French fries are a vegetable right?

My routine was simple.  Wake up, go to gym, lift for about an hour, drink protein shake, come home, shower, get ready for the day, eat some chicken and drink an energy drink.  Somewhere in there I went to work or I did stuff around the house, I would eat more chicken at some point along with some veggies, and I’d probably have another shake.  My life was about my body, what I put into it and what I could make of it.  I had gotten down to my lowest weight to date and felt a real sense of pride in what I was able to accomplish.  I was getting to the point where I was ready to start adding muscle to my physique when a teeny tiny little plus sign changed everything.

That night I cried, as previously stated, but when the tears subsided I looked at my beloved and said, “well, I guess this means my diets off.”  Then we walked to Betos and I chowed down on a burrito.  Don’t get me wrong, there was a part of me that said I was going to eat healthy throughout my pregnancy but that notion faded out rather quickly.  

I had spent months of my life avoiding cookies and candy, french fries and chips, and everything tasty in between.  For the first time in my life it was not only acceptable for me to gain weight but it was encouraged!  That being the case, I was more than apt to eat an Oreo or two, or ten….

Before we had told anyone we were expecting was probably the most difficult, especially for me.  My coworkers had become really accustomed to my chicken and broccoli or my salmon and broccoli.  They had congratulated me on all my weight loss and were asking me for tips on how they could achieve their goals.  Then out of the blue one day I was eating french fries.  The next day chicken strips.  The next day a sandwich and *gasp* some bread.  Aside from that there was the sudden, unexplainable absence of my long time friend, a can of Rock Star.  One of those things was glued in my hand the moment I walked through the doors, so for there to just one day be nothing but some water or some juice… to say my coworkers were looking a me strange and questioning my sudden change in routine would be an understatement.

Its funny because one of the first questions people ask me or I’m sure any pregnant girl for that matter is, “are you having any cravings?”  I mean, I might be having some but its hard to tell.  With my diet being so restricted before and now suddenly most things are fair game, its hard to say.  I’m just happy eating all the food I couldn’t eat and will for certain discontinue eating once this little babe is born.  There was that one week I couldn’t stop drinking lime juice though… I suppose that was a craving?

Diet aside I was determined to continue working out.  After meeting with the doctor she said I could continue to lift weights so long as I didn’t increase my repetitions or the amount of weight I was doing.  More or less I had a green light for maintenance, save for maybe laying off the squats for a while, which hurt my heart a little bit but I was fine other wise.   

I set out for the gym, as per my usual routine, but I could feel it, something was off.  To my fellow exercise enthusiasts, the sensation is relatable, when you’re dragging through a workout and can’t seem to get a hitch in your giddy up.  Its like you just can’t muster the energy to push through it.  I would usually turn to a caffeinated beverage to help produce some of the energy needed but hey, since I was pregnant that was no longer an option.

This relentless fatigue followed me from the gym to home and then to work.  I can’t complain much because I have honestly bypassed most of the dreaded pregnancy symptoms.  I literally didn’t have a single ounce of morning sickness.  That’s right all you mom’s out there reading this, go ahead and hate on me because I just so happened to be part of the very small percentage of women who don’t end up hugging that porcelain throne.  But what blessings I received from not puking my guts out was more than made up for by the debilitating case of the sleepies.

I have always been a night owl so I’m sure it came as quite a surprise to Tycen when I was falling asleep around 9 o’clock.  You’d think this early turn in time would result in my morphing into an early riser, FALSE, you are dead wrong.  I’d sleep in till 11!  The fatigue was crippling!  I pretty much napped all day unless I absolutely had to get up for something like work.  Apparently manufacturing placenta round the clock, 24 hours a day, takes a lot out of a girl.  Soon my weeks of working out every single day turned into working out 3 days a week, then twice a week.  Then finally came the a whole entire week without working out.

For 12 weeks I suffered through this insane amount of feeling tired, by the time I finally made it to the blessed second trimester and my energy levels picked up again, I had fallen so far behind on my work outs that I no longer knew what I was capable of in the gym.  Once my long time friend the gym was now a stranger to me.  Should I go back to lifting as much as I was before?  Or would that hurt the baby? Everything certainly felt different.  My body is a vessel for a tiny miracle, it just didn’t feel right to be punishing my body anymore.

Now I’ve settled into walking.  Occasionally I’ll make it to the gym and I’ll complete an arm workout, albeit a much shorter and lighter one than before, but for the most part, just walks.  Walks around the neighborhood, walks around the track, walks around the restaurant.

I see other pregnant women at the gym doing absolutely incredible things.  More power to them and I applaud them, however I’m not there nor do I see a need to push myself to get there, at least not right now.  Once that sweet little babe is outside my belly you had better believe it will be game on.  The punishment and sore life style will begin again for me along with a highly restricted diet.  Until then I’m going to enjoy my french fries.

All dogs go to heaven

The Maki family has never really been a dog family, per say.  We’ve always kind of lingered more on the side of “cat people.”  Cats I feel like can sense this about humans because for as long as I can remember we had an influx of cats in and out of our house.  I can think of maybe one cat we actually adopted, my sister’s cat.  The rest were just strays that we gave a home to.  There was one time when I was very young that we got a dog, a cockerspaniel we named KC.  I was the only one that cared for him really and his stay with us was brief.  It seemed that we would never get another dog until one day when I was about eleven, my parents surprised my siblings and I with a sweet little puppy.

A playful little Jack Russel Terrier, mostly white with brown floppy ears, big black eyes, and the sweetest little puppy kisses.  We all finally settled on the name Saydee.  She was a curious little dog that would tilt her head from side to side in wonderment of something.  Her breed is known for being incredibly smart and outrageously energetic.  She was obviously a smart dog, picked up potty training and human training rather quickly.  

It was ironic, because my dad was the one that didn’t want a dog.  He always seemed to the one thing stopping all of us from getting one.  My mom was the one that wanted the puppy and finally after months of convincing (all without mine and my siblings knowing) she got him to cave, but his one stipulation was that he would get to pick the dog or at the very least the breed.  He settled on the terriers because of their smaller stature and high intelligence.  For all intents and purposes, Saydee was meant to be my mom’s dog, but she sure did take a liking to my dad.

She quickly became his shadow, following him around the house, dreadfully sad when he left for work and unimaginably happy when he returned.  His rather sour disposition toward owning a dog quickly melted when that sweet dog chose to love him above all.  She became his little pal and a part of his everyday routine.  Wake up, go to work, come home, feed Saydee, take Saydee to park, come back home, eat dinner, and nap.  Oh the naps they had.

Saydee, while true to her breed in intelligence, was quite the opposite when it came to energy levels.  We had heard stories of JRT’s having an insatiable energy, but Saydee?  She was a mellow that enjoyed bee-bopping around the house and frequent naps.

When I was in high school we finally got around to breeding her.  To be honest she may have  been a bit past her baby-bearing years because while the pregnancy was smooth for her, the birthing was quite a trauma on her.  She only had two puppies and one of the two didn’t make it.  It was decided that since she only had the one living we might as well keep him, we named him Kato.

Motherhood gave Saydee a bit of a mean streak, Lord help anyone if you disturbed her during nap time, she would nip at you before you even saw it coming.  I remember friends coming over in high school and I would always have to warn them, “the one with black ears is friendly, you can pet him, but the one with brown ears will trick you, do NOT pet that one.”  She was a tricky little bugger too, she would wag her tail all nice like and walk right up to unsuspecting guests, and just when she lured them into reaching down and petting her, wam!  She’d bite them!

As she grew older her mean streak subsided a great deal and it was replaced by this absolutely sweet and loving demeanor.  Long since had passed the days of her biting anyone.  I feel that she realized somewhere down the line that she rather enjoyed being pet and that people were much more apt to pet her when she wasn’t growling or nipping.

Her naps became much more frequent in her golden years.  She would tough it out and try to keep up with my dad and Kato on hikes, but she would usually settle into her own comfortable pace.  She always went on the trips to the park.  Chasing trains and nosing through garbage ranked amongst her favorite things.

Clearly my need for writing is because she is no longer with us.  The past year she had begun to lose weight and would turn her nose up at most foods we tried to feed her.  My parents would get a new dog food for her it seemed weekly.  She would eat the new one a few days and then quit.  The only thing they could continuously get her to eat was chicken.  She LOVED chicken.  I remember when I was living at home and eating clean.  I would cook up my chicken and out of no where she would appear, staring at me with those big eyes, hopeful that I might drop her a piece or two.

This past Sunday I was over visiting my parents when she had a seizure.  She had never had one before and the event was rather traumatic for all of us.  It had unearthed some rather unsavory memories of my sweet cats passing in me, and in my current state of already heightened emotions, I was in down right hysterics.  My dad had to coral Kato, he didn’t understand what was going on and he acted out rather aggressively.  In some way I don’t think my dad could handle seeing his puppy like that, and my poor mom… she was the only one of the three of us that could comfort her.

It was all downhill from there.  The vet ran blood tests and diagnosed her as being in advanced stages of renal failure.  They offered a possible diet that my parents could start her on that wouldn’t reverse the state of her kidneys, but it could help her live just a little longer, maybe six more months.  It gave them just a glimmer of hope.  One more birthday to celebrate with her, one more holiday season, she may even get to meet my little baby.

The hope was short lived however, when two days after her first seizure she had another one.  Each day she grew weaker, she stopped wagging her tail and her steps began to falter.  My poor parents spent the days tip-towing around and jumping at any odd movements made by her, would she have another seizure?  How long would this one be?  How long would it take to help her to come back down and relax?  Each of us kids awaiting text messages us, updating us on our sweet puppy’s condition…. sadly it was getting worse.

It was fitting that my dad, the one whom she adored most, was the one who made the decision that it was time.  Her seizures were happening more frequently and her quality of life was diminishing.  With heavy hearts we had a date.  September 19th at 4:45 pm, that is when she would meet her maker.

I don’t know what was worse, the sleepless nights and the uncertainty surrounding her condition, or the impending doom and actually having a time stamp… the sound of a clock ticking away never rung so loudly in my ears.

I have come by frequently over the past week.  Each time I left my parents house to return home, I hugged her just a little tighter, kissed her a little more, thinking that each time I saw her might be the last.

I came by today, knowing all too well that this would indeed be the very last time I saw her deep and gentle eyes, staring back at mine.  This would be the final time she ever so lightly kissed my shins.  This was it.  The clock was ticking away.

I can’t explain it, but I feel like somehow she knew.  Everyone stopped by to see her today to say their goodbyes to her.  For a dog that slept 18 hours a day and was never much of a lap dog, she spent all afternoon walking from person to person, staring up at each one, and kissing their hand.  My dad tried to keep the routine as normal as possible, taking her to the park, feeding her her breakfast, and just doing things around the house like normal.  She even got to snuggle up to him for one final nap.

I’ve been on edge all week and I’ve been hurting.  There are times when my mind lets me forget, when I can actually laugh about a commercial or whatever is on tv, but the nights were haunting.  I couldn’t seem to calm my thoughts enough to gain a restful sleep.  I’ve been weepy and longing for a different outcome, or a different world where death doesn’t have to be a part of life.

I can’t really describe the pain I felt as my mom and dad readied themselves, they were to leave at 4:30.  It was here too soon, it just couldn’t be that time already.  I gave her a hug, I messaged her behind the ears and told her I loved her, that she needed to say hi to Homer and Kia for me.  I watched them all get in the truck, my dad helped her in and I saw her curl up in my mom’s lap as they drove away.  Tears had been streaming down my face but the moment that truck was out of sight I couldn’t compose myself to mere tears any longer.  I was alone with Kato, who only seemed unsettled because he didn’t get to go along on the car ride.  I sobbed by myself and called Tycen, he offered what comfort he could over the phone, and left me to my writing.  Through my writing I would find some sort of peace.

So here I sit, sharing stories of a tiny little heart that housed this huge spirit, that has impacted our lives in ways we couldn’t imagine.  Its so strange how quickly these little creatures become such a part of our everyday, even just by resting somewhere near by.  Even now across from me is the chair she always slept in.  It was her chair, no one else ever sat in it.  We put a down pillow on it and a flanel blanket.  I can almost see her circling as she always would before finally getting herself comfortable and hunkering down for a long nap… it’ll be like that for a while.  Hearing the phantom jingle of her collar, seeing her out of the corner of our eyes, and that feeling that she is sitting somewhere near by, begging for some table scraps.  It’ll take time for those haunting feelings to subside.

My heart is utterly broken. I hate this part of life.  I know that it is necessary and unavoidable, but that doesn’t make it hurt any less.  My only comfort is knowing that she lived a long and wonderful life.  The saying is, “a dogs life,” afterall.  She got to play and nap, eat tasty food, go on hikes and chase trains at the park, and above all she was loved.  She had a family that loved her deeply and cared for her to the very end.

Often times we want to be selfish with our love, we want to keep these little souls with us for as long as we possibly can because their love and our love for them makes us happy.  At some point that love means knowing when it is time to let go.  For Saydee, our sweet little old lady, that time was today.

I know in my heart that when I go, when my clock stops ticking, I will be welcomed by the many who have gone before me, my grandparents, likely my own parents, and my savior.  I also feel strongly in my heart, that my sweet kitty cat Kia and my Saydee will be there as well to greet me.  All the spirits I love most will be there.

To my sweet girl, I love you.  You’ve only been gone for a few hours, but I miss you incredibly already.  Enjoy rummaging through those garbage cans in the sky, where no one will tell you to stop.  Chase those trains and for the first time, you’ll keep up with them.  And those naps you were always taking?  May all the doggy dreams you had during each one come true for you.  Till we meet again sweet Saydee, you’ll always be in my heart.

October 24, 1997- September 19, 2014

Happy Mother's Day

I had a professor in college that had this saying that is so very true to my own life.  He would always say to us that, “Life IS plan B.”  This saying is close to me because I feel that I have often envisioned how my life would turn out.  I had detailed fantasies and dreams of how each major life event would occur.  I had dreamed of this long awaited moment when I myself would become a mother.  In my dreams I was happily married, my husband and I deciding when the perfect time would be to bring a new life into this world.  I would surprise him when he came home with some sort of gift, cluing him into his impending fatherhood.  Tears of joy would be shared as we began the plans of how to announce our sweet little bundle of joys arrival into this world.

Life of course did not deliver this sweet picturesque moment to me, because life so rarely happens as how we think it will.

I was right smack dab in the middle of a whirlwind romance and I couldn’t have been happier.  I was so in love and basking in the fact that I had finally found someone to love me just as much as I loved them.  I felt very blessed.  Amidst all this I was training rigorously.  My days were spent eating clean, lifting and sculpting my body, and spending time with my sweetheart.  I had goals to finally compete in a figure competition, this was going to be my year.

It was incredibly fitting that we both stood there in that tiny bathroom, hovered over a small piece of plastic that could change our lives forever, on none other than Mother’s Day.  That was the day I found out I was going to be a mommy.

I cried, like the little baby I was going to have in nine months.  I went and sat on the foot of the bed and cried.  I had to wave a silent goodbye to how I thought my life was going to play out.  I sobbed about trivial things while my honey sat next to me, hand on my back, talking me through each silly thing I cried about.

“I was working so hard on my body, now I’m going to get fat!”

“What am I going to do with my Jeep?  I can’t put a baby in that!  I love my Jeep!”

“I wanted to get married first!”

“My family is going to hate me, my sister is really going to hate me!”

“I don’t think I’m ready for this.  Most couples are prepared, we aren’t even married!”

“Your parents are going to hate me, I just barely met them… NO!”

Bless him for being so calm and taking my less than exemplary reaction in stride.  A lesser man may have taken my reaction personal, as though each tear was an indicator that I didn’t want to be stuck with him.  That was the thing though, of all the insignificant things I sat there and cried about, having him in my life as the father of my baby was not one of them.  I was never once sad, scared or frightened by that.  If I was going to be hurled into chaos then I was certainly relieved to know that he would be right there by my side, stumbling along with me.

I am certainly grateful that the gestational period is nine months.  Nine months is a good long time into tricking myself I’m ready for this.  We’ve already waded through some of the muck and the unpleasantries.  I’m uncertain but I feel that expectant grandparents react much differently to a married couple breaking the news verses a new couple, a very unwed couple.

I’m already past the halfway mark of this pregnancy and I’ve been given lots of advice, do’s and don’t’s, and how to’s.  There are times when I feel like I’ve let my little baby down, I haven’t done any progress pictures or begun work on a nursery.  I also know that there is a lot to be done and that like any major task in life, I’ve learned to take things one day at a time.  It has been my mantra and saving grace.  All I know is that whatever dreams I have for this baby I had better shelf them, because the odds of anything playing out the way I want it to are slim to nil.  One thing I do know for sure and that is that this baby has got a whole lot of love coming his/her way.

And its a....

I’ve had a few people ask me when I was going to post a blog about my little bundle of joy.  Originally I had intended to retell all the events that took place the day I found out I was expecting, but instead I think I’m going to talk about the most surprisingly controversial decision I’ve made about my little babe.  That is to say, my decision to not find out the gender of my baby.

I don’t know where or when this desire came about.  In some way I feel like I have "Father of the Bride: Part 2" to thank for this.  I’m uncertain but there just seems to be something so romantic and magical about that moment, after nine long months of wonder, when your tiny little miracle has breathed his/her first breath into their lungs and wailed out a healthy cry, and the doctor exclaims, “Its a… !”  That moment just seems so powerful because no matter what gender either parent was hoping for, it washes away when they meet this sweet little face for the very first time.

I think the brand new daddy gets one of the most special moments, as he gets to tell all the family members anxiously waiting in a near by room, what he is the proud father of. He gets to see all their delighted reactions, smiles, tears, and lots of hugs.

I find all these moments to be so endearing that I am more than happy to wait around and experience them myself.  Even with this explanation in tote I have met with a lot of discord amongst my peers.  Some telling me I’m “brave” or “crazy” for deciding against finding out.

Tycen, my beloved daddy to be, his initial reaction was similar to that of everyone else.  If he was having himself a boy he needed to know and he needed to know right now!  He’s come around to my vantage point, that and I think he likes upsetting and confusing people.   My sweetheart sure does love stirring the pot.

The biggest concern my friends and family alike have had with this little decision always comes in the form of this question, “But what am I going to get for you?”  This concern seems so inconsequential and outright silly.  My mom said when she was pregnant with my older brother, she didn’t know what she was having, back then people rarely knew with certainty what they were having and they seemed to manage just fine.

The fact is that even if I knew I was having a boy, I wouldn’t dress him in blue every single day, inversely if I was having a girl, I wouldn’t dress her in pink every single day.  In all honesty I’m not a big girly-girl myself, should my little bundle be a little girl I don’t fancy that I’ll be adorning her in pink tu-tus, giant bows, and glitter.  As far as a babies needs go, I don’t need to be shoving gender rolls down his or her throat in the form of pink skirts of blue pants, we’ve got a life time to do that.

I guess a simple answer for any individuals wondering what on earth you get for a baby you don’t know the gender of… how about whatever is on my registry?  I mean, that should make it pretty fool proof.  Tycen and I are definitely going to need more diapers than anything, we’ll also need onsies, blankies, a crib, bottles and all that other good stuff. Should anyone feel so inclined to break the mold and get me something not on the registry, some sort of apparal, then I say keep it gender neutral.  Lots of whites, greys, blacks, navys, greens, browns, and yellows are highly recommended.

I’m already at the halfway mark and I am unimaginably excited (and terrified) to meet this little babe that’s already wiggling around in my tummy.  As a new mom to be I am accepting all kinds of advice and helpful tips, but on this one matter I will kindly decline, in January when we meet our little human is when everyone will know the answer, “is it a boy or a girl?”