I’m going to give you a much-deserved break in my pelvic floor posting in order to post about something I try not to talk about too much in real life. I try not to talk about it, because when I do, it sounds like bragging.
Cakie can read.
I was in no rush to see the boy read. I knew in my heart of hearts that he would have no trouble reading and that there was no need to rush. But his old-school daycare pre-K teacher pounded some sight words into him. He’s known the sounds (many of them) that letters make for ages. Put them both together and the boy can read. By “read” I mean, he can sound out words that can be sounded out. But now — and this is extremely cool for someone who works with second and third-graders, who, if they haven’t figured out reading yet are really struggling to do so — he’s totally synthesizing and using context to make sense of things without even being told. It is so neat to watch. He just does things that I have to teach older kids. He just does them. And I’m sure this is what 85% of kids actually do, but I never get to see it in action.
So of course I have a few funny stories.
My favorite was when we were in a drug store and he picked up a cute little box of tampons and said, “Mommy, can you buy me some ahb?”
“No, sweetie, I really don’t think you need that o.b.”
“But I love my little ahb. [Rubs box against face.]”
Actually, that’s the only cute story I can think of at this very moment. But it is pretty darn cute.
Filed under my son, teaching
My PT is so nice and funny. It is hard for me to picture her as a drill sargent.
I went to my second PT appointment. This time I did not have my period. (Whew.) Of course that meant that she did have to do the internal exam. And she actually used the phrase “everything from the waist down” which sent TTC willies down my spine just from the memory of those early morning dates with Dr. Mug and his magic wand. Oye.
Apparently I have been doing (and saying) my pelvic floor exercises all wrong for all this time. Ok, well according to my handy-dandy online dictionary, I have been pronouncing Kegels (KAY-gels) correctly. But if what I’ve been saying right is what I have been doing wrong, then I need to change my Kegels to KEE-gels, as my PT calls them. My Kaygels have involved my leg muscles, my abs, my butt cheeks, and possibly my biceps. My PT called me a teacher who cheats. I’m not allowed to use anything but “these mucles” she said, as she pointed them out in the internal exam. “Oh. Only those guys?” I replied. “You can’t even use your eyebrows,” she smiled. “Only those guys… er, girls, then.” “Yes, just these girls. Try again using only the girls. That’s a Keegel.”
So I have to do 30 Keegels a day. Prolapsing is scary. Scary I tell you. And I need to up my fiber intake because I need to never, er, strain, if you know what I mean. It makes me prolapse. Which is scary. I feel a little like an old lady. And I guess I am technically middle-aged for those who only intend to live to be 76. I have to do these four things to keep from straining: 1) Add oil to my diet. Olive oil on the salad. Check. 2) Eat more fiber. I bought some flax seeds. I just need to figure out how to grind them. My PT mixes Fiber 1 with Lucky Charms. See, I told you she’s nice and funny. She said the marshmallows make up for the Fiber 1 yuck. 3) Drink more water. I don’t need to do that. I already drink plenty. And 4) Exercise. Get this: the crunches I’ve been doing recently are not so good for me. They are similar to straining in a bad prolapsy way. So I don’t have to do crunches anymore! Woo! She’s going to teach me other stuff for my abs. She told me to do yoga. So I have to do yoga. She told me to. Now I really need to sit down and figure out how to go. And she’s friends with my prenatal yoga teacher. Hence, I love her.
Boot camp is nice and cushy so far. I guess I should go do some Keegels now. Harumph.
I’ll admit that I procrastinated a great deal in scheduling my pelvic floor boot camp appointment. I mean, what’s going to happen? Should I get an early-December bikini wax for the occasion? Will she make me (gasp) exercise? Does she have teeny tiny barbells? What?
It took me at least two weeks to call the place. Then another week to have my appointment.
It finally happened. On Wednesday. After I worked my second night of food coop shifts in a row. At 7:30. To you yet-to-have-babies people, 7:30 sounds like a normal time. But to those-of-us-who-are-awakened-at-five-am-on-a-regular-basis, it may as well be three in the morning. By the time I arrived at the PT office, I was pooped. Everyone at the office was pooped. I was the last appointment. I asked if I could use the ladies room. And guess what? Just guess. Who shows up when you least want her around? Who pops in for a surprise when you’ve tried to wish her away? Who? You know. AF. There she was. Laughing at me hard. Why? Why does it matter, you say, when I’m not TTC? Because I was trapped in a physical therapy place. I had no protection with me. I was just about to do a a little pelvic floor work out. I even brought my tiny sweatband. 😉 I couldn’t leave to go buy some protection. I was trapped. Why? Why, you silly lesbian, do you insist on not paying attention to when your period is due? Because you obsessed over it for over two years, maybe?
When my very nice physical therapist finally escorted me into her office, I had to tell her of my dilemma. She did have pads there. So that was good. She asked me a whole bunch of questions about pee. Somehow one just doesn’t obsess over one’s pee the way one might obsess over, say, follicle size, or possible pregnancy symptoms. So I maybe fudged my way through some of the answers.
She couldn’t do an internal, so that was also good. I just wasn’t in the mood. She poked my belly and smooshed my legs and asked me if it hurt. Uh, yeah. Then she asked me if I was active before I gave birth. I told her about all my yoga. And she asked me if I’d would like to get back to doing that. Hells, yeah. I would. It was the kind of question that was obvious, but when she said it out loud and I answered her out loud, I realized how much truth there was to it. I love being with my babies, so I haven’t figrued out how to fit in the yoga. I need to fit in the yoga. Even if it is at 7:30 pm. I need to do it.
All in all, the first boot camp session wasn’t all that bad. I need to go at least seven more times. I’ll keep you posted. I’m sure you’re dying to know every last detail.
Filed under Post partum, TTC
I wasn’t officially doing it. I’m not convinced I did it well. But perhaps next year I will really do NaBlopoMo. I can’t even remember how to spell it.
But I was walking around today thinking, “What will I post about?” Which I don’t usually do. So maybe I gave myself a good habit. And maybe I should ask you folks which coat to buy. I still don’t have a new one. I have an old long down one that is cozy, but makes me look like a pregnant paper-towel tube/ Michelan Man. So maybe a mid-length down number. I want it to be a little more flattering than my current coat. I like fancy ones on Bluefly, but the fancier they are, the more chance they might have real fur, which I won’t do. Though I can’t figure out why feathers are ok, but fur is not. I guess other parts of the birds are used. Some folks would not do either. I digress. Anyone have any suggestions? I’m terrible at making decisions.
Here are two of my faves:
(which is no longer available in my size)
In black, gray, or white.
Anyone know of any other cool coats in my style arena? And around 150 bucks or less? It can’t have pockets that make me look pregnant if my wallet and cell phone are in them. The looking-pregnant thrill is gone. For those of you who are still trying to get knocked up, my wish for you is that one day you, too, will be avoiding clothes that make you look pregnant because you’ve been there, done that.