Days just don’t get much more perfect than this one.
This day is the kind of day I fantasized about during my neverending crappy pregnancy. I dreamt of taking my three children to the orchard on a sunny, crisp fall day and baking yummy apple-y things in the kitchen, filling our home with fragrant cinnamon and nutmeg while the autumn breeze blew the curtains back and forth. I dreamt of these things to get me through the long, sick, anxiety-ridden days because few things in life make me happier than fall, and all the festivities and foods that come with it. I believed that if I could just survive the pregnancy and get myself and the baby to the other side in one piece, we’d have fall as our reward.
Well, I survived and I healed and I got my reward today. My whole, complete family went to one of my favorite places in the world. There’s nothing particularly fancy or unique about the orchard we went to, except it holds some of my favorite childhood memories from autumns past and is therefore very special to me. We frequent it every year around this time. It was a spectacular day in every sense. My older children ran and jumped and laughed. My youngest snuggled and nursed. My husband and I cracked jokes. We held hands.
We brought home over forty dollars worth of produce (I just kept adding things to our basket because I have no self control over apples and apple accoutrements) that I’d turn into a yummy dessert later that evening. An apple and pear crumble, to be exact, which followed a fantastic one-pot dish of salmon, cabbage, and new potatoes from this Martha Stewart recipe (I omitted the horseradish and added leeks to the vegetables).
The weather — which, as I’d mentioned, was spectacular — had inspired more than just baking. I took full advantage of the magic this day had to offer and fulfilled another dream I’d had for the past nine-ish months.
When we got home from the orchard, I changed into my (rather snug) running gear and nursed the baby down for a nap. I carefully transferred her to my husband’s lap and prayed she’d stay asleep for him while I was out. I knew I had a small window of time to get this done so I didn’t bother with playlists, headphones, or much of anything other than my Hokas and my Garmin. And off I went.
It was glorious. It was also painful and embarrassingly slow, but that didn’t stop me from crying tears of joy when my watch beeped to signal the first mile complete. All total, my grand comeback was a whopping mile and a half. But I didn’t stop or walk once. I ran the damn hills and I sucked wind and it all felt amazing. Like reuniting with an old friend.
This marks the end of my second week of postpartum fitness. I’ve had ups and downs. I’ve had a few binge eating spells that, unsurprisingly, tended to coincide with our more stressful days. I skipped two days of workouts after lifting weights again for the time (while babywearing, thankyouverymuch) because my body was incredibly sore.
I expect to have ups and downs for a while. I don’t expect to be able to follow a strict exercise or diet regimen with a newborn and two other small children. So I’m proud of what I’ve been able to do and I’m excited to know that the next time I run or lift, it’ll be easier. Starting over doesn’t have to be a bad thing; I can enjoy this journey of rediscovering my fitness and repeating the process of getting strong again.
Week 3 check-in next weekend, which will hopefully be as awesome as this one was.