Watched Gran Torino this past weekend, which I thought was pretty good. Loved Clint Eastwood in it. But what will I remember most about the movie? Me, on the couch, crying into a tissue. (See previous post, Cry Me a River.)

One of the transformations about me since having Peyton (other than my jelly belly) is that I cry over the smallest things. This is very uncharacteristic of me because when I told a friend this, she looked at me and said, “Hello? Is this my friend that I’ve known for how many years? Wait — you?!”

It started when I finally saw the Sex and the City movie. I bawled when Big didn’t show up at the church. “What’s wrong with me?!” I said to myself.

Then I was watching Grey’s Anatomy and started tearing. Then crying into my sleeve. The hub just stared at me like I was crazy. “It’s an episode about a sick little girl!” I told him. I thought it was my new found empathy for children and mothers.

But then it started happening with every episode. Sad or happy — I cried. When Meredith looked lovingly at Derek, I cried. When Alex was losing Izzie, I cried. I cried when I saw a Gatorade commercial about athletic accomplishment.

At first I thought maybe it was the hormones adjusting. But it’s been over a year now and I get teary just seeing baby pictures. Not even of Peyton. ANY baby! I used to laugh all the time at my mom when I was younger and she cried her eyes out just like I do now watching TV.  Oh, dear.

Peyton turned one today. I can’t believe it! It’s gone by so fast. Everyone said it would and I didn’t ever imagine we would reach this stage.

I can’t believe the changes either. He’s walking and blabbering. He’ll bring me a book when he wants me to read to him. He can climb and descend the stairs on his knees. He will laugh his head off when we do silly things. These are all great milestones! Then there’s also the times he cries when we take something away or say “no.” He throws “tantrums” when he doesn’t get his way. He throws his food on the floor when he’s not interested. Sometimes I wish we could go back!

Today was a great day for a first birthday. Peyton took a 2 hour nap  (a rarity!). The hub and I took off work early, picked up Peyton, and went to dinner. Peyton ate really well (semi-rarity!). We came home and he shoved a chocolate cupcake in his mouth. Then a nice bath and off to bed. I wouldn’t have had it any other way.

I have talked to many of my friends about the recovery after having a baby and they have all told me that it surprised them how long it takes. Now, I am not talking about the weight gain, but “down there.” Even though Nicole Kidman was back to a skinny stick two weeks later, I am pretty sure she was still recovering in other places.

When I talked to my friends, the first thing I said was, “Why didn’t you freakin’ tell me about the recovery?” Many said they didn’t want to scare me. Well, I was already pregnant, not like I could go back! I cannot stress how much I wished someone had told me about the recovery. (I still have to finish my post with details about the recovery immediately after labor.)

At four months, I saw a friend who had her baby five days before I had Peyton. I told her she looked great. “It’s been hard,” she said. We commiserated over the loose skin on our bellies. “Man,” she said. “The worst are my breasts. I mean, they are jacked up.”

And recently, I was discussing about losing the weight with Yoga Mama, who also mentioned that it took her five months to feel normal. So, it’s a very common reality but no one seems to talk about it. We have all these books about pregnancy and then it seems to stop there. No advice or help about after labor — definitely the time when you need the most help and have a lot of questions!

I would say that at around five-six months, I started to feel like I was my old self. I know at four months postpartum, things still felt kinda strange — like the pressure when urinating and mild soreness –  a constant reminder of what came out of me. Then there were other things too: my wedding band and shoes not fitting, the hair falling out, the constant heat flashes, the back pain. But at around five months, I started feeling like I was finally bouncing back. Some of my shoes fit again (but it still took about 9-10 months for them to be ‘comfortable’), my wedding band fit, my hair stopped falling out, and — most importantly — I felt normal “down there.” I wasn’t feeling weird anymore.

Then around nine months, more weight started to come off, which I’m not sure what I can attribute it to. Less time to snack? More afternoon walks with Peyton when the weather got better? I really stopped caring about the weight and figured I would deal with it when I could. I just didn’t have the energy to worry about it at the moment. And, strangely, it started to slip off and I am about three pounds away from my pre-pregnancy weight. It all makes sense — it took nine months to pile on, it will take that long to come off.

A new mom in my neighborhood put a lot of pressure on herself about losing the weight when her baby was only a month old. I told her that it was unrealistic to feel that way so early, even though I felt the same way when Peyton was a month old. We just expect our bodies to somehow go back instantly after nine months of major changes.

But after losing the weight, your body actually doesn’t completely go back. My stomach is still a little doughy. The pooch returns a lot more quicker than before if I slack off. The boobs aren’t as perky. Stretch marks are less noticeable but are still vague reminders. The good thing is I can truly say that about eight months post-partum, the pain of delivery memories didn’t really affect me as much. I started to think that I could do this again.

If you knew me before Peyton, you would know I was not a baby person. The transformation has even astounded the hub. When I see newborns, I weep (even the not so cute alien-looking ones). When I see babies, I go over and look. When my friends bring their babies, I get in line to hold them.

Some of my friends who have had babies around the same time as I did are already pregnant with their second ones. I’m not so sure if I’m ready to be pregnant again so soon, but check back in a year.

Peyton is nearing his toddler years, which makes me sad because I truly enjoyed him as a baby (especially from five-eight months — prior to him crawling like a fiend). I am amazed at how much he’s grown and I have to start reminding myself that he’s a little person now who can start understanding me.

Now, I talk to him all the time, asking him how his day was after I pick him up from daycare.  When I feed him, I’ll point to myself and say, “Mama.” He usually just stares at me blankly. Yesterday, as we walked into the house, I dropped something and said, “Uh-oh.” Peyton looked down and said, “Uh-oh.” I did a double-take.

“Uh-oh,” I said again.

“Uh-oh,” he repeated. Then he didn’t do it again.

A few minutes later, he said it while he was playing. When the hub came home, I declared, “Peyton said his first word!!!” Peyton said it several times last night at dinner (I got it on videotape) and after his bath. Then he greeted me this morning from his crib with, “Uh-oh!”

It’s pretty adorable. But like the hub said, “Yeah, until he starts saying it all the damn time and we get sick of it.” Or — as I realized today in the car driving in traffic — until he starts repeating everything we say and we have to REALLY watch what we say.

I’m sorry that I’ve neglected the blog. It’s not that it hasn’t been on my mind, but since Peyton has gotten older, I find that I have less time. A lot of people said it gets easier (after they’re newborns) but I don’t entirely agree with that.

Peyton no longer takes long 2 hour naps. He has dropped the later afternoon one and now naps twice a day for 45 mins-1hour. Never longer. So, it’s hard to do anything productive during that short time. He’s also crawling like a fiend and hates to be confined (screams every time we put him in the high chair). I’m pretty sure he’s going to walk early, much to our dismay.

We have mixed feelings about his progress. Excitement at the new possiblities (walking = fun outside) but also feeling unprepared (walking = more energy to keep up). I also miss being able to hold him in my arms without him squirming out. He’s growing out of the baby stage and it makes me very sad. Now I truly understand why people have more than one child!

In past few months, lots of developments with the little guy. He’s still fairly big for his age and eats A LOT. He’s on to real food and usually enjoys ravioli, meat balls, cheese, and — his favorite — bread. It’s really cute watching him eat. Even though he only has his 2 bottom teeth, he does fairly well gumming everything. (He also likes to steal food from other babies at daycare.)

My life as a mother has been ever changing. I understood that motherhood would change me, but a recent experience has showed me how much.

I always considered myself an ambitious career person, but I stayed in my current job because I liked my boss a lot and it provided a lot of flexibility with Peyton although the work bored me. In January, on a whim, I applied for a high profile federal job. Part of me I think wanted to know if I still had it. Part of me didn’t even expect to get it.

But I did. I went in for the interview and I got the offer. I was definitely mixed. This new job meant a longer commute and hours. It also meant more money, stability, and interesting work under an exciting administration. So I took it. I wasn’t unhappy at my old job, but I thought this was probably the best thing for my family in the long-term.

After the second day, I regretted it. It wasn’t the job or my new boss, it was the change. I certainly advise new moms not to make big changes in the first year. I can’t tell you how depressed I was during my first week. Here I was doing exciting work and really glad to have a good boss who was just as good as my last one — but missing out on time with my baby. Peyton was always the last one picked up at daycare. I only got 10 mins with him in the AM before I rushed out of the house and 1 hour at night before he went to bed. I felt like I wasn’t enjoying life at all and was running around all the time. I cried a lot. I now understood when people say before you know it, they’re teenagers. I didn’t really want to live that life.

The job itself also entailed a few things that I hadn’t anticipated, including late-night email monitoring and web work — sometimes creeping into the weekend. As a parent of a young child, this was unrealistic because Peyton gets up at 6 AM no matter if I’ve had 3 hours of sleep or 8!

So, I resigned and returned to my old job. It wasn’t lost on me that I had this great federal job that lots of people competed for. But the timing wasn’t right. I may kick myself later on, but right now, this was the best decision. My old boss was estatic and I know how lucky I am to have that choice. I think I really needed to do this in order for me to realize that I’m not the same person that I was before.

This experience has also taught me that being a working mom is freaking tough. The choices that we moms have to make in this country due to lack of federal support makes it even harder. The truth is it doesn’t have to be that way at all.

I’ve also learned that being a mom isn’t black/white. We all make choices — difficult ones — for the sake of our family. Moms who stay home, moms who work — there are reasons behind them and they’re all tough.

Now my commute is back to 12 mins, I get to see Peyton off in the AM before Dad takes him into daycare, and my baby isn’t the last one picked up at the end of the day. And I get to sneak in a walk with him before dinner and bed time. Maybe I’m making less and maybe the work isn’t high profile, but I’ve never been happier.

I know I said that I think I could have another baby –

But then I took a look last night of my pregnant belly photos and the end was appalling. I forgot how my belly hung over like a sack of potatoes and the veins bulged out. Did I mention how BIG my belly was? Absoutely. Appalling.

Peyton turned eight months this week and he’s reached so many milestones.

He started crawling about two weeks ago and loves to try and pull himself up. His two bottom teeth are budding — leading to many days and nights of wailing and crankiness. (Motrin is our BFF right now.) He’s gumming Graduates Puffs and loving it. Best of all, he laughs quite easily, smiles a lot, claps his hands, loves bath time, and babbles constantly.

And amazingly, pregnancy amnesia has set in. While I remember that labor/recovery was painful and hard, the fun that I get from my son really does blur the memories of child birth. In fact, one day, as Peyton laughed and babbled, I said to the hub, “I think I can have another one.”

His jaw dropped. “Whaaaa–?” he said. “Did you hear that, Peyton? Maybe you’ll have a brother or sister!”

After the second, I’m pretty sure we’ll be done. I’m not crazy enough to have three, or EIGHT!

Wow, if this doesn’t make you scared, I don’t know what does…

I have long heard about “mommy brain.” I heard it was slightly better than “pregnancy brain,” but I would probably never go back to my former self. This morning, I had the prime mommy brain scenario.

I have received many compliments lately about my weight loss — many people thinking that I am back to my pre-pregnancy size. No, I inform them, I still have several pounds to go. People tell me I should just lie anyway. My boss even told me that he thought I lost a “tremendous” amount of weight and I would waste away. This goes to show you how big I got. My big problem is the “muffin top.” After a month break from pilates, I noticed the muffin top got worse. (Thank goodness the new session starts tomorrow!)

Although determined to fit into my pre-pregnancy clothes again soon, I only fit into one pair of my pre-pregnancy jeans and my maternity pants are too big now. I started to get pretty sick of wearing pants that I had to leave unbuttoned. My sister gave me a bunch of her “big” pants now that she’s lost a lot of weight, but she’s two inches shorter than me and the pants may pass as capris in the summer, so I can’t wear them now. So I bought a pair of pants this past weekend — to my dismay — two sizes bigger. But I told myself no one else was going to see the size.

When I came in this morning, my boss commented, “Oh, you got new pants.” I thought, wow, they must look good on me if my boss noticed!

I said, “Why, yes, I did!”

He replied, “Yeah, the sticker is still stuck on the back of your left leg.”

Oh. And my new size in bold, white numbers too. I ripped the sticker off and muttered, “I had to get new pants — I’m too fat for my old ones.”

Thankfully, I came straight to work today instead of stopping for coffee.