Perfect! Snagged a super cute royal blue checkered suspenders and bowtie set on my Target run. Got my boy his requisite extra cute Easter outfit out of the way – you know people love seeing a little boy in a bowtie. I stared at the set proudly – size 5T – I was simultaneously shocked and saddened by the fact that he would probably be all grown out of a lot of this cutesy little boy stuff next year. Time sure is flying by. I wondered how long it would be until he shunned my clothing selections for him. Who cares – I excitedly grabbed the set and then received a call from my mom. Just like every year, she wanted to know what I was doing for Easter Sunday. And then, the follow-up question made my stomach drop. “Will you have Solomon for Easter this year?”

Ack. Aw man, I thought. My mom was confused by my silence, and proceeded to question me, “Hello? Aryeonne. Will you have him?” I answered back the standard answer – I’d have to check the divorce paperwork (even though I knew I had him for Easter last year – ugh). For holidays, my ex-husband and I agreed to take turns – for some holidays I get our son on odd years and on others even years. This is an odd year, and I do not have my kiddo for Easter. Funny thing is I’ve never been big on holidays as an adult. Years ago, when my grandparents passed away (nothing was the same after that) and my holidays became filled with retail working hours, the grandeur of holidays faded away with each late night prepping for major events only to arrive hours later to tend to customers’ holiday “needs.” Holidays just weren’t a big deal anymore…until now.

I got home and checked the paperwork to triple confirm what I already knew to be true. Usually, my son spends most Sundays with me at church or volunteering – it’s our time. I called my son over and told him that his dad would have him for Easter. He was thrilled. I asked him if he was ok attending service with his grandparents on his dad side (he usually opts for my church because of the kids program and shorter service duration). To my surprise, he answered in a way that made me forget he was 5. “I’ll go to church with grammy and grampy. It’s been a long time since I’ve done that.” Ok. This is ultimately what I wanted, right? For him to think for himself and begin making these decisions and to be ok with this “arrangement.” I quickly hid my selfish disappointment and immediately nodded in agreement with him. Truth be told, that was fine – I was not.

Good Friday rolled around and my ex-husband texted me to confirm that kiddo was indeed committed to Easter with him and his family. I told him that he was verbally locked in, and he was looking forward to it. You see, my ex-husband has a huge close-knit family that comes together often to celebrate. My family rarely does this – we love each other, in a long-distance spread out way, I guess. That was one of my favorite things about my former marriage – seeing his family interact and connect so often was wonderful – I admit that there were frequent moments of envy. There were also moments of utter joy knowing that my son would be inserted in these warm gatherings and have such a large community at his disposal. Oh the memories he would have! They played soca music (Trinidadian/Afro-Caribbean music genre), the younger family members joked and bonded, people brought plate after plate of delicious West Indian food, and when I attended, I usually observed (trying not to stare and people interacting) and overly tended to my son to busy myself – 1. because I was not used to being in settings like this & 2. because I have no idea how to play spades.

My ex-husband wanted to pick up our kiddo the day before Easter so they could be well rested for early morning Easter service. The day was filled with my son and I chatting, eating, and playing together until it wasn’t. The doorbell rang. “Is that daddy?! Yay yay yay!” Solomon bolted downstairs to put his shoes on. I immediately went upstairs to grab his coat and randomly texted my ex asking if he had proper Easter attire (knowing what the answer would be – I always handled that kind of thing). I texted back that I would send what I bought. My son stood at the bottom of the stairs obediently waiting for me to come down with his things and escort him to open the door. He saw the Easter outfit and hugged it. Now, wait a minute, my child has NEVER been this excited about an outfit. *Ding dong* the doorbell rings again – probably for the fifth time. My son and I both blurt out that we’re coming, and I open the door. My kid runs down the stairs super stoked to see his pops. So bittersweet. My ex reminds him to say goodbye to me (what am I? Chopped liver? – smh). He turns around and I force a smile and we both intuitively throw up the ASL sign for “I love you.”

I close my door and become angry at myself for being so sad. It’s so weird. I know my child loves me. We (the ex and I) worked on getting him to go – without getting upset about leaving mommy. Now, he did it willingly, and now, ironically, I’m upset. I allowed myself to cry. I allowed myself to do nothing for probably an hour. I took some deep breaths and shed a few more tears when clearing the tiny Ikea plate and cup my son left at the kitchen table. Then, I slowly walked over to the television, clicked it on, and switched the Netflix setting from my son’s name to mine. I began to laugh. It felt good to see my name and no cartoons pop up in the recommendations…not sure when I had a chance to freely watch my adult shows without falling asleep. Today’s the day – I click on Grey’s Anatomy. I’m years behind and ready for a good TV binge; I don’t have to wake up early tomorrow anyway – ha! Lastly, I thought to myself, he’s more than OK and I will be too. Time to enjoy MY time.

As parents and adults we have soooo many stressors, and many of us go to unhealthy lengths striving to provide all the best for our kids. That said, we sometimes think to ourselves *hmpff* this child has it made in the shade – I wish I had it this good. Especially those of us who got spankings A.K.A. whoopins (and…that’s putting it nicely). I think we tend to forget that kids, no matter what culture, generation, or decade they were born in encounter large amounts of stress. There’s school stress, the pressure of pleasing us (the parents), there’s a constant learning of new things (small to us, but HUGE to them), and there’s learning to be comfy in their own skin, while dealing with a plethora of new teachers, classmates, and friends. And not to mention the fact they overhear us and the media talking about enormously, inconceivable woes constantly – and they worry. Humans are wired to worry.

We adults usually figure out how to create an outlet – good or bad, productive or not, we figure something out. Our kids can’t do what we do – they don’t have a budget to get a massage, they can’t have a glass of wine, and they can’t really effectively vent or find the words to express that they are stressed. We are our children’s main advocates, so we need take the time to STOP and OBSERVE – look for stress cues in our babies. Here are a few common ones:

• Headaches
• Nervous habits (nail biting, lip chewing, hair fiddling, picking at scratches and/or blemishes)
• Deep Sighing
• Lack of Communication
• Sleep Disturbances (Nightmares, bedwetting)
• Hives or unusual breakouts
• Frequent, intermittent, and/or vague stomach aches/pains
• Decreased Appetite
• Stubborn Behavior (yes, stress manifests into this sometimes)

Every child is different. Those are just a few, but if you notice them. Take the time to get on your child’s level and talk to them. Here are some of the things you can do and say to your child that will promote a healthy cycle of stress management in his/her life:

• “It’s okay to ask for a hug anytime you need one.”
• “You can do it, but it’s okay to ask for help. We can also do it together or I can guide you through it.”
• “Let’s take a break. (actually, STOP, and take a break with them – DEVICE FREE)”
• “Sometimes I have a lot of thoughts in my head. It helps to talk about them. I’m here to listen. (then help them map out a plan – we want to encourage kids how to cope and not run away – they can learn to manage loads now, with our help)”
• Disclose a hard time that you had (even if it’s a scenario from childhood), and let them know how you felt and how you coped. You’d be surprised at how hearing your story would let them know that they can conquer their problems too!
• Don’t yell (be cognizant of the volume and tone of your voice – that could determine how well you are received)
• Stay calm
• Prayer (talk out their problems – encourage them to be specific)/Meditate/Breathe with them (RE-INSERT DEVICE…use the Breathe App – it’s free!)
• Pick a comfy spot, and listen to relaxing music together
• Help them create a relaxing scenario to help them escape for a bit…something like: “Imagine with me. Picture yourself on a warm sandy beach or LEGO Land (in my son’s case)”
• Get some fresh air and connect with nature, and take a walk – heck, even take a run (my kid loves to race – it’s one of his favorite stress relievers along with a bouncy piggyback ride that promotes giggles)
• Acknowledge and reward your child’s healthy coping mechanisms. Dealing with losses and mistakes are just as valuable, if not more than winning the prize.

Don’t let the busyness of doing (providing) for your child prevent you from doing what your child truly needs – make time be present (even if for only 15 minutes) in the moment and look for stressors and try to dig into those to help them sort things out – it will promote trust. We need our kids to know that we care and to trust us. The last thing we want is to let those stressors compound and manifest into undealt with emotions and/or trauma. Start NOW and implement the comforting items listed above and things of the like often. Life is hard, and our kids need us to equip them with the tools to cope. Also, remember that children learn their behaviors from us, so we, too, must remember to practice stress management daily for the betterment of us all.

If you feel that your child is displaying signs that are beyond your reach, please seek help for them. Here are a few starting points:

• https://www.familiesfirst.org/counseling/
• https://cccgeorgia.org/counseling-services/affordable-care-clinic/
• https://kidshealth.org/en/teens/mhealth-care.html

When you’re pregnant, there’s nothing more exciting than hearing your baby’s heartbeat. I remember hearing my son’s heartbeat for the first time early in pregnancy and thinking, “How’s this possible?!” But, hopefully for some of you it’s more like, “Wow, I’m so grateful this is possible, and I never want to forget this moment.

Once I got over the shock of being pregnant, I wanted to record every moment. During one OB/GYN appointment I remember taking out my phone and recording the sound of my son’s heartbeat, so I could listen to it whenever I wanted. Well, now, there’s a cuter way to capture you unborn baby’s heartbeat. The heartbeat bear records your baby’s heartbeat and stores it for playback (this one is under $20!):

https://www.amazon.com/Baby-Heartbeat-Bear-Recordable-stuffed/dp/B002VI00UY#customerReviews

And for those who are like me and become sad at the thought of your child’s super cute voice changing into Barry White Part II, there’s other stuffed animals that have voice recording capabilities. So, you can record your little singing, laughing, and all. These are especially great for close friends and relatives who are far away (shout out to all my military families) and want an extra special gift.

Here are links to more of these fuzzy memory holders:

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B015OXBURO/ref=sspa_dk_hqp_detail_aax_0?th=1

https://www.amazon.com/Recordable-Camoflauge-Military-Second-Recorder/dp/B00VC2T5X8/ref=pd_bxgy_2/132-3606316-7773109?_encoding=UTF8&pd_rd_i=B00VC2T5X8&pd_rd_r=e8c80dcc-5a57-11e9-8230-4d773af4cdcd&pd_rd_w=PNWZw&pd_rd_wg=jXk8S&pf_rd_p=a2006322-0bc0-4db9-a08e-d168c18ce6f0&pf_rd_r=Y1Y1237A61J5RY6DY73K&psc=1&refRID=Y1Y1237A61J5RY6DY73K

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B00K3M5ZJ6/ref=sspa_dk_detail_0?pd_rd_i=B00K3M5ZJ6&pd_rd_w=eWnXb&pf_rd_p=80559f3c-f83b-49c1-8a72-40f936e9df7a&pd_rd_wg=zvFx7&pf_rd_r=4GVDTGTDH42ZYJFNX8F6&pd_rd_r=8be5e802-5a59-11e9-a8ce-71248a1b7c8c&th=1

It was May 18, 2013. And hooray! Just one more day until I was in my third trimester. I was nice and ready to coast through the next 12 weeks of pregnancy. I had been taking the hospital-advertised fitness classes, completed the hospital tour, took baby prep courses, and decided to attempt to breastfeed upon delivery with the help of a ready fleet of lactation consultants. Single at the time, I lived alone in my one bedroom apartment. I had yet to have the usual work and family issued baby showers, and for now, my accumulation of stuff was minimal. However, I had already envisioned the placement of new baby furniture that eased my anxieties of an overcrowded space, my new baby, and me.

I was preparing for bed when a huge wave of nausea swept over me. …what? I hadn’t felt nausea since my first trimester. I downed some Tums. Then more pain. Pain that forced me to double over. I’d try to stand, but the pain forced my gaze back to my puffy ankles. Those days, at day’s end, I retained water in my ankles despite my attempts to avoid sodium. I tried not to panic. Breathe Aryeonne. I held my pregnant belly and while still bent over, waddled to my bed, and tried to lie down. The moment I sat on the bed, I felt dizziness and another wave of nausea. This time the nausea sent me to the toilet. I vomited. Then, I allowed myself to panic and think. Ok. Think. Vomiting is not good this late in the game. I remembered reading that it could be indicative of a serious issue. **SIGH**

My mind jumped back to when I went to the emergency room in the middle of my second trimester for a similar pain. I distinctly remember feeling engulfed in embarrassment when the rushed ER doctor, who hadn’t ordered blood work or any other medical service, said: “It’s an extreme case of gas. Welcome to being pregnant.” I was snapped back into reality by the worsening pain and the need to vomit a second time.

At the time, I was not dating my son’s father. We had broken up. It took EVERYTHING in my being to call him and attempt to explain what was going on. But I did. I told him that vomiting was bad and we needed to get to the ER if to do nothing else but check on the baby. He got there, and I could barely speak or stand up straight because the pain was so intense. He recommended going to the birth hospital especially since the other hospital sent me away with Tums samples. I didn’t care where I went at the time because I was hurting so badly.

When I arrived at the hospital, I was whisked off to labor and delivery because they thought I was in labor. I finally gathered the strength to scream: “I’M NOT IN LABOR BUT THERE IS SOMETHING WRONG!”, gasping for air and nearly passing out. I was moved into a room where a nurse began to examine me. . She asked me about the pain, where it was, how it felt, etc. The pain was so widespread across my abdomen that specifics from me weren’t happening. The on call doctor finally came in and asked more questions. She said something about my gall bladder and then ordered blood work and an ultrasound. I was feeling faint. I remember a midwife busting through the door in surgery garb all flustered and in tizzy. She looked at me after composing herself and began to explain how I was in great hands with my doctor and this hospital was one of the best hospitals in the country for labor and delivery. She said she was the calm before the storm and that when the doctor arrived everything would go into warp speed. She also let me know that my baby had to be delivered in the next 30 minutes via emergency cesarean section. Then she asked me if I was a Jehovah’s Witness. Extreme fear is ice cold, and its grip is paralyzing. What if I don’t wake up? What if I had taken too long and killed the baby somehow? Too much stress. I did too much – school, internships, work – so selfish. Why had I decided to do this alone?

When anesthesiologist arrived, he interrupted my self-loathing and wheeled me to the OR to be prepped for surgery. The on call doctor met us in transit and began to explain that I had HELLP Syndrome (https://rarediseases.info.nih.gov/diseases/8528/hellp-syndrome) – an acute illness that makes eclampsia look fun. She said that my body was rejecting the pregnancy and my body was poisoning itself. My liver was about to rupture and my blood platelet count was in the four-digit thousands. In other words, if I had bled for any reason, I would have bled out in no time.

One of the last things I remember was another nurse joining the fast-paced walk to the OR. She held my hand and looked me in the eyes then nodded to show solidarity. Then, turning her focus back to keep up the pace,I watched her lips mouth the Lord’s Prayer. After that, I remember feeling warmth and watching my eyelids close as a result of the anesthetic.

I woke up. I woke up! Disoriented and numb. Everything was blurry. I was so tired. I woke up in ICU, couldn’t gather the strength to ask about my baby, and fell asleep again. I woke up a second time – hours later. So many faces – my family and close friends were all lined up on the wall of the post-ICU room with concerned faces and contorted smiles. I was still groggy, but I had a bit more energy and tried to smile back. The doctor came in and showed me my morphine pump and how to use it. Praise the Lord for morphine. The nurse who was with me initially came with a second nurse to help me sit up. I had machines massaging my legs and saw signs indicating to the nurses that I wasn’t allowed to get up. The doctor told me that she was happy that I was awake, but that I had a long journey ahead of me. What I didn’t know is that many HELLP Syndrome patients die after giving birth. They die because their bodies have to restart. My body had to restart.

I had hardly any kidney function and I was prone to seizures. My blood pressure was sky high and I had to wait to see what route my body would take to reach equilibrium – some people never do. I was in the hospital for a week. One nurse noticed that my blood oxygen levels had dropped well below normal. Got an x-ray and discovered I had fluid on my lungs, and nurses would come in hourly to hold pillows against my incision to make sure it stayed closed as I was coughing up phlegm until my nose bled. I had nose bleeds easily because my blood still wasn’t clotting.

I finally got to see my son on the 3rd day of my hospital stay. I was overjoyed. He was tiny, but I could tell he was strong. He was actually, at the time, in a more stable state than I was. He was off the ventilator after an hour and his brain bleeds from emergency cesarean were resolving. I got back to my room, and my blood pressure was stroke level – even on all 3 blood pressure medications. The nurses and my family played soft music for me and continuously told me to relax – as in try not to be excited or worry about anything – the irony.

After a couple more miserable days, my birthday came and my grad school cohort sent me an Edible Arrangement. I must have looked like death, because the delivery guy said, “happy birthday – um, everything is going to be ok.” and scurried off. The next day, I felt strength for the first time. The lactation consultant came in with a hospital grade pump, and one of my best friends came and coached me through my first pumps of golden beta-carotene rich colostrum (co·los·trum/kəˈlästrəm – the first secretion from the mammary glands after giving birth, rich in antibodies). My bestie and I smiled at each other, and the nurse was thrilled, and quickly took it to give to my son. He had been on donor breast milk since birth and would be until I got the hang of pumping.

The next day (around day 6) a random nurse came into the room and asked if she could hug me. I let her, and she explained that she almost didn’t recognize me, and that she was happy that I survived. She explained that my eyes were yellow and I had no color in my face. That really hit home. The next few days would be visits to see my son and finding the right medicines for me to take until I was completely well. Getting better would take months, and getting back to myself would take even longer. Nonetheless, I was discharged from the hospital and went home for the first time in 7 days. My days away from the hospital would be few for quite a while, as I’d need to come back frequently in the next 3 months to visit my son in the NICU. I also was lucky enough to find a HELLP Syndrome support group, and that lifted some of the guilt somehow.

There is still much unknown about HELLP Syndrome. Researchers are still gathering data about the short term and long term effects. After my hospital stay, I noticed my vision was way worse, I still retained water, and any little stressor caused a headache. Eventually, I’d say over a year later, these things began to subside. No one knows why I fell prey to it after many weeks of clean bills of health from my then OB/GYN (As soon as I was able, I switched to the on call OB/GYN). All I know is that I’m glad that I didn’t ignore my symptoms and I gathered the courage to speak up. I later learned that if I had’ve ignored the pain and forced myself to sleep, my baby and I wouldn’t be here today.

Listen to your body and be adamant and insistent about your health, sis. If they don’t listen, get a second opinion. See below for traumatic birth support group info:

Read this for my post-childbirth update: https://amotherthingcoming.com/2019/03/04/about-that-preemie-life/

We support March of Dimes. Join our team – march and/or donate: https://www.marchforbabies.org/sollylevi

This is my first year having a child in school, so I’ll probably be writing about some of the small, unexpected things that people don’t think to warn you about. I’m a planner, and I’m quickly learning that children and God laugh at plans. So, here’s my heads up to you parents about the “small things” that add to the everyday stress of parenting. In this case, it’s how you will unexpectedly go broke buying all the things that your kinderkiddo loses! See the list of things that I have had to re-purchase this year – sometimes more than once:

• Winter hats -> he rips it off after recess and doesn’t put it in his backpack or in his coat sleeve
• Winter coats -> he leaves it in the after-school coat closet or in the locked classroom
• Parent folder -> he takes it out to do homework in his after-school program and doesn’t… you guessed it… put it back in his backpack
• Show & Tell toys/books -> DITTO backpack no use
• Lunchboxes & Thermoses -> see above -> DITTO backpack no use
• Tupperware -> throws Rubbermaid containers away when he dumps his lunchbox
• Silverware -> DITTO
• MONEY (this is where I knew things had to change) -> I gave him $5 for a $3 chicken biscuit he wanted to buy from the school fundraiser. I told him that he should expect $2 back. He even knew how to do the subtraction. I then said that he needed to put the money back in his backpack. He came home and had NO explanation as to what happened to the change. UGH

And I know what you’re thinking. Put his name on it – doesn’t work! Remind him to bring it home – doesn’t work! For my son, it’s the first time that he has to truly be responsible with his things. So, I took my losses and decided to create Kindergarten lessons in responsibility. This concept was based pretty much in the tough love approach – in other words embarrassment, loss, and a little suffering. Here’s the approach I took:

Step 1: Come to terms with the fact that things will be lost, taken by mistake, and possibly even stolen.

Step 2: Have a serious high level conversation with child about how responsibility and how money works. Let them know that it is their job to keep up with their things and to bring them home. I told my son that losing or accidentally (mindlessly) throwing something away (like silverware or Tupperware containers) is just like throwing away hard earned money. And if mommy had no money, then we can’t have nice things (like his beloved Chick-fil-A).

Step 3: If they lose something, let them go without until they earn it back. e.g. when my son lost his lunchbox, he had to use grocery bags to carry lunch to school & when he lost his coat, he had to endure the low temperatures (just for the short trek from my car to the school doors, but still) and kids/teachers asking him where the heck his coat was

Step 4: If they lose something, give them agency over the situation. Teach them how to retrace their steps and to ask teachers and school staff (this also refines communication skills).

This has worked well for us. My son almost sees not losing his stuff as a personal game/challenge. He even comes home and boasts about how he has returned home with everything he left home with in tow. Every now and then, he will lose something, but NOW he’s mindful and realizes it sooner and has a much greater sense of urgency around finding it. Good luck and buy as much as you can from the Dollar Store Kindergarten year.

My Preemie Baby born 3 months early

Born at 2lbs – with a brain bleed (intraventricular brain hemorrhage stages III and IV), but he’s 5 now and thriving. My skinny, active and goofy boy is thriving. Other than being underweight – he is doing well in a rigorous Kindergarten class and is leaving Lego for me to step on like kiddos do. I can finally exhale…  I can work on regulating my sleep again. Of course, there’s always going to be a certain level of ‘mom worry’ that will forever loom no matter what, but my son is no longer seeing a team of 5 physicians and 2 clinicians to ensure that he’s on track.

He’s no longer catching every little sickness at every turn. Now, a runny nose can be just that and doesn’t turn into a 14 day cold with weight loss and sleepless nights. A runny nose is just that – a runny nose. Oddly enough, remembering the tough times is becoming harder, but I’m not sure how we did it. Preemie parents. Juggling work, grad school, and afternoons and evenings in the hospital. Seeing your tiny baby poked, prodded – eyes horrifically pried open with metal devices for thorough inspection to prevent ROP-induced blindness (Stevie Wonder was a preemie too – undetected ROP caused his blindness). Seeing them choke because they have to master swallowing and breathing simultaneously. Missing out on most events because your baby is regaining his strength from being ill for so long.

And the Wall Comes Tumbling Down

Relationships crumble. Self esteem dwindles. Lots of tears. Hits to career development. I let the Preemie Life define me for so long. I didn’t have a choice really. I lost myself in it all. It took me quite a while to remember what I even liked to do. It was all around caring for my son, and it became a bit of a prison. I used to enjoy being fashionable and doing my hair. That turned into wearing old marathon and alumni t-shirts with baseball caps. I didn’t recognize myself, and I was glad my son was well, but I was sad. Very sad. I hadn’t taken time to do much for me. Even the grad school studies and change in career was mainly for my son. I had forgotten what fun meant for Aryeonne. Come to think of it, I needed counseling and a support group postpartum.  Read here for support info for preemie parents: https://grahamsfoundation.org/

Journey To Find Myself Again

Transitioning back to myself took a couple of years. I was frightened, mainly because many of the people in my industry were younger and children/parenting wasn’t a part of their existences yet. When I started back working, I kept to myself. No one knew my age or that I was a parent. This is a reminder to those who have their own preemie story or any traumatic event that causes you to lose yourself, that it’s okay to ask for help. Don’t be ashamed to ask someone to take on your responsibility for a bit so you can watch your favorite show or listen to an audiobook until you fall asleep. Self care/love is underrated. If it doesn’t happen, you will undo all that you’ve worked for with deteriorating health and broken relationships.

It took me far too long to realize this, but better late than never, right? I’ve since begun to exercise, track my calories, meal plan, found a job that resonates with my beliefs, found a new tribe and reconnected with my old one, found a new love and started this blog. If I can do it, you can too. We all need to be reminded that it’s not selfish, especially those of us who still carry the guilt from that Preemie Life, here are integral steps/ways to begin your self-love journey: https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/get-hardy/201203/seven-step-prescription-self-love

Be sure to read about my childbirth experience here: https://amotherthingcoming.com/2019/04/04/my-birth-story-hellps/

We support March of Dimes. Join our team – march and/or donate: https://www.marchforbabies.org/sollylevi

It all happened so fast.

Yes. Sign me up for Pilates young, spry co-worker. Sure, I’ll go with you to Barre class, person who runs marathons because you’ve prioritized it, because unlike me, you’re not delusional and you know that getting older means you’ve gotta step your game up. Sure, I’ll play with you on the floor, son, and you can hop on my back to go upstairs for bath time…and *crunch*.

Those are the events that led me here. Sore, inflamed, immobile and back to square one – oh, and just to clarify, that *crunch* was my back. Calling all 30-somethings. It’s happening. Your body ain’t what it used to be. So, how does one who used to run a mile, do back flips, run the bleachers non-stop, and lift weights every other day get used to a body that has had a huge break – like a ten year break that happened so fast that I forgot to exercise

I know it’s silly, but I’m in denial, but I think I’ve learned my lesson this time. I’ve never understood what people meant about the importance of easing back into exercise – until now. Had a baby in my mid-thirties and now, this year, I think I’m officially in my late 30s – needless to say, the recovery period is slow as molasses.

WAKE UP CALL… I’m fortunate enough to have a gig that provides exercise classes, and I immediately signed up for them and was in for a rude awakening. So, here we are after an accumulation of events that overworked my back muscles into temporary paralysis. It all began with taking on too much at once, and now injured and typing to you with an ice pack on my back. Don’t be like me… ease into exercise. Listen to your body. Hopefully, I’ll be able to start a yoga session a week next week. See below for tips for easing back into exercise:

1. You are not superwoman. No one is. It doesn’t matter how old you are, LISTEN to your body. Don’t be like me and incorporate new exercise and then throw out your back swinging your kid around.
2. Tell your doctor you’re exercising again (especially with all these fad routines that will have you jammin’ into your demise), and let him/her know what type of exercise so they can let you know what to be mindful of. If that’s not an option, let your exercise instructor know that you’re just starting and you may need a few sessions to complete the entire routine. Also, ask for modified versions of tough tasks. If they don’t listen to you, find another exercise instructor.
3. Warm up AND cool down. Whatever that means to you. Stretching, jumping jacks, running in place, walk it out, stanky leg, dougie…just do it. Read why it’s important here: https://www.health.harvard.edu/staying-healthy/exercise-101-dont-skip-the-warm-up-or-cool-down
4. If your breathing is crazy rapid, STOP! That’s your body straining to do something, and you could easily be on the brink of injuring yourself. Even more, that rapid breathing means your body is not used to the exertion you’re putting on your lungs. When you’re in shape, your body is accustomed to the exertion, and you body delivers oxygen more efficiently during your exercise routine. Read more about that here: https://www.prevention.com/health/a20504379/when-its-normal-to-be-out-of-breath/

Remember, exercise in both forms of resistance training and cardiovascular routine is imperative, BUT you only get one back, one set of knees, and all that jazz. So, take it easy sistah. Getting in shape is not a competition. Namaste.