The First of Many Goodbyes

This morning after my sweet newborn finished her 6 a.m. feeding, I thought to put her back in her crib, but the weight of the day hit me, and I opted to keep her on my chest where I could cuddle her until it would be time to go. This would be the last cuddle before we had to get ready for the day that’s been looming over my head since the moment she was born. Today is the day I go back to work and my sweet baby spends her first full day at daycare.

I knew it would be hard, but I assumed I would get through today like a champ. I prepared for it by dropping her off weeks in advance for an hour here or there so she would know her surroundings. Turns out she isn’t the one who needed the practice. It was me.

I took more photos of her than I ever do before I put her in her car seat. I was doing pretty good so far and baby was smiling more than ever. I got in the car, turned on some music, and the wrong song came on. Or maybe it was the right song. Tears flooded my eyes and I blinked wide-eyed with my face in the AC to keep myself together. Drop off I fared no better. I kept my sunglasses on and the second we got in the infant room, I couldn’t get a word out. Just tears and thank God the daycare was full of sweet and understanding moms who quickly explained that they did the same thing when this day came for them.

I quickly left, as I knew if I stayed it would just make it harder. Today is the first day my two worlds collide. It’s the first of many goodbyes parents experience and it all starts with this one drop off. Now I have to figure out how to take the person I was before this beautiful baby entered my life and meld her in with who I am now.

While I made it through today just fine and my baby made it through like an angel (apparently she slept most the time and was content the rest), this is the start of a whole new version of me. I don’t know how that looks yet, but I do know my daughter deserves for this new version to be the best version yet.

Last week Hoda Kotb returned to the Today show following her own summer maternity leave. She came back beaming. Maria Shriver asked her how she felt and she responded with how many parents would respond after returning from leave. She described feeling emotional, hormonal, and all of the things I am pretty sure I’ve called myself at some point today, whilst fighting back tears. Maria was quick to correct her. She said, “No. You’re moved.”

What a beautiful thing to say to a mother on her first day back. So if you ask me today how I am feeling, I’m fortunate to be feeling deeply moved. Fortunate to be moved by the love I have for my little girl, and the family we created this summer. What things will look like haven’t shaped up quite yet, but we all made it through today, and what a beautiful, moving day it truly was.

My Biggest Miss About Pregnancy…and Life

I’ve been doing pregnancy wrong, for a good portion of it. I’m not down on myself over it, and not spending time on “what if’s,” but I can promise one thing: these last 8-11 weeks I have left of being pregnant (whenever she decides it’s time to show up), I am doing things differently.

I have been spending much of my time bracing myself for what’s next, not just regarding the pregnancy itself, but in my life all around. I’ve been VERY grateful to be pregnant, but I have been treating my pregnancy as a daily battle, as if I were some sort of wounded warrior. “I just have to get through this nausea. I just need to muscle through this exhaustion, this bodily pain…” The list goes on.

I’ve even thought of my maternity leave as something to prepare for, as if I was preparing for battle. “I have to just get all these things done so my team is prepared and smooth sailing while I’m gone.” I have been assuming it will all be so hard and so impossible that I’ve gotten nothing in return but what seems like bad news to increase my worry even further. “How will my team come back from this? Am I leaving my team in a state where they won’t feel I did enough?”

I’m done with ALL of it. And I mean ALL of it. I’m done bracing for my life. While I can’t say my every waking moment has been this way, I have captured no more than moments or days of bliss the past seven months. I deserve more than that. So does my husband! So does my little nugget.

All of this daily battle BS has got to end, so I decided it would end this weekend. I went lap swimming in a pool for the first time in years. I initially panicked thinking it would be awful without headphones in, and thought, “Shit, Ashlie! There you go again bracing yourself for something meant to be enjoyable that you KNOW you enjoy!” I realized I didn’t have my goggles, but at this point was so determined to find a way to enjoy this swim, I forced myself into the deep end of the pool and quickly realized a few things.

1) I should have done this sooner because the water, the movement, everything about it felt really good. 2) I never needed music. What I needed was the sound of the water swishing to quiet my messy mind. 3) This was the start to no longer bracing for what’s next.

So now I’m on a new mission. I am going to truly soak up these last weeks. The last ones where I will know exactly where my baby is, right with me. Work will fall into place if I put my faith and heart into it like I already know how to do. My team will be fine without me. I still hope they miss me, but they will be fine! They will probably flourish while I’m away. My health will be as good as I allow it to be, and I am going to give my body and this baby only the best, and yes that includes Ben and Jerry’s too.

I’ve chosen what I think is the perfect way to celebrate this new attitude. I just got to Sedona, Arizona where essentially I have a weekend alone. I have no expectations and loose plans. The only plan is to take in the beauty around me, breathe a little easier and embark on this last leg of pregnancy with an open mind and heart. Bracing for what’s next is in the past and I can’t wait to take in all the beautiful moments ahead.

“Dreaded” Pregnancy Changes

Or so that’s how I may have worded it maybe a few months ago all the way up to a few weeks ago. Pregnancy begins the unraveling of your closet, where little by little nothing fits. You are forced to abandon at first 25%, then 50%, and finally 75% or more of your closet due to either not being able to get it over your hips or your chest. The worst? When it fits but morphs into being see-through. That’s a bad leggings look when doing squats at the gym let me tell you. Nobody signed up to see that much of anyone’s ever expanding booty when trying to get their sweat on.

While the adjustment was not easy, and is changing each week I pack my suitcase for work, I finally entered a phase where it makes me smile, rather than making me want to cry. Just last night I was packing my bags and while trying my clothes on before throwing them in my suitcase, I realized just in the last 30 days, my work clothing choices have narrowed to just a handful of items. I WILL be wearing the same thing every other day in my third trimester. And that’s okay.

Is my ass wider than I imagined it would be? Is my acne on a new level? Yep. Is my chest so large that it makes me question how it is humanly possible it’s mine? Do I have rolls and cellulite I never gave permission to show up? Hah, oh hell yes. Have I gained more weight than I wanted to in my head? Does my whole body hurt sometimes from all the change? Of course! I have lost a lot of muscle and strength over the months as my gym days have gone from 4-6 down to 2-4. Hell, I can’t even muscle my suitcase into the overhead bin on an airplane anymore and now hope someone will offer before I have to do it. If you’ve read my past posts, you know I used to be annoyed when people offered. My oh my, things have changed.

Here’s the good part. My baby is already teaching me something I needed to learn before she got here. Being a control freak doesn’t make you a better person or better parent. Control is something of a joke once the baby arrives, and trying to control something when your doctor hasn’t told you it’s necessary is just going to cause unwanted stress and anxiety, not to mention it’s an easy way to overlook all the magical things happening with the body during pregnancy.

My little human can kick me and punch me and even gets hiccups. She is already feisty and I am loving it. Time slows down for me every time I feel her move. It straight up stops when I can grab my husband’s hand fast enough so he can feel her too.

My body is growing so it can support all the things she needs from me. Her heartbeat is strong, she is growing right as she needs to, and I still have the healthy mark of approval from my doctor, despite already being over the recommended weight gain. I even passed the dreaded glucose test! And please know I take zero of these things for granted, because I know how quickly things can change.

Now for the BEST part of growing during pregnancy. My baby bump is growing and Baby A is making herself more apparent each day. Whenever I have to abandon a blouse because I can’t button it, I now smile because it means she is a day closer to being here in real life. We’re a day closer to being able to see her face. I’ll take whatever changes are required of my body to make it to this day. It may mean swollen Jessica Simpson feet, a puffy face, an achy back and a uniform of sweatpants, but sign me up. So when you see me waddling through the airport, know I’m doing it happily. She is already worth it.

The Dark Side of Pregnancy

Depression hit me like a brick within my first six weeks of pregnancy. As soon as I found out I was pregnant (about week four), I knew it was time to come off my antidepressants. They had been in my life since college and in the past when I’ve tried to come off of them, let’s just say it didn’t work and I had to go right back on the happy pill train. It was time for a train stop, whether I was ready or not. My prescription was not deemed pregnancy safe, so I knew I had to at least try to keep the little white pills in the cabinet.

Try I sure did. Within about a week of being completely off my meds, I felt a hard shift. It began with a brain fog that slowly warped into a full body fog, chaining me to my living room couch. I wasn’t going down without a fight. I began buying beautiful new plants for my kitchen table, thinking maybe the life they had could somehow transfer to me. I tried to keep an exercise routine to fight off the depression. The only problem was, I was so exhausted and nauseous, working out was only in my cards 10% of the time. The plants wouldn’t stay alive either. I would buy a new one in hopes it would do better than the last. It seemed to quickly brown at the leaves and look similar to how I was feeling. I felt so utterly helpless and selfish. Here I was, finally pregnant after such a hard year. Why couldn’t I just be happy? Why couldn’t I even keep a plant alive!? I was thrilled about the baby, but so worried about who I was becoming as the days crept on. My body grew heavier, and I felt as though a tear flood was looming no matter the subject or time of day.

The couch had me on lockdown. Any days I wasn’t flying somewhere for work, I was firmly planted on my grey living room couch, which quickly became my office. I couldn’t even get myself up to my office desk, so my coffee table became my desk. I slowly found my mind begin to feel as grey as the color of my couch.

Then the extreme highs crept in, disguising themselves as a way out of the depression. I would maybe once or twice a week find the strength to leave the couch and get to the gym, and I felt so good, I knew I could keep it up. The next week I wouldn’t keep it up, and the old feelings seeped back in like a flood greeting the cracks of my front door.

I finally buckled up and asked for help, as painful as it was. I told my husband, from my couch in a puddle of tears. I definitely surprised him, but he was wonderful and simply asked how he could help. We sat down and talked through ways he could know I wasn’t doing well and things that he could help me with, such as making sure I discussed it with my doctor on the next visit, and checking in to see how my workouts were going, asking how I was doing from time to time. I shared with him simple things he could do like folding laundry if he saw it just sitting crumpled in a basket. I also asked him to water my plant when I was unable to. I wanted so badly for one of these plants to stay alive.

I warned him he would need to be on high alert after the baby came. This was going to be ongoing and I needed his help to be a healthy mom so we could help bring a healthy baby into the world.

Let’s fast forward to today. Wow, I’m so happy I didn’t stay silent. Do I still have hard days? Oh my gosh yes. I’ll admit I had to write this post over the course of three weeks because the shit is hard to write without breaking down. Facing your demons on paper when it isn’t completely in the past is probably one of the hardest things I’ve tried to do.

Posting about a “before” when you are clearly in the “after” is not so tough. I’m sitting here posting a “before” and a “middle” and I don’t know what the “after” looks like quite yet. I only know I will make it through, and I’m focusing on the love in my life rather than the fear. How do you focus on the love when you feel enveloped in fear?

I have chosen a new mini project to embark on each weekend that helps bring me one step closer to my baby girl. I “Marie Kondoed” my closet and started Baby A’s closet. I might choose to go through and declutter a drawer, or do an art project for her room. Some weekends I just accept that I’m too tired to be terribly productive and I read a little, do prenatal yoga or meditate. I don’t really set expectations for myself other than getting off the couch. I also forgive myself when I know I need to rest and I just rest.

I accept the fear is there from time to time too, but I welcome it now. It’s amazing how power can be taken from something when you just acknowledge it’s there and move forward.

Whether you’re dealing with depression, anxiety, or the hormonal mind cluster that pregnancy can sometimes be, know there is a direction you can go to move out and move on. There is always something to look forward to if you create it.

I sit here on this snowed-in Sunday, and I feel alive. The little kicks and punches in my belly remind me Baby A is here too alongside me on this ride. And my plant? It is looking just as alive as I feel now that I’ve asked for my husbands help in watering it. I can’t expect to keep it alive on my own when I am not always capable of watering it myself. So he does, and it stays looking just as lively and beautiful as it was intended. It just needs extra water from time to time. Kind of like me. 😊

“You Shared Too Soon”

I’m now just over ten weeks pregnant. I found out I was pregnant right at about four weeks, shared with close family immediately, and shared with the world at eight weeks.

Honestly, I’m such a big mouth it’s amazing I kept my mouth shut for a whole month. It was hard for me. I have no problem keeping other peoples secrets but I doubt I will be any good at ever having any of my own. I wasn’t even supposed to get pregnant this year for health reasons, so getting the news sent me straight over the moon. How do you keep something exploding inside your heart IN?! I couldn’t do it for long. I have a lot of respect for anyone who patiently waits for however long they choose. It’s hard!

Yesterday I was talking to my cousin and he asked me if the flood of opinions had begun to rush in yet. I said no, that it was more people empathizing and sharing excitement. I myself don’t mind getting advice too much because people do this to share experiences for the most part.

Then I realized I left something out. I HAVE had one decision that has involved more opinions than I ever needed. Mothers exclaiming that I shared way too early and what would I do if I miscarried?! It is customary to wait until you are at least 12 weeks. Some wait even longer just to be safe. I broke the rules.

I wouldn’t have changed a thing. First of all, I’m a terrible liar and anyone who spends time with me would know quickly. While I’m not showing just yet, I’m a dead giveaway. I typically eat gas station beef jerky like it’s going out of style. Can’t do that when pregnant. I also never turn down a glass of wine at dinner. Not doing that. My typical preferences of fish and Greek salad have been swapped for Mac and cheese or grilled cheese, mostly because I’m in a constant state of feeling hung over and the smell of chicken and vegetables makes me want to hurl. I literally eat to prevent from hurling.

What about the possibility of miscarriage? I know too many women who have experienced this. Women I’m very close to. I nearly lost a best friend to a devastating ectopic pregnancy. While I haven’t experienced it myself, my heart has hurt for every friend and family member I’ve seen go through this. It’s not something I could suffer in silence. It’s not something I take lightly. What will I do if I miscarry? I will talk about it. The best way for me to cope would be to write about it. That’s just who I am.

While I know I don’t have to explain my decisions, I wanted to mostly so those who disagree could see a different perspective. Could every beautiful mother who has been there refrain from sharing opinions about the appropriate time to share with the world? You waited until your baby was born? You waited until 12 weeks? All are great. This decision is so personal, so the next time you run into a pregnant lady, refrain from your judgements about the time they chose. I chose my best time. It wasn’t a decision made in ignorance, so please refrain from treating it as such.

This topic isn’t something that upsets me. I understand that anyone who disagrees does it because of their own experiences and I respect that. It’s more something I think is great for discussion and a chance for more women to better understand one another. You do you, boo. And I promise I will always share too soon. 😊

Binge? Overeat? What’s the Difference Anyway?

I’m sitting on a plane now from Reno headed home. I have to say that the view flying out of Reno is quite beautiful. 😍 Let’s talk about something not so pretty. This is probably considered TMI by many, but honestly I don’t care because I’m tired of people hiding things that are a part of them. If we were all just honest with each other about our lives we probably would be more understanding, and I’m an open book as it is. I’m not sorry for it. I have shared that I discontinued my competition season because I was noticing glimpses of disordered eating that smelled too much like something I dealt with as a teenager, so it was time to step back. I have since had a lot of questions about exactly what was happening. Well, this is it. Instead of taking you back to my summer, I’m going to start by taking you all the way back to when I was a teenager, a senior in high school to be exact.

I was a cheerleader, and one that was surrounded by cheerleader friends who were oh so small in stature. I learned to eat “healthy” early on in life because my metabolism wasn’t fire. I would eat salads at lunch at least half of the week and go home and do Tae-bo to get more exercise in, especially when my uniform started to feel tight. Yesss, please chuckle along with me at how funny that Tae-bo visual is. I remember someone saying to me, “You are just bigger boned is all.” I was always tall and never EVER called “small.” I remember as a kid being jealous of my friends who would be called “teeny tiny.” What does that feel like after all? While I actually remember really liking my curves, I wanted to know so badly. Sad, I know. I wasn’t even overweight and this is how I was thinking. Looking back, I don’t think my size would have changed any of this, bigger or smaller. Something larger was at play here.

I thought I got my wish when I was diagnosed with mono as a senior in high school. Be careful what you wish for. Most people lose weight when they get sick like that. I put on weight and went into probably the first deep depression I had in my life. That’s when the binging started. I would be up late at night and be so sad that the only thing I could take my emotions out on was the food. I would sneak downstairs, bust open the food pantry and go to town. I was so empty on the inside (for no decipherable reason either) nothing could fill me. I could. Not. Get. Full. My stomach may have felt full, but there was this raging urge to just keep going because I was full but not fulfilled. I distinctly remember one time eating an entire loaf of bread followed by some chocolate, crackers, and whatever else I could find, and then crumbling to the floor in sadness and disgust crying alone in the dark praying my parents wouldn’t wake up and catch me.

You see, this is the difference between binging and overeating. You overeat when you eat the extra fries on the plate and a piece of cake (when you’re already full). You binge when you are uncontrollably eating and can’t get yourself to stop or even remember everything you ate when it’s over. Overeating isn’t emotional. Binging is pure emotion. It is almost like another person takes over your body and blacks you out until it’s over. When it’s over you are just overcome with the deepest and darkest sadness and disgust.

Obviously, as a 31-year-old woman, thinking back on all this makes me now cringe and want to give my teenage self a huge hug and recognize how lucky I was to have all the things going for me I did. It’s all a part of my journey, and while I can’t go back in time and tell my 17-year-old self to enjoy the moments and eat the cheese sticks if I wanted them, I can and have altered my mind as it is today, and I vow to never let this thought process breathe any kind of life when and if I do have kids (yes, easier said than done). While I don’t have kids, I do have nieces, and I don’t want to be the aunt that perpetuates this type of thinking for them either. So this is part one. Part two will bring the pieces together, but hopefully this at least sheds some light on my interpreted difference between overeating and binging. Until next time…time for my flight connection anyway. 😉

Treat Yo’ Self, It’s Self Care! Is It, Really?

I have been told by many a wise person to slow down and really take care of myself. I’ve done a good job of taking care of myself in the most literal sense, but not in the ENTIRE sense. Read this and decide if you are doing it the literal way, the holistic way, or not at all.

Face masks? I’ve got them. I do one maybe once every two weeks. Massages? Monthly and sometimes every other week. Cupping? I added it to the massage routine over the summer. Cryotherapy? Did it when there was a Groupon and loved it for muscle recovery but too expensive to keep up with. Exercise? Five days a week. Vacation days? I take them and you will find me at the lake. Chiropractor? I go whenever I can find myself at home or when I injure myself lifting weights. Spray tans? While not a routine, I do it around once a month. Manicures and pedicures? Check. I swear to you I do or have tried almost everything but naps and botox. I even downloaded a 20-minute meditation I could do on a plane to try to apply that “slow down” part. All in an effort to recharge this battery of mine that seems to just keep going and going…

So on the surface you could say I really take care of myself and give myself what I need to recharge. You could say I’m a little over the top. You could say I am a version of “treat yourself” on steroids. Also, no I’m not on steroids. Haven’t tried that. 😂

While I have been putting all the effort into taking care of myself, I’ve recently discovered I may have been making it worse.

How is that, you might ask? I have done nothing but add to my “to do” list by continually doing all these things. Don’t get me wrong. Some of these things are necessary for me and my level of activity such as massage and regular chiropractor visits. When you add as much as you can, not so good. As a result you won’t ever find me sitting still. I don’t know how to. I tried a yoga class and freaked out because it was so slow. You can’t multi task in yoga, what!?

Finally, I had enough of the noise. I had an epiphany of sorts and realized I needed to be alone and do nothing but learn how to be still. I needed to learn to recharge my mind and not just my body. I told my husband I wouldn’t be joining him on a weekend trip and I stayed home. By myself. With no “to do” list other than learning how to just sit without the chatter. I put both my phones on silent and deleted my apps. I didn’t call anyone except Drake to check in, and I let my heart tell me what to do. I had one of the best weekends of my life.

I made myself go to yoga again and focused on my breathing instead of the clock. I went to Half Price Books and got lost in the best of ways, leaving with gems that I’ve already almost completely plowed through. I bought a few new candles (I have a candle obsession). I got home, lit up those candles and lounged with my books after I made a bomb ass filet mignon dinner with the best playlist ever. I learned how to really pray again and what true meditation should feel like. I bought a journal and started writing down my positives and negatives from each day. I slowed the F down. I felt light. I wasn’t distracted by anyone’s energy but my own. It was perfect.

You might ask how this is that different from a massage? First of all, you are forced into relaxation in a massage so it takes no effort. This was an intentional and complete slow down and noise shut out. It took effort. I badly wanted to check Instagram and never turned on my TV. I started my next week feeling calm, happy, and ready to take notice of all of the things. And I did. I had one of the most enjoyable work weeks I had experienced in a while just because I felt refreshed and undiluted.

What’s the best part? While this was very recent, I am committed to this new practice. One hour a day I am not touching my phone. It doesn’t matter if you call me. Phone off. I don’t need to be accessible and helpful for everyone every waking minute of the day. Neither do you.

You can’t help others if your bucket is so empty you have nothing left to give. Fill your bucket back up and don’t apologize for not being available when you do it. Take time to discover what helps you slow down. For me it’s journaling and finding time for prayer/meditation. I’m still learning, honestly and still working on how to really put that phone down during it. Maybe you don’t feel you have an hour or can’t ask for that much time alone due to family or other obligations? Tell your husband, wife, kids, roommate, whoever they are that you need five minutes. Commit to whatever feels doable. All I know is that “consuming” and spa day on steroids is not the way to a real slow down. How many have also gotten caught up in the literal sense of self care and not the ENTIRE true meaning of it?

Ok, I’m out for now. I have some positives and beautiful things I noticed today that I need to write down without my phone, alone. Kinda alone anyway. Alone with my dog, Lola. 😂