Strength in Numbers

In everyone's life there are usually a few moments when they feel they can not possibly make it, they can't go on, they just can't do it.

For me, the birth of my daughter comes to mind. By hour twenty I wanted to give up. I didn't think it was humanly possible for me to continue. I didn't know how I was going to endure any more pain, exert any more effort, push any longer. I wanted to quit. I was begging for help. I wanted the doctor to save me from my hell by insisting a caesarean was necessary. I didn't say it out loud, but I wanted to. I imagine many first time marathon runners experience a similar feeling at some point during the race. That point at which you don't think it's even possible to take one more step.

In every scenario it ultimately goes one way or another. Either you take one more step, push one more time or you don't. You either will you body, your mind to go on or you stop.

In my story, the birth of beautiful, stubborn baby Alice was made possible by a wonderful support system. Left to my own devises, I would have quit. I would have waved the white flag insisting someone else do the work I couldn't. Thankfully I had the most supportive and powerful coach in my OB doctor. I can still, four years later, hear her booming voice demanding "Hard as you can! Hard as you can!" She was not allowing me to quit. My doula was at my side just about every minute of the twenty one hours. She made me feel so brave and strong. She showed complete faith in my ability to birth my daughter. Hatta was there, scared and unsure, but in awe of my strength. Together they told me how wonderful I was doing and what an amazing woman I was. I didn't believe them, if I had been doing so wonderful wouldn't she be out by now? But it was still the encouragement I needed to keep pushing. The marathon runner, I imagine if he had to run the race entirely alone completion would be unlikely. Even those that aren't running with friends find strength in the comrades running around them. Together a lot more is possible.

You may remember a few posts ago when I stated I was swimming in heavy, heart crushing thoughts. I'm still there, barely staying afloat. I was informed last night that not everyone enjoys my analogies, and if this is true for you, I really am so sorry, but I'm afraid I'm sticking with the swimming one. For, I am anchored in this pool. All around me, as far as my eye can see is heartache. And I am stuck. I don't know where to go, or even which direction is shortest. I remain where I am, treading water. I know I must swim soon. But where to? I could always swim back to the shallow end, I'll still be stuck in the pool, but at least I know I won't drown. Or I could take a leap and swim toward the edge and hope I make it. Hope I have the strength to swim.

I wish someone else could save me. I want someone to dive in and pull me to safety. End the pain I feel. If only it worked that way. Even though I don't want to, I have to do this on my own as hard is it may be.

What I hope more than anything, is that I have a few people poolside cheering me on, shouting words of encouragement when I need it most. I'm afraid once I start swimming, I may find the journey too treacherous. I may find it easier to quit, allow my head to sink beneath the waterline or swim back to the shallows. I pray that if this happens I have a friend who recognizes the distress I'm in and throw's me a life ring, if even just to momentarily hang on to until I can swim again. I know I will not make it alone.

YouTube

I need help y'all. Did I really just say y'all? I must be really desperate.

I need your YouTube playlist. I don't even know if it's called a playlist. I don't actually know much about YouTube. Generally, I only use it to watch episodes of Young and the Restless. When people email me YouTube links, I delete them. I'm too cool for YouTube. I've never understood the phenomenon of watching everyone else's homemade videos.

Until now.

It turns out, I'll watch anything. See, I have a window of time nearly everyday where I am stuck warming up on the elliptical for twenty minutes in order to run without my knees buckling, leaving me in a crying heap, sore and bitching for days after. I used to read during this time, until I committed myself to read a book I don't enjoy. Instead of admitting defeat, I looked around at what everyone else was doing. Listening to music...yeah, I really enjoy saving that for my run, reading magazines...eh, seems like cheating on my book, staring at hot girl's asses...nah, not really into that, watching videos on their phone...that's it!

I broke out my phone and set to work entertaining myself. I watched a few music videos before I became stuck. I had nothing to search for, I had no idea what to watch. Maybe this is why I never understood YouTube. What do you people do with it? Lost, I watched a very short clip of Justin Bieber vomiting on stage, a ten minute video of the Ohio State marching band, and footage of a fireball during a lightning storm. Before I knew it, my time was up and my knees were properly loosened. And I was in love with YouTube.

So fine followers, please, I beg of you, what do I need to watch? I want your recommendations. Anything good, leave it in the comments or tweet it to me. Remember, anything goes. If I watched the entire ten minutes of a marching band, I'll watch anything!

Digging Myself Out Of The Trench

After adjusting the laces on my shoes, I stepped on, set the treadmill, and started to run. With my iPod in hand, I scrolled through the artists and found what I was looking for, an oldy but goody recently added to my new iPod, Damian Jr Gong Marley, and pressed play. I ran for a few moments, my thoughts racing from my to-do lists to my worries, and then the chorus kicked in. Just like that, I was transported back six years ago. To a time when things were different. I was different. And in that moment, running, all thoughts disappeared but one.

I'm back.

You often hear new moms talk about the dream of getting back into their pre-baby clothes, and don't get me wrong, I wanted the same. After six months I was there...mostly. But, without even being aware, what I needed most, was to get back to the pre-baby me. That has been a horrendously long journey. Alice just turned four and I can finally say I'm there...mostly.

In that moment, running, I felt it and it felt terrifically familiar. The it being the old me. She was there and finally shining through.

At my baby shower, four plus years ago, seasoned veterans offered advice like sleep when the baby sleeps and take all the help that's offered. Everyone made it out like all you needed to be concerned with is the window of time when your new child is a baby. It came off to ignorant me like life would return when the baby started to sleep through the night. People neglected to inform me that not only would life never be the same again, I would lose myself in the process.

Lose myself I did.

I wasn't even aware. That may have been the worst part. I was no longer me and I didn't even know it. It has taken several years and unique circumstances for me to finally shine the light on myself and examine what I have allowed myself to become. I had given in to the role of mom and become nothing but. I had allowed myself to become unimportant. I was a mother, nothing else. I can see how it happened. I became so engrossed in the infant stage, survival mode in the trenches so to speak, and every stage of motherhood thereafter brought new and equally urgent requirements. I never stopped for a moment to look out of the trench, look around at life and see it all going by.

Until I did.

When I finally woke up and realized the old Nelly was gone, it was a relief...sort of. It sucked, but at least I was aware. It's like being sick for years, being told countless times we can't find anything wrong, and finally having a diagnosis. At least I could begin to work to dig me out from underneath the mom mountain I had created.

It's taken awhile and many changes, but seeing myself in the mirror, running, listening to Jr Gong, I saw me. I saw Nelly, not just Mama. And when I had finished working out, I retrieved Alice from daycare. As we walked out of the gym, her hand in mine, talking about the butterfly she had made and the bug that had been on the step the day before, she took my hand and wiped her nose with it.

And all was good.

Two Birds With One Stone

Sound the horns, beat the drums...I've finally killed two birds with one stone. Sort of. I didn't actually kill any birds. Though, in the spring, when the weathers nice and I'd like to sleep with the windows open, but I can't because the mother lovin birds in my neighborhood wake up at 4am, I'd like to kill birds then. I digress. Let me try again. I've finally accomplished two goals and I did them at the exact same time. I wanted to share the news with you sooner, but I didn't want to jinx it. I'm a bit superstitious. Ask me about the number 8 next time you see me. Second thought, don't. It might just prove I'm crazy and I'd surely lose readers.

I think I've had too much coffee today.

I joined the gym and Alice has been babysat by complete strangers, i.e., gym daycare. This is big, people. Huge. Both feats.

Prior to growing a human inside me, I exercised regulary. I ran. A lot. I had a 6-pack. I fit into a dress that looked like a Barbie doll could wear. The pink, floral dress still hangs in my closet taunting me. Then, I didn't get pregnant as quickly as I wanted and my cycle started to become irregular. My ob doctor, concerned I was becoming too under weight, blaming my trouble concieving on it, suggested I cut back on the amount I was running. So I did. Fast forward to now, nearly 5 years later, I have a beautiful, brilliant daughter and a 2-pack at best. I haven't exercised with any regularity and it shows. I can accept that my body may never look like it did before, I was in my 20's and now I'm not, I've birthed a child, things change. However, I have not admitted defeat regarding my growing ass. I finally redeemed the Groupon I bought for a gym down the street. I'm proud to say, I'm addicted again. I think my lazy ass, stagnant streak is over.

Now, about the daycare. Some friends I talk to think it's bizarre that Alice isn't in daycare or preschool or hasn't been babysat by anyone but family yet. I see their point, she is 4. But, up until now I've never needed outside of family help and I was never comfortable with the idea anyway. The idea of some stranger in my house, snooping through my desk, riffling through my pantry never exactly thrilled me. I know one day we will hire a college kid to watch Alice and it'll be fine, we just haven't needed to yet. This all means Alice is extremely used to me. And I'm very comfortable knowing she's safe. Cut to the first day at the gym. I walked her in the daycare room. It looked fun, the kids were playing Play-Doh. I'm sure my heart was beating just as fast as hers. This nervous, excited feeling for both of us. She clung to my leg as I talked to the teacher and pointed out the fun she was bound to have. I told her I would be back soon, and I separated her clingy arms from my leg and walked out of the door. That was it. She wasn't screaming. She didn't cry. She just stood there for awhile, flabbergasted I think. In shock that her mother actually left her with strangers. I'm sure she doubted my judgement call. I went about my exercise regime with only minimal concern for my child. Every now and then, I'd peek in the window at her, always happily playing dollhouse or barbies, but always alone.

This will be good for us, as individuals and as a mother-daughter duo. I'll get back to my pre-pregnancy self and, with any luck, into that dress, and she'll have a nice introduction in separation before preschool in the fall. A win win if I do say so.

Patting myself on the back for a job well done.