I finally did it. I got tired of hearing that pesky treadmill nag me about being a fatty, fatty boombalatty, so we had a reunion of sorts. It wasn’t magical. A light didn’t shine down from heaven to the sound of a chorus of angels. It was mildly sweaty and majorly not interesting.
But I watched the Mattress episode of Glee. Too bad there’s only one left I haven’t seen, then I’ll have to bribe myself with something else, like … oh, MY HEALTH.
One of my best buddies, Blair, started McFatty Mondays to combat an epidemic of widening asses. I didn’t join the movement at first because I hoped I was pregnant. Yeah, not so. Then I didn’t join because I was just plain-old lazy.
Now I’m finally hopping on the bandwagon, but I’m going to march to a different tune, per the usual in my world. Seeing as I’m busting my ass to get pregnant, hoping to start putting on baby pounds soon, I’m not entirely concerned with the McFatty part of this movement.
And so, I introduce to you, dear readers, McHealthy Mondays.
Sorry, Blair. I just have to be different.
So what’s the difference between McFatty Mondays and McHealthy Mondays? Mainly, none of my focus will be on weight loss. Sure, dropping an el bee or 10 would be fabulous before I join the pudding club, but I have enough on the ol’ stress-me-out plate as it is.
Instead, I’ll focus on getting back to eating healthy and exercising regularly.
There’s nothing to discuss regarding my mostly non-existent exercise habits lately, but I did, up until recently, have excellent eating habits.
The Baby Jesus killed those.
That’s right. I’m blaming Jesus – Jesus and his Christmas cookies and potatoes and CARBS. CHRISTMAS CARBS.
As a PCOSer, I benefit from a diet full of foods low on the Glycemic Index. From late June, when I was first tentatively diagnosed with PCOS (to be later confirmed in September) until mid-December, I fucking ROCKED my low-GI diet.
Sure, it was hard to say goodbye to my soulmate, the potato. Sure, I missed ice cream. It’s really hard to eat an insane amount of vegetables when you aren’t used to it, and overkill on protein can make me gag.
Other than that, I felt amazing, I dropped some very easy pounds, I felt great … did I mention how wonderful I felt? Plus, you know, my low-GI diet felt amazingly proactive. A lot of time one fighting infertility spends is idle, waiting for specific days or test results. Sticking to a healthy, low-GI diet is something I can do every day to (supposedly) combat PCOS.
I’m going to give myself a couple days to see if I can shake the recent re-addiction to carbs. If it doesn’t work, I’ll follow the guidlines set by Phase 1 of the South Beach Diet, which, in a nutshell, means very, very, very, very, very, very, very, VERY few carbs – a detox of sorts.
More than a month of being a lazy cheat has come to a close. I’m getting back on track and back to living a healthy life.
Lucky ran around like a maniac while I attempted to make a snow angel on the ice-crusted snow.
Snow angel fail.
My final birth control pill of this forced-break cycle, also pictured with two Barney Rubbles and two Metformin
I’m one of the few Northerners who moved to the South and misses the snow like crazy. My camera snapped this picture less than an hour after the snow started.
Let it snow! Let it snow! Let it snow!
My nighttime lap: Lucky can’t get enough of sitting in my lap at night after I’ve been away all day. She lubs me.
Also, check out my latest accessory, a bracelet representing Infertility’s Common Thread.
*SIGH*
I just recently started wearing this, only because I just recently learned of it. I write quite a bit about my experiences with infertility, but I shy away from reading too much of others’ experiences. I have plenty of friends who I support (or have supported, for those who’ve found success after infertility) and learn from, and our struggles are pretty much all I can take on.
I do a lot of Internet research on PCOS and infertility treatments and procedures and have landed several times on Stirrup Queens. I poke around for a bit, but I usually end up overwhelmed and running backward for dear life.
The success stories are uplifting and inspire envious yearning at the same time. The stories of those who continue to struggle with infertility or have given up after years of battling are heartbreaking.
Not too long ago, my click-here, now-here, now-here, go-there, click-here routine somehow dropped me on Stirrup Queens’ page about Infertility’s Common Thread, and I now suddenly hate how narrow I’ve kept my scope of reading about infertility.
Sure, I struggle daily with my own fertility battle and stand beside loved ones as they fight their own. I’m blessed to have a great network of supportive loved ones, but many are not. Infertility should never be a battle we’re left to fight by ourselves or with just a few close friends by our sides. If I demand from the world more support and compassion, I need to show that same support and compassion to people outside my comfort zone.
I’ll be reading more, I’ll be commenting more, and I’ll be wearing my Common Thread with pride.
Infertility’s Common Thread
Pomegranates, a longstanding symbol of fertility, serve as a strong analogy to those suffering through infertility. Though each pomegranate skin is unique in colour and texture, the seeds inside are remarkably similar from fruit to fruit. Though our diagnosis is unique— endometriosis, low sperm count, luteal phase defect, or causes unknown — the emotions, those seeds on the inside, are the same from person to person. Infertility creates frustration, anger, depression, guilt and loneliness. Compounding these emotions is the shame that drives people suffering from infertility to retreat into silence.
In addition, the seeds represent the multitude of ways one can build their family: natural conception, treatments, adoption, third-party reproduction or even choosing to live child-free.
The pomegranate thread holds a two-fold purpose: to identify and create community between those experiencing infertility as well as create a starting point for a conversation. Women pregnant through A.R.T., families created through adoption or couples trying to conceive during infertility can wear the thread, identifying themselves to others in this silent community. At the same time, the string serves as a gateway to conversations about infertility when people inquire about its purpose. These conversations are imperative if we are ever to remove the social stigma attached to infertility. Tie on the thread because you’re not alone. Wear to make aware.
(explanation courtesy of Stirrup Queens)
