back, the idea of exercising actually sounds great. Wonderful, even. I've been having pretty elaborate fantasies about running. I see the streets and the corners and the turns I used to make on my runs flip through my brain like flash cards. I can almost taste the end of a run. The endorphins and my body at peace. How deserved some stretching and a shower feels.

Unfortunately, the reality is that walking up and down the aisles of a drugstore makes my back sore and my inner thighs throb with pain. And because I can hardly waddle up down the candy aisle, my muscles are tense and wound-up and restless. Because I am 9 months pregnant, I cannot sleep. Going for a run would help all of these problems immensely. And therein lies the rub. I'm not physically capable of running right now. I haven't been capable of it since sometime around week 25.

I've been on bedrest for 5 weeks. I am very grateful that I did not give birth at week 32. I'd be even more grateful to give birth now, soon, very soon, before next weekend, ANY DAY NOW, now that I'm in week 37.

Linnea woke up to watery eyes and a sneezing fit this morning. I've already had to pick her teeny nose and break in the new bulb syringe.

I knew this was going to happen. Newborn. Coughing toddler. We were exposed to the flu and apparently strep throat before she was born. A handful of people holding her. February. But still. Not even a week and a half old and already feeling the charms of New England and breathing through her mouth.

I'm feeling the charms of New England too although for dfferent reasons. It'd been a mild winter up until a week ago. A week ago it got really cold and bitter and now we have the ice after the storm. It's hermit weather and I've been abiding it but the cabin fever it starting to make me itchy. The toddler hysterics are hitting me right between the eyes and the 25 pounds I apparently have to lose are just hitting me.

In an effort to put off my own hysterical tired as long as possible, I've been heading to bed shortly after Matilda at night. Trying to sit down now and then. Drink enough water. Eat a healthier diet than my pregnancy one which isn't that difficult considering my pregnancy diet was atrocious. I've been trying to nap with the kids, provided they nap at the same time. Today I got about 20 minutes.

This is all well and good, but the attempts to get some sleep mean I've got very little to no kid-free time and when they're awake, one requires a diaper change every half hour or so and every half hour or so, she manages to pee on the couch or poop through three layers of clothing, changing cloth and changing table cover. The other is finding it impossible to do or ask for anything without dramatics and tears. Oh my god, the tears.

What I really want to do is go for a run. I even tried to pump today to see if I could store up enough to leave the house for an hour. Turns out, I might be producing sufficient milk to keep Linnea content, but I still can't pump for shit. I guess I should consider myself lucky as if I actually pulled off the time to go for a run, I'd probably make it about 50 feet before I collapsed in a pile of post-partum fat and jiggle and giant, electric boobs. But. 25 pounds. *blank stare*

Yesterday, 11 days postpartum and one day past Linnea's actual due date, I went for a run. Well. I put on my running shoes and I left the house. I traveled 2.6 miles but according to the time it took me to do so, I don't think I can really call it a "run." The first two blocks had me feeling like Rocky and then reality hit a little. A pregnancy, extra weight, 5 weeks of bedrest. Neither my legs nor my lungs were really up for a full-out run so it was a walk/run affair.

I knew it wasn't going to be pretty before I even started out so unlike a normal run gone bad, it was ok. At least I was prepared. And at least I've started because I've got a long way to go.

That stomach, it is soft. It does not resemble much the stomach I had between pregnancies.

The bellybutton looks familiar, though.

Pregnancy really does take some time

Matilda and I were hanging out in her playroom/storage closet yesterday, throwing a plastic scoop of ice cream around and jumping on a giant ant. I glanced up at the photo strips on the wall and noticed this photo:

It was taken at the end of May. I was not feeling great that weekend. I was sure I'd caught a bug. My friends and Niclas had both been bugging me to take a pregnancy test "You are PREGNANT, fool," for a few days. I think mentioning that my child's garlic breath was making me gag was a pretty big tip-off to them if not to me.

For bodily reasons, it just didn't seem possible even though we had actually started trying again that very month. The day following this picture, I finally broke down and wasted money on a box of sticks to pee on. I bought a "buy two get one free" box because who ever, ever needs to pee on just one stick when trying to get pregnant? No one, that's who. No one except, it turns out, me. Turns out, I didn't have a stomach bug. I had a pregnancy, about 7 weeks along. Who knew?

The pregnancy took forever and flew by but looking at this picture it's obvious that pregnancy takes some time. Nearly a year. Because at week 7, Matilda looked like a baby. Now, 2 weeks after the pregnancy is over, she's a kid. There is no baby left in her, not a glimmer.

Linnea is two days into a growth spurt. My nipples invert when she wakes up rooting. Again.

Matilda got into my stash of postpartum panty liners and made sure the stairs were well protected.

I've still got night sweats. My hair has started to fall out. My wedding rings fit, but they're too tight to be comfortable.

I need a nap.

Yesterday morning we went to a birthday party with balloons and juice boxes and cupcakes. Matilda spent a large part of the party climbing the stairs and jumping on a bed. Linnea spent the duration crashed out in a pouch on Niclas.

We arrived back home around four to find the house a little chilly. Like, the heat wasn't working chilly. It's February and Linnea is two and a half weeks old and we have no heat. Matilda was up till nearly 10 the previous night playing with cousins and is now hysterically tired and we have no heat. It's a Saturday night and we have no heat. We should never have been allowed to buy a house because we have no idea who to call when we have no heat. It's a good thing our neighbor is handy as we have no heat.

It's Sunday and we still have no heat. We've had a man from the gas company, the previous owner, our neighbor and his electrician all banging around our basement in the last 24 hours and we have no heat. The furnace is missing a part. It's Sunday.

We showered at our neighbor's house this morning. I just pulled the driest turkey ever to miss a Thanksgiving dinner out of the oven. We've got a space heater on in the basement to avoid busted pipes and one in the living room to avoid freezing babies.

I want this post to be better. I want my parenting to be better. It's a Sunday in February and we have no heat. The two-year old is willful and whiney and playing deaf. The two-week old has officially eaten her way through my birthing hormones. I am tired. The young one is hungry. The old one is testing limits like it's her job. I am fat. I know I just had a kid but I am big and I'm not comfortable with it. I meant to run yesterday but I didn't get up in time. I meant to run today but didn't because I have to plan my runs and showers around a ravenous (chubby cheeks! double chin!) newborn and we were showering at our neighbor's house and I didn't have the time.

It's a Sunday in February and we have no heat.

I ran four 5k's during my pregnancy with Linnea. I didn't know I was pregnant for the first three and the first doesn't really count as I was all of 48 hours pregnant. For that race, not even my uterus knew I was pregnant. For the second, I was coming up on week five. My time was abysmal and I didn't understand why. Yes it was hot and I got hungry waiting for the race to start, but it was only a 5k. I should have been able to at least run the whole course.

The third was barely a week after the second one. I was determined to make up for my crappy time. I ended up with my best 5k time to date. For the fourth one, I was 23 weeks pregnant. Time did not matter. The fact that there was a hotel with a bathroom halfway through the course did matter.

I'm three weeks postpartum tomorrow and I've been out for a run 4 times. It's still miserable but I've been shaving a minute off my time every run. However, that's not saying much considering my time today was just over 12 minute miles.

I'm feeling pretty discouraged and physically messy these days. Big. Carrying all this extra weight. None of my normal clothes fit. Some of my early stages maternity clothes don't even fit. I'm currently a D cup after starting out as an A. My gigantic nursing bras grab all manner of extra flesh on my back. My belly is, understandably, still soft and loose. The feel-good birthing hormones have petered out. There's nothing left but increasing waves of tired and overwhelming nursing hunger.

It's just me and the kids now. The whining insistance of the two-year old and the fact that the three-week old has finally discovered the difference between lying in a laundry basket and being held. Naturally, she prefers the latter. My back is out of wack and carrying her in the pouch hurts. Constantly having to bend down to pick things up off the floor makes me feel creaky. Not being able to put my feet up while I nurse Linnea and instead having to get Matilda a snack/markers/book/cup/whatever she currently needs but won't want as soon as I give it to her is making my patience run short. I feel old.

The crashing hormones have me convinced that I will never recover from this pregnancy. That I will always have this belly and hint of celulite on my ribs. That I'll never manage to lose this weight. I'll always be tired. Feel run-down. Be incapable of running one full mile without stopping.

I know this is not true. I know it gets better. Well. I assume it gets better. I'm going to continue running and not eating entire cakes in one sitting on the assumption that this has to get better. I'm just going to close my eyes and keep running. I have to keep going. It has to get better. I'm really, really sick of my maternity clothes.

Linnea had her one month check-up yesterday. She's up 1.7 pounds for a total of 8 pounds 8 ounces. She's grown a quarter of an inch and gone up a size in diapers. She's been cleared for her first real bath. Matilda, who tends to wake up around 6:15 but slept till after 7 two days ago and was this morning demanding breakfast by 5:45, was only 7 pounds 8 ounces at two months old. Yesterday it was 7 degrees outside. This morning it was 6. I've had to take my 11 minute miles to the treadmill, but at least its allowed me to run one mile straight through. I've got 3 months to get back in shape for my first 5k since last October. I'm down 5.5 pounds at one month postpartum.

Went for a run this morning. Three miles. No walking. I'm still slower than usual, but it's progress. According to the scale yesterday, I'm down another half a pound. According to it today, I'm up two. I will feign optimism and go with yesterday's number. I managed to get one of my wedding bands on the other day but wiggled it off last night because it was too tight. I broke down and bought three shirts at Target because my clothes still don't fit and I'm still sick of my maternity clothes.

Pretty sure Linnea has started smiling. Even when it's not gas.

Last October I sat next to the mother of two young children at a friend's wedding. She told me that our second kid, the one I was still carrying, was going to be my kid. She said I'd be the only one capable of calming her down. It wasn't so much that I didn't believe her, but every situation is different. I didn't think much of the conversation at the time but the last few days I've been realizing she was right. Linnea is my kid. She's Niclas' too, but at six weeks today, she wants me to hold her all the time. She yelled for the duration of my shower this morning, all while Niclas held her. She stopped as soon as I took her back. She wants to sleep nose to nipple with me at night (which is awkward but not nearly as bad as what Matilda wanted at her age, which was to nurse while she slept. All night).

The swing is becoming less reliable as a nap location. More often than not she wakes up before 10 minutes have passed and yells for me to pick her up again. She'll still sleep in the carseat, sometimes for hours, but she tends to put up a fight at the start now.

I have no idea how I'd be surviving Linnea's babyhood (and Matilda's toddlerhood) without this pouch. I guess I'd make it through but I'd be starving and the laundry would never get folded. With Linnea in the pouch, I can do some of the cooking and I can wipe off the counters. Unloading the dishwasher is out as the angles are just too awkward, especially when she burrows into my armpit, as is loading the washing machine.

I can't remember how old Matilda was when we got this pouch but I know we had it by the time we went to Sweden when she was 5 months. She slept through 4 countries, 3 airports and countless afternoons in it. Before I got too pregnant to use it with her, she spent many an "uppee uppee uppee" type afternoon in it. She hung out on my hip while I cooked, her toddler legs dangling around my knees. Now, Linnea spends nearly all her time in it when she's not nursing and sometimes when she is nursing.

Me me me

If Linnea is six weeks old, I'm six weeks postpartum. Down another 1/2 a pound which is pathetic and I don't believe it as I've been eating too many cookies.

As the weight drips away, the sagging is becoming more apparent. This is unfortunate. The muffin top is very unfortunate. I'm glad I can't see myself walking away these days. I have to avert my eyes when the sun casts my shadow on runs. On paper, the runs are getting better. Bit longer, touch faster. Got some minor shin splints for my troubles. But I'm stuffing myself into my old running clothes and I can feel things jiggling. I am so impatient for this body

to change back to this body.

Up!

A lot last night. For good since 6am. Half a pound. Highest weekly mileage to 16.

...Eh. I got nothing folks.

I've purchased two easter bunnies, one bag of Jelly Bellies, one bag of Cadbury's Mini Eggs and three 3-packs of Peeps for Matilda's easter basket. We currently have two packs of Peeps in the house. I'm not buying anymore easter candy and I'm not getting on the scale this week. I did, however, have a decent 4+ mile run yesterday and a good 3+ one today. Running is almost starting to feel good again. That will have to do.

These weekly body check-ins are getting stale. The photos look the same. The weight is dropping, if i believe my scale, and yet still nothing fits. Sixteen pounds remain. I've got one wedding band on but it leaves a mark on my finger. I'm starting to feel better, stronger, on the inside. It's just that the outside hasn't caught up yet.

I can't promise how long I'll keep this up, is what I'm saying.

I've never run a marathon. I've never run a half. I've never run over 8 miles in one go or reached 30 miles in a week. I've spent time exercising -- I ran around the block a few times in high school. I've spent many mornings at the gym. An all women's one in a basement in Somerville. A co-ed one on the second floor of a mall in Cambridge. I've used the cross-trainers and the bikes. The rowing machines and the ab machines and the butt thigh and calf machines. I spent a summer biking to the beach and the grocery store on the Cape and another summer rollerblading to work in traffic and coasting down the bike path on the weekends -- but I'd never been a runner.

I started running after my pregnancy with Matilda. I spent that pregnancy listening to my OB tell me that she likes to go for long runs on her kids' birthdays. That she goes back home to run a specific race most years. That sometimes, when she starts out, she's just so happy she's not pregnant so she can run. She's got 4 kids and over 10 years on me. She runs 4 miles most days and at that point in her life, she was on call 24 hours a day, 7 days a week to deliver every woman she saw in her practice. She's in great shape. Always seems happy, never hunched over, never exhausted when just listening to her schedule makes me want to nap.

About six weeks after I had Matilda, I started going to the gym. I started on the cross-trainers and the bikes. The ab machines and the butt thigh and calf machines. After awhile, I tried a treadmill. I was slow but too fast to run for more than 10 minutes. Maybe even 5. I slowed down. I'd run. Then walk. Then run and walk and run and walk. I evnetually worked myself up to running outside. I ran 1/2 a mile away from my house and then the 1/2 a mile back. At first I couldn't run it without stopping to walk. Then I could. So I added a little more distance and worked up to nearly 25 miles a week. I got faster. I felt strong. Tall. I felt good (but always hungry). The first time I ran an 8 mile loop I wasn't sure I'd make it. Coming down the slight hill at the end of those 8 miles, I wanted to keep going.

One of my best runs was in the middle of a snow storm. I was coming over the crest of a hill on a busy street. The sidewalk on this street is a mess, all jagged eruptions from tree roots and dipping driveways, before any snow even touches down. The wind was hitting me in the face and my second pair of pants were so heavy with snow they were falling down. A truck blew past and sprayed me with freezing sleet. It was awesome. It was 5:30 in the morning and I could hardly see three feet in front of me. My clothes were soaking wet. My feet were swimming. The snow was heavy and wet and stinging my eyes but there was a hot shower at home and the knowledge that I'd run 5 miles before a lot of folks are even out of bed. Nothing could touch me that day. I ran 5 miles into a storm. Nothing a commute or an office job or parenthood or marriage could throw at me was going to beat that.

I had a good run today. They've been good all week. Today I dropped Matilda at daycare, wedged my car key into my sports bras and ran from the parking lot. I ran 4 miles. Even with the extra weight I felt light. I went down streets I don't usually run on and streets I used to run on but haven't built up the mileage to run on postpartum. I thought of a friend who recently had a tough time trying to get in a workout at the gym with her infant in their daycare and not enough treadmills. I thought about how that frustration outweighs anytime she did squeeze in on a machine. And then I stopped thinking and I just ran. One kid was at daycare. The other was at home with Niclas. I didn't have a cell phone on me. I didn't have any iPod cords tangling me up. Nothing in my hands. No pockets, no bag, no water bottle. I felt really and truly free. I wanted to just keep going.

Running is fun again.

Ever wonder what a 5k with a 26:53 finishing time looks like 10.5 weeks postpartum and 15+ pounds overweight? Don't say I've never done anything for you.

I ran this race last year with Matilda in the stroller. It was windy and girlfriend hated the windguard in front of her with the fire of a thousand suns. She screamed all the way to the finish which was good incentive to run like hell. This year I did not push a stroller. There was no wind. I beat my time from last year by 32 seconds. I should be happy about that and I guess I am but I'm still so discouraged about the weight. The weight that is going nowhere. That is hanging around and dragging me down. Keeping me out of my clothes. Being kept company by the raging hunger. The hunger that comes back like high tide every two hours. Sometimes very hour. The hunger that is making it difficult to drop any of the weight.

I keep trying to run away from it. It keeps finding me. Maybe if I run faster.

Last week when it was winter Matilda and I made some playdoh. We used a recipe I found online. It was easy to make and Matilda enjoyed the part where we added the food coloring but once that was done and I was left to knead the colors in, she was pretty much over it. Which was kind of a drag because we had been making collages on paper bags previously and that mess was still all over the dining room while the playdoh mess was unfolding in the kitchen.

Playdoh

1 cup flour
1 cup boiling water
2 tbsp. cream of tartar
1/2 cup salt
1 tbsp. oil
Food coloring

Mix and knead together. This playdoh is not sticky and does not dry out.

(We find that corn starch mixed with a little water (and food coloring if you like to live on the edge) makes a much more interesting substance. Like sand down by the water at the beach.)

Today

Today Linnea is 11 weeks old. When she's not screaming to be held, by me, only me, she's a peach. Smiles like crazy, kicks her legs. Laughs, gurgles, grins, chews on her hands. Grabs the rings hanging from her baby gym. Didn't wake up last night until 3:30. Makes up for the screaming with cute but she does lose her everloving mind every night at Matilda's bath-time.

This morning Matilda picked up the cup dispenser from a bottle of cough medicine. She took it to the park and then the children's museum with us. Brought it back to the house and into bed for her nap. Set it next to her on the table while she made more paper bag collages after nap. She keeps calling it her cup of coffee. She does not need coffee to go to 11.

This afternoon we made a double-batch of banana bread. I messed with a low-fat recipe I (wait for it) found online. The original had 189 calories a slice. This version probably has more (original was all white flour and whole eggs while this is egg whites and a mix of flours, flax seed meal and wheat germ). Right before we headed into the kitchen to make this, I checked in on a blog I've been reading as of late only to find that she'd just made some healthier banana bread as well. Great minds and all that or something.

I'd recommend the following recipe even though I haven't tried it yet as Matilda has just eaten three slices. She's never eaten an entire slice of any quick bread before.

Low-Fat/No-Longer-Low-Calorie Banana Bread

4 egg whites
1 1/3 cups sugar
4 ripe bananas, mashed
1/2 cup applesauce
2/3 cup skim or 1% milk
2 tbsp. vegetable oil
1 1/2 tbsp. vanilla
1 1/2 cups white flour
1 1/2 cups whole wheat flour
1/4 cup flax seed meal
1/4 cup wheat germ
4 tsp. baking powder
1 tsp. baking soda
1 tsp. salt
2/3 cup chopped walnuts

Preheat oven to 325. Spray two bread pans with non-stick cooking spray.
In a large bowl, beat egg whites and sugar until light and fluffy.
Beat in bananas, applesauce, milk, oil and vanilla.
In a separate bowl, add flours, flax seed meal, wheat germ, baking powder, soda and salt.
Stir flour mixture into banana mixture until just blended.
Fold in walnuts.
Pour batter into brean pans. Bake until bread is golden and a toothpick comes out clean, about 1 hour.

Me too

In running news no one cares about but me, I'm pretty comfortable saying I'm back up to 20 miles a week. Hit the 100 mark three weeks ago. Got new running shoes. Am considering a 10k this Sunday for the beer and party at the end even though I haven't run that distance postpartum yet. I know I can. I also know I wouldn't be racing.

I'm down one more pound. Losing weight at a reasonable rate is bullshit.

Linnea is four months old. I have no idea how this has happened.

Twice last week she slept from 8 to 5. I'm not complaining, no, it's just. When she does that? I don't get to run because 5am is when I'd leave the house. But you know, not complaining. And I can't really blame her for my lack of motivation this week. I guess I can blame being four months postpartum, but that's me and not her. The hair loss is certanily me. As is the overwhelming desire to eat. Doesn't really matter what it is, I'll eat it. And I'm not even really hungry.

It's a good thing Linnea is cute because four months postpartum is kicking my ass. I'm a wet hot mess and there's so much to tell you but I can't seem to form the sentences. I put Linnea in the car the other day. Got in myself, put the key in the ignition. Released the parking break and noticed that the car was already in drive. On our inclined driveway. I can't even park a car, nevermind organize a paragraph. I will try stringing a bunch of stuff together.

Farfar came to visit. We almost had scabies but then we didn't. I made mexican chocolate ice cream and then marzipan ice cream. I've been wearing the prescription glasses I bought 5 years ago. Am no longer squinting. Went grocery shopping. Explained strawberries to Matilda. Been watching her watch them for signs of doneness since.

Things are hopping over here. Things aside from my brain. The kids are in constant motion (Matilda)

and sucking their thumbs (Linnea)

and chatty, the both of them.

Why you gotta be so cruel? If you keep hurting my feelings like this, I'm going to have to break up with you. For a little while. Nothing permanent, mind. I can't stay mad at you. But truly, you're not good for me right now. I've been keeping score.

10 weeks postpartum I ran a 5k in 26:53. Not fast, certainly, but ok for 10 weeks out. Two nights ago, nearly four and a half months postparum, I ran another 5k. 28 and change. 28 + minutes! I had to walk. Twice. I could feel my stomach rolling around under my stretched abdominals. I felt like a sausage. It was horrible. Last year, 2 months pregnant, I ran that 5k and got a PR and a medal. This year I got an upset stomach and had to remove both sports bras at the finish line, under my singlet, and nurse Linnea.

(That last part was comedy, actually. I had my mother bring the kids to the race. I figured the commotion would entertain Matilda and distract Linnea from the baby witching hour. What it really did was send both kids into a spiral of hysterics, one right after the other. Boy was my mother glad to see me finally cross the finish! Those 28 minutes count for at least an hour of Grandparent Duty because my kids, they can really lose their shit.)

Anyway running, you're making it hard to love you. I tried again first thing this morning and you wouldn't let me in. I've resigned myself to puny 5k distances in crappy time and forcing myself to go 5 on Saturdays with my club. I'm doing it but my heart's not in it.

I'm trying to come to terms with this blog. I'm trying but all I get is silence. I'm certainly not the first person with a public blog to feel trapped by the...publicness of it all. Writing for no one holds no appeal to me but the possibility of anyone reading this scares me. It scares me because I want to have control over who reads it but that's impossible.

I bought this domain in 1999. I did this and that with it and started some forums. For a while it was more of a 'zine with contributors. Then it was...I have no idea. Then it was more and then it was less. Then I got pregnant with Matilda and for a long time I gave up posting here and posted somewhere else. Mostly because it was a pregnancy/kid/parent blog and my friends didn't care about that and our family did. Then I moved everything back here and it's still a parent/kid blog. My friends don't care and the family does. And because the family cares, I tend to only post about the kids. The surface of life with kids.

How Matilda cooks us dinner in her kitchen all the time and pretends the pizza is a cake and either way it's "really too hot." How she hugs Linnea and tries to pick her up despite our telling her to stop. How she wore her bikini all summer and loves swimming and band-aids and telling me she wants oatmeal for breakfast when 7 times out of 10, she doesn't really. How she dresses herself and currently will only wear 30% of her clothing, including a too small light pink short sleeved t-shirt. We fight over it at least once a week now that it's too cold for short sleeves.

How Linnea is sturdy and strong and laughs the hardest for Matilda. How she eats everything and bounces when she wants more. How she claps and talks and points and pulls her ears when she's tired. How she rests her leg on my chest when she's nursing and kneads my thighs with her feet when she's sleeping.

But the reality is hard. I'm 9 months post partum and still can't get a handle on myself. I still have 10 pounds to lose. I can't reliably run 20 miles a week. I missed the last race I'd signed up for and I'm not positive I'll make it to the next one. This morning I saw a photograph of a stranger running the NY marathon and it sent me into a tailspin of depression. Niclas tells me I spend too much time on myself and not enough on the kids and yet I feel totally overwhelmed with the responsibility of two children. I feel guilty that I want to run an hour a day and I feel worse when I don't run. I'm angry at Niclas for judging my parenting and angry at myself for feeling guilty. I'm angry at my body for taking so long to recover from this second pregnancy and angry at myself for caring. I've tried to count calories and I've tried to eat less carbs. I've knocked out sugar and then cooked foods. I've done shots of olive oil. I've given up and tried Margaret Cho's Fuck It diet. I haven't been on it long enough to stop gaining. I've lost 5 pounds more than once and then regained it in a second. I'm saggy and even after hernia surgery on my belly button, I'm soft and round and my pants don't fit. I look old and used and as much as I try, reading The Shape of a Mother is not making me feel any better. I love my kids but I hate what they've done to my body.

I hate how overwhelmed I feel. The whining of the two-year-old often melts my face before 8 am. It can take two hours to get out of the house and both kids almost always freak out when we finally get back home. I hate that there's always someone to make me feel guilty about something -- buying Christmas presents or not writing thank you notes or not making a decent dinner or being short with Matilda or not getting the kids out of the house often enough -- or tell me I'm doing it wrong. I hate how some days, it's all I can do to pick up toys. I hate how I'm desperately thirsty all the time but can't seem to keep my water bottle handy. I hate that I feel like I fail at everything. I hate that I curse under my breath when Matilda spills a hundred dried black beans on the floor. I hate that she drives me crazy sometimes and I really hate that Niclas looks at me like I'm terrible when that happens. I hate that I gloat when she drives him over the edge and I hear him growl at her. I hate that I resent him for hardly ever getting up in the mornings with the kids. I hate how our relationship has changed since we've had kids. How I feel like when we met he'd do anything for me and how now it feels like pulling teeth if I ask him to get me water.