One Year Ago Today...

I was, at this very hour, speed-walking around the labor & delivery floor of Mass General Hospital, trailed by my partner, our totally ineffectual doula, an IV stand, and my fabulous friend the Cap'n. (Cap'n made an exception for me -- usually, when she visits hospitals, it is to play the harp for the dying. Luckily, her services were not needed that night.) I was getting very control-freaky: "Let's get this baby born! My water broke at 3. We're on the clock, here, people!" So, when we passed the nursing station, we walked fast. When we got to the empty back hall, we sprinted. Did I mention I was wearing those grippy synthetic hospital socks, having soaked my slippers in amniotic fluid within the first hour? In retrospect, it's pretty funny, but at the time, I was trying quite seriously to avoid an induction.

Note to expectant moms: practice saying (and believing), "I'm not in control," 50 times a day. When you're in labor, it will keep you from getting in your own way. Once you have the baby, you will already have mastered the mantra for your new reality.

More labor flashbacks later, but first: Speedy started drinking breastmilk from a cup yesterday, and seems to have no objection to the lack of a bottle. Tonight, he had whole milk for the first time. His eyes got really wide (fat content??), and he drank with gusto. I'm totally psyched that I only have a few more days of pumping for my own comfort as my supply tapers, and then I can hang up the horns!

My baby ate my homework

Ok, he didn't really. Yet. But as I sat cutting out dozens of little chiclet-sized squares of double-sided mounting tape with which to adhere all the tiny pieces of my first model for class, even I was tempted to sample. Mmm...chewy...

Speedy turns 1 on Friday, and, right on target, he's cruising, babbling, and shoving fistfulls of everything into his mouth (including, sadly, this morning's Cheerios unearthed from somewhere on the diaper table). 1 is this magical age when babies apparently become invincible. Thursday: rear-facing carseat; no cow's milk, honey, citrus, or nuts; no duplo blocks or walk-behind bubble-mower. Friday: front facing, enough caesin to grow a baby cow, and his first lesson on excavation with the Bobcat.

I was reading the 12-15 mos section of Brazelton's Touchstones today, and could kinda identify with his description of the push-pull of toddlerhood. As an adult, I'm still bouncing from wanting to "do it myself" -- forging out to take more classes, biting of bigger designs than I can chew -- to getting scared and frustrated by all of the newness. Luckily, perhaps, I don't have the option to just let someone else take care of it all and remain dependent.

Had a great talk with my visiting mom about this (dynamic of adults wanting to be taken care of) at our final meeting. She was commenting on how even with grown children, it can be a challenge not to "do for" them. Likewise, it's a challenge not to ask someone else to do for us, or to find another way to pretend we're not responsible for our own destinies.

We joke about how much babies at the breast look like drug addicts -- their little eyes rolling back in their heads with pleasure, and then, "Oh, oh, I need another hit!" But one of the saddest moments I've had in the last year was seeing a businessman on his lunchbreak upending a sizable bottle of alcohol into his Dunkin' cup. Speedy was only maybe a month old, and I had the simultaneous thougts: (1) Please don't let my baby grow up to be an addict, and (2) How sad! This man just wants to be nurtured, to feel safe from the chaos of the world, to be accepted, loved, and cared for unconditionally, to slip into that same oblivion that Speedy has when he's nursing. Seems all of life is a series of weanings. Probably not what the Buddha had in mind when describing samsara...

Baby Socks: Tools of the Devil

Enough said.

My wonderful ex taught me a few life-simplifying tricks, like how to pack for a two-week trip using a small backpack. On his shelves, he had two stacks of t-shirts: white & black; 2 stacks of socks: white & black; 1 stack of undies: white (and a random pair of smiley-face boxers). I think he's branched out on the undies, but that's not the point...

The point is, he's going to have a hard time with parenthood, because of the baby socks! You can't buy packs of black & white baby socks. 6-pack of socks = 6 different pastel colors, each embroidered with a different cute animal or sports emblem (boys)/flower (girls). After 1 cycle of laundry, you will have 5 mismatched socks, 1 actual pair (1/2 of which has a poop stan on it), and a week's worth of fun finding errant socks in the carseat, exersaucer, laptop case, etc.

If you are a perfectionist, you will never leave the house, because, having proudly dressed the baby in the clean pair of matching socks, you will find another clean sock somewhere and realize: duckies! The duckies with yellow cuffs match the duckie onesie he has on, even though the light blue puppies looked ok when you got him dressed. And so on.

For this, I went to Harvard.

Sleeping Like a Baby

Tonight the Swadfather & I did the parental happy-dance all around the house. Speedy put himself to sleep!

He's getting teeth 3 & 4 (top front teeth) simultaneously, it seems, so we were all up half the night last night. Then today we had a whirlwind day of running, errand-running, and sukkah deconstruction (er...), so his only naps were in transit.

Even when your Ima is relatively slow, 5K isn't much of a nap, so Speedy was pretty punchy this evening. He was doing his "drunk baby" routine, where he wats to nurse on the nose or bicep of whoever is holding him, climb over the side of the rocking chair to look at the nightlight, nurse upsidedown while doing downward-facing dog on my belly, etc. I was in no mood for it, so I laid him down in the crib, kissed him goodnight, and told him Abba would be in to rock him shortly. When Jesse was about to go in, we heard the blessed noise of our baby buzz-saw, snoring away.

Aside: The (only) nice thing about having a baby who snores is that you don't have to sneak the bedroom door open to make sure he's still breathing!

Endurance 50

I'm starting to feel like life is maybe under control -- the dishes are clean, I'm able to read a few pages a night, Speedy sleeps for longer than 2 hours at a time and feeds himself solid food... Soon the ground will freeze, plants will die, and my work will slow down for a couple months. Maybe I'll be able to post more now.

The Swadfather is running some portion of the Boston Marathon course with Dean Karnazes tomorrow as part of his Endurance 50 series. Speedy & I will be setting up shop on the back of the Black Sheep (my truck, so called because it's the only one in the fleet that's not white) to hand out fruit slices & water along the route. I'm excited, but I don't know whether to hope that the Swadfather finishes or sags, as he hasn't been training. I think both of us take endurance events with a grain of salt now that we're working parents. I mean, Dean's totally inspiring and crazy, but he also has a high-power job, endorsements, and a nanny for his kids.
Last weekend, Swad & I both ran totally unprepared, and did OK. Saturday, we ran the Somerville Homeless Coalition 5K -- Swad with a time of 27 min unladen, and me in 32:29 with a sleeping Speedy in BOB. While 10:27 miles are no PR, it was substantially faster and easier than the 13-minute miles I did last year. Of course, I was 8 months pregnant at the time, and my lungs were squished somewhere up around my ears... It was cool to come full-circle and run the same race with Speedy outside instead of inside. And I passed the same lady I passed last year, only this time I had the baby-jogger, and she was unladen!

Monday, I did the 30th annual Tufts 10K, an all women's race which I've done almost every year since I've lived in the Boston area. Finished in 1:03:27, which felt pretty good, given that my goal had just been to run the whole thing.

Running an all-women's race can be really powerful. About 8,000 women run, and many are first-timers, so the start can be a bit chaotic. You have to seed yourself optimistically, because a lot of the folks are up with 7-minute milers and plan to walk and talk the whole way. I wasted a lot of energy 2 years ago trying to break through the pack for the first mile. Anyway, when we were lined up and waiting around, the announcer was calling for various groups of women to raise their hands: sisters, aunts, mothers, etc. Lately when I've been close to hitting the wall on a run, I think about labor and delivery, and how much pain and effort my body can handle. So, when I my calves started cramping and planter fasciae were screaming in mile 4, I looked around me, remembered that approximately 1/3 of the crowd had raised their hands as mothers, and got all teary at the raw power that was surrounding me. I was on adrenaline for the last mile, and sprinted in to "Meet Virginia" on the iPod as we rounded the Common.

Top 10 List

My visiting mom sometimes gently teases me about being a stressed-out super-mom. She's right, at least about the stressed out & mom parts. Anyhow, by way of atonement for my 4-month disappeance from the blogosphere, I offer my top 10 "You know you're doing too much when..." list.

10. "I really want coffee, but it will just keep Speedy up, which kinda defeats the purpose..."

9. My sling allows me to take multi-tasking to a whole new level: I can feed Speedy, feed myself, pee, and send a text message all at the same time!

8.I'm afraid someone is going to call the police some day because, 'A woman with a shaved head, carring a suspicious black bag just got into an unmarked black truck...Oh my G-d, now she's plugging into the truck and attaching wires to her chest!'

7. While Bob, my mechanic, was changing the oil in my truck, I fired up the laptop so that I could show him baby pictures.

6. At a time-management seminar, my boss asked why I took off so quicky at the break. "Because, we have 20 minutes, which is exactly how long I need to pump." (I also returned voicemails, had a snack, and scandalized a few folks in the women's lounge...)

5. Our office manager can accurately guess what Speedy will be having for lunch based on the color of his shirt. Green shirt? Peas! Saves on clean-up.

4. One of Speedy's first uses of the sign for "light" was to crawl over to a colleague's computer during an early-morning trip to the office and inform me that he was checking out the green "light" on the back.

3. "Running home from work wasn't so bad. The baby jogger & kid were ok -- I'll skip the 24 oz of breastmilk and day's worth of wet cloth diapers next time, though."

2. I routinely have to get a co-worker to hold Speedy while I move the plants out of his carseat wher I have buckled them in.

1. "Wow, if I buy batteries for my pump, I can express milk while walking!" (Note: I have never pumped while driving, nor am I planning to.)

B.O.B.

I haven't posted since going back to work full-time. No big surprise -- it's the time of year when all landscapers' spouses threaten divorce, because we're only home to sleep and maybe eat. (Only if we're nursing, it's to eat, and maybe sleep. And sweetie, could you bring me a big glass of water, please?)

I still have plantar fasciitis. And, like a dummy, I'm still running. Not too much mileage, but at minimum a few miles every weekend.

But all of that is about to change, as we have welcomed the newest member of our running blog-family, B.O.B. No, not my dad. Our beautiful yellow hi-tech running stroller.

My initial reaction after taking it for a spin to Alewife & the turtle pond on Sunday: it really is as light as they say. Corners like a semi, but that's not a big deal for distance running. My shoulders didn't hurt the next day, even though the handlebar is a little high. And the shocks are great -- Speedy's head didn't bang around at all. He played with Ducky (caribeenered to BOB) and took a nap on the way home.

Freedom!!!

Gah! Diapers!

Yesterday, I went into work for a full day. Speedy came with me for 4 hours -- we, plus the stroller, carseat, diaper bag, and breast-pump, got to ride the commuter rail -- then the Antarctic explorer picked him up and they hung out for the afternoon. I missed him a lot, but it felt great to use my brain for several consecutive hours.

Today went a lot less smoothly...

9:49 wake up from nap w/ Speedy; race to dress both of us for work; tuck tape measure & trowel in diaper bag.

10:00 Zipcar reservation starts. Toyota Matrix waits patiently in Davis Sq. while we barrel along with the stroller. Tick, tick!

10:14 Arrive at the car; do carseat; curse traffic.

10:23 Gah! Diapers! Turn car around and return home to put out the diapers. (We're going to visit the grandparents, and a week of festering diapers is not acceptable, no matter how late we're running!)

10:31 Set out from house again, looking forward to getting a work truck because (a) I can leave the carseat base in it, and (b) it doesn't have an hourly rate and steep penalty for late return.
...
11:44 Return Zipcar to its parking space after a successful estimate; feel like a Visa commercial:

Car-share - $6.25/hr.
Decaf placebo to fool body into consciousness after only 4 hours of sleep - $1.80
Getting back in time to nurse in the car in peace - Priceless.

Turning 30

I turned 30 yesterday. I thought it was no big deal, since having a baby accomplished in one fell swoop all that the 30s meant to me: stability; a shift of focus from activism and social life to family and work; losing my figure and gaining wrinkles. (I do have to wait for the 10 more years of worldly wisdom, though.) I was surprised, therefore, to start crying at my mom's funny card: close up of a dog, captioned, "At least you don't have that 'old person' smell."

In spite of the Swadfather throwing me a great surprise party on Sunday, Speedy and I spent yesterday being cranky together -- our moods were a chicken-and-egg sort of thing. In between crying bouts (his), I did manage to do a couple of hours' work, and to obsess a lot about the childcare situation. I can't and don't want to stay home with him full-time, but I am dreading leaving him with a stranger. Any wisdom out there?

One cool factoid from my work yesterday: OSHA regulations state that exposure to noise at 110 decibels for over 1/2 hour requires hearing protection. Any guesses how loud a baby's cry is? (I'll have to leave the sitter some earplugs.)

Running as Anti-depressant

BTW, Runner's World this month has an article on an ultra-marathoner mom who has struggled with depression, and the dynamics of depression among runners.

Just 10 minutes of pedaling at a moderate pace on a stationary bike is enough to boost mood... But runners get an even bigger payoff: sustained, high intensity exercise, specifically running, appears to have extra benefits, especially where stress and anxiety are concerned. A team of researchers at the Universtiy of Missouri-Columbia measured anxiety levels of female runners, ages 18-20 and 35-45, beofr and after 33 minutes of moderate or high-intensity exercise. The women who ran at 80% of maximum arerobic capacity (a slightly faster pace than would allow you to carry on a conversation with your running partner) were found to have experienced tha sharpest decline in anxiety. What's more, the anxiety relief continued at least 90
minutes after they had stopped exercising.

"The Long Road Back", Christopher MacDougall, Runner's World, March 2006, p.72

Hitting Bottom?

At women's spirituality last night, someone used the phrase "hitting lowest bottom." It made me realize that hitting bottom can only really be identified in retrospect. It's less about how badly-off one is, and more about what one makes of the experience.

I've had worse times in my life than the past 3 months -- days when it really was hard to get out of bed -- but I never "got" that I wasn't in control. "Clearly," I thought, "If I could just be strong and get it together, I would be ok." Now, in contrast, I am generally functioning pretty well, even by my own standards. But I know that I cannot be a mom without the help of my friends, and that I am most definitely not in control.

During my week-long blog hiatus, I realized that the tightness in my foot (from nursing in bed, and probably too much running without cross-training) is plantar fasciitis. Sunday, feeling totally trapped in my own messy house, without even being able to escape for a run, I had to dump Speedy on the Swadfather (who had a paper to write) and go over to friends' to cry. Okay...to cry a lot. They listened, and then said, "Do you have anyone who might want to babysit for an hour or two? Good. Why don't you call them right now. We'll get the number for you."

Why not? Because then I would have to figure out what I wanted to do with time to myself, besides the occasional dispensation to work out. But, because my friends are both wise and good, I gave it a shot: Wednesday night, the Captain hung out with an over-tired Speedy, while I bought myself dinner and used the free wi-fi at O'Naturals. I returned home much more relaxed, to a baby who had consented to go to sleep, even though he's decided to wait me out rather than taking a bottle.

Zoom, Zoom, Zoom!

Just a quick post tonight -- must get food and sleep. I ran 3.2+ miles on a rolling street course tonight. Ran the entire way, at a 10:23 pace, and felt like I had a couple more miles in me when I got back to the house. Soooo good! It helps that we're having a warm snap -- it was 53 degrees when I went out, and much of last week's blizzard had melted.

One other quick note: I had a change of fortune at new moms' group today. Here I've been worried about how I measure up to these women, and today I learned that they think I can do it all. Not only are we already having dinner guests, working, and working out, but I have a partner who does most of the cooking! No, it's not a contest, but it does feel good to know that the grass is always greener.

Comments, "More..." & Lurking

1) I've changed the settings so anyone can comment, though you'll still have to do enter the characters from the annoying anti-spam image. (Sorry... I know how much spam The Swadfather gets.)

2) You may have noticed I've been tinkering with expandable posts. I think I've got it, though Blogger's WYSIWYG editor hinders me more than it helps. Back to vanilla HTML. Anyway, you shouldn't have to scroll through entire posts on the main page anymore. If something interests you, the "more..." link should take you to the full post.

While we're on blog user notes, I guess I should fess up that I'm a major lurker, myself. In the blogosphere, as in life, I'm pretty much of a "you never call, you never write" kinda gal. Really, I just hesitate to open my mouth if I don't have something substantive to say -- this blog to the contrary. However, I don't hold you to the same standards, so say howdy!

Perceived Exertion & Pregnancy

Ran on the treadmill tonight -- later than usual because Speedy again refused the bottle from his abba, and I had to do the final tank-up before leaving. The Swadfather thinks it's just a timing issue -- getting to him before he's really hungry. I hope so.

I did 2.5 miles in 30:55 (that's 12:22 min/mi) today. When I was running during pregnancy, I told myself, "This is just like those martial arts movies where the guy trains with weights attached to him so that when the big fight comes, it is effortless." I reasoned that I was lugging around an extra 30 lbs., distributed quite unevenly (that's not counting the weight I had to gain by backing off my training in order to get pregnant), plus the constant stuffy nose, shortness of breath, and having to stop to pee every 2 miles or so. Freed of all that, I expected to be running faster after I gave birth!

I didn't factor in third-degree tearing that would require 7 weeks of healing before I felt reasonably certain that all my insides would stay put when I jogged. When all was said and done, I had a 2 month lay-off, starting 3 weeks before delivery, when I just couldn't call what I was doing "jogging" any more. (I did, however, speed-walk around the labor and delivery floor -- trailed by my partner, my doula, and the Captain -- when my contractions stalled.) You can't emerge as a faster runner after that sort of down-time.

What would have helped, though (other than keeping up with the perineal massage...too weird...), is knowing more about what I could safely do early in my pregnancy. Because I couldn't get any straight answers, I did very little. Luckily, when I finally got to see my midwife, she said, "If you're used to running 20 miles a week and slinging 40 lb. bags of compost, don't stop unless you want to." Even though I immediately went back to running, weight training, and doing normal activity at work, I had lost some ground already, and picked up at about 75% of my original speed, distance, and weight. Later in the pregnancy, backing off to that level was appropriate, and I continued to modify as my body asked me to, but early on it was safe to do more.

If you find yourself in a similar situation and find "listen to your body" too vague, try using the Borg Perceived Exertion Scale. You know what "moderately hard" exercise felt like prior to pregnancy (or injury, illness, etc.) -- aim to exercise at or below that intensity, knowing that your pace, distance, weight, and body mechanics will all have to shift over time. This allows people at all levels of fitness to exercise safely, without recommending heart-rate and weight limitations designed for sedentary folks to those of us who have very physical hobbies or jobs.

Incidentally, for women in trades that involve heavy lifting or strenuous work: I stayed 100% in the field until the start of the 3rd trimester, and didn't go indoors completely until the final month of my pregnancy. I got better at asking for help (to the relief of my Latin American, male co-workers), but I kept carrying plants, shoveling mulch, and squatting to weed and plant. As far as I can tell, the bigger dangers on the job are dehydration, overheating, hearing damage after the 24th week, and exposure to diseases and hazardous substances. (I'll lay out those pieces in a future post.)

Perfectionism and its Discontents

The women's spirituality group of which I am a part just started reading The Spirituality of Imperfection by Kuntz and Ketcham. I was not around for the decision to work from this book, but it seems tailor-made for my current life situation. To Cosmogrrl's recent posting praising FLYlady's method of getting organized, I replied that for me it was just further temptation to perfectionism -- a tendency that has only worsened in me since becoming a mom.

I remember reading in a pastoral counseling class that mental health is defined largely by having flexible, constantly-updating schema of the world and one's place in it. If you buy that -- which I do -- then parents should be, paradoxically, some of the most sane among us. Every day contains some tweak to the cosmic map: the ol' pinky-as-pacifier trick no longer works; you're no longer carded for beer; someone's actually allowing you to be a parent?!

Maybe it would be more correct to say that we won't stay sane for long as parents without a whole load of flexibility. The Swadfather pointed out to me the other day that my standards for cleanliness have gone up since having Speedy, even though all the books say, "Let housework go." Really, though, the kitchen sink is about the only thing over which I feel I have control. I'm hanging on to it. I try to let it go, but I'm to busy letting go of my whole notion of who I am, what I can do, what defines me. Even running, the one time when I still feel like myself, sure of the boundaries of my own body, requires me to let go of defining myself by my physical strength, my speed, my in-tactness.

Kurtz & Ketcham suggest that perfectionism is modernity's answer to a chaotic world. I would answer (and I'm not prepared to back this up) that a sense of chaos has always been there, as has perfectionism, in such guises as art, religious devotion, and militarism. Even Eve's "kaniti ish et ha-Shem" has been translated as, "I have brought forth a man, just like G-d has done."

It seems that from our very origins, we have been trying to get back to being divine. Perhaps the worst form of idolatry? Certainly, the cruelest to ourselves.

Back in the Saddle Again

It's a new week, and we're mostly healthy and back on track with running, milk consumption, and housework.

The Swadfather stayed home from davenning this morning and surprised me with a clean kitchen. I took Speedy with me, and missed most of the service while trying to give him a bottle, feeling like the meanest mommy in the world for insisting that he take pumped milk instead of the real deal. (He has been refusing bottles for days. I was starting to fear that I wouldn't get more than two hours away from him until he starts solids! So, we finally decided that today had to be the day. Crying all around, and I relented and nursed him.)

At Shabbos lunch, Letter A's mom made me feel somewhat better about the bottle-feeding thing, reminding me that Speedy is his own little person who has his own reactions to things. Even if he's only 12 weeks old, I am not entirely in control of his moods, appetites, etc. And by the way, what made me think he would take a bottle from me, of all people?!

After a nap and havdallah, I went to the gym and did 2.75 mi. on the treadmill. Even with the remnants of sinus nastiness, I was able to run for almost half an hour without a walk break. Meanwhile, the Swadfather coaxed Speedy into taking about 5 oz. from a bottle. And there was much rejoicing. Yay.

Some Experience Preferred

We went back to that new moms' group today, and it went ok! Not only did Speedy not cry the entire time, but the other moms also shared things that made them sound... well... human. Apparently, we all have irrational fears spurred by the popular press (leaving the carseat on top of the car, etc.), get unsolicited advice from old ladies when our children fuss in public, and futilely hunt for crying babies in our bedclothes at 3 a.m., even though we don't co-sleep. (Okay, y'all, it's still funny, but it's not just me!)


Two weeks is a lot in baby and new-parent time, too. Speedy's tolerance for activity is higher -- he spent a good deal of time flirting with the other babies, trying to get one particularly surly 4-month old to smile back. And I've learned more about how to read him and keep him from doing off the deep end -- valuable knowledge for maybe the next 3 weeks of his current life-phase, I'm sure, but exciting nonetheless.

Ah, the Swadfather (a.k.a. Jesse, the fastest swaddler in the East) returns! This week has been a big one for realizing how my aesthetic has changed since having Speedy. Specifically, I now measure sex appeal by a man's ability to bounce my child to sleep, operate the stroller and install the carseat without my intervention, and surprise me with clean dishes. (As I write, the Swadfather informs me that he brought comfort food for the sickie: brownies and sweetened condensed milk for cafe con leche.)

Work with Me, Baby

Speedy & I went into the office yesterday to pick up materials for a safety program I'm putting together and install some trial landscaping software from NE Grows. After catching the wrong bus, walking longer than planned, and emergency nursing in the park by Town Hall (covered by a blanket -- not for modesty, but because it was so cold and windy), we arrived to the delight of Nana J, the office manager who "retired" this summer. We worked for 3 hours! This working mom thing might actually be possible.

I have been skeptical about working from home, ever since a cursory web search revealed that WAHM (work-at-home-mom) has come to mean specifically former SAHMs who now run one or many home-based entrepreneurial ventures, ranging from designing fabulous diaper covers to telemarketing. Moms who renegotiate their existing work to be home-based seem to have another name, which I have yet to discover. If anyone can enlighten me (or better yet, point me to resources), I'd be much obliged.

Encouragingly, my visiting mom, an architect, mentioned she recently found a photo of herself doing a site visit, in which her (now college-age) infant daughter is visible in a carseat on the kitcen counter. The sales rep at a local nursery also shared a story of taking her kids on site with her when she worked as a mason. She brags about hosing off mud-covered pacifiers, and about her daughter finding the perfect chinking pieces when she was a toddler!

Training Updates

Everyone in our house has been derailed by a nasty cold this week. I have the least to complain about, but The Swadfather was hit pretty hard.

Maybe I haven't mentioned: The Swadfather is running the Boston Marathon again this year with the Dana Farber Marathon Challenge team. (DFMC benefits the Claudia Adams Barr Program in Innovative Basic Cancer Research. Please consider making a donation in the name of someone you knwo who has been touched by cancer.) We discussed the marathon while I was pregnant, and I signed on, knowing he would be training while Speedy was a newborn. I figure, heck, at least one of us is really running! But what a lot of pressure to be training for a marathon when one's partner is living vicariously through you. There are days where I can't listen to TSF's planned route, current training diet, or aches and pains, because I want to be back out there so badly.

As it is, I should be able to run a full 3 miles by mid-February. I ran for 22:40 straight on Monday at a 12 min/mile pace, and I expect to be able to do a full 30 min. this week. Had a lousy run on Thursday, but was probably paying for the cold and another day of schlepping Speedy to NE Grows (in the driving rain, nursing merrily all the way, as he seems to be preparing for his 3 mo. growth spurt.)

Not as Bad as It Sounds

Speedy & I learned a new term today: slab-jacking. No, it has nothing to do with raw meat, theft, or sex.

You know when you are wheeling down the sidewalk and you have to pop a wheelie with the stroller to jump up an uneven piece of sidewalk, often dislodged by a tree? Slab-jacking is one remedy to this. (An easier one is: don't plant big trees in little tiny holes...) Rather than replacing the whole sidewalk, the too-low slabs are drilled with holes and injected with concrete under high pressure, until they are jacked up level with their abutters.

Ok, so it's only cool if you're a plant geek or disability rights activist.

Anyway, Speedy was amazingly tolerant of the whole expo center & lecture hall thing today. He barely fussed. However, he continues to prove that he knows when to cry to optimize social disruption -- in this case announcing our entry to the No Name restaurant during the packed lunch hour. I tried to get some friends to sit for him so that I could spare him tomorrow's session on green roofs, but no dice.

In other news: I ran for 22 consecutive minutes today at the gym! I will be able to complete the St. Paddy's Day 5K without walk breaks. Yay!

Pregnant Runner Haiku

It ain't Runner's World's shoe haiku, but...

1

Thirteen minute miles

feel not so slow to us now.

Week thirty-seven.

2

Strong breath, heart, legs speed

my round belly's passenger

to the finish line.

3

This race has no shirt,

no bag, no schwag, yet we push

for our squalling prize.

4

No sag vehicle

but my breath and your strong arms.

No choice but first place.

- CEV, October 2005

Games Mommies Play

Pushing a baby stroller is just like pushing a lawn mower, except you can't burn or cut yourself on it when you have to lift it up stairs. This makes me happy.

Grammy has no issues with pushing a stroller, but she pretends she's mowing the lawn when she vaccumes the floor. (She also pretends she's flying a plane when sitting in the dentist's chair. Not while he's working on her, of course.)

An Intrusion of Realism

Grammy is gone, and it's back to solo mommyhood, with the added bonus of Jesse being sick. On the plus side, I spoke with my boss on Friday, and it looks like I'll be able to work from home a good bit this season, which lessens the "I'm only working so I can afford childcare" dilemma. Speedy is accompanying me to the largest landscaping trade show in the US this week, so we'll get to see how being a "working mother" in the most simultaneous sense plays out...

Today's run started out discouraging, but improved once I realized that "shorts weather" for running is a bit too cool for run-walk training. My legs weren't cramping because I was weak, but because I should have been wearing tights to keep the muscles warm during walks. So, I ended up shorting the walk breaks to a minute or less, and got home sooner than expected.

Maybe there's a good lesson there about new parenthood: when things don't work quite as expected, it's not (necessarily) because one sucks as a parent, but because the pace and climate are slighty different with a baby, a mommy-body, etc.

E.g.: I breezed into a noon meeting last week with hands full, coffee sloshing, having just devoured a muffin for "lunch" after running errands all morning. Par for the course for me, and previously not a problem, except now the meeting was of a new moms' group, and I'm trying to compose myself without waking Speedy as I remove him from the Baby Björn. (Other moms and babies look on, as if I just missed the complimentary Valium ingested by everyone else at the start of the meeting.)

Eh. Más se perdió en la guerra.

The iPod

Jesse runs with music; I don't. Usually. Except that since having Speedy, I have not been able to leave the house without obsessing about him. My runs are the one time I would like to hold sacred, breathing the fresh air bus exhaust uninterrupted by throughts of the quantity and quality of the day's poops. So, today I took the iPod, which Jesse has loaded with fast & slow run mixes.

All I can say about the quality of the mixes is that I ended up cutting my walk breaks short when each new song came on, because the tempo was so perfect. Any GenX-er could have played name that tune as I, pounding silently along in my headphones, suddenly shouted "Leo-nard-Bern-stein!" or whistled the pennywhistle section of "Send Me on My Way." I suggest checking out Jesse's "What's on my iPod" sidebar. You, too, may find yourself sheepishly bounding along to Cristina Aguilera's "Fighter."

Post-partum Training Plan

Opted to nap instead of going to yoga last night. But I did set up a training log on Cool Running, including the past few weeks of post-partum training history.

When I was pregnant, I searched in vain for pregnancy & post-partum training plans. I am here to tell you that (1) it can be done, and (2) you don't have to keep your heart-rate below 140! Chris Lundgren's Runner's World Guide to Running & Pregnancy was a great resource, but I had lost it in the pile of baby stuff when the time came to return to running, so I kinda felt my way through the first weeks back on the road.

My first day out, I planned to walk 5 minutes and run 1 -- a gentle reversal of Jeff Galloway's intervals for marathon distance-building. When I got out there, I realized I could run 3 min. at a time, with 3 min. recovery, so that's what I did.

My goal is to continue my current flat 3 mile route, increasing my run intervals up to 5 min. and my walks down to 1 min., then start building distance and adding hills back in. My trainer/friend Lisa has also designed a strenght work-out to counter the upper-body strain of breastfeeding and baby-hefting, and to rebuild the shoulder and abdominal muscles that I couldn't work out much during pregnancy.

Dish Karma, etc.

Skipped my run yesterday after schlepping around for a friend down with a hip injury. Based on Gmap Pedometer, I did about 4 miles in the snow, with Speedy in the Baby Bjorn. The friends in question have amassed major good karma since Speedy's conception, checking in with both my partner & I, inviting us to lots of last-minute meals, and even doing our dishes. Doing each other's dishes and errand-running is very win-win: whoever is doing the chore feels altruistic, and whoever is on the receiving end gets something done that otherwise would have required additional sleep deprivation to accomplish.

Just got back from a walk (a.k.a. lull the baby to sleep), which produced these random thoughts:

1) While trying to maintain perpetual motion with the stroller and cursing cross-traffic even more than I do on a run, I realized whoever conceptualized the movie Speed must have had a wakeful infant.

2) This blog should be subtitled "The Boob Blog," since I only sit down at the computer when Speedy's nursing. I read somewhere about the importance of "mothering at the breast"... For Speedster, that looks something like "Click, Clack, Moo!"

Grins on the Run

Friday, I did something almost unheard-of in the greater Boston running community: I smiled at another runner.

I've spent 6 years bopping along the banks of the Charles with all the students, with no hint of collegiality. Even running pregnant, I only had one (1) warm encounter with other runners: a group of masters' runners on an early morning run in Davis Square smiled encouragingly as my 7-months pregnant and training for a 5K self bounced by. (Though I did get occasional encouragement from hard-core cyclists and homeless men.)

Normally, we do not make eye contact, but treat every "easy" day as a race. As I progressed through pregnancy, I mentally "raced" to pass first lanky Harvard boys, then women my own age and size, then 40-something moms pushing double running strollers, before finally giving up and racing the clock, just aiming to run a negative split (even if I was doing 12-minute miles).

But Friday, I found myself jogging towards another runner -- she was even young, pretty, and out-pacing me -- and smiling. Maybe it was a vicarious thrill at seeing a woman who felt at home in her body, who had free time to run, who was kicking it the way I did a year ago. Or maybe it was my new-found maternal instinct, which seems to apply to anyone under the age of 20, proud to see this young woman genuinely enjoying and excelling at running, rather than miserably punishing her body to justify another cookie. But in any case, I smiled at her. And damned if she didn't smile back at the weary-eyed woman beeping her watch to walk.

In any case, it was enough to inspire me to finally put up the blog I'd been contemplating. As hard as face-to-face companionship is to find among Beantown runners, I know I'm not alone in this sense that running is my home turf.