I’ve seen a bunch of folks “attending” the 30-Day Ab Challenge Event (or whatever it’s called) on Facebook. And I would totally do it (kudos to accepting the challenge, peeps!), but after having four babies (the two oldest so close together — 16 months — along with the two younger littles just about as close), I’ve discovered I suffer from Diastisis Recti.
Do you know what that is? It’s a separation of your lower abdomen muscles, which results in a gap that can vary in size. It turns out that one out of three women who have been pregnant suffer from this. I can’t find the page where I originally read this exact statistic, but I did come across a blog that references it.
When I first discovered it I didn’t know what it was, just that I would sometimes have a shooting pain after I did crunches or when I bent over to tie my shoes or pick something up and that when I sat at a certain angle, there was a protrusion up the middle of my stomach, and at another angle a gap into which I can fit my fingers. When I showed the hubs he told me to ask my OB about it. She didn’t diagnose me. Only said if it caused me enough pain we could operate (thinking it might be a hernia, which, by the way, if you don’t take care of/improve the Diastisis Recti, you could end up getting). I thought that was a bit extreme and decided just to deal with it. But she also didn’t tell me how crunches, planks, and certain yoga and pilates moves can make the condition WORSE.
Who the hell dry cleans baby clothes? And who in their right mind would make baby clothes that require dry cleaning?
I don’t do laundry everyday, but I do have at least one load of laundry to do a day. Ya got that? Let me know if you don’t understand that nuttiness.
My kids’ clothes go in HOT (no matter what the color) because they’re germ monsters.
The clothes the hubs and I wear get sorted into darks and lights for cold and warm or hot loads (yup, special treatment because we don’t grow a few inches every few months, nor have we bought new clothes in years).
Unfortunately for my husband, I don’t take special care to check labels (if it’s in the pile, it’s going into the washer and probably straight to the dryer, unless he’s asked me to specifically hang something up because he doesn’t want it to shrink). Yes, that means many an item has been destroyed because it was left in the pile when it should have been pulled out for our semiannual trip to the cleaners.
I was home on Feb. 14 because my older girls didn’t have school due to President’s Day weekend and daycare was closed for my younger two. So I worked from home while my kids ran around the house, rode their Razors, made a pirate ship in the front yard and then waited eagerly as I strapped the 4-month-old baby to me in the Bjorn, threw the 21-month-old tornado into the stroller and shepherded them out the back gate and into town for a frozen yogurt treat.
My plan was to pick up filets at the local butcher and surprise the hubs with a yummy meal. Even though I hate Valentine’s Day, I still like to surprise him with something special (usually it’s just something sweet I’ve baked — never do I spend money on anything of no practical use and he knows I’ll punch him in the face if he strays from this agreement). However, I didn’t notice the guy behind the meat counter putting the Flinstone-esque double-cut filets into the butcher paper. So, basically, SEVENTY DOLLARS later, instead of just FIVE steaks I had TEN. I figured, well, we haven’t splurged in a while, and it couldn’t be much more than when we take the whole family out for pizza (I won’t break down the bill for you, just keep in mind that we walk to the restaurant and mommy and daddy enjoy a few libations). Although my children love to eat filet (because, frankly, who doesn’t?!), we were now going to be eating steak for who knows how many days straight. Lesson learned: Let the hubs buy the steak and stick to the sweet stuff. But I digress …