Nummies 911

Projects Galore

My head is exploding with projects for the new house and the holidays coming up. I did manage to complete a few things, and I'm busy working on others.

Here is one I finished: a bath mat. The idea came from a book I picked up at Lowe's Home Improvement...my second home, it seems, whenever I move. The book is Handmade Home by Amanda Blake Soule. I altered the pattern to match my new shower curtain.

 

 

 

My other time consuming quest came with my new kitchen island from IKEA.

I have loved this piece since I first saw it, but it has been kind of a pain. First, I put it together in the dining room, only to realize that I couldn't fit it through any of the doors. It seems I should have realized that, but in the midst of a move, even simple things slip past you. It came with two booklets, assembly instructions and care instructions. I threw the assembly book away after getting it together in the kitchen and threw the other one on the dining room table. After two days of use, the top was covered in little marks from even the slightest of moisture. Finally, I read the care instructions which tell you that the oak top is dried out for shipping and you have to apply oil to finish it. Of course they recommend you use the IKEA brand of oil, and of course, I would, if IKEA were local, but it seemed a long way to go for a small can of oil. So I just got linseed oil and tried that. The top was so dry it soaked up a generous application of oil in just minutes. All the marks disappeared, but even a day later, the smell didn't. Now if you not aware, I have a keen sense of smell that debuted with my first pregnancy and never went away. I will be preparing food and eating at this table, so I had to find something else to use. After hours of researching the internet, I went to Lowe's, again, to browse. I was staring at the products available when a Lowe's worker asked me if she could help.

"Not unless you can tell me what this smells like," I said jokingly. To my absolute surprise, she said, "We'll see," and opened the can. It smelled worse than the linseed oil. We opened at least five cans. They all smelled too strong. She was the most helpful person I have come across in years. We discussed a recipe I found online...beeswax and mineral oil, and I decided to give that a try.

I bought beeswax from Michael's (in the candle making section) and mineral oil from Walgreen's (in the laxative section.) I had read instructions with ratios of 1:5 to 1:1, but being that one was liquid and one was solid, I just experimented. I started with 200mL of oil and 2 ounces (weight) of beeswax. Beeswax is very hard to chop up. I heated the oil in a double boiler and added the chopped beeswax. It took quite a while to melt. Once completely melted and combined, I let it cool and applied it with a soft cloth while still liquid.

First of all, it smelled divine, like honey. That problem solved! Second, the top absorbed it within a couple of hours and I buffed off what little was left very easily. It resulted in a beautiful finish! But most importantly, the next day, a three year old left a fast food drink cup on the island, you know, the kind that sweats like crazy and leaves a puddle around the bottom. When I picked up the cup, the water had barely penetrated the wood. You couldn't even see a ring. Problem SOLVED! Now I have a beautiful finish that still leaves me with the raw wood look and feel, but the finished wood protection. It's safe and it smells good. The leftover mixture was poured into a jar and I have since applied it in paste form to other wood pieces with just as much success.

I'm building open shelving for the kitchen. So more photos coming soon.

12 Months = 103 lbs

It's been a year! A whole year! The sentimental side of me did not get to ruminate as much as I would have liked because of the move. I kept trying to think about the photo I wanted to post for this "one year" event. Nothing seemed right and days kept flying past as I moved and unpacked one heavy box after another and as I moved and removed each piece of furniture, trying to find its perfect spot in a new home. Then it occurred to me, one evening as my back ached from all the strenuous work. The photo I most wanted to post was not a "glamor shot." Haven't I made it clear that I did not lose all this weight to look good? No, I wanted a shot of me unpacking boxes, digging up shrubs, lifting furniture that I could not have dreamed of moving a year ago. I wanted to show you how I got on my hands and knees and scrubbed a hardwood floor and how I put together a kitchen island and two Expedit Bookcases from IKEA.  I wanted to let you know I was able to bend over long enough without losing my breath to install a dishwasher. I have made at least fifty trips up to the attic with boxes. I have raked leaves, swept walkways. Dug holes to transplant those shrubs along with new ones. And at night, my back hurts. I won't pretend it doesn't. But I can take Motrin, and I am able to get up the next morning and press on. Last year, I would not have been able to do ANY of these things! So, for my one year celebration, I am doing exactly the things that I want to do. I am living my life, day by day, working hard and seeing the fruits of my labor. That alone, to be off the couch and into life is reason enough for what I did.

 

Unpacking the kitchen. Lots of Halloween stuff lying around because one of the movers complained that I had too many seasonal boxes and that I would never have time to put the Halloween stuff out this year. I unpacked 90% of the Halloween decorations before he left. Just to prove a point.

Putting together one of the Expedit bookcases. Camille thought it was a great hiding place.

Thanks to everyone for all the support you've given me over the past year. It means more to me than you could know.

Eleven Months = 99lbs

Cullen took this picture for me, after Brandy's wedding. I have little make-up on because I cried several times during the wedding and reception. Brandy was such a beautiful bride, and when Holly sang her solo, it touched me so deeply I cried during the whole song. Then at the reception, Brandy's mother thanked me several times for the cookies, a small contribution to the celebration, and she was so sweet to remember to say hello to Anna, who couldn't make it. That meant so much to me.

Ok, it's been eleven months. About the only things I have trouble digesting are red meat, corn tortillas, and just about any fast food. That should tell you something about fast food! The red meat thing is particular to me, I think, because even in my fat days, I couldn't digest red meat very well. Although I could put away some fast food!

I still cannot drink soda, but I can tolerate a sip of a fountain drink every once in a while. Just for the sheer enjoyment of the bubbles. It's just not the same though, and I have to say I still miss that. I was drinking a lot of cranberry-pomegranate juice, until I had a kidney stone a few weeks ago and my doctor told me to lay off that because it has a lot of oxalates in it. Now I'm drinking Glaceau Vitamin Water, in XXX (acai-blueberry-pomegranate) flavor. He said I should just stick to water, which I do drink, but I need a little flavor during the day.

I'm walking and doing a little running, still. I need to up that a bit for my endurance. I'm also doing some yoga, which Camille calls "yogo," and for some poses she is better than I am. 

For those who asked in the beginning, "How does your body know when to stop?" My thoughts are this; over time you are able to eat more and more and over time your body requires less and less. Soon, you reach an equilibrium where what you take in is enough to maintain the weight you are. I think I've pretty much obtained that state, and I'm happy with that. It still takes a lot of will power not to overeat, as I could eat little bits of cookies or cake all day long and quickly put back on the weight. And for someone like me, who uses food as a coping mechanism for stress, that is a hard habit to break, even eleven months later. But at least now, I'm more aware of it and it's easier not to turn to the cookie jar when I'm not feeling hungry all the time. 

So here is another photo taken at 10 months.

 

Missing You

I have been absent here in writing, but not in presence. I have thought of you, my readers, often, wishing I could find the words to tell you all that is going on in my life right now, but I just couldn’t. The pain was too great, and even now, is just bearable. It will come, with time, as everything does. The sun rises each day, even when we don’t want it to.

Fill Me Up

There are days that drain you and days that fill you. The other day at work I had a fill day.

There was a woman who was thought to be in preterm labor. If the estimates were correct, she would deliver a baby that would most likely require a stay in the NICU (Neonatal Intensive Care Unit) for weeks. While the nurses and doctors prepared, I was in the unique and rare position of being able to give all my time to this patient. She was young and scared and very tired. This was her first baby and she really didn't tell anyone she was pregnant until just a few weeks ago.

I was a doula for about six years, so I jumped into that mode and helped her breathe, move and cope with her labor. She had not slept the night before. She kept her eyes closed most of the time. She kept saying she had no idea it would be this hard.
"None of us do," I told her.

As I helped her and felt her baby moving around and down lower and lower, the thoughts of a premature baby seemed further away. This baby seemed more like a near term, if not full term baby.

She labored harder and harder, moving and groaning, and then finally she said, "I CAN'T do this!" Music to my ears! When a woman is laboring naturally, and she says this, it is almost certain that she is in transition and is about to start pushing. I checked her and I could feel the baby's head low, and what I thought to be a ton of thick hair. I encouraged her. I told her soon she would hold her baby and see that thick head of hair.

She was so strong.  As the team of nurses and doctors filed in the room for the delivery I was separated from her as I assumed my position at the infant warmer, but I could hear her grunts as she delivered her baby, which turned out to be over seven pounds and full term, with the thickest set of curls on top of his head.

After she and the baby were cleaned up from the delivery and all the staff had left the room, I leaned down close to her. Her eyes were closed and she appeared to be sleeping. I lightly touched her shoulder and whispered, "You did it."

Without even opening her eyes, she smiled the biggest smile I'd ever seen. That one smile, from her very soul reached far into mine. I continued to tell her that she had just done the hardest thing ever and now she could feel confident in her ability to handle whatever life threw her. "You are strong, and now you know it."

I handed her the baby. With her eyes still closed, she pulled the baby's face to nuzzle into her neck and gentle held and rubbed the baby's hand. At that moment, they were beautiful beyond belief.

I may have helped her, but she helped me far more.

9 Months = 95lbs

I posted this picture on FaceBook and received so many nice comments. I think that's why people are addicted to FaceBook. Where else can you shamelessly post photos of yourself and have people gush over you in nice bold print for everyone to see?

I mean you may come into work looking particularly nice one day and someone may say to you, "Hey, nice dress" or "You look great today." That makes you feel good, but on FaceBook, that comment stays there for the whole day, in black and white, reminding you and all your "friends" that SOMEONE out there thinks you rock. Well, guys, I think you all rock just for coming here and reading my blog from time to time.

By the way, my friend April swears I hired someone for that "before" photo. I didn't, but then fat people rarely let themselves be photographed like that. I knew I was having surgery in a couple of months so I broke the rules. Wait, I always break the rules, don't I? No excuses.

Oh, and for those of you out there with OCD, the photo was taken a few days before the 9 month date and I lost a couple of pounds after that, so that's why the photo says 92lbs. and the blog says 95lbs.

I'm working on a slide show for the one year mark in October. I need suggestions for the music, because I'm not very good at that. Please help me out and let me know what a great song would be for the amazing metamorphosis.

Thanks again for all your support, and especially for those who leave comments on this blog (thanks Angie, Holi, Stacy, Anna, J, Lisa and Rhonda.) You are so important to me.

Crazy Club gets a new member

Dooce had her baby.

For certain I have readers that do not read Dooce’s blog, so I’ll give you a little synopsis. Dooce, aka Heather Armstrong, had a baby, went into severe post-partum depression (PPD), was hospitalized, recovered, and went on to write a book about it. She then got pregnant again and had her baby recently. Her first post about her experience with post-partum depression with this baby was June 30, 2009.

It was this post that made me realize, she is just as crazy as the rest of us. But what makes me upset is that she is in the public eye and people are listening to her. I don’t purport to know the extent to which she influences the public, but if you look at the comments, I see a lot of mothers, both new and experienced, following her and lauding her efforts in bringing the dark side of PPD out into the open. Well, that is all fine and well, but as evidenced by her recent comments, she hasn’t learned nearly as much as I would have thought.

She has talked extensively about her medicines and her therapy in the past. But in her recently she says she was experiencing anxiety after her birth and I guess she thought she needed help. Good so far. But did she call her psychiatrist? No, she went and found the doctor who treated her as an inpatient.

“So early last week we called the doctor who treated me in the hospital back in 2004. He does not normally see patients who are not in the hospital, but by some lucky twist of the universe he thought I was someone else, someone whom he owed a favor, and agreed to see me as an outpatient.”

Then she says:

“So we did a lot of talking, and since he's been treating women for this very condition for over 30 years I did a lot of listening and learning. The odds were completely stacked against me, and he said that if I had been gearing up and treating the possibility of this in my third trimester I might have been able to avoid it. But since I didn't it was time to attack it now.”

This last part sent me over the edge. My GOD woman you were hospitalized for severe post-partum depression. The very least you should have right now is a good working relationship with a psychiatrist (and therapist) along with the ongoing prescriptions. Even a mediocre doctor would have been anticipating this and “gearing up!”

Ok, so let’s get this straight, you had a baby, went crazy, were hospitalized, wrote a freaking book about it, but just thought, hey, maybe it won’t happen to me again, so we’ll just wing it and hope for the best. Because that is what is sounds like.

If that is the case, you just joined the ranks of every other depressed, bipolar or schizophrenic who don’t take their meds or see their doctor because they feel fine, right now.

Let me say this. Post-partum depression is serious! If you have ever battled clinical depression in your life (note I said clinical, which is different from being depressed during a life trigger such as the death of loved one, divorce, etc.) then you are a shoe-in for PPD. If you get PPD with your first baby, you are most likely going to experience it with your others, perhaps even more severely. Get HELP! This can be life or death.

Help is out there. There are wonderful sites dedicated to the subject. There are great books out there. There are support groups you can attend. But none of these is a substitute for a relationship with a doctor you trust, who can help you when you are in crisis. If you had cancer, you’d have an oncologist. If you were pregnant, you’d have a midwife or obstetrician. If you have post-partum depression or you are at risk for it, you need a psychiatrist, preferably one who has successfully treated many women before you.

So, congratulations to Dooce and the birth of Marlo, and if she has raised some more eyebrows, I hope it has served as an example of what not to do. Remember, crazy is as crazy does.

Birth Philosophy

Charlotte is a stray cat that Molly brought home a few weeks ago. I, of course, do not need another living thing in this house, so I kicked her out at least five or six times, but she always found her way back.

After a couple of weeks of this, I realized she was pregnant. So we became Charlotte’s foster home. The last time I had a pregnant cat I was 8 or 9 years old, so I did some reading.
•    Cats can become pregnant as young as 4-6 months old.
•    Cats can become pregnant as soon as 48 hours after giving birth.
•    Cats are very needy and moody when they are pregnant.
Sound familiar? (By the way, a six-month-old cat is the equivalent of a 10-12 year old human.)

I’ve learned some other things along the way.

Turns out there is an old technique in birthing kittens that if the mother does not lick the kitten to stimulate it to breathe, you can “gently” swing the kitten downward between your legs to force out the fluid and clear the airway. WHAT!?! Seriously, that sounds as barbaric as some of the things we do to women in labor and delivery. Science only gets us so far. Doing things the way they’ve always been done, will get you all the way to crazy.

One information source made the declaration: There are no consistently safe and effective ways of inducing labor in a feline. Amen to that, and ditto for women! If only THAT was printed on every little thing a pregnant woman receives from her clinic, than maybe, just maybe, it would have sunk in by the time she reaches 36 weeks. I’m gleaning a little from the next lesson.

My kids have forgotten everything I’ve ever taught them about birth and babies. Being a childbirth educator, doula and finally nurse, I have always talked plainly and truthfully to my children about sex and birth and breastfeeding. However, this experience has taught me that unless you talk about it everyday, most of what you may have considered “covered” is actually “forgotten.”

Leaving things alone is the best way to get things right. In birth anyway, it has a design that works, if only we would let it. Almost everything I read encouraged the pet owner to NOT interfere with the cat's labor and delivery, but to be there as a "lifeguard" if something goes wrong. And yet, when we as humans have just as good a design on labor and birth, we REFUSE to believe in it. We judge it, question it, doubt it. Are there no wise women left who believe that birth is right, natural and best left alone? Are there no women who want swim with lifeguards? I could go on and on about this one, but I'll leave it for now.

While most sources say that a cat prefers seclusion, Charlotte wanted my attention in labor, so I sat with her, and petted her and tried to support her. But as any good doula knows, you cannot possibly prepare a female for what happens at the moment of birth. Charlotte became wide eyed as her first kitten emerged and she literally tried to climb up my arm. It was a familiar sight, one I’ve seen so many times as young, first time mothers climb to the top of the birthing bed to “get away” from the pain. The next time is better because while it hurts the same, we know what to expect and the panic is not as bad. By the third kitten, Charlotte didn’t even make a sound.

 

The children’s reactions to the kittens just exemplify how very different each child is. Cullen is squeamish and Camille is not. Cullen touched one of the kittens and then felt the umbilical cord. He freaked out and ran to the bathroom to wash his hands. Camille laughed and at 3½ years old, she mocked him with waving hands and laughing, said “I’ve got to wash my hands!” Camille picks up earthworms with her bare hands.

While Molly is imaginative, Camille is rather concrete. Molly is projecting personalities onto the kittens, determining little scenarios and trying to find names that fit.
Camille asks, “Is my kitten sick, or is he OK?”
She says, “I’d like my kitten to be a girl.”

Later, Camille thinks we should sing a song to the kittens.
“Do you know any kitten songs, Mommy?” she asks.
I reply, “No, that would be Molly’s department. Go ask her. I’m sure she can make up a kitten song for you.” And she will.

 

Shared Thoughts

June 24, 2009

Outside my window...a hot summer evening and grass that needs cutting.

I am thinking...I hope I’m here when this cat goes into labor.

I am thankful for...the quiet that is mine this week.

From the kitchen...cheese, bread and wine (my absolute favorites.)

I am wearing...a long skirt, deep purple…a white tank with a light purple top, no shoes.

I am creating...a copycat necklace out of Garnet Hill.

I am going...to enjoy the evening.

I am reading...back issues of magazines in order to recycle them.

I am hoping...to get the grass mowed this week.

I am hearing...the small gurgling water of the fish tank.

Around the house...sleeping dogs and cats.

One of my favorite things...having cut flowers from my garden on my end tables and bedside tables.

A few plans for the rest of the week: a little sewing, maybe dinner out.

Here is picture thought I am sharing...

This journaling idea from The Simple Woman's Daybook

Eight Months = 90lbs

Here I am at work, 90lbs lighter.

This month, I'm opening it up to questions. What do you want to know?