Happy Holidays

Shane put the finishing touches on Hunter’s Christmas presents. He spent the latter part of the evening assembling our little boy’s present a kitchen set that came with two hundred and fifty pieces for assembling. The last three hours he fiddled with instructions, screw drivers, and a hammer. I showed my support by watching The Christmas Story on the couch. It was a little before two o’clock as we blew out the candles and turned off the lights except for the tree. We stood there in the dark with the tree illuminated in the silence of the darkness, reminding us of our own childhood on Christmas Eve. Here we were with our new family. Creating new memories with our son and others to follow. That emotion in the pit of my soul grew strong and clear, no gift was more endearing.

We headed upstairs to our bedroom. A brief storm was at hand as the wind and the rain blew hard, but from our bedroom window I saw through the trees and the lights that reflected off the bay, a silence, peace was at hand. The first year, for me, I learned the true value of Christmas. I am content. I have a wonderful husband, a beautiful son, in a wonderful home, and a miracle that was growing in belly. My world is complete.

This is Shellie Merry Christmas to me back to you Bob at the studio!

12 Days of Carbohydrates

On the _________ day of Carbohydrates my true love gave to me...

12. Twelve Mission tamales
11. Eleven bites of pork pupusas
10. Ten golden french fries
9. Nine scoops of egg nog ice cream
8. Eight types of Holiday baked cookies
7. Seven sips of blue bottle cappucinno
6. Six pieces of chocolate
5. Five slices of sausage pizza
4. Four Rechutti vanilla bean marshmallows
3. Three glasses of champagne
2. Two servings of greek yogurt granola parfait
1. One warm bowl of spaghetti with wild boar ragu

The Carborator

Once again, my pregnancy harbors an insulin dysfunction. My pancreas is slow on the draw with the insulin. That’s right gestational diabetes. I said it. Gasp, I said the word. Once again, I’m locked in to a food journal to meticulously count carbohydrates. I, food nerd, have succumbed to becoming a nutritional label whore and weighing all products on my electronic scale. My doom has settled fresh in the belly of my mind as everything I adore is a carbohydrate like yogurt, fruit, vegetables, breads, pastas, rice, sweets, and dairy. It's always the case, once I'm restricted than my urges become irrational like suddenly a late night bowl of ice cream oozing in warm caramel is a delicious idea. In actuality, it would send my blood sugar in fits and tizzys.

It would be simple enough to omit carbohydrates from my diet, but not that simple as it would jeopardize my baby’s health as well. It’s an even keel of keeping that fireplace burning at a moderate flame. Without it I could flop into a serious seizure and too much of it would 'cause my baby's pancrease to work overtime.

Every two weeks, I meet with the dietician and nurse to assure my figures are within controlled limits. Approximately in the second and third trimester, the disease becomes aggressive, thus I must counteract it with pre-meal insulin via needle to the belly. To make matters worse, I am required to check my blood sugar 5 times a day by finger pricking.

The attention to detail to this disease seems overwhelming, but like my dietician says, “it’s all in the good of the baby.” My thoughts instantly damn the baby, but than I quickly digress from my self centered galaxy. As I’ve strategized preventional tactics (gym and cardio) to prevent the disease from rearing it’s ugly head, I’m predestined into damnation. The bright side being, at least I’m not porking down on bon bons and greasy fries. I’ve a head start on cinching my waistline as soon as I spit out the second child, my circuit training body better be fit enough to kick ass.

I’m a little under 30 weeks, and am ready to come out insulin a blazin’. My first pregnancy seemed traumatic with the strict diet restrictions, injections, and finger pricking. This time around the trauma is lulled to sleep. Like the doctors say, it’s all for the success of a healthy baby. As Hunter was only 6 pounds and 11 ounces, I am hoping the gods will humbly look down on me once again.

This is Shellie enjoying a delicious carrot stick and a spoonful of cottage cheese back to you Bob at the studio!

Dont' Worry Be Happy

In the past year, a baby explosion went off like Hiroshima. A mass of friends tossled into the birth canal of new parents. The parental fellowship grows. Meanwhile months, upon months, upon many months have gone by where I've missed the opportunity to make my stop for well wishes. As I'm deterred by my motivation or lackthereof, my emergency brake is replaced with a warp speed button.

As my intentions are good, my time managing skills have gone down the toilet. Between work and family, I’m wedged in a tight spot. Conceptually, it seems possible, but my days jumpstart the moment Hunter awakes to nine o’clock in the evening. Until I find myself in the divine grace of my couch, unfolding into delicious relaxation, my mind is ablur. Currently, my days consist of sprinting in a circle of days, gradually into weeks, plowing into months and here I am at the end of the year scratching my head. Perhaps, if I wasn’t a working mom it wouldn’t seem so far away, but it’s hard to deny a nice salary and benefits. Thus, reality seeps in.

As I beat myself constantly for being a deadbeat in the schedule department, my husband put a fresh spin on my dilemma, “They didn’t come to see you after Hunter was born? So stop trippin'” He was right? This coming from the man that taught me that turning the other cheek is best, “…just because they’re jerks doesn’t mean you have to treat them the same way…” Was he contradicting himself? Ironically, my husband’s childhood friend had a second child and we pounced with a gourmet dinner in tow three weeks after their baby’s birth. Hence, this is cold hard evidence that I am utterly useless as a fly on an elephant's ass. My pregnancy and Hunter as an excuse would only be a juvenile cop out.

I’m not alone in this vast vacuum of a world. I’m certain there are others with home made dishes suffering freezer burn or beautifully wrapped newborn gifts that are most likely outgrown. I have succumbed to the mere childish fact that I absolutely suck. Shrug. If I’m lucky, these new parents will understand as they’re suddenly pummeled with new responsibilities to notice my trivial lullaby. Thus, I have another one on the way and the last thing on my mind are visitors or well wishers, maybe that's just me...

This is Shellie making a mountain out of a mole hill back to you Bob at the studio.