Fat Jeans

Well, this morning was a rude awakening.

 At least I'm having a great hair day...

Only one pair of jeans fit this morning...and they weren't even my "fat jeans."  They are the same pair I wore to work everyday for the last two-three weeks.

The same pair that allows for a muffin top.

The same pair I wash every Friday and pull on every Monday, after spending the weekend in running clothes or skirts.

Yeah.

So only running once a week is NOT cutting it.

Apparently...

So we can add in two weeks of struggle with a horrendously bad cold, and at this point, 10 days of multiple allergic reactions my body is dealing with (starting round two of steroids...and finally seeing some results just this morning!  The pain is finally gone!)

But it boils down to this:  I'm sedentary four straight days a week for ten hours each of those days.  When I get home, I sit on my laptop for another few hours, working my second job, Ride.  I eat whatever, never really a huge amount, but lately those sneaky "fatty chips" always seem to be in the cupboard...

 The mud on the Williamson Valley trail was much like this....hence I didn't run on Saturday.  I just fumed.

This week--this week is busy.  Time for exercise will be difficult.  My oldest turns 21 tomorrow.

 Abbie-Dabbie-Do.  That's what her father planned on calling her.

Her birthday always brings a mix of emotions; the last thing the Knight did that I knew was him was check me into the hospital when I was in labor on 1/9/96.  21 years ago today was the very last day the man I loved had his wits about him; the dreadful brain tumor not yet taken over.  We had been told to call in hospice just the day before...I was two days overdue with our daughter.  To be told your husband will surely die as you sit heavily pregnant with his child...

To this day, I see him in the ER, struggling to fill out the form as they settled me in the wheelchair to take me to labor and delivery.  The relief and pain both etched on his face; his struggle to sign his name.  I didnt know that was the last moment we'd share in which he knew what was going on...I was in labor.

I was having a baby.

He never could remember she'd been born.

The abject horror of having a baby as your husband's life faded in front of you is immeasurable.

Add in over fifty visitors that first day, all who "came to see the baby" but in reality came to say goodbye to your dying husband, who lay on the sofa bed in your hospital room.

 Happier times...on our honeymoon in Toronto.

And I'm worried about not having jeans that fit.

21 years ago today I was in labor...and when we got to the hospital, the baby was in distress.  My OB showed up an hour after my arrival, not when I was ready to push...and I ended up with an emergency c-section instead.

Abbie screamed the first two hours of her life, having injested poo into her lungs and having to have all kinds of pokes and prods.  It wasn't until I was in recovery and was able to feed her she stopped...I wouldn't know how she cried until after I saw the video.  It broke my heart...her daddy had not been able to be with her.  He was dying.

The pattern kept repeating: a visitor, coos over the baby, the glance at my husband, the sad faces, the anguish.  The looks of guilt as I realize they came to say goodbye.  My forced smile.  My beautiful new daughter, who was satiated on milk and sleeping away the day.  Evening fell on that perfect winter day, and the Knight was taken back to our house.  I was left alone to tend to my baby; a task I had no idea was to solely be mine for years to come.

He came back once for a visit, and pictures were taken.  His eyes are half closed.  He needed help holding a child he did not know was his.  He was pushed in a chair, unable to walk more than a few steps unaided.

My OB kept me an extra day, somehow knowing what I'd go home to.  My sisters and my mother came to collect us; I put my very own going home outfit on my little girl, tying two bonnets on her-my summer one and a warm winter one over it.  As they pushed my wheelchair down the hall I looked at the portraits of the many physicians who had served, noting the approving look of Dr. Miller, who had delivered my father.  I was desperately searching for things to smile at...desperate to hold on to the joy of bringing home a new baby.

It took me years to remember her birth without weeping.  

So her birthday...and the day before, the days after...I've learned to no longer cry.

I remember my sisters, giggling as I tied on two bonnets.  Of complaining about not wearing makeup.  Of the allergic reaction I had to another major medication. Of the feeling that my guts might just spill out on my lap after the c-section.  Of the silliness of sitting up in bed every time I breastfed (hahahahahaha) and the joy of putting a baby to the breast (I loved breastfeeding from the very first moment!) Of the fact she looked like me at birth-dark wild hair and blue eyes.  Of the moment my grandmother held her great-grandchild.  

I try not to remember him.

If I had known, 21 years ago today, that those were his last lucid moments...perhaps I would remember more than just my early labor.  But I don't.  On the last true day of our life together, I remember only his last moments of protection.  Of getting me to the hospital, and checking me in.  I was safe, in good hands.

That's not a bad last memory to have.

My worries today?  Jeans that don't fit.

21 years ago?  My husband was dying.

I think of him more now, that I'm divorced.  He'd be turning 50 next week...and I wonder what type of joint celebration we might have had, the weekend inbetween his and Abbie's birthday, she 21, him the big 5-0.  If Abbie's personality would be different with a different father, and what other children I might have had.  I'm indulging in the very wrong "what if's" knowing the only "what if" I can change is the one in front of me, right now.

Like fitting into my clothes.

Fat jeans that don't fit.  So trivial in comparison to the life I once had to live.

So very, very thankful my health can be a priority.  That my children are all healthy.  Yeah, my jeans don't fit too well right now.

I'm so very, very thankful that's as bad as it is.