I feels really good to go shopping for clothes and when you try them on, they actually fit. And you don't immediately want to cry when you look in the mirror. I am down two sizes in the past six months. I will have to buy a whole new wardrobe for summer, but I might as well wait a little longer because at this rate I will be down another size soon!

I have never felt better in my life. Not physically or emotionally. I was worried about what life would be like after I had the twins. I had been off anti-depressants during the pregnancy and didn't want to start back after I had the babies because I was breastfeeding.

Yes, I fed them both at the same time, God gave us multiple boobs for more than symmetry! It was an awesome experience this time around, unlike the previous attempt with my son. No one tells you its not easy, they let you believe in the facade that breastfeeding a baby is the most natural thing in the world and its not. Not only does it HURT, but it requires hard work and commitment a lot of new mothers don't have the energy or desire for.

I knew it would be stressful having three babies under 2 years old. It's harder than you can even imagine, and most people imagine it pretty bad. Plus I am prone to depression, I'm afraid it runs in my blood and I just pray I didn't pass those genes on to them. How was I going to survive???

When people say to me, 'I just don't know how you do it.' I always respond, 'I just do it.' Give me a freaking Nike endorsement.

When the babies were three months old and I started going to Bootcamp, I couldn't do even half the exercises. Literally. I couldn't do Jumping Jacks because anything requiring me to jump made my aching boobs hurt even worse. I already had to worry about them leaking all over my shirt, how embarrassing is that? I couldn't run or even do a crunch. But I kept moving, I pushing myself closer towards the image of myself I had in my head, not the hot mess I saw in the mirror.

I had no idea half a year later I would still be here. I am not afraid of the mirror anymore, or the scale. My boobs don't hurt anymore and the only think soaking my shirt is sweat. I can hang with the crowd and people draw inspiration from me. Me!

One of the awesome trainers at MaxFit gave me a card at the end of Phase 1 Bootcamp congratulating me on my hard work. I was honored she noticed and took the time out to do that because I often modeled myself after her, copying her form, keeping her pace.

The card hangs on my refrigerator and everyday when I open that door and I am faced with a choice that is going to bring me closer or further away from my goals, I am reminded, "You are an example of what it takes to succeed.' And the choice gets easier and easier everyday.

Finally another 3lbs off! My body has not been as generous on the scale during Phase 2 Bootcamp. I know I should be happy with the 22 lbs I lost the first month, but I had it in my head I was going to do it again!

If I lost another 20 lbs, that would mean ALL my baby weight would be off and I would weigh what I did when I got married and I remember being pretty happy with myself then. It wasn't my all time lowest weight, but I was healthy and happy and I would take it.
-------------->
2007
Me on my honeymoon in Miami!
(Pre-kids all time happiest)



<---------------
2005
Me at my UL
Graduation Party

(All time lowest weight)

So it was kind of disappointing the first week going by without losing a single pound. I was working just as hard, eating well, sticking to the diet. I wasn’t complaining because I know how my body is, I drop a lot of weight real fast, and then I plateau. If I keep working I drop more fast again, then back to the plateau. Plus I was on my period and that messes with the numbers.

It's OK though cause I'm not giving up or regressing. I am still seeing the results in my clothes, feeling my body get tighter, less bounce to the ounce! But come on scale, cooperate!

I have a pretty close online relationship to my trainer Kyle Harrod and he encouraged even more contact. Told me to start reporting what I ate on a daily basis. Oh crap, now I really had to shape up. It makes a difference when someone pushes you to be accountable to yourself. I told him I would be honest even if it revealed how much of a crack head I am when it comes to food. And he told me he would be judging me on what I ate, so hopefully that will be another tool to fight off temptation when a donut is starring me in the face.

No more tiny snacks in between, a bite here, a taste there. No more cleaning the leftovers off my son or husband's plate like I was a human garbage disposal or a dog eating sraps. Obviously that shit was adding up and affecting my numbers, not to mention the back to back weekend drinking I did this month. There was no drinking going on during Phase 1, I was that motivated. Sorry whiskey.

So this week no more alcohol, even less carbs, lots of water… and BAM! There it was, another drop in the scales. And I can’t wait for Friday because this week it is on. I am getting closer to that bikini bod again! haha

I doubt I'll ever bust out the red sequined dress again though!

If you want to see more skinny pictures of me, visit my 'Old School' photo album on Myspace. I was pretty freaking skinny then, but also pretty sick. I learned the hard way skinny does not equal healthy! That's another story for another time. Maybe one day I'll get brave enough to tell it and even post my 'before' pictures! They motivate me, the before and after because it reminds me of what I am capable of on both ends of the spectrum.

I know which direction I am heading in and I like how I'm getting there.


http://viewmorepics.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=user.viewPicture&friendID=57257551&albumId=1793589


Another skinny Leah pic, Thanksgiving 2004

I've seen the future....

And I like what I see. I've seen the future, because the future is now. Amazing what a little time can do for a situation, any situation really. For a person who thrives on instant gratification, time is otten the enemy.

But here I sit, 8:36pm on a Tuesday night. I have read two magazines. Two, while the magic of Elmo lulled my son into his pre-sleep state. The girls had a walk after dinner, bath, then bed at 7:00. I cannot believe this routine crap works. Maybe its just a cruel trick the few nights of uninterrupted sleep in a row has done to my mind, but I really think its working.

My husband deserves the credit and I proudly tell the world about our success, though I realize they do not, can not, grasp the magnitude of this milestone. Our kids are sleeping though the night. There I said it, against the fear if I spoke the truth aloud or admitted it to myself even in thought... poof! One of them would awake.

Sure I'll be up several times throughout the night for a wet diaper or four. There is no real such thing as completely sleeping through the night (is there? yet?) but I will take a few diaper changes then right back to bed over our previous up and down all damn night battle ANY night.

A few weeks ago Kenny put the ban on babies in the bed. He said he wanted his wife back, but really I think he just wanted the covers and some room. The queen size bed wasn't cutting it with 3-4 of us at a time! I didn't really mind them there. We kept a baby on constant rotation all night long. You never knew if the one you fell esleep with was goingto be the one you woke up with depending on who cried out next. As soon as one woke up, the other cuddled up one in my arms went back to their bed and a fresh body molded to mine.

Sure, my arm was asleep all the time and my hand was numb half the night, but damn they are good cuddlers. And smell way better than my husband. I was throwing my shoulder out of whack from always being in the baby cradling position. But I loved them and thought it was sweet.... until I realized I would get more sleep if they just slept instead of crying until mommy came to the rescue like they knew I would.

So we tried it his way. A few nights of torture (for me) otherwise known as the Cry It Out method and viola. All of a sudden they are sleeping without even getting up for a bottle.

My babies are growing up. They eat a lot of real food and are down to two bottles a day! Two! They used to eat every two hours. Wow. They have one nap a day, at the same time, no more tag teaming us with that one up, one down bullshit. I can actually plan stuff around naptime now because I know they will be ready to go to sleep for an hour or two from 10:00-12:00 everyday. They roam the house pretty freely, busting out of the baracaded living room that was maybe more of our comfort zone of safety than their preferred play area.

Time has passed, distorted by the trials of the past year we've faced. Sometimes it seems like if flew by, but most of the time it feels like I've lived a whole lifetime in these past 12 months. I was still hobbling around with them inside me fighting for space against my ribs and internal organs less than a year ago and here they are now fighting each other at their first birthday photo shoot!

I was smiling at 4:52am.

For real, couldn't make myself stop smiling. Two of my favorite songs came back to back on the radio and I just laughed at how happy I was to be going to Phase 2Bootcamp before dawn on a Monday morning. The sun was even starting to lighten the sky by the time I was on my way home! There wasn't a trace of snow anywhere on the gorud. I wasn't even wearing a jacket!

A week off had allowed my body to rest, minus the 5K race I completed Saturday. I was proud of myself for doing it, but also disappointed that I found it so hard. I think I set myself up. All the visualizing I did in my head didn't match the reality of the situation. I am not a runner anymore. I still have more weight on my body than needed. For so long when I was on bedrest, or trying to inspire myself with a postive mental image to keep from thinking about a bad one, I would imagine myself running a mini marathon. I was wearing a bright colored shirt and joyfully bouncing across the finish line.


When I executed this dream over the weekend, I had the bright colored shirt, but the only joyful bouncing going on was my ass. By the way, I saw some funny looking asses during my run that did make me feel better about my own! My husband pointed out all the nice butts were probably far ahead of us! I was kind of diapointed after the race at my performance.

But by Monday my knee and ankle felt better again. I remebered other things I noticed during my downtime, the progress that isn't noted on my weighloss/measurment chart. It is easier to do a squat with 25+ pounds baby im my arms. Effortless, actually. I do it without cringing or pain in knee or hips. I bet if I were dancing in the club I could drop it like its hot and come right back up without geting stuck and do it again!

I can reach things I couldn't get to before. I am more flexible, agile even. I can climb in and out the back of a tiny sports car without hoisting or moaning and graoning. Clothes that were tight when I bought them 6 months ago are falling off my body. I can actually get a pair of jeans over my hips and thighs without unbuttoning them. Hell, I need a belt! That never happens.

Sometimes when I look in the mirror all I can see is how far I still have to go. But some of the most important victories I've had this week were not physical. I sat at Clifton's, the yummiest, cheesiest, crust filled pizza place in town, and didn't eat. I just enjoyed the company and avoided the temptations. I went to another pizza party at my family's house to watch the last UL game in Freedom Hall and I brought my own food in a bag. They looked at me like I was crazy, but I didn't crack.

To me, that is more of a success than any number in the record book. And the record books have my name all over them these days, I lost 22.2 lbs the first round of Bootcamp. In one month. And now I'm ready to do it again! I can never express how greatful I am to Kyle Harrod and the people I have come in contact with at Maximun Fitness for the inspiration and opportunity to grow and become stronger at such an awesome place.

Today I was an Olympic Athlete.....

I was on top of the mountain and it wasn't cold because the sun was shining and I was sweating, so the fresh air felt good on my face. The sky was blue, the snow was sparkling, and my body was a well functioning machine. I was a hot gold metal winner on a podium, Sports Illustrated freaking hot in a slutty sports pose on the cover!

I found my 'happy place' today, my moment of zen where all of a sudden it doesn't hurt while working out, my breathing regulates, and my blood flows and it seems easy to do push ups or jump squats for 50 second intervals with only 10 seconds of rest for 30 minutes. I get in the zone. unfortunatly it doesn't happen every time I work out. I often get distracted by other people, my own thoughts, the count down of how much time is left before I am finished torturing myself.

But the mornings I am killing it in Bootcamp, my mind is a million miles away. I flash images in my head until one clicks and I go with it. A method of meditation I remembered from some old self help tape I listened to unsuccessfully as an adolescent actually works now.

My most popular vision is of Hawaii, probably because its the most beautiful place I've actually ever been and experienced, so I can recall the details easier needed to take me there again mentally. I'm running on a beach, its hot, the mountains are in the background, the ocean off to my left. I look great in my bikini, all tan and toned. White beaches, palm trees, salty air, frosty Pina Colada waiting for me back at my beach towel. The works. It works. Before I know it my set is over and I just mentally went on vacation.

When I got bored with that scenario, I began to travel to places I've never really been. Made up places that don't exist anywhere else but in my mind. This method is beneficial and neverending because all the details can be made up by me.

Another favorite is a perfect long country road, green trees everywhere, budding flowers pollinating the air, fields that stretch like the ocean full of an allergy sufferer's nightmare. But I am running and I can breathe. I take in the fresh air and it smells so fucking good. Like the color green or summer or how sunshine would smell if the whole world weren't polluted by our toxic waste. I don't sneeze or wheeze or cough, I can run forever and drink the air in like it was the purest water in the world. Time! Another set is over.

I've been clubbing in Tokyo like I was in a Brittany video and I wasn't scared of the size of the crowd packed into the loft penthouse pulsing to techno music and sweating in unison. Sometimes I'm on stage, like Beyonce in some costume and outrageous heels, and I'm giving it my all because the sold out crowd is demanding their money's worth. Sometimes I'm in a video. Or swimming laps in a very cold Lake Michigan with the Chicago skyline behind me. Some days when I just need to get through that last 10 seconds, I pretend I'm dancing(or doing it! ha!) with the finest, best looking man in the entire world and I refuse to let myself stop.

Today, I was an atelete.

Fuck a 5:30am February Bootcamp!

It's not the Bootcamp part I am mad at, or even the 5:30am wake up call. It's the February, let's-have-a-snow-storm-every-week part that is pissing me off! Seriously, I have driven through TWO snow storms risking my life and almost as important my husband's 4-wheel drive work truck (which equals our livelihood at this point) to go exercise at 5:30 in the freaking morning!

Several times I told myself I'm crazy. Who in their right mind gets up at 3:30am and drives to Mount Washington in a snowstorm to go workout? Me, and about 15 other dedicated people! Intellectually it seems to make no sense. How stupid to venture out into the dark, alone, on snow/ice filled roads to exercise. Crazy.

But you know what? The more I told myself I am crazy, the more I realized I didn't FEEL crazy. I feel good. I feel energized and happy and proud of myself for not letting even a snowstorm or two hold me back. And I am doing freaking awesome, I've lost 16lbs so far and can tell a major difference in my clothes already. It just makes me feel so good.

Plus, I'm sick. A sore throat from hell didn't even stop me from not missing a class. I'm stressed to the max over sick babies with never-ending ear infections and colds. Carly and Bryce are both having surgery Friday on their ears and I'm scared and worn out from the whole routine of doctor's offices, pharmacies, and insurance referrals. Its overwhelming and draining to spend my days just waiting for my babies to get better.

But Bootcamp, for me, has always provided an escape from everything else. 1 hour of no fear, 1 hour of not caring or paying attention to anyone else, 1 hour out of 24 in a day to work on ME. That's not too much to ask, and if I have to get up at 3:30am and start drinking coffee to feed babies and get them settled back in before I leave, clean snow and ice off my car, dredge out into less than ideal weather conditions to make that happen, then that's what I will do.

'Yo!' As my trainer would say, I was 'killing it' this morning in Bootcamp. Rocking it. Cranking it! For the first time when he called out an exercise towards the end of a 45 minute workout, full sit ups, I couldn't wait to begin.

I had this and I knew it. I practiced full sit ups at home all last fall until I could do them after still struggling with ab work during my Noon Bootcamp class. I got tired of always half ass doing exercises because of my weak abdominal muscles or because of my knee injury (which was legit and still hurts during certain exercises or if I push myself too hard). All around me people had been doing full sit ups and there I lay, half way raising up off the mat.

I was discoureged. I was tired of finishing last. I could see some progress from when I started. Even though when it was time to jog around the building I was always the last to round the corner, at least I wasn't getting lapped by people anymore. I used to only be able to walk the laps, now I could semi-jog. But it wasn't enough. I'm not the kind of girl who finishes last and it was wearing on me always being behind, adapting expercises to cater to my injury and weaknesses, feeling not as good as the others.

One night at home, I was laying on the floor playing with the babies and when it was time to sit up, I all of a sudden pulled up in a sit up position.... with no pain! I lay right back down and did it again. And did it again. And again until my daughter crawl-tackled me, amused at my little game. Holy shit I could do a sit up!

This was major for me because 4 months earlier when I started Bootcamp in the summer, I could barely even do a crunch. I was 12 weeks off my second c-section in less than as many years and my insides were still healing. Any ab work hurt.

Why wouldn't it, pregnancy itself is a shock to the body even though its what we as women were designed to do, carry a baby around on our inside. Throw in back to back pregnancies (one with TWINS!) with back to back surgeries involing all the layers of your gut being cut open and sewed back together and no wonder my abs hurt! That shit is jarring and tramatic to your body, someone cutting through all the skin, fat, muscle, tissue, utuerus walls to rip out soemthing that is literally growing and attched to your body. Ah, childbirth via c-section! It ain't pretty, but I can usually find a positive to any situation... at least my goodies survived tight and in tact!

I digress...

By November after my realization I could in fact do a sit up with no pain, I came to the conclusion the only thing holding me back had been the memory of the pain and fear that it might hurt. It didn't actually hurt anymore to do a sit up. I was siking myself out!

After that little break through it was over. When it was time to 'crank it in 5...4...3...2...1' I was off. Back straight, arms straight up over my head, slow coming up and going down, measured breathing, head high, shoulders back. Perfect execution. The best thing about it, all of a sudden I wasn't the weakest one in the class. The women on either side of me were both struggling, unable to do even one, and there I was knocking them out. It felt great.

One of the girls asked, 'Leah, how do you do that with all them babies?'

'Hard work. I practice. 3 months ago I couldn't do one either.'

I tell her a brief version of my story hoping I am an inspiration to not give up and keep trying. I want other mothers especially to know they can do it, just don't give up. We are MOTHERS! We can do anything!

Best of all was the realization that I was no longer the weakest one in the class. There were people in there who couldn't do the things I could. I was no longer finishing behind the pack.

Dare I say I am a leader?

When I get really sleep deprived, not just normal everyday sleep deprived, but I-haven't-had-more-than-an-hour-of-uninterrupted-sleep-in-a-week-or-so sleep deprived, I become weepy. I find myself pleading with 10 month olds in the middle of the night to please just give Mommy a break and SLEEP, as they laugh and play footsie with each other in my arms. They are so damn cute, I alternate smiling at them while I can't stop crying and then I really feel looney toons. And they just look up at me and smile, oblivious that their mother's sanity is slipping away and if they would just SLEEP, I could SLEEP and be such a better mother to them!

Then when the 2:00am-5:00am battle is finally over and they have surrendered to their cribs, I lay in bed and cry some more. Feel sorry for myself like everyone else does, the ones who say, 'I just don't know how you do it' and the ones who flat out say, 'I feel so sorry for you!'

Most of the time I don't feel sorry for myself at all, I just feel blessed. When people say, 'I'm glad its you and not me!' I respond in my head, 'Me too cause I doubt you could do what I do!' But sometimes in that crazy I can't sleep because I'm so freaking tired state, I feel sorry for me too.

Nobody understands. Not my parents, not my family, certainly not my friends who still invite me out for girls night not understanding getting a babysitter is nearly impossible with three babies nobody wants to watch because its too much work and work is not fun! Other twin moms might understand and my husband certainly understands, but he's not much comfort when he's just as sleep deprived as me!

By 6:30am Bryce is crying with his morning wet diaper hello, and I can't even be grateful that he didn't wake up sooner, because sometimes we are all up at 3:00am, me alone struggling on the couch with three sleepy babies who want a spot on me, while my husband works his graveyard shift that won't end until late the following night.

Once one is up, they are all up, so I begin a fresh day with extra strong coffee Kenny made to try and jolt me out of my sleepy, weepy state. I send Bryce off to school and cry some more when I can't make a doctor's appointment for Carly to get tubes in her ears because the person who does the referrals is out sick. Maybe if she wasn't in so much pain, she'd SLEEP and not scream so loud she keeps up all up at night.

I cry on the phone to the office lady who tells me to try back later in the week and say pitifully, 'OK I'll just let her suffer in pain until someone decides to send the fax over!' And I hang up and cry some more.


I know its all just a phase and they will grow and I will long for my sweet baby days (damn it I'm still crying!) but sometimes I just want to SLEEP.

And yes, they are both sleeping peacfully now because they were up half the night, and despite the genious advice to 'sleep when the baby sleeps', (which doesn't work well for parents of multiples because do you know what the odds are that all three will sleep at the same time for any good length of time to allow me to get any meaningful sleep? Slim to none!) I've drank too much damn coffee to lay down.

Besides, really what's the point because the second I slip off into unconsciousness, the baby monitor will flare up like a fucking switch board and I will just have to drudge myself back from the edge of dreamland and be Zombie Mom again for the rest of the day until my relief pitcher shows up in the form of another less sleep deprived Daddy or family member who has mercy on me and takes a kid or two, God Bless them!

How Maximum Fitness is helping save my life

(Insert cheesy infomercial music here.)

This week, I hit my first major goal. 30lbs lost, the amount I gained during the twins pregnancy. I lost the final 3lbs over Thanksgiving week, and that was thanks not to the stomach virus that my children spread through my family, but due to good old fashioned work. I smiled so big when I saw that number on the scale. I knew my hard work had been paying off. I could tell it in my clothes, feel it in my body, but damn it feels good to see it in the numbers!

When you're in a zone, you're in a zone and I'm there. Finally. This has not been an easy process, but everyone knows nothing worth the trouble is ever obtained easily. I'm finding my stride again after so long on the injured reserve list. I always knew I'd be back. I plotted and dreamed and prayed for this day so many times. The vision of what I would be one day kept me going through 2 back to back pregnancies one of which included 3 months of bed rest. Do you know what its like to be confined to a bed for months at a time with only your mind as company? It can be a lonely, lonely place. Not to mention the physical toll on my body.

Imagine all you've done over the past three months. How many times you went to work, the store, a friend's house, walked to your car, ran errands. Then imagine me, during all that time, JUST LAYING THERE. Thinking. Wondering. Wishing. Dreaming. Plotting. Planning.

After Bryce was born, I had just joined a Biggest Loser program at the gym complete with Saturday morning Boot Camp to lose the 50lbs I gained with him. Then BAM! You're pregnant again, oh and its twins. Surprisingly I spent less time on actual bed rest this time around, but lets just say the muscles in my body didn't see much action for another nine months.

So by the time they were 3 months old and I got the all clear to exercise, I was beyond ready. I'll never forget my first day of Bootcamp at MaxFit. I walked in with with a crew of size nothings who were there to work on their 'gut' and I felt lower than I had in years. I wasn't that sexy, confidant person I was two short years before twirling around in tight dresses and heels. I felt sentenced to a life in pajamas covered in spit up and raggedy maternity clothes. I had sworn to myself I would never be back in that kind of condition and there I was. The excuse I just gave birth to twins was just that to me, an excuse.

I lingered to the back of the group, if there had been a corner I could go hide in I would have. They chatted with the instructor, all blond hair and muscle bound tanned skin. I wanted to be ignored. I wanted to be invisible, do my workout and go unnoticed. I was embarrassed and ashamed at who I was at that moment, an overweight mother of three trying to get some dignity and health back.

He took off his bootcamp shades and made me meet his eyes for an introduction. He held out his hand and made me shake it and refused to let me slip into the abyss of self loathing. I'm sure he was just doing what he does with every client, but that simple handshake, split second of eye contact, changed my life.

By the time the second class was over, I was feeling more confident. I noticed their sign by the road boasted someone lost 6lbs in one week at bootcamp. I felt ballsy that day and asserted myself to ask if I lost more than 6lbs in a week if my name could be on the sign. I lost 8 and there was my declaration a week later for all to see. I started getting phone calls from my friends who saw my name. I started smiling more. I started to believe again.

I fell hard for my new routine, just an hour of me time, meditating with my eyes closed, sweat drenched days in the sun saving me from my mind's take on reality. Every once in a while when I needed a little mental boost to get me through a physical task out of my league, I would let the thoughts creep in about another upcoming MRI for my baby boy's bone infection in his spine. Something that usually made me shiver suddenly made me GO. Fight. Push harder.

In the heat of an exercise if I thought about how hard what I was doing was, that I couldn't do it, I thought of my Uncle Gary, dying in his bed at home. I hated cancer and infections and kidney abnormalities and bed rest. I kicked, punched, flailed around beating the crap out of what hurt, stomped what I was scared of right into the ground.

It almost sent me backwards into a mini-depression when I got injured. I was on such a roll, damn that King's Island trip. (See my August 9th entry... EMBARRASSING!) But I fought my way back, took a month to heal and went way easy on myself when I came back to Noon Bootcamp with a new instuctor who motivated me differently. I am in another new era of my success story and it may be corny and belong in an infomercial promoting the best 'anti-gym' around, but thank you Maximum Fitness for helping me fight to get my life back better than it ever was before, helping me change, grow, be happy.

I am serious when I say they are saving my life, an outstretched hand pulling me from my pain. Thank you will never be enough.

I like to reminisce.

The past two Halloween's I've been pregnant. That's an interesting record to hold and one I do not ever plan on repeating. On Halloween 2008, my husband made me get up off bedrest and parade around the property taking artsy preggo pics. I am thankful for them now, but cried at the horror of my swollen body of film. I chalk it up to horomones now, because they are beautiful pictures and I love them.


It was a day of celebration really, a day of disbelief. Making it still pregnant to Halloween meant my baby was going to be born in November, closer to his originally planned due date than I ever really though he was going to make it. When my troubel began the first week in August, I rememeber the numbing reality of neonatal doctors telling me all the horrible things that could happen if he were born at 26 weeks. I remember praying, pleading for him to make it just to September. Please be born in September.

Then September came and went, and when the calendar rolled over into October I felt more confidant and just knew he was going to be born in October. It was going to be perfect, he would be born towards the end of the month near Angie Day and I would no longer have a reason to get depressed and hate the month of October.

All of a sudden, it was Halloween and I was so proud of him for holding out and making it that long.



Last year I spent another Halloween pregnant, freaking out at a crowded Trunk or Treat and leaving early, not having the stamina to stand around in line for hours. I was sad and felt like I was depriving my son, who couldn't even eat candy at the time. He didn't miss a thing, and more than made up for it this year!

I also went to a friend's costume party in one of those thrown together sluty outfits you can obnly get away with in public on Halloween and Mardi Gras mask. I've never worn a mask before and it was fun! I felt incognito all nigth long. When I arrived at the party I didn't even agknowledge my friends and no one knew it was me immediatly. I think there was even a guy trying to hit on me while in line for my water and I was so tempted to say, "I don't look three months pregnant with twins do I?" just to see how fast I could scare him away!



What I will remember most about last year brings a tear to my eye and smile to my face. We took Bryce over to my Uncle Garry's on our way home. He was waiting in the living room for his boys. Bryce love those cows out at our property as much as he did and what a kick he got out of him dressed up as one. They mooed together and we took pictures and it makes me sad he wasn't here this year to see all the kids and most importantly, the three Cox Witches!

I sang, "I tip my 40 to your memory....." tonight every time I poured out a full coke bottle somebody paid money for and left sitting behind, and smiled.

October 24, 2009, our last night of doing the Fern Creek High School football cleanup. Thirteen years later, I never imagined myself back here like this, picking up nasty nacho containers and cussing at people who throw their mustard packets and Starburst wrappers on the ground. Its a dirty job, but there's good money in doing the crap other people don't want to do.

I liked being there, reminiscing and remembering under a clear sky on a cool night, not unlike the one that changed my life forever. Homecoming week 1996, sophomore year, the bonfire, us laughing and dancing, saying goodbye, watching you walk, bound towards the car. Dead minutes later. Only 15 years old, you've been gone twelve times longer than I knew you, but it doesn't matter, you've been along with me the entire time.

I smile when I think about how much you loved Fern Creek. I think about what I want to write when I get home, happy thoughts and feelings stir. The wind blows harder and a spray of confetti fills the sky. The neon lights of the field focus their sparkling splendor of refracting light on the wet leaves that dance their way to the ground. I stop and smile, halfway to the top of the student section amidst the discarded hot dog wrappers and fries. How beautiful, like a golden butterfly hello, just for me from you. Its been a while since you said hello, thank you for remembering, I love you and miss you too. I believe in signs like that.

I wrote something for you today when I realized what day it was....How come it took me so long? I suddenly don't dread this day anymore. Has time healed my wound so tightly shut I only feel the pain now when I want to? Its there, the sadness of it all, if I go digging for it. I prefer the perspective I have now after all these years, that its not so bad losing you because really I never did.

On my way home, a song drifts in and out through the radio static, Coltrane I think, a mellow dreamy melody promising 'death is just a door, they'll be waiting on the other side.' If I had watched the movie 'Paranormal Activity' I might have been a little freaked out, but I am oddly comforted by your wish goodnight, reassurance that you are really there, right there waiting on the other side.




10/24

By Leah Bomar

I let it creep up on me this year,
Too busy to be bothered by a date,
A heartstabbing stupid number on a calendar
that causes too much pain.

24. Why hate a number?
13. Why cry over how many years have passed
since you passed,
proving 1 year of having you physically in my life
was long enough to last a lifetime in angel/human years?


Denial is effective only as long as your in it.
I miss you.

I let it creep up on me,
my memories of you packed away in a box,
no longer sitting on my heart shaped shelf
that has been a permanet fixture on my wall
since when we used to do our hair and make up
under my big green mirror,
reflecting on our future,
discussing our dreams.
Adolescent innocence at its finest,
eating homemade chicken noodle soup for the soul
searching for ourselves,
listening to Bone Thugs N Harmony 'Crossroads'
not knowing that was all we had.

Hi, my name is Leah and I'm an addict.

Food is my drug of choice. I've fought this battle for as long as I can remember. Weight Watchers with my mom at age 10, being aware I wasn't supposed to eat fattening pizza at a 4th grade party, removing the labels from my Jenny Craig chicken salad cans at lunch as a 7th grader. Every diet under the sun with varying degrees of success and failure, and I always end up here, fighting for control of my impulses and feigning for a snack. A food crackhead.

Why do we self sabatoge ourselves, ruin what we work so hard for, continue the cycle of destruction even though we know better, wish for salvation while salavating over something that will never taste as good as we imagine it in our minds? I am no different from any other addict, alcoholic, gambler. I know better, want better, yet I find myself unable to say no, giving in time and time again. Its sickening.

My husband has been struggling the past nine years to 'rewire my brain.' Its neccessary to my survival. I would not live the long, full life I desire and deserve if I continue down the path I have been on the past 20 years. I can write a page full of excuses, legit reasoning behind my bulge, but still haven't figured it out yet. I'm tired of fighting myself, and losing.

I'm tired of being passed up, waking up and going to sleep with my kness aching, ankles still swollen worse than when I was actually pregnant. I'm tired of carrying around this physical manifest of my pain I can't explain or even fully understand.

Have you ever been so baffled by a part of yourself, struggled to understand why you do the thigns you do?

Some people abuse drugs, alcohol, sex, shopping, gambling, cigarettes, the list goes on and on. I use food. I saw Al Roker in an interview say something like, 'If you lined up all the vices people have, the best cocaine in the world, next to a joint of the best pot, next to the finest wine, next to a stale donut, I'd go for the donut.' Me too. I can't walk past a cupcake without eating it. How can someone so strong in so many other ways be so weak???

Welcome to Parenthood

Sometimes I feel like I am not far from crazy. Not anti-depressant crazy or plain nuthouse crazy, but my kids sometimes make me want to scream and do bad things crazy. I get tired of yelling at my son. "No Bryce!" "Stop that!" "You're gonna fall!" "Get off her!" "No bite!" "No hit!" "No touch!" "Don't do that!" He hears that one so often he mimics us perfectly, down to the finger point and serious face. "Don't do that, Mommy!"

"Welcome to parenthood," My sister-in-law says with a smile. She's at the beginning fringe of fighting teenage adolescence once again with her 14 year old son's recent immersion into his freshman year, high school sports, older girls, and hickeys. I laugh at her stories but somewhere inside I cringe because as much as I want to deny it or fight the future, truth is I will be hit with a triple whammy of puberty, horomones, and a mothers heartache. A sophomore son and freshman twins all at the same time. I know the advantage me and my brother used to take of my parents! Doesn't everyone like to think they're smarter, cooler, more capable of handling the tougher issues, when really we are all just finding our way in the dark.

It seems too far away to have to worry about now, when my toddler hasn't even celebrated his second birthday yet and I am still shit deep in dirty diapers, crying fits, and countless feedings from almost 7 month old twins. It. Never. Ends. I rarely get a break, and when I do it takes me half the time I'm away to begin to relax. So by the time I'm having a good time, its time to return to my reality. Which of course I wouldn't change for all the money in the world, but God damn, I get tired and worn out.

Welcome to parenthood.

Call to Arms

Letter to My Trainer:

I spent months planning this moment. Notebooks full of visulaizations: me running the mini marathon, family and kids cheering me through the finish line. My 10 year high school reunion, sexy black dress and heels. I've been waiting so long to MOVE, now that I've gotten a taste of my potential, I am addicted.

I will work. This is no longer about looking good, its about being good and healthy for my kids and participating in a physical way in their daily lives I am not able to do quite right now. Its about living pain free, chasing children and rolling around on the floor, diaper change squats, a 15lbs, 20lbs, or 29lbs medicine ball in my arms at all times. A look down in their eyes gives me all the motivation I need. I will do anything in the name of the love I feel for them.

Walking like a 1 man army, this is my Call to Arms. Stand beside me. Push me when I need pushing. Pull me out of the quicksand of despair that threatens right under the surface to suck me back into a life of bad habits and misery. Cheer me on at the finish line, walk beside me in the sun, push ups in the rain.

I've always been good at preparation, but good at rolling with whatever too. I never foresaw an addiction to Bootcamp in all my dreaming, planning, and preparations. But it appeared in my life at the exact right time.

If success= 50% preparation + 50% execution, preptime is over. The time has come to execute.

Hazards of baby living



I know my place is a constant hazard, floor forever covered in matchbox cars, toy pieces, and discarded laundry waiting to be picke dup in the next laundry sweep. I feel I constatly live a real life version of Final Destination where doom looms around every corner. Last week my cousin tripped over a Sit 'n Spin and fell holding a baby. This weekend I- no lie- slipped in a puddle of spit-up I didn't know was there and pulled a muscle in my back. I spent the remainder of the weekend in a muscle relaxer stupor laying flat on my back oblivious to the crying babies tag teaming my husband. That shit hurt! Not to mention the unpleasant flashback it brings up of being on bedrest. What a helpless feeling. Then my husbands brings me homemade strawberry banana pancakes in bed and a fresh ice pack and I think, "If I weren't in pain, this wouldn't be half bad!'

Yesterday was one of the most humiliating days of my life.

Its been a very long time since I felt so embarrassed, so ashamed of who I was, shrunken so small, when the problem was I was literally too big to participate in normal activities. A group of 16 of my husband's family members went to King's Island for the day. I debated going at all the night before. It was the end of our big moving week and everything I owned was still in a box. I already dreaded the thought of going to the water park and being forced to walk around nearly nude with my body on display for all to see, my cellulite thighs, the leftover baby weight, fresh stretch marks on white skin that hadn't seen the sun in over a year. Not to mention not a single of my bathing suits even fit if I could find them, so I was stuck packing my mom's old lady suit with a flowery print and little skirt at the bottom that didn't hide enough. I tried to explain to my husband why it was hard for me.

"Why do you think I never go swimming when everybody else does at your Aunt and Uncle's? Its too embarrassing for me to walk around practically naked in front of them."

His family is not like mine where the majority of both my parents sides are over weight or obese. They are all normal size, not an obese one in the bunch. I'm always the biggest person around and right off the bat in any situation that doesn't feel good being constantly aware you're the fattest person in the room.

But the thought of a whole day kid free and just the prospect of having fun was enough to lure me along for the ride. Fuck it, if they had to see me in a bathing suit, I am what I am. I'd been in the family 10 years and bore their cousin/nephew/uncle three babies, I was entitled to be there just as much as them, overweight or not. Who cares if they got stuck starring up at my fat ass as we waited in line at the water park?

People like my husband have never fretted a day in their life over things like that. I've spent my entire life in the mind of a fat girl, and let me tell you, it ain't easy.

The embarrassment began standing in line for the first ride, the new one everybody was excited to ride, even myself. I love roller coasters. From behind the protection of my sunglasses I saw every body's eyes drift over my body and linger on the fat roll remains of my pregnant belly still peeking over the top of the maternity pants I wore. I couldn't find a real bra in the mess of moving, so I wore a tank top under my shirt that did no justice to my now sagging boobs that were only a few weeks ago perkier and firm and full of life force. I was happy to have lasted as long as I did breastfeeding and also happy to have weaned my babies to the point I could leave them for more than a few hours at a time without feeling like I was going to explode. I wasn't happy to see my mom boobs go! I looked down at the shapeless blob where my breasts flowed into my belly and vowed for a new bra this week.

An hour passed in the hot sun as we neared our turn at the front of the line. Immediately as I lowered myself into the seat, I knew there were going to be problems. My ass literally did not fit into the seat!!!! I tried to squeeze my hips and thighs further back and press the safety bar down but it wasn't clicking. Panic rose from the pit of my stomach. I wanted to run then, but still held out hope. Surely I could fit. I pushed harder to no avail. The attendants made their way down the line checking other passengers.

"Can you scoot back further in your seat, mam?" He asked. Mam.

"No dumb ass, can't you see the fat spilling over the tops and side of this seat? I have squeezed all of myself I can into this ride and I do not fit."

I stared up at him with tears in my eyes and didn't say a word. He tried to push harder on the safety bar and it dug into my legs. Another attendant approached and they began tag teaming the bar, trying to stuff me in like an ill fitting pair of jeans. I knew it wasn't going to work. Even if they managed to snap the bar down one time, I was going to be in so much pain as the ride jerked me around I knew I was screwed either way.

I finally looked him in the eye and saw the pity and pleaded more than asked, "Its not going to go is it?" I didn't care about the pain of being squeezed into the seat. I was terrified more of the thought of having to stand and get off the ride in front of all those people than I was ever scared of the steepest drop or fastest coaster in the park. Mainly I was mortified at all Kenny's family knowing I was too fat to ride a roller coaster.

He shook his head and genuinely felt sorry for me. "I'm sorry 'mam."

I stepped over my husband who had remained silent though the exchange until he murmured a sincere 'Sorry Baby' as I passed. I refused to cry. I shuffled off head held high and tried to avoid the looks of everyone who had just witnessed one of my worst moments.

Sad thing is, this is not the first time something like that has happened to me, but I truly thought those days were in my past.

When I was heavier before, I had trouble fitting on a roller coaster or two. I didn't fit in stadium seats at ball games or at the movies sometimes and left with bruises on my legs from sitting in seats to small. I even considered the possibility I might have trouble again before I came, but surely I wasn't that bad off again, was I? I had been riding a high from my recent success at BootCamp and encouraged that I could see my post natal body transforming in the mirror. Obviously it was not enough.

So when they asked why I got off the ride, I had my lie prepared.

"Oh it was hurting my stomach from where I had the c-section, so I got off." Most seemed to believe the story as plausible, except my husband who could tell I was fighting tears for the next hour as we waiting for the next ride as my anxiety levels spiked out of control at the fear I wouldn't fit into a single ride all day and be forced to sit alone in the hot son and cry in my beer as they all rode rides I was to big to enjoy.

I noticed a guys tattoo in front of me that read 'Smile Now, Cry Later' and I made it my motto of the day. I walked the length of the park several times over and never once complained about my injured knee that was killing me, the fact that my feet and ankles were swollen, that I wished I had never come. I suddenly preferred unpacking to the pain of realizing how far I still had to go on my quest to live healthier life and lose this weight once and for all.

So I smiled for the camera, pretended the bar hurt my stomach again as I failed to fit in another seat, and by the time I woke up today I was ready to cry later. Once the tears started, they didn't stop for over an hour. This time was different though, I could tell, because instead of spiraling down into that despair as I would have done in the past, I was already planning my revenge.

Next time I went to King's Island, I was going to ride that damn DiamondBack. I was going to wear a cute tank top that showed off my sexy cleavage and a prance around the water park in a polka dotted bikini if that's what made me feel good about myself again. I believe in comebacks. I always liked the underdog best. By Thanksgiving and Christmas, they are going to be saying, "Damn is that Leah? She looks great." Not that I need their approval, but just knowing that they will see my transformation from this low point to where I want to be adds fuel to my fire.

Damn it knee, GET BETTER! I've got things to do...

I can see my body transforming before my eyes. A month of intense Bootcamp exercise classes every M-W-F has made a major difference in my body and mind. I not only feel stronger, but I am stronger. After the first week I could already do things I couldn't do at first.



My curves are coming back, being chiseled away by countless lunges, squats, push-ups. I looked at myself in the mirror naked for the first time in a while getting out of the shower and I was so amazed at what I saw I stopped and just stood there for a while. I was shrinking! There was more definition between my butt and the top of my thigh. The bulge of my stomach was going down. And then I saw something that really freaked me out. My scars were moving! The physical landscape of my body was literally changing!



Right before i found out I was pregnant with the twin I had several moles removed on my abdomen and the stretching of my stomach during pregnancy really did a number on the healing of the dark circles of new skin. my son always pokes at the dime and nickle sized spots and says, "Boo Boo?"



So when I noticed they were suddenly more toward the middle of my body than to the side, i was shocked! I am shrinking! My stretch marks were moving, coming closer in together. Soon they will meet up in the middle of my stomach and what will happen then? I am no rooking in the stretch mark department, I've had them my whole life, but I have never seen them move! Now, if I could only make them disappear, but really, who cares? I kinda like my war wounds!

How many diapers can one person changes in a day? How long before my trash can doesn't smell like shit, no matter how many time you take it out in a day? Will my counter top ever be clear of bottle parts, sippy cups, sticky spots? Its like a reality show gone wrong; how long will Leah last before she trips and busts her ass on all the toys covering the floor???



Most days I am good at being a Super Mom, but some days I just want to beat their ass and cry with them. When all three are going at the same time and I know there is no relief pitcher coming to step up to the plate anytime soon, I wonder what the hell I got myself into.

Is the grass always greener on the other side? Do we always want what we can't, shouldn't have? Are memories sometimes sugarcoated, sucking us back into old patterns because we forget quickly lessons learned.

What is old is new again. Cycles of new life and the retired dead follow my thoughts like a determined stalker, my mind is never alone long. Can going backwards ever move us forward?

I feel like a generic version of Carrie on Sex and the City without the intrigue of sex posing all these questions. I'm going to stop now.

Break out the hot rollers and hair spray. Black dresses and suits, jackets and shoes. There's been a death in the family and we put on the front there is fun in funerals. Shopping sprees, as if I have the time, money, or energy to show myself in pubic. I have a medicine head, sinuses all stopped up, chest on fire. Forcing shallow bursts of ogygen just to the surface levels of my lungs requires too much effort. Sometimes I wish I were a computer and someone would turn me off. Or I could just spontaniously shut down. Maybe that's what happens when we died, we've finally taken enough shit in this life tiem and the mother board fizzles out fast and we finally meet our maker.


I long for a deep breath. A laugh that did not bring on bouts of coughing that sounds more like a barking fit. I used to get sent out of classrooms for coughing like this. It's a family trait, one of the many I wish I did not inherit.



Families are funny things. Your tied to them in a genetical sense that you technically have soem of the same genetic make-up to your blood. But how much does blood bond people? Does it tie us together for eternity, a lifelong witness to our sins, stories, sadness, success?

The memories bond us in insignifigant ways, flashes of an already old man enjoying life from his recliner. I am not ready physically or emotionally for a funeral tomorrow. I don't even want to eat all the fattening food that will be present and mess up my hard work at bootcamp. I miss the sweat. I want to get back to my summer of sweat where my body is what is crying and in pain, not my heart.