Mamalates

No, this is not a group of Moms drinking lattes. Who's got an extra hand to hold a coffee drink??? After doing some research about diastasis (the abdominal separation) a friend suggested Mamalates. This class is basically a Pilate's class for new mothers, and...their babies. The "And their babies," portion is key. I would love to get a massage, go to the chiropractor, get acupuncture, go swimming, go to yoga, all the things I used to do for self care. My body is tied in knots, all the old ones from training, plus new ones from sitting hunched over while nursing and compensating for having zero core strength. But I can't bring Soren so I don't bother making the appointments. Don't get me wrong, I am not suffering from separation anxiety with my child, not yet anyway...we will re-visit this topic when I return to work, but there really is no easy way of bringing a baby to any of those arenas. If he sleeps...sure, great! But he most likely won't.

With the Mamalates class we bring our babies, crying or sleeping into the room. We squeeze into the small space on mats surrounded by balls, bands, and in between car seats. Some babies sleep, some lay on a blanket, some are carried by the instructor as she teaches - those are the lucky moms that get to participate in the movement for the whole class! Yesterday, during our second class, Soren was the first to start crying, "Yes!" which meant Wendy, the instructor, would carry and calm him bouncing on the ball as she taught. When he calmed she placed him back in his carrier. This didn't last so I took him out again and laid him on the floor next to a six week old little girl named, Ophelia. He was fascinated and I participated for another 10 minutes! While he cried, or nursed, I looked around the room. This is the last place I would have ever imagined myself. There were Moms and babies everywhere. All ages, sizes, and iterations of mother and child. It's so interesting to observe the bond between them and the manner of touch and expression that has already become their routine. It occurred to me that this was the important part of class. During the first class I attended, there were very few babies present. None of them were awake, except for Soren, so the instructor held him for the entire class. I was relieved and worked really hard engaging my core and moving those bands. I was killing it in that class. Yes folks (all two of you that read this, plus my Mom) "Killing it," now means six knee push-ups before I fall to the ground sweating. It's all relative.

Anyway, returning to my point. Yesterday, as I noticed the room begin to brim with babies I felt a stab of anxiety. Some of these other babies are bound to cry. Soren was awake. So it was just a matter of time before he started expressing his displeasure. Connecting the dots here...I'm not going to get my workout in today!! But while I nursed him for the second time in an hour and fifteen minute period that's when I noticed it. The reason I came to this class is not the only reason to be here. I looked down at Soren. He has this adorable habit of moving his little fingers as though he's directing the feeding session. His eyes, if open, look so dreamy and relaxed. It literally causes me to take a deep breath and wonder how I got so lucky. I am constantly amazed that someone as impatient, wound, and with the sometimes anxiety-ridden shark-like attitude of Move or die, can create such calm in a little person like Soren. It gives me hope.

So. I will pack up the little guy every week, sometimes twice a week, into his carrier. I will drive to the other side of town. I will endure his crying, screaming days and be thankful for his sleepy or happy days as I kill another workout. Because no matter what, I will be surrounded by women learning similar lessons about themselves. And the smiles we give each other across the room are more validating than any doctor, nurse, partner, Mom, or friend could match. We are all in it together for one hour and fifteen minutes. And that is worth so much more than the small amount of money I pay to attend that class.

I may get to do 7 knee push-ups and 10 air squats holding Soren. Or, I may nurse, hold, and bounce Soren for the entire class. Either way I'm killing it.

While Soren Sleeps

I'm most productive in the morning after Soren's second feeding. He tends to sleep 3-4 hours at a stretch while his Mor Mor drinks her coffee watching over him. This morning, at 4:30 am, after his first feeding, I finally put him in his crib. He laughed and watched his mobile while I pumped. Because it was 5:00 am after his crib-story-diaper change time, I decided to stay up instead of go back to sleep. This kind of got us out of our usual groove. But it's 9:19am now and he's fast asleep in his swing as I type here.

Since Mor Mor is going to be away all day hiking with Uncle Alan, I've decided to give the Moby Wrap another shot. Soren loved this when my friend Kelley helped me wrap the giant scarf around my body in a useful sling configuration. But he soon tired of being stuffed like a pea pod into the scarf. After looking online I found another method we will try today allowing his feet to hang while still close and supported.

In other news: I tried on my work pants. They are the pants I got just before I got pregnant. They hung around my hips comfortably back in January. I'm happy to say I was able to zip and snap the Ben Davis pants. I'm a little worried to admit that they look like the worst case of "Mom Pants" I have ever witnessed. What happened to my butt? What in the world does my butt have to do with having a baby? All I can think is that our bodies are all tied together in a confusing weave of muscles and ligaments (kind of like the Moby wrap but with live tissue) and somewhere along the line I lost tone everywhere. I only say this to express how bad the Mom Pant look is. Not only because the pants no longer hang at my hips in a casual cool manner; but as they pass the hips to the higher ground of my "waist" (really non-existent...but area where waist used to be) and squeeze together to snap, I now fill the Pants like a "Mom." My butt is flat and long...really no distinguishable end of butt and beginning of back. The high pants accentuate this fact. The front is no better. As the pants ride up in back they are poofing out in front where tummys should lay flat. In short, I am poofing where I should be flat and flat where I should be poofing.





I am taking all of this in stride, despite what Chester and my Mom may say. Yes, I am anxious to fix this situation. But I'm also using it to be thankful for how fit I WAS and as inspiration to get back to that fitness. I also understand that there are no guarantees. My body is not the same as it was. It will no doubt not be like it was after the weight is worked off slowly. But I am confident it can be different but better, or at least different but just as good in a different way. Basically, I'm just sporting a new style. :)

Patience.

I've been hearing that word offered often these days. My latest question to receive that answer is about my stomach. How long before my abdominal wall feels like a wall again instead of curtains open wide? What can I do to strengthen and repair them?

Waiting. I've never been good at it. But to me there is a difference between having patience and being idle. I will be patient with the process, but I want to help my body move in the right direction. I guess this statement falls under another phrase typically advised, "Allow everything to fall back into place on it's own." In other words, "You can't MAKE this happen." Hmphf. I remember hearing that when Chester and I were trying to get pregnant. I guess I'm still learning that one.

I know this facet of my personality causes no end of frustration and irritation to those who work with me, know me, and even those who love me. For many not close to me it is the reason for their disliking me. But I like this about my personality. I know it could be tempered and softened...and I think it has with age, yes, believe it or not. It comes from a value and belief so strong and at the core of who I strive to be. Namely, I do not ever want to stop and "Wait" or "Let" life pass by me. I'll admit there is a magic to allowing things to fall into place and happen seemingly on their own. But I'm a firm believer that something never happens "On its own." I believe things change, happen, move, evolve only by laying the groundwork, taking opportunities to learn about processes, and taking action. I know what you're thinking. She's a control freak. Well, yes, I've been called that too. In a black and white world I suppose you choose to be victim to those things you don't like or fear; or we try to control them. I choose the latter. I admit the world we live in is not black and white and there is a fine line between when we should push and when we should relax. Water is stronger than stone.

Soren is waking up and will want to be fed. He will not have to wait or be patient...lucky boy. Hmm...maybe it's not patience I seek, but maturity. Ouch.

January 1, 2012

First day of the new year. I just finished pumping and have to retrieve the little Munch from my mom, his Mor Mor. But, I've decided to blog my way back to sanity. So I wanted to get letter to page before the crazy day commences. Hell or high water we are going to Crossfit today with 7 Week old Soren in tow. We've tried the past two days to no avail. Today is a new dawn.

If I don't get going we won't make it. I need to: Wake husband (Chester), eat breakfast, pack diaper bag, pack food for after workout, change for workout, pack baby into carrier and be on our way in 40 minutes. Life has become a blur with the "List" never realized. The Challenge: Slow down and enjoy: the smiles in Soren's sleep, the sounds of joy when he stares at the mobile, the sheer thankfulness of having my Mom here to share in his life and care, watching him grow, learning patience and "Letting go," the list goes on and on. Hopefully, this blog will help me live in these moments instead of the in the list of laundry, vacuuming, dirty dishes, dog piles in the yard, lack of sleep and other chores.

More to come...