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Posts Tagged ‘exercise’

Halfway there

Some people meditate.  Others perform yoga, or subject themselves to acupuncture.  Others pray, or chant, or play solitaire.  I fold paper.  Meditatively.  As a way to calm myself down.  I’ve done this for so long I don’t even remember when I started.  Don’t get me wrong – I’m still pretty lousy at it.  Truly complicated origami is as far beyond my skills as is the mathematics that it’s based on.  But I like to take something two-dimensional and make it three-dimensional.  And if it’s a folding pattern that is simple and relaxing and that creates something graceful and lovely, well, all the better.  I fold cranes.  I’ve folded cranes since I was a little girl, but recently I’ve made a project out of it.

I’m a librarian, and I run craft programs for teens, and one afternoon while we were folding snails (and frogs and attempting to fold a cicada that was, unfortunately, beyond any of our patience,( one of my teens reminded me of the legend that folding a thousand paper cranes will grant a person one wish.  Sadako – the little girl who contracted leukemia from her exposure at Hiroshima – popularized the legend when she tried to fold a thousand cranes before her death.  People all over the world still fold cranes and send their garlands of cranes to the peace monuments in Japan.  It’s not world peace I’m after (though, of course, I’d take that, too).  Instead, I decided I’m making a mobile for my sprog’s bedroom.  

Not out of any belief in magical thinking, but rather, because it’s an example of determined optimism in the face of overwhelming odds.  Rather like what I’m going through medically in order to make this happen.  It’s believing that it will work out because I’m going to make it work out, because I’m willing to endure all the crap that goes along with this.  That’s what folding a thousand paper cranes represents to me.

And because I live in NYC, where there are specialty stores for just about everything under the sun, I can go to Chinatown and buy pre-cut paper in bright colors and elaborate gilt-work.  Also, because I live in NYC, where the rooms are very small, each piece starts life as a sheet of paper about 2 inches square.  Once folded, it becomes a crane about 1 1/2 inch from beak to tail & from wing to wing.  Once I’m finished, I’ll string them in groups of 100 or more, and hang them up.  Should be a bright, meaningful bit of work that will remind me every time I look at it while changing a diaper or soothing cranky sprog to sleep for the umpteenth time how very very much I wanted this. 

This morning I hit the 500 mark.  Here they are:

 

502 paper cranes

502 paper cranes

And other than exercising to try to get strong again, that’s the only thing I’ve accomplished today on the baby-making front.

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Nesting

You know, with this degree of nesting going on, it’s just a crying shame that I can’t even pretend I might be pregnant.  I mean, there’s an outside chance that I might be, but I’m really not counting on it.  But, whatever the reason, I spent the day doing all the errands I never seem to get around to doing, as well as cleaning out/rearranging the closets in this house – something that’s wanted doing since the boy moved in here, and something I’ve been itching to do since I moved in here.

Then I rearranged the kitchen.

Then I moved just about every picture in the house.  Musical chairs, only with picture hooks.

And then there was more cleaning to be done, and rearranging, and prepping for tomorrow’s project, which I’d like to have completed by the time the boy comes home in the evening.

Tired, but smug, it feels like there’s a fine layer of dust over my entire body, but if someone were to pound on my door, demanding to know where our keyhole saw is, I could tell them right this very minute.  And that goes for the box of door handles, too.  

Tomorrow is “install the dog door” day, and it will also be the third day of ass-kicking by new DVD.  Which left me sore – which left me embarrassed – but also queerly challenged to keep doing it.  You need to understand that in my pre-NYC life, I was rather spectacularly in shape.  My ex-husband and I spent our honeymoon riding bicycles down the continental divide – Canada to Mexico.  I used to regularly ride my bike to work, which was almost exactly 30 miles away.  Everyone says that people in NYC are thinner because of all the walking they do.  Hah.  They’re thin because they never eat, which is a crying shame in a city with the wonderful food this one can boast.  As for me, I’ve never been so slothful in my life, even with the dog, even with the (optional) 1-mile walk to a farther subway stop each morning & evening.  

It doesn’t help that the boy’s entire family has hummingbird metabolisms that allow them to eat anything they want.  It doesn’t help that what the boy likes to eat tends to be swimming in butter and meat-fat.  And, of course, to keep the blame where it really belongs, it doesn’t help that I love to eat good food as much as I do.  It also doesn’t help that I gained weight in the last round of IVF, and then plunged into an eating-too-much cycle during & after the miscarriage.  I’ve gained almost 20 pounds in the last five years – 15 of which were in the last six months, and while I’m not actually overweight (yet), I’m on the way high-end of normal weight for my height, and I don’t like that.  And here I am wanting to grow a baby with this un-fit body?  I’m heartily ashamed of myself for letting it get this bad.

So I’ll stick with the DVD that kicks my ass.  And then maybe when I do get pregnant I can spend that nine months enjoying the experience, rather than worrying about how it’s going to make getting back to normal that much harder.  

How’s that for inspiration?

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Roar!

Another cheer for my insurance company.

Which is just about the weirdest thing in the world to type, but there it is.  

I got a check in the mail today for the out-of-network services provided by my RE during the D&C.  I paid his fees in cash before the procedure, because I didn’t want anyone messing around in there who didn’t know how abysmally difficult this whole pregnancy-thing was.  If anyone was going to err in my innards, I wanted someone to err on the side of caution, damnit.  So I was happy to pay his fees and just chalk it up to another IVF expense.

His insurance goddess gave me all the forms to fill out, and even helped me fill out a couple of the more esoteric fields.  Dutifully, I sent them in, but really wasn’t expecting much.  But here it is, not even a month later, and there’s a check in my possession for what they’ll cover of it.  About half of the out-of-pocket costs, which really isn’t bad at all.

I’m impressed.  

Hip hip hoorah.

Oh, on the cheerleading front, I started exercising tonight.  With a DVD taskmistress for company/encouragement.  I like the program, it’s fast & simple and knocks me on my ass even at level 1 (oh, but I am slothful and sluggish these days!)  I hope to get stronger.  

I told the boy that I was exercising when he called from the convention, and he waxed poetic about how weird women are that they’d rather exercise to a DVD class than just do it on their own.  

Am not weird.  Take it back.  

It seems perfectly normal to me that it’s easier to keep interested enough to keep going if there’s someone making pseudo-eye-contact and reminding me visually why I’m doing this – namely because I know I don’t look anything like her.  And I’d rather like to.  

Anyway, I have high hopes, and a week from now, when I’m still doing these exercises once a day despite his cynical predictions, I expect to serve my husband a heaping helping of crow.  Right before I crush him with my mighty thighs and rock-hard abs.  Not to mention my ripped upper arms.  

Roar.

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