Sheep are so stupid. They really are. The spend all day getting bossed around by a dog. And they run away from me as though they couldn't kill me just by sitting on me. Sometimes as i walk past them in the fields they baaaaa at me and i baa back and then they baaa at me agin. They think I'm a sheep. Or they think that I think I'm a sheep.
So, yesterday, guess what I did? Drank coffee in a cafe and read a magazine? Yes. Had dinner with my brother in laws ex-sister in law? Yes, I did that too.(It is as weird as it sounds.) Slept in after Welsh fed Little Cwtch both time she woke up in the night? Why yes, I believe I also did that. Shaved my legs for the first time since Cwtch was born? Correct. But the big news is this:
YESTERDAY, I WENT FOR A RUN!!!
I've started the couch to 5 program again, so once again, a total of 8 minutes running and 17 minutes walking. Can I just say, running after being pregnant hurt in ways i never thought about. People tell you about the stretch marks and little bellies you are left with and the achy shoulders and leaky boobs...noone told me my back would absolutely kill or that my stomach would ache around my scar, the next time I ran.
The first stretch was alarming but somewhere between warming up and finishing, the old bounce came back and i was loving it again! Of course it rained in my face and my sneakers got soaked but it felt so good. Shout outs to Brit.
So, the official goal is this: (drum roll please....) I am going to be able to run 5km by the time we go back to Melbourne in April. Running three times a week and maybe some sit ups in there too. Little Cwtch finds the sight of me doing a post natal exercise video quite hilarious so probably a bit of that too.
It's two years after I first started this running blog and somehow I have found myself back in square one!!
Sunday, February 19, 2012
Thursday, February 16, 2012
mum, mama, mother.
Having Little Cwtch has opened up a whole subculture to me.
I've always had contact with mothers-lots of my friends have kids, I've worked with young mum groups, I nannied overseas in my early twenties etc. But now it is full blown immersion into this world of boobs and growth charts and pram envy and mind numbing stories about their dear little babis.
I've had conversations in the street about my boobs with one mother exclaiming "breast is best!" with the kind of pride usually reserved for actual achievements. She later lent in towards me during a swimming lesson (for the babies, not us) and whispered conspiratorially "you know we are the only ones here who breast feed." I mean, how does she even know that? And who cares?
And living in a teeny village certain breeds a certain kind of mama. It's not unusual to have three kids under 3. Or to meet a mum the same age as me that has a newborn....and a couple of teenagers at home. They are farmers wives, endlessly self sacrificing and needless to say, nothing like me.
In amongst them though, I have found some kindred spirits. The women who have moved here by choice. The women who were born in Wales but moved away for years on end then returned to raise a family. The women who look as shell shocked as me after being seduced by green valleys and a welshman. These women have been my lifeline in the last twelve weeks. They are the ones who roll their eyes when people ask "is your baby sleeping through the night yet?" Their hair is usually thrown into a messy pony tail, their shoes are impractical and they accidentally say the F word in a room full of toddlers. Instead of saying "motherhood is fabulous!!" they say "I think somehow I must have given my child amphetamines..."
I guess you are who you are but motherhood adds a new dimension to your personality. The sleep deprivation peels back your defense mechanisms. You become more yourself and less yourself, all at the same time. There's so many steps on the learning curve, so many choices about bottles, slings, co-sleeping, child centred vs adult centred, childcare, work, immunisations, when to start solids, routines? back to work? dummy?
Everyday there is a choice to make about what kind of parent you are. I'm the kind that is ready to move back to a city and the kind that believes drinking coffee will not effect my breast milk.
I've always had contact with mothers-lots of my friends have kids, I've worked with young mum groups, I nannied overseas in my early twenties etc. But now it is full blown immersion into this world of boobs and growth charts and pram envy and mind numbing stories about their dear little babis.
I've had conversations in the street about my boobs with one mother exclaiming "breast is best!" with the kind of pride usually reserved for actual achievements. She later lent in towards me during a swimming lesson (for the babies, not us) and whispered conspiratorially "you know we are the only ones here who breast feed." I mean, how does she even know that? And who cares?
And living in a teeny village certain breeds a certain kind of mama. It's not unusual to have three kids under 3. Or to meet a mum the same age as me that has a newborn....and a couple of teenagers at home. They are farmers wives, endlessly self sacrificing and needless to say, nothing like me.
In amongst them though, I have found some kindred spirits. The women who have moved here by choice. The women who were born in Wales but moved away for years on end then returned to raise a family. The women who look as shell shocked as me after being seduced by green valleys and a welshman. These women have been my lifeline in the last twelve weeks. They are the ones who roll their eyes when people ask "is your baby sleeping through the night yet?" Their hair is usually thrown into a messy pony tail, their shoes are impractical and they accidentally say the F word in a room full of toddlers. Instead of saying "motherhood is fabulous!!" they say "I think somehow I must have given my child amphetamines..."
I guess you are who you are but motherhood adds a new dimension to your personality. The sleep deprivation peels back your defense mechanisms. You become more yourself and less yourself, all at the same time. There's so many steps on the learning curve, so many choices about bottles, slings, co-sleeping, child centred vs adult centred, childcare, work, immunisations, when to start solids, routines? back to work? dummy?
Everyday there is a choice to make about what kind of parent you are. I'm the kind that is ready to move back to a city and the kind that believes drinking coffee will not effect my breast milk.
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