clawing my way back

Simply stated, I have never been this out of shape.
When I think back to my years of running (if I begin around 8th grade, we're talking 19 years here) I don't think I've ever taken this much time off from running. I always assumed when I got pregnant that I would continue running, eventually waddling, through the 9 gestational months. I'd even register for a few local 5Ks and conscientiously pace myself through 12 minute miles, stopping to drink water at each aid station along the way. I'd be that pregnant running lady.
But then there was a uterine hematoma detected around week 7. And the doctor said "pelvic rest" The terror of the first trimester, not knowing whether I would miscarry or not, was frightening. Each ultrasound and each little flutter of a heartbeat brought a sigh of relief. I could walk, which I didn't consider exercise, but no running. Ok, I said. No running. There were more important things now.
After the first trimester, I started to use an elliptical machine, simulating that running motion but without the jarring impact. I got up to 30-40 minutes, even into my third trimester. I felt as if I was actually in some kind of shape. I walked vigorously in those last weeks, even trekking a couple of miles through our neighborhood the day I went into labor.
Caroline was born on her due date, August 10, and four days after she was born, I managed to walk to the next block on our street and back. It felt like I had just finished a 10 miler. Of all the things I grossly underestimated about giving birth, it was the physical toll in those post-partum weeks. Getting up off the couch was a process. Standing up after kneeling on the floor was a challenge. My knees were arthritic, my feet ached as if I had spent all day in stiletto heels. Flights of stairs became my daily exercise.
I've run countless 5K and 10K races. I've run a sub-2 hour 25K twice. A year ago this weekend, I ran a half marathon, my last race before getting pregnant. Now I felt like I had never run a step in my life.
At 6 weeks post-partum, I decided to try running again. Out for a walk and pushing a stroller, I ran for a minute/walked for a minute for ten minutes. It was brutal. I was sore for two days. My family reminded me it would take time. It took me 10 months to make a baby, it would likely take that long to get back into the shape I was in before. While the marathoners in Chicago covered 26.2 miles on a beautiful Sunday morning, I was happy to run continuously for five minutes.
I kept up this routine on our morning walks, pushing Caroline in her stroller and watching her eyes flutter and her arms raise as she startled from the bumps and cracks in the sidewalk. Since my collegiate running career had ended, I had mostly run alone. Now I have a new running buddy.
This week, I reached a milestone: 15 minutes of straight running. Never before would I have considered this a milestone. Before, on a good day, I could cover two miles in 15 minutes. Now I'm just happy I didn't have to stop to walk.
It will take time. Slowly, I claw my way back. I look forward to hills, to an extra loop that adds five more minutes.When I used to zone out to make the last mile pass more quickly, I now pay more attention to my breathing, my turnover rate, and making sure the cargo in my stroller doesn't get too jostled. 15 minutes will eventually become 30, and then 60. Thanks to my new running buddy, I think I appreciate running now more than I ever did before.

this normal

This isn't normally what I see on a Wednesday afternoon in the fall. Normally, there would be a classroom full of teenage bodies. Likely disinterested, some mildly amused. Most trying to get as much (or as little) done so they can get out.of my classroom the moment the bell rings. There is always homework. As the bell rings and the day ends, I am left to assess the growing piles of paper on my desk, the unread messages in my inbox, and the solid blue light that informs me that voice mail awaits.
But there's a new normal these days. This normal is one body instead of two dozen. This normal weighs around 14 pounds and tends to be demanding. There's a lot of eating and sleeping. We go for walks. We go to the store. The new normal attracts a lot of attention.

For one, there's her hair.

When we're out and about, I can do a countdown to the response I know she'll get as soon as a passerby peers into her stroller.

Look at all that hair!

If I had a dollar for each time I've heard it over the last 8 weeks....well, I'd have a lot of dollars.

I don't get tired of hearing it. In fact, it's one of the best parts of getting out. I know every mom feels this way, but she really is a beautiful baby. Even the nurses at the hospital thought so. "She's not one of those FLK's we see," Linda, our day nurse confided to me. FLK's? I asked. "Yeah, funny looking kids." Nope, our girl has big blue eyes, crazy, spiky hair.  Long arms and legs. My skinny feet. Her daddy's toes. The power of genetics.

So my new normal is a happy, healthy baby girl. The new normal is diaper changes and cluster feedings and cries in the middle of the night. I'm home this semester with our girl and I couldn't be happier. Sure there are days when I miss even the bored faces in my classroom, but I wouldn't trade it for a minute of what I have now. My new normal. The cries at 4 AM that are stifled as she latches to my breast. The smile that greets me when my face appears over her crib to lift her from a nap. A warm body stretched across my lap, sleeping peacefully after a fussy and fitful afternoon. I like this normal.