Pounds of Pain

It hit me today on the stationary bike… I am shedding the pounds of pain.

In the last year of losses I have allowed myself to cushion the blows life was dealing me, with pudge.

I blamed my first miscarriage on my working-out, so I allowed myself to sleep-in instead. I also allowed myself an extra glass of wine because it could have been stress related too, and this does relax the mind and body after a tough day at work. I gave myself credit though, because I was optimistic and back to work a few days later; I gave myself credit because I had “picked myself up, dusted myself off, and I was starting all over again,” a few pound heavier, but I was starting all over again nonetheless.

With the second pregnancy I did everything I didn’t allow myself in the first one. I announced early, I painted the nursery, I bought a crib and changing table, and I enjoyed dessert whenever offered. We lost the baby on the forth of July. There were no fireworks that year, but there were a few vodka fueled nights. I had transformed our home gym (currently not in use) into the nursery, and was now living with that door firmly closed; allowing the desserts and the vodka fueled week to settle permanently onto my hips.

Then there was New Year’s… I was determined to return to some sort of normality, so I packed-up the nursery, restored the home gym and vowed to get back to the me I was prior to 2012. They say the best way to make God laugh is to make plans. Well sure enough come January 22^nd we learn we are pregnant. Six weeks in, I am spotting and put on bed rest; six weeks after that, I am without child once more. My body, now in a sort of reverse metabolism from the bed rest, further nourished by more wine and a rainy spring, is now looking very rubenesque.

So, with the gym restored and questions on why I am unable to keep a pregnancy unanswered until the lab finishes their genetic research, I return to my cheap form of therapy – blood, sweat and tears. So there I am, panting away on the stationary bike when I hear it, the voice I hadn’t heard in a year; my mother’s voice to be exact. “Okay honey, you have had your time to wallow, now its time to pick yourself up, dust yourself off, and start all over again.” I almost fell off of the bike! But then I am hit with her other favorite, “why don’t you jump in the shower and then put on some make-up, It will make you feel better, I promise.” A mile later I realize how much I needed this and how in reality I was allowing myself to stay down, how I wasn’t truly picking myself back up.

So, here I sit, showered and make-up free, realizing that while I wait for the answers, I must dust myself off by shedding my pounds of pain…