Donut Frenzy.

Since about midway through my pregnancy, I started planning on how I would go about losing the baby weight. I decided that I was going to do Weight Watchers and do the Couch to 5k program to work out. I also knew that I would wait til about 5 or 6 weeks postpartum to start doing either one. I wanted to give my body time to heal and I also didn't want to make any changes to my eating habits until I was certain that my milk supply was strong enough to feed my baby and help him grow.

As of Monday, my baby will be five weeks old and I am going to sign up for Weight Watchers. My husband and I bought a treadmill for $140 off of Craigslist and I am going to order some decent running shoes so that I can start running. I have this whole plan in place and I know exactly what my goals are. I even know which milestones I am going to look for so that I can give myself small rewards. My goal is to lose sixty pounds total and I would really like to lose about twenty by the time summer rolls around.

It's going to be really hard for me to achieve my goals. I am not a good dieter, I love food and I have an insatiable sweet tooth as well as being a carbaholic. I love carbs. Bread, pasta, donuts...Yum! I could eat pasta with a side of bread for every meal. I'm also lazy and addicted to the internet. I'm also busy. I have homework (I'm a college senior), a family, and a house to look after. Making time to do my daily runs is going to test my commitment.

I'm not worried though, because I am committed. I am not necessarily concerned with being skinny. I just want to feel good and I want to feel comfortable. Diet and exercise are also very good for my depression and I am determined not to sink into a black hole when my magical placenta pills run out. I think that making dietary changes and exercising regularly will help with that, so that gives me motivation aside from weight loss. I'm in it to win it.

I can already see myself running some sort of 5k and crossing the finish line. I'll have a triumphant grin on my face, raise my arms for victory, and then I'll probably pass out and have to be revived by my husband. The passing out doesn't matter though, as long as I finish the race. I'm really excited about possibly being able to run a 5k and I am going to get there, I just know it.

However, my commitment to my upcoming diet and exercise frenzy hasn't stopped me from thinking longingly and lovingly about the things I am going to have to sacrifice to achieve my goals. Over the summer, Dave and I discovered a place of wonderment located in a neighboring town. It's called The Donut House and it's amazing. They have donuts I had never imagined could exist. Chocolate covered, mocha cream filled donuts, raspberry filled donuts, raspberry cream cheese twists, coffee cake crumble covered donuts, and a whole plethora of donuts that were created to satisfy my wildest, donut related dreams. It's basically heaven for a sweet-toothed, carbohydrate maniac.

It dawned on me yesterday on our way home from a family outing that after Monday, when I start my life changing diet, I won't be able to visit The Donut House. I'll have to pass by it on the way to and from the pediatrician, I'll probably still think about the magical creations within, and I won't be able to stop. Maybe somewhere down the road when I've lost some of the weight and I have better self-control, but it's going to be a while. So I did what every girl who's committed to making life changes and committed to impending weight loss would do. I went and bought a dozen assorted donuts. Then I ate two of them (raspberry filled and coffee cake crumble covered). In about half an hour, I plan on eating the mocha cream filled one.

Of course, I am sharing the dozen donuts with my equally donut addicted husband. That means that between late Saturday afternoon and when I wake up on Tuesday morning, I will have consumed six donuts. Maybe that's excessive and maybe you are judging me and my donuts but I really don't care. I wanted to say goodbye to my donut days. I wanted to make sure that I could enter my donut free existence with no regrets. I'm having a last hurrah with donuts. Don't hate. You know you wish you had a Donut House near you so you could do the same.

Bye Bye Donuts, Hello health. It's going to be a wicked ride. Wish me luck.

There's A Party in My Tummy.

Several people have recently mentioned that they went through and read my entire blog. Aside from being in awe of their commitment to reading and baffled by the news that anyone would be interested in what I have to say, I assume that this means that they are aware that I have struggled with depression for years. If you are not one of these committed readers, you may read about my depression here. I have tried a whole list of remedies for my depression that I won't bother going into here. I plan on spending too much time talking about my placenta to bother talking about Zoloft.

Two or three years ago if you asked me what I thought about placentas, I would have told you that I didn't. I knew what placentas were and what they did but I didn't really care. The most I cared about placentas was that I hoped I would never have a problem with one of mine. I also knew that I had never had a problem with one of my former placentas.

I never imagined that I would appreciate a placenta as much as I appreciate the one that emerged from my body one month and one day ago. But, life threw me a curve ball and I love my placenta. I really really love my placenta. It's magical and wonderful and it has changed my life for the better.

When I became pregnant with my one month and one day old son, I knew immediately that I would be planning a homebirth. I also knew that most of my homebirthing friends still had their own placentas in their freezers. Seriously, I know at least four people who have placentas in their freezers. I immediately decided that I would never be one of the creepy placenta-freezer people, partially because my husband would be pretty grossed out by the idea.

I began to weigh my placenta-related options. I could plant a tree on top of my placenta, but we rent and we don't plan on living here for a very long time. That tree would be special and I didn't want to have to leave mine and my baby's placenta tree behind. I'm sure I could have my midwife dispose of my placenta as some sort of bio-waste, but none of my other homebirthing friends had mentioned doing that and I am too much of a follower to have gone against the grain like that. I knew that some people ate their placentas. I think that they cook them up like a steak and have a feast. I like to be off-center, but even I thought that eating a cooked up placenta steak was a little much.

Finally, the golden option presented itself. I could hire someone to dehydrate my placenta, grind it up, stuff it into capsules, and then give it back to me. I could then do as I pleased with these capsules. Initially, I selected this option because the previously mentioned options were out of the question for me. Encapsulation was the only one I could imagine working for us in a logistical sense. I decided to have my placenta encapsulated without having committed to the idea of actually consuming the capsules. I didn't know what I planned to do with them, but I felt good about knowing what would become of my placenta.

As my pregnancy progressed, I began to do a bit more reading about what people actually do with their encapsulated placentas. I read this brief rundown and then I decided it warranted more research. I couldn't believe that it could actually be beneficial to consume your own placenta. It sounded icky and cannibalistic to me. But when I started to think about my crippling depression, I started to give it a bit more consideration. You see, having depression is a bit like drowning. It's not fun feeling like you can't come up for air and many people who have experienced it will tell you that they would do whatever it takes to prevent themselves from experiencing it again. I was just desperate enough to try it.

When I realized that consuming my encapsulated placenta could potentially help me to overcome my depression, I actually became excited about it. And when my baby was born, I was careful to make sure that everyone involved in the birth knew that I was keeping it, with the intention of encapsulating it. The next day, the placenta encapsulator came and picked it up. Two days after that, she brought it back. The next day, I started taking them.

What happened next was nothing short of miraculous. Over the course of the last four weeks, I have experienced only one short period of "baby blues." I am actually motivated to clean my house, keep up with errands, socialize with other humans, exercise, get dressed, wash my hair, do my homework, play with my children, shut off the computer and chillax with my man, and a whole bunch of other things that I had previously had to bribe myself to do. I feel great. In fact, I even thought of myself as "pretty" this morning when I looked in the mirror. That hasn't happened in about three years. Aside from feeling great, I really do think that I look good. My hair is shiny, my nails are growing, and my skin is glowing and radiant.

The most miraculous of all the placenta miracles is that I am actually happy. I feel good, I like my life, I like myself, and I feel positive. People....I am clinically depressed. These feelings are totally alien to me. I haven't felt these fluffy, sparkly feelings in years. I almost don't know what to do with myself every day because I am just so happy. Yes, I have an awesome husband. Yes, I have awesome children. Yes, having a new baby is very exciting. Yeah, my grades are good. But all of that made me happy before, I just wasn't able to manifest my happiness because the chemical imbalance in my brain prevented me from doing so.

I credit my magical placenta. I credit the fact that I am using my own body to heal itself. I know in my heart of hearts that my decision to have my placenta cooked, crushed up, and put into pills was the right one. I also know that my decision to consume these pills has changed my life. Mother nature sure knew what she was doing when she designed my placenta-growing body. If she were tangible, I'd give her a hug.

People have had mixed reactions to my placenta consumption. Many say that they don't care that it is unrecognizable in its pill form, they would know what it was and they would never be able to take the capsules. Others say that it just seems icky (which seems funny to me considering the ingredients in modern medications that they probably take without a second thought). Some people just don't believe me and don't believe in the benefits of placentophagy. I respect the fact that some people may not be able to become comfortable with the idea of consuming their own placentas. However, I encourage them to look at it from a different point of view. I encourage people daily to get outside of their comfort zones and try new things and this is no different. How will you ever know how what your placenta can do for you unless you try?

Just ask my shiny hair and my strong nails and they will tell you (or they would if they could speak) that placenta pills are awesome. There's a party in my tummy and I credit my walk on the weird side for helping me get it started.

In the immortal words of Jim Morrison, "Where's your will to be weird?"

Boob Truth.

I can't believe that I haven't blogged in almost a year. I haven't been tempted too either. I just haven't had much to say. I was also pregnant and anything I might have said would have been hormonal and sad.

Pregnancy over the last year means that I have a brand new baby (a boy) who I am currently breastfeeding. My older son was breastfed for 26 months and this baby will be breastfed until he weans himself as well. This means that my body will not be my own again for another couple of years. It hasn't been my own since June of 2007 when I got pregnant with my older son.

I got pregnant the same month that he weaned from the breast. Yes, folks, I have been using my body to help another body grow for almost 4 years. And if Baby Coe nurses for as long as his big brother did, it will be close to 6 by the time I am finished. And for that matter, I am not sure if I am done having kids yet. Time will be left to tell on that one.

Anyone who knows me or has me as a friend on Facebook knows that I post about breastfeeding constantly. If breastfeeding was gangster, I would be an OG. I believe that every baby deserves to be breastfed. The benefits are innumerable and it's an amazing thing. Human milk was designed for human babies and they should reap the benefits of this magical concoction. However, last night something became apparent to me. I need to be honest about breastfeeding.

I posted a link to a preview for a film called "Formula Fed America," and it spawned a good conversation. There was one person who mistakenly believed that formula was only better for six months and after that it didn't matter, there was one who tried everything in her power to keep breastfeeding but dried up between 6 and 9 months both times, and finally there was the one who inspired me to finally blog again. She had her baby the day before I had mine and she has already stopped nursing due to supply issues. This person said that my post made her feel like shit and went on to describe her sadness over the fact that she is no longer nursing her baby.

Very simply put, my heart broke for her. I don't like making people feel badly about themselves and it is never my intention to do so. I also never want to pour salt in a fresh wound. I went to bed feeling like a jerk. The good thing is that I woke up with a revelation. I have not been as honest as I should be about breastfeeding.

I think that I sometimes paint a really rosy picture. "Oooooh, I'm so awesome. I breastfed my son for 26 months and it was magical every second. It was so easy and wonderful. Now I'm doing it again and the magical wonderment has only just begun." Well folks...that is not the case. Even for me, who loves nursing, breastfeeding is work.

With my older son, we initially got thrush. My let down burnt so bad that I would tear up and curl my toes when I nursed. I nursed him around the clock for like six weeks before he started sleeping through the night. My right side always outproduced my left and as a result my left dried up around one year. I nursed for 14 months off of my right side only. As a result, my right breast is about two cup sizes larger than my left. They are visibly different and it's something that burdens my self-esteem. Also, while I was still breastfeeding him, the right was so drastically bigger that I took to putting my hair over the left so that no one could tell. Every picture of me from that time, my hair is over my left breast to hide my embarrassing boob.

Then there's the reality of what nursing for 26 months really entails. Having a screaming toddler attached to my breast. He would twist, turn, scream, latch and unlatch, and sometimes if I was trying to nurse and do homework he would use his busy little hands to make a mockery of my keyboard. Over 26 months, I felt enormous frustration with nursing. For the first year, I said at least once a week that I was going to just quit. But I didn't.

Now, here I sit. A foot away from a baby who is an entirely different kind of nurser than his brother. This guy isn't a natural nurser. He has trouble getting a good latch sometimes and I have to take him off multiple times and try again. He also spits up like crazy and will sit there and nurse for ten minutes only to let go, barf up his entire stomach contents, and want to start again. Let's add in that we also have thrush which has caused a yeast rash on his bottom as well. On top of that, my left breast had supply issues again. My baby is not quite five weeks old but I have spent that entire five weeks trying to diligently work on bringing the supply on my left side up again. I don't want to nurse off of only one side again. That sounds awful. The baby also has not yet learned to nurse lying down. Which means I am up with him a lot during the night.

In short, breastfeeding is kicking my ass for the second time. It's not easy for me. I have plenty of moments where I think, "God, why didn't I buy bottles and formula? I could just give him to Dave and go take a shower, nap, and do my homework." Breastfeeding is an endurance trial. It's not all sunshine and roses and butterflies covered in glitter. Maybe it is for some, but that is not the case for me. I have to work hard to be a good breastfeeder and I do it because I am passionate about it. I feel badly for having possibly given the mistaken impression that breastfeeding was a wonderland for me.

There you have it. The cold hard truth about boobs. Even some of the most passionate nursers struggle and think about giving up.